#probably will change that again later whoops

[mypoisonedvine]

"𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄'𝙢 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙤 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪." | dark!jackson rippner x reader

(I'm sorry but also no I'm not because wes craven knew exactly what he was doing when he put that line in the movie... he fucking knew...)

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 | after following you for weeks as part of his job, jackson got a few ideas in his head about making you his, but finding out you had a boyfriend meant he needed to change his approach.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 | just under 9k (wow what the actual fuck)

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 | DARK NONCON SMUT (18+ only, don't keep reading if you're not physically or emotionally mature enough to manage your own content consumption please and thank you), knife kink, stalking, forced exhibitionism, forced infidelity, humiliation, vaginal and anal sex (whoops), pain kink/painal, ass to pussy (god this fic is disgusting lmao), hair pulling, brief breeding kink/forced breeding, some angst but really it's just filth

once again, this is a dark character being dark and I don't wanna hear y'all acting brand new about it so no hate please. that said, if you do enjoy this (which I very much hope you do) please consider reblogging to support my work :) comments are especially appreciated and literally make me so so happy!!

Following you was just part of the job— and Jackson did not like his job mixing with his personal life.

The problem was, he hadn’t had much of a personal life lately.  No time for it; one or two hook-ups, women he met in bars, but that’s it.  And believe it or not, he wanted more than that.  Nobody would accuse Jackson of being sentimental— not really an attitude you can have when you organize illegal weapons sales and political assassinations— but he wasn’t made of stone.  He wanted to be able to share at least part of his life with someone… or, you know, have a nice set of legs waiting for him at home that he could get between every night.  Either, or both, would do.

It was an unfortunate coincidence that his realization that he wanted a girlfriend, or at the very least a plaything of his own, came right around the same time that he started to follow you.  He was only doing it to pick up on your habits, figure out a way to get to you so he could blackmail you into being his inside man for his next job.  It was supposed to be pretty simple: you were a museum events coordinator in charge of an upcoming lecture series which would feature a speech from a Bolivian presidential candidate who was unfortunately unfriendly to cartels.  The American government not only endorsed him, but had him under incredibly tight security.  This speaking event was going to be a rare chance to get to him in a public space without metal detectors, and Jackson was being compensated generously to ensure your museum would let a few extra attendees in the back.

But see, the Bolivian presidential election was the last thing on Jackson’s mind as he watched you through your window.  His eyes drifted all over you, mesmerized by the way you prepared yourself for your day— styling your hair in the mirror, smoothing the wrinkles in your white button-up, pulling those stockings up your thighs…

He caught himself biting his lip and shook it off, straightening up in the driver’s seat of his car; he knew he should probably leave then, beat you to your work and then wander into the museum to feign interest in a few artifacts before striking up a conversation.  But he loitered a bit longer, letting himself imagine how quickly he could rip off those clothes you were so thoughtfully dressing yourself with.

Eventually, he managed to pull his attention away from you and start the car, sighing as he tried to remember his plan of attack for ‘accidentally’ meeting you later today.

~

The museum might’ve been interesting, if he wasn’t so distracted by you.  He was loitering, hands in his pockets, pretending to look at the paintings and artifacts as he waited for you to be near enough to strike up an innocuous conversation with.  Early in the day, he saw you give a tour to a couple considering the museum for a wedding location, but kept his distance— it could be a while before you were available and he didn't want you to notice him yet, or he'd have to justify having been in the museum all day by himself.

For the first time since he’d started this job, Jackson felt slightly nervous to speak to you.  It was always a big step, going from following someone to actually approaching them, but usually it didn’t give him any specific emotional reaction.  Sure, he might feel a certain amount of pressure to do this correctly lest he blow the whole thing by tipping off his target, but he never was worried something would go wrong.  This time, though, he felt his heart picking up every time he glanced at you from across the museum, closer to you than he’d ever been.  His palms were even a bit clammy when he saw you walk by and realized this was the moment he needed to strike.  God, did he really have a crush?  How pathetic… but he couldn’t worry about that now, he was about to lose his chance as you brushed by him quickly.

"Miss?" he got your attention, gently touching your shoulder through your shirt as you passed by; you seemed a little startled by the physicality, yes, but not exactly offended.

"Oh, um— can I help you?" you said.  He’d heard you speak before, on the wiretap and all, but it was a little different in person like this— and directed at him.

"I was gonna ask you about this sculpture, if you didn't mind," he explained with a gentle smile.

"Oh, well, one of our dosants would love to talk to you about our collection—" you began, starting to look for the closest staff member designated to help him, but he interrupted.

"So, you don't know anything about the stuff here?"

Your attention moved back to him and you smiled to hide your obvious defensiveness. "No, I do," you assured, "I actually am uniquely equipped to tell you about this sculpture: I studied Incan art specifically during my master's program."

He gave his best 'quietly impressed' face and nodded; he knew he could get you with that, you had kind of a know-it-all thing going on, which he happened to find annoyingly attractive.  "Alright, then tell me about it," he challenged.

"Well," you sighed, crossing your arms as you looked at the piece, "we got this one a few years ago, it's actually a ceremonial vessel— there’s the llama head and the bird on this side here, those were both animals with a lot of cultural significance…”

As you pointed out elements of the vessel, he leaned in ostensibly to look at where you were gesturing— but it was all an excuse to get close to you, warm you up to him.

“They would’ve used this to pour essentially a form of beer on the ground,” you continued, “in hopes of increasing the strength of the crops and fertility."

"Fascinating," he smiled at you, and you didn’t back away when he stood closer.  Like fish in a barrel.  "How old is it?"

"It's estimated to be about four or five hundred years old,” you explained.

"Wow," he nodded, looking at the stone carving behind the glass again.  "It's interesting to me that humans have always made art— and always been superstitious.  Though I have to be honest, if I was living before the invention of birth control I don't think I'd be praying for fertility."

You smirked a little, and he hoped he hadn't gone too far— but it was fun to look at you and know what you must be thinking about.  He could only hope that you were thinking about it with him in mind.

“Jackson, by the way,” he introduced himself, “my name’s Jackson.  It feels unfair that you’ve gotta wear the nametag and I get to be anonymous.”

You laughed a little, glancing down at the silver nametag on your blazer and then back up at him.  “Fair enough; welcome to our museum, Jackson.”

“So, wait,” he tilted his head, “forgive the late reaction here, but— if you’ve got a master’s degree of that caliber, how’d you end up as an event planner?”

“Well, believe it or not, the position does require historical knowledge,” you explained.  “I started in curation, though— just moved to events because I was too cooped up in the back offices… I like meeting new people.”

Although Jackson would never consider himself particularly empathetic, he did think he had a decent sense of people— specifically, when they were lying.  And that felt like a lie— a white lie, maybe, but still.  A lie you were telling yourself most of all, that this was what you wanted to do.  And it wasn’t that he really thought you disliked your job, moreso that his two weeks of following you did not indicate you harbored a strong desire to meet new people.  You were a total homebody: rejecting offers to go out for drinks or dinner from friends and coworkers, staying up late watching TV instead of hitting the town or something, shrinking into your room every night and staying there until it was time to go to work again.  He’d only seen you leave your house once that first weekend, and it was to pick up groceries— that’s it.  No hot date, no concerts… almost no social life at all.  Either you stayed late at the museum, or you went home.

And he also found that annoyingly attractive.  Jackson, after all, was a workaholic himself; he imagined he would go out and do fun things, if he had the time, but right now nothing sounded better than going home and cuddling up with a sweet girl like you, being lazy couch potatoes together, resting after a long day of espionage, cyberterrorism, actual terrorism, and whatever else his work day got him up to.

….Jesus, when did he get so goddamn sentimental?!

“It certainly seems like a unique job,” Jackson replied. 

“Every day’s a little different,” you agreed.

“Sounds like my job,” he snorted, “but I don’t work with other people much— I think it would be more entertaining with other people around.  Especially when they can tell me everything there is to know about Incan art.”

“Okay, I don’t know everything,” you backpedaled, not seeming to really notice the larger sentiment of his statement, “but I can certainly hold my own.  I like to think we all have something we know a little too much about, and could ramble for ages about.”

“Yeah, I hope so, or we’re just weirdos,” he chuckled.  “For me it’s probably cocktails.  I’m not an alcoholic or anything— I actually don’t drink that much, just socially, you know— but I have this thing where I can guess anybody’s favorite drink order.”

“Oh?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he smirked, “but hold on, I can’t guess yours until I really get the vibes.”

“Oh,” you nodded, “yeah— vibes, sure.”

“Hmm,” he pondered, narrowing his eyes as he looked you up and down, biting his lip like he was really thinking about it.

Here was the hard part: he really hadn’t seen you go out for drinks this whole time, so he was actually going to have to guess.  Of course, the fun part of this game was not actually getting it right— if anything, it worked better when he got corrected.  All he really needed was to get you alone long enough to tell you who he really was, what he needed from you, and how he was going to motivate you to do it… but if he could actually seduce you first, that would be a hell of a bonus.

“I’m thinking something a little sweet, not too fruity though,” he thought aloud, “something classic— you have an old soul, I think.”

You seemed to be a little surprised by that analysis, but he figured that meant he was mostly right.

“Your cocktail of choice is, obviously, a sidecar,” he announced.

For a second, he thought he might have got it from the way you smiled, but then you started to laugh.  “You were on the right track,” you admitted.

“Damn,” he snapped his fingers in playful frustration.  After a pause, he realized, “you’re not gonna tell me?”

“I figured I’d give you another guess,” you explained.

“Or,” Jackson countered, “I could take you out tonight, and you could show me yourself.  Your drink order, I mean.”

Alright, that was forward, but he figured he’d been doing well so far.  Instead, though, you tensed up a bit, causing Jackson to knit his eyebrows together for a moment.  “I would, really, but, I have plans tonight… with my boyfriend,” you said.

He swallowed behind a barely-suppressed frown.  Following you for all this time and he hadn’t noticed any boyfriend; were you lying just to get him to back off?  You’d seemed so flattered before.  “Oh?” Jackson tried to get out in his most neutral voice.  “That’s great— is he taking you somewhere nice?

“Even better,” you blinked quickly, a shy smile lifting your face.  “He works here at the museum, but he’s been gone almost an entire month to pick up some artifacts from around Eastern Europe… hasn’t even been able to use a phone out there.  So he’s promised to come over and give me a first look at everything he got, and apparently he’s brought something just for me, so…”

“That’s sweet,” Jackson replied, willing his nostrils not to twitch.  “Nice to know he was thinking of you all the way over there.  I travel a lot for my work, actually, and it’s… hard to find somebody loyal these days.”

You nodded in agreement, sighing slightly.  “Yeah, it is.”

“I mean, gone for a month, no communication, no reminders of you— just out there surrounded by opportunities and nothing keeping him from them,” Jackson went on.  “That’s a lot to get through without at least one drunken encounter.”

You furrowed your brow, looking at him with a sort of grimace.  “I… I guess,” you mumbled in reply.  “I do have a lot of work to get done so I think I’ll just let you explore,” you decided.

“What if I have more questions about the pieces?” he asked.

“Try reading the little plaque underneath it,” you suggested flatly, already turning and walking away.

Jackson watched to leave for a second before scoffing to himself.  Bitch.  But it didn’t make a difference anyways: one way or another, he was going to get to you— for the sake of the job, of course.  Although this boyfriend character was certainly a spanner in the works of his secondary plan to get you in bed, Jackson had to admit that he was ultimately an advantage for his actual purpose with you: an attachment, something he could exploit to get what he wanted.  Do what I say, or he gets hurt.

Of course, he knew he should use that to make you be his inside man for that stupid lecture series— he wasn’t going to get the second half of his payoff until the cartel had their chance to make an example out of the visiting politician.  But, as a small smile crept over his face while he walked out of the museum, he realized that he could use his leverage for so much more than that.

~

The door was unlocked when you got home; beaming, you realized it meant that your boyfriend beat you here, and was likely waiting for you just around the corner.

“Babe?” you called out, shutting the door behind you and shirking your purse and blazer to set down on the wooden credenza.

And yes, he was waiting for you around the corner alright, but you gasped in shock and felt your stomach sink when you saw him.  He was bound to a chair with zipties, restrained at his wrists and ankles with tape over his mouth, looking a bit roughed up and absolutely terrified.

“Oh my god!” you gasped, running to him, but he oddly seemed to pull away from you as much as he could when you tried to break one of the ties.  “What the fuck, what’s— oh my god, are you—?” you rushed, not even knowing where to start and just focusing on freeing him.  But he just kept letting out muffled grunts and shaking his head— like he didn’t want you to keep going.  Of course, you’d been so shocked by it that you hadn’t even considered why he looked so scared, why he seemed to want you to get away from him: whoever did this was still in the house.

It seemed obvious in retrospect, but it was too late now; you screamed when someone grabbed you, but the sound was muted by a hand over your mouth.  “Shh,” a voice beside your ear soothed as a blade pressed to your neck.  “Nobody’s going to get hurt if you behave.”

Your boyfriend hung his head defeatedly, and you thought you heard the sound of him crying though it was hard to tell.

“You missed him quite a lot, didn’t you?” the man asked, and you wrinkled your brows together as you wondered how he could’ve known that he was gone for a while.  “Left you all alone here, poor thing— probably got all worked up, lonely, needy… like three nights ago, when I saw you through your bedroom window, touching yourself."

Your face burned with humiliation— not even that he saw you doing that, really, but just knowing he'd been watching you for god-knows how long.  That made you feel more violated than anything.

“Wanted to help you so bad,” he purred, “but I had to wait.  I’m not waiting anymore— you’ve got me feeling pretty fucking impatient these days.”

You kept thinking about what you could do to get him away from you— his feet were just behind yours, you could stomp on his shoe and hope it hurt enough to distract him, or maybe you could wrench your elbow back into his side— but with the knife at your throat, you were afraid that he’d be faster than you if you tried anything.  “Please just— don’t hurt me, please,” you begged, whimpering a little, not sure what else to say at a time like this.

“Oh, honey,” he cooed, “you sound so sweet when you’re scared.”

It was the way he said that word: sweet.  It reminded you of before, something you’d done your best to forget about all day.  Something a little sweet, not too fruity— that weird guy at the museum, he’d said it just like that.  “Oh my god,” you breathed, “it’s— it’s you.”

“You remember my name, don’t you?” he smiled.

“Jackson,” you recalled, “you— oh my god—”

“I’m sure you’re a little relieved,” he chuckled, addressing your boyfriend with a grin as you turned your head enough to look up at his semi-familiar face.  “She was so into me when we met today at the museum,” Jackson informed him proudly.  “You wanted me to fuck you then, didn’t you, baby?”

“No I fucking di—” you began to deny with a sneer, but he quieted you with a finger over your mouth— of course, a finger from the hand still holding the knife, to remind you exactly why you should stop talking.

“Now, try anything, I might just have to hurt you— or, better yet, your shitstain boyfriend over there,” Jackson warned.  “I’m just waiting for an excuse to break a few of his fingers.  Don’t give me one.”

Swallowing, you shut your eyes for a longer moment— you couldn’t believe this was actually happening, like one of those horrific news articles you read before bed just to torture yourself.  Like one of those horror movies guys think are campy and fun but give you the most awful sick feeling because that could really happen.  And now it was really happening, and your first thought was somehow to wonder what you did wrong to let this happen.

“So, are you gonna be a good girl for me?” he asked, tilting his head down to look at you questioningly.

You nodded, but he wasn’t satisfied.

“Say it.”

“Yes,” you answered quickly, and he snarled with frustration.

“No, baby, say it like I said it,” he insisted, his tone a warning not to test him again.

“I’m gonna be… I’m gonna be a good girl…” you choked out.

“Whose good girl?” he taunted, and you groaned as you shut your eyes, feeling him pull you closer to him and press his face close to yours.

“Yours!  Your good girl,” you spat out, breath picking up as you heard him purr against your cheek.  “Jackson— please, you don’t… you don’t have to do this.  Please don’t do this.”

You shivered as the knife pressed against you again and moved from your neck down to your shirt, gently slicing off the top button and exposing a little more of your chest.  “Mm, but I want to,” he explained, “wanted you since I first saw you.”

You hated the realization that he likely first saw you quite some time ago, before you ever knew he existed, and that he’d been waiting for this ever since then.

“I think it turns you on, knowing I can do whatever I want to you,” he presumed, cutting off a second button from your shirt.

“Please just go,” you begged, starting to properly cry as his teeth grazed your neck.  “You’re right— you can do whatever you want.  I can’t stop you.  Isn’t that what you wanted to prove?  Just… just don’t make me—”

“Make you?” he repeated.  “No, no— you wanted me.  I could tell.  Only thing stopping you was him.”

He pointed towards your boyfriend with the knife in his hand, who looked devastated and horrified to say the least.

“You could do better, by the way,” Jackson informed you.  “You should be with somebody who can really treat you right.”

Another button fell to the floor; your bra was visible now, baby pink lace, and your nipples hardened from the cool air on your skin— that, and the way Jackson’s breath fanned across the nape of your neck.  

“Are you getting wet for me, baby?” he whispered to you as his knife trailed delicately over your skin, tracing the curve of your breasts.  “Think it’s time for me to finally give you what you need?”

You took a deep, but shaky, breath as you tried to put on a brave face and brace for what was to come.  “My… my bedroom is upstairs,” you whispered, and Jackson laughed in a way that made your skin crawl.

“Oh, eager already,” he taunted.

���I just wanna get this over with,” you insisted.

“Sure,” he said facetiously with a mischievous smirk and a wink to match; you felt like you were gonna be sick.  “But bedrooms are a little, you know… basic?  That’s probably what you’re used to, real traditional stuff: missionary, in the bed, in the dark, for a few minutes on weekends only.  That’s the vibe I’m getting, at least.  You’re not used to being with somebody romantic— you know, spontaneous.”

He turned you around to face him, making you yelp a little as he spoke by your ear.  

“Somebody who just has to have you; right here, right now,” he cooed, running his tongue along the outside of your ear before suddenly kissing roughly along your neck.

“N-no, please,” you begged, imagining the humiliation you were in store for if he really did fuck you on your living room floor in front of the man you loved.  “Please, I— I said I’ll be good for you, just— take me to my room, please.”

"No, baby,” Jackson purred as he held your chin, “let’s show your little boyfriend here what you look like when a real man fucks you, huh?"

Whining, you jerked your arms forward to try to break away, but it only ensured the bruises his fingers would leave on your skin.

A second later, you were shoved to the ground, and he was on top of you wearing a wide grin.  You could hear your boyfriend kicking and screaming in the corner, but your attention was more focused on Jackson starting to open his belt.  

"Fuck! Get the fuck off of me!" you yelped, kicking and shoving as hard as you could and finding each one more helpless than the last. "You— you fucking piece of shit!"

He smacked you across the face only to pull it back harshly by the jaw, glaring into your eyes. "Better be careful with that dirty mouth," he warned, shoving two fingers between your lips until you gagged on them. "Don't need to wash that out with soap, do we?"

As you choked, you shook your head, hoping it would be enough of an apology to get you some air.

"How about come?" he joked, making you gag for more than one reason, and he laughed at the tears that rolled down your temples.

He took his fingers out of your mouth and reached down to his fly again, letting out a small satisfied sigh as he freed himself.  You sobbed a little when you accidentally caught a glimpse of his erection in his hand; he grunted when you tried to push him off again, and responded by grabbing both your wrists and pinning them down above your head.  He hummed as he stroked himself a bit, looking down at you trapped under him.

“Thought you said you were gonna be good for me,” he recalled, chuckling when you bit your shaking lip.  “You sure you don’t need me to hurt Romeo over there, give you a little motivation?”

You shook your head.  “No— I’m sorry, I’ll do what you say.  Don’t hurt him.”

“Open your legs,” he ordered.  

Hesitantly, you lifted your legs up a bit and spread them, cringing at the happy groan you heard when your skirt started to roll up your thighs.  

“Don’t move your hands,” he warned before he let go of them, leaning back and looking down at you: spread out under him, his for the taking.

He snapped off the last few buttons of your shirt, humming when your torso was exposed further.  His hand started at your neck and ran down to grope your chest through the lacy bra; he purred, pinching your hardened nipples until you were forced to react.

Pulling it down, he took a quick breath at the sight of your bare tits— his chest rising and falling— and he set his knife aside to knead them both with a hum.  "Been thinking about these for a while…" he mumbled.  You gasped when he leaned down and captured a nipple in his mouth, suckling with a wide mouth as you scrunched your nose and looked away.  Still, it made your insides pulse when he swirled his tongue around, only to pop off a second later and move to the other.  "Damn," he breathed, leaning back again to move his attention lower.

Starting at your knees, he rubbed your legs carefully, moving a little higher every time until he was gripping needily at your thighs; his own breathing was a little faster as he did it.  

You hadn't exactly imagined how this would be, obviously, but you still were surprised at how long he was taking.  Was he just trying to build up the anticipation to scare you?  Or was it for his own benefit?

He was gentle for just a few seconds before suddenly flaring his nostrils and ripping your stockings open.  Through the new hole in the fabric, he rubbed your panties and you bit down on your tongue to avoid crying any harder.  

“Fuck,” he breathed, then laughed, as he pet your cunt through the lace— they matched your bra, of course.  Your boyfriend was coming back from a long trip, you’d wanted to do something nice for him… that idea backfired completely.  “All dressed up, matching and everything… you’re too good to me, babydoll.”

You were about to correct him, make sure both of them knew that this had nothing to do with Jackson, but your open mouth only let out a gasp when Jackson pulled your panties aside to touch you.

“Oh, baby,” he groaned when he slid two fingers between your lips.  “So wet.  Fuck.  When’d you get like that, huh?  Hmm, it was the knife, wasn’t it?”

He looked over at your boyfriend and gave him a terribly smug look while he slipped a finger inside your hole.

“Women like a sense of danger,” he informed the tied man flatly.  “But… I think your girl likes it even more than most.”

You flexed on his finger, turning his attention back to you, and he licked his lips as he slipped another finger in until you winced.

“That’s too much for you already, baby?” he noticed.  “Fuck, I might break you…”

He curled the fingers inside you, clearly trying to get you warmed up for him, and you shut your eyes tight in hopes your face wouldn’t show any reaction.  There was a sense of relief when he stopped and pulled his fingers out, but it didn’t last long since the next thing he did was grab your jaw and press those fingers to your lips. 

“Ever tasted yourself before?” he asked, and you tried to turn your face away but it was useless.  “Come on, it’s good, I’ll show you.”

He licked his own fingers first, moaning in satisfaction as he did it.

“Fuck, it’s sweet,” he promised.  “Now you try it.”

This time, when he put his fingers to your mouth, you opened it and let him push them inside.  He slid them over your tongue, watching you with dark eyes.

“Suck them,” he instructed you quietly, almost a whisper, and though your cheeks burned you wrapped your lips around his fingers and hollowed your cheeks.  “Mm, that’s it— see, you can be a good girl.  Knew you could.”

You were panting a little, for some reason, when he took his fingers away, leaving your mouth slack and wet.  He brought his hands down to his fly to finish freeing his cock, and you looked up, to the side, basically anywhere but at… that.

“Look at it,” he encouraged you, and you shook your head.  “Don’t you wanna see it before I put it inside you?”

You figured you could get him to shut up if you just did it, so you went ahead and took a glance down at his erection in his hand, only for a terrified whimper to catch in your throat.

“I can tell what you’re thinking,” he grinned.  “Trying to remember the last time you had a dick this big, right?”

Trying to figure out how that’s supposed to fit.

“Get on your hands and knees for me,” he demanded suddenly, sitting back enough to get you room to do it.

You hesitated, and he suddenly looked angry as he grabbed your wrist and yanked you up a bit until you yelped.

“Go on!  Hands and fucking knees, did I stutter?” he ordered, louder.

You were a little sore and weak all over, and it became even more apparent when you awkwardly got up off the floor; you avoided your boyfriend’s gaze as you took the position, opting to just stare down at the rug under you instead, suddenly fascinated by every detail in hopes it could somehow distract you from this.  From the feeling of him delicately pushing your skirt up over your ass and his hands all over you, from the way he pushed your knees apart with his own and settled between them, from the sick drop in your stomach as his cock’s head rubbed over your clit and lined up to your opening.  Yes, it sure was a riveting pattern on this rug alright…

But, of course, Jackson wouldn’t let you get through this that easily. “Beg for it,” you heard his firm voice from behind you.

“Jackson, come on, I—” you choked, “I— just—”

“It’s okay, babydoll, go on…” he egged you on, as if shyness was the reason you were hesitating.

“Please…” you began, shutting your eyes tightly.  “Please fuck me.”

You tried not to react too much when he pushed inside, but it was big, and he himself let out a husky groan at the feeling as he filled you.  You managed to stay silent at first, but a little squeak came out halfway through, and it turned into a loud sigh when he was all the way inside.  “Fuck,” he breathed, dropping his head back with a breathy laugh.  “Fuck, it’s tight.  Guess that’s what happens when nobody’s here to treat you right— and I don’t just mean because he was out of town.  I can tell nobody’s given you what you need in a long time…”

Before you could wonder what could possibly make him capable of telling that, he took a tight hold of your hips and began to fuck you— slower than you expected, but not quite delicate.

Shaking, you tried to keep yourself propped up on your wobbly arms as he set his pace, and tried to keep yourself quiet while he did this.  The last thing he needed was any more reasons to think you liked this.

Still, you couldn’t fight the whimper that came when he suddenly slammed himself into you, rougher than before; your thighs even quivered for a moment.  “Fuck,” you choked out, under your breath, and he hummed back at you as he sped up a little.

“Not too deep, is it?” he asked, though it didn’t seem like he was actually concerned for your well-being (obviously).  “Not used to anything this big, huh?”

You were afraid he was going to force you to answer that, but instead he surprised you by putting a hand between your shoulder blades and shoving you down; you gasped and grunted when your chest pressed to the floor, your face thankfully turned to the side against the rug— but unfortunately, it meant you were looking right at your boyfriend.  You had to shut your eyes, too ashamed that he was seeing you like this.

“There, you like that better?” he purred as he held your hips up against his, but the new angle only forced him deeper until you were choking on nothing with every thrust.  Your hands searched wildly along the floor for something to hold onto, but eventually just had to settle for gripping the rug for dear life.  “Mm, fuck, s’good— you feel so fucking good, baby…”

The compliment sent an unwilling shiver up your spine, and your back arched even deeper than he’d forced it to.  It was too much, it was all far too much, but your toes were curling inside your (ruined) pantyhose and you bit down on your lip without thinking about it.

“Oh, see how much she likes it?” Jackson grunted, apparently still addressing the captive boyfriend in the chair— you really wished he would just leave him out of this.  “Fuck, what a pretty little whore…”

Not only could he switch from sickly-sweet to rageful in a moment, but you realized that he could somehow seem to be both at once.  Still spitting out praises and insults all at one, he fucked you rougher and meaner as your moans— pain or pleasure, you couldn’t tell anymore and you didn’t want to— grew louder.  He kept getting more aggressive— harder and faster, harder and faster— until you were all but screaming and you couldn’t keep your hips up anymore.  Each thrust pushed you down until you were flat against the floor, but he kept fucking you and holding the back of your neck.  One thrust seemed to go too deep suddenly, and you yelped as you reached back to try to grab his thigh out of instinct.

“Shh, shh, s’okay, baby,” he assured with a hiss.  “Fuck.”

But he kept doing it, kept fucking you deep (if a little slower) as you whined and shook under him.  “Jackson,” you heard yourself breathe, “please— I-I can’t—”

“God,” he growled, “say my name again.  That’s so hot.”

You hadn’t meant it like that, but now it was too late.  “N-no,” you tried to deny, but that didn’t last long as he grabbed you by the hair and forced your head up, laying over you enough to speak right against your ear.

“Say. My fucking. Name,” he spat.

“Jackson,” you choked out against the strain on your throat from having your neck cranked back like this.  “Jackson, f-fuck—”

He groaned and dropped your head, propping himself up so he could fuck you faster again; his gaze moved down to where his body filled yours, where each thrust made your ass bounce under torn pantyhose…

As he slowed down for a moment, panting, you wondered if maybe it was almost over— maybe it already was, but that seemed too good to be true. He was still holding you down just as hard, anyway; he put his whole weight on your arms as he turned to look at your boyfriend tied up in the chair. 

"Does she do anal?" Jackson asked him point-blank.

Your struggle renewed as you screamed angrily— but you couldn't keep it up, it fell into a helpless sob a moment later. Your boyfriend didn't give much of an answer— couldn't, really, on account of the duct tape— just kicked around against his restraints again.

Jackson shrugged as he looked down at you crying under him. "Well, you do now," he decided, pulling out and spitting into his hand.

You’d never felt so helpless, laying there on the floor while he pushed his fat tip up to your puckered hole.  “Please,” you begged for mercy, but you didn’t even have the energy to lift your head from the rug and it was all muffled and pathetic.

“It’s really not that bad,” he insisted as he started to press forward, but your whole body jumped and you let out a loud whine when his head slipped inside with a sort of pop— all that pressure giving way to a sick, stinging stretch.

“Oh my god oh my god,” you whimpered, feeling goosebumps break out all over your body from the sharp pain.  “I can’t— please, I really can’t—”

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m gonna go real slow,” he promised under his breath, moaning loudly as he pushed in a little deeper.  Laying on the floor like this, there was really nowhere for you to go, no way to run from the feeling.  “Just breathe, long slow breaths— focus on staying relaxed.”

Frustratingly, it was actually pretty good advice; it certainly didn’t make it painless, but when you shut your eyes and thought as much about breathing and as little about anything else as you could, it helped.

“See?  Just relax, babydoll,” he whispered, but relaxing could only do so much as he slid the rest of the way in and you felt like your whole body might go numb.  Your eyes rolled back, your insides (all of them, it seemed) flexed, your heart was pounding… you felt sick, and disgusting, and used.

He breathed heavy as he laid his weight on top of you, slipping an arm under you to wrap around your shoulders and neck. 

"Fuck, that's a tight fuckin' ass," he grunted, laughing a little as he glanced at your boyfriend, slowly beginning to move again. "This one's got you spoiled, huh? How'd a loser like you get your hands on a perfect fucktoy like this?"

He bit down on the shell of your ear as he picked up his pace quickly— way too quickly— and soon he was growling each time he slammed his hips against your ass.  You couldn’t even tell what noises you were making anymore…

"But you're gonna be mine now," he whispered to you. "Oh fuck, s'all gonna be mine. Gonna fill these pretty holes of yours every fuckin' day."

You dropped your head down defeatedly onto the floor, though shocks of pain were still making your fingers and toes curl while he roughly fucked your other hole.

“Yeah, fuck, you fuckin’ like it,” he snarled as he fucked you faster.  “Needy little slut.  You like getting all your holes filled, huh?”

You simply bit down on your lip, not realizing it wasn't a rhetorical question.

"Answer me," he insisted.

"I-I don't like it," you said— quietly, because if you spoke any louder it would've been mostly unintelligible with sobs.

"Huh?" he taunted, leaning in closer.

"It hurts, Jackson," you choked, pleading.

“No?” he noticed, feigning shock with heavy sarcasm in his tone.  “Are you saying you don’t like it up the ass?”

“Please, please,” you choked out, “fuckin’ hurts— god, please, hurts—”

"You don't like it, sweetheart?" he cooed at you, cloying condescension dripping from every word as he roughly pet the hair out of your face. You whined and shook your head. "Well, I could always put it back in your cunt, would that make you feel better?"

He chuckled at your grimace of disgust.

"Is that too dirty for you?" he wondered, clicking his tongue.  "Aw, it's okay, just gonna give you what you wanted— hold still, baby."

You winced when he pulled out of your ass, only to whine as he slid back into your cunt; you hid your face, feeling how absurdly warm it had become from all this, and tried not to think about how dehumanizing what he had just done to you was.

He picked his pace right back up when he entered you, letting out a deep groan of satisfaction.  "Oh my god you're fucking dripping, is that from being fucked in your little ass?" he noticed. "Jesus Christ, wettest fucking pussy I ever had... somebody likes it dirty, hm?"

You wanted to deny it, but he wasn’t lying about your physical reaction; you were soaking, and you didn’t even know why.  It wasn’t like you found much pleasure in that experience physically, it was rather agonizing— and then there was the thought of it, of knowing you’d been used that way, and it just made you feel dizzy and weird.  Regardless, it was true… your body responded even when your mind was running in circles convincing itself there was nothing enjoyable about this.

“Such a pretty thing,” Jackson purred at you as he sped up again, shaking your whole body against the floor— that arm around your shoulders was the only thing keeping you from being pushed away, and he held you tightly like he really was worried you’d get away somehow, even though you’d stopped resisting quite a while ago.  

At least it didn’t hurt anymore— except that you were still a little sore, and he was holding you too tight and his weight made it hard to breathe, and you were probably going to get rug burn, and you felt disgusting.  But in a literal sense, it hurt less.

“Think I need to turn you over and get a good look at that pretty face,” he decided, pulling out of you and rolling you onto your back.  Maybe it was just because you knew it was only for a moment, but being empty wasn’t as much of a relief as you expected.  You were pretty much limp by this point, letting him turn you over and simply looking up at him blankly.  “Oh,” he said as he smiled proudly, “look how fucked out you look— and I’m not even done with you yet.”

Lifting your legs and pressing them against your chest, he slid back in until he was deeper than you thought possible, and you gasped and shivered helplessly.  “F-fuck, wait—“

He started to fuck into you quickly, and you nearly screamed, reaching down to try to hold his thigh or push him back or something to keep him from going so far inside you, but nothing deterred him.  For how drained you were a moment ago, the shock of this gave you renewed energy, and you hated feeling your walls bear down on him in sick, overwhelming pleasure.  “Oh god,” he moaned, “so fucking good.”

As hard as you were trying not to be loud, your efforts were lost when he reached down and roughly rubbed at your swollen clit; again, you tried to reach to stop him, holding onto his wrist and pushing his hand away with all your strength, but he bested you easily and kept going.  “Fuck!” you screamed.  “Please, please— it’s too much, I—”

“It’s okay, baby,” he soothed, watching proudly as your back arched and your head tilted back with a gasp.  

You hadn’t even realized you were building to an orgasm— you would’ve sworn you weren’t, before, but now you felt all sensitive and sticky, and his thumb on your clit was relentless, and the shivers that had been running all over you all evening were turning into hard, heavy jolts of— of something.  Something you’d been holding back longer than you realized.  Something you hadn’t felt in much, much longer than three weeks.

“It’s okay,” he kept encouraging you with a proud grin that turned into a growl through his teeth as he fucked you harder.  “Show him what it looks like when you’re not faking it, babydoll.  Show him who you really belong to now.”

“Please,” you cried, the word barely spoken and more just a shape you made around your cries.  If he didn’t stop now, you wouldn’t be able to, either; you were spasming uncontrollably, inside and out, it was just getting worse and worse (or better and better, depending on how you looked at it).

It felt fucking good.  You would die before you admitted it, but you didn’t have to— it was obvious.  And it was overtaking everything now, even your shame, until for one impossible moment, you were completely shameless.  You weren’t sure you had ever felt quite like that before— not just physically, but spiritually.  Shameless.  Even though all you’d felt until now was ashamed.  “Good girl,” Jackson praised you, though it was sort of lost on you as you were coming down from a high that hit you hard enough to not even feel real until it was nearly over.  

It was like time had slowed down, and then snapped back to superspeed, to hyperreality, when he finally pulled his hand away and let you have a small reprieve.  

"Fuck, I'm gonna come, oh my god," he gasped, his voice getting oddly high-pitched as he said it. "Want me to come inside, babydoll, or paint that pretty face?"

“Not… not inside,” you warned, just conscious enough to remember that.

“Mm?  Why not?” he smirked.

You were still blinking away the blurriness in your vision, panting, trying to process all that you’d just felt— so you really didn’t have any energy for stupid questions like that.  “What?” you just asked groggily.  “Why… why do you think?!”

He just laughed briefly— more like a hum— and kept going.  Of course, you should’ve known he’d do it once he realized your boyfriend didn’t; but wasn’t it enough that you and your boyfriend used condoms and Jackson had already gone past that?

“Just— just don’t,” you begged again, shut up with a firm hand over your mouth suddenly as he grunted lowly above you with each thrust.

“Fuck,” he said, a sort of warning though it wasn’t specific.  “Fuck!”

He bit his lip when it happened; you shut your eyes, not wanting to see his face all slack and flushed like that with his hair falling forward and his neck and jaw flexing.  But closing your eyes only made the feeling inside you more undeniable: the rush of warmth, the flexing against your walls as he pushed himself in as deep as he could.  You whimpered a little, though you weren’t sure it was audible to anyone but yourself, and Jackson sighed as he emptied himself into you.

He took his hand away with a deep breath, and all you did was let your mouth fall open and your eyes blink numbly— what else was there to do?

As he caught his breath, he laughed a little, very softly; he put his hands on the floor beside your head, propping himself up but letting his head hang down loosely for a second— he was still smiling.

“You’re… you’re really something else, you know that, babydoll?” he informed you.

You didn’t say anything, and he sighed again just before he pulled out— you both winced, for different reasons, and he took a moment to hold your legs open so he could look at what he’d done to you; you felt filthy and exposed like that, but you were too weak to try to stop him or even to close your legs.

“Now that’s just beautiful,” he decided in reaction to whatever he saw; you didn’t want to picture it, how stretched out and used up you must look, but you could feel his come oozing out, running down.

Some of the numbness was already wearing off, at least physically, and you were beginning to realize how purely un-ergonomic it was to get fucked on the floor.  Your back and shoulders were sore, your legs were tight when you finally got to lay them down again after being held up for so long… you tried not to imagine how long you’d be feeling the effects of this, wearing bruises and feeling knots and having to know exactly where they came from.

“Come on,” he mumbled as he lifted up your limp upper body, pulling you closer to him.  He held your face for a second, petting your cheek which was still a bit clammy with sweat.  “Kiss me,” he demanded, though he said it somewhat softly; you didn’t actually sit up and do it for him, but you let him press his lips to yours and you tried your best to half-heartedly mirror his movements as he did it.

He held your head and neck more firmly and slid his tongue into the kiss, making you whimper a little but that was the end of your protest.  You thought it was a little strange that he wanted to kiss you now, but maybe it was just a matter of claiming you in the final way since he’d pretty much covered all the others.

When he broke away, he brushed his thumb over your cheek and smiled at you sweetly.  

It’s over, you told yourself, hoping to feel more relieved.  It’s over, he’s finally done with you.  You did it.  It’s over.  But as those words repeated in your mind, you only felt emptier than ever.

“Look at your boy over there,” Jackson mumbled beside your ear, a smirk on his lips as he shook you a bit with the arm around you.  “You see it, don’t you?  He looks different now.”

You dared to glance at your captive boyfriend, who you realized you hadn’t heard muffled protests from in quite some time.  His eyes were bloodshot and swollen, but dark, too; his stare was heavy and piercing.  You suddenly felt sick.

“He looks at you different now.”

You bit down on your lip as it started to shake; you felt worse than ever with him looking at you like that.  Things hadn’t been perfect before he left— nothing’s ever perfect— but they were good, and easy, and now you felt like he hated you.  But what had you done wrong?  All you’d done was try to keep him unharmed by appeasing this awful, horrible person… 

Jackson had already been speaking quietly, but he dropped his voice down to whisper as he rubbed your shoulder.  “I don’t think he’ll look at you the same way ever again,” he posited, and you swallowed as your stomach dropped.  

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” you whispered under your breath.

“He’s never seen you like that before,” Jackson explained, “and he understands now that he can’t do for you what I can.”

Jackson brought his hand to his own chest as he said that, but then reached up to wipe up another tear that rolled down your cheek.  “Please,” you said, looking at your boyfriend though he wouldn’t meet your gaze, “don’t— don’t think that I— it’s not my fault!  I didn’t want this to happen!”

“Shh, you don’t have to lie anymore,” Jackson cooed at you, “we’ve all seen the truth now, it’s alright.”

You were exhausted, you were devastated, you were too overwhelmed to even feel terrified anymore; you dropped your head onto Jackson’s shoulder defeatedly.  After all you’d been through tonight, you were starting to lose track of what was real anymore.

He let you cry quietly against him for a while, petting your head, until finally breaking the silence.  “Now, the thing is, there’s actually just… one more thing I need you to do for me,” he admitted, and you started to cry harder again.

“Please— please, I did everything you asked,” you sputtered out through your tears, “you took.  Everything. From me.”

“Hold on, that’s not true,” he frowned, “you’ve still got your cuck boyfriend over there, even if he’s not quite what he used to be— you still love him, don’t you?  Can’t help that?”

“O-of course I do,” you insisted, feeling oddly guilty as you said it.

“So, you don’t want me to hurt him?” 

Even if this was the end— even if he would hold what was done to you against you, which would break your heart— you couldn’t have that on your conscience.  You shook your head.

“I didn’t think so,” Jackson nodded, “you’re too sweet for that.  I won’t hurt him, and I’ll let him go, if you promise to do what I ask you to.”

“What more… what more could you possibly want…” you breathed, shaking your head, trying not to imagine what else there was for him to do to you.

“Something a lot less fun than what I wanted before,” he smirked.  “What I need from you now is purely work-related.”

You wrinkled your brows together with a sniffle as you began to slowly compose yourself.  “Work…?”

“Let me tell you a little bit more about what I do for a living…”

[rainyyynightssss]

Twisted Wonderland

Reacting to you having trouble with other students

Characters: Trey, Jade, Floyd, Rook

Notes: Some violence

Trey Clover

You sit next to Trey at a library table, shoulders brushing up against each other as you both look at the textbooks splayed across the surface. You had been having trouble some of your classwork and it seemed harder than usual since you come from a world without magic. Trey, noticing your struggles, offered to help you study which was a compromise since you first asked to copy his notes.

You've been trying to focus on the notes and tips he's giving you instead of the lingering touches as he directs your hand to the next page, or the small praises he gives you after getting a question right, or his soft breath on your cheek as he leans close to check your work. No, you've been diligently studying and not feeling any kind of heat in your face.

"And what about this one?" Trey asks as he taps his finger on the open page in the textbook. You look down at the words and think for a moment.

"Um..so sublimation is...turning solids into gas...without having to go through the liquid phase?" You half-guess. Trey smiles and hands you another chocolate covered candy that he had called 'motivation'.

"Right again. You're better at this than you think." He says as he flips the pages over to the next question. You sigh and rest your face on your hand.

"I really should be compensated for all this trouble." You mention.

"The trouble of doing your work?" Trey chuckles, "I can whip something up for you later. Your favorite, of course." He winks.

Just as you're about to launch into a discussion about your favorite dessert, something hard is knocked into the back of your head. You whip around and find a couple of Heartslabyul boys passing behind you. One of them is holding a heavy book and smirking while the other two try to hide their snickers behind their hands.

You have no idea what you could have done to these boys. Sometimes just breathing was enough to piss off students at Night Raven College.

"Whoops. Wasn't paying attention." One of the boys says flippantly as he shifts the book to his other arm, nearly smacking you again. You rub the back of your head, ready to tell them off when one of them eyes the bag of candies on the table.

"Oh, Trey! Can we have some? Please!" The boy begs and his friends follow suit. Trey stares at them with a blank look for a few moments before smiling.

"Sure. Here you go," He hands them a handful of the chocolate candies each, "They taste better if you eat them all at once."

The Heartslabyul boys run off after receiving the candy without a thank you or an apology. You narrow your eyes at Trey.

"Awfully kind of you to give candy to my assailants." You sigh dramatically but Trey shakes his head.

"Something tells me they won't be enjoying this treat." He smiles again.

Suddenly, across the room, you can hear a chorus of "ewwww"'s followed by some coughing and gagging. You gape and turn back towards Trey.

"What did you change the taste to?" You ask in interest but he merely winks at you.

"I have no clue. It's just supposed to be chocolate." He responds innocently. His smile turns into a frown as he gently rubs the back of your head where you were hit.

"I'm sorry I couldn't do more. Though if it's any consolation, Riddle will probably deal with them after he finds out just how severe their lack of manners are." Trey offers.

You think his caresses on your head like you're something that needs care is consolation enough. But you don't say that, instead leaving your head on his shoulder and closing your eyes. Trey closes the textbooks and wraps an arm around your waist, done with studying for today but he didn't need an excuse to want to hang out with you.

Jade Leech

You finish taking a couple's order down on the notepad Azul provided to you and walk back towards the kitchen. You've been taking a couple shifts at the Mostro Lounge in order to pay off some of the damage Grim has caused by being...everywhere. Azul was benevolent enough to take you in and you just managed to slip through signing a contract with him, much to his chagrin.

Jade took on the responsibility of showing you the ropes, a little too eagerly which you found suspicious. He did tell you everything there is to know about serving and walked you through it. He didn't get irritated after you accidentally dropped a dish or forgot to add an appetizer a table ordered. Or at least you assumed he didn't since his smile never changed. Though you did notice that waiters who messed up one too many times were taken to the back by Jade. You hope that'll never happen to you.

You pass by Jade as he carries an abnormal amount of plates on his arms towards a table. He nods at you with his smile, not a hint of strain on his face.

"You have a new group at table 13. They can get a bit unruly so I'll-" Jade starts but you take the plates containing drinks off his hand.

"No, I got it! Thanks, Jade!" You tell him before dashing off to table 13. While you are definitely in this for the money, you also couldn't help but want to impress Jade and show him that his training was not in vain.

As you approach the table, you can already hear the group of boys chatting and laughing. You set the drinks down and give them a smile, readying your notepad.

"Are you guys ready to order or do you need more time?" You ask.

"What does it look like?" A blondie responds dryly. The rest of the boys stare at you like they're wondering if you passed elementary school.

"That you're...ready?" You guess awkwardly. The blondie rolls his eyes and the rest scoff, their assumptions about your schooling seemingly confirmed.

"Obviously we need more time." Another says and you nod, turning around to leave.

"I'll be back soon then-"

"Where are you going? We're ready to order." You turn back around to find the blondie smirking. Your hands tighten on your notepad and you fight to keep your smile. How did Jade do this all the time?

"What can I get for you?" You keep your eyes focused on the notepad, hoping that will lower your irritation.

"Can I get...uh..." You listen to one of them mumbling before a loud yelp is heard. You look over to see Jade gripping the wrist of the blondie who is frozen in fear and wincing. His grip is so tight that the boy's hand is turning white. You also find that the hand being gripped is dangerously close to touching your bottom.

"Harassing waiters in our lounge is strictly against our policy. I'll have to ask you to leave." Jade says, still smiling as ever. Though this time, you could see the strain in him, not from fatigue but something more lethal.

"I-I wasn't-" The boy tries to plead but Jade only tightens his grip.

"Wasn't trying to touch them? Well, security cameras will be the judge of that." Jade responds and the boy breathes a little easier.

"And so will I." Jade adds before snapping the wrist of the blondie, causing him to scream in pain. The boy flies out of the booth and stumbles towards the exit, crying as he holds his flailing wrist. Jade turns back towards the group.

He doesn't have to say a word since the other boys quickly sprint out of the lounge. You look between the exit and Jade in shock.

"Uh, well, thanks, I think. That might've been a bit excessive..." You trail off and Jade merely wipes a spot on your shoulder one of the fleeing boys must have brushed past.

"Are you alright? You can take a break in the back. Azul does time them though." He tells you and you shake your head with a smile.

"I'm alright. I only have half an hour left anyways. Hopefully those guys won't be back." You eye the exit but Jade takes your arm and leads you to you next table.

"They have an incentive not to. And if they do," He leans down close enough so that you could see the sharp edges of his teeth, "You'll tell me, won't you?"

Floyd Leech

You sit at your desk in Professor Trein's class, listening to him drone on as you take down notes. You always tried hard to pay focus in classes, which annoyed a certain eel sitting right behind you. He often pestered you in this class and you wondered why he didn't have anything better to do, like pay attention.

As Trein turns around to write something on the board, something soft and crinkly hits the back of your head. You look behind you to see Floyd grinning and pointing at the floor. You roll your eyes as you see a crumpled up paper on the ground. Curiosity got the best of you and you open up the paper.

Bored??? I am! Let's ditch!

You write a big, fat NO over his words on the paper and throw it back at him. Trein faces the class again to lecture and you can practically feel Floyd's dramatic sigh as he flops back in his chair.

"Can I see your notes?" Your seatmate asks you as he peers over at your notebook. You scoot your notes closer to you. Just last week, your seatmate had 'accidentally' tripped you while you were walking up to the board.

"Haven't you been taking your own?" You mutter.

"Yeah, but I wanna see yours." The boy starts tugging on your notebook and you try to pull it back.

"No, would you let go?" You hiss as you try to keep hold of your notes. The boy grabs your wrist to try and pull your hand off but he freezes as a looming shadow falls behind him.

"Wanna use my notes? I've got plenty." Floyd grins, all teeth.

The boy stammers, unable to say anything. Floyd grabs his hair and yanks his head back, staring straight down at him.

"Can't hear me? Should I talk louder?" Floyd asks with a giggle as he pulls on the boy's hair harder.

"Leech!" Trein reprimands. Floyd huffs and lets the boy's hair go, sending him reeling into his desk. You glance back at Floyd.

"You didn't actually take any notes, did you?" You ask.

"Sure I did." Floyd hands you his notebook. There's a couple of bullet points about a new takoyaki recipe he wants to try. He also added some doodles of an eel and a tiny shrimp.

Rook Hunt

You sigh as you write your woes down into a journal you started keeping a couple months ago. A group of Pomefiore boys have been bothering you for a while. They constantly put down your looks, calling it critique without giving any helpful tips nor was any of it even asked for. Even when you tried to avoid them on your way to see the vice housewarden, they still managed to corner you every now and then.

You finish writing and toss your notebook on your desk that sits right under your window. You think things may be better tomorrow as you rest your head on your pillow.

***

You head down the path towards the illustrious path that houses the Pomefiore students. Rook had messaged you in the morning, urging you to come by and see a "most beauté activity". You have no idea what this entails but it might be worth checking out.

You find Rook in a grass clearing just behind the dorms. He has his fingers in a square shape as he gazes at something in the distance. He sees you and gasps in surprise, grabbing both of your hands in his.

"Mon lumière! I'm overjoyed that you've accepted my invitation!" Rook spins you around.

"I can tell," You laugh a little, "What's this activity though?"

"I'm glad you asked! You see, I've been wanting to sharpen up my archery skills. The art of the bow and arrow is simply dur mais juste." Rook tells you.

"And you remember I mentioned wanting to watch?" You guess.

"Exactement! I already have the targets set up and all you have to do for now is watch." Rook takes you further down the clearing and your eyes widen in horror. The Pomefiore boys that have been bothering you were tied up to a row of trees, their mouths gagged and a juicy, red apple sits precariously on each of their heads.

"...What is this?" You ask hesitantly.

"Like I said, mon lumière, target practice! Now stand behind me and watch as I pull the drawstring..." Rook's eyes are hyper focused as he points an arrow at one of the boys whose screams are muffled behind the rope.

"Rook, there is something very wrong here!" You shout in concern. He releases the tension in the bow and points the arrow at the ground. He stares at you for a moment before lighting up again.

"You're right! You should be the one pulling the arrow. Such an eye for beauty you have." Rook sighs happily as he stands behind you and places the bow and arrow in your hands. They shake unsteadily as you hold them. There was no way you were going to be able to hit the apples.

"Rook, this isn't-" You gasp as he uses your hands to pull the drawstring and the arrow shoots forward. You squeeze your eyes shut and hear the sound of four consecutive hits.

You slowly open your eyes and see four arrows perfectly shot in the middle of each apple, no doubt due to magical intervention. The group of boys sob in fear, not realizing it wasn't their heads that got hit.

You take a deep breath and look behind you at Rook who seems as pleased as ever.

"Did you know those guys have been bothering me?" You ask with narrowed eyes.

"How would I know that?" Rook responds with a smile.

"So you just happened to pick them out?"

"I needed targets. Who better than those who can't appreciate true beauté?"

You'll be moving your journal to a more secure location.

[totaly-obsessed]

Nerves

Alessia Russo x reader request

-> Reader navigates the uncertainties of her career, academic studies, and the pressures of her first senior England camp, finding solace and comfort in her relationship

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

As a female football player your future career was not guaranteed - one wrong step and all this could be over. Your dream and passion since childhood days could be over.

Anxious as you were, you decided to do something on the side, educate yourself further, and so that it wasn’t as far off from your day job, you had started to study sports science two years ago. The choice of study had been made quickly, after all, you couldn't imagine a life away from the pitch.

Alessia, your girlfriend, stood fully behind you - ready to drive you to the few in-person lectures you had. The blonde would do anything for you. Washing dishes, doing the laundry, sweeping, cooking? One little smile from you and the housework-allergic striker turned into a housewife.

Being called up to your first-ever senior England camp had not been in the plans. Sure it was always something you thought about, especially when Less left for the camps, but you never thought that you would make it this far.

Your girlfriend however had a feeling that you would join her this time - and she was proven right when Sarina called you. The blonde jumped up and down in celebration, pulling you up with her. But once she saw the tears streaming down your face, you were in her strong arms, ready to dry them with her sweater.

The weeks leading up to camp were anything but relaxing - one exam after the other. And they wouldn’t stop for a couple of days either. 

Alessia had been watching you wear yourself thin, most days were filled with practice, media, recovery, and games. Nights were spent studying methods to reduce the risk of sports injuries and strategies for rehabilitating injuries when they occur as well as analyzing the social and cultural aspects of sports participation, organization, governance, and marketing.

If the half-Italian was honest, she didn't understand most of the things you were reading about. Making one flashcard after the other in desperate attempts to get it in your head as she watched the circles under your eyes darken.

The day you left for camp she had been hopeful that things would change from now on. You were out of the comfort of your home, confronted with new and old acquaintances and friends.

But of course, it didn't go as planned.

“Are you sure that you even have a girlfriend, Less?”

You had barricaded yourself in your room for the third evening in a row, trying to prepare for the last exam as well as you possibly could.

“We’ve been over this Tooney, just a few more days!”

The following Monday Alessia had woken you up early, shaking you softly as a paper stuck to your cheek. You had fallen asleep on the desk, and by the look of the untouched bed, this probably wasn't the first time either.

“Buongiorno amore mio, è ora di svegliarsi!” Time to wake up? No that couldn't be.

But a glance at the watch on the wall confirmed your girlfriend's words, you really had to get up now. “Thanks, Lessi.”

A soft peck on the lips later and your girlfriend was willing to help you get ready, or rather gather your things and pack your bag while you were in the bathroom. 

The car ride to your Uni had been peaceful. Just you and Alessia. It hadn't been like that for a while as you were always studying.

“I’m sorry for being a shit girlfriend lately, Less.”

The blonde's head snapped over so fast that you couldn't even blink. “Don’t you dare say that! You’ve been such a good student, and after this, I won’t let you go that easily.”

“Less, eyes on the road!” your clumsy girlfriend had filled with sudden rage at your guilt, headed straight towards a tree on the side of the road.

“Whoops.”

Alessia could see an immediate difference in you when you sat down in her car again. You felt happier. Not a single word was lost in regard to the exam when it had been all you could talk about before. 

While you felt freer you still looked and were incredibly tired, something even Tooney could see, who had been excited to get your lively person back. She missed her go-to person when Less was boring and wouldn’t run around like a crazy person with her.

So when you refused to play darts with her, clinging to your girlfriend on a couch, she was incredibly disappointed. 

“C’mon, I just got you back - play with me before you go back to fucking London!” But the brunette's whining just earned her a shove from her best friend.

“Leave us alone Ella.”

A whisper went through the room, everyone quietly watching as they glared at each other while you snuggled deeper into Lessi’s neck, desperate to sleep.

“No fair! You have her all the time!” She looked like a little kid whose toy had been taken away. And in a way it had been.

“I don’t care Ell-”

“Okay, off Ella!” It was Mary who pulled the angry chihuahua off Alessia's legs and now pointed up at the stairs, “You two, upstairs!”

The blonde didn’t hesitate and stood up, careful not to jostle you too much as she made her way up the stairs. Ella could only watch, mouth wide open, as you waved her goodbye, your head resting on your girlfriend's shoulder.

“You brat!”

[benedictscanvas]

pretty boy, pretty girl - jamie tartt x reader

pairing: jamie tartt x fem!reader

word count: 2.1k

a/n: okay yes. it has been six months. which is actually mad to me, but there we are - whoops! i've been off following my dream and wrote this while procrastinating an assignment, so this is by no means a return!! honestly i was just itching to write it, but i don't know how much time i have for more - enjoy nevertheless <3

warnings: just a little bit of suggestion towards the end, reader is referred to as 'pretty girl' as the title implies amongst other pet names, quite a lot of swearing (some things don't change)

---

“Hi love.”

Jamie barely murmurs it as he walks past you, can’t help himself but to drag a palm along your back, one shoulder blade to the other, as he goes. 

He knows he’s bold sometimes, but he swears it’s instinct. He glances back to see whether your expression holds any discomfort, but all he finds is your grin, a tiny wave. He continues on his path towards the canteen, knowing that your corridor conversation with Rebecca is probably important.

Somewhere between here and there, he decides to get your lunch, your usual, and sits alone on a table until you appear.

You do, three and a half minutes later. As soon as he sees you, the irrepressible urge to make you grin again is back with a vengeance. He waves you over to his table with a gesture to the food he’s got for you and- there it is again.

If he was a slightly smarter man, maybe he’d consider why all it took was the sight of him to draw your lips upwards, set your eyes alight.

“Thought I’d save y’ from the queue,” he speaks, still soft, in a tone he feels he only uses with you. You match his unnecessary low volume.

“Thanks, angel,” you say easily, and you must not see his stomach doing flips, “Too good to me, you are.”

“Shut up,” he deflects, wonders if you can see him fluster at your nickname for him, “Are you still coming tonight?”

You groan. He frowns, and you quickly correct.

“Sorry. It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah, you sound proper convinced, an’ all.”

You chuckle, taking a bite out of your sandwich and taking a pause to chew. Jamie eats too, content to let you think before you speak. It was slowly teaching him to do the same.

“I’m just boring, Jamie. My favourite people are all under this roof, but usually they’re sober, you know?”

He often forgets you don’t really drink. Your friendship (however sour that word feels in relation to you) usually confined to these halls, to the pitch, to various football stadiums up and down the country. When they all get a chance to let loose, you’re very quick with the excuses, but he’s believed them blindly until this moment.

“Shit, y’ don’t drink, right? I can’t imagine that’s much fun in a club. I won’t tell anyone if you happen to come down with an illness or somethin’ this afternoon.”

You’re grinning at him again, all bright and sunny. It’s downright infectious, so Jamie nudges your foot with his on purpose and then apologises like it’s an accident.

“You’re alright,” you reassure, “I will join tonight. Even if it just proves to myself I’m not missing out on anything. Maybe Colin’s not as bad a drunk as I’ve been led to believe.”

Jamie winces.

“No, he is pretty bad,” he admits and then finally comes up with something to make you more comfortable, “Hey, what about this? I won’t drink either and we can spend the evening laughin’ at everyone else.”

You poke his hand and he tries not to drop his crisp packet.

“It’s everyone’s ‘relax and recharge’ night, Ted said. We both know you relax much easier with a few drinks in you. And I’d never judge anyone for that, I really hope it doesn’t come across like I’m judging any-“

“It doesn’t, sweetness,” he cuts in, “But actually, I’ll relax better if I’m one hundred percent positive that you’re relaxing too. What better way than judgin’ everyone else, together like?”

You purse your lips thoughtfully, mid-chew. He feels like he’s holding his breath, like he’s underwater and you’re in charge of the oxygen tank.

“Well, see how you feel when we’re there. It sounds lovely but only if you’re still up for it when we’re right next to a bar,” you say, still unconvinced. He wants to convince you fully, but he can’t decide if he should argue with you or kiss you silly before you speak again, “Hey, if not, I’ll buy you a drink?”

“Pretty sure that’s my line, love.”

“I said it, I meant it. Girls can buy drinks for pretty boys, you know.”

He thinks you might have removed his oxygen tank now. There’s some cruelty in that sentence but you don’t know you’re wielding it. He wills himself to flirt back even though it’ll only make him feel sick.

“Okay, pretty girl. One passionfruit J2O, please.”

Another grin. He’s so fucking fucked.

---

He’s been waiting for you for around forty minutes. He doesn’t know if that’s the normal amount of time you take to get ready, even if he wishes he knew, so he just waits, leaning against his car.

After fifty, he decides there’s no harm in just checking you’re alright and haven’t slipped on a sparkly floor that an evening cleaner has done a number on.

You mentioned going to the kit room to get changed, and he meets Will on his way there.

“Hey mate, you seen Y/N?”

Will looks paler than he’s ever been. Guilty. Jamie narrows his eyes and waits.

“Kit room.”

It’s all that Will says. When Jamie doesn’t walk off immediately, still waiting for an explanation for Will’s strange demeanour, Will turns around and legs it all the way down the corridor, turns left at the end and never returns.

Jamie shakes his head and continues in the direction of the kit room. The closer he gets, the more he hears. Muffled banging, shouting. He picks up the pace.

“Y/N? Love?”

“Jamie! Jamie, in here!”

Your voice floats out from the kit room and he hurries over. Still very confused, Jamie turns the door handle and finds the door won’t budge, however hard he shoves his shoulder against it.

“It’s locked, babe. Did you lock it?”

He hears your exasperated sigh and feels a little embarrassed.

“No I didn’t bleeding lock it! Well, I did, when I was getting changed, but then when I unlocked it my side it had been locked from the outside.”

Jamie struggled to put the dots together. Had Will locked you in? Judging by the running, he had… and he’d done it on purpose. A spark of anger shot down Jamie’s spine but he tried to convince himself there must be a reason.

Before he could, there was a hand on his on the door, pulling him away. It was being unlocked by another hand and then he was being shoved inside, hard enough to stumble against one of the benches. A piece of paper was thrown at his face and Jamie groaned as he heard the lock click back in place.

“What the fuck?” he muttered as he stood up fully, more dazed than angry now as he stared at the locked door.

“Jesus, Jamie, are you alright? Who the fuck was that?”

“I dunno,” he says, staring at the door as if it might have answers. Your hand on his face wakes him up, his eyes shifting to yours where you look him over with concern.

“You’re alright, though?”

You ask it like you need the answer, and Jamie needs you to stop trailing a finger along his hairline either way.

“Fine, love,” he assures you, patting the juncture between your shoulder and neck gently until your hands drop to your sides. Then he raises his voice, and he’s not really talking to you anymore, “Whoever’s locked us in here as some kind of joke won’t be fuckin’ alright though!”

No answer. He picks up the small piece of paper from the floor and reads it in his head.

Tell her, you prick.

He’s actually going to hit Roy with his car. Lightly, definitely not enough to damage him, but enough to really, really piss him off.

This was all some ridiculous attempt to make him tell you how he felt about you? Absolutely not. Never. He wouldn’t be coerced into something so delicate, so important.

“What’s it say?”

You’re peering over the top of the paper, but he folds it in two before you can read anything. His chuckle comes out strained.

“It says: Get fucking pranked. Must be Roy, he’s probably scared Will into helpin’ him, the fucker. I’m afraid it’s payback for putting all his socks on the ceiling last week, babe, an’ you’ve been caught in the middle.”

You pause, staring at your shoes. For some reason, you look far more forlorn than the situation calls for, but it’s gone before he can think about it further.

“On the ceiling?”

He nods and you giggle. It’s only as you step away from him in your laughter that he realises how close you had been. He should’ve savoured it.

It’s also only as you step away that Jamie finally gets a glimpse of your outfit and nearly reaches out to the nearby bench for strength. He’s never seen you in a v-neck anything before, let alone a dress, and he thinks it might do him in.

“You look good,” he says lamely, then tries again, “Great. Fan-fuckin’-tastic, I mean.”

“I like that last one,” you smile, ducking your head. He thinks, or rather hopes, you’re a little flustered, “Fan-fuckin’-tastic happens to be what I was going for.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, words gone as soon as he’d found them. And now he was staring. Shit.

“I like your suit,” you say, maybe breathless yourself. It must be his ears. You reach up as if you might fiddle with his lapel but just point towards it before your hand drops again. You practically fall down onto the bench you’re both stood beside and he follows, ever obedient, “Shame no one else will ever see it. How long do you think we’ll be stuck here?”

The suit isn’t for anyone except you. That’s what he’d say if he had any stupid bravery. He’s an awful coward, he thinks.

“Until Roy gets bored or Keeley finds out I reckon,” Jamie guesses, “Y’ wanna play I-spy?”

You sigh, but when he peeks at you out of the corner of his eye, you’re grinning your silly, lovely grin again.

“I spy with my little eye…”

---

It is around 11pm, when Jamie has not long fallen asleep against the jacket he had scrunched behind his head, that he feels your hand on his ankle. He can tell, as he wakes without opening his eyes, that you’re not trying to rouse him. The touch is light, feathery. Maybe an accident.

No, not an accident. It wouldn’t have lasted this long, and your thumb is drawing absentminded circles into his ankle bone. You think he’s asleep and you’ve reached out to hold him anyway.

He opens his eyes but doesn’t move. His legs are stretched out on the bench in front of him and you sit upright next his sock-clad feet, one hand on his bare ankle. You’re staring at a piece of paper so intently he wonders what could possibly be so interesting.

“This doesn’t say get fucking pranked, Jamie,” you murmur, and his hand flies to his jacket pocket. It must have fallen out when he slumped into a slumber. He’s sat up in a blink, watching the hand that had been so soothing, fall back at your side suddenly.

“I’m sorry. Shit. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“No, don’t,” you insist, still staring at the piece of paper. Instead of whirling on him for answers, you reach calmly into one of the boot cubbies beside your head and pull out a piece of paper from one of the boots. You chuck it at him without looking.

He unfolds it with careful, if shaky, hands.

Tell him, you silly shit.

It takes him an absurdly long time to understand what the hell this second piece of paper means. Later, when the two of you look back on this moment (and you do so often), you’ll wonder how he could have been so dense and he’ll spin you a line about how too good to be true it all felt. But in the moment, he has no lines and no words, until your hand lands heavy on his knee this time.

“Jamie,” you say softly, through a grin that is so different from your usual that he could pass out. It’s so beautiful and so strikingly lovesick that he thinks he might actually be sick, “What do you have to tell me?”

“What?”

He feels dumber than he’s ever felt. But your hand is still on his knee and now you’re shuffling closer to him on the bench.

“What do you have to tell me?” you repeat, then you poke his chest playfully as you add, “You prick.”

He still looks confused, so you clearly decide the best way to catch him up is to kiss him.

You pull away after a moment, a moment of pure heaven, because clearly you don't want to kiss him fully until he's all clued in.

"Come on, pretty boy," you say, teasing, "Figure it out. I was going to buy you a passionfruit J2O. It's the sign of all signs."

He should be laughing at your joke, but all he really wants to do is kiss you again. And again.

Maybe again.

"Oh pretty girl," he says, and he feels the rumble of his low tone in his chest. He places a hand on your face, fingers itching at your hairline, "I'll tell you anything ya wanna hear, I swear. Anythin'."

He hears your breath hitch, but he feels it too, where the meat of his palm is covering your neck.

"Anything?" you answer back, "I could have a lot of fun with this."

You scrunch up your brow like you're thinking and he's so stupidly in love with you that he just tells you. Too-soon be damned.

"Smooth talker," you laugh, giddy, and you kiss him again. And it's so good that he doesn't even remember you didn't say it back until hours later.

(at which point, you say it back so many times and in so many ways, Jamie is certain that he's the luckiest man in the world. he might not hit Roy with his car after all)

[aliceinborderlandsquidgame]

Yandere AIB Boys seeing their S/O being kissed by another person

Summary: Someone is dying today~

Notes: Takes place in the Borderlands - Canon violence - NSFW - Abuse - Yandere - Blood - MDI - +18 -

♤ Chishiya

No one will notice his mood change when he sees how someone dares to kiss you. He is well collected and has to pretend to not be obssesed with you so people wont use you against him. However he is beyond mad.

Feels like he needs to remind you who you belong to (you are not sleeping tonight) and also find a way to get ride of that person but in a way no one connects their death to him.

Will probably betray them in a game or poison them at the beach.

♤ Arisu

Its going over you the moment he sees it happen. Pushing the other person away from you then making sure you are alright. He is so caring and soft with you!! No one will think that same night he decides to pay a visit to said player and kill them while they sleep. He will chock them with their pillow.

You dont need to know you soft and caring boyfriend can be a maniac sometimes.

♤ Banda Sunato

The one who kisses you was asking for their death and Banda its more than happy to provide it!!

You are his, and only his. He wont wait to kill this person, this person dies in front of you in the most brutal and sadistic way you can imagine.

As crazy as he is its not a suprise Banda insist on having sex besides the corpse, the lifeless eyes looking at both of you as Banda grunts and repeats how he is the only one who can kiss you.

♤ Tatta

Baby boy its insecure and asks you why you let them kiss you. He guilt trips you and makes you question your love for him (one that was fabricated and manipulated by him). Tatta does not like fights but he can let this pass.

Will ask them to help them with the cars and then whoops!! An accident just happened and they died.

♤ Karube

Goes to the scene, separates both of you and then punches the other person. Its goig to beat them up till someone drags him away. He later asks if you are alright and decides you need more marks on your body to show others who you belong to.

♤ Aguni

Takes the person by their neck and throws them away. No one dares to do something. Soon that person is being taken by the other militars to never been seen again.

Dont worry he will cuddle you and say he is sorry for not being there.

♤ Kuzuryu

Probably happened when he was not around and overhear it as gossip. Its a hit at his ego since he has power at the beach and people knows you are his.

Once he finds out who was it he wont kill them but make their life at the beach terrible. Giving them more tasks, making them the target of others, and just...ends beimg seen as an object.

You may ask him to tone it down but he wont do it, will kiss you and ask you if their kiss was better (please be a brat he will have so much fun with you at night).

♤ Niragi

He did not shot them on the spot because you were in the middle. Once you are apart he is beating them up and no one dares to grab him. Once there is a pull of blood under them its when he stops and tells the rest to fuck off and to not help them (if they are not dead by now).

Ends taking you back to his room and asking if you are fine then rambling about who they thought they were to kiss you.

[moni-logues]

Practice

Pairing: Namjoon x f. reader

Genre: pwp, smut, established relationship

Summary: Namjoon has a baby niece and it gives you both baby-making thots. Time to get some practice in.

Word count: 2k

Content: unprotected sex (but reader is on birth control); oral sex (f. receiving), lil bit of biting

A/N: I think this was a request? Pretty sure because I don't tend to have baby-making thoughts lmaooo not even for Joon 😂 this has been moderately edited but please forgive any typos lmao I've been belting out ballads as I've been writing whoops

You stared, transfixed, at the tiny, precious bundle in your arms as she yawned widely and shut her eyes. You lowered your head to give hers a big sniff. Who knew what that smell really was? A scent that all brand-new babies shared and no one had yet bottled. Intoxicating. 

“God, smell her, Joonie. Isn’t it the best?”  

Namjoon did as you instructed and grinned. 

“Yeah, it’s pretty good.” 

You gently leant back and Joon scooted closer, resting his chin on your shoulder, both staring down at the tiny human in your arms. She was brand new – brand new! not even a week old! – and utterly perfect: enormous dark eyes framed by the thickest, darkest lashes you’d ever seen; podgy little thighs and miniscule fingers curled into the softest little fist. It almost brought you to tears. You couldn’t believe how perfect she was.  

You had hoped that his sister bringing new life into the world would have distracted his family from asking you and Joon when you would get your act together and marry… In a way, it had: they just started asking when you would be having kids. His sister and her husband hadn’t been together that much longer than the two of you had, but had somehow made it down the aisle and into the maternity ward already. You and Joon had talked about having kids ‘sometime’, ‘in the future’, ‘when we’re ready’. You had to admit this was accelerating those timelines. You couldn’t help but think about what your baby might look like, what Joon would be like as a dad, what you’d be like as a mum. Your heart clenched at the thought. 

* 

“I can’t believe I’m an uncle,” Joon says as you enter your apartment later that evening, kicking off his boots and shedding his puffer coat. “I don’t feel old enough! I’m not grown-up enough to have a niece!” 

“Get used to it, old man! This is just the start!” You laughed as you took off your scarf, gloves and hat. “Wasn’t she perfect?” 

Namjoon wrapped you in his arms and kissed you lightly. You shivered, maybe from the change in temperature from the cold outside. Maybe.  

“She was pretty perfect, but I reckon our babies will be better.”  

He kissed you again. 

“Oh, our babies, eh? Tell me about them.” 

“I think we’ll have three,” he began as he kissed your neck. “Two boys and a girl, boy first. Close together in age so they can be close. Obviously, they’ll have your eyes-” 

“And your brain.” 

“And your heart.” 

He tightened his grip on you and kissed you deeper. 

“And when are we expecting these kids to come along?” 

He pretended to think about it for a moment. 

“Well, the first one probably in about nine months’ time, what do you say?” 

He grinned at you and you laughed. 

“Wow, one niece and that’s all it takes? Have you thought this through?” 

“Ah, we can practise, can’t we? It does make perfect, after all.” 

“You’ve got a point.” 

Namjoon swiped an arm over the sideboard, shifting keys and bags and wallets onto the floor, and then he lifted you onto it, kissing your shoulder and your neck and your jaw. You hadn’t expected such a reaction from him, hadn’t thought that he’d be the one needy and desperate after an hour in a baby’s company, but you weren’t complaining. Far from.  

You grabbed his hair to pull his face to yours and you kissed him hard, taking his bottom lip in your teeth. His hands found their way under your jacket, under your jumper, and he ran a thumb over your nipple, cupping your breast as his tongue tangled with yours. You were quick to pull Namjoon’s hoodie off and quicker to be frustrated by layer after layer of warm clothes. You were burning up all over, the cold outside a long-forgotten memory now. All you could feel was the heat, on your skin, in your core, between your body and his. You were simmering, the flame growing taller, licking across your hips, down your thighs.  

Namjoon shiver, finally naked from the waist up, and you kissed the goosebumps rising all over his flesh.  

“Maybe we should go to the bedroom,” he laughed. 

“What? You mean you don’t want to have sex right by our front door? I mean, I guess we can go to the bedroom, if you really want, if-” 

He silenced you with a kiss and picked you up. You kissed his face all over and bit down on the soft flesh of his earlobe as he carried you to the bedroom. When he let you down, you discarded your remaining close with as much haste as you could muster. The sight of his naked body would never get old for you: his strong, thick thighs; perfectly defined V-line; the little happy trail of hair leading to his belly button; his soft, smooth skin; his stiff cock, hot in your hand as you wrapped your fingers around it and pumped.  

He grabbed you by the back of the neck and brought your face close to his.  

“You know they say you’re more likely to conceive if you have at least one orgasm,” he whispered to you. You chuckled. 

“I don’t think we’ll have any problems there, will we?” 

Namjoon pushed you onto the bed and leant down from above you. The dark lust in his eyes lightened for a second as he looked at you and he kissed you gently on the lips. 

“I love you, really; I love you.”  

“I love you, too.” 

You kissed him once and then again and then again, each a little less soft than the one before. Because you loved him, because he loved you, because you were so sickly sweet, gooey and soft for each other, but you were also needy now, thirsty, hungry for him. Love was all well and good but you wanted to be fucked. 

“Now are you going to make me come or what?” 

He laughed and playfully tapped your cheek before offering you a cheeky salute.  

“Yes, ma’am.” 

He kissed your collar bone as his fingers found your clit. He kissed your breasts as his fingers slipped and curled inside you and his thumb rubbed your swollen bud. His kisses trailed down your stomach and his tongue replaced his thumb against you; he sucked hard as his fingers thrummed and you let yourself go to him, melted into the mattress, limbs heavy and hot.  

“Fuck,” you breathed, moaning as his tongue flicked back and across. It surprised you still, every time, how quickly he could turn you to jelly, how easily he could get you off. He knew your every move, every gesture, every twitch, every flush of your skin, every different, little noise you let slip as he worked you over. Practice, he’d said. As if he needed it. 

Namjoon removed his fingers briefly and ran his tongue across your entrance. Taking one of your lips in his mouth, he bit lightly and you squirmed. 

“Harder,” you panted and you could feel him grin against you. He clamped his teeth harder and his fingers returned to your clit, rubbing your arousal all over, making a mess of you. He trapped it tightly between two fingers and rolled them back and forth. He bit the soft flesh of your inner thigh and hot skin of your mound; he kissed the crease of your hips and pushed your legs open wider. All the while, you could feel the pressure build inside you, you walls spasming and clenching as you neared your climax. You gripped the bedsheets tight as you moaned, pulling hard as the waves rolled through your body.  

Namjoon’s mouth was back on your clit, sucking and licking; his fingers back inside you, hooking and curling against you. He held you down as you bucked beneath him, crying out as pleasure overwhelmed you. He didn’t stop, didn’t falter, didn’t stutter as you came all over him, gushing over his hand, clenching his fingers inside you. Unable to utter a coherent string of words, you tapped him on the head for relief. He came up for air, mouth shiny and sticky, and lay a line of sloppy kisses across your stomach and your breasts and your chest.  

You pulled his face to yours and kissed him, tasting yourself all over his lips and his tongue.  

“Ok,” you said, breathlessly. “Orgasm, check. Time to pretend to make a baby?” 

He chuckled, the noise rumbling deep in his chest and kissed you again. He seemed in no rush, but you had never had the patience. You reached between you to take him in your hand again; his tip was slick with pre-cum and your thighs trembled in anticipation of him inside you.  

“Imagine, though,” you whispered as he guided himself towards your waiting wings. “If we had a baby-”.  

You gasped as he pushed himself inside you, your eyes fluttering shut, your cunt fluttering around him. 

“Babe,” he said, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes looking deep into yours when you opened them. He rolled his hips. “Our baby is going to be the best baby there’s ever been.” 

You nodded and let your eyes roll back, feeling every contour of him against your tight slip. A baby. Namjoon’s baby. Couldn’t be anything but the best. 

“Best baby ever,” you agreed, breathless and whiny. “’Cause you’re the best.”  

Namjoon nipped at your earlobe. 

“No, ’cause we’re the best.” 

“I love you.” The words barely audible as your breath escaped in shallow bursts. “I love you, I love you.”  

He lay so close on top of you that your torsos met as he thrust harder and harder, his breath becoming laboured, his groans louder. You whined quietly in his ear and tugged at his hair; you wrapped your legs around him and the two of you moaned in unison when he hit deeper inside you. He lifted himself up on to his hands, looking down at you with half-closed eyes. He wanted to come on your tits, spray himself over your chest and mark you as his own, his and only his, but then he thought about coming inside you, making a baby – even a pretend one – and he felt all his muscles twitch. You were on birth control so it wasn’t as if this was the first time he’d ever come inside you, but it felt different this time. He felt closer to you. He felt like this meant something different. This was something you had done dozens, even hundreds of times, but it was different this time.  

“Fuck,” he growled, feeling close to the edge.  

He thrust faster, breathing hard, looking down at you: your messy hair, hand over your eyes, mouth agape, your smooth skin and kiss-swollen lips, the mole on your left breast, the tiny scar by your hairline. As the blood roared in his ears, he felt his heart clench, not knowing how it was possible to love one person quite this much. With a sudden shudder, he came, shooting his hot seed inside you, his muscles tight, his jaw clenched.  

He fell on top of you, still inside you. You both lay still for a moment, no sound in the air but your breathing, no sound in your ears but the thumping of your heart. You felt hot inside and out, tingling with pleasure and relief.  

“I love you,” he whispered, bringing your hand to his lips. With your legs still wrapped tight, you wrapped your arms around him too and kissed his forehead. 

“I love you, too, Joonie.”  

“That was-…” 

“Yeah.” 

You patted just above where your uterus rested. 

“See you in nine months, mate!” 

Namjoon laughed and you felt it in your own chest.  

“Maybe next time, it shouldn’t be just for practice.”  

He looked at you searchingly. Your heart flipped.  

“You want to have a baby with me for real, Joon?” 

“I want to have everything with you.”  

You shuffled beneath him, bringing your faces closer.  

“Ok,” you whispered, your faces so close that your lips touched his as you spoke. “I’ll make an appointment and get my IUD removed.”  

Namjoon nodded. 

“But does next time have to wait ’til then? ’Cause I’d really like to practise some more.”  

Namjoon grinned. 

“Well, it does make perfect.” 

[myfictionaldreams]

Day 7: Milking - James Potter

Kinktober Day 7: James Potter x f!reader

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, begging,soft!James, dom/sub, praise kink, sub!james, mommy kink, blowjob, handjob, anal fingering, milking, cum swallowing, nicknames, no use of y/n

my main masterlist 📚 // kinktober masterlist😈 // AO3 Link 

It had been an adrenaline-filled afternoon in the quidditch stadium, in probably one of the longest matches you had witnessed at the school. 3 hours of your hands fiercely gripping the wooden panel before you as you watched and cheered for your fellow Gryffindors, stomach twisting in knots whenever a particular player so much as moved from one spot to another.

You loved coming to watch James play quidditch, proud to see the school’s most talented player doing what he loved most in the world but it was such a dangerous sport you couldn’t relax until he held the snitch.

“Come on James!” Lily shouted to your right, jumping and clapping her hands snapping your attention to the player who was now flying at full speed, arm outstretch reaching as far as he could. You leaned forward as well like it would somehow help him, a chorus of “come on!” screamed from all of your fellow Gryffindors but you couldn’t even muster up the courage to shout, scared you would be sick from nerves at seeing him move so quickly.

It was almost an instant reaction from your body as you slumped back, catching your breath that you didn’t realise you were holding, as you witnessed James happily holding the golden snitch high into the air in victory.

Smiling broadly you and Lily screamed and jumped in joy, it now meant that Gryffindor only had one more match against Hufflepuff left to win the trophy, they were so close to being the champions again!

Hooking your arm through the red-haired girls, the two of you made the cramped journey of trying to escape the stadium, along with the hundreds of other students who all pushed and prodded to get to the exit and back to the common room where you were sure would be a party in celebration.

The nervous feeling that had settled through your stomach changed from one of panic to anticipation as you paced the common room, the party has already begun the second you stepped through the door, the students not having the courtesy of waiting for the team to come back but you waited, wanting to see James before getting into the party mood.

An hour later, you were waiting on the arm of the sofa when the fat lady portrait swung back, revealing the joyous team who were carrying James on their shoulders. You laughed at them, clapping and cheering with the rest of your House until finally, James hopped down.

The tall messy haired boy pushed his way through the crowd to where you were eagerly waiting, rushing to meet him in the middle, arms flying around his neck, holding him just as tightly as his grip on your waist.

James’ mouth was on yours breathlessly, lips moving against yours, ignoring the cheers and whooping from the people around you both. Pulling back shyly at your audience you looked up at him with a gentle smile, eyes wide.

He leaned down slightly to kiss your forehead, smirking at your expression.

“I’m so proud of you” you had to shout as someone had turned the music up.

“Thanks love” his large hand cupped your jaw, tilting your head back to kiss you once more, deeper this time, his tongue slipping between your lips and for once, you didn’t care about the public display of affection, all the nerves you’d been through, you were just glad to have him uninjured.

However, it was Sirius’ obnoxious shouting that interrupted you both from becoming any more heated, demanding for James to come over and take a shot with him. Your boyfriend rolled his eyes before glancing down at you, reaching for your hand to tug you with him.

This was one of the biggest things that you loved about James, he never stopped making sure you were ok, he didn’t leave you on your own so he could hang out with his friends, and he always wanted to be with you. Pulling you everywhere throughout the party, an arm always around your waist, kissing your forehead every few minutes to make sure you were feeling ok, pulling you to the corner to lay a deeper kiss on your lips that had you mewling and wishing for more.

He knew exactly what he was doing with those kisses and now here you were, nearing midnight, his body behind yours, lips grazing up the side of your neck as the party looked like it wouldn’t be finishing anytime soon. “Want to get out of here, love?”

Finally, you had been waiting for him to ask you this for hours, turning in his arms, you only nodded whilst biting your lip. You couldn’t help but giggle as he rushed and pulled you out of the room, easily being able to push through the crowd that extended out into the corridor but you were sure McGonagall would be here to break up the party any time soon.

So you both broke out into a light job, still holding hands and rushing to get to the blank wall in the hidden part of the castle. Finally, you were staring at the wall which slowly transformed into a door, the room of requirement was definitely one of your favourite places in Hogwarts.

James stepped in first, holding the door open for you before closing it gently. Inside the room was a beautiful fireplace with a crackling fire that was lit and warming the room, in front of this and the only other thing in the room lay a beautifully crafted bed with deep maroon and golden sheets that you both had used countless times before.

James watched as you approached the bed, running your fingertips over the soft material. Turning towards him, you looked up and down his body, from the way his shoulders seemed more relaxed now he was in a private place with you, his eyes that were half-lidded and hands that were twitching at his side and you knew it was because he wanted to reach out for you.

“I’m so proud of you James, you’ve done so well today, you were a joy to watch as usual”. James smiled lovingly at you, his eyes softening as a small dimple formed on his cheek. You both had a different relationship from what others might have perceived it to be. From anyone else's perspective, James may have looked like the stereotypical boyfriend, in control most of the time, protecting you from the big bad world but when you were both alone, the roles were very much reversed.

“What do you want, pup?” you asked using your favourite term of endearment for him. It was also rare for you to even ask him this question, but you were feeling generous today as you began to delicately remove your clothes, glad that the fire was so warm against your back.

James’ mouth opened but he didn’t say anything like he was holding back so you encouraged him a bit more by taking off the last of your clothing leaving you in your underwear. “Words James”.

The boy shook his head trying to clear the fog as he stuttered, “I I I want you”.

“How do you want me? Tell me”.

You could see his cheek blushing with embarrassment, always finding it difficult to tell you what he wanted as it was such a rare privilege and he was so distracted by your half-naked body. But he took a deep breath, finding the courage to say, “I want your hand and mouth on me”.

“Good boy, see that wasn’t too difficult was it?” you removed the remainder of your clothes, feeling the fine hairs on your arms rising from being so exposed, your nipples were perky and it seemed to darken his eyes as he stared right at them.

“Strip”, you demanded, smiling slyly at watching him hurriedly remove his clothes in a much less elegant way than you had, nearly tripping over his boxers as finally he pulled them off and left them with the rest of his discarded clothes.

In all his fast movements, his cock was prominent, pumped full of blood, and slightly red on his swollen tip from where he had been hard for a while, you smirked at this before pointing to the clean bed, giving him his next instruction.

The Gryffindor clambered onto the bed, sitting back against the pillows and the headboard, his hands clenched at his side, knowing well enough then to pleasure himself without your permission, he really was on his best behaviour.

It was your turn to then kneel on the bed, slowly crawling towards him, seeing how long you could torture the poor boy who was breathing heavily watching you. However as you finally began clambering over your body, he mumbled something under his breath, his eyes once again glued to your breasts, “Want you, mommy”.

He had been so good you decided to reward him so continued to crawl up his body and sit back on his toned thighs, hands lifting to cup around the back of his head. James moved quickly, knowing that was his sign to go ahead and quickly sucked one of your awaiting nipples into his mouth, the two of you groaning at the sensation.

That wicked tongue of his lapped up the bud, moving from one to the other, swapping between sucking, licking and even nipping with his teeth which earnt him a roll of your hips, causing his cock to jump in between the two of your bodies.

His strong arms held you close, his warm skin now warming yours even hotter as every little movement that he did to your breasts went straight to your core, head falling back. Even though this was more pleasurable for you, you were sure James would argue this as tiny beads of precum began to leak from his throbbing cock.

Deciding he had enough, you pulled on his hair, causing his head to tip back to reveal his bottom lip sticking out.

“None of that, my boy isn’t a brat is he?” James shook his head, returning his lips to normal.

“Sorry mommy”, he looked ashamed so you quickly kissed his forehead, stroking some of the black messy hair away from his eyes before moving back down his body.

James followed your movements by shifting to a lying position in the centre of the bed and then began bending his legs, giving you room to sit in between them.

Trailing your fingers up his beautiful sculptured legs, you enjoyed all the little hitches of breaths it caused him to do as you tickled his skin. As you caressed his thighs and saw him part them, you noticed the two red marks that were always there after he’d played quidditch from all the time he’d spent on the broom.

You gave him a quick smile as he too noticed you looking at them. Adventuring further up, you decided to ignore his cock and began stroking his abdomen and stomach, feeling the path of hair on his crotch that you loved so very much he would stretch in class revealing it.

“Are you going to be good for me?” you’d hardly finished the sentence before James was eagerly nodding his head in response, eyes glossed over with arousal, desperate for you to touch him. “Then be a good boy and sit on your hands, no touching James”.

You could sense he was about to whine but held his tongue, shifting his body so his hands could go underneath himself, keeping them secure. Instead of verbally responding, you lowered to kiss the tip of his cock as a well done, a move that had his hips thrusting up as he moaned.

Easing back both of his knees, you exposed more of him so that you could see what you most wanted to play with. Using your index finger, you ran it down the centre of his chest, down his stomach, delicately running it over his cock that had him shuddering but you still continued, over his balls - further and further until you were circling his asshole.

James was breathing as if he’d just run a marathon, and very subtly shifted his hips down to try and get your finger closer, wanting what you had to offer just as much as you wanted to do to him. Whilst holding his strong eye contact, you spat down onto your finger, swiping the liquid over his hole and coating your finger whilst the other hand gripped the base of his eagerly awaiting cock.

The finger inserted slowly so as to not overwhelm him, but his body relaxed making it a lot easier to slip in, feeling upwards until you came across the perfect spot as James grunted at the touch, anticipating what was coming, his body twitching with want as you massaged his prostate. Simultaneously you stroked his cock, with long firm strokes, watching the skin encase his tip before pulling back adding extra sensations for him.

James was almost immediately overwhelmed with pleasure, eyes scrunching closed in concentration trying not to cum, wanting to prolong his reward for as long as possible.

You loved seeing him this desperate, the way a light sheen of sweat was coating his body, the hair on his arms standing up with goosebumps underneath, and those unholy moans that he kept singing, head now thrown back as his hips ever so slightly rocked with your hands.

With the finger against his prostate, you made sure to start slow, circling the nub with the slightest bit of pressure that you knew was sending sparks of pleasurable waves over his groin.

“You’ve done so well today in the match James, I’m so proud to be your girlfriend,” you said in a sultry tone, smiling as he actually cried out, more precum leaking out of his tip at your words, he was so easy to please.

Not stopping in your movements of tossing him off, you eased your mouth open and took his tip, laying it against your tongue before sucking, hollowing your cheeks and tasting his salty goodness. You didn’t take him any further, making sure to please all areas of his body separately to overstimulate him.

Even though James tried and failed to push harder into your warm, wet mouth. Instead, you inserted another finger into his hole, feeling him quivering around you but accepting the extra girth. With the extra support, you were able to bend your fingers in a “come here” way, bumping against his prostate as your other hand increased in the pressure around his thick shaft, tongue flicking across the slit.

James began chanting the word “mommy” over and over, you knew he was close, knew that he couldn't last for much longer. Slowing down in your movements, you removed your mouth to quickly instruct him, “Look at me James, look at me, you can cum baby”.

His head snapped up, eyes almost tearful as he looked at you desperately watching as you took him back into his mouth and continued to do the faster motions, chasing him towards his orgasm. The muscles in his thighs strained as he rutted with you.

“Mom-mommy” James slurred as he finally came, his cum shooting to the back of your throat where you eagerly swallowed, not stopping with each spurt, keeping your actions going making sure to milk him for every last drop until he was shouting and pulling away from the oversensitivity.

Removing your fingers from his cock and arse, you eased around his leg, climbing up to the pillows, and opening your arms for him to lie in. He happily accepted, laying his head on your chest, letting you hold him close but as you began to run your fingers through his hair, you noticed that his hand was now wandering down your abdomen.

“Wanna make mommy feel good too”, you could hear his voice coated in sleep and you were sure if you looked, his eyes would be close, so you reached down for his hand, pulling it up to rest against your cheek.

“Shh, it’s ok baby, I want you to go to sleep, I love you”.

“I love you too” and the soft sounds of his snores were soon filling the room of requirements as the captain of the quidditch team fell asleep.

[ckret2]

Chapter 26 of human Bill doing his best to arm-twist his captors into doing anything he wants, featuring: the gang going to the mall, where Bill tries on some of the most ridiculous outfits known to mankind, to Mabel's delight and Stan & Dipper's despair.

(please click on the second image, you can't imagine how long it took to make those two patterns. (Okay you probably can, it was a couple hours.))

####

Bill said, "Well, you can tell Stanford that if he's got a problem with my drinking, I'd like to see him try to get a good night's sleep in an alien body without some kind of sedative! I've got a fresh new liver, three little cans of cider a day won't kill me before one of us finds a way to get me out of this body!"

Exasperated, Mabel said, "Why do I have to tell him? Just talk to each other."

"You think I don't want to? He's the one who's put two doors, an elevator, and a trick vending machine between him and me."

Mabel supposed that was true. "Okay, fine. More importantly: what do you think of going shopping?"

Bill shrugged. "Sure. I'll take any opportunity to go outside. It'll be a good test run for other trips."

Mabel frowned, clearly disappointed by the reaction. "That's it? I thought you'd be more excited. You can finally get more clothing!"

"How much clothing do I need?" He gestured down at himself, wearing his hoodie and a borrowed skirt. "I'm not naked, what more do you want from me?"

"To like your clothing!"

"Oh, right. I keep forgetting you have a whole thing about people other than you being happy."

Mabel socked his arm. "Do you just not care about clothes? I didn't expect you to be like Dipper about it."

Eugh. "It's not that I don't like fashion in general," Bill said, eager to distance himself from the household wet blanket. "I have very strong opinions on other people's fashion! It's just..."

It was just that he didn't relish the idea of standing in front of a mirror, partially nude, staring at the bone-caged skin prison he was locked inside.

He still put towels over the bathroom mirror when he showered.

"Well," he said, "isn't the whole point of fashion self-expression? And my self can't be expressed in this body." He tugged on the collar of his hoodie, "This is as close as it's gonna get."

"Does clothing have to express your self? Can't it just look really cool?" Mabel asked.

Bill considered that. "I do like looking really cool."

Maybe he didn't have to see it as dressing himself. Treat it like inflicting his design whims upon a helpless human puppet. He'd done that before, he liked doing that. He was lucky, at least, that as far as puppets went, this was an incredibly good-looking one. Aside from the neck.

"Do I have to wear that, though?" Bill skeptically eyed the knit garment held in Mabel's hands.

"Yep! Grunkle Ford's orders! It's to make sure you don't talk to people."

"Can I put it on over my hoodie?"

"As heartwarming as it is that you love it so much: no, you've gotta take it off."

"How come?"

"It's safer this way! Your hoodie might freak people out."

"Freak them out how?"

####

Soos trudged into the kitchen at 3 a.m., yawning, and turned on the lights.

The Bill Cipher, triangular and angular, gold-bricked and one-eyed, hovered in the air.

Soos screamed. "He's back! Everyone watch out! You stay away from my family, you—" Soos picked up the nearest weapon and chucked it at Bill.

The spatula bounced harmlessly off his chest and clattered to the floor. Bill took his hood off. "Wow. Thanks for getting my hopes up, Questiony."

"Oh, whoops. Sorry 'bout that. At a quick glance, that hoodie makes you look a lot like... you." Soos looked Bill up and down again. "Hey. How come you're standing on the kitchen table in the middle of the night?"

"Eh." Bill shrugged. "It passes the time."

####

"Sometimes I curse your species's overactive pattern-detection instincts." Bill snatched Mabel's offering out of her hand and trudged to the bathroom to change.

He emerged a moment later wearing the tank top Mabel had knit for him, and tugged out the hem to examine it. She'd cross-stitched on the chest: "STAY BACK! I BITE SALES PEOPLE!"

"I'd be pretty insulted," Bill said, "if this wasn't the funniest thing I've ever worn."

####

Stan pulled the old Diablo near the porch to minimize the amount of time Bill would spend in open air between confinement in the shack and in a vehicle; then waited leaning against the car, glowering at the ground like the world's surliest chauffeur (he'd even put on his suit), for Dipper and Mabel to escort the prisoner outside.

The second Bill stepped off of the porch, he looked up in amazement. "What is that?"

Dipper and Mabel looked at Bill's face, then in the direction he was looking. He was staring straight into the sun without squinting. Mabel said, "The... sun?"

"No, not the sun! I mean the—" Bill gestured toward the sun. "Whatever it's doing."

Mabel looked skyward again. She didn't see anything else Bill could be referring to. "Shining?"

"I know what sunshine is!"

"Then what are you asking about!"

Bill studied the sky a moment longer. Finally, he said, "Guess I don't know what sunshine feels like! It's been a long time since I've been naked in the sun."

Stan's head snapped up to stare at Bill. Bill was still completely clothed.

After another few seconds, arms outstretched, staring in blank-faced wide-eyed wonder at the sky, Bill concluded, "I think I'm photosynthesizing again."

This time Dipper looked over. And, Bill was still completely human—a species notoriously well-known for not photosynthesizing. "'Again'?"

Bill didn't respond. Instead, with a shrill cackle that startled the nearby birds out of the trees, he took off at a full sprint.

"Hey!" Dipper tore after him. Stan tensed up, but then grunted, leaned back against his car, and waited for Bill to trip.

Bill's run was the awkward bouncing gait of a moon astronaut on fast forward: someone who at some point had definitely learned how to run, but clearly wasn't used to doing it in this body on this world. He switched to an odd sideways crab-walk gallop—which was, surprisingly, faster—and then attempted, and failed, a cartwheel. Dipper dove for Bill, Stan laughed at them both, and Mabel shouted encouragement at Bill from the porch; Bill hopped back up just before Dipper could catch him.

He attempted a second cartwheel but was caught in the middle by an invisible force jerking his wrist. He yelped and tumbled to the ground. "I think I twisted my arm!" He sounded way too giddy about this.

Mabel looked down at her own wrist and the chain bracelet. She wasn't being actively pulled toward Bill; but nevertheless she couldn't pull her wrist any further away from him. "It worked."

"Of course it did!" Breathing heavily, Bill got to his feet and leaned backward on his heels, using the tension of the bracelet around his wrist to keep from falling. "What, did you ever doubt me?"

"Yes," Stan said. "Always," Dipper said. "Every time you open your mouth," Mabel said.

"You're all haters."

Mabel took a flying leap off of the porch. Bill toppled on his back again.

Once they were all loaded in the car—Dipper in the front glaring in the rear view mirror, Mabel and Bill in the back with Bill making faces at the mirror—Stan said, "Okay. I'm not getting you anything nice, because you're not worth it."

"Aww. And after I made you almost five grand?"

Dipper's jaw dropped. "He what?! When did—"

Raising his voice, Stan went on, "So we're going to Shop Thrifty. Any complaints?"

Bill said, "You don't wanna go there."

Stan turned to give him a dark look.

"You don't," Bill said. "They were robbed this weekend. Security's gonna be high."

"No they weren't, you can't know that. You're making that up. I'm calling your bluff."

Dipper cleared his throat. "Actually... yeah, they were robbed. I've been investigating the possibility that it might've been..." At the sight of Bill's keen gaze in the rear view mirror, Dipper trailed off into mumbles.

Bill waited a second longer to ensure Dipper was properly cowed; then said, "See? You can trust me! But if you want to go to the thrift shop..."

"Ha." Stan drummed his fingers on the steering wheel; then reluctantly said, "I guess we could go to the mall—"

Mabel pumped her fists in the air. "THE MALL!"

"Yes! Finally!" Bill dragged his hands down his face in relief. "Civilization! Other people!"

"Hey!" Stan turned around to point threateningly at Bill. Bill held up his hands to block the accusatory finger. "This still isn't a social trip. Talk to anyone and we're going back to the car."

"I know, I know. I just wanna look at people. That's all!" Bill said. "You know that feeling when you come out of a couple weeks in the hole? When you're grateful just to see anybody?"

Stan's frown deepened; but he didn't say anything. He just turned around, ignored Dipper's curious look, and started driving.

Mabel and Bill high-fived.

####

As the car pulled into a parking spot, Mabel handed Bill a pair of mirrored sunglasses with one lens popped out. Bill rolled his (yellow, slitted) eye, but he switched his eyepatch over to the lensless side of the sunglasses and put them on. "Nobody'll notice my eyes. They only look inhuman at certain angles."

"We're being extra cautious," Mabel said.

"If you're gonna make me wear shades any time I'm in public, can I at least pick a pair I like while I'm here?"

Mabel said, "Sure!" at the same time Stan said, "Not a chance." Dipper looked between the two of them, and said, "I'm with Stan."

"I wasn't taking a vote." Bill leaned forward to shove Dipper's hat over his eyes, and followed Mabel out of the car before Dipper could retaliate.

Bill's grin got a little wider and his gait a little bouncier the closer they got to the mall, until he was practically skipping through the automatic doors. "Look at this place! I can't remember the last time I visited a bazaar this booming in person! Two stories, even! Wow!"

Dipper and Mabel exchanged a glance. Gravity Malls was, by far, the smallest mall either of them had ever visited. You could see from one end of it to the other in a straight shot, and the anchor store was just a more popular chain's discount outlet location. Dipper muttered, "He's trying too hard to talk up the place."

Mabel giggled. "Maybe he's easily impressed."

Bill evidently didn't care. He was too busy taking in the sight of all the stores and all the people who didn't hate his guts (or, at least, didn't know they did). He chipperly said, "Hey there!" as he wove around a haggard teenage kiosk salesman.

"Hello?" Snapping into sales mode, the kiosk kid said, "Are you interested in genuine gold-plated signet rings? We have rings with dragons, eagles, Chinese characters, American flags, football teams..."

Bill did a u-turn without slowing down. "Boy, am I! You got any secret societies?"

Stan wrapped an arm around Bill's shoulders—"No, you're not interested."—and dragged him away. He lowered his voice. "What happened to no talking to anyone?"

Bill laughed. "Sorry, I got excited!"

"Uh-huh. Get 'excited' one more time, and I'll assume you're 'forgetting' the rules on purpose and we're going home."

Bill stopped laughing. "Okay, fine." He trudged alongside Stan, sulking.

####

Stan tried to direct them toward the discount outlet store; Bill looked wistfully at Edgy On Purpose; Mabel overruled them both by grabbing Bill's hand and bodily dragging him to the coolest store in the mall: 18th Century, the place where the almost-and-barely college kids shopped, and Mabel's newest fashion avatars now that she'd had a year to explore "teenage" fashion and had gotten over it. "You can tell it's for college kids, because they also sell bedsheets and inflatable furniture," she explained as they entered, just before abandoning Bill with Stan as she ran off to start collecting clothing on Bill's behalf. Bill and Stan side-eyed each other, and Bill drifted off toward the small home goods section.

"Ooh, Dipper look." Mabel pointed at a sales rack. "Out-of-season prom dresses! Those are the fanciest dresses!" She dove in eagerly, checking the size tags.

Dipper hovered behind her, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, trying to stand far enough away that it didn't look like he was an active participant in this shopping trip but not so far away that people might start wondering why a thirteen-year-old boy was in the dress section by himself. "Are you shopping for B—for Goldie, or for yourself?"

"For Goldie, obviously! He likes having a triangular silhouette, he needs dresses!"

"Does he want dresses?"

Mabel made a vague I dunno sound. "I haven't asked him yet."

"Maybe you should?"

"It's fine, I'm going to! He can tell me when he catches up!" Mabel pulled out a sequin-studded dress that looked like it had been constructed out of fluorescent pink peacock feathers. She paused. "Okay, it's not exactly his style, but do you think he might try it on anyway?"

Dipper groaned. "Mabel, he's a guy, he's not gonna try on a dress. He wears top hats and bow ties, remember?"

"I know, but... just for fun...?"

Dipper shook his head. Mabel sighed.

Bill rounded a rack of clothing, using a curtain rod he'd claimed out of the home goods section like it was a cane. "Hey, star girl. I know we're here on a focused mission, buuut do you think we could spare a minute to try something just for fun..." He trailed off as he and Mabel simultaneously realized they were both holding a pink peacock dress. Bill's face lit up. "Where have you been all my life?"

"Shut up! How are you this cool!"

"Where's the dressing room."

They took off for the back of the store, Bill tripping over a whole clothing rack as he went.

Dipper watched them uncomfortably, decided he didn't want to follow, and picked his way to the front of the store, where Stan was leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed tightly and a sour look on his face. Dipper asked, "Does it worry you how well Mabel and Goldie..."

"Ohhh yeah."

####

Bill swung open the dressing room door. "Well? Whaddaya think?" He fanned out the feathers as best he could with his hands. 

"It's so beautiful," Mabel said.

"It's hideous," Stan said.

"It's kinda baggy around the shoulders and chest," Dipper said.

Bill shrugged. "I've got the shoulder span of a snake and the hips of a sumo wrestler, what do you expect?"

"It's okay, I can tailor anything we get," said Mabel, who had never tailored anything in her life but was sure she had a book on it in Piedmont.

"Tailor nothing," Stan said, "we're not getting this! What, are you crazy?"

Bill said, "Obviously."

Stan gestured at him. "What in the world would you wear this for?"

"Who cares? It looks cool and this body is merely a meat armature to drape coolness upon." Bill stepped back into the dressing room to eye the dress in the mirror. "Color's a little uniform, though. I'd need some accessories to break it up."

"I think you're right," Mabel said, stroking her chin. "You know what color goes best with hot pink?"

Simultaneously, she and Bill said, "Lime green," then cracked up and pointed at each other excitedly. 

Stan and Dipper exchanged a tired look.

####

"How about this one?" Bill looked at Stan and Dipper, who were standing guard while Mabel searched for more clothes. "It's obviously the best shirt in the store, but is it me?" Bill was wearing a loose Hawaiian shirt covered in bright multicolored triangles with animal skin patterns—leopard, zebra, tiger, checkers—and a pair of black jeans that fit his hips but consequently drowned his ankles. "Trick question. It's me all over!" He laughed. His laughter petered out. "It's... it's more me than I am. Wow."

Dipper and Stan didn't laugh. "I'm a Hawaiian shirt kind of man," Stan said, "but if the choice was between that thing and going naked, I'd go naked."

"Keep your nudist fantasies to yourself, Stanley." Bill studied his reflection again. "The shirt's great, but they make the pants look dull. I need something that coordinates with it. But what..."

Mabel returned while Bill was musing on his shirt. She wordlessly held out the pair of cheetah/tiger print rainbow leggings she'd been retrieving. It matched the shirt perfectly, in the sense that they both had so many colors on them that inevitably some of those colors were accidentally the same.

Bill accepted the leggings with an expression close to awe. "You're a fashion genius," he said. "Are you sure you don't want your own planet?"

"Not from you," Mabel said.

And for a moment, Bill actually almost looked hurt.

####

Bill held up several shirts thoughtfully. The first was an eye-searing abomination; the second was a retina-burning nightmare; and the third was about the same, but it was covered in smiley faces, and somehow that made it worse.

"I feel like they'd all have the right psychological effect on my enemies," Bill said, "but all three is a little redundant, isn't it?"

Not looking, Stan asked, "Is the effect you're trying to have boring your enemies to death? Because it's working."

Bill scowled. He chucked all three at Stan's face. "Fine! Stick them in the 'maybe' pile, I'll narrow them down later." By this point, the "maybe" pile in Stan's arms was almost too big for him to carry.

"My willingness to indulge Mabel is losing to my annoyance at indulging you," Stan said. "I thought this was going to be a quick trip."

"Yeah, well, I'm kinda getting into it."

"Well, would you get out of it and dress like a normal person?"

"Okay, fine. I'll try on something subtle—"

"Goldie!" Mabel ran up waving a ruby red jacket over her head. "Look what I found in the clearance bin! Glittery vinyl!"

Bill's eyes widened.

Reverently, Mabel said, "It looks like a 50's diner booth."

"Is the picture on the back a—?"

"Yeah, it's a puking kangaroo."

Bill snatched the jacket from her hands. "I'll try something subtle after this."

Stan groaned. "I'm gonna stretch my legs." He dropped the "maybe" pile on the floor. "Dipper, make sure the demon doesn't try to end the world while I'm gone."

Dipper resigned himself to the fact that this shopping trip was never going to end, and curled up on the floor to wait to die.

####

"Now, this is a keeper," Bill said, examining the summer dress in the mirror. With Stan gone, Bill had a moment of leisure to properly inspect the way the fabric moved and draped. He was using the opportunity to grab the skirt and twirl it like a three-year-old who'd never worn a dress before. "It really speaks to me."

Mabel asked, "Is it because it's covered in—?"

"It's because it's covered in yellow triangles. I know what I like!" He spun around to see how the skirt flared out, tripped and fell over—"I meant to do that!"—and heaved himself back upright with his curtain rod cane. "I'm fine, shoo." He waved off Mabel's attempt to help, and brushed off the dress. "Too bad it looks weird with pants. I'd prefer my legs covered, but dresses are the only thing most human stores carry that flatter my shape, so what're you gonna do."

"What about more leggings?" Mabel asked.

"Do they have any black ones that don't look like cheap spandex?"

"I think I saw some that look like jeans!"

"It'll do. Good thinking, star girl."

"Any time, triangle... guy." Mabel paused. "Hey... just out of curiosity—since I don't think we ever really covered this, since you're an alien and all—aaare you a guy or a girl?"

"I'm a triangle! C'mon, you already know that."

Mabel opened her mouth to protest that Bill hadn't answered her question; hesitated as she realized that maybe, in fact, he had; and instead asked, "Is a triangle more like a guy or a girl?"

Bill paused as he gave the question a moment of contemplation; and then he said, "No, not really."

Dipper, who'd been using the "maybe" clothing pile as a pillow and pretending to ignore everything Bill did, finally gave in to the urge to glance over curiously.

Mabel concluded a triangle must be either in the exact middle of the scale, or else outside of it completely. "Oh! Okay."

Bill elbowed Mabel and said, "Keep this bit between you and me," blithely ignoring the fact that Dipper was totally within earshot and now seething about being ignored in return. "But if anyone else on this planet asks, I'll usually imply I'm a 'man,'" he put the word in finger quotes, as though he wasn't wholly convinced that "men" really existed, "but—that's strictly for business."

"Business?"

"You know, work stuff," Bill said dismissively. "It makes things easier. See, for the last few millennia, most humans have taken a male's suggestions a bit more seriously than a female's, even when the entity they're talking to is an all-knowing extra-dimensional divine alien angelic muse. Crazy, right?" He said this like he was imparting some great secret he'd figured out by himself.

"Ugh, yeah," Mabel groaned. "Sexism."

"Sexism," Bill sighed, as if he had any dog in this fight at all and wasn't just pretending he could commiserate with his only local friend. "So I figure I can get things done faster as a Bill than a Jill. But honestly? Your local gender system doesn't make any more difference to me than it would to you if somebody asked how many sides you have."

Mabel considered the matter of her hypothetical sides. "I feel like I'd have seven sides."

"Oho! I stand corrected." Bill laughed. "I would've pegged you as a pentagon. I'll remember that."

Mabel had no idea what information she'd just conveyed to Bill, but she felt like he was impressed she had an answer at all.

####

"How about this one?"

"I love it. It's so mysterious," Mabel said.

Stan said, "I thought you were gonna try on something subtle?" 

"What's more subtle than camo! That's the whole point of it!"

Dipper said, "You're not wearing camo."

Bill looked down at his galaxy print tank top, galaxy print button up, galaxy print skirt, galaxy print leggings, and galaxy print sneakers. "I guess what counts as camouflage depends on the context."

"Wh—" Dipper blinked at Bill in disbelief. "In what context could this possibly qualify as camouflage?"

"Is that a trick question?"

Drily, Stan asked, "You got travel plans taking you to outer space anytime soon, pal?"

Bill's shoulders slumped.

"Now put on something you might actually wear," Stan said.

####

Bill opened the dressing room door with four sets of basic black leggings and pants, a couple shorts, and several plain tops in various shades of gold and yellow. "Okay, done."

"Not gonna model each of these for us?" Stan asked.

"Do you want me to?"

"No."

"Fine! You kids don't need to weigh in on these—they're not as fun as the other outfits you were busy unappreciating." Bill shoved the whole pile against Stan's chest, burying the "maybe" outfits he'd insisted he would narrow down. "Okay, let's go."

Stan scowled. "How many outfits did we agree to get you?"

"You didn't." Bill headed to the front of the store.

Mabel started to follow him, paused, glanced back at Stan, and said, "Maybe you can just... toss some of it back on the racks?"

"Maybe you can toss most of it," Dipper said. "How much does he really need, like two shirts and two pants?"

Mabel laughed. "Shut up, that's what you wear!"

Stan rolled his eyes, but headed to the front of the store with an armload of clothing.

The cashier smiled as Bill approached, read his "I BITE SALES PEOPLE" shirt, and quickly turned her attention to Stan. "Hi! Did you find everything you needed?"

"Yeah, and then some," he grumbled, shooting a look at Bill and Mabel. He dumped the pile of clothing on the counter with a heavy groan proportionate to the emotional weight of carrying Bill Cipher's shopping, and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Where'd I put my wallet?"

As the cashier scanned the clothes, took off the security tags, and stuffed them into bags, Stan alternated between snatching up the bags to sling them over his arms—looking grumpier with each one—and searching for his wallet. "I'm sure I put... ah-ha!" He withdrew it triumphantly. "There! I know I've got a twenty in here somewhere."

The cashier immediately stopped scanning to give Stan a perplexed look. Hopefully, she asked, "Will you be paying for the rest by card?"

"What do you mean, 'the rest'? How much could this stuff—?" Stan grabbed the price tag on one of the shirts, squinted at it, and grabbed his chest. "Holy moly! For one shirt? This is robbery!"

Mabel winced. "I guess it's a little bit pricier than the thrift shop, but it's not that bad—is it?"

"Not that bad?! For prices like this, it'd be cheaper to get a boat ticket to Taiwan and rob the sweatshop where they sew this stuff! Forget it!" He started sliding bags off his arms and tossing them back on the counter. "Keep them! We're not shopping here!"

"But Grunkle Stan!" Mabel grabbed his coat. "We just found a bunch of stuff that's perfect for Goldie! Please?"

"Do you think I care? He'd be wearing potato sacks if I had my way! We'll go to the outlet store, those are the prices he deserves."

Dipper groaned. "Do we have to do this whole thing all over again?" He and Mabel both looked pleadingly at Bill, waiting for him to protest the return of his carefully-curated wardrobe of tacky golden horrors.

Bill shrugged. "If he didn't bring enough money to the mall, there's nothing we can do about it now."

"Hey! This isn't on me! If it wasn't for you, we'd be at the Shop Thrifty right now!"

Bill scoffed. "Come on, Stanley. It's the 2010's. Even at a thrift store, how far do you think a Jackson's gonna carry you?"

"I think it'd get me a sock I could cram in your mouth, how do you like that?" Stan tossed the last bag on the counter, told the dismayed cashier, "And he looked ugly in everything he picked out, anyway," and stomped toward the door.

"I'm so sorry," Mabel said to the cashier, and hurried after Stan with Dipper. "But Grunkle Stan, we found so many nice things here! We could at least get a couple shirts or leggings..."

"Hey," Bill said. "It's okay, kid."

Mabel shut her mouth, but she didn't look happy about it.

The party trailed behind Stan past a couple of stores, before Bill sped up to walk alongside him and asked, "Well? What's our haul?"

Stan grunted. "What?"

A slow, sly grin spread across Bill's face. "Come on. You can fool the humans, but you can't fool me. What's our haul?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Bill raised a brow.

Stan only lasted a couple of seconds before he cracked a mischievous smile as well. "Oh, did you mean this haul?" He rummaged in his pockets and pulled out a pair of leggings. And then another pair. And then, from his other pocket, a Hawaiian shirt. And—

Mabel gasped. "Grunkle Stan," she hissed. "You didn't!"

"Aw, man." Dipper smacked his forehead. "So all that was an act?"

—and three pairs of socks out of his jacket sleeve, and a dress from his inner coat pocket, and— "Yeeep. I've still got it."

Mabel and Dipper exchanged an exasperated look.

"And you were gonna hit the thrift store." Bill lifted his sunglasses so Stan could see him roll his eye.

"Hey, they've usually got less security than the mall. It's a safer score."

"Cheaper, too."

"You shut up! I'd like to see you do as well."

A bright smile snapped across Bill's face. "Would you! Then get a load of this—" He showed off the front and back of one empty hand, then the other; curled one into a fist; pushed his fingers into the fist and plucked out a corner of fabric; and then, like a magician revealing a long line of scarves tied at the corners, pulled out one garment after another, shirts and skirts and pants. Mabel buried her face in her hands. Dipper looked around like he expected mall security to run up and immediately arrest them all. Bill said, "What'd we lift, almost half the stuff I picked? Neither of us managed to get the kangaroo jacket, did we."

"How did you..." Stan trailed off, jaw dropped.

Bill smugly stuffed the clothing back under his tank top. "All that, and... these." Bill lifted one foot and wiggled it, showing off the yellow foam clogs he'd changed into.

"You just walked out with those on?"

"Sure! You'd be amazed what you can do in plain sight—as long as you don't call attention to it."

"Where the heck are your sandals?"

"Not my problem." Bill gestured vaguely back toward 18th Century with his curtain rod cane. "From the lost-and-found they came, to the lost-and-found they shall return."

Stan, having had his attention called to the curtain rod cane, snatched it out of Bill's hand with a muttered "No weapons," and tossed it in a nearby trash can. Bill watched it go with an expression of miffed resignation. Stan said, "Okay, but how'd you get the security tags off all of those?"

And Bill's grin was back. "Maybe I'll show you—if you show me how you got all that clothing out of those bags into your pockets."

"I thought you were watching."

"My eye is better than my physical coordination. Give me a couple pointers and I'll give you a couple."

Stan looked doubtful. "I just saw you hide half a suitcase under a tank top. I don't think you need any more help with..."

"I'll sweeten the deal," Bill said. "I'm not really a clogs guy. You set me up to walk out with a pair of proper dress shoes, and I'll help you grab a couple rings from that booth at the door?"

Stan scowled. Bill grinned wider. "Come ooon. I know you were eyeing those rings too."

"If we get caught and you throw me under the bus, I'm dragging you down with me."

"I wouldn't dream of it! I don't think either of us can afford to show up on the police's radar, do you?"

"All right, fine. You've got yourself a deal, Cipher."

Mabel silently slid her cell phone over to Dipper so he could text Soos and Ford about this unsettling development.

####

(Thanks for reading!! As always, if you made it this far I deeply appreciate any thoughts & comments you want to share! Stay tuned next week for the unsettling development to get Even Worse.)

[suguwu]

minors and ageless blogs dni

aged up characters, afab reader x nagi established relationship, reader has a bush, accidental sending of lewd photographs, creampie in one photograph, implied/suggested reader x nagi x reo threesome

reo blinks.

and then he blinks again, and then a third time, just to be sure.

but the pictures don't go away. they stay there on his phone's screen, in the goddamn group chat, bright and big and lewd.

your pussy is on full display, an obscene trail of pearly cum caught in the curls above your swollen hole. nagi's cock is nestled against it. reo can see the shine of your slick against your skin; you're wet down to your inner thighs.

his cheeks are hot. he shifts, the outline of his half-hard cock starting to show against his sweatpants. he grips his phone tight to keep from adjusting himself, because he knows he wouldn't be able to stop.

especially since the photos get progressively filthier, with nagi's cock stretching your little hole wide. reo knows your cunt has to be fluttering around that girth, struggling to take your boyfriend in no matter how many times you've fucked.

his grip almost hurts now.

he waits a moment, but the photos are still there. nagi isn't deleting them. knowing him, he probably hasn't even realized it. you clearly haven't checked your messages, or the group chat would be ablaze.

wrong chat, he sends, because what else are you supposed to say when you get your best friend's lewd photos with his long-term partner?

oh, nagi texts, a few minutes later. whoops.

reo snorts. at least nagi never changes, no matter how many years go by.

three little dots appear on the screen again, and reo winces, knowing it has to be you. he chews on his lip, leg jiggling up and down, because you're always a firestorm waiting to happen, the embers of your temper always ready to lick up into flames.

he waits. and waits. those three little dots disappear.

he lets out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

the dots reappear.

reo thinks you're probably doing this on purpose. it's in your smile, sometimes, a sadistic little bite—a razor's edge kiss in the corner of your mouth. he buries his face in his hands with a groan and stays there until his phone dings. he scrabbles for it, nearly dropping it.

he was right—it was you typing. he clicks into the group chat with a shaky breath, groaning as he sees that the photos still aren't deleted, and the filthiest one is still on his screen, your pussy spread wide with two of nagi's big fingers framed around it, all to better see the cum dripping from your abused hole.

he thinks of licking you clean, of the taste of you and nagi on his tongue, and lets out a low, hissing breath.

it's distracting, to say the least, and it takes him a moment to remember that you messaged. he glances down at what you sent, and nearly drops his phone.

do you wanna see the real thing?

[danrenouf]

Colby always gets new programming for the rookies. Not, like, full-on, complete wipe and reinstall, but tweaks. Patches. Each rookie has distinct needs that require different responses and impulses. He’s used to it by now. It’s not like it hurts, anyway - his pain sensors only register physical damage.

With Sid coming in, though, the process of adjusting his programming is more extensive than usual. This rookie’s in the NHL, for one. Different pressure there versus Wilkes-Barre, or juniors.

He’s in the lab for weeks prior to the start of training camp, though. They don’t power him down while they’re talking about the process, so he knows why he’s been there for so long. Generational talent, they say. Face of the franchise. Other things, too, like. People-pleaser and sensitive kid.

Bots don’t ever get that kind of recognition, of course. It makes sense. The league tightly controls what bots can do on the ice, how well they can perform. Colby doesn’t have feelings about it. They’re a few years away from being able to program feelings. But he can turn data-points over, can prod at them with an approximation of curiosity, of empathy. Assess his own array of reactions to a sensitive kid.

He meets Sid at training camp, and the kid seems about as normal as a rookie can be, at least with the amount of attention he’s getting, which must mean the adjustments they made to Colby’s programming were successful. It’s not difficult to anticipate Sid’s responses or reactions. That comes later.

“There’s no way.” Sid is sprawled on his bed, laughing. Laughter means he’s relaxed and comfortable, which will equate to better rest. Better rest tonight will equate to better performance tomorrow.

Colby tosses the empty water bottle in his hand and catches it. “Sure it is. I’m going to bank this off the corner,” he points to the doorway corner of their cramped hotel room, “then the TV, and into the garbage can.” He’ll have to be very precise with the velocity and spin on the bottle, but there’s a more than sixty-percent probability he can make the shot.

Sid laughs again, getting pink in the face. “Okay, hot shot. Do your worst.”

Colby lingers on Sid’s face for a moment. There’s something there that catches him, makes it hard for him to select the right reaction. He winks, though, and turns around. He makes the shot.

“No fucking way.” Sid gets off the bed, bodies Colby out of the way for his own turn.

Colby leans against the wall and watches Sid evaluate his options. Competitive index. Strong driver of motivations. “You gonna pick something, there? Or are we going to stand here all night?” Friendship index. Strong driver of self-worth.

Sid points to the far corner. “Off the ceiling, off the desk, into the can,” he says. Statistically, the odds are very favorable for making the shot. Ninety-percent or more, as long as Sid doesn’t flub.

“Okay, hot shot.” Colby elbows him, which typically elicits a favorable response. “Do your worst.”

Sid’s focused now. Eyes tracing the path the bottle will take, hand tilting the bottle back and forth. Each brand of water is different, bottles having varying shapes and weights. He throws the bottle. It bounces off the ceiling, off the desk, and into the garbage can. A five degree angle change could have made it all go differently, but as it is, Sid whoops and throws his arms in the air, right in Colby’s face. “Eat that, buddy.”

Colby doesn’t need to eat. He must make a face, because Sid’s laughing at him, now. Sid’s face is very close, and the pink in his cheeks has turned into two deep spots over his cheek bones that would likely be hot to the touch, if Colby put his fingers there.

Sid blinks and starts to lean closer. Colby doesn’t have a reaction, models colliding and breaking. His culture and media database tells him him that there’s a high probability that Sid is going to kiss him, now, the way his eyelids have slipped shut again and he’s leaning up with his face angled at the right way to touch their mouths together.

The kiss is brief. There’s pressure against his mouth, and then the pressure is gone. Sid pulls back and looks at him. “Was that okay?” he asks.

Colby stands there, whirring through possible responses. He wasn’t programmed for this possibility, all of his code flexing to find a solution. “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t—”

Sid’s backing away, though, hands pressed to his mouth. “I’m so sorry, Army. I forgot - I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. That’s stupid.” Colby knows how to react to this, how to pull Sid out of distress and back into comfortable territory. “Your breath wasn’t that bad.”

“It won’t happen again, I promise.”

It doesn’t need to not happen again. It was just pressure on his mouth. It didn’t hurt. It didn’t cause damage to his body or his software. “It could, if you wanted to,” Colby says.

Sid stares at him. Colby can’t identify the emotion in his face. “I think we probably shouldn’t.”

“Okay,” Colby says, easy. He throws himself down on his own bed and turns on the TV. “Think Ellen is on right now?”

Sid laughs, though it’s not quite normal. “Guess I’m about to find out.”

It takes Sid longer than usual to fall asleep that night. Anyone else, a human being, would have believed Sid’s performance. Things are never quite the same after that.

for @ticklefighthockey - just a lil variation on a theme

[tsarisfanfiction]

The Ponytail

Fandom: Trials of Apollo Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Austin, Yan, Will, Kayla Yan gets a new hairstyle, and it brings a ghost back to the cabin. Austin takes matters into his own hands. TOApril day 6 - Hair Holds Memories. This went through various iterations from my initial thoughts to what I ended up writing, especially when Austin decided to get involved, whoops...

To start with, Austin couldn’t work out why Kayla and Will looked like they’d seen a ghost.  Both of them had been a bit off for most of the day, his younger sister more than once looking on the verge of tears, quivering lip and all, while Will just went blank, as though he was shutting down, and Austin couldn’t work out why.

At least, not until he saw the ghost.

It was just a flicker in the corner of his eye, a short, low ponytail, black hair on a head that was closer to the ground than his own.

Michael, he thought, startling himself because it had been three years since his first head counsellor had fallen from a shattering bridge to never be seen again, and he’d thought he’d moved on.  He’d certainly moved on better than Kayla, who had been obsessed with their tiny big brother while he was still with them, and Will, who had just known Michael for ages.  Austin didn’t think he’d been close enough with the older boy, really, to justify sudden hallucinations of him three years later.

Then he turned his head and the hallucination theory disappeared out the window as fast as it had arrived, because it wasn’t Michael, of course it wasn’t Michael.  Michael wasn’t Apollo’s only other black haired kid, and Michael had been killed by Kronos years ago.

It was Yan.  Austin knew their hair had been getting longer – they’d forgotten to get it cut before the main contingency of Aphrodite kids went home for the fall, and for various reasons they didn’t trust the year-round kids from any cabin to actually cut their hair, so they were waiting for one of the trusted kids to reappear either at Christmas, or next summer.

Until today, they’d been keeping their hair loose, because it was only just getting long for them, but something had clearly changed – quite likely their hair had started posing a risk in archery – and they’d tied it up in the obvious, low-effort style that kept it out of the way effectively.

No-one would have given it a second glance if it wasn’t exactly the same hairstyle Michael religiously pulled his hair into every morning.  Austin didn’t remember ever seeing Michael with a different hairstyle.

From the way Will kept doing a double take whenever Yan passed through his periphery, he didn’t think that just held true for Michael’s last six months in camp, either.

Yan had clearly noticed something was up with both of them, and probably with Austin, too, because they kept glancing over at them, mouth screwed into something puzzled, but they clearly weren’t sure enough to ask, which meant they weren’t sure they weren’t imagining it – Yan was quiet, yes, but they were also completely unafraid of calling people out.

They weren’t much of a healer, but the attitude still helped when dealing with idiots that thought they knew better than the healers.

Austin remembered Michael doing something similar, when he thought about it – except Michael hadn’t been quiet, ever.  For a tiny guy he’d been loud, even if that was mostly because he kept arguing with Clarisse and various other campers that annoyed him.

Neither Will nor Kayla were doing to do anything about it, though.  Will was too soft, too unwilling to imply that Yan was hurting him, even if it was unintentional, and Kayla preferred to shoot problems rather than talk about them – but she wouldn’t shoot Yan, so that meant this was a problem she was going to bury, instead.

No-one else still in the cabin had ever met Michael, so that meant it was down to Austin to sort this out, preferably without one of his siblings breaking one way or another.

Ah well, this was Will’s last year in camp, given everyone knew he was off to New Rome University at the end of the next summer, and Alice was a summer camper so while she was going to inherit the head counsellor role officially, Austin knew full well who was going to be holding down the fort for the rest of the year.  He might as well start getting some practice in.

His chance came when Yan entered their cabin later in the day, while Austin was cleaning his saxophone – the jazz one, not the one he carried around in combat because, yes, Sherman, they were different.  One was for combat music and storing useful contraptions, including his blowpipe and assorted ammo, and the other was for performance.

Honestly, he wasn’t a heathen.  Mom had bought him the performance one, and the combat one had been a gift from Dad right before Manhattan.  Not that he couldn’t use the jazz saxophone in combat at a pinch, but he’d really rather not if he had the choice.

Austin didn’t know why Yan had come into the cabin, but he wasn’t about to let the chance slip away while there was no Will and no Kayla to realise what he was about to do.

Will in particular was annoying like that.

“Hey, Yan,” he called, setting aside the polishing cloth and carefully setting the saxophone down on its stand.  His sibling glanced over at him, the short ponytail swaying with the movement just enough to catch Austin’s attention, and gods, did a trick of the light have to make them look so much like Michael?

The hair was the only thing about them that was the same!  Yan was so clearly of Chinese ancestry, and Michael had been white – tanned, Austin thought, but still white, with skin tone and racial features to match.  True, they were also both short, but Yan was a normal degree of short, instead of Michael’s tiny.

Yan looked over at him, and from the look on their face, Austin realised they’d noticed his split-second distraction, again.  “What is it?” they asked.

“Let me do your hair.”  Austin beckoned them over.

His sibling sighed and ran a hand through the hair in question.  “It’s the ponytail, isn’t it.”  It wasn’t a question, and Yan didn’t wait for an answer before heading over to him, snagging their hair brush on the way.  “Why?”

Austin shuffled some scattered reeds out of the way, so Yan could sit in front of him, and took the proffered brush.

“Kayla ever mention Michael to you?” he asked, pulling the hair tie out of his sibling’s hair and snapping it around his wrist.  He didn’t bother asking if Will had; he knew the answer to that.

“The head counsellor before Will?” Yan replied.  “A few times.  He died, didn’t he?”

It only took a couple of passes with the brush to get rid of any stray tangles Yan’s hair had picked up during the day.  “Yeah,” Austin confirmed.  “Kayla and I didn’t know him for long, but he was pretty cool.  Kayla adored him – I think Michael used to struggle to go anywhere without her following him, and if it was the archery range it was a total lost cause, not that I think he cared about that.”

“He was an archer,” Yan said confidently.  “Kayla said he was the best.”

Austin snorted slightly at the memory that arose of both of them trying to outshoot each other.  They’d done that several times – although it was really Kayla trying to outshoot Michael, because she was good even back then, but Michael had been better.  Austin didn’t know if that was still true, but they’d never know that.

“Yeah,” he agreed, leaning over to grab a box of hair elastics from his dresser.  One generic hair tie was not going to work for this at all.  “He was.”

He grabbed his own comb, too, and got to work partitioning Yan’s hair, reminding himself that Yan’s Asian hair was not going to take to braids the same way his did.  His sibling didn’t react to the tail of the comb against their scalp, so Yan had probably expected Austin to do something like that.

They sat in silence for a few minutes as Austin concentrated, splitting Yan’s hair down the middle and clipping the half he wasn’t working with away before he split the other half into three more sections.

“Michael wore his hair in a short low ponytail all the time,” he eventually said, once he had the sections to his liking and ready to braid.  “And his hair was black.”

Yan’s shoulders slumped.  “I see,” they said.  “Sorry.”

Austin jabbed him in the shoulder with the end of the comb.  “Not your fault, you didn’t know.  Besides, it’s not like he gets to monopolise hairstyles.”

“Which is why you’re redoing my hair so it isn’t like that,” Yan pointed out dryly.  “I can take a hint, Austin.”

“Braids are cooler than ponytails,” Austin sniffed.  “I’m doing you a favour.”

“And stopping Will and Kayla from looking like they’ve seen a ghost every time they see me,” Yan continued, not giving Austin any wriggle room to deny it.  “I know.  It’s okay.”

It wasn’t, not really, but Austin knew there wasn’t anything they could do about it.

“And thanks,” Yan continued.  “I know you don’t do just anyone’s hair.”

Austin tied off the first braid with a flourish and got started on the second.  “You’re my sibling,” he said.  “Why wouldn’t I?”

Braiding took some time, especially because Austin had to keep remembering not to tighten the braids too much in deference to Yan’s hair type – no-one wanted Yan losing hair when the braids were taken out – but he kept to a simple straight pattern, until Yan had six braids running from their hairline to the back of their neck.  Yan was patient, though, and they filled the time with various chatter – a lot of it questions about Michael, leaving Austin a little astonished at both how much and how little he remembered his brother.

It was all worth it, though, when they were summoned out of their cabin later by the dinner conch, and Kayla and Will didn’t flinch, pale, or otherwise show signs of seeing a ghost when they caught sight of Yan.

Yan noticed that, too, and the smile on their face was easy and comfortable as they settled onto the stone bench next to Jerry, who didn’t even seem to notice the change in hairstyle.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Will murmured in his ear, but Austin shrugged.

“I did,” he said.  “Yan wanted stories about him in exchange.”  He wasn’t enough of an asshole to say Michael’s name to Will, but his older brother still winced a little.

“Sorry,” he said, “I should’ve-”

Austin flapped a hand at him impatiently, cutting him off.  “It’s fine,” he insisted.  “I wasn’t as close as you, or even Kayla.  It was easier for me.”

Will still didn’t look happy about it, but Jerry suddenly exploded into some rant or other about cricket (again – Austin did love his British brother, he did, but his obsession with that sport could get seriously grating at times), which made attempting to have any more conversation pretty much impossible.

From the satisfied smirk on Yan’s face, and the nod they sent Austin, he was pretty sure his sibling had provoked Jerry on purpose.

Whatever worked, Austin supposed.

[conitagray]

i remember it, all too well.

42!miles g morales x reader

summary: you've been dating someone for a year and slowly you realize they've become distant. barely texting you, not showing any admiration, always out clubbing. until you went to their place and see something unspeakably wrong, you snap and they try to come back to you. months later, still broken. you met miles and you two become very close. one day you see them again and you can remember the memories all too well.

warnings: super angst (fluff in the end of COURSE) cursing, bad spanish (i’m so sorry y’all😭) creepy ex bro, cheating.

a/n: WHOOP i started listening to atwtmv for like a 100 times and it gave me the idea to write this (all hail taylor swift!!) this is gonna be so angsty i swear like im so sorry yall 😭 but lemme tell y’all i swear 42 miles has rizz i’m not lying

words: 2.2k

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

your life was pretty fine the past few months since you’ve met your partner.

they were, everything you wanted. they loved you to the moon and back and you said the same thing too.

but a year passed and things started to change, drastically.

they stopped paying attention to you, stopped hanging out with you, was always on their phone and most of all, always went clubbing.

you’d be at your place and it was around 12:45 in the morning, he was supposed to come by.

the first thing that came up to your mind was text him, they were probably busy anyway?

…..

love&lt;3

12:46 am

y/n: babe, wru? you were supposed to come to my place an hour ago.

seen 12:48 am.

y/n : hello?

seen 12:50 am.

……

you sighed, tossing your phone to the side of the bed as u curled up in ball, thinking why they left you on seen.

you decided to go check up on them yourself, so you put your shoes on and walked over to his apartment.

you knocked on their door, seemingly waiting for an answer, there was none.

so you opened the door which was seemingly unlocked, and scanned around the room, calling out their name.

when you heard loud music from his room.

you knocked but there was no answer as you thought the music was drowning your knock so you opened it.

and oh boy were you in for a surprise.

you dropped your purse on the floor as you stood there as if you saw a ghost, but instead you saw them making out with someone else.

“so that’s how shits going huh.” you said bluntly with tears in your eyes as your words jolted both of them up and your partner turned to look at you.

“it’s not what it seems like bab-“ they were protesting, pushing the other person away and walking to you but you cut them off and pushed them away.

“there’s nothing to fucking explain!” you screamed. “its all right infront of me, dont even bother.” you said as the tears flowed out of your eyes, looking away.

“please love im sorry i- just- give me another chance” they tried to grab your hands and you pulled away quickly.

“so you just can call me up again just to break me like a fucking promise huh? i expected better from you.” my voice cracked at every word as i walked away and slammed the door shut.

i was home, on the floor. in a ball of sadness. tears, snot, everything flowing out. while they kept texting me.

…..

unknown number.

1:15 am

un: babe please

un: please im sorry

un: i won’t do it again

un: forgive me

seen 1:20 am.

…..

you knew damn well he was lying so you blocked the number, shutting off your phone and sliding it across the room.

that day, your whole heart broke, you never felt anything anymore, love was completely just a game to you

but do you think everything will change soon?

it was your usual day. wake up, get ready for work, walk, get to work and actually work.

you worked at the cashier in some convenience store.

you’d felt numb and dull the past few weeks and didn’t really have the motivation to do anything, but you had to so you did. but you just remember everything all too well.

you were doing your job as normal and nothing around changed honestly, it was just your average normal day until someone came in that caught your eye.

it was a boy about your age, he was wearing sweatpants and a sweater, the way his jawline stands out and his braids touching his shoulders.

you thought he was cute but you shook off your feelings and went on with your day.

you noticed he was catching a few glances from you, you thought of it as nothing when he paid normally and went out the store.

but he kept coming back to the store every single day for the whole week and you two start to talk a bit more, but not your actual huge conversations.

but this one time. he was in the store picking up a few stuff and bringing it to the counter.

you scanned the items as you put it in a paper bag,

“15.44.” you told him the price.

“keep the change.” he said giving you a 20 and his spanish accent had you rolling on the floor (metaphorically).

you mumbled a thank you as he walked out, you were going to put the 20 in the cash box but suddenly, you saw a note attached to it.

* xxx-xxx-xxxx, my number. text me soon hermosa. - miles:) *

you were shocked to the brim as u held the paper in hand profusely blushing as you started to smile a bit.

did a guy just really give his number out to you?

you kept the note in your pocket, still blushing and went on with your day. until you came back home

you held the note in your hand again, still contemplating if you should put the number in your phone.

you did it anyway.

as you shakily typed the number in your phone, you added his name in the contact number and pressed the message button.

…..

miles(?)

10:05 pm.

y/n: hello?

*minutes pass by and you were doubting a message back from him. but your phone dinged.*

miles(?): hey

*you were shaking in your bed as you saw his reply.*

y/n: you’re miles right?, the guy from the store?

miles(?): the one and only. miles(?): and you’re…?

y/n: sorry.. i’m y/n

miles(?): nice name ;)

*at that point you were shocked by the little winky face he put*

y/n: the same goes to you :)) y/n: so.. weird question but why’d you give me your number?

miles(?): just thought you were cute.

*his reply literally had you in shambles and you didn’t know what to reply with but it hit you. it could be your ex’s friend again trying to get on you for breaking up with them.*

y/n: are u sure? because i swear to god if you’re one of my ex’s friends trying to shit on me for breaking up w them i will literally murder you.

miles(?): i swear, i don’t know who your ex is. but are you okay though?

*i sighed in relief, knowing that they stopped doing it.*

y/n: yeah, sorry i’m just paranoid. y/n: i gotta go, talk to you soon?

miles(?): alright, see ya soon hermosa.

……

you closed your phone and start to smile, but it feels like everything that went down happened was only yesterday, time won’t fly for you. it’s like your paralyzed in your own heartbreak.

you lay down in your bed, thoughts drowning in you as you start to fall asleep.

days turn to weeks and you and miles start to become closer friends. and you wouldn’t deny to admit that you liked him, ALOT.

but you never told him. you were scared of commitment ever since it happened.

you never told him, you never bothered to say anything because he never asked you and you were fine with it. until one day.

you both were on the rooftop at his place laughing about anything and everything, talking about what happens.

until he asks a question.

“so, that day, the day you first messaged me about your ex’s friends shitting on you for what happened, whyd you think i was one of them?” he looked at the stars slyly, glancing at you at times.

“well.” you sighed, fiddling around with your fingers,

“i didn’t know who his friends were, so they would come around at work, giving me their number and i would text them obviously and they would always tell me i was cute or something but the next second they just shit on me saying mean stuff and i kinda just couldn’t trust anyone after that.”

he looks back down to look at you , with an apologetic look on his face, when he went to scoot a bit closer to you.

“can i ask what happened?” he asked as his hand was slightly touching yours as you looked at the stars.

“we were happy for a year, everything was fine but they grew distant. they stopped talking to me and always went to clubs and came back home drunk. they seemed off for so long and i went to their place and saw them making out with someone else and i just kinda lost it, because they did this twice and i lost my shit at that point, i haven’t felt love ever since. i just kinda lost motivation, i really want my old self but i just can’t seem to find it.” tears filled your eyes to the brim as i told him everything.

as the tears start to flow out, he hugged you tightly and rubbed your back. “lo siento mucho querida.” he whispered.

“you did nothing wrong okay? it was all them.” he hugged you tighter.

as he pulled back from the hug, wiping the tears from your eyes.

it was silent for a moment after he pulled away.

“i could change that.” he spoke up after the brief silence that filled between us.

you locked at him surprised, “what.. do you mean?”

“you said.. you would never feel love again right..?” his words were soft when he spoke.

you nodded slowly as you turn to look at him looking at the stars.

“well, i could change that.” his head lowered down to look at you but you looked away.

“how will i know you end up the same as they did?” you looked down looking at your knees when you felt his hand grab your chin and pull you in closer for a kiss.

you were shocked at first but then you slowly melt in to the kiss, finally realizing he was the one.

as he pulled away, he held your hand tightly. “i promise i won’t break your heart mi amor.” he whispered. "ill give you the world, the stars if possible, anything for you."

you felt this wave of love you’ve never felt before and it made you feel full, you went to hug him tightly as you never wanted to pull back

“i love you, miles.”

“te quiero también, mi amor. más de lo que sabes.”

after that day, you and miles started dating and it was nothing like you experienced before.

it was always flowers here, flowers there and he was just a straight up gentleman to you.

you just closed up your shop early tonight to go on your first date with miles, and when you both were walking there, you bumped into someone and both crash to the ground.

“oh my god im so sorr-“ you were frantically picking up their stuff to give it back and when you both look at eachother, you stopped talking. it was your ex.

everything, every single memory of you both flowed down your mind and you remembered it all too well.

“amor are you okay?” miles bent down to check on you when he noticed you giving a dirty glance at your ex, and it hit him.

“yeah i’m fine let’s just go.” you tried to stand up but your ex’s hand pulled you back down and restraining you from standing up.

“what the fuck do you want?” you screamed and it grabbed miles attention.

“please, im sorry i didn’t mean it can things just go back the way it was?” he protested and was on their knees begging you to stay

i pulled my hand out of his grip as we both stood up “i already told you, a million fucking times, no.”

“please i’m sorry, i- i was drunk and i wasn’t thinking straight.”

“so you’re telling me, those both times you were drunk and you weren’t thinking straight? those both times you fucking cheated on me and you weren’t thinking straight? you choosing pleasure over our goddamn relationship and you weren’t thinking straight? you could’ve thought for a SINGLE moment, will this affect my relationship? of course it fucking will you asshole. get out of my sight.” you stood back up and walked opposite where your ex was, but they wouldn’t stop and grabbed your hand again.

“just forgive me plea-“ he was about to get on his knees but miles stood infront of you and grabbed their arm tightly so they could release your arm

“back up bro, y/n already told you they don’t want you. don’t make it harder for us. one step closer and you’re gone got it?” miles let go of his hand as a warning and they nodded and ran away and miles turned to you.

“are you okay querida? you aren’t hurt anywhere are you?” he put his arms on your shoulders, scanning your body for any wounds.

“i’m okay, just a bit shaken up." you sighed, fixing your clothes.

miles was genuinely worried about you and you told him everything's fine as long he was with you.

"i'm so sorry amor that they keep doing that to you." he grabbed yout waist and pulled you in a hug.

"you know ill protect you always right?" he pulled away from the hug.

"promise?" you held out your pinky for a pinky promise and smiled softly.

"promise querida." he took his pinky and hooked it with yours and shook it softly and pulled you in another hug.

although you still remember all the heartbreaking memories all too well, you had him and that was enough for you.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

© hearts4hobie.

do not steal, translate, and rewrite without permission.

[veliseraptor]

top 5 fictional villains

oh man how am I supposed to choose from my entire villain warehouse. let's see.

1. Xue Yang. I mean, if this wasn't obvious from my [gestures] whole blog. But boy did I fall hard from pretty much scene one of my first watch of The Untamed, and then never looked back from there. He's just! What a guy. An icon. I love him so much. Fucks up his own life irreversibly and doesn't even realize he's doing it until too late. Whoops.

2. Maeglin. #my trash son. I waffled between putting him and Celegorm on this list (I could've done both, but, well, I felt like I should pick one per canon) and decided to go with Maeglin because he's arguably worse? Though I guess it probably depends on your metric. (I'm not really interested in arguing on that one, I don't particularly care, they're both my beloveds and there's no changing that at this point.) Seriously fucked up childhood that's got to fuck some things up in one's head to begin with, and then making some terrible choices later on that just go rapidly downhill, and again, tragedy of condemning oneself but also how doomed was he from the beginning (pretty doomed).

3. Vegas Theerapanyakul. I kind of hesitated about putting him on here because it feels sort of weird to call him a "villain" but like. He did sexually assault the protagonist in an early episode and threaten to kill him later on, so, like. Even if the story turns around and gives him a happy ending (iconic) I feel like he counts. Disaster of a man, kind of an awful person ("kind of?", you say, and okay, that might be so), and it's very sexy of him. Pete thinks so too, apparently.

4. Shen Jiu. Yest all right I know he's technically Sir Not Appearing In This Book but he is technically the titular scum villain so I'm counting him. Awful man. Miserable history, miserable story. I'm irresistibly drawn to tragedies created by characters themselves and that's what this guy's got going on.

5. Moridin/Ishamael/Elan Morin Tedronai. We! Love! A nihilistic villain just craving the end of everything! Of tenuous sanity and an abiding obsession with the protagonist! Anyway I didn't have a lot of feelings about this guy the first couple times I read Wheel of Time but then on my second to latest reread he came roaring out in front and plop, in the villain warehouse he goes.

thought about including He Xuan but he only sort of feels like he counts as a villain somehow; honorable mentions here go to Celegorm (disney prince murderer), Jun Wu (king of creating a toxic work environment), Clytemnestra (queen of my heart), Azula (since I just mentioned her), Jin Guangyao (generator of infinite discourse) and Jinx. I feel like I'm forgetting folks here. but that happens, I suppose.

and this is not including villains who are just so much fun for me to watch, who live in a slightly separate corner of my brain but are beloved of me nonetheless.

[drrr-emporium]

What to do if Durarara over

I'm going to assume you've finished the anime and have not gone into anything else Naritaverse wise

So! You can read the novels. Since they're officially licensed by yen press, you can buy the soft cover books or get them as an ebook / kindle from barnes and noble or amazon. I don't really endorse this but I'm sure if you do enough digging around you can find old, still available, free translations like anni_fiesta who did a lot of translating back in the day. Here's the link to their Index of Translation. I still use it since it's the only place I know that has the white day story translated and it's one of my favorites (For Kadota Related reasons haha), plus a couple of other side stories.

(I think the internet archives have the novels if you do some poking around but for Narita Please Write SH 5 reasons, I'll ask you to dig those up lmao)

Speaking of Side stories, Kazinha-726 translated a bunch of drrr side stories But since they haven't updated in a while, you need to change the links from kaedesan721 to their new URL kazinha-726. I'll directly link what you need here

Izaya Spin Off Translations I don't think these are officially licensed for translation so it's fine for me to link. This is the story of Izaya now that he's been forced out of Ikebukuro, and there's two books as of writing this.

Durarara Gaidens It's some gaidens, but It's also a handful of translated convos from 3 way stand of alley relay, the links use that kaedesan721 link, so while I won't be fixing all those links for you, I can at least link the tag for all of them here. you can probably find audio for this game on youtube, though I'm not sure anyone's like.... fully translated? perhaps? Which ALSO reminds me of the relay manga

Durarara Epitome of Eighteen Histories Written along side the release of season 2, we've got some stories involving Kazane Kinomiya, who's the half sister of Shinra, and a reporter. They have all 18 listed there nicely EXCEPT the Erika and Walker Link is a little messed up, and if you search through the posts you can get to it but anyway here's the link to that story specifically

DRRR x Hakata Tonkatsu Ramens Actually I haven't seen HTR or read it so I can't really tell you about this one but if you're into that series--

There's ALSO MiniDura which are little gag comics of the durarara cast in chibis! there should be 4 books as of me writing this. Godspeed on finding translations they seem to be around.... but this post is long and I'm scared of losing it so I'll update later on how many chapters there are so you don't miss any, though I'm seeing up to 10 in my cursory search.

Shizuo, Izaya, and Celty are also in uh.... Dengeki Bunko's fighting Climax, which you might be able to find some stuff on on youtube. but since it's Dengeki Bunko you also have other series... I can only remember A Certain Magical Index / A Certain Scientific Railgun / the other titles in this series as being part of it whoops.

So you've done all that, what do you do next?

Well Narita has other series, like Baccano! which had an anime before DRRR did, which is 16 episodes. Since Funimation lost the license back in like... 2012 it's not officially uh licensed for viewing anywhere, so uh. wink wink. message me if you need more help here.

There's ALSO the novels which... there are so many more than there are for drrr, also available to purchase, though these are hardcovers! Last time I checked they had.... around 20 translated? Since I'm more drrr side I'd have to ask about fan translations and if I can still find them around. But again I don't really condone it since we want more written you know?

Narita also has a couple other series, but the one that's my favorite besides DRRR is Etsusa Bridge (It's pronounced Essa Bridge don't make the same mistake I did. )

And i NEED more people to read that one please please please please

Unfortunately, the person who did the fan translation closed their Blogspot to the public so uh. the first 4 books, and really what is the main story, is available on the internet archive here

Though I'm saying thank you to baka-tsuki for my life by having a page of links here, which includes the 5th book, 5656 part two (NARITA..... I NEED 5656 PART 2 PLEASE...... PLEASE)

and Vamp on the internet archive here and baka-tsuki here

I also know about Hariyama-san but i don't actually know... if anyone translated that one..... Narita has also written for Bleach and Fate Strange/ Fake if you're into those. Straight up just linking this wiki page in case you have any interest in other stuff he's written

And finally! Currently, Dead Mount Death Play (often shortened to DMDP) is a manga written (or co written?) by Narita! which is currently getting an anime and all of his attention.

All that being said I've been really into Trigun lately lmao

Anyone else feel free to add on or tell me what I may be missing

[chweverni]

Bucket List

pairing : bff!vernon x reader

synopsis : hansol vernon chwe, the only friend you've had since kindergarten, is the only one who you love spending time with. why? because he's your best friend, right?

word count : 1.03k

author's note : domestic vernon is what i need rn. i would recommend listening to "Freudian" by Daniel Caesar (yes the whole album), while reading this, bc i wanted this short drabble to scream freudian LOL

-

"i've always wanted to try one thing," vernon, your best friend since kindergarten suddenly voices, out of the blue, while whisking the cake batter manually with all his might.

"that would be..?", you ask, greasing the cake pan.

"this.", vernon advanced to you, booping your nose with his index finger, previously dipped in the cake batter. "a nice addition to your awfully focused face. loosen up a little! its fine if the cake tastes nothing like one, i swear i have some money left to just buy one already!", he ends this with a smile. your heart aches a bit, knowing that you'd probably never see this smile if you speak your mind to him right now. how his flour dusted face looked oh so adorable, his unruly hair from the constant nudging while whisking that damn batter.

while you were zoning out on how you'd potentially have to move countries, change names and identities if you'd confess to your best friend, he stares at you, with his dark brown eyes. "earth to y/n? wake up, the heck?"

he grabs your shoulders, which makes you flinch, and in just the blink of an eye, you hear something metallic fall. you wince in pain, as your eyes widen at the realization. your hands hit the bowl, where all that precious batter was whisked perfectly by your perfect boyfriend best friend.

you slowly descended, your knees meeting the kitchen floor, as you start sobbing. vernon at first, is shocked. the poor boy couldn't even comprehend what happened, and just a moment later, you found yourselves in front of a confectionery. you were still recovering from that heart attack. if you could hide in a hole forever, you would. totally.

while walking to the confectionery, you tried everything, i mean everything to ignore that big, ball of cuteness accompanying you. but of course, that smartass had to detect it later.

you stared at the different cakes from the glass of the insanely pretty display case. your eyes glimmered at each and every one, but would you really ask for something from your best friend, right after shattering his efforts into a gazillion pieces? of course not! "how long are you planning to avoid me? if you don't ask, i won't buy anything for you. so, speak up, right now!", vernon bent to your height, staring you down with his sweet eyes, which caused your heart to race faster than usain bolt.

you cleared your throat and looked away, pointing to that one cake in the display case, still not voicing your thoughts. "you do know i can hear right?", he reminded you again, this time pointing to his ears. all you could do was stare blankly at him. he sighed, "look, you don't have to feel bad about earlier. it's literally called the past for a reason. and, to make you feel even better, i think we added corn flour instead of just flour, so we're actually fine." he patted your head, and then your shoulders.

what are we? you thought to yourself. whatever the heck he said right now, would he do it for anyone else?

"uhm, i'd like the marshmallow chocolate one please! and i am so sorry about earlier i don't know how my hand just went whoop and boom, it hit your perfect batter which fell onto the ground and then-" vernon held your hand, giving it a light, reassuring pump; "stop being such a worrywart, it's totally fine y/n."

excuse me? how dare he be this smooth? does he even know what he's doing to you right now? unfair!

back at your shared apartment, you and vernon sat on the floor, at opposite sides of the table, with drinks and the cake laid out. vernon fixed the music speaker, as it played daniel caesar's get you. the sound was faint, but it added to the cozy feeling of the situation. his eyes bored into your face, as you took a bite of that soft cake. you felt his eyes staring, to which your body responded by sending all the blood to your cheeks.

"are you.. not going to eat right now?"

"later, you look really adorable right now."

"oh okay-", you replied, picking up the soda can to drink up, until you brain processed what he just said right now. you choked on your own spit, coughing a bazillion times. great way to respond to a complement, y/n, really.

"be so real right now." you said, blinking twice, while vernon on the other hand was having the time of his life, laughing away half his soul at you nearly dying. "you got really flustered; do you like it when i complement you, y/n?"

what's gotten into him today? why is he so damn bold today? what the fuck?

his eyes were on you, while you settled for his. gosh do you feel this right now? you breathed out, as both your bodies inched closer to one another. during that intense stare-down, you whispered; " i really need to pee right now."

silence filled the room. and both of you broke out in a fit of laughter.

"what the heck was that?", his eyes resembled crescent moons as his sweet laugh echoed in your hears.

"i don't know, i was nervous, haha, i guess?" you replied, clearly shivering out of embarrassment. "do you really have to pee though?", he asked. you shook your head, too early, excited for what was about to happen.

he smiled, resting his head on the table on his arms, as he softly asked, "did you know that i have a huge crush on you?" "shit, you beat me to it!" "y/l/n y/n, will you go out with me?" you collected some frosting from the cake, as you painted on the paper plate, Y-E-S, accompanied with a disheveled smiley face at the end.

"typical you", he smiled, flaring his gums to you. embarrassment crept up your cheeks as you buried your head on the table. he got up and sat next to you, as you turned to look at him.

he crept closer to kiss your forehead.

"that's another thing i wanted to try this year"

-

HOPE YALL LIKED THIS ONE ;DD please show some support ehe

cr: chweverni on tumblr only! <3 (2023)

[teemingwindow]

This is a fan recap of the crown and bishop au

chapter 1

So it starts with Shamura being born then abandoned (very sad) shamura then gets brought to a sanctuary we’re they grow up and learn the art of random fucking symbols, It’s called the old faith alphabet

Then some time passes the sanctuary gets robbed, attacked, blown up if you will and Shamura is on the run all by their selfs, no family, friends, not even a moth. But they do have these weird funky hats called crowns. There’s a red one (edgy crown), the blue one (the no bitches crown), a yellow one (I’m going to kick your ass crown), a green one (I will eat everything in sight crown), and a purple one (the smarty pant’s crown). Of course Shamura being very smart picks the purple one.

Some more time passes and Shamura finds a (ugly) helpless squid, Shamura feels bad very bad for him so they take him in and calls him kallamar

More time passes and Shamura with kallamar finds a black cat, Shamura thinks umm this cat is probably a orphan because his family is not with him so Shamura scoops him up and welcomes him into the family, his name is narinder

Like a week later or mabye 2 seconds (we don’t exactly know) Shamura finds a tadpole beaten and bruised kinda like they just whooped some ass, so Shamura said in exact words “yoink”. Heket has joined the party

A couple more years into the future Shamuras is happy with their little family, everyone is growing up so fast, kallamar is like 10 and still ugly, narinder has easily became Shamuras favorite, and heket is not a tadpole anymore and has evolved into a full frog.

Shamura was content with their family, no more orphans, no more being lonely. Just happy thoug-.. what the hell is biting me? Shamura turned around and found a little earth worm biting them, at first narinder wanted to eat it because idk, but Shamura said naw and thought of something else, they said fuck it and let him into their family. +1 worm, his name is leshy.

Even more years later everyone was growing up, so Shamura gave everyone a crown

Chapter 2

Kallamar of course got the blue crown, heket got the yellow crown, leshy got the green one, and finally narinder got the red one.

Shamura was happy with there little fight force of orphans and then they traveled the lands, seeing sights and never fighting again, happy end-. Bitch you thought instead Shamura said fuck it again and with her orphan squad Concord the entire lands and made a whole religion where people worshiped them and kallamer still has no bitches imagine that getting a whole religion around you and still no hoes.

The lands changed forever, the lands worshiped Shamura and their orphan gang, but they thought that name sucked so they just got called bishops, and that’s where the story ends. Shamura is happy, they got a family, a religion, and whole alphabet, what more could you ask for. But not just the lands changed… something in narinder changed…

Narinder was become real edgy when he had the crown on, like *real* edgy. He thought “man I only get one fifth of this religion, nah thats wack I want the whole pot, I want it ALL!!”

So he made a plan to kill his siblings and take all of the power and glory and more power. So one day when the whole family was in one place he finalized his plan and attacked. First he gave Shamura a lobotomy, then bitch slapped kallamar to the ground and took his ears, he slit hekets throat and finally stabbed leshys eyes.

He had did it, he won the fight, until the other bishops said he was wack and then they attacked him, they used their crown powers to send narinder into a place I would call the death realm (or purgatory). They made sure narinder could never leave that place.

So after doing that they tended to their wounds, leshy is blind, heket can barely talk, kallamar can barely hear and still got no hoes, and lastly Shamura has short term memory lost. But then they drank some milk to get rid of the debuffs and everything was ok.. not really Shamura still can’t think that well.

chapter 3

There the story ends, narinder is stuck in purgatory, and the other bishops still rule the lands… until narinder said in EXACT words “man this place sucks, there’s not even an Xbox up here. Ah fuck it im going to give the next person who dies a deal to live once again but they most kill my siblings and revive me.” And he did just that

His first vessel was a raccoon named gaap, he liked to tinker with death and revive people. But he somehow failed narinder and was removed as a vessel, oh how did he fail? Idk jir still hasn’t told us come back in about a month:D

This went on for a while, Vessel after vessel, somehow dying to leshy who was basically the tutorial boss, I would name them but I like to keep my sanity so here’s some honorable mentions.

There was frog named Ayranor, a old ass deer named Margaret, a caring cat named pudding (clap here), a purple dog named jay and lastly a red panda named Elon mus-.. just Elon, he was a capitalist of course (boo here). Now Shamura felt bad for narinder because he sucks at picking vessels so Shamura gave narinder some kittens so he would stop trying to kill them and calm his ass down, he did not calm his ass down.

Now we get to a rat named ratau who has a brother named ratoo, he was a vessel for narinder but he quit because he did a bad, what bad? You should know what to expect (thanks jir). Now ratau might have or might not have found a little lamb and raised them (he called them lambert), but the bishops found the lamb and we’re going to execute them because they might be animalist

when the lamb died they went to where narinder, and narinder gave them a deal to kill their siblings for him. Without a button to say no lambert said yes and unlike the other vessels lambert actually played the binding of issac and killed all of the bishops, narinder was happy, he finally won. His siblings were dead and now he can rule the lands once more AND DO SO MUCH MO-…where’s my crown.. hey lamb can I have my crown back?

chapter 4

WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN BY NO?!?!? Narinder was pissed, even more pissed than when he got trapped in purgatory, so he sends his minions, aym and Baal the same kittens that Shamura gave him forever ago there no way they would los-..and there dead…

Aw fuck it, if you want to do something you better do it yourself narinder said. After many years trapped, narinder is ready to fight for the red crown and take the power he deserves, he’s going to kick that lambs ass and win this figh-.. and he’s dead.

To recap lamb killed all the bishops, girl bossed narinder, and became the new god of death. But before lambert could celebrate they had to deal with narinder one more time, do they kill him and show no mercy or let him live and show mercy to one who would show no mercy…a though choice one would say, but lambert said in again exact words “fuck it” and spared him because tbh he kinda hot.

And that’s where the story ends for real this time, lambert is the new god of death and they can go back to their cult and live happily ever af-… why is there a giant gate where narinders gate used to be? Why is there a giant angel thing standing at said gate?? Lambert probably very confused talked to them, they said they were a higher being(or something). We will call them their true name, space soup. Space soup said to lambert“you fucked up lamb, the lands are uneven because you killed all the bishops, so you are going to revive them and make the lands whole again”

Again lambert with no, no button said fine and went off to do space soups biding. So off lambert went to do the thing………..

oh you want to know what happens next? well you can find out via jirs game she made, that’s right this whole thing was a ploy to make you play her game because I respect her time that she worked on it, thanks for reading and have a good day:b

Credits

Lore and au maker: jir

Recap maker: teem

Person paying for teems therapy from all the codes he had to solve: no one :(