#they tend to give a pass to those black folks

[tariah23]

Isn’t there like a new movie or show out featuring a white samurai or some bullshit

[blacksapphrodite]

Including Gods in Your Witchcraft

Today, I’m going to talk about something a little different. This topic is something that I tend to consider more in private, and it took me a bit to decide how I wanted to talk about it. The topic? Including gods in your witchcraft, spells, etc. If you’ve flipped through any spellbooks for sale nowadays, or visited any site--including my own--you’ve probably at least seen in mentioned in passing. “Invoke any gods you work with,” or “Call on X”, or “Invoke Y”. Yes, many of these spells might even give you a specific god to work with, and to be honest, that’s something I take a bit of issue with for a number of reasons. 

Now, I’m certainly not going to call myself an expert in this area. I’ve only been working with one goddess--Lady Aphrodite--for a few years off and on, and I’m learning more each day. But my experiences over these few years have certainly led me to form some opinions, and those are what I’m going to share with you today. Working with Lady Aphrodite has been one of the most rewarding things I’ve ever done, and as I dip into the rest of the Hellenic pantheon, I’m excited--but nervous--to share some of my thoughts with you. 

I took my dive into witchcraft when I was in college, so about 9-10 years ago (yikes). When I started looking up spells to try, I was surprised to find that so many spells mentioned call upon some god or another in order to complete the spell. Now, this shouldn’t have been very surprising--a lot of witches are Wiccan, and it makes sense for them to include such things in their spellcraft. This was a bit of a turn off for me, until I learned that witchcraft could be as secular as it is religious to some folks. As someone who was raised in a Black, Christian environment, that made dipping my toes in a little easier. Spells would note that you could take out the invocation or switch out gods to suit your personal taste, and often I would do just that. 

As noted, I started working with Lady Aphrodite a few years ago. I consider my work with her and my exploring Hellenism to be separate from my witchcraft, but sometimes I combine the two. And as I continued to work and learn, it concerned me that some people would mention the invocation of specific gods in spells, almost haphazardly. Why would you instruct someone--especially someone who is probably newish to witchcraft--to call upon a god they likely know nothing about? 

And therein lies my issue. Working with gods is an amazing and humbling experience--your relationship to them might be casual or passing, and it might be deep and personal. But regardless, these are gods. We need to be respectful when approaching them--introductions and offerings are almost a prerequisite in my book. But more importantly, before even that, we need to know who exactly it is we’re calling upon. Gods are not a monolith. They have personalities, likes and dislikes, levels of decorum they expect, and so on. They have eons of history behind them. These are all things we need to take note of before calling upon someone we know nothing about, with no prep work done beforehand. Some gods may be fine with this--many others may not be. Some gods are more dangerous than others. The very least we can do before approaching and invoking a god we know little about is to read about them, properly introduce ourselves, and offer a prayer before asking for their assistance in a spell. 

We also need to note whether or not this is a god/pantheon that’s open to us to begin with. Many religions--such as Voudoun--are closed to outsiders, and yet their gods are thrown around willy nilly as if  they’re open to approach from anyone. This could lead to as small an issue as the spell not working, or as disastrous an issue as offending the god. This isn’t to discourage anyone from including gods in their witchcraft, just an urging to do your research beforehand. Casting a spell isn’t as simple as finding the spell online and following the directions--you need to do some preparation and reading beforehand, to make sure you’re doing it correctly. 

All that being said, gods can be a great aid to spellwork when all the correct steps are taken. There’s certainly nothing wrong with having a god on your side pushing your spell to work for you--though let’s be real, they can be rather unpredictable with the outcomes. :) If you’re considering including gods in your witchcraft, there are a couple of steps you can take: 

If this isn’t a god you work with regularly, do some reading on them. Glance at their wikipedia page, check out some books if you’re able, read articles on them, get to know their history and their stories. 

Introduce yourself! You wouldn’t like it if a stranger on the street came up to you and asked for your help and time with something completely random with no hello or thanks, would you? 

Make an offering as part of your spell, or before your spell--this is why it’s important to read. Find out what they like and how they like it. 

Always say thank you afterwards. 

Depending on how your spell/introductions went, consider working with them more regularly! There could be a relationship there to work on and develop. 

Always be cautious with your spellwork, and respectful in approaching deities--that’s what most of this boils down to. In our rush and excitement to start casting spells or working with gods, we can get careless, and carelessness is dangerous. Better to be knowledgeable and prepared, even if it means slowing down. This is something I wish I’d known more about when I started looking into spellcasting and witchcraft as a whole, so now I’m passing that information down to all of you! I hope this helps, and isn’t too much of a turnoff. It helps to know that witchcraft is just as much studying as it is spellcasting. ;) 

I’ll be doing a lot more posts on deities in the future if I can help it, and with February coming up I plan to try and do some posts on lovely Lady Aphrodite, so keep an eye out for those, and thank you for reading! 

(I'm cleaning up my blog and reposting some of my spells/etc that were once hosted on my website.💕)

[charlieslowartsies]

the reason why my August vacation is so important...

This is a long, kinda emotional for me journal <3

As I mentioned a while ago, I was splitting my usual two weeks in June of debauchery (sleeping & laying in the sun & hiking in the woods outback lol) into one week last month and then saved the last week for the end of August.

I also wanted to explain the significance of this trip! Less about having to justify my time off and more about 'eeee excite omg!' and wanted to share with y'all!

SO a long time ago when I was a wee Charlie, from age 0 up to 21, I was incredibly close to my grandparents on my mom's side. My nana died when I was 15, and while that took a huge toll on me, I was fortunate enough to have my grandpa till 21. These two people were absolutely second parents. My parents did a good enough job raising me, but they had huge fights and my father had anger issues and it caused a lot of wounds. These were the people I could always rely on, when I couldn't rely on my folks.

They lived 2 hours away on a wonderful lake in a lil tiny trailer over looking it. I spent weeks at a time there, even the occasional month. I learned to swim in that lake, which in hindsight prolly wasn't the safest idea due to its depth, and grew up to be obsessed with swimming. Learned how to sail, ski, fish. Learned how to bake, tend a garden, how a fresh bowl of fruit in the morning should be before breakfast.

We'd swim 3x a day, sometimes just to float and cool down before bed, since there was no a/c and the summer nights were hot. Laid on our backs and counted stars like the Lion King. Fried trout on the grill after we'd caught them, had watermelon seed spittin' contests. My grandpa grew pumpkins and carved my name into one, so that the writing grew bigger and bigger over the months. I had one pumpkin live from September to April.

My handprint is on the last cement step leading down to the beach. It was eroded when we scattered my grandpa's ashes in 2014, but I remember where it was, how to place my palm to compare.

I guess I'd say I had a mixed childhood of various great, good, bad, and horrible things. Like most people, yanno? But those golden summer days on the lake were 100% a part of who I am today, and where my many of my happiest memories come from.

Due to me being in college, cost to heat the place in winter when they had no intention of living there, my family sold the property on the lake to an investor who planned to rent it out.

This was 2014. The same year he died, the same year my horse died (within 2 months of each other) and one of my father's many health issues landed him in the hospital from Oct to Dec, so that he spent xmas on an iv stand. With everything going on, we had no time or money for a big dinner, or presents that year.

I guess that was the first year I realized childhood was truly and officially over, and it was time to grow up. Many of us have that marked moment on our life.

Time passed. I finished college, went back home after turning down a few out of state jobs to spend time with my dad, who I had a feeling didn't have much time left. Turned out I was right, as I came home in 2015 and he died in 2022. There was an accident in '16 where he almost bled to death on our kitchen floor, but I was able to provide pressure/medical care and give him some more years.

Shortly after we moved in 17, I was notified that the house on the lake had been rented to someone who unfortunately had a lot of issues mental health wise, and they had eventually abandoned the property. It sat, rotting, and got so covered on the inside in black mold the county leveled the place and destroyed it.

We had left it fully furnished due to the buyer's urging. Ancient, stunning mid century and older furniture from my great-great grandparents time. My nana's organ player. The rocker my mom and I sat in. And, frankly, to quote one of those popular songs, the house that built me was just gone.

I figured that was the end of it, and cried and got angry/sad and then moved on and just tried surviving as covid hit later on in the years.

Turns out, the man who rented it decided that wasn't going to happen again. He put a new trailer on the property, and rented it out for vacationing due to it's location. We didn't know this until I stumbled across it while daydreaming about a vacation on the lake that I missed it was a relative, one I could at least go back to for a few days. My heart skipped so many beats when I saw the address and paused, thinking there had to be come mistake. It wasn't.

Not only can I spend time on that property again (in a new house which honestly might be for the best) But turns out, for whatever reason, they kept the furniture separate and placed a few pieces into the new house. There's a photo of the rocker in the layout photos. The two level lamp they had is still intact and functioning. I booked the place for a week immediately.

It's expensive for me, but my girlfriend and I will make it work. (Certainly not like we have far to travel.) We're going to be there smack dab in the middle of my Grandfather's birthday. I haven't had a true, just-for-me vacation since 2015 when we went to a camping ground. The excitement I have for this is immeasurable.

The dock my Dad and Grandpa put in themselves is fixed up. The crumbled little cement step is still there with a tiny indent, where my 4 yr old hand was pressed. I am going back to this place, and going back in time for just a short while, to heal and have fun and be a whole mess of emotions. I never got to say good bye to my Nana or Grandpa.

But I can say goodbye to them now, and say 'hello again, old friend' to the lake, and the new little house that sits before it.

That is why i am so excited about august. I know I don't share personal things on here a ton, but I wanted to share this. Thank you for reading this far if you have, I appreciate it.

I hope you have a wonderful day and remember how important you are <3 And as always stay hydrated! -Charlie

[mythickind]

First Call For Folklore

I make this sound so official, but really it's just me deciding I've spent enough time Not Finishing the Page™️ and I probably ought to actually ask folks for stories so maybe I'll get off my rump and finish the damn page. So! If YOU have any sort of folkloric stories about your kintype/theriotype/kithtype/linktype/whatever, please feel free to come share them!

What do I mean by folkloric stories? That's a term that tends to puzzle folks. Mainly that's because folks tend to equate words like "folklore" and "myth" with things that are made up or false. That isn't quite accurate. Folklore consists of many sorts of knowledge, but the ones we'll likely focus most on here are myths, legends, folktales, urban legends, folk music, and possibly art. In the academic field of folklore, a myth is defined as a sacred story. We're talking otherkin and therians primarily here, so that could be the story of how Raven stole the light and in doing so created the sun and the moon and the stars or it could be the story of Noah and the dove at the end of the Great Flood. These are both sacred stories that are considered true by those who follow their respective religions. That's what we mean when we say myth. A legend is a story that isn't considered sacred and that has elements of it that may seem larger than life. They're often supernatural or extraordinary in nature. A couple of examples would be Babe the big blue ox here in the US or the black dogs of the British Isles. As to folktales, fairytales, fables, these often involve magic, talking animals, and perhaps some sort of message. For exmaple, there is the frog prince, a fairytale in which a prince is cursed to become a frog, or the three blind mice. The three blind mice also feature in a folksong. These are songs that are just sort of part of a culture with no clear composer and sometimes no clear origin. One of my favorites is the Twa Corbies, a ballad about a conversation overheard between two crows, who were discussing eating the body of a freshly dead knight. It dates back to at least the 1700s.

Folkart is a bit less clear. This is really any type of traditional art - anything from basket weaving to bingata dyework - that is passed down within a culture. This, I don't expect will come up as much. It's a little less clearly defined for our purposes. Beyond that, there's also things like folkdance and traditional foodways and all manner of things. And if you know of anything that fits that bill, please absolutely feel free to share! With any of this, it doesn't necessarily have to be something that originates in a culture you're part of. However, I do ask that you approach all of this - especially mythology - with the same sort of respect and consideration you would give the lore you yourself grew up with and hold dear. All of this means something to the folks from whom it comes. So respect is paramount in folkloristics.

But now that I've nattered on about academia and things most folks probably don't even realize are things, I'm going to make sure that the asks and submissions are turned on. Feel free to leave these anonymously as well. But it would be awesome to hear from you all!

[secretgamergirl]

Remember folks, "political correctness" is just bigotry with extra steps.

Stuff that horrible bigots love to gripe about overlaps with stuff that doesn't exist anywhere in the world beyond the imaginations of those bigots almost completely, and I could give countless depressing examples of this, but right now the one I'd like to focus on is the concept of "political correctness."

See, a bigot would have you believe that their very real, not at all made up oppressors, passed this draconian law back around, I dunno, the early '90s sometime, that says there is a Correct term for everything, and that you can only refer to a given thing with that Correct term, or you will be sent to prison. Also the list of Correct terms is constantly being changed and updated and you really have to stay on your toes to make sure you're up to date, and isn't that a huge pain?

Everything about this is, of course, complete horseshit. Nobody is oppressing them, no such law was ever passed, and there is not, I can't stress this enough, even a loose socially enforced list of "the words you're supposed to use for things." I also don't believe there's anyone out there who actually believes any of this exists, but feel free to get into it with your racist uncle or whatever and start pulling on those threads about where the list is, who maintains it, and what law it is that you break if you don't stick to it.

That said, there absolutely IS a habit held by bigots trying to look respectable where every few years they change their whole vocabulary up, generally keeping all the code-switching in lockstep with each other, and huh, if they AREN'T actually being pressured to do that by outside forces, why DO they keep doing that? And the answer is simply that it confuses people who aren't paying enough attention. When you hear people using new, more scientific/specific/cumbersome sounding language to say something, you might think "oh hey, this is someone who's way better educated on this subject than I am, because I've never heard these terms, so I should pay attention." And no, you shouldn't, because it's the same exact baseless crap they were saying before, they're just substituting whatever word it was enough people realized they were explicitly using as a slur.

Usually, to sell the "enlightened" image, the new terms they pull out tend to be initially pulled out of some actual academic/progressive sort of context. Never with any sort of actual acknowledgement of how the term was being used in that specific instance of course, just, "hey, I saw someone say this, it's the new 'politically correct' term for what I'm talking about, that means you can't get mad. See, I touched home base!" And I could give so very many examples here, but since I'd rather not step on anyone's toes, let me just stick to one I'm pretty sure people have moved away from more or less completely, then a couple recent trans things.

So, there was this period where people were constantly talking about "African-Americans." The original idea someone presumably had was that it was weird how we talk about people being "black" when for anyone else we tend to talk about in terms of the country they're from, maybe also the country most of their ancestors are from. Like you'd maybe call someone French, or French-Canadian, and wouldn't ever try to zero-in on some visible trait by which to identify people with roots in France. And like, sure, that's not a bad basis to start off a conversation about self-reflection and so on. And of course I'd like to hope the first time someone busted this out someone immediately chimed in with how Africa isn't a country and that really should have been something more specific.

But the context where the term first came up really doesn't matter. What does matter is some bigot caught it, and went "aha! There's something I can say to make it less obvious I'm a racist!" and just kinda did a quick find/replace on all their propaganda. Suddenly talking about how "65,000% of all violent crime is committed by African-Americans!" or how they took a vacation in, I dunno, Australia and "wow that whole country has just been completely taken over by African-Americans!" or whatever other racist gibberish they want to shout.

And of course this strategy DOES tend to work well enough to consistently get big swaths of the broader population on board and all pleased with themselves for keeping on top of things and being sure to use "more accurate" terms even when that leads to, you know, referring to the original inhabitants of Australia with a hyphenated term composed of the name of two countries they've never lived in nor can they trace their ancestry back to. And that in particular (along with being just too long, and completely failing to address the whole problem that caused the term to come about in the first place) is why these days you only ever see people saying "African-American" if they're particularly old and out of touch, or if they're just kinda openly being a racist scumbag and saying it with a sneer.

Here's another example. Earlier today, I saw someone who I know meant well talking about gender reveal parties and saying we should really call them "sex reveal parties," and I had to sit down and explain how no, that wouldn't help anything, and also it totally plays into TERF propaganda.

See, if you're talking about a person/animal/plant/whatever being, for example, male, you can either say "the sex of this here goat is male" or "the gender of this goat is male." These are synonymous terms, in this context. Use them totally interchangeably. The only time there's a distinction between the two is that we also use "sex" as a term for the act of banging/boning/gettin' down/getting laid/etc. etc. and you simply wouldn't ever say "see that woman in the red dress there? That's Sandra, we had gender last Saturday" and "gender" gets used to explain why like if you're speaking French and you're pointing out a particular chair you end up going "that's her." The whole language just kinda arbitrarily uses masc and femme terms for literally all nouns because neutral ones don't exist, but like you're not gonna cover a kid's eyes when someone stacks a bunch of chairs up, so it'd be weird to say the sex of those chairs is female.

But anyway somewhere over the years bigots got it through their heads that they kinda lost the fight on shouting about the pure sacred inflexible nature of gender and how impossible it is that someone might make inaccurate assumptions about it and so a lot of them just noticed this alternate term and started going "ah OK! It's sex then! Sex is the thing that's all holy and ordained by god and must never be questioned! Gender is this totally fake thing people made up to pretend otherwise!" Again, this is just complete horseshit. Sometimes they'll try and get clever and pretend they aren't just synonymous terms by shouting about genitals but like, no, I can say the sex of this tree outside that blasts me with pollen every spring is male, and I am fairly certain the tree in question does not in fact have a penis, thanks.

Others of course try to stay more current with things. They read someone talking about trans people being "assigned male/female at birth" in like, some academic context where someone was trying to explain how nonbinary people don't have one size fits all medical transtion needs or whatever and went "mwahaha! People know I'm a bigot when I point at women who happen to be trans and shout 'men' but I bet I can say this event I'm holding is for 'AFABs only' and people will think I'm enlightened!" Tumblr is full of them!

Anyway, point is there are not in fact any sort of magical words that make it OK to say bigoted garbage. Also there's no word police. Also I kinda got sidetracked but gender reveal parties suck because basically this one woman ended up getting an article written about the party she threw a few years ago when after a whole bunch of miscarriages she got a pregnancy far enough along to have visible gonads on an ultrasound, and a bunch of terrible people didn't really read past the headline and got this immediate weird competitive "keeping up with the Jonses" bug up their butts and prompted started having this weird competition to outdue this random woman's party through ever-escalating pyrotechnics displays, and those keep starting wildfires and seriously injuring people.

There's kind of a secondary concern too where they're on the ever-growing list of weird things parents do to really try and push their children into whatever boxes they want them in before they can get a word in edgewise, like how people don't let their daughters touch any toy that isn't explicitly a fashion doll, or would rather gouge their sons' eyes out than let them even behold the color pink. And, I dunno, I feel like part of the reason people are so gung-ho about the whole gender reveal thing is that they are in fact, very aware they are taking up arms in culture war there and they're pretty convinced they're somehow sticking it to trans people in doing so. But, eh, it's really more just generally being a weird creepy control freak treating children like property? There's a whole list of reasons you maybe don't want to do that before we get to the slim chance that it turns out your kid is trans, frankly.

[pashterlengkap]

The goal of the powerful is to extinguish our light. Joy is a protest. Celebration is dissent

It was 2015 the first time I attended the Juneteenth celebration in Atlanta, which has officially recognized the holiday for ten years. I can still smell the incense in the air. I can still feel the energy of the children dancing and my elation over connecting with folks about diasporic fashion. I see so clearly all the people planting trees, and I still feel so deeply their hope for the future.  Because I have it, too.  --- Related Stories What is Juneteenth & why is everyone talking about it? Juneteenth isn’t just an obscure black holiday. It should be an American celebration. --- It may not feel like an easy time to hold onto something like hope. After all, how can we celebrate freedom when millions of Americans do not have reproductive rights or equitable voting access or the ability to obtain medical care that can help them feel at home in their own bodies? How can we celebrate freedom when getting pulled over feels like a death sentence, and so does going to parades and grocery stores and nightclubs and high school?  Get the Daily Brief The news you care about, reported on by the people who care about you. But for Black folks, joy tends to find itself intersecting with difficult moments in history. I always enjoy visiting the “well-dressed protestor” exhibit at Atlanta’s National Center for Civil and Human Rights because it captures the essence of reclaiming presentation and perception in political times.  I always try to remember that joy is a protest, that when the goal of those in power is to extinguish our light, celebration is dissent. It’s okay to celebrate Black Pride and LGBTQ+ Pride in the face of all this madness. Otherwise, we give them exactly what they want.  Celebrating, of course, means different things to different people. For some, it means a flamboyant parade. For others, it’s a queer movie marathon. For others, still, it means visiting their representatives and advocating for change. The season is about all of these things. We need them all for progress to take place.  Juneteenth and Pride Month are calls to action. Celebrating means fighting for equity, and not just equality. It means working to become accomplices and not just allies.  Equality is not far-reaching enough; it’s not culturally humble enough. Equality burdens the marginalized and is ignorant of the laboring individuals involved. Equity, on the other hand, requires those in privileged groups and positions of power to do something.  When I make speeches to allies looking to commit to reproductive justice, I often tell them to flex their equity muscles – flex as in pump and work, not flaunt.  A bill I spearheaded and recently passed will overturn a policy in Atlanta that hindered educators from running for the city’s Public School Board. Now, educators who live and work in the community will have a voice where it matters most. Working toward a more representative democracy is how I celebrate.  So start flexing that equity muscle and ask yourself, what does my celebration look like?  http://dlvr.it/SrBJDG

[mytruthandbeauty]

5, April 2023

So, after moving to New Orleans, Louisiana in 2015 the place that I had been led to believe was so welcoming to transgender folks I found myself quickly out of a place to live, because I could afford to continue paying the high rate for a room at the hostel I had rented and then this white girl with whom I had met on Facebook, who claimed she had room in her apartment for a roommate decided after just one night that it wasn’t going to work and I had to leave. I was devastated! Here I was in a city that was foreign to me with no place to live except an expensive hotel. I didn’t know what to do. Mind you I only received social security retirement and that wasn’t a large sum each month, but I did have some money saved, but I knew that a protracted stay in a hotel would burn through my saving in short order.

I left her place and wandered the streets looking for a place I could at least get a cup of coffee and think. There weren’t many businesses in the area of Algiers Point where I was staying and as I wandered almost in a daze a voice called out to me. It was this black guy tall slender and very dark. He came jogging over to me across the street. To make a long story short he came on to me and invited me back to his place where he would give me some coffee and I could think what to do next about my immediate circumstances. I won’t bore you with the details, but he took sexual advantage of me before I could finish my coffee. This may sound very strange, but I actually moved in with him for a few weeks until I could find my own place. While there he repeatedly assaulted me and when I accepted that things weren’t going to get any better I left. I went to a hotel for a couple nights managed to find an apartment that I could afford and moved. I was there for a year. This was my introduction to the welcoming community of New Orleans.

This will probably bore anyone who reads it, so let’s see if I can pick up the pace. I lived in NOLA for five years and to my sad disappointment I was misgendered more times than I care to remember. One of those occasions came shortly after I had gotten settled and I had decided to go to this cafe I had read about, that was supposed to be very nice and hip. It was in the French Quarter and I had to take the ferry from the West Bank where I lived to cross the Mississippi River. It was a warm sunny day and I felt good strolling along Decatur Avenue towards my destination. As I approached Jackson Square, which was across the street I came up to the monument of general Jackson where there was a small crowd gathered. They sat on the steps leading up to the large imposing statue of the general who I believe sat on a rearing horse, if my memory serves me correctly, and they were being entertained by some street rapper. He noticed me approaching, people tend to notice me because I’m tall 5’11” and I dress kind of goth, and he decided to work me into his rap. At first it started well, he complimented my looks, but as I drew closer it turned decidedly ugly. First I was this tall lovely young woman, but then he was surprised to see that, according to him I was actually a man! I felt humiliated and mortified, but I didn’t stop, I didn’t acknowledge him in any way and I walked right pass him on my way to find the cafe. I was however dying on the inside. I never felt so ashamed in all of my life. I wondered what the people in the crowd thought of me and were his words true. I beat myself up for weeks for not having some how retaliated and put him in his place. Eventually I got over my bruised ego and damaged pride. It helped that I had a cross dresser friend with whom to share all of this, but it seriously took me weeks to get past this incident. At some point I got a therapist who helped me see that the rappers actions were really a reflection of some problem in him and had nothing to do with me. In spite of occurrences like this I never once lost faith in myself or my transition. Somehow I knew that the longer I stuck with it the better things would become.

[proxylynn]

HIII HELLO HI pls tell us abt your ocs ! how would you introduce them to someone that's never heard abt them... free ramble pass

[Well...Lynsie aka Lynn is just me (it's my real name and nickname, hi there). I self-insert into stuff and she's the go-to I use. There's a Lynn in just about everything. She's always sweet, kind, and a little weird.

Shade is just a living shadow that I made to be a loveable little monster. Prone to attachment and lover of scares. Is far more gentle than they look. Can shift their form to look like anything but their face remains the same. Can be solid or intangible depending on how dark it is or the need of the situation...it can hurt. They feel cold but it's mostly due to them being made of darkness, so there's an absence of heat. Shade loves to cuddle you so they can feel warm without the risk of harm. Being a solid shadow in bright areas creates an unnatural reaction, a Shadow can not have a shadow, and that's why it hurts.

Billy is a good ol' mama's boy looking to make it into the pro-wrestling scene. He's very well trained in fighting and self-defense, as well as performing (modern wrestling is more of a show than a real fight). He traveled to the Uncanny Valley after hearing of the unique inhabitants and figured he'd make a name for himself by testing his limits dealing with "monsters". He ends up falling in love with a Regular Guy instead.

Cassandra aka Cassy was born in Uncanny Valley to a wealthy family. However, her silver eyes were seen as a sign of misfortune. Most of her family neglected her and in some cases were mentally/emotionally abusive. Her grandmother, the head of the family, was the only one to take pity on her...mostly because she's the heiress of the family. She's always positive and runs a flower cart that she pedals around town to bring smiles to those in need. She ends up in a poly relationship with a Realtor.

The vampire coven/family is made up of four members. Vincent's an edgy-looking dude, but that's because he just likes it. He's really more the kind of dude you can bring to your folks and have no worries about. He loves the stuff you can get at Hot Topic. No one would believe he was a vampire when he dresses so stereotypically to the modern vampire punk idea. He does a thing to center himself/signal when things are serious. He'll use both hands to smooth back his hair, getting that classic slick Bela Lugosi Dracula look or something similar to Vergil from Devil May Cry. When he does this, you better stop, his patience is getting thin. Dominic is younger than Vincent and with an inferiority complex so he tends to stay in a demonic form to feel strong. As is, his eyes can be 1 of 3 colors. White: normal. Gold: surprise. Red: rage. His fur is so black that humans can't make out his face till it's too late. While his family/coven gives him all the care and support anyone can ask for, he developed slower than his peers and was bullied for it. Taking the form of a hell beast allowed him to not only feel stronger but brought fear to his former peers, something that gives him great joy. Despite his chosen appearance, Dominic is a gentle and sensitive soul. He shyly stays in his room and listens to music unless needed or something gets his attention. He tends a garden, having a gift for making the most stubborn of plants grow. He's very proud of his moonflowers. Liam, the patriarch. The soft-hearted shield that is a master in the art of wordplay. He can get you under his will with a mere simple utterance. The only one he submits to is his beloved. He's been around for a long time, eldest of the family, the only one who knows his history is his love. In his time, he's gathered a vast fortune, something Vincent has given him the nickname "Smaug" for. But unlike the greedy dragon, Liam is more than happy to share what's his. He loves wordplay, you can tell how much he favors you by the amount he uses on you. The more witty and clever, he really likes you. But if simple and blunt, he cares little for you and wants to get away from you as soon as he can. It's hard to get in his favor if you lost it. He has the personality of Gomez Addams (something that was in the dream a lot). Very loveable, eccentric, charming, and protective of his family. He will welcome you with open arms and let your actions speak for you. You have to really be a huge pile of trash for him to hate you. And lastly, the matriarch, Philomena aka Mena (pronounced mee-nah, like Dracula's Mina). The sword to Liam's shield, all matters are settled by her. A gentle woman. But she is not to be taken lightly when pushed. No one messes with her loved ones. Slightly younger than Liam, she is highly intelligent and skilled in the vast array of powers being a vampire grants. A silly woman, she mothers all that enter her humble home. Expect lots of hugs and positive affirmation. Can often be spotted reading randomly in any room. She will wear makeup and fancy jewelry for only 3 reasons. One, to flirt with Liam. Two, important events. And three, if she's feeling sad and wants to feel better...which usually gets to Liam so it reverts to reason one.

[hagoftheholler]

The Supreme Court has overturned Roe v Wade, taking away our rights to bodily autonomy and privacy, and Oklahoma v Castro-Huerta (which was only active for 2 years), attacking tribal sovereignty.

They also ruled with Engel v Vitale that teachers, coaches and other school staff can lead prayers in school (which is essentially giving them the right to force children towards a culturally & religiously Christian direction, regardless of the child's family's religious beliefs).

Not to mention that a Tennessee court rejected a lawsuit filed by a Jewish couple; which was about how they were discriminated against and rejected from fostering children because they are Jewish.

AND now cops are no longer required to recite your Miranda Rights to you when you're being arrested.

They have openly expressed the potential to go after the following rulings next:

Indian Child Welfare Act - the ruling that protects Indigenous children and keeps them with their families/tribes

Griswold v Connecticut - the ruling that allows married folk the right to contraceptives (birth control, condoms, etc)

Obergefell v Hodges - the right for those who are the same s*x to marry

Lawrence v Texas - literally your right to privacy in the bedroom, if you catch my drift

Moore v Harper - your literal fucking right to DEMOCRACY

Everybody is affected by these. Every single one of you who lives in America. This country is quickly heading in the direction of fascism. Everybody needs to start fighting back because regardless of your "beliefs", your fucking rights as a human being are being violated.

If you're physically able, get out there and take part in a protest. Keep sharing information and links to resources (do not fucking let these things stop "tending"- people need to stay informed). Contact your state's representatives. Pay attention to your local and state elections. Fucking run for one, if you are able.

The following are resources on these matters. If y'all have any more links to petitions, fundraisers and other informative posts feel free to reblog with links.

Linktree to various petitions and funds you can donate to

Petition for the Senate to pass the Equality Act

Abortion Medication by mail

Understanding Abortion & Pregnancy from a Biology Perspective

Doctors willing to Sterilize AFAB

Protest Safety Tips for Activists

What are your Miranda Rights?

And for those of you going out to protest, especially look at your Miranda Rights and the Protest Safety Tips. Don't talk to cops without a lawyer present. Change your phone's setting to unlock with a password or pin (cops are more than willing to take your phone and unlock it with your face or finger print). Wear black to protests (the more people that wear the same color, the less identifiable you are). Wear sleeves and a face mask to hide anything that would identify you (and to protect your skin).

[evolutionsvoid]

The furious scuttling in the darkness. The sound of slicing shears. A brief rush of wind, then all becomes still. The presence you just felt is no longer there, gone in a second. The only evidence of its passing is the damage it leaves behind, cut up clothing, shredded nets and, most notably, missing hair. Folks rarely see the creature responsible for these encounters, but they all know it by name: the Kamikiri. Though it moves like a shadow in the night, it is not a species that is feared, rather it brings annoyance, anger and usually a fair amount of property damage.

The Kamikiri is a terrestrial crustacean that is found in coastal places, or areas that reside close to water bodies. Be it rivers, lakes or ocean, that is enough to satisfy the needs of the Kamikiri. Though it possesses the many legs usually found in crustaceans, the adults have turned to a quadrupedal state, with the rest reduced down to nubs only used for gripping and traction. Though they only use four limbs, they are still just as fast and agile, darting about with incredible speed. This posture has also caused people to misidentify the origins of this species, often thinking them a kind of terrestrial bird or such. What helps give this impression is their beak-like face, which is actually composed of their numerous mouth parts. A hooked beak and dark coloration can make people think it a raven or some other black bird, as their quickness also makes it hard to get a good look. If they saw that mouth go to work on its food, or used for cleaning, you would see how it splits and jitters as all the parts and pieces go to work. Perhaps the best indication that this may be a crustacean and not a corvid, is the large claws on their forelimbs. Bent to help with walking and hooked to let it snag prey, these tools are vital to every Kamikiri. It is easy to say that this species wouldn't be nearly as notable if it were not for these nasty pincers! Though they may be small compared to the weaponry of other beasts, like a male Teketeke, their razor sharp edge and rapid slicing will quickly change any mind. It seems like anything that isn't metal is snipped through with ease, with them being able to cut through leather, rope, flesh and small to somewhat small bones. It slices through materials so quickly that folk rarely notice them cutting until the damage is done. There will just be a faint *snip* and then your netting is in tatters, or your clothes are missing pieces, or perhaps your found yourself with a brand new, unwanted, haircut.   Before we go more into that, we should mention that these claws are also used in hunting. Their cutting power is perfect for slicing through prey and chopping them up into manageable bites. Though their weapon is potent, it is often turned towards smaller creatures, like rodents, frogs, fish, lizards and other critters. Kamikiri are active at night, using their black coloration to blend into the darkness. They lurk in the shadows, then move in a flash when they find the perfect moment to attack. One quick snip of their claws and their prey is doomed. Smaller creatures are cut in half, while larger prey will have limbs severed to keep them from escaping or fighting back. Once their food is downed, they carve them up and enjoy. For aquatic prey, they tend to hang around the shores or find downed objects like logs or brush to stand on. They then remain still as a statue, with their large eyes focused on the water in front of them. When something tasty gets close, they lash out with their claws and fillet them. Their prize is seized in their beak-like mouth and they scurry back to solid land to feed. Those who wish to steal their meal or turn them into one should think twice, as they won't hesitate to turn their claws on them. They click and snap their mouths in agitation, and loudly grind their claws to show they mean business. When faced with larger foes, they will use their flexible abdomen as a kickstand, rising up on their back legs to add some height. Test them, and you will lose fingers or maybe the tip of your nose. They cut so fine that you probably won't even notice that they got you until you notice a chunk of you lying on the ground.   I mentioned that they don't just cut up prey, but also go after some random everyday objects. That is because Kamikiri are fond of both collecting things and nest building (more traits that get them confused with birds). Kamikiri build themselves nests in brush, burrows and even trees, used for resting, wooing mates and protecting their eggs. While other species may be fine with random twigs and grass, the Kamikiri like to decorate and get a nice look going. Bright colored fruits or pretty rocks may make an appearance, and several of them will squabble and fight over a shiny trinket. Those with a better, fancier nest will win over the ladies, and show that they would be a good father for their young. Even after securing a mate, their new partner will have their own decoration ideas and may make some changes, thus leading to two Kamikiri now seeking fresh materials. These eager home decorators once scoured the shores and underbrush for the perfect addition, but now they have better places to shop. The settling of the land and building of towns and trade opened up a whole new marketplace for this species, with a whole slew of new materials and pretty objects. People in colorful gowns and robes, homes filled with endless goodies, and a nonstop parade of fresh imports to change things up. This introduction of new fronts for this species has drastically changed them, as they now want the materials that only humans and such can provide. So now they scurry through the night to snip off pieces of textiles, mesh and cloth, vanishing into the night with their new prize. Obviously, this cause quite the fuss, as people don't like their property being carved up. Even worse that the Kamikiri have grown bold, going after stuff that is still on one's person. They will slice the legs off of pants, or trim the edges of kimonos while they are still being worn, moving so fast that they are gone before people even notice. A part of the reason why they have become so brave going after people, is that one of their most favorite materials can only be gained from man's own body: hair.

When it comes to nest building, there is nothing the Kamikiri love more than hair. It is a must-have to stuff around their eggs, used for cushioning and warming, but also as a deterrent. Hair in such amounts can actually be dangerous to other animals, who may get tangled or caught in this surprisingly tough material. For the hard-shelled, razor-clawed Kamikiri, it is not threat, as they can cut themselves free anytime. It is perfect for their nests, but it isn't an easy material to come by. To obtain this prized piece, they must cut it from a human, and they rarely like having their hair done by animals. So they use surprise and speed to lop off locks and buns, even leaping through the air to get a opening. They may cling to trees and dangle from the branches, or sneak in at night and trim the head of a sleeping fellow. These incidents cause quite a fright, especially if one catches them in the act. Freaking out while they are cutting is an easy way to get slashed up, especially if you choose fight over flight. These incidents are what make these creatures pests to most, and it turns out they aren't any better when they are young.   From the eggs of a Kamikiri comes their larval stage, one that has not developed the quadruped look yet. They posses the claws, but not the back legs, rather keeping with the many rows of crawling limbs. Once they hatch, they scurry their way to the nearest water source and dive in. Their young are more amphibious by nature, moving between water and land to avoid predators from both worlds. Due to their appearance and different lifestyle, they have gained a different name from their adult counterparts: Amikiri. Amikiri are larval Kamikiri, and they spend most their lives in shallows. They go after bugs, fish, amphibians, worms and mollusks, still using those sharp claws for offense and defense. Due to their amphibious nature, they tend to get caught up in the nets of fishermen. However, this catch can cut itself free, which leaves the fisherman's livelihood in ribbons. This makes Amikiri a menace to fisherman and other coastal folk, who often find their prized haul slipping through a newly made hole. So for the locals, there is no stage of the Kamikiri that they like.

Like I said, Kamikiri are regarded as pests and are pretty much unwanted by everyone. The only benefit some folk gain is their sharp claws, which make good shears and cutting edges. Outside of that, not much else to like for them (as they say, I think they are neat). However, some stories tell of people who train Kamikiri for stealing, using their stealth and speed to be the perfect robbers. One particular tale has our criminal turn out to be a wig maker, who uses the Kamikiri to steal hair for their newest product. Due to their nasty tendencies, folk are sure to keep their homes well secured and protected, so that a secret barber doesn't sneak in for a quick trim. It should be noted that while humans are targeted for their hair, the Kamikiri will go after anything that looks the part. Animal fur is on the list, and so is dryad foliage. Walk alone at night or fall asleep out in the open, and these critters will turn from barbers to gardeners in an instant! Do you want a pruning? Too bad! Snip snip! Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian -------------------------------------------------

Just did a fearsome critter, so why not throw in a yokai too?

[justafairytailofinnocence]

Hi! I've read ypu most recent Caius xreader and right now I'm going through my phase of I love the Volturi again! I would love an xreader where she's plus sized (human) and she feels insecure when she sees a pretty vampire trying to flirt with Caius and he basically says fuck off to the vampire and shows everyone that his taken.

Hello dear💖, thanks for your request.

Caius x plus size human female reader👧🦇

A Divine queen👑

I wasn’t seen as anything spectacular, just a normal girl that was hired to work as a secretary. Yeah, it may not be the most exciting job in the world but hey work is work and I need to get paid. My main job was to greet people as they pass into the lift, it can be quite tiring smiling with the typical “hello, enjoy your stay”. The usual response was quite the same with the “thank you” or just a simple nod, I guess I’m just lucky enough to never encounter those dreadful rude clients. The occasional people that I’ve seen come through were crowds in red coats, one or two normal foreigners and odd people. What I mean by odd is, I’ve noticed how pale their skins can be and their eyes, they appear crimson, like a bright tone of red. I often catch myself staring at them like I’m watching a pair of aliens enter our planet. I can’t say that’s the only weird thing that happens around here, often the people in red hoods that go through the elevator, never come down. It’s usually just the “odd people” that come out, they don’t speak to each other but glance and leave. The first time I saw this, it just bewildered me, I didn’t question it of course because I assumed it was like, a hotel that tourists would stay in for ghost stories. However, they wouldn’t come back for weeks, and I mean never would the elevator come down with the same people. That’s only the tip of the iceberg, I probably didn’t mention the creepiness surrounding the area I work.

Although I don’t blame the building considering it’s a castle, it does speak of vampiric lair. My colleagues aren’t the friendliest of folk, only once did I try to converse with one of them and all I got was a glare. Yeah, that’s the thanks I get for trying to be friendly, though I should probably mention my boss. I haven’t really had the time to become close with them, you know like how some boss’s check up on you or give you praise for the hard work. All mine do is sit upon thrones and ask if any interesting mortals have come through.

My encounter with the boss’s were rather frightful, I had to meet the men I was working for because I assumed it was like an interview. When I first entered through the elevator, I was greeted by three men.

The one sitting toward the right had long dark hair, his facial structure was built like it was made of stone. He had no expression toward my appearance or rather entrance, he only greeted himself as “Marcus”.

The one sitting in the middle of the room had the same hair length but his face shined an expression of glee. Honestly it was rather creepy, you know when you see a spider and it creeps you out, yeah that’s the vibe I got off this guy. He greeted me with the biggest smile I had ever seen, it was like a child greeting a puppy. “Ah dear y/n, what a pleasure it is to finally meet you, you have no idea how long we’ve awaited your arrival” he reached his hand out to greet mine, I shook it out of politeness. As our hands touched, his eyes diverted directly into my pupils, it scared the absolute heck out of me. “Apologies my dear, I think you’ll find I tend to have a habit of-, drifting into one’s imagination” he smiled. I wanted to swat my hand away faster then when someone touches something icky, but his skin felt cold, and I mean Icey.

After that scary encounter, my eyes drifted toward the left, I saw a man with paler skin then the rest and his hair was not black but blonde. I honestly felt entranced, he had a beauty that these two didn’t. He reminded me of snow, a crystallised pale flake with daring crimson eyes. The other two had the same eye colour which was weird but there was something about this man that made my heart skip a beat. “And to what way will you serve us human” he spoke with a very calm tone.

I think that was the time my eyes had locked with something so beautiful and stunning.

“I-I’m here because Mr volturi had asked me for a job” I replied nervously, I couldn’t believe I was acting strange around this one man.

The vampire’s eyes locked onto mine, he seemed irritated with my presence but instead he replied with a “hm, you intrigue me human”.

I could feel my cheeks heat up with emotion, I swear I have never acted like this, not once in my life. It was like for the first time I had fallen in love with something beautiful, ugh I know it sounds super weird.

As I was having a moment, two weird kids had appeared right beside me like they were there in the blink of an eye. I kid you not, I don’t remember seeing them there and yet there they were. The young blonde girl was ordered “Dear Jane, do you mind kindly showing y/n to her area of occupation”. The blonde girl replied “of course master” as she bowed, the kid on the left to me was silent the whole time. I assumed the two were siblings since they appeared together.

Anyways that was probably the only time I had seen or met my boss’s, and since that encounter I must admit I hoped to see that blonde man again. I knew his name was “Caius” since the siblings talked about him, man does he sound like he has a temper problem. They said something about the two having someone in an execution, it sounded barbaric to me. Although that didn’t put me off, the moment I stared into his eyes was the moment I found myself to feel some sort of bond.

So yeah, that’s basically all that’s happened to me, and if you’re asking if I saw Caius again, well I did.

It happened when I was just getting a glass of water from those water fillers, I was holding a plastic cup in my hand. I was standing to the side as this blonde woman walked by, now she was skinny and had the looks that could compete to be the next model. Meanwhile I’m over here feeling like I just came out of a dumpster, I know my body isn’t exactly slim-thin. I do have a flaw of insecurity, when I see girls walking on the street like they had just came out of a Chanel ad. My mind goes into a closed state of dreadful thoughts, I often wished I was a lot more like them. It took me time to get over those thoughts, but they do come every now and again, and since it’s one of those scenarios, I can’t help it.

The blonde lady passed me with a glaring glance, I felt like shrivelling up in a ball and disappearing right there and then. My eyes turned to the blonde following along to meet with Caius, “oh great, just what I need”. I stood in the background like I was watching a couple at a party, Caius’s expression remained the same. Honestly, he reminded me of one of those cat’s on the internet, the one with a permeant grumpy face. “Caius, I was wondering when I would see you” she smiled, her eyes were like a snake. “I always wondered what I would look like as your queen, think about it us as a royal couple” she came closer with every inch.

My eye’s started to water up, I couldn’t bare this, and I blame my appearance. I know I’m not the most stunning woman in the world, but I try my best. As my mind began to turn into a weltering sadness of self-doubt something extraordinary happened. Caius glared deeply into the blonde female’s eyes, he grasped her neck which shocked me, I thought he was going to murder the woman. “You foolish woman, have you no tolerance for a king” Caius growled, “as you might have known, I have chosen a mate, a mate in which I’ve bonded with”. The blonde woman was suddenly thrown with inhuman force, my eyes went wider then the sun.

“That goes for any of you, my dear brothers know of my decision” Caius sneered, “away with you, you have offended me greatly”. The blonde woman basically scampered as Caius threatened her.

“You” he pointed to me; I gulped so hard I thought I was next. I put on my best smile and hoped he wouldn’t grip me “yes Mr Volturi, how may I assist you”. Caius stormed over to me like he was about to complain “if you heard, I have chosen you as my mate, I assumed you’ve felt the bond”. My cheeks flushed a deep red “b-bond, I think so”. He lifted his hand to brush my cheek briefly “you will be powerful, a queen that shall live immortally, you will live by my side, my dear y/n”.

I couldn’t speak, my mind was in a flutter as I was trying to comprehend what just happened. I didn’t complain as he pressed his lips to my forehead, honestly all of this just felt like a strange fever dream. “B-but I’m not special, I’m just some woman that works as a secretary and I’m barely-,” I paused for moment, I didn’t want to say it, but my words slipped through my mind “Pretty”.

“I don’t ask for appearances; I only wish to see who my queen truly is, and your happiness is all I ever cared for” Caius continued “your Devine to me”.

In that moment, my lips reached his in a light press, I wanted to tell him how much I’ve waited for someone to tell me that. I was happy, I’ve found my true mate and it was all I’ve ever wanted.

I’m truly worthy of a Devine queen.

Anyways that's all I have for now:

Ta Ta ✨

[sin-sidejob]

P L A Y T I M E

JR Scheimpough x Fem!reader

Note: gender neutral pronouns, afab anatomy, and mommy title. Used fem! Guide word to be safe and avoid triggering people or causing confusion

Warnings: nsfw, minors and ageless blogs DNI, sex toys, oral, sexual intercourse, smut, vibrators, dildos, like debauched filth to an obscene degree. Gendered neutral for reader with femme title/name (mommy). reader wears heels and stockings + a garter. No mention of tits or anything beyond readers clothing + mommy + manicured nails. Safe for femme/afab folks. Well not really safe it’s literal NSFW smut, how safe can it be?? Dom/Sub dynamics + begging. JR uses the term mommy for the reader. smut under the cut

Content: This is like if Dante’s inferno was a walk through a sex shop. Like the back of Spencer’s. Trapped Groundhog Day style in an Adam & Eve commercial. this is just JR getting fucked to jesus until his holiness shoots JR back to hell. Also, heavily inspired by @jrdickconnoisseur ‘s art on their twitter. Like very heavily inspired that shits phenomenal

Those who shoulder the burdens of the world require the most thorough of rest at unfortunately rare opportunities. And, as seen alone by the name of his yacht, Atlas Shrugged, JR is one of those who’s needs are more simple than assumed, and yet, so much more than you had ever expected. Getting him to relax, to ease away the taut knots in his shoulders and the furrow in his brows, lull him to contentment, takes time and dutiful attention and care. Rest and relaxation or tender love and care weren’t phrases familiar to JR. He lacked that compassion and adoration.

Until you came into his life.

You were so much more than you had ever seemed, all of his assumptions that he had made about you tossed away to corrode and rot in the grass before nature seasons conquered that too. Ethereal and potent, sleek and almost unnatural to him. Purely carnal appetite masked behind kind stares and even kinder touches and gestures.

The way you loved him was tender, something plush and honeyed. The way you fucked him was something else entirely.

You had an innate ability to render him useless and limp, like a ragdoll, limbs weighted down and anchored to gravity’s pull after you’ve fucked him dumb and milked him dry, lowering his IQ points all the while. Draining him empty and pumping out every last drop from his ball, have his cum drip and splatter against fresh-pressed pinstripe slacks and the base of his taut, silken vest with the white dots of his spunk marking the black fabric like an elementary art class’s take on Jackson Pollock’s works.

Master artisan you were, so gifted with your hands.

His favorite moments with you, under you, in you, revolved around your impeccable knack for tending to him with open palms, smoothed and soft, and turning those manicured nails against him. The way those painted fingernails glinted like justice in the low light of the bedroom before wrapping around his throat is a sight ingrained in his brain.

“You like this, don’t you baby boy?” Crooning wickedly in his ear, thrusting the thick, ribbed toy in and out of his puckered hole, lube and your spit drooling from it, “sick little fuck, needing mommy to pound this tight hole until you can’t speak, hmm?”

Nails scrape around the pale skin of his throat as you squeezed the sides, not blocking the airflow but pressing the veins, giving him that delicious delirium in his mind as you thrust the dick further.

“Gotta’ answer me baby, words. I need words baby boy. Or mommy’s gonna’ leave you here dripping wide open like a whore.”

JR keens, back arching while he tries to stutter out a broken, high pitched whine from the back of his throat, faint little pleases pass his lips until your touch and movements fade, feeling the weight of your body lift from the bed, his eyes widening as he lifts his ass up.

“Mommy please,”

The curl of your smile is wicked, dark and cynical, vicious yet bewitching like the slow drip of sugar into Absinthe before it meets the tongue, insanity-inducing and drawing you back in for more. And he was just as addicted.

“I’ll be good- please, just please, wanna’ cum.”

“Awww, darling,”

Crooning lowly, you smooth his hair back, spotting the marks you’ve dotted across his body and rolling hands over them tenderly, with the grace of a pianist ghosting fingertips across the keys, knowing the instrument far more than just places to press but the tender, louder things beneath.

“That’s all I needed to hear.”

You yank the toy out from his gaping ass, savoring that almost squeaking shout that flies from his abused, kiss-puffed lips as you do so, his hole clenching around nothing but air. Shushes and coos fly from your lips as you run warm hands across his spine, rucking up his already wrinkled and battered shirt, vest, and suit jacket.

Eying his weeping cock, reddened and angry as it hangs heavy between his thighs, partially obstructed from view with the position and how his pants are barely down to his knees, patience never being one of your virtues, eager to play with it. If you tugged on his engorged shaft, barely ran a fingertip over his weeping and exposed slit, he’d crumble and come undone, literally. Turning, you spoke once more as you diverted your attention to another matter, “Be easy for me baby boy, I’ve got you,”

You step away, grinning as your eyes lock on a thick dildo, silicone soft and solid with the flared edge and the button switches at the base. Turning, teeth glinting in the light as you return behind him and eye the flushed, reddened cheeks and swells of his ass, remnants of earlier standing present and angry on his pale skin. A hand braces at the base of his spine, finding purchase on warm skin while the other settles to spread his cheeks in order to nudge the head of the vibrator at his still gaping hole. You lean down to press a kiss across his spine, hearing JR whine in response, feeling you slide in the flared head of the vibrator and pausing, trying to buck his hips back in order to get more of it in him. “Breathe for me baby,”

“Mommy’s going to make you feel just fine.”

With a flourish of your wrist, muscles rippling in your forearm, you slide the vibrator full-through.

All in one swift thrust, while yanking his neck back by his tie, drinking in his cries and excited noises, you nudge that flared vibrator head near his prostate and listen to JR blubber and whine, drooling nearly a puddle past puffy lips.

“M-mommy please fuck me, m’so close - s’close.”

Gone was the polished and suave business man, a hairs plug away from snake oil slicking him up as he’s managed to reach the near top of the pyramid and his own version of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. A robe-ship looming and orgasm nearing, JR had it all. But you humbled him, always grounding him. Unearthing him from where he felt his soul rotted in the peat and clay, shining him up and polishing him bright.

“Louder.”

He keens, almost shrieking out as you thrust the vibrator fully after sliding it out besides the flared cockhead clung taut around the clenching hole of his you’ve been abusing. He can do better. Your hand smacks against the already bruised flesh of his ass, spotting marks appearing darker where the rings you wore made contact. You’d always be the hand of clarity raising the mirror to the broken soul you dug up and restored. Keep him bright. Keep him begging.

“Please! Mommy please I’ll be so good - so good I promise.”

Warmth leaving his back and waist, you walk around to bend at the waist, clicking your tongue as you brush hair out of his face almost tenderly, affection in the gesture but lacking in your eyes. Cruel irises looking to his dilated, blown wide pupils behind his foggy and askew lenses. Nails glide and tap against his cheek before reaching to grip his chin as the vibrator sits stagnant, unmoving as it hangs from where he’s clenching desperately around the tip.

“But you haven’t been good, have you?” acid lies across your tongue, syrupy sweet and thick like molasses as it spills forth, “taking money that wasn’t yours, when you’ve got,” a hand tightens around his necktie, wrapping it around your palm, “more money than god.” You straighten your hand, crouching to eye level, seeing him in such disarray solely by your hand, “being greedy, and you got caught. Mommy had to fix your problems, clean your mess.”

Straightening, standing tall before him and seeing him maintain position, knowing he’d be worse off if he diverted from him being ass-up in the room, made your sardonic grin return. Fingers curl around the silk and polyester tie in your palm, poised and coiled for timing. “Bad Boys don’t get good treatment, don’t get coddling.”

Forearms flex as you seize the tie and pull taut, seeing his eyes roll back all pretty, him mumbling and whining incoherently, trying to talk his way out of this, to earn your kindness and warmth, work his way to being buried in your pussy.

But, alas, he fucked up. He didn’t deserve your compassion and courtesy let alone your cunt. He stepped the line, JR crossing barriers of ethos you hadn’t expected. Presumptuous and self-centered. He almost got fucked over, ruined.

You’d do that yourself.

Heels clicking against the stone floor of the bedroom, you turn to the other side of him where his waist is bent up to god as if he’d receive some sort of salvation, some forgiveness. This place is not of holy ground, rather for wickedness and sin so debauched even the darkest of souls would turn away. Rookies.

“JR, baby, I expected better of you,” is said softly, disappointment lacing your tone as you readjust your heeled shoes, tightening the straps and smoothing over your stockings that clung tight, “silly little whore, should’ve known you couldn’t do the right thing.” He tries to speak but knows you aren’t in the mood to hear it, burying his face in his arms and keeping his ass raised.

“Don’t worry, after this, I doubt you’d ever do anything wrong let alone disobey.”

A noise of confusion hums forth from his throat before he just about shrieks, a loud cry of your name flying from his lips as the flattened base of your heel not only shoves in the vibrator snugly into his puckering, weeping asshole, but turning it on in the process.

It shakes, loud thrumming filling the room as he nearly buckles and exclaims, shuddering and feeling the vibrations traipse through his body, muscles liquifying and rendering his brain to useless matter.

“Now there’s a good boy.”

The flared base sticks out from his ass, slotted between the globes of his ass and flickers little lights with the one setting. It’s new, unused by him. Familiar with it, you know it’s got three more settings, each stronger than the last, but just knew he wouldn’t go further than the second.

Even if that cock ring, taut around his base, was hindering orgasms that would’ve come much earlier, that next setting when notched against his prostate would have him gushing. Not that he’d know. JR was too far gone, eyes almost permanently stuck rolled back as his lip was tugged between teeth, cock flaring an angry ruddy magenta, nearly purple at the tip, swollen and twitching.

“Promise you’ll be good, no more messing with perfectly competent employees?” is spoken softly, leaning over his back to his ear.

“Yes!”

“No more money laundering and embezzling, sticking to your own funds and assets?” You croon, smacking down against his already bruised ass.

“Y-yes! Please-”

“Just doing your job, and sticking to normal, promise?”

“Yes- fuck, yes! Please!”

Fingers wrap around the base, hovering over the button but not moving a centimeter further while the other nears where his cock hung heavy and full between his thighs, unattended to. Waiting for the moment to release him and let him go, let him cum to you.

“No spending, for a month.”

“Anything- please just, god, fuck me.”

Hands move while you shift back to behind him, an eyeful of the beautiful view of his ass high up and cock close to leaking. “There we are, that’s my good boy, s’almost over,” he whines, wriggling his hips like it would somehow get him everything he wanted.

In a flourish of poised movement, you flip him over to his back, face up and pin his thighs to his chest with you’re forearm while you yank off the cock ring. He nearly cums until you reach down, nudging the vibrator, and flicking your thumb across the button that sends the setting much higher.

JR’s mouth opens wide as he shouts brokenly, voice breaking as he finally cums, eyes rolled back before shutting as his chest heaves. He’s gone, breath rattling as his weeping tip spurts out hot streams of cum, over and over again all across his vest and tie, splattering white thick globs of his spunk. Smoothing hands over the underside of his thighs, keeping his legs spread and stretched wide while he cums, nearly cumming yourself from the view of him nearly passed out, still shooting ropes of cum almost endlessly as the vibrator sends shudders he matches across his body.

You shut the vibrator off, slowly lowering the setting and the potency of the vibrations until it’s completely off, easing it out of his ass to see the gush of lube and spit drip out as his hole gapes wide. Fingers probe inside, minding his sensitivity while you hear him cry and whine out dejectedly as you make sure you didn’t tear or break him before pulling back out and marveling at the sight of your shiny fingers.

He blinks blearily, semen still spilling out as he’s reduced to aftershocks, bursts of cum dribbling out slowly down his shaft and from his weeping, puffy cockhead, to see you smiling softly and offering your fingers for him to suck on as he comes down. JR’s tongue wraps around your digits, breathing faintly through his nose as his eyes, half lidded, take you in while he smiles around your fingers. The other hand, unoccupied, works on removing his clothes as gently as you can, shucking off cum painted articles of clothing to a pile on the floor. After he’s sucked your fingers clean, he tries to lean up for a kiss on shaky forearms that you immediately reward him with, knowing he needed it.

“Hi darlin’, lemme’ go grab something to clean you up with and we can go fix you something to eat.” Is murmured against his forehead, him humming in response as your lips pressed to his heated skin. His dark eyes follow as you saunter away, padding over in stockings and a garter after you kicked off your shoes, humming as you warmed the water over a washcloth in the adjoined bathroom.

“Anything you want to eat?” He hears from you in the bathroom, taking a second to form a coherent thought let alone a response, grinning as he sees you enter, warm cloth in hand while standing in the doorway, and the words finally meet his tongue, smile crooked and sated.

“You on the menu?”

Tags (let me know if you want off): @mrsbretthand @cognitosclowns @radioactivebowtie @mollicutes @bluebaronness @jrdickconnoisseur @cowboylovin @scribe-of-planes

[fruitcoops]

Hi!! I was wondering if you could do another fic involving jules and coops together? Just like sweet moments between the three? I loved the baby sitting series you did and could not stop thinking about it❤️❤️ Thank you!!

Yeah, of course! I love writing my boy at any opportunity. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove, but the relatives are my ocs!

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Sirius asked under his breath as Remus finally—finally—appeared from the mass of people.

“It’s fine,” Remus said around a forced smile to a middle-aged man across the yard.

Sirius hid his mouth by pretending to look down at the nearest casserole dish. He didn’t even know what was in it; nobody had bothered with labels, and everyone’s dishes were the same basic florals in different colors. “I love you, Re, and I totally get the whole ‘meet the parents’ thing, but this is a bit much if I’m being honest.”

“Honey.” Remus’ shoulder pressed against his own. “I’m sorry you’re not having a good time, but my Aunt Jen would skin me alive if I didn’t bring the man I’m marrying to the family reunion. We can leave tomorrow if you really hate—oh, no.”

“Remus!” a shrill, excited voice called. Sirius felt his fiancé straighten up as a tall, redheaded woman in star-painted jeans hurried across the grass with three other women in tow. She reached up and gave Remus’ cheeks a squish, then leaned in a planted a lipstick-stamped kiss to his forehead. “How are you, my duckling? Was your flight alright? Make sure you stay away from the salt or else your feet will swell.”

“Hi, Aunt Jen,” Remus said, grimacing a little at her rib-crushing hug. “I’m doing well, and our flight was fine. How are you?”

“Peachy keen,” she assured him. Dark brown eyes lasered in on Sirius half a second later and he felt his fight or flight kick in. “And who are you?”

“Aunt Jen, this is—”

“It was rhetorical, honey,” Jen interrupted with a pat to Remus’ arm as she stepped closer to Sirius and immediately hauled him in for a hug. She was as tall as Remus, but broader in the shoulders and hips; he had never felt so engulfed by someone. It was a strangely enjoyable feeling.

“Aren’t you a handsome one?” the shortest of the group cooed, as if she was talking to a particularly small dog in a purse. “Our Remus always knew how to pick them.”

Remus furrowed his brows. “Aunt Lisa, this is the first boyfriend I’ve—”

“But he’s not just a boyfriend!” Jen trilled, giving Sirius’ cheek a pat. “He’s a fiancé, something I learned from your mother. Not from your father—oh, I gave him a talking-to about that—and not from you, duck.”

Sirius bit back a laugh at the nickname and spared a glance to his left, where Remus had gone pink all the way to his ears. “Sorry.”

“Introduce us!” the shortest insisted, taking the other two by the hands as pulling them forward with an eager smile.

“Everyone, this is Sirius Black, my fiancé.” Remus gestured between them, and the four women beamed at him. “Sirius, this is Aunt Jen, Aunt Lisa, Aunt Allison, and Aunt Mary, my dad’s sisters.”

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Sirius said, holding a hand out.

“No need to be so formal,” the brunette grumbled with a teasing grin. “We have heard so much about you from Lyall. After those damned pictures—”

“Allison,” Jen hissed.

“—after the damned pictures,” Allison repeated with a pointed look. “I was about ready to drive up to Gryffindor myself and give that lousy son of a bitch a piece of my mind—”

“Allison!”

“—but Lyall talked me down and I have been waiting to meet you ever since.” She finished with a soft huff and gave his arm a quick squeeze. “Remus is a lucky boy to have you. It’s very exciting to see you in person at last.”

Sirius’ heart gave a happy little ka-thump and he smiled. “I’m glad to be here. Thank you for having me.”

“He is so polite,” Lisa said to Remus out of the corner of her mouth with a wink and a thumbs-up. “Good choice.”

“You know what I just realized? We haven’t said hello to Jules yet. We’ll see you in a few, yeah?” Without waiting for an official answer, Remus wrapped an arm around Sirius’ waist and practically carried him away from the table. Once they were out of earshot—and the aunts had busied themselves with one of the younger Lupins—Remus relaxed with a slow exhale. “I am…so sorry.”

“For what?”

“I had no idea they were going to corner you like that. I mean, I did, but I was hoping it wouldn’t be for another few hours. They tend to move in a pack at reunions, like sharks. Or wolves.”

“They’re really sweet.”

“They are,” Remus said grudgingly, though Sirius could read the affection dripping off him like his favorite book. “My dad’s the youngest of five, and I was the first nephew. You can imagine how that went.”

“Baby of the baby?”

“Exactly.”

“Can I ask one thing?” Remus nodded, visibly confused, and Sirius found he couldn’t keep his grin down any longer. “Duckling?”

“I hoped you didn’t hear that,” he groaned as they headed toward the kids’ play area beneath a large oak. “Long story short, it involved five-year-old me, a pond, and a sinus infection that made me sound like a duck when I sneezed.”

“Oh my god,” Sirius laughed, earning himself a light elbow to the ribs. “And the name stuck?”

“Considering she was the one that had to stay with me while my folks were working, she could call me whatever the hell she wanted. Please don’t ask her about it unless you want a thirty-minute TED talk about the ins and outs of my sinuses.”

“She’s a doctor?”

“No, she just overshares.”

“Sirius!”

Sirius looked up and saw a herd of small children racing toward them, led by his favorite person under the age of eighteen; Jules crashed into his legs and squeezed him tight around the waist. “Hey, I missed you!”

Jules propped his chin below Sirius’ sternum and stared up at him with the classic hazel-gold eyes that were far more common than Sirius believed before they arrived in the Lupins’ backyard. “I missed you, too! How’s the team? How’s Harry? Is he still super small or did he do that weird thing that babies do where their legs grow and the rest of them still looks normal? How was your flight? Did you have turbulence?”

Sirius thought for a moment. “Good, also good, growing normally, and yes.”

“Sweet! Come play cornhole with us!” Jules grabbed his hand and dragged him along the grass at the closest thing he could manage to a sprint with Sirius’ added weight—the pre-teen years had lent him gangly legs, though he didn’t seem quite sure how to use them yet. He looked more like a foal than a sixth-grader.

“What the hell is cornhole?” Sirius muttered as the flock of kids ran ahead to grab armfuls of beanbags.

Remus grinned. “Something I’m about to kick your ass at.”

------------------------------------

By the time the sun set, Sirius was exhausted. He had been introduced to dozens of people who looked just enough like Remus to be eerie, as well as plenty who seemed to have been acquired by one Lupin or another over the course of their life. Jules fluctuated between laminating himself to Sirius’ side and disappearing for an hour at a time, only to return more grass-stained and rumpled than ever as he begged Remus to swing him around by the ankles again. His ass had been thoroughly kicked at cornhole and freeze tag; it was a true miracle he hadn’t already passed out into a food coma. For all of his earlier griping, Sirius couldn’t think of a time in recent months when he had been more content.

“You’re a brave soul,” Remus remarked as they sat in the grass together and watched the fireflies wake. Though it was a warm night, it seemed the citronella candles littering the tables were doing their job of chasing off mosquitoes.

Sirius leaned his head on Remus’ shoulder. He smelled like grass and summertime and sunbaked warmth. “Am I?”

“Mhmm. I’m sure most people would have run screaming by now.”

“I like your family.”

A beat of silence passed; Remus rested his temple against the top of Sirius’ head. “I’m really glad to hear that. They’re weird and loud, but I love them.”

“And I love you.”

“Are you saying I’m weird and loud?”

“On occasion.”

“Asshole,” Remus laughed, giving him a nudge that hardly qualified as more than a gentle sway.

“Language, there are eight million kids around.”

“They’re busy.”

Sirius watched as small group run by in a wave of giggles, all clutching mason jars of fireflies with their names written on masking tape. “Thank you again for asking me to come with you.”

“Like I said, Aunt Jen would—”

“Remus.” He fell quiet. Sirius didn’t remember the last time he said Remus’ full name aloud. “Your family loves you so much. They’re everything I ever wanted growing up, and it means the world that you wanted to share them with me. All they want is to see you happy. It was amazing to finally meet them.”

“They really, really love you,” Remus said softly, his voice a little thick. “I had about twenty people tell me how wonderful you are. They all thanked me for bringing you, and not a single one mentioned the celebrity thing. Even my Uncle Jay didn’t say a word about hockey.”

“He was the one in the jersey?”

“I’ve known him for my entire life and I’ve never seen him without one.”

“Huh.” Sirius tucked his face closer to Remus’ neck and let the sound of the bullfrogs in a distant marsh lull him. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven. The adults will be up for a while, but the kids will start crashing soon.”

Footsteps on the cool grass rustled to their right and Sirius looked up. “Who wants pie?” Aunt Allison singsonged, breaking their quiet bubble with paper plates and utensils. “This one is blackberry, but we have peach, pumpkin, and a few others on the table if you’re still hungry.”

“Just a small piece, please,” Sirius said.

Allison paused and cocked her head, then burst out laughing. “Oh, you’re funny!”

“I am?”

“Don’t fight it,” Remus whispered.

“You are a growing boy,” Allison said as she cut a thick slice and plonked it onto his plate. “And there’s no such thing as too much pie.”

I’m 26, Sirius wanted to say, though he held it in. “Just a small one for me, as well,” Remus said.

“Ha!” Allison snorted. “You’re already too skinny. Eat your pie or you’ll end up a string bean like your father. The NHL might have given you muscle, but it’s useless if you don’t enjoy some of your favorite aunt’s—”

“—woah, hey now—”

“—pie once in a while.” Allison kissed the tops of their heads once both plates were secure and bowing in the middle. “I’m going to make sure the kids aren’t poking around in the river again. Sleep well, you two.”

Sirius stared down at his plate as she wandered away. “I’m honestly going to die if I eat this.”

“Yeah, please don’t make yourself sick on pie. You really don’t have to eat all of that. The aunts and uncles are convinced that none of us are eating properly once we turn eighteen.”

“Really?”

“I wish I was kidding. You’re going to sleep so well tonight, though.”

As if on cue, Sirius stifled a yawn with the back of his hand and cuddled under Remus’ arm again. A familiar shadow bounded over not two seconds later and he barely held down a groan. “Hey, can I join you?”

Remus shrugged. “ ‘course.”

“Sweet.” Jules settled himself across their laps, staring at the sky with his head pillowed on Sirius’ thigh. “Did you have fun? I’m really glad you could come.”

“I had a great time,” Sirius answered honestly. Now please move on so I can take a nap.

“Mom and dad and me got here yesterday, and Aunt Jen kept checking the door for you guys even though she knew you weren’t coming until today. She was worried you wouldn’t like us, I think.”

“That was never an option, Jules.”

“Yeah, I know.” A devilish grin flickered over his face. “Remus is the weirdest of all of us, and if you want to marry him—”

“Get off,” Remus grumbled, shoving Jules’ legs onto the picnic blanket. “You know, you were a lot nicer before you turned eleven. Can I return you and get a new one? I have the receipt somewhere.”

“Nope.”

“That’s all a birth certificate is, right?” Sirius raised his eyebrows. “If you bring it back in good condition, I hear they give you a ten percent discount.”

Jules scowled. “That’s so not true.”

“How do you think I got Regulus?”

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” Remus asked with a pointed look. “Run along, problem child.”

“Of the two of us, I’m the least problematic.” Despite his words, Jules clambered to his feet and dusted his hands off over Remus’ head. “I’m not the one that got a secret boyfriend and got engaged in a year. I’m so easy. Mom and dad want two of me.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Remus sighed as he stretched out on the blanket. “They had a second kid because they wanted two of me.”

“You’re adopted.”

Remus cracked one eye open in disbelief. “No, I’m not.”

“How do you know?”

“Because—y’know what, go to bed. Or go find the stampede, I think they’re by the river.”

Sirius whistled lowly as Jules scampered off again. “That was impressive. Isn’t your aunt over there?”

“Yep.”

Realization clicked into place. “She’s going to make him go to bed.”

“Yep.”

“You’re brilliant.”

Remus smiled without opening his eyes, and tugged Sirius down by the sleeve to lay next to him. “You’re just figuring that out now?”

The stars were brighter than anywhere Sirius had ever seen; for a moment, he was struck speechless by the endless rivers of sparkling white overhead. He stared until his eyes burned from dryness, then put his head on Remus’ chest and kept on looking. There was no way he could tear his gaze from it. A few shooting stars streaked across the clear sky and he felt his heart skip a beat in pure amazement when he realized there was nothing else he would wish for in that moment. He could listen to Remus’ heartbeat and the sound of his new family talking against a backdrop of the night, relishing in a full belly and cool wind, and simply stay there for as long as he liked.

[wuxiaphoenix]

Worldbuilding: Folk Wisdom Counts

I managed to snag Foxfire 3 out of a local library. It has a significant section on ginseng in the Appalachians, both hunting it wild and growing it.

The consensus by those interviewed was that cultivated ginseng might grow larger, especially if fertilized and tended, but it wasn’t as good or potent as wild ginseng. On top of that cultivated ginseng tended to be vulnerable to molds, moles, rats, and other predators on seeds and tubers. And the most reasonable compromise was to find tiny ones in the wild, replant them in more likely spots, and then leave them alone.

I found this interesting particularly because I’ve read modern agroforestry books (2010 or later) on cultivating woodland herbs, ginseng in particular, and the modern info on molds, predators, and root sizes agrees with the accumulated folk knowledge of these articles written down in 1973-1974. More, modern medical analyses agree. Whatever medical effects ginseng may have are produced by ginsenosides, and those compounds only build up in the plant over years. And since they’re likely produced by the plant to fend off some kind of infection or predation, a pampered, fertilized plant has much lower concentrations in the root. The best cultivated ginseng is, effectively, cultivated as little as possible. Growers get their seeds, spread them in their shaded woodland areas, put a little leaf litter on top, and then wait.

...Sometimes with shotguns. People will poach ginseng even off private property. The prices are that enticing - and one night raid can ruin years of work. Poaching goes on even in the Great Smokey Mountains National Park; there’s at least one botanist whose job is to find ginseng in the park, dig it up, dye the roots, and then replant it. Dealers know the dyed roots won’t sell.

So. Accumulated folk wisdom of a plant, proven out by modern research. Folk wisdom also advises packing wounds with sphagnum moss, coating them with honey, or binding them with cobwebs. Anyone visiting this blog will likely not be surprised that all of these have good reasons behind them. Sphagnum moss is absorptive and extremely acidic, inhibiting the growth of bacteria and fungi. Honey in its natural form has plenty of hydrogen peroxide that kills infections, and the sugar in it sucks moisture away from invading organisms, killing more. And spiderwebs have various kinds of “webicillin”, meant to keep bacteria from eating the prey the spider hasn’t gotten to yet.

Granted, there’s a lot of folk wisdom out there that is just plain wrong. (Check out the doctrine of signatures for using plants on diseases, and hollow horn disease, if you want some facepalms.) But the vast majority of information passed along culturally survives because it matters.

Meaning the average person in your world should have a similar bundle of information on things that work and don’t work to handle wounds, illness, ghosts, monsters, and so forth. They may not always believe the rarer things; see Aragorn defending the wisdom of old women who still use athelas, when it’s needed to save those struck down by the Black Riders. But they should at least have heard of it.

...Though some of the rare things may only be known in certain books or villages. Which gives your Bad Guys some obvious targets to wipe out, if they plan to Conquer the World!

Give your world folk wisdom. It’ll take the story places you never would have imagined.

[shivada-jade]

codename: vind

older sibling!reader

characters: diluc, kaeya ➡ mentions: adelinde, crepus, la signora warning(s): alcohol consumption, swearing, and because for some reason, older siblings tend to be shorter than younger siblings. iDK WHY but ugh, yeah you're shorter than diluc and kaeya bc you're the older sibling. ik, i hate it too

like, i wanna be a tall 6'2 woman

diluc's 5'10 so u can still be tall in the story.. just not 5'11 😢 sorry over 5'10 folks

➡ WRITTEN BEFORE 2.1 so uhh :D

notes: platonic w diluc and kaeya, duh bc ur the older sibling. sibling love!!! sibling love !! woop woop !

"Dad, I'm home!" You bellow out to the house, waving a polite hello to Adelinde who looked shocked to see you. You kick off your shoes and slide your way to the long table in the living room, swiftly grabbing an apple before heading upstairs.

Your hands graze the railings and make your way up to find your dad. Upon reaching the last flight of steps, you were suspicious with how the place was very quiet. Granted, your younger brothers are now adults, but it still felt too quiet. Maybe you expected to see your brothers playing a game of chess, maybe bickering and fencing. You were hoping to see your family after being away.

You were a part of the Fatui under the Mondstadt branch. It was and at the same time wasn't a choice to be roped into the Fatui. You got roped into the wrong group of friends and found yourself blackmailed by the infamous group.

You didn't want to join. You didn't want any of it. You've been disconnected from the world. Wiped out from the face of Earth. No one gave information to you, you couldn't learn anything about what's happening currently. The most you could do was send letters, but even those were difficult to send out. You had to do it in secrecy or you'd be in trouble.

Love, the better sibling,

[Y/N]

Or another common send off is:

Please write back soon,

[Y/N]

And your family never failed to send back letters. They asked what you're doing, where you are and how are you, still you never told them your occupation, fearful of what they would think and where your loyalties lie, so you told them you were working under an adventurer.

It's for the greater good. You remember trying to convince yourself.

You're a horrible person.

You were sixteen then. Your younger brothers were twelve. It's been 10 long years since you last saw them, and 6 years since you last received a letter back. You miss them dearly. You often wondered what sorts of adventures they did without you.

But why are you wondering about this? You knew what they did: you knew everything that happened.

You're living under a heavy burden.

"Dad?" You call out again. Maids and wine makers look aghast when they see you, and they're on the verge of fainting when you call out to your father.

Stop the act.

It's strange how the letters were suddenly cut off. The last letter you received was from Kaeya, telling you how you needed to come home straight away. You tried to, but the Fatui prevented you from doing so. A lady called La Signora supervised you directly to make sure you didn't leave.

You know...

Adelinde brushes the dust off her uniform and hurries up the stairs to catch up to you, "Dear, is that you [Y/N?]"

"Did you forget me that easily? I'm offended Miss Adelinde," you chided, but the teasing look in your eyes give Adelinde relief to know you aren't actually offended. "Miss, where's dad?"

You're sickening.

Adelinde takes one look at you and squeezes your shoulders with a smile, "I'm afraid that's not for me to say. Master Diluc should be able to-"

"Oh, where's Diluc and Kaeya?" You ponder, and the corners of your lips curl upwards. "Those two were always attached to the hip. Where are they now? Horseback riding at the vineyard? Ha! I-"

You glance at Adelinde's watery eyes and stop your babbling. "What's wrong Miss Adelinde?" You reach for her hands on your shoulders and hold them. "Ah, has father been making you work too hard? I can request him to lessen your load."

Adelinde shakes her head no. "You don't have a clue, do you? Oh," she sighs. "Please, rest yourself by the fireplace. I'll prepare tea for you." She rests her hands back at her side and scurries to the kitchen.

You frown, unsure why she's jumpy, but you follow her request and sit by the fireplace. The crackle of the fire contrasts the tense air you feel when maids brush past you, offering tea Adelinde made. You thank them, gently blowing on the drink.

After taking a sip, you place it down with a pinky to lessen the noise it makes on the table. You hear the door open, and the choruses of maids greeting someone.

"Welcome home, Master Diluc," you hear and other voices saying, "We've prepared a meal for you and your sibling, would you like to rest yourself?"

You peek from your chair, he obviously hadn't realized you yet.

Diluc's lips make a thin line and shrugs off his jacket, "Why is Kaeya visiting. Isn't he supposed to do his knightly duties?"

You have no clue why he says it like that. The venom in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. You decide this is your cue to give him a warm welcome. You stand from your seat, and open your arms in a grand gesture and waltz to your brother. "Diluc! It's been a while huh?"

You clearly see him tense hearing your voice. His head snapped to your direction with his mouth parted. The maids respectively take their leave, bowing before they do so.

Diluc looks you up and down, still not believing you're there, like you're just his imagination. His hand slowly reaches out to you as if you're a dream.

Your feet lead you closer and you grasp him tightly in an embrace.

He freezes, but slowly relaxes in your hug, reluctantly bringing up his own arms to wrap around you. You feel his grip tightening, and you feel his shake out silent sobs. His face buries in your neck, letting tears fall on your clothes.

You soothe his back, and press a kiss on his hair. "I'm home, Diluc."

He trembles, pushing himself away to look at you clearly. Why hadn't you come home earlier? He wanted to vent, he wanted to yell, shout, he wanted to know how much he missed you in your absence.

He clears his throat and coughs in his fist. "You should have told me about your arrival," he adjusts the gloves on his hands, and looks to the floor like he did when he admitted he accidentally broke your toy when you were 10.

After these years, he still looks up to you as his older sibling. Not a thing has changed.

But you couldn't help but notice one thing. You knew Diluc and Kaeya had matured, you knew they would grow taller, but shit, now Diluc's taller than you.

"I sent a letter a month ago," you began. "It should have been sent to your office in the Favonius Headquarters? That's where I send my mail after you told me about your promotion to Cavalry Captain."

You squish his cheeks with both your hands. "Because I know you're a workaholic and only respond to letters that mean business, so that's where I sent it off to. You never write back, neither does Kaeya," you pause, thinking for a moment. "Neither does dad. Tell me he hasn't gotten sick that he couldn't respond to my letters."

Diluc lifts your hands off his face and frowns. He doesn't know how to break the news to you- not when you look so excited to be home and tell of your adventures to your family, so he asks, "Did you eat yet?"

You note the frown on his face. "'What's got you grumpy," you prod. "I need to find dad first. Told him in the first letter I gave him, I'd give the first gem I find."

Diluc watches you leave him to go to Crepus' room on the second floor. He hears the thuds on the floor and the opening of the door, but does nothing to stop you. You left with a smile, and you come back confused.

"Why is dad's room empty?"

How cruel.

...

Kaeya hums, passing by Flora's shop and purchasing a Calla Lily for the sake of it. He is well aware of the Fatui that stand by corners. Whispers of the wind give him intel, and so does alcohol apparently. He leans on a wall right outside Angel's Share, watching two Fatui members drink some of the tavern's strongest alcohol, imported from Snezhnaya.

"That damn," the one with the red and black mask hiccups, lifting a mug with foam overflowing. "Damn brat's gonna snitch on us to the Knights- *hiCC* boss lady wou- *HicC* would have our heads!"

Thankfully, their more responsible Fatui friend takes the mug and switches it with their drink, water. "You're the one who let Vindicta out of your sight when you know their frequencies to escape. This is all on you, buckaroo."

One of the Fatui escaped? How peculiar.

Kaeya hums, in steady strides he shows himself to the Fatui and takes a seat from another table and sits in front of the two. "My, my, my. If it isn't the wonderful Fatui," he divuldges. He twirls his Calla Lily around his fingers, amused with the Fatui's reactions.

Their mouths drop, knowing who he is and they hastily clean themselves up by sitting straight and wiping away the alcohol from their faces. "Good evening, sir."

"Evening to you too," he places the flower behind the person's ear, flustering them. "Well? Drink up. Everything you order will be on me."

The Fatui look at each other, skeptical with Kaeya's kindness, but the drunken one accepts the offer. Kaeya celebrates in the inside as he slowly gains Fatui intel.

Though, the second Fatui whom he dubbed the "Responsible One," took a while for them to take a sip. Turns out, they couldn't handle alcohol, that's why they avoided drinking it.

"So, my dear friends," he slides a coin on the table and stares both of them down. "A mora for your thoughts? I couldn't help but notice the tense of your shoulders when you first arrived here."

Responsible One raises their mug drunkenly, and gives a pointed look, "You... you know too much. How?..." They stare at their friend and whisper shout, "Don't tell him about Vind or-" They fail to continue their sentence and pass out on the table.

Kaeya feigns a surprised face and looks at Fatui number 2, "Who exactly is Vind? I'm sure you don't mean the storm watcher up at the cliff." He coats his voice with sugar, and it seems Fatui friend fell for his kindness.

"The damn brat," they spit out before hiccupping again. "Recruited them, fed them, saw potential, gave a home, and they escaped."

Kaeya nods and pushes another bottle of wine to the Fatui's direction, urging them to continue.

"Was supposed to be one of the Agents to spy on the *hiCc* to spy on the Ragnvindr family, because *HicC* Vind was one of the best there is. They were about to be promoted Harbinger after an assignment *hiCCUpp* but then Big Boss Lady said 'End the Ragnvindr legacy,' Vindicta left without a word. They escaped."

The Fatui downs another bottle of wine. "But judging from Boss Lady's reaction, Vind did the job: killed him and placed the blame on the Knights."

The Calvary Captain knits his brows and places his hands in front of him. It laced themselves and he watches the Fatui person empty out his wine.

"I'd be careful of what you say if I were you." His lone eye glints dangerously.

"End the legacy?" Kaeya frowns. "Can I ask..." He couldn't ask why or the Fatui would stop talking to him. "Can I ask when your beloved spy did their job?"

The Fatui waves a hand, "Six years ago. After they killed that damn aristocrat's father, they tried escaping. Big Boss supervised them under their watch. 'Potential' the Harbingers always say, but I don't see the potential in them if they don't have loyalties under the Fatui. A wild card, really."

They lay their cheek on the table. The temperature drops quite dangerously. Kaeya's diamond eye glints with coldness before it turns back to warmth.

"Rumours have it," the Fatui sighs, playing with his empty mug. "The training Vindicta went through is rougher, so we were hoping they would tie their loyalties to us. We let them explore once, and they escaped under my watch. Maybe it was their assignment to leave, maybe it's not, because Boss Lady was okay with it, she said 'Vindicta will always return in our hands.' when they first escaped, and surely enough they do return. But either way, I'm fucked for letting them go missing the third time of the week."

Kaeya laughs with no soul and quickly ends the lovely 'conversation.' He pushes himself from the table and stands, "Thank you for chatting with me, it's been interesting." He tucks in the chair and glances at the two Fatui dozing, or close to dozing off.

He swiftly turns away, scoffing when he's out of sight from people. Vindicta is a dangerous card. Not even the Fatui know where their loyalties side.

Vindicta. How peculiar indeed.

One of the best Fatui, which probably meant they were payed well with respect and mora, but why are they labeled as an escapee when they always return? With someone as dangerous as a Harbinger, who do they side with- the Fatui or something else?

Kaeya has a lot of questions.

...

Diluc sits on a cushioned chair and hunches over, resting his chin on his hands, thinking.

Always thinking.

The once lit fireplace is soaked with water he splashed over. The scent of burnt wood wafts nearby. The light chatter of maids go through one ear and leave the other.

How long had it been since he last saw you?

Eternity is his answer. It's been eternity since he last saw you.

He lets out a long sigh, throwing his head back and running a hand through his untied locks.

Too much thinking for today. Diluc groans in frustration and sits back up. He turns his head slightly, seeing you in the corner of his eyes taking out boxes of things you owned from 10 years before.

It doesn't make sense to him. Why come back so suddenly after years of not seeing you? Though, you claim you sent him letters, he never got them because he closed himself off from the Knights.

"Diluc," you set down a small picture of a family portrait you took out from hiding behind many books.

You are taking this oddly well.

You're taking this too well, in fact.

This raises a red flag for Diluc. He told you the fall out of your family, how he quit the Knights, but still you're going around the place like nothing had happened.

Don't you feel any rage? Or even sadness?

He sees too many red flags and hates it- from the way you can hide things like Kaeya so easily, to the way you just suddenly appear back in his life. It feels weird. It's not easy to let someone that in quick, yet you're still his role model, so it's okay, right?

He's always looked up to you when he was younger. You never were at a loss of words and stood up for him. You were the person he can turn to when something wrong happens, but what were you doing for yourself to be gone for so long? Adventuring Teyvat could not have taken ten whole years. Where did you even stay?

"Diluc," you crouch in front of him and talk to him as if he were six again. "I'm okay, okay?"

Diluc takes a shaky breath and sits up straight. His posture resembling a king's. "I have an idea, and I would like you to help me."

You look at him in awe. The realization settles in: Diluc has grown, and you're still stuck trying to make up the past.

"And what do I help you with?"

"Finding who's responsible for father's death."

notes: had this in my drafts for a long time and i was like "wait where was i going with this..." until BAM i have the idea again so im gonna continue it

(part 2)

[palbabor-writes]

Adhesion

Pairing: Dabi/Touya Todoroki x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT/18+ only, unbalanced/unhealthy relationships, TA/student dynamics, tw.mild drug use, tw.bribery, tw.recording without consent, tw.dubcon, brat taming, fingering, cucking 

Words: 8,915

You can feel his gaze; can tell he’s watching you from hooded eyelids and you do your best to resist his pull, not wanting to be drawn in by that eerie blue of his eyes. It’s not that you don’t like his eyes; no, if anything, you like them a little too much. They’re a beautiful shade of shifting cerulean and possibly the only positive thing about the man. 

“You sound upset, babe,” he taunts, taking another drag on his silver vape.

“I’ve told you a hundred times, don’t call me that. And me? Upset? You’re a real Sherlock, you know? What fucking gave that away? Oh, maybe the fact that I pay this university good money for these classes and I could actually use some support. But what do I get instead? A lazy TA who can’t be bothered to do anything more than the bare minimum. It’s a goddamn miracle I’m passing, and it’s certainly no thanks to you,” you snarl, twisting back to your work, ignoring the sound of his chair, gliding ever closer.

Notes: i bribed @libiraki and this fic is my part of the bargain. you heard it here folks, full stop, i am trash. 

this story falls under the University AU that i’m working on: Licentia Docendi - the first fic is Practicum & is all about Professor Shigaraki. For Adhesion, Dabi is a TA: Teacher’s Assistant in a college chemistry class. 

my reward for completing this is User 433 by libiraki. go read it, it’s killer & i’m so fucking pleased my nefarious deeds have paid off.     

Adhesion ad·he·sion /ədˈhēZH(ə)n/ noun the molecular force of attraction in the area of contact between two unlike bodies that acts to hold them together

What time did he say this was supposed to start at? There’s no way you’re late. Did he tell you the wrong room number? You paw into your low slung backpack and wiggle out the [Teacher’s Assistant (TA) handout for Organic Chemistry II]. Nope, you’re not in the wrong room, so it looks like he’s the one who’s late. 

Not too surprising, judging from his appearance. 

You’d only caught a glimpse of him that morning. He’d sauntered to the front of class when the professor had finished with the preliminaries of the syllabus and introduced the lanky man with inky black hair and some of the scruffiest clothes you’d ever seen, as nothing other than, DABI. No last name, no other credentials, just a simple, ah, here’s the TA for this class; he’ll give you a handout on meeting times and be sure to follow his lead with the labs. This Dabi fellow hadn’t even grunted out a hello. He’d merely waited, hands tucked firmly into his jacket pockets, and dropped down from the raised platform once the professor finished his brief introduction. 

You tend to avoid the TA sessions. They’re usually just reviews and endless reminders on the readings, and study prep has never been a weak spot for you, but this semester is different. You’re a junior and you’ve got to push through six classes this term if you want to graduate on time. You haven’t slacked off, haven’t taken less than a full course load. No, it’s just bad luck that they only offered organic chemistry during the Fall term this year.

Thanks to the addition of Organic Chemistry, now all of your classes are heavy sciences. Ick. Well, it’s the price you’ll have to pay for your pharmaceutical degree. It’s not that you don’t like the classes. Honestly, they’re fascinating, chock full of information and techniques that you love to dive into. Nah, it’s not the material of the classes themselves, but the course load and labs that’ll be your downfall if you don’t keep pace. 

So, here you are, waiting in an empty room in the library’s basement for the errant TA of organic chemistry to show. You’re a little shocked that no one else has come to this session. Maybe they’ll try for the other times, or they might be under the blissful impression that they can score the ‘A’ with no outside help. Who knows? 

You’re twiddling with your phone and debating leaving when the study hall door opens. His dark hair is the first thing you notice. It gleams in the bright light of the fluorescents, and you’re distracted by the sheen. It’s almost a little too black. 

It’s not that it doesn’t fit him. If anything, it makes the angled features of his face and neck stand out and draws your eyes to his pale patches of skin. They’re patches because his collarbone and lower neckline are wrapped with spiraling whorls of tattoos; they’re everywhere. How had you missed that? Was his jacket zipped up when he stood in front of the class?

“What’s up?” he calls out, tilting his chin at your wide eyes. He pauses beside the table you’re sitting at and regards you frankly. His eyes are half hidden by his fringed mop of hair, but you can see that they’re a vibrant blue. It’s a haunting color, almost otherworldly. You don’t particularly like the coldness that’s reflected at you, so you focus on the rest of his face instead. He’s got a few nostril piercings, three little studs that shine out when he wrinkles his nose at your bewildered expression. 

“You hard of hearing or something?” Dabi scolds, crossing his arms and glaring down at you. You shake your head and loosen your heavy tongue, finally pulling your gaze away from him. 

“I-I’m here for the TA session.”

“No fucking way!” he mocks, a barked laugh escaping his quirked lips. “Alright captain obvious, let’s get you set up so I can go about my day. Sign this and I’ll give you the power point slides for this week.”

He yanks his backpack forward and tosses a few mismatched papers your way. One is so badly crumpled you have to iron it out with your arm, ignoring the slight stick that clings to one side. Ah, it’s a sign-up sheet. But, hang on, isn’t he supposed to poll the class on these meeting times? He can’t just pick the times himself, can he? You’ve never seen that before. What’s going on?

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to ask which time works best for us before you set the schedule?” you question, sliding the paper back to him. 

His long fingers catch the sheet before it can tumble off of the narrow table and he gives you a wolfish smirk. “Ah, you’re gonna be one of those,” he grumbles, pulling back one chair and flopping into it, splaying his long legs out in front of him. 

“Tch, what do you mean by, ‘one of those?’ I’m not some green freshman, I’ve been to TA meetings before. You ask us for the times.”

“Hmph, okay. Let’s put it this way then, you’re here now, right?”

“Yeah. I–”

“So it’s fair for me to assume that you can make this time?”

“I can today, but what if it’s a one-time thing? What if I have another class or a job?”

“Do you?” his voice drops as he lingers on that ultimate word, lacing his fingers together and leaning forward, blue eyes watching you closely. 

“N-no, I don’t personally have any objections to this time. But what if others–”

“Others?” he scoffs. “I’m sorry, do you see anyone else in here? We’ve been talking, what, five minutes? And I was, eh, almost fifteen minutes late? That sound right? Hate to say it, but I think it’s just gonna be me and you babe.” 

“Ew. Don’t call me that! It’s (F/N)(L/N). Gross, who does that? Babe? You don’t even know me,” you sputter, leaning away from his hunched gaze, earning yourself another clipped chuckle. 

“Ooh, so sensitive! Alright, miss. “I’m not a freshman,” if there are no more objections from the peanut gallery, go ahead and sign this so I can conclude this session. Don’t particularly like chatting with you either, since you’re taking years off my life with these pointless questions.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a dick,” you bristle, crossing your arms and glowering down at the crinkled sign-up sheet that Dabi’s pushed back toward you. 

“Damn, we’re already talking about my dick! I usually reserve that kinda thing for the third week, but I’ll let it slide. Now, be a good little girl and sign that paper for me.”

A month in this whole TA arrangement hasn’t gotten any easier. 

Half of the time Dabi doesn’t even show up, opting to text you the notes and study guides, waving you off with some vague excuse, or promise to make it up next time. The days he appears for the session, he’s always late and glumly sits beside you in the vacant study hall, tinkering with his phone and doing his best to avoid any kind of work. 

But today? Today takes the cake. 

He’s got his booted feet on the table and is taking quiet hits on his vape pen, exhaling long breaths of clear steam into the study hall. “Dabi,” you hiss across the room, aghast at his cavalier attitude. “You’re not supposed to smoke in here! Wait. Oh, my god! Is that weed?”

“Shhh, Jesus. Keep your voice down, mom,” Dabi sneers, puffing a wisp of smoke your way. “Why don’t you try focusing on your work, huh? You’ve got twelve more molecules to stabilize and your functional groups are a mess; you don’t have time to worry about me. Come on, chop, chop. I’ve got places to be.”

“Ugh. Places to be. What a load of bullshit. You know what? I wonder what might help me speed things up? Oh! I know! What if you did your job instead of getting stoned out of your mind?”

Dabi swivels around in his rolling chair, lowering his legs from the table and cocking a dark eyebrow at you. He’s foregone his tattered jacket today, and the sleeves of tattoos that lace up the chorded muscles of his arms are on full display. He’s done that on purpose, the bastard; likely noticed that you like to stare at them, your eyes engrossed by the shadings and designs. Not your fault you like some of the artwork. You’re not looking at him, not admiring any kind of twist or pull of his forearms. Not thinking about how nice they look when he wears a low cut shirt, or rolls up his sleeves. Nope, you promise yourself, careful to keep your eyes down and on your notes, it’s not that.  

You can feel his gaze; can tell he’s watching you from hooded eyelids and you do your best to resist his pull, not wanting to be drawn in by that eerie blue of his eyes. It’s not that you don’t like his eyes; no, if anything, you like them a little too much. They’re a beautiful shade of shifting cerulean and possibly the only positive thing about the man. 

“You sound upset, babe,” he taunts, taking another drag on his silver vape.

“I’ve told you a hundred times, don’t call me that. And me? Upset? You’re a real Sherlock, you know? What fucking gave that away? Oh, maybe the fact that I pay this university good money for these classes and I could actually use some support. But what do I get instead? A lazy TA who can’t be bothered to do anything more than the bare minimum. It’s a goddamn miracle I’m passing, and it’s certainly no thanks to you,” you snarl, twisting back to your work, ignoring the sound of his chair, gliding ever closer.

“Such a fucking sour puss. I bet you’d look a lot prettier if you’d wipe that scowl off your face every once in a while. Lemme see what you’ve got,” Dabi snorts, sauntering out of his chair and bending over your work. 

His tattooed arm braces itself beside your shoulder and the exposed skin brushes against you, making you unconsciously scoot awkwardly to one side.

“Don’t get so close,” you chastise, doing your best to ignore the pull of his cologne. It’s got a hint of patchouli and oranges, and it mixes so well with the cloying sweetness of his lingering vape smoke that it makes your head swim.

What’s he doing? This… well, it’s not like him. He never “checks” your answers, he usually just tells you to submit it to his email and he’ll get back to you later, which he never does. You don’t like this. Nope, not one fucking bit.

He takes his time studying your work, one long finger etching its way across your scribblings. His skin is warm; almost too warm. The heat of it against your clothed side makes you shiver and you duck your head at your unbidden reaction, balling your hands into fists and scrunching them against your tense thighs.

When he finally replies, he dips his head close to your ear, keeping his voice low and steady. “Not bad, (L/N). Nice to see you have some capacity for development after all.”

“What the hell does that mean?” you huff, whipping your head to his.

Oh, that’s right; he’s close.

The lazy smirk he gives you stretch his lips over his teeth and his eyes fall to a half mast as he leans closer, ghosting his breath over your face. “It means, you did a good job, babe. I’m impressed.”

You must be gaping at him; there’s no way that you’re not, but you can’t fucking think, not when he’s so close. If he wanted to, he could close that gap and he’d be against you. His lips look nice from here, smooth and pink, and you suddenly have a wild urge to see what he tastes like. Heart pounding, you feel yourself tilting your chin upwards, your lips parted, tongue dancing across the open plushness, dampening them, waiting, hoping that he’ll just…

“Practice your Lewis structures. Some of those compounds look fucking ridiculous,” Dabi replies, pushing himself off of the table and peering down at you, eyes gleaming with poorly concealed mirth. “But, you’re on the right track. Finish this shit up. Gotta go.”

“W-what?” you sputter, trying to quiet your pounding heart and steady yourself, upended by his short-lived…seduction? What exactly was that?

“Already told you, got some place to be. Send me the screenshots, if you wanna’, but I’m prolly’ not gonna look at them until after the weekend. Well, see ya’ around, (L/N).” And, with a last wave, he snatches up his backpack and saunters out the double doors, leaving you alone.

“So what are you thinking? Just go up to the dean’s office and ask to file a report against him?” your boyfriend questions, his voice hazy and distant through the filter of your earbuds. You’d called him a few minutes ago, once you had a good signal and filled him in on, well, most of the details. 

After Dabi left, you’d gathered up your things and paced the floors of the library, debating your next move. He’s not doing his job. That much is a fucking given. You’d even talked with a few of the other students in your class the other day and they all said the same thing: He’s lazy and he can’t be bothered to help. Apparently, you’re the only student who had one on one sessions with him, but the group meetups sound worse. They told you he usually just opened the textbook and asked them to copy down definitions, and those were the days when he showed up for the meetings.   

“Yeah, and today he really outdid himself. The jerk basically… well… he’s not doing his job,” you flounder at the omission of Dabi coming onto you. If you’re honest with yourself, he hadn’t really done much, and you’d been the one who was surging forward, suddenly tempted by his closeness, his scent, and those rippling sets of tattoos and bright blue eyes. No. Stop it. It’s the last straw, you remind yourself, shaking your head and refocusing on the familiar tone of your boyfriend’s voice.

“I’m sick of it. Midterms are coming, and I’m not about to let him hold the fate of my GPA in his stupid hands.”

“Go get em,’ love! You’re totally right, you’ve worked so hard and you shouldn’t have to put up with some middle-aged asshole’s antics. It’s been a crazy week for you, so dinner’s on me tonight. Wherever you wanna’ go, name the place and I’ll make sure we get a smile back on your face!”

That… that’s so like your boyfriend. He’s always so sweet and caring. Always looking out for you, ready to pick you back up and dust you off each time you feel you’ve fallen short. He’s perfect. He’s all you want, all you need… right?

Goddamn it, you think after you hang up your phone and hop on the elevator that will whisk you up to the dean’s offices, you’d almost kissed your TA. Here’s your boyfriend, being the most supportive and loving thing in the entire world and all you can think about is how fucking good Dabi’s cologne had smelt has he leaned over you. Some partner you are. 

The dean’s office is emptier than you expected. There’s a single secretary, who is sitting behind a low desk, twirling a dark lock of hair and skimming over the pages of a magazine. She looks up when you clear your throat and a practiced smile lifts her lips. 

“Hey there! How can I help you?”

“I uh, need to file a complaint against someone in the College of Sciences,” you explain, dropping your heavy backpack from your shoulders and scratching at the back of your head balefully. You’re likely not the first one to file a grievance against the Dabi, so why are you suddenly bothered by the idea? It’s not going to get better. Just remember all the shitty, half-baked sessions he’s made you sit through (Y/N) and get this over with. 

“Oh! I’m sorry to hear that! Let me grab you the registry of TA’s and adjunct professors,” the secretary chirps, pushing her rolling chair across the wooden floors to snatch at a heavy binder on a shelf. 

“I can, um, just tell you his name. If that makes it any easier,” you quietly reply, one foot tapping agitatedly against the other. What is this uneasy feeling that keeps zinging through your mind? It’s going to be an anonymous complaint. It’s not like he’ll ever see it. He likely won’t even know it’s you. Some of the other students had discussed the idea. He could think it’s one of them, not you.  

“No, no,” the secretary replies, sliding the binder across the glass counter of the desk. “It’s no trouble at all! Just search for their name and fill out all the particulars on the university system. Doing our best to reduce waste! Gotta keep that paper trail down! We’ve got a little kiosk outside, close to the elevators. It’ll help you with all the details, just click on the form and it will file it into our online system. The dean’s office closes in fifteen minutes, so be sure to bring the binder back as soon as you’re done!” 

“Uh, ok,” you mumble, hefting the thick book into your hands. “Do you want me to take it with me, or just look it up here?”

“You can take it out there! It’s sorted by department, for ease of use, so it shouldn’t take you long to find them.” 

Great. 

You lug the binder to one of the many empty tables outside the sliding doors of the office. Slipping your backpack into a vacant chair, you flip through the lists and sections. Chemistry, chemistry… ah! Okay, you’re in the right section. Now to find Dabi, should be easy enough.

Yeah, no. There’s no one in here listed as “Dabi.” What the hell is this? Some kind of elaborate scheme? Is he just a random student who’s fronting as a TA? It would explain some of his general disinterest, but he knows more about molecular chemistry than anyone you’ve ever met, and that skill isn’t exactly a common parlor trick. 

Oh? My secret talent? Well, I can tell you about isotopic labeling and the exact timing of the reaction speeds! Wanna hear more? 

No. No one does. Plus, the professor had introduced him to the class on the first day. He knew him and Dabi’s not exactly inconspicuous. There’s gotta be something you’re missing. 

You close the heavy book and make your way back into the office, fingernails tapping out a disjointed pattern against the plastic of the binder. “Hey, um, sorry to bother,” you begin, tilting your head and biting your lip at the secretary’s beaming face.

“No bother! Did you find them? Everything work okay in the system?”

“No. I, uh, couldn’t find their name? He said his name was Dabi, never gave us a last name so, um, that’s all I have to go on,” you explain, placing the binder back on her desk and praying she’ll give you some kind of explanation.

“Ooh! Dabi! Sorry about that, he’s a special case, since he goes by his nickname. He’s under the adjunct section. I believe his last name is Todoroki,” she twists the book toward herself and flips through the pages at an alarming rate, eyes skimming over the names. 

“Here he is! Touya Todoroki! They don’t put nicknames, or preferred names, since it’s an official listing. He’s a brilliant man and one of our brightest junior professors. I know the university is hoping to snap him up this coming semester, get him on track for a tenured position. 

He’s a little unconventional, but he’s a super nice guy and… oh! Wait a minute, you wanted to file a complaint against him, right? I’m so sorry, here I am, running my mouth! You want a pen and paper? So you can jot his university number and info down? Lets me keep the book in here. Four minutes to closing after all, might as well save you the trip back.” She whips out the procured sheet of blank printer paper and a university stamped pen, holding them both toward you, a friendly smile still crinkling her eyes.

“Thanks,” you sigh, a little bewildered by her chatter. From the sound of it, Dabi’s got some university backing and is a ‘nice guy’. Coulda’ fooled you. Doesn’t matter, you think, crossing the t’s of his first and last name; he’s likely just skimming by on the promise of tenure, and the sooner the school knows about his lackadaisical attitude, the better. 

You’re typing in Todoroki, Touya when the secretary closes up the office of the dean, flicking off the lights and waving a goodbye to your tensed expression. A few minutes later, the elevator swallows her up and the only sound that fills the empty space is the clacking of the keys as you finish typing out your complaint. 

Alright. Got most of the minor points out of the way. 

Inattentive to the lessons, frequent absences, missing materials, smoking in the library; you’ll leave out the mention of weed, it’s not like you can claim innocence on that charge yourself and you’re not looking to have the guy arrested, just stripped of his TA status. You could mention the near kiss, but it feels too vague, and it’s not like he made a move on you. No, all that shifting forward rests squarely on your own shoulders. Damn it, stop thinking about that! You’ve got a boyfriend, someone who loves you, who’s going to take you to dinner! Hit complete and get the fuck outta’ here, before someone–

“Whatcha’ doing?”

His voice makes you jump half a foot into the air, your right knee contacting the protruding keyboard of the university kiosk. “Fuck,” you hiss, twisting around and hunching over at the bright spots of pain that flash across your vision as you rub your fingers over the hurt. The soft footfalls of his approach snap you out of your dazed reverie and your head snaps up, eyes widening at the sight of him.

He’s got a loose fitting white shirt on and you can see the coiling of his tattooed muscles under the thin fabric. His chin is lowered and his eyes are distant pinpricks of blue flame in the low lights. Booted feet take a few more steps toward you, but he pauses beside the table that your backpack is sitting on, hands sliding into his dark jeans, waiting for your response. You gulp back your nerves and lift your eyes to his, hoping some of your ire and defiance will shine through. “I’m putting something into the system,” you reply, your voice holding steady as you re-straighten your spine. 

“Can see that,” he counters, head tilting, dark hair falling to one side of his soft jawline. “Why are you doing it up here? This is the College of Science’s dean’s office. Most people don’t come up here to adjust their university login. So let me ask you again, whatcha’ doing, Ms. (L/N)?”

“Filing a complaint,” you snap, fingers curling into tight fists, shoulders rising and fall with your quickening breaths. That’s right, asshole, and it’s a complaint about you. How do you like that? Not much you can do about… about it now…. oh, shit. Fuck.  

You haven’t hit the enter key. 

The fucking e-document is just sitting there, unattended and completely vulnerable. He might not have seen that you haven’t sent it through and if you could just step a few feet to the right, then you can slip one finger against the keypad and hit that all important “enter.” 

You look up at him again, praying he won’t notice you scooting your shoes backwards, doing your best to keep him wholly focused on your face. “What did you expect?” you taunt, eyes narrowed, arms wrapping around your back, fingers unconsciously stretching out, feeling for the lift of the keyboard. “You’ve been shit. Midterms are in a week and half of the class says you’re not showing up for their sessions. Don’t look so shocked. This can’t possibly be your first run in with something like this? No wonder you go by that silly name, Dabi. What’s the matter? Upset that I know your actual name now?”

As you ramble on, his face has dropped all pretense of blank civility and now his entire body is hunching forward, shoulders curving, hands pulling free of his pockets and coiling outward, reaching, palms tilted upward. 

“So much fucking talk (Y/N). Looks to me like you forgot that last step. Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing,” he begins, a wicked grin twisting across his lips, not quite reaching the glare of his narrowed eyes. “Ah, babe. Why you gotta be this way? Make you a deal, huh? Walk away now and I’ll forget the whole thing. No repercussions, no questions asked. Never even saw you up here, scout’s honor.” 

The keyboard is close; you can hear the hum of the monitor, buzzing as it holds the screen with your complaint against Touya Todoroki steady, waiting for your inspection, for that final command. Dabi is close, his looming form heavy against your wide eyes, but it’s now or never. You’ve got to turn around, got to let the predatory lumber of your ill-appointed TA slip from your mind, you have to do this. It doesn’t matter what kinda promises he’ll make to you. That changes nothing, absolutely nothing. 

Now! Do it now!

You whirl around, hands shaking as they search for the right keystrokes, the right submission link. It feels like minutes have passed, not seconds. Even though you’ve pressed all the buttons and heard the computer chime, a sent message alert into the sudden, reverberating silence, you can’t take your eyes off the burning gleam of the screen. Not until that thank you pops up. 

He’s still behind you. You can hear his boots as they click across the wood. His movements have slowed, but he’s still advancing. It’s too late for you Dabi, you think, watching as the submission page fades to a pleasing orange, the school mascot waving a large “Thanks!” as it dances, close to the bottom of the page. You did it! There’s nothing he can do. Nothing that–

His powerful arm drapes across your stiffened shoulders, his wrist popped beside your face, fingers dangling lazily into the open air. “Ahhh,” he sighs, leaning over you, resting his head beside yours. You half turn your face to see him, aghast that he’s so close again, that he’s touching you, holding you in place with his weight. His muscled side presses against your back, leaning heavily into you as he gives you a rakish smirk. “Well, looks like we get to do this the hard way.”

“What the fuck? The hard way? What does–hey! HEY!” He’s stepped away from you, and that arm that was braced over your shoulders shifts to the back of your neck, ramming your face down into the keyboard, mashing out a random string of commands. Your nose stings from the impact and your eyes wince shut, protecting themselves from the threat of the black letters. 

“Warned you about sending that,” he replies, and you can hear the grin in his voice. He’s stroking a hand down your head, tangling his long fingers in your hair, pulling at the strands until you’re groaning in pain. “Now we have to do this another way. Gotta even the score, don’t we? Need to make sure you’ve got some kinda blemish on your record, too! I know that secretary filled you in on my upcoming tenure. No way she didn’t. She’s a fucking leaky faucet and I know you had to ask her about my name to fill out that complaint. No, no. We gotta fix this, babe.”

His voice has dropped into a terrifying lower octave, his words sharp, barbed, lancing into your mind like a showering of sticks and stones. He fucking sounds like he’s seconds away from losing his goddamn mind. The hand that’s wrapped around your hair is tugging against you in earnest, jerking your neck away from the threat of the keyboard, forcing you to look up at his leering face. The pupils of his eyes are blown, the black eating away at the shine of the blue until there’s almost nothing left. His teeth are bared in a grimace and his cheeks are pinched, making the silver of his piercings stand out against his flushed skin.

You do your best to gasp out another set of questions, but he’s yanking you back, holding you against his broad chest and wrapping those ink sleeved arms around you. They coil over your stomach and across your breasts, digging into the globes and heaving them under his forearms. His lips are tracing over your arched neck, teeth nipping against your bared pulse. 

“You always smell so good, babe. What are you wearing? Hmm?”

“W-what… get off me! You sick fuck! Why are you… ow… damn,” you whimper as he sucks a bruise into your skin, gnawing and pulling until you’re writhing in his arms. You keep attempting to slip away, to shift your feet forward, but that mouth of his won’t let up. Each time you shake yourself free from those quick pants and hums he’s dashing across your neckline, he moves to another spot, or his hands cup and squeeze at your heaving chest and shivering waist, distracting you. 

“Mmm, this is unexpected. Looks like you just might enjoy what’s about to happen,” Dabi teases, licking a wet line under your jaw. “Come on, let’s go somewhere a little more private, shall we?”

You exhale a shuddering breath and remain perfectly still, hoping your feigned submission will lull him. Thankfully, it works. He chuckles and spits something out about being a ‘good girl,’ but when he moves back, his arms unlacing from you, you stumble forward, one heel raised, cracking down over his booted feet with as much force as you can muster. 

Dabi hisses out a string of low curses, his body coiling over itself protectively. You do your best to squirm out of his grasp, but one of his broad hands reaches out for you, snatching at your leg and forcing you back to him. The sudden shift jolts you off your feet and you tumble to the wood, your palms skinning against the uneven surface. 

“Stop it!” you shout, kicking your feet, trying to dislodge his iron grip. 

“Kick me again and I’ll knock you out,” Dabi threatens, lowering himself to your level and jerking you underneath him, trapping you, bracing his knees on either side of your hips. 

“Fuck you,” you screech out, bucking upwards, trying to dislodge his weight.

“That’s the idea,” he croons, long fingers curling under your clenched chin, forcing you to look up at him. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you and stop acting like you don’t want me. You were practically salivating for me this afternoon. I bet you’re already wet. Let’s find out, hmmm?”

His other hand drifts to the clasp of your jeans, flicking past the barrier of your button and dipping his hand into your pants. His touch lingers around the elastic band of your panties, yanking and teasing at the seam as he works your zipper down. Unconsciously, your traitorous hips roll under him and he gives you a sharp grin, blue eyes blazing. “There you go, babe, just relax. Don’t worry, I’ll make it good for you,” he whispers, his voice catching as his touch slips downward, tapping across your curls and snagging against your slippery folds. “Maybe… ahhh… look at that,” he moans, a satisfied grin lifting those tempting lips of his. 

His middle finger brushes between your quivering flesh, gathering droplets of your arousal onto his finger pad. You choke back a staggered breath and your head flops weightlessly against the floor as you arch pitifully into his hand. One of his nails digs into your clit and faint stars pulse over your eyes. “S-stop it,” you stutter, unable to control the shiver that echoes up your spine.

“Tch,” Dabi scorns, adding the pressure of another finger. “Figures,” he continues, his mouth dropping into a pleased smile as you writhe under him. “I thought you liked being difficult. You’re so fucking cute when you’re mad, you know? So what happened to all that vigor, (Y/N)? Not gonna struggle anymore? I’m disappointed, I was hoping you’d keep it up.”

“You’re disgusting,” you snap, your fingers lifting from your side, grabbing the loose collar of his shirt and jerking him to your waiting lips. You can feel the lift of his grin, but he allows the caress, sharp nose digging into your upper cheek. This is wrong. So fucking wrong. But, if you have to endure it, it’s only fair you get a little bit of enjoyment out of this sick power play, so you nip at his lower lip, giving him soft presses and sharper pulls. Dabi, for all of his earlier barbs of prowess, is a bit taken aback by your sudden interest, his hands cupping at the back of your head, urging you on each time you maneuver away from his open-mouthed kisses. 

“You want to fuck me here? Right in front of the elevator?” you question breathlessly, fingers coiling into his dark hair, carding through the rough strands until he’s groaning above you. 

“Nah,” he pants, pulling away from your lips and leaning back. His fingers are still working their way against you, but it’s not enough friction and you wriggle under him, slipping him from your clit. “The fuck are you doing, babe? You gonna try and make a break for it again?” he laughs, pulling his hand from your pants and licking at the faint sweetness that you’ve left for him. 

“Why bother?” you reply, twisting your neck, your head dragging over the grains of the flooring. “You’re just going to catch me. I don’t know my way around this part of the building, so even if I got away, you’d only find me and I don’t really like being tossed around. Not good for me, you know? Why do you care? I thought you said you were gonna fuck me?”

“Oh, I am,” he assures you, one hand snagging under your chin, forcing your eyes to lock onto his. “Just wanted to know what changed.”

“Nothing,” you barb, tugging your chin free and fixing him with a pointed stare. “This whole thing means nothing. I’ve got a boyfriend, and he’s buying me dinner tonight, so, just get through this and I’m free to go, right?”

“A boyfriend,” Dabi muses, knees tightening around your hips. “Should we call him? I’d hate to think how he’d feel about all this. Knowing that his girl is letting her TA take advantage of her this way.” 

“Hmph,” you snort, arms bracing under you, pushing yourself upward, doing your utmost to level this shitty playing field he’s laid out for you. “Like you give a shit.”

“You’re right,” he affirms, hands snatching under your arms and pulling you out from under him. “I couldn’t care less.”

His office is small. 

You keep a sharp eye on the door, watching to see if he locks it. Fingers crossed, he’ll get himself off and that’ll be the end of this. But that tone he’d shifted into, when he’d told you that you’d need to fix this, to erase the complaint, to walk it back, that made your spine tingle and skin prickle. There’s something else, something he’s not telling you, he’s a smart guy, there’s no way it’s this simple. He’s paced behind his desk, fiddling with something in one drawer, his eyes lifting to observe you each time you shift on the couch he’d gestured for you to sit on.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice a dull monotone. You don’t care, you remind yourself, hands wrapping around your stomach. No matter how good he looks, or how skilled his fingers are, you don’t care (Y/N) and it’s pathetic that you have to keep reminding yourself of that.

“Just making sure everything is ready,” he answers, eyes flicking over you. “Take off your pants and shirt, but leave your bra and panties on.”

“Huh?” you question, shoulders tensing as you glare up at him. “Why?”

“Does it matter?” he responds, closing his desk drawer and stepping back to you, kicking his boots and socks off as he gets closer.

“I-I guess not, but I don’t understand why you–”

“Don’t worry, I’ll explain it all when I’m finished,” he reassures you, kneeling on the floor and propping an elbow against his tattered couch. “You can make a show of taking your clothes off, I won’t mind.” 

“You’re revolting,” you snarl, curling your fingers over the hem of your shirt, pulling the fabric up. 

“Mmm,” Dabi agrees, one palm rising to run over your exposed skin. “Whatever you say.” 

“Ugh,” you grunt, popping your hips up and yanking your jeans down your long legs, not wanting to give him too much of a viewing as you pull them along your calves and onto the floor.

“Cute,” he murmurs, one finger racing along the lace of your panties, curving around your hip and onto the soft skin of your ass. “Oooh, did you wear these just for me?” he asks, cupping a broad hand under your soft skin and tugging it into his palm. “Love a girl in a thong,” he murmurs, fingers pressing and lifting into the plush flesh.

“Stop it,” you groan, lifting your hips up, depriving him of his lecherous grip. “I’d never do anything for you.” 

“Always such a stuck up little thing, let’s see if I can’t change your mind,” Dabi laughs, pushing you back and splaying you against the haggard cushions. His long fingers hook under the band of your thong and steadily work it over the curve of your hips and down the line of your calves. Instinctually, you clamp your thighs together, rubbing against the ache that’s budding between your clenched legs. 

“Come on,” Dabi encourages you, slapping his hand against your round thigh, smoothing his palm over the redness that he’s left behind. “Open up babe, let me see you.” 

“Don’t, ah—” you bite out, leaning away from his ravenous gaze and bracing yourself on your elbows as Dabi leers over the sight you’ve been forced to open for him. He glances up at you for a single moment, the blue of his eyes ensnaring your attention and leaving you gaping against the cushions. Seconds later, he’s diving between your spread thighs, his curious tongue lapping over the exposed folds of your cunt.

He slows his licks as he passes by your clit, pausing against the bud before wrapping his lips around the nub, sucking a swift rhythm over you. Your feet rise from the floor to brace against his broad shoulders and you coil your hips upward, urging him on, your head falling into the swath of pillows that rest under your neck. Tense fingers wrench into the cushions and you give a soft gasp, your lips stumbling over his name.

“What was that?” Dabi asks, lifting his head from your curls, lips wet with your slick, his blue eyes watching the contours of your face.

“Fuck you. I-I know… I know you heard me… D-Dabi,” you moan, hissing when he brings a digit against the quivering ring of your entrance. 

“Dabi, huh?” he ponders, letting the edge of his fingernail tease over you. “Don’t know if I like that. I think I’d much rather hear you screaming out my name, my real name.” 

“What?” you question, popping your head up and giving him a blank stare.

“You remember,” he grins, poking out his tongue and dragging it over you, smiling as you buck under his hands. “Come on,” he taunts, sucking at your clit again. “I know you know it. Go on, say it for me.”

“Wha-what’s wrong with Dabi?” you smart, bracing your feet against the couch and forcing him to insert his wavering finger, digging it forward until it hits the second knuckle. 

“Nothing, I just wanna’ hear how the other name sounds. I want to know what it’s like when you’re choking on it, barely able to gasp it out cus’ I’m making you feel so good. Come on, (Y/N), indulge me, huh?” 

“Fine,” you huff, legs trembling as he shoves another finger into you, curling them upward, poking and prodding until you’re squirming. “Keep going. Make me cum all over your mouth, Touya.” 

“Oh, fuck,” Dabi hisses, his teeth catching over your clit. “That sounds real nice, baby.”

His lips seal over you again and he drags another finger into you, stretching you until you feel you’re close to bursting. It’s a low ache he’s working up, but you love the burn. It’s not like your boyfriend can’t do this, but you’ve never worked up the courage to ask. How do you even go about that? Hey, I want you to pin me down and… no. That doesn’t matter, you remind yourself; fingers sinking into Dabi’s black hair, pulling him closer. You just need to get him off and get the hell outta’ here. Don’t think about it. Just relax and get this over with. 

“You need more, don’t you?” Dabi questions, tilting his head and cracking one cerulean eye open, watching as you writhe and cant under his skillful hands. 

“I-I just need…” your voice fails you as he resumes that suction, tugging your engorged clit between his sharp teeth and giving you a few rapid fire nips. “Al-almost, just… keep… oh fuck…” you sigh, thighs tensing around his dark head. His fingers speed up that sinful drag and he wriggles them forward with each push, tapping and stroking over the spongy patch of nerves within your cunt. 

Then, right when you’re breaths away from a mind blowing release, he yanks his fingers from your sopping pussy, laughing as you pant and whine for him. “Ahhh, come on babe,” he sneers. “Why would I reward you when you’ve been such a fucking pain?” 

You openly gape at him, your eyes blinking back dots of frustration and distant flashes of lingering starlight arousal. “What the fuck,” you pant, shifting away from his slicked lips and crossing your legs. “Wh-what what was that for?”

Dabi pushes himself onto his haunches, licking the last traces of you off of his fingers before digging his hand into his jean pocket. He returns with a small remote and waggles it in front of your aghast expression. “Got all I needed,” he informs you, flicking it toward a bookcase. You swiftly whip your head to the shelves and spy the tiny camcorder resting above the topmost set of books. 

“You fucking ASS,” you screech, hands reaching for the dangling remote, not caring that your sopping pussy and half naked breasts are on full display. Dabi hovers the remote above the two of you, cracking that all too familiar grin over his thin lips.

“So, about that complaint,” he taunts, scoffing at your desperation, leaning on his heels to watch you scramble up from the frayed pillows of his couch. 

“Y-you, why… I… give me that! You can’t record me without my permission!”

“Awe, babe,” Dabi barks, his laugh echoing around the small space. “Too bad for you, huh? I don’t need two party consent.”

“That’s for phone calls,” you bite out, finally snagging his wrist, yanking him toward you. 

“Who said the video was on?” 

“You fucking jackass! That’s why you wanted me to say your name!”

“Calm down, I won’t release it if you walk back the complaint,” Dabi counters, letting you pull him closer, his lips teasingly reaching for yours. You dodge his touch and fix him with a pointed glower, nose wrinkling and brow furrowing. 

“This sounds like a well oiled routine,” you accuse, dropping your hold on him and crossing your arms over your exposed stomach. 

“Tch, you jealous?” Dabi sneers, cupping both of his hands under your bent elbows, forcing you to lean into his hold. You shake your head at his accusation and grit your teeth, tilting your face away from his seeking touch. 

“What are you going to do about this part? Where I’m yelling about what a son of a bitch you are?”

“Edit it out,” Dabi informs you, lips latching onto the hollow of your throat, teeth worrying your tender skin between their grasp. “Again, if you walk back the accusation, all of this goes away.”

“What if…” you pause, biting your lower lip and shrugging Dabi off of you. He leans away, bright eyes studying your face, pausing at the dip of your lips, following the pink indentations that your teeth leave behind. “What if I wanna’ fuck you?”

“Oh?” Dabi hums, nose flaring, making those three tiny piercings gleam under the low light of the moon that’s streaming through his window. “Now you wanna’ fuck me? You sure about that? Not that I blame you, I’m pretty good, pretty big, too.”

“Ugh, don’t say shit like that,” you reply, lifting a shaking hand to his neck, tracing your fingertips over the indentations of his tattoos.

“Hmm,” he groans, already leaning into your touch, his skin prickling under the gentle strokes of your fingers. “One condition. I get to record it. This time with the video on.”

“Fine,” you confirm, coiling your hands into his inky hair. “Never know, you might want it for later.”

“For what?” Dabi asks, yanking himself away from your intoxicating strokes to jerk his white shirt over his head. You shake your head at his question, not wanting to think about the ramifications of this situation, distracting yourself with the new patterns and whorls of dark ink that are bared to you. He twists back to the camcorder, hitting a few buttons before tossing his remote across the room, the plastic clattering over the wood.

You can just make out the outline of wisps of blue flames beside his ribs when he kicks his pants and boxers down, finally lowering the curtain on the dip of his hipbones, displaying his straining length to your ravenous gaze. He’s covered in piercings. A silver Prince Albert is gleaming at his tip, catching the drips and bubbles of pre-cum that are hovering against his slit. His cock curls proudly toward his stomach when he releases it from the thin protection of his boxers and you catch sight of the Jacob’s ladder that climbs up his impressive girth. Unconsciously, you gulp in a swift breath and shake your head, not wanting to show him your wavering uncertainty. 

He’ll undoubtedly be the biggest cock you’ve ever taken, and you’re not sure that he’s stretched you out properly. He’d paused too soon and you can still feel the shuddering echoes of your faint brush with release travel up your spine as you gape at him. It’s not enough… it’s not…

“What?” Dabi questions, one black brow arched. “Worried I’m too big for you?”

You’re about to respond when he shoves you down and maneuvers you sideways, stretching you along the cushions, his hand a steady pressure against your windpipe, choking out any reservations that threaten to escape your lips. He’s on top of you seconds later, the sheer weight of him pinning you under him, and you let out a whine when he spreads your legs, popping the brittle muscles of your hips in his rush. 

“I’ll make you like it,” he promises, looming over you, his lips tracing up your neck as his hands dig under your back, unfastening your bra and stripping you of your final defense. “You’ve got a nice rack, babe,” Dabi praises, lowering himself, ghosting over your peaked nipples, tongue lapping out to dip over the puffy areola. 

“Stop saying shit like that, I might think you mean it,” you snarl, throat catching on your gasps of strained pleasure. He sucks one stiffened peak between his lips and suckles, hard. The pressure makes your back bow off the cushions, fingers reaching for him, clawing and scratching your way down the muscled plains of his back. 

“Mmm,” Dabi groans, popping his lips free from the distraction of your nipples. “Do that again, but put some effort behind it.” 

Well, why let him down now? You dig your nails into him, yanking until you feel his skin part under you, splitting from the drag of your touch. “Fuck, yes,” he grunts, his hips jerking into you, blindly seeking your entrance. “I’m gonna fuck you,” Dabi warns, teeth biting the hollow of your neck. “I’m gonna fuck you until all you can say is my name.” 

He blindly reaches for your hips, two fingers searching for your cunt. Once he finds it, he grasps the swollen length of his cock, jerking himself a few times, splashing his hot pre-cum against your inner thighs. There’s no warning, no call for preparation, or a quick kiss, instead there’s just the heady press of his hips and the weight of his length as it splits you in two. Your neck arches off of the cushions and your hips fall away, shying from the keening sting that he’s thrusting into you. A low hiss slips from your lips and your toes curl, legs unconsciously wrapping around his thin waist, heels digging into the soft dip of his back. 

“F-fuck,” Dabi chokes out, hands bracing themselves over the swell of your hips. “You’re fucking tight, babe. Goddamn it.”

“Dabi,” you moan, curling upwards, praying he’ll give you a few more seconds, positive you’ll shake yourself to bits if he tries to move now. Your hand finally lifts from his back and makes its way toward the crest of your thighs, desperate to tweak and roll your pulsing clit. Once you’re inches away, one of Dabi’s hands unlatches from your waist and snatches your seeking fingers away. “Don’t you dare,” he warns, lips rising to suck against the lines of your neck. “Only if I tell you,” he continues, warm tongue dipping and licking over your ear. “Understand?”

You nod, still reeling from the steady stretch of his cock as he tugs it out of your sopping cunt. It pricks and bites and your heels do their best to restrict his movements, pinning themselves to his lower back and grinding down. He ignores your hints and starts a steady push and pull within you, the rungs of his piercings catching on the edge of your leaking pussy. Each thrust snags against a piece of you that sends a scattering of sparks and stars over your vision and you coil yourself forward every time he yanks back, anticipating that ignition, that ache, as he braces himself to slip into you again. 

“How the fuck are you still so tight?” he complains, hands jerking your chin upward, demanding that you kiss him. The bittersweet sting of pain is still too close for you to get into his caress, so he soon gives up, finally settling the pad of his calloused thumb over your clit. “Is this what you need?” he asks, hips lancing into yours, picking up the pace of his ruts. You nod as your teeth chatter, a thin slip of drool escaping your parted lips. Dabi grins at your overwrought expression and his tongue laps at the traces of saliva, nose pressing into your skin, his hisses of exhaled air hot against your cheek. 

“You’re getting real tight (Y/N). Wanna cum? You wanna’ cum on my dick?” he asks, his voice shaking with effort, trying to ignore the insistent envelopment of your slick cunt. “Hey, come on, answer me!”

His deep pitch of exasperation snaps you out of your stupor and you fix your hazy attention on him, closing your swollen lips and giving him a cruel smile. “I don’t think you’ve done enough,” you taunt, a laugh bubbling from your throat. “Looks like you’re gonna cum first. Turns out you’re not as impressive as you think, huh, Touya?”

He’d usually ignore you, keep pressing and teasing until you’re putty in his hands, but it feels too good. It’s too much. Your fucking cunt feels like heaven and he can’t help himself, thrusting and pounding into you like he’s fucking fifteen again, all hormones and no finesse. There’s nothing he can do to stop himself, it’s too good, it’s just too fucking good.

With a half-formed groan he spills into you, his cock pulsing and swelling, hands bracing themselves against the swell of your hips, lifting you to him until those dots leave his vision. “Fuck. Fuck, that was… you were… God. That felt so fucking good.” 

You sprawl under him, your eyes languidly meeting his as you crack a sly grin. “Ahhh, Touya, like I said, you were so close. Too bad. Thought you’d last a little longer. Haha! Maybe next time, hmmm?”

Tags: @spicy-skull​, @xwildskullx​, @evesmores​

notes: editing always takes me so long :((((