#this show has so many blue tones apparently

[andersonfilms]

❝ LONG NIGHT, LONG RIDE ❞ ✶ ABBY ANDERSON !

★⠀warning y disclaimers — eighteen+, nsfw themes, country!abby, petname usage (sweetheart, darling), mechanical bullrider!abby, abby is a big ass flirt, kinda shy!reader, dub-con (alcohol involved). 

RAY RAMBLES ★ idk a random thought and i kinda ran with it. if you like, i have a part in mind with smut for my slutty friends. to be continued ...

you’ve never seen a woman move like she did. it wasn’t the first time you’d seen her there. nestled deep in the heart of texas, tattered-blue denim jeans hugging her thick thighs deliciously, white tank top accentuating her toned abdomen. worn-in brown boots on her feet, blonde hair as carefree as she appeared, hips in sync with the mechanic bull as her skillful hips ride as the operator strategically tries to rid her off of it. s’not an easy task by any means. 

she has the face you can’t quite seem to forget. you never really do. it’s become a ritual of yours. every friday night, you end up in this rundown bar, the only one in this nothing town. maybe it’s pathetic to pine over someone so clearly out of your league. but she’s easy on the eyes, the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. surely, it wouldn’t hurt to just look. 

the girl of your dreams is riding the bull again, and looking goddamn hot doing it. possibly even hotter than this texas heat in the beginning of summer’s warmth. someone as muscular, toned, and broad as her shouldn’t be doing it so gracefully. it’s been a month of watching her. every friday night you nurse the ice bear, condensation dripping down to your fingertips, soaking your wrists as the liquid drips further. 

she’s making quite the show of it tonight. anderson, ever the performer. 

the only name you’ve heard being used, quite loose lips of the small town groupies. apparently, anderson, is the talk of the town and tonight the girls next to you at the bar are as chatty as ever. you only pick up remnants. bits and pieces of their drunken gossip. 

she broke up with her girlfriend. been two months actually according to nora. time to make a move. 

anderson wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole. 

whatever. i’m going to make sure she’s riding me tonight. you’ll see. 

you force yourself to disengage the eavesdropping and look away from the scene of her riding the bull. you’ve seen her do it so many times you know it’ll be over soon. it’s pathetic how you know that in the first place. 

you’ll leave soon, the commitment of work bright and early looks over your intoxicated brain. but then you hear loud boots stomping their way to you. looking over you notice it’s her and she makes conversation with the bartender as she sips on the chilled bottle of beer. 

“seen you here every friday for the best month, darling. do you like the show?” anderson chuckles as her body inches forward. her thumb picking at label on her beverage.

she’s noticed you before? 

“mhm, not sure. still trying to figure out if i do.” 

she nods smoothly, amping you nerves as she scoots the bar stool closer to yours, before taking a seat. meaty, strong, legs opened wide as they rest on each side, supporting the weight of her built frame.

“hm.” she hums, watching as you take another swing of your beer. 

she opens her mouth, more of her southern drawl seeping out but the girls from before manage to squeeze through the small space between you and the mysteriously hot woman who occupies your brain. 

“anderson, you look really good tonight.” the girl from before resurfaces, her sultry tone sharp enough to cut through the entire room, her hands making connection with her toned, freckled bicep descending down her forearm. you make yourself scarce to the bathroom, not enjoying the sudden storm in your stomach. 

it’s just there. 

jealousy storming it before you could even stop it. it’s clear anderson is more than sought after. she’s everyone’s dream, yourself included. you’ve had one short lived conversation. maybe she’s an asshole, a cheater, an ego the size of this massive state.

it’s what you told yourself as you washed your hands in the washroom. it’s the only thing you could tell yourself. the hint of rejection was even more unsettling so you decided to pay your tab and get the hell out of here. 

the vibrator tucked in your nightstand drawer had never done you wrong. why break a good thing? right? god, there’s never been a more pathetic moment on earth. you and your wand against the world of scorned loneliness. but then she’s in there with you. you’re frozen, unable to move as walks in. confidently, resting her broad back against the wooden door. the single use bathroom does not give you much room to breathe. 

anderson crosses her arms, muscles flexing as her arms visibly look bigger, as if they weren’t already delicious enough. she looks down as you’re slightly bent over the short sink, suddenly taking interest in your ass. 

well, it seems sudden to you. 

“you really didn’t have to run off.” she tuts, as you find her frame in the mirror. you swear she bucks her hips slightly but you must be imagining it. taking note of her golden locks flowing past her sculpted shoulders, brown stetson hat concealing her eyes from you, for the most part.

“i don’t know. you seem pretty preoccupied. didn’t wanna put a damper on your night.” once you were done rinsing your hands, you turned around, arms placed at your side. every single bone of your body incredibly nervous to speak with her. especially to be alone together.

“besides, it seems like you have a lot of fans mesmerized by you, anderson. everyone seems to talk about you.” 

“maybe? but i wanna talk to you, darling.” pushing off the door, anderson inches herself closer towards you.

“would this be something you want? my attention?” raising her head, tilting it to the side as she awaits your response. 

“you’re… forward.” you grasp at straws, trying to find the right words but nothing seems right. 

“jus’ know what i want when i see it.” anderson admits. you’re not sure what to think. the sinfully hot woman, everyone’s vying for her attention, and she’s decided to extend her interest in you. why? you’re not sure. “what?” 

“i-i just don’t know what to say to you, anderson.” she smirks, the sly smile of hers on display. “anderson, huh?” 

“isn’t that your name?” you perch yourself onto the sink. clearly, you’re not going anywhere anytime soon. “sort of. it’s what everyone here knows at least. but you should call me by my name. my real one.” 

you’re honored with a privilege, a simple one, just for you. it’s intoxicating how special she can make you feel. your heart beating out of your chest the more she takes. affecting all and any rational thought occupying your brain. it’s just her. 

“abigail, but you can call me abby. abs.” she takes a few steps forward inching closer to the space between your open thighs.

“whatever you want, really. as long as these pretty lips are talking to me. hm? how does that sound to you?” 

you visibly gulp as  she inches closer and closer…

“uh, um, abigail’s pretty.” she’s got you now. utterly fucking trapped. 

abby chuckles. if she wasn’t this hot, it would be downright condescending. “mmm, think i’m pretty, sweetheart?” she’s so sure of what she wants, eyes set on you and it’s s’much to handle. the trap’s been set and you’re falling into her southern charm far easier than you would have if it were anyone else.

you barely nod your head, shyly biting your lip. finally, giving her something to work with. abby’s thinking about devouring you whole, eating you right up, bringing you home with her, pulling you into her bedroom, tearing you apart in every way she knows how. 

the light shining in your eyes makes her think you’d let her. 

“y-yeah, i do.” abby makes home between your thighs, standing at her full height, stammering six feet tall. firmly grabbing your legs before wrapping them around her torso. “bet you do, sweetheart. i’m sure you think about all sorts of things, especially about me.” 

your breath hitches as abby removes her hat, shaking her blonde hair to the side, sunkissed skin even more exquisite up close. freckled cheeks, the adorable bump in her nose, her nipples hard and now poking through the tank top, chest nearly against yours as she wedges herself impossibly close to you. perfectly shaped lips moving closer to yours. 

“why don’t you tell me what you think about when i’m riding the bull? when my hips roll, my head tossed back, and my back arched. be a sweetheart and tell me, darling.” her hat is placed in free hand while the other softly grips your chin, thumb smoothing over the soft skin.

“be real good and tell me.” 

you pause for a moment, doing your best not to fumble over your words, just this once. 

“most of the time, i can’t stop looking at your hips. how in control you look, so confident and my mind just…drifts.” you linger, eyes meeting her baby blues and fuck. fuck. fuck. 

you’ve never been so doomed to fall. 

“darling, don’t leave me hanging. what does it drift to?” abby asks, dipping her lips to your neck, ghosting over the access point, until she lightly kisses at your collarbones. so light, it makes you question if this is just some cruel, fever dream you’ll wake up from.

“shit.” abby takes it as a sign to continue her lips dip into your chest, hardly divulging to where you need her, before she’s ascending back up to your neck. “you gonna be good for me?” she whispers in your ear, her breath calm and even. 

you nod and abby bites your ear playfully as you moan, pulling her in by your legs. “hm, if i keep whispering pretty little things in your ear? can you handle me, sweetheart?” her southern accent further cementing you in her honey grip. 

“maybe? i don’t know. fuck, yes?” abby giggles, her voice dropping an octave as she goes in for the kill. “oh sweetheart. i might just kill this pussy of yours with what i have to say next.” on instinct, your hands tangle themselves into the root of her blonde hair, tugging her closer to you. wanting to suffocate her in your scent, but she’s already halfway there. 

“abigail, just say it. please?” she nods, loving how you’re already using your manners. fuck, so good for her already, not even having to ask twice. abby feels the heartbeat of her clit stirring in her pants as it chases the sound of your voice. she’s so feral, already. yeah, you may feel like a goner but if only you knew she is by far so much worse. 

“i noticed you the first night. those pretty fucking eyes staring at me. wouldn’t fucking leave me for anything, even when the bartender was trying to get your attention. those bambi eyes on me, bright eyed and practically begging for me….” abby’s purposely whines in your ear, causing you to grind into her. she can’t stop the chuckle leaving her lips. 

“you’re being mean. just tell me.” abby pauses as she grins like the cheshire cat. you tug her hair back tightly, the moan she emits is loud. her eyes nearly roll back into her head, but she’s able to stop it before it goes too far. before you push her to the subspace she can so easily get to when push comes to shove. for now, she’ll bask in the dominance. 

all of it so new, so fresh. “oh, i’m being mean?” abby threatens cockily. “i have  been awfully mean, huh? letting those pretty girls flirt with me right in front of you.” she kisses lightly underneath your ear before continuing.

“been thinking about you the last couple of weeks when i’m riding.” abby teases.

“you do?” your jaw slacks, your grip on abby’s head releases. “sure have, darling. m’thinking about how you want to ride me instead. pretty thighs rubbing together when you’d look my way.” abby’s hand drops to your thigh, rubbing your inner thighs with her thumb. basking in how you open them even wider, unprompted. just a small mention and you’re right back to her riding the bull. whimpered out for her, needing her to do anything, something. 

“why don’t we get out of here and you can come home with me?” she pleads, pressing a kiss to your temple. sweet and sultry with half-lidded eyes looking at you. your eyes looking at the hat in your hands. 

you nod, “yeah, i’d like that.” shyly, scratching the nape of your neck. 

“are you going to put your hat back on?” 

“mhm, not sure.” abby bites the inside of her cheek, anxious as the next thought plagues her mind. you won’t know what a big deal it is, but everyone in the bar will know. she will know, but you won’t and somehow it makes it easier when the request flies off her lips. 

“you could wear it? if you want, sweetheart.” abby asks sweetly. you’re quiet for a moment, pondering. “who knows. might be too big or too small.” you shrug your shoulders as if you’re not interested. 

“well, why don’t we try then, sweetheart? won’t know until you do.” she maneuvers the white cowboy hat, placing it carefully in your head. 

you smile happily at her. “look! a perfect fit.” 

abby knows there’s not a damn soul who looks better than you. “yeah, sure is perfect.”

DAILY CLICK + DONT BUY TLOU + DONATE

[cuubism]

physical therapy, part 5

--

Dream has been working with the modelling clay. Hob was right, it is more soothing and enjoyable than simple exercises, which mostly serve to remind him of his deficits. With the clay, he can make small figurines, and has been making cats and birds of all colors, firing them in the oven and arraying them on top of the kitchen cabinets. They add a few more small spots of color to the gray tones of his flat.

He has also been painting again, trying out a new technique with a larger brush that is easier to hold. It is strange, to work in broad swathes of color instead of the tiny details he is used to. But. Interesting. It makes him think more in shapes and general shades, the simple layering of light.

He is painting cats again. He has always wanted a cat, but some instinct always stopped him from following through. Now, he thinks that deep down, he had been afraid of what might befall it. His home had not been safe for a small animal. Nor for Dream.

This cat, he thinks, is mischievous and clever. He thinks he might give the painting to Hob, except it is not yet done.

For now, he goes, nerves prickling in his stomach, to the coffee shop Hob had suggested. He has not dated someone new in a long time. He is not certain what he is supposed to do. He does not know how to impress Hob. He does not know how to make Hob want him.

At least he can be assured that his current imperfections will not be a problem. Hob already knows about them. He already knows about a lot of things that are wrong with Dream.

Still, he dresses in one of his nicest outfits--it's new, actually, like most of his clothes, but he likes it nevertheless. Hopefully Hob will as well.

He goes to the cafe. He is a bit late, after dithering nervously outside for some time, and so Hob is already waiting for him. He looks uncertain, but then brightens when he spots Dream.

He looks... nice. Dream is used to seeing him in athletic wear. Now, he is in dark jeans and a jumper that looks very warm and soft. His hair is loose instead of tied back; Dream hadn't realized how long it actually was. He wonders, as he walks over, if Hob might hug him again.

And then he does. He pulls Dream into his arms without hesitation, and his body is very solid, his jumper, indeed, very soft. Dream makes a quiet, wanting noise, and Hob only squeezes him tighter.

"Hi, darling," he says. "You look lovely." Darling. For having expressed that he doesn't want to move too fast, he is being rather generously affectionate in how he treats Dream.

"Hello," Dream says quietly, and then Hob bids him sit down while he orders coffee and pastries for them, because he is apparently determined to be chivalrous. He's also sat them in the corner of the room. Kind. Considerate. All things Dream's ex had never been. He wonders if he should have expected such treatment all along.

Hob returns with coffee and some sort of small quiche-like pastries for them. Dream rather tends towards sweets but he has also not recently consumed anything that could be considered as having "nutritional value"--packaged biscuits hardly count--and so he considers this good judgement.

Dream takes a sip of his coffee. This, at least, is gratifyingly sweet. Then he says, "I have something for you."

His painting is not yet ready, but he's brought a tiny figurine for Hob. He passes Hob the tiny cat from his bag. It's one of the more elaborate ones, mixed blue and red clay in a tuxedo pattern. Hob smiles as he takes it. "You made that from the clay?"

"I made many. They are parading about my flat."

"Good." Hob sets the little cat on the table by his coffee. "How's the hand?"

This time Dream shows him without hesitation. Hob takes his hand, nodding in approval when Dream demonstrates the range of motion.

"I still fear it is not quite right," Dream admits, though he can concede that it is much improved, and rarely hurts at all now.

"Patience," Hob says, though not without sympathy. He is right, of course, only Dream is... a bit frustrated. When it had first happened, he had mostly been... numb. Then, for a while, hurt. Confused. It is only months later, and perhaps because Hob's kindness has been illuminating, that something hotter, more like anger has trickled in. Anger with his ex, perhaps, though that is still strange to feel. Anger mostly with himself, for not seeing it. Frustration that he has gotten himself into this.

But he tries to put it aside for now. He wants to enjoy being with Hob.

Only... "I confess that... I do not quite know how to do this," he says, with some hesitance.

"This?" Hob asks.

"Dating. If that is what we are doing."

"Is that what you want?"

Hesitantly, Dream nods. It is. He thinks that perhaps Hob was right, and the more reasonable decision would be to wait longer. He thinks that if he hadn't met Hob, he would not have dated for a very long time, indeed. But it feels so monumental to accept what he wants. And... good. Tentatively.

"Okay, then," Hob agrees.

"You... have not told me what you want," Dream points out.

Hob chuckles, wincing. "Ouch, you're right. Well, I wanted to hear it from you first, anyway." He's still holding Dream's hand, and squeezes it lightly. "Yes, of course I want to date you. I thought you were so pretty from the moment I first saw you. Didn't say it then, for obvious reasons. And on top of that, I think you're lovely all around, and a fabulous artist, and I admire so much how you've picked yourself back up."

"You do not know everything about me," Dream says, though truly he's stuck on pretty, lovely.

"...That's the point of dating."

Oh. Perhaps it is.

Well, if they are doing compliments, he can play, too. "I think you are very kind. And quite good with your hands."

Hob laughs, and Dream feels a blush rise to his cheeks. He... did not actually mean it to be innuendo, but perhaps he does not mind so much if it is.

"Well, thank you," Hob says, which only makes Dream blush more.

Mercifully, Hob changes the subject by pushing one of the little quiches across the table toward him. "Try this. They're really good here."

Dream has not yet explored this neighborhood much. His prior flat had been on the other side of the city. He will have to take Hob's word for what is worth trying.

He picks up his fork--alas, another test of his dexterity, though not so ambitious as chopsticks--and takes a bite of the quiche.

It is good, egg and cheese and spinach, and the crust is so flaky he loses some of the crumbs and has to lick his lower lip to catch them. Hob watches him, half merely fond, half tracking the swipe of his tongue. But when Dream meets his eyes again he just smiles brightly.

"It is very good," Dream confirms, "especially considering my recent diet has consisted mainly of biscuits."

This makes Hob laugh. "I'll have to cook for you some time, then. Can't have you living like that."

He's kind and handsome and he can cook. What a catch. It sounds like Desire's voice. Unlike your last one, hm, Dream? The thought is fond rather than annoyed, though, not least because he's now forced to agree. Desire had never liked his ex-boyfriend, but based on their general track record Dream hadn't been particularly inclined to listen to their advice. But Desire has always had a more intuitive sense of people than he has.

"I would like that," he says, and Hob beams. He is easy to please. It's a welcome contrast.

Over the course of the date he manages to learn more about Hob, outside of his work as a physical therapist. He goes to the gym a lot, which Dream probably could have predicted. Perhaps he will see if he can tag along some time. Exercise is not exactly his strong suit but he thinks he might like to be... stronger. So that if someone comes at him again, he could escape.

He also learns that Hob wants kids but hasn't pursued it strongly as he cares more about having the right partner. It's something that Dream wants, too, but had always been hesitant and nervous about in his prior relationship, even more deeply than his instinctive hesitance about having a pet. He remembers at one point feeling grateful that he was not a person who could become pregnant. Which. Should probably have been a red flag. In retrospect.

He's realizing a lot of things in retrospect.

Overall Hob's life seems very... stable and consistent. Which is perhaps what Dream needs right now.

Partway through the afternoon, Hob stops and says, "You seem cold."

Dream is, perhaps, slightly regretting how thin his shirt is. It is not quite summer, yet. But it does look good, and that had felt more important when he was getting dressed.

"I suppose," he admits, "but it is--"

Hob is already pulling off his jumper and handing it to him. Dream stares at him incredulously, but finally, hesitantly, takes it. "You will be cold," he says.

"Nah. I run hot anyway."

So Dream puts the jumper on, and the corners of Hob's eyes crinkle as he smiles, and Dream wonders if perhaps giving it to Dream is bringing Hob more joy than being properly protected against the cold.

"Thank you," he says, twisting his hands in the sleeves. It really is very soft, and warmed by Hob's body. And. He finds that it is making him happy. Not only being warmer. But that Hob wanted to make him feel warmer.

Later on, Hob walks Dream home again. At his door, Hob leans in to kiss his cheek, as he had once before--but Dream turns his head and catches his lips instead. He can't help it. Hob laughs, but lets him, holding Dream's face between his hands, kissing him light and sweet, but with definite banked intent. It stirs something low in Dream's belly, and he makes a happy sound against Hob's lips.

He almost wants to invite Hob in, but senses it might be a bad idea, and that Hob would likely decline anyway. Another time. And maybe by then Dream will have his flat looking more like someone actually lives there.

"Your jumper," he realizes, as Hob pulls away. He's still wearing it.

"Keep it," Hob tells him, then grins. "Until you see me again."

He truly does have a way of drawing Dream in again and again, without ever truly making him feel pulled.

"Soon, then, so you won't freeze," Dream says, and Hob laughs.

"Soon," he agrees. Then, as usual, "Goodnight, Dream."

It is not quite night, but it still feels a fitting send off.

"Goodnight," Dream murmurs, once Hob's gone. Tucks his nose into Hob's jumper, taking in his scent. Then retreats back into his flat.

[mylucayathoughts]

Alex on his way back from Paris is one of the most underrated Taylor scenes in Red White and Royal Blue and I think he did such a splendid job there. It's underrated in the sense that, it's not as talked about as his coming out to Henry scene or lake scene or Kensington palace confrontation scene, mostly possibly because it's so short (about 9 seconds). But it's one of my favorites and it owns my heart 🥺♥️. I even talked about it a bit in my little moments series part 1, but not nearly enough.

To me, this scene was incredibly beautifully acted. Taylor poured his heart and soul into it. I believe he discussed it with Matthew extensively and put a lot of thoughts on his approach to it. He knew, the focus would be on his face and he had to portray the many emotions of Alex perfectly and boy did he deliver!

Alex was seen to be so lost in thoughts on the plane, taking in all the new things that had happened, contemplating Henry and their situationship, navigating all the new feelings that were bubbling up within his chest.

He was thinking about Henry, who had become such a good friend to Alex in such a short amount of time, who listens to him, supports him, reassures him while having his own demons to deal with, his closetedness, unsympathetic grandparent. I'm sure Alex felt heard, connected, loved and at the same time feeling a new sense of responsibility towards Henry, to care for him, to protect him. He was falling so fast in love with Henry. This must have been overwhelming to him in the best possible way. And you can see it in the way he goes from pensive to taking in a deep breath. I love how it shows that he is relaxing and coming to terms with all these new feelings.

And he tears up a bit at the weight of them, the weight of all the good things, the prospect of something much bigger and more beautiful than a hook up. And he smiles, ever so softly, at how happy and at peace it made him feel.

I cropped the photo so that his teary eyes can be seen a little better. This 9 second scene is so important and sets the tone for the rest of the movie. Alex was clearly very serious after this about their relationship. His transition from showing just pure Physical want and devouring looks (at the polo match), and then just having a good time with Henry, discovering little things about each other (garden scene and Paris Cafe scene) to Paris hotel scene where they make love for the first time and him pouring his heart out to Henry, and seeing Henry say all the right things, respond in the most loving way, has been done so seamlessly and all of it culminate in this plane scene. And it's so apparent that Alex is grasping and accepting all of that. It's just amazing to see Taylor portray this with just facial expressions (and not through a convo with a friend like it's sometimes done in movies). Such a well scripted and well acted scene, it was so refreshing to watch 🥰

[moodymisty]

✓ Private Lesson ✓

Author's Note: I love Teacher Tech. And Medic Tech. And Dom Tech. Sensing a theme here. I’ve been writing a bunch of fluff lately, so here’s a little somethin’ nasty I did in my spare time.

Summary: Tech wants to take the Marauder for a test flight after some adjustments, but decides to give you a piloting lesson beforehand.

Relationships: Tech/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, All smut, Porn without plot, Cockwarming, Competency kink, Sex in the Marauder, Lap sitting, Tech decides to be your teacher but are you really learning anything?, A little bit of praise kink, Unprotected sex, creampies, Technically semi-public sex,

Word count: 1959

"Now, what do you do first?"

Tech's voice is firm but gentle in your ears, speaking with his usual smooth tone. If one listens you might be able to hear the tiniest bit of strain, but your heart is thumping in your ears so loudly you aren't able to notice it yourself.

He's been meaning to take the Marauder for a simple test flight. He’s been doing some, unauthorized work on the ship, and decided to use their current shore leave on Coruscant as a chance to make sure everything was in working order.

It will be; Tech just needs to be thorough.

But you’ve never flown a ship before, thinking as you look over the control panel that might as well be speaking a dead language. Tech has spoken a million different times before about it, but you have no actual real world experience.

All of his brothers have decided to hit one of the mid-levels for some food and drinks; And with Tech not being much of a fan of that type of scene, and having work to do, he decided to stay back here in the ship. You'd showed up after they'd already left, so no one but Tech knows you're here with him.

You remember the first time he showed you the Marauder; his pride and joy. You’d asked so many questions you almost turned blue in the face, and he answered every one of them with the gusto of a man with a love of the craft and pride in his work.

He had promised to take you on a flight one day, and when he had it was some of the most fun you'd ever had together. And not moments after he'd landed he promised that one day, he'd teach you. He saw the opportunity to share his knowledge and held it out for you, and you'd accepted his potential future lesson.

And while it's been awhile since he'd promised to teach you how to fly, last you checked he hadn't mentioned some of the more, intimate details were apparently included in this lesson.

His armor is cold and unyielding against the backs of your thighs, as you sit firmly spread in his lap. Your underwear are tangled around one ankle, legs spread over his. His cock is stuffing you full, but he isn't moving even a fraction; Instead torturing you like this.

When you don't answer the first question on his verbal test, he sighs.

"Do I need to perhaps repeat myself? I thought you were smarter than this." One of your hands rests on the armrest; It's the only thing grounding you as your cunt flutters around him.

“Tech, I, I don’t remember.” He has the gall to make an unamused noise, as if him fucking you gormless should be just a minor inconvenience.

“Clearly I didn’t teach you thoroughly enough. Or you were not listening.” He feels the way your groan, adjusting your position in his lap as your hands hover in front of the controls. When you do it's impossible not to feel the way his cock shifts inside of you, trying hard to not let out an embarrassing moan.

“You, set course with the Navicomputer,” Tech hums.

“Lock in the destination, then warm up the, the,” his hand brushes over your clit, fingertips feeling just above where he’s buried inside of you.

“Words, love. Do you remember how to use them?”

Snarky ass.

“The engines. You would warm up the engines.” He gives an approving noise, rubbing circles around your clit. He's so composed, his voice barely cracks despite the fact that you can feel his cock throbbing inside of you, almost painfully hard.

"Now, would you like to put it to practice?" Leaning his head down he presses his lips to the soft spot of your neck just behind your ear, feeling how your neck instantly moves to give him more access to such a sensitive spot.

"Tech you, you can't be serious..." You can't see his face at this angle, but you can tell by the tone in his voice that his eyebrows are more than likely raised in an unamused expression.

"It is not often at all that I am not serious." You let out a desperate whine, just hoping for this sweet torture he's decided to put you through to end.

"Tech I, I can't even think straight, I'm not going to be able to fly this..."

His other hand brushes over your hip, while the other is still firmly nestled between your thighs. You can hear every little motion his fingers make, pussy slopping wet against his fingers and around his cock.

"Then at least show me you can prepare the ship as if we were going go depart."

As if it's just so easy, you think; Swallowing the thick knot in your throat. His chest is still pressed against your back as he adjusts slightly underneath you, and neither of you can stop the little noises you make from even such a small movement.

At least this torture is going both ways, as you can feel the heat radiating off his face while you look forward.

Ok, you've seen Tech do this multiple times now... And he's right here. It's not like you're actually going to fly; You just need to show him you can turn everything on.

That isn't that hard, right?

You lean forward, gritting your teeth and whining at the way his cock feels even deeper inside of your as your stomach folds, stuffing your cunt and leaving not a centimeter of room.

The navicomputer is set, you press the correct buttons to lock it in, and whimper at the way his fingers firmly brush over your clit. He's done so well being composed thus far, but you can hear his harder breaths; Feel the way he's trying not to thrust his hips upward into you. Pulling his lips away from your neck he leans up, looking over your head to watch your hands.

Locking the destination in you lean back, letting out a large shaky breath as your shoulderblades press against his chest armor. He hasn't scolded you yet, so you must have done everything right so far.

"Then, you start the engine with... Those buttons, warm them up, and then the throttle." Tech's fingers press against your clit harder, deftly teasing you and groaning at the way you tighten around him.

"Good girl. I knew I taught you well."

You've never heard Tech call you anything like that before; But gods, what you wouldn't give to hear him say it again.

His hands drift to hold you by the hips and help you move in his lap, moaning as you finally get some form of friction for your efforts. You just barely lift off of his lap, hearing the sound of your bare skin against his armor. One of your hands grasps his forearm, the other the arm of the seat as you bite your lip hard. Top bunched upward it's normally quite cold in the Marauder, but you couldn't be less so as Tech thrusts his cock deep into you.

"How, do you jump to hyperspace?"

He suddenly blurts out, and you can feel him already starting to slow down to dull what little pleasure you've finally gotten your hands on. It's almost impossible not to just cry right then and there, your head lolling back against his shoulder as you whine.

"Tech!" He responds just as swift as one might expect.

"Answer me, or I will stop."

Cruel, snarky ass.

"Fuck Tech, I, I don't know..." HIs hands keep grinding you into his lap, feeling the way your body leans into him.

"You know the answer; I taught you."

You lean forward just enough to gesture at the correct things, groaning as you already feel so close to cumming, but he keeps you from reaching it.

"That one, that one, and-" You bite your lip as your stomach tightens, feeling the way his cock shifts and throbs inside of you. "That one." It seems like you're right, judging by the way he hums approvingly.

"It seems like you were actually listening." You attempt to fuck yourself on him, but Tech's surprising strength keeps you from making any significant movement upward or forward. You spit out your desperation in words, pleading with an almost angry sounding tone.

"Gods Tech, please just fuck me or I swear..." Maybe he decides to give you a bit of mercy, or perhaps he himself can't take his own torture; As a moan slips from his throat and his hips thrust upward. His hands don't even stop you as you grip the armrests, grinding yourself against him as much as your body can manage.

He's been teasing you at this for so long now, it doesn't take much to make you cum at all, your thighs quaking as you tighten around him. He almost feels like you're going to suffocate him, and he can't help but let out moan loud enough to echo through the ship.

Even if the fear of anyone seeing or hearing you from outside the ship is unwarranted, given the area outside the civilian hanger where you're landed is practically abandoned, it still crosses your mind once or twice as you glance out the viewport. It's not a thought that sticks however, within moments it's gone from your head as Tech keeps bouncing you on his lap. And whatever composure he's managed to hold up until this point is quickly crumbling away, his voice strained in your ear as his hands tightly grip your body. Tech has always had a surprising amount of strength, and while he isn't gripping you enough to hurt, it is showing how strong his lithe arms really are as he fucks you.

You can feel the moment he cums by the way he lets out a strained, choked groan, his head leaning forward enough that it hits the side of your head. Your heart is pounding in your chest, and having been sitting in his lap so long off the ground, your feet are almost starting to fall asleep.

The ship now only echoes with the sound of both of you and Tech's heavy breathing, your body limp as you lay back against him. His hands now lay much more gently against your body, one against your thigh and the other your hip.

When he shifts underneath you, he can feel the way his own cum leaks out of you and over his cock, a feeling he'll secretly never grow tired of.

You can feel his soft breaths on the back of your head, him just as out of breath as you are. It's a quiet moment, and you take a moment to just enjoy it.

Until you feel him lean forward, and adjust something on the control panel just within reach. And in your tired, ecstasy driven fatigue, you comment.

"Tech, you're seriously still going to do a test flight after all of that? I can barely move..." He doesn't react to your bafflement as you expect, and instead still attempts to maintain his almost always present composure. Even if it had just been melted away only moments ago.

"You can stay on my lap, if you would prefer." You'd prefer to take a nap; Especially given the haggard state of what few articles of clothing you currently have on.

"Let's just, wait a minute." As much as Tech might want to do what he had originally planned, having you here with him sways his judgement enough so that he can put it off, just a little bit longer.

"Alright, we can wait for a little while."

Join the taglist here: @seriowan @starborncyare @simp-legend @nekotaetae @chad-something @coffeyorky @merkitty49 @lokigirlszendaya @get-wr3ckered @mandoloriancookie @rebel-finn @totesnothere04

[crystillyzed]

at the rainbow's end // mysta rias

pairing: mysta rias x gn!reader

word count: 4.1k

genre: fluff, staff!reader, mutual pining, wingman elira

content warning(s): swearing, unedited

summary:

After nearly a year of hearing each other's voice, you finally meet him.

a/n: this was originally going to be released as my 100 follower celebration since i hit that a while back and to make up for the lack of event since i don’t have the time to host one. but with mysta’s graduation this past weekend, i didn’t want to keep this in my drafts since i’ve been working on this for like practically a year now.

this fox-dog man means so much to me, even though i can’t really catch his streams due to timezone differences, but he means So Much to me. i got back into writing because of luxiem, but he and shu were the ones who got me back into the swing of writing which is amazing bc i love writing. i just lost all the motivation to do so until i found them last year. even though he’s no longer in niji anymore or mysta anymore, i will keep writing for him. in fact, i actually have like 3 or so mysta works in the drafts lol

and speaking of writing, this is the first long fic i’ve written in 3-4 years. i’m considering crossposting this onto my ao3 as an alternative access to read longer fics bc ik how tumblr is poopy with loading long text posts. i’m a bit rusty when it comes to writing long fics, but i hope you’ll be able to enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing this 🧡

links: luxiem m.l || main m.l || ao3 ver (if tumblr dies)

You twist your head from your phone back towards your monitor, displaying the Discord window showing your current private call with your blue dragon friend.

“Mysta’s WHAT?”

“Yeah, he’s coming along on the trip,” Elira laughed. “You didn’t know?”

“Apparent-ly! What the hell!! Luca, that motherfucker, I’m gonna beat his ass when I see him!”

She howls with laughter as you ramble on and on about how Luca told you everything about their planned trip but didn’t tell you about Mysta’s planned involvement. Once you’re done, she takes many deep breaths to calm down. “You should come with us! It’s gonna be fun. And, you’ll get to see him again.~”

You can’t really see each other’s faces, considering you’re both in a voice call. But god damn, you can hear the eyebrow wiggle in her teasing tone.

“I can’t,” you groaned, “I have finals when you’re there. As much as I wanna skip it, I really need to pass.”

“Damn, you can’t even get a referral from staff to get you here for a business meeting? Unlucky.”

“Can’t even do that anyway. I already told my professor that my trip’s been canceled, so now I have to take it.”

Though you’re not a liver for the company, you are, however, a staff member for the company. Specifically one of the staff in charge of promotions. Of course, you mainly focus on promoting EN and sometimes the other two now-merged branches. In fact, that’s how you got close to some of the livers.

As one of the staff promoters, you have to speak with the associated livers about PR stream offers and their convention appearance invites. Since you’ve been interacting with the livers the most, you’ve become friends with a few of them. Some namely Elira and Mysta.

Honestly, it’s not that you play favorites with the livers. You try your best to keep your relationships professional with them. But your bond with a specific fox-like man says otherwise.

You see, Mysta has been a joy to be around with. Although you haven’t met him in person yet, you have played some multiplayer games with him. Sometimes you check out the EN Minecraft server to see if the installed mods are working properly. Weirdly enough, almost every time you visit the server, Mysta is online. In fact, that’s how your not-so-business relationship started.

When you first entered the server, after double checking if no one was streaming at the scheduled hour, he was the first person you met. You thought you would run into Selen, Pomu, or perhaps Uki during your visit, but you were pleasantly surprised at his sudden appearance. Luckily, he was kind enough to show you around the server while teaching you some mods. With, of course, the trademark Mysta Rias experience packaged with sexual innuendos and teasing about. Well, except he didn’t go completely sexual considering it was your first time meeting him. He has some decency.

After that, you’ve run into him almost every time you visit the Minecraft server. Every visit eventually turned into hangouts, just you two (and sometimes another liver) chatting and building projects in-game. Soon enough, you and Mysta started to play other games together. You both played games such as Overwatch, Clubhouse, and sometimes League if you felt like torturing yourself for some reason.

Obviously, you had to keep the professionalism on both sides somehow. Your fellow staff members, especially some livers, noticed your close bond with the detective. So they usually send you to his DMs to discuss about any promotion offers involving him. Whenever you have your cameras on for a meeting, he somehow always flusters you with sudden flirtatious marks or something of the sort mid-conversation.

“Hello? Helloooooooo? Is someone there??”

Elira’s voice yoinks you out of your thoughts. Oh god, were you spacing out this entire time? How embarassing.

You clear your throat then respond as if you weren’t thinking of someone just now, “S-sorry, did you say something?”

“Oh my god. It’s that bad,” she mindlessly mutters.

Blink blink. “Huh?”

“Nothing,” she quickly retaliates. With a slight hum, she speaks again, “Since you’re gonna be stuck in hell… Want me to get you something? Like a souvenir or a limited edition thing? I literally have your address, man.”

Oh right, she does. Sometimes you and Elira send gifts to each other like figurines or plushies at random times.

“Nah, I’m good. Thanks for the offer, man.”

“Are you sure? I mean, I’ll still probably send some pics buuut… Y’know… Just saying…”

There she goes again, doing that thing where she wiggles her eyebrows even though you can’t see her fucking face right now. Goddamn it, why did you tell her about your… thing with Mysta? You should’ve known that she’s NOT going to let it go.

You groan, “Just. Just surprise me.”

“That’s so vague! Do you know what that means?”

“Yeah? So? Surprise me.”

“Man… You have no idea how much power you just gave me.” She cackles for the next few seconds, making you start regretting your decision. “Okay, I’ll surprise you. Just don’t forget you asked me to, alright? And no complaining!”

“Okay, alright, fine! I won’t complain! Jeez… Now get to bed, nerd, you have a flight tomorrow.”

“Sheesh, what are you, my mom?” You both chuckle at her remark. “Okieee~ I’ll go pass out now, I guess. Good night!”

“Good night, Ewiwa. Have a safe trip.”

And you both leave call. Well, maybe you should get to sleep too. It’s getting super late, after all.

—

Mysta stares at Elira across the table in disbelief. “Finals? Of all times? Bruh…”

“Haha, yeah! Super uncool and lame and not something I have to worry about soon,” his penguin colleague beside him laughs with a dreadfully crazed look in her eyes. She anxiously reaches out for her soda and starts drinking rapidly.

“Wh— it’s not like I can control it or anything. Shit happens!”

“I know, it’s just…” he drawls off as his gaze lowers to the table. Admittedly, it’s difficult for him to hide his expression. So naturally, the two girls noticed his disappointment. Elira and Petra awkwardly look at each other, then to him, then back at each other.

“Hey, it’s okay, Mysta,” Petra says as she pats his back. “You can always see them next time! Like Nijifest!”

The dragon nods, “Yeah! Or you could see them the next time you take a break. Like going on another vacation or something.”

“If I have enough money for it,” he sighed. But he gives them a small smile to appreciate their attempts to soothe him.

Petra frowns. “If? Mysta, you’re literally one of the top livers in EN, like? Hello? Mr. One Million?”

“But I still don’t know when that’s gonna happen. Might as well be in a year or maybe like half a year or something.”

Elira’s eyes narrow. She quietly listens to their conversation, or bickering at this point, while taking some occasional sips of her drink.

For the past practically a year, Elira’s been one of the victims to both of your hopeless gushing.

She already knew about your friendship since you’ve talked a lot about it before. She knows the stupid hijinks and drunken confessions that you and Mysta told her about off stream. Her eyes closes as a confused thought crosses her mind, Seriously, how are you two not dating already?

Of course, she’s quite aware that the rest of Luxiem are both of your victims. Hell, when Elira’s alone with the other boys, it’s usually them talking about how astonishing that you and Mysta aren’t together. Sometimes, they make bets on who’s going to confess first. It’s obvious!

Even with the two going back and forth, practically becoming one with the background, she closes her eyes and hums in thought. Finals should be finished next week, she mused. Her visible eye opens as she takes a glance at the ashy haired male. But he’s been so busy lately that they haven’t spoken with each other…

The entire EN branch had a full schedule for the past few months. In fact, their schedule was so full that sometimes the livers couldn’t make their own streaming schedules nor stream in general. Mysta, of course, was no exception. As one of the most popular livers in EN, he’s one of the most busiest people she’s ever known. On top of that, you too have been busy recently too. You haven’t been able to hang out with him as of late despite being a staff member yourself. Life really likes to fuck anyone over, doesn’t it?

She could tell that you two haven’t been able to find the time to talk with each other. The staff picked up many projects that practically almost everyone is unavailable, and you were one of said unavailable members. The only times the livers could contact you was through Slack or by email for business inquiries. But things should be slightly slowing down, for now that is.

Although, it would be nice to have you two meet each other once at the same time, even if it’s a coincidental encounter.

Wait a minute…

A devious smirk lifts her lips, her eyes glinting with mischief in mind. She chuckles to herself as she entertains the thought. Hell, it even looks kinda creepy to the other patrons. ESPECIALLY to her coworkers who’s now staring at her with confusion and a hint of fear.

“…Elira? Are you okay?” Petra asked the dragon.

“Hm?” She blinks out of her thoughts as the penguin’s voice pulls her back into reality. Elira stares at her and Mysta, who also looks a bit dumbfounded, before grinning at them. “Oh, don’t worry about it. Just thought of something.”

Blink blink. “Like what?” Mysta asked this time.

Again, she lets out a chuckle and flicks her wrist to wave off the concern. “Like I said! Don’t worry about it! Y’all will see it eventually.”

Soon enough, the waitress arrives with their orders. Elira turns to face her and helps her with the food. On the other side of the table, the two livers tilt their heads in confusion and eventually give each other an unknowing look as the table is served.

—

You lie in bed snuggled underneath your covers, but the lights are still on as you scroll through Twitter on your phone.

It’s been about a couple weeks since your call with Elira. She’s been sending you updates, videos, and pictures of the group’s adventures in Japan. Sometimes, she’d call you before going to bed to tell you what happened during the trip in case it was a story she couldn’t explain over text. Of course, there were times when another liver like Reimu and Nina would join in the call and give you the tea. As much as you wished you wanted to be there while dying in exams, you felt warm as you saw the livers enjoying themselves on their vacation.

Then, you noticed how fast the month flew by. Eventually, it was time for the livers to fly home and say goodbye for a while. They all had different flights, obviously, but there was a specific person who didn’t leave the country yet.

You were looking on Twitter while watching the members’ story time streams on a pop-up viewer. Although, you didn’t see Mysta’s waiting room or tweet indicating his return to streaming yet.

Suddenly, you remembered why.

“He wants to stay back for a bit,” Elira answered over the sound of her packing. “Dunno why, but I don’t blame him. He was in Japan for work last time.”

That he was. Though disappointing it is that you can’t hang with him for a while longer, at least he’s having fun.

“Oh, remember the thing I asked you about?”

She asked you something? When?

“What thing?” You asked.

“Uh… The souvenir thing?”

Oh shit, you forgot about that. And apparently, she noticed your forgetfulness as indicated by her laughter.

“I got you something,” Elira continued, “but I’ll send it to you when I get back.”

“Why not now? You can just ask headquarters to send it to me.”

“It’s not something in a box though.”

You blinked in confusion, unanswering.

On the other end of the line, you heard her chuckle, “You’ll see.”

Your brief conversation did, in fact, make you scared. Although it’s Elira, your local dependable dragon, sometimes she can be as unpredictable as… well… the rest of Nijisanji. Not just EN, but Nijisanji in general. Remember that one time you watched her stream where she suddenly jumped into a hole in that Forest collab? Yeah…

Now, some time has passed since the trip and she’s been home for about almost a week. It’s something not in a box, right? So what’s taking her so long? Is it digital? Or did she fuck up somewhere with the delivery?

Currently, you’ve been juggling schoolwork, personal work, and work-work. Needless to say, it’s been a stressful time, especially around this type of year. Seriously, why is everyone so goddamn busy around this time? Idle thoughts aside, you’ve also been anxiously waiting for Elira’s souvenir. For the past week, you’d constantly check your phone and your PC for any email or DM from Slack and Discord with Elira’s name attached to it. Every time you get DM’ed or emailed, it’s always been another liver or staff member whose name doesn’t start with Elira and end with Pendora.

But hey, at least you got funny memes from Luca and Mysta in the mean time!

Honestly, at this point, you might as well just give up. Maybe she did run into issues, or she just forgot.

You let out a sigh as you refreshed your feed for the umpteenth time tonight, accompanied by the ghost’s voice eminating through your speakers. Yet suddenly, a notification banner from Discord slides down onto the screen.

Elira Pendora

SURPRISE!!!!

Oh.

Huh.

So she didn’t forget??

Confused yet astonished at the same time, you pull down your notifications bar and tap on the DM to see what she sent.

As the iconic Discord logo pops up on your screen, it eventually loads your conversation with Elira. When you look past your previous chat, a message larger than it should be fills about a third of your screen.

A plane ticket to London next week. Seat number and all. And most notably, it has your name.

…

“HUH?”

You frantically tap on the textbox and type.

You

GIRL

WHAGT THE FUCK IS THIS

Elira Pendora

your souvenir! ☺️

You

WDYM SOUVENIR THATS NOT EVEN RELATED TO JAPAN??? 😭😭😭😭

also

HOW DID YUO GET MY NUMBER??? AND MY EMAIL????? :monkas:

Elira Pendora

I had to pull a few strings with staff

just normal coworker things

You

:thonk:

“normal”

Elira Pendora

but like you should go!!!

I didn’t go through all that just for you to not see him

and you really needed a break so 😎

You

??????

but hes Still in japan?????

Elira Pendora

yeah but he’s flying back home next week

I asked him earlier and had to like try to figure out how to get you to meet him at the same time

or like

around the same time 😌

You

man idk if i should thank you or yell at you

Elira Pendora

LMAO EITHER WORKS IT’S OKAY MAN

better get ready!!!

You

wait what about the hotel

Elira Pendora

what hotel? ☺️

i’m sure he wouldn’t mind letting you stay for a few days tbh

and yes I will also pay for your return trip

You

BUT YOUR LEN FUNDS……

Elira Pendora

I KNOW 😭😭😭

but it’s worth it! go get your man bitch!!

but :thonk:

I think I’ll try to pass out now since I have something scheduled tomorrow soooo

GOOD NIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!

You

gn ewiwa :D

Well! Looks like you have a trip to prepare for.

—

The gray haired detective lounged comfortably in the AirBnB’s living room, resting on the sofa as he scrolled through Twitter. He let out a chuckle here and there, sometimes full on laughing whenever a funny meme popped up on his timeline.

“Meesta!” Elira called out to him from the kitchen island.

He turned around to look at the unusually giddy dragon. Confused, he asked, “What’s up?”

“When are you heading back?”

“Uh…” Pulling out his phone, he quickly went through his gallery to find a screenshot of his ticket. Once he found it, he examined the ticket for its boarding time and date then put it away. “In like a couple or so weeks. I thought I told you?”

“I don’t think you did,” she answered.

She motioned him to give her the device, or at least show her the screen. Of course, he complied. Though insane she is, he does have immense respect for her and Lazulight. Mysta stood up from his seat and approached her. Once in the kitchen area, he flipped his phone towards her, letting her singular visible eye take a peek.

Elira hummed as she inspected the ticket details then pulled back. “Cool. Thanks man!”

She walked away from the kitchen, carrying a glass of water upstairs leaving him even more confused.

It’s been three weeks since his unusual encounter with Elira. He sits idly at a bench by a luggage conveyor in the airport, waiting for his bags to unload from the plane. While waiting, he leans back into his seat and lets out an exhausted sigh. Luckily, no one is seated beside him, so he could just take up all the space on this uncomfortable bench. Still, he couldn’t help but reminisce onto their conversation.

Was she planning something? Was she just curious? What was she cooking?

Now, he’s back in the dreaded land of England, land of the beloathed. He pulls out his phone and immediately checks Discord. The EN server is lively as always, everyone’s practically home but the sense of energy radiates from the screen despite being digital. Like any other liver, he hops in the conversation a bit, sometimes memeing around with the others in the general channel.

Although, he noticed that your icon hasn’t appeared at least once since he landed. He was even paying attention to the top left corner of his screen for a red dot indicating your message. Normally, you’d send him a meme or something to see while he’s asleep or busy. But strangely enough, you haven’t yet. Maybe he should send you something? Or maybe call?

Mysta continues to catch up and reflect on the livers’ vacation in Japan on the server, his attention eventually caught by a familiar bag on the conveyor.

Welp. Looks like he’ll call you later.

—

Thank god Elira had the brain cells to make sure your flight isn’t after his own. Of course, she had to take in account about the flight times since you’re both literally across the globe from each other going to London. To avoid missing him right after landing, you were booked super early into the morning. But sometimes, there’s a possibility that you might be too early when he lands. And, unfortunately, that seems to be the case.

“He lands around midnight,” Elira told you on phone prior to checking in. “So you should be a biiiit early.”

Yeah, by like, 2 hours.

Man, what the hell are you supposed to do for two whole hours? Well, at least you have your phone AND your luggage. You could even people watch in the lobby. But that’s 2 hours!

What’s even more fucked up is that you can’t really use your phone unless you find the wifi. But airport wifi is kinda shitty, especially in England of all places. Talk about a British debuff.

You let out a heavy sigh and collapse into your seat. Napping is out of the question, even though you’re still kind of tired from the flight. Don’t wanna risk missing him by a smidgen, of course. So you ended up roaming around the airport for a while, getting yourself some drinks and snacks to keep you occupied while waiting for your friend. Luckily there were plenty of places to lounge while waiting, so you found a place to sit and enjoy your haul of snacks while waiting.

You did get to connect to the public wifi to look at some memes, but again, it’s the airport wifi. With how slow your phone’s been loading, you eventually disconnect yourself from the wifi after moments of mindless scrolling.

But then you realized something.

You have absolutely no idea what gate he’s in.

Panicked, you scramble to pick up your bags from your side and stand up. Shit, did Elira tell you what airline he took? God, having data in another country would be so helpful. There’s absolutely no way you’re gonna reconnect to the public wifi, it’s too damn slow! If you did have data, you’d look back to your DMs and scrub through your brief conversation from last night.

With a quick glance at your phone, the clock flashes briefly on the screen. 9:20pm, that means his flight’s arriving in less than an hour. Oh shit.

Immediately, you pace briskly throughout the terminals. As you scrounge through the crowds just to take a good look at the terminals, you ask staff for international flights from Japan along the way to help narrow down as much as possible. Throughout the search, you occasionally checked the clock on your phone. 9:40? Shit, his flight should be here now or soon.

“Mysta!” You suddenly shout, passerbys looking at you strangely as you start calling for his name. Your luggage rolls and bumps against the crevices of the floor, bags jostling as you promptly continue your search throughout the terminals. “Mysta Rias!”

Meanwhile, in the same area…

An ashy gray haired man stands in front of the carousel, waiting for the rest of his bags to drop onto the conveyor belt. He pulls out his phone from his pocket, taking a quick glance at his notifications and Discord. His mouth lowers into a frown, his brows furrowing in worry as he notices the lack of notifications from you. Did they really fall asleep?

Clink-clang!

Sunset kissed eyes shift towards the carousel at the sound. Spotting his luggage on the conveyor belt, he walks over to his revolving baggage and lifts them onto the ground. Maybe he’ll shoot you a dm later when he gets home. The handle on his large case clicks as he pulls it up, soon dragging it on its wheels behind him as he heads towards the direction of the exit.

You continue running and searching for him, frantically calling his name throughout the terminal. Your head turns left and right as you look into the surrounding late night crowd, your gaze briefly analyzing each arrival for any hint of his gray hair or his tallness. As you remain standing in the middle of the hall, looking for him, you see a tall man wearing small shades on the bridge of his nose. Gray side hairs framing his face sway into the air as he lugs his bags from the baggage claim and towards the nearest exit.

Without a second thought, your feet starts moving towards him. “Mysta—“ you call. “Mysta!”

After seconds and minutes of searching for him, calling his name and pushing through the crowd as you chase after him. Just a little more…!

“MYSTA!”

And finally… Finally, you see him.

With a clear shout of his name, the gray haired man halts.

Bewildered, he looks left and right until he turns around to see you panting. His heart stopped as he stares at you astonishly. The ambience of the crowd and muffled intercom speakers drowned out as he zoned onto you.

He looked at you.

The person standing just centimeters away from him.

The person who he thought was someone he’d never meet face to face ever.

The person who helped him find a reason to keep going even in the darkest of times.

It felt like hours just staring at each other. It didn’t even feel like there was an ocean of people swarming about and passing by. Without a second thought, Mysta slowly approaches you as if he were to scare you off. As if he didn’t want to wake up, if he is dreaming.

As he gets closer and closer, you didn’t make a move. No, you merely stared at him with wonder and excitement im your eyes.

You both stood across each other, only a few centimeters apart. He blinks several times, even pinching his wrists to disprove his thoughts. But he felt a stinging pain on each part.

An airy huff somewhat resembling a laugh escapes from him. Relief washes over him, and he whispers with a smile, “…Hi.”

You smile back.

“Hi.”

[merlucide]

Crossdresser x BLLK pt3

notes: I’m bouta go ham y’all istg.

warning: Y/N is female, cursing, cringe lol

pt1 pt2 pt3 pt4

The match started and pretty much right off the bat Team V’s Nagi scored a goal.

Nagi then scored another goal just as impressive as the last. Then Zantetsu scored one after him. 

Everyone’s hope for this match died. How could anyone score against these genius’s?

Y/Ns future relied on this match, and they were gonna loose.

Bachira quickly dashed through the field and scored an unexpected goal. 

If Bachira could score a goal against Team V, Y/N totally could too.

She regained her confidence and was ready for what came next.

She was able to stop the ball from getting passed to Zantestu and was able to pass to Kunigami who then was able to make a goal. 

The score was now 3-2, Y/N was pumped that she had a chance at winning- and also she impacted the game with her cool pass.

(Y/Ns gonna steal Chigiri’s goal mkay, he has a goal already🙄) 

Y/N was guarding another player on Team V around the halfway line. Chigiri was cornered with the ball by Zantetsu and another player, if he shot itd be blocked.

Chigiri passed to Bachira but the ball had spin and the ball was kicked higher than expected. The ball was headed into a part were no one was guarding, Reo was running towards the ball.

Y/N was close enough that should could catch it.

Even though the ball was high, she wasn't worried because she's was confident in her flexibility and strong legs. With a quick move, she lifted her leg high up and kicked the ball. Her kick was strong and precise that the ball flew straight into the goal. 

The score was now tied a 3-3 and Y/N was fucking pumped. 

She finally scored a goal, she finally showed her value. She did it.

Team Z was so close winning, that means she could keep playing soccer. 

Everyone was ecstatic at Y/N super goal and was ready to win this match.

Only 15 minutes left in the game Zantetsu started it off with a pass to Reo.

Reo then passed to Nagi and he made goal right off the bat. 

Next start off Kunigami made another goal and the game was back to a tie. 

It was a 50/50 chance now.

There were so many missed goals and saves until Isagi finally made the final goal.

The game finished at 4-5.

They did it, they made it through first selection. Y/N showed her value, she did it.

Y/N jumped and screamed with her teammates at the incredible victory. They all worked so hard and it all paid off. 

In Y/N opinion, this victory meal was the best one yet. She was so proud of her contribution and her team.

She then passed out on the floor from exhaustion with her teammates.

Next morning Ego called in to tell everyone some news

Apparently Y/N and the others aren’t headed to 2nd selection right away and have to have endurance train for a while. 

She couldn’t lie, she was pretty pissed. Training really sucked

10 days of training, oh boy.

Started off fine, same as last time, but then quickly felt like the world was on fire and she was gonna die.

Y/N felt like was gonna puke she did

Before Y/N came to blue lock she was toned, now she looks like she could kill someone with her bare hands. She’s rather impressed with her physique, felt like a MMA fighter heh.  (FIRST SELECTION IS OVER)

Ayeee we did it- uh that all I have rn.. comeback for pt4 ? 😅 EDIT: NEXT PART!!!

made March 6 2024

[respectthepetty]

I don't think Pete's in love with Kenta. I think it's Kenta who is in love with Pete, and Pete has perhaps affection but not love for Kenta. I also think it's Way that Pete starts feeling something for, and that's why that pink and longing stares, maybe because they are both enigmas or something. I don't know, but these three are very interesting, and also wonder what each of their colors are? Because it's not readily visible at all.

Anon, Kenta is black, Pete is blue, and Way can't decide if he wants to be black or blue (or be a baddie red), which is why I think he will die before Kenta does and blah blah blah but . . .

"they are both enigmas or something"

Because another Anon just asked me:

Do we know Pitbabe and companies destinations? Like I know Babe and Charlie are Alphas and Way Pete are both Enigmas but like what about the rest of the gang?

What in the Charlie and the Alpha Factory do you mean by "enigmas" y'all?

I want to believe you mean they are both puzzling characters, but I don't think that's what you mean, and I know *just* enough about Omegaverse to know that enigmas are like the Mean Girls of that universe in the way that everyone wants to be them and fuck them but also fear them.

So are you telling me that Peter and Waymundo are the Regina Georges of the Alphas? IS THAT WHAT YOU ARE SAYING?!

Is that why Way Way didn't want to touch Peter when they first met? Is this why they keep drinking at the bar together like it's a Wednesday and they must wear pink?!

Is that why Peter was looking at Waymundo like this, not because he likes him, but because he likes that they are both Mean Girls and have to sit at the same table?!

Like, I know you asked me a question, but I'm trying to process the bomb you just dropped on me because as much as I love knowing stuff, some of y'all have been wildin' in my comments and reblogs, and apparently FORGOT I'M WATCHING WITHOUT SUBS AND WITH THE TAG BLOCKED!

I'M SO LOST RIGHT NOW!

I mentioned I might unblock the tag in a previous post because I wanted to reblog GIFs of Kenta x Pete and someone DM'ed me letting me know that I might see posts about Kentana BEING PREGNANT!

Which has me thinking Barbie is pregnant and just not sad over Charles lying 24/7 since apparently pregnancy is on the damn table in this show!

Then someone commented that old man is BARBIE'S DAD so did Tony straight up steal these kids from their parents and nobody has noticed because he isn't building a super powerful army for himself but something far more nefarious?!

And the worst part is I have no idea if any of this is canon or people's theories because Pit Babe lied to us and said it wasn't Omegaverse than "Surprise Bitch"-ed us and the Omegaverse is so wild that I don't know what is real or not.

I have so many questions, yet I WANT NONE OF THEM ANSWERED! Do I want to know if Barbara and Kentana are actually pregnant? Do I want to know the real reason Big Red is kidnapping these kids? Do I want to know if Waymond really loved Barbara or if it was just because he is an enigma?

NO! SWEET BABY JESUS WITH THE HISTORICALLY ACCURATE SKIN TONE NO!

You know what I do want though? A drink because this show is way wilder than I thought, and I don't think I'm ever gonna unblock that tag.

But if Kenta is pregnant, who would he even be pregnant by? Is that the real reason Charles and Barbara were fighting on the race track is because Barbara is pregnant and Charles didn't want him racing? OH MY GOD! Can Jeffrey get pregnant?! Does Alan even have the ability to get Jeffrey pregn ---

fuuuuuuck!

Nobody answer these questions. I am BEGGING you.

[biceratops7]

Fuck I love episode 6 so much…

CW: detailed discussions of a PTSD attack and trauma, mentions of domestic violence

You know why?? Because my special interests is psychology BECAUSE IDK WHY TF IT’S SO HARD TO JUST LET MEN HAVE NORMAL ASS MENTAL HEALTH PROBLEMS.

Literally, every friggin’ character who’s (textually) traumatized and male has to be either a war veteran or a serial killer for some reason. Like where the hell are all the dudes who shut down, cry, have panic attacks, use comfort items, regress a bit in language capabilities till they’re more grounded, you know, things that trauma actually causes??

I think I blue screened of death like 5 times watching this episode cause I couldn’t believe the show was just… letting this happen. Like thank fuck, (and please correct me if I’m wrong because I do not have this condition) an actually accurate depiction of ptsd for once! And now kindly follow me into the land of bullet points to illustrate this more clearly.

Ed’s anxiety/ level of functioning is not homogenized. He’s shown throughout the episode to have varying degrees of tolerance to triggers depending on the context and his emotional state. Telling the story to people he trusts in a safe context shakes him up a bit, but he’s ultimately able to laugh it off. Being reminded of the trauma when the environment is super chaotic and he’s about to literally repeat the event with someone he deeply cares for causes a full blown flashback.

It follows the proper… anatomy I guess(?) of a ptsd attack. Ed’s subplot in this episode is spent mainly breaking down his defenses, so when eventually there’s a sensory reminder (trigger) of his trauma he’s not prepared for, there’s a big reaction. He experiences a flashback (unsolicited vivid remembering, can be so intense your subconscious thinks you’re actually there), and he has a completely realistic response to it. No one’s concerned with emasculating him or whatever the fuck, men get overwhelmed and burst into tears sometimes damnit! And afterwards he’s not just fine, he actually needs to be grounded, attempting to take care of himself before Stede comes and helps him calm down completely. This isn’t seen as weak in the slightest, it’s just extremely unrealistic to expect someone to do such a thing quickly or without help.

There’s nuance and complexity. It’s unclear whether or not Ed’s breakdown was ultimately caused by the mention of the kraken, or the banging sounds of the puppet. It’s not supposed to be clear, not even to Ed. It’s obvious that witnessing the abuse of his mother and killing his father are not easily separated events in his memory. Trauma isn’t clean and pretty like that, and it doesn’t draw a perfectly traceable line from past to present in a one to one ratio.

He’s shown to continuously have triggers, it’s not just treated as a plot device cause we need Ed to break down and admit to attempted murder. And again they aren’t cleanly connected to the major traumatic event of killing his father, but rather smaller things that used to be unsafe day to day. The banging on the door explicitly reminds him of growing up with domestic abuse and watching Izzy fight Stede does so implicitly, being unable to even watch a loved one be put in psychical danger much less intervene.

And the absolute best part, what should be so friggin’ easy to do yet so many shows apparently prove that wrong, is that the framing doesn’t ridicule or belittle Ed for his emotions once. Not one single time. In a comedy no less. Oh sure the scene where he’s crying in a bathtub is fucking hilarious, but absolutely none of the humor comes from the fact that he’s crying in a bathtub. Because the writers know this kind of subject matter should be treated with gravity and are actually talented enough to do so without a weird out of nowhere tone shift. The closest I can think of to Ed’s trauma responses being seen as “funny” is when he falls out of the curtain sobbing and the Dutchmen freak out very cartoonishly and run away. But even then it’s clearly the Dutchmen who are the butt of the joke.

I get the same vibes as when they decided not to depict the abuse of Ed’s mother on screen. They not only portrayed this subject matter correctly but did so thoughtfully. They clearly wrote this episode while considering the needs of those who’d actually be able to relate to it.

[scarisd3ad]

To the end and back [daryl Dixon x reader]

Chapter one - the archer

Masterlist

Taglist

Summary - after the world ended you were sure you’d never find love again but a certain archer catches your eyes and changes the entire trajectory of your life.

Warnings - normal twd warnings

Previous >> Next

Edited

Fifty-four days it's been fifty-four days since the initial outbreak. I am trying to remember how I got here with this group by a quarry just a bit out of Atlanta. It's all jumbled together: how my roommate got infected, how I got out of the city, how Shane found me stumbling towards their camp. There were many people here, enough to keep each other protected. We had a couple cars and tents, guns and weapons. Some of us go out for supply runs every now and then just to pick up food and other essentials.

There's a couple kids here too. I don't know how they can play around and be happy-go-lucky after what they've seen. All the people here are lovely except for a few I don't bother with because I'm scared of them. Like Daryl and his brother Merle, those two motherfuckers scare me. They both have heavy Southern accents, and I swear they do drugs. Since we were running low, Daryl, Shane, and Glenn had gone into the city to grab some extra food for the camp.

It was starting to get dark. I'm sitting in a lawn chair by the fire with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders. They had been out for about 3 to 4 hours when we heard the sounds of cars pulling up. Everyone turns around to ensure it's them and not some random person. It is them, though.

They all get out with backpacks full of things like food and water. If we're lucky, they'll bring back some toys for the kids, new clothes, and even random little gadgets. Some kids ran up to the cars as the three men got out. I turn back around, staring at the fire.

I don't know what day it is, what time, or what month. It's starting to get dark. The walkers are way more active at night, so I always try to get into my tent as soon as the sun begins to go down. Amy walks over and sits next to me. Amy and I get along well because we're the same age. "You alright?" She asks I shrug in response. Sometimes, I just think, think, and think, which makes me go down the rabbit hole of asking myself, why me? Why was I here? Why was this happening? What did I do to deserve this? "Just a bit hungry, y'know?" I whispered.

We don't get to eat three meals a day like we used to anymore, and my body was still getting used to the scarce amount of food. "Me too," she whispers back. I watch as Shane walks back towards camp with Lori and her son Carl. Carl has short brown hair, blue eyes, and freckled cheeks. You'd often mistake them for a family, but they're not. Apparently, Shane was a cop and was Lori's husband's partner before the outbreak. Lori's husband died, so Shane's taking over. Carl has a brand-new toy car in his hands, which he's showing off to Sophia, Carol and Ed's daughter. She's got an almost strawberry-blonde bob, brown eyes, and freckles.

"Hey." I see Daryl standing before me with a package of instant noodles. My brows furrow, confused because I've never really spoken to him. His hair is short, like he had a buzz cut, but it's grown out, and he has blue eyes. I wasn't going to lie. He was a handsome man, just kind of scary at times. "Hi?" I say in more of a questioning tone. "I, um, got ya this while we were out," he said, tossing me the package. I smiled. That was sweet. "I heard ya talkin' bout missin' it, so I just..." he said, trailing off. "Wow, thanks, Daryl," I say with a giggle. He nods but quickly walks off to his brother. "That was cute," Amy says, and I roll my eyes. "Okay..." I sigh as I pat the package of noodles. "...I will admit that was actually really sweet." I sigh as I lean my head back. The sun is getting lower. "you gonna head out?" She asks. I nod as I push myself up out of the chair. "Night Am's," I yawn as I walk toward my tent.

I unzip my tent and step in. I try to make my tent feel as comfortable and at home as possible. So, I have bunches of pillows and blankets I've brought and collected throughout the month or two we've been going through this. I sit crisscrossed on my sleeping bag and zip my tent back up. I sigh as I lay back, placing the package of noodles with all of my other belongings. (Books, clothes, and other things I managed to grab before fleeing my apartment.)

I began to think about Daryl, realizing I never expected him to be that sweet. Especially to someone he's barely talked to. He was usually hot-headed. Both he and his brother had unpredictable tempers. That was Nowhere near the Daryl I had spoken to earlier. I don't remember falling asleep, but I shot up in a cold sweat. I don't even remember the dream, but I instinctively grab my knife. I listen closely to make sure I don't hear any walkers before unzipping my tent and crawling out. The fire is still blazing, and I can see Glenn sitting in front of it. It's definitely early morning.

 I could tell by the sky. I walked through the overgrown grass, it tickles my lower legs as I did so. I sit next to Glenn and sigh as the heat of the fire hits my face. "Hey," I say quietly. He looks up at me and smiles. "Hey, y/n/n. Can't sleep?" He asks. I nod slightly as I lean back in the chair, I'm sitting in. "nightmare," I whisper. He nods. "Same, can't close my eyes without seeing a Walker. "I lean my head against his shoulder. Glenn was the first person I was open to talking to once I got here. I was too scared of the others, but Glenn was the sweetest guy I've ever met.

"Do you ever think about how it was before?" I ask, and he nods. I think about it all the time: what if this never happened? Would I still be going to college; would I still be living in my shitty apartment. Sometimes, I think about how I would've never met Glenn or Amy if this had never happened. "Yeah, all the time," he whispers as he grabs my cold hand, warming it up. "Do you miss it?" I say, turning my head. He nods. "of course I do..but if this never happened, I'd never have met you." I nod with a smile and a laugh. "You're like my best friend, y/n," he says, and I laugh as I bury my head in his shoulder. "You should go back to bed," Glenn whispers. I nod, lifting my head off his shoulder. "I'll see you later," I say, pushing myself off the chair. "Love you!" Glenn shouts as I walk away.

"Love you too!"

Next

Taglist

@e1d0lonk3k @soul4death

[ninjakk]

The cold spring scene - An important part of Wangxian's developing feelings for each other

The cold spring scene when WX are adorable teens is just such an interesting spa date interaction between the pair. WWX is a big tease and poor LWJ just can't seem to escape him! I actually think more praise needs to be given towards LWJ here... He keeps his cool quite well considering the circumstances. Although the scene is quite short and sweet - it still has a lot of details hidden just under the water surface.

After recently re-reading the ongoing MDSZ manhua, I noticed quite a few bits from the novel are missing. One scene in particular, is the one I am going to analyse here. I was quite surprised to see this was not included, even if it 'needed' censoring for whatever bullshit 'reason' - it still could have been included somehow surely?!

To me, this scene and the punishment scene prior to this, are actually quite an important part of the CR arc and a fundamental building block of WXs budding friendship/relationship. It shows their true characters to each other and the reader. LWJ punished himself alongside WWX because he is in essence, fair and just - even if WWX pulled him out of the CR grounds! We also see the utter horror WWX has at realising that LWJ has taken his words so seriously and is going to punish himself also. WWX tries to stop this happening, because he's kind and caring - he doesn't want LWJ to get hurt or punished, especially for something he caused. So to omit this and the cold spring scene, where WWX is very sincere and somewhat in awe of LWJ, is quite sad in my opinion.

So let's take a look at the scene in question. I have to say, one thing that always stands out to me is that WWX doesn't visit the cold spring until night-time. WWX was dragged out of bed very early in the morning, apparently 'before daylight even appeared'. After the beating, JC is carrying WWX away and they bump into LXC, who informs WWX there is a way for him to heal in a few short hours. WWX was beaten quite badly, and very swollen - yet he didn't go to the cold spring until much later. There were no lessons, because LQR was still away in Qinghe - so I find it a bit odd he waited all day before seeing to his injuries.

Chapter 18

It was night-time, at the cold spring of the Cloud Recesses. Lan WangJi’s eyes were closed as he relaxed in the ice-cold water. Suddenly, a voice rang beside his ears, “Lan Zhan.”

“...”

Lan WangJi’s eyes sprang open. Sure enough, Wei WuXian was lying on his stomach, above the blue stones beside the cold spring, tilting his head and smiling at him.

WWX has snuck up on LWJ while he is mediating in the spring. We don't know how long he's been there, but he's lying down on the rocks watching LWJ. Personally, I think it's safe to assume WWX was probably thinking similar thoughts to what he did when he saw LWJ in the cold spring in his second life. Blinded by his looks, but convincing himself he's not - as he's done so many times. We already know he finds him attractive from the amount of time he's said so since coming to the Cloud Recesses - so it's probably not too far off! The fact WWX lay on the ground in quite an alluring pose, just adds to the teasing tone he loves to use with LWJ.

At some point, probably after a long while of marveling at how beautiful LWJ looks WWX calls out to LWJ near his ear, which is quite a seductive way to make himself known. When LWJ opens his eyes, he sees WWX lying on the ground smiling at him with his head tilted. Interestingly enough, the head tilt is in a number of translations I have read as well. A head tilt is a subconscious facial cue that not only shows you are interested, but it also shows you are being submissive. Because it exposes a vulnerable part of the body, it's a sign that you are comfortable being vulnerable around the person you are talking to. Ironically, it's nonverbal communication that means 'I trust you not to bite harm me' - and considering LWJ's penchant for biting later in the novel, it's quite amusing. It's something females tend to do with someone they like. It's also often used in literature to convey flirtation and interest as well. So it's very interesting to see WWX adopting this stance in front of LWJ.

Lan WangJi blurted out, “How did you come in?!” Wei WuXian slowly crawled up, and spoke as he took off his sash belt, “ZeWu-Jun told me to come in.” Lan WangJi, “What are you doing?”

Wei WuXian kicked off his boots while leaving piles of clothing all over the ground, “I already stripped, so what do you think I’m here for? I heard that your sect’s cold spring can cure injuries aside from helping with one’s cultivation. So, your brother told me to come here and bathe with you. Except, it’s really not nice of you to come here to heal alone. Eep! It really is cold. Brr…”

I find this next bit quiet interesting. WWX slowly crawls up and proceeds to take his clothes off - which is a little provocative. He could have taken his clothes off before drawing attention to himself - but he didn't. He waited for LWJ to turn around and stripped in front of him. I know he's probably very used to be naked in front of the other male disciples back at his sect when they bathe and change. But it's the way he does it here that just seems more deliberate and teasing. Especially after speaking next to LWJ's ear and slowly crawling up before undressing. It's a good job LWJ's waist-deep in cold water if you ask me.

I also find it interesting that LXC told him to come and bathe with LWJ specifically. Perhaps to set up a spa date help mend their budding friendship after the joint punishment they received at LWJ's behest. LXC does seem to fancy himself as a bit of a mediator at times, and even used a similar approach to try and help clear up animosity between JGY and NMJ later in the novel. At least this one was more successful I guess! This could also be the reason WWX doesn't go to the cold spring until night-time as well.

“Do not move!” As he spoke, he extended an arm, and put his hand on Wei WuXian’s shoulder. Wei WuXian instantly felt a surge of warmth coming from where their bodies connected. Feeling better, he couldn’t help but to shift closer over there. Lan WangJi was wary of this, “What?” Wei WuXian replied in an innocent tone, “Nothing. It seems like your side is warmer.” Lan WangJi firmly kept his arm between the two of them, maintaining the distance. He sternly declared, “It is not."

I always find this part quite funny, as the adorable 'I do not have physical contact with others' LWJ was just pushed to the point he touched WWXs bare shoulder. LWJ refused to hold onto WWXs hand while saving him from the waterborne abyss, but now he's resorted to physical contact in order to keep WWX away from him - because he's shy. Personally I think the surge of warmth could have a double meaning here. Yes, the water is freezing and of course body warmth would cause this reaction. But considering how WWX subconsciously feels about LWJ, and the chemistry that has been there since they first met - it could also be a reaction to being touched by someone he is evidently attracted to. After the physical contact, WWX continues to gravitate towards LWJ, as he so often does. WWX claims he wants to get closer to him because LWJ's side seems warmer, apparently.

Wei WuXian wanted to get closer to Lan WangJi so that it was more convenient for him to flatter the other. Even though he couldn’t go over and was given the cold shoulder, he wasn’t angered at all. He glanced at Lan WangJi’s palms and shoulder. The bruises were still there, meaning that Lan WangJi really wasn’t here to heal. Wei WuXian spoke sincerely, “Lan Zhan, I admire you so much. You really did punish yourself as well, without treating yourself any better. I don’t have anything else to say.”

Lan WangJi shut his eyes again, without any words. Wei WuXian spoke again, “Really, I’ve never seen someone as prim and proper as you. It’d be impossible for me to do something like this. You’re so cool.”

Lan WangJi still paid him no attention.

WWX has now given two separate reasons as to why he was trying to get closer to LWJ, while they are naked in the cold spring. As we've previously seen, WWX actively uses self deception to rationalise the feelings or actions he is not ready to understand. There are many examples of WWX doing this throughout the novel. WWX actually did something similar when he saw LWJ in the cold spring prior to the Cloud Recesses flashbacks. He tried to rationalise why he was looking at the bathing beauty. So in the above scene, WWX is trying to reason with himself and justify his need to be near LWJ at this moment in time...while they're naked.

WWX goes on to state he wouldn't be able to punish himself if he was in LWJs position - but we know from other parts of the novel that this is not true. WWX actually takes the brunt of the punishment for the other junior disciples at his sect often. Perhaps not always out of choice, but I think he'd probably do it anyway as he's very protective of people he cares about.

What WWX is really impressed with is that LWJ took the punishment alongside him, which no one has ever done before. As we later find out, he's always the one taking all the hits and punishment dished out at Lotus Pier. No one has ever really stepped in to take some of the punishment with him. The joint punishment they received is an important part of the developing relationship (and somewhat unconscious feelings) WWX has for LWJ.

WWX didn't get a reaction from his very sweet and sincere compliments, so he continues to flatter LWJ to try and elicit a response. It is just adorable how much WWX craves LWJ's attention to the point he says 'I don't have anything else to say' after being so sweet - but then continues to praise him anyway!

WWXs compliments are genuine and sincere. He really is in awe of LWJ at this moment when isn't he tbh and his comments are very sweet. But as genuine as they are, this is also a flirting technique, as I've mentioned in a previous post. Complimenting in such a way, is feminine flirting technique that is a way to appease the male ego.

After Wei WuXian stopped feeling cold, he started to swim around the cold spring.

He swum for a while, but still went near Lan WangJi, “Lan Zhan, didn’t you notice what I was doing when I talked to you?” Lan WangJi, “I do not know.” Wei WuXian, “You don’t even know about this? I was complimenting you, trying to become more casual with you.” Lan WangJi glanced at him, “What do you want to do?” Wei WuXian, “Lan Zhan, why don’t we become friends? We’re already so familiar.” Lan WangJi, “We are not.”

WWX is yet again gravitating towards LWJ. As LWJ didn't react the way WWX wanted him to, he is trying to justify his compliments. He goes on to admit he was complimenting LWJ, in order for them to become 'friends'. Which I'm sure is what he wants, but subconsciously he wants more than that and doesn't quite understand that although he likes him, it's in a slightly different way to a 'friend'.

Wei WuXian slapped the surface of the water, “Now, you’re being boring again. Really. There are lots of benefits if you become friends with me.” Lan WangJi, “For example?” Wei WuXian swam near the edge of the spring, and leaned back with his arms on the blue rocks, “I’m always really loyal towards my friends. For example, I’d definitely let you be the first person to look at new porn that I get hold of… Hey, hey, come back! It’s fine if you don’t look at them. Have you been to Yunmeng? Yunmeng is really fun. Yunmeng’s food is also good. I don’t know if it’s Gusu’s or the Cloud Recess’s problem, but the food in your sect are so bad. If you come to Lotus Pier, you can eat lots of delicious food. I can take you to pick lotus seed pods and water chestnuts. Lan Zhan, do you wanna come?” Lan WangJi, “No.”

WWX begins to tease LWJ once again, because he has seemingly rejected his advances of striking up a friendship. So he initially jokes about lending LWJ porn, which he knows he would reject. In fact, WWX might have even been trying to get LWJ to get angry here once again - as he definitely got a kick out of it (and he later admits he most certainly does!). LWJ was about to leave because of WWX's teasing, so he quickly changes the subject in order to stop him from leaving. WWX invites LWJ on a date to come and stay with him at Lotus Pier so he can show him around where he lives - which is just utterly adorable! I've already covered some of this in a previous post, so I won't cover it much further here.

I really love this scene as it's nice to see WWX able to talk to LWJ away from JCs disapproval and hostility. It's also outside of the Library Pavilion environment, where he is being punished and LWJ is even more reluctant to talk. It's interesting to see how LWJ is able to converse with him a little more than usual, over their past two interactions. Granted, LWJ didn't say much here. But it's certainly a start! As @parlerenfleurs stated in a recent post, if LWJ had been a little less guarded - I have no doubt WWX would have been enticed into kissing LWJ, if he'd been able to get closer to him.

There is very much a sense of mutual respect and admiration starting to form, alongside their chemistry and physical attraction. Over the past few interactions they have shared, WWX has noticed that LWJ is very strong, perceptive and virtuous. LWJ managed to simultaneously save WWX and the third wheel Su She, pulling them away from the waterborne abyss. In turn, showing the shocking strength of his sword and himself - which certainly impressed WWX. WWX also got to see that LWJ is extremely observant, as he was first to work out the water ghouls were luring them to a waterborne abyss. As stated above, WWX is also incredibly impressed with how virtuous LWJ is, punishing himself as well as WWX. In turn, LWJ got to see how brave and kind he is by saving Su She. He also got to see that WWX is also a skilled cultivator with a keen eye, as he spotted the water ghouls hiding under the boats when no one else did.

I really think this small but sweet scene is a lot more important than some people might think. Once you have read the rest of the novel and extra chapters, this scene becomes even more important in showing the growing feelings that they had for one another from the very beginning. The Lotus Seed Pod extra shows the reader just how much both of them were affected by this small encounter. It's been around a year since they met and they are both still thinking about WWX's invitation to come visit him. Although they are miles apart, they are both pining for each other, thinking of what was said that night at the cold spring.

[revlischarm]

Behold, Morro for season 4 in the Lego Monkie Kid au!!

Below the cut I’ve put some details about the season, as well as their design.

• So, Morro gets trapped in the scroll along with everyone else!! Inspired by what one of my friends on discord mentioned, apparently the scrolls work for all memories, not just for recording JTTW stuff.

• Therefore. We’re gonna get some Morro trauma. Since the scroll can put you in the worst memories you had/in some kind of past life, I thought, “what better than to hurl Morro back into his misdeeds as a ghost?”

- That’s why when Morro’s in the scroll, he’s gonna be walking around in his old gi from the show. I didn’t give him a cloak or anything for the sole reason of me having a hard time drawing it

• Boy oh boy Morro absolutely hates having to be dressed in the robes of his past. He’s been trying to move away from what he did, to forge his own identity and life. Yet now he gets put right back where he was, at the peak of his darkest times, and MK and Mei end up bearing witness to it, no less!

• Long story short Morro just. Is going to be miserable this whole season. Their past got dredged up in such a messy way for all to see.

• I don’t wanna give away too much since this post is mainly just for Morro’s season 4 design, hehe.

• You want more info?? Send in asks! I will devour them and answer back dutifully.

• Now onto design talk, tw for some blood stains and detailed description of death for a bit

• The only details I’ll really say for Morro’s scroll design are that his outfit is fairly burnt and torn up in many places, due to how he died. Well, more so the condition his clothes were in when he passed away.

- The front of Morro’s gi is stained with dried blood because of how he died, which I personally believe to be due to the kethanol gas in the Caves of Despair. There’s more info about it on the wiki, but the effects I’ve given to it basically are that prolonged exposure will cause someone to bleed out, with blood coming from the nose and mouth and the eventual exsanguination is the cause of death. So yeah, you just. Drown in your own blood, can’t get enough actual air and asphyxiate, bleed out, etc. The gas can kill you in a number of ways I’d say

• Moving past all that…Morro gets longer ribbons now!! He added on a new ribbon, since he bonded with Red Son at the end of Season 3, and off-screen between the last season and this one, lol. Think of their friendship as…fanning the flames. They kinda just hype each other up and it’s very chaotic.

• Morro actually trains with Macaque to learn some shadow magic!! They’re super interested in learning teleportation via shadows because it’s cool as hell, and they just generally like to spend time with Macaque. After some time, Morro finds that his eye markings are getting kinda…larger and discolored.

- Surprise the universe/gods saw Macaque taking in Morro and went “oh successor??? The Six-Eared Macaque has a successor??” And long story short, after an initial bout of extreme panicking, Morro realizes that he’s now got some cooler new markings!!

- Yes, I’m contractually obligated to change Morro’s eye markings with each new design at this point, lay off me

- I’m very happy with this marking design tho!! It looks very nice and is easy for me to draw. The markings actually manifest themselves in the way of like…scar stuff. And I tried to have them resemble Morro’s actual cursed markings as much as I could, but it was hard to do that when it kept veering into flame territory (which I wasn’t aiming for). So yeah!

- I also added a little chart at the bottom to demonstrate the differences between the markings and also how Macaque’s and Morro’s purples are different. Mac’s is more on the blue hued scale, while Morro’s has more pink tones to it. There!

• And last but not least, the tail(s) of Morro’s sash got longer!! I did this for the purpose of giving their silhouette a more monkey-like appearance, with the longer sash acting as a sort of faux shadow tail. This works great for any silhouette shots!

• So yeah! That’s that! Feel free to ask anymore questions, I’ll be glad to answer!!!

• Oh also I forgot to draw it in but you know how everyone else gets a cool weapon during season 4 from the scroll? Yeah, Morro’s taking the memory of the Sword of Sanctuary with him.

[notknickers]

synopsis: the winged elf auviron has been captured and sold into slavery while away from his snow-peaked eyrie and in foreign lands. his new owner, after the rakshasa merchant responsible for his captivity, is a dark elf scion by name of molvayas, sole male child - and not-so-secret-shame - of illustrious ilharess adamantia faerlintar. and a wealthy and capricious one, at that, as often is the case for those such as he.

tags/warnings: dead dove, slavery as a narrative device, noncon, injuries, blood sports, magic creatures death, chained to the reverie chaise, undressed while unconscious, unwashed top, face raping, forced deepthroating, throat bulge, non-consensual breath control, raped to near death, cum swallowing, fainting

audiences: 18+, no exception

word count: 5994

a/n: a one-shot, background story of my avariel and drow blorbos from my never-to-be-published novel, set in non-canonical forgotten realms underdark in a nameless dark elven city of my creation accessible only through the shadow plane with the appropriate tokens. have this, while i lag behind on my call of duty fics. they're in the making, i promise.

i

Auviron’s spear is still fast in the drake’s eye socket. It protrudes through the back of its skull from the force with which the winged elf drove it, russet scales gleaming in crimson. He dislodges it. One foot holds down the dead beast’s neck, arms flexing decisively as the weapon snaps free, becoming his own again.

«Your turn now! Coward!», still panting, he screams to the ceiling. Grip on spear painful, arms sharply flailing. As if to make himself even more visible in the empty arena. As if it weren’t already impossible to ignore him even without the waving and the howling.

Auviron challenges the dark elf. The flying elf knows he has been watching, enjoying the spectacle from the shadows, hovering just out of sight. After calling to him, voice increasingly hoarse from shouting, the dark elf graces him of his presence.

He always reappears after the test is over and won.

«Coward! It must be your name, you wretch! That is when you show your face!»

The dark elf’s teeth flash briefly in the parody of a smile: he does not know those words without employing the translating magic in his insignia. Nor does the dark elf need to know them: the bitter expression, the defiant tone, the aggressive posture barely subdued by common sense… those are all Molvayas needs to understand without wasting the sorcery trapped in his emblem.

The dark elf ignores him, feigning curiousness about the drake carcass. He crouches by its head and examines the deadly wound, not minding his unwilling guest, even when his back is turned to the armed aerial warrior.

By now, Molvayas knows the avian elf will not attack unless the dark elf is the one to draw weapons first. And it’s not solely because the winged elf requires a break to recover after each beast he battles. To Molvayas, the refusal reads more as a sort of code the prisoner displays, even when dropping any semblance of foolish honour and taking his chances while the dark elf is – or at least does all he can to look – elsewise preoccupied would better serve him.

How quaint!, the thought forces Molvayas’ lips to stretch thinly again.

«How many more?»

Molvayas glances at him, but does not satisfy his question. He produces his double-edged dagger, instead. A calmly-uttered word later, what he holds is a two-bladed sword, cool blazing of keen crystals fizzling to veins of bright blue run the blue-grey length as the metamorphosis completes.

«Only one left, then…», Auviron mutters darkly and changes stance to attack.

ii

The lesser wyrm is but the most recent in a series of beasts Auviron has been pitted and prevailed against. The reason, unstated still, has become apparent in time: the dark elf must have wanted to assay the winged elf’s mastery in combat. Perhaps the underground-dweller has plans to enrol Auviron in some competition. Perhaps he merely aims to amuse himself with the entertainment the gauntlet provides his one-elf-audience.

Perhaps racking one’s brains to understand the reasons behind the actions of so alien – and vile! - a creature, hoping for a glimmer of clarity and sensibility, is a waste of time.

Before the wingless drake was the set of paired manticores. Dangerous beasts in their own right that turn even deadlier when the mate they choose for life is murdered before their eyes for sport. Auviron’s left wing still smarts from the one quill of the many that rained towards him, strong and thick like his spear, that he failed to elude in flight. Taking a few seconds to tear it out almost got him in the trajectory of the spiked-mace of a tail the rushing manticore flailed his way.

Before the manticores, came the nest of wyverns; nest, the avian elf thought, because the variously aged and sized specimens, from the elder one to the ones on the cusp of maturity, fought like a flock defending their lives and territory. Keen talons and venomous stingers striking in concert. Auviron had to dodge countless times before even landing an attack of his own.

Not at all like the bumbling, rampaging fleets that breach out of their rocky dwellings or swampy hideouts during their first few ruts. When they might wreak accidental havoc in inhabited areas and need to either be put down on the spot, or hope a kindly ranger will arrive in time to lead them back where they belong and ensure the hormonal young not stray again.

And before the draconid family Auviron had to slay, was the turn of the basilisks. Three nasty six-legged crawlers with scales as hard as the stone the last of them managed to turn the avian elf to, just as his spear felled it with an aerial attack. The assault from above compelled the beast to turn its neck enough that Auviron could lance through its open maw. Yet, at the same time that his spear lacerated through the soft tissue of the hexapod’s throat, Auviron felt himself grow stiff.

Guess the blasted beasts were four, not three.

He has no idea how long the dark elf left him posed in the killing blow, wings arched and spear stuck under the basilisk’s brow. For when he was returned to flesh, the dead reptile was still under his boot. A half-petrified feather he must have shed lay on the floor. Neither seemed to have been moved.

All the way back to Auviron’s first trial. A gaggle cockatrices. The gobbling reptilian turkeys of the depths, whose droopy wattles he can still remember whipping against his cuirass as they tried to peck at him. Each failure turned the assailing birds to contagious frenzy, which only made their moves less calculated, easier for Auviron to dispatch even if outnumbered.

Auviron has triumphed over every artificial asperity presented. Now, he waits for the volatile dark elf to decide what to do of his issuing.

On his end, Molvayas is enthused at what he has got in his hands. He wished to verify whether the draconid-killing fame of the latest entry into his Menagerie was true. Whilst Auviron was pitted against no true wyrm, Molvayas considers himself well-pleased that his riches were not wasted on some puny creature incapable of withstanding the planned regimen.

Auviron’s body is that of a warrior. Shorter than he and barely more graceful, yet solid and packed with full, rounded muscles. Not unlike his own. And with wings powerful enough for him to manoeuvre himself in the air, weighed by spear and armouring, yet unhindered by either.

This intrigues the dark elf: perhaps this one will not, indeed, break that easily in his care. Or lack thereof.

The dark elf accepts Auviron’s dare, of course. Like he has done every day since the first trial was won. He lets the winged elf hold on to his arms and war regalia and extends him yet another chance to win his freedom. If he manages to best the dark elf in armed combat. Or so Molvayas leads Auviron to believe, before recurring to underhanded tactics and outright cheating to make sure the winged elf can never truly succeed.

After all, it would be a waste to sacrifice his vantage on the fickle altar of fairness. If the flying elf wishes to prove himself not just Molvayas’ equal, but his better in combat prowess, then coming up with a way to outdo the dark elf’s physical might, tactical wit, as well as practical advantages is very much up to him.

Nevertheless, every few days Molvayas has consistently been showing up for his sparring adversary with or without raging beasts in tow as overture to the main event. And every few days they fight. Glassteel against adamantine. Fist against fist. No quarter ceded if not at hard price. Before the winged elf is deprived once more of his battling implements and protections and given back to his confinement upon defeat.

iii

It is noon and the sun is scorching down on all beneath it, blinding and unabating. Or dusk, shadows sharpening and air growing crisp. Perhaps it’s the dead of night and only silence and thin, resplendent flecks of moonlight reign unusurped. It is all of those and more, just somewhere that is not there. Time has lost most of its meaning for Auviron since his abduction and sale.

The last thing he remembers, before darkness, soreness and passing in and out of consciousness were the only things left to give feeble substance to the liminality of his days, is the carcass of a squamous land beast. A duel and another crushing loss.

There is a figure walking on the ceiling, suspended, fire trailing below. He rolls on his belly, aching of muscles forced into dormancy accompanying the slothful movement. Wings barely curl out of the way and the figure merely rises from the floor.

The figure tiptoes inside to make their delivery. Water is poured in the basin in the room. Perfumed steam quietly rising from it, empty pitcher clinking on a surface. His gear thuds and clangs near Auviron’s head, the sound of his spear, precariously rested against a wall, clatters to the floor. The intruder flinches, distracted feet stumbling on a plate from which he must have eaten, at some point. Sound of breath catching before being forcibly drowned and muted until it feels safe to breathe again.

Will that happen to him, too, in the end? Will sound carry nothing but fear, soon?

Keys jingle and scrape in the lock of his restraints. The figure hastily leaves before the winged elf has accepted the lie of his deliverance. Only the fiery halo of hair remains in Auviron’s vision. He rises and repeats the vacuous gesture of wiping the staleness of days-old sweat from skin. He pretends it serves any purpose other than delaying what awaits.

His tunic is clean. The glassteel gleaming. The leather underneath supple from a fresh coating of oils. They are kept in such conditions as if the avian elf were allowed to mind their upkeep himself. He dons his war attire in front of the mirror with a morose, unfaltering grimace. The only event that gives a modicum of purpose, restores a flicker of hope to the greyness of a present that melts into the sameness of future has arrived with punctuality.

He leaves, knowing very well where to go in his lack of reasons to stray.

No beasts this time. No beasts proper, at least. Only the beastly elf.

iv

The two elves shed arms and parts of their guards to go from duel to hand-to-hand combat. Outcome unfavourable this time too. Auviron is once more being given the option to choose between a humiliating yield in the dark elf’s choke hold or awakening alone and in chains after fainting rather than admit defeat.

Prideful – for what else but pride has he left? – when Auviron’s body submits to the superior elf in ways that his mind never allows him, he is left the loser once more. His chance at freedom grows ever farther in sight.

The winged elf jolts awake, head jerking left and right to understand where he is. Still sore from combat, he remembers his predicament. Deflated, he moves carefully, soon finding he cannot freely command his limbs. Tethered by manacles that spread him on the soft, padded surface that has become both recovery cot and reverie chaise, his wings span beneath him. Stretched out. Pinned at their root of flesh, tendons and plumage by his own weight.

He must have been stripped while blacked out, for he is nude. Something the avian elf has slowly grown accustomed to. After every match between him and his unpredictable tormentor, his equipment is taken from him. What is new is how he was arranged while unconscious. A chain around an ankle or a hollow-boned yet tough wrist is yet another one of those vexations he has had to endure since he was unlawfully acquired. This, however, is new. It does not bode well.

The first conversation Auviron had with the dark elf flashes in his mind and his mouth feels drier. He stirs his tongue around, from cheek to mouth roof, trying to counter the unpleasant xerostomia, swallowing on nothing still while parts of that conversation replay in his head. Teeth gnaw the inside of a cheek.

He remembers the strange, leading questioning to which the dark elf subjected him, even then stripped shamefully naked and tied – by rope, not metal – to a chair, arms folded behind him; ankles held well apart. He sat there, forced to defencelessly present throat, chest, stomach and loins to any offence the self-styled interrogator decided to inflict.

For good or ill, Molvayas was too fascinated by Auviron’s majestic wings and fleecy down here and there on his body to pay mind to those. The memory of the dark elf’s rough yet revoltingly delicate hands lingering on his warm-toned feathers makes him shudder even now.

After the strange exchange, Auviron recalls being allowed – encouraged, really - to question the dark elf in turn about his fate. His purpose. From what little the avian elf managed to gather, the dark elf’s demesne seemed well-satisfied in its defensive needs. He doubted his purchase had anything to do with bolstering the numbers of the militia.

The way the dark elf peered at his bound figure, the inebriated look in his eyes as he devoured it, while Auviron’s questions danced at the sharp end of his ears without being allowed entrance, the uncomfortable insistence with which the dark elf’s fingers toyed with his feathers… All those made Auviron afraid the underground-dweller might have more sinister uses planned for his captive.

Facing off deadly beasts, deadlier endeavours in their own right, had a calming effect on the gloom-greyed paths Auviron’s mind wandered when compared to the unsettling alternative.

Auviron feels transported back to that moment again: the present holds no appeal in this state. Even if it did, the pull of how their exchange ended already floods his remembrances. He feared what would happen to him. Practical and blunt, after being for so long ignored, he demanded to know what his war-captive status entailed. A title he bestowed upon himself entirely, as there was no ongoing hostility happening between his race and that of his abductor. Only vanity driving to cruelty. He did, much preferring an honest, if gut-wrenching, answer to torturous speculation.

He hesitated until Molvayas’ gaze focussed enough to indicate he might take upon himself the burden of candour, of being forthright, considering how meandering, easily distracted and deceitful he already came across as. Then he asked his question.

The dark elf abruptly leant in, palms pressed down on thighs, as if for balance. Or merely to feel the winged elf balk at the imposed vicinity through the startled palpitation of muscles. The tips of their noses almost touched as Molvayas spoke words uttered with such crisp lucidity, that it betrayed the whiff of spirits his breath carried, warmth of herbal bitterness collapsing against his philtrum at every precise enunciation.

«Nought for you to decide. Nought for you to fret. I liberated you from such burdens and made them mine.»

The weight of the assertion crashed against him at once. As if despite the obvious circumstances, Auviron had yet to surrender to what being captured, sold, held in chains made him.

The claim is seared in the flying elf’s mind to this day, months after those bilious words wore first vomited at him. Sometimes they come to him in the feverish afterglow between consciousness regained after battle and the reveries he forces himself into, the melodious crooning of the dark elf in stark contrast with the bleak implications.

Lying there, bruised, fettered, Auviron fears the time to discover what further uses the dark elf has unilaterally assigned him might have come, at last.

A rustle compels his attention away from his dreary musings and back to the room. He dips his head, already half-hanging uncomfortably from the frame of the padded surface, further backwards.

There, with his back turned, the dark elf rids himself of his remaining padding. His skin, his snowy hair glow wet in the dim light. Yet the balsamic scent of subterranean mosses and root bark his captor uses for his ablutions, nor the scented oils Auviron sometimes still catches on his skin during their fighting, when vicinity is once more forced in the guise of enmity, can be detected in the air.

Only the burning oil in the brazier nearby that sees to the scant chamber’s illumination and heating at once. And the spice of their skin blending in a penetrating mixture of pungent and cloying that covers any other fragrance. If it is sweat and not water dampening the dark elf’s short hair and trickling down his nape, then it is not long after their fight that he has revived, Auviron reflects.

Molvayas notices his guest has come to. He removes the last of his garments – a silk cloth neatly tied around his waist – and drops it to the floor, letting it slip with little care as to where it will end. It joins the padded breeches already discarded.

Time and luck have, indeed, exhausted at last.

Auviron feels a hot burden pervade his chest and rush painfully towards his extremities, perfusing his every cell with nervous electricity. He should be able to breathe freely, unhindered, yet his exhalations grow laboured. Bile pools in his throat.

The dark elf moves, almost indifferent. Almost, if not for those spiteful crimson eyes that study the avian elf’s every tense reaction of painstakingly, if vainly so, subdued fright. Molvayas pulls a wide, high-backed seat and drags it to face his captive a fair distance away, the grating sound of metal legs on stone tiles only adding to the winged elf’s sensory torment.

The dark elf makes himself comfortable, sinking in the upholstered seat. He rests on it a bent knee, his other ankle dangling to the side from an armrest. Nervous motions animate it every now and then, like the tail of a cat with nothing but mischief on its mind.

He begins to stroke his cock. Thick fingers curve around the sizeable, multiply-pierced shaft, imposing a languid rhythm that is just enough for the protruding organ to grow turgid without any expectation to find immediate relief. Dew already pearls at the tip. The dark elf wipes it with another sensuous stroke.

The avian elf’s throat feels locked unto itself. He cannot easily breathe. He cannot swallow. He wishes he could bring himself to look away. Yet he does not dare take his amber eyes from the rapacious dark elf poised on his luxurious throne as he indolently readies himself.

He can see a depraved grin part the charcoal grey lips of a sliver. Throaty, deep-toned cries begin to cross them at the languorous pace with which his rugged hand drags along his organ. Hips barely buck into the fist when it descends to close around its root.

The only thing Auviron can do is lie there, teeth gritting and grinding as the sweat cooling on his skin prickles it, soon joined, but not replaced, by another wave of heat that nevertheless makes him shiver. Mattress damp under him.

When Auviron manages to tear his eyes away and fix them to the ceiling, the stark shadow fluidly moving above his head abruptly stills. He watches it rise.

Molvayas closes the modest distance between them and it is then that strength, or at least self-possession over his body, returns to Auviron. He begins to thrash against the metal cuffs, pulling at the chains attached to them that are just the right length to keep his body taut and trapped. There is not enough give in the restraints for him to slip away, not enough might on his part to shatter them. The green glow of occult glyphs impresses on his slitted pupils at every unsuccessful tug, forcing his muscles to wilfully relax.

A gasp trembles in Auviron’s throat when the mattress gives and bends under a weight that is not his own. The fury that animated his limbs just moments before leaves him in frozen stillness. The shadow of the hateful glower carved on his face goes unanswered, fully ignored by the looming dark elf.

There is a voice in the winged elf that commands him not to break. Not yet. But he senses the heat blazing in his cheeks even when he cannot see it. Auviron knows that soon, that very heat will melt into bitter tears. He can already sense them scar a path across his cheekbones, his forehead – upside-down as his head is forced to hang; clump his lashes once his eyelids will not be enough to contain them. He sobs once, lowly, pride demanding the avian elf collect himself. He does with a fierce if disheartened grimace, letting a brisk intake of air flare his nostrils before turning to tremulous exhalations.

Molvayas sits astride his chest, his bulk aggravating the burden the avian elf already felt. He takes a good, satisfied look down at the winged elf, spread-eagled and at his mercy. Only appropriate for the avian elf to be splayed, as if caught in flight. Like one of the giant birds his kind keeps for hunting and company in their eyries.

Not that the dark elf even knows what exactly those flying creatures look like. That hardly stops him from finding the predicament apt. Not even when his knees press down on Auviron’s wingtips, sheer weight crumpling the feathers in the pull, before planting on the nerve-rich top of the wings proper. The avian elf growls in response, to no avail.

Something cold and wet smears the winged elf’s chest, dripping on his neck, then his chin for last. When Auviron dares find out what that is, pang pulsing in the wing lacerated by the manticore spike, the vertical split of his strained pupils captures the sight of a viscous, clear strand that leaks from the dark elf’s cock. It trails on Auviron’s tightly-sealed lips, disgust twisting them even more.

The dark elf gathers it in his fingers, stretching it between thumb and first few digits while he lightly strokes himself again. He attempts to rub the fluid in the winged elf’s mouth, who jerks his head frantically to the sides, trying to evade them.

In the end, it matters little. Or perhaps, his resistance only makes it worse. Because now, Auviron can feel the dark elf’s arousal smudge his lips and cheeks as it congeals on them, marking him all the same.

He gasps again, his resolution just beginning to waiver when his face is roughly pressed on its side. Molvayas’ cock glides on his right cheek, unhurriedly savouring the sensation. One hand presses down on his own shaft, low, sultry groans leaving his lips at every stroke.

As his enthusiasm grows, so do the dark elf’s movements. They switch from slow and relaxed to staggering as they pick up pace, soon feeling more like slapping hard and heavy, rather than rubbing. The last thing Auviron sees before having to close his eye to avoid the head of the dark elf’s cock carelessly aiming towards it, is the detestable gloating stamped on his conqueror’s countenance.

When the avian elf can reopen the eye and straighten his head, the weight on his chest is gone. So is the grip in his hair that held his face crooked to the side.

Instead, he is grabbed by his downy shoulders and pulled backwards as far as the chains allow. A small clump of plumes catches between frame and padding and strips off, leaving hot stinging where there was softness. His head falls further backwards, smeared throat on offer. The metal frame digs in his nape more than it did, discomfort quickly turning to a full-on ache that ebbs and flows in the back of Auviron’s skull.

The dark elf crouches, firm hands still framing the winged elf’s face. They hold it in place until sure gravity will do it for him. The surface on which Auviron lies being low puts the squatting dark elf’s groin right in line with his gaze. Again, the winged elf feels the oversized organ press on his face before he can react, the metal platelets crowding its underside smooth and warm from friction.

Auviron senses creased, fleshy skin brush over his contorting lips, the peak of his nose. The dark elf’s musk, already strong and demanding, utterly overwhelming as the winged elf is forced to breathe him in.

He takes to shift his face away. The presence of Molvayas’ solid body, the uncomfortable position making him dizzy, with all the blood rushing to his head, prevent him from finding the wanted freedom. As claustrophobic panic sets in, two fingertips tamp down on his nostrils, cutting his airflow. Two more press at the hinge of Auviron’s mandibles, the pointed pain forcing them open against his refusal.

Auviron breathes, quick, shallow, as the fingers that brute-forced his mouth open explore it. They paw at teeth and tongue, push farther down until Auviron can feel himself dry-heave.

Any attempts the winged elf might engage to snap his mouth close and bite are forestalled when Molvayas adds more fingers from the other hand. The small mercy of freed nostrils comes at the cost of mandibles painfully pinned wide.

Ragged breaths, driven by dread and effort, leave Auviron’s throat often now. They choke to a wheeze when Molvayas dips his full, heavy sack in the winged elf’s mouth. He pops one ball in after the other with his fingers, stretching his cracked lips to a snug fit.

Molvayas delights in how the winged elf accidentally tongues them, presses against them, spittle pooling in his mouth. It drools sloppily out of it when the dark elf plunges deeper, the winged elf’s nose tip pressing on his perineum – or rather, the opposite – to titillate yet another metal jewel that nestles there when the dark elf grinds down, rocking back and forth on it.

Tears of effort and defeat gather at the corner of Auviron’s eyes, thickened by saliva that copiously streams towards his forehead. The large scrotum retreats, leaving behind only the fingers that prised and still keep his mouth open and useable.

Auviron barely has time for another loud gulp of air when Molvayas uses one of his thumbs to align the tip of his cock with his abused mouth. He unceremoniously shoves past Auviron’s scowl and slides his whole length steadily in, parting the avian elf’s jaws even wider than before. It is an unbearable thing to endure, the slow yet inexorable invasion Auviron cannot but accept.

His neck instinctively strains backwards, the movement so subtle and inconsequential it scarcely bears any fruit. Yet the intent must be obvious, because Molvayas frees a hand from the winged elf’s mouth to fist his hair, pulling the roots harshly enough to wring another bout of tears from Auviron’s eyes. He pins the head in place.

Even conscious of his undeniable powerlessness, Auviron tries to shake free, barely capable of breathing with the dark elf’s cock so fully lodged in him. But the dark elf is unmoved. The hand pulling on hair and feathers returns to Auviron’s nose, snuffing out the only sure way for air to reach his lungs.

Molvayas punitively holds his fingers on his nostrils until Auviron’s priority becomes to survive. The understanding that surviving and complying are one and the same sink in Auviron’s consciousness more slowly than desirable. He is skirting the last of his limits, out of wind and of space to withdraw, when the winged elf has to surrender to the lack of options.

He at last understands the unspoken, yet clearly-put intentions and resigns to accept them. He always imagined his death at the end of an unfavourable dragon-hunting mission. Something he worked to accept, consoled by the fact that his sacrifice could keep the fangs and deathly breath of his people’s sworn enemies away from their eyrie.

Here, however, there is no greater call. No heroism made necessary by hardship. No chance at glory both in victory and death. There is only a nameless corpse to leave behind, dying at the mercy of the vile captor, with his seed in his throat.

Auviron finally decides to stop defying the dark elf, lips timidly pursing, cheeks hollowed in invitation as his mouth tries to suck him inside of what little is possible. He lets the dark elf sink deeper, his focus all on breathing around the invading organ as he forces the supple flesh of his throat to yield enough to turn the intrusion from physically insufferable to just soul-crushing.

Molvayas accepts Auviron’s submission, cognisant of how much it must have cost the proud warrior to stop fighting. His hand releases his nares, a couple of fingers hooking the side of his mouth and pulling slightly for no other reason than not knowing what to do with them.

The winged elf is still struggling to lean into it when Molvayas’ cock starts pressing in too deep. Impossible to resist the convulsion that seizes him as his airways fight back against the unavoidable hilt-deep sheathing. Molvayas pulls his remaining fingers out. At this point, the thoroughly defied winged elf could not use his teeth against the dark elf’s meaty girth even if he wanted to.

The dark elf nevertheless returns them to press on the juncture of the avian elf’s jaws as he holds Auviron’s head steadily cupped in his callused hands. Hair and feathers the colour of autumn, flecks of ruby and copper and chocolate, tickle the fingertips that drag through his scalp. This time, they leave no pain behind.

Molvayas is welcomed a second time by the delightful spasming of the back of the winged elf’s throat. His flesh glides way past his uvula, the silhouette of his cock now bulging visibly on the front of the avian elf’s neck.

Molvayas burrows himself there, unmoving, letting the flying elf’s frantic muscles massage its cloven dome. The pressure is lighter than what he relishes, yet tantalising enough to indulge in it a bit longer, until he feels the winged elf exhaust his reserves of air. The dark elf brusquely retreats at once. Warm saliva connects their bodies in a thick, gooey strand that hangs from the dark elf’s fraenulum jewellery to Auviron’s tremulous lips. They slack as if the fleshy length had carved a permanent chasm between them.

Auviron gags and drools on his own face. Wet sounds of desperation, not muffled enough to escape the dark elf’s notice, lurch through his stretched lips as his amber eyes water. Agonising tears stream down his purpled face. The mixture of fluids mattes the feathers in his hair yet again.

When Auviron thinks he has reached the point at which he cannot bring himself to endure any more, Molvayas kneels up. The dark elf leans forwards to rest his hands on Auviron’s chiselled thighs, so as to put the whole of his brawny haunches into his thrusts.

Auviron’s mind races to find the words to a heart-rending plea for respite and compassion. His mouth has not recovered enough for his unspoken prayers, let alone for the renewed, pointed assault that awaits him. The dark elf is already aligning his hips with it, leaving the winged elf’s eyes to sting in feeble protest before his throat is captured again.

Molvayas pulls back, just to immediately stab down in Auviron’s mouth. The jewels pinned under his cock scratch the roof of it. His sack smacks the winged elf between the eyes repeatedly as he regains that tender spot that makes his organ visible through the wiry, swollen neck. Hips pause at every downward thrust to grind deep before reprising their relentless rhythm.

The dark elf keeps thrusting, the metallic sound of his platelets scraping against the winged elf’s teeth rivalling his gagging, wet and gravelly at the same time. Molvayas relishes in the twitching muscles of the smothered cavity, the look of it bliss, the feel of it even more so. His hand goes to Auviron’s neck, fingers brushing, then curling around it in a hold. He thumbs the slide of his own cock, so sunk inside, while he enjoys the slick velvet of his captive’s seizing throat.

Not many are capable of taking the demanding dark elf how he relishes. Those few who could are nothing but cherished dreams from the past. It is a thing of true beauty to have a plaything resilient enough to endure the potentially fatal claiming. Glorious, to twist and break the proud and disdainful winged warrior, to feel his whole body surrender and supplicate even when his voice is prevented from it.

Molvayas’ half-lidded eyes keep returning to that dense shadow, the heft that warps the winged elf’s neck. He hums approvingly at the sight, thumb squeezing harder to feel himself better. The wheezing audible under him reminds the dark elf that his ecstatic torture has a strict time limit.

This specimen is too alluring to waste at the first taking, before that pale, powerful body that bruises so wonderfully has been aptly subjugated to his capricious desires. Again, the dark elf reluctantly holds himself back, allowing Auviron just the hint of reprieve before putting his silky slick airways under siege again.

A dusky thumb frets at a glossy feather on Auviron’s groin, the finger distractedly toying with it, the dark elf barely aware of his own fussing. Pad and knuckle smoothen then fray it faster and faster as he cannot bear to run ahead of his pleasure to delay it and let it build even stronger.

Molvayas growls, long and low, Auviron’s throat muscles twitching around his cock for breath as it stills to swell and throb in turn. Pearly seed spurts in wild and vehement eruptions of glittery silver, soiling the violated throat at last, showering and coating it thickly. His rushed, energetic movements shift to sensuous as the dark elf chases that overstimulation that will have him wince and jolt back from excessive intensity, leave him no choice but to fall back.

The odious organ is lodged so far back in him that Auviron cannot even taste its fruit as he yet gags, face runny with sweat, spit and tears and ever purple from effort. Ephemeral grace that does not last. Some of the spilt seed trickles out as Molvayas finally retreats his dire length. He pushes his cock against Auviron’s tongue a few times to lave it of its spend, the salty taste and treacly feel unpleasant in the avian elf’s mouth. Nothing he can fight.

Hunger still rumbles in Molvayas’ depths in spite of it all. It stirs and pulses and wants and demands. Like it always does. It begs ever more inside of him, now that it’s been awoken. He spares the avian elf from more of it, leaving him to hoarsely pant and cough around the emptiness left, barely aware that he is free to corral as much air as his strained, burning lungs sorely need.

There will be time to quench it, Molvayas reassures himself as it still urges and stings from inside. Every day after today can be used to try until it is reduced to nothing more than a soft, alluring mewl from its ever-present roaring and rumbling. Although, surrounded by such yielding beauty… it is unlikely the unforgiving craving will ever abate.

Auviron’s voice is barely more than harsh suspirations. His ravished cavity aches searingly, even the panting he cannot repress too much to endure. Vision flickers in the daze. Mercy answers the avian elf, cruelly belated but here, now. He loses consciousness, velvet dark to embrace him after his role has been fulfilled. The only fading sensation that of insistent fingers stroking his feathers from quill to wingtip.

if you enjoyed this, please consider commenting and/or reblogging. if you didn't, keep it to yourself.

[our-blood-is-our-ink]

26 for jealous prompts, agatha/reader

Sky's stolen ask game

"Are you jealous?" Agatha sounds amused, and it makes you feel defensive.

"No I'm not!"

"Oh, you really are jealous!" And then she pauses. "Wait, why would you be jealous?"

And that hurts, the genuine confusion. Hadn't she noticed the way you've been embarrassingly pining after her for months?

"Because." You shrug, fighting off the stinging sensation that promises tears.

The older woman frowns, and she opens her mouth to say something when of course that's when Maria has to come back from the restroom.

"So, have we decided what we're going to watch?" She asks

You shake your head.

"Something came up and I-" Your voice cracks and you hate yourself for it. "I have to go."

You don't even really think about how odd it'll look for you to sprint out of the house and to your car.

You're just turning the key in the ignition when Agatha yanks the door open.

"What the fuck are you doing?" She demands. "You can't just run out like that."

"Watch me."

You curse your blurrying vision, and you curse the fact Agatha is blocking the car door from closing.

"Are you... Are you in love with me?"

"No!" You choke out, lying.

A soft hand touchs your knee.

"Look at me, please." Agatha quietly pleads.

You flick your gaze up, but see Maria with her arms folded over, frowning, upset.

"You shouldn't let me ruin your date night." You roughly say, pushing Agatha's hand off of you.

"Date night? With who? Maria? Darling, she's my best friend. Not my girlfriend."

The pet-name that normally causes your heart to skip a beat only hurts now.

"Don't lie to me, Harkness." You don't have the energy to be angry anymore. You just feel sad and numb. "You don't just kiss your best friend. Who does that?"

"People who used to be friends with benefits. People who view it as a platonic way of showing their love. There's many reasons." Agatha replies, sounding serious. "But if that's something that upsets you, we can talk about it. If you can stop reading too much into situations that don't exist." Now her tone sounds pointed.

You finally look up, and see earnest blue eyes staring at you.

You bite your lip.

"I'm sorry." You whisper. "You already know I'm insecure."

"And blind, apparently. The both of you have been in love with each other for ages now. It's been driving me crazy."

Maria cuts through, lightly rapping Agatha on the head as she passes by.

The other woman scowls.

"Anyways, I have no intention on staying here while the two of you openly make bedroom eyes at each other. Call me when you've solved your ridiculous sexual tension and we'll do the movie night some other time."

You're startled, and your mouth falls open.

"You love me?" You ask Agatha.

Immediately her expression softens.

"I thought it was obvious."

"It was not." You laugh wetly, allowing the tears you've been fighting to fall. "Not at all."

"Well I do." She declares, before bending down, cupping your face in between her hands. "Let me show you."

You lean in, and close your eyes.

Her lips are much softer than you've ever imagined.

In the background you can hear Maria's car pulling away, but you're too preoccupied with moaning into Agatha's mouth to pay it any mind.

It isn't hard.

She's a very good kisser.

[denimbex1986]

'If last week was frantic, fast, and offering a wide open welcome mat to Doctor Who fans new and old, Wild Blue Yonder felt like a demonstration of what the show can do and has done. First half hour? Good. Second half hour? Great.

We left the Doctor and Donna – David Tennant and Catherine Tate – in a TARDIS out of control at the end of last week’s The Star Beast. Wild Blue Yonder, the middle part of the 60th anniversary trilogy of Doctor Who, initially took things from there just via, er, 1666. Bonus points if you were instantly trying to work out if we were in the territory of the bubonic plague or the Great Fire Of London when that date popped up on screen.

Turns out, neither. In a tip of the hat to how much more money the show has its disposal, it was all a set up for a gag about gravity. Respect. Russell T Davies has just told the year’s most expensive dad joke.

But, post credits, this was at its best top tier Russell T Davies Doctor Who.

It was bold early.

Wild Blue Yonder robbed the Doctor very early in the story of two of his most potent pieces of equipment: his trusty sonic screwdriver, and his TARDIS. Both gone, minutes after the majestic blue box had been belching out massive flames. I was expecting, at that stage, more fast and furious stuff. Turns out I got quite the opposite.

he first effect of taking the TARDIS away was to give some time to settle and actually spend some time with the Doctor and Donna. The pair were running around so much in the fast-paced The Star Beast last week, that stopping for a proper chat was out of the question.

Here, that was happily remedied.

In fact, the episode itself was slower, calmer and really crept up the longer it went. Like a slow moving robot going along a corridor. Doctor Who the show may have new clothes and new resources, but I like Davies established that for all that, it’s still a show where the brakes matter. When you go slower, the impact can double.

The basics: we got an apparently abandoned spaceship that itself presents mysteries, and a posh remote camera to help explore it. But for the Doctor, something unfamiliar: a lack of stars, the edge of creation, a hundred trlllion years from Earth. Where even the Time Lord hadn’t been before, and seemingly didn’t know what to expect.

A bit of licking (yep) and joshing later, and out came a dash of Everything Everywhere All At Once. Extended arms that I thought were going to be played for comedy (and there were chuckles in the episode). But Davies wrongfooted me again, continually shifting the foundations of tone: turns out that if you’re looking to come up with a really creepy foe for David Tennant to face off against, you can do a lot worse than recruit David Tennant and Catherine Tate. It took a while, but I started to get Midnight vibes from it all, and that’s a very high Who bar.

It did take me a little time to settle though, and I’m about to pen a couple of churlish paragraphs for which the internet should hate me. Deep breath, here goes.

It does seem odd to note some of the effects work on Doctor Who, given what many of us grew up with. But the future craft on which the Doctor and Donna landed looked like it was made with a computer, and it didn’t look like they were there. It’s an odd side effect of the budget of the show, and being able to consistently afford nice things: the nice things are in turn held to a higher standard.

I feel weird typing that paragraph about Doctor Who. But for a moment, and this doesn’t usually happen, it took me out of things. I was back in for the most bizarre chase sequence I’ve seen all year, mind. And I happily watched the show without murmur of complaint throughout the 1980s. I’m clearly a spoilt whingebag.

Nice tip of the hat to Thunderbirds at one point. Let me get out of this hole by recognising that.

I bring all that up because in the first half of Wild Blue Yonder I was noticing stuff like that. In the second, I was absolutely gripped. When the Doctor and Donna properly went head-to-head with the Doctor and Donna? Well, with huge applause to the two actors at the heart of it, I became more and more unnerved. In a good way.

It’s like the shoot-out in something like the classic movie For A Few Dollars More, with two people working the other out, taking turns to take shots. Metaphorical ones here, as each explains whether the other was real or not.

Loved that.

As the episode went on, just where the floor of reality sat became less and less clear. Related: the more ambiguous Wild Blue Yonder became, it all became richer. Even when David Tennant’s head basically poked out of his own arse (it didn’t, but it looked like that), I was engrossed by what was going on..

Coming up with a Doctor Who monster to really get under our skin is a challenge in itself, especially now. Having Tennant and Tate just staring, with a half grin? Well, they’ve outgunned The Meep to my eyes.

Let’s take a moment too to consider the whole Gallifrey got “complicated” aside.

It’s a brief line from the Doctor that he utters, and he ain’t bloody kidding. Like it or not, the Chris Chibnall era of Doctor Who made a lot of Gallifrey (far more than Davies was ever inclined to do in his first run at Who), and anyone picking up those threads was always going to facing, well, let’s go with ‘a challenge’.

However, thrown into the mix here – although whether to believe it is a question in itself – is that the Doctor perhaps isn’t as sure of his roots as we’ve been led to believe. Might he not be from Gallifrey? Is it really possible that Davies has found something else in the character’s origin, six decades on? This is also picking up the mantle of The Timeless Child, introduced during the 13th Doctor’s era.

Will Davies choose to run with it? As the Time Lord himself once said, “time will tell. It always does”.

As much as Russell T Davies is a whizz at delivering a one-hour blockbuster episode of the show, he’s also proven he’s capable of offbeat, weird and unpredictable stories. I’m going to namecheck Midnight again, because – unexpectedly – it feels to me like an ideal companion piece for Wild Blue Yonder. Midnight-ish, on a bigger canvas, with the slowest ticking bomb Who has probably ever seen.

I thought it was terrific.

Credit too to director Tom Kingsley, and enormous applause for just how strong the work of Catherine Tate and David Tennant was here.

But the final word goes to one man: Bernard Cribbins. The last scenes that he shot for Doctor Who, just before we lost him in 2022, ended the episode. I thought that was a lovely, lovely touch. Sure, there was a massive plane above his head, but the ultimate focus was, rightly, on a much-missed actor. How fitting that the episode was dedicated to him. I can’t have been the only one with dust in my eye.

Next week, this trio of specials comes to an end with The Giggle. The trailer promises much. I’d suggest Wild Blue Yonder has set an early high bar for this latest era of Doctor Who.

Now, if you don’t mind, I’m off to watch it again. And to tip my hat to Bernard one more time…'

[envergortitwindow]

In my minds' eye, my Watcher Szeverin looks a lot like a young David Bowie, a young Klaus Kinski, and maybe, kind of, sort of a member of the Targaryen family but definitely with Mads Mikkelsen like cheekbones sculpted by the Gods. He has an eerie kind of look to him, and he sticks out like a sore thumb outside of the White That Wends.

The combination of his pale, near white eyebrows, his pale, nearly transluscent skin, his pale purple/grey irises, his nearly white blonde hair, the blue veins under his skin which shows no sign of warmth to it's tone has a lot of people from outside of TWTW terrified of his appearance.

While other Glamfellen have made homes outside of TWTW, I think that it is due to his icy, cold glare, his resting b*tch face, and how pale his lips are even in contrast with the rest of his skin. He apparently lacks the ability to smile in a non-creepy manner, but he is actually somewhat of a decent person.

He was called ugly by many possible matches that his noble family had made for him, mostly due to his apparent inability to smile and his cold mannerisms, he chose to leave the luxury of his noble family and to live a mystic's life, but that was only after he joined the priesthood of Wael.

Szeverin, born a Cipher, didn't really manifest his abilities until he got to train them. He trained under a court mystic during the first thirty years of his life, but he grew bored with the monotony and the banality of the expectations of finding another noble to marry. So, he struck off on his own.

The white, seemingly endless planes of his homeland during most of the year lent a great deal to his active imagination. He managed to hone is innate talents far beyond what he was able to do back at home, and while he missed his family of course, he practically gave up on the idea of finding romantic love until after he'd meet Aloth Corfiser years later.

[frogsnbunnies0914]

Hello hello!!! I’m back again heheheh hope you’re having a good day 😌

I love seeing those prompts lists, always give me so many ideas for fics lolol and who better to ask for fluffy fics that you heheheh

May i requests prompts 45. “It’s like three in the morning, what the fuck are you doing?” And 35. “Would you be upset if I kissed you?” With Tomioka Giyuu??? (づ⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄ )づ♡

roommate!giyuu x gn!reader (fluff)

35: "Would you be upset if I kissed you?"

45: "It's like three in the morning, what the fuck are you doing?"

an: Hihi!! Welcome back ^^ i hope you don’t mind, i made this a modern day AU as well as roommate --> lover!! thank you for sending this in, I hope you enjoy and as always, lmk if there’s anything else you want me to add!! also this isn’t proofread, so im sorry if anything is off or not super detailed 😭<3<3

You stared at your ceiling after tossing and turning for who knows how long. The green glow of the alarm clock on your night stand showed 2:43am. Sighing, you sat up and swung your legs over the bed. Using the moonlight, you grabbed your laptop off the desk and walked towards the kitchen. If you weren’t going to get some rest, you might as well still get something done, right?

The kitchen was a lot warmer than your bedroom, so you took off your shirt and set it next to the laptop on the kitchen table. You let out a hum of relief at the coolness before heading to the fridge to get a snack. Once you got back to your laptop, you opened it to get started on some work you’d been putting off. It’s dark in the room but you would rather sit in the dark than risk waking up your roommate. You know he's a light sleeper and that he has to get up early for work, so waking him up doesn’t seem like a great idea. You don’t want to do anything to make him upset after all. Giyuu had been introduced to you through Shinobu after you expressed that you needed somewhere to live. The two of you hit it off immediately and you moved in the next week. He’s been the perfect roommate and honestly, you’ve developed a bit of a crush on him. I mean, who wouldn’t with those perfect blue eyes and that silky black hair that he always kept up. Oh, how you longed to take the hair tie out and run your hand through his hair, maybe stare into his eyes as his lips come closer and--

“y/n?”

Your eyelids fly open, apparently having gotten droopy after you sat down at the table. “Huh?” Your eyes meet the blue ones you were just thinking about. Tomioka leans against the wall between the kitchen and the table, just staring at you sleeping over your laptop.

“It's like three in the morning, what the fuck are you doing?"

Your laptop reads 3:07am. “Oh, sorry, I couldn’t sleep so I thought that I would do some work if I couldn’t get any rest. Obviously, as you just caught me doing, I’m more tired now so I can probably go back to bed.” He stares at you as you pick up your laptop and realize that your shirt is still laying next to it. All of the blood rushes to your face as you quickly toss your shirt on. “I’m so sorry, I forgot that I wasn’t wearing that, it’s a lot hotter in here than in my bedroom and I didn’t think I would wake you up so I just left it off.”

“It’s fine, you look wonderful without it.” he said without a second thought. As soon as the words exited his mouth, however, it appeared that he wished he had thought before he spoke. “Wait, shit, I didn’t mean--” his mouth opened and closed as though he was fumbling for words, unsure of what to do next. Suddenly, he stopped trying to speak and instead pulled his shirt off over his head. “Tomioka, what are you--?”

“I figured that it might make you more comfortable if you saw me in the same position.” Your heart thumps in your chest after staring at him for a second. His body is toned and although you should have expected it considering how often he goes to the gym with Tengen, you didn’t realized he would be...this handsome underneath. Approaching him, you go to place a hand on his chest. He inhales sharply but doesn’t stop you. “Is this okay?” He nods very quickly, his face quickly turning red. When your hand connects to him, you can feel his heart beat racing just as fast as your own. You look up at him to see how he is feeling in the moment. He looks nervous, but somehow more comfortable than you’ve ever seen him. "Would you be upset if I kissed you?" His eyes widened, not believing his ears. You? Asking him for a kiss? “N-no, not at all, are you sure you want to kiss me?”

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you since the day I met you.”

The memory of pulling him closer to you is one you’ll never forget. The way his eyes slowly close, the way his hands rest on your hips in a desperate attempt to somehow pull you even closer, the way you are able to thread your fingers into his hair, and of course, the way his lips connect to yours. They’re much softer than you would have expected, but just as tentative as you thought they would be. He seems afraid to kiss you harder, yet wants nothing more than to hold you flush against his body. After a moment, you pull away slightly. “Was that okay?”

“That was wonderful, Tomioka. Please know though...you don’t have to be that soft. It’s sweet! I’m not saying you need to do anything more than you’re comfortable with but...I want to kiss you. So please, don’t hold back if you don’t want to.” Upon hearing your words, something clicks in his head as he pulls you back in for another kiss.