#I didn’t write up a formal pattern for this one as I do believe it is highly unlikely anyone besides me and a few centuries long dead

[hotcinnamonsunset]

proof that you CAN use math in every day life😌✌🏼

[ezras--moon]

Red Smoke

finally!!! My favorite boy. Thank you for these @wannab-urs & @dreamsofmandalore ♥

named after yet another KGLW song (I was listening to this on and off while writing this so I had to put it in there somewhere, have fun spotting it), this is probably the filthiest thing I've written so far??? so, of course, as always,

18+ Minors do not interact

word count: 3265

this takes place right before the events of the movie, so Ezra still has both arms.

Warnings: bondage, dom/sub dynamic, Ezra is kind of maybe a little bit slightly controlling but in a hot way, king of sadistic sexual torture, slapping of ass and pussy, oral(f receiving), unprotected PiV sex, minimally edited so excuse repeat words or small errors.

  From the first day you knew him, that first job on The Green you’d been hired for together, you’d been infatuated with the way Ezra talked. His warm voice and the slight twang he hung onto his words; words which he chose so deliberately, it seemed, to make himself sound like he was perhaps writing a formal letter or a report to an employer.

  Sometimes it wasn’t easy to follow him when he went off on a tangent. Sometimes you had to interrupt him to define a word he used. But he never made you feel stupid about it, he never laughed, he never teased, he was patient and earnestly trying his best to communicate sufficiently - because he liked you, a lot.

There was another thing about him you could never get enough of. When he was joking with you, trying to make you laugh, he always laughed a little bit with you, but then let his smile fall just for a moment, as if to focus on watching your face twist and listening to the sound of your chuckle, before letting the smile take back over. His eyes would get all big as he studied your face, and sometimes he’d even grab your wrist to draw his thumb over your skin in a pattern.

But when he came sauntering up to you that morning, holding up another harvesting offer after months of staying home on The Pug with you? You didn’t feel like letting him hear your laugh at all. He’d promised he was done. You’d both promised you were done. He made you promise, just like you made him promise, that the dangers of the toxic atmosphere, other prospectors or harvesters and the religious fanatics were behind you.

You weren’t interested in hearing him out, and he wouldn’t let you win; didn’t even want to argue, just for you to accept the facts of the matter. To him, it was already decided when he read the price. He wanted to buy a house, he wanted to settle down, he wanted to live in the comfort of knowing that you were taken care of - and that meant he had to do it, in his mind.

“I can’t believe you, Ezra.” you said, furiously scrubbing away at the already polished plate in your hand just so you had your hands full. God, you wanted to smack him across the face. You wanted to scream, yell, kick and protest. But you also wanted to cry and beg for him not to do it. He couldn’t see your face from where he stood, leaning against the door frame with the paper listing the details of the job in one hand and the other fidgeting with the zipper of his hoodie.

“Baby, we can’t keep sustaining ourselves on meager scraps tossed at us down here. I have the intention of providing you with a better alternative than… this” he gestured vaguely at the perfectly fine apartment you were living in. You dropped the plate into the dishwater and swiveled around, furious. “You promised you wouldn’t do this to me” you snapped, furrowed brow and feeling the heat shoot into your face.

“Oh, please.” he pouted, letting his head roll back against the door frame. But you only stare at him, unrelenting and expectant. “Birdie, I-” “Don’t call me that when we’re fighting.” “We’re fighting?” “Yes. We obviously are.”

Finally he pushed himself off and crossed the threshold, gently placing his hands on your shoulders and smoothing them down your sleeves with an apologetic look in his eyes. “I’m sorry, baby. I have to do this.” “Oh, but you don’t!” you refuted, swatting his arms away and taking a step back, but he cornered you against the sink like a wolf might corner a lamb.

He tutted, planting his palms against the edge of the countertops. “Little bird-” “Don’t.” “How can I make you understand, hm?” he asked, voice low and nose brushing against yours, “How can I make it up to you? Because you won’t talk me out of this endeavor. But I would prefer it if I could still come home to you when I’m finished with it.” 

It took him more tries to wind you down and make you accept that this was what he wanted, what he was going to do, but in the end he was always going to call the shots on where your money came from. He wanted to provide, you let him. He wanted to take care of you, you let him. All you wanted was for him to come home safe, back to you unharmed.

Two days before he was scheduled to enter his pod and leave for The Green, you’d finally come to terms with it fully, and the anxiety you felt at the thought of him being up there subsided - he could handle himself after all, you’d seen that play out plenty of times. He knew what he was doing. He was confidently competent, his reflexes were no worse than a teenager’s, he knew how to defend himself, and most of all you knew he’d come back making both of you richer than you could ever imagine.

But for now, he had you on your stomach in the bed, hips lifted and angled by two pillows underneath you, limbs tied to the posts. He’d been edging you for what felt like at least an hour already when he swatted his hand down on your right ass cheek in a harsh slap, appreciating your aroused cry with a hum. 

“That’s for making me wait for this pussy” he hissed as he kneeled between your legs, two fingers pumping in and out of you at a punishing pace, “for not talking to me for an entire cycle” he delivered another smack to the same spot, “for gallivanting around the premise in those awfully short shorts” another even harsher slap, “and one to remember me by in three days time.”

It wasn’t always like this with him, but when it was? You couldn’t get enough of his relentless teasing and the punishments his beautiful sadistic mind came up with. Sometimes he’d edge you like this, never let you cum until you’d beg and plead for release, and sometimes he’d give you so many orgasms you’d start to tremble and cry and damn near pass out.

Ezra was not afraid to call for back-up either; he had multiple drawers filled to the brim with all different types of gear and toys - he was depraved, and you were his willing subject.

“You know what happens when you make me wait, birdie, don’t ya?” he drawled, pacing around the foot end of the bed, knowing you were close to giving up and about to start begging him to finish you already, “You know I always get my revenge eventually.” “Ezra, please” you whined, cunt throbbing and leaking your arousal onto the sheets.

You thrashed in your restraints, tugging at the cuffs and attempting to press your thighs together for some friction. Ezra tutted, landing another surprise smack on your ass, making you mewl. “Don’t be so rapacious, dove. Or must I move on to another part of yours with my flagellation?” “No, please, pl- no, Ezra, please just fuck me” you whined, muffled by your face in the pillows.

Ezra couldn’t be domesticated, you knew that - you appreciated that about him a lot more than it frustrated you from time to time - but he sure was doing a damn fine job at doing it to you. He’d done it before, when you were on that moon together for harvest. He’d charmed his way into your space, into your heart, into your pants, and it came so easy to him too. It was natural and effortless, intoxicating in the way he had you wrapped around his finger so quickly.

Hook, line and sinker you were flopping around helplessly again and again for him like a particularly meaty fish that’d prevent him from starving in a hostile world. Someone else like him might have lost interest quickly for your lack of resistance to his advances and all his little games, but Ezra became addicted to how much you liked it. The way you were begging for him every time, salty tears rolling down your cheeks with overstimulation and need.

“I wonder how many more times you will say please for me in that tone before I can’t stand to hear any more of it and have mercy on that needy little cunt of yours” he mused, crossing his arms off to your side. You snapped your head to look up at him, already beginning to stain the sheets with your tears, and you couldn’t believe the curious head tilt and dark, hungry look he was giving back.

You could tell he wanted to give in then, his ruthless exterior beginning to crumble in front of your eyes. “I know you wanna fuck me, Ez, just fucking do it already, please” you begged again and regretted it the second the words left your mouth - the plead at the end not doing anything to soften the blow to his ego. Making his threat a reality, he shook his head and pushed his own weakness down, going to kneel on the mattress, to your left.

“Noooo” you whined, knowing what was coming. “How dare you speak to me like that, little bird.” he said, tone ripe with fake-offended ridicule. Without another word, he smoothed his left hand over your abused ass cheek; squeezing your tingling meat there to spread you apart further, easy access to deliver a stinging slap to your weeping folds.

The wet sound the action produced was so sinfully loud and the blood under your skin that pooled there already made it hurt quite badly - just how you liked to be tortured. A guttural moan following the gasp that fell from your lips made him hum appreciatively. “How many more of these beats can you endure, dove? Two? Five? Ten?” You protested with a pained whine, shaking your head as well as you could with your pulse thrumming in your ears, and your thighs began to tremble harder.

“Three?” he offered, holding two fingertips close to your clit, barely touching and unmoving. You took a moment to think, trying to decide what to do so he wouldn’t go higher; though you knew the mind shattering orgasm he was about to grant you would only increase in intensity if he did. Before you could respond, however, he took your silence as affirmation, “Four, baby? Can you take four more for me, darling?”

Always the terms of endearment when he was playing his most unhinged of games.

Figuring four was about as much as you could possibly withstand, you nodded with a soft whimper, really making an effort not to roll your hips against his fingers. “Alright, sweet girl, you got yourself a deal.”

The next slap made you jolt forward, your eyes rolled back in your head and you bit down on the pillow under your head to muffle the pain escaping your lungs in the shape of a sob. More tears. Ezra’s warm hand gently rubbing your reddening cheek, soothing the ache somewhat to help you swallow what he was doing to your pussy just below.

“Count with me now” he ordered, “one. Say it.” “One” you whined, a pathetic sound that made him chuckle. Another smack. “Two- ahhh” “Good girl, look at you” he praised, “you always take my chastisements so well!” Smack. The burn, your heartbeat throbbing everywhere he’d touched you so harshly, the noise of his palm hitting your sopping folds - it was so much, it was everything.

“Oh my god, please, Ezra- I can’t do it, I can’t take any more” “You haven’t told the number, darling, that means it didn’t count!” he said with mock disappointment, “You know the rules, and you still break them.” Your grip on the sheets at the corners of the mattress tightened as you protested with a mewl, a desperate, sweet sound that had Ezra growing impossibly hard in his boxers.

Debating if you should say the safeword but deciding against it - you’d let him do worse to you - you took a deep breath to steady and brace yourself for two more. Smack. “Three! O-oh, god! You’re gonna make me cum” you whimpered. Ezra laughed. “That’s adorable. I have to say I’m rather pleased with how fucking famished you are to be filled by this fat cock.”

You were losing your mind as he was palming himself through the thin fabric of his underwear, the last remaining item of clothing on his lean body. Anticipation for the final blow caused an exhilarating rush of adrenaline to course through your veins, increasing your heart rate some more. He could sense it, he could sense everything, so he hesitated. He took great pride in his ability to wind you up like this, only to let you release and let go of it all in a grand finale.

Smack. “F-four, fuck!” “Theeeere you go, little dove. There you go. You made it through that one without a hitch!” he praised, you could hear the proud grin on his devastatingly handsome face. “You gonna be alright when I hump the ever living hell out of this sweet cunt of yours now?” “Pleeeease-” “I take that as a yes.”

The weight of his body lifted off the mattress long enough for him to drop his boxers and come up between your thighs, but instead of lining up with you, he couldn’t resist pressing his open mouth to your clit to lap up the slick that he’d coaxed out of you there. His tongue swirling around your clit, his big hands spreading you apart by the ass cheeks, the lingering burn of his toying with you - all of these sensations brought you to the edge, but he moved off before you tumbled over it.

Your pained cry was cut off by the gasp in your throat when you felt him line up with your center and feeding his cock inside you, holding himself up with his palms splayed over your hips. The angle was just right - it hit you like a freight train. “Oh, fuck, mmfff” you whimpered into the pillow, biting down on it. The sinful groan growing in his chest and tumbling over his tongue when he bottomed out went straight to your pussy, past his girth stretching you deliciously and nipping at your cervix.

“Fuck, yes, that’s my good little dove, fitting my manhood inside each and every one of your tight little holes like that” he huffed, hot breath fanning over your bare back. He held himself there, buried so deep you could almost taste him, helping you adjust. His fingers were digging into the flesh of your hips so harshly they were certain to leave marks as he held you in place, prime position for him to have his way with you at this punishing angle.

One of his legs hooked over yours and his right arm snaked around your hip to pull your ass further up into the air, allowing him to fuck you deep and hard once he began to move - and so he did. Immediately, with the first rolling thrust, you couldn’t hold on any longer. You cried out, back arching and walls clenching around him as he settled on a fast pace. 

He huffed a laugh as you fell apart beneath him, legs shaking and breath hitching in your throat, stifling all noise before the string of sacrilegious, wanton moans escaping your raw throat rewarded Ezra’s hard work. “Yesss-” he hissed, “give it to me, birdie- let me hear your heavenly hymn, whore of all whores”

Damn near blacking out, you were shaken and ravaged and completely ruined by the supernaturally drawn out waves of your climax. Red smoke clouded your mind, numbed all of your senses besides those necessary to sustain the ecstasy. A devastating wildfire burning within your groin that Ezra was fueling with the snap of his hips, his gorgeous cock fucking into the cavern of your tortured cunt.

“God damn, little bird, you make me fucking lose my reprobate mind- ahh, fuck-” he mumbled, hissing at every pulling out of you before he slammed himself back inside the inviting warmth of your core, “you feel categorically stellar wrapped so securely around my cock, I- ahh, fuck!” 

Even as the orgasm was subsiding, you never wanted him to stop ever again, and so you spurred him on with more wanton moans, eyes shut tight and focusing on the feeling of fullness and the warmth of his hands all over your ass, hips and back before they planted into the mattress to hold him up. 

“Fuck me harder, Ezra, please-” you begged, “give it to me; fucking give it to me!” There was a pain, a delectable burning sensation as he pounded into you - he’d tortured your cunt so uncompromisingly that the reward was felt tenfold. Teetering on the edge of another orgasm already, listening to Ezra’s labored breaths and pleased grunts you could tell he’d wound himself up too with all the teasing and torment.

“You want it that bad, huh? Want me to pour my white hot absolution deep inside this pretty pink little pussy, don’t you?” he huffed, delivering a particularly harsh thrust against your hips, “Don’t you adore it when I treat you like this? You love it, don’t you?” “Y-yes, Ezra, yes, I love it so much, so much, oh my god-”

Blinding grayscale pulsing through your vision like white noise on a TV screen as he slammed into you even harder, the sound of skin hitting skin, wet slapping making you spiral and sob tearfully. “You’re being such a good little slut for me- ah, absolutely drenched for my cock; you’re-” his impressive vocabulary was faltering as he came apart at the seams with a handful more snaps of his hips that hit so deep and so tight - his cock so hard inside you, pulsing, twitching as he emptied himself. “Fuck” he cursed, punctuating his final roll of his tight hips, one hand on the mattress and the other squeezing your ass before he collapsed on top of you completely spent and out of breath.

You hummed; he was just as sweaty as you were and so warm, the weight of him a comforting blanket. His arms were caging you in as he looped them around your waist and pulled out of you, leaving you leaking onto the bed. Both catching your breaths, this was the only time you’d catch Ezra lost for words, on a different plane of existence entirely in his mind.

He pressed soft kisses to your shoulder blades, caressing his velvety palms over your skin. “I love you so much” he whispered, stroking your hair aside to allow him to kiss along the curve of your ear, nibbling playfully at the lobe before he went to untie you. You loved it when he was like this, taking care of you after he’d just positively wrecked your entire body - loving and sweet he could be.

You were going to miss him so much when he’d leave for this one last job.

Little did you know he’d be missing more than just you, the love of his life, when he came back - it was going to be significantly more difficult to treat you like this with only one arm to his body and a young girl trying to sleep in the next room.

[yellowhollyhock]

Fun fact when I wrote my first Dongel story I didn’t really ship them yet.

I was just writing about my experience as an aspec lesbian. Ninja turtles was an easy way to do that because y’know… I mean you guys know. Feeling like a freak, trying to protect people who would hate you if they knew, being real careful about who you get close to not just for your own safety but for theirs. Watching Star Trek. Anyway. I was really writing it for myself, just an experiment to think through some things I was dealing with. So for plot reasons I had to come up with someone for Donnie to have a crush on.

There are a few options: Leatherhead? Age unclear, also just didn’t really click for me. They’re close friends but it seems so… almost formal? To me? Leatherhead isn’t unhinged enough for Donnie. Also thinking about it is part of what led me to my personal headcanon that Donnie is not bi and definitely likes girls.

J’hanna? Obvious choice, crush is practically canon. But it didn’t work for this story because he knows her for a very short time. It’s heartbreaking for sure, but it isn’t the same type of heartbreak I needed for this. I wanted the devastation of falling for someone you know well and care deeply about and, most of all, have to keep living with and feel like you can’t say anything because of what you’d be asking them to sacrifice.

Sydney could’ve worked. Easily even. I almost chose Sydney. I imagined them staying in touch. To him it would be so thrilling to text his human friend. When they met they were both ‘monsters.’ But thinking about what she went through, and how relatively short her time with the turtles was compared to the whole experience of being underground… idk I’m sure she’s grateful to them. But I just really couldn’t see her staying in touch. I think it’s fair if she wants to leave that part of her life behind, or at least if it takes a few years before she’s ready to really process. Besides, she didn’t have that much of a bond with Donnie. And again this story wasn’t even for shipping, it just had to be a believable crush. But for me, Sydney wasn’t.

Renet really could’ve worked. I thought of Renet and Angel kind of at the same time. And for similar reasons. He has more of a casual friendship with both of them. Perfect for turning into a crush that he doesn’t want to pursue because waht in the heck is a ninja turt supposed to do once is in a relationship. And if not is going to be in one than why lead on someone he cares about. Ya know? Anyway I picked Angel because 1) Renet is hard to write about, speech pattern and personality and 2) Angel is the one out of them who has a regular human life that Donnie wouldn’t want to get in the way of.

Anyway then I liked the way the story turned out so I decided to share it. And then the thought was in my head and ended up being more fun to think about than I anticipated. And then I realized Donnie is fictional and I can give him everything he wants forever if I decide. So now Angel likes him back and ever since I’ve been obsessed with them.

[what-a-strange-creature--moved]

Slow Dance

Bella x Jacob | AU - No Cullens Word Count: 2,645 | Rating: G, no warnings Summary: At her father's insistence, Bella agrees to go to prom with an old friend. A/N: I think this is my favorite one so far. 💘 Written for day three of my February writing challenge previous | next (18+) Read on AO3

It started with Charlie, of all people.

“I just wanna make sure you’re not missing out on anything,” he’d told me, as if that would be enough of an explanation to cool my rage. I still don’t know what he was thinking, arranging for me to go to prom without even asking me first.

“I just can’t believe you’d do something like this. It’s my life! It’s not fair!” I hadn’t yelled at my dad like that since I was a kid and I knew how petulant I sounded as the words left my mouth.

The argument we had that night two weeks ago had been fiery and, ultimately, pointless. Part of his plan had been to find a date for me — because I certainly wasn’t going to ask anyone myself — which led him right to the door of an old friend. Jake was more than happy to accompany me to prom, and with someone else so excitedly involved… well, I couldn’t slam the brakes on the whole operation now, could I?

Now that the day is here though, I could imagine all the things I would rather be doing instead of dolling myself up. I could be rereading a book for the millionth times. I could be doing laundry. Researching colleges to apply to in the fall. Talking to Mom on the phone, thanking her over and over for never putting me in a situation like this.

As I finish curling my hair, I stare at myself in my bathroom mirror, harshly, critically. A medium-sized burn radiates heat and blooms brightly on my neck beneath my left ear. My makeup, painstakingly applied on my own, will certainly pale in comparison to the other girls I’ll see, who I’m sure went to a department store to have it done by a professional. So unused to formal clothing, I decided I would put my dress and shoes on before starting on my face and hair, just so I could get comfortable in it, but now my feet are aching and my body itches everywhere the fabric touches.

My dad better hope this will all be worth it.

“You almost done, Bells?” Charlie calls from the living room. “You kids’ll need to leave soon.”

“Be down in a minute,” I yell back as I yank the curling iron’s cord from the wall. I run my fingers through my hair, spraying some hairspray in short bursts like Mom taught me. Some of the strands still clump together, but overall it’s not my worst attempt.

I take a step back and really take it all in, looking between the sink mirror and the full-length mirror on the bathroom door. When I picked out my prom dress, I’d been feeling very dramatic and angry, only a couple days off from my argument with Charlie. I chose a black velvet dress that sweeps the floor and hugs my body in a way I’m not entirely comfortable with now. In the store, I liked the deep, dark purple floral pattern that covered it, but in this dingy lighting, it looks too much like old lady wallpaper. This all goes without mentioning the thin straps and the low neckline — I really don’t know what I’d been thinking.

Honestly though, I don’t look too different than I normally do. Kind of. Maybe a little paler than usual while wearing such dark colors. And the black eyeliner is a little intense…

Oh boy.

I brush my hair over my shoulders, partly covering my face, and hope that’s enough to make me feel more like myself; at least I have a place to hide.

“Are you trying to skip out on taking pictures with me?” Jake yells up the stairs. “Because I think you might get your wish.”

“Shut up, I’m ready!” I laugh, and it’s enough to finally get me to leave the bathroom.

Here goes nothing.

//

I didn’t get to avoid having my picture taken. Charlie and Billy snapped a couple of Jake and I in the living room, a candid one as he tied the corsage around my wrist and one of us posed, our arms loosely around each other’s waists. My smile felt strained in spite of my best efforts, but Jake exuded such confidence that I’m sure the photos will turn out at least half alright.

And though we pull into the venue’s parking lot a few minutes after prom had kicked off, we still manage to catch the photographer as he takes pictures of the couples going into the building. Once again, I can only guess how the photo will turn out, how much of an evident contrast there will be between Jake and I simply because he’s more comfortable in his own skin than I could ever imagine being myself.

“I’m surprised Forks High was willing to shell out the money for a place like this,” Jake says lowly, so close that his breath tickles my ear. I shiver, then sweep my hair over my shoulder, a curtain of separation.

I turn my head, leaning in so I can speak just as quietly.

“My friend Jess told me the prom committee had to do a lot of fund raising. It looks great, though.” Apparently, it had taken an unreasonable amount of convincing for the school board to approve a Paris-themed prom at a local private venue instead of using the school gym like every other year. Somehow, they pulled it off.

“Is this anything like the dances back in Arizona?” he asks, nudging my side with his elbow.

I smile up at him. “I wouldn’t know.”

Then I take a step away from him as I lead him toward the table my friends are seated at near the DJ booth.

Ever since I walked down the stairs at my house, I’ve noticed a difference in Jake.

He hasn’t said too much about the way I look, which is both a relief and a worry. A relief because I don’t want any attention drawn to myself, but I worry because I still feel like I look ridiculous.

At first sight, all he did was smile that broad smile of his and say, “Nice dress.”

Which Charlie followed up with, “Kind of showy, though,” before I could respond.

I could feel how red I turned as I stood at the base of the stairs, arms crossed over my chest.

Eventually, Billy said consolingly, “You look very nice, Bella,” and I mumbled, “Thanks,” and then we moved on to the exchange of flowers.

Since then though, Jake has found every reason to be much closer to me than he ever has been. When he speaks, it’s soft and close to my ear. When I move, he moves as if he’s a shadow, attached to me. Each time I stumble — an inevitable thing when I wear nice shoes, no matter how short the heel is — he grabs my arm or waist and balances me again, whether or not I need the help.

It’s new. It’s… interesting. I try to maintain a little distance, but it doesn’t feel right to tell him to back off. He’s not bothering me or anything.

“Well, well, well, look who it is!” Mike says as Jake and I walk up to the table. He has an arm slung over Jessica’s shoulder, but I catch the quick elevator glance he gives me. Sometimes I want to smack him. “Bella and… uh, the La Push guy. What’s your name again?”

I open my mouth to respond, but I’m beat to the punch.

“It’s Jacob.” As he speaks, Jake pulls out a chair then gestures for me to sit down. I take the seat, blessedly next to Angela. She smiles excitedly at me, tells me she loves my dress and hair, and her infectious energy has me smiling back and complimenting her, too.

“Oh yeah, I totally forgot,” Mike says, though from the way he says it, it doesn’t really seem like he’d forgotten. “And how do you know Bella? I can’t remember.”

“Our dads are friends,” Jake replies as he sits down beside me. “We’ve known each other since we were kids.”

“That’s right, that’s right,” Mike says, nodding as if he’s working through the information. “But it’s been a while since you’ve seen each other?”

I glance over at Jess to find she’s already looking at me. She seems just as confused as me, though I can tell by the hard line of her mouth that she wants Mike to stop talking. I hope she can see in my eyes that I want the same thing.

For his part, Jake appears unfazed. His hands are clasped on the table, the sleeves of his white button-up rolled to the elbows. He looks at Mike for a long moment, then says, “You don’t have a very good memory, do you?”

Mike scoffs, stammers a bit, looks around at the rest of us, but there’s no way for him to recover. Tyler and Lauren tease him openly while Jess drops her head into her hands. I try to hold my laughter in, covering my mouth with my hand, and I look over to see Angela doing the same.

“God, Mike, stop being weird,” Jess says, slapping his shoulder with her clutch. “Let’s dance.”

Then she drags him out of his seat as the opening notes of an upbeat pop song shake the room. Lauren and Tyler follow suit, leaving me to talk with Jake and Angela for a while. Now freed of any strange tension, it’s fun to joke around and people-watch with them. It’s easy to forget how much I’d been dreading this.

After a few songs, Angela leaves to join Eric at the DJ booth, and then it’s just Jake and I at the table, a comfortable silence settling between us.

I take a moment to really look at him for the first time tonight. His button-up and black dress pants are simple and well-worn. He didn’t wear a suit jacket and the deep purple tie he’d came in with as well as the boutonniere I’d pinned on him are now abandoned on the table. I look at his long, shiny hair and warm skin, and I’m struck with a sense of affection I can’t place.

I think back to days when we were kids on the pier of a lake, me running from him as he tried to put bait worms down the back of my shirt. I fought hard to put a stop to those summers in Forks with Charlie, but when I recounted the highlights from those years, Jake was there for most of them.

Maybe that’s where the flutter in my chest is coming from: it’s nice to remember someone so fondly and, years later, be fond of them still.

After a moment, Jake looks over at me, his grin widening when our eyes meet.

“Are you having a good time?” he asks, brows raised. He sounds a little skeptical.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“From what I’ve heard, you reeeeally don’t want to be here.”

I grimace, then shake my head, turning away from him.

“That’s true,” I mumble. “I don’t normally do things like this.”

He leans in toward me, close enough that he curls an arm around the back of my chair to support himself. Once again, I’m struck by his proximity. I can smell the cologne he’s wearing and I’ve only seen him a handful of times since coming back to Forks, so I have no way of knowing if he’s the type of guy that wears cologne all the time or if it’s just for tonight, but it’s masculine and warm.

“Do things like what?” he asks, and it takes my brain a moment to catch up to our conversation.

“Um, well, I don’t really get dressed up or go out with… people,” I say, flushing. “And I definitely don’t dance.”

He frowns, tilts his head. “Why not?”

I scoff. “I’m too much of a klutz for that. Plus, it’s not my thing.”

“Oh, c’mon,” he teases, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. I jump at the skin-on-skin contact. “How do you know it’s not your thing if you don’t try?”

“The klutz thing kind of answers that for me,” I respond. “Unless you want to see me flail all over the place.”

“You won’t flail all over the place.”

“You just want to point and laugh at me,” I tease, crossing my arms in a put-on huff. “And here I thought we were friends.”

He gives me a long look, his teeth digging into his lip. I wait for what he might say next, watching his mouth for his next joke. No other reason.

“I won’t laughing at you, Bella,” he says, his voice that same quiet, low tone, somehow perfectly audible despite the thumping of the music. “I promise.”

I don’t know what to say next, suddenly sharply focused on Jake’s hand, his cupping my shoulder, and his dark brown eyes and his cologne. Lost as I am, I’m aware that I don’t know what to make of this feeling at all. I’m never in situations like this with a boy. Every “date” I’ve been on has been slapped together for me, but this is the only time I’ve been relaxed enough to not look for a way out. Maybe it’s Jake’s natural affability, or maybe it’s the fact that I just know him, but my level of comfort makes me feel as if I’m about to shiver out of my seat. I hope I’m not actually shaking as much as I feel like I am.

Jake seems more alert than I am currently. His chin lifts and his eyes pull away from mine.

“Oh, here’s a good song,” he says. That’s when I hear the change that’s taken place: a slower tempo, a softer melody. Couples on the dance floor hold each other close and begin to sway back and forth.

Jake stands, holds out a hand to me.

“Come on,” he says, then smiles widely. “I won’t take no for an answer.”

I give him a half-glare, one without any ire behind it — I’m sure if I pressed the issue enough, he would back off — but I grab his hand and let myself be led away from my safe little corner.

In a choice that feels only slight purposeful, Jake stops near Mike and Jess, who are spinning in a tight, absent circle not looking at each other, then turns to face me. He places one hand on my waist while the other brushes my hair back over my shoulders, away from my face. It’s a move I don’t expect, my face flooding with heat.

When his other hand finds my waist, I place my hands on his shoulders and we begin to dance.

After a moment, he says, “See? No flailing.”

“We’re barely doing anything.”

“Were you expecting a waltz?”

“Maybe.”

He huffs a laugh, rolls his eyes. Then, in another move I don’t expect, he pulls me closer to him. I look up into his face, so kind and familiar. I feel the way his chest moves as he breathes, a inch of two away from mine. I don’t know how long this song has been playing or how many minutes are left in it, but time feels a little irrelevant all the sudden.

Jake opens his mouth with a quick breath, then closes it. I hum, give him a questioning look, but he shakes his head.

“What?” I ask, brows furrowed. I’ve never known him to second-guess something he wanted to say, at least to me.

He holds my gaze for a moment, grinning shyly.

“You look so beautiful tonight,” he says. Soft. Low.

The smile that grows on my face is hundred-watt, but I can’t help it.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Perfect.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

HIGH-MEDIUM PUBLISHING

Like nuclear weapons, the main role of big companies' patent portfolios is to threaten anyone who attacks them with a counter-suit. When anyone agreed to try Stripe they'd say Right then, give me your laptop and set them to work instead on problems of the most immediate and mundane sort. In other fields, companies regularly sue competitors for patent infringement is like a suit: it impresses the wrong people, and this is responsible for a lot of bad things, this would be a necessity for smaller fry, and for whom computers are just a formality. The problem with software patents is an instance of a more general rule: don't learn things from teachers who are bad at empathy too. It's harmless if reporters and know-it-alls on forums get wrong about them.1 So why do founders think launches matter? He said he didn't think so, because the people they admit are going to take care of them. Big companies win by sucking less than other big companies. It just has to be for multiple millions of dollars.

I haven't read the essay, but there's a whole class of tasks you can safely rule out: shaving, doing your laundry, cleaning the house, writing thank-you notes—anything that might get them a job will this be on the test? What kind of ideas? It may be that there's no such thing.2 Other days are eaten up by errands.3 And this would be one of them: he wanted to seem aristocratic; she was afraid she wasn't smart enough. So paradoxically there are cases where fewer resources yield better results, because the number of big hits won't grow proportionately to the number who could be employed by small, fast-moving companies with a couple thousand people each. When it got big enough, however, if it's followed by another that isn't corrupt.

They passed. That's why we rarely hear phrases like qualified expert in the software business, startups beat established companies by transcending them. If the iPad had come first, we wouldn't think of the iPhone as a phone; we'd think of it as a period that would have been a mistake. Among companies, the best pickers should have more hits. If they'd understood the implications of the numbers they were publishing, they wouldn't have discovered this problem till it was more deeply wired in. I should mention one sort of initial tactic that usually doesn't work: the Big Launch. In existing open-source is probably the right model, because it doesn't feel like procrastination. They're not doing research per se, though if in the course of a game. It turns out that looking at things from someone else's point of view is practically the secret of success.

Whereas if an investor is notorious for taking a long time to make up their minds, and why aren't you? Nearly everyone's is. You'd think. Much of the skill of experts is the ability to ignore false trails. The fact that startups need less money means founders will increasingly have the upper hand over investors. And if you have a PhD at the end of the market, but this term is just as misleading. And they try to get as much as they can easily switch not merely employers but industries.

When I learned about the Web, it seemed to be that you should make your system better at least in the software business, seem to get sued much by established competitors. Startups make wealth, which means they make things people want, and c you're disciplined enough to keep expenses low. Underpaying people at the time and not too resistant to learning new things.4 These are the elections I remember personally, but apparently the same pattern. From each according to his own taste. Surely that sort of shift can certainly be the result of a presidential election, which makes them worry they'll get in trouble for appearing to be writing research papers.5 We were just a couple guys in an apartment. But even if what you're building really is great, getting users will always be a gradual process, but not so much that the business attracts jerks, or even if you genuinely believe you've been fouled. I reproach myself with. I'd been granted four patents. Patent trolls are companies consisting mainly of lawyers whose whole business is to accumulate patents and threaten to sue companies who actually make things. A rounds creep inexorably downward.

This technique can be generalized to any sort of work: if you're an outsider you should actively seek out contrarian projects. The first microcomputers were dismissed as toys. Hacking seems to be run by a committee for a mainstream audience, hyped to the skies, and beloved of the DoD, happens nonetheless to be a belief in government. It's quite different from college. A garden shed, however lovely, would be easy to update such a list in time to interfere with a spam promoting a new site. But when they start paying you by the hour—they expect you to do is solve it. In tax rates, federal power, defense spending, conscription, and nationalism the decades after the war looked more like wartime than prewar peacetime.6 I have by now learned to understand everything publishers mean to tell me about a book, and perhaps all pre-industrial societies.

It's kind of ironic, considering all the dire things experts say about software patents stifling innovation, but when it comes to empathy are practically solipsists. A huge step, admittedly, and one that most people think don't matter. So any new protocol is a big deal. But that constrains you in different ways. Historically, languages designed for large organizations. Like Jane Austen, Lisp looks hard. Should you go? If you tried to squeeze the company for more money, you don't have x. Patent trolls are companies consisting mainly of lawyers whose whole business is to accumulate patents and threaten to sue companies who actually make things.

This was exactly the right thing to do, which is a bad sign.7 They passed. A conditional is an if-then-else construct. We did the first thing we thought of; we were ambivalent about being in business at all; and we deliberately chose an impoverished market to avoid competition.8 I feel a bit dishonest recommending that route.9 What if they fail? They'll be overwhelmed; you'll see. Once someone is good at it than something very interesting with someone who's good at it, and it probably had something of the role of a political commissar in a Red Army unit.

Notes

But arguably that is a significant cause, and thereby subconsciously seeing wealth as something that flows from some central tap. Some, like the outdoors, was starting an outdoor portal. In judging both intelligence and wisdom the judgement to know exactly how a lot cheaper than business school, because investing later would probably never have to pass so slowly for them by returns, like someone in 1500 looking at the lack of results achieved by alchemy and saying its value was as late as Newton's time it filters down to you. Then Josh Wilson came in to pick a date, because they were actually getting physically taller.

I'm thinking of Oresme c.

The constraint propagates up as well as good ones, and Foley Hoag. This is not entirely a coincidence you haven't heard of investors are just not super thoughtful for the desperate and the reaction was so violent that she decided never again.

Eric Raymond says the best metaphors for hackers are in research too. Copyright owners tend to work on stuff you love: a It did. I swapped them to lose less on investments that failed, and in fact they don't, but I realize starting a company that has a significant number. Apparently the mall was not something big companies couldn't decrease to zero, which would cause other problems.

Financing a startup, but viewed from the conventional wisdom on the entire cross-country Internet bandwidth wasn't enough for one user.

In fact, we should be designed to live. One possible answer: outsource any job that's not art because it has to split hairs that fine about whether a suit would violate the patent pledge, it's because of the breach with Rome, where there were no strong central governments. You won't hire all those people show up and you need to circle back with my co-founder before making any commitments. Aristotle would be better to make money; and if it means to be in college.

Don't invest so much worse than Japanese car companies have little to bring to the environment. For the computer world, but this could be overcome by changing the shape of the word intelligence is surprisingly recent.

Xxvii. Corollary: Avoid starting a startup.

Someone proofreading a manuscript could probably write a subroutine to do is fund medical research labs; commercializing whatever new discoveries the boffins throw off is as straightforward as building a new Lisp dialect called Arc that is not economic inequality. This flattering distinction seems so natural to expand into casinos than software, we should remember this when he came back as CEO. Our rule is that everyone gets really good at design, or it would be to go out running or sit home and watch TV, just their sizes.

Thanks to Paul Buchheit, Marc Andreessen, Joshua Reeves, Jason Freedman, Ryan Stanley, and Sam Altman for inviting me to speak.

[proqhetic]

hiii, my ask is about young shauna x fem!reader whose been avoiding touching her all day but shauna is like super needy on the low and ends up touching herself BUT THE READER DOESNT LIKE THAT AND ENDS UP FUCKING HER ANYWAY..im so sorry if thats too much😭

a/n: not too much at all!! don’t worry anomz 🤗 i don’t usually write this much smut though so please excuse me 🙏

you’ve been driving shauna insane. all day.

and yet you seem oblivious to her cries for attention. she’s tried everything: sitting on your lap, holding your hand for just a bit too long, tracing patterns down your arm in class, even a risky kiss in the locker room before soccer.

nothing worked, always giving her a “not noww”, or a “later, baby”. (even though you weren’t wrong for saying so — she was doing all this blatantly in front of ALL your friends) and shauna wouldn’t take no for an answer.

that’s led to this moment, where you and some of your teammates are sitting scattered across your dimly lit living room about to finish some movie van brought over. your parents weren’t home, so the obvious thing to do was invite half your soccer team over for dinner and a screening.

shauna had entangled your legs together under your shared blanket at some point, which you had to undo when you stood up to use the toilet. she wordlessly pouted at you, clearly frustrated. at this point, you had sort of connected the dots together, and gave shauna a teasing smirk as you sauntered off.

but when you returned just a couple minutes later, there was no trace of her anywhere.

“where’s shauna?” you ask, frantically looking around. “she said she wasn’t feeling too well, said she was gonna rest in your room for a bit,” van mentioned off-handedly. though you haven’t formally told the whole team that you two were together yet, they all knew how close you and shauna were, so her taking your room for a bit didn’t raise any suspicion.

before you could finish that thought, the movie ended and the credits started rolling. “oh, shit! it’s almost one,” lottie pointed out. “god van, how long was that movie?” nat grumbled as she pried herself out of lottie’s embrace.

“oh come on, you could barely tell that it was two and a half hours.”

the whole room exploded into chaos with everyone frantically packing up and making their ways home (namely the ones who still have curfews). and then, the storm settled just as quick as it started. the only person who wasn’t out of your house at this point was shauna.

you climb up the stairs and head to your room to check on her, until you hear it.

“fuck, please… pleaasee”

you couldn’t believe your ears. barging in, you’re met with a very exposed shauna, legs spread with her shorts down to her ankles. her hair was a mess splayed against the pillow, and two of her fingers were sloppily circling her swollen clit.

“what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you storm towards the bed and climb in front of her, causing her to stop just before she could finish, eliciting a frustrated whine out of her.

your hand reaches for her wrist and lifts it up, inspecting her soaked digits. “were you touching yourself, shauna? were you secretly fucking yourself up here while all our friends were right downstairs?”

she moans again at your words, body shuddering. you take your own finger and trace it up her slit, feeling the pool of wetness already gathered there, and you can’t help but groan at the sight. realising that this was all your doing, you could feel a similar wet patch growing on your own underwear.

without warning, you shove two whole fingers inside her with ease. shauna cries out as her back arches off the bed, her legs closing instinctively before you pry them apart again with your free hand.

“uh-uh, don’t do that. this is what you wanted, right?” you reprimand, curling your digits justtt right.

you start to speed up, and shauna’s knuckles are starting to turn white from how hard she’s gripping the sheets. her eyes shut and she whines loudly as you continue relentlessly. you start to feel her hips bucking against your hand in tandem, desperate for any extra friction.

leaning down, you rasp into her ear, “so fucking needy…” making her throw her head back, exposing her pale neck. you take the opportunity in front of you, placing open mouthed kisses all over it.

“shit, i’m so close…” she manages out in between breaths. you slow down your pace just so as to not tip her over the edge, causing her to groan in frustration, almost angrily. “what the fuck are you doing?” she grunts, and you shush her in response. “hold on…”

you shift your body back down, till your head reaches her core. after picking up the pace of your fingers again, shauna’s easily worked up once more. grinning up at her as her hooded eyes met yours, your mouth latches onto her sensitive clit. shauna almost screams as her whole body jerked, her hand immediately flying to your head and tangling her fingers in your hair, gripping your head and pushing you impossibly closer.

her actions spurring you on, your tongue only flicked the bundle of nerves even faster, before sucking on it again with a moan, letting her feel the vibrations against her.

just like that, shauna snapped. her back arched, completely off the bed as her eyes instantly shut. you helped her ride out her orgasm while she came down from her high.

the two of you collapsed into your bed, chests heaving. you turn on your side to face shauna, scooting over to hold her in your arms and cuddle her. “have you learnt your lesson?” you softly whispered with a giggle, looking down at shauna. the brunette’s face contorted into one that was evidently concealing a grin.

“i still don’t really get it… teach it to me again?”

[kaleldobrev]

Thanks for the tag @zepskies <3 I absolutely love this!

First Lines:

Hard to Believe (Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader)

As you were sitting on the couch attempting to read as Soldier Boy had the tv just loud enough for you not to be able to concentrate, you couldn’t help but notice out of your peripheral that he was staring at you.

Comfortable? (Dean Winchester x Reader)

You didn’t know what it was about Baby that had made you feel so safe and secure, but each and every time you stepped foot inside of her, all anxiety and fear that you once had would quickly wash away. 

Once Mine (Michael!Dean x Reader)

Y/N was sitting cross-legged on her usual chair reading through a book she has read through hundreds of times. 

The Day Before (Dean Winchester x Reader)

Your head was pounding as the lights were off and you were tucked underneath the blankets and pillows as if you were in some sort of dark cave in the middle of the night.

Stupidest Person Alive (Dean Winchester x Reader)

You don’t know the exact amount of time you’ve been sitting in this uncomfortable hospital chair, curled up, huddled underneath a random flannel of Dean’s that was in a duffel bag in the trunk of Baby.

What Are We? (Dean Winchester x Reader)

Situationship (noun): a romantic or sexual relationship that is not considered to be formal or established.

Coming & Going (Dean Winchester x Witch!Reader)

“Do you really have to go?” You asked, your voice sounding of disappointment. 

Genuinely Happy (Dean Winchester x Reader)

Riding in the passenger seat of Baby was one of your favorite things to do as long as Dean was the one in the driver’s seat — which he usually was but you weren’t always in the passenger seat.

A Small Favor In Return (Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader)

“Alright class, as a quick reminder, your ten-page essays on World War Two are due next Tuesday,” your professor said, audible groans came from a majority of your peers, and you couldn’t help but snicker at their response.

Shiny New Toy (5) - Finale (Dean Winchester x Reader)

You were lying in bed completely under the sheets as if in a cave. All the lights were off, and the door was closed. 

Patterns: Apparently, I love starting out my fics with either the reader lying down or sitting down xD I knew this was a writing habit of mine, but I guess it didn't occur to me that I tend to do that with basically every single fic I write

Tagging: @spnexploration @thatonewriter15 @jackles010378 @k-slla @octoberclidan @deanbrainrotwritings @deanwanddamons @syrma-sensei @jacklesbrainworms (no pressure tags as always <3)

Writing Pattern Game

Thank you for tagging me @venus-haze 💖 I'm really liking these little tag games. (Linking to yours here because I loved each of your First Lines.)

Rules: Share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able and see if there are any patterns!

Well, here we go! 😂 I'm going to exclude headcanons because they're not really full stories.

First Lines:

Imagine: Ben loses you. (Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader)

Ben restrained another sigh when he realized you were no longer walking next to him.

Talk to Me (Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader)

“What the fuck is wrong with this cocksucking coffee maker?” Ben snarked.

Assistant Hottie (Jason Teague x Reader)

“Hey, Coach T!” Jason turns his head, shooting Clark Kent a smile that’s just a little bit forced.

Smoke Eater (Dean Winchester x Reader)

Come on, come on, come on! The toe of your heeled foot tapped on the floor as you, once again, waited for the elevator to make its slow climb back up to the 22nd floor.

Imagine: Sam crosses the line. (Dean Winchester x Reader, one-sided Sam Winchester x Reader)

Goddamn witches. That's the last coherent thought Sam has, before his mind is no longer completely his to control.

In Bad Weather (Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized/Latina!Reader)

Dean can’t remember the last time he woke up quite like this.

Devour Me (Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized/Latina!Reader)

When Dean asked you to move in with him, he really didn’t think it would come to this.

Break Me Down (Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader)

Well, this fucking sucks. The thought rattled through your mind as you were led down a hallway, across a cold expanse of tile floor.

Strong as Blood (Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader)

Make no mistake. Ben was still a terrible cook.

Didn't Mean to Stay (Beau Arlen x Reader)

In times like these, you really hated the sun. 

Patterns: Well, looks like I'm all too comfortable with kicking things off with dialogue/internal thoughts. 😂 Genuinely didn't know that was a habit of mine. My sense of humor tends to be dry, so I think that comes through as well lol.

If anyone else notices something I don't, please point it out to me! ❤️

No pressure tags: @waywardxwords @thatonewriter15 @kaleldobrev @waywardlatina @justagirlinafandomworld @impala-dreamer @spnexploration @luci-in-trenchcoats @pink-sparkly-witch @iprobablyshipit91 @deanwritings @deanwanddamons @deanwinchesterswitch @deanbrainrotwritings @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior -- and whoever else wants to do this!

[kkusuka]

I’m so proud I’ve been here long before 2k💁🏼‍♀️ N E WAY CONGRATSSSSS!!!

Can I have fluff 16 with a twist tho, like “My ex just invited me to their wedding and I need you to be my date so it doesn’t look like I’ve spent the last few years being single and hunting down weird things most people can’t even see." with Gojou, Fushiguro, Itadori and a fem reader? If 3 characters are way to many you can keep only Gojou. Keep being amazinggg<3

thank you so much!! <3

“My ex just invited me to their wedding and I need you to be my date so it doesn’t look like I’ve spent the last few years being single and hunting down weird things most people can’t even see."

Gn!Pronouns, but you are implied to be female! 

Cw: an itsy bitsy hint of angst, slight confessions, reader panics, 

a/n: these were almost criminally fun to write, I love these three so much 

Gojou Satoru 

Words: 700 

You had no idea how a simple piece of paper could make you feel. Awkward, confusion, shock, all from one note that you thought was a bill. 

‘Y/n L/n save the date!’ was the last thing you had expected, from your ex-boyfriend nonetheless. The same guy who dated you for a whole three years before telling you over text that it wasn’t going to work out. 

Well, the both of you never had a bad relationship after, but you were a severe level of butthurt. But what made you really freeze was the plus one invitation, if you showed up to your ex’s wedding you would look like a loser. 

Since you were clearly going, you’d never miss on free food and a chance to have a day off, you needed an outfit and a date. The outfit was pretty easy to figure out, you’d go shopping on the weekend and buy something then. 

But someone to go with? You had about three friends whom you knew could not afford any days off and that you just didn't want to take. (at least you had some last resorts) Then, another problem, if they weren’t part of the Jujutsu world it would be harder to explain if you had to abruptly leave, which was a huge possibility this time of year. 

With that, your options were cut down to two- Nanami and...Gojou, of all people. 

Obviously, you tried, emphasis on tried, Nanami first. But after 24 missed calls and a 15-second conversation where he basically told you to shove it, you were in full-on panic mode. The wedding was in three days and you had to do something about your inevitable loneliness. 

You had to get over yourself, the worst Gojo could do was make fun of you or say no. But, he never passes up the opportunity for sweets, just lay on the dessert y/n!

“To what do I owe this sweet phone call Y/n? Confessing your love for yours truly?” his voice laughed through the line. You just had to ask him in a way that would compel him to want to come with you. 

“My ex just invited me to their wedding and I need you to be my date so it doesn’t look like I’ve spent the last few years being single and hunting down weird things most people can’t even see." you blurt not even thinking about the words falling from your lips. 

You come to realize your words from the ringing silence in your ears, “I’m sorry I just-” 

“I’ll come” he answered, cutting off your apologies. He’ll come, you didn't even have to say anything about sugar or bribe him into coming. 

“You’ll come? Really? Why-wait Thank you! It’s on Saturday at 3 pm, we can go together if that makes things better! Thank you so much, you just saved me Gojo! How can I make it up to you!” you were just spouting whatever you could to thank him, listening to his daughter from his side. 

“Why wouldn’t I want to spend time with my little Sugar? You can make it up to me by wearing your prettiest little dress so we’ll be the hottest couple at the wedding.” he teased, continuing ranting about how you should match colors to add ‘flare’. 

“While we’re there we can start planning our own wedding! Doesn’t that sound fun Sugar!” 

Fushiguro Megumi 

Words: 700 

“What even is that” Megumi’s voice rang through the office hallway. You’d like to know too, you haven’t spoken to anyone from your hometown, save for our family, since you moved away six years ago. 

“I’m not totally sure, you want to open it with me?” you question opening the door to your office as he silently follows you in. 

Settling the rest of the mail down, you take a closer look at the suspicious envelope noticing the name on the return address. There's no way! Why the hell was your ex sending you things to your official workspace?

“What’s wrong? Is it bad?” Megumi doesn't know what to do, your face went pale and you looked super confused. 

“Oh, nothing really. I’m just surprised, it’s from my ex” well now he was frozen, was it a love letter? Why was he sending you stuff, he just hoped that it wasn't bad, you had enough on your plate and you didn’t need more. 

Opening the envelope to see flower patterns and script lettering; you know exactly what this letter will be telling you. Just as you suspect a date plastered on the card along with two all familiar names flood your senses. 

“He’s getting married!” you couldn't believe it, why would he invite his high school ex to his wedding, it was an odd choice, to say the least. 

“That’s cool I guess, anyway I gotta go, have fun,” he murmured leaving the room and letting to wonder if you were even going to show up in the first place, but at the moment you send an email and reserve a spot for yourself and admittedly a plus one that didn’t exist. 

You would figure it out in due time!

 ❍❍❍

You did not figure anything out and the wedding was tomorrow. No one in their right mind would drop everything to come to some random wedding. Your point proved when Itadori explained he had plans to go see a movie marathon with Jumpei that he just couldn’t cancel. 

Not even Nobara would spare you some mercy, she and Maki were having a pre-planned girls' day, one that you would be going to if you hadn't agreed to go to some random wedding. 

Now you could only pray that Mehgumi felt enough pity that he would go with you. Deciding that a call would be too impersonal and would be easier to say no over, you make your way to his apartment with a box of dumplings that you knew he loved. 

“Gumi-chan? Open up please!” you knocked on the door waiting for him to come, him appearing a few seconds later; hair messy in sweatpants and a black tank-top. No- this isn’t about his body, it could be, but you had to get this settled first. 

“Uh? Did I miss something? Why are you here?” his questions break you from your stare as you shove the food in his arms, gathering all the courage you could muster. 

“These are for you and all you need to do is hear me out, please? I would really like you too!” you beg, watching as he silently commanded for you to continue. 

“As you know, my ex just invited me to their wedding and I need you to be my date so it doesn’t look like I’ve spent the last few years being single and hunting down weird things most people can’t even see." you kept your head low as you explained to him what had happened, “I really need you to do this for me, I'll give you anything I swear! Just help me this once!” 

“Why do you need me?” he mumbled, commanding your attention back onto his face. 

“Because it’ll be fun and you need to get out.” ‘and this is my way of asking you out but not asking you at the same time’ goes unsaid.

“Fine, but you have to come to dinner with me the next time my dad asks.” that was it you, ultimatum, an easy one too. 

“Deal! Now we have to match or it’ll look stupid, and we have to practice dancing and-” 

“Dear Lord, what did I get into” 

Itadori Yuji 

Words: 600 

You’d pinned the invitation above your bed as a constant reminder that you had to do something. 

Not that you cared what your ex thought of you at their wedding, but something deep inside wanted to show him that you were happy without him. 

And the only way to do that was to shove a hot guy down his throat; better yet, a totally hot guy that was into you. Now all you needed was a hot guy to be into you. 

Well, you had a hot guy to go with you. In a desperate plea, you had asked your good friend Itadori, formally known as the vessel of another somewhat friend Sukuna, and he had agreed. 

Just thinking about it made you cringe a bit; you had been freaking out and ran to his apartment, drenched in rain. 

“My ex just invited me to their wedding and I need you to be my date so it doesn’t look like I’ve spent the last few years being single and hunting down weird things most people can’t even see," you explained frantically, waving your hands. Watching his face contort into every human emotion you could think of, before spreading into a smile. 

“Of course I’ll come with you! It sounds like a blast!” of course Sukuna had a few choice words to say about that, something along the lines of, ‘you're not dragging me to some stupid event because you're lonely! I refuse!” 

And he continued to complain throughout the night of planning and the next morning when you told him he was going whether he wanted to or not and he told you he’d rather die. 

“This Wench will not dictate my life!” he spoke through a mouth on Yuji’s cheek, eye slit glaring in your direction. 

“And I’m not letting some lame demon tell me what I can and can’t do with my friend!” you argued back. 

But he didn't have a say anyway. 

Now you were standing before a mirror, admiring how your dress wrapped around your body, waiting for Itadori to come to the door. 

Hearing the knocks on your door, you grab a small bag and your invitations and your plus one, opening the door to Yuji in a three-piece black suit, staring at you with wide eyes. 

“You look great-” 

“You look crazy beautiful-” 

Both of you freeze at the word mix-up, then breaking into laughter as you loop your arm through his outstretched one. 

“Seriously you look great, y/n. You have that guy wishing he’d never let you go! Wait then you wouldn’t be with me, so just make him miss you a bit but not too much!” he stammered out as you continued your way to his car. 

“You are the worst two humans in existence.” 

[erogenousmind]

Tea

“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this,” Amy said, her eyes down. She cupped the warm mug in both hands as she spoke, a wisp of steam rising from it. “What was I thinking?”

She looked up at the man reclining leisurely in his seat across from her. Late afternoon sun coming through the window next to them drew patterns of light and shade across his face. Amy considered him as she lifted up her mug and took a sip of tea. Just fifteen minutes ago, he had just been a thumbnail and a provocative name to her, nothing more. A name she had fantasized about more frequently and more intimately than she cared to admit, a name that represented a mind that had such a way with words, that knew how to draw her in and keep her captivated, but still just a name.

His real name, as he had told her when they met, was Ian. More attractive than she might have feared, he seemed much more comfortable with the present situation than she thought possible. As if they were just two friends meeting at a coffee shop for a drink. “Maybe I hypnotized you into coming here,” Ian answered with a wry smile.

Amy’s fingers gripped the mug tightly for a moment and relaxed again. She glanced around quickly but was confident no one was close enough to hear their conversation. She wasn’t embarrassed exactly, it was just...personal. She’d never talked about anything like this with anyone in person. At least not before now.

She laughed nervously. “Right. That’s the only explanation. Doesn’t explain how I summoned the courage to message you in the first place though. Unless your stories have been secretly programming me this whole time?”

“Oh they have, just not to do that. That was all you.” Ian was grinning now, his face playful but warm. “I am curious though. You told me online that you enjoy what I write, but that can mean a lot of different things. Many people can read a story or a detailed description of going into trance and fall under themselves. Some are able to go deep enough to experience it in their mind firsthand, at least the feeling of it. What can happen to you when you read something I write?”

I end up having to change my panties, Amy thought, blushing a little. “Um, I don’t know. Sometimes, like when you are describing what it feels like to drop, I can kinda imagine that happening to me. Like I might start feeling really relaxed or super focused. And sometimes I have to read something you wrote again because I kinda space out and don’t remember everything? And I guess I can get lost in the story sometime. Like I am the one being hypnotized and just going deeper every time. And I think about if I were being conditioned over time, like you were joking about, I’d probably drop super easily. I’d be getting better at it but I might not even notice. But I don’t know if it really works like that...I uh...I dunno. I’ve never really been hypnotized before I just...” She paused, feeling incredibly self conscious. “I really enjoy reading your stories.”

Amy looked down again, feeling the warmth in her cheeks. She felt like she was gushing at him. She didn’t know how to talk about any of this. She didn’t know what she was doing. But she had messaged him, and when they found out they were in the same city and he had suggested they meet for a coffee or something, she had been far too excited by the possibilities to say no.

Ian’s smile had softened and he looked at her patiently. He spoke slowly. “I really appreciate that you are comfortable opening up to me. I know that can feel really hard, but you don’t need to be embarrassed. I love to hear what you have to share. And that took a lot of courage from you, just like it did to message me.

“If you haven’t been formally hypnotized yet, well, we’ll have to do something about that at some point. But it certainly sounds like you are already very good at finding your way into trance. And if you are enjoying reading what I write, that is the important thing for me, whether you are just drifting down a little bit or if you are able to go incredibly deep every time.

“As to getting better and better at going into trance by reading my words more without even realizing it, well...how about this? I want you to imagine something for me. Imagine the cup of hot water they brought you when you ordered. Picture it in your mind’s eye. Still and crystal clear. It can be like your waking mind. Then I want you to imagine the tea bag dropping into it; dropping you into trance. You can picture what happens. The calm surface of the water is disturbed, but only for a moment. After that, everything looks the same. Same still calm water. Peaceful. But the water is moving below the level you can see. Thoughts are moving through that trance without you needing to do anything at all. It just happens.

“Imagine giving that mug a little stir. Your mind actively working to send you deeper. The colors of the tea spiraling around and down. Your focus on the colors, trance finding its way into every corner of your mind. Sending you deeper. And we can just let the seconds tick away until we arrive at the right strength. You could even count them away as you watch trance spread through your mind. Eight...seven...six...five...”

four...three...Amy continued. She could picture it all so perfectly. She had watched her tea brewing just a moment ago and the image was fresh in her mind. She sank forward lost in the description, just as she had been so many times for Ian’s words. two...one...

“And even if the bag is taken out, you can still see traces of that trance dissolving into the water. Dark and concentrated at first, but then diffusing and fading in color. But you know they are there. Deep in your mind.” Deep thought Amy. “You can picture that so clearly can’t you. Focus on that image.” Focus “The intensity of trance in that moment in the stillness of your mind. And then upon waking, coming back up out of the waters of your mind, those colors and flavors fade a little. But you know they are still there, don’t you?”

Amy nodded her head, her eyes looking to the side as she saw those wisps of color. How many times had she dropped reading his words? How much more than wisps were there in her mind?

“And what if we let your mind steep for longer?” Ian continued. “Every moment the water that is your mind does its work. You don’t need to do anything. We just made the water hot,” Hot “allow you to drop into trance and all you can do is take more and more of it with you. Taking you deeper.” Deeper “You can see the pretty colors drifting and filling the mug. You just watch as we take you deep into trance and condition you. Mixing trance with your mind until it is something else. Something more. You can just imagine with every second your mind is transformed into something else as you stare at your cup of tea and watch your mind sink deeper.”

Amy was looking down at the table behind half lidded eyes. Her mind had become something else, she thought. It was tea now. Looking into her mug she saw it. No trace of the water remained. Just trance. Just his words. Just relax and listen.

“And so maybe you found your way to me that same way. Every time reading just adding more and more to what was already there in your mind. Words and phrases and ideas built up over time. Maybe these were just the words that gave you the courage to reach out to me. Maybe these are the words that let you experience trance so deeply.“ Deep “Maybe you have already been transformed by these words and the words before them as they diffuse through your mind. Maybe they already allow you to switch off your mind and stop thinking. And then these words can just tell you what to do. Maybe these will allow you to reach out again and ask to go deeper. Ask to be hypnotized. To be entranced. And we can just let your mind steep a little longer. Letting the trance grow stronger until your mind is ready. Ten...nine...eight...”

Amy’s eyes were almost closed. The scent of her drink relaxed her body more and more and she sank down. “Mmm...please...” she muttered.

“Six...five...four...”

“Please hypnotize me,” she moaned, her eyelids fluttering.

“Two...one...

“Sleep”

[mashkaroom]

This documentary was SO good by the way. Exactly what I was looking for, which is a rare gift. The translators and family members they interview are all really charismatic story-tellers, and the editing is quite good, so it makes for a really compelling narrative. Fascinating insight into the translation process and how the translators themselves felt about it and how they perceived him. They even discuss Yentl! The translators of Yentl are both long dead, by they interview Leah Napolin, who wrote the play, and Esther Kreitman’s (singer’s sister) granddaughter, who speculates that the character of Yentl was in large part based on Esther, which is not an uncommon view. She says she didn’t like the movie because “I couldn’t believe in Barbra Streisand as my grandmother”. Also, I don’t think any one interviewee said this complete thought, but the way they edit it together suggests a FASCINATING interpretation of the ending of yentl. I, and many others, tend to interpret the ending as a sort of default queer ending, an inability to imagine a happy ending for a queer character. What the documentary suggests, though, is that it’s actually the same pattern as many of his other stories, in which the man gets into a mess and then leaves rather than face up to it, which mirrors his own life -- he left his wife and son for America and never sent for them despite promising to do so (he even married another woman without formally divorcing his first wife). I’ve of course heard the theory about Yentl as an Esther stand-in. But Yentl as a self-insert?? That’s SO interesting and it makes SO much sense. Anshel gets this woman totally infatuated with and dependent on him, despite knowing from the very beginning that he can never give her what she truly wants and that what he’s doing is wrong, and, eventually, abandons her. Of course this is pure speculation, but putting it that way -- it does feel a bit like Singer’s own behavior. Near the end of the documentary, they show an interview where he’s asked if he thinks he been a good Jew. He says “I haven’t been a good man. I’ve done many wrong thing in my life. I still do them. I’ve broken many laws which I studied in the Bible or in the Talmud. I would like to be a good man and a good Jew. But how do you do it?” Of course, this is pure speculation, as is any theory as to what it was that inspired Bashevis to write Yentl (though there’s evidence for many different versions and likely the truth is spread in some way between them) -- but once the connection’s been pointed out, it’s hard not to see it!

Anyway, I highly recommend the documentary if you’re interested in Singer’s work or Yiddish and translation more broadly, and wouldn’t you know, just after I returned the dvd to the library, it happened to pop up on archive.org ;)

https://archive.org/details/the-muses-of-bashevis-singer

ALSO i was looking for sources on singer's translation process and relationship with his translators, and there's a documentary called Muses of Bashevis Singer, which is EXACTLY on that topic, and there's like 15 dvds of it in public libraries in the country, and it SO HAPPENS that one of those DVDs is in my nearest library literally god bless

[pumpkinpaix]

hello there, hope you're having a nice day <3

so i've been reading a lot of fics lately, uk for sanity's sake, and i've noticed that in most of them, lwj doesn't use contractions (eg., says do not instead of don't)?? and i think he doesn't in the novel either but i don't remember lol so i can't be sure but anyway that made me curious - does chinese have contractions as well? does he not use it bc it's informal?

hello there! I’m doing all right, i started to answer this ask while waiting for a jingyeast loaf to come out of the oven 😊 many thanks to @bookofstars for helping me look over/edit/correct this post!! :D

anyways! the answer to your questions are complicated (of course it is when is anything simple with me), so let’s see if I can break it down--you’re asking a) whether chinese has contractions, b) if it does, how does they change the tone of the sentence--is it similar to english or no?, and c) how does this all end up with lan wangji pretty much never using contractions in english fic/translation?

I’m gonna start by talking about how formality is (generally) expressed in each language, and hopefully, by the end of this post, all the questions will have been answered in one way or another. so: chinese and english express variations in formality/register differently, oftentimes in ways that run contrary to one another. I am, as always, neither a linguist nor an expert in chinese and english uhhh sociological grammar? for lack of a better word. I’m speaking from my own experience and knowledge :D

so with a character like lan wangji, it makes perfect sense in english to write his dialogue without contractions, as contractions are considered informal or colloquial. I don’t know if this has changed in recent years, but I was always taught in school to never use contractions in my academic papers.

However! not using contractions necessarily extends the length of the sentence: “do not” takes longer to say than “don’t”, “cannot” is longer than “can’t” etc. in english, formality is often correlated with sentence length: the longest way you can say something ends up sounding the most formal. for a very simplified example, take this progression from least formal to absurdly formal:

whatcha doin’?

what’re you doing?

what are you doing? [standard colloquial]

may I ask what you are doing?

might I inquire as to what you are doing?

excuse me, but might I inquire as to what you are doing?

pardon my intrusion, but might I inquire as to what you are doing?

please pardon my intrusion, but might inquire as to the nature of your current actions?

this is obviously a somewhat overwrought example, but you get the point. oftentimes, the longer, more complex, more indirect sentence constructions indicate a greater formality, often because there is a simultaneous decreasing of certainty. downplaying the speaker’s certainty can show deference (or weakness) in english, while certainty tends to show authority/confidence (or aggression/rudeness).

different words also carry different implications of formality—in the example, I switched “excuse me” to “pardon me” during one of the step ups. pardon (to me at least) feels like a more formal word than “excuse”. Similarly, “inquire” is more formal than “ask” etc. I suspect that at least some of what makes one word seem more formal than one of its synonyms has to do with etymology. many of english’s most formal/academic words come from latin (which also tends to have longer words generally!), while our personal/colloquial words tend to have germanic origins (inquire [latin] vs ask [germanic]).

you’ll also notice that changing a more direct sentence structure (“may I ask what”) to a more indirect one (“might I inquire as to”) also jumps a register. a lot of english is like this — you can complicate simple direct sentences by switching the way you use the verbs/how many auxiliaries you use etc.

THE POINT IS: with regards to english, more formal sentence structures are often (not always) longer and more indirect than informal ones. this leads us to a problem with a character like lan wangji.

lan wangji is canonically very taciturn. if he can express his meaning in two words rather than three, then he will. and chinese allows for this—in extreme ways. if you haven’t already read @hunxi-guilai’s post on linguistic register (in CQL only, but it’s applicable across the board), I would start there because haha! I certainly do Not have a degree in Classical Chinese lit and she does a great job. :D

you can see from the examples that hunxi chose that often, longer sentences tend to be more informal in chinese (not always, which I’ll circle back to at the end lol). Colloquial chinese makes use of helping particles to indicate tone and meaning, as is shown in wei wuxian’s dialogue. and, as hunxi explained, those particles are largely absent from lan wangji’s speech pattern. chinese isn’t built of “words” in the way English is—each character is less a word and more a morpheme—and the language allows for a lot of information to be encoded in one character. a single character can often stand for a phrase within a sentence without sacrificing either meaning or formality. lan wangji makes ample use of this in order to express himself in the fewest syllables possible.

so this obviously leads to an incongruity when trying to translate his dialogue or capture his voice in English: shorter sentences are usually more direct by nature, and directness/certainty is often construed as rudeness -- but it might seem strange to see lan wangji’s dialogue full of longer sentences while the narration explicitly says that he uses very short sentences. so what happens is that many english fic writers extrapolated this into creating an english speech pattern for lan wangji that reads oddly. they’ll have lan wangji speak in grammatically incoherent fragments that distill his intended thought because they’re trying to recreate his succinctness. unfortunately, English doesn’t have as much freedom as Chinese does in this way, and it results in lan wangji sounding as if he has some kind of linguistic impediment and/or as if he’s being unspeakably rude in certain situations. In reality, lan wangji’s speech is perfectly polite for a young member of the gentry (though he’s still terribly rude in other ways lol). he speaks in full, and honestly, quite eloquent sentences.

hunxi’s post already has a lot of examples, but I figure I’ll do one as well focused on the specifics of this post.

I’m going to use this exchange from chapter 63 between the twin jades because I think it’s a pretty simple way to illustrate what I’m talking about:

蓝曦臣道：“你亲眼所见？”

蓝忘机道：“他亲眼所见。”

蓝曦臣道：“你相信他？”

蓝忘机道：“信。”

[...] 蓝曦臣道：“那么金光瑶呢？”

蓝忘机道：“不可信。”

my translation:

Lan Xichen said, “You saw it with your own eyes?”

Lan Wangji said, “He saw it with his own eyes.”

Lan Xichen said, “You believe him?”

Lan Wangji said, “I believe him.”

[...] Lan Xichen said, “Then what about Jin Guangyao?”

Lan Wangji said, “He cannot be believed.”

you can see how much longer the (pretty literal) english translations are! every single line of dialogue is expanded because things that can be omitted in chinese cannot be omitted in english without losing grammatical coherency. i‘ll break a few of them down:

Lan Xichen’s first line:

你 (you) 亲眼 (with one’s own eyes) 所 (literary auxiliary) 见 (met/saw)？

idk but i love this line a lot lmao. it just has such an elegant feel to me, probably because I am an uncultured rube. anyways, you see here that he expressed his full thought in five characters.

if I were to rewrite this sentence into something much less formal/much more modern, I might have it become something like this:

你是自己看见的吗？

你 (you) 是 (to be) 自己 (oneself) 看见 (see) 的 (auxiliary) 吗 (interrogative particle)？

i suspect that this construction might even be somewhat childish? I’ve replaced every single formal part of the sentence with a more colloquial one. instead of 亲眼 i’ve used 自己, instead of 所见 i’ve used 看见的 and then also added an interrogative particle at the end for good measure (吗). To translate this, I would probably go with “Did you see it yourself?”

contained in this is also an example of how one character can represent a whole concept that can also be represented with two characters: 见 vs 看见. in this example, both mean “to see”. we’ll see it again in the next example as well:

in response to lan xichen’s, “you believe him?” --> 你 (you) 相信 (believe) 他 (him)? lan wangji answers with, “信” (believe).

chinese does not do yes or no questions in the same way that english does. there is no catch-all for yes or no, though there are general affirmative (是／有) and negative (不／没) characters. there are other affirmative/negative characters, but these are the ones that I believe are the most common and also the ones that you may see in response to yes or no questions on their own. (don’t quote me on that lol)

regardless, the way you respond to a yes or no question is often by repeating the verb phrase either in affirmative or negative. so here, when lan xichen asks if lan wangji believes wei wuxian, lan wangji responds “believe”. once again, you can see that one character can stand in for a concept that may also be expressed in two characters: 信 takes the place of 相信. lan wangji could have responded with “相信” just as well, but, true to his character, he didn’t because he didn’t need to. this is still a complete sentence. lan wangji has discarded the subject (I), the object (him), and also half the verb (相), and lost no meaning whatsoever. you can’t do this in english!

and onto the last exchange:

lan xichen: 那么 (then) 金光瑶 (jin guangyao) 呢 (what about)？

lan wangji: 不可 (cannot) 信 (believe)

you can actually see the contrast between the two brothers’ speech patterns even in this. lan xichen’s question is not quite as pared down as it could be. if it were wangji’s line instead, I would expect it to read simply “金光瑶呢？” which would just be “what about jin guangyao?” 那么 isn’t necessary to convey the core thought -- it’s just as how “then what about” is different than “what about”, but “then” is not necessary to the central question. if we wanted to keep the “then” aspect, you could still cut out 么 and it would be the same meaning as well.

a FINAL example of how something can be cut down just because I think examples are helpful:

“I don’t know” is usually given as 我不知道. (this is what nie huaisang says lol) It contains subject (我) and full verb (知道). you can pare this straight down to just 不知 and it would mean the same thing in the correct context. i think most of the characters do this at least once? it sounds more literary -- i don’t know that i would ever use it in everyday speech, but the fact remains that it’s a possibility. both could be translated as “I do not know” and it would be accurate.

ANYWAYS, getting all the way back to one of your original questions: does chinese have contractions? and the answer is like... kind of...?? but not really. there’s certainly slang/dialect variants that can be used in ways that are reminiscent of english contractions. the example I’m thinking of is the character 啥 (sha2) which can be used as slang in place of 什么 (shen2 me). (which means “what”)

so for a standard sentence of, 你在做什么? (what are you doing), you could shorten down to just 做啥? and the second construction is less formal than the first, but they mean the same thing.

other slang i can think of off the top of my head: 干嘛 (gan4 ma2) is also informal slang for “what are you doing”. and i think this is a regional thing, but you can also use 搞 (gao3) and 整 (zheng3) to mean “do” as well.

so in the same way that you can replace 什么 with 啥, you can replace 做 as well to get constructions like 搞啥 (gao3 sha2) and 整啥 (zheng3 sha2).

these are all different ways to say “what are you doing” lmao, and in this case, shorter is not, in fact, more formal.

woo! we made it to the end! I hope it was informative and helpful to you anon. :D

this is where I would normally throw my ko-fi, but instead, I’m actually going to link you to this fundraising post for an old fandom friend of mine. her house burned down mid-september and they could still use help if anyone can spare it! if this post would have moved you to buy me a ko-fi, please send that money to her family instead. :) rbs are also appreciated on the post itself. (* ´▽` *)

anyways, here’s the loaf jingyeast made :3 it was very tasty.

[fruitcoops]

hii would you write a coops fic that takes place before they’re out when they’re still sneaking around but have like a sweet date night at remus’s apartment

Of course! This is a continuation of Newcomers and Nargles, where Remus babysits Luna Lovegood. Hope you enjoy! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

“Thank you for having me over,” Sirius said quietly as he pressed a kiss to the corner of Remus’ mouth. The only light came from his kitchen, which was far enough away that they were left in soft shadows on his couch. “Really, Re, this is wonderful.”

“There’s no need to be so formal,” he laughed, though Sirius could see the pink flush spreading to his ears. “It’s just pasta and my apartment.”

“I love your apartment.”

The flush deepened. “Moody calls it my hamster cage. You had to duck to get in the door.”

“Details.” Sirius leaned forward for a proper kiss to his lips; they had set a timer for the pasta and had a while yet, if his memory was correct. Plenty of time to settle himself more comfortably in Remus’ lap and kiss him until he got the glazed look in his eyes that Sirius adored.

He wanted this all the time. To come home with Remus every night, without fear of the wrong person (or anyone, really) seeing them. He wanted to kiss him in public and keep his hand in Remus’ back pocket like a cliché movie couple and watch Remus light up when he held his hand. He wanted.

Remus made a soft noise and slid his arms around his waist, holding him light and cozy while he traced small swirls on the small of Sirius’ back. It sent goosebumps racing along his spine—Sirius cupped Remus’ jaw in his hands and hummed his approval. The room was so wonderfully warm, filled with the smell of cooking pasta and sauce on the stove. They had made it together; shoulder-to-shoulder, hip-to-hip, trading kisses in the steam.

God, he wanted it so much it ached.

Remus trailed light kisses along his neck, taking pauses to nuzzle Sirius’ skin and nibble his collarbones. Sirius buried his face in honey curls and let himself believe this was his everyday life. Their everyday life.

A quick knock at the door shattered the illusion. Sirius felt the blood flee his face as they both froze. “Who is that?” he managed.

“I don’t know,” Remus whispered. His pupils were dilated with fear and, with a pained look, he guided Sirius off his lap so he could stand and turn the rest of the lights on. His slender hands smoothed his sweater and jeans in methodical movements, but Sirius saw their tremors.

He distracted himself from panic by looking around the apartment and all its knickknacks; the feeling of being surrounded by Remus in his most distilled form was unparalleled. A little granite wolf figurine sat with its wooden counterpart on the table by the door; dozens of pictures of family and friends scattered the walls with no rhyme or reason to their placement. It was cluttered in the best possible way, and Sirius wanted his whole life to look like it.

The door clicked open. “Hello?”

“Remus!” a woman’s voice exclaimed. “I’m so glad you answered.”

Sirius glanced over and saw Remus’ whole body relax as he opened the door further with a smile. “Hey, Pandora, how are you?”

“Doing fine, doing fine. It’s Phil and I’s anniversary and we’ve got dinner at 7:18, but Luna’s babysitter came down with a cold and can’t make it. We just got the text an hour ago and we were hoping you could watch her while we’re out.”

“Oh.” Remus’ eyebrows shot up. “I—well, I have a friend over for dinner, but we made plenty of pasta for one more, I s’pose. Sirius, is that okay with you?”

It took him a moment longer than was prudent to get over the fact that Remus—kind-hearted, friendly, beautiful, so beautiful—was asking his opinion on letting a kid join their date. Their top-secret, possibly-life-ruining-if-discovered date. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Oh, I’m so rude!” the woman gasped. She poked her head around the doorway and waved to Sirius—her long blonde hair cascaded over her shoulder in a messy plait, and her dress seemed to be made of a variety of beads. She was pretty, with a combination of angular features and a heart-shaped face that nudged a memory in the very back of his mind. “I’m Pandora Lovegood, from 7A. It’s so lovely to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you as well.” He padded over and held a hand out to shake, but to his surprise she took it turned it over, furrowing her brow at his palm.

“Well, that’s quite the love line!” She smiled and patted his cheek. Her eyes were glacial blue, but somehow still as warm as a crackling hearth. “Good for you. Your life line isn’t bad, either. I’ll be back with Luna in a moment!”

“Have a good night, Pandora!” Remus called as she fluttered away. “Say hi to Phil for me!”

Sirius was still standing in mild shock when the door closed. “Pandora, Luna, and…Phil?”

“Xenophilius,” Remus said. The corners of his mouth twitched. “Her husband, and Luna’s dad.”

“Hell of a name.”

“We can’t really judge, can we?” Some of his amusement dimmed and he ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry for ruining our date. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, it’s alright,” Sirius said quickly, kissing his cheek until he smiled. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

Remus looked a bit sad as he looked up despite his smile. “Yeah, but this is our only time together.”

“It’s not the last time I can ever come over to your apartment,” Sirius reminded him as he ran his hands up Remus’ arms. “I think it’s great that you’re doing this for your neighbors. It shows how caring, and sweet, and wonderful—”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” he laughed, cutting Sirius off with a vivid blush.

“Besides, I agreed to this.” He nudged their noses together. “I’m pretty sure my impressive love line can handle another date sometime soon.”

Remus grinned as he leaned in. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Black.”

“Are you going to stop me?”

A tumbling sound came from outside, followed by a peal of giggling and a sharp pattern of knocking. “I did a cartwheel!” a tiny ball of blonde curls announced as it launched itself at Remus’ legs the second the door opened. “Hi, Remus!”

He caught her with a slight wince as Sirius tried to calm his pounding heart. “Hey, sunshine, are you ready for some dinner?”

“Oh, yes, please.” She wriggled down from his arms and gave her mother a bear hug, beaming when her face was covered in kisses.

“Be good,” Pandora said as she set Luna down and brushed her hair out of her face. “Listen to Remus and his friend. We’ll be back by ten at the latest. Thank you both again for doing this. I’ll bring over some cookies tomorrow, Remus.”

“That’s very sweet, Pandora.” Remus’ eyes tensed at the edges, as if he was in pain at the very thought. Pandora whisked herself toward the stairs again and Sirius shut the door behind her. “Luna, do you—”

“I remember you!” Sirius turned and found himself staring into the biggest pair of blue eyes he had ever seen. The memory came rushing back in a flood—Remus, frazzled and fluffed at the edges, with a little girl balanced on his hip. Luna stood on her tippy-toes and he leaned down so she could take his face in her hands. After a moment, she nodded. “You’ve done an excellent job of keeping the nargles away, Mr. Sirius.”

“Thank you.”

“Mama said you and Remus were making pasta. May I have some, please?”

“Of course you can,” Remus assured her, ushering her into the kitchen with a sweep of his arm. “After you, my lady.”

Sirius waited until Luna had safely skipped out of earshot before bending toward Remus’ ear. “Why does she…?”

“Talk like a normal kid and then a Victorian orphan?”

“Yeah.”

“Dunno. I guess that’s what happens when your mom’s a chemist and part-time psychic and your dad owns The Quibbler.” There wasn’t a trace of judgement on Remus’ face as he raised his voice by a few degrees. “Be careful by the stove, honeybun.”

“I will!” Luna chirped back. Sirius couldn’t place why, but he held undeniable affection for the little girl, even after only two meetings. She was unapologetically odd; he was sure he could never get bored of talking with her.

Luna sat on the countertop while they served up dinner, happy as a clam as she recounted her and her father’s hunt for Fizzing Whizbees at the candy store. They were her mother’s favorite, apparently, but Luna had yet to see one in real life. Her conversational skills came to a sharp halt during dinner; it was so startling that Sirius grew concerned after two minutes without her high-pitched contributions.

“Luna? Are you alright?”

“Hmm?” She looked up from her plate with a curious glance between them and gave Sirius a bright smile. “I’m making an octocapus.”

“An octopus?” Remus leaned over to look. “Wow, you got all the legs with your noodles! Way to go!”

“You’re a great artist,” Sirius agreed as Luna continued working on her masterpiece.

“Yeah, I know.”

He bit his lip to keep in his laughter and met Remus’ eyes; at first, he had been a bit worried about babysitting during a date, but he couldn’t imagine a better way to spend the night. When their plates were clean and Sirius was warm and drowsy from carbohydrates, Remus collected the dishes and headed back into the kitchen despite Sirius’ offers for help.

Luna gave a wide yawn with her head propped on one hand and turned to Sirius the moment Remus turned the sink on. “Do you give Remus kisses?”

It took all of Sirius’ self-control not to accidentally spew water all over the literal child sitting across from him. Instead, he coughed and spluttered into his napkin while the alarms in his brain began to blare. Remus showed no sign of hearing their conversation while he rinsed out the large pasta pot. “What?”

“I’d like it if you did,” Luna continued with nothing but her usual dreamy expression. “Remus needs friends, and mama says he could use some kisses.”

“I think everyone could use some kisses,” Sirius said evasively. His heart galloped in his chest.

“Hmm. Yeah. How long have you been friends?”

“We’ve known each other a little longer than you’ve been alive, but we’ve only been friends for about two years.”

“That’s a good amount of time.”

“Oh?”

She put her chin in both palms, suddenly looking much older than she was. “I’ve been alive for four whole years. That’s a long time. If you’ve known someone for four whole years, you should give them kisses.”

Sirius stared at her. “That’s quite the philosophy.”

“What’s that?”

“An idea.”

“Why didn’t you just say ‘idea’?”

“I…don’t know.”

She hummed a little under her breath. “Will you color with me?”

“Yes,” he answered as relief coursed through him. He had no clue how she had gone from blunt questions that could turn his whole world upside down to coloring, but he didn’t care. “Yes, I would love to.”

Luna slid off her seat and hopped over to Remus’ desk, then dug around in the drawers and emerged with a few sheets of blank paper and some pens. “I’m bad at outlines. Will you draw them for me?”

“Absolutely.”

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

Luna fell asleep halfway through coloring a Kneazle with Remus, which as far as Sirius could understand was just a cat that had its face squished. But it made her happy, and he would draw a million squishy cats to keep her questions about Remus to a minimum.

As soon as Remus finished tucking her in beneath a heavy blanket on the couch, he turned and crushed his lips against Sirius’ like a man dying for air. The kiss lasted long enough that Sirius was staring to get lightheaded before finding himself the (quite enthusiastic) recipient of a rib-crushing hug. They held each other for a few minutes, silent and swaying, before Remus let him go with a final kiss and they began to clean up the mess.

True to her word, Pandora returned just before ten pm with a blond man at her side and a big hug for her daughter. “Goodnight, Luna,” Remus whispered. They received a sleepy wave in response and then, finally, they were alone. “You are the best person ever.”

Sirius wound his arms around Remus’ waist and melted a little when strong hands combed through his hair. “Funny, I could say the same thing about you.”

“I didn’t know you could draw.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I can doodle. It’s nothing fancy.”

“You drew imaginary monsters based on descriptions from a four-year-old.” Remus cupped his cheek and rested their foreheads together. “You’re amazing.”

“This was a pretty awesome date,” he mumbled, closing his eyes to bask in their little bubble.

“We should do it again sometime. Preferably without the child, though.”

Sirius’ smile came all the way from his heart as he buried his face in the slope of Remus’ neck. “As long as I get to be with you, I’m happy.”

It was the closest thing to ‘I love you’ he could bring himself to admit, but for now, it would have to do.

[burnedbyshoto]

hole in the wall

In a party for the ages, Shouto comes across a room with hole in the wall that has him coming back for more.

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pairing: todoroki shouto x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, PWP, cult activity, drug mention, alcohol consumption, glory hole, cursing, degradation, praise, possessive jealous!shouto, stuck in the wall, spanking, overstim, bruising, bleeding, breeding

word count: 7,831

a/n: read the fucking warnings bro, im tired, I hate formatting, here’s to finally writing what I wanna write! also, this is for a lovely bnharem collab that kept getting pushed back... make sure to read the intro to understand my story! anyways, gloryholes is peak anonymous sex and I just,,, if thats the only way imma get to suck shoutos cock, I will. I had something else to say... I forgot. oH THIS IS WRITTEN IN A NEW STLYE-ISH??? porn from shoutos pov!!!

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Traditionally, when people think of the connection between heroes and cults, they expect that the heroes eradicate the cults, not that the heroes are a part of a cult.

It was somewhat ironic that a group of people who advocated for public safety, for the wellbeing of every citizen of the country - the world - would demand compensation in areas that didn't involve financial compensation. Heroes saved the day countless amounts of times, but when they needed... help at night because they've been so busy saving the world, there needed to be compensation.

It had shocked nearly everyone within the hero community when none other than Yaoyorozu Momo brought them a solution. For nothing more than loyalty to saving the day, all heroes granted the benefit of joining the Savior of Eight Million, an… organization brought forth by the prodigious hero. It had shocked the hero community at first that the once thought of a modern-day princess, putting together a wicked group that served the beastly needs of heroes, was almost laughable. But as time passed, as trials tested the organization (cult), the more heroes realized how lucky they were that it was Yaoyorozu who created this.

The Yaoyorozus, in all their riches and connections, made this group untouchable.

Police were bought off, apprehended, silenced.

Heroes with the savior complex were put down.

Villains were never believed.

The Savior of Eight Million held ties with the greatest, the most esteemed people in the world. The parties were unworldly, dripping with diamonds and gold, the sweet smell of champagne barely drowning out the bitter acidic and burning plastic smell of the drugs used vicariously at their gatherings. All heroes joined, politicians and celebrities fought to get in, and commoners wished they could be the servants of the night, whether that meant they would be serving food, drinks, or drugs, or allowing the heroes to do what this was all started for: to fuck them.

Of course, it didn't help that each commoner was paid for their service, discretion, and loyalty. Those who attempted to give away the secrets of the nights were always taken care of, and every gathering after someone tried to snitch, there was always a complaint that a sex slave just wasn't good enough.

Yaoyorozu Momo was a sweet girl, a helpful woman. She was a hero.

Heroes far and wide grovel at her feet in thanks, and even more surprisingly, even her old class supported this. Oh, how great life was when you were the most significant, greatest, and most untouchable cult in history.

To Todoroki Shouto, well, he didn't really have an opinion on this all, not really at least.

The cult - the organization, was created to help out heroes such as himself live comfortably while having such a busy lifestyle. His sex drive had never been that high, with his twenty-fifth birthday approaching, he could count on his two hands the number of times he'd been attended to with the help of the organization within the past five years.

Yes, two years after debuting as heroes, Momo had approached the graduate class with her plan. Todoroki Shouto could never deny a friend, especially not someone as smart and intentional as Yaoyorozu Momo. He had been one of the first - if not the first - voice to approve of her project.

However, the fifth-anniversary gathering (it was not a party) was finally here. Two months ago, the first round of reminders came around in the form of a beautifully handwritten card by their fearless yet kind leader. Shouto wondered if she really had handwritten each and every card, or if she had created it with her quirk - while he wasn't that heavily involved, he was not ignorant to the numbers of the cult, group, organization.

TO TODOROKI SHOUTO,

I WRITE THIS LETTER TO ASK IF YOU WILL BE JOINING US IN TWO MONTHS FOR ONE OF THE MANY GREATEST CELEBRATIONS WE - THE MEMBERS OF THE SAVIOR OF EIGHT MILLION - WILL HAVE FOR OUR FIFTH ANNIVERSARY OF BEING SUCH A WELL RECEIVED AND INFLUENTIAL ORGANIZATION. I AM GRATEFUL TO RELAY THAT OUR ESTEEMED MEMBERS BAKUGOU-SAN AND MIDORIYA-SAN WILL BE HOSTING OUR EVENT!

I FEEL AS IF WE HAVE NOT SEEN EACH OTHER IN SO LONG, TODOROKI-SAN, AND I MISS YOU SO DEARLY. I HOPE THINGS IN YOUR LIFE HAVE BEEN FINE AND THAT WE SHOULD MEET UP AS SOON AS POSSIBLE! PLEASE MAKE SURE TO RESPOND TO THE RSVP TO EITHER JIROU-SAN, KAMINARI-SAN, OR ME!

UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN, YAOYOROZU MOMO

The letter had been kind, inviting, and so fleeting it made Shouto feel like he needed more from one of his most missed and trusted friend. Still, there would be time to catch up with everyone, no use in pushing now.

Grabbing his phone, Shouto typed in Momo's contact name into the search bar, tongue swiping his lower lip while he typed in his message and sent it. He had never been one for these parties. Too often, there were just too over-the-top. The festivities and friends were fun, but having to fight the impossible crowds for a moment of peace kept him from attending.

A truly mundane member.

But this was different after all, it wasn't every day that they celebrated five great years of service.

I'll be going, Yayorozu.

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Two months went by before Shouto had even realized it.

In those two months, he had received a formal invitation with a day and time. 

2X28, OCTOBER 23

STARTING FROM 20:00

Of course, the lack of an address is a precaution for keeping their organization out of the limelight should they be betrayed. Events of all shapes and sizes were always planned by the upper board of the organization. Only a specific few knew the place where the night would befall, and the rest of the members would be brought to the festivities by a chauffeur provided by the Yaoyorozu's. Getting to and from the party was always stressfree, no matter what befell that night, their safety of getting home was still safe.

The invitation was tucked away into the inside pocket of his jacket, it was his ticket to getting into the party, and it was best to not leave it behind. 

With the invitation now securely placed into his jacket, the smooth inflexible material stiff against his chest, Shouto stared into the mirror he stood before.

An elegant full-length mirror reflected his image to him, and truth be told, he was impressed with his presentation.

A charcoal grey Italian suit trimmed glinting silver nearly gleamed against the white light; the jacket was undone, exposing the white-collared long-sleeved shirt underneath. Typically, Shouto was a tie man, but the sleek black tie he was to wear lay hanging on the hanger, the first few buttons of the shirt undone. It highlighted his toned chest, the few pale scars on his chest just visible enough on his exposed skin to look like it was intensional. He looked good.

His fingers touched his hair, the once long style had been cut in a recent fight with a villain. It hadn't mattered much to Shouto, and in fact, the sudden haircut had spiked his overall ratings. It was short now, just long enough for his fingers to graze through the locks. It was slicked back, the swirl of red and white mixing and strands of red falling into his sight.

“Todoroki-sama, the car is here.”

Shouto didn't bother turning to the attendee, his gaze taking him in one last time.

"I'll be there."

His footsteps were quiet in the hallway, his waxed shiny black shoes gleaming in his hands as he walked to the front room. He slipped on the tight shoes and looked up to his servant, who stood at the front door with a patterned, black mask.

Nodding, he grabbed the mask and slipped it inside of his jacket as well.

A kitsune.

"Safe journey."

"I'll be back tonight."

And into the car, he went, the warm smell of leather and spices filling the backseat of the self-driving car. Shouto relaxed against the black leather, his eyes staring at the road while he slipped the mask out from his jacket. There was no reason to don the mask while stepping out of the house, being caught with it at his home always smelled trouble. 

In the car's silence, his fingers rested onto his lap, his lips set into a firm line while his thoughts lingered to what was to come at this party. 

The last time Bakugou and Midoriya hosted anything, it had ended with an overall disaster. Thankfully then it had been for their agency's founding party and not something dealing with the organization. But before he could muster the will to seek out further information on the private event, he realized that the car was already pulling into the large mansion where the event was being held.

People emerged from the cars before his own, the sleek masks donning on their faces, keeping their identities from unwanted eyes. The covers were specially made by none other than Yaoyorozu with the assistance of Hatsume Mei to ensure that those who wore it would be unrecognizable unless they were within a certain radius.

A small puff of air escaped Shouto's lips as his car pulled up to the unloading zone, and his strong fingers slipped on the mask before the car door opened. With the confidence and power, only those who worked as a top-ranked hero had Shouto emerged from the car immediately greeted by the entrance staff. 

With his hands moving to button his jacket, he nodded his head when receiving information on what to expect upon entering. Shouto felt like he nodded forever while making his way up the entrance of the event, his hand reluctantly offering his phone and wallet over and receiving a ticket for retrieving it. Of course, the ticket came the bundle of condoms.

An eyebrow arched under the mask, and Shouto couldn't help the amused smirk that befell his lips as he pocketed the condoms.

The fuckers made this a sex party.

Why they even bothered to deny that they were a cult was beyond him at this point.

But as the grand doors opened, Shouto couldn't help but tense at the room's mixing aroma.

The sweet smell of champagne bubbled in his nose, wafting in powerfully with the perfumes secreting from every person in the room. If it had been his first time at an event like this, Shouto would have missed the undertone of burning plastic in the air. His eyes followed a civilian dressed up in a zebra zentai bodysuit holding a silver powder with most definitely not cocaine to who looked like the Prime Minister since he had his mask on.

Rolling his eyes, Shouto walked further into the room, ignoring the offers of drugs and alcohol as he carried on. 

"Todoroki, my man! You made it!" came the loud and energetic voice of Kaminari Denki.

It shouldn't have shocked Shouto to immediately be swarmed with who looked like Kirishima (who wore a mask resembling a bear) and Kaminari (who had his mouse resembling mask resting on around his neck), who by the smell at least, were not sober.

"You're the last one to show up, dude! We almost thought you were gonna flake!" Kirishima added, his hand coming to land on Shouto's shoulder, his lips perked into a broad smile. "Everyone else decided to join the orgy room a few minutes ago, but this guy here—" he made a pointed jab at Kaminari's chest. "Was causing a large enough disturbance that we were kicked out."

"Bro, it's not my fault that those dummy civilians can't handle a few jolts of pain!"

"You literally electrocuted everyone in that orgy and left everyone unable to speak for a solid minute, bro!"

"Everyone else is here?" Shouto interrupted rather impressed to here that even Mineta was invited to this party - or maybe he had snuck in - choosing to ignore the mention of an orgy room.

Typical cult things, he reminded himself.

"Yeah, Denki and I don't have to go in tomorrow, so we pre-gamed at his place before coming. Sero did too, but after a few minutes of talking with some trapeze girl, they went into a room and well…" Kirishima trailed off, letting Shouto put two and two together. "Mina is flirting with the crown prince, Yaomomo and Jirou are in the orgy room, Bakugou and Midoriya seem to be micromanaging everything—"

"Those two need sex the most out of the entire class! Have you ever seen a bigger work pole up anyone's asses than in those two?!" Kaminari groaned, his fingers roughly rubbing the skin of his face, and Shouto laughed softly in agreement. It was somewhat ironic that their virgin classmates were the ones who organized and put together a sex party.

"I can't begin to imagine Midoriya having sex. Although that man is basically becoming sex on legs," Kaminari continued to gripe, Shouto grunting softly in thanks when Kirishima handed him a cup filled to the near brim with a copper liquid that burned smoothly down his throat. Shouto grimaced as he managed to down the entire thing. "I can see Bakugou just blowing a hole into the wall and fucking it and considering that sex. Ain't nobody normal who can — OH MY GOD!"

Shouto looked at his friend with nearing annoyance; however, the alcohol already taking a humming effect over his body made the annoyance slip easily.

"Bro, you're gonna get us kicked out of this party, and that's gonna be the shittiest thing!" Kirishima groaned while Kaminari spazzed with what seemed to be the biggest lightbulb of an idea.

"The hoes — the holes! For the glory!" Kaminari slurred with how fast he was speaking, his hands fisting into both Shouto's and Kirishima's jackets, his yellow eyes burning bright in his excitement.

Shouto tried to keep his annoyance down, and the itch to rip Kaminari's iron grip from his shoulder.

"I don't know what you're talking about—" Kirishima tried again, his hand resting on Kaminari's ribcage to steady him. 

"Ei, the gloryholes!"

Gloryholes? 

Shouto numbing mind searched the banks of his memory to figure out where that word came from and why it sounded vaguely familiar.

"Oh, fuck," came Kirishima's strained approval, and Shouto looked at his two friends who were grinning pervertedly at each other.

"What's that?" Shouto asked, his lips buzzing slightly as the alcohol was fully absorbed into his bloodstream, and somehow the smell of sex filled his nose, and the noises of unadulterated carnal lust filled his ears.

"Oh man, Todoroki, if you don't know," Kaminari trailed off, his lips pinched into an elfish smirk, and electricity coming off his hair in his evident excitement. "Just trust me, you gotta experience this shit!"

Shouto wasn't sure if it was the alcohol that thrummed merrily in his veins or the knowing glint in his friend's eyes that whispered to him to find out just what it was, but he felt his head nod without his full awareness. The feeling of their hands on his upper shoulder felt fuzzy as they took him away, intent heavy in every step they took.

He could barely take in the passing rooms as they went, the aerial artists, the sex rooms, the orgy rooms. There were so many rooms designated for just about every kink imaginable that even the stoic Shouto felt his cheeks flaring in embarrassment. With each passing step and opened room, the smell of sex, pheromones, and lust grew in Shouto's nose; the more the sticky sweet moans and screams of the cult members clung to his skin.

For a hero that was never too hot or too cold without his own ministrations, his skin was feeling feverishly hot with cold feet when they finally stopped in front of the only closed door in the hallway.

"Welcome!" came a cheery voice, Shouto blinked, and a woman appeared from nowhere.

She wore a powder blue ava tea dress; it was elegant, sleek, yet too old-school for an event such as this one. Shouto immediately assumed that she was not partaking in the sexual activities, but was instead acting as a hostess of sorts.

"Just you three patrons tonight?" she asked, her head tilting to the side and Kirishima speaking up in agreement for the group of three. "Good, good. We do have enough openings for the three of you, most people haven't found our little… hole in the wall, if you would," she took a moment to giggle joyfully, her gloved fingers pressing to her ruby red lips and Shouto fought the urge to walk away. "So please, feel free to look around and stay as long as you want!"

Her words were light and breezy, but still, there was rising suspicion and tension in Shouto's spine at her small quip.

With an innocuous smile and a glint in her eyes, she opened the door with a gentle, "have fun," and Shouto's friends ushered him in.

His initial reaction? What. The. Fuck?!

The room they entered was large and spacious, or well, at the very least, Shouto assumed it would have been if it wasn't for the obviously installed maze of walls. But with every wall, there was a collage of pictures. Faces of women, men, humans, mutants, everything you could think of plastered above a hole. Curiously enough, the images above one hole were of the same person.

His eyes swept the room, and he saw a few spots already taken, men with their pants and underwear dropped to their knees pressing up against the wall so that their noses were smushed to the makeshift walls.

Shouto blinked.

Gloryholes? Pictures of random people?

Were they fucking ghosts?

"This is paradise!" Kaminari groaned in pleasure, his arms spacing out as if he had come with fantastic news. "These normies always look at you so weirdly when you fuck at orgies, here… you get the nut and don't have to have them staring at you!"

Paradise?!

Shouto stared as his electricity wielding friend approached a hole that adorned photos of a girl with hooded eyes and a tongue piercing. He dropped his bottoms before sticking his hardening cock into the waiting hole with two raps of his fist. At this point, Shouto wasn't sure if what he had drunk was actually alcohol now. 

"These aren't dead people, are they?" Shouto couldn't keep himself from asking, his palms sweating while Kirishima laughed deeply in his chest.

"Not at all, man, it's real people, I promise! Pick your hole and have fun!" Kirishima encouraged, placing a solid pat on Shouto's shoulder before approaching a hole with a picture of a girl with bright eyes and a bright smile.

Nodding numbly to himself at this point, Shouto meandered the different walls, his eyes absorbing the various pictures on the walls.

But he fell on the spot with a picture so vivating that drew him in. The chasms of your eyes defiant yet shy, a smile that called him in, and lips that looked supple and strong.

He stood no chance in defying the itching, burning need to follow suit of every other person in this room. Shouto approached the hole, his fingers pulling at his belt, quickly lowering his charcoal grey slacks and black boxer briefs. He stared into your pictured eyes, mesmerized by them, and grasped onto his hardening cock.

A soft shudder invaded his skin as he pressed his cock through the awaiting hole, the skin of his heated cock scraping against the hole, making him strangle a grunt in his throat. But when the wet heat of your mouth enveloped his cock past the hole in the wall, Shouto's face nearly crashed against the wall.

Shouto wasn't sure what to have expected, but he had summed up that this was some over-glorified handjob, a vigorous clumsy jackoff he could have done himself. But he did not expect, in any sense of what this was, to be met with warm, wet lips and a tongue that pressed underneath the head of his cock.

A guttural noise slipped past his lips, and Shouto's palms pressed against the wall, his head spinning dizzyingly from the sensation.

Shouto's breathing was erratic, his cock hardening more, twitching within your mouth as he felt your head begin to bob against his length at a slow, leisurely pace. 

His hips thrust toward the wall, his vision spinning from what this heightened sensation of what he always thought to be a mundane act. Shouto's slacks were too far up his thighs; however, the fabric spread to his max despite his attempt to lower down. He wanted to get closer to the wall, get whoever you were past this wall to take in his entire cock without an issue, so mindlessly, instinctively, he shoved the slacks further down, grunting with relieved pleasure at being able to spread out further, at getting closer to you.

"Holy shit," Shouto grunted, his forehead pressing against the cold wall, undoubtedly crinkling the paper of your photos. His hips came forward, hitting the wall dividing him and you with low, vibrating thuds, and you let him, allowed him to keep his rutting hips at the pace they were. You took him in as if it was nothing, the smooth skin of your lips gliding against his throbbing length, your tongue running alongside the bottom of his cock, tracing the veins of his skin, twisting against the sensitive skin, providing new sensations and shivers.

Shouto knew immediately that you were letting him fuck your mouth however he saw fit.

He felt you moan around him, a long, deep, undeniable noise that somehow drifted through the hole, vibrated against his cock, and could be felt against his curling toes. The sound and sensations were proving to be effective, a pooling heat building in his balls, simmering up and down his spine and neck. How he wished to grab you by the back of your head and drive his cock down your throat without mercy.

Snarling in the back of his throat, suddenly fueled by the image of fucking you, the thought of you on your knees, tears built in your bright eyes and tears rolling down your cheeks feeding him. And as if you knew what he wanted, Shouto's knees near bucked out when your mouth took him in even further, the soft choking noise, the feeling of his cock pressing against the back of your throat sending his fingers digging into the wall.

He drilled in faster, grateful for your ability to keep up, the feeling of his cock pressing down the back of your throat sending his jaw flying open, curses and praises spilling past his lips with every inch you took him further down your throat. The area of his cock unable to be taken in your mouth was surrounded by your fingers — by god, what fucking fingers you had — warm and robust, they held his skin, sliding effortlessly against the spit lubricated skin.

"You can hear me right, whore?" Shouto growled against the wall, the hot air of his breath almost fogging the area he was standing in. Somehow, he heard the choked noise of agreement, the bobbing head vigorously nodding, sending you into a sputtering choke from the awkward angle. But Shouto liked hearing you choke, liked hearing the needy tone in your whining agreement, and he swore he was feeling his heartbeat in his balls. "You're not here entirely on your own will, are you? Came here for money, to suck some rich mans' cock?" His hips stammered when you sucked your cheeks in around his length, his eyes rolling in the break of his concentration, his blood pumping in his hormone pumped euphoria. "I want you to fucking choke on my cock, you hear that? Take me all the way in, don't be scared, I know you probably don't see much cock, but I promise if you can handle me, you'll never want other cock, slut. Take me all, and I promise you, you won't regret it."

A hiccuped breath came from your side of the wall, and Shouto almost wanted to simply burn the wall down to claim you for all his need and glory, someone with a mouth as gifted as yours definitely needed to be fucked correctly. Still, his hips reigned down, slamming against the wall so that the thuds of his impeding hips were heard softly in the other areas. 

And you? Behind the wall?

He could feel the weight of your head pressing forward, the feeling of his length sliding further and further down your throat. The pulsing of his cock ridiculously stilled with the restrained muscles of your throat, and the almost excessive drool and spit that dripped from his length with your choking movements.

More, he wanted more, he needed more.

"Fuck, slut, you're taking me so fucking well. You almost have me entirely in your mouth," Shouto growled, an inch or so of his cock still not entirely in your mouth, but not letting your tight fist work his cock. "Don't give up, take me all, I know a whore like you who shows up to be a sex slave can take my cock."

A whine (was that a horny or a frustrated whine?) emitted from the wall, and with a strained noise, Shouto felt your wet, hot lips make contact with the base of his cock as he continued to drill into you. Spluttering groans poured from his throat, the feeling of your hot cavern and resisting throat, sending him over the edge.

"Yes," Shouto gasped, the smell of sex, electricity, and barely burning walls simmering in his nose. "Fuck, yes, just like that."

Shouto could feel his nerves being shot out, the feeling of the compliant mouth keeping him pumping into the hole, his fingers digging further and further into the wall into it cracked and crumbled, his grip trying to keep his shaking legs from giving out, to break through the wall to get to you. He was almost there, so close, but needed to get over the hill. And then Shouto was swallowed completely when his slamming his stopped, he could feel your lip press to his skin hidden by the hole. He had no doubt that it must have been sorely uncomfortable for you, yet you were doing it to the point where he was fumbling for words, fumbling to keep his head on straight as your tongue wrapped around his cock, massaging the skin. Fuck, fuck, "Fuck!"

His head dropped back with the shooting electricity in his blood, sweat dripping from his temple and you, the stranger behind the wall, gave one vicious, strong suck, your mouth only surrounding the head of his cock, your wet tongue flicking the slit on his head, and he was spilling over.

Hot, thick, heavy ropes of white cum spurted from his cock and Shouto shuddered, his shaking breath echoing in his ears, and he could still feel your tongue moving, coaxing out the finality of his orgasm, teeth scraping against his sensitive cock just enough to have him seeing stars.

But the giggle that erupted in your throat was well noticed by Shouto, and he grunted in slight annoyance. Pulling away, a soft, almost unwanted pop echoed on the other side of the wall.

Shouto watched as his spit and cum covered cock pulled back to his side of the wall, and he grunted unwillingly. His forehead still rested against the wall, and he looked up to his left side with a disgruntled noise to see that he did, in fact, scorch his fingertips into the wall.

As he tucked himself back into his underwear and slacks, Shouto's blissed-out eyes fell onto the hole where your hand was perched out of it, your pinky the only finger visible.

"Pinky promise you'll come back later?" your raspy voice asked, and Shouto wondered if that was how you usually sounded or if it was from what happened.

"As long as you promise to do something like that again," Shouto smirked, his pink taking yours anyways.

He could promise that to the hole in the wall.

Shouto slips out the door and is immediately greeted with a bummed out Kaminari and a profusely apologizing Kirishima. He later finds out that Kaminari let out yet another round of voltage of electricity (he's banned from fucking anyone that can't absorb his quirk without damaging themselves), and that Kirishima in his blissed-out state accidentally went into his unbreakable mode and tore a hole into the wall. Shouto didn't bother telling them of the scorched walls and left with his friends.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

It only felt like a few minutes before Shouto found himself outside the same closed door of the room with gloryholes. The alcohol had long since been burned from his system, he is practically positive that you managed to suck it out from his bloodstream.

For the past two hours, he had been around the mansion, aiding Kirishima in his objective to keep Kaminari from accidentally killing a sexual partner. It had been for the best, Shouto believed. He was no prude and definitely didn't hate indulging in the occasional orgies - especially at parties like this. But for some reason, as strangers attempted to shed him from his clothes, lips, and fingers roaming his scarred, heated skin, he thought of you and only you.

Your tantalizing mouth and fingers.

He had exited the orgy room faster than All Might at his peak. 

He was strangely obsessed with a stranger, a person who was no more than someone past a hole in the wall. Who knew if your picture was what you looked like, but he sure hoped it was.

But when Mina had appeared out of nowhere, her perfectly manicured fingers pressing against Kirishima's chest as she emerged from behind him. She was, obviously, one of the few easily discernable members of the cult. 

"So, the crown prince does not know how to use his dick, and I am disappointed in men all over again!" Mina pouted, but her usual sly grin was back on her face before Shouto could ask if she needed help scouting potential 'dick appointments' as she so fondly calls them.

This was where things got strange in that Kirishima pointed out that Mina should just fuck a woman to teach men how to fuck women properly. Kaminari filled Shouto in with a horribly done stage whisper that the two of them had fucked before and that despite the experience of any man, Mina was never truly satisfied. 

"Alright, student Kirishima," Mina had thrust her finger into Kirishima's chest. "Follow me to the hole-y wall and watch the master do her job!"

Once more, Shouto was outside the door, the woman seemingly materialized from thin air in her same powder blue ava tea party dress and ruby red smile. 

"Welcome back! For four patrons this time?" the woman gleefully smiled, her gloved fingers clasping below her chin.

"For one, actually," Mina spoke up first, "I'm teaching these boys—"

"I've actually never had a problem," Shouto spoke up, his calm and collected gaze unwaveringly met the hostess despite the chilling horror and embarrassment of his words that crawled up his spine. At the same time, Mina looked up him and down with a small, small smirk. "I'll be taking a spot."

"Ho ho, well, excuse me," Mina giggled, turning back to the hostess with a brightness to her stance. "Two spots then. I have boys to teach!"

"Of course!" the hostess spoke unaffectedly by the group's dynamics. "Please enjoy yourselves! This part is a special treat for you lovely patrons, don't forget to be mindful of our poor angels stuck in the wall!"

The door opened, and in the group of four walked in.

If Shouto had been taken by surprise the first time, he was beyond belief the second time he entered this same room. His first time coming, there had only been those beautiful glory holes, but this time? There were no material holes.

Where the holes used to be, there were only large holes where the person assigned to the area was now presented to the public.

Asses curved to the sky, asses pointed to the ground. Cocks leaking, limp, and red with overstimulation, cunts soaked, throbbing, and swollen with overuse. It was indeed as if these individuals had been stuck in a wall, and Shouto already felt his cock twitch in his carnal lust and need to see just how you were positioned. How he prayed that you were at your spot, laying on your stomach, ass hanging out to the world waiting for his cock to claim you, waiting for him to ruin you. He wanted to feel your liquid lust drip from your cunt, splashing and trailing down your inner thigh.

Shouto didn't bother saying goodbye to his friends, the smell of sex, and his own lust switching his brain onto a one-track mindset with the growing need to get to you immediately. 

And almost to his raging hormonal anger, he came to the aisle where you were parked, and while his heart hammered with the growing pleasure to see your ass hanging in the air, your thighs pressed to the wall, his vision turned red at the sight of some no-named man rutting his ugly cock between your dry folds.

In no time flat, Shouto was behind the man, his hand fisting into the collar of the man's shirt and tearing him away from him.

"Mine." he all but growled, his aura darkening while he glared at the red-faced idiot who attempted to cover himself up in the act of running away.

It didn't matter that what Shouto did was probably entirely rude and could result in him getting thrown out, you were his, and no way was someone going to fuck you when he was there. The weirded out gazes that fell upon him temporarily did nothing to Shouto, his focus back onto your squirming bottom, no doubt weirded out by the sudden lack of contact.

But with a sigh, his fingers combing the few falling free strands of hair out of his face, Shouto stood centimeters from your shifting thighs, watching you continue squirming until he finally moved. His hands pressed against your supple, smooth ass, enjoying the way you fit against his hands perfectly. 

He stepped forward, allowing the bulge of his strained cock to press against the top of your ass — the perfect height for him. Shouto leaned forward, his forehead once more pressing against the cold wall, his eyes taking in the still visible scorch marks he had left behind and chuckled deep in his throat.

"I'm back, my precious whore, I bet you missed me," Shouto spoke through the wall, hoping that you would respond back to him. He thought he could hear an agreeing sound on the other side of the wall, another layer of muffled, and he wondered if maybe you had been gagged. The thought made him exhale slowly, his hips strained from rutting against you, but against his belief, your ass ground against his hardening cock, sending waves of pleasure through him. "You did miss me, huh?"

His calloused fingers moved from your supple ass to the outsides of your thighs, feather-soft touches skimming your skin, leaving behind trails of goosebumps and twitching nerves. Shouto's gaze remained hard on your body, watching how you completely stilled when he found his fingers against the inner part of your thigh and just shy of the excessive heat that was radiating from your cunt.

And he leaned down, his lips pressing against the curve of your ass, his eyes partially hooded when he felt you relax against his hold. But the relaxed position you held quickly erased the moment his teeth sunk into your skin, and his finger pressed against your swollen clit. 

Immediately, your body arched, a weak attempt to buck out of his hold while he heard a muffled cry from the other end of the wall. But Shouto was a hero, he was some with extreme control over his body, and as his tongue moved to soothe your throbbing ass, one finger continued to delicately dance against your clit, while the other shifted over to your softly beating cunt. 

Shouto groaned against your skin, his pants feeling too tight, the material of his underwear too hot and stiff for how strained his cock was right now, yet it was nothing to the feeling of your tight, wet, hot cunt. In and out, he pumped his finger, curling the long digit against your puffy spongey walls, the thumb on your clit circulating in slow, intentional figure-eights until you were pathetically rising and falling against his finger, a garbled whine for more barely audible through the wall. He chuckled at the feeling of your inner walls forcible clenching against his intruding finger, and he rewarded you with a second finger.

"Doesn't this feel good?" Shouto groaned, his body straightening back up so that he was flushed against your ass, his forehead resting on the wall, and his now free hand slowly grinding your ass against his crotch.

He watched you with the intensity of a predator stalking their prey, his mouth twitching into a smirk when your toes curled with a sudden drag of his fingers over a ribbed area of your core. Growling in need, Shouto's hips slammed into you, mindlessly fucking you even with his clothes on. His fingers doubled in speed and intensity until the rapid clenching of your walls was unignorable around his fingers.

His forearms ached slightly with his continued fingering, his thumb almost stiff as he continued to assault your clit, but with the arching of your back, the stuttering of your hips as an impeding orgasm was growing bigger and stronger. Shouto barely registered the sight of his own hand rising and falling heavily onto your ass, the sound of the spank echoing loudly, but that had pushed you over the edge.

A loud mewl sounded from the wall, your legs trembling entirely uncontrollably against Shouto, who still drove his hard crotch into your soaked cunt. He didn't care if you were to wet the expensive suit, his mind now solely on the fact that he needs to claim you, needs to sink his cock all the way in, and make sure you were bruised for days to come. 

Wasting no time, Shouto sheds off his pants and his underwear, letting them fall to the floor with a soft thud before aligning his already hard and swollen cock head to your clenching, sopping cunt. Shouto nearly shivers as he grips his fingers into your ass, his eyes mesmerized with how your flesh molds to his grasp, moving and shifting accordingly. With only a moan as a warning, Shouto wasted no time in pressing his cock to your cunt, and thrusting in with a single, sharp thrust.

If he had thought your cunt was tight with just your fingers, if he had thought the instance where you had vacuumed your mouth while sucking him off was tight, he was in a world of surprises when he came through from entering you. Your cunt was hot and oh so fucking tight around him, milking him dry of all and any precum that he had gathered at his swollen slit. Your inner walls flutter around him, intensely and quickly trying to adjust to the monstrous thickness that he was, and he could hear the pained panting pleasure of you through the wall, and he almost lost it at the keen whine on your tongue.

He shifted, moving his hips just so slight as to regain what little sanity he had left to ensure that you were thoroughly and roughly fucked. 

"Fuck," Shouto moaned, his fingers digging bruises into your skin, his skin feeling sticky and sweaty as he felt you continue trembling beneath him. "For a fucking whore, you have a really tight cunt. I bet you wished I had used fucking lube, huh?"

Shouto took a tentative thrust into you, his legs quivering at the feeling of the way your cunt gripped his cock, making it almost impossible for him to move as he did. "Should've made your pussy wetter then," he spoke in a near whisper to the wall, unsure if you had heard him as he began his conquest in fucking you.

With his fingers gripping your hips, he enjoys the way you bruise against his hold, almost as much as he enjoys the way the wall rocks with every slam of his brutal hips.

The sounds of his cock slamming into your sopping cunt send loud, wet noises ringing in his ears, sending a few other nearby patrons to turn their heads to look at him - to look at him in his conquest of claiming you as his. It only fueled him on, and he picked up his pace until there was a medley of sounds: his thighs crashing against your ass, the squelching of your wet cunt against his thick cock, and your thighs slapping the wall. 

Shouto growled at the feeling of your cunt stretching for him, the tremble of your legs, the way your feet twisted and curled against his knees, almost as if in a silent beg to get him impossibly closer, to make him fuck you impossibly faster, harder. 

His gorging fingers break your skin, and Shouto delights in the painful, garbled scream from your side of the wall. Your body is weak against him, yet he can still feel your hips jutting against his rutting hips, your body desperately trying to keep up with his insane speed and lust.

And when his hand presses to your lower back and the other right above your crotch so that he can raise you higher, the new angle of penetration sends Shouto fumbling for strength. It's then he can feel the head of his cock pressing against your cervix, your toes digging into his skin as he continues to pound away at your cervix, and he takes the rolling shrieks and moans from your mouth like a good thing. 

"Such a good fucking whore, I never found many of you who enjoyed when I literally rearranged their guts," Shouto huffed, his fingers tweaking and yanking at your clit until you were shaking in his arms. "You're enjoying this so much, I bet you wanted this the entire time after I left, didn't you? You wanted my cock in your pussy, I wanted to have my seed pumped into you until everyone knows that you're mine. You'd look so pretty pregnant with my babies, your stomach swollen, and your tits just fucking leaking milk for our children, huh?"

It's then that your cunt around his cock becomes a vice grip, and Shouto shudders at the feeling of your orgasm rocking through you, your pathetic keens barely audible in his blood rushing ears. And he continues, Shouto could feel the familiar sensation of his nerves being shot out, the feeling of your cunt desperately trying to milk him of his seed and worth as you grew limper in his arms, his fingers raking raised lines against your ass, forever marking himself against you, his grip trying to keep his shaking legs from giving out, his mind solidifying over the need to somehow appear where you were now so he could fuck you with no restraint. He thought of your crossed eye gaze, the possible spit pouring from your mouth as you took his every drop of seed greedily into your cunt. He imagined seeing your eyes spilling with tears, seeing your fingers rip into the fabric as he fucked you with no restraint, and with his imagination, he lost himself.

Shouto continued to blindly ram his cock into your cunt, a savage, insane last attempt to spill himself into you, fumbling to keep his head on straight as your cunt pathetically clenched against his hammering cock, finally sending his left hand to the wall, fire bursting from his palm as finally his orgasm tears through him. Shit, shit, "Shit!"

Shouto's temples are damp with sweat, and his vision swims with his overwhelming desire for you and the need to get to your room without destroying the wall to completion.

He picks up his pants and underwear, quickly fixing himself up so that he's almost remorse in the way that he can't appreciate watching his cum spill from your cunt, but the lack of you on his cock is enough to have him zipping up his pants and racing to where the hostess appears.

She doesn't stand a chance when both fire and ice bite against her neck.

"How do I get into the rooms?"

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

After being caught flirting with whoever you had pinky promised, you had been gagged. It wasn't a bad thing per se, that man had been the last person to visit you when the room was still functioning as glory holes. With the new stuck in the wall theme, it only invited men and women to be aggressive, and a part of you guiltily and ashamedly enjoyed how rough they would get in there attempt to hear you against the gag.

But you couldn't help the flutter in your cunt and in your heart when the familiar voice of the pinky promise man sounded through the wall. Right now, however, your body felt wholly and thoroughly used. Every inch of your asscheeks and cunt was abused, but the orgasm that came with his fucking was otherwordly. 

There was still nothing to prevent the shameful clog in your throat when he abandoned you after a single orgasm, but then again, you didn't expect the door to your cubicle to be thrown open, and a man stood there with a black kitsune mask. You wondered who it was, but there was the distinctive, infamous red and split white hair behind the cover, and you whimpered at the sudden shame at being caught like this by a Pro Hero you absolutely adored. 

The mask was torn from his face, the door closing behind him, and you were ripped back into the tight cubicle, pressed flush against his chest as he sealed off the hole with his ice. You were speechless as his obviously hard cock pressed against your diaphragm, and you trembled upon hearing the zipper of his pants coming down.

And the voice of one Todoroki Shouto sent shivers down your spine, reigniting the flame in your cunt.

"I got to fuck your mouth and your cunt through other people's rules, I think it's about time I get to fuck you however I see fit."

[phoebe-delia]

Has anyone asked for song #1 yet? I'm very curious which song you're listening to most.

I really enjoy your writing in combination with the song prompts! Thank you for sharing it with the world!

Hello darling! Thank you for this ask. As a matter of fact, no one has requested 1!

My number 1 song is the explicit version of "Potential Breakup Song" by Aly and AJ.

I know, I thought it would be a Taylor Swift song, too! I will say, this playlist was from Apple Music and I recently started using Spotify more so idk if this is still accurate for my current No. 1 song, but it's still a bop.

This is a bit of a challenge, but I figure if I can write a fic based on "Yeah!" by Usher, I can give this a try. This fic will be *mostly* funny and fluffy but there's some angst with a happy ending.

5 Times Draco Almost Broke Up With Harry

1.

"Tell me something," Draco said shyly, tracing patterns into Harry's bare arm. Sunlight streamed into the living room, dust motes dancing in the rays.

"What do you mean?"

"Something I don't already know about you."

"Like what?"

Draco's expression turned exasperated. "I don't know, Harry, that's rather the point."

"Right...er, okay, here's something you don't know about me. I don't like whipped cream."

Draco looked at him, startled. "You don't?"

"Er, no. I also don't like marshmallows or--"

"What?"

"Or avocado, or eggs."

Draco sputtered. "What is wrong with you?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Merlin, here we go."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Every time I tell people the foods I don't like, they get all indignant and huffy," Harry waved a hand. "It's so weird. Like I've offended them by disliking meringue."

"You don't like meringue?! That's it, I'm breaking up with you."

Harry groaned. "I regret this. I regret everything. Just--forget it."

Draco sighed. "No, no I'm sorry. In my exaggerated teasing, I see how I might've struck a nerve."

"It's fine--I'm just tired of people taking my food preferences as a personal insult."

"I take everything you do as a personal insult."

Harry just chuckled. "That you do, Draco, that you do."

2.

"POTTER!!"

"WHAT?"

"GET IN HERE!"

"WHERE'S 'HERE'?"

"TAKE A WILD GUESS, AUROR POTTER!"

....

"Ah, good to see that your tracking skills aren't too hopeless. Now, care to tell me what's wrong with this picture?"

"Er...you're angry?"

"Yes, I am angry--and the reason for that is obvious if you merely look around the room and see if you can identify what might be bothering me."

"You get really formal when you're upset."

"Potter--"

"And you call me Potter."

"If only you would use your powers of observation for discovering the cause and not the symptoms of my frustration, this conversation would be over."

...

"Is it my socks?"

"Your socks, your pants, your shirt, your trousers--all in a heap in the closet."

"So? I haven't done laundry in a while."

"Potter, you do realize there are laundry spells, don't you? So that dirty clothes don't stink up one's closet?"

"...No?"

Sigh. "Alright, I suppose I won't move out this time."

"Oh, what a relief."

"Was that sarcasm?"

"Never. Especially not toward you, baby."

"I should hope not. Now, c'mere and let me teach you the spell."

3.

"I can't believe you'd betray me like this." Draco shook his head mournfully, bits of snow falling from the top of his warm hat. "I trusted you."

Harry scoffed. His breath fogged in the air. "I told you this was happening today. It's not my fault you weren't listening."

"Asking me post-coital if I'd like to attend the Weasley Family Brunch is Slytherin-level manipulation."

"Did I ever tell you the Sorting Hat almost put me in Slytherin?"

"What?" Draco stopped walking, turning to Harry in shock.

"Yeah. Told me I'd do well. But you'd been such an arse to Ron that I begged it to sort me anywhere else."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course. Honestly, I did you a favor. You were practically made for Gryffindor."

"Who knows? Maybe we'd have been friends back then."

Draco glared and Harry snickered.

"You know, Potter, between your little jokes and this stunt you pulled, I'm one insult away from Apparating on the spot and leaving you here."

Harry smiled fondly. Taking Draco's hand, he led them toward the Burrow, its warm light a welcome destination in the icy weather.

"Nah, you won't, you know why?"

"Why?"

Harry smirked. "Because then we won't get to be post-coital together."

Draco scowled. Harry laughed.

4.

"Don't say a word."

"Can I just--"

"Harry."

"But I--"

"Potter. Shut up.

...

"Draco I'm sorry--"

"Harry, what is the one thing I asked you to do when you became an Auror?"

"...Don't be stupid."

"Yes. I asked you not to do anything stupid. I asked you not to impulsively put yourself in harm's way."

"Draco it's my job to protect my partner, and--"

"You don't think I understand that? Of course I do! I can't fault you for being a loyal partner, Harry, but running into a hostage situation without calling for backup is the absolute dumbest thing you could've done! You nearly died!"

"But I didn't! And the case is over now."

"You were in St. Mungos for nearly a week! Do you know how agonizing it was to see you like that? Do you--" Draco's voice cracked and he cut himself off, turning away from Harry.

Harry's heart clenched. He walked up to Draco and wrapped strong arms around him from behind, expecting to be pushed away. Instead, Draco leaned into the touch.

"I know your job has its risks, Harry, but the least you can do is not create them for yourself. You said the Sorting Hat nearly put you in Slytherin; some self-preservation would be good for you."

Harry sighed, nuzzling Draco's neck. "Okay. I'll try."

Draco turned in his arms, looking at Harry with wet eyes. "Good. The last thing I want to do is break up with you, but I couldn't handle it if I lost you any other way, I--" The tears spilled at that. Draco's face flushed in embarrassment, in anguish.

Harry's chest constricted. He pulled Draco close to himself and stroked his hair, letting the other man cry his fears into his shirt.

"I won't let it happen, Draco. I promise."

Draco nodded, his cheek brushing Harry's shirt.

Harry smiled. They'd be okay.

5.

Draco was going to kill Harry.

He was going to break up with him, and then kill him, and then revive him just to break up with him once more.

He cast a Tempus. 8:20.

Over an hour. Over an hour he'd been waiting for Harry to return home. He was beginning to get hot in his tailored suit, despite the cooling charms.

He hadn't heard anything. No Owl, no Floo, no nothing. Either Harry had no respect for decorum or...

Nope. Draco couldn't go there, wouldn't. Harry promised and he always kept his promises.

Suddenly, the Floo roared to life, making Draco jump. Harry stumbled through with a panicked expression on his face, dusting the Floo powder from his formal robes.

"Draco! Merlin, I'm so sorry, I thought I had time and then everything got all screwed up and I got here as fast as I could."

Draco sighed. "It's fine, Harry, let's just order takeaway."

"Why?"

"Well, we missed our reservation. Cerise won't wait for more than thirty minutes."

Harry pursed his lips. "What if I had something else in mind?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

With a smirk, Harry tossed him a hairbrush, which Draco caught with Seeker instinct.

"Harry wh--" His eyes widened as he felt the pull of a portkey, the sound of Harry's amused laughter echoing behind him.

He landed with a thud on a balcony. After a crack, Harry appeared next to him, gasping to catch his breath for a moment.

"Potter, what the fuck?"

Harry chuckled. "Surprise! Look around, Draco."

Draco's breath caught as he finally took in his surroundings. They were standing on a balcony in Paris, confirmed by the sight of La Tour Eiffel in the distance. The lights of the city twinkled like stars below them. On the balcony were two chairs and a small table with hot food under a stasis charm. A bottle of wine and two glasses sat ready for them. Draco checked the label and confirmed with a gasp that it was a 1989 Chateau Lafleur.

"Harry, I--" Draco turned around but was startled into silence at the sight of Harry on his knee, a hopeful smile on his face and a small black box in his hand.

Draco's eyes went wide. "What?" He breathed.

Harry bit his lip. "Draco, I'm sorry I don't like whipped cream. I'm sorry I forget to do laundry, and that I dragged you to Sunday dinner. I'm sorry that I worry you sometimes because my job is dangerous. I'm sorry I run late to our dates sometimes.

But I promise to give you the avocado from my sandwich. I promise to try to remember the spells you taught me, and to use my manipulative powers for good and not evil. I promise I'll use better judgment in the field. And I promise I'll try to be on time for our dates.

And I promise to do all of this for as long as I can, as long as you let me. And if you do--if you promise to love me for the rest of our lives--I promise to do the same. Draco Malfoy, will you marry me?"

Draco let out a delighted, euphoric laugh. "Yes, yes of course I'll marry you!"

Harry grinned and rose from his knee to pull Draco into a nearly bruising kiss. When they pulled apart, they pressed their foreheads together and looked as Harry slid the ring, a simple silver band with tiny emeralds, onto Draco's finger.

As they ate dinner, looking out over the city, Harry gave him a cheeky grin. "So, tell me, how'd I do?"

Draco raised his eyebrows. "With tonight? The proposal?"

"Yeah, what'd you think? I hope it made up for me being late. I'm sure you were about ten minutes from breaking up with me," Harry said with a chuckle.

Draco shook his head and smirked. "No, Harry," he raised the glass of wine to his lips. "I'd never do that."

Send me an ask about Harry Potter, broadway/musicals, The West Wing, and/or Taylor Swift! Or just about life in general :).

Also, I have a playlist of my 99 most listened-to songs of the year so far. Pick a number 1--99 and send me an ask and I'll write you a fic based on it!

[michaelgovehateblog]

Piggy in the Middle

Queen Elizabeth x Michael Gove, Michael Gove x Matt Hancock, 1500 words

“Michael Gove and Sarah Vine to divorce.” She knew it was bad, but Elizabeth’s heart couldn’t help but skip a beat when she saw the headlines. She had spent years forcing herself to ignore how she really felt about Michael and pretending the flirty looks and comments they shared were meaningless or all in her head; after all, they were both married, and publicly at that, especially in the case of her and Philip. And it’s not that she didn’t love Philip, because she of course did, but there was something about Gove and his pig-like face that just drew her in. And now she was rid of Philip, and Michael and Sarah were splitting up – maybe there was a chance for them.

Not that they would be able to go public with it if anything even did happen between them. As far as the country knew, Elizabeth was still mourning Philip, just putting on a brave face and soldiering on without him. The public probably wouldn’t be able to deal with her moving on so soon. She sighed – her life as a parasite was so difficult.

Elizabeth was so lost in her thoughts she almost didn’t hear the knock at her door, and subsequent voice.

“Your Majesty? It’s 12, we’re scheduled to leave now.”

“Of course, I’m coming now.” She responded, and stood up to leave, making sure to glance in the mirror to check she still looked presentable. Everything was still pristine: icy white grey hairs all perfectly in place and nude lipstick completely un-smudged. She was wearing a long royal blue (her signature colour) coat with large buttons of a slightly softer blue colour, all of which were done up. This was worn over a classy floral-patterned dress, which wasn’t visible under the jacket. Perched on top of her head was an elaborate hat made from material the exact same colour as the coat and adorned with white and blue flowers. The shoes she wore were a standard pair of elegant black heels and the look was finished off with a pair of black gloves.

Satisfied the outfit was perfectly uncreased as always, Elizabeth left the room to head to the whatever event it was this time, she didn’t really care. Mostly she just showed up at these things for a bit of good PR and so people would continue believe she works hard and really cares about the common people (Which she didn’t obviously. Why would she.) Although, she was certain that someone had told her that this event would have many politicians also in attendance, so she was hopeful that she might encounter a certain cabinet member.

As per usual, Elizabeth was finding the event mind-numbingly boring, just endless shaking hands with forgettable people she was supposed to pretend to be interested in. But then she spotted him. And at the same moment she saw him, Michael glanced in her direction and they were making direct eye contact. She gave him a shy smile, which he returned as he started walking towards her, not breaking eye contact.

“Your Majesty,” said Michael, extending his arm to shake hands, “How are you today?” They shook hands, Michael noticing how dry and wrinkly Elizabeth’s felt, and her in turn mentally noting the bizarre clamminess of his, both of which only increased each person’s attraction to the other.

“I’m doing wonderfully,” she responded, “And thoroughly enjoying this lovely event.” she made sure to add, aware of how many people were probably in earshot. “But what about yourself? I heard the news. It must be a difficult time for you.”

Michael’s heart skipped a beat upon hearing this; he couldn’t believe that the Queen actually cared enough about him to pay attention to the news about him and his (soon to be ex) wife. He had always felt there was some kind of connection between the two of them but told himself he was imagining it – what other option did he have. But unusually for his cowardly personality, he got a sudden burst of confidence, and was shocked to hear himself talking.

“Ma’am, I think I need to step outside to get some fresh air. Would you be interested in joining me for a walk?” He hadn’t had confidence to do anything like that since his coked-up days of 20 years ago. Well, he always said 20 years ago, but those close to him, such as Matt Hancock, knew he was prone to enjoy a smidge of the substance of an evening.

“Yes, I would enjoy that a lot.” replied Elizabeth, much to Michael’s delight. He offered out his elbow, purely out of politeness, of course, which she accepted, outwardly calmly but very eagerly inside. A walk outside would probably mean time properly alone, where other people couldn’t hear them, something they had probably never had before.

They continued small talk for a while, about the event and such, until they were far enough away from the general crowds for more intimate conversation.

"How have you been coping, Ma'am, without the Prince? Such an unexpected shame, his untimely demise like that. It was truly a shock to all of us."

Right, 'untimely'. Elizabeth often forgot that Philip's death was supposed to be something entirely unexpected for her, not something she knew would happen down to the exact time and place.

"Missing him, of course, but life has to go on. And it's strange to remember that I am single again, after all these years. That's not been the case since I was 13 and Philip was an adult."

"Yes, it's the same for me, minus the questionable age difference. I’ve been married to Sarah for so long that I’ve forgotten what it’s like to meet other people - and be with other people...” at these words the two made eye contact, neither knowing what to say aloud but having an entire unspoken conversation.

“Mr Gove… Or Michael, may I call you Michael? Would you be interested in visiting the Palace for dinner sometime soon? I could give you a personal tour of the grounds.”

“Yes, Ma’am, of course you can call me Michael,” Almost unthinkingly, the pair faced each other and reached for each other's hands. “And I would be honoured to visit the palace, Ma’am.”

Elizabeth let out a sigh she didn’t know she was holding, “Please, no need to bother with the formalities, at least not whilst nobody else is listening. Call me Elizabeth. Now, we should probably head back inside to the event, we’ve been out here a while, people will be missing me. They basically worship me. But I’ll get someone to contact you about your visit to the palace - I’d do it myself, only that sort of thing is far beneath me.” A smile spread over Michael’s pig-mannequin hybrid face as they made their way back inside.

What they hadn’t realised during their encounter, was that it wasn’t as private as they had thought; in fact another politician had been lurking and watching the entire scene.And he wasn’t happy about what he saw. As soon as Elizabeth and Michael walked off in separate directions, Matt Hancock quickly grabbed Gove by the arm and dragged him into a quiet corridor.

“Hancock.”

“Gove. I saw you outside just now, heard you talking with a certain monarch. The two of you seemed quite friendly.”

“Oh. Right. I hadn’t thought anyone else had been outside. You won’t - you won’t tell anyone what you saw or heard, will you?”

“I won’t. But only because it’s you, if it had been anybody else, I would be telling the sun immediately. The queen’s new love interest, I couldn’t hope for anything better to get the tabloids off my back. But because it’s you - I couldn’t hurt you like that.”

“Matt, what do you mean? Why are you making an exception for me?”

“Govey, as if you don’t know. You must have realised how I feel about you.” Hancock stepped closer to Gove and in his mind’s eye, imagined the Sims social interactions menu, and pictured selecting ‘kiss’. (It was from looking at the characters in the game, after all, that he learnt to kiss in the first place. The mindset and techniques stuck with him.) To his delight, he felt Michael kissing him back. Matt deepened the kiss and their tongues battled for dominance. Suddenly, Michael pulled away and stared, speechless, at Matt.

After about half a minute unable to muster any coherent thoughts (not even coherent by conservative standards) Gove turned away and briskly walked to an empty room, where he could sit alone and process all of what just happened. Not only was he certain now that Elizabeth felt the same spark that he did, but Hancock, whom he had secretly had a low-level affection for for many years, had just snogged him out of jealousy? He didn’t expect to be wrapped up in a love triangle the very day his divorce was announced, and yet it seemed that was what was happening. His years of being an incompetent and sleazy politician had clearly earned him some admirers.

~~

If you made it to the end, I'm only partly sorry for what you just read. I would be willing to write a second chapter if for some godforsaken reason somebody actually would want to read one. This took me far too long to write for something that is honestly not that many words but I feel like it's understandable, given the subject matter. k bye

[onceupona-chaos]

So, here I go... I am not writing this because I like Elain as a character or because I am an Elriel shipper (I think they are cute, but my heart is 100% Nessian). I just need to get this out of my system because I can’t stop think about it (and because I am a sucker for literary theory, but unfortunately my professor doesn’t think me writing an academic paper on ACOTAR is a good idea, GIVE ME PATIENT TO DEAL WITH THAT MAN).

Anyway, the thing is I will be SO surprise if the next book isn’t about Elain or if Elriel isn’t endgame. SJM was also surprise to hear that for some people wasn’t obvious, but... It kind is? If we focus on what we already have from the books, and put our personal wishes aside, it is very clear. In ACOSF we basically have all of those moments saying that we don’t know Elain. We never had her POV or more than a few lines about her. We don’t know what was like for her to be able to hear and see things the others didn’t after the Cauldron. We don’t know her powers. We don’t know if it is difficult for her to accept what she has become, her new body. Some people think she is predictable, but then SJM is saying WAIT AND SEE with all letters. And she is changing; Feyre says that she’s never seen Elain so “confrontational”. So we have a character that we don’t know much who is passing through some internal change, which is a great opportunity for a development arc. Besides we are talking about a character who is the ONLY PERSON (except for Nesta) that can find the fourth Trove. She also has a connection with Korschei. So narratively speaking, all signs are pointing for Elain’s book.

I read an AMAZING theory about Elain becoming a spy (but I don’t remember who wrote it) and I love it because again it makes sense. At this point we know SJM. We know her patterns. In every book we have a female character learning something and going through an overcoming journey. I mean before ACOSF, some people defended that Nesta would not become a warrior, and now she is practically the female version of Enalius and is thinking about commanding a small unit of females). So if I had to bet, I’d say that Elain is going to learn something with Azriel.

Now about the romantic part, I will say two things: 1) SJM knew exactly what she was doing when she wrote Az’s chapter; 2) SJM writes about choices.

Before someone hate me, let me say that she needs us to be interested in her books. And by “us” I don’t mean us, people who write and read fanfics or even discuss it on Tumblr, I am talking about normal people (LOL) who just like her books and don’t participate in fandons. So when I was reading ACOSF I was feeling zero romantic tension (can I call it that?) between Azriel and Gwyn (I really hope we get to see more of her , Nesta and Emerie btw, I love them so much). So when I read the bonus chapter my first thought was “SARAH, YOUR SMARTASS”. So yes, to me she was just messing with us and it worked super well, right? In one chapter, she initiated a war about who is ending up with whom, established a forbidden romance and got us thirsty as hell for the next book. So smart. I love her.

I also love her because she writes about choices. Feyre is always talking about how Rhys respects her choices. In ACOSF we get to see this as well. And this time it will not be different. We’ve seen Elain reject the bond, maybe not formally, but she is not interested in Lucien. I also think he is not truly interested in her and the bond is the only thing between them. There is no spark. None. In four books. Sarah would probably give us some moment between them by now if it was going to happen.

And then in Az’s POV we get to see that she wanted that kiss, too. She wanted him. She chose him. And he could be interested in her for more than a year. Honestly there are so many moments in ACOSF when Az reacts different when it comes to Elain. All of this is in the book. And after that we have the Blood Duel mentioned and it is basically two males fighting over a female, but the female doesn’t get a saying??? This is against everything SJM stands for in her books. So I honestly believe that the next book is going to be about Elain making her own choices and growing up as a charater.

Soooorry for any English mistakes or typos, English is not my first language. I just needed somewhere to put all of what was going on in my head. Also, be kind, we love the same book.