#anyway the shake was pretty good actually

[ghcstao3]

AU where ghost is a relatively famous voice actor—by name, anyway. he’s never shown his face in those ‘behind-the-scenes’ videos, doesn’t do red carpets for the bigger productions, always leaves the press junkets to his colleagues. he loves his job, don’t get him wrong, it’s fun and creative and he’s met some really great people, he just… has never wanted to be in the limelight. that’s not for him.

and it’s easy to get away with, because all of the voices he uses are not really his. there’s elements of him, sure, but nothing someone in person could necessarily place, unless they really listened close and were some kind of super fan. in real life, ghost is soft spoken, and maybe his voice is a little rough from the years before he learned how to properly take care of his vocal cords, but it’s still completely separate from all his characters. that was a rule he stuck with throughout his career—no using his real voice.

soap likes to consider himself a fan of simon riley.

(of his work, obviously. just his work. he definitely isn’t intrigued or anything by the mystery that is the voice actor. nuh uh. not at all.)

he’s seen just about every film and show that features one of the actor’s many voices, knows what little trivia is known of him, and, ultimately, he really respects the guy. his younger sister had finally landed herself a sizeable role in voice acting pretty recently after years of odds and ends, and soap knows how difficult it is to make it in the industry. so what if he may also have a little bit of a crush on the unknown man’s talent?

and so what if that little crush has presently brought him to a bookstore, because soap had heard simon would be voicing a character in some adaptation and soap wanted to get himself caught up? it’s fine. it’s normal. totally normal.

it’s in search of the book when soap accidentally stumbles into an absolute brick-wall of a man as he rounds the corner. soap mutters out apologies, goes to move past him, but then looks up and melts, just a little. because it’s then that soap discovers the prettiest set of brown eyes he thinks he’s ever seen. and when his gaze briefly flicks down—he sees that the man is holding the book he’d been looking for.

soap grins, does his best to look charming in spite of the fact that he’d just run into this poor, beautiful bastard. “was lookin’ for that one, too.”

the man’s brow furrows in confusion before he realizes what soap had been referring to. his eyes fall almost self-consciously to the book.

“oh, yeah. it’s a good book. gave my nephew my other copy, so i’m just…” the man lifts the book in some helpless gesture.

“hm.” soap nods. he can’t help but notice how soothing the man’s voice is, low and rough around the edges, but completely soft in the middle. “y’hear they’re making a movie?”

the man perks up, and for a moment soap wonders if that’s panic he sees flash in his eyes. he clears his throat. “yes, that’s actually why i’m, well. i owned it before, but because i’m doing the—because of the movie, i had to…” the man sighs, shoulders slumping. it’s endearing, the way he’s gotten so easily flustered, like he isn’t used to small talk. “never mind. i’ll let you… i hope you enjoy it. the book. and movie too, i guess.”

soap laughs, not unkindly. “the book, we’ll see. favourite actor’s in the movie, so i’ll probably like it either way.”

“yeah?” the man cocks his head, curious. “who’s that?”

unashamedly, soap replies, “simon riley.”

it’s not unnoticeable, the way the man’s face blossoms a faint pink before he coughs and ducks his head. “he’s, uh. heard he’s good,” he says. “so others say.”

for a moment, it looks like the man is preparing to bolt, so soap sticks out his hand as a last-minute resort to keep him around just a little longer. “i’m john. friends call me soap. long story, but if you maybe let me take you out for some coffee, i could tell you?”

apprehension lines the man’s posture, but he eventually tucks the book under one arm and shakes soap’s hand. “friends call me ghost. and i’d like that.”

ghost’s hand is warm, his grip firm. soap tries not to let himself linger in the touch.

“sounds like a date.” soap smiles up at ghost. “did you want to do that today, or…?”

ghost shakes his head. “can’t today. but i can give you my number?”

soap agrees, but as he reaches for his phone he’s met with an empty pocket and the realization that he’d left it on the counter at home. he sighs, feeling disheartened, readying an excuse when he gets an idea. “d’you have a pen?”

ghost does, in fact, have a pen, though soap supposes he could’ve just gone and bought one from the bookstore just as well. soap tells him to stay put a minute, goes to retrieve his own copy of the book, and comes back with it opened to the first page.

“i’m buying it, anyway,” soap says. and it’s commemorative, he doesn’t add, of the day and reason we met. because he’s hopeful this may actually go somewhere.

ghost writes his phone number inside, deliberately hands the book back to soap with the cover pressed closed by his thumb, and they head to the register together.

it’s only when soap gets home and finally goes to type ghost’s number into his phone that he sees, above the digits, a small simon :) inscribed on the paper.

[suzukiblu]

Day twenty-seven of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

They spend a lot longer than Tim actually expects Kon to want to spend on that “couple things”, since obviously they can’t start with the exciting stuff and he just assumes Kon will get bored in about thirty seconds’ worth of Tim Drake’s awkward and over-detailed explanations of every little thing and also will experience immediate regret about admitting that he both doesn’t know how to do something and isn’t going to be immediately good at said something. Any time Kon’s not immediately good at something they’re doing in training he gets mad or pissy or at least frustrated and acts like a total asshole about it, but right now . . . 

Kon falls off the board and lands on his ass for the third time and for the third time just grins up at him sheepishly, and Tim feels very weird and not-normal and sort of just–smitten about it, really. 

“This is way different from surfing,” Kon says with a laugh, shaking his head, which is a little surprising to hear for some reason. If nothing else, Tim would’ve expected Kon to get even more frustrated, if he was assuming any apparent surfing experience might’ve helped him out here. He has heard it usually does, so maybe Kon’s just out of practice or his own standards are just, uh–a little too Bat, maybe. 

“Is it?” he asks, offering Kon a hand up again. Kon did it for him earlier, and anyway, it kinda makes him feel like carrying the other’s bags for him and being trusted with his weight feels. And Kon takes his hand, just like the last two times, and lets him help him up like there’s literally any reason he needs to bother to. “I’ve never tried surfing.” 

“It’s wicked,” Kon says, grinning at him again and giving his hands a quick squeeze before heading over to retrieve the board from where it skidded when he fell. He does not fall like a Bat, but he definitely does know how to. He’s just also clearly expecting his falls to be more of a “terminal velocity” situation than a “tripping off a skateboard” situation. Which, like–fair, yeah. “You gotta use your arms way more, though, and like, it just feels way more like you’re riding something, you know? Concrete just kinda sits there and there’s way less wind to worry about.” 

“Oh, yeah, I never really thought about the wind,” Tim says. Waves, definitely, but he didn’t follow the thought to its logical conclusion. “Pretty sure people based skateboarding on surfing to start, though, so is it really that different? Like, mechanically?” 

“I dunno,” Kon says with a shrug, tucking the board under his arm and trotting back over to him. “I mean, kinda? But also wheels are way harder to feel the ground through ‘cuz they’re spinning the whole time, so sometimes I get dizzy if I hold onto ‘em too much. And like, water moves a lot more than concrete, but the board’s totally flat against it, so like–easier to feel it, I guess? Just feels, like, more intense, kinda.” 

“. . . that’s really interesting, but are you seriously trying to use your TTK when you skate?” Tim asks, trying not to laugh at the idea even though he definitely should’ve expected it. “You’re such a cheater.” 

“Hey, I use TTK when I everything, thanks, and it’s not cheating!” Kon protests with another laugh, which is definitely not the way Superboy would’ve responded to Robin saying something like that. “You’re not cheating when you use your friggin’ ears and eyes, are you?” 

“Oh, blind skateboarding, that sounds terrifying,” Tim muses, and Kon laughs again. 

“I’d die! You’d die!” he says, sounding incredibly delighted about the prospect. 

“So I’m hearing we start with the low ramps, then,” Tim replies reasonably. 

“Oh my god, Tim,” Kon cackles, and then ducks in close to throw his free arm around his neck and kiss him again, his TTK wrapping around him for just a quick flash of pressure of its own. 

Tim feels–very weird, again. 

Specifically, he feels very weird hearing Kon’s voice saying his real name, especially right before kissing him. Kissing him, and also wrapping him up completely in the power he just identified as being as important and natural to him as his hearing and vision and, presumably, any other senses are. 

And again, Kon is clearly really, really tactile, so that’s hard not to be weird about too. 

Kon leans back, back to grinning at him, and Tim feels vaguely mortified and vaguely like eating him alive and also like this date has gone absolutely nothing like he planned, despite his best efforts. Kon brought him a present and he hasn’t bought Kon anything but an amount of grilled cheese sandwiches that can only be described as “inadvisable” and has in fact spent way more money on himself than he has on Kon, plus they’ve spent basically the whole date so far doing things he likes, not– 

“Um, just in case like a building collapses or a supervillain happens or whatever and I gotta run off early, um . . . thanks. For tonight, I mean,” Kon says, the grin he’s barely dropped briefly slipping into something a little shyer, and Tim stares blankly at him for a moment and feels like an insane person, or at least like he maybe just hallucinated that. “I’m really having fun.” 

Tim needs to check on the possibility of hallucinations, yeah. 

“You are?” he asks, fully bewildered by the idea, and Kon laughs again. 

“Obviously, you frickin’ nerd!” he says, then gives him a quick, sheepish smile and another peck on the cheek before turning that almost-inhuman shade of red again and pulling back, putting the board in front of himself and between them. Tim gently simmers to a boil and breaks down into a broth as every single ounce of meat in his body falls right off the bone. “I always have fun with you.” 

. . . Tim is maybe less a broth and now more, like, a stew that somebody left in the crockpot all day, or however Mrs. Mac used to do it. 

“Oh,” he says, desperately trying to remember how to string a functional sentence together that does not sound like a dropped typewriter. “Uh–good! Good. Um–I’m glad. Good. Me, uh–me too.” 

Kon blushes even darker and grins at him again, rocking back on his heels for a moment. 

“Cool,” he says. “Um–thanks, Tim. Again. Some more. I dunno.” 

Tim, again, feels very weird about hearing Kon say his real name, and some part of him kind of thinks, in an odd and distant way–did he just, like . . . forget how to just . . . not be Robin? Like–how to turn it off, and just feel the actually genuine things as Tim Drake, and not just the mask or the sidekick or the namesake? 

Well, that can’t be good. 

Kon keeps grinning at him, half-shadowed in the Gotham night and half-lit by electric Gotham streetlights and looking nothing like anything else Tim’s ever seen in Gotham, and Tim is definitely going to need to pencil in a couple hours on Sunday night to be an incoherent mess about him and also maybe, like . . . process some things, maybe. Think some stuff through. Adjust some– 

“So like, wanna go make out for a while in the full pipe?” Kon suggests hopefully, tipping his head towards it, and Tim forgets literally every single layer of other thoughts he was having. They are literally no longer relevant to anything and he does not care about a single one of them. 

“Yeah, okay,” he says, maybe a little too red himself now, and Kon grins. 

The full pipe helpfully informs them both that Tim can, in fact, give Kon a hickey if the other lets him, and helpfully informs Tim that he is never, ever going to be able to be in the same tri-state area as a mind-reader again. 

Well, he should probably be avoiding those for the next fifteen years anyway, so whatever.

[oddwalkerduckarts]

Grassland Romance AU: Winter Winds

Summary: You've been slowly falling in love with Sylus, a strange outsider who joined your tribe some time ago. You haven't been able to pluck up the courage to say anything. However, when you are caught alone in the fiercest blizzard anyone can remember, it might not be up to you anymore.

AO3

CW: AFAB reader, no use of y/n, pet names (sweetie, little huntress), blizzard, hypothermia, hunting, nude spooning, 90% fluff by volume, sexual themes (but no sex), not proofread, melodrama (god so much melodrama).

Word count: 8k

Notes: poor Luke and Kieran have to be dogs in this AU.

“Don’t be stupid,” you scoff, “how can lemmings foretell the weather? Their brains are the size of grass seeds!” The bay mare you’re sitting astride shakes her head, before pawing through the watery, heavy snow on the ground to reach the hidden grasses underneath.

Today, as with most days, you are minding the herds with your friend Cota. The two of you are practically sisters, as her family had raised you after your parents perished when you were a young child.

“I’m not the one who said it!” She protests, leaning back to aim a kick at your foot succeeding at knocking it out of your stirrup. “I’m just telling you what Elder Shikigur said, and he said, ‘There’s too many lemmings moving, there will be a large storm coming.’”

You groan. Blizzards are a continual hazard of grassland winters. Harsh winds are able to scream across the treeless landscape with terrifying fury, tearing through even thick winter deels, and whirling snow into a blinding haze. Preparing for one means rounding up the flocks, reinforcing yurts to hold against wind and snowfall, and digging out of the yurts once the storm is through. They’re critical jobs that need to be done. That is, when the weather actually calls for it.

“It’s practically spring!” You argue, gesturing wildly to the half-melted pasture around the two of you, “It’s so damn warm, that I couldn’t even wear my thickest deel today! I would’ve been covered in sweat!”

Cota shrugs, “I’m just telling you what the elders were gossiping about.”

“Well, regardless of what they say, I’m not taking out my winter deel again until next winter.”

“I bet you would if Sylus asked you to.”

You feel the color rise in your cheeks at the sing-song tease, and the mention of his name.

You aim a return kick at Cota’s leg, but she reins her mare to the side in time to evade you. “I would not! And besides, he’s out with some of the others hunting pheasant, anyway.”

Cota’s smile grows wider, “Oh ho, so you’ve been keeping track of which hunting parties he goes with, huh?”

An irritated groan leaves your throat as your friend laughs. “Aren't you supposed to be heading back about now? I'll tell the elders you've been slacking to sit around and gossip.”

“Aw, don't pout! It's cute, all your pining. You're going to have to do something soon though, otherwise some other girl is going to catch his eye at a festival, and then what will you do?”

“I’m pretty sure you're supposed to be helping with cooking right now, aren't you?”

Cota makes her own irritated groan, “No one likes when I cook anyway!”

“Better that than you sitting here and teasing me.”

She makes a rude gesture at you, and you return it.

"Fine,” she grumbles, “but keep an eye on the weather, okay?”

“Of course, I'll let you know if the lemmings are oracles or not.”

Cota rolls her eyes with a scoff, before reining her horse around and trotting back to the village. It’s good timing, you notice the right side of the herd has started to splinter a bit, and needs to be rounded back in.

As you go about your job, you can’t stop your mind from pondering over your relationship with the strange man.

Sylus had come to the tribe as an outsider a few years ago. Strong and skilled in both riding and archery, he’d been welcomed into the fold immediately, seemingly to his own surprise. His striking appearance had immediately caught many eyes; tall, broad and strong in the chest, with eyes the color of freshly-spilled blood set in a devastatingly handsome face. The one criticism you heard of him was of his curt, reticent nature, that meant he constantly had a severe expression on his face.

Well, almost-constantly.

Within a month after joining the tribe, there had begun to be problems with a particular wolf picking off sheep in the night. It had always seemed to know where to attack, far enough away from any of the herders that it was impossible to reach him in time. It even managed to evade the vigilant Bankhar dogs, who kept constant watch on their flock, and rarely let a wolf’s presence go unpunished. The predator managed to evade everyone. Everyone except Sylus.

It had only taken two nights of Sylus on guard, before he returned in the early morning light, with the giant, tawny corpse of the wolf thrown over one shoulder. He’d managed to kill it, in the dark, with a single arrow to its skull. The entire tribe had celebrated that night; an end to the nights of doubled watches in the dark and lost sheep. Wine and kumis had run freely that night, along with music and dancing in the center of the temporary village.

The wolf’s body had been set aside, to be skinned for the fur and used as linings and blankets to guard against the frigid winter months. Even in death, it still looked fierce, its fur sleek and body corded with lean muscle that reminded you of its killer. You had bent down to examine the bared teeth, sharp and white against the pale flesh of the gums. You reached out to draw your finger over one of the fangs, curious to see if it would be sharp like a knife, or blunt like one of the Bankhar dogs.

“Disturbing the dead?”

The deep voice, close enough to feel against the back of your neck, had you stumbling backwards, and gracelessly falling on your ass. A throaty chuckle came from above your head, and you had looked up to see Sylus, his face smug and scarlet eyes dancing with laughter.

“It doesn’t count if it’s a wolf,” You grumbled, pulling yourself off the ground, “ass.”

His head was cocked to the side as you rose, finger tapping his cheek in mock-thought, “I thought a wolf was supposed to be the father of the first herdsmen? Wouldn’t that make this creature here your cousin?”

“That’s an old story, no one believes that.”

His answering smile was sharp, eyes darkening into a sneer. “Is that so?” He drew closer, close enough that you could feel his breath on your face, and feel the fabric of his deel brushing against yours. The gaze he cast down made you realize what a cornered sheep must feel like in the moments before jaws close around its throat. “I think there’s more of wolves in people than you realize.” His growl was just as deep as the dogs when they scented a threat.

A part of you wanted to shrink down in your boots, make your excuses, and flee. But, a much larger, louder part of you was indignant. How dare this man sneak up on you in the dark, make you fall over in surprise, then have the audacity to growl at you like a beast?

So you had tipped your chin up defiantly, “Better be careful. Apparently even the cleverest wolves get arrows in their heads.”

He had stared at you for a moment. Made a single blink. Then a strange, amused smile curled across his face. “Are you going to be the one to fire it, little huntress?”

“If you don’t back up, maybe I will.”

Sylus chuckled then, backing up a few steps. You released a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, body thrumming with… anxiety? Excitement? Both? You couldn’t tell. To distract yourself, you turned your attention back to the kill.

“It’s kind of a shame, really. It’s a pretty creature.”

His head cocked to the side again, though the curiosity in his eyes seemed to be genuine this time. “Feeling bad for the predator?”

“He was just trying to live.”

He huffs a small laugh through his nose. “You’re cute.”

“Excuse me?” You look at him, deeply irritated at his patronizing tone.

“Most animals that steal livestock are weak. They’re sick, or injured. Otherwise it just isn’t worth risking the tangle with dogs or people. This one,” he gives the corpse a nudge, “was perfectly healthy. Strong. But instead of using its smarts to take on saiga, or capercaille, it decided to take the easy way out. It never would have stopped, once it knew that it could fool the shepherds.”

You had sighed a little, knowing that in this instance, he was right. “I know. It still seems like a shame. But at least we’ll stop losing so many sheep.”

You had looked up then to find Sylus staring at you with such intensity that you had taken a step backwards. “What?”

He blinked, the intensity dissipating as quickly as a strike of lightning. “Nothing, sweetie.”

“Sweetie?” Your nose wrinkled at the childish nickname.

He gave a small laugh, a mischievous glint coming to his blood red eye, “You feel pity for a predator that would have snapped you up in an instant. It’s very sweet, if maybe a bit naïve.”

“It sounds like something you’d call a toddler.”

“I suppose it does,” the glint was quickly accompanied by an equally mischievous curl to his smirk, “I suppose I’ll have to call you that when you’re acting like a toddler, sweetie.”

“Ugh. Ass.” You’d turned on your heel to return to the fire, trailed by the sound of deep, smug chuckling.

Since then, Sylus always seemed to show up near you, whether you wanted him there or not. And, at least at first, you certainly leaned more towards the former. He had a talent for approaching silently, getting that smugly pleased look from startling you into stumbling or squeaking. He also began to challenge you, goading you into contests or archery, or riding, or throwing knuckle bones. He was nearly impossible to beat, and even on the rare occasions that you won, he had the gall to look completely unbothered by your triumph.

Really, after a few months, you should have hated him.

But in between all of the needling and teasing and challenges, you began to learn more about Sylus. You learned that he enjoyed being out hunting or riding far more than he enjoyed being surrounded by people, even if they were praising him. You learned the long-limbed black stallion he rode when he first encountered your tribe had been declared untamable before Sylus had taken him. When one of the livestock dogs died shortly after having two pups, you even learned that (if he wanted to be) he could be downright gentle. He’d done so well in helping care for the pair, that as they grew, they followed him everywhere and obeyed his every command. All of this new familiarity, so at odds with your first impression of him, had cultivated a quiet companionship between the two of you.

Even more surprising were the moments of softness, startlingly close to affection. When Sylus had sat drinking kumis with you on the new year, and you’d excitedly shared your hopes for what was to come, he listened with a quiet smile. He’d brought you the furs from the wolf he’d killed when you caught a particularly nasty winter cold, and had even insisted you keep it after you recovered. When you met other tribes for trade, he often found you afterwards, giving you some ornament or silk from beyond the grasslands. Despite the fact he’d never admitted to it, you knew that when his two dogs accompanied you out into the grasses to watch the flocks, he’d commanded them to do so.

Maybe most importantly, he’d specifically sought you out to show you a den where wolf cubs were playing in the summer, knowing you’d like to see them tussle.

They’d been adorable, large paws and ears far too big for their fluffy bodies. The two of you had left your horses some yards away and sat down a bit distant from the pups, down wind and silent so as not to give your presence away. For a while you couldn't take your eyes off their energetic forms, tussling in the dust in front of the den, chewing on each others’ ears, yelping and licking when it became too rough. Eventually you'd looked to Sylus to ask him something, but your eyes had fallen on the short, recurve bow at his side.

“You're not going to kill them, are you?” You'd whispered

He raised an eyebrow at you in a wordless question.

You checked quickly to make sure the pups hadn't heard you. Fortunately, they still seemed to be involved in their own games.

“I mean. I know they're wolves. They might eat our flocks when they get older. But, they're just babies.”

He blinked at you, with an odd, expression you couldn't place. He rose soon after, walking silently away from the den. You'd followed him, confused.

“Hey,” you hissed, “What are you doing now?”

“Leaving. One parent or the other would've been back soon to feed them. Then I would've actually had to use this.” He tapped the bow that was now slung over his shoulder.

“Oh.” You murmured, realization dawning, “Is that what you brought it for? If one of the parents came back?”

“I certainly wouldn't have needed it to kill a fragile little pup.” He scoffed. “Besides, there's no use in killing something weak and defenseless. Though it's nice to know just how highly you think of me, sweetie.”

“That's not-” a frustrated noise had escaped you as you struggled for words, “I don't think that of you. It just… others would have done that. To make sure they didn't grow up to prey on our animals.”

He turned to you then, with a gaze that seemed to be searching you, trying to find the truth of something. “And I'm ‘others’ to you?”

“Of course not!”

He arched an eyebrow for the second time that day at the vehemence in your voice.

"You're the strongest warrior we have. And an infuriating opponent. But you're also the person who protects orphaned dogs. And brings me extra furs when I'm sick. And-” you stopped yourself before you could incriminate yourself further, taking a small breath to collect yourself. “You're Sylus. Not… Others.”

There was a small silence between the two of you for a moment, as you walked over the flowing grasses together. The only sound was the occasional waves of wind across the landscape.

It was broken, only slightly, by Sylus repeating those words. “Not others.” He said them quietly, slowly, as though testing out strange words in a new language. When you turned to look at him, you caught a glimpse of a small, soft smile on his face. A look so deeply genuine, and beautifully content, it made your breath catch in your chest.

Things had begun to change after the day with the wolves. You were beginning to come familiar with the slight curve of his smile, his real smile. Instead of your usual irritation, the glint that so often came to his eye when he was planning mischief fanned a wave of warmth in you. You began craving the slight huff of breath he gave when amused with something you’d done. The deep chuckle he sometimes gave when his body drew close to yours made something strange and molten coil in your gut. When he was out hunting saiga, you found yourself unusually sullen and snappish. And when you heard people whooping and clamoring at the return of the hunting parties, you’d be jostling to the front of the small crowd to see him.

You’d started to notice things though, in this time. The gossip among the elders as they cooked about when Sylus would marry, and whose granddaughter would be the lucky catch. The gaggles of women that followed him when he’d practice archery or spectate his races, giggling and blushing. Some of the bolder women would even bring him wine at the fireside and try to curl against him (you wished sometimes that he’d respond with more than amused chuckles at their ridiculousness, though it did produce a gratifying amount of insult in the rejected ladies). Last year at the games, you noticed he’d received pouches from women of every tribe. The smug look he gave you when he’d noticed you glaring at them had been insufferable, and you couldn’t quite force yourself to congratulate him on the numerous offers.

And yet, Sylus remained alone. You didn’t even notice other women entering his yurt (though you’d die before you admitted to watching for such). You didn’t know what you’d do if he did take an interest in someone. The thought of someone else being transfixed by that soft smile in the quiet hours of the night made bile rise in your throat. But there was always the chance that he simply valued his freedom; and being rejected in favor of an ideal you could never match seemed just as nauseating.

You mull over these thoughts as you and your mare round the goats back to the group. Or, at least, attempt to. One of the damn things stubbornly refuses to rejoin the group. You can swear you see defiance in its eyes when it looks at you. Challenging you. Mocking, even. Every time you have it going the right direction, it turns and bolts in a random direction, leaving you and your bay sliding in the slush. You then have to catch back up to it, and start herding it back once more.

You’re an excellent shepherdess, with a keen eye and a skilled hand with a bow. You've rarely lost an animal on your watch, and certainly never on purpose. But at this point, even you are beginning to think that losing one goat would really not be all that bad if it means this one wouldn’t be part of the herd anymore. Besides, a wind is beginning to rise, a cold one that cuts through the previously-warm day like a freshly-sharpened knife. You’re beginning to wonder if maybe the lemmings were smarter than you’d thought.

After one more, particularly long chase, you give in.

“Fine then!” You yell at the animal, which stood watching you with unaffected eyes as it chewed grass, “you want to deal with a blizzard alone? Go ahead! I’ll laugh when you end up as a goat-cicle! Laugh!”

With a huff, you turn your horse about, ready to gallop back to the herd, and start moving them to a more sheltered part of the pasture. The animals, however, have moved further away on their own. You can see the large dark mass of them in the distance, and you feel a slight unease in your gut. You're not sure how much you believe about oracle lemmings, but you know livestock well; They instinctively group up close when bad weather is imminent, and it seems that they are bracing for a storm now.

Even more worrying is the wall of iron-gray clouds you see blowing in. They're advancing rapidly, overtaking the sky at a pace you've rarely seen before. The wind, too, is beginning to blow so furiously it all but screams, whipping any unmelted snow up into the air.

You again feel that unease in your gut. The village is even further than the herd from where you are at the moment. Thanks to the previously warm weather, you're woefully unprepared to weather a blizzard alone. But both your other options are bleak; either try to make it to the village and hope there's not enough falling snow to make you lose your way, or try your luck with the herd and hope their bodies keep you warm enough to make it through. At least if you make it to the village, your survival is guaranteed. The same can't be said of the herd.

You rein your mare toward the direction of the village, just as the first volley of fresh snowflakes batter your face and hands. And despite your own dire situation, you can't help but think of Sylus, out with the other hunters. They may have arrived home already, and even if they haven’t, their chances are good; the men should be able to find protection from the wind and cold in a group. Nevertheless, your gut twists with anxiety. Hunters rarely stay completely together. And even in the few minutes you’ve been galloping towards the village, visibility is worsening. The gusts of wind have turned into blasts, ripping through your deel and chilling you to your bones. The blasts are also heaving the already-fallen snowflakes up to rejoin the fresh ones in the air, and creating moments where the landscape is inscrutable.

Between the moments of furious wind, you can see the outline of the village. Even as your heart pounds with hope at the sight, a needling numbness begins to take hold in your hands, making it difficult to keep hold of the reins. You try to switch hands; tucking one into the overlapping fold of your deel in an effort to keep it warm, before switching to the other. The biting wind, though, is so vicious and unforgiving, that it takes a mere few seconds for whatever warmth one hand has gained to be lost. At the same time, the numbness has taken hold in your feet, making it impossible to distribute your weight properly. The violent shivers as your body tries to warm itself are a further complication.

It only takes one misstep from your mare. One hoof landing on some uneven ground, causing her to stumble. And despite the high-backed saddle, and your best efforts, it’s impossible to keep your seat. You land hard in the snow. It’s soft enough, at least, that you’re pretty sure nothing is broken. Not that it matters much. Lost and alone in the screaming wind, and featureless white storm, you are as good as dead.

It feels like an eternity that you lie there in the snow, body wracked by violent shivers in a last-ditch attempt to survive. Logically you know it can’t have been more than a handful of minutes, since you are still alive and conscious, but time loses its meaning in a situation like this. Everything ceases to exist, save for the horrible wind and the bone-deep, soul-leaching cold. The snow is falling fast, fast enough that it’s already covered you as you try to huddle for a semblance of warmth. You’ve been buried alive, waiting to die as the world around you slowly quiets and darkens.

A morbid part of you wonders if the tribe will find you, once the snow begins to melt. You imagine Cota will insist they stay long enough to find your remains. You hope she doesn’t feel guilty; neither of you could’ve known the storm would come on so fast. Your mind wanders to Sylus, too. Did the hunters make it back home before the storm hit? You pray they did; or at least they were together when the snow began to fall. The thought of Sylus in the same situation as yourself seems impossible. You have to believe it’s impossible. Entertaining any other idea strikes a dread into your heart as cold as your little tomb. You pray instead that he’s made it back, that he is safe, and warm. And, if you’re able to be a little idealistic, perhaps wondering where you are.

Quite suddenly, a sound shatters your quiet morbidity. Stark against the background of shrieking wind, there is a deep bark. Then another, closer. Soon, there is a constant barrage of the noises.

Hope burns bright in your heart. Maybe, just maybe, all is not yet lost.

You try to shift under the snow, trying to claw your way out of your icy grave. But your limbs are trembling so hard, so frequently, that controlling them is near impossible. Worse, your muscles are becoming weak. Soon they’ll be too exhausted to even shiver, much less move the heavy snow that entombs you. Nevertheless, you have to try. You must try. Because if you don’t, your last hope of warmth will move on, and then you will truly be as good as dead.

Your efforts come to a halt when a startlingly loud crunching begins in the snow above and around you. It doesn’t take long before the blanket of snow is lifted from your head, and a warm puff of air greets your face.

You open your eyes. And instead of a blinding white storm, your vision is filled with deep brown eyes set in a furry face as black as night. The same face that Sylus has sent to accompany you on night watches and sunny days alike. You smile at the familiar creature, despite the chattering of your teeth.

“H-hey, boy.” You whisper, your numb hand reaching up to sink into the dog’s deep fur. You can still hear his brother nearby, barking furiously above the wind.

Though Sylus knows them at a glance, you've never been particularly good at telling the two dogs apart by looks. They're both black, with intelligent eyes and powerful frames. In behavior though, they are slightly different. Gerel is louder, and more playful. Khar, though quieter, is definitely the smarter of the two. He's likely the one blocking your body from the worst of the wind, now.

You try to call Gerel over as his brother curls himself around your quivering body, but it’s too hard to draw a deep breath. Instead, you lean against the one lying on you, burying your face and hands against the one reprieve from the cold. You can think of nothing else but how good the slight amount of warmth feels, even as your fingers begin to burn slightly from the frostbite. It is a promising pain, one that feels of returning life rather than looming nothingness. You doubt it will be enough to truly save you, but at least you have some source of comfort now.

Eventually Gerel goes quiet, and you begin to worry he's become lost in the storm as well. You lift your face from Khar's fur, and try again to call his brother, but fail. Khar perks up, though, his massive tail wagging a fan-shaped dent in the snow. Perhaps he can smell his brother on the fierce wind?

A few moments later, you hear it. A deep, commanding voice that cuts through the shrieking wind like a blade, calling your name.

Sylus.

You don’t know why he’s here, or if he’s even real. It may be an illusion conjured by your failing mind and body. It does not matter. Real or not, you must go to him.

You try to draw yourself up, try to call his name, but Khar remains a dead weight on you. You try to shove him, but your muscles are still shaking uncontrollably, making any efforts to dislodge Khar useless.

Please, you think desperately, please, I need to go to him. I need him, I need Sylus.

In the midst of your struggle with the animal laying on you, you very nearly miss the crunching of snow approaching you. Gerel soon appears, fur nearly white with the coating of heavy, wet snow that clings to him. And directly behind him is a sight that would make you weep if you had the breath for it.

It's Sylus. He's battered by the wind and ice as he wades through the fresh snow, only a step behind Gerel. His face bears a sharp, unwavering determination and ferocity that puts even this storm to shame as he wades through the drifts. His eyes, bright scarlet amidst the daunting white, lock onto yours. Only when his master is a single step away from you does Khar finally wiggle himself off of you. The wind immediately rips away all the warmth the dog has lent you. But you feel the loss only for a moment, as in the next breath, Sylus has yanked you bodily out of the snow and crushed you against himself.

“Found you,” his deep voice is quiet, heavy with an emotion you can’t name. And oh, oh, even if this is a dream sent to ease your last moments, you do not care. There is no one you’d rather imagine at your side right now.

He releases you, only slightly, to tug off his own gloves and put them on your trembling hands. The heat that envelopes them makes your skin burn, and a whine that is half-choked by shivers bubble out of your throat.

“Bear with it,” he murmurs, wrapping a thicker, warm deel over your current one, “You won’t be able to beat me at archery if you lose your fingers, little huntress.”

Normally, you would call him an ass, berate him for worrying about losing his archery competitor as he gave you a smug smile for taking his bait. But you can’t. Your mind is foggy, and all you can do is curl into him as he sweeps you up into his arms. You notice briefly that his eyes have narrowed again. He looks… irritated maybe? Angry? You aren’t sure. Before you can think about it for very long, though, you are distracted by a sharp whistle from Sylus, shrill and sharp even over the unending wind. It’s followed by a whinny, as his tall, powerful horse wades through the snow with a determination identical to his master’s.

Sylus walks to meet the horse halfway. He says something, and then suddenly his arm drops out from under your legs. You stumble slightly, knees buckling under your own weight as your boots drop through the knee-high snow. You are strangely surprised when you don't hit the ground, and it takes you a moment to realize that Sylus has a hold on your waist, steadying you.

Oh. He was going to set you down. That's what he had said. Of course.

You look up at him, and find a hard expression on his face. Why does he look angry now? You don’t understand.

His bright eyes bore into your own, cutting through the confusion for a moment. When his voice comes, it is a command, not a request.

“Stay with me.”

You're not sure why he's saying this. It's not like you're going anywhere. All you want right now is to just curl up and sleep, back in his arms, if possible. But you nod anyway.

Sylus swings himself up onto his horse, settling himself behind the canticle. This again confuses you. You're supposed to sit on the seat. Not behind it. But before you can continue puzzling over this, Sylus has bent half-over, wrapped an arm around you once more, and hauled you up against the side of the horse. The pressure of it is uncomfortable, and you try to squirm out of the grasp. Sylus's hold is sure, though, and before you can break it, he's hooked the other arm under your knee, and lifted you up into the seat of the saddle.

You try to brace your legs, to keep your seat as the stallion begins to move beneath you, but your vicious shivers make it difficult to control your limbs, even for an action as instinctive to you as walking. Before you can falter though, Sylus’s arm wraps around you, holding you safe and steady against him.

You do your best to keep your eyes open against the biting wind and freezing snow. But the scant amount of warmth you can feel through the thickness of both your clothes, paired with the movements of the stallion slowed by the snow, is almost hypnotic. And you are tired, oh, so tired.

“You lost this game,” he says, in that damn smug voice that always makes you want to punch his arm.

“Game?”

He gives an affirmative hum. “Hide and seek. I found you, didn't I? That's another victory for me.”

You give a grunt of disgust, still not sure what he's talking about, but irritated by the condescension in his voice all the same.

“Don't be such a sore loser, sweetie.”

You don't know why you're even sitting on the same horse as him.

“A-ass,” you hiss around the waves of shivers. “Sh-should. P-push off.”

The dark chuckle behind you is as alluring as it is infuriating. “I'd love to see you try.”

You do try, for a moment, pushing against his hold. But you are soon frustrated by how clumsy your movements are, and exhausted by the effort. Sylus's tight grip is immovable anyway.

“Seems I'm still on the horse, sweetie.” Comes the singsong mocking from behind you.

You give a grunt in response. You can't be bothered to be angry. All you can feel is the heavy tiredness dulling all your senses.

Sylus says your name, sharply. There's an odd tone to it. You don't care enough to think about why.

You're vaguely aware of being jostled. And then, for a while, you are senseless.

The damn shivering is what wakes you. It's so violent and pervasive that it drives the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping between the waves of trembling to try and regain it. On instinct, you try to curl into yourself, but are unable to. In fact, apart from the tremors, you can’t move your body at all. You seem to be surrounded by some sort of heavy mass, pressing on every inch of you. You struggle, pushing against the weight near your face to get some breathing room. The mass grunts, then moves away for a moment, freeing your head and upper body. You have only a moment of reprieve from the claustrophobia before…

Something warm, wet, and slimy drags across your face.

“Ur-rgh!” You bring a quivering arm up to rub away the slime.

A deep chuckle rumbles behind you, the breath of it close enough to make warmth fan across the back of your skull, “Is that how you thank Khar for helping to save your life, sweetie?”

Your eyes snap open at the familiar voice; although instead of the carmine eyes and seductive smirk you expect, your vision is filled (for the second time today) by pitch-dark fur and smiling brown eyes set in a distinctly canine face. Right as that same face applies another sloppy lick to yours.

“Kh-khar!” You squeak, bringing your now-free arms up to protect your face from the onslaught of affection. “Th-thanks, but s-stop!”

Khar obediently jumps down from where you’re laying, though he gives you a pathetic whine. A further weight is removed from your lower half when Gerel reluctantly hefts himself off of you to join his brother on the floor, giving you a similarly dejected look.

Without Khar laying on you, you can see more of your surroundings. It’s clear that you’re in a yurt, one that is unfamiliar to you. The only light source is the barely-visible fire crackling complacently in the small stove at the center, leaving much of the place in shadow. Is it night, then? Why are you here? And why do your hands and feet feel like they are burning?

You flex your hands between shivers in an attempt to stop the strange, tingling heat. If anything, that seems to make the feeling sharper, more biting in its ferocity. Shifting them out from underneath a heavy woolen blanket and furs to inspect them gives no answers, given the dim light.

“Can you still feel them?” Sylus’s voice, humorless this time, cuts through the slowly-lifting fog of unconsciousness and confusion.

“H-hurts.”

“Good, that means there’s still life in them. Better than losing such pretty fingers to frostbite.” Memories come to you at the word ‘frostbite’. They are hazy, as though recalling a dream several hours after waking; the dogs finding you in the snow, warming you and guiding Sylus to you through the blinding storm, Sylus carrying you in his arms, and keeping you upright in the saddle before you drifted into unconsciousness.

“Syl-” Your words are cut short. In trying to turn to face him, you realize that his powerful arm is curled around your waist.

Your naked waist. And at your back, you do not feel the rough texture of clothes; but instead the heated, sticky kind of softness of skin on bare skin.

Your body stills in shock; suddenly, you are horribly, wonderfully conscious of every inch Sylus has pressed against you: The firmness of his chest, the sharp jut of his hips, the tangle of his legs around and between yours, and (both the most enticing and mortifying of all) the warm, heavy weight of what must be his cock nestled against your ass.

That damned smug chuckle comes again, “I was wondering how long it would take you to notice. It took you a while; maybe I should be more worried about your head than your fingers, hm?”

You stutter a few times, as your mind comes to terms with your situation, before blurting in a rush, “Where are my clothes, Sylus!? Where are yours!?”

“Ah, you mean our freezing, sopping wet clothes?” His tone is almost sing-song in its blithe news, and bereft of any shame, “I took the liberty of removing them so that you didn't continue freezing to death.”

Somehow, his complete lack of any embarrassment heightens your own, as though your mind has determined to make up the difference between the pair of you. The heated panic in combination with exhaustion, confusion, and desire collide in a nerve-wracking swirl. You scramble wildly to get up, get away from this source of searing, tumultuous emotions. But the movement of your hands makes them burn as you try to gain purchase In the blankets and furs, and his arm around you is immovable as stone. “You- I- Couldn’t you have just thrown a blanket on me or- or something!? Gods, let go!”

He gives a derisive snort. “You would have just frozen to death under a blanket instead of snow. You didn’t have any heat left to trap, so I lent you some of mine. And no.”

“No what?”

“I just risked my life in a blizzard hunting for you, and I’m not about to let all my effort go to waste when I’ve already caught my prize. So, no, I will not be letting you go.”

“This isn’t- Can’t you just put on some damned pants, at least?”

“Hm, I could… but are you sure you want me to?”

“Sylus!!”

He gives a full laugh at your flustered squeak, “Once I’m sure that you’ve completely warmed up, I will. Until then, I suggest you stay still. Unless you’d like me to warm you up a different way. But I’d suggest waiting until your hands have healed.”

He must be teasing, surely. Delighting in your embarrassment as always. Still, a tiny, idiotically hopeful part of you can’t help but wonder… if you were able to see his face right now, would you see a small glimmer of want for you underneath the inscrutable mask? You dismiss the thought quickly. Even if you were able to see his face, you’d only see that damn self-satisfied smirk that makes your stomach twist.

“The elders are going to be insufferable about this,” You mutter, desperate you lay those thoughts to rest. Well, as best as you can, considering Sylus is curled around you.

“So what? Let them talk.”

“Easy for you to say. They won’t say anything to you; you’re the one half of them are looking to marry their daughters off to.” You’re only aware of the venom in your last few words after they’ve already left your mouth. You pray Sylus doesn’t notice.

But of course he does.

“Jealous, little huntress?” You can hear the smile in his voice

“You’re an ass, do you know that?”

“I’m hurt sweetie. I run out into a storm to find my poor, lost huntress, and in return she calls me an ass.”

He gives a mock-sigh, but something in his words raises a question in your mind. Sylus had been out with the other hunters just before the storm hit. You hadn’t even been sure he would make it back to the village in time, but somehow he managed to find you?

“How did you even know I was out there?”

Sylus pauses for a moment. His voice, once he does speak, is startlingly somber. “Some of the hunting group saw the cloud wall rolling in. We rode back as fast as possible. Even so, if we’d had further to go, the wind would’ve outpaced us. I’ve never seen clouds that heavy and fast, outside of summer storms.”

“I tried to ride back too, when I saw them. But with the cold, I couldn’t feel my hands, and the rough ground…” You trail off, fully prepared to be teased about your riding skills. Instead, you feel an ever-so-slight tightening of his arm around you. You wonder if he’s even aware of his own movement.

Sylus continues, “When we arrived, people came out to greet us and help get everything secured before the worst of the storm. I didn’t see you throwing people out of the way like usual.”

“I do not throw people out of the way,” You mutter.

“If you say so, little huntress.” You can hear the smile in his voice for a moment, though it disappears when he continues, “I found Cota, and asked where you were. When she said you were out shepherding, I knew you wouldn’t make it back before the snow came. So, I took Khar and Gerel, and had them track you.”

“Was anyone else missing?”

“We’ll find out after the storm.”

The two of you are quiet for a moment, as you process his response. He didn’t notice anyone else was gone. He didn’t ask to see if any others were lost. He didn’t bother to try and search for anyone else in the snow.

He noticed you were missing.

He asked where you were.

He went into the storm for you.

“You… Sylus, were you out in that storm, just to find me?”

A small, humorless huff of laughter fans across the back of your skull again. “I wasn’t out there just taking a stroll, sweetie.”

“You could’ve lost Gerel and Khar. And your horse. And your life.”

“Worried about me, hm?”

Of course you were. Sylus is a strong, clever man. Perhaps the greatest warrior and hunter your tribe has known; but even the greatest of mortals are brought to their knees by the forces of nature and the whims of chance. You want to tell him all this, tell him that the thought of him standing alone amidst the howling winds, searching for the path to safety… even just thinking about it makes your chest feel as empty and cold as the storm still raging outside. Your breath catches, and you cannot force the words, glutted with feelings as they are, out of your throat.

So instead you reply, “It’s a big risk to take.”

“Maybe.” His tone is nonchalant, as though he is talking about what he’d brought home from hunting, rather than the act of risking his dearest possessions and life trying to save you in near-hopeless conditions. “But I don’t gamble unless the prize is worth the risk.”

It takes you a moment to digest the words, heart caught in your throat, hardly daring to believe that you’ve understood him correctly. A fragile but brilliant hope lights in your chest. You had been aware of the friendship that had begun to form between you and Sylus, and you had been aware of your desire to be something more to him, to be someone he wanted. But you hadn’t dared to imagine occupying a position of such value to him.

“You think I’m worth all that…?”

You don’t mean to say the words aloud, but the exhaustion loosens your lips just enough for them to spill out. Immediately your stomach lurches at a strange, shifting fear. Perhaps speaking the thought aloud has crossed some sort of line, daring the universe to snuff out your hope just as it had been lit.

A soft, teasing lilt returns to his voice as he speaks, “I believe that’s what I just said, little huntress. Hm, maybe I should be more concerned about your head.” The hand that isn’t curled around your middle gives the top of your head a soft tap, tap, tap.

A small, breathless laugh bubbles up out of your chest, the hope within you flaring bright and making your heart race. You don’t know how he manages to do it; to convey something as heartfelt as ‘you are worth risking my life and all I hold dear’, while simultaneously sounding like it’s the most simple thing in the world. Something that should be obvious even to a small child.

It’s a special talent you’ve noticed in Sylus ever since that day with the wolf pups; he makes you want to throttle him one moment, and in the next breath he’ll speak with such sincere simplicity that it utterly disarms you. He somehow manages to walk that fine line between keeping you on your toes with bantering, and keeping you grounded with his forthrightness. It's addictive. It's comforting. You're not even sure if it's something he tries to do, or if his natural state of being is just something that draws your soul in effortlessly.

You need to face him.

You turn in his grasp to look at him, trying to ignore the burst of prickling heat in your hands. It's worth the pain. Sylus is a striking picture in the low light; all silvery tousled hair, gold skin, and sanguine eyes, graced by a rare look of surprise for just a moment.

And then his face relaxes into a soft look, one you've started to see more and more, but never fails to make your heart race faster than a horse galloping over the grass sea.

“There you are,” he murmurs, voice rough and low. And you simply cannot help it. Frostbite be damned. You might die if you don't kiss him, and you've come close enough to that today already. You have to kiss him.

The press of your lips against his is insistent, but chaste. At least, at first. Sylus takes in a sharp breath, and for a fraction of a second you wonder if you've misread, if you've pushed too far. And then, his mouth becomes soft, and pliant, and something in your chest melts when the arm he has around you slides up your spine to press at the nape of your neck, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. A pleased sigh escapes you, unbidden. Before you are quite aware of your own movements, your hand is at his jaw, cupping his face, trying to pull him closer.

A new flare of pain sears your hand at the pressure, and you reflexively pull away with a hiss.

You open your eyes (when did they close?) to see Sylus, pupils blown wide, looking at you with that same sort of ferocity and determination you saw in him earlier, when your eyes met his in the storm. And for a moment, caught in that unwavering intensity, you swear your heart forgets how to beat.

His eyes remain fixed on your own as he takes your wrist and gently (too gently) moves it away from his face, which has settled back into its usual near-arrogant smirk. Reality crashes in on you then. You are in Sylus's yurt, kissing him, sharing a bed, naked. The realization is followed by a disorienting mix of embarrassment, pride, shame, and excitement. You've just kissed him for the first time, and you know if it weren't for the pain in your hands you would have taken as much as he would give you. Begged for it, maybe. What does he think of you now? How much would he let you take? What would you tell everyone once you left here?

But as usual, when your mind threatens to whirl itself into chaos, Sylus cuts through it.

“I'll have to collect on that part of my prize later, little huntress,” He murmurs, and you wonder if it is merely your imagination, or if he is actually as breathless as you are. His thumb strokes across the soft skin at the underside of your wrist, across the vein where your pulse is thrumming like a caught hare's. “I want to see what those pretty hands can do to me when they're all healed.”

Hearing him say it out loud makes the embarrassment resurface with a vengeance, and the barely-leashed heat in Sylus's gaze makes it unbearable. Breaking the stare, you take your hand back and shuffle under the blankets once more, until the hem falls across your cheek.

Sylus's amused chuckle earns him a glare from you, but your indignation is quickly soothed over as he drags his fingers through your hair, across your scalp, gently untangling the strands. After a few minutes, the gentle scratching opens the door for a wave of exhaustion, heightened by the warm darkness and the muffled howling of the winter winds outside.

You wonder, vaguely, if the touch was meant in apology, or to make you drowsy. You're not sure it matters. Sylus is here, looking at you with that affectionate, soft smile, as your lips begin to flutter.

“Sleep, shevonica,” is the last thing you hear before drifting into unconsciousness. This time, in the safety and warmth of Sylus’s hold.

[kr-starz]

Actually never gonna stop thinking about the cut out scene where Jinx and Ekko where they’re fucking painting on each other and then Ekko tells Jinx about the alt universe,

Like I genuinely can’t stop thinking about who marked who first, this was probably Jinx deciding that everything on that air ship needed some decoration, and that included her and Ekko.

Just imagining how Jinx probably marked Ekko first with her blue and Ekko retaliated, turning into a whole thing, just imagining the brush trailing down to her waist and she’s never been ticklish but it feels stupid to let someone get so close to her, but he’s so enamored with getting the strokes of paint right; he doesn’t look anything more than an artist fawning over the blank canvas he could create just about anything with.

Holy shit the fact Ekko’s wearing a crop 😞😞

The X’s on their chest were definitely them js marking their territory im so sorry, they really wanted to show people that they were together, either in a partner in crime, or friendship or romantic sense they wanted to show that they had the other in one way or another and I can just imagine the little details. Jinx smearing an X on Ekko’s chest, and he draws out a big X on her chest in return. They giggle, and the paint gets smudged. But that’s just all the more color.

I also can imagine just how the marking each other in the other’s colors would go, Ekko would talk about how even if she doesn’t think she is, she’s one of Ekko’s people now, which means he has to do everything to protect her; and they both kind if just settle into the fact that they’re something worth fighting for, their community and what the other stands for is worth fighting for. Ekko smears his signature green on her, and he says it’s to show that she’s just as much as his as he is her partner in this getaway.

Not to mention Ekko pierces his ears, after Ekko manages to slide in how he knew Jinx in another universe, a girl who was happy and content with what she had, she was beautiful and smart, and kind. And she wasn’t any more Powder, or Jinx than the girl in front of him right then an there.

And then the conversation shifts, after Jinx probably realizes that she’s capable of being kind, she had Isha, she knows how kind and caring she can be. He might mention how they were together in that universe, how so beautiful it was to simply love something. And Jinx probably grins, asking why in the world would she be with him. And he snickers, shaking his head not knowing why either, but he goes on to mention the little details like the way his ears are pierced, the way his hair was done differently, the way he was an inventor.

Jinx pops her head up, leaning in close and Ekko feels his breath leave his lungs. She says that he would look good with piercings. He tilts his head, asks if she’s just trying to flatter him. She’s not one to give compliments so she grins and tells him if she was trying to flatter him she’d already have him at that point. They both chuckle, and Jinx mentions how she could pierce his ears for him. Nervous, Ekko isn’t sure if that’s the safest option, yet he nods anyway.

He squirms like a little kid getting a shot, squeezing his eyes shut as he feels a pinch on his left, then another on his right, and before he knew it, there were pretty gems on both his ears. Jinx cheers, asking if he likes it, leaning on the back of the chair he’s sitting in, her grinning face peeking in through Ekko’s reflection and he feels himself smiling. He loves it.

[ashton-ryder]

"Will you finally let me help you back here then?" Ash joked at the years she forbade him from even coming around the counter here and pouring himself his own cup of coffee in the morning. It felt like Charlie could use all the help she can get now, and give him something else to do in the morning. A little hypocritical of her making him rest only for herself to need the same.

He let them melt into the embrace, saying more than their actual words could say but he responded anyways, "always." For reassurance, confirmation. When he said always, he meant it. It was the least he could do for her, from where he is, he couldn't support her like her brothers or Roman can, so the least he can do, is be here. He wanted to ask to be sure if they wanted to keep the baby, but knowing Charlie, he was almost certain the answer is yes. It was uncomfortable sitting in the reality that her life is at risk, even within the walls of safety. He returned the squeeze and place a kiss to the top of her head as they sat in the affirming silence for a moment before he asked his question.

Ash pulled back slightly only to meet her gaze after feeling her shake her head into his chest, he understood the fear considering he knew what her brothers are actually capable of. "Oh they're probably gonna be mad," as he always did, Ash didn't sugarcoat his words to her, she didn't need to be told a hopeful, pretty lie to make her feel better now instead of facing the truth and working towards a solution to that. "But you know they'll always love you Charlie, Jer.. Jer can never be mad at you for too long," his words were murmured with affection. He's seen the way that man caves to his baby sister. Charlie literally held out her anger longer on Ash than Jer has ever did for Charlie. "And JP might try and punch Roman, but kill him, I don't think so." Heck he'd punch Roman too if he hadn't had the time yesterday to work through his thoughts about the news himself. They were more words of truth than comfort.

"But you'll have to tell them sooner or later," like leaving the building or going to the roof, Ash gently told her what she needed to hear, "..do you want me to be there with you when you do?" He offered but it was said with a quiet hesitation - maybe it's not his place to be there, this is their family affair and he shouldn't get involved. Charlie always says he's family but realistically it's not the same, and these were one of those examples of that invisible line he doubted he's allowed to cross. But he didn't know how else to help her but be here. "I can help hold them back," he added in jest but he was pretty sure he could still try and hold them down if they really did get out of hand, even with one good arm.

"You're right about that." On top of all the extra work she'd had to do, morning sickness had started to kick in along with a general sort of lethargy she wasn't used to. It'd made everything that much more of a struggle, but it wasn't her style to complain about that sort of thing to everyone. They all had their own large fish to fry and the last thing she needed was to add any more for people to worry about. Had she not let it slip by accident she wouldn't even have told Ashton, though having him know was a decided relief.

The cup of coffee left on the counter after the few sips she'd allowed herself, was stared at longingly as he came around the other side, her eyes lifting instead to him as he froze with her confession. Letting out a sigh of appreciation as she found herself gathered up into his arms, Charlie hugged herself back around him with all that she had. "Thank you." It meant the world, it really did, and she was sure that he knew that.

Shaking her head against his chest, she refused for a moment to let go, but eventually did just enough so that she could look up at his face. "Not yet... They're going to be so mad, Ashton. Especially Jeremiah at me... but... I'm honestly kind of scared JP might try and like... kill Roman for it."

[thesearchforbluejello]

Overshare probably, but when I was a kid, I always assumed I'd have common sense when I was older.

Protein powder has disastrous effects on my digestive system; coffee has moderately less disastrous effects, but still substantial.

What was my bright idea this morning that was shockingly lacking in that common sense I'd assume I'd have by now? I made a protein shake with two shots of espresso in it.

This is having an effect somewhat like I imagine drinking napalm would have.

[spaghett-onaplate]

depression is really weird actually wdym i spent 2.5 years of my life in bed

[nomairuins]

i just fucking hate having ptsd all of it. so many stupid fucking things send me into fucking hysterics it sucks and i hate it and i dont want itttt anymore i dont want it.

[hella1975]

by pure evil accident taob zuko's current mental state is the exact same as the one ive been stuck in for the past few weeks and that's a bit funny to me. like i started writing this chapter months ago and knew what i was doing with it even longer ago and suddenly ive manifested it into reality. we are both facing the horrors rn

[dandyshucks]

need Guz to hug me tightly for like an hour solid oh my god dhdjdkl I went driving for the first time in over a year and I chewed my lip raw 😭😭

I'm starting to look like a caricature of Anxiety with all these physical symptoms and signs LMAO

[amplexadversary]

I was too tired during the actual stream to appreciate how damn creepy Matt played the shadfey symbiote guy.

And that's a shame because that is absolutely a fucked up voice and some fucked up faces he's making

[technicolorxsn]

thinking abt leshy inscryption again

[screampied]

‘ ALLLL ON MY TONGUE I WANT IT ★ ?!

𝜗℘ feat. toji, gojo, geto, sukuna, higuruma. how the jjk men eat you out, ‘till the jaw aches

cw. fem! reader, cunnılingus, dirty talk, praise, edging, nose riding, hair pulling ( geto ), slight mommy kink ( choso ), squırting, overstim, p spanking, dumbification, puśsy drunk men, spıt kink, biting, i forgot nanami nuu, sukuna uses his hand mouth.

wc. 4.0k+

☆ SUGURU GETO.

“i’m hungry. spread ‘em,” balmy hot breath fans against the inner parts of your thighs as you sit still. lazily, you lean back against your bed, meeting the feral gaze of a very feral man with dark raven strands running down each sides of his face. there’s an almost pout forming on his lips before he kisses your pretty twitching pussy through your panties.

without hesitation, he ogles as your legs sprawl away from each other. he rests on his stomach, preparing to dig in before you stop him, lightly grabbing him by the hair. “s- sugu,” you breathe, feeling a tingle brew inside of your tummy, mixing along with a fluttering concoction of butterflies. he stares at you with a raised brow before you pull out the sable black hair tie that was secured around his wrist, pinning his hair up into a messy ponytail.

“oh,” he hoarsely hums with a shrug before preparing himself to dig in - licking a long sloppy stripe that forms a sticky wetness against the cottony fabric of your panties. “thank you baby. always so thoughtful.”

geto didn’t have to tell you twice. whenever he came home, he wanted you. whether it was thirst or hunger, the only thing that would clench his thirst and feed him right was that pretty thing between your legs. he’d eat you out for hours, up until his tongue is numb and his jaw is just aching.

“thirsty,” he huffs, and you could hear him swallow every few slurps. your legs were already shaking in dire anticipation. geto’s irregular breaths were gruffly strained—he runs his calloused fingertips against your slick folds before lapping them up with his tongue. “mhm,” dark eyes flicker back toward you and he grabs your wrist that’s dug into his scalp. “pull. harder,” he grunts, instructing you to tighten your grip against his hair. you’d almost forgot it was one of the many kinks he’s told you he’s into. as you gather a good enough feel, you drag his hair by the ponytail, pulling harder and harder until he grunts. a sly smile presses against your pussy before he chuckles. “good girl. better had.”

as he’s shoved face first into your cunt, you notice the shine on his lips were painted a pretty crimson. with his eyes close, lengthy black lashes flap every so often as he’s devouring his favorite meal of the day. of every day.

“sugu, sugu, suguuuu,” you whimper, the sensitivity of the nerves that store inside of your clit making you fail to stay still. he inhales, gathering a decent wad of saliva before spitting right onto your cunt. it’s so nasty, he’s nasty. you watch with wide eyes, feeling yourself twitch even more before he licks it right up with no shame. out of nowhere—you felt yourself blurt out your thoughts you didn’t expect to come from your mouth. at least not so soon. “s- spank it, sugu.”

“spank it sugu,” he mocks your words, rolling his eyes before briefly moving his lips away. “don’t tell me what to do,” and within seconds later, he spanks your cunt anyway. damp droplets of your slick plop onto his palm and he groans. “last time i checked, i don’t take orders from sloppy wet girls so lie back ‘n let me finish eating, yeah?”

“yes, s- suguru,” you pant, the quake within your thighs never subsiding.

there’s another eye roll that comes from geto, and he goes right back to eating you out like a starved man. he doesn’t even need to use his fingers, his tongue was just enough. more than enough actually. orgasm after orgasm, he’s emitting out the most sweetest sounds from you. you’re so loud that it bounces off the walls. he hears the reverb of your voice and it makes him snicker. “louder,” he growls, slurping up a remainder of your saccharine flavored juices. your grip remains in his hair and you bite your lip, preparing to finish yet again. “i wanna hear you. i want the neighbors to hear you. i wanna hear a scream come outta that pretty tight throat.”

and he meant it — your pleasure meant everything to him. with the way he’s sucking, you wouldn’t have lasted a second longer.

the moment you end up reaching your inevitable climax, a potent bawl rips out of your throat raw. he’s munching on your pussy, eyes shut with an innocent smile on his face as if he hadn’t just made you an entire broken mess. “s- suguruuu!”

you’re shaking, panting.

it’s as if every finish was way more powerful than the last one. a breezing squall of wind prises from your full lungs before you fall back. your legs remain spread, mouth formed into a circular shape whilst you’re still making a cute attempt at trying to catch your breath. “c’mere,” a low voice murmurs to you, and he sits up to go toward you. geto’s sweltering body heat radiates against you. he tenderly wraps a hand around your neck before pulling your bottom lip down with his thumb. “open.”

with half lidded eyes, you open, already knowing what’s to come. as you part your plump lips apart, rolling out your tongue, sharp hooded eyes stare down your throat before he leans in and spits right inside. you moan, feeling his free hand toy with your cunt some more, clearly not finished. “uh huh. now, swallow ‘n give me a kiss, sweetheart.”

as his hand squeezes against your pulsating pussy, you whine—swallowing, shutting your heavy eyelids before pulling him into a sloppy wet kiss. beads of sweat from his forehead press against yours before he returns the gesture, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“mhm,” he grunts, now starting to suck on your tongue. it took you a while to realize geto’s eyes were already open, and he was looking straight at you. abruptly, he pulls away and gives your forehead a kiss. “good girl,” but then he makes you lie back, spreading your legs even further.

“but ‘m still thirsty. let’s see if i can make ya squirt this time, pretty.”

☆ HIGURUMA HIROMI.

“dove, you wanna ride my nose, don’t you?”

a low voice coos at you as he’s reclined back against the sofa. he’s sexily manspread, work clothes still on and unkempt — tie pulled off halfway and he hums, watching your abashed expression grow. “it’s okay, i don’t bite. c’mere.”

and with an usher of two swift finger motions, he tells you to come closer. with your panties still on whilst you’re slowly sticking your own arousal between your legs, you prepare to hover over his face.

you pause, parting your knees apart and on each side of his face before huffing. “a- are you sure? i don’t wanna suffocate you, ‘romi.”

“that sounds like heaven, trust me,” he whispers, grabbing ahold of both of your thighs. it was a secure grip. with two broad hands, he outspreads them - gentle thumbs stroking against your sweet, candied skin. “so perfect. so nice ‘n soaked jus’ for me, huh,” and after about a few seconds, you take your seat down on his face. higuruma gruffly grunts, a low guttural moan escaping from his lips before he smooches against your cunt. it’s slick, not only slick but sweetly sweet. “that’s it, dove. ‘s just you ‘n me, don’t be shy. ride it.”

you whine, biting down on your bottom pulled lip as your pussy grinds against the bridge of his nose. the second you ride against it, the feeling sent your entire body into overdrive.

with your lashes fluttering, you feel the bumpy texture of his hooked nose - it’s rough and gnarled—perfect for riding against.

higuruma lowly grunts at seeing the way your hips leisurely pick up its pace.

you were a natural, moving against his face whilst your hands find their way into his hair. his messy, knotted strands was like a maze. your slender digits entangle through his darkened roots, giving them a firm tug before your head tosses back in ecstasy.

“f- fuuuck, hiromi,” and you start to feel his tongue lay itself flat. you’re rubbing your cunt against his slick-spit lips and his nose back and forth.

over and over, you’re already spiraling,

profusely, your legs shake and jitter before you whimper out a desperate wail. “jus’ like that, ‘romi. p- please,” and as you continue to use his face, he’s meeting your eyes. it’s only been seconds and he’s already pussy drunk. a sly smile spreads across his lips before he slides a thumb down the opening of your cunt. “ngh, fuck.”

“yeah, dovey. ride my face—mphm,” and he’s interrupted by your cunt silencing his words. your taste, he just couldn’t get enough. higuruma’s already got a slippery snail trail of your arousal that’s coating his chin. it’s got an almost glow to it, you yank on his strands until his head falls forward. a throaty chuckle comes out of him before he flicks his tongue against your clit. “heh, easy now. my hair’s one of my best features.”

you couldn’t even laugh because pretty soon, you were about to reach your chilling climax. its shivering, frigid and you felt like you were walking on eggshells.

“fuh— fuck,” you clench your jaw, feeling your legs merely collapse right then ‘n there. it was unpredictable, you were an entire full blown mess and his tongue wasn’t making it any better. as you continue to thrash your hips into his greedy mouth, you’re clinging onto his hair tightly. his nose, the bumpy texture continues to rub off against your swollen cunt before it finally comes.

you come,

it comes all at once - an overwhelming bundle of nerves surge straight out of you, electricity pulsing through your veins as you come undone.

you’re sucking your teeth and you don’t even realize it. as you’re slowing down by default, feeling his lips steadily suck against your tender slick folds, he purrs.

“oh, my love,” he breaks away for a moment to breathe, warm breath titillate against your twitching heat. “made quite a mess out of me, huh,” and with a thumb, he rubs against your pulsating clit, giving the nub one final kiss. “such a good girl. my good girl.”

☆ CHOSO KAMO.

“baby? c .. can we try this?” and you have a sheepish grin once choso’s showing you a video of a woman getting ate out. however, he’s imagining it’s you the entire time, feeling his mouth water at the pure thought of tasting your sweet cunt for the first time. it’s lewd, probably too lewd for him but he just couldn’t help it.

“sure, ‘cho,” you give him a soft smile. even your smile alone was enough to get him hard.

and it did.

with choso though, despite being over hundreds of years old, he was inexperienced but he was also a very quick learner. he tried to remember the video, the tongue work, how the man made the woman feel. but the second he’s diving into your cunt face first, there’s no prying him off.

you’re laid flat on your back whilst he’s right between your thighs, using a single thumb to trace down alongside your curves. he makes sure to pay attention to every part of your body at least he tries to. heart eyes blow its way into his pupils, dilating as he admires your pretty frame. “y- you’re so pretty, baby,” his voice was so soft and gruff. it almost sounds like a whisper.

not even seconds go by and he’s already drooling right before your pussy. a shimmery coat of saliva pours down the inner cracks of his lips as he gets a view of his meal. god, he couldn’t wait. every few seconds, he’d pull away to coat your slit with a multitude of amorous, sweet kisses. once you wrap your thighs around his face, he’s slurping anything and everything out of you.

you could barely stay still, going into a state of shock of pure pleasure. choso’s tongue was long, he makes it extend all inside of you, not missing a single spot. it curves its way through the inner parts of your cunt, taking time to swallow your taste and moan at the flavor that now lives on his tongue. your flavor. it doesn’t take him long to reach your sweet spot - because once you release that cute squeal, he sucks against it even harder.

“w- wanna make my princess feel good,” he murmurs, already drowning in your slick. your pussy was sopping wet, coating his chin with such ease. every once and a while, he flicks his tongue against his chin, relishing in your taste. “fuuuck,” he whines, feeling a cute tug of your hand drag his ponytail against your cunt. “use my ponytails like handle bars baby, ‘s okay— mmm.”

like a good boy, he slurps you clean, pressing a hand gently on your tummy, brushing a thumb against your navel as he’s happily luxuriating in your taste. “c- chosooo,” you mewl, feeling the intense shake of your legs arise.

it’s like a wave, everything’s preparing to crash down all at once. with the way you sung his name, it sounded like a harmony, a symphony.

his pointed ears twitch at the sound of your voice, the way your hips thrust into his mouth makes him drool for more.

already . . you’re stupefied. he’s drunk from your pussy and you’re drunk from his tongue. “ugh, jus’ like that, baby. you’re doing so good, making me feel so good.”

“i- i am?” his face cutely lights up. choso gives your cunt soft licks, delving his tongue in and out, exploring every depth. choso’s head moves side to side in a quick motion. it’s attractive, he’s already sweating and strands of black hair stuck against his forehead like glue. choso was a sucker for praise, especially whenever it came from you.

he can’t help but creep a hand down between his legs as he lies on his stomach, touching himself. he groans against your pussy, feeling your hips stutter from his erotic tongue work.

“y- yes,” you whimper, grabbing ahold of both of his soft dark ponytails. his eyes lock onto yours and he’s entirely pussy drunk—droopy eyes and that sheepish little grin. he looked so pretty, but the moment he stares down, choso knew that your sweet cunt was even prettier. as he’s lapping up your honeyed taste, slurping against your folds, you rub him against your soaked entrance with a more hastily tempo. “so good, choso. m- make me feel so good all the time.”

“i- i do?” he whimpers, moaning from your taste. he’s trying not to rush, he wants to savor the flavor of your cunt. your praises, it was enough to make him make a mess in his pants.

so much so to where he can’t help but reach down to touch himself. reach down into his obsidian black boxers, stroking his flaccid veiny cock. with choso, he gets off to you, your pleasure was always his pleasure. once he sees you nod, he lowly moans again against your cunt, quickening his tongue work and pace. “i- i do,” he repeats, kissing your folds again, and again, until you end up cumming on his tongue.

hard, it comes quick. it had your mind going for a loop — you couldn’t think nor could you register anything out of your little empty brain. you feel a hard pressure pressing against your abdomen, a pool of heat ghosting on your body and you get euphoric tingles. right away, your legs give out as he’s still dug between them, flopping back and landing with a cute oof. choso’s lower part of his chin was soaked and he loved it. he slides your panties back toward the center before having a soft pout. “are you okay? w- was i like the video?”

with a soft exhale leaving your windpipe—you huff, cupping his face. “even better,” and you lean down to kiss him. he moans into your lips, leaning into your gentle touch, sitting up to press his body against yours. swiftly, your tongue licks against his upper lip, tasting your taste that was lingering on his tongue - it’s sweet. choso could feel his heart racing, and you gasp once he slowly trails a hand down between your thighs. as he’s on top of you, he gives your cunt a gentle feel before licking a needy stripe up your neck. “c.. choso, you want more?”

“yeah,” he whines with a subtle nod, and he doesn’t even realize that he’s humping against your leg. “please— pleaseplease, take care of me now m- mommy?”

☆ TOJI FUSHIGURO.

“nuh uh, no ya don’t. get the fuck back here,” and a small squeak leaves your throat as he’s dragging you back by the hips. clumps of creamy cum stick against the fat of your thighs - it’s spilling, oozing out and he licks his lips at the sight.

you moan from his touch, feeling his hand caress against your curves. “bend f'r me, yeah,” he whispers hoarsely, witnessing the limp arch your body submits. “atta girl,” he coos roughly, bringing his face directly up close to your ass. “what a fuckin’ mess,” he smacks his fat angry tip against your needy slit. kissing his teeth, toji grunts. “really milked the shit outta me, babygirl.”

indeed you did - as he drags a thumb down the swollen bulb of your clit, he stares at the excess cum that pours out of your hole.

“ngh,” you whimper, feeling his toasty warm breath tickle against your wet folds. the second you feel toji’s tongue lap against your entrance, your thighs only grow weaker. you were already so sensitive from before, and the moment his tongue licks against your pussy — you were over. toji’s nasty, smearing his face all over your drooling cunt with the most cockiest grin on his face. the curving slant of his scar brushes against your folds and your toes curl at the rough texture. “tooojiiii,” you gasp out a sweet elongated hum, slapping a hand over your mouth.

“such a fuckin’ messy girl, huhhh,” he quips, flattening his tongue to slurp you full. your legs shiver as your eyes start to roll back, feeling his thumb tantalizingly plug its way against your puckering hole. “messy baby, gotta fuck you ‘n clean you right up,” and his breath against your cunt only makes you twitch more. you moan over and over until your voice was a broke record.

it feels peculiarly cool, a frigid slick coats against your folds as he latches his lips. you whimper, muffled moans clashing against the soft surface of your palm before he playfully bites your pussy.

“such a crybaby, maybe i should stop hm? ‘s it too much? thought you were a big girl.”

“n- no, please,” you choke out a weak sob, the pleasure practically giving you whiplash. your ass swerves against his face briefly, making an attempt to rut your rear against his face. “i am your big girl—don’t stop, ‘toj. ‘m gonna cum, hngh.”

with a scoff, he continues to swipe his tongue across - flicks turning into sloppy, sultry sucks.

it’s to the point where he’s practically just making out with your pussy, tongue kissing and giving it solid french kisses. sloshing sounds of your wet pussy rings against his sensitive ears before he inserts a single thick digit. with gracious ease, you clamp around his finger and you let off a breathless moan.

“c’monnn, give it to me. all on my fuckin’ tongue, girl,” and as he’s sucking you clean, you heave, feeling the plush of your tummy cave in in rapture. once he gives your cunt a rude abrupt spank with his free hand, you let off a cute whine. he tchs, narrowing his jade blown irises at you. “fuckin’ slut. get turned on from jus’ about anything, huh,” and your thighs jiggle with recoil. your shrilling babbles only pitch and grow louder before he’s nibbling harder against your pulsating nub. you huff, digging the edges of your teeth into your flesh. already, you’re dumb and it’s moments until you cum right on his tongue. “mhm.”

as you blissfully succumb to your teeth shattering release, your chest slumps into the mattress and you’re left stupid - entirely stupid.

your tongue was lolled out and your eyes flickered back to the very depths of your craniums “fuck, fuck, fuuuuck, toji,” you slur your words on melodic loop, chewing on each individual syllable. as you collapse, you feel yourself dampen between the crevices of your thighs.

“allllll clean,” he snickers, giving you pussy another smack. you whine, feeling your cunt all tender and sensitive. toji pries his lips off, licking them clean before dragging his thumb across his scar. it was wet, his stubble was drenched, and toji leans in to give your filthy folds one final suck. you’re too stunned to speak, trying to wriggle your ass away from his mouth but he drags you right back again. “not so fast, baby. ‘m not done,” and before he flips you over on your tummy, he spanks your ass just to see the little jiggle. “but since y’er a good girl, i think you can give me one more, right?”

“well—”

you’re interrupted with a mean slap to your pussy.

“that’s enough talkin’ baby. ‘s time y’er pussy gets the mic,” and the dark haired man gives your folds a soft, loving kiss. in a low, hoarse whisper, he hums, staring straight at your twitching entrance. “ain’t that right, princess? uh huh, thought so.”

☆ SATORU GOJO.

makes you squirt for the first time and immediately gets addicted to it.

“heh, angel if i had a dollar for every time you squirted f'me today, i’d be rich— well, technically i am rich,”

and of course with gojo, not only is he a good eater but he’s a fucking blabbermouth.

he’d literally talk your ear off while you’re riding his face. white thin strands of hair nearly occlude his view of vision. as he’s lying flat on his back, he needs to take a few seconds to dig his hand through his hair, combing the strands back in place. your legs tremor with desirable euphoria.

as you shifted your weight against him — his chiseled jaw all shiny and glistening with your arousal, he simpers as you prepare to speak. “s- shut up, ‘toru,” you repeat yourself for the nth time, eager for him to start up again. his tongue had you craving for more. this was his favorite view of you, without a doubt. just straddling his face, rocking your rickety hips back and forth until you gush out again. sucking in a long breath of air, you bury your shivery fingers into his smooth snowy-rich scalp. “ngh, talk so fuckin’ much just finish.”

“ugh, well excuse me,” he rolls his eyes, pretending to be offended. the white haired male used a single thumb to pry your legs open before he rolls out his long tongue. it’s clean, a pretty pink tongue that’s already watering at the tip. drip after drip. your breath hitches at the sight, he’s hungry for more and so were you. “let’s try with my fingers this time, pretty girl. think we can do that?”

you nod, inching a hand down to touch yourself but with quick reflexes - he grabs your hand only to then spank your pussy, earning a cute yelp from you. “ah ah. words, i was speaking to you, not your pussy, dummy.”

“y- yes,” you hiss, feeling the stutter in your waist accelerate. if it wasn’t for gojo’s hand gripping against your left hip, you’d have surely collapse onto him. “i can take your fingers, ‘toru.”

“fuck yeah you can,” he purrs - hot breath going right up against your slick folds. you whimper, watching with hazy doe eyes as he starts up again. gojo feels your cunt sporadically twitch in his mouth and he groans. he creates a swirl with the tip of his tongue before slowly inserting one finger. one eventually turns into two and the stretch, your legs were on its last final final hinges. you moan at the thickness of his digits curling all around your soaked gripping walls, swabbing up a nice amount of your slick slippery sweet. “yeah, listen to her. she’s got so much to say unlike you.” and his pristine azul eyes were staring straight at your cunt, not you. the wet wet squelches from your own slobbering folds makes your hips jerk forward quicker.

as he’s vigorously plunging two fingers in and out, his tongue continuing to slurp you clean. you whine, tugging on his hair, holding onto it tight for support. a hand claws into his silky strands before you hear the sloppy sluuuurps that slither out of his annoying mouth.

“sa— fuck, satoru,” you sob out, gasping once the tips of his digits locate your g-spot with such ease. he was so quick, his fingers knew exactly what to do. mimicking a bowling ball grip, he fucks his fingers into your swollen cunt, still latching his lips onto your pussy. “ngh, ‘toru. i just finished. satoruuuu.”

“babyyyy,” he mocks your moan in a faux manner, fully exaggerating the way you sounded. you rode his face at a more steady yet faster tempo, already feeling yourself about to collapse.

the stimulation had you floating on an incredible high. white thin brows of his arch into a furrow as he’s melting in your cunt, laying his tongue flat before overzealously sucking against your clit.

“mhm, that’s it. make another mess. awh. don’t be shy, ‘toru’s gonna clean—mmph,” he pauses with a grunt, giving you a half glare as you yank his hair forward. his smug grin returns and he briskly pistons his fingers further into your gummy walls. “as i was saying, ‘toru’s gonna clean you right up. always liked the mess.”

you’re spasming — the only thing you could see was a multitude of bright colors. as your jaw drops right on lewd cue, dangling goofily, you felt a gush of pleasure ripple out of you again. your thighs practically stuck together, the numbness adding its own kind of gripping sting before he quickly snatched his soaked fingers out. now, you’re just a drooling babbling puddle—with huffed breaths, you glance down at gojo who’s got the biggest grin.

as he’s lapping up your mess, you feel the tip of his nose swipe its way against your folds. he couldn’t help but smell you, your heat. you were so hot, in more ways than one. cerulean blue eyes meet yours one more time before he snickers, a tiny pout curling against his lips.

“oh, baby. are you cryin’?”

☆ SUKUNA RYŌMEN.

“no, go on. finish touchin’ her,”

hoarse low words embarrassingly creates a pulse between your thighs. as you stare at sukuna, not only are you knuckles deep into your swollen pussy but you’re also caught red handed.

curses, you knew full well how sukuna wasn’t fond of you touching what’s his. to him, you were his and that included your precious cunt. crimson red eyes bore into you as you slouch back, continuing to pump your sloppy drenched digits in and out. “keh. the audacity.”

you felt a burning heat settle against your skin, its feverish. you take a minute to swallow, a slimy coat coating the entirety of your fingers before you whine.

“kuna,” and he sucks his teeth - staring at you play with yourself right in front of him. with two hands, he spreads your legs, not wanting you to hide anything else. his touch send a feverish thrill up your spine and you gasp once he lightly smacks your hand away. “p— pleas-”

“quiet, woman,” he grouses, using the fat of his thumb to spread your quivering cunt lips apart further. he gets a full face view of how soaked you were. as you remain sat against a fluffed pillow, you gulp at the sight of the demon - licking his lips, forked tongue baring out a single fang the more his mouth stretches opens. within a second, he lolls out his long tongue before getting a sweet taste of your soppy pussy. you whimper, the texture of his pink muscle makes you shiver. “mhm,” he grunts, the low vibrations tickling against you.

but you start to feel an extra tongue glide against your soddened folds. voluntarily, your back arches and you heard a loud slurp before meeting the view of one of his broad hands.

you remember sukuna telling you how he had tongues on … certain other places of his body.

he’s told you about his stomach but never his hands. “s- sukuna,” you whimper, the texture feeling frigidly cold. it tickles at first, his clammy hand smearing back and forth against your cunt. “fuck, fuuuuck,” and your head leans back, all types of emotions foiling at your brain. and your irises slowly became docile. both slippery tongues were forked, long, and slimy. you shudder the entire time, gasping in long exaggerated breaths as your thighs try to stick together from the growing heat. “gonna cum, ‘kuna. ‘m not gonna last.”

“yes you are,” he snarls in correction, the mixture of two fat tongues diverting against your clit sends you pangs of obscene rapture.

he hums in amusement at the sight of your back and how it effortlessly arches for him and only him. another one of his hands creeps between your legs, plucking them open some more. his words were dangerously husky, they stirred something inside the empty depths of your tummy, making you pulse. speaking of, he feels the crazed pulse throb against each tongue, and his slurps become more carnal. “my, what a sloppy cunt. the audacity to be touchin’ her though is beyond me, little one,” and you could hear the possessiveness lingering off his tongue.

within each slurp, suck, and suckle—you just knew it was impossible to last. the stimulation of both concluding muscles against your folds makes you go further and further toward the edge. you’re so close that you could almost taste it on the tip of your tongue. sugary sweet with a sprinkle of saltiness. “sukunaaa,” you whimper, too weak to even pull at his hair.

you were at his very mercy - one of his favorite things in the world. the way you’d murmur out his name in that sweet pathetic voice, a desperate cry for more.

but alas, your words would always fall on deaf ears. he’d edge you ‘till the end, until you’re begging. with your legs feeling like practical mush, your jaw tightens before he finally lets you finish on both jarring tongues. “you’re so dramatic,” he grouses with a scowl, allowing you to conclude at your climax, heaving large breaths every few seconds. even though it was just minutes, with sukuna, he made anything seem like orgasmic long hours. “good girl, thaaaat’s it.”

and he moves his mouth away, allowing his hand tongue to do the remainder of the cleaning. the sensation was unlike anything you’ve felt before. you whimper, achy pipes in your throat all scratchy and hoarse from how vocal you were just a few moments ago. the tongue that rests against his palm sucks you clean—it’s more tender and gentle and you’re a stammering mess, secretly adapting to the strange yet pleasurable feeling..

you’re still trying to recollect breaths, invisible glue sticks and glosses between your legs before you glance up at sukuna who’s got a sly smile. “w- what’s with the look?”

“oh, nothing,” the demon retorts wittily, leaning up to press a soft kiss against your neck. his touch made you shiver and you wrap your arms around him almost instantly.

his cologne as always, was loud and made its name known across the entire room. leaning up against your ear, he licks it - which turns into seductive nibbles before he whispers. “i was just thinking. i think you’d prefer my stomach tongue a lot more, princess. i promise i’ll try not to swallow ya, heh.”

[sysig]

Your Weekly TV Guide

On Monday you can expect:

2:30 PM: Star Control II - Helix

And Tuesday:

2:30 PM: SCII - Helix

Wednesday:

2:30 PM: SCII - Helix

Thursday:

2:30 PM: SCII - Helix

Friday:

2:30 PM: SCII - Helix

Saturday:

2:30 PM: SCII - Helix (blood warning)

Sunday:

2:30 PM: SCII - Helix

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[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Danny the Guy Who Won't Die

He lives in Gotham, and he is just A Guy. Nothing weird about him, he's just there to study/work/help Lady Gotham to lift her curse/on vacation with Sam. Point is, he is not there to cause trouble and there's no GIW on his tail. Just a dude living his (after)life.

And Gotham, being Gotham, still finds a way to be annoying. There are mugging attempts, robbery, Rogues running around. Only Danny really doesn't want to deal with any of it.

Now there's a dilemma. If he uses his powers to fight, it will sooner or later come to Bats' attention. And if he fights as a human, it will also alert some of the Bats since he doesn't really do a great job at keeping his power levels low. Not to mention the fact he is really not enthusiastic about accidentally punching someone hard enough he sends them to a hospital.

What does he do instead? He pulls the 'I guess I'll die' act.

So every time he is attacked, he just plays dead. The mugger shot him in the chest? He falls down and stops breathing. Caught up in the middle of a Poison Ivy attack? Skewers himself on the vine and goes lax. Scarecrow's Fear Gas? Very dramatically chokes himself and plays a corpse. He makes sure to disappear before any ambulances arrive later, and it all goes well for a few months - he is just a casualty, who cares, really - until one day, he runs into that same mugger who shot him in the chest a while ago.

The man does a double take. Danny doesn't notice - he's been mugged so many times, who has the brain capacity to remember all of those fuckers. But the rumor goes out anyway.

A guy-who-won't-die. It's more of a city legend, really, and the Bats don't give it much thought since, well, it sounds stupid and not very important. A rumor of some man who was shot dead and then showed up like nothing happened? Yeah, it's probably because the mugger didn't check if he was actually dead. That happens. Maybe it wasn't even the same man, Gotham is a big city. If anything, hey, at least that was one less casualty? That's a good thing.

That is, until one day, they show up to Joker's hostage situation and witness the clown screaming at one of the hostages. He is so enraged he is shaking, spit flying out of his mouth, and, contrary to the usual Joker's evil sneers and maniacal laughter, he seems just... furious. But, like, the normal-human-level furious. The 'I just lost the last ounce of patience with you' furious.

"Don't you look away from me, you think I don't remember you?! Na-ah, I do. You were the one I drowned in the shark tank last week! And you were the one run through the chainsaw trap two weeks before that! And you were in the guillotine!!! I saw your fucking head get deattached from your body, how the fuck are you here again?!"

And the guy he is screaming at just looks at him, confused and incomprehensive.

"Um, I'm pretty sure I'd remember getting my head cut off, you know? So, err, wrong guy."

"Wrong guy my fucking ass-"

Joker is so distracted by his screaming match that it makes it almost too easy for the Bats to fight him down and drag to Arkham. Yet, a few of them get just a bit suspicious.

Now, imagine all the shenanigans when they try keeping a watch on Danny the Won't Die Guy.

[dynamic-power]

Eddie's attention is caught mid-rant by the abhorrent sounds of Carol and Tommy H.

"Oh, Steve! Steve, oh, God, Steve-"

Eddie turns in time to see a pretty blush fill Steve's cheeks. Ah, he must have finally slept with the Wheeler chick. She's seated next to him, looking less than pleased about Steve's friends.

From what Eddie can remember, that's actually the opposite of what sleeping with Steve is really like. He's the noisy one, the one who moans and whines and whimpers when he's feeling so good.

"Fuck, Eddie, you feel so perfect-"

"Yeah, right there, Eds-"

"Keep going, I'm gonna, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie-"

"Eddie!"

"Yeah!" He turns away from King Steve and back to the rest of the Hellfire club.

"You were saying, about that cantrip?"

"Right," he says, shaking off old memories. Now isn't really the time to be revisiting them, anyway.