#at elast i fixed up the hole i left in the middle

[charmsponies]

🩷💚 Custom Fizzy Takara Doll 💚🩷

Created using the 3d model made by Otteroflore!

Wip description and pics below the cut ^^

So I am a COMPLETE AND TOTAL NOOB when it comes to technology. and I made a lot of mistakes trying to print this Fizzy due to my own incompetence and also everyone online assuming you already kinda know something about 3d printing if you own a printer. We recieved a 3d printer as a gift and I knew Nothing about it so I reallly struggled trying to figure it out. Also my computer is ancient and had to download a like 5 year old out of date version of a 3d printing program (cura) to even get it to work. took an entire week and several failed tries T-T

FINALLY we got an attempt that was salvageable! And had to rip out all of the support beams from it. But even then there were some major mistakes:

It did not print hollow. Nobody online explained that if you want it to be hollow it wasn’t enough that the model itself had hollow parts, you have to turn off a hole setting in cura and mess with the infill or something

For some reason the bodies were Very Fucked Up? The middle and sides printed Weirdly to where, once the supports were all removed, They had no sides/shoulders. Wuh oh.

The way I combatted this was by taking extra filament plastic and a soldering iron gun to weald it on and do literal plastic surgery.

(A before and after) it looks like complete ass and is a little janky but. please be kind to her it was a major operation 😭😭😭

Then sanded things down a bit more. I know people say to sand it down until you can’t see the lines anymore but im an impatient motherfucker and only had a little bit of sandpaper so :P

Then it was painting time! Used my own fizzy to color match, painted her green with a white nose and a milkshake cutiemark. I also glued stick on gems into her eye sockets

Then the hairing! Used a sewing needle heated up with a lighter to easily poke holes into her skull! The lovely user minticat on Mlptp provided great reference images of what a takara’s hair length and hair holes look like, so I did my best to mimic that

Her hair is the closest color matches for fizzy that Shimmerlocks had: Cotton Candy pink, Angel white, Heart Throb 2.0 pink and Gusty green. Now the head isnt actually all that hollow (I hollowed it out best I could with my soldering iron but still not the best) so I couldn’t use the usual hairing method where you punch the hair in and then glue it from inside. I realized I needed to attach glue to the hair itself and then get it into the holes.

At first I was too much of a scardey cat to use my actual hairing needle in fear it would break on the plastic, so I tried a very infuriating method of putting glue on hair strands and painstakingly trying to push them into the holes with a pin. This was awful. I quickly gave up, braved up and grabbed my rehairing needle. Punched the hair in after applying glue to the hair, and it worked out surprisingly well!

All that was left was to 1) String the doll using elastic bands to tie the legs and arms into place but still make sure they were moveable. 2) GENTLY trim, wash and style the hair (using buggys special method of getting tiny curly curls. 3) Figure out the head

I originally wanted to make a neckplug for her out of clay as you see here but it didnt work too well. The plastic of the doll is much harder than the clay and it kept breaking after trying to put the head on. So I accepted I would have to glue the head on in place (It cant turn, unlike the arms and legs 😔) You can also see i used some clay to patch up a crack in the plastic that formed (which I had to paint over again)

FINAL STEP was making the dress!!! I forgot to take ANY pictures of that ùwú Not that pictures would be useful to you guys as I kinds fuckin winged it and made up a pattern as I went. I think its adorable, but in the future I would make it a little bigger (the back doesnt fit quite right). Maybe if theres interest I’ll fix up the pattern so its better and share another doll dress tutorial with the class? 😳 sound off in the comments below haha

[imaginedreamwrite]

Biker!Curtis fixing the sink while mousey crafts with the boys at the kitchen table. Her eyes are not on the craft tho

The plunger wouldn’t cut it anymore, and despite your efforts to use Drano so the line would be clearer, the sink was still backed up and plugged. You’d done your fair share of trying to fix the sink though you were no plumber and you didn’t know where to begin in fixing it other than knowing to turn off the water access under the sink.

You then had to make the decision to find Curtis and ask him who you should call. You had approached his office while he was talking with one of his bigger, more intimidating friends, and crept into the room to ask him about possibly calling a plumber for the sink.

Curtis, true to his nature, had told you that he’d handle it and you left just as quickly as you had gotten there. You had shrugged it off and left it alone, taking stock in the knowledge that Curtis said he would handle it and moved onto the tasks you’d wanted to complete.

“Mini-pumpkins.” You sat at the table with Theo and James, a handful of elastic bands and plastic spoons. “We’re making catapults.”

You’d given them clear instructions and had only started to help them wind the elastics around their mini-pumpkins when Curtis entered the kitchen with a bag of tools by his side and a towel in his hands. He had stalked right past you to the kitchen sink, first setting the tools on the counter and then glancing your way.

“I’m handling it.”

“Curtis,” you departed the boys and walked toward him, “when you said you were handling it, I thought you meant you were hiring someone.”

“Mousey,” Curtis let the pet name fall from his lips again, as he opened the cupboard doors and dropped the tool bag to the floor, “I’m not having some fuck I don’t know or trust in my home with my boys and my girlfriend.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, the first time he had ever called you his girlfriend and it was before he became a handyman. “But…isn’t the point of being the boss having the luxury of not having to do these things yourself? To have a professional do it?”

Curtis’ scowl was poignant and you had squirmed where you stood, his eyes burning holes into you. “I can fucking do it.”

“I didn’t…I didn’t mean to make you angry-“ You stuttered and stammered, looking back over your shoulder at Theo and James who were still busy. “Curtis I’m sorry-“

“Stop apologizing, mousey. Your voice is distracting.” Curtis hadn’t even begun yet and he was already losing concentration.

“My voice? How is my voice-“

“Because every time I hear your voice, I think about what other sounds you could make in the kitchen.” Curtis’ comment had you snapping your mouth closed, and you turned sharply on your heel and scurried back to the table, taking your place in the middle of the two boys.

Curtis smirked and dropped behind the counter, his knees hitting the tiles before he dug into the bag and pulled out the appropriately sized crescent wrench. “I’ll find out sooner rather than later, baby. You and I are going to christen every surface in this place.”

[emilyelizabethfowl]

uggghhhh i spent around a month now on a animatic and ive only got a 1:10 out of a 2:47 song.....

[renaerys]

22. for reds 🤡

This is 100% not what you asked for (yet...👀), but I give you part 1 of what we're calling the Weird King AU. I'm turning this into a proper multi-chapter High School fic because I love you and I'd jump on any bandwagon for you.

xxx

Like most young, conventionally attractive Supervillains, Brick had made a bit of a habit of failing upwards. It was pretty easy in a town full of simpering morons content to project their own narrative assumptions onto him, and who was he to crush their dreams when they made his life a little easier?

For example, dating.

“You can tell me, you know.” His cute date, Tracy, sipped her milkshake across from him.

“Tell you what?”

She softened and reached her hand across the table. “Your tragic backstory. I’ll listen without judgment, I promise.”

Brick tried to think of something tragic, but it all seemed pretty underwhelming as far as Supervillain origin stories went. “You mean like how I was born in a toilet?”

She made an oh shape with her lips. “We all have those days where we feel like we were born in a toilet, Brick.”

He’d dated Tracy for three months before she broke up with him out of the blue in tears: sorry she couldn’t fix his baggage, she just wasn’t strong enough to handle all that tortured darkness, but she wished him nothing but health and happiness. Brick deleted her number from his phone and spent twenty whole minutes staring at the toilet in his bathroom, wondering what the lesson here was.

But everything changed when Mojo got out of prison and moved Brick and his brothers back to Townsville, where he enrolled them in the local high school alongside their former arch nemeses, the Powerpuff Girls.

Suddenly, everything Brick did pre-supposed ill intent. These people remembered him as the pest who had graffitied their local monuments and blown up their cars and endangered their children. They held no love for him, and at best they feared him. This was not Citiesville, where he’d been a tall, cold glass of Voss water in a sea of recycled Dasani.

He found himself thinking about his birthing toilet again as he stepped into the cafeteria alone and the conversation quieted down as his new classmates watched him from the safety of their tables. His next moves here were critical. He was no longer at the top of the food chain, but fear and mystery surrounding his origins and character gave him a certain power over his peers.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of social suicide, I will fear no cringe,” he said to himself.

The jocks were out. Capable though he may be, Brick was not much of a team player unless there was a blood contract involved requiring his participation on pain of satanic torture. The drama kids were also a hard pass, not because he thought drama was lame, but because they had barely noticed him walk in, and Brick did not have the energy to deal with people more self-involved than himself. Some of the unaffiliated tables could be safe, but without a good understanding of the nuanced social dynamics in the high school, he could be heading toward irreversible doom, and that was a risk he was not willing to take.

He saw his salvation just ahead. It was the only option, all else being equal. In an environment where he couldn’t be certain of his baseline status and potential for upward mobility, there was greatness to be had only by association and certainty only in the devil he knew.

Brick helped himself to the empty seat directly across from Blossom Utonium to a chorus of gasps and staring.

Blossom did not startle like her table mates had. She watched him critically behind a head full of bangs as she balanced her soup spoon in her hand. “Really.”

Brick unwrapped the burrito he’d purchased in the lunch line and brandished it before him. “Really.”

He took a bite of the burrito. It was not hot enough. The two girls to Blossom’s left whispered to each other about that bad boy and he’s hot, though.

Blossom daintily spooned soup into her mouth without spilling a single drop as she continued to watch Brick for signs of his imminent dark side transformation.

The guy next to Brick was brave enough to ask him what his next class was. Brick had a mouth full of disappointing burrito, so he passed the guy the printout of his class schedule in lieu of answering.

“Wow, all APs, huh? Hey, we’re in U.S. History together next period, nice. I’m Mike Believe, by the way. Brick Jojo, right?”

Brick didn’t answer him immediately on account of the burrito currently occupying his mouth hole, and Mike took it the wrong way.

“Oh, yeah, we all know who you are. Blossom sort of filled us in.” He winced like he’d inadvertently revealed a terrible secret.

Brick swallowed his food and washed it down with a gulp of water. “Saves me some time.”

Mike looked super relieved. “For sure! Hey, I could lend you my notes if you want to catch up. Gershwin’s giving a quiz on the Progressive Era on Friday, and she’s a hard-ass who definitely won’t care that you just transferred…”

Brick chewed on his lunch as Mike continued to talk at him about classes and other vaguely helpful, albeit uninteresting, information. But Mike seemed normal enough, a little chatty but not in an overeager sort of way. Blossom was no longer clocking his every move and seemed to be absorbed in her friend’s latest swim team cheating scandal, until Brick reached for his water bottle and she suddenly laser-focused on his wandering hand.

Her keen attention to him was honestly flattering, if expected. It was in his nature to be noticed, and in this narrow respect she was no different from anyone else whose head he turned. If she chose to feed her interest with the flames of suspicion, then it was no difference to him.

But if she was anything like him—and on a chemical level she was probably the closest to him that a person could get—he suspected it took tremendous effort to hold her full and sustained attention. The world they inhabited was as vapid and mundane as the humans that surrounded them, and even the most gracious of gods grew bored of worship. Which explained all the smiting and fucking and generational curses upon entire households in everything from Greek mythology to the Old Testament.

Brick was pretty deep into a fantasy of Blossom going full Ixion and the Wheel on the swim team when Mike tapped his shoulder. “You ready to go?”

It took him a moment to realize the bell had rung and he had a class to get to—AP U.S. History with Mike, apparently. Brick gathered his tray and his bag and followed Mike. When he looked back at the table, Blossom was already gone.

xxx

That whole first week was painfully boring. No one bullied him, or pranked him, or picked a fight with him, of course. But no one really approached him, either. His brothers were more determined to make an effort. Boomer announced he was trying out for the soccer team because there was no rule saying a Super with extremely well documented ties to active criminals and the forces of Hell couldn’t kick a ball around a field. Butch had gotten himself invited to a midnight screening of Snakes on a Plane in some rich kid’s home movie theater, but only after that same kid had accidentally spilled milk on Butch and burst into tears in front of a cafeteria full of Juniors and Seniors. Brick declined the invitation Butch extended to him. He had that AP U.S. History exam to study for on Friday, anyway.

He shared all of his classes with Blossom. Even in the classes where her assigned seat was behind his and he couldn’t see her, he could feel her lobotomizing stare at the back of his head whenever she glanced up from her notebook. And while Mike’s notes were perfectly adequate and the friendly gesture counted for more than the content (a gesture Brick would not soon forget), there was a far more efficient way to accomplish his goal of murdering the class averages while also taking the edge off his loner doldrums.

“Can I borrow your class notes?”

Blossom rose from her seat and pulled her hair tie out to re-do her extremely long ponytail. She held the elastic between her teeth as she worked. Her teeth were very straight, he noticed. Some pretty nice girl-teeth, generally speaking.

“Which class?”

“All of them.”

He watched her wind the elastic around her hair with quick, adroit fingers. “That’s a lot of notes.”

“You’re the top of every class. No point in asking anyone else.”

She moved toward the hall. He followed her out. “Why would I help you?”

A legitimate question delivered without venom. Unlike her sister Buttercup, who’d “run into” Brick after school on Monday and told him to watch his back, Blossom didn’t have to do anything but maintain a general proximity to make her superiority complex known. Which was the kind of flex he could fuck with.

“Isn’t helping people sort of your mandate?”

They had arrived at her locker, which she opened with enough force to rattle the hinges. “I help the helpless. Are you helpless, Brick?”

Brick smiled at her baiting. Had she ever actually said his name at a normal volume before? It sounded good even in her baseline bitch timbre. “Critically helpless. I’m the new student who transferred in the middle of the semester, and you’re the only person who knows me.”

A couple other students clearly trying to get to the lockers Brick was blocking hovered just out of reach. They whispered to each other, but neither of them actually worked up the courage to ask Brick to move. He ignored them.

Blossom rummaged in her locker for the binder she would need for the next class. “Make friends.”

“Working on it.”

The locker door slammed and she faced him. There was something confrontational in the way she held herself before him that kicked him in the nuts back in time thirteen years to their more uncouth days when all he wanted to do was destroy her so he’d be the only one. Now they were older and wiser and he actually did need her notes to study, so destroying her was not high on his list of priorities.

“You want to be my friend.”

“We have so much in common.”

“So do lions and hyenas.”

“Both are apex predators, so.”

She took a step closer and peered up at him. Brick did not move, although he wondered what was so interesting about his face. She probably just thought he was hot. She was probably as bored as he was. She probably—

“You have lettuce in your teeth.”

Brick pulled back and covered his mouth on instinct. God fucking damnit.

Blossom was already walking away from him by the time he’d picked the food from his teeth. “I’ll expect my notes back in mint condition before first period tomorrow morning.”

Brick pressed a fist against the lockers and quietly fumed. “Dumbass…”

“Um, sorry, but do you mind…?”

The student who’d been waiting for her locker space to clear up had her palms up as if to assuage a feral stray. Brick pushed off the lockers, but his fist left a dent where he’d unleashed some of his impotent self-pity. He looked back at the girl, and she shook her head.

“It’s fine! It, uh, it happens sometimes.” She pointed a couple lockers down to Blossom’s, which was dinged up worse than the others.

Brick stared at Blossom’s locker, and then back at the girl. Her narrow, dark eyes were wide, but not out of fear. She was waiting for something, and like an idiot it took him a moment to catch up. “You’re trying to make me feel better about fucking up your locker.”

She laughed nervously. “I mean, it’s really fine! You just looked so miserable for a second there, and I just thought…”

Great, he was moping so hard he had an audience.

The five minute warning bell rang, and a flood of students rushed past them on their way to fourth period. Brick stepped aside so the girl could get to her locker.

“Hey, you’re the new guy, right?”

The new guy, yeah. How quaint. Except, she was waiting for a response, which wasn’t the absolute worst thing that had happened to him all week.

“Brick,” he said. But of course, she already knew that, and she was just being nice.

“I’m Kim. Kim Chan.”

“Okay.” He didn’t have anything else to say to her, so he decided to get his shit and get to his next class.

“Welcome back to Townsville, Brick.”

Brick shoved his hands in his pockets and stalked off. It didn’t occur to him until later that Kim was the first and only person who had properly welcomed him back home.

[scxrsgxrd]

*poke poke poke*

*whispers* please write for Eric Northman

*runs away*

I’ve been having a lot of Eric related ~thoughts~ lately (I blame yours and @skarsgard-daydreams drabbles) and they are ready to be released. Your Eric Northman wishes are my command ;)

18+, mentions of blood and blood kink

You looked up impatiently at the clock hanging on the office wall for the fourth time in a minute. Eric was late, again. The incessant ticking was beginning to seriously bug you, and there was a chill in the air that made every hair on your body stand on end. Another thing you cursed Eric for, recalling the same answer he gave you every time you complained about the temperature in his office. 

“I’m a vampire, why would I need to get the A/C fixed?”

Eric had recently fitted a mirror behind his desk for your activities, as he called them, and you gazed at yourself while you waited for what felt like hours. After all, someone had to appreciate the lingerie set you had just completed some sort of gymnastics to get into. The crimson lace fitted you perfectly, and you knew that Eric had had this made especially for you, knowing exactly the type of fit and material you liked, which in turn had cost him a small fortune. You often wondered his motives for paying so much for something you could only ever wear once, as it took a mere matter of seconds before your panties were torn and your stockings had five finger shaped holes ripped into them. To your surprise when you had opened the box, there was a studded collar sitting atop the lingerie with a buckle at the back. It had taken you a while to psych yourself up to ask Pam to fix up the buckle for you, but she simply laughed and pulled the buckle tight, stating “he’ll like it like that.” 

Your teeth had begun to involuntarily sink into your lip, the more you thought of Eric, the harder you bit down. The only thing that snapped you out of this trance-like state was the feeling of a warm dripping down your chin and onto the exposed skin of your upper thigh. As you focused your eyes against the mirror once more you noticed a crimson trail running down your chin, matching the shade of your underwear. At that second you realised exactly why Eric had chosen to dress you in red.

Almost instantaneously the office door swung open, hitting the wall with such a force that you were surprised it remained on its hinges. You didn’t want to look into the doorway as you heard a low, animalistic growl. You had disturbed Eric from his work, and you knew that you had to pay the price.

“Well, well, well.” 

You gulped as you heard that voice. That voice that caused a shiver to ripple through your entire body and make your pulse quicken. Taking a deep breath, you slowly turned your gaze over to the doorway where Eric was stood. His head was cocked slightly to one side, his eyes darkened with lust and his fangs already out. 

Just as you were about the wipe the blood from your chin he grabbed your forearm, his sudden movement making you jolt as you had never quite gotten used to his vampiric abilities. 

“I think you’ll find that’s mine.” His tone startled you slightly, his fingers gripping at your arm tighter as he studied the trail running down your chin, watching intently as another drop landed on your thigh. He stepped closer to you, parting your legs with one hand as he moved with ease between them, his bulge pressing against your crotch as he dragged his tongue up your chin, his eyes rolling back as though he was already in complete ecstasy.

Your breathing quickened as he reached your lips, his tongue trailing over the small nick in your bottom lip as you felt your chest heaving against him, finding it a little difficult to breathe properly as the collar sat tightly around your neck. Eric could feel exactly what you were feeling. Every beat, every deep breath, every acceleration of your pulse. That was what he thrived on, the humanness of it all; each beat of your pulse anchored him back to his own humanity, something which he had deeply struggled with before he had met you. It was so long ago, so buried, that he never expected to be able to feel its warmth again. 

He pulled back to gaze at you, his eyes raking up and down your semi-naked body as he studied the set of lingerie he had envisioned for you. His imagination hadn’t done you any justice, as you looked ethereal in the specially crafted lace design that fitted every part of you perfectly. A small smirk began to creep onto his lips as he his eyes caught onto the collar that had been tightly buckled around your neck, just as he had pictured it.

“Are you going to be a good little girl?” He grazed his long, cold fingers against your neck and traced along the collar.

“Yes, Eric.” Your voice was faint and your throat felt dry as you watched Eric begin to kneel before you.

His eyes never left yours as he knelt down, hands on your knees prising your legs further apart as he breathed in deeply, inhaling your sweet scent. He began to walk his fore and middle finger up your thighs, humming mischievously as he reached the waistband of your panties. His forefinger curled around the elastic, giving it one slight tug, filling the office with a tearing sound. You gasped as you felt the cold air hit you, and Eric let out another growl, wasting no time in burying his face in your inner thigh.

The sharp pain was one that had taken some getting used to at first, but now you barely even flinched as you felt Eric sink his fangs into your flesh. You were a little surprised when he pulled back so quickly, as he usually fed for a few minutes, sometimes even longer, when he had been busy with Fangtasia’s accounts paperwork. You furrowed your brow, about to question him when he dipped his finger into the small wound on your inner thigh, collecting up a small pool of your blood. He proceeded to then move his blood-coated finger against your clit in a slow circles, the sensation making your toes curl and your head fall back.

“Mmmmm, tasty.” 

Eric’s tongue then began to lap at your clit, his hands firmly gripping your thighs as he muttered soft words of appraisal against you. When your head lolled forwards you caught a glimpse of the debauched scene in the mirror before you, the visual element of the act providing you with a new wave of pleasure. 

You could feel a knot beginning to form in the pit of your stomach as Eric wrapped his lips around your clit, delivering a mixture of sucks and gentle bites as his guttural groans caused small vibrations to course their way through your lower body. You were getting closer and closer to your climax, and Eric knew it. Once again he pressed his middle finger against the still-bleeding wound on your inner thigh before smearing the slick of blood against your clit, working it into the most sensitive part of you with his ever-skilled fingers. You threw your head back once more, long strings of moans leaving you as you felt every muscle in your body tense and every nerve begin to quiver.

Then he stopped.

“You didn’t think it’d be that easy, did you?” Eric stood up and straightened his jacket, licking his lips in what felt like an attempt to mock you.

You felt your bottom lip wobble as the aching sensation between your thighs only worsened, reaching out your arms as you attempted to grab onto his jacket, but he simply took a step backwards so he was out of your grasp.

“N’aw, poor little girl. You thought I was going to let that pretty little pussy of yours come, didn’t you?” 

You nodded, not knowing what else to give him as he gazed down at you with a glint in his eyes.

He was then back between your legs in an instant, his right hand swooping behind your neck as he took hold of the buckle on the collar, making a strangled squeal form in your throat.

“Then maybe next time you’ll think twice about disturbing me.” He lifted his left hand and traced his forefinger gently across the small slit on your lip.

You wanted to protest, to tell him that distracting him from his paperwork wasn’t your intention, but you knew it would be futile. Instead you knew you’d have to wait, and as Eric walked out of his office and closed the door behind him you once again watched yourself in the mirror, the smears of blood further reminding you that you were Eric’s, and that however annoying, patience and delayed gratification were key elements of your relationship. 

[bnhaficsforthesoul]

Sex Ed - Bakugou smut

Part 2 to this

You guys really wanted a part 2 lmao, so I am here to serve~

Warning: nsfw, 18+, cunnilingus

You froze as Bakugou grabbed your hand tightly - still panting with his dick hanging out of his pants, wondering if you heard him correctly. He growled as you stared at him, not responding, "I showed you how to give a blow job, it's only fair you show me how to eat you out, right?"

"I- I mean I guess..."

"Do you not want me too?" He blushed at the thought of you not wanting him to touch you, since that would make his question super embarrassing. But luckily for him you shook your head, "No, that's not it! I dont mind... it's just, do you really want to?"

It wasnt that you didnt want the blonde to eat you out, youd love to spend hours with him between your legs - but you had only prepared yourself for blowing him, you weren't sure if you could survive this part.

He pulled you closer and onto the bed, fixing his pants since they were uncomfortable in their current state and sat at the bottom of the bed to give you room. "Yes, I do. Now either lie down or get out."

Your face was bright red in embarrassment, and you shifted around the bed so that you could lie in front of him. You spread your legs for him, and stared at him shyly as he placed his hands on your thighs.

"What do I do?"

Piecing together that he actually expected you to guide him through this, you took a deep breath and tried to calm your nerves as you spoke. "Well take off my pants, first."

He nodded, moving his hands to your waistband and hooking his fingers under the elastic, pulling them down as you lifted your ass to allow him to do so. He threw his pants on the floor, deciding it would be easier if they were completely off your body.

Noticing the large wet spot on the seat of your panties and the slickness of your inner thighs, Bakugous eyes widened and he felt his dick twitch in his pants - you really got that wet from sucking him off? He stared at the wet patch for a good while, before you snapped him out of his fascination.

"Baku, you can start rubbing me. Use your thumb or knuckles to rub down the slit- ah! Y-ya, like that."

He wasted no time in doing as you said, wasting no time in pressing a knuckle into the panties and watching as it fully displayed the shape of your pussy to him. The squelching noises shocked him a bit, but those noises were soon replaced with your quiet moans and his eyes moved from your dripping cunt up to your blushing face, and he smirked.

"That feel good?"

You nodded shakily, the feeling of his fingers rubbing you roughly and brushing against your clit now and then along with the friction of your panties against you felt wonderful.

"You can take my underwear off."

Bakugous smirk increased as he did as you said, pulling his now wet fingers away from your heat and pulling your panties away too, them joining your sweatpants on the floor.

Wow, your cunt looked so pretty to him - all glistening and pink, he couldnt wait to taste it.

"Now, you-"

He didnt even let you speak as he shoved his face into your core. You let out a squeak as he did so, surprised by his enthusiasm, but you weren't going to stop him.

Baku licked roughly, not really sure what to do other than lick between your folds. You put your hand in his hair for support, and breathed out heavy moans, "Baku, you can suck too. My clit, you know where my clit is right?"

He paused, and pulled away slightly, "Of course I know!... but you should show me just in case..."

You giggled lightly at his confusion - it seemed he really was just as unfamiliar as you were when it came to these things. Reaching down with your other hand, you spread your folds, "you see that bud looking thing? That's the clit."

As soon as you moved your hand away, he began attacking it. Sucking feverishly on the little bud and you cried out, bucking your hips against his face and his grip on your thighs tightened.

However, much to your momentary dismay, he pulled away, his face covered in your slick, to ask another question.

"Am I supposed to finger you during this?"

Nodding slowly, you thought for a second, "I mean - i guess you don't have to, but you should..."

Baku hmmed, bringing his right hand back to your pussy and rubbing the slit gently before letting his index finger slip into your tight hole. The action caused more of your juices to slip out and he licked it away.

"Make sure to stretch me out a bit before adding more fingers... itll hurt if you dont."

His finger was up to the knuckle, and he wiggled it around inside of you, to see if he could stretch out the small hole, prodding at it with his middle finger as well. You were so wet that it didnt take long for the second finger to join the first, and you bit back a loud moan as he curled them inside you.

"That's good, so good - ah. Dont forget about my clit, that's what makes most girls cum."

"I know I know..." bakugou tcked, and he licked away a bit more of your dripping essence as he started pumping his fingers into your cunt, moving his lips back up to your clit and sucking. He bit down lightly, chuckling against you as you cried out again and squeezed your thighs around his face.

You were so fucking close, bucking your hips desperately in a chase for your climax, but he held your hips down with his left arm. "I wanna make you cum, so stay the fuck still."

His commanding voice had you clenching around his fingers, and he seemed to notice as he paused a bit before continuing his assault on your pussy.

It was all so much, his fingers curled against that spot that makes you go crazy as he rolled your clit between his teeth, and you felt your eyes roll back and your breathing got heavier. "Bakugou, I'm- I'm gonna cum~"

He moved his eyes and connected them with yours as you tried to focus on him, and with his piercing gaze and his rough tongue against your cunt, you came hard around his fingers, the continuous pumping only causing more to shoot out against the sheets.

Bakugou pulled his fingers out of your sopping cunt, and continued licking and sucking to clean as much of your cum as he could before sitting up, smirking as you came down from your high.

"Well, was it good?"

Glaring at him and his prideful smirk, you instead grabbed a pillow from behind you and threw it at him as he laughed.

"Damn, I must have been amazing. Thanks for teaching me."

Your face was red as you grabbed your bottoms from off the floor and pulled them back up your legs, too embarrassed to look at the boy, "you too..."

"I gotta go to bed now, so it's time for you to go. You better sweep lover boy off his feet."

At that, he pushed you out of the room, and you stood in front of the now closed door frozen in embarrassment. You seriously needed to ask him out soon, before he could use those skills on some other girl.

[edendaphne]

“Discordant Sonata”- Ch. 14

Sorry about the cliffhanger last chapter! (>////<)  I hope you enjoy the continuation!

>>Read it here on Ao3<< >>Read it here on Wattpad<<

CHAPTER 14: RUBATO

Music glossary: Rubato (Italian: 'stolen/robbed') - Musical term for the elasticity of music, most often expressed in time, or rhythm. In essence, by 'stealing' time, or borrowing it, rubato allows the performer to achieve greater musical expression and freedom. The player may deviate from strict tempo regularity by stretching certain beats, measures, or phrases and compacting others, in a musically correct method of atonement.

(Mood Music: "One Man’s Dream" - Yanni)

Ladybug was falling. Her body felt like it was floating, yet she could see a myriad of objects zooming past her: buildings, vehicles, street signs, people, as if her world had been rotated ninety degrees and gravity was pulling her across the street instead of towards the earth. She dropped down (or was it sideways??), further into the blackness. Time seemed to have slowed down, although she couldn’t be sure. It was as if she were a stone that had been dropped into a vast ocean, its currents violently rushing past.

Where am I?

She looked up towards the only source of light, which dimmed more and more as she fell. When it was merely a speck, she wondered if she’d plunged into a complete, terrifying darkness, all alone. Was there no way out? Fear gripped her chest, and she struggled to hold in a whimper.

A sudden brightness blinded her and someone, or some thing, caught her, preventing her from falling any further. Panicking, she squeezed her eyes shut against the onslaught of lights, and she struggled to wrest herself free. She squirmed and tried to shove the unknown entity away, but it was all in vain, as she was merely squeezed even tighter. The unknown force was simply too powerful to fight off in her confused and disoriented state, and although the grip wasn’t rough or painful, it was firm and unrelenting.

“Let me go!” she cried, still scrambling to get away. “Please, somebody help!!”

She felt someone’s face lower next to hers. “Easy, easy, it’s just me. You’re okay,” a deep voice cooed, their warm breath tickling her ear.

Her struggles ceased; she knew that voice.

“Chat��?”

Ladybug forced her eyes to focus, and they traveled up to meet his. She felt her body relax a bit as she looked into the familiar green glow. Could it really be him? How much of this situation was real?

“What happened? Is it really you? Am I… is this a dream?” she asked.

Chat Noir gave her a self-deprecating smile. “As much as I’d like to joke about being the man of your dreams, you’re actually awake right now.”

Ladybug quirked an eyebrow. Well... he certainly sounded like the real Chat.

She ignored the sudden heat in her face and asked, “Where are we? How did I get here?”

She felt Chat shrug as he held her, his face mirroring her own look of confusion. “It’s… I’m not exactly sure how to explain.” His eyes looked distant as he recounted what happened. “I saved the people from the vehicle that the akuma threw, and then started running back towards you guys. But I saw that she had you cornered, and I realized I wasn’t going to reach you in time. I was so scared. But then, like…” His face scrunched as he tried to articulate what happened, as if he were still trying to make sense of it himself. “Something stopped me. I got this feeling, this urge, that I needed to go inside this building. It seemed like a really stupid idea, but it’s like I couldn’t ignore it. So, against my better judgment, I followed it. Then when I was inside, I heard Plagg’s voice in my head. He said… ‘BLACK HOLE’.”

Ladybug blinked. Black Hole? Why did that sound so familiar…?

“So I repeated the words, and just like with Cataclysm, this... power activated in my hand; one I’ve never used before. And then it was like, somehow I knew what to do next. I put my hand on the wall and I focused, thinking about you and your location. I made a hole appear under you, and you fell through it. And then you landed here.”

Ladybug’s eyes grew wide. She realized that the power he was talking about had been briefly mentioned in Fu’s writings and records about other miraculouses, but no other details had been available.

“Chat, that–that’s remarkable,” she breathed. “You discovered a brand new power when it was needed the most… That’s amazing! Thank you.”

Chat looked away, cheeks reddening. “I-it was nothing. Just doing my job.” He cleared his throat, then nodded at the Lucky Charm in her hands. “S-so, uh... I noticed that you’ve got an interesting looking lightbulb there. Got any ideas?”

Oh. The Lucky Charm… she’d somehow managed to hold onto it during her odd trip through the black hole.

Right on cue, her earrings rang out their first beep.

She shook her head. “Not yet. But let’s go back outside so I can look around and see what we can use.”

“Good idea,” he replied with a fond smile, then seemed to be waiting for her so he could follow.

Her face felt warm again, and she added awkwardly, “Uhh… you’re gonna have to set me down first. I’m fine now, really.”

Chat’s eyebrows flew up, finally realizing that she was still nestled in his arms. “O-oh! Right! H-here you go,” he stammered, quickly setting her down onto the floor. They looked at each other, wringing their hands and chuckling awkwardly.

She turned and began to walk away when she felt him gently grab her arm.

“Wait,” he said, his expression turning forlorn. “I-uh… I wanted to apologize. For what my father said. He said a lot of really horrible things to you, and you don’t deserve any of it. He wasn’t always like… like that. I know he was just trying to turn us against each other, and I wanted to argue back, b-but it’s like I’d open my mouth and nothing would come out, and I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

She turned her body around to face him completely. Was he really apologizing for what had happened back there?? She had to consciously fight the urge to step forward and wrap her arms around him, as overzealous physical affection probably wasn’t what he needed right now. Especially not after what Hawkmoth said to him about her and her… motivations.

“Chat…You don’t have to apologize. The things Hawkmoth said, the things he does… you have no control over any of it; none of it is your fault. You’re not responsible for his words and actions. The man currently wearing the butterfly miraculous isn’t your father. He’s a villain, and extremely mentally disturbed. He’ll do and say anything to achieve what he wants.”

Chat looked away, his fists squeezing tightly. “B-but… what if he’s right, about some of it? Do you really need me? Would it be better for me to just hand you my miraculous so you could wish for him to go away, or wish for his miraculous back? I’m partly responsible so I should be the one to accept any consequences. Would I be more useful if I simply disappeared? Would it fix everything? Would it... save him and make him go back to normal?”

Ladybug felt her body stiffen and a sudden nausea settled in her gut.

Chat still loved his father. He wanted to save him.

She looked up at him, her determined eyes meeting his fearful ones. “Chat… don’t ever think for a second that things would be better off without you. Take a step back and look at the whole picture. You literally just discovered a new power, in the middle of battle, to save me from an akuma. That’s incredible!”

Chat’s cheeks flushed and he looked away, rubbing his arm shyly.

Ladybug continued, “If you don’t trust yourself yet, then trust me. I don’t need your miraculous.” She slowed down, emphasizing each word clearly. “I need YOU.”

“I…” he gaped at her, at a loss for words. A wave of emotions flickered through his face in quick sequence. Shock. Relief. Affection. Hope. Finally, he replied, “Th-thank you for saying that. You have no idea how much that means to me. And... I do trust you. It’s just… I just feel so powerless whenever he’s around, almost like I revert back into being a little kid, too afraid to talk back, too weak to act. Sometimes it feels like I’ll never escape him.”

Ladybug gulped and decided to chance stepping closer. She took his hands into hers, squeezing firmly, her eyes searching his to make sure her actions weren’t unwelcome.

“I can’t imagine how you must be feeling. But I assure you, you’re doing the right thing. It’ll take time for you to feel more confident around him, but I know you can do it. We can defeat him. YOU can defeat him. I believe in you, Chaton. I believe in us. The ladybug and cat miraculouses are back together where they belong, and as a team they can bring back balance. Together, our magic is greater than his. And I’ll do everything in my power to help you be free of that man.”

Chat bit his lip, gazing at her fondly, looking like he was moments away from tackling her with a hug. Instead, he shook his head with a dreamy sigh. “I don’t deserve you, My Lady.”

Ladybug ignored the heat that rose to her face, and booped him on the nose. “Stop saying that, you silly cat. You deserve every possible good thing to happen to you.”

Chat raised her hands to his lips and left a lingering kiss. “You’re already the best thing that’s ever happened to ‘Chat Noir’. Thank you,” he said softly.

“I–I...”Her breath caught slightly, the huskiness in Chat’s voice producing a pleasant tingle that traveled down her spine. “Y-you’re welcome,” she managed to stammer out.

“Also… I know this isn’t the time, but after we defeat this akuma, I’ll tell you everything about my mother. She’s the reason why we did everything. We were trying to save her. She’s… well, at first I thought she was sick, but things are more complicated than that. Anyway, I promise I’ll tell you everything.”

Because I really do trust you, and I need you to know that , his eyes seemed to say as they bore into hers.

She smiled at him. “If she’s anything like you, I’m sure she’s an amazing person.” Chat looked down at her, his emotions threatening to spill out at her words.

He was about to reply when his ring beeped out its first alarm, and they were startled apart.

Chat walked back to her with a smile. Linking his fingers between hers, he said, “Let’s do this, Bugaboo. We’ve got an akuma to take care of.”

(Mood Music: “Never Say No” - Abel Korzeniowski)

The pair peeked out from behind a wall, locating the akuma, who was still searching for them after Ladybug’s mysterious disappearance.

Ladybug whispered to Chat, “Do you have any idea where her akuma could be hiding?”

“I think it’s in her necklace. It lights up right before she uses her powers.”

Ladybug looked around, searching for more clues, as Chat stood behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders, keeping guard. All the streets and buildings were so dark, it was hard for her to see anything. Occasionally she would ask Chat to read out a sign or placard, taking advantage of his night vision. Squinting, Ladybug’s eyes landed on a certain building, and finally an idea planted itself into her brain.

“So… she sucks up all the light around her, like her own version of a black hole.” She brought out the small, polka dotted lightbulb, turning it with her fingers. “But what if we give her more light than she can handle?”

Chat noticed the building she was eyeing. “Got a plan?” he asked curiously.

“I think so. You think you can lure her into that shop?”

Chat stepped away with a cheerful salute. “Can do!”

“Great! Give me a minute or so to set everything up. Once you’re inside, follow my lead,” she instructed.

Chat winked at her. “Aye aye, partner! See you soon!”

A few well-timed puns and taunts later, Chat had the akuma exactly where he wanted her. He baited and goaded her into the building (which turned out to be a photography studio), as Ladybug had instructed.

Indoors, however, the tight quarters made it much more difficult to keep the akuma occupied and stay out of harm’s way. As they reached the middle of the studio, Chat backed up into a lone tripod and lost his footing. The akuma used the opportunity to strike him with an uppercut that landed him on the ground, disoriented.

“I guess I have to put you down first before I can take care of your Lady friend,” she said as she raised her blackened palm towards Chat, the pendant in the middle of her chest beginning to glow.

Before she fired, however, she heard Ladybug call, “Hey, Night Terror! Leave my Kitty alone and watch the birdie instead!”

The woman looked around in confusion to find the source of the voice, only to be met by a cacophony of camera clicks and dozens of rapidly flashing lights. Ladybug quickly replaced the flash lightbulbs with fresh ones to continue the onslaught of light, and Chat used the opportunity to knock the akuma over with his staff. The woman shielded her eyes helplessly as she fell with a sharp cry, and Chat yanked the necklace away from her. He flung it across the room to Ladybug, who threw it on the ground and stomped on it.

“Off you go, you pesky butterfly,” Ladybug grumbled as the purified akuma fluttered away. She called for the Miraculous Cure and tossed the polka dotted flash bulb into the air, and everything around them quickly went back to normal.

The former akumatized victim sat on the floor, massaging her temple with a light groan.

“Uggghhh, where am I?”

Chat Noir knelt down beside her and asked, “Are you alright, ma’am?”

The woman turned her head towards him, opening her mouth to answer, but shrieked upon recognizing who was speaking to her. “Chat Noir!! S-stay back! Wh-what do you want?!”

Chat’s expression fell and he raised his hands to show he meant no harm, backing away with a quiet apology.

Ladybug made her way towards them, clambering over the plethora of cables and photography equipment. She placed her hand on Chat’s shoulder and explained, “It’s okay, don’t be afraid. Chat Noir works with me now. He’s here to help. You were akumatized. Can you tell us the last thing you remember?”

The three made their way out of the building while the young woman prattled at length about a group project she’d been a part of for the past few weeks that had been making her life a living nightmare. Hours before the due date, one of the group members had revealed that they hadn’t completed any of the assignment, and everything else just fell apart. Ladybug and Chat groaned in understanding and solidarity.

“Group projects are the worst,” they all agreed.

Before they could offer to walk the akuma victim home, however, a barrage of video cameras and microphones was shoved in their faces, startling them back into the moment.

Reporters.

Lots of them.

Ladybug sensed Chat stiffen beside her in discomfort.

Then the bombardment of questions began.

“Ladybug! Are you and Chat Noir working together now?”

“Is this permanent or just a temporary alliance?”

Ladybug donned her professional interviewee persona and began the tedious task of clearing up some of the events that had happened recently.

“Chat Noir and I are now allies, and we’ll be fighting Hawkmoth as a team from now on,” she stated simply.

“Why has Chat Noir worked with Hawkmoth until now?”

Ladybug answered, “Hawkmoth has been controlling and blackmailing Chat Noir for the past few years, and he’s only recently managed to escape him. Hawkmoth is the true villain.”

An angrier voice clamored, “What are you going to do to keep your cat on a leash?! He can’t be trusted!”

“Will you be taking his miraculous away as punishment?”

“Did you find out Chat Noir’s identity and threaten him to help you?”

“Did you kidnap and brainwash him with your ladybug magic?”

Ladybug fought the urge to facepalm herself all the way to Mars. This was quickly spiraling out of control. “Ugh, wow. No, that is not how magic works. Unlike Hawkmoth, I’m not threatening him or coercing him.”

A familiar face popped up from behind another reporter. “Ladybug, are you and Chat Noir sleeping together?”

Chat flinched in horror, looking quite like he’d swallowed a fly, but Ladybug managed to answer with a straight face and stern voice, “That question is highly inappropriate and I won’t be answering it, Nadja .

Nadja Chamack didn’t seem to be phased by the fiery glare that Ladybug was sending in her direction; but before she could follow up with another invasive question, a friendly voice by a certain bespectacled novice reporter chimed in, “Mr. Noir! What brought about this change of heart?”

Ladybug bit back a reprimand about how Alya should really be home at this hour, and instead, stepped to the side to let Chat handle the question. She’d been wanting to shield him from all of this intrusive media attention, since he probably wasn’t used to all the unwarranted personal questions. But she also understood both the need for him to experience this, and the fact that he was perfectly capable of standing up to them on his own.

Chat replied somewhat timidly, “I… I guess I realized that he was going too far. I was trying to help a loved one, and he led me to believe that we needed the ladybug miraculous’ powers to save them. He told me that we were doing a good thing. But I didn’t realize just how much our actions would affect everyone else, until now. I’m truly sorry I’ve caused you all so much trouble these past few years.”

Someone in the back yelled, “Simply saying ‘Sorry’ isn’t gonna fix everything!”

Chat resisted the urge to shrink away. He replied, “I know it won’t. What I did was wrong. And there’s nothing I can do to change the past. But actions speak louder than words, so I’ll just have to prove myself to you. I promise that you have nothing to fear from me. I’m here by my own volition, not because Ladybug is forcing me. I truly want to make up for all the wrongs the people of Paris have had to suffer. From now on, I’ll do my best to atone by helping Ladybug protect the city, and we will bring Hawkmoth to justice.”

The multitude murmured and buzzed with equal parts uncertainty and interest, still trying to figure out the new hero.

A sharp trill broke through the air, and Ladybug had never been as grateful to hear her earrings beep as she was at this moment.

“We have to go. Will the police please escort this young lady home?” she asked, making eye contact with the police officers nearby, and they nodded in reply.

She motioned for Chat to follow, and they disappeared into the skyline together.

Before she and Chat parted ways themselves, however, he tugged on her sleeve to get her attention. She turned her body to face his, looking up into his concerned eyes.

“We don’t have much time; I’ve only got about ten more minutes left til I transform back,” he said. “But I think it’s finally time I tell you about my mom.”

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

Notes:

Chat Noir's "Black Hole" ability from this chapter was based on one of Chat's powers in the original PV version, as seen in the concept art below:

Next chapter: The first day of school! It's the last year before they graduate, and they'll be meeting up with some of their old friends and classmates.... Including a certain two-faced brunette with a penchant for lying >:3

[textsfromtbz]

→ b u r n i n g love [chapter 13]

→ strangers to lovers!AU, college!AU

→ ji changmin x kim ara (OC/reader)

→ summary: A new face on campus strikes an opportunity for Changmin to take another chance at love. Although the relationship heats up fast, it boils over at the same rate, will their love be able to cool down for the long run?

previous || next

After she finished grooming herself, she put on the newest black lingerie set from her collection. Ara stood in the mirror, looking at how the black lace complimented her figure. Butterflies raged in her stomach at the thought of what Changmin would do after seeing her in her skimpy outfit. Since he’d helped her make up with her friends, she thought this small gesture would make it up to him.

Her body tingled as she walked down the hall to Changmin’s door; she was more excited than nervous. They had kissed, made out and done other things before but tonight could be the first time they’d ever have sex. She took a deep breath before knocking twice on the heavy wooden door. The door swung open before her fist could return to her side, “I thought you’d never come. Hurry and come in.”

“Someone is impatient,” Ara scoffed.

She walked into the apartment and immediately took notice of the amber scented candle burning and how the lamp in the corner dimly lit the room. When she told him to clean up his place, she was half kidding but to her surprise he really did it. Changmin led her to take a seat on the couch and placed his hand on her thigh when she sat down. The warmth through the fabric of the leggings she wore sent a shiver through her body.

“Seriously though, thanks again for the advice. I really thought I blew it there for a moment but I’m glad we were all able to talk things out,” Ara said giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

Changmin rubbed up and down on her thigh, “It was no problem. You know that I’m here for you.”

Ara felt the heat grow underneath her clothes. A part of her was just as impatient as him. She looked at him and swallowed the lump in her throat. His hair hung in his face like always and stopped just before his eyes that literally sparkled even in low lighting. His lips stretched into a smile and the little mole near his lower lip beckoned her to kiss it. Her eyes travelled lower over the vein protruding from his neck, feeling the sudden urge to trace it with her tongue. The shirt he wore stretched over his broad shoulders; she secretly loved how small she felt when he hovered over her. She thought back to the times her tiny hands ran across all the ridges of his muscles and how he groaned under her touch. Images of his shirtless torso flashed in her mind as another shiver coursed through her body.

She blinked away the images in her mind and mentally cursed herself for getting carried away in such arousing thoughts, “And I’m sorry for making you take a rain check on our date but trust me, I’ll make it up to you tonight.”

Changmin couldn’t hide his excitement as a smirk formed on his mouth and leaned back to rest on the back of couch with his hands behind his head. “Then what’re you waiting for? I’m ready.”

Ara was ready too. She stood up from the couch and unzipped her jacket to reveal her black bra. She let the jacket fall to the ground and turned her back to strip free of her leggings. The further down the fabric went, the more of her bare behind Changmin got to see. He sighed in contentment as he watched her undress in front of him and the blood began rushing to his cock.

She climbed onto his lap and leaned down to kiss him. He kissed her back eagerly, pushing his tongue pass her lips to explore her wet cavern. His hands held her close and gave the plush skin of her behind a tight squeeze. A moan involuntarily fell from Ara’s mouth.

The sensual kiss had taken their breaths away causing the both of them to pull back for some air. Ara took the opportunity to take his shirt off; her hands ripped the shirt over his head and immediately found their place on his chest just like she was imagining earlier. She then moved to place hungry kisses along his neck, starting from his ear to his shoulder. The longer she spent kissing him, the harder his cock felt against her lace panties.

The kisses travelled lower until Ara found her mouth hovering the area below his bellybutton. She stopped to smile at him. His eyes weren’t sparkling anymore...they are dark and full of lust. When she placed a open mouth kiss right above the elastic waist band of his pants, he softly moaned and bucked his hips.

“I’m just getting started,” She teased.

Ara fixed herself on her knees between his legs and dragged his sweats and underwear down with her. She watched his erection spring up and smack his stomach. Her fist wrapped around his length and slowly began sliding up and down. Changmin’s eyes fluttered closed at the pleasure. He melted like butter in her hand.

Her lips peppered kisses on the insides of his thighs as she continued to stroke him. His soft noises gradually became louder; the soft moans turned into harsh groans. She pressed a small peck onto his tip and hummed, “Hmmmm...do you want more?”

“Yes,” He breathed.

Ara complied by closing her mouth around the head and he instantly groaned at the wet feeling. She smeared her saliva all over the head and made sure her tongue grazed underneath where he was most sensitive. Her mouth lowered down toward the base, taking each inch of into her mouth until he touched the back of her thoat. When she withdrew strings of spit followed, a sight that Changmin couldn’t get enough of.

His heavy hand grasped the back of her neck and guided her back down to his aching cock. She fit as much of him into her mouth as she could without gagging and clutched her fist around the rest. With a steady pace, she began to bob her head and hand together up and down his length. As he grew closer to his climax, the hand on the back of Ara’s neck willed her to move faster.

“Your mouth feels too good,” Changmin strained between his teeth.

That was Ara’s cue to pull away and release his throbbing member from her mouth. He breathed heavily, his chest heaved as he tried to maintain his composure. She crawled her way back into his lap and kissed him hungrily. Seeing and hearing the way Changmin was reacting had Ara so aroused that the middle of her lace panties felt slick. The tip poking her clothed core only made her wetter.

He kneaded her behind roughly as they kissed, squeezing the skin until it was marked red. The burning sensation on her skin only made Ara want him even more; she pulled the black lace aside and rocked her wet pussy along his swollen cock. The friction was delicious, she swore she could feel the veins grazing her clit with each time she moved.

It was Changmin’s turn to attack her with kisses. His lips started at her jaw and made their way to her neck and paused to nibble on the lobe of her ear. He continued down the thin skin and sucked the spot at the base on her neck, marking her once more with another red mark. Breathless moans spilled profusely from Ara’s mouth, it was all she could manage in the midst of it all. Her mind fogged with delight as an orgasm approached.

“Fuck me,” She whispered.

The words halted Changmin’s movements. He’d been waiting what felt like forever to hear those words so much so he almost thought she’d never say it. Without any further hesitation, he carried her to his bed and tossed her down onto the mattress. Her back hit with a soft thud. Ara taunted him by spreading her legs wide, putting her gleaming cunt on display for him to see. She slid two fingers between her folds before plunging then deep into her aching hole. A wave of heat washed over Changmin and caused his cock to twitch as he watched.

“I should punish you for teasing me like that,” He said lowly as he eyed her body like a meal deprived man.

“Do it,” She encouraged.

He seized her mouth again; his tongue forcefully entangled with hers as he pulled the black lace down her legs and tossed it away into the corner of the room. Ara drew in a sharp breath when she felt Changmin’s thick fingers enter her and curl towards her gspot. When he began to press her sweet spot, her jaw unhinged and cried out in pleasure. It was like he knew her body better than she did. Her noises urged him to keep going until she was on the edge of cumming on his fingers.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” He teased.

His teeth against her ear sent a chill down her spine. She frantically nodded her head, the only response she was capable of at that moment. He smirked against her skin and pulled away, leaving her cunt with nothing to clench around. He wasn’t going to let her cum so easily. After all, it was her suppose to be making it up to him. With one hand, he flipped her over onto her hands and knees while the other hand spanked her behind. His voice was in her ear, “Only good girls get to cum, have you been a good girl?”

“No...” Ara said shamefully.

His fingers made their way between her folds, gathering the juices to spread around the head of his cock before positioning himself at her entrance. Both of his hands held her hips and eased his length into her. A long and drawn out moan left his lips as her walls engulfed him inch by inch. Ara whimpered at such a full feeling, the way he fit inside her was like a hand fitting perfectly into a glove.

Changmin’s voice was in her ear again, “Show me that you can be a good girl and then you can cum.”

Ara knew just what to do. She began to move, drawing his cock in and out of her dripping hole. He grunted at the first impact, loving the sound it made when her ass hit his pelvis. She swore she saw stars when his tip touched her deepest spot, that familiar feeling in her stomach returning with avengence. Changmin knew right then that he was addicted; he wanted this feeling everyday if he could have it.

“Just like that. I knew you were a good girl,” Changmin praised.

She moved steadily, but he insisted otherwise. With his hands on her hips, he aggressively sent her body crashing into his repeatedly at a fast pace. She couldn’t help but squeeze around him as he massaged her sweet spot again. The tightening grip on her skin was making his knuckles turn white. The more she squeezed, the harder and faster his hips snapped.

“Changmin, I-I can’t,” Ara thrashed around at his mercy.

The overwhelming feeling of her climax made it hard for her to speak. She wasn’t sure how much longer she couldn’t hold off on completely bursting at the seams. It was when his hand snuck in between her legs and furiously began rubbing circles around her clit that caused her to explode. He growled from behind her, “Go ahead, cum.”

Ara’s shrill scream bounced off the walls of the bedroom as she came. Her walls convulsed around Changmin and he continued his movements, maybe even harder than he was already going. She couldn’t be sure of it since her orgasm swarmed his senses.

Just when she thought it was over, he withdrew and flipped her over to her back. Ara’s body shook; waves of pleasure crashing over her made her body jolt in all directions. Her vision was blurred but she could still see him underneath the dim light coming through the window. His eyes were in a frenzy, his hair was matted with sweat and his teeth chewed at his bottom lip as he pumped himself up and down.

“Fuck,” He cursed as white hot strings of cum shot out onto Ara’s stomach.

Ara laid there basking in the warm feeling of cum pooling on her stomach. She didn’t think she could move even if she wanted to. Her heart raced, her arms felt like gelatin and her legs were still shaking. Changmin slumped over her body after he finished, barely able to brace himself with his arms. His hot breath fanned over her face as he regained control over his breathing, “Wow.”

“Indeed,” Ara chuckled in agreement.

She needed to clean herself up but before she could even begin to sit up, Changmin was already reaching for the tissues on his nightstand. With a handful of tissue, he wiped the cum from her stomach and the sweat from her face. She couldn’t help but crack a smile at the gesture since no one had ever done that before in her past sexual encounters. He placed one last kiss on her lips before leaving the bedroom, “Stay here. I’ll be back.”

When he returned, he had her clothes (including the panties that’s been tossed away eariler) and a cup of tea in his hands. His smile beamed as she got dressed and settled back down on the bed next to him with the cup of tea. He felt so content just watching her; even her smallest movements made his heart flutter. Her cheeks flushed when she caught him staring, “Why are you smiling at me like that?”

The same flush on her cheeks appeared on his when he spoke, “I’m happy when I’m with you, that’s all. It’s crazy how everything has fallen into place for us.”

“Us?” She almost choked on a sip of tea.

Changmin’s face went pale and he stuttered over his words as he attempted to retract his statement, “I didn’t mean us- like we’re together or anything- I meant that as in we’ve been spending a lot of time together and...”

Ara inturrupted him before he could confuse her even more, “So we aren’t together?”

His head dropped in embarrassment; he palmed his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut hoping that this conversation was just a dream. His heart pounded his in chest as he searched for an answer but the truth was he didn’t know the answer to her question, “I don’t know actually, did we ever say that we weren’t? I guess I just assumed that we were? If we aren’t, I’d like us to be but only if you want to be with me too.”

The words spilled of his mouth like water rushing down a waterfall. The more he spoke, the more Ara’s head spun and she began to feel dizzy. She sat as still as a statue on his bed while her thoughts raced and his words replayed in her head until everything started to jumble together and she couldn’t piece together a cohert response. The panic settled in and her body moved instinctively; she returned the cup of tea to him, scurried to her feet and walked to the door.

“I’ve gotta go.”

[mooneyedandglowing]

Nine-Panel Yaak River Screen

BY CHARLES WRIGHT Midmorning like a deserted room, apparition Of armoire and table weights, Oblongs of flat light,                                      the rosy eyelids of lovers Raised in their ghostly insurrection, Decay in the compassed corners beating its black wings, Late June and the lilac just ajar. Where the deer trail sinks down through the shadows of blue spruce, Reeds rustle and bow their heads, Creek waters murmur on like the lamentation of women For faded, forgotten things. And always the black birds in the trees, Always the ancient chambers thudding inside the heart.                                           _________ Swallow pure as a penknife                                                   slick through the insected air. Swallow poised on the housepost, beakful of mud and a short straw. Swallow dun-orange, swallow blue,                                                                 mud purse and middle arch, Home sweet home. Swallow unceasing, swallow unstill At sundown, the mother's shade over silver water. At the edge of the forest, no sound in the grey stone, No moan from the blue lupin. The shadows of afternoon                                               begin to gather their dark robes And unlid their crystal eyes. Minute by minute, step by slow step, Like the small hand on a clock, we climb north, toward midnight.                                           _________ I've made a small hole in the silence, a tiny one, Just big enough for a word. And when I rise from the dead, whenever that is, I'll say it. I can't remember the word right now, But it will come back to me when the northwest wind                                                                            blows down off Mt. Caribou The day that I rise from the dead, whenever that is. Sunlight, on one leg, limps out to the meadow and settles in. Insects fall back inside their voices, Little fanfares and muted repeats, Inadequate language of sorrow,                                                            inadequate language of silted joy, As ours is. The birds join in. The sunlight opens her other leg.                                           _________ At times the world falls away from us                                                                     with all its disguises, And we are left with ourselves As though we were dead, or otherwised, our lips still moving, The empty distance, the heart Like a votive little-red-wagon on top of a child's grave, Nothing touching, nothing close. A long afternoon, and a long rain begins to fall. In some other poem, angels emerge from their cold rooms, Their wings blackened by somebody's dream. The rain stops, the robin resumes his post.                                                                               A whisper Out of the clouds and here comes the sun. A long afternoon, the robin flying from post back to post.                                           _________ The length of vowel sounds, by nature and by position, Count out the morning's meters—                                                              bird song and squirrel bark, creek run, The housefly's languor and murmurous incantation. I put on my lavish robes And walk at random among the day's                                                                     dactyls and anapests, A widening caesura with each step. I walk through my life as though I were a bookmark, a holder of place, An overnight interruption                                                 in somebody else's narrative. What is it that causes this? What is it that pulls my feet down, and keeps on keeping my eyes       fixed to the ground? Whatever the answer, it will start                                                              the wolf pack down from the mountain, The raven down from the tree.                                           _________ Time gnaws on our necks like a dog                                                                  gnaws on a stew bone. It whittles us down with its white teeth, It sends us packing, leaving no footprints on the dust-dour road. That's one way of putting it. Time, like a golden coin, lies on our tongue's another. We slide it between our teeth on the black water,                                                                                        ready for what's next. The white eyelids of dead boys, like flushed birds, flutter up At the edge of the timber. Domestic lupin Crayolas the yard.                                                              Slow lopes of tall grasses Southbound in the meadow, hurled along by the wind. In wingbeats and increments, The disappeared come back to us, the soul returns to the tree.                                           _________ The intermittent fugues of the creek,                                                                   saying yes, saying no, Master music of sunlight And black-green darkness under the spruce and tamaracks, Lull us and take our breath away.                                                              Our lips form fine words, But nothing comes out. Our lips are the messengers, but nothing can come out. After a day of high winds, how beautiful is the stillness of dusk. Enormous silence of stones. Illusion, like an empty coffin, that something is missing. Monotonous psalm of underbrush                                                               and smudged flowers. After the twilight, darkness. After the darkness, darkness, and then what follows that.                                           _________ The unborn own all of this, what little we leave them, St. Thomas's hand                                   returning repeatedly to the wound, Their half-formed mouths irrepressible in their half-sleep, Asking for everything, and then some. Already the melancholy of their arrival Swells like a sunrise and daydream                                                                 over the eastern ridge line. Inside the pyrite corridors of late afternoon, Image follows image, clouds Reveal themselves,                                    and shadows, like angels, lie at the feet of all things. Chambers of the afterlife open deep in the woods, Their secret hieroglyphics suddenly readable With one eye closed, then with the other.                                           _________ One star and a black voyage,                                                     drifting mists to wish on, Bullbats and their lullabye— Evening tightens like an elastic around the hills. Small sounds and the close of day, As if a corpse had risen from somewhere deep in the meadow And walked in its shadows quietly. The mouth inside me with its gold teeth Begins to open. No words appear on its lips,                                                     no syllables bubble along its tongue. Night mouth, silent mouth. Like drugged birds in the trees,                                                          angels with damp foreheads settle down. Wind rises, clouds arrive, another night without stars.

[jayne-hecate-writer]

Ducati and Lego...

Things are getting weird with Lego of late, from bad decisions regarding the sources of Technic models, to crunchy gear boxes and then this, the Ducati Panigale V4 R…

From the get go, I was really excited by the prospect of the Technic Ducati. The box looked great, with the model on the front looking really exciting, thanks to the clever and beautiful photography. I had to have one and I argued with myself for several days about spending a significant amount of my severely limited resources on what is in effect a silly, children’s toy. When it came to ordering, we were in the middle of Covid lockdown, Lego were sold out and Amazon was stating that toy orders would take six to eight weeks to deliver, it was not looking good. However, through on line shopping and a little bit of time on google, I found me a toy shop in Northern England that had one in stock and for a good price too.

Now let me tell you a little story, several years ago I was working part time for a national bicycle franchise here in the UK, it was the busy pre-Christmas, super busy sales time and I was on my own in the bike department. I sold a kids bike and the new owner wanted to take it away in a box. I went out the back to the storeroom and tried to retrieve the bike box from a pile stacked up on a shelf, which collapsed on me, crushing a nerve in my neck and right arm. The pain did not not start right away, instead it built up in intensity until I was struggling to take deep breaths had to ask my boss to take me to hospital. I was X-Rayed, poked, prodded and suddenly strapped down hard to a table when a Doctor found shadow across one of my vertebrate that indicated that I had broken my neck! Luckily, it was not broken and I have no idea what that little dark line on the X-Ray image of my tiny bone was. The damage was done though and the nerve that runs from my neck, down my arm and through my elbow was permanently damaged. I was given a lot of medical treatment, went through an awful lot of pain and I was off work for three months because of the injury and grew extremely bored and depressed. The relief to my suffering came in a surprising fashion, when my partner picked up for me, a Lego Technic motorbike to build.

That little Lego motorbike was a revelation, it looked great, it worked brilliantly and it came with instructions to build a second model from the same kit. The kit came with stickers and the whole thing was a bright orange colour that resembled a KTM motocross bike. Days later, e-Bay brought me a bright green one that despite not being as good, was still fabulous and my addiction to Lego, a hobby I started as a child and had put aside as an adult, came back and bit me hard. For me, Lego Technic motorbikes will always be a little bit special because when I cannot ride my own, I can at least build one out of Lego which I enjoy rather than wasting a couple of hours watching brain dead TV or feeling worthless and bored.

Which brings me right up to date. My injured arm and hand never fully recovered, despite hours of physio and exercise. Other injuries came and I was soon left disabled and with a rapidly growing Lego Technic collection. These days, I am an AFOL spend my time building MOC ( Adult Fan of Lego and My Own Creation for non Lego people) machines of varying kinds, although I really enjoy big heavy trucks for some reason. I rarely buy a Technic kit these days, preferring to buy the parts I want in order to construct a particular model. So for me to buy a whole set, means that it is special.

The box of the Ducati does an awesome job of selling the model, it has a photo of the real bike on the back and they go to great lengths to take photos of the Lego model from all of its very best angles. They have also made some new parts specifically for this set and they are pretty good. The new USD suspension forks look amazing and they actually work. The disk rotors look cool. The new wide rear tyres is awesome and looks the part and it is not hard to imagine this machine riding around a race track, but we will come to that later.

However, on closer inspection, there are some gaping holes in the Ducati that in my opinion leave it looking unfinished. The front forks really are great, but with out a front hugger or even brake calipers it just looks wrong, like there is a big chunk missing from the front of the model. Then we come to the windscreen, which is a soft piece of fogged up plastic film that fits so badly, it is a wonder it was ever signed off by the Ducati engineers! The V-4 engine and working gear box do nothing simply because you cannot see them, rendering the visual impact of the moving engine parts pointless. The final drive for the fake motor from the rear wheel is by a little white elastic band which to my view is a bit disappointing. Then came my biggest bugbear of all. The sheer number of stickers the builder needs to attach. I will make no secret of the fact that I thoroughly hate stickers on Lego parts for the following reasons. Firstly, they can be an absolute bastard to fit accurately. Secondly, they tend to peel off over time or lift a corner and get furry with dust which makes them look even worse. Finally, heavily stickered up pieces prevent you from using the pieces in other MOC constructions. At least with printed pieces, the final model actually looks great for display, even if you cannot use the printed parts elsewhere. Stickers are just a massive pain in the arse and some of the stickers on this set are tiny, so I refused to fit them, meaning that the final model looks a bit flat and dull. Yes, this is my fault for not using the stickers, but we get onto a circular argument here.

With the model finished and sat on my desk, I was, I have to admit, feeling a little disappointed. Then it fell over. Unlike other Technic bikes that have gone before, this bike has no side stand. Instead it comes with a paddock stand, which does not fit well or work properly. The finished model is so unstable that it has to be balanced just right to stop it falling over, meaning that it is also not a good model for display for both the practical and aesthetic reasons. The handle bars are designed to look like real clip on bars, they are very prettily done and there is even a brake fluid reservoir for the front brake… But no brake lever. Similarly, the rear fluid reservoir is present, but again, no brake pedal. Yes, I know that these are small points to make, but when the designer has gone to the effort to add tiny details, why omit the actual main bits that require the small details?

Sadly, this model is deeply flawed and the front screen is the final insult. This scrap of plastic film is held in place by two bright red Ninjago swords, leaving a five millimetre gap on either side. No matter what I tried, I could not get it to sit nicely and the foggy plastic looked awful anyway. The under engine exhaust gets a similar lacklustre treatment and the huge double bend pipe work looks out of scale. The real shame here is that the actual front fairing of this model is a thing of beauty that looks suitably menacing. But with the lack of front guard below and the pathetic screen above, it ends up looking like a nasty custom from a bad biker build off show. There was so much potential for this model to be amazing and Lego seemed to cut too many corners with the final result. For example, the front disk rotors are beautifully designed, but why are they moulded in standard light stone grey? They should have been done in a beautiful pearl silver. The bad screen is simply unforgivable, but there is a fix to this and it involves a clear plastic bottle, a pair of scissors and fifteen minutes to get it to sit just right! The useless paddock stand is annoying and having built my own in the past for custom models, I know how much easier they are to make.

What about the bikes that came before this one? To be honest, the not quite a Triumph Street Triple is still my favourite. It is so clearly a model of the Triumph modern classic, one has to ask why it did not have an official endorsement, especially given that it was and remains one of the most beautiful motorbikes in the Technic range. It also comes with some printed pieces too, making the final model even more beautiful.

The big BMW GS1200 is an ugly brute of a bike in reality, but the Lego model of it is fabulous with the unique telelever suspension and huge pannier boxes... even if the flat twin engine is a bit lame looking with a huge gap between cylinder and head.

The truth is that no Technic motorbike will ever be perfect, although the Street triple does come very close. Compared to these, the Ducati feels like a rushed and unfinished model, which is a real shame given (and I say this a dedicated Suzuki owner) the absolute beauty of the real thing.

So, what can I do next with this bloody thing, it’s not like I can chuck a motor on it and set it off across the car park like I can do with the Corvette they released this year, is it? Wellllllll…. It would be rude not to try and this has been for a while now, an on going project for me to build an actual working Lego Motorbike, running on Technic Power functions kit. To date and prior to this new Ducati, I have had a single working prototype model that was able to ride and steer just like a real motorcycle. A moving weighted brick causes the bike to lean over, which steers the bike. As the weight moves back, the bike stands up again and continues in a straight line. It is not yet perfect and I have lost it under a couple of cars as I experiment. I tried to modify the Ducati chassis to accept this steering and drive set up of a pair of motors and a battery pack and the result was more ugly than me with a post migraine hangover, having woken up with my head covered in drool!

Sadly, the chain drive could not deliver the power needed to spin the wheel fast enough with enough torque to propel the bike, so I had to resort to a shaft drive on both sides of the wheel replacing the swing arm. By the time I was finished, the final bike looked like a cheap Fake Lego rip off and when I tested it on the smooth tarmac of the car park, it fell over after moving less than a foot!

So that is it for me. I give up. I have tried time and time again and I simply cannot make a working model Ducati motorcycle using Power Functions. If you look on You Tube, others have made working models  and I have no idea how they have done it. One person has used a Buwhizz unit, which over volts the motors giving the bike a real blast of speed. But for those of you with a Physics mind, the way a bike works is super intricate and has nothing at all to do with centrifugal force (yes, I am aware that this is a misnomer, but it has been used for decades to explain a complicated process). Do go and look up how motorbikes steer and balance because the in-depth science of it is fascinating. No really, it is fantastic and for years I have thought so wrongly about how it all works. In the mean time, if any of you out there can figure out how to make a Power Functions controlled motorbike, I shall take my hat off to you. You are clearly a better builder than I.

[raspberryparker]

chocolate orange | one

Peter Parker x Fem!Omega!Reader — A/B/O Verse AU

← previous | mini-series masterlist | next → 

word count: 5,732 i’m so sorry summary: peter hasn’t presented yet so he’s blowing off some steam in the tower. there may be a lack of control on his part. maybe. warnings: see masterlist one paragraph where blood is drawn so if you’re scared of needles, please skip it; light mention of blood, obviously

read it on ao3 add yourself to my taglist! like my work? consider buying me a coffee!

━━━━━━━━

   Plaster dribbled down the wall like pebbles as the sound of the harsh impact echoed around the darkness in the room.

   His chest rose and fell rhythmically with each heavy breath he took in through his nose. They were the type of breaths that moved his whole body, his abdomen tensing as he exhaled angrily. He felt the beads of sweat along his hairline slide down the side of his face, cooling the skin of his neck before dipping below the muscle tank he wore.

   Peter didn’t remember how it had happened, but as he pulled his fist from the new hole in the wall and stretched his fingers, the tendons screaming in protest and his knuckles raw and bleeding, he wasn’t surprised.

   He felt the pain in his hand before he realized what had happened. And as he gathered his surroundings he saw where he was, what he'd done, plaster gathering like dust on the floor, and a new fist-sized hole in Tony Stark’s expensive wall.

   He blinked rapidly, shaking his hand out and looking at his palm in absolute bewilderment. The skin was angry and red, the creases more defined, and he felt the blood pumped by his thundering heart throbbing in his fingertips. Stumbling backwards on the mat, he almost fell flat on his ass as he panted heavily. 

   He’d lost control.

   Peter could hear the chain holding up the punching bag behind him creaking softly as it swayed back and forth, the thing he was supposed to be throwing punches at now forgotten. After all, he’d only come to the Tower that night to blow off some steam. But he’d let it go too far.  Peter let his thoughts stew in his mind as he railed on the punching bag before him. His fists were beginning to cramp but he’d been relentless, refusing to ease up on the jabs even though his arms ached and groaned with every reach. It had all happened so fast. He hadn’t even noticed the unbridled rage that was fuelling his every move until it was too much, seeping from his pores and pouring off him in waves of steam, before he consequently well and truly lost all control.

   He tried to focus his breathing and ease his racing heart, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing a palm to his forehead. He couldn’t go on like this.

   “You know,” the all too familiar voice chimed from behind him. “Someone’s gonna have to pay for that.”

   Peter whirled around, surprised he’d allowed someone to sneak up on him. Usually, the prickling sensation on the back of his neck would have alerted him to someone approaching but he hadn’t felt anything. Nothing other than the irrepressible fury that screamed through his veins, anyway.

   “M-Mr. Stark.” 

   The words sounded breathy, more like an exhale, as all the wind was knocked from him when he saw his idol, mentor, and the reigning Alpha in his life standing behind him with arms crossed. He’d thought he’d been careful; he’d instructed F.R.I.D.A.Y. to not inform Tony of his arrival or what he was up to, but of course, the older man always had the upper hand.

   The man in question looked far from impressed. Peter had never seen him dressed so casually, but he quickly chastised himself for being stupid enough to think that he’d be dressed formally in the middle of the night in the comfort of his own home. Tony’s arms were crossed over the old, faded Slayer t-shirt as he leaned against one of the pillars in the Training Facility, the loose jeans he wore ripped at the knees on both legs, and he was missing his usual tinted glasses. A teasing smile found its way onto his lips, but Peter didn’t seem to see it.

   “M-Mr. Stark, I’m s-so sorry,” he stammered, stooping to pick up the bits of plaster and clean up the mess. “I-I’ll take care of it, I’ll fix it myself if I have to, I promise I-”

   “Hey, hey, hey,” Tony muttered, his voice taking on a higher pitch and soft tone. He was trying to calm the panicking teen in front of him, stepping forward slowly with his hands outstretched. “I was just kidding. You know how many times someone’s punched the wall in here? I practically have the repair guy on speed dial.”

   Peter felt his breath leave his lips in a stuttering sigh, the tense posture he was maintaining easing from his frame. His shoulders fell slowly and he allowed his head to follow suit, looking down at his hands now covered in white dust and crumbly pieces of wall. He let them fall to the floor with a soft clatter. He jumped as Tony’s hands landed on his upper arms and he looked up at him with wide eyes.

   “Christ, you’re shaking like a leaf,” Tony muttered, fingers squeezing Peter’s biceps softly in an attempt to ground him. “What’s wrong, kiddo? I’ve never seen you like this.”

   “I-I just—”

   “Come on,” he said softly. Tony let one hand go and guided Peter slowly to the edge of the mat to their left. “Sit down. Take a breath. You don’t have to tell me but you do need to calm down a bit.”

   As he settled onto the mat, Tony sitting cross-legged beside him, he played with the elastic of his light grey sweatpants, the floor cold under his bare feet. He wondered why Mr. Stark was being so calm and comforting, and then quickly remembered the news stories that flooded the tabloids and entertainment channels years prior when Tony himself had struggled with anxiety. One particular public breakdown stuck out in Peter’s mind, and suddenly he felt his heart tug for his mentor, in both sorrow and thankfulness. But Tony had gotten better, and if there was anyone Peter could trust, it was him. He steeled his nerves then, taking a sharp, shaking breath through his nose. He noticed absently that Tony had unintentionally started trying to calm him with his scent, the smell of fresh laundry and pillows reminding him as much of home as Aunt May’s comforting scent did.  

   “I’m sorry,” he said softly. Tony just about rolled his eyes, but a fond smile took over his expression.

   “I told you it’s fine,” he said. “It’s a wall. It’s replaceable. But—” he poked a finger softly into Peter’s shoulder. “—you’re not. So, what’s up? There a reason you’re sticking your fist through my wall at three in the morning? And why is it so... F.R.I.D.A.Y., hit the lights, half the brightness.”

   The large room lit up around them, the dim light warming the cold atmosphere of the floor. Peter hadn’t even realized he’d forgotten to turn the lights on. He’d been so preoccupied with his goal that it completely slipped his mind. He could see Mr. Stark better now, the light revealing just how tired he looked. The dark crescents under his eyes held creases in them, and for the first time that evening (or morning, he supposed) he wondered why Tony was also awake this late.

   “I just wanted to blow off some steam,” he admitted, playing with his fingers in his lap. “There wasn’t exactly a lot to do tonight. I did my rounds but… it was too calm. And it probably sounds really bad, but I usually take out all of my feelings on those people who deserve it.”

   Tony chuckled softly next to him, his hand coming up to rest on Peter’s opposite shoulder. “It doesn’t sound as bad as you think.”

   “I guess,” Peter shrugged. He brought a hand up and scratched at his head, his hair unruly and fluffy from hours confined in the mask of his suit and from exerting himself on the equipment around him. “I just… I get so angry.”

   “Why?”

   Peter glanced up at Tony, his brows furrowed in fear.

   There was one specific reason for his frustrations, but the anxiety of looking pathetic in front of the person whom he never wanted let down stopped him from speaking. He never wanted Mr. Stark to think any less of him, and they’d been getting closer and closer and more comfortable with each other as the man continued to mentor him over the years. He didn’t want to undo it all by seeming like a helpless child. He’d just got Tony to consider him (somewhat) an adult.

   “Hey, it’s okay,” Tony said, squeezing his shoulder. “You can tell me.”

   “I…”

   Peter screwed his eyes shut, spots growing like ink blots behind his eyelids from the force of it, and took a deep breath.

   “I’m natureless.”

   When he opened his eyes again, his irises adjusted to the light and he only saw Tony blinking at him, a blank expression on his face. He panicked for a moment, wondering if he’d heard him correctly.

   “And?” Tony asked.

   “Mr. Stark,” Peter said, voice cracking. “I’m eighteen.”

   “Right, right.” Tony let his hand fall from Peter’s shoulder, looking away from his face as his brow furrowed. “When are kids supposed to present, again?”

   “Uh, between fourteen and sixteen.”

   “Oh,” he said then, glancing up. “You’re really late then.”

   “Two years,” Peter nodded.

   “But you could just be a late bloomer,” Tony said. “It’s not impossible. Why’s it got you all worked up?”

   “It’s not me,” Peter mumbled.

   “What do you mean?”

   “I’m not exactly, popular,” he snapped, his brow furrowing as he spit the words out. The Alpha raised his eyebrows, surprised at the outburst. Peter looked away sheepishly. “I’m sorry. But… I don’t have a lot of friends at school. Only Ned knows that I’m Spider-Man but I didn’t even mean for him to find out. To everyone else, I’m just a nerdy loser. And being a loser and scentless isn’t exactly a great combination.”

   He sniffled harshly, feeling his eyes sting. Peter shut his eyes, refusing to cry in front of Tony, and he wiped at his nose with the back of his hand before going on.

   “It pisses me off. But I can’t do anything about it, so instead I let loose by kicking criminals in the face. When that wasn’t an option, I came here. But I guess I lost control.”

   Tony laughed then, clapping his hands together. “Better out than in.”

   Peter allowed himself a smile at that, looking up at his mentor.

   “Well, if it’s really bothering you,” he began. “I can take you up for a visit to our resident mad scientist. He might be able to pinpoint why you’re so late. Those seven Ph.D.’s must be good for something.”

   “Dr. Banner’s here?” More importantly, he was still awake? Why was everyone in the Tower such night owls?

   “Always,” Tony smiled. “And don’t worry about bothering him. He’d probably not get to sleep around seven anyway.”

   “Okay,” Peter smiled, allowing himself to relax some as Tony stood up. “Thank you.”

   “Don’t mention it,” the Alpha muttered, ruffling his hair. “No, seriously—”

   “I know,” Peter laughed. “Don’t mention it.”

   Tony smiled then, wide and toothy as he looked down at the boy. “And go take a shower. You stink something fierce.”

   ━━━━━━━━

   The water soothed his aching muscles as he stood below the steady stream in the white tiled shower. Shutting his eyes and taking in a breath through his mouth, drops of water slipping past his lips and wetting his tongue, he rinsed the shampoo out of his hair as he allowed his mind to wander.

   His presentation hadn’t always been a concern for him. In fact, he’d been perfectly healthy. On his fourteenth birthday, May had taken him to the government regulated checkup with a pediatrician to check on his progress as all children were made to do at the age of presentation. The doctor had given him the all clear, and though it was impossible to tell one’s classification before they presented, he had said that it was most likely that Peter would turn out to be Beta or Omega.

   That thought haunted him for the next two years, even during the time he was bitten and gained his new abilities. It always bothered him.

   How he wished he’d present as a Beta. Though male Omegas were not uncommon and were more and more respected and accepted by the day, it was still hard for them within a traditionalist society. It was the same way for female Alphas, but they didn’t have it nearly as bad. Peter thought about MJ and how she’d stayed home for a month when she presented as Alpha during Sophomore year. She came back to school angry and tense, refusing to speak to anyone until her friends had reassured her that they didn’t think any less of her. In fact, the classification suited her. She brushed off the compliments, but she calmed down about it over the next few months. If Peter had presented as Omega, he might have done the same. In any case, he didn’t blame her.

   The summer before Junior year, Peter turned seventeen. He woke up that morning in early August and felt… nothing. He almost cried as he lay awake on his bed, staring at his ceiling. But he never did.

   May had been concerned, insisting she take him to see someone and bathing the apartment in the scent of a stressed out Omega, but he’d brushed her off. Assuring her that it was fine, and knowing full well that May simply didn’t have the income to accommodate a trip to the doctor, he went on with his life. But there was always that nagging thought at the back of his mind.

   If he thought that no one would notice, he’d been sadly mistaken.

   “Well, well, well,” Flash jeered at him from across the school cafeteria on the first day of school. “Penis Parker. How’d summer treat you? What’d you present as? Oh, wait.”

   Peter flinched at that, ducking his head and focusing on the carton of chocolate milk next to his tray. He noticed the anger coming through in MJ’s scent, a warning for anyone around to back off and leave them alone. That only made him sink lower. He didn’t need her to protect him.

   “So not only is Penis Parker a loser,” Flash said far too loudly, so much so that he had the attention of almost everyone in the small cafeteria. “But he’s natureless, too? I never would have guessed. Actually, it suits you, Parker. Just more proof that you’re below the rest of us. Not even an Omega.”

   “Fuck off, Flash,” MJ snarled from the other side of the table.

   “Oh yeah, get your Alpha bitch to protect you.”

   MJ moved to stand, but Ned’s hand on her arm held her back. She glanced at him and caught the look he was giving her, bristling as she settled back into her seat. She stabbed a fork into her apple and held it up lazily.

   “He’s not worth it,” she muttered. Ned nodded across from her.

   As Flash walked out of the room, he glanced over his shoulder, throwing back a final insult.

   “What a pathetic excuse for a pack.”

   As he glanced around at his friends, all grumbling into their food about what an asshole Flash was, he realized that no, it wasn’t a pathetic pack. It was the best family he could ever ask for.

   Across the table from him, Abraham and Betty, a Beta and Omega respectively, sat quietly next to Ned, cautiously looking at Peter with sorrowful eyes. Betty offered him a small smile, which he returned unenthusiastically. She poked at her mac and cheese with a plastic fork, her appetite gone from the outburst. Pushing it weakly toward Abraham, the boy took the extra food with a large grin.

   “Don’t pay attention to him,” Ned said. His brows were furrowed and his cheeks were red from the anger he felt, though he did a decent job of hiding it. “He’s just another knothead jerk.”

   As a Beta, Ned was probably the most level headed of their small pack. MJ was the Alpha, but no one kept her in check the way he did. Though he was still the giddy, comic and Star Wars obsessed boy that Peter knew in his childhood, since his presentation he’d been able to keep calm when it was the most critical. He’d presented around the same time as MJ, and they found comfort in each other when struggling to fit into their new classifications.

   And Peter was only slightly jealous.

   From beside him, a quiet voice chirped up, having been silent during the whole ordeal.

   “Yeah,” Y/N said. Peter turned to her and almost melted at the soft smile on her lips. “I know we say this every time but that only means there’s some logic behind it.”

   “Oh, definitely,” MJ agreed from the other side of the Omega, a mouthful of apple muffling her words. “But if it comes to it, I will rip off his knot.”

   “I don’t think we have to go that far,” Betty interjected with a nervous laugh.

   MJ shrugged. “Just sayin’.”

   Peter felt a hand on his shoulder and glanced over at Y/N. That same smile was still playing on her lips. He felt his heart tug longingly toward her, and he had to look away before he started blushing like a fool.

   “Thanks, guys,” he muttered.

   “We always have your back,” Y/N said.

   He wished she wouldn’t do that.

   It wasn’t even that big of a deal but almost everything she did made him fall more and more helplessly in love with her, if that was what he could call it. He didn’t even know what he felt for her; he just knew it was strong and it was persistent and it would bring him to his knees if she would do so much as ask. It consumed him almost entirely whenever they were together, and even when they were apart. He’d never been this infatuated with anyone before. He’d had his crushes, sure, but this was different.

   The word was right there at the front of his mind, but he knew that if he even thought about it, he’d lose it.

   They’d met through Betty in Sophomore year. The two girls had a U.S. History class together when she transferred to Midtown Tech in late October. He still remembered when Betty had introduced her to the group during lunch. She and Betty stood together, holding hands. She’d looked so sheepish smiling softly behind her hair. So shy. But it was normal, and it also wasn’t surprising that she was clinging to Betty so closely. A new school full of new smells and new people would make anyone anxious, but Omegas felt those emotions much more strongly than Betas or Alphas did. Seeking comfort in another Omega, Y/N opened herself up to Betty and allowed the physical closeness to calm her. And once she’d gotten accustomed to the small pack and they’d accepted her as one of their own, it was virtually unnecessary. But Peter did see them wrapped up in each other whenever one of them was stressed or anxious. It always made him smile.

   Y/N was another reason that Peter feared presenting as an Omega. Though relationships between people of the same classification weren’t unheard of, they were infinitely more complicated and painful if both parties didn’t try their absolute hardest to make it work. And he didn’t want to put her through that.

   He still saw her smile when he closed his eyes, her perfect lips and bright eyes, and still smelled the scent of berries and citrus breeze, so familiar he could almost taste it, when he thought about her. He felt guilty for feeling that way, knowing what his presentation would most likely turn out to be. He should have saved himself the pain if it did turn out the way he expected.

   But he couldn’t help it.

   She smelled like summer, and home, and—

   Peter shook his head, water from his hair spitting against the walls and the door of the shower cubicle, rubbing his eyes as he tried to rid himself of the thought. He wouldn’t allow himself to think it. That much he wouldn’t do.

   The ride up the elevator after he got dressed, his hair still wet and dripping slightly along the floor, was uncomfortable for Peter. He’d told F.R.I.D.A.Y. that Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner were expecting him, and the AI had instructed to get into the elevator. His stomach flipped, and this time it wasn’t from the speed of the car as it rose (which used to knock him off his feet but he’d since gotten used to). No, this time the weight that rested at the bottom of his abdomen was an all too familiar feeling of anxiety and fear. He was worried about what Dr. Banner would tell him; if he’d just confirm his fears that he was defective in some way. That would have been just about the last thing he needed.

  As the elevator doors slid open, for a moment Peter thought F.R.I.D.A.Y. had taken him to the wrong place. He’d thought she was taking him to the medical lab, and what lay in front of him looked far too homey to be anything as sterilized as a lab. The centre of the room was clear, but the rest of it was full of counters and tabletops with hologram charts floating above them, and the far window to his right that stretch across the entire wall overlooked the lounge and bar where Tony hosted his infamous parties. It was warm inside, and smelled like fresh baked pastries and candles. Peter could see mugs lining the counters and tables, loose stacks of files and papers weaving between them.

  The music was pounding as Peter stepped into the new environment, a heavy drum beat followed by screeching guitar riffs ringing through the room and making the vibrations in the floor run up through his feet and legs. Glancing to his right, he noticed Mr. Stark leaning against a countertop with a coffee mug in one hand and a muffin in the other, crumbs clinging to his beard. Dum-E was whirring slightly to his left, a broom in his grip and a dustpan taped to his base as he clumsily tried to sweep up the muffin crumbs that fell from Tony’s bites. He was wearing the Dunce cap again. Peter tried to suppress a smile.

   To his left, past the clearing in the room, there was a small set of stairs that led into a glass-walled room. Peter recognized it as the medbay, the white bed in the centre of it looking like something out of a futuristic movie. Actually… everything before him looked like it came out of a movie.

   Dr. Banner stood in the doorway of the medbay, his expression pinched and his hands on his hips over the white lab coat. His brow was furrowed and his mouth was moving, trying to say something to Tony but the other man was completely oblivious.

  Tony noticed Peter approaching, and smiled around the rim of his mug, leaning down to press a button on a glass tablet sitting on the surface of the desk. The music came to an abrupt halt. Dr. Banner visibly relaxed, hanging his head.

  “Thank you,” he sighed, hopping down the steps. “Finally, my head can stop pounding.”

  “It wasn’t for you, Doc,” Tony smiled. He stood up from his position and walked toward Peter. He held out the muffin. “You want some? It’s blueberry. Who knew the Doc could bake, huh? Thing’s delicious. Actually, wait, what am I saying? You can’t. Sorry, kiddo.”

  “Ah, Peter,” Dr. Banner said, walking across the lab to approach him. “Good to meet you.”

  Peter took the hand Dr. Banner held out to him, his brows furrowing at the same time as his eyes widened, a confused expression on his face. There was way too much happening around him.

  Here he was shaking hands with someone he had learned about in school. It was getting increasingly difficult to keep his cool. And now he really wanted that muffin, but was unsure why he couldn't have it.

  “It’s very nice to meet you, too, Dr. Banner,” he replied.

  A smile made its way onto the doctor’s face, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Please, just Bruce is fine.”

  “O-okay.”

  “Hope you haven’t eaten anything in a while,” Tony said as Dr. Ban—Bruce made his way to the other side of the lab. “Bruce’s gonna take your blood. I’ll give you a muffin after because, unfortunately, we’re fresh out of lollipops.”

  “He’s not a kid, Tony,” Bruce called from where he was setting up a microscope.

  Tony held his hands up in defence, the coffee almost spilling from the mug. He set it down on the nearest table and jerked his head, motioning for Peter to follow him.

  “You nervous?” Tony asked, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Peter was still following him. They crossed the room and went up the steps, entering the medbay. Now this looked more like a lab. Everything was white and smelled like lemon scented disinfectant.

  “A little,” he admitted. “But I just wanna know what’s going on.”

  “As anyone would,” Bruce said as he walked in behind them. “You can go ahead and take a seat, I’ll just be a second.”

  Peter sat on the white cushioned bed, a hologram screen beeping softly next to him. He felt like a kid again, waiting in the doctor’s office as his legs dangled over the side of the examination table. But this time it was different, and he knew it all too well.

  Bruce stood beside him wrapping a strip of something similar to velcro just above his elbow and tightening. Peter could feel it restricting the blood flow, but also saw the veins in the soft skin of the inside of his elbow protruding.

  “I’m not gonna take much,” Bruce assured him. “Just enough to run some tests. You can look away if you want.”

  Peter did. Having Bruce leaning over his arm like that, he was finally close enough to be able to tell what the doctor’s classification was. Peter finally realized where the smell of freshly baked pastry was coming from as Bruce poked his arm softly trying to find the best place to draw blood from. After all, the muffins hadn’t been that fresh. The comforting scent of a Beta was all he needed to calm down enough to allow himself to breathe through his nose and distract himself from the thought of the needle millimetres away from his skin.

  “Okay, you ready?”

  Peter nodded, shutting his eyes.

  He felt the pinch of the needle pressing into his skin and flinched, holding his breath until the pressure on his arm subsided.

  “There we go,” Bruce muttered. He removed the strip around his arm and Peter immediately felt relief flood through the limb. “You can have that muffin now.”

  “Catch.”

  As he stood from the bed, Peter caught the blueberry muffin that was thrown his way without looking up, too preoccupied with observing the redness of his arm. A minuscule drop of blood formed on his skin and Peter watched as the tiny wound sealed up within seconds. He heard Tony start the music again, but this time at a much more acceptable volume so they could still talk. Glancing around, he saw the both men had already left the medbay and were standing next to each other in front of a glass screen suspended about one of the counters.

  Peter rubbed at his elbow with his wrist, muffin still in his hand as he stepped toward them.

  “Hey, Pete,” Tony said. “You want a biology lesson from the Doc?”

 “Sure,” Peter replied, feeling giddy that a man he’d looked up to for years was about to teach him something.

  “You know how classification is determined within the body?” Bruce asked.

  Peter shook his head, peeling back the paper liner from the muffin and taking a bite from the bottom. Tony was right; it was delicious.

  “I didn’t exactly pay too much attention during that class,” he admitted sheepishly, voice muffled by the muffin. He left out the part where he admitted to sleeping through it because he hadn’t slept the night before because of his rounds. 

  “Well,” Bruce went on. He moved from the counter to the table behind it, typing something into a hologram keyboard built into the countertop and observing the monitor of the same quality above him as he spoke over his shoulder. “Everyone’s born with all three classification hormones. Even if you’re an Alpha, there’s at least a little bit of Omega and Beta hormones in there too.”

  Peter hummed, chewing thoughtfully. He knew that much. That was one of the reasons it was so hard for doctors to tell someone nature before they presented.

  “During puberty, one of those hormones starts getting produced more than the others,” Bruce went on. Turning back to them, Peter could see he’d prepared a microscope slide with a drop of his blood, sliding it into place on the lit stage and peering through the eyepiece. He spoke even as he was spinning through the lenses. “Like how girls produce a little bit of testosterone even though their main reproductive hormones are estrogen and progesterone. It’s the same principle. The classification hormones are also why growing pains include the reproductive organs. Your body’s changing to adjust to your new nature.”

  “Yeah, that makes sense,” Peter muttered, picking out a blueberry and letting the sweet dried fruit sit on his tongue.

  Bruce hummed to himself as the three of them stood in silence, the quiet music and the clicks of the microscope the only sounds in the room.

  “I gotta say, Peter,” Bruce said, looking up at him. “This is one of the most interesting blood samples I’ve ever seen. The radioactivity alone is astounding. And I think I know what’s wrong.”

  Peter felt his stomach drop again as Bruce motioned for him to follow to the largest screen in the room. He left the rest of his muffin uneaten, suddenly lacking an appetite. Bruce tapped on a glass tablet similar to the one Tony was playing his music from before the screen lit up with floating words and numbers and graphs.

   “Usually this would take a really long time, but we’ve got the equipment to give us quick results,” Bruce said.

   “Thanks to whom?” Tony asked mockingly as he came to stand behind Peter.

   Bruce rolled his eyes and went on. “You do have the three classification hormones, there’s nothing to worry about on that front.”

   Peter sighed in relief, allowing his shoulders to relax as he watched Bruce focus in on one particular bar graph.

   “It’s the levels of those hormones that are throwing me off, though,” he said. “You went to the checkup when you were fourteen, right?”

   “Yeah,” Peter replied. “They said… they said I’d be either Beta or Omega.”

   “Well, they were right.”

   He knew it was coming. He knew what Bruce was about to tell him but it didn’t stop the drying of his throat and mouth as he struggled to breathe. He swallowed thickly, looking up at Bruce and seeing the concerned expression on his face.

   “From what I can tell,” he said. “You were supposed to be an Omega.”

   And there it was. Out in the open for the world to see. Peter looked down at the glass on the surface of the table, feeling dejected for a reason he could not understand. He knew deep down, and for a long while, what he was supposed to be. But denial is a funny thing, when it's strong enough, that is. One particular thought nudged at the back of his mind as he took in Bruce's words, the tang of orange peel bitter on his tongue as his favourite scent enveloped him. This time, however, it was not welcome. The last thing he wanted was to think of her right now.

   “How old were you when the spider bit you?”

   Peter almost didn’t hear him, too entrenched in his own thoughts. The hand on his shoulder shook him from his trance. He felt Tony's fingers squeeze him softly.

   “I-I’m sorry?”

   “How old were you when you got your powers?” Bruce repeated.

   “Uh,” Peter mumbled, trying to think back. “About fourteen.”

   “So I was right,” Bruce smiled.

   Peter frowned, confused once again. Bruce gave him a reassuring look and pointed to one of the bars on the graph.

   “This is your Omega hormone level. And this,” he said, pointing to the bar next to it that was just about the same height. “Is your Alpha hormone level.”

   “M-my what?” Peter stammered.

   “Yeah,” Bruce smiled. “That little tiny one is your Beta level. I think it’s safe to say you won’t be a Beta. But I had theorized that it had something to do with your abilities and I think I may have been right.”

   “What do you mean?” Peter asked, a scared expression on his face.

   “It’s nothing bad, don’t worry,” Bruce grinned. “In fact it’s fascinating. Think about it,” he said and held his hands up, gesturing as he explained. “Your abilities, what are they? Enhanced strength, speed, agility, senses, reaction time, and ability to fight, among others. Now, what classification do those sound like they would belong to?”

   “Alpha.” The word dropped from Peter’s lips as almost a whisper, and he glanced back up at the graph as he began to understand where Bruce was going with his explanation.

   “Exactly. My theory is that even though you were set to present as Omega, as soon as you got bit something clicked—” he snapped, and Peter jumped slightly. “—and your body panicked. It went into overdrive, producing more and more Alpha hormone to try to accommodate your newfound powers and characteristics that are more suited for an Alpha. At this point, it’s too hard to tell what you’ll present as. It’s pretty fifty-fifty. But I have to say, you would be a rather strange Omega. Hopefully, your scale tips the other way, for Spider-Man’s sake.”

   “Yeah,” Peter muttered, Tony’s hand still firm on his shoulder. "I hope so too.”

━━━━━━━━

A/N: i blame my friends for encouraging me. i know a/b/o isn’t everyone’s thing but it’s my guilty pleasure and so i had to indulge. this idea has been stewing in my head forever. don’t hate me please. my sexual preferences are showing, aren’t they? also the lab is based on the one in aou which i just watched so

part two and three are coming out tomorrow and the day after! 

read it on ao3 add yourself to my taglist! like my work? consider buying me a coffee!

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[sp4c3-0ddity]

25, “I want an answer, goddammit.” For plance??? :)

so uh…remember that old Disney Channel show “Phil of the Future”?? this was definitely very much inspired by its concept (though tbh i only watched a tiny bit of it and don’t remember very much) so this is not nearly as angsty as that prompt implies. and no knowledge of the show required to know what’s going on here!! but anyway, ~3000 words, and i hope you like at least some of them!!

(25) “I want an answer, dammit.”

“What do you think this thing is anyway?” Lance pokesthe corner - or the cut-off corner - of the small pyramid-looking…gadget. Thesurface is smooth under his hand aside from narrow grooves on each side, andsomething almost glows inside the metal.

If Lance doesn’t know anybetter, he’d think it popped right out of one of those crazy science fictionmovies Hunk likes poking holes in.

“A toy, probably,”Hunk surmises. He holds his hand out, but Lance cradles the thing protectivelyagainst his chest. “Really? You don’t even want me to get a better look atit?”

Lance shakes his head, holdingthe object tighter, never mind that the sharp edge digs into his arm. “Mymystery to solve.”

Hunk raises an eyebrow beforerolling his eyes and returning his attention to the calculus textbook lyingopen on the table before him. “Where did you even get that?”

Heat rushes to Lance’s face,his eyes widening as he tries to think up a believable lie that won’t embarrasshim as much as Pidge left it behind inthe robotics classroom.

(That fact isn’t especially humiliating so much as the suggestionthat Lance might’ve still been at school after the robotics club met. He has areputation to maintain, and part of that is cooland uncaring student and a “cool and uncaring student” wouldn’tbe caught dead at school after classes.)

“Uh…Pidge left it in thecafeteria after lunch and I haven’t seen her again yet since,” Lance says.He flashes Hunk a smile and prays he won’t question him.

No one answers his prayer.

“Really?” Hunk frownsat the pyramid-looking thing in Lance’s arms. “That seems like an oddthing for her to carry around.”

“Well, Pidge is a little…”

“Weird?” Hunksuggests.

Lance gasps, jaw dropping as hestares at him. “Hunk, don’t be mean!”

He absently taps his pencil againsthis notebook. “I’m just saying what you were thinking,” he pointsout. “And, hey, she’s still great! I don’t blame you for having a littlecrush on her, even though I never figured her as your type, so—”

Lance’s brain struggles tocatch up with the words spilling out of Hunk’s mouth so that he blurts,“Wait, what?” His heart skips a beat, the gadget nearly tumbling fromhis grip until he scrambles to retrieve it, and he retorts, “I do not have a crush on Pidge!”

Hunk’s eyes narrow.“Right,” he says in a tone dripping sarcasm, “and I failed thecooking unit from home—”

“It’s just that sheflat-out rejected me when I invited her to eat lunch with us!” Lancewhines. He drops his forehead onto his own open textbook, the memory of herfrown and downcast eyes before she mumbled something about needing to study foran exam still stinging days later. “It’s like one day she’s complaining tome about what a waste of time P.E. is, and the next she’s avoiding me!”

Which was fine! Jenny Shaybonoffered him her pudding cup that lunch period, so really, Pidge was the real loser!

“But there is something odd about Pidge,”Lance muses. He sets the pyramid thing on his book - who cares about RRAM orthe trapezoid rule or whatever anyway? - and stares at it, hard. He’s never seen anything like it - though he never claims tobe an expert in technology or art - and besides, some things about Pidge justdon’t add up.

She and her brother justenrolled in the middle of the school year a few months ago. Pidge says strangethings and contradicts their physics and computer science teachers a lot - Lance can’t help being on hisguard in that class after Mr. Haxus’ last death glare - and complains aboutschool being a complete waste of time for her though for all intents andpurposes she’s a huge nerd.

(It’s why he asked her ratherthan Hunk to help him in calculus…or so he insists.)

“Just because she cansometimes resist your charms doesn’tmean she’s odd,” Hunk says, rolling his eyes.

“You’re the one who saidshe’s weird first!” Lance argues.

“Sure,” Hunk agreeswith a shrug. “I’ve never seen anyone else dip turkey bacon in peanutbutter, for one.”

Lance barely hears him, toobusy staring into some distant recess of the library. “You ever notice howcagey she gets when I ask her about her hobbies or where she’s from? You thinkshe likes video games?” He frowns, tapping his chin and considering how hecan get through to Pidge, entice from her one of those fond smiles that makessomething warm bloom in his chest…or even a boast.

“Yeah, but maybe she justdoesn’t want to talk about personal stuff,” Hunk says. “I mean, herfamily’s from Canada, right? I’d be embarrassed to be from Canada too.”

“But where from Canada?” Lance wonders with a wide, sweepinggesture. “When she said Canada,I tried to joke that she must like the cold, and she looked at me all confused! And she quotes, I kid you not,Canada is cold?”

“Maybe she’s from areality where climate change already did a number on Canada,” Hunk jokes,his lips curving in a smirk.

“How are you not curious,man?” Lance demands. He leans over the table to prod his shoulder andadds, “You’re the same guy who snuck a peek at Jenny Shaybon’s diary whenI wasn’t sure if she liked me!”

Hunk shudders. “Neveragain,” he says. “I found some sordid details in there I wish I couldforget.”

“Like—”

“Never. Again.”

Lance laughs, more amused thanoffended, before emphasizing, “Look, it’s almost like Pidge isn’t who shesays she is.” His eyes widen, heart jumping into his throat because damn does that make some kind of sensethe longer he thinks about it. With his heart racing in excitement, he grins,continuing, “It’s like she’s an undercover cop who can’t get her storystraight or a—what if she’s in Witness Protection and hasn’t learned her coverstory yet?”

Hunk stares at him, obviouslyincredulous. “You got all that just from that pyramid thing and the factthat she knew how to derive the fundamental theorem of calculus before Dr.Montgomery taught it to us?”

Lance points at him, hardlydeterred when Hunk shoves his hand away from his face, and says, “Nowyou’re getting it! And if she’s in danger—oh, God, what if she’s in danger?” Horror grips him, a vividimage of a crazed contract assassin crashing through the school’s main entrancescreaming for blood playing through his head.

“Yeah, I don’tthink—”

“She’ll need someone towatch her back.” Lance’s gaze drops to the pyramid, an idea taking rootwhile a sly smile pushes at his lips. “And I know just how to get her toagree.”

***

Lance isn’t above blackmail asany one of his siblings can attest.

(But not Hunk; he’s spotlessand the one time Lance tried to hold a failed batch of empanadas over his head,he shrugged and said, Even I screw up inthe kitchen sometimes.)

Now he gets to attempt histechnique on a new victim.

Pidge is on edge the second sheenters their first class over ten minutes late. Her hands wring the hem of herover-sized sweatshirt, her gaze fixed straight ahead on the chalkboard whiletheir physics teacher lectures - and Lance knowsshe’s off when she doesn’t raise her hand even once to question her.

“So…” Lance prodscarefully at the end of the period when they’re supposed to get a head start ontheir homework. He glances sideways at her, watches her cap and uncap her penwith a soft click over and over again. “When do I use kinetic frictioninstead of static?”

“When you…what?”Pidge’s head snaps around, wide eyes fixing on him. “Can you repeatthat?”

“Uh…what’s thedifference between elastic and inelastic collisions?” Lance wonders,thinking of a new question just because he can.

“Both momentum and kineticenergy are conserved in an elastic collision,” Pidge explains. “Onlymomentum is conserved for inelastic.”

Lance jots down a random formula- F = ma - and nods along, just tomake it look like that’s what he’s really interested in. “Thanks,” hetells her, flashing her a smile he hopes will set her at ease.

It does not. Instead sheprogresses even more slowly through her homework than he does, barely startingthe first problem by the time the bell rings.

She tries to race ahead ofeveryone else, ducking past students that tower over her and heading in thedirection that Lance knows must bethe robotics classroom, so he follows, his heavier than usual bag bouncingagainst his back, never mind that his next class is in the opposite direction.

(It’s Spanish, the one classhe’s acing since he’s almost fluent.)

This part of the school isrelatively quiet even during the day, with more specialized elective classesheld here. But Pidge still pauses outside the robotics class, gaze darting upand down the hall furtively - but missing Lance in his hiding spot just aroundthe corner - before she easily picks thelock and darts inside.

His jaw drops. Pidge knows howto pick locks? Then why hadn’t she tried that before he was forced to ask ajanitor to open his locker when he forgot the combination?

Well, no use in thinking aboutthe past when Lance has a Pidge to confront.

He slips through the crack inthe slowly closing door on silent feet in time to see her peeking under a deskand mumbling, “Where are you,Rover? I could’ve sworn I turned you off…”

“It has a name?”Lance blurts before he can stop himself.

Pidge’s head strikes the deskwith a harsh thunk when she jumps.

He winces and reaches acrossthe desk to touch her shoulder. “Sorry! Are you okay?”

She mutters something too lowfor him to hear before straightening, her eyes wide and face red and whole bodystiff and looking very much like she wants to bolt. “Lance? What’re youdoing here?”

Of course she completelyignores his question.

“Uh…I have roboticslater, obviously,” Lance lies with a grin that feels strained. “Justhad a bit of last-minute homework to finish first about like��Turing and daVinci and—”

“Oh, just stop whileyou’re ahead,” Pidge cuts him off, rolling her eyes, though the corner ofher mouth ticking up slightly validates his rambling. “I know you’re notin robotics.”

“And class is not insession here right now.” Lance rests his hands on the desk between themand leans towards her. “What’re youdoing here?”

Pidge’s eyes drift away,wandering around the classroom. “I lost something here yesterday,”she says. “I came by to look for it.”

“Lost what?” Lancewonders despite knowing exactly - well, kindof exactly - what. He shrugs off his backpack and drops it onto the desk,waiting for the right moment to unveil his discovery.

“Somethingimportant.” Pidge runs her fingers through her untidy hair and groans.“Matt was right; I never should’ve brought it to school, but I thought itwould be helpful for—”

Lance unzips his bag and pullsout the pyramid-shaped thing.

Pidge’s jaw drops, her handsshooting out. "You found Rover!” She makes to grab it, but Lanceholds it just out of her reach. She glares at him and practically growls,“Lance, that’s mine.”

“What is it?” Lancewonders, running a fingertip along a sharp edge. “And why were you talkingabout it as if it can move on its own?”

“It’s a…virtual realityprototype,” Pidge says. Her hands curl into fists at her sides, likelymaking some effort to be patient rather than just launching herself over thedesk to wrestle her possession away from him.

(Which…Lance isn’t entirelysure he’d be opposed to.)

“Is it?” Lance raisesan eyebrow; cool as virtual reality would be, something in her words ringsuntrue. “Can I try it out? I swear I won’t tell anyone about it if you’retrying to keep it a secret.”

“No, you can’t.”Pidge crosses her arms. “It’s veryunrefined; the images aren’t…detailed enough yet, and there are all thesebugs in the code I’m trying to fix and—”

“So who did you see getmurdered?” Lance asks. Might as well cut to the chase if she still insistson lying, right?

Pidge stares at him. “Whodid I…what? No one!”

“Wrong answer,Pidge,” Lance accuses, prodding her in the shoulder, “if that’s evenyour real name!”

Her jaw flaps, eyes wide andstunned till she admits, “It’s not.”

Lance grins and pumps his fist,a flush of triumph filling him. "Aha, I knew it!”

“Pidge is just a dumbnickname my brother gave me,” she says, shrugging. “My real name isKatie.”

Really? Such a cute, femininename belongs to the girl in the baggy sweatshirt and untidy hair? But that’snot important, not when his alarm spikes and he waves his hand in her face andsays, “Hey, why are you telling me this?” He glances over hisshoulder at the door, half-expecting someone - maybe the robotics class teacheris a spy? - to be standing there andeavesdropping. “What if someone that wants to kill you finds out?”

Pidge slams her hands onto thedesk, a deep frown on her face, and demands, “Lance, what the quiznak areyou going on about? No one’s ever tried to kill me, and I never intentionally hid my real name!”

Lance flails his arms,agitated. “Aren’t you in Witness—wait, what the hell is a ‘quiznak’?”

Pidge’s eyes widen as sherecoils from him and mutters, “Quiznak, it’s a…curse word from a book Iread.” She smiles, but Lance knows a fake one when he sees it.

He crosses his arms and smirks,knowing he’s caught her. “Nice try, Katie,”he says. “Who are you and where are you from really?” He pats the pyramid thing - Rover - on its flatcornered top and adds, “I want an answer, and you’re not getting this backuntil you explain.”

Her eyes narrow while shescowls, mistrust obvious in every twitch of her face.

And maybe blackmail was aterrible idea to get Pidge to talk - to confide in him - because that distrust hurts.

But Lance stands his ground andholds her gaze. “You know Canada’s cold, right?” he says in a low voice,not quite willing to disrupt the tense cloud hanging over them.

“I do know,” Pidgegrumbles. “Where I’m from, Canada doesn’t even technically exist anymore,and political and climate histories have never been my strong suits.Technological history, on the other hand—”

“Where you’re from?”Lance prompts. His heart pounds, excitement gripping him, for he senses Pidgeis on the verge of giving him answers.

“Well, more like when I’m from,” she admits with asigh. She props her elbows on the table, leaning slightly towards him with hergaze on Rover. “My family was on vacation when the machine broke down, sowe got stranded here.”

Lance, even more confused thanhe was before Pidge started talking, rests his hands on his hips and raises aneyebrow. “Can’t you just take your car to a shop if it broke down? Hey, Ibet Hunk would be willing—”

“Not a car,” Pidgeinterrupts, eyes darting up to his before flitting away again. “A…timemachine.”

At first, Lance doubts he heardher right, but then he laughs and nudge her in the shoulder. “Good one,Pidge,” he says. “You really had me going for a second.”

Pidge frowns. “I’m notjoking, Lance.”

“Really? Timemachine?” Lance smirks. “You have a pretty good imagination; thatshould be what your virtual reality game is about!”

Her frown turns into anirritated scowl. “I tell you the truth like you asked, and this is how you react?”

“Don’t worry,” Lancesays, raising his hands and trying (but failing) to dampen his grin. “Ipromise I won’t tell anyone; your secret is safe with—”

Pidge taps one of Rover’scorners, and wires running through its sides embedded in the metal burst withcolor, flashing red before fading into blue. Lance’s jaw drops, heart jumpinginto his throat, as the thing - is it a robot?And way more advanced and cooler thananything the robotics club can hope to build in this century - rises, hoveringin place with a green indicator light blinking at him before turning towardsher.

Pidge smiles and greets it,“Good morning, Rover. Did the mean, scary boy kidnap you?”

Lance doesn’t recover fastenough to get more than mildly annoyed that she called him “mean” and“scary”, not when a damn robot beeping like R2D2 hovers in front ofhim.

(He wonders if its“language” is as filthy as R2D2’s.)

“Believe me now?”Pidge wonders with a glare.

Lance’s jaw snaps shut with aclick as he recovers from his shock. He nods frantically and reassures her,“Yes, you’re from the future but we’ll say you’re from Canada!”

Pidge’s expression relaxes asRover hovers over her shoulder. “Good,” she says, and she rounds thedesk and approaches him.

His heart races and heat rushesto his face when she grabs him by the front of his jacket and tugs him down toher level, so close to her face hecan see every distinct shade of brown in her eyes. “And I don’t care howcute you are,” she hisses. “If you breathe one word of this to anyone- even Hunk - I’ll show you what we do to blabbermouths in my time.”

Lance’s mouth dries, a flutterlow in his abdomen, as he swallows, just a little afraid of this tiny girl withthe flashy robot and a death grip on his jacket, and manages to promise,“I won’t tell anyone.”

Pidge grins, though there’s amenacing edge to it. “Good.” She lets go and lightly smacks hischeek. “Guess there’s no harm in us being friends now.”

Lance straightens and exhales,forcing the tension from his body. He smiles - at least he likes the outcome,and he won’t learn what exactlyPidge’s threat entails if he can help it - and agrees, “Yeah, I’dlike—” His eyes widen so much he worries they’ll pop out of his skull.“Wait, did you just call me cute?”

Pidge’s reddening face is allthe answer he needs to know that hisfuture will be…interesting.

[lanamemories]

red mist | self para

This was a dream.

Or maybe just a reality where the colours looked kinder. Softer, somehow. Like they wouldn’t cut your fingers to reach out and touch. Blurred at the edges, whipped up that way by an abnormally large whisk. 

She didn’t know it, though. Didn’t know anything, in this place, only that the wind was on her cheeks and she was floating way up high, legs flailing without a resting point.

“What is it that you want, Lana?”

The voice was familiar, but no matter how much she craned her neck, she couldn’t see a source. Only blue. Clouds that looked painted onto a canvas by a delicately bristled brush.

She was alone.

“I don’t know,” was all she could come up with for the time being, too consumed by the texture of the breeze beneath her hands to think about anything else. If she pressed just right, the howls of air felt like fingers. She couldn’t stop trying to grasp them, even though they weren’t grasping back. Even though they weren’t real in the first place.

“You do know, you just know that you can’t have it.”

Letting out a scoff, Lana flipped onto her back, eyes on a giant gumdrop sun. It was simultaneously ablaze and melting, dripping globs of purple into the sea below at every passing hour towards sunset. By eight P.M., it would have come apart enough to sizzle holes through her limbs, collapsing over the entire world and engulfing everything in one.

For some reason, the prospect didn’t scare her.

“Way to be totally cryptic. Feel like I’m in, like… one of those weird little fortune teller tents. The ones with shitty lighting, and cloths draped over everything. With a crystal ball.”

“You’re scared.”

Hands coming together on top of her stomach, she locked her fingers with her eyes on the two-dimensional sky. It looked like a piece of wrapping paper plastered over the lid of a shoe box. If she squinted her eyes just right, she could even see that the corners were dog eared and drooping, contemplating a divorce from the Blu Tack. But everything looked that way, if she really paid attention.

Everything was falling apart, when she took a close enough look.

Instead, she shut her eyes.

“Bit hypocritical, coming from someone I can’t even see. What are you, hiding behind a curtain like the Wizard of Oz? Crouching in a dark cave in the corner, like Gollum? Sounds like you’re the scared one, to me. Like… Got you there. Check mate, or whatever people say. Check… Is that right? Check mate? Whatever. Chess is boring.”

“You can see me,” the voice replied, calm and composed like an ancient deity.

“Can’t. I just tried. Can you, like… I’m trying to relax, a little. Sun bathe, and stuff, so--”

“Open your eyes, again.”

Prying her fingers loose of their formation, Lana pushed upright with her elbows on a surface that wasn’t there. All around her, now that her eyes were open, she could see tiny flecks of red mist. Palm upturned and fingers splayed, she lifted her hand to sift gingerly over the closest patch, combing through with the tips of her middle and index. It felt like dragging your hand through a clump of finely woven thread, except that you never got tangled.

He wouldn’t want her to get stuck.

“Tommy, that’s not funny,” she immediately spat out, wriggling backwards and frantically swiping her hands down on the red striped white of her gym socks, staining the elasticated border.

She’d had the same ones pulled up around her calves on the morning she got the call, sixteen years old and hand clutching the receiver like it’d been super glued that way, unable to feel real enough to be able to use her limbs yet.

“It’s kind of funny,” said the voice, and she could almost hear his grin in it. How not a single tooth was crooked. The way it caught a glare like the flash of an old camera, so white you had to blink a few times to acclimatise.

“It isn’t, Tommy. It isn’t, you just always had a shitty sense of humour. It isn’t funny,” Lana insisted, and when she did, the mist seemed to part around her feet. Then her thighs. Then her shoulders. Then, in a blink, the entire sky was raining except for on her. “Can’t I see your face, instead?”

“This is the last way I was, though. I can’t do anything about that, and neither can you.”

Tugging her knees to her chest, Lana perched her chin on top as she hugged them close.

“He doesn’t let me say your name, you know.”

It went without saying that she was talking about her brother Caleb.

The air seemed to go colder, at the thought of him alone. Like Tommy could sense how sad he was, without him, and he didn’t know what else to do about it other than shiver.

“I know.”

Lana wasn’t sure when it happened, but the sea had risen enough that she could stretch a toe and soak the end of her sock with it. Doing so felt like someone had spooned a clump of clotted cheese on top of her foot, weighed down slightly with the water, but she didn’t mind. If she shut her eyes again, extra tight, she could pretend it was Tommy clutching it inside of a big hand. He’d done that, once, when he was trying to tickle a laugh out of her. She’d accidentally bucked her leg out like a wild donkey and clipped him in the side of the head.

It was one of her favourite memories to live inside.

“I want to say it, sometimes. I want--…” The words felt like crushed glass that she was trying to hack up out of her throat. Like she’d have to spit them out in pieces, with her lips left shredded in the aftermath. Stringing down her chin. “I want to say that I miss you, too.”

“I know,” the voice said again, slightly softer this time. “I know you do.”

Small smile perking her lips at the edges, Lana cleared her throat. Doing so turned on a few stadium spotlights around her, heat boring down like a Hollywood set for a scene that was meant to be sunny. It wasn’t quite natural, though. It didn’t feel warm.

“What did you ask me, earlier? I can’t remember. But I’ll answer, now. I’ll answer, now that it’s you.”

“Knew you had a crush on me.”

Spluttering out a laugh, Lana’s eyes shot open and she flung a glare around her, at no fixed point in particular.

“Shut up, I did not!”

“You did, but it’s cool. A lot of people did. I was sort of a catch, that way.”

Lana rolled her eyes but hugged her knees a bit tighter. She wanted to say something funny, to say that she might have missed him, but she didn’t miss how much he was full of it, but her tongue wouldn’t let her lie.

The truth was, she missed all of it. Even the bad bits. Even the bits that got him in trouble.

“Yeah, you were. Think--… Think Caleb always thought so, too.”

The mist stilled.

Then, the voice answered back.

“We don’t talk about that. You know he can’t, yet.”

“I know,” she replied -- her turn to repeat the phrase, this time. “Yeah, I know.”

“What is it that you want, Lana?” There was a long pause, stretching on forever like a tireless string of elastic, until eventually the voice snapped back and pinged her on the nose. “That was the question. You said you’d answer it.”

Sinking down onto her back, Lana gently pressed the back of her head against the water’s surface, scalp tingling with the fresh onset of cold. She couldn’t see it, but where she’d touched the water, it had started to ripple out shadows, tinting the entire surface for as many miles as the eyes could see.

Darker and darker.

Darker and darker.

No matter how brightly the stadium lights blared.

“I want… to close doors at night, and have Caleb open them the next morning. I, um… I want to wash my hands and feel like they’re clean, you know? I want to forget about all the things they’ve touched. Just once. I want… I want Zeke’s brain to get better, like magic. I want to wave a special wand, that’s, like… red, with a gold star on the end, and have it undo everything. Everything bad I’ve ever done. And I--... I want Teddy to be happy, and I want it to be--... I want it to feel okay. I want it to feel okay, that he’s never going to be happy with me.”

Stretching a hand up into the air above her, Lana dappled fingertips through the layer of mist that marked her own personal barricade. She stirred through the damp like she was sifting through sand, searching for a special piece that she’d only know when she saw it.

The most Tommy piece.

The piece that used to come together with a hundred others, before they were all blown apart into thousands.

The bits that made his hands.

“I think I want to feel clean, or something. I’ve never really felt that clean.”

“Maybe other people are the dirty ones. Maybe that’s the problem.”

“No,” she answered a little too fast, swallowing something down that felt rigid and round, as hard in her throat as a fallen acorn. “No, that isn’t it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Lana shot right back, hand still drifting to test the mist’s texture like she was intent on making something whole out of what was left. Like she wouldn’t stop searching, until she’d found him.

“You’re not telling me what you really want. I think you know that.”

Her eyebrows pinched; expression indignant.

“I’m not lying.”

“No, I know you’re not. You don’t do that, a lot, you just skirt around the truth. You admit smaller ones, that hurt less. Give people an inch so they won’t take a mile.”

“Feed a scrap to a stray dog so it won’t eat your entire arm,” Lana provided another explanation, small smile unfurling like a clenched fist that had finally gone loose. “I don’t know how you do that. You always, like… You see everything. You always did.”

“Yeah, Lana,” the voice spoke again, sounding a little sad to be doing it at all. Like he was waning, slightly. Like she was about to wake up. “I saw everything. I think Caleb did, too. And I think you know that, but you don’t want to admit it. Because then, it was real. Then, it really happened.”

Arms laid flat either side of her on an ocean that had turned entirely black, Lana revelled in the wet licking up her elbows, her knuckles, ankles, backs of the knees, spine. Any part that she’d given over to the water.

“You’re scared.”

“God,” Lana exhaled suddenly, wrenched upright so that she could sit and stare, talking to the air like a wire in her brain had been pried loose, if anyone else was watching. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“You’re scared,” the voice repeated, making something inside of her squirm.

“I get it.”

“No, I don’t think you do. You’ve always been scared.”

“Okay. Okay! Okay, I get it. I get it, Tommy, I’m scared. I’m scared. Is that what you wanted me to say? I’m scared. It’s--… It’s fine for you, isn’t it?” came as she threw a glance around, watching the way the red mist wobbled, unsettled by the gust of a strong breeze. The sun was only a few globs away from setting. A thumbprint next to her hip bone had been worn straight through, burnt away with a drop of liquid sun until you could have leaned close and pressed your eye to it, stared through like it was a stone cut looking glass or a pirate’s telescope. “It’s fine for you, because you’re not here. It’s fine for you, because you’re just gone. You just get to float, and you don’t even have to--… You don’t even have to do anything, because you’re just gone. Do you, like…” trailed off, exasperated breath escaping. “Do you get what it’s like, being here?”

“I know, Lana. I get it.”

“You don’t. You took him with you, you know. You took him with you, and I’m here on my own. And people--… People are bad, all the time. People are bad, and I’m on my own. I’m--… I’m on my own.”

“I know.”

Hugging her knees close again, Lana clenched her eyes shut so she wouldn’t have to look at any of it. Not the gumdrop sun that was seconds away from collapsing. Not the black ocean she was sitting on without sinking. Not the red mist that a piece of live ammunition had detonated Tommy into as soon as he set foot on top of it.

It felt like a long time before she spoke, again.

“Can we just… Can you just stay, a little while? Just until I wake up. I just like… I just like to hear your voice, I think. I think I just like to hear your voice.”

“It doesn’t work like that, Lana. You know it doesn’t. You’re going to wake up, soon.”

Staying extra still like the slightest jostle would make it true, Lana kept her eyes squeezed shut, so tight that she was sure her corneas were about to burst, explode with juice like a grape beneath the heel of a socked foot.

“I would’ve spat in Danny’s shitty little face, you know,” the voice mumbled, retreating up to the sky again like a bird due south for winter, setting course for a long hibernation. He sounded amused, at the thought, until suddenly, when he next spoke, he didn’t. “I would’ve been there.”

“I know,” Lana whispered, eyes still closed as her lips muffled against the caps of her knees, held close and so tight that her elbows were starting to tremble. “I know, but I need to wake up now, right? I know, but you weren’t. You aren’t.”

“Yeah,” Tommy answered, barely audible above the howl of the wind that was swallowing him whole. Blowing the mist away, where she couldn’t keep touching it.

The sun had melted.

The ocean was black.

The sky was painted blue.

“Yeah, you need to wake up.”

[starlitheaven]

❥ OFTEN, OFTEN. GIRL, I DO THIS OFTEN.

featuring. satoru gojo, suguru geto, kento nanami, toji fushiguro

tags. sexting, suggestive smut, guided masturbation, sex toys, oral sex (f. receiving), squirting mentions

note. based on an ask: what kind of foreplay do you think the jjk men are into?

GOJO —sexting. photos or text alone, satoru enjoys indulging himself in his girl throughout the day regardless of where he is or who’s around. not only is he never tired of anything that has to do with you, but he’s a menace who enjoys doing filthy things when he’s meant to act like a proper member of society. he’ll open dirty photos you’ve sent while in the backseat as ijichi drives, takes a trip to the bathroom before a meeting to plug in some headphones inside the stall to watch a video you sent him, biting back a groan as his blue eyes are fixed on the vision you are as you desperately ride your pink dildo, replying with his own picture of him pulling down on his boxer briefs as the hem of his shirt is caught between his teeth—giving you a glimpse of his toned abs and line of white hair below his navel; trailing down to a groomed patch of curls at the base of what’s covered with elastic and Calvin Klein. he’s hard and tenting the fabric, and he wants to make sure that you know that. his naughty girl. like he’s not the one who starts it.

then, at that very meeting he’s lazily tapping at his phone with a thumb as he tells you what he wishes he could do to you in that very room, uncaring that it’s brazen and disrespectful to do so. satoru tells you how slowly he’ll work your cute pussy open for himself until everyone in the room can hear the filthy sounds of your wet cunt. you were moaning and whining so loud for him in your video as you fucked yourself, and while he loves the sounds of his name on your tongue, he’d have to gag you in this room. you’ve gotta be proper and all that, y’know? but you love that, don’t you? being made out to be a girl who’s so modest and responsible and is seduced by a powerful man like him, like it’s satoru who brings it out of you. like it’s all his doing that your tight cunt slicks up and gets wet at odd hours of the day. like you just can’t control thinking about his dick pounding into you until you’re undressing in your room and pulling out your toy in the middle of the day.

you love being corrupted by the strongest. and he loves having you as his dirty little secret tucked away in his pocket.

GETO — dirty talk. suguru's naturally soft and smooth voice has an effect on you at all times during the day—in the early morning when it's still roughened with sleep as you two talk amongst the soft sheets while rising with the sun, deeper over the phone when he calls you on your lunch breaks, or at night when he greets you home and you feel the rumble of his voice soothing you as he hugs you at the doorway.

but when he’s got you pressed against the nearest surface, large hands hot over your skin, his voice becomes low and dark with need as he tells you just how he wants you. his voice washes over you like midnight waves as your thighs are quivering and spread wide for him. one of his favorite ways to arouse you is guiding you to masturbate in front of him until you’re left flushed and desperate to come. he tells you to spread your pretty cunt for him with your fingers, tease you about needy your pussy looks drooling for him, to show him how bad you want his cock to stretch and split you open, how badly you need him to fill you up until you’re leaking his hot come down your bruised thighs. you nod along eagerly, half listening to him, half going along with whatever he says so he can give you what you want.

suguru is all charming smiles and mild manners to the world—but he can be downright cruel when it comes to teasing you. he guides your fingers into your tight hole, telling you how he can imagine your hot walls tightening over your fingers and how much he loves the way your greedy cunt sucks him in. but it’s not enough, is it? your delicate fingers can’t compare to the thick meat of his throbbing cock pounding into you—you can’t fuck yourself the way he does. it just isn’t the same. he coos into the shell of your ear as your eyes fill with tears. suguru’s pretty voice lowers into a sinister whisper.

poor thing. look at you, crying for me to fuck you. what a slut. why don’t you beg me? sing for me.

NANAMI — toys, edging. you’re the light of his life, the morning sun promising of better days ahead. you give him hope after several years of meandering through life. that said, you’re also the one to make him question his own principles. he’s a disciplined and unshakable man who can’t be swayed by the words or opinions of others, except for you. toys are a common occurrence for you during sex—he’s patient and calm as he presses the small vibrator over your twitching clit, eating up your whimpering moans and breathy gasps like nectar. he’s not done until his hands and wrist are wet and messy with your juices and your eyes are rolled to the back of your head as you come down from your high. nanami likes to make you come at least once before he even unbuckles his own belt. in the privacy of your bedroom, he enjoys watching you unravel before his eyes alone. his very own angel laying in black silk.

but you’ve got an exhibitionist streak that he finds inappropriate and in need of correction. so for every time you try to seduce him in public, he punishes you in a similar fashion the next morning before work. you sit on the edge of the bed as he kneels before you, soft legs over his shoulders while he works the small toy into you. as bratty as you can be, you’re quick to pout and whine at him for being so mean. nanami ignores this, eyeing how wet your cunt is before the day has truly even began. he rubs your thighs soothingly as he explains how the day will go. how he’ll control your pleasure as he sees fit and how he expects you to continue acting properly. you’ll be at work, he doesn’t want anyone else to know just how insatiable and slutty you can be. 

he sits at his desk in his downtime with the app open on his phone, straight faced as always as he alternates the speed and intensity of the vibrations throughout the day. at the end of the day, he comes home and quietly loosens his tie as he watches you writhing on the couch. there’s a few buttons undone from your blouse and you’re rubbing your thighs together while trying to focus on the tv, but you’re not touching yourself. you’ve learned your lesson.

TOJI — oral sex. a classic, and he’s fucking good at it. also, he loves eating pussy (when it’s someone he cares about). laying you back against a surface, manhandling you and guiding you to sit your pretty ass against his face where you belong, or flipped around as you work his cock with your small mouth. anyway he can have you, he’s buried in your sweet cunt. toji is a man with many vices, and you’re at the top of them all. 

he’s nasty about eating you out. alternating between his tongue and fingers, quick or painstakingly slow, chasing that unbelievable high of having you squirt all over his thick forearm and making a mess of him. it’s with him that you discover even being able to squirt, and it confused him to see you tearing up with shame as you shakily apologized to him after the first time. why? it’s the sexiest thing he’d ever seen and he coaxes confidence out of you until you realize just how natural it is and how nothing about you will ever deter him. slow and heady like haze, toji shows you just how much pleasure you can attain merely from his mouth. 

toji makes out with your pussy, grunting into the heat of you as he works his tongue up and over your puffy clit. the squelching of your juices fills the room and only makes him strain against his pants. the taste and smell of you alone can set him off—sometimes inhaling deeply before he even begins and relishing in the way it makes you squirm. but don’t get bratty with him; try and tell him to hurry up and you’ll meet the harsh slap of his palm over your sensitive pussy. he’ll give you a few more slaps for good measure too. he doesn’t fuck with brats. (he does, he just loves putting brats in their place).

[montanabarb]

Christmas Horse Magic

Knowing that any movement would likely wake both dogs, who would then presume it was time to check the yard for skunks and cats, I carefully slid my feet to the floor. I was safe. It was only 12:07am. The dogs don’t rouse themselves for guard duty until at least 1am. I wasn’t sure why I woke but decided a trip down the hall couldn’t hurt. It wasn’t until my bladder was successfully relieved that I wondered why the dogs weren’t reacting to whatever it was I was hearing. After cocking my head and listening, I realized it wasn’t actually a sound. It was more like a feeling, inside my brain, like a poking. Then the feeling coalesced into a picture of my Paint gelding laughing at me. “Wow, I should not have had that second egg nog.”

As I slid my chilly feet back under the covers I felt an invisible nudge on my arm. Picasso was head butting me! From his stall in the barn! “Don’t go back to bed, Barb, come out here.”

“What?!” I checked under the covers for a hidden dog or a forgotten paperback that might be poking me. Nothing. All I found was another picture in my mind of Picasso laughing at me.

Picasso did his little “I’m part Arabian and I love drama” head toss motioning me toward him. “Come out to the barn.” Then he bobbed his head a few times and snickered.

“Okay. Maybe my subconscious is telling me something is wrong out there. It can’t hurt to check, right?” So I pulled on my barn jeans and barn sweatshirt from the pile next to the bed and my muck boots and Carhartt jacket from the pile by the door and headed out into the dark with my headlamp, a rectal thermometer, and a cellphone ready to call the vet.

“Could you please point that light elsewhere?” Picasso blinked and ducked his head while I froze with my hand on his stall door. His white spots blazed and his black spots faded into the background.

Another, gruffer voice grumbled, “Do we really need to do this now? It’s the middle of the night.” I looked into the next stall to view Buster’s sturdy brown Quarter Horse rump in my direct line of sight. His black mane and tail drooping with his lowered head as he swished his tail in irritation.

“Of course we need to do it now! It’s midnight on Christmas Eve! When else are we going to be able to do it?” Picasso again performed his Arab head toss, this time expressing impatience and frustration.

I sat down hard on the nearest bale of hay. I took a few deep breaths while I allowed my eyes to adjust to the darkness. With the moon full it wasn’t hard to see Picasso’s white and black head bobbing over his stall door. Within a minute I could make out Buster’s blocky head coming around to peer over his door. His white star a focal point in the dark. “Okay, my horses are talking to me. Am I still dreaming? It really is the eggnog, isn’t it?”

I think I heard rather than saw Buster’s eyes roll. I definitely heard his grumble. Picasso was much more sympathetic. He consciously shifted his body to ignore Buster’s crankiness and focused on me. “I’ve heard you talking about the ‘myth’ of horses talking at midnight on Christmas Eve. You talk to us every day. Why wouldn’t we understand and talk back?”

I stretched out my hand to bury it in Buster’s mane draping over the stall door. I needed to feel something real to convince myself I wasn’t dreaming. He said, “We do talk back, you know. You just don’t hear us. Tonight you can. Merry Christmas, Miss Barb.”

I rose from the hay bale and absent-mindedly grabbed a couple apple-flavored horse biscuits from the treat bin. That brought two sets of ears forward. “Assuming this is really happening, I don’t get it. Why now? Why talk to me tonight? I’ve known and loved both of you for years.”

Buster munched his cookie then pulled back his lips to savor the flavor. “Don’t look at me. Wasn’t my idea. I said just leave it alone.”

Flicking an ear at Buster, Picasso mumbled “Get over it, Grumpy Pants.” Turning to me he politely thanked me for the cookie. “Not every human can talk to horses but many can if they just listen quietly. Sometimes there is magic on Christmas.”

“What?! So it’s true that horses talk on Christmas Eve? Why haven’t you ever talked to me? Why now? Is something wrong? Are you sick? Is Buster sick?” My heart dropped to my stomach and my lips felt numb. I’m hard-wired to find something to fix.

Buster and Picasso both popped their heads up in alarm and flared their nostrils, inhaling my fear. “No, no, nothing like that!” Picasso pushed forward to comfort me and Buster swished his tail. “Horses rarely bother to communicate with humans unless their minds seem open enough to hear. But, Barb, we decided,” said with a purposeful look at Buster, “that you needed to hear from us.”

“This is getting weirder and weirder.” I started pacing in front of the stall doors. I pulled the elastic from my hair, unwound the stray blond hairs stuck in the band, and methodically smoothed it all back into another ponytail. “Why? What’s going on? It sounds important.”

Buster reached his head over to bump Picasso in the rump. Picasso swished his tail at him but Buster just bumped him again. Picasso turned to me with a soft look in his eye. “We miss him, too, but it’s time to move on. Buster believes you have the right to pine away living inside your own head but I don’t. It’s killing your spirit.”

At this point Picasso tilted his head to scratch his jaw on top of the stall door, looking a little embarrassed. My pacing slowed and I stuck my hands in my jacket pockets. My fingers gently manipulated the little elastics left there after helping the little girls next door braid their pony’s mane. Needing to avoid eye contact, I stopped in front of Picasso’s stall and began fingering his black and white mane.

Buster cocked a hind leg and sighed. “Look. I don’t know it’s any of our business but your sadness is leaking out everywhere. Feels like you’re sinking down in a hole that you don’t seem to want to climb out of. That’s your choice. I don’t blame you for giving up.”

That stopped my fingers momentarily. Then I took a deep breath and began separating Picasso’s mane into sections and braiding it with the bright purple and pink bands. “That’s not fair. I’m not giving up. I’m carrying on. I’m just sad.”

Picasso and Buster shared a look. Picasso bobbed his head. “You’re carrying on. You’re taking care of us. But you’re not living. You’re hiding. There was a time for that but now it’s passed. It’s time for you to talk to some humans rather than just wandering around the ranch talking to us and the dogs. We enjoy having you to ourselves but we know you need to get happy.”

I wiped a tear that was tickling its way down my cheek. I stopped braiding but twined my fingers in Picasso’s mane and slumped against the stall door in defeat. Picasso wrapped his head over my shoulder and Buster stretched his muzzle to breathe in my hair. Nobody spoke. I couldn’t push sound past the lump in my throat. Slowly my fingers started moving again and more braids appeared. I couldn’t see them. Tears filled my eyes and spilled onto Picasso’s neck. Neither horse moved until I eventually dropped my hands and shuddered a final sob.

Buster snuffled my shoulder and Picasso lipped the strands of my hair that had come loose from my ponytail. That beautiful black and white soul gently inquired, “How many invitations for Christmas dinner did you politely decline this year? How many phone calls have you let go to voicemail? How many times have you texted your sister, Sara, that you’re too busy to talk?”

With hands gently cupping both Picasso’s and Buster’s muzzles, I raised my head and forced my eyes to address both of them. “I hear you. I love you both. And I understand what you say. All I can promise is that I will try to make the effort going forward. I’ll make it a New Year’s Resolution. But right now I’m exhausted. I’m going back to bed and I’ll see you in the morning. We have so much to talk about.”

The contemplation of long, thoughtful conversations with Picasso and Buster brought me comfort and pulled me into sweet dreams.

I could almost detect a brightening in the skies when I woke feeling new and fresh and happy for the first time in two years. The dogs had abandoned their positions around my legs and feet and stretched and yawned when they heard me stirring. Although I took the time to let them out the back door and set the coffee maker to brew, I just pulled my Carhartt coat over my pajamas I was so excited to head out to the barn. I almost bounced with enthusiasm.

I opened the barn door already talking. “Merry Christmas. What’s it going to be for breakfast? Shall I add a carrot or two to celebrate?”

Two heads came over their stall doors. Both blinking and nickering in anticipation of morning rations. But that was it. Nobody said a word. My heart sank. I knew it! I dreamt it all! “Picasso? Buster? Won’t you talk to me? Didn’t we talk last night?” Nothing. “Okay. I knew it. Just a dream.” With slumping shoulders I turned to break open a fresh bale of hay but froze mid-stride.

Picasso had turned his head. From his ears to the middle of his neck his mane was braided, with purple and pink little elastic bands.

It took a minute to gather my wits. Then I pulled my cellphone from my pocket and dialed. “Sara?”

[tsundere-model]

Happy Birthday Izumi 2k18!- Ponsol and Jupiter

((This is for the regular AU that we have. I decided to put Jupiter and Ponsol’s together— for reasons fufu. Read on to find out why~))

He’d done something last year, so it didn’t feel right to not do something this year for the model’s birthday. He may run the risk of being called ‘stingy’ or even ‘forgetful’ if he didn’t do anything this year.

Ponsol will have you know that he had an impeccable memory, essentially photographic. He was excellent when it came to remembering names, faces, and places— if it had any relevancy in his mind. If he didn’t think you were worth the brain cells, then he wouldn’t bother trying to remember you (but chances were he’d remember you anyways).

The very last year, he made a kitty plush for the model with a red hood that had a striking resemblance to a certain hood that a certain model wore at a CERTAIN HALLOWEEN PARTY days prior.

Did you truly think that Ponsol would not attempt to make a jab at the model? Of course he would. He had to work hard to finish it in time (even forfeiting some sleep for this project), but he made it. Just barely.

Vaguely he recalled something. There was one time, when he’d answered the door, not expecting to see him, and he was dressed very casually. Perhaps he was busy working when Jupiter had asked to see him and he opened the door thinking he would be face to face with ‘the angel’, but instead he saw a smiling demonic heir instead.

Well, Jupiter was there too, but who wouldn’t lose their focus and only pay attention to Ponsol if he were around? It was only common sense.

Thinking it over, he thought of something he thought would be an interesting sort of gift. Perhaps it would be something that would upset Izumi all the same, on top of it being cute and useful? Even better…

This project shouldn’t be nearly as difficult as last years was going to be, but that wasn’t important. Above all else, he was taking time out of his precious day to make something and that was the biggest point.

It didn’t take long for him to make the gift, but he did take the time to make sure the materials he used were of excellent quality. Nothing he made was allowed to be subpar, that’s for sure. When he’d finished the gift, he had waited until it was the day of Izumi’s birthday to gift it to the model.

Of course, while he’s at it, he had Jupiter tag along this time around. He was curious to see how this would pan out.

He was at the door, and he knocked on it, before he ducked aside. If Izumi looked through the peep hole, he’d only see Jupiter standing there with a bag in her hand.

She was patiently waiting for the model to come out while curiously wondering why it was that Ponsol ducked out of the line of sight.

Sure, he could have tried to give Izumi a heads up of their impeding visit, but he didn’t want to do that. Where’s the fun in that? He would much rather have Izumi scramble to get to the door and then get surprised to see that Ponsol was there as well.

Maybe his hair was full of pins like it was that one time?

Ha, that would be an interesting sight to see, that’s for sure.

The door opened to reveal the model from behind it, looking rather pleased to see Jupiter there, but then he noticed Ponsol who stepped out from the side when the door finally opened.

looking at him rather skeptically, wondering what it was that he was there for. “I figured you wouldn’t be so quick to open the door if you knew I was on the other side.” Cue the casual shrug. Jupiter stared at him with her own skeptical look, wondering if the reason he asked her to come at this time was so that he could tease Izumi.

Don’t you go using her to tease her sensei! She’s going to tell on you, you know?

“Jupiter, you should give your ‘sensei’ your gift first. I’m sure he’d enjoy getting your gift.” Ponsol reminded her and she turned her attention to Izumi instead. That’s right! She had something to give to her sensei! She worked really hard on this, you know? It was hard, but she managed to make it!

It was difficult working around her mother’s schedule, but she had help from her mother to make it! She handed Izumi a bag and started to rapid fire sign some words out. Seeing as Ponsol was going to be there, she could simply have him translate for her rather than having to carefully write everything out.

“She’s saying how she and her mother worked on your birthday gift together. She hopes that you like it, and she hopes that it fits just fine. If not, she can alter it.”

Inside of the bag was… an apron! The color was sky blue with a white lacey frill going along the edge of the apron. In the center was a square pocket witch a cute white cat sewn onto it. It looked as though she cut out the shape of a cat with felt and sewed it onto the pocket sleeve and then drew on the felt with fabric marker to draw the details of the cat onto it.

As Izumi was pulling out the apron out of the bag, Jupiter tugged on Ponsol’s sleeve and signed something to him quickly before she reached into her pocket to pull out her phone, tapping away at it. She was looking for a picture.

“Now isn’t that cute? Show him the picture, Jupiter.” Izumi finished pulling out the apron and he was watching as Jupiter was signing something to Ponsol. Izumi gave Ponsol a curious look, so that meant he was ready to know what was going on.

Jupiter turned her phone so Izumi could look at it so see a picture of the young blonde posing for the camera with her own apron. Hers was pink and had a white bunny on the pocket. “You have matching aprons. So when she comes over for baking lessons, both of you can wear matching aprons instead of her borrowing one of yours.”

Didn’t she do a good job? This wasn’t a project that she asked Ponsol to help with, but she still made something wonderful and he patted the top of her head like Shugarl normally would to show her how he thought she did an excellent job.

“… Ha— … ppy … Bir—day, Sse—sei!!” It was a bit quiet and strained, and she even messed up, but she did her best! She’s been practicing, and she’s slowly getting more comfortable with speaking, one syllable at a time.

“You did well, Jupiter. Good fight.” Ponsol offered her another pat on the head which brought that Angelic smile onto her face.

Now that she had delivered her present, it was Ponsol’s turn.

“It’s your birthday, is it not? The gift is simpler than last years, but I think this one will be far more useful than the kitty plush I made last year.”

Handing Izumi a small box, he waited for the model to open it to see what it was. Jupiter was rather curious as well to know what Ponsol made this year.

Inside of the box looked to be some kind of headband of sorts, but it was scrunched up together like it was some scrunchy. It also had… what looked to be… two triangle shapes on top?

It couldn’t be–?

Oh… but it was! They were cat ears!

“It’s an elastic headband that you can use to pull your bangs back. The elastic will keep it in place, and the material used is very soft fabric, so it shouldn’t leave any markings onto your skin.

The headband was also wide, so it was going to be able to hold back a lot of Izumi’s hair/bangs.

“Instead of using all those pins to hold back your bangs, you can simply use this.” Ponsol explained with a small grin on his face. Surely you know what he’s referencing to? “Happy birthday, Izumi.”

He chose a material that had the color closest to Izumi’s hair color so it would hopefully blend in. Once he put it onto his head to pull back his hair, the cat ears on top would stick out to make it look like he had cat ears on his head. It was cute… and functional.

For good or for bad, Izumi had ended up with a photoshoot even in his birthday. With Arashi around -and for that matter, all the other young and promising models that swarmed the agency- he couldn’t help but worry about his future, taking on every chance he had to proof his worth and skill. Prove that he wasn’t ready to be left behind.

Hair on point and light make-up on, Izumi was in the middle of deciding for a coat and boots when he heard the knock on the door. He felt rather tempted to ignore it and continue with his choice making but something told him he should go right away.

Looking through the peephole, his gesture lightened up at the sight of the angel, quickly opening up to greet her. It was only then that he noticed his neighbor was there as well. Shoulders jerking up, he unconsciously reached up to fix his hair and pressed his shirt with his hands, glad to have been almost ready to go out when he was called to the door instead of half-dressed or something.

“Hah? Stop making it sound as if I purposefully leave you waiting or something” he huffed lightly. If he had to dress up a bit better and make sure 3 times he was presentable before opening the door for Ponsol, that wasn’t his own fault. In fact, Ponsol should appreciate the level of work he put in looking good for him.

… thinking it better, he better not say that last part out loud.

“Gift?” Izumi looked at Ponsol curiously before switching to the little girl. Receiving the bag he stared to the signs perplexed until Ponsol gave the appropriate translation

“You did? Thank you Jupiter-chan~ I’ll open it right away, okay?” he commented in a cheerful tone, unable to wait for later to see what the adorable present might be. It felt soft so maybe something made with fabric or plush? Working gently on the bag so it wouldn’t break, he peaked at the inside, the first thing to come to sight being the felt cat. Cute… just like Jupiter herself.

Pulling it out of the package, he finally realized it was an apron. Maybe a bit too frilly and adorable for him, he thought, as cute didn’t really look good on him, but he wasn’t about to tell that to her. Specially not when he saw the picture of her wearing a matching one in pink, the bunny detail really popping up.

“That’s so cute Jupiter-chan~ Thank you, I’m very happy we get matching aprons!” he commented sincerely, a warm smile on his lips. Wanting to really drive the point home, he put on the apron over his clothes, ironing it a bit with his hands so it would properly fit his figure before giving a small twirl for her. “Does it look as cute on me as it does on you?” he asked happily -completely forgetting the heir was also there to see him being silly and embarrassing.

His smile just as soft and warm when he heard her voice, he smiled gently and tilted his head ever so slightly to the side “Thank you Jupiter-chan~ Your voice is really cute” And it was then that he remembered Ponsol was also there.

Cheeks a light red and smile turned into a pout as Ponsol presented his own present, he silently accepted it. A moment of hesitation he decided to open it as well. It was harder to tell the shape without taking it out so he did exactly that, fingers soon feeling the soft texture of the fabric.

Oh, he had seen some of these. In fact he was pretty sure Arashi had a pink one… but the fabric and finishing touches seemed different. Clearly hand-made. Another handmade present it seemed -and with an embarrassing touch as well, considering the ears placed on top for no apparent reason besides bothering him.

“Y-you! Forget about that already! How long ago was that?” no need to go out of your way to remind him, he hasn’t forgotten the embarrassment of that occasion.

Still, and even if it was just some form of elaborate teasing, it made him happy to have his birthday celebrated by Ponsol. It really did.

“T-thank you…” he did the effort to mumble those words before adding in a more cheeky tone “Too bad you won’t ever get to see me wear it, huh?”

Yes, he seems to have forgotten he has the apron on. Quite embarrassing too. May the day come when he doesn’t embarrass himself in front of the heir.