#hence me going over it a few times to smooth out the rough edges and really dig into characterization

[lettersiarrange]

Hi kanthony friends,

My current beta for my kanthony fic has had to take a break from betaing bc of life stuff. So I'm looking for a new beta for my fic Kate Sharma and the Vexing Ordeal of Being Betrothed

The next chapter is all written, just needs to be edited and then it's ready to post! It's 9k words.

Would really appreciate anyone willing to help 😊

A bit about me and my writing/editing process:

I'm a pretty slow writer so chapters come out every few months and tend to be 7-10k. I had a pretty aggressive grammar education in school so there doesn't tend to be a lot of grammar edits to fix, generally just stuff like phrasing, consistent tense usage, some commas, etc. I'm a bit intense with the editing process; I tend to edit the chapter myself 2-3 times and have a beta edit once or twice, alternating. I'm very open to having the chapter ripped apart and put back together again in the editing process; it's really important to me to get it right and really hit the beats I'm trying to hit and nail the characterization.

If that's your jam, let me know!

[bokugaos]

Perfection

pairing: Bokuto x f!reader

length: 4.3k

summary: You are taken away and kept as the yakuza head’s trophy toy in exchange for clearing your father’s debt.

tags — traditional yakuza AU, dubcon, breeding, spanking, overstimulation, cum bulge.

a/n: (´｡• ᵕ •���`) ♡ this is a secret santa gift for @kuroos-babygirl​! it’s also my first fic of 2021 and we’re starting the year right!!~ HAPPY NEW YEAR <33

You look so petulant and angry in your defeat and sink down on your knees as soon as you are dropped off to your own feet inside the walls of the estate. Still you press your clamped hands against your lips, and murmur encouragement for yourself.

“It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.”

Your mouth is trembling in frustration—it makes Bokuto’s victory all the sweeter. He can tell that you haven’t heard him approach because you flinch back when his shadow suddenly falls across you.

Your pupils become little pinpricks of fear, then dilate again when the first confusion settles as you stare up at the yakuza boss, remembering why he is standing there now, tapping his foot impatiently.

He is slightly hunched over, yet still towering so high above you. A menacing grin slowly stretches his mouth. He looks a lot less tired when he smiles—and a lot less creepy. It doesn’t keep your heart from throbbing. You stare up at him quietly, your thoughts running across your face clear as day—so when you try to flee, he already knows about it long before you even move the first muscle. His arm shoots out to grab your hair and keep you right where you are.

“A deal’s a deal.” he murmurs into your grimacing face. You reach up and curl your hands around his wrist, but… it appears that he doesn’t even feel your fingers around him.

Bokuto doesn’t do deals with just any commoners, but your father is in too much debt, one that he wouldn’t even be able to pay back in an entire lifetime. Your father knows that, and the yakuza lord does too. Hence why he very kindly offered to clear the debt in exchange for, well, you. And of course, your parents agreed in a heartbeat. If there was even a slight hesitation or remorse of the fact that you were practically being sold to the city’s lord, your parents didn’t show any of it. You clench your thighs together, belly tight and prickly, tears ready to spill from your eyes.

Bokuto’s smile widens. The fist he has in your hair tightens and as you wince and whine, he pulls you closer to push your face against the growing bulge beneath his hakama.

He moves his hips, fucking against your face while you make choked little sounds and half-heartedly try to turn yourself away despite you becoming stupidly excited at the heat and smell of his dick through the fabric. You could use your hands to push him off of you, but you don’t.

“Take all your clothes off. The maids will take care of them.”

You pause at that. You’ve forgotten that you’re not alone.

You start to glance around as much as possible while he distractingly keeps smearing his bulge against your face. There are shadows slinking around the edges of the buildings.

You know that none of them would be able to help you.

—

It is rather embarrassing to admit this, but Bokuto takes care of you better than your parents ever did. He makes sure the servants make you good food, drapes you in lavish clothes, have you bathed in the finest of flowers; practically everything you’ve ever dreamed of about being in the higher class in the society.

And yet, you still spend your time as if you’re counting down the days to your release from a place so godforsaken. At this rate, and with the way you are behaving, you are quickly becoming more of an embarrassment to him than something he can show off.

Hurriedly spreading out the futon and sitting on the edge of it, he pulls you into his lap, only slightly sated by hearing your small yelp of surprise. He quickly locates the hem of your kimono and pushes it up to bunch at your waist, not even bothering to untie your obi. You try to get a word out at the same time his open palm comes down hard against the flesh of your exposed ass, and any would-be protests die in your throat.

Silently fuming, Bokuto holds you in place with a firm hand on the small of your back. Holding you close like this while also getting to take out his disappointment on you satisfied several needs at once, save for a particular need he only becomes aware of when the feeling of your belly against his crotch becomes too good to ignore.

However, his conscience sternly urges him to hold back. You are not perfect yet. This is not the right time.

If you are not responding to his graciousness, maybe you are the type who learns from being punished.

Once that thought crosses his mind, Bokuto feels like a man possessed as he hoists you off of his lap and onto the futon. You fall on your front with little more than a muted sound of surprise, and he pins you down with his own body before you can even attempt to find your bearings. In his haste to fulfill the desire that has finally been fully recognized, he begins tearing away your intricately wrapped kimono. You are in no position to refuse his grabbing hands, though you do become bolder in your soft cries of protest. You are becoming confident enough to use your words.

So Bokuto holds you in such a way to force you further against the sheets, quite literally taking your breath away. He is much, much bigger and stronger than you, holding all of your struggling limbs at once with ease.

He pins your arms behind your back and moves on to your legs and seizes you specifically by your ankles to spread them open in a humiliating pose. The position left your pussy open and vulnerable to him, and he can’t rid himself of his hakama fast enough. He catches sight of you glancing over your shoulder just in time to see his hard, leaking cock, and the look of fear on your face practically has him throbbing. When he grabs your thighs and aligns the tip with your distinctly unaroused entrance, he shoves in as deep as your body will allow.

You can no longer keep your pain silent, the pathetic cries bubbling out over your quivering lips as he holds you tight and prepares to spear in further. Your walls are beginning to grow slick from what he suspects is not desire but necessity, as the experience would have been much more painful than it needs to be if you were not at least a little wet. Every thrust slowly becomes easier, but the delicious resistance of your tight body remains dominant.

Bokuto buries himself within you and only moves his hips slightly at first, before starting a pace that wrings out the volume you are still holding back. You are crying out like a bitch in heat and it only encourages him to fuck you harder.

Bokuto hoists you back up just enough to arch your back towards him. This way he is able to look into your eyes, brimming with emotion and the primal fear of prey that felt its flesh being torn apart by a predator. He groans as his hand moves to your throat, holding you tight so he can feel you tremble and gasp for breath.

“I’ve been very patient. I gave everything you needed to adjust to living here with me. Yet you still refuse to fulfill your purpose,” he murmurs harshly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear with every word. “If you continue to refuse me, you’ll be sorry.”

With little more than a grunt of exertion, he spills himself directly into your abused womb. His hand slowly lets up its grip on your throat and you are able to breathe, though each breath comes out ragged and pitiful. Your body falls slack against the futon as soon as he lets you go, and he moves in to catch your legs and lift them up. Then he shifts to move closer to you, pulling you close and slipping a hand downwards to scoop up his release and push it back inside of you.

He feels you shiver against him when he presses his lips to the back of your shoulder. The hand that is not between your thighs is idly rubbing your belly, and his voice came out smooth as silk. “Don’t disappoint me again, you hear me?”

You are quiet, but Bokuto knows better than to read this as hesitation. It is more like you are tired and trying to catch your breath, or to find the proper words to say.

You are not yet in love with the idea, but rather, it’s as if you are at peace. Like you are finally coming to terms with what your life is now. The thought brings a bright grim to Bokuto’s face. Acceptance constitutes progress too, and it brings you one step closer to perfection.

—

There are many days where he is rough with you. Bokuto has taken over leadership at a very young age, and oftentimes, he takes his aggravation with him and takes it out on you. Part of him is dimly aware of this, but not aware enough to make him stop. Today is one of those days, and he is in a sour mood, desperately in need of both an outlet to pour his anger out and consolation.

You are shivering when Bokuto returns to the room, his steps heavy even on the carpeted floor. It is not exactly cold but you are naked, without even a single strand of hair out of place and your slender neck is on display just as the rest of you, and so nothing gets caught within any straps and hinges.

It is more the trepidation—and anticipation—that has you nervously dancing in place despite the thing he has carefully strapped you into a few minutes earlier. The wood is polished within an inch of its life, cinched around your neck and wrists, keeping you forced to bend over, ass to the door—just another little twist to his games that will keep you nervous and whiny because the thought of someone else stumbling in and getting an eyeful of your cunt is getting you tingly all over.

His little slut.

For the first time, Bokuto stays quiet. He is known as loud and boisterous young yakuza boss across the land, so to experience this silence is extremely unnerving for you. He does not even address you as he makes his way over with slow, heavy steps, but the thick air in the room makes his labored breathing all the louder.

It’s as if your cunt is glowing like a stop sign between your thighs, beckoning him closer. He wants to drag his fingers through the soft gape of your lips and pay some attention to your plump clit; torture it with some mean pinching like he knows you’ll go crazy for, but first, he slowly rounds to the front to have a look at your expression.

Your eyebrows are furrowed, anticipating his every move. You try to look up at him but his height and your position makes it impossible. He reaches for your chin, and you try to turn away from it but he grabs you anyway and slowly leans down, bringing his face very close to yours. You jerk away and abruptly avert your gaze elsewhere when you remember that you’re not supposed to look at him—not yet, not until he gives you the permission to—but he can see your face: bright and every bit scared as is excited.

He breathes slowly and measured, staring at you a bit longer just to unsettle you—then he lets go of your face and carefully tucks a lock of your hair back behind your ear. Some of the nervous fear seems to vanish from your expression after that.

Satisfied that everything is back in order, Bokuto stands back up and rounds you, watching the sway of your tits hanging down, and how your nipples are already swollen and needy. He pinches one—hard—and you cry out in surprise, your hips jerk as you automatically try to get away from the pain and realize you can’t go anywhere.

“No!” You whine, but it sounds weak. Your voice is trembling. He ignores you and pinches again, slower this time; increasing the pressure bit by bit until you start whining louder and louder, your knees bending then stretching again as you try to somehow mitigate the pain radiating off the tip of your breast.

He pulls down slowly, stretching the tissue until your whining becomes a short, rough cry of real pain, then he lets abruptly go.

When he leans over, he can see your cunt clench and relax desperately, slick already starting to glisten at the opening. You’ve always been a slut for pain.

He rounds you slowly, making a show out of letting his belt jingle loudly so you know he’s getting his cock out. You start whining again but a sharp two-fingered slap to your cunt has you shut up quickly.

Bokuto presses down with one big hand on the small of your back until you bend for him to have a comfortable grip on your hips as he drags the wide head of his cock through the valley of your ass.

Finally, it catches at the pouty rim of your pussy, pressing against it and forcing it to start spreading for the massive intrusion. He can hear you gasp for breath and he smirks in triumph.

“Squeal for me,” he murmurs, deep and ominous, then presses forward in earnest.

You do, because there’s no way you can keep quiet when Bokuto is fucking you open on his dick. You spread your toes against the carpet and curl them, trying to twitch out of the way but being held in place by his huge hands and his heavy weight on your back.

You are pinned in place, made to take his cock—basically letting him use you anyway he wants—and you couldn’t be more happy that he’s not hurting you too much, even though it is so very scary. You trust him, deep down. Of course you do.

But when you are like this, deep in your head space and reduced to a breeding sow gagging for dick, it is difficult to remember that you are nothing else but a trophy for him.

Bokuto tells you to squeal—and you obey. Simple as that.

His cock digs into your hole, spreading you so wide you are sure you are going to tear right through the middle. You don’t know when he stops existing as Bokuto in your mind and becomes your owner; domineering, possessive and belittling.

“Gonna put some little babies in you, yeah? Get your belly so swollen you can only waddle around.”

The words settle like hot coals in your belly, burning through you and sparking electric and delicious at the tips of your nipples. Bokuto can be really mean to you when he is angry. And while you are scared of his wrath, his words only serve as the fuel for your slippery slide down the slope. “Have to piss standing up because you’d not be able to get back up by yourself.”

You groan low—more a gurgle, really—and helplessly clench down on the big fat dick fucking into you. With everything compounded, you feel hot and suffocated. He’s fucking destroying you from the inside out, starting at your poor womb that will get massively dilated by the time he is done with what he is going to put into you.

Because that’s what you’re meant to be. He wants you to be waddling around with your holes sloppy and gaping from that massive dick of his you regularly get. Think about the others seeing you like that and knowing exactly that you’re nothing more than a disgusting breeding sow, made to be pumped full of his cum.

He fucks you like a beast and you grunt with every filling of his dick you receive. You can feel his balls swinging between your thighs; full and ripe, ready to fill you up until your belly is distending and your guts are gurgling with the cum he’s filling you with.

He increases his pace and you’ve never felt more animalistic; he groans deep and drawn-out, his hands cupping your belly to feel it starting to bulge with the sheer amount of cum he’s flooding your with while your eyes roll up into your head and your tongue is lolling out, drooling onto your chin, undignified and animalistic.

When he pulls out, it is not smooth. Even the head of his cock is big, and despite the massive spread of your pussy lips, it gets caught behind it anyway and needs to be dragged out with a humiliating wet pop like a plug getting pulled.

His cum immediately starts flowing as you can’t help but bear down, knees bending and clit pulsating needy and ripe between your thighs when the warm mess slides down your thighs as if you had pissed yourself in your excitement.

You don’t notice much of what is going on around you, not when he unclasps the thing from your neck and wrists, until big hands carefully touch you and turn you around into his big arms.

He carefully pats your cheek with a wide fingertip until you blearily blink open your eyes that feel glued-shut from the tears.

His anger should have dissipated by now, because there is a spark of affection in his bright, gold eyes and he nods before cradling you closer to his wide chest with one arm as the hand of the other descends between your thighs.

He’s gentle as his massive fingers slide into your cunt, fucking you slow and gentle while his thumb presses just this side of pleasurable against your swollen clit, dragging painfully tight circles into it until your body is strung tight as a bow string again, your teeth clenched together, sharp little nails digging into his huge forearm.

He keeps at it until you come, messy and loud, crying out as you jerk in his secure hold and gets everything wet as you squirt and he fucks you through it all.

Afterwards he holds you close, warming you with his massive body as he gently rocks you and leans his cheek against your forehead.

Bokuto can be awfully affectionate like that.

And that’s the only sign you need to see that he adores you just as much as you trust him… so far. But trust and security is different from love, and you’re not sure if you will ever be able to. He’s your owner and nothing more, and you’d be naive to think otherwise.

—

Even though you’ve grown accustomed to his presence as well as your new life in the estate, you still tense at the sound of his footsteps as they draw closer and closer over the floor.

You are still not sure about just how much you are allowed to see—your every question in that regard is easily ignored.

By now, you are more eager—as much as that makes you loathe yourself to admit it. You begin to anticipate his visits, lying on your back on the lush mattress he equips your room with and fucking your hole with your fingers as fast as you can without getting a cramp in his arm.

Your loud whimpers suffuse the air and bring an indulgent, broad grin onto Bokuto’s face as soon as he finally emerges in the doorjamb.

“So eager, my feather,” he purrs, slowly collapsing the stick in itself. He strolls casually to where you are wriggling on the sheets, and you turn your face away from him, subsequently baring your throat. Predictably, a large hand finds it without problem as if that’s the only thing his eyes are focused on.

“Are you ready this time?” he rumbles, the deep voice making you shiver and your nipples tighten into sensitive, little nubs. You wet your lips with a quick tongue, legs spreading wide for the hand stroking down his throat, between the valley of your breasts and down your abdomen, in order to vanish between your legs. A soft whine escapes you as he circles your hole, sensitive from getting fucked so often, before one of his fingers dips inside alongside your own fingers, making you strain and gasp.

“Is this… is this going to be the last time?” It is your standard question—almost like a ritual by now. It’s familiar to you like the broad length of Bokuto’s cock was, spreading you open and fucking you breathless. “Are you going to let me go after this?”

His lips stretch into another smile, his free hand stroking over your hair like a parent consoling their child.

“I told you I will breed you full,” he coos—just like always, seems like he’s in a good mood today. “Can’t let anyone see my little toy if she’s not well-bred now, can I?” He seems to take amusement in your predicament, setting you on edge, the humiliation driving ever deeper because you know you could do nothing against it.

You huff, ready to turn around and present your ass on all fours, but…

“Not this time. Stay just like that, beautiful.” Bokuto leans down, his voice—impossibly—dropping even lower as he slides onto the bed and between your thighs; still clothed.

He huffs a laugh, his tactile fingers sliding along your inner thighs, gently rubbing on the lips of your puffy, stretched hole, then curling two fingers inside you.

Your body is moving on its own—hips curling up into his stroking hand. You hate it. You love it.

“Have you been waiting long?” Bokuto asks in amusement, opening his own pants and drawing out that length that makes your mouth water and your hole clench in anticipation. Endorphins rush through your body, making you tingly and needy to be filled with nothing but his cock and cum.

You’ve already been trained so well by now… and from Bokuto’s triumphant grin, he is obnoxiously proud about it. Can’t wait to show you off and brag to his friends about his sweet little plaything; his trophy toy.

He leans down, his deep breaths ghosting along your collarbone. The fact that Bokuto likes your scent the most—he told you himself—and he likes to breathe you in while sucing on your neck, the artery there, feeling the pump of your blood there—is just as arousing as it is intimidating.

“You are... exquisite,” he whispers against your bare neck, dripping the words onto you like they were poetry even as the head of his cock slowly breaches you. You gasp—every time surprised at the fact that you could prepare yourself as much as you liked… Bokuto’s cock will still split you open and make you feel so fucking vulnerable.

“I will groom you to perfection.”

You whimper, eyes squeezing shut as his hips snap forward, driving himself in deep with the first thrust. He could feel tears prickling in the corners of your eyes, but whether from how much it burns (it still does, and you love it) or from the fact that he so casually tells you about his plans to corrupt you… you cannot tell. You don’t even want to tell.

You whimper, arms and legs curling around him, drawing him closer as he leisurely fucks you, his tongue and teeth scraping over your throat and collarbone.

“You are going to be the best there is.” Bokuto raises his head, mouthing along the line of your jaw. “Everyone else is going to wish that you’re theirs,” he sounded entirely too smug for that sentence, “but you’re mine. I own you. ”

You can feel Bokuto’s muscles flexing where your calves lay on his sides. He is so broad, so huge that you can barely wrap your whole body on him and yet… and yet…

Fuck, your whole body is primed to him. To this man brimming with strength and vitality and intellect.

Bokuto is the perfect owner to breed anyone… and your body welcomes him greedily—needy hole opening up despite the burn of the entry; just swallowing that cock again and again, clinging sweetly as if it loathes to let him out on every second stroke.

He laughs—low and painfully happy as if he has read your thoughts. The sound rumbles through his chest and directly into you, your toes curling and feet scrabbling at the backs of his thighs, fingernails scratching along his back as your lust spirals higher, soft sounds of satisfaction spilling out of your throat, no matter how hard you try to hold them back.

“Open up for me,” Bokuto whispers right into your ear—his voice sweet and deadly like poison. “Open up, sweet thing. Take it… take me.”

The last word is rasped in a low rumble—more carnal than human as he thrusts more harshly, grinding deep into you and making you cry with your head thrown back. You hear the breathy, rasping chuckle of him filling you up good and proper.

You love how satisfied you feel at being a good bitch for him.

—

Afterwards, when Bokuto is gone, you realize your face is wet. You think you must have been sweating more than you thought.

Yes. That’s it.

[drabsyo]

Drabs, I know that you usually draw Fleur with slightly darker blonde hair than Narcissa. Was it a choice so that it’s easier to distinguish them from each other or was your Fleur maybe slightly influenced by the actress from the movie who had darker hair?

In the books Fleur didn’t seem to have much description other than having long silvery hair (waist length?) and having this glow around her. So like with Narcissa, what works have influenced your design of Fleur?

It’s fascinating sometimes to read the artist’s perspective and your previous reply to the anon about Narcissa has been very interesting.

Thank you!!! 🥺

I was actually pretty embarrassed over how enthusiastic I got over the whole hair thing, but I'm glad it made some sense at least 😂 And now that I've been given even more reason to talk about it... (Let's face it, I shouldn't even be allowed on this website to begin with, ya'll have been way too nice to me.)

Only click on keep reading if you want to read Some Nonsense.

I did consider Fleur's actress when I thought about her hair color. Though I pictured it to be something of a mix between movie Fleur and Elsa’s (from Frozen) hair. But the way I drew Fleur's hair, the way it falls across her shoulders, that was more of... well, I imagined Fleur to have effortlessly perfect hair, like she doesn't seem to need to style it so much because it's already whimsical as it is, what with her being part-Veela. There were a lot of fanfictions that helped me to sort of see a better image of Fleur in my head so really, I owe it to all the talented writers out there!

It's also the same with Narcissa's case. Though I decided to give her paler hair, compared to Fleur's, because I wanted to emphasize that air of vulnerability Narcissa has—this image she conjures, like she's this fragile thing made of glass, which typically in fanfiction is what Narcissa uses so that Voldemort would overlook her a lot, hence why she wasn't given any "missions" or "tasks" while Voldemort was in Malfoy Manor. Slytherin preservation. This "fragile" image was something Narcissa capitalized on and maintained perfectly, but in post-war Cissamione fanfictions, she no longer has to put on that façade—she starts living for herself, but the quiet sadness about her never really goes away.

I really did struggle at first, I had to find a way where I could draw them without confusing people and myself.

So, again, I sifted through a lot of canon and non canon material about these two characters which funnily enough made me see some kind of parallel going on between them. I know. Fleur Delacour and Narcissa Black. Parallels?! It's nuts. But again, this is only within Fleurmione and Cissamione fanfiction, and it really helped me to draw them better. (At least in a way that made them distinguishable from one other at first glance, I’d like to think.)

These 'hair scenes' are mostly the bits where Hermione "first" sees Fleur. Hermione is entranced, a little curious, sometimes she feels indifferent, but the general theme is Hermione immediately finds Fleur beautiful—which probably explains why Hermione in fanfiction sometimes thinks Narcissa could be part-Veela like Fleur. And as you can imagine, that's where my struggle began.

You'll see what I mean in a minute. And just like last time, remember that this part comes with spoilers.

🔹 In Fighting is our form of Flirting by InsomniacAndBi in Chapter 2 Hermione sees Fleur for the first time. This is the first Fleurmione fanfiction I've ever read, and also the first time I've encountered Fleur's character. Tall, bright blonde hair, won the genetic lottery, aristocratic features, face held in a scowl, floats into the room with effortless poise, immediately starts demanding things out of people... Sounds vaguely familiar, doesn't it. Like some other blonde we know.

"Non!" A voice from the doorway said. "This is not what was agreed."

For a moment, Hermione thought about ignoring it but turned to glance over there if only to quell her curiosity. A girl stepped into the room and Hermione's phone call was forgotten in a moment. She knew that it wasn't nice to stare but Hermione couldn't help but do it because, in all honesty, this was the prettiest girl she had ever seen. She was definitely taller than Hermione was, with bright blonde hair and...clearly she had won the genetic lottery.

Her skin practically glowed and it looked so smooth and soft. It made Hermione wonder if she used those fancy beautification charms or had a very lengthy skincare routine. Or maybe, just maybe, this is what being rich did to people's faces. There was no doubt in Hermione's mind that this girl was rich - like extremely rich, like even rich people thought she was rich. That kind of rich. That was the type of rich that this girl was.

Also, only super rich people curled up their lip like this girl was doing.

She breezed into the room like she was floating and Hermione hastily ended her phone call and promised to call back later.

"This is not what was agreed," The girl said again and Hermione felt incredibly small sitting in front of her. Not to mention, the girl's clothes screamed 'I'm rich and I know it' and Hermione's screamed 'I'm so out of place that I might as well be a bull in a China shop'.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Hermione managed to get out when it became apparent that the girl was waiting for her response.

"You are English." The girl looked shock for a moment at Hermione's accent before shaking her head angrily. "This is not what was agreed."

🔹 In Oath of Silver by i_shall_wear_midnight immediately in the first chapter, when Witcher Hermione first meets Fleur, it's something Hermione quickly notices. Vivid sapphire eyes. Silvery blonde hair that shimmered in the torchlight. And once again, right off the bat, Fleur is pushy. She wants things done her way. It’s just so cute how she doesn’t even let the fact that Hermione is a Witcher, an extremely dangerous outcast in society, get in the way of that.

(I'm sorry for this but I just have to gush about Oath of Silver. Hermione as a witcher is just so fitting for her character; she possesses that natural eye for detail that remarkable witchers have, witchers like Geralt and Vesimir (a skill that gets even more honed through the Witcher Trials). Hermione even has Geralt's dry sense of humor, a bit rough around the edges, brilliant, snippy without really meaning to (because she asks a lot of questions and would rather get to the point), but has a good heart.)

The witcher figured that would be the end of her human interactions for the evening, but only a few minutes later, the stunning newcomer from before appeared before her. Upon closer inspection, Hermione couldn’t imagine she wouldn’t be conspicuous in any group of people she happened to find herself immersed in. The woman was looking back at her with vivid sapphire eyes, and silvery blonde hair that shimmered even in torchlight. Her attire was travel-ready, but elegant.

“Bonsoir. You are a witcher, oui? Or perhaps a ‘witcheress’ is more accurate? I am not familiar with all the terms…” She watched the beautiful stranger patiently while she fumbled through Hermione’s professional title. As if the distinctive, amber colored cat-eyes hadn’t given her away, the brunette mused wryly. Eventually, the blonde gave up and sat herself down at Hermione’s table, her medallion twitching faintly as the stranger got settled. Hermione filed that away for later. Her new dinner buddy seemed to be oblivious to the curious and concerned looks now being thrown her way at boldly taking a seat at a mutant’s table.

“I came from Ellander,” she began in a non sequitur. “The temple, and spoke to the priestess Nenneke, who told me about you.” Hermione continued eating her second serving of stew and waited for her to get to the point. “I would like to hire you as an escort as I travel back to Toussaint.” The witcher finally put her spoon down.

“Sounds like you ought to be asking some mercenaries to be your bodyguards,” she responded, eyeing the bow the woman was carrying on her pack meaningfully.

“A pair seems doable, and I’d prefer you.”

“I’m not a bodyguard.”

“Yes, technically, I am aware,” she replied, beginning to show signs of impatience.

“Then why are you soliciting a monster-slayer?”

🔹 Witnessed here in Time and Blood by whistle.the.silver is probably the most interesting one because it uses the concept of Veela hair as a wand core brilliantly. Again, this comes with huge 🛑spoilers🛑. Read the italicized words at your own risk. I can't add the entire clip here, as the topic of Fleur's hair is littered throughout several other chapters. But this story shows us a Fleur who is willing to do anything in order to protect Hermione during the course of the war.

My memory is a bit foggy, I haven't read this story in months, but here's what I remember:

This takes place during the time of Shell Cottage, where Fleur is married to Bill and takes care of Hermione. Fleur didn't expect to fall in love with the young brunette and, as the Golden Trio's time in Shell Cottage comes to an end, she worries over Hermione's safety. Fleur, using magic only known to the Veela tribes, does her best to offer Hermione protection in any way that she can--even going as far as to study what Lily Potter did so Harry could live. At one point, Fleur cuts her own hair with a length now roughly above her shoulders to give Hermione a new wand. But this isn't the only bridge Fleur is willing to cross to make sure Hermione survives the incoming battle. Fleur's grandmother, Ron, and even Bill himself, is a little sceptic over the propriety of Fleur's actions, but Fleur is determined to do whatever it takes to make sure Hermione makes it out of the war safe and alive.

So that was a lot to wade through, I know.

But if you've skipped all those parts for the sake of missing spoilers then let me go ahead and explain why the parallel between Fleur and Narcissa are there. Sure, it's plain to see that they have similar physical characteristics, but they're also similar in other ways.

In Witnessed here in Time and Blood, Fleur is willing to do whatever it takes to protect Hermione during the war: sacrifice the secrets of the Veela, make Hermione a wand, make her marriage and friendship with Bill suffer, be scrutinized by her Veela tribe, etc. And didn't Narcissa do the exact same thing during the war to make sure Draco made it out alive? They both chose to 'betray' everyone else for the sake of this one person. Not to mention, in Extinction by rubikanon Narcissa even makes Hermione a wand. (I’m telling you, there are so many parallels between these two ships and I can probably list more but I'd rather not make this post longer.)

Here, I’m just going to go ahead and say it—it’s almost like Fleur and Narcissa in fanfiction have the same love language.

A glaringly obvious difference between them is their upbringing, and we could argue that this why Fleur tends to be more open with her emotions while Narcissa tends to be more carefully guarded with hers. And I don't know if writers realize these parallels but as someone who's a huge fan of both characters and as someone who makes the occasional fanart of them, it's a pretty difficult detail to ignore. This crazy conspiracy all started because I had to find a way to make both characters look distinct from one another... It's just so interesting that writers from two different ships unknowingly make these parallels with two completely separate characters who are often at the opposite ends of the seesaw.

But again, let's take a look at Extinction by rubikanon. (I know. Extinction?! AGAIN?! Always.)

Spoiler warning!

🔹 Extinction by rubikanon has a marvelous take on this, as it turns out Fleur and Narcissa are actually good friends, and if I remember correctly, occasionally exchange letters (I’m unsure about this bit, I might have read it in a different story). They just get along remarkably well; I imagine they both share a kind of mutual respect for each other, a quiet understanding for the way the other woman carries herself: poised, meticulous, they pride themselves in their work, they both know how to handle an Ocean Of Secrets™, they're both accustomed to being under the spotlight of the public eye, and they’re both dedicated to their loved ones. Needless to say, Fleur and Narcissa are both giddy over the prospect of being with someone they love and adore, and end up meticulously planning numerous (I think it was hinted) double dates (Fleur with Bill, and Narcissa with Hermione) with the same kind of endearing enthusiasm that leave Hermione and Bill with no choice but to agree to the whims of their respective lovers.

(Scene seen in Chapter 23: Build Up Your Defense 2 of 2)

Narcissa and (Hermione) I were sitting together on one of the couches when Bill and Fleur arrived later. They showered Teddy with kisses on his little cheeks. He'd gotten past his clingy phase and adored us all, struggling to walk around the room by bracing himself on everyone's knees.

Suddenly Narcissa reached up and grabbed onto someone's wrist behind her head. "Don't even think about it," she said.

"That's just scary. How did you know I was there?" George stood up from behind the couch, a toy spider dangling from his hand. Teddy shrieked with laughter.

"She has eyes in the back of her head," Draco said.

"Mothers," George grumbled, sitting down close to Angelina. "Dump her, Hermione. I need you to date someone more prankable."

Fleur looked in surprise at the two of us on the couch. "Oh, la vache! How did I not know zees? You are lovers?"

"We're dating," I said mildly, though we really were lovers. In every sense. I glanced at Narcissa and bit my lip as heat spread through me. My imagination started planning a middle-of-the-night rendezvous.

"No wonder she (Narcissa) was so adamant about healing that curse," Bill said thoughtfully.

"Adorable! Simply adorable!" Fleur exclaimed, sitting down on Narcissa's other side. "We must go out for a double date next week, all four of us. We'll dine at L'Escargot!"

Narcissa's eyes lit up.

"Oh, no," I said.

"You won't have to eat snails," Narcissa said. "Please, mon amour?"

"French doesn't work on me."

"Please?" She kissed my cheek again and again. "Please? Please?"

Laughing now, I pulled her in for a kiss on the lips and said, "Yes, alright. But only because I have fond memories of trying new foods with you."

"As do I," she agreed.

Then we realized everyone was staring. Narcissa cleared her throat and straightened up, blushing. Draco made a face. Ginny looked a little more favorable. Harry held in laughter, and Andromeda hid her camera.

"Adorable!" Fleur declared again.

🔹 Also, I just have to add Sugar and Spice by waltzlikeits1698 because Chapter 4: Happy Birthday, Harry is absolutely hysterical. During Harry's birthday party, Hermione sulks in a corner because Fleur has apparently been avoiding her. Ginny decides to do something barking mad, something Hermione typically falls for.

“Ooh, someone’s grouchy,” Ginny teased, retracting her arm and facing Hermione fully. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Hermione insisted, although even she could hear the pout in her voice.

“Sure seems like it,” she snarked, summoning two shots and offering one to Hermione with a waggle of her eyebrows. Hermione pulled a face and Ginny shrugged before downing both, one after the other. (...) “You know, I spotted a tall, blonde drink of water hanging around the stairs.”

“What!?” Hermione exclaimed, whirling around and leaning out of the room to look at the staircase. Sure enough, standing at the bottom and resting a slender hand on the bannister was a tall, blonde witch who made Hermione’s heart stop with her mere presence. She had started forward before she knew it, her heart taking up an even quicker beat as she crossed the few steps and reached out a hand to clasp her elbow. The woman turned, that beautiful blonde hair catching the candlelight as it moved in one long sheet.

Hermione retracted her hand in horror, her eyes widening. “Mrs Malfoy!?”

Narcissa Malfoy raised an eyebrow at the witch who had practically accosted her. “Miss Granger. Can I help?”

What was she even doing here?

“Uh,” Hermione said dumbly, “sorry, I just… need the loo. Can I-?”

She gestured lamely to the staircase. Both women stared at the perfectly reasonable gap that Hermione could easily pass through. The moment stretched on.

Slowly, Narcissa returned her inscrutable gaze to Hermione, who squirmed uncomfortably in response. She then took a small step to the side and gestured for Hermione to pass. She did so and, as she turned the corner of the staircase, sent a deadly glare at Ginny, who was practically pissing herself with laughter.

(...)

Fleur had arrived. Hermione couldn’t explain exactly how she could tell, considering she had been in the duplicated bathroom for the last ten minutes after humiliating herself in front of Narcissa, but she knew it like she knew that it was levi-O-sa.

(...) (Hermione) She tried to avoid eye contact with Narcissa on the way back down and was thoroughly unsuccessful: the witch had physically reached out and laid her own hand over Hermione’s on the bannister, forcing her to stop and look up. Then, with an intention behind her eyes that Hermione had neither the brain capacity nor the energy to delve into, she said “It’s Ms Black now.”

Then she had released Hermione’s hand and turned back to her conversation with Andromeda and two wizards Hermione didn’t recognise.

Come to think of it, there were a lot of people Hermione didn’t recognise.

Anyway, long story short, this is the result of reading both Fleurmione and Cissamione—

But RIGHT. At the end of the day, again, these are just some crazy little things I picked up on and I may or may not be right, no one has to agree with me, everyone can disagree with me. Actually, yes feel free to disagree with me. I need to get out of this damn site and you know, touch grass.

Okay. Well. I'm gonna stop here now. So. Bye. But thank you anon for this lovely ask!! I’m really touched that you wanted to know what inspired the way I drew Fleur 🥺💕💖 But still. So sorry for this massive word vomit!! 😂

[metalboiimunson]

Ghostly Kisses and Love Declarations

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Words: 2.2k

Warning: 18+, fluff x love making 

Spicy Level: 7/10 

A/N: It’s finally here!! First post on this blog and first xReader one-shot since like 2015? It’s been a long time so idk how this turned out, I’m posting it before I decide I hate it. Open for feedback and way to improve. Hope you enjoy!

————

Ghostly Kisses and Love Declarations

Music was playing on the speaker, loud enough to hear around the house as you cleaned. It was something to keep you going, to keep the energy flowing so you wouldn’t call cleaning a bust. You opened windows to let fresh air in, sprayed down countertops and mopped the floor as you swayed to the music. You took dance breaks when one of your hype songs came on, of course. 

A few hours later, you were sitting on the couch, leaning against the armrest with your head thrown back as you rested. You had been up on your feet all day, after all—you figured you deserved a break. Pedro was coming home tomorrow, hence the reason for your cleaning. You wanted a full day of doing nothing with him tomorrow, a day just for the two of you to catch up—in all senses. 

You let your eyes drift shut, listening to the low music still playing from the speakers when your current favorite starts playing. The smooth, laid back beat playing throughout the house, causing you to mouth along with the lyrics as you raised your arm and swayed it to the beat. Your eyes still closed and feeling the music, you couldn’t help but let your fingers trace along your face as you picture Pedro. 

There was a reason why you liked this song at the moment, it resonated with you. Pedro was traveling most of the time for work, so most of the time you were miles apart. Sometimes, if they allowed him, he could bring you along but that was rare. So you settled for nightly facetimes, listening to each other talk about your day. Sometimes, the way he looked at you through the screen turned you on. The way he looked at you with a sort of hunger when he thought you weren't paying attention, the way he bit his lip while he watched you speak. For a reason you couldn’t explain, you felt yourself start to heat up. He didn’t have to touch you, all he had to do was give you a simple look and Pedro had you melting. 

It happened when you first met him, browsing the shelves at the local bookstore. You were in search of nothing in particular, picking up whatever cover or title caught your eye. You were nose deep in a thriller novel when Pedro came up to you and striked up a conversation, apologized for being so forward before asking if you would like to go for a drink some time as he tried to fight a dimpled grin off his face when you agreed. 

Truth was, the sincerity in his eyes as he spoke to you was captivating—you would have agreed to anything he had asked you that day. 

Letting your mind wander, song forgotten in the background, you allowed yourself to rest your hand on your neck for a moment before bringing your thumb up to your mouth and biting on it gently. You thought of one of the many times you had been with Pedro, rocking against each other and becoming whiny, whimpering messes under each other’s touch. A layer of sweat coating your bodies as you whispered praises into each other’s ear, his arms holding you close while he pumped into you and your nails dragged down his back. 

This song reminded you of all those times and the ones alone with just your fingers caressing yourselves, moaning praises though the phone as you worked yourselves to reach your high, whimpering out each other’s name as relief spread through your body. 

You didn’t even notice that the song had ended until you heard someone clearing their throat, causing you to snap your eyes open. Pedro. He stood before you, a day early, leaning against the wall with a smirk on his face that made your stomach flutter. You let your thumb slide from your mouth, dragging your bottom lip with it slowly as you maintained eye contact with him. You wanted to get up and hug him, kiss him—welcome him home, but the look in his eyes made you stay put.

You watched him walk towards you slowly, smirk still present on his face as he stood in front of you, the growing bulge evident in his jeans. He really missed you. “You’re home early...why didn’t you say?” You asked, looking up at him with a smirk. 

“Wanted to surprise you..” He smirked, hand coming up to caress your cheek and slowly inching a finger towards your mouth, letting his mouth fall open slightly with a gasp as he watched you take it into your mouth. 

You sucked his finger gently, perfect little ‘o’ forming around it as you did, letting it pop from your mouth as he leaned down to give you a kiss. You missed him—his scent, his eyes, his scruff. His lips, chapped and rough against your soft ones. It turned into a full makeout session in seconds, Pedro slowly rounding the armrest until he was straddling you. Your tongues fighting for dominance, nipping at each other's lips. You found yourself following him as he pulled away, not ready to give up the taste of his lips just yet. 

“I missed you, P..” you mumbled, looking up at him and caressing his cheek as he hovered over you. His lips were plump, face slightly flushed and you discerned the look in his eyes as love and lust. 

“I missed you too...so much.” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours. “I caught a red-eye, I couldn’t wait another day to see you..” he mumbled. “..to kiss you..touch you.” He pressed kisses along your jaw, gently nipping at your ear as he passed it and sucking on the spot below it softly. 

He earned a gentle moan from you, your fingers running through the hair on the nape of his neck. “You saw me a month ago when I went to visit you, I doubt you missed me that much.” 

“I recall you saying you missed me too, sweetheart.” He countered. “You also came for a week, I need more time than that with you.” He murmured, looking down at you with a small smile on his lips. “A lifetime with you would never be enough for me, nor would three.” 

Your heart fluttered and you couldn’t help but let your eyes water, a hopeless romantic he was. “In that case, I hope to find you in all my lifetimes. ” you whispered, caressing his cheek gently. 

“So cheesy.” He laughed, hiding his blushing face in the crook of your neck. You wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to kiss his cheek but getting his ear instead because of the position you were in. 

He pulled back and you could see the love in his eyes, the way he looked down at you with blown pupils. The way his face lit up with happiness, a dimpled smile fighting its way onto his lips. He almost resembled the sun after a rainy day, warming up the earth as it shined brightly. 

He picked you up, hands resting on your bum to hold you up as he walked down the hall towards your bedroom. There was a moment where he set you down so you could undress, but after discarding your bottoms you halted and watched him in awe. Taking him in as though it was the first time you were seeing him. The way his muscles tensed as he pulled off his shirt, the ridges on his back that you so many times had left marked up. The dimples sitting at the bottom of his back became visible as he slid out of his jeans, taunting you—begging you to touch them. 

“...and suddenly, you have too much clothes for me.” He smirked, snapping you out of your trance. You looked up at him, smiling softly as he walked towards you and slowly lifted the hem of your shirt. He made sure to drag his fingers over your skin slowly, raising goosebumps as he slipped it off, tossing it to the side and crawling over you.

He pressed kisses down your jaw, wasting no time in sucking at your neck when you threw your head back to give him access. He left light bruises behind, pressing feathered kisses across your skin. His scruff tickling you as he inched further down your body, slowly inching your legs apart. His touch was gentle, pressing kisses over the most sensitive parts of you. He knew exactly where and how to touch you, having spent so much time figuring out your body. 

So many hours memorising each other, it was an intimate thing for you. You knew every part of him, all his scars and birthmarks—even the tiny, faded tattoo behind his ear that resembled a broken flower. He knew every part of you too. Where your biggest scar was to the tiniest birthmark he could find, what took you over the edge and what turned you on. 

 Pedro took his time with you, making sure sex felt good for the both of you and not just him. His fingers slipping in you, touching you in just the right way as his lips pressed ghostly kisses to your inner thigh, whispering gentle praises against your skin. He earned soft moans from you, your fingers tugging at his hair as you withered under his touch. He could feel you start clenching around his digits as he ran his tongue over your clit gently, kissing and nipping at it softly. Your moans grew louder, trying to raise your hips to meet the thrusts of his fingers, but his hand was over your stomach to keep you in place. 

“..Please, Pedro.” You mumbled breathlessly, ready for release. 

“Please what, baby?” He hummed, still working his finger at your sex. “Tell me what you want.” 

“...You. I need you..” and he wasted no time in slipping his fingers from you and licking them clean. He lined up to your entrance, coating himself before slowly slipping into you and bottoming out, earning a throaty groan from him. 

You looked at each other, your legs wrapped around him to keep him buried inside, hands on either side of his face and you gave a short nod for him to move. Moans and groans filled the room, foreheads pressed against each other. You pulled him for a kiss, nipping at his bottom lip as he rocked into you, your tongues exploring each other’s mouth and you could taste yourself on his tongue. Your hands trailed down his back, digging your nails deep enough to leave crescent moons behind. You mumbled incoherent praises against his lips, throwing your head back to let out a loud moan. 

“I love you..” you breathed, feeling Pedro attach himself to your neck. He placed sloppy kisses against your skin, thrusting into you at a steady pace. You could feel yourself clenching around him, the moan that slipped past his lips letting you know that he felt it too. You let your arms drop, clenching the sheets as he picked up his pace, lips never leaving your neck as he searched for your hand. He let your fingers intertwine, gripping you tightly as he thrusted into you. 

‘I...fuck, I’m cumming P.” you whimpered into his ear, tightening your grip on him. 

“Come on...come on, baby...” he hid his face in the crook of your neck, letting out soft moans, “Cum for me, baby.” 

Moans echoed through the room, both cumming at the same time, holding onto each other tightly. You were sure you would have bruises in the morning, scattered over your bodies from all the love making. 

Neither of you moved a muscle, letting the orgasm course through you. “...I love you..so much.” Pedro whispered after a while, slowly sliding out of you and laying beside you. 

“I love you too, P...” You smiled softly, turning to face him, caressing his cheek gently. “..and I meant what I said, I really hope to find you in all my life times.” 

He chuckled softly, pulling you into him but not before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “..and I really hope you choose me in all your life times.” 

You laughed, nuzzling into him. It was quiet for a while, taking in each other’s silence. His chin rested on your head, fingers drawing figures across your back. You wouldn’t trade these moments for the world, they were intimate for you—sacred even. It was a moment to breath each other in, hold one another—bonding in the quietness. 

“...you know, I really enjoy our love making but maybe we should try recreating that scene from Narcos.” You spoke after a while, laughing into his chest. 

“Which of the many?” He countered, pulling away just enough to look at your face. There was a grin on his face, eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked at you with a loving glance. “You have to be more specific, baby.” 

“You know exactly which one I’m talking about, Pedro.” 

“I’m ready for round two...” He smirked, taking your lips in his and crawling on top of you. By the neediness in his touch and the roughness of his kiss, you knew exactly what was in store for you. 

It was going to be a long night.

[pa-panda-heroes]

im the same anon who sent the pro-hero + league thing and dabi, shiggy, toga 🥺💞💖💖 thank you, lovely.

Enjoy, anoni!! I’m realising my scenarios are aren’t really scenarios, are they?

Strict!Pro-hero!reader being seduced by Dabi, Tomura, and Himiko!

Warning: N/S/FW content. Minors, do NOT interact. Seriously! This is no place for you. (Edit: that means a anyone under 18. That’s the threshold I’ve seen others use, so I’m sticking it’s that.) Note: there are individual warnings for each character so that you know what you’re about to read ^v^b

Dabi:

Warnings- adult content, thigh riding, biting, edging, alcohol mention, swearing

To say that you were known for being cool-headed and strict was a major understatement. You weren’t as popular as All Might, but those who knew you understood you to be a hero who, no matter how any villain taunted or insulted you, was concrete and unbending to their childish games. You went by the book and rarely made exceptions.

And then Dabi entered the picture. Cynical, rough, sardonic as hell, and quite the lawbreaker - and flirt. He’d stir some trouble in the streets, and then dip out when things got sketchy for him. In the midst of doing so, he’d always send some nasty smirk and comment your way. “Some nice legs you got there, doll. They’d look nicer above your head, though,” was his favorite; or perhaps it was your response he vied for so much. Because boy, you wanted to respond. You couldn’t deny the selfish gratification that came of his antics, knowing someone didn’t treat you as a gripey, square of a woman.

But that was the last thought on your mind as you sauntered through an alleyway on your walk home from having harmless fun with your fellow heroes. You hadn’t drank a sip, afraid of trouble spurring and hence your being called in. Your focus was fixated on your phone in your hand as you read the text one of your coworkers sent you.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, babe,” you suddenly hear, and instantly recognize the bastard of a voice. And instantly you feel that familiar throbbing at your core at the sound of it.

You look up from your phone, stone-faced as always, and try to resist the urge to scowl at him. You fail, though. He’s standing not far from you with his hands in his pockets, but it doesn’t look like this encounter was intended. “Don’t call me that,” you warn shakily, only for his smirk to widen and show off his teeth before he closes the gap between you. You elect to swing a fist at him but miss entirely before a blur flashes over your vision and your back hits the hard brick of the alley.

“Why not? We both know you enjoy it,” he snickers, his forearm across the front of your shoulders, his left hand occupied with pinning your wrist to the wall and knee stuck in-between yours. “If you really meant that punch, I wouldn’t have been able to dodge it, right?”

Right.

He even left your other hand free to prove his point.

Your breath is heavy and fluttered as he leans closer. You said nothing, but the fact that your wrist was relaxed in his hold told him everything. You see him smirk again, thereafter his arm leaves your chest so that he could put his thumb under your chin, the rest of his fingers splayed out on your jaw and you gulp. Your eyes fall half-lidded when he leans in close, but he quickly pushes your head back and veers off to the side to suckle at your neck, earning a quiet whine from you. Dabi acknowledges it with an eerie chuckle, to which you nearly respond with suspect before a cry leaves your lips at the sensation of teeth gnashing at your collarbone, the feeling of his chin staples rolling over your skin surprisingly heavenly. He resorts back to suckling and you’re sure he’s leaving at least a few hickies, but you’re too wrapped up in his hands fondling your hips and ass to care. They’re so warm, it’s ecstatic. He’s sweltering hot, unlike the cool wetness settling between your legs.

“Aah, Dabi...!”

You can’t help the whine of your lips or buck of your hips, nor the yelp that results when you unintentionally grind your throbbing core against his thigh. Dabi pulls off of your neck with a pop before he grabs your hips with both hands to pull you closer, encouraging you to ride his thigh. “My leg, ah?” he breathes, his voice more curious than either of you would admit. He leans in towards your ear, hot breath sending a chill down your spine. “Go on, do it,” he demands, his voice a whisper. “Lift that skirt and cum on my thigh, doll.”

You shut your eyes tight and moan at such a filthy command, his husky voice a contributor. Dabi’s too impatient with you to let you move your skirt out of the way as he does it himself, his returned grip on your hips surely to bruise them. You’re able to look down as he guides you, and there’s a clear streak of wetness soaking his pant leg. You shiver at the sight of your arousal, and again when he reaches to move your panties out of the way to let you grind bare against his jeans. You stare at the sight, not having it in you to look away. He must’ve followed your graze, his chest rumbling with a chuckle as you begin to cry out and moan louder. Dabi’s tongue is awfully quick to find and lick at your ear, while his teeth occasionally gnaw at it and pull. You were so pent up, even after a night of fun, it was no surprise your climax was already catching up to you. Your pace gets faster and faster, until that tightened coil-

Doesn’t snap. Dabi retreated his thigh from you and grabs your jaw to force you to look at his simper, earning a pout from you. “Aw, c’mon. Don’t make that face,” he taunts.

“You didn’t really think that’d be it, did you, babe?”

Tomura:

Warnings- adult content, spanking, swearing, orgasm denial

Being an infamously stoic hero had its perks. No one expected you to goof off on talk shows or crack a corny joke in interviews. Everyone liked that you weren’t careless and rambunctious; it just suited you not to be. A downside was being viewed as a “strict, rule-hungry old bag,” though. And you weren’t even old! But because you took being a hero seriously and followed rules, it gave you a public opinion not far off from Endeavor’s.

Getting on the trail of the leader of the League of Villains was a royal pain in the ass, much less staying there. It didn’t help that he seemed to take a special interest in you. There was always a hungry look in his eyes when you faced off, and nearly every time it felt like he’d planned the encounter as if to merely get a glimpse of you.

It wasn’t something you hated. This game of cat and mouse was exhilarating. Constant. Safe. It was a release. The more it happened, the more you thought it was the same way for him.

That theory was confirmed in its entirety when he randomly showed up in your apartment and looked at you as if he’d waited a significant amount of time. On you. You freeze in place after shutting your door, your bag of groceries still in hand as he stares at you from the couch. The silence that falls is thick, and not entirely uncomfortable, but it is unwelcome. You walk over to the kitchen area and set the bag atop the counter, before turning around to see Tomura standing right in front of you, the lack of hands adorning his body confusing you. “Why... are you here?” you ask hesitantly, noting the unconscious clenching of your thighs.

“You wouldn’t make a damn move, so I had to.”

His answer was simple and dry, and you begin to wonder if that meant anything other than what you wanted it to. His intentions are clear when he approaches further, backing you into the counter and caging you with an arm on each side. Tomura just stares at you. It was your turn. That’s how your little game went. And so you jolted forward, latching onto his lips with your own. Your dominance is short-lived, though, as he deepens the kiss when you yelp from his hand smacking against the side of your thigh, his tongue invading your mouth. Tomura’s hands are quick to snake up your shirt and paw at your uncovered breasts, the villain then smirking at the realization that you weren’t wearing a bra while he chuckles at your moan. His fingers pinch your hardening nubs, resulting in your pulling back from his lips and mewling.

His breaths are getting heavy, as are yours. Tomura grabs your arm and spins you around so that your backside is facing him, your ass end poking out at him when he grabs your head and pushes down to bend you over the counter. You glance back at him, but your focus is broken when you feel his hardened cock against your ass. Your whine only encourages him to briskly unbuckle your pants and pull them down, and you half-expect him to grind against you again - but he doesn’t. You begin to push back against him, albeit a hand on the small of your back lunges you forward and you scramble to get a grip on the counter beneath you. Hard to do that on a flat, smooth surface.

“Funny, you’re such a stickler about rules, and yet here you are, trying to make your own,” he jeers, and you swallow thickly. “You can follow a command, can’t you, hero?”

You gulp again and try to writhe in place, only to shriek when a hand lands sharp on your ass cheek as his other hand digs into your back. “Can’t you?” he repeats, and the feeling of your cunt clenching practically resounds throughout your body. You’re soaked, it’s clear. You pant instead of responding, almost sounding like a bitch in heat before another slap sounds against your reddening asscheek and you moan aloud, earning yourself yet another.

“I can!” you nearly scream, white-hot tears prickling the corners of your eyes - either from the pleasure, or the pain, you’re not sure.

“Don’t cum.”

You gasp and glance back at him, lips agape as you felt the pulling down of your panties. All you can see is those dark, red eyes glaring at you like a predator about to devour its prey.

Himiko:

Warnings- adult content, mentions of stalking, biting, oral, slight knife use (your poor panties), swearing, home... invasion?

Note- I’m not sure how old Toga is. Granted that she wears a school uniform and she crushes on Izuku, I’m setting her age to 20 here because I’m really not sure.

Being stalked by villains is not something you’re unfamiliar with. Being called a stone-faced, soulless shell of of a woman is not something you’re unfamiliar with either, a result of the public eye constantly fixated on you. On the contradictory, a grown ass villain flirting with your austere being was something you were quite unused to. Toga Himiko of the League of Villains was always hot on your trail, quick to retreat when noticed yet quick to notice you first. The smile that would crack her lips open was clearly meant for you and for you alone, always used as a flirtatious taunt. It wasn’t uncommon for you to track her down and chase after her, nor was it uncommon for her to track you down and leap after you.

Your game of push-and-pull had been on for a while. She was always so quick to escape no matter the situation, and you couldn’t for the life of you figure out how she did it. Nor could you figure out how the hell she got into your apartment. While you were there. Granted, you were asleep, but still...

She grins at you again in your bedroom doorway, that grin you know well, and seems to fiddle with the belt loop at her shorts, having long since abandoned the school girl schtick. It only worked for so long anyway. “Y/n-chan,” she beams, nearly drooling. “I had a nightmare, can I sleep with you tonight?” Her voice is sweet and lilted, and for a split second you believe her. She still had that sweet and harmless-looking appearance despite being a hardened villain. You lick your lips almost unconsciously, which she takes as an invitation to your bed, except she yanks your bedding off of you unceremoniously to replace it with her body as she straddles your hips.

You stare at her, your hands instinctively going for the sides of her thighs, with which she seems quite pleased as she squeaks at you. “You look so small down there, hero,” she mutters, her grin ear-to-ear. “So cuuute!” Her eyes then narrow almost darkly at you and she cocks her head sideways. “So quiet. Are you still sleepy, hm?”

Her thighs are so plump and sweet that you gulp underneath her while wondering what she’d taste like, but she shakes her head at you. “No, not tonight, lovey.” Himiko leans down and lunges her tongue into your open mouth, your moans mixing together as she does so, albeit yours increases in volume when she palms your breast through your shirt and squeezes before flicking her finger at your hardening nipple. The villain pulls away from you too quickly, sitting up so briskly your head almost spins, as she ignores the trail of saliva that follows. Her hips are adjusted atop you before she grabs the hem of your shirt and brings it up to your mouth. You catch on immediately and comply, biting the fabric into place as she goes to town kissing and licking your sternum between your tits. Golden, sharp eyes never leave yours in the moment, and her mouth feels hot against your skin as you moan. Her groping at your legs only serves to make you more vocal.

The bloodthirsty woman travels down your navel, yet goes right past where you want her most, while your whine is punctuated by the bucking of your hips. Himiko instead elects to suckle at your hip and upper thigh, before she parts your legs and settles between them. You jolt a little as she licks a stripe up your thigh until her tongue is a finger’s width away from the throbbing wetness between your legs. She giggles at your response, then landing a quick, tiny bite on your thigh before licking her lips. You don’t realise you’ve reached out to grab the top of her head and pulled it toward you until you feel the softness of her hair underneath your fingertips and another giggle escapes her. Himiko’s tongue pokes out from her lips as she pulls a knife from her belt to shred away at the hip of your panties before pulling them down to give her access to your throbbing clit.

Her tongue is quick to prod at your hole, then dragging up towards your clit before her lips are around it and sucking away. You cry out as a result, hips bucking again as your free hand clutches the bedsheet beneath you. You hear what sounds like a growl come from Himiko’s throat, then watch as her arms hook around your legs and hold your hips down. The sweat starting to coat your skin keeps her from getting a decent grip, so she uses force while her tongue dips into you and pokes around with her thumb rubbing at your swollen, puffy clit.

“Toga-chan-!”

Your whining out her name encourages her thumb to rub circles and increase its pace, Himiko finally letting out her own moan into your soaked cunt as her tongue begins to lick and suck away. Your grip on the sheets tightens until your knuckles are white, your mantra of moans music to her ears. Until suddenly, she pulls away, your essence coating her lips and practically dripping down her chin.

“Y/n-chan,” she says almost darkly, with the look in her eyes making your cunt clench around nothing, “you can’t cum yet.”

[one-boring-person]

A Game Of Numbers. (Part Two)

Marion "Cobra" Cobretti x reader

Warnings: mention of death, mention of injury, knife related violence

Context: When a string of seemingly connected murders and kidnappings break out in LA, Cobretti is called in to figure out what is going on. He is, however, not alone in his investigation. Lieutenant "Hawk" (Y/l/n) is deployed to help him, though it quickly becomes clear that the crimes taking place are not as random as they first thought, but rather a little more personal than either of them would hope.

Masterlist

*glossary of non-English words at the end of the fic

Hawk sighs in frustration as she and Cobretti leave the office, lifting a hand to run through her hair, a frown in place on her face as she mutters a mumbled curse that he doesn't quite understand. 

"You alright?" Cobra asks her, gruff voice surprising her, unused to anyone actually picking up on her moods.

Glancing over at him, she nods, giving him a weary impression of a smile as she gestures to the manila folder in her arms.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just find murders tedious as hell. Especially when there's a connection to some other problem." She replies, adjusting her coat around her.

"Eh, you're not the only one." He hums in agreement, rolling the match in his mouth, slinging his own coat on over his muscular body, taking his sunglasses from his pocket and putting them on.

Hawk gives him an odd look, finding the glasses odd, but not entirely surprising.

"We should go through this stuff somewhere. Got anywhere in mind?" She questions him, briefly opening the folder to flick through the reports and photographs, sighing again at the sheer volume, "Jesus, they really went to town here."

"There's a room at the end of the corridor. We can go there for now." Cobretti informs her, signalling for her to follow him as he starts to walk off in that direction, "At some point I'll probably end up taking a lot of that stuff back to my place, so we can go there when that happens."

"If you're ok with that." Hawk thanks him, ignoring the other officers around them as they shoot the two odd looks.

Cobretti grunts in reply, leading her to the room, an old conference room that is no longer in use by anyone except the few detectives and officers who need a little extra space for a case. For now, it will do perfectly.

Upon entering, Hawk goes to the table and starts to lay out the multiple pieces of paper in the folder out onto the table, placing each photograph and report in a neat order across the surface. Instantly, Cobretti starts to observe each image, taking particular care over the more graphic ones, inspecting the close-ups of the body and the knife. Hawk joins him, glancing over each one with care, taking up a copy of the post mortem and starting to read it.

""There is no evidence of a killing blow. The victim's cause of death was blood loss from multiple injuries, sustained from an attack. Source of injuries is a knife." Huh." She reads out, sounding mildly surprised by this, "How odd."

"What is?" Cobretti looks over at her, replacing the photograph he's holding and coming over.

"Well, the method of killing isn't very efficient, and that strikes me as odd. Most killers tend to stab or shoot their victims, or suffocate them, because it's quick, and there's no real chance of survival. This one was pretty careless in that they left her out to die slowly, which would've allowed for a chance at calling for help. Unless…" She muses, tilting her head.

"Unless?"

"Unless they stayed and made sure she died, but that would leave a higher chance of being caught." She frowns, replacing the report.

"She was found a day or so after she was killed, which kinda implies her neighbours weren't exactly observant. Maybe she didn't think she'd be heard if she called for help. Maybe the killer knew this." Cobretti supplies, shrugging, "Maybe she knew her killer."

"Maybe." Hawk chews her lip, staring at two images, her brow furrowed slightly.

"It says here there was evidence of a struggle, as well as blunt force trauma to the head. Means she was unconscious before she died. I reckon the killer may have knocked her out to stop her going anywhere whilst she died." Cobretti says to his new companion, glancing up at her, frowning at her expression, "What is it?"

She doesn't reply immediately, apparently caught up in her head as she stares blindly at the photographs, oblivious to what he just said. 

"Hawk?" Cobretti tries again, adjusting his stance, "Hawk?"

"Huh? Wie bitte? Sorry, what did you say?" She snaps back to reality, jerking from whatever trance she was in, looking over at him, slightly guilty.

"I was just saying that the report makes it look like she was unconscious when she died, because of a blow to her head." He frowns, going over to her, choosing to ignore the change in language, "What's wrong?"

Hawk sighs, handing him the two photographs. One shows a close-up view of one of the wounds the victim sustained, whilst the other is the profile of the knife that was recovered from the apartment, which was incidentally also labelled as the murder weapon due to the blood found on the blade.

"Something about this is bugging me." The lieutenant confesses, folding her arms as she stands back, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose.

Unsure of what she means, Cobretti glances at her, still holding the images. Pulling a face, she comes over again, leaning over his shoulder to point at the paper.

"See here, how there's a rough edge at the top of the wound? Where the skin is all frayed? Well it's bugging me." She clarifies, circling a finger over the place she means.

"Ok, but why?" Cobretti lifts an eyebrow, eyes flicking between the two pictures.

"Well, the knife here has a smooth blade, hence the clean cut that it made when it was stabbed through the photograph." Hawk explains, pointing at another image, "If this knife was used to kill Kernes, then the wounds would look like that. They'd be clean cuts, but they're not. This kind of wound is only seen with a serrated knife, so I don't think that is the murder weapon."

Seeing now what she means, Cobretti feels understanding dawn on him.

"The knife was planted to throw us off." 

"Genau, I reckon so."

The two stay quiet for a moment, trying to figure out what to do next.

"I've got contacts around there, and in the bar she went to. Maybe we should ask around a bit." Cobretti finally says, looking over at his partner.

"Good idea. When do you wanna do it?" Hawk inquires, starting to gather the photographs up again.

"No time like the present, I guess." 

"I guess. You got a car?" 

Cobretti smirks a little at this.

"Yeah, I do."

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

Wie bitte? - Pardon?

Genau - Exactly

(Both are German)

[oforamuse]

does it do it for you? (it does it for me)

‘It’s a thing for you then, huh?'

or, the one where ian starts to grow a beard and mickey is definitely into it

inspired by cameron’s livestream beard earlier

read and comment on ao3

Mickey starts to notice it on the inside of his thighs at first. 

They sting slightly in the morning, warm and fuzzy, but he doesn’t really give it a huge amount of thought. Ian had sucked him off last night for what felt like hours, kissing and nipping at the inside of his thighs as he usually does, mapping out his body with his tongue and the deft of knowledge of a long time lover. 

He knows every single place, every single nerve, every single point of pleasure for Mickey, given the fact they’d been having sex for almost a decade now, and yet, he’s continuously turning Mickey’s world on it’s axis with his tongue. The long blowjob session had been a reward for Mickey cooking them both dinner after he’d gotten out of work early and Ian was still mid-meeting with his P.O. He’d come home exhausted and sloppy, his stomach rumbling angrily the entire way home, only to find that Mickey had thrown something together so it would be ready for him when he walked through the door. Ian had nearly pinned Mickey against the kitchen surfaces and fucked him there and then, but his other pressing hunger won out.

Later when they got upstairs, dishes cleaned and clothes off, Ian took ages with his head between his legs, sucking and sucking and sucking until Mickey fell apart, his limbs flailing out as he babbled. His hands threaded in his hair and his thighs locking tightly around Ian’s head as he swallowed him when he came.

It had been such a fucking fantastic round of head that he figured of course he’d be feeling it in the morning, the same way he’d find bruises on his hips every now and then, or scratches on his back. They’re the signs of a good fuck, and his husband? He’s the best fuck.

The marks on his thighs though? They’re different. They’re new.

It takes an hour or so later when they’re sitting over a cup of coffee, Ian leaning all the way back in his chair, stretched out and relaxed, when it clicks.

‘You’ve stopped shaving.’ Mickey says, and it’s a statement more than a question. Ian looks over at him, freezing mid sip, the coffee mug tipped towards him. The late morning light shines through the Gallagher’s kitchen window and Mickey can’t help but stare at the way it catches on the fine ginger hairs littering Ian’s chin. It’s not hugely noticeable, barely a step up from a light  stubble, but Mickey’s traced every of that inch jawline with his tongue, so he can pick up on even the smallest dusting of change. Ian’s always been pretty clean shaven, ever since they were kids - he always chalked it down to an army thing, but Mickey can’t say he minds this. He shifts in his seat uncomfortably, his hand coming down to adjust himself in his boxers under the table.

He is not going to get a hard on sitting at the Gallagher kitchen table because his husband has glorified stubble. He’s not. He’s not. He’s not.

Oh, fuck. He definitely is.

‘Yeah.’ Ian replies, his voice low as he places the coffee mug back onto the table. His eyebrows draw together as he frowns, ‘Do you… want me to shave?’

‘No.’ Mickey says sharply, his hand instinctively slamming down from his coffee cup onto the table, making both men jump. Coffee sloshes out onto the surface and he styles it out, his palms spreading flat against the table. ‘I mean, you do whatever, I don’t care.’

Ian tilts his head, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. ‘Okay…’ He says, his hand coming up to rub along the short hairs on his chin. ‘I think I kinda like it, it’s a change, ya know.’

‘I don’t care.’ Mickey says, swallowing heavy. Ian can do whatever the fuck he wants with his facial hair, he doesn’t care, he really doesn’t. ‘Do whatever the hell you want.’

But fuck, he’s never considered this before.

It takes a few days later before it comes up again. They’re making out on the couch like a couple of teenagers, it’s a bit ridiculous really but they’ve got an empty house and they never got to do this as kids, so they’re relishing in every second they get. After years of having to be so much more adult in their relationship than their ages asked, they finally have the time and peace to catch up on everything they missed out on as kids.

Hence, the making out like two teenagers on the family sofa.

Mickey shifts his knee and shoves it between Ian’s thigh, the other man grinding down on it responsively, his hands grabbing at Mickey’s ass to pull them flush against one another. He cups the side of Ian’s face as his tongue slips into his mouth and traces the back of his teeth. It’s warm, close, and they can’t get enough of each other’s hot mouths.

His thumb dusts lightly over his jaw when he feels it, the rough texture of Ian’s unshaven skin under his touch.

‘Fuck.’ He moans, instinctively pulling away and bringing his lips to the very spot he’d just been cupping. The hair is slightly longer now, visible to the eye and definitely different under his tongue. He’s used to the smooth, soft skin as he sucks and nips, but this is a change. It’s rough, and coarse, and Mickey can’t get enough.

‘Please.’ Ian whines, moving his head to give him better access to his neck, a spot both boys know they mutually love. Mickey shifts, his hand coming to the other side of Ian’s head to pull him closer and hold him in place as he traces kisses up and down his beard line, his chin rubbing against the bristled skin as he goes. His kisses get sloppy as he goes on, and he’s pretty much salivating by the time he feels Ian laugh softly, the vibration pulling him out of his flow. He pulls back slightly, inches away from where he'd been sucking seconds before.

‘What?’ He mutters, his voice low and rough, his breath coming out hot and desperate against Ian’s sweaty neck. Their chests rise and fall together, both men taking the momentary pause to catch their heads up with their crotches.

‘It’s a thing for you then, huh?’ Ian says, his hand rubbing up and down Mickey’s back. It’s a comforting and grounding movement, but Mickey looks up at him, confused.

‘What?’ He says again, making eye contact and Ian smiles, his jaw and the sides of his face red and raw, the evidence of the last 10 minutes or so clear on his skin. It sends something hot and fiery down to Mickey’s already hard dick, he swallows and presses into Ian’s thigh.

Ian catches the movement, eyebrow raised. ‘The beard, me being unshaven..that’s like a thing for you.’

‘Fuck off.’ He groans, his cheeks flush hotly, his wanting needs vulnerable and exposed. He hates it because Ian is right but fuck, he loves it because Ian is right. He laughs as Mickey tucks himself into his side, Ian’s hand coming to rest on the top of Mickey’s head, his fingers running through the dark hair slowly.

Mickey breathes, pressing back into the movement. ‘You’re hot, what can I say.’

‘Come here.’ Ian says, his hand trailing down from the back of Mickey’s head and sitting at the nape of his neck, pulling Mickey up to meet his lips properly. They pull apart, and Ian stares at him, grinning. ‘Watching you get so turned on, it’s well…’

He moves Mickey’s hand to his crotch resting right over the bulge in his jeans and Mickey adds the smallest amount of pressure, Ian’s breath hitching. They move quickly, Mickey’s hand fumbling with Ian’s belt as they kiss, getting it just loose enough for him to shove his hand down and wrap it around Ian’s dick. They rut together, Ian in Mickey’s firm hand and Mickey pressed up against his thigh, Mickey's lips attached to the sharp underside of his chin as Ian grips his ass. They don’t last long, the drawn out foreplay pushing them to the edge quicker than intended but neither man minds, their breathing heavy as they ride it out. He’s gross and sticky in his jeans afterwards but he doesn’t care, shifting himself in Ian’s lap so he can sit up properly, his hands resting on either side of the other man’s face. There’s a light sweat on the side of Ian’s head, and Mickey has to fight the urge to pull him close and lick it.

‘Didn’t think the lumberjack thing did it for me.’ Mickey says, his thumbs trailing along the hair on either side. It’s warm and Mickey doesn’t know if it’s moist from his lips or sweat, but he doesn’t care, it’s hot. ‘But apparently…’

Ian smiles, and it’s a big toothy grin that seems even brighter amongst the facial hair which makes Mickey’s chest constrict because he is so fucking head over heels, gay as hell, in love.  

This is the shit he dreamt of as a kid, in prison, in Mexico. The freedom to feel turned on by something as juvenile as additional facial hair and being allowed to feel that way. He could’ve never imagined, as the scared closeted kid he was, that he’d find the simple act of loving his husband’s beard so freeing. That feeling it under his fingers lightens the pressure in his chest in ways he never knew it would. There’s no more limitations on their love and the way Mickey chooses to express it, there’s not a time stamp or expiry date, and things finally feel like they’re falling into the right place.

They kiss for a few moments more, lightly and holding back, before Ian drags them up off the sofa and upstairs into the shower. Ian smiles smugly as they brush their teeth next to one another when he catches Mickey staring at his jaw in the mirror and Mickey rolls his eyes as he spits into the sink. He’s a sucker.

They climb into bed, Ian tucking himself in behind Mickey like usual, his firm chest pressed up against Mickey’s back. They don’t speak, both men worn out and tired, but they don’t need to speak, there’s no need to fill their empty space with mindless chatter. Not when they have all the years ahead of them to talk shit and waste time. Ian leans over Mickey to turn off the lamp on the bedside table, his bearded chin lingering slightly against Mickey’s forehead as he moves back to resume his position behind. He knows Ian did it on purpose and it sends a shiver down Mickey’s spine, his breath hitching and Ian pulls him in closer, breathing warm into his neck.

He feels Ian’s warm lips press against the back of his neck, the bristles on his chin touching his skin as he kisses him gently. It’s a subtle and soft message of goodnight, I love you and Mickey squeezes the hand at his waist, goodnight, I love you. He closes his eyes and breathes.

He’ll probably wake up with a bitch of a beard burn on his chin in the morning but he’s definitely going to have to hide Ian’s razor before he gets any bad ideas.

[rachelbethhines]

Star Wars Novelizations Ranked

I’m only covering the official novel adaptations of the main saga. No spin-offs or extended universe.  

9. The Empire Strikes Back  by Donald F. Glut

I can just hear old time fans choking back gasps right now. “How can you put the best film last?” To which my answer is..

It’s not the ‘best’ film. All Star Wars films are of equal quality, no matter what the entitled ranting fanboys say  

We’re talking about the how well the books adapt the movies not the movies themselves

Going by that metric The Empire Strikes Back is easily the weakest of the bunch. It’s a basic script to prose retelling with nothing added. What you see on screen is what you get in the book. It’s serviceable, but it doesn’t take advantage of the medium. You might as well just go watch the movie again and not bother with the book. Unless you’re a completionist like me. 

8. The Last Jedi by Jason Fry

Two steps forward; two steps back. 

All Star Wars films are created equal, but not the same. They each have unique strengths and weakness to them. A job of a good novel adaptation is to smooth out those rougher edges while keeping what makes the original film good. 

The Last Jedi does some of that, like how it better explains Kylo Ren’s fall into darkness, but fails to do so in other areas, like with the pacing. Multiple subplots and multi-climaxes should work better in book form but here they noticeably drag, arguably more so than in the film. Everytime you think the story is going to end, it doesn’t. 

Then it also winds up making things actively worse than the movie. I don’t mind Rose Tico in the films. She’s arguably unnecessary, but she’s charming. The Rose in the book however I want to punch in the throat for being a self-righteous prick. Other minor characters, like the hacker and the general, are also not made any more interesting regardless of how much extra focus they get in the novel. At one point you have to ask yourself if the deleted scenes should have stayed deleted. 

7. Return of the Jedi by James Khan 

This is starting to get more on track. There’s not a whole lot of added scenes, but there’s more focus given to the characters, their inner thoughts, and how the dynamics between their relationships work. Far more so than what The Empire Strikes Back did. As RotJ pretty much hinges on these character dynamics, it makes for an interesting read. 

Though there are a few flubs as this story was written before the prequels were conceived. Like, how Obi Wan claims that Lars was his brother and not Anakin's. Or how Leia remembers hiding in a closet with her birth mother.

6. The Rise of Skywalker by Rae Carson

This reads like fan fiction. 

Now before you jump down my throat, that’s not a comment on the quality of the writing nor a judgement of the story direction. What I mean is that the very style in how it is written reads like a fanfic on A03. It’s how I would write something. 

Reading this book was like holding a mirror up to my own writing and forcing me to critically think about how I present information to my audience. What works, what doesn’t work, and what should stay in the realms of the fandom and what should be left out for wider audiences. (There’s even a typo in here and it’s so much like the kind I would make.) 

There’s not enough atmospheric detail and description. It relies too heavily on the idea that you’ve watched the films first and doesn’t treat itself as a story in it’s own right. The side characters, the ones that get like one or two lines, are expanded upon but not in any way that matters and it becomes distracting. And much like the original movie it tries too hard to be all things to all people and winds up leaving some things unfulfilled, like Rey and Finn’s unresloved dynamic for example. 

What it does do right though is expand upon the characters’ inner thoughts and feelings, adds back in needed character interactions, explains the mythology and new force concepts better than the film, and it made Rose likable again. It doesn’t fix her story, but I no longer hate her here as I did in the other  book. 

5. The Phantom Menace by Terry Brooks 

Now we’re getting into standard adaptation stuff. The Phantom Menace is no masterpiece of writing but it does tick all the boxes that are needed in a decent novelization. The world is expanded upon, deleted scenes are added in, characters are given more depth and their relationships explored more, there’s lots of nice detail to help paint a picture in your mind, ect. It doesn’t fix the midichlorians stuff though, (I just headcanon Shmi as a liar) so I’m afraid we’re stuck with that. 

4. Attack of the Clones by R.A. Salvatore

This and The Phantom Menace are on equal levels in terms of writing and are pretty interchangeable on this list. Ask me any other day and the two may very well switch. I personally think the fight scenes are a little weaker here than in the first book, but it makes up for it by fixing Padme’s and Anakin's relationship. I can barely go back to rewatch the movie because I’ve been spoiled by this book. 

3. The Force Awakens by Alan Dean Foster 

So this book is also of the same level of quality as the last two and does all that they do, but it gets an extra bonus for doing the one thing that they can’t. It actually fixes the biggest plot hole in the original film. It explains how the heck Poe manages to survive the crash and get back with the Resistance. That’s like a major plot point that they inexplicably leave out of the movie. In what is mostly a solid film, that’s like a jaw dropping anmuture mistake. 

To anyone who enjoys the new trilogy you need to read this book. It’s just better than the film. Period. 

2. A New Hope by George Lucas (Alan Dean Foster) 

The book is credited to Lucas since he did write the script to the film and this is based off his original notes, but Alan Dean Foster ghost wrote the actual novel adaptation. A fact that I did not find out until years afterwards. Of the two novelizations he’s penned for the series, I think this is the better one, hence it’s ranking. 

This story just oozes atmosphere. The detailed descriptions just pop right out at you. The analogies and metaphors are just delicious. It’s as if Charles Dickens decided to write a modern space opera and I love it!  

The fact that there are deleted scenes and old school world building that are left overs from Lucas’s rough drafts is just icing on the cake really. 

1. Revenge of the Sith by Matthew Stover 

You knew this was coming. If you have even a passing knowledge of these books you know that Revenge of the Sith is the highest regarded of them all and for good reason. It’s not just a good adaptation, it just damn good book. Period. 

Even if you knew nothing of Star Wars, never seen the films, never heard the memes, you could still pick this book up and enjoy it. It’s that well crafted. 

And that’s the goal of any novelization really. To be both an expansion of the original and a solid story in its own right. 

[shittyelfwriter]

Scandalous

Pairing: Cas x fem!reader

Word count: 5400-ish (oof)

Summary: set during 14x15 “Peace of Mind”. When reader accompanies Castiel and Sam to the town of Charming Acres, both she and Sam succumb to its influence—and since Cas can’t seem to convince “Justin” to snap out of his daze, he’s forced to take some unorthodox methods with you, the “town librarian”.

Warnings: This is definitely a smut add on to an episode. Got some mild grace!kink, semi-public sex, stranger!kink (if that’s a thing? I don’t know lmao.) 18+ only please! Some language on reader’s part is dated to fit the theme.

A/N: I couldn’t help but laugh at the old fashioned values and the thought of how that would affect a cas x reader dynamic. Also as a side note, reader’s behavior and outfit is definitely inspired by Evie from The Mummy (even though the time frame is a bit off for the fashion, it’s what I had in mind while writing, hence the gif!)

More of my writing (masterlist)

It was an ordinary morning in Charming Acres for you, and began like any other that you remembered. You’d gotten dressed, gotten a coffee from Harrington’s and then headed to open the library, like you did every morning at 7 am, other than Sundays—goodness knows you couldn’t work on the Lord’s day.

It had been quiet most of the hour you’d been there, reshelving books that had been returned after closing the day before, when a man rushed into the library looking windswept and bedraggled. So this was the agent that everyone was talking about around town! You’d admit you had been curious, since any man that was a new face was something to wonder at. Most of the single men in town frequented the library to flirt, or bring flowers, or ask you on dates. But they bored you, honestly. You wanted something more adventurous, like you read about so often. And something about the way this man swept into your library gave you that theatrical rush of excitement like in the films. He was very handsome, after all; the sight of him making your pulse flutter. You turned away from him for a moment, hands over your chest.

“Goodness,” you exclaimed quietly, wondering why he set your heart going so. It was like something out of a novella! But you didn’t have much time to think about it, hearing his footsteps heading your way, and you quickly smoothed out your skirt, putting on your prettiest smile for him.

“Why hello there,” you said kindly, taking your glasses off, and moving aside some stacks of books on your desk. “Can I help you?”

“Y/N,” the man said, sounding relieved, but you could barely hear him over the thought of how blue his eyes were. Why, they put Sinatra to shame, didn’t they? You felt your cheeks flush, and you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Excuse me?” you said, tilting your head in confusion. He tilted his head as well, mirroring your confusion, but there was worry in his gaze.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten too,” he said, the low timbre of his voice sending a shiver through you.

“Forgotten what, exactly?” You asked, shifting on your feet and fidgeting with your glasses. “My name is Ellie, Ellie Carter. I’m the librarian for Charming Acres.”

“I see.” He smiled, and there was a sweetness in his face that put you at ease.

“Is there anything in particular I can help you find?” You asked eagerly, being careful not to knock over the books beside you. “I ah, I’m in the middle of shelving but if you’d like some assistance browsing I’d be more than happy to lend a hand.”

He hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Actually, yes. I’d like to take a look at anything you have on the history of Charming Acres. More specifically, any strange and unexplainable occurrences.”

“Oh! Of course. We have newspapers, local documentaries, autobiographies, high school yearbooks, you name it! The Mayor likes to keep track of things like that.” You came out from behind the desk and out of the swinging partition, nearly tripping on the edge of the step before you caught yourself. His hand landed on your arm too, a strange feeling like being held all over by something soft coming over you briefly before vanishing, leaving you upright and unharmed. But you were too flustered to think of that, blushing and stammering an apology.

“I’m so sorry, I’m a little bit”—your skirt nearly caught between the partition and the barrier—“just a tiny smidge”—you straightened a nearby cart of books before they tipped and fell to the floor—“accident prone,” you finished, smoothing your skirt and straightening your kerchief. The man just seemed amused, and oh, there went your poor little heart again, all a pitter patter. Leave it to you to be absolutely clobbered over a stranger, and one from out of town, no less.

“It’s not a problem,” he reassured you, gesturing out towards the shelves.

“Ah, let’s see. Yes!” You scurried out towards the rows you knew held what he was looking for, scanning the shelves and rambling most of the way. “Now, we did lose a few of the records in a fire a few years back, but I do believe most of what you might be interested in was saved,” you said, moving down a row to pull a tall ladder towards you. You stepped up three rungs to reach the fourth shelf, skimming along titles for what you were looking for. “You said you were interested in local oddities?”

“Yes. Anything that stands out of the ordinary…at least by this town’s standards,” he said, and you gave an airy laugh.

“Yes, well. Not sure how much luck you’ll have with that. I’m sure you’ve noticed how quiet things are around here.” You looked down at the book in your hand, a volume on the town’s infrastructure, and sighed softly.

“You don’t sound as if you like that very much.”

The man was observant, you’d give him that. You looked down at him to find him looking up at you curiously. How embarrassing.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” you said quietly, waving a hand. “I’m just a restless soul, I guess. Sometimes Charming Acres feels a little…”

“Tame for your liking?” He suggested, and you smiled.

“Something like that.” You locked eyes, the gleam in his gaze sending a thrill through you. You flushed again, looking back at the shelves and pulling two more books before climbing down the ladder. “Of course, I suppose that isn’t a very seemly thing for a young woman of marriable age to say. It’s not proper for me to want something like excitement, or adventure, or—” Your foot slipped on the last rung, and you nearly fell. But again, the stranger caught you, sending you tumbling into his arms, books pressed close to your chest. “Danger,” you finished softly, your eyes landing on his lips.

It seemed like a small eternity you were there, his hands on your arms and his eyes fixed on only you. An odd feeling passed over you, like you’d done this before. Like you’d had his hands on you, like you knew his hands—him—well. Like maybe…it all went fuzzy, just out of reach. He tilted his head at you again, as if he were trying to read your thoughts.

“Have you ever thought of leaving?” He asked, and you felt your pulse in your ears.

“Leaving?” Your head went dizzy, his eyes moving to your lips and then back to yours.

“Leaving Charming Acres. Seeing what’s out there, finding adventure, danger…” He paused, gave a little smile, and his eyes went just a tiny bit dark. “Maybe something more,” his finished, as if testing for your response.

“Oh,” you said, breathless. The men in town certainly didn’t speak like this. They were plain, straightforward, with no vibrancy. Everything felt forced, and this man…you got the strange sensation that something about him was glowing, that he was…very different, and it excited you in more ways than was proper for a lady to admit. “Oh!” you repeated, a little more surprised as you realized how inappropriate it was how you were standing with him—practically swooning up at him, really. You straightened yourself, twisting your shoulders slightly to lose his hands on your arms and raising your chin slightly, even though you could tell your cheeks were flaming.  “That’s rather forward of you,” you said, stepping around him to the small table located in the middle of the aisle. Your whole body was electric, on edge but not out of fear and you knew it. This strange man from out of town was doing things to you that no one had before. The indecency of it! You paused, realizing that you liked it. Perhaps that was the most indecent thing of all.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of hands on your hips, trailing the circle of your waist. They were large hands, rough, but his touch was gentle. “You’d told me you liked vintage things, Y/N,” his voice said, deep and gruff in your right ear. “I should have asked you to wear some sooner, it’s…very becoming on you.”

“I…I d-don’t know what you mean,” you stammered, looking down at his hands. “This is still very much in style. And I thought I told you, my name isn’t Y/N, it’s Ellie. Come to think of it I—” You were cut off by a soft kiss just behind your ear, the press of his body behind you causing an ache between your thighs. You gasped, steadying yourself on the stack of books you’d just set down. “T-this is highly inappropriate, Mr…well, I don’t even know your name, do I?”

“No, I’m sure you don’t,” he said, sounding amused but there was something else in his tone too. Amusement, and something darker. Arousal. Oh. “But I don’t think you care, do you?”

“E-excuse me?” You squeaked out, for the second time since you’d met. Your ears were met with a dark chuckle, and you felt him shift behind you.

“Sam once told me that the bookish ones always have the…what was it he said? Kinkiest fantasies.” He spun you to face him, and his eyes were squinted slightly, focused on your face. His tongue darted out to lave at his bottom lip, and you swallowed, hard. “I don’t think you care that you don’t know me. I think, that maybe, just maybe, I’m something new, and exciting, and you don’t care that you don’t even know my name because you want me to take you, and ruin you for any man in this tiny little town.”

Heavens, he was so handsome; all authority and smolder and surety. He was right, that was the worst part. You weren’t the good girl everyone thought you were, that you seemed to be. You wanted danger, and passion, and sex, which you knew as everyone in this town did was supposed to be for after marriage, but you just didn’t care. You were so pent up and wound up and stuck in your head and you just wanted something real—and here was this very handsome agent, standing in front of you wanting and offering to be your downfall and you wanted it, desperately. Which is why you knew you had to protest.

“I…I can’t do that.” You tried to take a step back but found the edge of the table at the back of your thighs. “I can’t let you do that, I…I have a reputation, I can’t just have an affair, with a stranger,” you protested, but his brilliant blue eyes looked you up and down and you could have sworn he knew how damp your panties were. “What if word got out? They’ll be calling me a hussy, and I’m n-not that kind of girl.”

“Oh I know. You’re a good girl—you always have been.” A fond little smile snuck its way into his sentence, quickly replaced with a dark grin. In the distance, you heard two or three of the library’s lightbulbs burst, throwing the aisle the two of you were in into deeper shadow. He loomed in front of you, his hands on your waist once more as he took a step closer, your bodies nearly flush. One hand moved to cup your chin, a thumb smoothing over your cheek. “Nobody has to know,” he whispered, and you felt your breath stolen away as his lips came down on yours, warm and slightly chapped but delicious—and somehow, familiar.

You told yourself that you didn’t want to pull him down closer by the tie, but you did. You told yourself you had no choice but to weave your fingers into his hair, whimpering into his kiss, but of course you had. And by the time he had you sitting on the table, skirt hiked up around your hips with his hands on your bare thighs, his tongue taking expert control of your mouth, you didn’t care anymore. He felt so good, nothing else seemed to matter, and in the dim half lighting it almost didn’t seem real—like any moment the lights would flicker back on and you’d find yourself alone, with nothing but your books and thoughts to keep you company. You didn’t want that to happen, you were so desperate for him to stay…

You felt him chuckle against your neck, where you were sure he was leaving hickeys. “You said we were supposed to ‘keep it PG on this case’. I’d assumed since Sam was with us, but…” he breathed out a laugh against the crook of your neck, and you sighed in pleasure. “We never seem to follow your rules, do we? Not when I know better.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” you admitted, letting out a squeal of surprise when he nipped at your pulse point. He was so close to where you really wanted him, his fingers ghosting along your inner thighs… “Please,” you breathed, shifting your legs a little wider. He paused, looking amused and arching an eyebrow at your antics.

“So forward. Maybe I was wrong about you being a good girl, after all,” he mused, fingers brushing closer to the apex of your thighs. You felt like you could barely breathe, your necktie strangling you. “I don’t need to touch you to know how wet you are, sweetheart,” he said, and you melted, pulling him back down to your lips. You were surprised he obliged you, but barely had time to think about it as your mind went white-numb with pleasure. You didn’t have much kissing experience, but he was incredible, so much so that you barely registered him sliding your panties to the side until his fingers were teasing your pussy. You whimpered, biting your lip, and he looked at you, a strange amount of admiration on his face. You’d almost say love, but you hardly knew him. Right?

“It’s like the first time all over again for you, isn’t it?” He said, eyes twinkling.

“It…it is? My first time?” You said, a bit shyly. His smile grew, and he shook his head.

“It really isn’t.” As soon as he said it, that strange déjà vu hit you again: the feeling that you had done this before, somewhere else, in a different place and way—but that he was familiar, that it had been him touching you, undoing you. You blinked in confusion.

“Wait…” you paused, then sighed in frustration. “It’s gone again,” you muttered, and he hummed understandingly, sympathetically —then thrust a finger inside you. You cried out in surprise and he shushed you, tucking your face against his shoulder.

“I’ll make it come back,” he said, and it almost sounded like a promise—or maybe a threat, but a welcome one. You heard the front door jingle, or actually bump—clearly, someone couldn’t get into the library. You tensed, as if ready to run, but he didn’t seem to want to let you move. “They can’t get in,” he assured you, and you sighed in relief. “But you should be quiet if you don’t want people to suspect. I can’t guarantee they won’t be able to hear us,” he said, and you nodded.

“The cases probably will muffle the sound. One time I got stuck on the high ladder and couldn’t get down for almost an hour because no one could hear—” Your anecdote got cut off by another heated kiss as he slipped another finger inside you, curling them against your g-spot. “Oh, mercy,” you breathed, your knees clenching on either side of his legs, and he chuckled.

“So careful with your words in this town. I wonder what it will take you to remember how to curse properly. One orgasm? Two?” He added a finger, and when you shuddered and moaned, lolling your head back he pulled your head forward with your necktie—much as you had done to him earlier. “Three, perhaps?” He asked, kissing under your ear in that way that made you clench around his fingers. In the still of the library, with nothing but a clock ticking in the far distance, you could hear the lewd wet noises his fingers were making as they thrust in and out of you. Oh, how sinful. If the ladies at bridge club knew what you were doing, you’d be the subject of conversation for weeks.

“Would you like them to talk about you?” He asked, your mind growing fuzzy again—whether from how close you were, or from that strange fogginess was unclear. Your eyes were closed already, but your brows furrowed in confusion.

“I d-didn’t say that out loud,” you realized, and he hummed in agreement.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t hear you.”

Your eyes opened slowly, and you nuzzled his cheek to make him look at you. You were nose to nose, his fingers working miracles inside you and from the way the room had begun to spin you knew you wouldn’t last long. But you had begun to realize that the feeling of something glowing about him was him, as if you were seeing it with another set of eyes. “What are you?” You asked, more of a breath than a whisper because of how wound up you were. He tilted his head again, and his eyes sparked to life, bright blue, full of light, energy.

“Someone who loves you.” Before you could even think of a reply, it was like your body was snapped into total bliss, euphoria coursing through your veins as your release hit you hard, much harder than you’d been expecting. Almost as if he’d willed it to do so, but you couldn’t think about that as you whimpered through it, his hand over your mouth as you bucked your hips down to meet his hand. You heard him growling praise in your ear, which only served to prolong your orgasm, pussy fluttering around his fingers for longer than you should have.  By the time he let you down, you were disheveled and shaking, your hair falling out of its arrangement and your shirt nearly off one shoulder, hickeys exposed on your neck. He pulled back to observe you, clear satisfaction on his face.

“Aren’t you quite the sight, Y/N,” he said, and you realized his eyes had stopped glowing. You almost wondered if it had even happens at all, if it had simply been a trick your bliss had played on you. But there was still a faint ringing in your ears, one that reminded you that you didn’t understand most of what was going on.

“Is that all?” You asked, sounding bereft and desperate, but he seemed to take it as an insult.

“Is that all?” He repeated, his voice raising indignantly as his jaw practically dropped. He let out a short laugh of disbelief. “‘Worried about your reputation’ one moment, a needy little slut the next. Unbelievable.” You swallowed a whimper at his tone, pressing your knees together. “No, Ellie, that’s not nearly all. I think you know that already—and did I give you permission to hide yourself from me?” His air was so absolute that you felt as if you were under his command, taking orders.

“N-no, sir,” you said, hesitantly opening your legs again. A moment later he was between them again, lifting your legs around his hips. You saw his lip twitch when you said sir, clearly having struck a nerve that he liked.

“Sir, hmm? Seems like you do remember some things.” You felt your cheeks burning, and you buried your face in his shoulder again, as if seeking comfort. It gave him pause, and you felt him hesitate. “Would you like to stop?” He asked gently, and you shook your head.

“No, I—I mean, I think I’m j-just a little overwhelmed,” you admitted, and you felt him set a hand to the back of your head, cradling you close. “I suppose I should have listened to mother when she said don’t chase after older men,” you mused, laughing softly. “You must think me childish.”

“That’s not quite the word I’d use,” he said, the rumble of his voice soothing you more than you understood. “But then, you’re not exactly yourself right now, so I don’t think you should put too much thought into it.” You looked up at him, getting lost in the sound of his words and the look in his eyes and oh dear, this was happening far too fast for you, wasn’t it?

“Should we slow down?” You asked, making a halfhearted attempt to pull your shirt back over your shoulder. You looked up at him with wide eyes, the eyes that usually got you what you wanted, and he squinted again.

“I know that look. You don’t want to stop, so why are you asking me?”

You couldn’t help but smile, genuinely smile, some of your reserved nature falling away. “Because,” you explained quietly, with a smoothness you hadn’t used yet, “I want you to do indecent things to me, and I don’t want you to stop until we’re both satisfied.” You reached out, playing with his tie. “But,” you said softly, looking up at him through your lashes. “I wanted to be sure that’s what you want too, agent.”

It almost seemed like you’d pushed him over the edge with that, because he took a deep breath and when he put his hands back on you, there was an urgency, a need that hadn’t been there before. “Even without knowing who I am, you still know exactly what to say to undo me,” he muttered. “To think I didn’t even know what those things were when we first met.”

“What, twenty minutes ago?” You asked with a giggle that turned into a sigh as he undid your bra and cast it aside, your tie joining it shortly afterward. His coat and suit jacket were tossed aside; you opened his shirt between kisses and frantic touches, him pulling you closer and you cloying for more of him exposed. Your head was spinning, you were still wondering about his eyes glowing when he growled, frustrated by the clasps of your bra.

“Taking too long,” he grumbled, and with a snap, it was on the floor, along with his pants and underwear and oh dear lord, he was handsome there, too.

“How did you—?” You began, but was quickly cut off with a kiss.

“Does it matter?” He asked, and as he brought his hips flush with yours you realized that the snap had gotten rid of your panties, too. You felt the head of his cock, hot and hard at your entrance and you couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear the waiting.

“Please,” you begged, and before you could say more his mouth was on yours again, strong arms bracing himself on either side of you as yours wound around his neck. You felt him slip inside, the stretch of his cock just enough to burn gloriously as he came to rest inside you. The groan he let out made you shudder, whining at the feeling of him where you’d needed someone for so long. Goodness gracious, you didn’t even know this man and all you could think was how he fit so perfectly to you, how he felt right. Safe, even, which went against everything about the situation.

“Come on, handsome,” you whispered in his ear, lifting your hips to grind into his. “Give me something to remember you by.” The both of you moaned, your clit grinding against his pelvic bone before he thrust back down, making you yelp and submit to his leadership. He lifted your legs over his hips, and you leaned back while he found a rhythm, the sound of the table creaking and both of your panting trapped between the walls of books. He looked wrecked, shirt rumpled, tie wildly askew with his hair sticking up in all directions. You figured you looked just as untidy, what with your skirt up over your hips and shirt wide open, bra thrown onto the floor. One of your shoes had fallen off somewhere along the way, one foot bouncing with each thrust that was making your head spin and your stomach swirl with pleasure. He wasn’t shy, the lamp on the other end of the table close to falling off from the intensity of his thrusts, each of which hit so deep it had you whimpering out tiny exclamations of surprise. He shushed you, but there was a surprising look of adoration in his eyes.

“I need you to remember,” he said, gruffly, but you could tell that he was getting as close as you were. “I need your help, Sam doesn’t…doesn’t remember either, and I can’t as easily make him remember, so…”

“I hope you don’t expect me to fuck this ‘Sam’ too,” you panted, eyes rolling back in your head as he slowed down, hitting your a-spot with precision you didn’t know was possible—precision that spoke of past experience, with you.

You may not have fully understood what was going on, but you weren’t stupid.

He laughed, and shook his head. “No, but I could use your help wrapping up this case.” He leaned down and looked you right in the eyes, a hand moving to your clit. “And was that a swear I just heard? In this Christian town?”

You gasped, both from his slow circles and from the realization he was right. “Jeepers,” you whispered, and again, you felt that intense, unexpected orgasm wash across you, making you cry out. You heard yourself say something, maybe a name, as you lost yourself for the second time, your thighs shaking and your hands finding purchase in his hair.

‘Y/N.’ You heard him say your name in your mind, and for a moment, just a moment you remembered it was your name. Your eyes flew open, tears biting at their edges, and you could only whimper in response. For the second time—and this time you were absolutely sure of it— his eyes flashed blue, that high pitched ringing filling your ears. “Once more,” he demanded, and you tried to stutter out that you didn’t think you could, but you felt an invisible force press on your throat, and you couldn’t help but fall silent from the additional pleasure it gave you. “You can,” he insisted, hips becoming uneven in their thrusts, “and you will.” His voice was breaking, and some part of you felt incredibly proud that you were able to affect him just a sliver of the way he was doing to you.

“And you?” you asked, your voice eager and needy. You tugged on his hair, felt his hips stutter and a groan escape him, his hands tightening on your hips.

“Yes,” He replied, and you felt your stomach flutter with perverted glee. “I’m going to cum with you, sweetheart.” You couldn’t help but whimper, feeling your third orgasm nearing, a fresh coat of slick dampening his cock as you began to spasm around him.

“Oh my stars,” you breathed, and it was a little on the nose as you were seeing pinpricks of dancing light by that point. “Where?” You asked, and his eyes opened to fix you with a curious gaze—almost too innocently curious for what you were doing. “Where are you going to…to…” you stammered, too high on delight to find the politically correct term but not sure enough to use the one he had.

“Where am I going to cum?” He asked, near matter-of-factly, but it was the look on his face that made it so hot. He looked so possessive, so thoroughly engrossed in what you two were doing that you felt like you were at the center of the universe with him. But then he grinned wickedly, eyes going near black, and you knew what he was going to say before he did.

“Right where I always do.” He leaned forward, lips hovering over yours. “Say that you want it,” he almost sing-songed. “Tell me right where you want this stranger to put his seed, Y/N.”

“I-I-inside me!” You cried out as your orgasm hit you again, and this time, that other wave of pleasure hit immediately after, near drowning you entirely and making you black out. You felt him tense, cry out something rough in another language, and then spill himself inside you, cock pressing up deep inside against your cervix as you milked him for all he was worth. Oh, you’d have ever so much to confess on Sunday, you realized, shame washing over you with your afterglow, but then you wondered why the fuck you cared. And then, when you cracked open one eye to take a peek at your surroundings, you wondered why you were in a library.

You looked down at the the head resting above your chest, running your fingers shakily through soft dark locks. “Cas?” You asked weakly, and he looked up at you with a look of adoration. He let out a soft laugh, smiling.

“There she is.”

You tugged him up to kiss him but he was already moving, hands coming to rest on either side of you on the table as you lost yourself in him. He was still deep inside you, his groan at the way you were kissing him sending vibrations through you and making you shiver. You pulled back just enough to speak between kisses.

“Why are we in a library?”

He sighed. “This case is very confusing, but I think you were assimilated into the town. I found you playing the town librarian,” he explained, and you rolled your eyes behind closed lids.

“Of course I was.” You gave him one last kiss, holding his face in both your hands. “Where’s Sam?”

“Same as you, the town seemed to have found a role and put him into it. He thinks he’s ‘Justin Smith’ now,” Cas said, sounding irritated, and you could tell that interaction hadn’t gone well.

“My bet is still on a psychic, by the way,” you pointed out, pushing his hair back out of his eyes.

“I’m starting to think you’re right.” You were beginning to wonder if you could steal enough time for a second round when a banging came on the front door. Apparently, the patrons were getting annoyed with one of the town’s only forms of entertainment not being open for business.

“We should go,” Cas said, and you could see a little regret lingering on him. So you hadn’t been the only one hoping, interesting. You nodded in agreement, expecting to need to get dressed, but there was a swoosh and there you both were, fully clothed. The loss of him inside you was what hit you the hardest though, and you let out a small sigh.

“Come on then, agent,” you said, hopping up off the table and bouncing on your toes to regain full function of your legs before tugging him in the direction of the back door. You gave him a smile, and a wink. “Let’s get Sam, crack this case and ditch this town, shall we?”

He gazed at you thoughtfully, a funny little look in his eyes. “I’m glad you’re back, Y/N,” he told you, serious all of a sudden. “While Ellie Carter was accommodating,” he looked you up and down, still in your librarian get up, “I much prefer you.”

You smiled, reaching out to straighten his tie while standing on tiptoe. “I understand completely,” you reassured him, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “As much fun as this was, I’d rather have my angel over a stranger any day.”

Tags are going down here from now on to keep headers tidy. Tag list is currently open, feel free to request to be added!

@netflixandcastiellll @splendidcas @bkwrm523 @imamotherfuckingstar-lord @joanne-egberp @willowing-love @samanthasmileys @consultingfanboy @castielspahdehrah @gryffindorable713 @miss-spnm0mma @blushingjared @grace-for-sale @mrswhozeewhatsis

[worbiestuff]

TIPS ON PHOTOGRAPHY

Hey guys, back once again over the weekend I had another photography assignment and I’m glad to share with you all.

I was supposed to watch some YouTube videos and make notes of all I learnt. As I made notes, I was to cast my mind to my surrounding and begin to see how objects will look beside others as in size, colour, feelings, etc. and describe how I understand seeing especially in the artistic sense I was also to describe the various elements of art and use my camera to make images that will be interesting and worthy of an exhibition. I was asked to make 2 interesting images per element and organize the images under their respective headings and describe how I made it.

Let’s dive straight in!

      Photography is not just a technical exercise, but an art, application and practice of creating durable images by recording light. Owning a camera doesn’t make you a good photographer and at the end of the day, it still narrows down to being an art. Dorothea Lange said that a “camera is a tool for learning to see without a camera”. Having the camera doesn’t necessarily mean you automatically get to see great subjects and shoot “OMG’ (oh my god) pictures. It requires perfection through a lot of practical work or knowledge, personal skills and creativity-which is best described as a combination of inventiveness, imagination, inspiration and perception. Bryan Peterson also explained that to advance your personal vision, you must really practice.

We have to learn to see what is around us so we can express it in artistic ways. We’ve to train our minds to see something new and different even at places we’ve been before or things we’ve seen before. As Ernst Haas said- “I am not interested in shooting new things, I am interested in to see things new”. This short statement makes a lot of sense. We’ve to be interested in training our minds to see things in a way that people think is abnormal, in a way that even when we are paired with people in the same geographical area, we take “fire” pictures that will make or partners wonder; wow, how come I didn’t think of that or see that?

Recognizing good light is all photography is about. Hence the meaning of photography being light writing. Sometimes we just have to recognize how a particular light, either natural or artificial, controlled or spontaneous falls on a building or hits city to be able to get a good shot. We can’t get good images by riding with the bus every day or requesting an Uber everywhere we go, sometimes we need to take the risk and walk, even if not with the mindset of getting a few things photographed but just to interact with nature, and we’ll be surprised that we’ll end up taking much more photographs than we planned on doing.

Photography is not about the content of the photograph or picture, but about the compositional arrangement. Composition can be described as the arrangements of elements used. It means paying attention to what will be photographed, how it is placed in relationship to other objects in the image and how well the subject matter is expressed.

Elements of design should be your foundation for how to learn to see. They include;

·         Line

·         Colour

·         Value

·         Shape

·         Form and

·         Texture.

   SEEING ESPECIALLY IN ARTISTIC SENSE.

Seeing in artistic sense means a lot to me. Seeing artistically, to me means that when I look at something, I don’t just simply look at it, I don’t just look, I look and ‘see’. I try to make a connection between stuff and elements that look or seem unconnected. It is how I look beyond ordinary objects and just using what I already know to create something new. More like using a ‘third’ eye. Seeing artistically to me means that going somewhere people will think is abnormal just to create new photographs or trying out new things people might see to be weird.

 ELEMENTS OF ART

As mentioned earlier, the elements of art should be the foundation on how to see. It is simply referred to as the building blocks of art. They include line, shape, form, texture, colour and value.

 ·         Line: a line is referred to as a mark with length ad direction. There are various types of lines and they have been listed and explained below.

--Line variation: this means using a variety of thin and thick lines or varying the weight of a single line to create interest.

--Contour lines: contour lines are lines that follow the outer edges of an object, like an outline.

--Blind contour: drawing contour lines without looking at the paper and even though they may look kind of humorous or funny, the drawings actually turn out to be someway somewhat artistically interesting.

·         Value: this refers to the relative lightness or darkness of an object.

·         Color: we all know that light source is needed to see colour. Basically, colour is seen by reflecting light on an object.

--Hue: hue refers to the name of a colour; red, yellow, green, black, etc.

--Intensity: the brightness or dullness of a colour is referred to as intensity.

·         Space: the area around, above or inside an object is referred to as space. There are two types of space

--space that involves depth.

--space that involves the shape of area.

Shallow space

This is space that feels cringed, feels flat. There is not much depth in the artwork. Objects are close together without much room to move around.

Deep space

With deep space, there is a lot of depth in the artwork. Objects tend to disappear far in the distance.

Positive space

This refers to the areas of focus or the most important parts of an artwork.

Negative space

This is the space around areas of focus-usually the background of an artwork.

·         Shape and Form:

--Shapes are two dimensional, having height and width.

-- Forms are three dimensional or have three dimensions, height, width and depth.

Geometric shapes

These are mathematical lines or shapes or forma often with hard, sharp edges. Circles and spheres are exceptions.

Organic shapes

These are natural or free form shapes, lines or forms often with curvy, soft edges.

·         Texture: the texture of something or texture refers to how the object appears to feel. There are two types of textures;

--Actual texture: this refers to texture you can actually feel. With this type of texture, If the object looks rough, it feels rough too.

--Visual texture: this kind of texture refers to texture you can see but not feel. It I also known as implied texture. With this type of texture, the object might appear rough but smooth to touch.

PICTURES DEPICTING THE VARIOUS FORMS OF ELEMENTS OF ART

 LINE

Figure 1

I find this picture depicting or showing lines because of the various kinds of lines that can be identified in it. The tree or bush has some kind of thin and thick lines in there, we can also see spiral lines from the razor wire that has gotten entangled with the bush. This is a picture I took on my way to buy porridge on Friday morning at around 6:30 am with my iPhone 6s back camera, 4.15mm with a shutter speed of 1/340 sec, aperture, f/2.2 and ISO 25. I edited this picture using Lightroom.

FIGURE 2

This is also another photograph that depicts line. There are horizontal and vertical lines that can be seen in the above photograph and these are forms of lines. I found this old racket in the store room at home and decided to take a picture of it with my iPhone 6s back camera, with a shutter speed of 1/3700sec, aperture being, f/2.2 and ISO 25. I edited the picture with Lightroom.

 COLOUR

FIGURE 3

I ordered these mini cakes from Chafty Catering and decided to take this picture, not for any reasonable purpose but just because of how the colours looked so vibrant and appetizing.

The above picture is ideal to depict colour because so many different colours can be identified from the above picture. We’ve the colour of the mini cakes being brown, the marshmallows white, the skittles which come in different colours like red, blue etc. captured this image with my very own IPhone 6s back camera, with shutter speed being 1/300 sec, aperture, f/2.2 and ISO 25, also edited with lightroom.

FIGURE 4

This is a picture of a tree right opposite my house, as to say my neighbor’s house. I took this picture because personally I love nature, and I also was in love with how the sun hit the tree for it to bring out its colours. The way the rays passes through the ple wires is another besuty to behold, but that is just a plus, not where the attention actually is. This picture depicts colour in the sense that, we’ve the colours of the flowers being a shade of pink which is known as ‘fuchsia’ and we’ve some kind of off-white or creamy colour and we also have green, for the leaves of the plant! We’ve the pole wires to be black, and the blue skies, we’ve the clouds being white too. In all, we have about 6 colours in the photograph. This also was captured with my iPhone 6s camera, with shutter speed 1/190000sec, aperture being f/2.2 and ISO 25 and edited with Lightroom.

VALUE

FIGURE 5

This is a picture of a tomato I took straight out of the refrigerator and put on a yellow chopping board directly under the sun. I chose to use this photograph for the depiction of value because we all know the definition of value to be how bright or dark an object is. Again, we all know red and yellow to be very bright and loud colours, hence, using it to depict value makes a lot of sense. This picture too was captured by my IPhone 6s back camera with a shutter speed of 1/13500 sec, aperture being f/2.2 and ISO 25, edited with Lightroom.

FIGURE 6

This is a picture of the same racket I found in my store room, but this time held towards the sun. I chose to use this picture to depict value because a part of the image depicts a bright side, thus, the sun and another side depicts a darker side. Per the explanation of the element of art; value, this picture is ideal. This picture was also taken with my IPhone 6s camera, with shutter speed being 1/26000 sec, aperture, f/2.2 and ISO 25, also edited with lightroom.

TEXTURE

FIGURE 7

I decided to take a picture of my old purse and use it to depict texture. Texture refers to how an object appears to feel, and there are two types; actual and visual. This old purse can be used to depict visual because it appears to be rough when looked at but smooth when felt. This was also captured with my iPhone 6s, with a shutter speed of 1/4500 sec, aperture being f/2.2 and ISO 25. This was also edited using Lightroom.

 FIGURE 8

This is a picture of a terrazzo wall in my house. I took this picture to depict actual texture because my terrazzo wall looks rough from afar, and is rough when felt too. Captured this with my iPhone 6s. With aperture being 1/1100 sec, aperture, f/2.2 and ISO 25. I edited this with Lightroom.

SPACE

FIGURE 9

This is an image I captured on my first visit to new town with my mum, to buy some fresh fish. Accra New Town is a town in the Metropolitan district, a district of the Greater Accra region in Ghana. I took this picture with no motive but only because that was my first time visiting the place. I had never seen so many canoes in my life too, and that was another minor reason why I took the picture. I decided to use this picture I captured to depicted space (deep space) because the picture has a lot of depth and the objects, i.e. (the canoes, the fishermen and fishmongers) tend to disappear into the horizon. Same IPhone 6s for the picture, with shutter speed of 1/200 sec, aperture, f/2.2 and ISO 25 and edited using Lightroom.

FIGURE 10

This picture is a composition of a glass and an orange. This composition is intentional, I had the mindset of making or creating something that could depict shallow space. And I think it works. Shallow space refers to space that feels cringed or flat. If an artwork is shallow, it means there isn’t much space to move around, hence, objects are close together. In this composition, there isn’t much space to move around since the view ends right where the orange is. Any means of trying to look farther than the orange is not possible. This was taken with my iphone 6s. with shutter speed of 1/290 sec, aperture f/2.2 and ISO 25, also edited with Lightroom.

SHAPE AND FORM

FIGURE 11

These pigeon holes depict shape. Picking one of these pigeon holes, they are rectangular in shape and putting all of them together or picking them randomly, the still kind of form a shape. Taken with my iPhone 6s, with shutter speed being 1/2500 sec, aperture, f/2.2 and ISO 25. Edited using lightroom.

FIGURE 12

This is a picture of my portable Bluetooth speaker I use in school. I’m a music lover so I guess it makes a little bit of sense. Well, I photographed this mini speaker because I thought It would be ideal for a form, since forms are three dimensional; height, width and depth. I captured this image with my iPhone 6s again, with a shutter speed of 1/2100 sec, aperture, f /2.2 and ISO 25 and edited using Lightroom.

                                                                                                                                   DOREEN AKWORKOR WORBIE

                                                                                                                          PHOTOGRAPHY II

[thereismoretomylifethenice]

Rules: Pick 5 shows, then answer the following questions. Don’t cheat. Tag some people. I was tagged by @throughtimeillbethere

1. Magnificent Seven (1998)

2. Midsomer Murders (Series 1-6 at least)

3. Miss Marple 

4. Agatha Christie’s Poirot

5. Frozen

Who is your favourite character in 2? Gavin Troy (Hence why he’s over on “ANoseForRottenApples”). I just get a kick out of him because he’s young, he’s learning as he goes and he has really decent instincts but he often talks himself out of following them. He’s also a little rough around the edges sometimes but he really is trying. Sometimes you’re like “Troy, you’re an idiot” but he’s also trying to hard that I find it endearing and his character grows quite decently over the years he was on the show.

Who is your least favourite character in 1? M7 is one of those rare shows were all the characters are pretty solid and I like them all (or dislike them in the best way possible if they’re a baddie). If I had to pick one, I’d say it was probably Will Richmond from “Wagon Train Pt. 1 & 2”. Namely put, he’s just kind of an idiot. Treats his wife bad and then gets bent out of shape when she starts flirting with Vin. He’s busy telling Josiah how much he loves his wife and what she means to him but it never occurs to him to actually tell her that. Spends a lot of time being somewhat needlessly antagonistic with the guys (Vin is understandable given that Vin tried to run off with Will’s wife but the rest of the guys are just doing a job and Will’s pointlessly making everyone’s lives harder).  He’s just kind of an ‘ehhh” character for me.

What is your favorite episode of 4? All of these episodes are works of art but “The Lost Mine” from Series 2 is one that I find myself watching particularly often.  There are just so many little bits in it that I love—Inspector Japp still has his sergeant backing him up, the on-going Monopoly game that Hasting and Poirot have going and the conclusion is just really well done. Also the complete face-palm moment of Japp, while investigating the murder of a Chinese man, finds a notebook in the man’s suitcase and declares that the fact it’s all written in Chinese is “very suspicious”.

What is your favourite season of 5? There are no Seasons in Frozen, given that it’s a set of movies. My favorite movie is the first one though—Frozen 2 is good but I feel like Frozen 1 just had better pacing and didn’t feel quite as rushed as the second one. The second movie was better on re-watches but the first time through it was just like “This plot is moving at a breakneck pace! What is happening???” (Or I’ve just been spoiled by watching too many British murder mystery series that tend to be slower in pace and build things up carefully.”

Who is your favourite couple in 3? There are no long-running couples in this series but I ship the daylights out of Louisa Oxley and Alfred Pollock in “Greenshaw’s Folly”. They’re only in one episode (which are all movie length) and they’re so freaking adorable!

Who is your favourite couple in 2? Again…shipping was not the main focus of this show but I do like Inspector Tom Barnaby and his wife Joyce. In American shows, if cops are married, they’re usually getting divorced or having constant fights with them. It’s nice to see a cop who’s in a stable, happy relationship for a change. Also I feel like there could have been some fun things done with Troy and Barnaby’s daughter Cully. They hinted at it off and on for the time he was on the show but nothing ever really came of it, sadly.

What is your favourite episode of 1? At this point I’ve seen all of them and love all of them but, hands-down, “The Collector” is really just a fun episode and the hijinks among the guys is top-notch. “The Witness” is also a fabulous episode in a much sadder and darker way. “Sins of the Past” kind of marries both of these concepts—Vin and Chris’s storyline is very dark and serious while Ezra and the other guys (and his mother) are up to their eyebrows in hijinks. But really, all the episodes are very, very good.

What is your favourite episode of 5? Again, no episodes so I refer to my comments on Frozen 1 and Frozen 2.

What is your favourite season of 2? Don’t really have a favorite but Series 3 and 4 were pretty solid. Series 5 had some really good episodes and some really weird ones so it’s hit-and-miss. Series 6 (what I’ve seen of it) is pretty solid too.

How long have you watched 1? Hmm….a few years now. I think I first saw M7 in….2014? 2015? I found a page of Geology notes from my first degree with volcanoes, the chemical formula for ozone and Vin Tanner doodled on it so I know I started watching the show before I finished my AA. Just can’t remember exactly when I started watching it.

How did you become interested in 3? I’ve watched and read Agatha Christie shows and books since I was 7 or 8. While I watched Poirot from that time, I watched Miss Marple off and on whenever I could find episodes on TV or at the library.

Who is your favourite actor in 4?  Tie between David Suchet (Poirot) and Philip Jackson (Inspector Japp).

Which do you prefer, 1, 2, or 5? 5. M7, Midsomer Murders, or Frozen? Sorry, my pair of valiant Inspectors and my Ice Queen but the Cowboys’ win this round. I adore the dynamics of this show, I adore that it’s got great adventure and can go super dark without ever getting gory, pornographic or vulgar. All of the characters are great, the stories are great and it’s just a really wild ride in a very good way. It can be a bit cheesy but in the absolute best ways possible. Besides, I will always pick 1860s westerns over modern stories or Disney princesses if I have to choose one.

Which show have you seen more episodes of - 1 or 3? Probably the same in both of them. M7 only had two seasons but there were more episodes per season. Miss Marple had six series but only three or four episodes per season—plus I didn’t watch all of them. The first three seasons weren’t nearly as good as the last three, mostly because the woman playing Miss Marple in the first three series wasn’t that good in my opinion. So I think I’ve seen an even number of both.

If you could be anyone from 4, who would you be?! I don’t want to be any of them—they’re all good the way they are and I wouldn’t want any of their jobs! I’m content being some poor person who realizes too late that Poirot is vacationing at their hotel and now dead bodies are going to start turning up XD

Would a crossover between 3 and 4 work? Most likely, seeing as they were both created by the same woman. Interestingly enough though, even with Miss Marple series and Poirot series being made at the same time, no one ever wanted to have the two detectives officially meet in canon. I heard a rumor though that there was an anime somewhere that had them meet? I haven’t been able to conform that though, yet.

Pair two characters in 1 who would make an unlikely but strangely okay couple? (I have thought about this a lot) Captain Francis Riley (Ghosts of the Confederacy) and Terri Greer (Safecracker). They would be such a cute couple and Francis would probably be a good dad for little Olivia Greer.

Overall, which show has the better storyline, 3 or 5? Sorry Disney—I’m going to have to say Miss Marple. I’ve been a fan of murder mysteries before I was a fan of Frozen.

Which has better theme music, 2 or 4? I’m going to say 4 (Poirot) because the theme from that show just….a huge amount of nostalgia is held in that intro for me because I’ve been watching it since I was about 8. Plus, the fantastic art deco style of the introduction and the titles is just so smooth and I love it.

Tagging: @princelyrogue @shadowyavuz

[ibelieveinahappilyeverafter]

Popular Meme Fic Result - To Land On Your Feet

That popular meme fic I did last week decided the winner of To Land On Your Feet, an Erasermic story I’ve been starting to plan out! I hope you guys enjoy the drabble. I have a feeling you will. 

Rough Summary: Aizawa Shouta gets turned into a cat. It’s the type of situation that he’s only ever seen from glimpses of books he’s confiscated from students for reading during class, but here he is. It doesn’t help when no one recognizes him and, to make it worse, he ends up following his student Shinsou Hitoshi home. He wouldn’t, in normal circumstances, but Shinsou is a lot more talkative to cats than teachers and some of the things he’s said… Well. Shouta hopes he’s wrong, for once.

Ko-Fi Patreon

                                                                ::

“Shouta… I think we need to have a serious talk.” Fingers twitching from where he was checking over his utility belt, Shouta looked to his husband, studying his expression for a moment before taking a deep, steadying breath. “It’s about your current batch of students.”

There wasn’t an ounce of seriousness in that man’s gaze and Shouta could see the laughter that Hizashi was fighting to hold back. “What about them, ‘Zashi?” It was an effort not to smile, himself, but Shouta knew from experience that smiling would only encourage him. “I told you not to do the lesson on English swearing.”

“Hey! Students love that lesson!” Hizashi’s complaint was more of a squawk than anything else, Shouta only humming to show that he was listening as he went back to checking over his belt. He was running low on caltrops. He would need to remember to place an order in for some more later. “A lot of them are improving, you know. Kaminari managed to get a 70 on his last test, even! A 70!”

“Bakugou has been forcing the annoyances to study,” Shouta snorted, checking the next few pouches quickly and efficiently. His patrol would start soon - hence why he was near the door and Hizashi kept trying to devise ways to get him to go back to the couch where Shouta had been happily napping before his alarm went off. “He insists that if they have enough energy to be annoying, then they have enough energy to apply themselves to their schoolwork.”

“For being a delinquent, he has pretty good grades.” It almost sounded like a complaint and, considering it was Hizashi saying those words, Shouta couldn’t stop his laugh. “I can tell when you’re laughing at me, you know.”

“I just find it rich that you’re calling someone a delinquent with good grades considering your own records.” Shouta grinned at Hizashi as the man sunk down on the couch, giving him a dramatic pout. It was even funnier considering this was the man who still held the school record for the most detentions in a single school year. He had also graduated top of the school with test records that remained unbroken. “Stop pouting. I’ll be back soon.”

“You’re a full-time teacher,” Hizashi grumbled and whined, Shouta feeling his heart clench at the genuine worry that was hidden under those words. “Even I cut back on my patrols after a while. And with everything that’s been going on…” 

Shouta couldn’t blame Hizashi for his worry. There had been an increase in villainy even before the school year started, but now with USJ, Kamino Ward, and the dorms being implemented, well, Hizashi was right to worry. That didn’t mean that there wasn’t work to do, though.

“You have your knife, right?” The single question had Shouta sighing as he tugged his boots on and began lacing them up, trying to avoid Hizashi’s puppy eyes. “What about your caltrops? Juice pouches? Energy bars? Shouta, you made sure to get more of those smoke bombs, right? You said you were out last time. Oh! Did you-”

Having crossed the short distance to the couch while Hizashi was talking, Shouta quickly cut off the rapid questioning with a soft, familiar kiss, slowly working Hizashi down from his worry and lingering in the kiss until the man was relaxed and pliant against him. It was a shame when he had to pull away. “I’ll be fine, Sunshine.”

As always, the pet name Shouta had been using since high school had Hizashi flushing, a pretty pink blush spreading across his cheeks. “That’s cheating, Shou-chan.” Hizashi’s fingers curled into his costume, tugging him down and giving him another soft kiss. “You still have at least fifteen minutes before you have to leave, you know.”

“You’re so exhausting,” Shouta sighed, not meaning a word of it as he slumped down onto the couch, Hizashi sliding and bumping into him from the force and bursting out into bright laughter. It was a much better sound than his whining and complaining. “So. Students?”

“Your class is getting better,” Hizashi groaned, collapsing against Shouta’s shoulder and tugging at the thin silver chain around his neck, finger hooking in the wedding ring that Shouta hardly ever allowed himself to take off. “Suspiciously so. It looks like they’re getting advice from someone who actually knows decent English - or is married to an English teacher.”

“Strange.” Shouta kept his tone even and steady, trying his hardest not to smile as Hizashi pouted up at him. “How’s Kan’s class?”

“A little below yours,” Hizashi snorted, shoulders shaking with the force of it as he curled more into his shoulder, cheek rubbing against him. “You two are so competitive, I swear.”

“It’s not a competition when I’m winning.” Shouta tugged at the loose bun Hizashi had his hair in until it came apart, immediately running a hand through the strands and picking out whatever tangles Hizashi had missed. Hizashi was humming in delight after a few seconds. “How are the other departments?”

It took a few moments for Hizashi to answer, the man much more relaxed than he had been when Shouta had been ready to leave. “Not bad from what my minions tell me, but not the best, either,” Hizashi mumbled, tilting his head into the hand Shouta had on his scalp, Shouta smiling and rubbing gently.

“You know, most teachers call their ‘minions’ teacher assistants and adjuncts.” It was hilarious, though, the first time Yagi had heard Hizashi complain about his minions. The man had looked torn between amusement and deep concern.

“Mm, different names, same work. Although, there is one star student in the General Studies department that one of my little minions can’t stop gushing about.” Hizashi had dropped Shouta’s ring and was rifling through the papers still in his lap. Shouta knew what was coming a moment before it happened. “Apparently they keep suggesting that I allow Shinsou Hitoshi to be given second year English work.” The test being held up was filled with Shinsou Hitoshi’s loopy scrawl. There was a 103% scribbled across the top. Hizashi must have noticed his look because he gave a stifled laugh. “I give the longer tests extra credit. He didn’t miss one answer on the entire test.”

It was harder than it should have been to hold back a proud smile. Hizashi knew him far too well, however, and he was already laughing even as Shouta attacked him where he knew he was ticklish, mumbling ‘threats’ against him, “Keep laughing like that, ‘Zashi, and I’ll give you something to actually laugh at.”

“Sho- Shouta!” Hizashi’s shrieks of laughter were bouncing around the apartment and causing squeaks and yowls from their cats, Hizashi squirming and writhing against Shouta as papers fell and scattered across the floor, one of their cats pouncing on Hitoshi’s paper and then flopping down on it.

Letting Hizashi suffer for another minute or so, and taking a moment to marvel at his husband’s absolute control over his quirk, Shouta finally let up. The result was a flushed Hizashi that was heavily panting in his lap, had glazed eyes and crooked glasses, and was edging into a tired and satisfied smile. Shouta was really starting to think about calling in sick for his patrol that night.

Brushing Hizashi’s hair out of his face and fixing his glasses, Shouta bit back a smile as the other curled towards him, rubbing his cheek against his chest. He then pouted at Shouta, “Don’t think you’re getting out of this. Hey! You should invite Hitoshi over for dinner, again. He was so much fun to talk to!”

“I don’t know if talking involves quizzing him on his knowledge of languages,” Shouta snorted, pulling Hizashi to sit up a bit more while kissing at his cheek. “I don’t think he’d accept, anyways.”

“What? Why?” Hizashi was up at once, Shouta leaning into the hand that was placed on his cheek. Hizashi frowned, lowering his voice. “Hey, Shouta, what’s wrong?”

Thinking on how to phrase what he wanted to say, Shouta finally shook his head. “I don’t think anything’s wrong, but he seems withdrawn, lately. He’s always been quiet, but he’s hardly talked in our training sessions the last few days. Maybe you can talk to him, tomorrow?”

“What- Me?” Hizashi blinked, looking more startled than he had a right to considering this was Hitoshi they were talking about. “Shouldn’t you talk to him if something is wrong? You two are close, after all!”

“And you two aren’t?” Shouta raised an eyebrow, pleased at Hizashi’s silence. That always meant he was losing. “He’s less likely to tell me things that are bothering him - especially if he thinks it’ll make him seem weak. He trusts you, though, when it comes to talking about… emotions.”

Hizashi laughed, loud and bright and sudden, and Shouta smiled at the sound. “C’mon, Shou-chan, there’s no need to make the word emotions sound like a swear.”

“Present Mic is his second favorite hero, you know,” Shouta said quietly, smirking after a moment of letting Hizashi swell up in pride. “And Yamada Hizashi is his favorite teacher.” There was a pause, a beat of silence, and then Hizashi’s cheeks were flushing. “He doesn’t let many people call him by his first name, yet, if I’m remembering correctly, he’s gone out of his way to let both of us know that we’re welcome to call him Hitoshi.”

Pushing Hizashi off onto the couch in a quick, smooth motion, Shouta stood up before Hizashi could latch onto him and drag him back down. He did relent and pull the man into a kiss, though, parting with a quiet, “I need to get going.”

“Shouta,” Hizashi whined, arms wrapping around his shoulders and tugging him back down towards another kiss. Shouta didn’t even try to fight it, relaxing at the soft, almost tired kiss Hizashi pulled him in. When they parted, they were still close enough for Hizashi to simply tilt his head and kiss at the corner of his lips. “Stay home.”

“Don’t worry, Sunshine,” Shouta near whispered, grabbing Hizashi’s left hand and pulling it up to press a quick kiss to the single gold band that was wrapped around his third finger. “I’ll come home to you.”

“You better,” Hizashi muttered, flush back on his cheeks as he cupped both of Shouta’s cheeks. “Be safe. We’re having company over for dinner tomorrow and I need you alive for that.”

“We are, huh?” Shouta grinned, mirroring Hizashi’s own smile. They both knew who they were dragging home for dinner tomorrow. “He’s going to try and escape, you know.”

Hizashi grinned even wider, stealing one last kiss and then giving a wink. “Good thing I’m so good at getting surly heroes-in-training to take a break and eat, then.”

Finally letting Hizashi go, Shouta hid a sigh and walked over to their front door, making sure everything was in order. Maybe he should start cutting down on his patrol hours even more. There were enough heroes on the streets to deal with the type of villainy that was out there, after all.

“Shouta?” Pausing at the threshold, Shouta looked back to where Hizashi was giving him a warm, soft smile. There was no Present Mic in his demeanor. The only one there was a happily smiling Yamada-Aizawa Hizashi. “Your binding cloth is in the bedroom, still.”

Going still, Shouta slowly reached a hand up to where he felt nothing except the chain of his wedding ring and the collar of suit. Giving Hizashi a slow blink, Shouta shut the door quietly and kicked his boots off before walking towards their bedroom.

Hizashi’s bright, cheerful laughter followed him the whole way.

                                                         ::

“It would make sense. Hizashi and I both have our foster licenses. We’re pro heroes, we have a steady income, we have multiple jobs between us and yet one of us always has the chance to be home most nights, we’re closer to his school, and we have full reason to believe Hitoshi would be happier in a different home. It’s logical, don’t you think?”

A warbling meow answered his words, Shouta’s lips quirking into a smile as he offered a few more cat treats to the bedraggled stray that was purring in delight at the food. Shouta scratched behind the cat’s ears, not minding when the stray clawed his way up onto Shouta’s shoulders, surveying the world happily as Shouta stood up and returned to his patrol route.

While he didn’t make a habit of seeking out the strays in his distract, he didn’t complain when he stumbled across the occasional friendly one. Besides, Shouta had always found them great listeners.

“It’s not that hard an assumption to make. Bruises have to come from somewhere.” In the beginning Shouta had noticed the bruises on Hitoshi’s arms and legs and chest and thought he was merely pushing the boy too hard in his training. Even when keeping a careful eye on things, however, the bruises persisted. While Shouta didn’t want to jump to conclusions, it was logical to assume something was happening outside of school to give him those bruises.

Shouta was only hoping that the bruises came from disagreements with foster siblings and neighborhood punks rather than anything else. It was a conversation he would need to have with Hitoshi and Hizashi both. Tomorrow over dinner would be a good time to at least hint about it; it was already obvious that Hizashi saw Hitoshi as his own, after all. If there was anyone that loved that kid more than Shouta, it was his husband who was already trying to find out Hitoshi’s birthday.

Deciding to think about it more later, Shouta paused at the familiar sounds of a tripped alarm. Slinking into the nearest alleyway, Shouta heard low, fierce hissing from the cat on his shoulders, a glance across the street showing the broken window of a jewelry store.

“How cliché,” Shouta muttered to himself before making a clicking noise with his tongue and getting the cat’s attention. As soon as he had it, he picked the cat up and set him on the ground gently. “Go on, then. I have work to do.”

One hand wrapping around his binding cloth, Shouta pulled his goggles over his face and waited until he saw a hunched over figure stumbling out of the broken window with a satchel full of what was no doubt stolen jewelry. A quick glance told Shouta that this man was new to what he was doing and was obviously not confident in his abilities. That was good. He could deal with this, finish his route, and then go home and get some decent sleep. Hizashi might still be up, even.

Shouta backed up and couldn’t help a snort as he saw the man was running towards the alleyway he was currently in. That just made his job even easier.

The thief managed ten steps into the alleyway before Shouta had his quirk activated and the binding cloth wrapped tightly around his chest and upper arms, stopping him in his tracks and earning a fierce storm of swearing ending with, “You don’t know who you’re messing with! Let me go!”

“I would, but I think that store over there might like their stolen property returned to them. Thanks for tripping the alarm, too. It saves me from having to call the police myself.” The average time between a burglar alarm in this area and the appearance of the police was roughly five to eight minutes. It wasn’t too long of a wait.

“Just who the fuck do you think you are?! Let me go!” The man was squirming and wiggling around and Shouta frowned before releasing his quirk, pleased when nothing happened. The man, most likely, didn’t have a quirk suited for any type of combat. Good. Shouta might be able to end this night without a headache. “This is brutality!”

“Not really.” A few quick movements of the binding cloth and Shouta had the man on the ground and pinned under his boot, keeping the tension tight. The right leg of his costume had been given a nasty torn during the struggle, but that was easy enough to fix, at least. “If you’re going to rob a place at least be prepared for the consequences.”

“Like you were when you let your students get attacked?” It wasn’t often that Shouta felt himself truly surprised or shocked. He wished he could have said that now was one of those times. “Surprised? You shouldn’t be. Half the world probably knows about that shit hero school and their ‘teachers.’ You were even on the news, weren’t you? What kind of pro lets their students get captured by villains, Eraserhead?”

While his immediate reaction was to recoil and defend himself, Shouta took a moment to think on just why a petty thief would immediately know his hero name as well as what had happened at the training camp. It wasn’t secret knowledge to any extent, but to have it used against him when this man had barely, if at all, caught a glimpse of his face… Shouta didn’t like it.

“You really think those dorms at the school are gonna work forever? The kids have to go home, eventually, and that League of Villains group don’t seem like the type to leave kids alone just because they’re kids.”

A heartbeat passed and Shouta had the man on his back and tied up even tighter before, staring into a smug face that no longer looked scared and overwhelmed by his first robbery. Something was wrong. “Is that so?” Shouta asked, ready to reach for his quirk at a moment’s notice. “You seem to know a lot about all of this.”

“There’s two things that grab a pro’s attention,” the man said, voice sickly sweet and face completely relaxed and smug. “A cry for help and the sound of a tripped alarm.”

The realization that this was a trap hit Shouta with overwhelming clarity. Jerking his head up to quickly scan the alleyway for any possible ambush, Shouta realized that this man hadn’t been running towards the alleyway. He had been running towards him.

“Sorry, Eraserhead, but you and that quirk of yours are in high demand.” Shouta tightened the cloth and activated his quirk, but it was too late. He felt an overly hot palm pressed against the skin exposed by his torn costume and jerked as it felt like he was shocked. The feeling didn’t leave, however, even as the hand did. “I guess you should have been more careful. Hey, maybe your students will end up learning something from you after all.”

The words just barely registered in his mind, Shouta only half aware as he went crashing to the ground, a burning, twisting, searing pain working its way through his body. It was like he had been lit on fire, Shouta biting down on the scream that wanted to tear its way out of his throat as he felt like his body was both too big and too small for all of him. There was burning, twisting, changing, pain pain pain so much pain it hurt so badly he couldn’t breathe please please please make it stop make it stop make it stop-

“...back to Shigaraki… Too soon... Fucking police-”

“Stop right there! ...hands up!”

“...Detective Tsukauchi. Seems he was in a fight…”

“...pro heroes on duty in this area…”

“Eraserhead…”

“No trace of Eraserhead… Cat… Villain has been fully contained.”

“...Yamada-Aizawa Hizashi…”

Out of all things, it was the sound of his husband’s name that had Shouta forcing his eyes open, panting heavily as he pushed himself to his hands and knees on auto-pilot, looking around to try and gauge where he was. When he saw it was the same alleyway as before, Shouta felt himself on edge even more.

It was the same alleyway, but he was completely alone. Why go through the effort of incapacitating him just to leave him? Shouta hadn’t even bothered to take his phone out on patrol, that night, since it was going to be a short one, so there was nothing to steal from him. Had the police arrived?

He had heard sounds and words of movement, but if they were the police, then why did they leave him on the ground? One of them would have at least woken him up before trying to drag him into an ambulance.

Something was wrong. He needed to get home and check on Hizashi. If he really had heard Hizashi’s name, then it was possible something was… Paws.

Shouta had looked down to where he was on his hands and knees still, but instead of seeing hands, he saw black paws. Leaning so he could lift his right hand up and flex his fingers, Shouta watched as the paw went through the exact same motion.

Jerking his head up, Shouta looked around the alleyway - truly looked - and saw that everything was larger than it should have been. What he thought were his knees, as well, felt more like he was on his feet. It felt like he was standing on both his hands and feet. He was looking at paws and felt like he was standing on his hands and feet.

Carefully, very carefully, Shouta inched his way over to a puddle of leftover rain water that was lit by a flickering streetlight. There, reflected by a puddle of rain water, was the face of a cat Shouta had never seen before.

The cat had thick, curly black fur that looked heavy and dense, but the features that stuck out most were an off-white ruff that looked like bands wrapped around the neck and blonde fur that was so saturated it was almost yellow around the eyes that gave off the impression of a racoon mask to some degree. It would have looked eerily unnatural if it wasn’t so faded in with the base coat of black fur. The only disruption on the fur was a matted, scarred area under the right eye in a crescent shape that was remarkably similar to Shouta’s own scar.

Shouta stared at thick, curly black fur, yellow around the eyes, bands of white around the neck, and a familiar and distinct scar; all features that reflected back up from the puddle. Slowly blinking, Shouta watched as the reflection of the cat blinked with him.

Hizashi was never going to let him live this down.

                (To be continued in To Land On Your Feet on April 2nd)  

[abunchofstories]

Something of Mine

A Chris/OFC One-Shot - 2422 words

By: @lowkeysebastianstan

Pairing: Chris (Destroyer)/Unnamed OFC 

Rating: Explicit 18+

Warnings: Smut, Sex, Graphic Depiction Of The Sex™ , Fucking, Screwing, Intercourse, Vaginal Sex, Maybe A Little Rough Sex?, A Poor Bathroom Sink, Oh, and language. 

I had something in my head, and it needed out. 

Edited by the lovely @mischief-in-mirkwood

There was always that one guy. That guy who stood out in a crowd, who might as well have a warning flashing over his head, red lights blinking DANGER DANGER DANGER.

He would be muscular—sometimes lean and sinewy but always hard, usually taller than average, exuding strength and dominance. He wouldn't necessarily be handsome in the most conventional sense, but he would always be attractive and aware of it. He would be casually dressed, rarely suited, but would favour leather and denim, often a combination of the two. He would have either scars or piercings or tattoos, sometimes all, and his demeanour would be cool and distant, but sensual all the same. He would always drink beer or hard liquor, usually nursing his drink longer than average, not risking losing control. His hair would either be too long or too short, always sporting facial hair, even if it was sometimes only a few days stubble. His expression would be superior, sometimes bored, but his eyes would be piercing and attentive and he would ooze sex.

I'd met him many times, I'd loved him and hated him and fought him, sometimes physically, I'd had him for a night or for months, one lasted over a year, but the end result was a given from the go: he wasn't a keeper. As my mom would say. And she was right. I'd never listened to her, but she was right. Hence my current predicament. That guy was always the same, we would laugh and cry and fight and most of all fuck. Dear god, we would fuck.

So when I saw him all the bells went off in my head, don't don't don't. How long he had been watching me I wasn’t sure, I’d not noticed him at first, he was sitting in the corner, his back against the wall, his face in shadow. He was sitting with a small group, 4 guys ranging widely in age, laughing and talking, but he was not taking part in the conversation. He was just scanning the room, taking the occasional sip. He averted my quick glances, but I could feel his eyes on me as I moved around the room, talking, laughing, drinking and dancing.

He was that guy, but something made him different.

After hours of silent vigilance he got up and moved in my direction, and I finally got a good look at him. He was in his mid-thirties, dressed in low slung, dark jeans, a grey tank under a denim west, his arms strong and well defined, a big tattoo on his right upper arm. He had a short undercut, dark blonde if I were to guess in the poor lighting, his chin covered by a trimmed beard, his jaw sharp and accentuated by a light scruff. I couldn't make out the colour of his eyes, it was too dark, but they met mine unflinchingly for the first time all evening as he moved past me, brushing his bare arm against mine, leaving a burning mark from the touch. He glanced back and murmured an apology, but I was sure it wasn't an accident, and I saw a hint of a smirk as he turned away. I stared after him, taking in his butt and back. Damn. He was downright gorgeous, and I could feel a familiar pool soaking my underwear. Shit. Shit. SHIT.

I sat by the bar until he returned, watched him as he got a fresh beer and found a spot leaning against the wall by the exit instead of returning to his seat. He stood there, drinking lazily, making my spine tingle as he followed me when I went over to some friends and sat down, superficially taking part in the conversation while he made it harder and harder to concentrate. I wondered how he would smell, if his chest was as hard as it looked, how his beard would feel against my neck. The longer I sat, the wetter I got, I had to do something, my mother could go fuck herself, I just wanted to fuck him. I scooted down, minimised my movements by conversation, excused myself and got up, my hand clutched by my side.

He kept watching me as I approached, draining his beer and leaving the bottle hanging from between his fingers. I stopped in front of him, meeting his gaze head-on, reached out and put the damp silk in his hand and closed his fist around it. He didn't look down but a flash of realisation crossed his face, shock widening his eyes.

I bored into him for a few beats, let go of his hand and walked off into the hallway.

“Hey.” I kept walking, enjoying the tinge of his stare, knowing he took the opportunity to have a real good look. “Hey, miss.”

I stopped, I could hear his steps come closer, soft on the concrete floor and turned to face him. His gait was smooth and he approached lightly despite his heavy boots, especially for a man of his size.

He stopped three feet away and ran his eyes over me, stopping at my calves, my thighs, my hips, no doubt noticing there was nothing underneath my tight dress, worked his way up my chest, checking out my cleavage, his tongue and teeth massaging his lower lip, a smirk curling his mouth, his full red wet mouth and his eyes were blown when he finally locked into mine.

“I think I have something of yours.” He turned his palm upwards, showing me how he was weaving the fabric between his fingers, his hand slick with my arousal. I stared, enthralled for a moment at the sensuality of it, his hands seemed so delicate and graceful, and I wondered what else he could do with them, how they would feel on me, all over me, in my mouth, in my pussy, tangled into my hair while he fucked me senseless. I caught a small movement to my side where the bulge in his pants really had me hoping he wasn’t carrying. Shit. I hoped my moan wasn’t audible, but when I looked up the smirk was gone, and his eyes had darkened even further.

“Are you leaving?” His voice was thick and gravelly, resonating in my midriff, shooting a surge of blood straight down, smearing the insides of my thighs even further.

I bit down on my lip to stop another involuntary sound from escaping and glanced down at his erection, fighting to stop myself from palming him in the middle of the hall, getting us both through in jail for public indecency.

“No. I have something to take care of first.” I swallowed and he followed my glance to his erection. He waited for half a beat and scanned the corridor, pocketed my panties, grabbed my hand and set off to a bathroom 20 feet further down.

He wrenched the door open, dragged me inside, bolted the door and almost threw me against the far wall, and he was on me with a savage growl. He grabbed my ass, pushed himself into me, letting me feel how hard he was and plunged his tongue into my open mouth, his groans mixing with mine. I camped my hands onto is arms, feeling my way up, his muscles flexing under hot skin as I was clawing up to his shoulders and neck, his short hair bristling as I stroked his head and forced him closer, his clean scent filling my nostrils.

He almost ripped my dress when he pulled it up to my waist and let out a snarl when he hit bare skin, ground into me roughly before he broke the kiss and turned me against the wall, his hand sliding down and covering my mound, his finger stroking my clit on the way down and slid inside me, and my head flew back as I gasped for air.

“Can I fuck you like this?”

“Holy shit, yes.” We were both panting, the words coming out in bursts, and he twisted me towards the counter, two fingers buried deep in me, the back of his hand massaging me, keeping the pressure up, his other arm around my chest, anchoring me to him. I could feel his heart pounding into my back, his mouth open against my neck, grunting into my ear as his hand tugged my dress down and cupped my breast, his thumb flicking my already oversensitive nipple.

“Fuuuck.” He drew his hand back, leaving leaving me empty and aching. I felt a wet trail across my stomach and he ripped his fly open and I could feel his cock against my buttock, jabbing through his boxers until he freed it fully and shoved it between my legs, dipping into my folds and I arched back, revelling in anticipation. “Shit.” He held my neck as he dug through his pocket and emerged with a condom, let me go while he stepped back enough to swiftly pull it on, and nudged my leg with his knee to spread me wider before he positioned himself at my entrance, letting my soaked folds and thighs lubricate the rubber.

“Look.” I opened my eyes and stared into the mirror, my hair a sweaty mess, my dress in complete disarray, my lips as swollen and red as his, his beard glistening and his eyes boring into mine through the reflection, and it was the hottest thing I’d seen. “Keep looking.”

I stared as hypnotised as he clamped my hips and entered me slowly, letting me adjust to the size and tighten around him. I couldn't help my eyes rolling back as he filled me, I was already throbbing, my pussy swelling to welcome him, and I clung onto the edge of the sink, almost whimpering as I pushed back to meet and seated him fully.

“Fuck. Fuck, your cunt is amazing.” His voice was a hoarse whisper, almost drowned out by his heavy breathing, and I met his eyes in the mirror again, his jaw slack and his mouth open, his tongue flicking out, looking on the verge of losing control, and I clenched in response, egging him on, wanting him even deeper. He reached forward again, found my clit and started circling it as he jutted his hips, his arm hoisting me up by my ribs before he pulled back and started thrusting slowly, biting his lip as he watched us connecting. “Fuck. It looks so good, you look so good.”

The words shot through me, forcing out a groan, and I looked down, watched his hand work on me, heard the wet sucking as his fingers spread my folds and applied more pressure to my clit, leaving me nearly hyperventilating. He kept me in agony, his cock hitting every single nerve in my walls, his fingers shooting currents inwards, colliding in a burning, pulsing knot and I curved my back, reached behind to urge him to move faster, harder, I was desperate to come, to get some release, the tension was agony, and I’d never felt that good.

“Please.” I was panting, exhaling in shallow bursts, and he smiled, enjoying the power, enjoying the control, wanting me to beg for more, and I complied willingly. “Please.”

He chuckled, his fingers twitched and circled once before he picked up the pace and started rubbing harder and thrusting faster, his jaw set as he held back, concentrating on my climax before his. His other hand left my hip and closed around my ribs, cupping my breast and pulled me up. I fell back on his shoulder, and he covered my lips with his as he plunged into my mouth. I could feel the heat emerging, hot flashes surging from my centre, radiating through my whole body, my pussy contracting and throbbing violently and my head fell back, a silent scream stuck in my throat.

“That’s it. Scream for me.” I whimpered into his mouth, I couldn’t move and my legs were giving out. He slowly retracted his hand, rubbing my clit lightly and lifted his fingers to my mouth, smearing my cum on my bottom lip, sucked it gently and kissed me, his breath washing over my hot face before he lowered me down, hitched one of my knees in his elbow, held it in place on the counter and bent me forward, supporting me as he pulled back and slammed into me. I fell down on my elbows, my arms struggling with the weight of me as I clung to the sink, and he pounded me faster and faster, lifting me off the floor as he fucked me. I felt myself chasing another orgasm, every thrust bringing me closer, his grunts filling my head, and I tipped over the edge seconds before he arched back, slammed into me one last time and let out a deep rasping groan as he emptied himself over and over inside me, my own contractions milking every last drop out of him. He fell over me, his arms bracing outside mine to stop me from collapsing, and he stayed there while our breathing and pulses returned to something human again. After a few minutes my legs were shaking so hard I thought I would pass out, and he chuckled into my shoulder.

“Shit. I’m sorry. Here.” He pushed himself off, staggered a little, causing a small hiss to escape me as he withdrew. He pulled me up with him, fanning his fingers across my stomach and popped off the condom, throwing it into the trashcan by the door. He tucked his dick back into his boxers and started fixing my dress, tugging it in place, all the while staring at us in the mirror.

“There.” He smoothed down my hair and squeezed my shoulders before he kissed me on the cheek and ran his hands down my arms, resting his forehead on my shoulder before he released me and turned towards the door. “I have to go. Thank you. That was lovely.”

“Likewise.” I kept my tone neutral, surprised at how little I wanted him to leave. Huh. He stared at me for a long time, started to speak, stopped and opened the door, wavered a little before he walked out and left the door to slide shut behind him. Fuck.

I took a long look in the mirror, smoothed my dress one last time and followed him, realising he still had my panties in his pocket. Well fuck. I smiled to myself as I stepped through the door.

Something of Yours aka pt 2

[demytasse]

[Shizaya] Coping Mechanism — Ch 4

[Previous Chapter]

     Izaya had spent most of the morning checking for phone notifications — one by one — messages that weren’t coming, yet he almost believed they would blip into existence the moment his eyes fell upon the digital screen. There wasn't much purpose for his action beyond preoccupation, he just couldn't admit how exclusively he waited for the goddamn bedroom door to open for hours that blended into a long minute. It was tiring, the impatience that drained his battery rather than his lack of sleep. Though how could he be patient when he knew Shizuo hadn’t slept more than a few winks; the heavy thump and rustles every time the beast tossed and turned practically broadcasted his inability to reach REM and it was painful just how long the lie that he slept the morning away was kept up.

So when Shizuo finally trudged the distance of his mattress onward to grace his presence, it seemed that everything surrounding the event was a blessing, even the racket of a loose doorknob attempting to initiate its mechanism was enjoyable. Even the extended, nail-biting buildup was accepted as Izaya utilised the extra time to meticulously dress up his nonchalant air for the grand entrance. His legs elegantly tied at the last moment, chin tipped up with a lazy prowess, he propped himself up by sheer will alone. Without further hesitance the door swung open.

    “Good morning, sweetie~!” Izaya twiddled his fingers in a wave.

He exuded expectancy in a fashion that looked as awkward as he tried to hide it — then again Shizuo did the same, despite his groaned out, groggy grumble.

    “You’re still here.”

    “Indeed, but that's what you wanted, right?” he winked.

Shizuo ignored as many pitiful flirts as he could — snuffed out his smile with a huff, and made his way to the kitchen.

He raised a section of his undershirt to scratch an itch just above a stretched-out waistband, every bit habitual as the series of cracks that rolled from his lower spine up to his shoulders. Izaya tilted his head as he spied, the same motion as Shizuo used while he forced his neck to crack with both hands. It was a fair bit of a cringe, given how familiar Izaya was to that particular strength, but knowing the outcome of each of his daily practices it wasn’t a worry that Shizuo might accidentally behead himself or something along those lines. It was a spectacle that lasted up until Shizuo paused his stretches. Curious of something upon the bar-top, he considered what to make of the object with dead eyes — the abnormality of a familiar carton that sat in a puddle of its own sweat.

    “You left the milk out,” Izaya pointed.

    “No fuckin’ shit?”

    “You also left the coffee on the heater. Not sure if you could tell, but the smell of burning mud is quite...pungent.” Izaya’s nose crinkled in jest.

    “And you couldn’t have done anything ‘bout it?” he rubbed at his eyes.

    “It’s not my place.”

    “...like that stopped you before, you damn brat.”

Shizuo went for an affectionate slap upside Izaya’s head, but it was evaded with an anticipated lean backward — a hum and chuckle in tow.

    He commanded Shizuo to stand down with a jab to the forehead. “Are you going to make it up to me?”

The sly tone alone drained colour from Shizuo, the touch did him in; it was technically their first form of physical content in months, though it was without nerves nor fear that his body reacted against his wishes.

    “H-hah?” His hand dropped to his side which directed Izaya to visually follow its course; drew his attention towards something that wished him a better ‘good morning’ than Shizuo had. “Are you serious?”

    “I meant coffee, Shi-zu-chan~. Coffee.” His brow raised, teasingly satisfied, his legs switched which topped.

Shizuo stumbled backward, the sudden lightheadedness worked against his balance, tripped him around the counter to create distance; perhaps hide. To recenter his thoughts he scrutinised the milk rather than face Izaya as they talked.

    “God, I—” he cleared the dry falsetto from his throat, “god, I fuckin’ I hate you.”

    “Tell that to your erec—”

    “DON’T!! Don't start, you asshole!” Red flowed back into his cheeks.

In a burst of emotion, he made a quick decision to prove his might with a pitch of the carton into the sink where it impressively exploded into a mess of white.

    “...what will I do for cream?” Izaya laughed easily.

    “I’m makin’ your damn coffee, just shut up and take what you get!!”

—

    Per usual Izaya fell into observance, this time it was a particular movie of morning ritual, overplayed and overperformed. Even though he wasn’t able to watch the second actor — that is, himself — the strain of rusty muscle memory told Izaya that he too kept close to the script of waiting for his lackluster brew and his unwillingly, willing bartender to join him.

They were lone actors stuck in a loop of endless takes in the midst of a dance around the same rickety set; their awkward passion had, and continued, to disappoint a hypothetical director with a perfect vision they could hardly live up to. It exhausted the couple’s ability to keep at it day-to-day in the past, hence how they both suffered through dry ritual before Izaya inspired a...hiatus of sorts. Time without it made it clear just how bored they had gotten; what rut they’d dug themselves into.

Rewatching it, though, made for good theatre.   

    While he maneuvered, Shizuo looked back and forth between his task and Izaya; off and on, he’d make eye contact only from a side-glance, but grew more and more anxious every time.

    “Would you stop that?”

    “Stop what?”     “Staring at me,” he messed with pre-ground coffee in the bag, “it's annoying…”     “You never seemed to have a problem with it before.”

    Shizuo paused, “funny how things change.” The words appeared unsatisfactory to his disposition, but he slipped back upon the rails to avoid a negative train of thought.     The retired monster further fumbled through setting up the coffee machine again — a round two of what was botched hours back. The cord tangled around his wrist, his frustration crackled as if the coffee had already begun to brew.

It shocked Izaya that he didn’t crush the cheap thing in the process, rather he moved onto scooping grounds with care — only half made it to the filter. What little mess he swept into his hand ultimately made it to the floor when he dusted off the rest on his boxers. With a snap of plastic and a beep the machine began its broken melody.

Izaya could’ve watched Shizuo — his performer — for hours; his own heated cheek lying in his palm, relaxed fingers curled around the arc of his head as it lulled to the side, completely in awe. He felt as if watching the romantic slice-of-life tragedy could make up for lost time — erase what mistake he’d made and perhaps turn it around. In the end, as predictable as the steps had become, no matter how boring they’d grown, Izaya realised he missed this silent film. It glossed his eyes somber.

When Shizuo turned, he was startled out of step; honestly, like he'd forgotten Izaya ever occupied the bar, except he couldn't have forgotten as he'd been impossible to get off his mind all morning. So he had no retort but a harsh intake of air, equivalent to five breaths or more. His chest filled out broad and his shoulders gained height; his long-term depression was corrected by a miracle. Shizuo forgot to exhale.

Once more he followed their tried and true script. Without hesitation he reached over the counter to rest his hand on Izaya's shoulder in trial of what he was allowed to get away with. The blunt laminate edge pushed far into his gut, yet he pressed onward without notice. All he was focused on was how flush Izaya had became as he massaged warmth over his cold shoulder; how his ex-partner melted into the touch and his shoulders rolled forward into a comfortable hang. Their exchange felt like coming home to experience their past.

Izaya eased himself off the chair, smooth and casually — metal scritched across the tile flooring as he moved closer to Shizuo to let him stroke his cheek with a feather touch. His vision closed off the world; he was relaxed enough to finally let his sleep deprivation take over, though was alert enough to will the moment to move faster towards what he wanted.

    "Seriously...” Shizuo hesitated, “...why the hell are you here, Izaya?"

Words waited in queue somewhere on the back of Izaya’s tongue, jumbled with an incomprehensible answer. The failed phrasing was more a stumble through various syllables that he tried to figure out the taste, but only managed a stutter. One language was too much a challenge, but his body puppeted him though straightforward communication; he moved closer and hung just short of them conversing through touch.

His fingers weaved with the golden half of Shizuo's locks and tugged hard at the brown roots. They hiccuped — choked on hot air before they went to steal more oxygen from the other. Only the rough of their lips grazed and only a second delay from an inconvenient interruption — a wail of the coffee machine.

Both men jumped apart; the machine’s alert continued on, as did their stare.

    "Let me get it." Izaya shook off their eye contact. He peeled away with his hand at the back of his head.

    “No I’ll do it.”

    "It's fine."

    “I started the damn pot, I'll finish it.”

    “How about you don’t press your luck, Shizuo,” he snipped, far humourless than his light, snappy tone, “alright?”

    “Luck?! Is it luck that we almost fuckin’ kissed?”     “Please,” he looked pained, “you know it was!”

Izaya regretted his snap judgement as soon as the shock spread wide on Shizuo’s features. The expression — the hurt — made it hard to ignore, how the look of betrayal was similar to one of another accident still shiny and new. What broke them apart and hadn't been addressed due to silent respect that Izaya probably didn't deserve.

Undeniably it was possible for Shizuo to forgive him, Izaya knew it; decidedly it was impossible for him to forgive himself, and he despised it.

    “Fine. Do what you want, Izaya. Leave it burning again for all I care. I need to shower for work.”

    “I need to leave as well.”

    “No! You stay put. We need to talk!” Shizuo bellowed. “So caffeinate yourself or somethin’, but hell, if you leave, the next time I see you I'll bury your smug-ass grin into the damn concrete!”

    “You sure don't look like you want to wait until next time.” He narrowed his eyes, but his voice wavered, “what happened to your controlled temper?”

    “You happened!!”

    “Oh…”

    “Yeah, ‘oh’,” he growled.

    “...”

    "Tch, what happened to your nonsense monologues...” Shizuo muttered as he turned towards the bathroom.

Izaya held his tongue as if he even had any dialogue to hold back. If he actually did, the cry of the door on its hinges would have interrupted the spew anyway. It slammed near to splinters; surprisingly it was more apt to claim it was forced into its cradle, snug and intact.

    “...looks like I will need that drink after all, Shizu-chan.”

AN: These awkwardly stubborn assholes...

[waterlinkedgirl]

‘Let's hope the complementary AU won't become a drabble even though I thought of this one first,’ is what I said, but at 5613 words this really is halfway to being written. Emphasis on halfway. This was meant as basically just an outline for a fic because I was too busy to actually write it (I really am, actually >.>), but uh. It started leading a life of its own. The first part or so is as its purpose and in tweets so the formatting might be a bit odd but

Basically this is half outline, half drabble, only one round of editing so it’s really rough on the edges, R-17, ShiraYuki mafia x stripper/assassin also roommates AU Both of them (especially Yukimura) are manipulative bastards and there’s elements of forced intimacy at times so if that squicks you, please proceed with caution.

Shiraishi is a normal stripper to the public eye, under the name of Poison Ivy (or Nightshade or something of the likes) but the criminal circuit, Yukimura head of Rikkai’s mafia included, knows better.

He's a traceless, mysterious, independent assassin, with poisons as his expertise (though rumours go they don't even make half of his murders), an incredible asset, but only if you win his favour. Those are the rumours. But fact is, nobody has ever seen him in the body.

The only thing they know of him is that he works through various strip clubs over the region, that you should leave a message with a generous donation to unravel someone's bandage- (there are many, too many with bandages to count) and you might find your job cleared, or declined.

Needless to say, Shiraishi is rather surprised when Yukimura approaches him, as nothing in the way he holds himself tells him he came here to watch him undress. "You have some killer thighs," he says nonchalantly, handing him a folded bill.

He catches it between his lips, and when he unfolds it, a familiar petal falls from the paper. Then, an imperceptible caution finds its way onto his face, Yukimura notices. He smiles. "You'll meet me after work." "I don't meet clients after working hours." Yukimura chuckles.

"You'll take your bandage off for me and hand it over," he whispers. "You won't refuse, will you?" Shiraishi smiles at him. "That'll depend on your offer." Yukimura nudges towards the bill. "Think about it." After all, Yukimura finds, he can't refuse.

Shiraishi waited for him in the alleyway, as he should. "What is your offer?" he asks. Not 'Who are you,' or 'Why did you approach me,' or 'For 9000 I'll fcuk you into Heaven.' No useless questions, no playing dumb, Yukimura notes, pleased. "I want you, Shiraishi."

"Your reward is handsome, moreso than any other would offer," Yukimura says, playing a card between his fingers. Both of them knew it wasn't about the money, at all. "You will live in with me, eat my food, and sleep under my roof." Yukimura leaned in. "You will be safe with me."

With Yukimura's knowledge about his identity, the way he'd tracked him down, he was left with no choice. After all, Shiraishi had no clue how many people his data went by. Even if he killed Yukimura, it would do him no good. Shiraishi was his. "...I accept."

Shiraishi took in a breath. "I accept, if you protect my rule." "Rule?" Yukimura's instincts sharpened. Shiraishi was in no state to negotiate here. "That you won't touch my body for your physical gratification." That, is the rule he would wager his life on? He smiled. "I won't."

It's immediately obvious this isn't where Yukimura lived. The apartment was too white, too... impersonal for that. Still, it'll have to do, Yukimura thinks. Supervision was vital, as was creating familiarity, no, dependency, obedience. Shiraishi's poisonous plants would stay out.

It would grow in time, he thinks to himself as he watches Shiraishi chew his bread-- Shiraishi seems susceptible enough. They sleep in different beds, in the same room. [if I were writing a fic, I'd be telling myself to do some roommates shenanigans here.]

Going out was a different matter all on its own, solved by proximity and communication. Shiraishi was good at blending in, true, but letting him come to meetings... He settled on passive monitoring and keeping him occupied in times of need. Drugging, would harm their bond.

Probably, as his first assignments, Yukimura has him cut off his last ties first, to force his unequivocal loyalty. He's there with him, no, he guides him, not for his capabilities, but to remind him of his involvement. Every time, he cooks him dinner afterwards.

Yukimura wasn't fond of assassinations or any of the kinds, but fact stood that in order to have a healthy garden, weeding was necessary. Weeding, as well as pruning and bugkilling, placing traps, and thorough observation. He'll point Shiraishi where to cut, and where to bother.

Yukimura has communication with the ones below him, of course. Phone calls, mails, messages. The encryption is Yanagi's, at least its base. It had taken him weeks to crack, after which he devoted another month perfecting it. Nobody but him knew and understood the full decryption.

The verbal code was of his own devise. Illogical, personal, effective. He hadn't devised one for Shiraishi, yet. He might want to eventually, but it would come with the trust, in higher-profile and less-contact assignments.

Shiraishi proves himself to be very efficient, a more than intelligent asset he discovers when Shiraishi challenges him to a game of chess. It was said that you could read into someone's personality by the way they played. Into Yukimura's? No. But Shiraishi was interesting.

Methodological, clever, but sly and prepared to take risks. That was his assassin's method as well, and he knew that thoroughly by now. Ever mysterious, funny, fickle, serious. Shiraishi mentioned a detail about the plant of a poison this case, before he knew it, he'd been hooked.

Yukimura had never planned on their relationship being simply subordinate and master. His hold didn't work that way. But friends... The longer the days passed, the more comfortable he seemed to feel. Shiraishi was a natural smooth talker, obviously, but beyond that, amiable.

He decides that having plants in their apartment was perhaps a reasonable addition, after all, when he sees Shiraishi's eyes light up talking about taking care of them and their poisons.Keeping his garden lively and thriving was his priority. However, as time passed, Yukimura noticed a family of weeds, growing vividly in small, persistent patches. It was an eyesore, and a worrisome one, as well.

Removing them would leave the soil vulnerable and at risk, a round of herbicide might damage his own plants. Yes, it'd been occupying his thoughts, even weighing down on him. However, Shiraishi seems to have noticed his worry. "Is there something wrong?"

He supposes that it does concern him, with Shiraishi's involvement as his gardening tool. Yukimura sighs, and decides to tell him of the situation. He'd only give him the necessary context, without metaphors or code. He could be of help, even if it ended up just as a listening ear.

He surprises Yukimura when, after hearing him out, he advises him for a systemic approach. It wasn't just advice, no, on top of it being rationally sound it was solid and good. Shiraishi didn't know it, he didn't have the information, but handling things like would be beneficial to Yukimura in a different way as well.

"Thank you, for your advice," he says, genuinely grateful for a change. It wasn't often that he found himself like that, usually people were thanking him with their lives. Shiraishi smiles. "You're welcome. If you ever want me to think with you again, don't hesitate. I'll be there." He'll be there, huh. However, whether he'd confide in him again was entirely up to whether Yukimura was willing to put that trust in him once more.

It turns out that was more often than he'd initially thought. Shiraishi was intelligent and logical, he knew that, but he was confirmed in it when he posed him with a few minor but troublesome problems. Occasionally, Yukimura would give him a hypothetical problem to test him, or a past decision he made. He was delighted when he came to the correct conclusions, surprised when he approached the problem from another angle Yukimura hadn't thought of. Shiraishi was becoming a greater asset to him than the extremely capable assassin he took in, and Yukimura couldn't help but smile inside himself.

Which is when Yukimura decides he wouldn't make meetings a hassle again. Shiraishi was excellent in keeping low profile, hence, he'd let him come in the guise of a waiter. He wouldn't be allowed to speak, but he would allow him to listen. And Yukimura would watch. He'd always been an expert at reading people, and as long as he's known Shiraishi, his opinions would be clear as day, hidden in imperceptible signals in his breath, his posture, his eyes.

Yukimura finds he has no regrets doing so.

One night, he finds himself awake, the silhouette of a sleeping Shiraishi having caught his eye. He can't remember when he woke up, or why, or even how long he'd been observing him, but... Blankets sparsely strewn over his body, breaths languid, moonlight over his slightly toned skin, Yukimura can't deny it's aesthetically pleasing. His posture is messy, as is his hair, his midriff bared and muscled. Shiraishi is peaceful when he sleeps, he notes. Defenseless, even. He supposes that had been different, back in the beginning. Oh, how the times had changed. Against all odds, Shiraishi had become more than a forcibly assimilated assassin, his friend. He didn't just want him. He wants to keep him. By chance, he remembers the spark in Shiraishi's eyes when he talked about his hobbies. Maybe he could... indulge himself for a bit in them, as well. And for the first time in what felt like centuries, Yukimura takes out his sketchbook from the nightstand.

[If I were writing I'd tell myself to write in the conspiracy plot and some foreshadowing. It's Shitenhouji, coming in because they haven't heard from Shiraishi in much too long (not since Yukimura made him cut off his connections). Shiraishi catches wind of this at one point because he's hacked the Yanagi-Yukimura encryption, and from his knowledge of Yukimura's personality has learned how the verbal code works.]

Yukimura one day wakes up early enough to watch Shiraishi doing his yoga routines. Yukimura asks if he minds him sketching him while he holds his pose, Shiraishi doesn't mind at all. The conversation flows to Shiraishi's ex-part time job as a stripper, and that he was quite good, from what Yukimura had seen of him.

"Thanks," he laughs, "I guess that comes easier when you're having fun." This takes Yukimura a bit aback. "You did it for fun?" "Yeah. I like the exercise, as well. Do you know how many muscles you use when working the pole?" A lot, he guesses. "If it's about exercise, if you want, I can fetch you a pole somewhere." "You'd do that for me?" Yukimura smiles gently. "Of course. You're my friend, after all."

"Shiraishi. You'll have to forgive me if I let my body have its natural reaction," Yukimura tells him when he watches Shiraishi lightly finger the pole after doing his warming up. "It's good. Actually, that might be even better." "Oh?" "I like it when people enjoy what they see. So if you could enjoy it, it'd make me very happy." Yukimura hums. "Don't hesitate to get hard," Shiraishi winks at him. Yukimura laughs. "You'll have to try a little harder than that, Shiraishi." Yukimura's just leisurely watching Shiraishi do his pole exercises, heat rising in his body and Yukimura letting it within boundaries, when, after a remark from Yukimura questioning Shiraishi's fondness for laying himself bare, a certain tension snaps. Shiraishi gets off the pole in one fluid motion and walks over to where Yukimura is sitting, with fire in his tread and desire in his eyes.

Yukimura clutched the chair when Shiraishi unbuttoned the first few buttons on the side of his shirt, teasingly pulling at it to reveal his collarbone. "Shiraishi, what are you..." "You wanted me to try harder, no?" He was only getting started. He had challenged Shiraishi, lit a fire under him. Very well. That didn't mean he'd make it easy for him.

Shiraishi slid in his lap, one leg over his left and the other over his right, letting the gap of his shirt fall to reveal his shoulder. His clothes are loose, hardly revealing, which made the peeking of skin as they were loosened all the more desirable. Until Shiraishi lets his hand run over his chest, lingering along the lines of his groin to tug his pants down, that is. That, was revealing. Hands on the sides of the chair, leveraging the rolls of his hips when they buck forward, movements sure and smooth. Closer, ever so slightly closer, until he closes the distance by overlapping his crotch with his.

Yukimura clutches the edge tighter when Shiraishi smirks at him, and he smiles back calmly despite the searing sense of arousal rising in his chest.

At which Shiraishi leans forward provocatively, throwing his exposed shoulder in the game, midriffs melding together in an extremely sensual grind. Shiraishi's arms come to lean loosely over the back of his chair, breaths mingling with his as a shiver travels up Yukimura's spine. Did Shiraishi ever do lap dances for others? Table dances, he could see, but--Lips connect. What...? In the electricity of the moment, Yukimura almost forgets to breathe, thoughts easily shifting into total disarray. Shiraishi's hips slide along his groin as his lips slide slowly along his. Shit, it feels good.

With the maddening touch of his lips, the sweet taste of Shiraishi's kiss-- Yukimura inadvertently tilts his head a bit to taste more of it-- the heat falls and rises in his body. Shiraishi kisses him again, draws a soft sigh from his lips as he leans in deeper in tandem with the rhythm of his hips. Eyes closed, dazed, when Shiraishi pulls back before he'd kiss him again, he manages to breathe "What happened to your rule...?"

Shiraishi pauses and pulls back, eyes locked with Yukimura's. When he sees the look in his eyes and feels the throb of his body longing to have his lips back on his again instead, he almost regrets asking. "I thought... maybe it'd be okay if I broke it, since it's my own rule, but..." Shiraishi almost looks guilty, shoulders tensing up as his head lowers along with the volume of his voice, "But if you don't want to..." Shiraishi's nose strokes his cheek when Shiraishi's lips trail away from his, down, along his chin and tilting his head down when he lightly caresses Yukimura's cheek with his own.

Oh no you don't.

Yukimura puts his hand to his head and his arm to Shiraishi's back and steps forward, taking advantage of Shiraishi's position in his lap to topple them over and pin him to the ground as he forces Shiraishi's lips open. One hand lowers to his cheek, gently letting his fingers stroke it as his elbow presses his arm to the floor, his other hand pinning his other down. In a single second, his tongue enters Shiraishi's mouth to French-kiss him deeply. His strokes are heated and slow, interspersed with deep breaths and pants as he drives Shiraishi's tongue out from its hiding place. Tilting his head with no choice but to let him in, Shiraishi mewls softly. It's beautiful. He pulls himself further up Shiraishi's body, closer, moans indulgently as everything, everything melts away in the small sea of pleasure roused by the touch of his tongue and the taste of bliss. 

Sensing no resistance, he reaches up to unbutton the rest of Shiraishi's shirt.

It was all he could do not to startle when a gunshot and the shattering of glass rings through his ears. In a split second, his eyes dart from the rain of window glass to the figure on the balcony, to the still smoking nozzle when he collapses without further notice. An assassin. He lets go of Shiraishi's arm, leaves himself to sit upright on top of his legs, breathing slowly to hold down the adrenaline and the fire attempting to sway his reason. Shiraishi puts the gun in a more comfortable place than the sleeve he took it from and moves away from Yukimura's legs. 'Shiraishi is not a prostitute,' ghosts through Yukimura's mind. He doesn't sell his body. All of this had been an-- "You're a good actor, Yukimura," Shiraishi says. Because to him, it had been just that, only an act. To Yukimura...

He could have killed him. Shiraishi could have killed him.

"Thanks," he manages. Of course he's only acting. "It's more convincing if you leave your body to do its thing, after all." Shiraishi stretches out his hand, and forcibly discarding his hesitation, Yukimura takes it and pulls himself upright. His hand is warm and gentle, and Shiraishi lets go only slowly, fingers slowly sliding over and out of the palm of his hand as he looks at Yukimura's roused state.

"It's my win, though." Despite everything, Yukimura laughs. It should have been his... It would have been his. No, he'd already thought it was his the moment the subject of Shiraishi pole-dancing came up. And yet... Shiraishi's eyes run over Yukimura's shape once more, mouth curling in a triumphant smirk. He never wanted to steal Shiraishi's sight more, after all, he's embarrassingly hard. The best he could do is stay calm.

Shiraishi closes his eyes briefly and walks away to inspect the balcony. "That's a mess. The only way in which this would have been more of a pain to clean up is if he'd fallen off the balcony." "It's fine. I'll call Jackal and Yagyuu to take care of the scene. Niou will take care of the window and the coverup." "I see. That'd be a great help." Yukimura steps closer, pauses, watching the wind graze Shiraishi's hair, the dimly lit silhouette of his back glimmer in the light of the night. Finally, he opens his mouth.

"Why did you let your no-touch rule go?" Shiraishi turns to face him, tucks a strand of hair behind his own ear. "You should know, shouldn't you?" He smiles, whispers softly. "I'll protect you with my life." And Yukimura knew, from the smallest hints in his posture and the intricacies of his tone of voice, that no word of it was lied.

His heart stirs, heat rising again from the tingling in his stomach to his cheeks as he has to catch himself before he'd reach out to cup Shiraishi's cheek and hold him. And for the first time, he feels unsafe.

 He knows what it is to feel attraction for someone. Yukimura's loved by many, it's what he instils, and at times this causes his body to react beyond the trust and connection he finds to be beneficent. 

Controlling his emotions, however, had always been his forte. He's never let his attraction cloud his judgement, lead his actions. He knows how it is to be cruel to someone dear to him, and never has he not been able to see when it worked in his favour, socially or otherwise. He knows when it's necessary to be forgiving.

However, right now he once more lies awake at night, Shiraishi's memory filling his mind every time he attempted to drift off to the land of dreams. Ridiculous, he thinks it. It overcame him at random times, when he was cooking, tending to their plants, even when he saw the cold in his eyes when they'd plotted the demise of another hopeless assassin. When it had been anyone else he'd let it happen, in no danger of making less sensible decisions. He'd never lost himself like he did when he kissed Shiraishi. Never. And worst of all...

The feeling of Shiraishi kissing him replays in his mind once more, in all the detail his dazed mind can muster. He shouldn't put his focus on it, no matter how much that voice in the back of his head begs him to. If he does, he fears his foothold will be swept away from under him with no turning back. He feels the touch of Shiraishi's nose and cheek caressing his own, sees the vulnerability in his eyes again. It's maddening, maddening even as he once more attempts to resist the one thing that had made him snap in the first place. He curses under his breath.

Shiraishi has poisoned him with his kiss and his act.

Digging with his nails in his arm in an attempt to get a hold of himself, he rolls over. Calm down, Seiichi... Just... He breathes in, breathes out in a slow rhythm, in through his nose, out along his palate, sinking deeper into the ocean with each passing breath. He'd find a way to vanquish it. He'd find a-- The image of Shiraishi ties his tongue with his and derails his thoughts.

Grabbing his pillow, he vainly tries to fight back his unconscious as the rising and falling of his chest slips away from his control. How he wishes he could sleep a dreamless sleep for once... He's weightless as Shiraishi embraces him, even as his body attempts to brace himself against the bed, with Shiraishi's kisses as his lifeline. He's drowning.

And in a moment, sharper than the others, he can hear self-satisfaction in Shiraishi's breath.

 If I were writing this this is where the conspiracy plot would have come to its culmination, starting off with Yanagi noting there's been unrest and advising Yukimura to be safe. Ofc the number of people coming after Yukimura is foreshadowing for that 😜 Which is when he makes his personal rounds, passing by his members one by one to disarm them for him. Yanagi warns Yukimura about an information leak. Yukimura supposes it's time for a round of rain to chase the worms from hiding. And boy, do the worms come from hiding.

When the time comes the worms wage war against his garden, he leaves matters in Yanagi and Sanada's capable hands, when Shiraishi urges him to find a secluded place should people have come to discover his whereabouts. ...I mean that'd be the logical course of action I think but the whole convo thereafter taking place in their own kitchen is also a really good image, so flip a coin I guess!

 After a bit of struggle they find a place where they know nobody would just find them. "Hey, Shiraishi do you--" He doesn't get to finish his sentence when Yukimura grabs the wrist holding the gun pointed at him. Shiraishi doesn't wait a second pulling Yukimura along with his hand and trying to aim for his neck with his fingers, but Yukimura is quicker as he twists Shiraishi arm and moves aside to evade it. It isn't long before they find themselves pushing against each other, struggling for control.

In raw power, Shiraishi would win, he knew.

He steps sideways, using Shiraishi's power to pull the two around and despite a moment of wobbling resistance, to put him in a lock. "Shiraishi. Will you tell me what this is?" Shiraishi tries to break out of Yukimura's hold, but Yukimura twists his arm a little further, eliciting a small yelp.

One second of desperation, before Shiraishi sweeps his legs against Yukimura's and turns the two around again, but Yukimura wouldn't give him the freedom of giving up his own arms. He pulls Shiraishi's over his head, pulls them down and leans forward, gaining back his balance. Shiraishi is vicious, however, and bites him in the neck. He manages to keep his hold on Shiraishi's wrists, but that split second was enough for Shiraishi to turn them against each other and free himself. This time, it's Yukimura between him and the kitchen counter. But he wouldn't give in, no.

He looks Shiraishi in the eyes, and for a second he can see him falter, shiver. The gun drops to the floor. Thigh squeezing between his legs, lips on his. Shiraishi puts his hand on the small of his back and disturbs his footing. The counter as leveraging point, his feet off the ground, hips against his.

He's trapped.

 "You wanted me to tell you what this is all about?" "You purposefully lured me into here," Yukimura says as flatly as he can manage, after that kiss and with Shiraishi's thigh to his crotch. "That I can understand. But I can't wrap my head around why." Shiraishi smiles, when it flashes into his mind. "You knew when we'd..." "Yeah, I planned it. Have been for a while, to be honest, but only now did I get my first and final chance to."

His mind is in disarray as Shiraishi's words clash with the image of reality he'd painted. A shadow of self-doubt creeps into his mind. It couldn't be that he'd misread a lie as truth? No, that can't be...

"How long was this your plan?" “Do you know who it was that leaked my information to Mouri?” From... the beginning... Shiraishi had thrown himself into the lion's den with the intent to pin him down here from the beginning... But no matter what, he couldn't have planned this. He didn't have the info...-- "How, did you know...?"

"Who do you think the worms came for infesting your garden?" His eyes widen as his mind rushes to piece through the meanings of this new information. "You cracked Yanagi's code," he manages, to begin with. "I have, for a while. Though," he laughs, "you have no idea just how many weeks it cost me to even get a hang of it. It came in handy when you wanted to ask me for advice... I'm glad you took to listening to me." Advice, that he couldn't do without. Shiraishi, that he couldn't do without. Shiraishi starts stroking his cheek, and there's nothing he could to do stop himself from leaning into it. From wanting more.

“I need you,” he whispers, as Shiraishi’s betrayal sinks into his mind. “I know.” He crumbles as the feeling rises in his body. “You could destroy me...” Shiraishi kisses him. “I already have.” He clutches Shiraishi's shoulder when Shiraishi makes their lips meet again. God, it feels good... He can't let this happen now, for fear of his life. Shiraishi is just as dangerous as his plants, he thinks to his grief. He'd poisoned him, and is now coming to seal his fate with his kiss of death. Shiraishi had been acting, not to deceive the assassin, but to plant this seed in him. And yet, there's many things that don't add up. He manages to tilt his head away to speak.

“I don’t understand… With that knowledge you could have murdered me and whoever knew about you long ago…” "The gun's not loaded." "Huh...?" “I was planning to kill you at first. Though when I got to know you better, that easily faded away. I guess in the end, your plan didn’t fail... But neither did mine.” Shiraishi smiles. The heat rises to Yukimura's cheeks. "It was not an act," he whispers in disbelief. Shiraishi had fooled him, not because his ability to read people was faltering, but because he hadn't had the intent to lie for even a single time. "I told you before, didn't I? I don't sell my body. When I kissed you..." he locks twistingly sincere eyes with his, "it was because I wanted to."

He leans in close again, moving a strand of hair from Yukimura's face. "I love you." The hairs rise in Yukimura's neck. Shiraishi lowers his head. "...It's a shame I had to off one of my own to protect you, though." "'One of... my own'?" Damn, it's getting harder to keep his voice straight. "So you staged this?" "Well, it wasn't on purpose. Turns out my men have an agenda of their own, trying to get me back. But knowing your operation really helped."

Yukimura breathes.

“Who are you?” Beside himself, he couldn’t help but ask the stupid. ”Shiraishi Kuranosuke, head of Shitenhouji, the Kansai region's mafia. Qualified assassin, part-time stripper, up until I caught you."

God...

“Why did you approach me?” “Honestly, I was attempting to thin out Rikkai and weaken it. Your position here is really valuable, you know? And in the confusion, the desperation, I’d aim for your head. But Rikkai was much more powerful than I’d thought. You..." he traces Yukimura's chin, "were much, much more powerful than I thought. I wanted to get closer and slowly gain your trust... How could I have known what to do when you just handed it to me? When you saw through every single one of my insincereties... I didn't expect you to find my last ties, either. But it's fine this way. If you'd done exactly as I planned, I wouldn't have wanted you."

God, Shiraishi...!

He breathes in. "Can I--" fcuk you into Heaven? Swallowing the sentence on the tip of his tongue, he fixes it to a different one. Breathing disrupted, he's played for a fool, only asking useless questions. He reaches for Shiraishi's cheek. “Can I make you an offer?” Of which this one the most foolish, most useless of them all.

Shiraishi laughs as Yukimura has no choice but to willingly play to his wants. "Let me guess..." He kisses Yukimura's neck, moves his lips to his ear. "You want me," he whispers, biting softly into the lobe of his ear. "So do you," Yukimura purrs back, as he lowers his hand to trail down Shiraishi's neck. Shiraishi chuckles lowly.

“Your reward will be handsome, moreso than any other would offer…” Yukimura’s hand slides over his chest as Shiraishi holds him off balance with his arm at his waist. He hums, gently listening to Shiraishi's proposal.

“You'll live in with me, eat my food, and sleep under my roof. " Yukimura smiles. "Don't you mean, my roof?" Shiraishi's thumb grazes his lips when he holds his chin. "Are you in any place to negotiate here?" Yukimura nudges his head up. "I wonder." Shiraishi smirks. "How does our roof sound?" Yukimura's smile curls wider. "It's a pleasure working with you."

He wraps his arms around Shiraishi's back and pulls up to kiss him. Shiraishi's only shy in the first second, before their lips melt together, lightly. A short pause, a breath, before their lips meet again in a deep, deep kiss. Shiraishi moans softly when their lips slide against each other, indulgently, liberated. Another kiss, when he tilts his head to give him the space he needs. It's as if he'll never be able to taste enough. That's fine with him, really. Really... 

Yukimura pulls Shiraishi closer, his tongue going over Shiraishi's upper lip. It's a warning, nothing more as his tongue rushes to meets with Shiraishi's in a frenzied tango.

Shiraishi attacks, leans forward and manages to draw out an unexpected noise with a strike of his tongue. It isn't long before Yukimura turns his efforts against him as he tilts his head slightly. Who said that he'd just let him?

Yukimura chuckles, tightens his hold as he slows down Shiraishi's pace. He can feel Shiraishi tremble, but right how he wants it, he hasn't given up. His hand sneaks behind Yukimura's head, burying his fingers in his hair. Shiraishi's tongues are passionate but faster. More aggressive than his sensual strokes, but just as greedy. Yes, this is it.

An uneven rhythm, interspersed with pants and breaths as they vie for dominance.

He'll never be safe again, and he loves every second of it.

 The door busts open. "Let him go!" is the unanimous call. Multiple footsteps enter the room, the sound of guns being readied. Yukimura holds up his hand mid-kiss, knows Shiraishi to do the same. "It's good." he breathes out, concealing his panting, "Don't shoot." Shiraishi pulls himself upright with a hum, and with Yukimura's arms around his back, so he pulls Yukimura. "Thanks."

Yukimura lets his eyes go over the heads in front of him. Some of them were new additions-- Shiraishi's men--, some of them his. Yukimura laughs. Aren't you loved as well? In the flash of a moment, he changes his aura. Still at gunpoint, Yukimura walks over to whomever Shiraishi held his hand up to.

"Oshitari Kenya," he says, voice sweet as he steps close and his hand slides around the hand holding his weapon. "Will you drop your gun?" After a moment of his gaze, connected to his collapsing eyes, Kenya's gun easily clatters out of his hand.

It only takes a glance from him for the rest of both Shiraishi's and his men to do the same. "Thank you."

He flashes a smile at Shiraishi, who has to swallow a bit at the sight. "See? You were my only danger."

He turns around again, projects his voice to those present. "We will be working together with Shitenhouji, as one and on equal grounds. Both parties are to see this as an expansion of their turf." Shiraishi hugs him from behind, Yukimura takes to stroking his cheek, and with amusement Yukimura watches the shoulders of everyone present to tense. "Yukimura and I will lead you together." Yukimura chuckles. "You know what this means for you, right?"

There are none who could question their power. He knows, from Rikkai's side, that they could have nothing but respect for the man freely embracing his shoulders. Of course, Yukimura forcing Kenya's hand, everyone's hand simply with his presence should have made an impact as well.

On top of that...

"This means nationwide dominion, right, Seiichi?" Yukimura smiles at Yanagi. "Exactly."

From Shiraishi's side, they know that Shiraishi's plan both failed and succeeded, and that only Yukimura is to blame for that. "Shiraishi..." Kenya starts. "I'm glad to have you back. We half thought you were done for." "I'm glad to be back too. Though, done for?" "Done for," Yukimura repeats, "couldn't be further from the truth. Right?" Shiraishi lightly rubs his cheek against Yukimura's, and a glimpse of the future makes its way into Yukimura's mind.

"Yeah. We're only getting started."

[deadcactuswalking]

REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 24/10/2020 (Digga D, Justin Bieber, benny blanco)

Internet Money’s “Lemonade” featuring Don Toliver, NAV and Gunna finally hit #1 on the UK Singles Chart, and that’s today’s #1. Anyone else find it funny that NAV has a #1 hit in, well, any country? Anyway, welcome to REVIEWING THE CHARTS.

Dropouts & Returning Entries

A lot of our new arrivals from yesterday are gone entirely, including “Parlez-Vous Anglais” by Headie One featuring Aitch, mostly because only the three highest-performing songs from an artist can be in the chart at one time, so “Only You Freestyle” with Drake returned at #44. As well as that, other notable drop-outs from the UK Top 75 are “Mr. Right Now” by 21 Savage and Metro Boomin featuring Drake, “5AM” by M Huncho and Nafe Smallz exiting pretty prematurely, “Over Now” by Calvin Harris and the Weeknd, “Wishing Well” by the late Juice WRLD lasting longer than I expected, and “Heaven on My Mind” by Becky Hill and Segala. The biggest fall for the week is “Laugh Now Cry Later” by Drake and Lil Durk getting hit with the streaming cut down from #18 and #42 and the biggest is for last week’s debut “i miss u” by Jax Jones and Au/Ra up from #53 to #39. The only other returning entry we have is that garbage “Papi Chulo” song by Octavian and Skepta back for seemingly no reason. That doesn’t mean we don’t have 11 new arrivals, though, so let’s get started.

NEW ARRIVALS

#69 – “Train Wreck” – James Arthur

Produced by Adam Argyle

X Factor winner and insecure homophone who somehow pissed Frankie Boyle off on Twitter in 2012 James Arthur is back with his latest single since his first comeback album which was surprisingly successful, even stateside, mostly because of soppy, unlistenable ballad “Say You Won’t Let Go”. So, what’s to be expected out of this frog-voiced adult contemporary lad today? Well, apparently this is actually not his latest single choice for that lead off of the fourth album and rather just a deep cut from his 2016 album Back from the Edge. It’s the sixth track on the album, it’s four years old and never had a single push so I can only assume... TikTok? I don’t know, I think everyone’s feeling like this year’s been a bit of a train wreck so is the song good? I don’t know, I think his belting is impressive but pretty aggravating with only the soft piano backing and it does sound like he’s straining himself a bit here. The pouring out of his emotions during the dark place he was in between 2013 and 2016 is pretty effective and admittedly I feel kind of bad for the guy but, man, you can tell this is the first song he wrote for the album as it feels pretty underwritten, with a lot of reliance on that chorus, which is powerful but not nearly enough as he wants it to be. He explores a religious angle in the first verse that goes absolutely nowhere. Looking at the comments on the Genius page and ignoring the ones saying “This is epic” or “Anyone here from Harry Potter TikToks?”, I can tell it’s helping people and if this really is impactful to his audience then all fairness to him, it does its job. I’m just not a fan.

#68 – “Heat Waves” – Glass Animals

Produced by Dave Bayley

I swear “trainwreck” and “heatwave” are usually one word. Huh. Glass Animals are an indie-pop project fronted by Dave Bayley and I’ve never felt the need to look into them, and whilst I always assumed they were big – especially this recent third album which did big numbers to mixed reception – I didn’t think they were “chart in the top 100” big, especially not too months after the album release when another single is clearly being pushed. It has got a couple remixes though, particularly a Diplo one, so I guess this is a good time to first check Bayley and co out. Maybe my definition of “psychedelic pop” is different to Pitchfork’s (who didn’t even like this album) but I didn’t expect pitch-shifted vocals put against trap instrumentals and 808s that drown out all of the musicality that goes into the watery synths and guitar picking under the pretty rough vocals here, saved by some cool melodic ideas and multi-tracking that sounds pretty good in the verses. That chorus is lazy and quickly loses its lustre though, and it is not nearly climactic enough for that point in the bridge where its cuts out and returns to work or have any impact at all. The lyrics are pretty fluffy and non-descript, apart from the refrain of “Road shimmer wigglin’ the vision”... okay, I understand why you pitch-shifted that one. Yeah, this is pretty garbage, as are these remixes, although admittedly I kind of enjoy Diplo’s future bass rendition. You can’t do much to make a badly-written song sound interesting as an EDM remixer. I listened to that “Space Ghost Coast to Coast” song out of curiosity and... just because your “ayys” sound more like “ehs” doesn’t mean your trap-rap is suddenly art pop. Also:

“Space Ghost Coast To Coast” combines bits and pieces of millennial childhood nostalgia with musings on school shootings.

Joy. Next.

#67 – “PMW” – M Huncho and Nafe Smallz

Produced by Quincy Tellem

The drill MF DOOM (in aesthetic, not ability) and some nasal-voiced idiot who is not selling himself well with that stage name make a collaborative album produced by Soulja Boy Tell ‘Em. Here’s their ode to Profit Margins and Wages. Okay, it’s just them trading bars over an actually pretty damn good trap beat, with a killer choral vocal sample and some skittering hi-hats with a high enough pace that it makes Nafe Smallz seem mildly engaged. M Huncho sounds fine here, but the chorus here is pretty rough for both of them, and it just sounds really awkward. I do like Nafe’s second verse here, the flows he uses are pretty catchy and he sounds alive for once. What do you expect me to say about this though? They don’t rap anything interesting, the trap beat is good but not particularly interesting and the performances are mildly entertaining at best. It’s not nearly as amusing as the last single I liked from Huncho, “Pee Pee”. I’m not surprised this didn’t debut very high, and I guess it’ll drop off next week like nothing ever happened.

#65 – “One More Time” – Not3s featuring AJ Tracey

Produced by Eyes Adoasi and Remedee

Well, this duo have worked together a bunch of times before, and are undeniably preferable to M Huncho and Nafe Smallz, even if I’m not necessarily a big fan of either artist. This seems to be a lead-off single for Not3s’ third record as well as an interpolation of Britney Spears’ “...Baby One More Time” with a pretty cute pitch-shifted female vocal acting as the main melody for the track... and, yeah, this is what I expect from AJ Tracey. There’s an obvious UK garage flavour to the track – it does feel like a modernised throwback – and AJ’s spitting pretty competently, even if his flow is pretty basic and at times janky. Not3s is even more janky in the pre-chorus but the harmonising on the chorus and flow on the second verse is pretty damn impressive and dare I say charming. If he wants to go into this smooth R&B-rap direction on this type of UK garage beat I approve fully and I would be excited for that upcoming album. It kind of reminds me of Jeremih, to be completely honest, and I’m not sure exactly where I get that comparison but he sounds great. The beat does feel like it stagnates, especially during AJ’s verse actually – it might be the weak link stopping this from becoming great – but it doesn’t overstay its welcome and the 8-bit sound effects during AJ’s verse do stop this from being boring, though I still prefer a fair few of AJ’s other singles, like “Kiss and Tell” with Skepta which the song immediately reminded me of. It could have actually done with no guest verse but I know Not3s needs that promo so I’m not complaining about this. I hope to see it in the top 40 soon.

#62 – “Perkosex” – D-Block Europe

Produced by Gwiz and Roki

“Perkosex”. Wow, and I thought these guys couldn’t get dumber. We have a third DBE album cut this week and I’m already impressed by the awful pun in the title and the fact that this is literally taken from a YouTube producer’s (FREE) Calboy/Polo G type beat. Classy. This is a more downbeat song for the duo, with two verses, kind of. In fact, there’s no chorus, just one verse from Dirtbike LB who actually starts off the song with some spoken word and pathetic “Ski” ad-libs – leave that to Young Adz, who fragments his verse with a pointless and awkward bridge, as if his verse didn’t fill up that quota anyway. We have an acoustic guitar, pitched-up vocal sample that comes in to waste time every so often, and actually cuts Adz’s verse in two. Both LB and Adz croon and mumble, barely staying on the beat, with Adz mumbling so much on his first part of the verse that I initially thought this was just an outro to a song that lasted one and a half minutes, but, no, there’s an extra minute to go and Adz adz nothing to the track that needed that second half of the verse. Neither of the rappers are any funny here, but at least LB compares his friends to terrorists and says he’s got shots in his mouth like a peppermint... I mean, he sounds more mentally stable than he usually does on these songs, I guess. The second half of that Adz verse starts off with either him barely staying on-topic or just a complete plot twist.

You signed up for a drug dealer, not a drug user

And the next line:

And one of my toxic traits is that I love too much

Again, classy. This is crap even by their standards and just straight boring. It won’t go anywhere, but knowing my luck it might be the Christmas #1. Next.

#60 – “Someone to You” – BANNERS

Produced by KOZ

More “indie pop” debuting on the charts, although this one is directly off of the success of Love, Victor, a Hulu original series based on the film Love, SImon that used it in its soundtrack and hence it’s here on the chart. This song has been on three of this guy’s EPs and is actually all the way back from 2017 so, yeah, we have some old cuts here. I have absolutely nothing to say about the song though. Sure, I appreciate the vocal harmonies in the post-chorus and the organic drumming but the vaguely folkish guitar sounds pretty trite, as do the hand-claps and the incredibly generic mish-mash of love song clichés in all of the lyrics here. I’m reminded of a lighter Biffy Clyro that happens to be from Liverpool instead of Scotland and, you know, have no grit or interesting songwriting to back the enthusiastic vocal delivery and repetitive, exhausting chorus. I’m not into this at all, it just reeks of a lack of effort or unique character to it. And I’m safe to assume that about this next song...

#59 – “You’re Mines Still” – Yung Bleu

Produced by Nate Rhoads

This song got big because of Drake on the remix and thank God for that because this Juice WRLD rip-off could never stand on his two feet anyway. The fake attempt at a half-hearted British accent drenched in Auto-Tune is an immediate turn-off – the dude’s from Alabama and sounds like he’s vaguely imitating an Afroswing singer – but so is this incredibly low-effort trap beat with barely anything other than a Sting sample from the exact song “Lucid Dreams” sampled, and it’s not like this is an uncommon flip, coincidence or even a sample that hasn’t been used in a bunch of rap tracks before. Watch out, Yung Bleu, or else Sting will try and sue your ass on BS counts of “plagiarism” until you tragically die young or get a Drake stimulus package big enough for you to pay off royalties and fines for copyright infringement. In fact, I’m convinced that’s the only reason Drake hopped onto the remix so he and his massive bank account can settle the incoming lawsuit and pay the legal fees for this guy, because he doesn’t contribute anything worthwhile to this trash either. Jesus, this is bad.

#58 – “Happiness” – Little Mix

Produced by TMS

We don’t have that album yet, but we have another low-charting promotional single, I guess, now that the last one dropped off from the chart entirely... last week. Little Mix are now noticing that maybe they really cannot perform that well without Syco so I guess they’re just throwing as many bricks as D-Block Europe claim to be selling and hoping one of them fits into the wall. I don’t mind the song for all it’s worth, to be honest, I mean it’s more of a fast-paced dance-pop song about love I can appreciate with some pretty great vocal performances from the girls here, especially who I think are Leigh-Anne and Jade. The chorus hits pretty hard and the fusion of 808s and trap skitters on the verses with a killer UK garage-inspired drum loop on the chorus... yeah, I can actually endorse this, albeit with some hesitation, especially since the bridge is literally just like 10 seconds of vocal riffing, which makes the song feel somewhat underwritten even if that final chorus, especially the lead-up to it, is pretty amazing and genuinely surprised me on my first listen. This is good, and honestly a lot better than I expected from Little Mix, so check it out if you’re interested, although sadly I doubt this’ll stick.  

#29 – “Hold” – Chunkz and Yung Filly

Produced by Ransom Beatz

I can say the same about this, now that we’re in the top 40 here (first for both artists), mostly because Chunkz is pretty much a YouTube comedian and looking at these lyrics, there are now jokes. There is some ugly Auto-Tuned crooning over a pretty flat Afroswing beat and Chunkz’s delivery is similarly flat and it’s obvious he’s a comedian. You can just tell when rappers are also comedians and this guy definitely makes that obvious in his half-hearted “upbeat” delivery that sounds like a satire, but the problem is again that there are NO JOKES. Is the “airplane mode” line a joke? The use of the word “investments”? The egregious Spanish in the second verse? This weak-sauce instrumental? If any of these are jokes or an attempt at comedy, please let me stand corrected because I don’t know if Chunkz was chuckling to himself writing but none of this is funny or even entertaining. It’s pretty telling that the Genius page gave up on trying to distinguish the two rappers as well. Next.

#19 – “Lonely” – Justin Bieber and benny blanco

Produced by benny blanco and FINNEAS

Why is benny blanco credited as a lead artist while FINNEAS isn’t? Huh. Well, Justin’s back and leaving whatever the hell Changes was earlier this year right behind him, focusing on more introspective and personal tracks like... “Holy”, I guess. Well, for what it’s worth, this is better than “Holy” by quite a bit. It’s a pretty minimal ballad with some nice work on the keys from benny and egregious profanity from Bieber in the chorus. I do like the content though, and how he delves into Bieber’s regrets in his past, especially in the second verse although I feel like he misses the point here or at least doesn’t go in-depth enough for me to fully comprehend his view on the situation. They criticised things you did as an idiot kid because they were insensitive, immoral and at some times illegal, not because you were a child. Sure, the media and the press can be antagonistic, especially to easy targets – hell, it’s worse here than in the US or Canada – but it’s not entirely clear in the short verse here that he’s not just deflecting blame onto the “haters”. I do like how he talks about the downs that come with having so much wealth and fame at a young age and no idea on what to do with it other than reckless leisure activities and raking in the fandom’s love whilst he continues to drink-drive and lose his pet monkey, which he shouldn’t have had in the first place. He also talks about how the paparazzi and Internet comment trolls viewed his pictures of him with Lyme disease and immediately assumed he was doing drugs, which can be similarly said for Chadwick Boseman, who died earlier this year due to complications related to colon cancer at age 43. Yeah, this one digs pretty deep but I still feel like it could have used a third verse, especially since while Bieber claims to cite his wife Hailey Baldwin as his “saviour” this is his third or fourth time painting himself as the “comeback” of Bieber but now a more mature man, and none of those attempts have really succeeded so this seems kind of desperate on his behalf. Sigh, the song’s fine and honestly I appreciate it for what it tries to do but it falls short here and lacks the real dagger in the heart moment personally revealing songs about fame like this should have, although I’d admit it gets close. Now for our final entry, which has considerably less to talk about...

#18 – “Chingy (It’s Whatever)” – Digga D

Produced by ItchyDaProducer

Chingy? As in “Right Thurr”, “Holidae Inn” Chingy? Huh. From one look at the chorus, it just seems to be another threat but hey, Digga D’s back. I’m not sure if anyone wanted him back but here he is. He released an album last year. This wasn’t on it. I can’t actually remember this guy at all; I assumed this was DigDat so I expected some quality – I mean, no drill lyric can beat “white like Peter, brown like Cleveland” – but no, it’s Digga D, who made a song with Russ Splash last year that got in the top 40. I remember reviewing it, I remember not thinking much of it at the time. I don’t think much of this one either although I do have to admit I really like that eerie vocal sample, even if it is completely drowned out by the drill beat and the inconsistently-censored sliding on the beat from Digga D. He uses a pretty standard drill flow here though, and the verses are little more than oddly specific gunplay and flexing. He does actually interpolate “Right Thurr” by Chingy in this pretty good and catchy chorus – which I imagine is the only reason this is in the top 20 – as well as in the second verse, where he interpolates his other biggest song which already interpolated a Vine. Sure, I guess.

Conclusion

Not as good of a week as the last, although there’s still a LOT of British hip hop here, mostly sectioned between some indie-pop clunkers. In fact, I’m going to give Glass Animals the Dishonourable Mention for “Heat Waves” while Worst of the Week goes to “You’re Mines Still” by Yung Bleu and Drake on the remix for just being a horrible song all around. Best of the Week surprises me but it’s going to Little Mix for “Happiness” because, well, at least it has some damn energy to it unlike the rest of these songs. I guess the Honourable Mention can go to “One More Time” by Not3s and AJ Tracey but even that would be stretching it. Let’s hope for some good stuff next time, maybe some of that new Gorillaz album... pretty please? Here’s the top 10 for this week:

Big gains for “What You Know Bout Love” there, which is interesting. Follow me on @cactusinthebank for Tory scum baiting and I’ll see you next week.