#its meant to be a baggy jacket but it's TOO baggy

[beatlesforsale]

Holy hell I've bought the same Levi jacket that is on sale twice already and both times the sizes have been WACK. I've ordered a size small now so HOPEFULLY it fucking fits my god 😂

[racingmiku2018]

i never thought a recurring problem in my life would be "my friends entire extremely large extended family keeps sending me a shit ton of clothing"

[01zfan]

housequake | j. sc

soccer player!sungchan x cheerleader!reader | 6.2k words

contains: house party, drug mention, random idols mentioned for world building, sex but no penetration (HEHE)

housequake: during the party | after the party

you could feel the sidewalk underneath the soles of your feet. your cheering shoes weren’t meant to be on anything other than synthetic turf and a gymnasium floor. you could practically feel the expensive material of your shoes wearing down as they rubbed against the concrete. 

you shouldn’t have been out in the cold weather. it was a fools february, the approach to spring should’ve brought warmer weather but instead it still felt like winter. the fact that you had to cheer in this weather outside was insane, but it was even more insane that your team chose to stand outside to do drugs. the sweats you threw on before jumping in karina’s car did nothing for you, the frigid night air piercing right through the material. your girls all thought the same, clumped together on the sidewalk like penguins. 

the team stayed together in a huddle the same way you guys did at games. the only difference that instead of pom poms your girls passed around a cigarette, a joint, and a small baggie of something you wouldn’t be taking. each time the cigarette was offered you shook your head. your team never pressured you to take anything but it was strange for you to be so straight edge. you tried it a long time ago like most people your age did when the chance arose. but every time you took a puff of anything it just didn’t feel right. you hid your avoidance of drugs and nicotine under the guise of strict parents, but you just didn’t have a taste for it.

you had been on the team long enough to see various teammates on their benders and tolerance breaks. it was like an involuntary D.A.R.E. program, seeing the effect drugs and alcohol had on your teammates. you remember seeing karina and ningning come to practice with shades on and they moved slowly the whole time. you also remember several people on your team being gone for periods of time. the reason was always a vacation, but you learned early on that was a code word for rehab. you never thought you were better than them, you had your own fair share of self destructive tendencies. 

when ryujin offered you her vape you shook head, nestling further into your varsity jacket. the jacket was bulky but still failed to keep you warm.

“you sure?” ryujin asks.

you nod and ryujin shrugs her shoulders before taking another hit. you’re confused how ryujin isn’t shivering from only wearing the teams hoodie. karina looks over from her spot in the cluster to ryujin and her vape.

“nobody wants a hit of that mango shit.” karina laughs.

she passed the cigarette to ningning. ningning laughs after taking a drag, fake passing it to ryujin.

“smoke a cigarette or joint like a real woman” ningning joked.

everyone in the huddle laughed, including ryujin. the smoke came out of her mouth in a cough, the joke catching in her throat. you laughed with your team too, loving the dynamic your team has set. nothing beat the bonding you had with your team outside of the house parties, away from the loud music where it was just you guys. you enjoyed this part more than the parties itself. another cold breeze runs through your group and you shake again. you loved your girls, but you felt like you were going to freeze to death if you stayed outside any longer. you were grateful to see the joint and cigarette gone and the baggie had disappeared too. soon you’d be back in the heat of shotaro’s place surrounded by warm bodies.

just as karina’s cigarette was coming to its end, a car pulled up to the curb. karina turned to face the car and the rest of the team followed her lead, looking to see who it was. you only had to take a single look before you knew, turning to face the huddle to try and hide your body.

eunseok in the driver’s seat came out first. he was followed by the back doors opening. anton, sohee, seunghan, and wonbin came out one by one, complaining about the lack of room. sungchan came out last, opening the passenger side and trailing behind the group. 

“the guests of honor are here.” yunjin said mockingly.

yunjin put out her cigarette on the concrete while the rest of the team made sounds of acknowledgement. 

your team tried their best to seem annoyed by the soccer team, but everyone knew it was a facade. just like in all the highschool movies, a majority of the cheerleading team had something with a majority of the soccer team. there was even some overlap in some cases—although this was vehemently denied by both parties. you were sure members of your team were currently secretly seeing boys on the soccer team. you saw the quick looks minjeong and wonbin exchanged, or how anton tried his best to talk to yunjin. their fling from two summers ago still shook you to your core when you thought about it.

to your knowledge, you were the last one on your team that had avoided being woo’ed by the players on the soccer team. it was definitely hard, especially because it was sungchan that had caught your attention. he was the dependable captain of the team, leading them through a flawless season. each time they put him on the field he won, eventually making him the youngest captain they’ve ever had. sungchan succeeded off the field too, involved in the top ten percent of his class. it was almost unfair how perfect he was, but it was even more unfair that you had to pretend like you didn’t want him.

sungchan’s attention went to you first. you could feel his eyes burning holes through your varsity jacket, waiting for you to turn around and acknowledge him. you caught him just in the last moment, seeing him clear shotaro’s cement steps with one lunge. the other boys made it much more obvious that they were trying to catch the cheerleaders attention, some of them even stopping to talk to your group.

“do you have another?” eunseok asked, pointing to karina’s cigarette.

“not for you.” karina said.

the cheerleaders laughed and karina gave eunseok a smirk before dropping the cigarette to the curb to stomp it out. eunseok smiled back at karina, hands tucked into his letterman jacket. you knew that eunseok was even more straight edge than you and was just searching for an excuse to speak to karina. you looked between the two of them, the tension so thick you felt like you were intruding on a personal moment. 

you turned your head to follow sungchan, watching him walk to the door of shotaro’s house. you saw him hug his best friend before following him inside, disappearing behind the closed front door. you suddenly really wanted to go back inside. you shifted on your heels and made eye contact with ryujin, the only one of your teammates that wasn’t chatting with one of the soccer players. you and ryujin both flicked your heads towards shotaro’s door at the same time.

ryujin nods and slips her vape into her sweatpants pocket, walking through the huddle of your distracted teammates. you two don’t even bother telling your team where you are going, the words would be drowned out in the conversations and intense stares. 

you and ryujin giggle about your team while walking through the lawn. you walk quickly through the trimmed grass, trying to get out of the cold as quick as possible.

“they pretend like they hate those boys until they come around.” ryujin says.

“to be fair, you’re the same way with chaeryeong.” you say.

ryujin is quiet for a moment and you think you might’ve struck a nerve. chaeryeong and ryujin have had an on-again-off-again relationship for as long as you can remember. one day they’re madly in love the next they can’t stand eachother. you had lost track of where they were at now, but you were sure it was off currently because ryujin hated coming to parties alone. you’re lucky ryujin found the humor in your comment, her vaporized laugh coming out in a cloud as she shook her head. 

”you got me there,” ryujin pauses on the porch and you stop with her. you see her take out her vape again and you fight the urge to ask her to smoke inside. “i think she’s here at the party tonight.” ryujin said.

ryujin takes a hit of her vape before she looks at you. she eyes you up and down before smirking and blowing out the smoke into the night.

“what about you, huh?” ryujin asks.

her smile only intensifies seeing you suddenly avoid her eye contact, looking past ryujin to focus on shotaro’s trimmed hedges.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.” you say shyly.

ryujin tsks and pokes your chest, bringing your attention back to her.

“don’t act like the team doesn’t see it.” ryujin takes another pull from her vape. “you and the captain song kang—”

“sungchan.” you correct.

ryujin gives you a straight-faced expression.

“that’s what i said.” ryujin says.

you nod your head, not in the mood to start an argument with ryujin. she shrugs her shoulder and looks for her next words.

“anyways. i see how you two look at eachother. you just need to get it over with already.” ryujin says. 

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.” you say coyly.

“you don’t know shit apparently. you don’t do drugs and you don’t fuck, i don’t know why you’re a cheerleader.” ryujin remarks.

you look at ryujin and crack a smile, ryujin does the same. a second later you are both laughing, so hard that your chests hurt. ryujin almost chokes on her laughs and you hit her back, all while still laughing.

when you both gather your senses and the tears are wiped, ryujin looks at you expectantly. you realize she hasn’t let the topic go, you sigh heavily and look down at your feet. your pristine white shoes have dirt stains on them now.

“i just don’t want to be one of those stereotypes you know. and i know that the soccer team fools around.” you say casually.

ryujin understands what you mean, tilting her head and nodding as she recalls all the instances of the cheerleading team and the soccer team mingling.

“i understand where you’re coming from i really do. but don’t you want to try it? just once?” ryujin asks.

you can’t lie and say you hadn’t thought about it. you felt the stares from sungchan, when he’d walk past you to go on the field or when you’d cheer for him on the sidelines. you had moments of your own, eyeing sungchan while he was at practice, admiring the way he commanded his team and how much they respected him. you had moments less innocent too, mainly during the practices that were held during the summer. sungchan had a body that made you dizzy, six pack and toned body brought from being a multidisciplinary athlete. you started finding reasons to walk by the gym in your school, just to see sungchan weight training with his teammates. 

so in reality you thought about it a little too much. you just shrug your shoulders and ryujin copies you, laughing at how bad you are at hiding everything.

“let’s go inside.” ryujin says.

“thank god.” you exclaim.

ryujin laughs at you as she heads to the front door, opening it with quickly.

the party inside is very different from the small sparse groups that hang out outside. the party rages inside of shotaro’s place, music being drowned out by endless chatter. you’re nearly shoulder to shoulder with your classmates, many of them you did not see at the soccer game. anything for an excuse to party. it’s never been quite to this extent before, it seems like the whole entire student body is crammed in shotaro’s house. ryujin taps your shoulder and points up the stairs. you see shotaro on the landing, scanning the crowd below him over and over again. you see sungchan next to him with a bear in his hand, leaning over the railing. him and shotaro are talking to eachother but both seem preoccupied, shotaro watching the party and sungchan watching you. you feel you body suddenly get hotter, and ryujin looks to you and sungchan before laughing.

“you two are ridiculous.” ryujin says.

you see shotaro follow a drunk couple as they try for an unlocked door, and you see sungchan make his way down the stairs. ryujin stopped paying attention to sungchan a long time ago, her eyes now fixed on chaeryeong who’s getting chatted up by someone at the bar. ryujin doesn’t tell you goodbye before heading towards her girlfriend, leaving you all alone. you can’t come up with an excuse to leave when sungchan approaches you, just you and him in the middle of this house party.

“good job cheering today.” sungchan says awkwardly. 

the beer in his hand has barely been sipped on, you think it might just be there for show. you nod you head and look up at him, trying to figure out what to say.

“good job playing.” you say back.

sungchan nods and rocks back on his feet. why is it suddenly so awkward when other people aren’t around? you and sungchan managed to keep it friendly when your two teams would interact, but now he stood by you and you felt your face heating up and silently begging ryujin to come and save you. 

just as you were looking to see where your friend went, someone coming down from the stairs loses their balance and bumps into you. it sudden and catches you off guard, almost causing you to fall onto sungchan. he holds you upright with just one hand, scowling at the person who bumped into you until they apologize. you turn to stare at the person too until they disappear into the crowd again.

“you alright?” sungchan asks.

he looks genuinely worried as he continues to rub your shoulder. it was nothing more than a bump, the grip he has on you arguably did more damage than the person who fell into you. but you brush it off, there’s no reason to be mad over an accident.

“yeah. i just kind of hate parties.” you say.

“me too.” you look up and see sungchan take a tiny sip of his beer. he hesitates for a moment before leaning down to look at you. “do you want to go somewhere quiet?” he asks.

you can’t stop your eyes from widening at his bold request. you do want to go somewhere quiet but that doesn’t always mean you should. but you think about your conversation outside with ryujin and the conversations your team are still having with the soccer team outside. you’re sure at this point everyone in your life has had their fun except for you. maybe falling into a stereotype won’t be the end of the world. you point to the beer in sungchan’s hand and he gives it to you. you take a sip and it’s better than you thought it would be.

“yeah. let’s go.” you say smiling.

sungchan looks a little surprised himself, pointing up the stairs. he lets you go in front so he can lead you through the crowd, a hand between your two shoulder blades. on your way up the stairs you make eye contact with ryujin who is chatting up chaeryeong. ryujin’s eyes widen when she sees sungchan and elbows chaeryeong so she can see it too. the two give you a thumbs up seeing sungchan follow closely behind you and you try to seem unbothered, failing to hide your big smile.

once you and sungchan make it to the landing he still leads you further down the hallway. you pass by the bathroom, having to squeeze past the line that has formed and pass another door. sungchan knocks on the door and presses his ear to it to see if he can hear anything. a moment later he opens it for you and you walk in.

you can tell instantly that you’re in shotaro’s room. his desk lamp is the only thing that illuminates the space, giving you just enough vision to navigate. his room is clean, with a made bed and no visible messes. you focus on everything else in the room before you turn to sungchan, who has placed his beer on shotaro’s desk.

“is it okay that we are in here?” you ask.

the last thing you need is for shotaro to interrupt you.

“yeah, it’s cool.” sungchan says.

sungchan navigates the room like he’s been here before. you wonder if he has been in this situation with other girls before, sneaking them away during a party to fuck them in his bestfriends room. you try to not think about it too much, if sungchan is using you than you are also using him. the way he is acting around you makes you wonder if he’s done this before. sungchan is almost too afraid to approach you, still standing by the door. his hands are tucked into the pocket of his jeans, and his leather jacket hangs loosely on his body. you want to ask sungchan why he doesn’t wear his varsity jacket like his teammates do, only putting it on on game days. he always chose the black leather jacket first, but you weren’t complaining.

“we don’t have to do anything.” sungchan still stands in the door. “i just wanted to be alone with you.” he says.

sungchan doesn’t know why he tried so hard to get you alone. he doesn’t know why he approached you in the first place. you have been just out of sungchan’s reach for as long as he has known you. the introverted backspot of the team, the hidden member that kept everyone safe. he admired the way you always caught the flyer, or how you called out whatever formation you were going to do. karina was the leader but the show couldn’t be ran without you. 

sungchan wanted to tell you this so many times, but you always kept yourself hidden amongst your girls. sungchan admits that he could’ve came up to you at anytime, but there was something holding him back. maybe the embarrassment of being rejected. he didn’t know how to perceive the looks you gave him, you were elusive to sungchan like an urban myth. sungchan had heard the locker room stories exchanged by his teammates. talks of you being pursued were shut down immediately by sungchan, for reasons he couldn’t quite pinpoint. he could live with just stealing glances of you at games and at school, but he could absolutely not live with the idea of you being hit on by his teammates.

“what if i want to do something?” you said.

sungchan tore his eyes from the floor to look at you. sungchan felt like he understood you even less, the way your demeanor suddenly changed. sungchan watched you take off your varsity jacket and throw it on shotaro’s bed. sungchan watches your every move as you walk over to him. you hold out your hand and sungchan rips out his hand to put his hands in the palm of your hands. 

sungchan is still trying to figure out what is happening when you look up at him. he sees your lidded eyes, the way you bite your lip and grip his hand a little tighter. he hopes you’re nervous too, it might make him feel better about the way his heart beats in his chest.

“this is just a one time thing.” you say.

his mouth is dry when he nods his head. for the first time of the night, it’s you leading sungchan when you grab his hand and lightly pull him. sungchan feels like his feet are glued to the floor until you pull him again. he lets you guide him to the trunk that sits at the foot of shotaro’s bed. 

sungchan sits on the trunk and watches as you kick off your shoes, followed by your sweatpants and panties. it leaves you in just your cheer skirt and socks. he scoots back on the trunk slightly to give you more room. sungchan loves feeling your hands go to his shoulders as you climb on top of him, sitting on his lap.

”i know how you soccer players get down.” you say.

“oh yeah?” sungchan’s large hands on your knees ran up your leg until he makes it to the end of your skirt. he’s hesitant, half expecting you to change your mind. he needs to hear your voice, he wishes he could get you to tell him what to do. “tell me how do we get down?”

sungchan seemed preoccupied, fiddling with the end of your skirt as you sit on his lap. he keeps fanning the end of it out to let the material naturally splay out against his thigh. his hand presses the fabric into his denim, loving the way they look side by side.

sungchan lets his hands travel up the end of your skirt until he makes it to your waist. he lets them rest there only for a moment before experimentally pressing his fingers into your skin. he looks up to you when he has a hold on you he’s satisfied with.

your hands that rest on his shoulders pinch the fabric of his white tee. you try not to arch your back to sungchan to seem so desperate, but its like your chests are connected by a tightening string. your breasts are so close to touching sungchan’s chest it makes you sigh.

“my team tells me all the stories.” you say absentmindedly.

sungchan nods his head like he’s listening before he brings you down on his lap. you pull in a quick and small breath when you feel his dick straining through his jeans, pressing into your clothed heat. the only thing that separates him from you is the thin crotch of your cheer skirt. sungchan has a smirk on his face, happy he has an effect on you.

“what stories?” sungchan asks innocently.

you suddenly can’t think of anything when sungchan’s hands start moving your hips to lightly grind against his length. it’s gentle and slow, but you can feel the way he twitches against you. the sensation is intoxicating to say the least. you actively have to go through memories of group facetime calls and text messages to pull up an example. each time you have it sungchan presses you a down a little harder, forcing you to repeat the process in your mind.

“hooking up. sharing girls, you know.” you say. 

“mhm.” sungchan hums.

your words are hesitant and drawn out when you feel a new sensation against you. sungchan bites his bottom lip when he creeps his hand underneath the waistband of your mini skirt. 

he has to adjust his hand once he makes it inside your skirt, lifting his arm to push his hand into the gap. you gasp when he finds your clit and sungchan lets out a tiny sound himself.

“i’m not a fan of hookups,” sungchan wedges his hand into your skirt further, and smiles when he can feel your arousal on the tips of his fingers. “definitely not a fan sharing.” sungchan says.

you let out a hmph in denial and sungchan tilts his head. his hooded eyes light up from you indirectly saying he’s a liar. even when he has you in such a compromising position you are still defiant, holding onto whatever typecast you assigned him to. for a moment sungchan debates commenting on the sound you made. but he knows for a fact it will lead to an argument that could potentially lead to him being alone in shotaro’s room with a raging boner. so sungchan opts to lightly press the pads of his fingers to your slit—he can talk to you about his standpoint on dating later.

sungchan loves the way you lean your head back and arch your body into him without him even having to penetrate you. his hand on your hip also becomes useless, you starting rotating your hips and pressing yourself into his dick all on your own. sungchan moves his hand to your back to give you stability, egging you on to become more reckless with your hips.

“you’re so beautiful.” sungchan says. 

“so are you.” you say.

sungchan laughs at how fast you respond too him, letting anything you think of fall from your lips. he pulls back from you only for a moment to discard himself of his shirt, loving the way your eyes rake down his upper body. he doesn’t move to help you with yours until your hands start messing with the bottom hem of your tee. sungchan is distracted by your chest, sucking on the top of your breast that isn’t covered by your bra. you lift yourself up and sungchan tries his best to unclasp your bra but his shaking hands fail him multiple times and your moans distract him. 

“can you cum just from this?” sungchan asks in amazement.

“i think so,” you look up from where your hips meet to look sungchan in his eyes. he looks up a beat later than you, his eyes wide from dismay. “can you?” you ask.

sungchan looks down again at your bare pussy and his dick. the crotch covering of your skirt has been pushed away by sungchan long ago, letting him see all of you. even in shotaro’s dimly lit room he can see how its glistening from your slick. he didn’t know a sight like this existed outside of the scripted scenes of shitty pornos. but here sungchan was, sitting on a trunk in his friends room getting high off of grinding on your labia like he’s never been intimate with someone before. sungchan nods his head, tightening his hand that holds your body.

“i think so.” sungchan responds.

you nod your head and change the way you move your hips. you spread your legs a little wider, and sungchan moves his hand on your inner thigh to the other side, pressing your thighs together. you fight against his hand just to see if he will do next. you’ve heard tales of the head pushers on the soccer team, and you want to see where sungchan falls on the spectrum. you see the competition in his eyes when you push back against his hand, but a second later sungchan gives in, letting you control how far open your legs are. you smile at sungchan before collapsing your thighs, moving them so close that your knees touch. the angle is awkward and a little painful, but the way sungchan gasps and tilts his head back makes you ignore the discomfort.

you end up becoming perched on sungchan’s legs, and you can feel them hardening underneath you to give you stability.

“thanks.” you say meekly. 

you can feel your face getting hot at your sudden gratitude. sungchan only smiles in acknowledgment, tilting your face up to peck your lips.

“so cute.” sungchan says.

the plush skin of your thighs surround sungchan’s length. he looks down to see his tip peaking out from in between your thighs. he loves seeing the way your thighs give around his hard dick perfectly and the way they jiggle when sungchan thrusts upwards. your whole body moves in tandem with his thrusts. your breasts bounce each time sungchan pulls in and the desperate sound of your skin making contact has you digging your hands into sungchan’s triceps. the pain doesn’t hurt sungchan, only causes him to flex harder and rut between your hips harder.

you have to move a hand from sungchan’s tricep to his shoulder to gain more stability. he’s slowly losing himself in front of your eyes, becoming hastier with his hips. suddenly sungchan gets ahold of himself, looking at you for approval.

“is this enough for you?” sungchan asks.

you let sungchan bring you closer and closer to him, until your chests touch and his dick fits in the space where your thighs meet your hips. his dick is covered by your skirt now, and you waste no time folding the fabric so your can see all of him.

“fuck.” sungchan says. 

each time sungchan thrusts upwards he bumps your clit, causing you to jolt forward. sungchan brings his hands down to press your ass as he backs up on the trunk he’s sitting on. the new amount of space lets you change your position to one more comfortable. you are completely seated on sungchan’s lap as he thrusts upwards, dick stuffed between your folds. 

“oh my god.” you cried. 

sungchan brought one hand from your ass to your clit, slightly lifting you upwards as he moves you. sungchan’s strength when it comes to handling you makes you feel small in the best way, and his athleticism shines through his stamina. you have to stop yourself from asking sungchan to forget about the condom and to just fuck you on his friend’s bed. but the school year just started, you will have plenty of time to properly fuck sungchan. or to have him fuck you. whichever works. 

he’s able to satiate you by spitting on his fingers before bringing it down to your clit, stimulating your bundle of nerves quickly. sungchan stops focusing on thrusting to rotate his fingers on you. he’s so close to being inside of you that you seize around nothing. sungchan presses on your ass and pouts. you close your eyes from the euphoria.

“i can feel you clenching around nothing, baby.” sungchan coos.

you can’t speak anymore, only nod your head and whine when sungchan starts rotating his hand the other way. sungchan kisses your eyelids and you open them. he stares at you intensely and picks up the speed.

“next time can i fuck you?” sungchan asks.

you nod your head. you start lifting your hips and pulling away slightly, the stimulation becoming too much.

“say it.” sungchan says. 

you lock your arm behind sungchans head to pull him closer to you. something about sungchan having to look up to you made you think you were playing the dominant role, but with a simple order you feel yourself folding to become submissive for him. it makes your head spin the way sungchan teases you by pressing into your clit harder.

“yes.” you whine.

sungchan is amused by the way your hips jerk pitifully when he presses a little harder. 

“yes what?” sungchan asks.

he lowers his head further to press his lips to your collarbone. his teeth grazes the sensitive skin and you preen your neck to give him more access.

“yes. you can—oh my god. yes you can fuck me.” you cry.

your mini skirt falls back down over sungchan’s hand and you both look at it. the way sungchan’s hand aggressively moves underneath the splay of your skirt, the tiny wet spot his leaking tip leaves. you lean forward into the crook of sungchan’s neck, whining just for him to hear. his arm that wraps around your back grips your side, so hard you know it’ll leave a bruise.

the view of your ruined mini skirt gives sungchan the vigor to start thrusting upwards again. it’s easier with the hold you have on him, and he grunts into your ear with each rut. sungchan looks forward to the next time it’s just you and him alone in private. it would only come after he takes you on a nice date and asks you to be his girlfriend, of course—he’s a gentleman. but for now he will selfishly chase his pleasure after he makes sure you cum.

“sungchan.” you cry into his ear.

“i know. i know.” sungchan sympathizes.

your nails dig into his skin and your whines hit an octave that they barely make a sound anymore, just leaving you with a slightly open mouth and a heaving chest. sungchan decided then and there that he needs to hear that sound everyday for the rest of his life. 

you can’t even finish telling sungchan you’re going to cum when it happens, your body shaking in his hold. sungchan follows closely behind you, your cum giving his dick more lubrication to slip between your folds. his tip pokes one more time through your hips when your supple skin ripples around him. sungchan quickly lifts your cheer skirt so you can see what you do to him. 

“fuck” sungchan curses.

you pull your body from his just in time. sungchan’s cum gets on your thighs and dribbles down the middle, getting onto his thighs. he continues to curse and moan, hips stilling as his grip on your side tightens. the euphoric view of him below you has you almost ready to go again. you start squeezing your thighs around his length, and you bring your hand to massage his sticky tip. sungchan has to shake his head and hold your wrist to stop you, too sensitive to be touched. 

when sungchan comes down he has to let out a big huff of air, realizing he came from not even being inside of you. he also realizes that he made a complete mess of your thighs, and he still has a death grip on your cheer skirt to keep it from getting stained.

“holy shit my bad,” sungchan loosens his grip on your cheer skirt, putting the wrinkled fabric in your hand. “hold this let me get you something.”

sungchan guides you to sit on the trunk while he gets up. he wastes no time tucking himself back into his underwear and jeans, not caring about the droplets of cum on himself. he looks around shotaro’s room for anything to wipe you with. sungchan ends up grabbing. damp towel hanging on the back of shotaro’s chair.

while sungchan cleans you up you focus on the top of his head. now that the moment is over it is awkward, you don’t know what to say when sungchan is done with wiping your skin. he doesn’t know either, looking at your closed thighs and the mini skirt you have clutched in your hand.

“did i get it all?” sungchan asks.

when he looks up at you his ears burn a bright red, and you have to quickly look away. you suddenly can’t look at sungchan in the face, focusing on random things in shotaro’s room. you look at handle of his closet when you nod your head yes.

“okay. good.” sungchan says awkwardly. 

he grabs your panties and sweatpants off the ground and helps you into them, guiding your feet through the openings. you don’t know why you feel like you’re drained of all your energy, you think actual sex with sungchan would put you into a coma. the way he is extremely gentle when putting your sweatpants back on you makes your heart want to explode in your chest. somehow this is more intimate than when he was fucking himself between your thighs. 

when sungchan pulls you up from the trunk it takes a moment to regain stability in your legs. they feel like jello underneath you and you wobble for a second. when you’re upright sungchan does the same with your bra and shirt, helping you into the garments. your shirt smells like him now, and you keep catching whiffs of the smoky vanilla fragrance sungchan wears. he holds onto you until you give him a quick smile that lets you know you’re alright. you hate that he lets go a little too fast, hands clenched at his side. 

“should we talk—”

sungchan can’t finish his sentence before ryujin slams open the door. it startles you both, pulling you from the very important conversation you two were about to have. ryujin’s expression is serious as she looks past you and out shotaro’s window. you turn and can hear the familiar sound of police sirens and the blue and red lights flashing. ryujin looks back to you, not sparing sungchan a second glance.

“shotaro’s stupid fucking neighbors called the cops. we gotta go.” ryujin says.

you grab your varsity jacket from the edge of shotaro’s bed and look at sungchan one last time. he opens his mouth but nothing comes out. you stand there for a moment, not heading towards the door.

“karina is already waiting outside. come on.” ryujin says.

you reluctantly pull yourself away from sungchan and head towards the door. when you get to ryujin in the doorway you look her up and down. she looks more mussed than you, her sweatshirt inside out with lipstick stains around her lips.

“how’d you know i was here?” you ask.

“lucky guess,” ryujin finally looks to sungchan, who stands in the same place you left him. “bye sungchan.” ryujin says in a singsongy voice.

sungchan doesn’t even get the chance to say bye back before ryujin slams open the door. he can hear you two and the rest of the party running around, trying to evacuate shotaro’s house as fast as possible. sungchan should also probably leave through the backdoor if he doesn’t want to get in trouble with the law tonight. but he can’t seem to move as he tries to comprehend what just happened.

[insuke69]

“More of you to love, my darling.”

✰ Drabble of Hobie x tall!chubby!reader

You aren't small, by any means.

Its one thing being a tall skinny person, and it's be another thing being short and 'fat',

But you got stuck with the worst of both worlds, Chubby and tall. Not skinny enough to be able to wear anything comfortably low waisted but not curvy enough to be able to express these insecurities without being accused of seeking attention or being told how people would kill to look like you.

you were lucky to meet a man like Hobie--who is taller than you, loving, fun, overall perfect.

Maybe even too perfect..

He always tells you how much he loves you. he always says "You're beau'iful in my arms, darlin'."

Beautiful. That doesn't sound right, that is the oposite of what you've heard all your life. hollow complements of men oversexualizing your curves and beautiful smaller, thinner friends asking to borrow one of your jackets because it'd be 'cutely oversized' on them.

And it isn't that you're ugly either, you sometimes feel like the baddest bitch on the planet--before seeing the person in the mirror that makes you hate those rolls on your back. that pudgy stomach. the plump large hips that adorn the top of your squishy legs.

"What're you doing?" Hobie asked with a playful smirk as he looked over at you, you were trying on clothes you had bought online--biggest size and everything.

"These stupid jeans are meant to be baggy and shit but they fit me normally and don't even- zip!" you say back to him with slight exaspuration while trying to work the zipper of a pair of jeans that you really wanted to fit since they matched your style perfectly.

those jeans were too tight below your belly button and their supposedly baggy length fit you normally because of your height.

"Shh, sh. calm down, it's alrigh', we can return them and order the next size u-" He tried to tell you reassuringly as he walked over to you and put his hands on your waist.

"Thats not the point, these are already the biggest damn size." You groan as you suck in your stomach as much as you physically can to try and force the zipper closed or get the button through its designated hole.

"Woah, woah," He said as he put his hands over yours to stop you from forcing the fabric againts your skin and straining the material over your plump flesh. "We can go to the mall or something and get you jeans like these there, once we return these, get the money back and talk about whatever is actually bothering you." His tone is cool and calm while his hands start lowering the jeans from your hips to get them off of you.

He always knew that you would prefer to at least be shorter or at least thinner, while to him you're already beyond perfect. He hates going to the mall because of the branded clothing there that only further corrupts capitalism after every cent and here he is.

Offering that to you to make you happy <3

_______________________________

BE PATIENT WITH ME YALL IM BARELY A QUARTER DONE WITH P2 OF WHATS IN A NAME THIS DRABBLE IS TO KEEP YALL FED

[mrs-johansson]

Escape from LA - Lisa Manobal x Fem!Depp!Reader

Part 3:

I closed the door behind me and let out a long sigh, only now getting out of the daze she had been keeping me in for the last couple of hours.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Stepped Lily in front of me with her arms crossed. She looked pissed. “What?” I asked walking past her to the bathroom. “Y/n she literally said she has a boyfriend and you kiss her?” She argued. I started to get my makeup off not really caring about her tantrum. “She said it’s a business relationship, PR if you ask me. So it’s not really a relationship. And she kissed me,” I pointed out, totally chill about the situation. “Since when do you play like this?” Asked my sister as she leaned on the doorframe of the room. “You know I don’t do this,” I chuckled on my way in the dating scene. I truly don’t live up to the pop star image. I’m not really a one-night stand person and I’m not a crazy party person either. Even Lily says sometimes I’m boring as hell.

“I’ve seen you drunk, you never do this. Are you on drugs?” She asked and I looked back at her like she was crazy. “Can’t I kiss someone without getting accused of being high?” I turned back to the mirror and continued to remove my makeup. “I kissed Lisa because she wanted me to and because I wanted to. It wasn’t in the middle of the street and front of cameras. I kiss whoever I want to.” She stayed silent for a minute before she walked over and sat on the counter next to me.

“Was it good?” She slightly kicked my thighs with her dangling feet. “I’ve never kissed someone like that. I know I was tipsy or drunk whatever… but damn it was like I was on drugs,” I tried to put my feelings into words and this was the only way I could do it. “Jennie said Lisa is not usually this open to new people lately so I think she saw something in you.”

***

I walked to the front of the runway part of the stage, the light following my steps. “With older songs, I always have someone in mind that I write these songs about, but as time passes they sometimes change. So this is, Into you,” I said and the crowd screamed and before the light on me turned off, I looked up to the balcony where Lisa was standing with the girls. She was far from me but I could tell she was looking at me too.

As the song started, I slowly started walking back to the main stage deciding not to look up at the balcony throughout the song.

A little bit dangerous

But baby that’s how I want it

I sang this like it’s meant to be sung. When I wrote it I was still with Harry and that time was a really great wave of our relationship. But after the breakup, it kind of lost its meaning to me and nobody else really took its place but now, I kinda think it’s coming back.

For the rest of the show I can’t lie, I couldn’t stop glancing up at the balcony. I was distracted by the kiss that kept replaying in my head.

Saying my farewells to the crowd I blew kisses all around and waved like a maniac. “I love you! Thank you guys! Get home safe!” The lift went down and I was quick to hand off my mic and vires to the staff. Immediately I took off my jacket because I was sweating like crazy and I needed a bucket of water just to shove my head into it.

Just as I reached the hallway to my dressing room, I spotted the girls waiting outside the door. “Great show, Y/n,” heard a man say behind me and I couldn’t help but look since the voice was way too familiar. And there was Harry Styles in the flesh. “Harry, hi. I didn’t know you were coming,” I said genuinely confused as he said he would reach out if he could come to a show. “It was a very last-minute thing. I thought I couldn’t make it,” he explained. I glanced back at the girls and by that time only Lisa was standing there. She was just on her phone, not really caring about what was going on around her. Lisa looked very hot. She had light baggy jeans on with a black crop top and a Celine jacket and hat on. I really like how she styles herself and be comfortable while still looking fine as fuck. “I’ll let you go, you shouldn’t let your guests wait,” Harry’s voice brought me back. I chuckled and shook my head. “Sorry, uhm… Thank you for coming. I really appreciate you being here, I’m sorry I can’t hang out,” I said and he just smiled. “That’s fine. You were amazing, I’ll see you around,” said Harry and we shared a quick hug before I turned in my heels to get to Lisa.

She was leaning against the wall, mindlessly scrolling through her phone. I couldn’t really see her face from the hat and her hair but a little part of her nose and lips were still visible. I got closer and closer to her and she still didn’t notice me. “Hey,” I said and she shot her head up. “Hi,” she said cutely, with a smile on her face. She looked behind me and then back at me. “I thought you were hanging out with him,” she said with a weird tone. “No, he just came to say hi. Where are the girls?” I asked. “They went back to the hotel. Jisoo was feeling sick and the girls didn’t want to leave her alone,” she explained. Her eyes were scanning my whole body while she talked and I couldn’t let that slide. Grabbed onto her hand and opened the dressing room, checking if there was anyone inside but it was empty. I pulled Lisa inside the room and leaned against the closed door, pulling her close to me. “So are we just drunk kissing or what?” I questioned the woman and the smirk on her face was so fucking hot. “I hope not,” she husked and her sneaky hand just fell around my waist, locking her fingers behind me. My hands fell on her shoulders, slowly moving towards her neck. I leaned close and when she tried to kiss me I pulled back a bit. “You’re pretty fucking hot, you know,” I mumbled against her lips, looking up into her eyes. “Yeah?” She asked and I nodded. Her hands slowly slipped towards my lower back and my heartbeat started to pick up the pace. The anticipation was strong. “You were pretty cool today,” said Lisa, and she surprised me by leaning down to my neck, leaving small kisses on the skin. Her soft lips were gentle and tender. “You think so?” I leaned my head back and she didn’t waste any time to kiss up my neck to my jaw. “Yes.”

Once Lisa reached my chin her hand came up and placed it on my neck gently, her fingers set on my jaw. She moved my head to face her and the devilish smile on her face was making me crazy. “Oh we’re gonna have so much fun together.”

Our time was cut short in the dressing room because we had to leave the stadium soon and still needed to change. I got that done quickly and I wasn’t sure if Lisa wanted to spend time with me or not. “Do you want to get some food?” I asked and was a little nervous about her response, hoping she would say yes.

“Yeah, let’s go,” she smiled and I got my phone, texted my assistant that I’d be out and we made our way outside. On the way to the car, I said bye to everyone who crossed our path even though I’d see them in two days.

One of the security guys opened the door for us to the back where the car was waiting for us. And as he opened the door flashes were everywhere. I went blind for a second and grabbed onto Lisa’s hand to try and find my balance. With a helping hand on my waist, she slowly guided me to the car and we got in quickly.

Wiped the tears off my face that had come out because of the lights and the car took off in no time. “You alright?” Asked Lisa with a hand on my thigh. “Yeah, I just couldn’t see,” I gave her a slight smile.

It was about a 30-minute drive to the place we chose so we had a little time and I really wanted to get to know her better.

“How long are you staying in LA?” I asked. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” Lisa said with a sigh, her hand still on my thigh, caressing my jeans-covered leg.

“And where are you going?” “I will go to Paris and the girls back to Korea,” she said, obviously disappointed with that. “What’s in Paris?” “My boyfriend,” she looked away, sitting straight ahead. The expression on her face seemed angry and frustrated. I still didn’t know enough information to give any advice. “Can’t you just end it?” I asked and she shook her head. “It could be worse, you know. He’s not a bad guy, we’re just not great together,” she shrugged. “So you guys tried being in a real relationship?” “Yeah, for like a month. There was no vibe,” she looked at me with a sad smile. “It is complicated, I don’t really understand how this is beneficial for either of you if it’s not public. But yeah at least he’s not an asshole then.”

Once we got to the restaurant, thankfully there was no paparazzi so we could enter calmly. The place was mostly empty, with one or two tables occupied. I asked for a more private table just to be sure, not wanting any unnecessary attention. It wasn’t anything fancy, more like a diner but still demanding.

We both got our menus and after the waitress left Lisa looked at me. “I didn’t even ask last night if you were in a relationship,” she said and I chuckled. “Oh, I’m not. I’ve been single for a couple of months now.” “At least you're free to live,” she said with a sarcastic smile. I nodded and looked for any sadness in the sentence. “Thankfully I’ve never been in a relationship like that. I don’t think I could do it. You seem to be doing a great job, though,” I said and she shrugged. “I get stuff out of it too. His parents are involved with Celine and Louis Vuitton, so I have endless options of clothes. I go to Paris a lot and it’s a beautiful city. I don’t have to go public and pretend how in love we are. It’s easier than a public relationship,” she explained. “But you can’t even be in a public relationship, right? Isn’t that a big thing in K-POP? I always read about the insane rules you guys have.” “Yeah, it’s not really allowed. I don’t think it’s gonna change. Only if we get a new management,” said Lisa, and honestly, I don’t think I would be an artist under these conditions. They take everything just to keep a good image. “And will that happen? You guys could have an American label,” I suggested and she shook her head. “As a group, we're probably not gonna change. But all of us want to continue with our solos so I guess that’s our best option, to sign with someone else as solo artists and stay as a group with YG. It’s really complicated and messy. It’s hard to trust new management and labels.” “Would you consider signing to an American label as a soloist? Or do you want to stay in Korea?” “I want to have as much freedom as I can. I want to travel, be with who I want, and get tattoos without having to hide them and drink in public, and in Korea, they have a say in everything you do. An American label is the best choice obviously, but then I’ll have to go between the US and Korea all the time.” “I’m sure you’ll work something out. You’re the most well-known K-pop artist, every label would want you,” I said and she shyly smiled. “I’m not sure about that.” “Oh, believe me, they do. You have two solo songs out and they are performing crazy numbers, plus you’re a very loved person with an existing fan base. Even if you’re not something they are interested in, artist vise, it’s a great business deal.” “I don’t think I would do something for only business again,” said Lisa, and I quickly looked up from my menu. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like“ Her hand was quick to find mine on the table, gently placing hers on mine. “I know, it’s okay. Thank you for trying to help, though,” she said kindly.

We ordered shortly after and we got to know each other better.

“I saw a picture of you wearing the Nepobaby shirt, it was pretty funny,” Lisa mentioned and I laughed a little knowing how interesting that was in the media. “Yeah, I like to play with these things. I don’t care if they criticize me or my work, but I still see it. Without my parents, it would have been much harder to get where I am but I still have done it,” I explained. “Do people always ask about your parents? Like in interviews and stuff,” asked Lisa then sipped her drink. “Not as much anymore. When Dad and his ex-wife had this whole trial, I didn’t do interviews because of that and even after it was done, I made sure I was not asked about it. It’s not my business to talk about it.”

Our food arrived soon and the conversation didn’t die down one bit. I was so eager to know more about Lisa, her life, her friends and family, her cats and dog, everything. She was so interesting and fresh from the people around me. She had a whole different experience than I did. She works with different personalities and I wanted to know everything she wanted to share.

People in Los Angeles tend to be very egotistical and they think they are better than anyone. Lisa is the total opposite. She is one of the most humble people I’ve ever met. Yes, she’s aware of how good she looks and that she’s talented, but her personality is not built on that. She is kind and views you as equal.

Also, Lisa’s very funny. Very quick with her comebacks and they are really great. She gets a joke, she doesn’t find it offensive and most people get upset with sarcastic jokes.

And her smile. Oh gosh, that smile is everything. When she smiles so widely that her eyes close and her cheeks grow, it’s the sweetest.

While we were eating, Jisoo called her and obviously, they were speaking Korean. Even though I didn’t understand a word, it was extremely hot how she jumped from English to Korean and how her tone changed to a higher level.

When it came time to pay, I insisted on paying, not even letting her take her wallet out. We called a cab and around midnight we were already in the car.

“Thanks for this, it was really fun. I haven’t been out like this in a while,” Lisa said and I smiled. “I loved it too. It was a nice change of pace,” I spoke and at that moment we pulled up to Lisa’s hotel.

“Have a safe flight tomorrow,” I said and Lisa smiled. “You too, have fun on your,” she leaned in to kiss my cheek. “Back at you. Hopefully, I’ll see you guys play live soon.” “I hope so.” I reached for her face and gently cupped her cheek before pulling her into a long kiss. Who knows when we will see each other again? Lisa kept her balance by putting her hand on my knee before we pulled back and with a smile she opened the door. “I’ll talk to you later,” she said before she closed the door and walked inside the hotel.

[jaggedwolf]

Ace Attorney ficlets

uh spoilers for AA4, AA5 and AAI2 I guess, in that order

Awakening

The last person Mia expects to see walk into her hospital room is Phoenix Wright.

The doctor explained to her the circumstances of her injury and subsequent coma. He'd done it with the kind of patient benevolence that would have infuriated Mia, if it weren't for the aching of her body and the wall calendar saying 2022.

She expected Maya, maybe. They said they'd call her, when Mia's first words upon awakening were just her sister's name repeated, but Maya must be the Kurain Master by now, busy and far away. She hadn't expected to see the boy she'd defended, the man whose career she'd only so briefly touched.

Phoenix stares at her. There's a stupid-looking blue beanie in his hands. "Hey, Chief."

"They don't care about you"

The beauty of dressing as brilliantly and as boldly as Klavier does, is that it is child's play to navigate even Los Angeles without drawing attention. The people expect the purple jacket, the Gavinner necklace, the styled blond hair. 

He has given it to them recently enough. Last week, even. He roared into the concert venue's parking lot on his favorite blood-red motorcycle, to thunderous cheering and eye-watering camera flashes. Dozens of autographs granted. A few soundbites. He played the — what was it the Fraulein Detective called him — ja, yes, the glimmerous fop to a tee, a loose smile as he ignored the few questions about the Misham trial. Most of the media understood the deal. If they accepted that Klavier the lawyer would not answer their questions, they would get as much of Klavier the performer as they wanted. 

Not as much that night. He was there to lend publicity, not steal it. The Gavinner's opener from that last peformance with Lamiroir had had their own tour derailed from the murder case. Attending their concert was the least Klavier could do. Not a hardship, to be surrounded by music and people who paid no attention to murder trials, even ones as big as Kristoph’s. 

Today, Klavier dons a disguise. A baggy blue windbreaker that hides his excellent figure, his necklace, chain and rings absent, topped off with an inspired final touch, if he says so himself. A plain black beanie, all of his hair stuffed and twisted within it. He even abandons the motorcycle.

His ride is a beat-up car, picked up from an out-of-the way garage. He drives for an hour or so, strip mall after strip mall and yellowed hill after yellowed hill passing him by on the highway, the telephone wires and billboards blending together. His head grows warm. The car is too quiet. 

He opens a window. Leaves the radio untouched. The beanie stays on. 

The prison’s parking lot is mostly empty, and when he passes his ID to the guard, the woman barely blinks. All part of the routine.

Not part of the routine is the guard returning within five minutes to say that Kristoph will see him. Klavier stumbles out of his plastic seat so fast that he almost trips. Kristoph never sees him. Klavier has made the drive every week since his return to LA. He’s been turned away every time.

Perhaps Kristoph’s final collapse in court has brought about a change of heart. Unlikely. Yet an opening is an opening, and is meant to be pursued.

Solitary Cell 13 is as plush as it appeared in Wright’s video. Plusher, possibly. Kristoph sits in the floral pink armchair with crossed arms. As Klavier steps closer to the cell bars, a small smile grows on Kristoph’s face.

“Come to boast of your victory?” Kristoph looks as put together as ever. “You always were a sore winner, Klavier. It doesn’t suit you.”

“I wouldn’t call it my victory.” Klavier points out the inaccuracy before Kristoph can. “I lost the Misham trial. I didn’t prosecute your case.” He watched from the gallery as Prosecutor Debeste brought the trial to its final conclusion. 

“It’s good to know the limits of your abilities,” says Kristoph. The corner of his eye twitches. “I would invite you in, but I am no longer trusted with that privilege.”

“I prefer the view out here,” says Klavier. The hallway light flickers above him, a crackling that catches his ears’ attention and will not let go of it.

“Weren’t you listening? You don't get to choose,” snaps Kristoph. His gaze narrows. “Why are you here?”

For the first time, Klavier understands his brother. As neat as his hair is and as pressed as his suit is today, Kristoph will always appear to him as he did at the end of the Misham trial. A pathetic, cruel man, with no allies and no escape. 

The purpose of Kristoph’s question then, is plain to any lawyer who’s been in court. A trap. 

Klavier walks into it. “You’re my brother.”

Satisfaction sparks in Kristoph’s eyes, and Klavier is brought back to a distant memory, of his mother cooing over the similarity of the brothers’ eyes, over a teenage Kristoph’s disgruntled objection that their eyes were different colors. 

Kristoph tilts his head. “Does that mean something to you now?”

“It has always meant something to me,” answers Klavier. More honesty. More fodder for his brother.

“I find that hard to believe,” says Kristoph, an edge creeping into his voice, “given the way you offered me up to the slaughter.” He laughs.

Klavier loathes that laugh. In a few months, he will never hear that laugh again. Sooner, if Kristoph decides so. 

“And your attire,” continues Kristoph, “is even more ridiculous than usual. Are you taking tips from Wright?” 

Kristoph glares at Klavier’s beanie with more passion than Klavier himself has felt for any article of clothing. It hadn’t been intentional, but as with music, who is to say where one’s influences came from? 

“Perhaps,” says Klavier. 

“Wright.” Kristoph spits the name. “Don’t be naive. They don’t care about you.”

“What?” 

“Phoenix Wright. Apollo Justice. Trucy Wright. That detective.” The growl in Kristoph’s throat grows with every sentence, and Klavier finds himself distantly grateful that Skye's name has escaped Kristoph’s notice. “None of them care for you. You were nothing more than a tool for a trial already planned.”

“Oh,” says Klavier. He shrugs. “I’m aware.”

“You—what?” Kristoph rears back as if he were slapped.

“Do you think it was sentiment that moved me?” Klavier steps closer. “A worthy adversary in court. A teenage fan. A man I got disbarred. A capable if distracted subordinate. Did you think I cared more for them than you? I thought you were cleverer than that, ja?”

Kristoph’s mouth moves, but no sound emerges.

Klavier has a dazzling smile, one that breaks the hearts of men and women around the world, one that can make the peak of a guitar solo even higher, one that photographs beautifully. He flashes it. “At the end of the day, Kristoph, all of us are tools. Of each other, of the system, of the truth. The past year has taught me that much.”

“Caring about me,” says Klavier, “is not something I expect of them. Or ever will, I think.” 

“It’s time for you to go,” says Kristoph, a venomous look in his eyes. Of all the points in their conversation to upset him so, Klavier had not anticipated this one. Kristoph raises his voice. “Guard!”

“I will be back next week,” says Klavier, though his brother must already know that. “Do you have any food requests? I assume the guards will permit it, given your cell.”

“I can get anything I want here.” Kristoph’s expression grows more spiteful. “Your assistance is unnecessary.”

“You have always been good at going after what you wanted.” Klavier laughs. He raises his hand to run it through his hair, only to run into his beanie. He skims his fingertips against the top edge of the brim, well-aware that Kristoph has cataloged the mistake. 

The guard arrives to escort him out. As he turns to leave, Klavier adds, “I learned that from watching you.”

For your own good

"Athena, have you found Aura's-"

"No," says Athena, her voice distant.

The headphones are so light. That's Athena's first thought, when she picks them up from the mess of a desk drawer. Her second is that her hands are so big around each of them. Had her head really been that small?

"What?" says Simon's voice. "Oh."

When Athena looks up, she thinks: You're standing too far away.

He's back by the lab window, his hands behind his back as a look of surprise crosses his face. They're used to each other in court, she swears, a flurry of "Objection!"s and "Silence!"s, a case and the truth on the line. Here in this lab that belongs to neither of them but is undeniably theirs, Athena is reminded of all those times Simon casually patted her head as he walked by, or the few occasions she'd dared to tug on his sleeve to ask him something.

She makes a face. It'd be weird for any of that to happen now. She doesn't want it to. But she does want to be friends with Simon. She stomps over to him so he can actually see the stupid headphones.

Simon frowns. "I thought I cleaned it off and left it with you."

"Mom always kept extras in the lab." Athena shrugs. "In case I forgot them upstairs." Her eyes dart to the photo of her mother on Aura's desk. "I'm surprised she didn't throw them all away."

Simon opens his mouth, and then shuts it, apparently thinking better of what he was about to say. Athena spins one of the headphones around her index finger, letting it go round after round before catching it in her palm.

It's funny. As a kid, Athena liked Aura more than Simon. Simon was new and talked way too loudly and spent so much time with her mom using words she didn't understand. Her mom left conversations with him using even more of those words. Athena didn't enjoy one of the few voices she could stand being taken from her that way.

Aura liked and knew how to explain her robots to anyone, even Athena and often Junie. And sure, sometimes Aura got into moods where she'd spend hours on her robots, with Mom saying she didn't want to be disturbed, but Athena understood that. She hid from people so often herself. It wasn't like now, every person an opportunity for discovery, a potential puzzle to be probed and resolved. Back then, people's voices bled straight into her heart with no interpretation to mediate, a flood of warring emotions, false faces, lies to themselves. Retreating to the lab to scrawl out a drawing felt so much better. Mom and Aura had never minded.

Athena wanders over to where they've organized all the other stuff they've found. "We can toss these into the throw pile."

She's halfway through digging through the rest of the mess in drawer when-

"The headphones were to help you," says Simon suddenly, from his own messy corner.

"I know," snaps back Widget, before Athena can. She doesn't hate them. She's just not that little kid who needs them anymore.

When she looks at Simon, there's a tension around his eyes, as if he needs Athena to understand this. As if he hadn't already said this in court. As if it's important he says it outside of court too.

Maybe it is, Athena thinks, remembering all those hours that his sister and her mother spent working together here, spinning up ideas that had nothing to do with space travel. She shifts the headphones to a different pile, the one for unfinished projects that other engineers might pick up. "Maybe they can help someone else."

Simon opens his mouth. Pauses. This time he charges ahead, saying, "She wanted you to see the world, you know." His words are slow. He's reluctant to betray her mother's confidence, all these years later. "She hoped that your ability could be a gift to you, not a curse. That you wouldn't have to spend years trapped here. Or anywhere."

Every word is wrapped in a thin layer of fear.

Athena wants to scream. She wants to yell at him again for what he did, to ask him if her mother's words were why he did it, if it was worth what has become of his sister.

Instead, she grins, holding out her hand in a peace sign. "I've been to so many countries, Prosecutor Blackquill. Way more than you!" She takes a step back towards the desk, and then turns back to point at him. "What was the most annoying thing about my mom as a mentor?"

"What?" Simon looks grievously offended. It makes him look years younger. "Your mother was an excellent mentor."

"There had to be something you didn't like. Anything. You have to tell me, you know."

He squints. "I'll....think on it. I doubt there is anything."

"Think harder! Come up with something before I'm done with this drawer." Athena dives back in.

Beauty

It's unusual of him, Miles knew, to have disclosed his history with Wright to Kay. There were too many possible causes to fault. That Kay was an adult, for long enough that she'd stopped reminding him of that fact. That they were thousands of miles away from Los Angeles - her on a grand tour of Europe for purposes he'd prefer not to hear about, him studying yet another law system in yet another country. That halfway through pouring small glasses of scotch from the bottle kept in his desk, he realized it was Von Karma's favorite kind.

That Wright's latest email revealed little and accepted even less.

Kay leaned back against his desk next to him. She gestured with her glass, the liquid sloshing dangerously within it. Kay spoke before Miles could encourage some restraint. "Mr. Edgeworth! That's so beautiful, your friend would make a very good thief. Not as good as me, of course."

"I-" Miles sputtered. He reached up to place his own empty glass on the desk behind him. "A thief? How does that make any sense?"

Kay gulped down more scotch. When she grimaced at the taste and tried to hide it, Miles couldn't help but think of the first time Franziska had drank with him and Von Karma. He'd never seen Franziska drink whiskey since Von Karma's arrest, only the occasional pilsner.

(He tried to remember if his father had drank.

Miles could ask Mr. Shields.

Miles wouldn't.)

The comparison with Franziska was dismissed from his mind when Kay passionately clenched her fist to her chest, her eyes softening.

"Von Karma stole you," explained Kay with unwarranted confidence - perhaps he shouldn't have poured her that second glass - and she turned towards him, "and Mr. Wright stole you back!"

"It's not theft when it's a person..."

It seemed there would be no end to the thief metaphors. Or the Jammin' Ninja metaphors, for Kay then deemed it necessary to compare their past to some absurd plotline from that inferior show, casting Wright as the Ninja and Miles as Princess Misola. Ridiculous. Wright had no knack for music.

Furthermore, there was a Steel Samurai storyline from three years ago that fit the situation far better.

The conversation drifted to which European countries they've both been to and which they haven't, Miles grateful that Kay either forgot to or declined to ask what happened with Wright next. He had no intention of spreading the news of the man's disbarment. A disbarment he knows must be unwarranted.

Yet the few emails he'd sent to Wright had been met with nothing more than polite bemusement, casual acceptance of the end of a career and mentions of that new daughter.

If Wright needed him in the courtroom again, Miles would be on a plane tonight. If Wright was in the hospital again, Miles would be on a plane tonight. But Wright's emails were clear. Wright had no need of him, and so Miles had no right to interfere.

Stole you back, Kay had said. Thieves, as did most criminals, cared little for what their rights were.

Miles Edgeworth was no thief. He was a prosecutor, through and through.

I owe Wright too much, thought Miles, his chest warm from the alcohol, to be the one to steal him.

"It's broken"

“I spy an incongruity between our victim and these surroundings. The full autopsy report might offer an explanation, of course, but…Sebastian. What do you think explains it?”

Sebastian had heard the last question a lot ever since he started shadowing Mr. Edgeworth. Usually, it meant Mr. Edgeworth already knew the answer to his question, and wanted to see if Sebastian could figure it out on its own. Maybe he’d already solved the entire case in his head? No, Sebastian reminded himself, Mr. Edgeworth doesn’t like wasting time. If he had solved the case, he’d be storming into the coroner’s office by now.

His conducting baton flexed between his hands, Sebastian considered the question. The victim was a middle-aged man dressed in a fancy-looking tuxedo, the kind Pops hated wearing, but the body was lying in a shabby studio apartment that was smaller than the garage of Pops’ house. My house.

He shook off the thought. Mr. Edgeworth was still waiting for an answer, his arms crossed as he stared at Sebastian. Sebastian would’ve thought it a glare, but he’d learned over the past few months that Mr. Edgeworth’s face was just like that.

An answer came forth. The victim didn’t live here…which means someone moved the body here….maybe the killer? The killer lives here, and was interrupted. Yes, that must be it! Sebastian opened his mouth.

He closed it. He reminded himself that he couldn’t trust his first guess. His gaze traveled to the victim’s face, and then to the pictures stuck to the fridge, the bills on the table, and the shoes by the door. “He lived here. There are photographs of him on the fridge in that scarf that’s on the couch.”

“Hmm,” said Mr. Edgeworth.

Sebastian pressed on, “I-I don’t think the outfit is his. The shoes are too big. I think someone either lent him the clothes, or dressed him after he died. Maybe the second one, because there isn’t blood anywhere other than on his clothes.”

“We haven’t looked under the body yet,” pointed out Mr. Edgeworth, and Sebastian winced. Mr. Edgeworth continued, “However, in essence, I’ve arrived at the same conclusion.”

Sebastian straightened up, pleased. A loud CRACK! erupted between his hands, and sudden pain whipped across his chin. He staggered back. Two sticks dropped from his hand. Two? But—

He dropped to his knees, grabbing one of the pieces of his baton. It was the bottom half, a sharp edge across it that explained the throbbing of his chin. He’d bent it too hard. Stupid. He needed to find the other half. It’s from Pops, I can’t lose it. 

“Sebastian,” said Mr. Edgeworth, suddenly next to him and not across the room. When did that happen? Mr. Edgeworth’s hand hovered over his shoulder. “Sebastian, you’re bleeding.”

“It’s broken,” said Sebastian, tears welling up in his eyes. Mr. Edgeworth looked confused, and Sebastian realized how stupid he sounded. He stuck his hand under the couch, relieved when he felt the other half of his baton. He showed both pieces to Mr. Edgeworth, and tried to explain. “I don’t want to laminate—I mean, contaminate, the crime scene.”

Mr. Edgeworth’s gaze dropped down to the pieces in his hands. Sebastian didn’t like the way Mr. Edgeworth’s forehead tensed up, as if he were solving a crime scene. 

“A well-founded concern,” said Mr. Edgeworth. “To that end, Detective Gumshoe should be able to assist you with that injury. He is well-supplied with band-aids, given his own mishaps.”

Sebastian nodded, jumping to his feet. “I’ll be right back.”

He fiddled with the broken pieces of his baton in his pocket while waiting for the elevator. He’d only ever had the one baton. He didn’t even know it could break. Of course my idiot son found the one way to break it, says Pops’ voice. Maybe he could find out where Pops had gotten this one? Justine would help. More tears came.

No, retorted a part of Sebastian, that’s enough. He blinked hard. He—he didn’t need a stupid baton to prosecute. Especially not one from him. He needed to stop reacting to every little thing like this.

Pops had alternated between floods of tears and fires of rage, leaving Sebastian and everyone else in suspense as to which mood was next. Sebastian had meant what he’d told Mr. Edgeworth. He wasn’t going to be like his father. If he wanted to be like another prosecutor, he wanted to be like Mr. Edgeworth. He wanted to be even better than Mr. Edgeworth.

And Mr. Edgeworth didn’t cry.

Sebastian stepped into the elevator, and swallowed down his tears.

[feverinfeveroutfic]

Tijuana sunrise | kinktober 2024 | day xiv.: “lily munster ain’t got nothin’ on you”

pairing: chuck schuldiner x jeff becerra x matthew greywolf

prompt: prostitution

word count: 3193

song: “call it love” by yello

He stood on the corner of Haight and Ashbury wrapped in a knee-length jacket with a cigarette tucked behind his ear and a small bottle of Jäegermeister in one hand. He had gotten a lead from his pimp that he had a new client on hand come the stroke of midnight, and more so once the fog found its way into the Bay Area. For a moment, he swore that he was about to meet Jack the Ripper, complete with the razor-sharp knife straight down his throat, but not if he beckoned the devil herself out of the shadows first.

He was the one who had made the music that sounded of death, after all. If anything, Jack the Ripper should be afraid of him and his wide wandering eyes.

He was looking for a good time and a half, and he needed a bit of money to boot. He knew that if he could escape to Las Vegas to escape the fuzz, then he would do just that and then take the opportunity to roam about the streets. It was a life that he had never imagined that he would be a part of before, but it had drawn him in like the bait on the tongue of a Venus fly trap.

It wouldn’t be the first time that he had had a dance with the cops in the past. A boy had to make money somehow, and yet he had to be relegated to the average Joe job of wiping down the tables in a nearby diner. At least for a brief period of time before he had taken it up with his pimp that he was up for another job again.

The last job he had had was with a little Jewish boy with long lush black hair and bright deep eyes that seemed to stare into his soul. He was unassuming but he knew how to sting like a scorpion, and he left his ass completely raw.

And Jeff wondered as to how he was going to top that boy again with his first job in a long time.

His pimp, only known as Greywolf, was a German man who donned a face full of black and white makeup complete with long black hair down to his waist, and he meant business every single time. He demanded his money’s worth from Jeff, even if he had to work overtime on the rare occasion he had a job on the streets of San Francisco. As a result, Jeff never charged for cheap given he had to eat in a time like this.

He leaned back against the bricks and pried open the bottle of Jäegermeister for a sip of its contents. A soft breeze from the bay waters brushed his long smooth hair back over his shoulders and the side of his chest. He put on a black see-through mesh shirt and some low-slung denim jeans which clung onto his hipbones: a generous sliver of skin showed off to the world out from underneath his slightly long black leather jacket. He didn’t mind the cold of the bay, just so long as his new client took him to one of the bars up the block just to get them moving.

He was drinking down a bottle of Jäeger, but he knew what he was doing, however. Add to this, he wasn’t completely in the mood for having a smoke, either.

Whoever this client was, he wanted to be as clearheaded as possible and with good breath: that was one thing he recalled from the Jewish boy from before, that he smelled of spearmint and maybe a kiss of beer, too, especially as his client then had taken a warm shower and dressed nice for that evening as well.

Jeff took a glimpse at his wristwatch.

The boy was apparently taking his time, as Greywolf had said that he would be there once the fog filtered in for the evening, and the first wisps of fog were already beginning to filter into the area. The sky was painted rich dark royal blue, to which he spotted the first stars dotting the tapestry.

“Jeff?”

He lowered his gaze to the street off to his left to see a boy of middle height with a head full of dark curls wrapped in a baggy dark knit sweater and snug denim jeans. Under the lights of the street, he noticed the slight glow to the curls around his shoulders: Greywolf had given him another boy with curly hair and slim, beautiful legs.

“Hey,” Jeff greeted him, and he showed him a little smile.

“I’m Charles,” he introduced himself. “I go by Chuck. Greywolf sent me to you because you need some money.”

“Money, and I’m happy to make you happy, too,” Jeff assured him.

“I’ve been looking for happiness on so many levels,” he confessed. “I hope we can have a good moment together.”

“We can have a good moment and have some fun up the street here—” Jeff gestured up the block before them, to which Chuck craned his neck for a better look at the bars and bistros up there.

“It’s some damn good beer, I’ll tell you that,” Jeff assured him.

“Some good beer and maybe a big plate of nachos, too?” Chuck asked.

“If you’d like,” Jeff replied with a shrug of his shoulders.

The two of them began up the street to a dimly lit bar illuminated with wrought iron-clad lights suspended from thick cables and a big candelabra donned with round spheres. Everything in there was dark but intimate, perfect for Jeff’s game plan on Chuck for the evening.

The two of them bellied up to the heavy wooden bar itself, whereby they were met with a pitcher of beer and a pair of clean glasses courtesy of the bartender. Chuck did the honors of pouring them each a glass: a fine layer of foam topped the rich dark amber liquid, and they were met with that familiar smell of hops. Unfortunately for him, the bar didn’t offer a big plate of nachos, but the two of them could in fact indulge in those big pretzels: Jeff took one peppered in big light kernels of salt while Chuck helped himself to one covered in sugar and ground cinnamon.

Jeff took a whiff of the sweet pretzel with his eyes closed.

“That smells wonderful,” he remarked.

“Cinnamon is an aphrodisiac,” Chuck told him with a quick flash of his eyebrows. He took a little bite from atop of one of the loops, and he closed his eyes from the taste of the cinnamon on his tongue. Jeff raised his eyebrows at him, and he knew that the evening was going to get interesting. Interesting in a sense that he watched Chuck drink his beer and eat his pretzel.

One drink turned into three, and then Jeff was ready to lead him into his room in the neighborhood. But after a bottle of Jäegermeister and a couple of beers, and when they walked out to the street and the incoming fog, he could scarcely recall as to where they could go.

Greywolf had bought them a room, but Jeff could not remember where he had posted up the room, however.

“How much do I owe you?” Chuck asked him in a low enough voice to hear over the traffic.

“Well, let’s find the room first—I kind of want us to be in a bed before anything happens between us,” Jeff quipped, to which he stifled a belch in his throat. “Besides, my boss is very particular.”

“Well…” Chuck hiccuped, and he nearly lost his balance there. He caught himself on Jeff’s shoulder and gazed on at him for a good long minute before the latter spoke again.

“Well, what?”

“What do you think we should do?”

“Let’s just start walkin’ and hope we don’t run into any cops,” Jeff suggested, and with their feet forward, they began walking along the sidewalk towards the next corner.

“I think there’s a castle somewhere around here,” Jeff sputtered.

“A castle?” Chuck laughed.

“We’re in San Francisco. We’re not too far from the Winchester House, and there’s all manner of houses around here.” He linked his fingers around the back of Chuck’s hand, and he guided him along as he was the one of the two of them who had drank the most, and he had had an aphrodisiac in the cinnamon dusting of the pretzel. Once they reached the corner, Jeff remembered that they were heading in the wrong direction, and he doubled back toward the bar again.

“We’re not going downtown,” Jeff told him.

“Downtown, like the Petula Clark song,” Chuck laughed again, and he held back a little bit. Jeff however kept him moving along the sidewalk, past the front door, and back towards the place where they had met up with one another. But then Jeff peered to the left, and to the right, and he led Chuck across the street to the corner.

Even with some booze in his system, he gathered his bearings and brought him up the street before a police car rounded the corner right behind them.

“As far as they know, I’m your wife dragging you to some bullshit restaurant,” Jeff told him, much to Chuck’s amusement. He then spotted the hotel up ahead, and he led Chuck in through the door.

“By some stroke of genius, you did it!” Chuck giggled his head off as they all but stumbled into the front lobby. Luckily, there was no one in there, and they were able to go to the elevator on the other side of the room. Chuck’s knees all but buckled as Jeff pressed the button; he hooked his arm behind Chuck’s back and under his armpit to catch him.

“Phew… I can’t remember the last time I got this hammered,” he stammered in a fit of giddy laughter.

The doors slid open and Jeff guided him into the elevator carriage; he pressed the number four, and the doors squeaked shut in front of them. Chuck leaned back against the railing behind him, still caught up in a round of laughter, and that time, he clasped a hand to his face. Jeff looked back at him, slightly puzzled and yet somewhat amused by him.

“What’s so funny?”

“The fact we got lost in a straight line,” Chuck laughed, and Jeff couldn’t help but laugh himself. “We walked a straight line and we got bloody lost!”

Jeff bowed his head and burst into laughter, and right as the doors slid open once more. The two of them all but stumbled out of the elevator onto the carpeted hallway, and Chuck fell face first into the shag.

“Ohhh, that’s soft carpet…” he muttered. Jeff remembered that the room Greywolf had picked up for him was way down at the end, and thus, he figured he would unlock the door and then double back to fetch Chuck before someone else came up to the fourth floor. He hurried along the hallway, and he reached into the front pocket of his leather jacket: the edge of the room key caressed his fingers, and he took it out, and he unlocked the door. He pushed it open and took off his jacket and tossed it onto the bed, and then he left the door ajar with the latch. He returned to Chuck, who had not moved a muscle there on the carpet.

Gingerly, he scooped his arms under Chuck’s body and carried him back to the room.

“Ultimate whore move,” Jeff grunted out. “Carrying my clientele to the room…” He pushed the door open with one foot, and he nearly tossed Chuck onto the bed with his jacket. But he lay him down on the bed instead: thick dark corkscrews spread over Chuck’s face and neck, and he kept his eyes closed even though Jeff was about to prepare himself for the evening.

He closed the door and locked it all the way, and he hoped that no one saw them upon going into there.

At least the sheets were clean.

“Let’s do it, big fella,” Jeff coaxed him, and he took him by the hand and guided his arms out into a cross position. He glanced down at Chuck’s dazed face and the twinkle in his eye as he tied him down to the edges of the mattress.

Strands of Jeff’s hair dangled down towards his chest, to which he followed it up with a licking of his lips.

“Let’s go to Vegas,” he suggested. “You and me.”

“Why Vegas?” Chuck asked in a broken voice.

“Because we go to Vegas, I’ll be in the clear,” he replied. “And the wolves won’t come out for me. Or you, for that matter.”

He lightly kissed the side of his neck, to which he followed it up with a line of kisses to his collar.

“Gonna have to untie you for a brief second,” Jeff whispered to him, and he pushed back the strands of the fine rope on his wrists for a brief second. He reached to the hem of his sweater and peeled it up over his body; Jeff spread the bottom of his sweater over his face for a makeshift blindfold, and then he tied Chuck down onto the edges of the mattress once again.

Jeff ran the tips of his fingers down his bare exposed toned chest onto his soft stomach, and he wriggled his fingers upon his waist. Chuck groaned in his chest and rolled his head over the top of the bed.

“Would you like a blow or a fondle?” Jeff asked him.

“Both,” Chuck replied in a muffled voice.

“Ooh, one of you fellas… gladly!” Jeff rubbed his hands together and unbuttoned Chuck’s pants, but he never moved onto there right away. He instead pressed his lips to his chest, right over his nipple and then he followed the line all the way down onto the middle of his chest. Once he reached his stomach, Chuck treated him to gentle whimpers from the very back of his throat. Jeff thought of every gentle kiss as like a caress of flame upon his skin.

A caress of flame to nudge him further into the realm of the unknown.

Once Jeff reached the fine line of dark hair underneath his belly button, Chuck’s hips shifted over the top of the mattress. He was delicate there, and thus, Jeff knew that he was going to have to work a little bit harder to keep him pleased.

With one hand on his hip, he brought his lips down onto the patch of even more delicate skin under his belly button and over his crotch. With his free hand, he tugged down his pants even more: he found that Chuck was already beginning to firm up from the feeling.

Jeff licked his lips and brought his mouth down onto the head of his dick. He slithered his tongue around the side of his shaft towards the face of his body, and Chuck followed it up with a soft groan. Jeff swirled his tongue about, and then he suckled on him like he was suckling a lollipop.

Chuck groaned again, and more so when Jeff brought his teeth down into his taut skin. He paid no attention to the fact that Chuck was rolling his head over the top of the mattress from the feeling, at least until he lifted his head off his tip for a brief moment. Jeff licked his lips and returned his mouth to the tip again; all the while, he kept his hand pressed down on his lower belly to keep him steady.

“Oh god—” Chuck blurted out.

Jeff kept on at it until his throat muscles grew tired, and he shook his head about: a piece of hair cling onto his shoulder but that was the least of his issues. He lifted himself up into an upright position over Chuck’s body, and he began on the touches. The touch, the feel, the caresses, the swipe of Jeff’s fingers on his snug skin… Jeff fondled him as if he was modeling clay.

He was going to make him come hard whether or not he liked it. It was a devilish idea, but he thought about it regardless. He was going to see that bit of a pearl at the tip.

And it never came.

But Chuck’s hips were still bucking, and he still moaned and groaned from the feeling.

“Come on,” Jeff grumbled. “Come on, come on, come on… where is it.”

Chuck lifted his head and let out a sound that resembled to a tire on pavement. Jeff let go of him, and Chuck rolled his head over the top of the mattress, completely out of breath. The bottom hem of his shirt tugged off his face and rested against his neck so Jeff could see his face and his mouth standing completely agape.

“Wow,” he remarked in a hushed voice. “I never thought I’d come across a guy who couldn’t shoot a load.”

Chuck rolled his head back and cracked him a smile.

But there was no way that Jeff could break it to Greywolf when he saw him again, especially when he told Chuck about it the next morning over breakfast. This was the case in particular when Jeff craned his neck for a better look out to the street. Chuck turned around for a look out there to the tall muscular man with the long hair and the face full of black and white makeup. He was across the street, but Jeff could sense it from a mile away.

Chuck raised his eyebrows at that, and he peered over his over shoulder to ensure that no one else was eavesdropping on them. He then returned to Jeff with his shoulders hunched a bit.

“Is he your boss?” Chuck asked him in a hushed voice.

“He sure is,” Jeff answered with a sigh. “He’s gonna find out that we had quite the connection back upstairs and then he’s going to punish me.”

There was a brief pause as Greywolf scrounged the sidewalk out there like a werewolf in search of fresh blood and meat.

“We should punish him back.”

“What?” Jeff knitted his eyebrows at that.

“We should punish him before he gets you!”

“And just how exactly are we going to do that?” Jeff demanded.

Chuck swallowed and bowed his head. He clutched onto Jeff’s hands, whereby his palms felt as cold as ice. Jeff closed his eyes and nibbled on his bottom lip.

“Chuck? What do you think we should do about that?”

“Vegas,” Chuck replied, and Jeff raised his eyebrows at that.

“You want to go to Vegas?” he asked him in a low voice. “With me?”

And Chuck nodded his head, and he once again had that twinkle in his eye. Jeff extended a hand to him for a good shake, and he laughed to himself when he had a feeling that the night before wouldn’t be the last time he gave him a firm handshake.

[copiousloverofcopia]

Cough. Not even mad at all about Dad-bod Terzo, but yes. Terzo worshipping his Prime Mover's belly 🙃

Sorry for the wait Ghestie.

Your fav Prime Mover is exhausted with tending to the kiddos, the sick, and Papa lol

Here is a short little snippet I hope helps to satisfy...

Scorching

Also available here on AO3!

Definitely NSFW below the cut!

It's hot, so so very hot. Unusual for this time of year, but you’re sure some of it has to do with your hormones. You sit fanning yourself with one of the prayer books you kept in your bedside table, topless on the bed within the Papal suite. The balcony doors perched wide open, allowing a cool breeze to kiss your skin. One that would send anyone else running for a jacket. For you, however, it only served to make your feverish flashes more bearable.

You were gravid, in your last trimester of pregnancy and vehemently counting down the days until your body was once again your own. You were more than a bit self conscious. Your body, having changed in so many ways as the child inside you continued to grow. Carrying the Emeritus heir, son of the Third, was not an easy task and your stretch marks a testament to your laborious journey.    

You were honestly so uncomfortable at times that you preferred to hide. Your newfound wardrobe, filled with oversized sweatshirts, baggy pants, and pajamas. If Satan forbid, you had to wear your clingy habit, it was only for a short time and only for required occasions. The second you were within the safe walls of the suite, you buried yourself back in the comforting layers of fabric you had come to consider your sanctuary.  

The only way you felt sexy was to try and ignore it, but that was only getting harder. Today the heat had been too much and so you no longer cared who saw you in your plump state. You tried to relax and cool off but the sound of the front door opening, quickly sent you into panic. Jolting yourself up a bit as Terzo appeared in the doorway to your bedroom, stacks of papers held within his hands. 

“Amore, its freezing in here are you co—” Terzo began, catching you laid out bare, with the exception of your underwear, before him. The papers spilled from his hands, floating down around him on the floor as he stared intently. 

“Terz, what's wrong?” You asked, attempting to pull yourself up to help him, but not before Terzo held his hand up to stop you. 

“Do not get up cara mia, it's just some things the Cardinal wanted me to look over before his transition…you’re topless?” he asked you, barely able to form the words in his mouth as he gathered up the papers and set them on the dresser. His eyes, never leaving you as he haphazardly bumped into the corner of the bed. Both of you giggling a bit as he approached you. He licked his lips, drinking in the sight of your body. A sight that almost instantly had his pants tightening and his breath halted. 

“I was hot.” you explained, trying to pull the sheet over yourself. 

“Hot?” he asked, confused when he could feel the bitter chill spilling in from outside. 

“Yes, scorching.” You said, watching his eyes begin to show the hunger bubbling up inside him. 

“I will make you hot.” he teased, crawling on the bed. His lips came to graze against yours a moment. A longing kiss—meant to incite you into more lascivious pursuits. You tried pulling the sheet over once more, attempting to hide your body, but Terzo was having none of it. “What do you think you are doing?”

“I just don’t care for how my body looks right now is all.” you said, a blush appearing on your cheeks as Terzo’s hands began to gently caress your thigh. 

“This body amore?” he said, kissing along your jawline and nestling himself with the curve of your neck. He breathed in your scent, inhaling fully as if you were his only air.  

“Yes, everything is stretched to the max. Especially my belly, I look like an overinflated balloon.” you laughed, a bit of your discomfort however noted in your voice. 

“Non posso credere che tu dica queste cose. This body is the most beautiful it has ever been, especially the—” Terzo cut himself off bringing his lips to your swollen belly. His fingers slid over it as his eyes came back to meet with yours. 

“Terz–” you began, feeling the heat inside you beginning to collect in the precipice of your thighs. 

“You are beautiful, amore. Beautifully pregnant with my child. This…” he vowed, placing his hand on your belly. “...your belly is full of life. How magnificent you are, mia dea oscura, with our son growing strong inside you.” Terzo said, his lips kissing your stomach and his hands wandering to places you were unable to see over your ample bump.

“Even the stretch marks are sexy?” You giggled and gasped, feeling his fingers slipping past your panties.

“Even them, they are a sign of beauty.” Terzo purred, kissing you along them before lifting back up on his knees, fingers teasing your entrance. 

“Ah…” you sighed, head falling back into the pillow beneath you. Terzo grabbed your hand with his free one, placing it on the swell of his cock. The bulge throbbing beneath your palm as he continued.

“You feel that amore, you are so incredibly sexy.” Terzo moaned, feeling your slick gathering up on his fingers. 

“Mmm…” you hummed, as he entered into the most heated part of you, slipping easily through your folds and deep inside. His fingers worked you over to a frenzy and before you’d even exhaled your last breath you were on the cusp of cumming. 

“You are so beautiful when you are like this, round and beaming. Proof of just how much I love you. I need to be inside you.” Terzo begged as he curled up his fingers. Applying just the right pressure to where he knew you were most sensitive. Working them inside you as he worshiped your body. 

“Ah! Fuck Terzo I’m gonna cum.” you mewled no longer worried about how you may look. Your Papa loved you this way and that was all that mattered. You and your body belonged to him, just as he did to you. Nothing else mattered as your orgasm came tearing through you, leaving you weak and teary-eyed. Your body trembling as Terzo gently pulled from you his hand. 

Terzo freed his leaky cock from his pants, his eyes still crawling over you as he used your slick to stoke himself. “You are breathtaking amore, every last inch of you and that voluptuous body—Satanas made just you for me. Seeing you this way makes me feral. How can I prove to you just how much?” You smiled, looking up at him. Your legs relaxed open and your mind still foggy from your last orgasm. 

He wanted you, all of you. This way, and in every way and you'd be happy to oblige him. You wrapped your legs around him, Terzo taking it upon himself to line up with your entrance. You took in a deep breath before you answered, “...show me.”

Notes:

Non posso credere che tu dica queste cose- I cannot believe you say such things. 

mia dea oscura- my dark goddess

[aerixwri]

Main Character: Kathleen Razon

I have the ultimate love-hate relationships when it comes to building characters. Because on one hand, anything is possible with them and on the other hand just because anything is possible doesn't mean that ANYTHING is possible. Their backstories have to make sense and their actions need to make sense with their personalities. Things. Need. To. Make. Sense. These kinds of things play in HEAVILY when you're molding the main character of a story. For the main star of the show, we have Kathleen Razon. My absolute baby who's going to go through absolute hell. (all photo credits go to pinterest <33)

============================================== Misbelief: The truth isn't worth sharing, but it's worth knowing for yourself ============================================== BASICS - Firstly we have all the basic information that we have for my main character. Her name, appearance, and everything that's meant to be taken at face value. Character's Name: Kathleen Ive L. Razon (yes I am a sucker for full named characters) Role in Story: Detective Stereotype: Burnt-Out Gifted Kid Age: 16 Physical Description: - Medium length layered hair that's in its awkward phase - Prominent jawline - Taller than the average teenage girl - Small tired eyes with DEEP bags - Morena (rich almond tan) Kathleen is the average disheveled teen and as an intense academic achiever she doesn't care particularly about her appearance and her morning/skin-care routine stops at basic hygiene. MBTI Personality Type: INTP-T ============================================== EXTERNAL - In the easiest of words, if you're a sucker for character customization THIS is the fun stuff. The anything is possible stuff. Typical Outfit: - white t-shirts, buttoned up blouses, or polo shirts - neckties - faux leather jacket that is way too warm for the weather - baggy jeans - thrifted boots What is her favorite book, movie, or band? Book: works by Agatha Christie, Crime and Punishment Movie: Horror, Thriller, and Slasher Films, Scream Band: Arctic Monkeys, and other indie bands What nickname/names have they been called throughout the years? - Kat-Kat - Kit - Kathleen What is her method of manipulation? - Silent Treatment - Self Abasement Their go-to cure for a bad day? - Writing (ranting on paper) - Reading ==============================================

So far this is it for Kathleen.

I'm no expert in making characters, I just happen to watch youtube videos a lot and drool over character profiles and the ideas just materialize and I end up trying to tie stuff together with red string. Most of the fairly important stuff about her character (fears, values, and beliefs) are in my physical notebooks that I am too lazy to type out right now. I might put it on here sometimes in the future because I have a habit of forgetting which notebook has what information. So look out for that stuff.

[my-own-walker]

Someone You've Never Seen Before

A Kyle Spencer Fan Fiction

frat!kyle AU, fem!main character, sexual themes, mature language, use of drugs and alcohol, frat boy antics

1.

There's a beautiful simplicity in the way college students choose their seating arrangement in large lecture halls. No assigned seats. Just vibes. On the first day of class, everyone shuffles in, bleary-eyed and foreboding. The semester is fresh. There's potential. There's dread. There's an uncertainty. How will this class be? Will I find it easy? How's the professor? Is there anyone I know here?

They find a seat in an empty hall that looks appealing to them. A seat they will sit in for the rest of the semester. They go from the freedom of winter or summer break back to the confines of grades and assignments.

Some prefer the back row, some prefer the seat closest to the exit, and others prefer to stay hidden, being just another head among the sea of students. I, personally, always found myself in the middle somewhere. I could hide easier. Never the back row, though. My eyesight was too poor for that.

Calculus is easy for some. For me, an English major, not so much. I knew I would struggle horrendously in class when I sat down in the fifth row on the first day. My mind was not oriented in the realm of math. I knew dozens of papers and other writing assignments would be due in my other classes. Looking over the syllabus, it was clear that I wouldn't be able to wrap my head around derivatives and complex analysis. 

I sighed internally and opened my notebook, preparing for the worst. It was the fall semester of my third year at Tulane, and it snuck up on me, truly. 

The school wasn't large. Class sizes weren't huge, so it was hard to hide, but I sure as hell tried. I thought I did a pretty good job of being unknown. I was born and raised in a small town near Salem, Massachusetts. I grew up in the kind of neighborhood you'd see in movies. Victorian-style houses painted with bright colors, trees lining the streets that would turn shades of orange in the fall. We'd get some pretty cold weather and tons of snow in the winter. I basically existed in only Doc Martens, oversized corduroy jackets, sweaters, and baggy jeans.

That upbringing put me in a weird position in New Orleans. I liked to think of my town and Nola as sister cities. They had the old-world charm of small main streets lined with shops and the kind of architecture that made you think you'd stepped back in time. I was a pretty smart kid, so Tulane was enticing due to its low acceptance rate and similarity to my hometown. I got in with my high SAT scores and GPA. My scholarship essentially gave me a full ride. It seemed like the perfect place for me. I didn't anticipate just how out of place I'd feel.

For one, the weather never dipped below 50 degrees, even in the winter. It was more humid there, as well. I suffered a fashion crisis, knowing I couldn't rely on large jackets for comfort. I moved as far away as I did to get out of the small-town rut. Everyone I knew went to UMass or Boston. Tulane was a new start. As time passed, though, Tulane became just another small town to me.

Everyone knew everyone. No one was above petty drama, not even me. News about social matters got around quickly. There was no class I joined that I didn't know a single person in. As much as I wanted to disappear, I easily got swept up into things. For example, I wasn't one to engage in the school's Greek activities. But even then I still went to their parties to get drunk, which meant I rubbed shoulders with almost every frat bro and sorority girl on campus. I would always be home by midnight, though.

Greek life was the lifeblood of Tulane; the thing that kept the social scene going. Everyone was involved. Everyone. I refused out of defiance, but even my closest friend and roommate, Lily, was in a sorority. I wasn't particularly interested in paying to have friends, but hey, whatever floats your boat.

Lily and I met freshman year. I put in an application for a random roommate pairing; an unintended consequence of me knowing no one at Tulane. I got extremely lucky, though. The housing department paired me with Lily Davies, an education major with dreams of one day teaching kindergarteners. She had pin straight blonde hair, piercing green eyes, and a bright smile. Despite how innocent she sounded, Lily was the sickest son of a bitch I'd ever met, and I loved it.

She was a crop-top-and-leggings-wearing-bastard with the sickest sense of humor. She was wild and witty with a sunny disposition. She blurred the lines of the dichotomy between popular and weird. Lily was a Louisiana-native, born and raised in Lafayette. Tulane was also her way of getting away from people from her high school (who had mostly gone to U of Louisiana Lafayette). 

Our friendship was the only reason I survived at school. Lily would force me to leave the dorm and socialize. There was a standing, open-invite to any of her sorority events for me. I rarely ever went, but it was nice to not be alone all the time. 

After freshman year, Lily and I moved into an off-campus, two-bedroom apartment. Both of us had no problem footing the bill, as my scholarship and her in-state status made school itself cheap for us. She had the opportunity to move into the Pi Phi house, but she declined out of respect for me, knowing I'd have to find another random roommate again. There was a small chance that it would work out as well as it did the first time. I felt bad being the thing stopping Lily from branching out, but she swore she didn't mind, and that she'd "rather live with The One And Only Hannah Martin."

She balanced me. She was the pop-music to my indie-records. The Nike to my Converse. The silver to my gold. You get it. 

Two years of school went by in a flash. By sticking my head in the books, only emerging for occasional social time, I managed to forget to "cherish my youth," as old people would say. Another thing that snuck up on me was my math requirement. I needed one math class to graduate. Most English majors try to get it done in their freshman year to get it out of the way. I, instead, prolonged my dread until I couldn't any longer. 

As I surfaced out of my sea of thoughts, I noticed the lecture hall had filled up quite decently. I took stock of who was in the class, rolling my eyes inwardly at some. Archie Brener. What a loser. The professor stood at the front of the room, shuffling through his papers, just two minutes until he was due to start the lecture.

The number of people filing in had dwindled significantly, and the seat next to me was still not occupied. I celebrated internally, happy that I would get more legroom and a chair to throw my bag onto. My elation was short-lived, though, as the hall's door swung open with a crash, and a blonde-haired boy rushed in to grab the first open seat he could see. I whipped my head around to see what the noise was about as Kyle Spencer rounded the chairs and rushed down the stairs, eyes scanning the crowd. Despite his rush, he made a point to fist-bump Archie as he passed him. Of course, he chose to sit in the seat next to mine. 

He sat with a huff and hurriedly unzipped his backpack, pulling out an already-crumpled notebook. I tried not to stare, but the last time I had seen him, he was streaking through the Kappa Lambda Gamma house. I averted my gaze when his naked form ran past me, but I had already seen too much of him and his "brothers."

"I nearly didn't make it," Kyle panted next to me, clearly catching his breath from running here. "I read it wrong. Thought this class was in another building." I looked over to see who he was talking to. It quickly dawned on me that he was talking to me. 

"Oh, uh, haha," I replied awkwardly. He leaned forward in his seat again, returning to fumbling through his bag. I returned my gaze to my notebook and began to idly draw some flowers in the corner of the blank page before me. I felt someone tap my shoulder, though.

"Sorry," Kyle whispered, "but do you have a pencil? I can't believe I forgot mine." He laughed shyly to punctuate the end of his question. I nodded and reached into my own bag, producing a brand new no. 2 pencil for him to use and abuse. 

"You can keep it," I murmured. It was about to be a long semester.

Next Part

[1800duckhotline]

temerice stature, motion, formal

oc asks: character design edition

TEMMY TIME!! THANK YOU ANON ILY I love thinking about her so much

stature: What’s your OC’s body type? How tall are they? Do they wear clothing to accentuate their look or do they try to mask it?

Temmy's body type is pretty lanky but not overtly so! I will have to research on this properly whenever I get the chance, but before her embrace she used to have estrogen tablets in smaller doses since her hormone transition was more or less in its beginning stages, and as such she hadn't yet put on more fat on her bones and the fat distribution shift is now stuck in a sort of mid-stage. She is an average height, standing at about 165 cm / 5'4" tall.

Being a computer geek and spending most of her free time fiddling with codes at home and rarely going out, her physique is not super exercised, which is something she used to struggle with a lot in her life as a human. She felt very inadequate, especially since she felt a lot of pressure on how she "had" to present to the world - which meant baggy and covering clothes were her go-to. Now, as a fledgling, she doesn't go out of her way to accentuate her body type necessarily but she cares less about what people think of her appearance.

I definitely want to expand more on how she transitioned from human to vampire psychologically, and how her embrace positively affected her relation to gender as well, but more or less one thing she realized is that she was so entrenched in her insecurity (not by fault of her own, tbh) that she had no idea how more people love lanky alt nerds than she thought! Especially girls!

That said if she could she would continue HRT, but I guess that is a limit based on how "faithful" I want to be to the VTM TTRPG lore. I could also just say fuck it and say she can still take it, hahah

motion: How does your OC move? How does their clothing help or hinder their range of motion? Are they flexible, coordinated, clumsy?

Temerice tends to wear baggy, loose clothes, kind of reminiscent of the skater boy and nu-metal mall goth style of the late 90s-early 2000s, so undoubtedly her range of movement is only limited by her physical skills. The heavy chains dragging her pants down might not help but that's just something you gotta sacrifice for the sake of a cool style.

She is a bit clumsy since physical activities were never her forte, though as Kindred her skills have obviously become better with experience, especially as she is specialized in melee fighting. For comparison she is not on Ranx's level of skill with weapons but she can swing a mean axe with no problem. Of course being a Gangrel only contributes to her advantage in fighting now, but she's very young and still learning the ropes of her disciplines.

formal: What’s your OC’s formal look? Do they like dressing up? Do they have different looks for different occasions?

Formality and Temerice have never really been compatible... She loves being comfy much more than looking "dressed up". She's worn her couple of suits for family events before she moved away on her own and transitioned socially, but even now that she feels comfortable as butch she doesn't really care for restricting clothes. The most formal it can get is her wearing a band tee and proper clean shoes and maybe a vest jacket, possibly with her hair up. Her in a suit? Nah... it's not gonna happen. For her it toes a bit too much in gender territories she doesn't want to get into again and feels like it just doesn't fit her.

[icarusdoesntdie]

Non-binary!Reader/JTK

But it didn't feel like you deserved this. Nothing of what you did warranted this. But there, still, in an unfamiliar room, illuminated by what little light creeped in from the hallway, a murderer crouched over the body of your fellow alumni. Your bully.  You'd never kill someone. Not unless they were going to kill you, you thought. Not unless it was deserved, not unless their body would disappear afterwards and not leave a single trace. As much as you might want to hurt someone, you never wanted to leave scars. Flesh, once dead, would not seal itself up and rise again to tell a story. It could not pull hair and raise its fist. It could not pull you aside and confess it's love (and yet never confess it's sins). It was dead. And it was dead.  And the killer turned his eyes to you. 

Explicitly Nonbinary Reader, Amab/Top Reader, Smut [clothed/dry humping], Violence and Lots of Conflicting Emotions Over Said Violence.

Not for the first time, your eyes met. But it'd been for a second, before, when he seemed to almost manifest behind your bully while the latter talked (something about im sorry, but i wanted to fuck you and that explains why i treated you like the problem, can i still hit?) In a swift, practiced motion, the intruder covered his mouth with one hand and slit the bully's throat with a short, jagged blade. Your bully wasn't a small guy, but the intruder held him tight and quiet until his head lolled back and he fell to the floor. The scene played like a movie, like something that was happening far away.

"Sorry for interrupting," the intruder spoke, his hands in the air. His voice was gruff, like he wasn't used to speaking. It made him seem older, but what remained of his features told you he could've been your age. The way he was dressed as well- a dark jacket over a stained gray hoodie, baggy black jeans and ratty sneakers. The whole look seemed oversized, which made him seem smaller. It was a crazy thought. The knife had been small, too, but that meant nothing. 

You finally had the sense to take a step back. 

"Really touching shit," he spoke, kicking aside the body. "So cute." 

His arms were down, but you felt no less threatened. His hands could be tied behind his back and pants around his ankles and you would still feel like an animal caught in a bear trap. His mouth was slit open, the flesh scarred over and over. Burn scars creeped up his neck, though you couldn't tell where they ended under his hoodie. His skin was palid, lighter in comparison to pitch black hair. It was almost white. 

"It wasn't," you finally said. That made him pause, and then laugh. 

"Yeah, you looked horrified even before I came out," the killer shrugged. "Must be nasty to have another dude confess, huh?" 

You blinked- it took you out of the moment. Part of you wanted to defend, to say it wasn't, that it was the person specifically and not the nature of the situation. It was truly a moment of insanity to consider arguing against the casual homophobia, instead of running away. 

"I'm not a dude," you said. At least it was worth it to defend yourself. 

"Huh? Whatever," the killer said. "You're dead anyways." 

He takes a step forward. Your back hits the door. You grab the door handle; You lock it. 

The killer blinks as it clicks. 

He'd snuck up on your bully from behind, and instinct told you the moment he turned your back, he'd kill you. Now, in his uncertainty, you found inspiration to strike first. You lunged, hitting him like a linebacker. It was jarring how sturdy he was, and he held his ground, merely stumbling back with a noise of surprise. So you ducked, grabbing him by the legs. You felt the sudden, sharp pain of a knife bite into your shoulder, but the adrenaline was rushing, and you pushed through. He toppled over with a grunt, ripping the blade out of your arm as he went. You groaned through gritted teeth, but moved faster than thought. You were above him, and he reared his arm back to strike again. You meant to catch his hand, but instead the blade pierced it. You screamed then, but still, you pinned it down. You gathered his other one and brought them together above his head, leaning forward to put your weight on them. His wrists were bony. Where does that strength come from? There, inches from his face, a name suddenly came to you. 

“You're Jeff,” you said. “Jeffrey Woods.”

And he still looked entirely unimpressed. 

It was hard to gauge his expression, but you were pretty sure it was unimpressed. 

“Surprised you knew that,” He said, tilting his head. “You a stalker or something?”

“No, shut up,” You said. The knowledge was just a remnant of your morbid curiosity. It had been a pretty clear case; a boy bullied and tortured, severely harmed and snapping. There was very little about him, before no hints to his psychology or suggestions of mental illness. He was bullied. Teachers said he was quiet and anxious, but angry. But To kill again, ritualistically, as rumours said Jeff did had to have signaled to deeply rooted issues. He couldn't have just been a regular guy who snapped. You had been quiet, anxious, and angry. So what was the difference? 

 It had been years. You didn’t keep track of that stuff anymore, though some of your girl-friends did. You bet they’d freak (and wasn't that a misguided thought?) If they heard you had Jeffery Woods like this. 

Not even a minute had passed. Your heart was still pounding, and your body had just started registering the pain. And though he was underneath you, he was the one who had you trapped. What moves could you make? Was he not impossibly strong? Your thoughts raced. There was a body next to you both, and the smell of blood was overturning your stomach. Panic threatened your hold on the situation, though part of you knew that was a desperate illusion. You tried to focus, so you focussed on Jeff. He smelled like shit. Like blood and rain. The wetness of his clothes soaked into yours, chilling you further. Oh, you thought, he must've come in to shelter from the storm outside. 

You would never kill someone. 

But your heart was racing, your blood rushing. There was pain, and there was Jeff, who adjusted underneath you and paused. His permanent grin twitched as his eyes traveled down your body, between you two, where you straddled his hips. Two bodies meet. 

He whistled, and your face warmed dangerously. 

“Seriously?” he laughed, disbelieving. Flabbergasted. 

It was the adrenaline. The rush. It wasn’t what he was thinking. It wasn’t a fucked up fantasy about winning and defeating and devouring. And yet you both could see it, and you were sure you both could feel it. It was mortifying. A reality check. Your arousal pressed against Jeff, the killer, as you pinned him down. 

And he ground up. 

You yelped, stupidly taking your hands off him and sitting back. The knife slid out of your hand, sending new shocks of pain up your arm. He sat up, his hood falling down, revealing much longer hair than you thought. It curled over his shoulders, dirty and wet. He grinned -more, he grinned more, the muscles of his face pulling the scars up. 

You would never kill someone, but in the face of a killer, in the same room as the body, you would get aroused. And that was probably worse. Definitely worse. Definitely had some wires crossed. You thought it'd be better if he killed you then and there, but he didn’t. 

“I'm flattered,” he said, pressing a bloody hand against his chest. 

“Shut up!” you said, trying to fall back and away, but he caught your shirt. You clutched your hand to your chest. You were dizzy, blood in all the wrong places. 

“Are we embarrassed now? Aw,” he chuckled, sitting up. His free hand brought the knife to your neck, and you flinched at the cold bite. “You’re a little fucked up, huh? That’s cute.”

He pulled you in closer. There was gore on his breath, which came in faster pants.

“It’s been a while since i've been put on my back,” he said, looking you up and down. 

If there was no going back, you thought, then you’d move forward. You decided you could bury this tomorrow- if Jeff didn’t do you in first.

You slapped the knife away and surged forward, pushing him back by the shoulders. Gritting your teeth, you used your uninjured hand to grab the back of his thigh and push his leg up and to the side, so you could slot yourself between them. You fell back over him, pressing your hard-on against him. And on top of every bad decision you've made (and will make), you kissed him. 

That, he did not expect. He made a little noise, and it made you feel feverish. I'm crazy. I'm going crazy. I've been crazy. His lips were somehow chapped and wet at the same time, and when you licked his mouth, you immediately tasted blood. There was a chance you’d never get the taste out. You seperated, just for a breath, before diving back in. One of his hands gripped onto your hair, tugging at the base. You moaned in pain, mostly pain, not entirely, and felt him smile against your mouth. So you bit down on his lower lip in retaliation. 

“Mmpf-!”

Christ, you thought. Oh my god.

You sucked on it, and he bucked up. You licked a wet stripe over his lips before parting again. Underneath you, Jeff looked… crazy. As he was, not that you were any better. Frenzied, chest heaving. His face was red, and you thought color suited him more than dead-white. He leaned up on his elbows, and if he was going to say something, you interrupted him by grinding into him. Holding one leg and pressing down on the other. The way the injured hand stung felt like nothing, like a garnish, when you thrust forward. Jeff hadn’t been hard before, but he was definitely hard now. The temptation to pull his pants down was there, to be just layer closer, but the fever was all consuming. So you continued to dry hump him, hips frantic. To continue. To finish. In your cloudy thoughts, either option sounded great. 

And then he started making noises- “yeah, ah, ah, ah.”

You shifted, spreading his legs further and leaning down again. Your hands found his hips and encouraged them to angle up. His own hands scrambled, dragging and clawing at the floor like he didn’t know where to put them. The knife was gone, probably just dropped and still close by. You mounted him like you were stupid teenagers who weren't afraid of being caught, with no reason or goal other than getting off as fast as you can.  

Pleasure built up, but still wasn’t enough. Though the sounds, the knowledge of who you were pinning, was encouraging. Enlightening. You slowed down to grind hard, watching Jeff shut his eyes and bite his lip. It was filthy, this taboo. He tensed under your hands, letting go of his own bloody lip to moan silently. His leg kicked and his eyes shot open, and before you knew it, you realized he was cumming. With something between a moan and a wheeze, Jeff went rigid- before falling back, head falling to the side. 

Shocked, you stopped. 

“Did you,” you swallowed, “did you cum?” That fast- was left unspoken. 

Jeff took in ragged breaths as he side eyed you. It wasn't a nasty look. When he dragged his eyes away, it was almost shy. 

"It's been a while," he said, and then mockingly; "Not a lot of freaks like you to go around." 

You considered biting him. But, more pressingly, you weren't dead, and therefore had consequences to think about. The whole reason you were up there in a stranger's room was because there was a party going on downstairs, and your bully wanted to speak in private. It was a miracle no one had checked, though maybe they hadn't heard the scuffle over the thrumming music. Worst, they probably assumed you two were… hooking up. It would never occur to them that he was dead, and you still got your rocks off with the killer. 

You hadn't come, actually. Which was good. Id never recover, you thought. The line you wouldnt cross kept getting pushed back until you were there, with not cumming on Jeffrey Woods as the final straw. Anything to make you feel better. 

As turned on as you were, you were dizzy. Blood loss and shock set in, and your vision blurred. Jeff sat up, and unceremoniously shoved you off. It was easy to just fall back. You watched as he stood up and found his knife. When he crouched down in front of you, he was smiling with teeth. Like an animal. This was a murderer.  

"Freaks like us are a rare breed," he said, and that us hit you hard. You didn't want to think you were equal to this killer. "So I'll do you a favor. Or maybe living is worse, huh?" 

"You're-" you struggled. "You're a monster." 

He feigned hurt and pouted. 

"And here I thought you liked me," Jeff cackled. 

The world threatened to tilt. He stood up and pressed the heel of his shoe on your shoulder, kicking you onto your back. 

"Yeah," he said, and it sounded like he was talking to himself. "Just go to sleep for me, babe." 

You really, really wanted to. It was cold, and your body was heavy. You wondered how long it'd take before someone checked on you two. Vaguely, you heard the sound of water running. You were asleep for a minute, or maybe an hour, when you were barely roused by the feeling of Jeff's hands on you. He pulled your phone from your pocket, and whatever he did next, that was for the next unfortunate soul who came across the scene to find out, because you were out like a light. 

[userheree]

OK SO THE LINEART TOOK FOREVER PURELY BC I RESTARTED 😭😭😭 i was half way through my character when I looked at it a little too long and didn't like it 😭😭 BUT HERE IS THE LINE ART RAH hope u like it 💞💞💞 time to color (and if i like it enough; render) sumbitting it here bc IDK WHAT TO STYLE THEM IN 😭😭😭 i am putting in blaise in a normal button-up bc I feel that is what he would wear, but everyone else?? idk...

IT WAS WORTH THE WAIT BCS HOLD UP THIS IS SO CUTE??? LIKE IT? I LITERALLY LOVE IT I CANT WAIT FOR THE COLOURED VSN <33. I LOVE MC'S OUTFIT TOO SHE'S SO CUTE?

okok (feel free to ignore) :

theo : smth baggy like a loose shirt and a cool jacket and baggy jeans (he used to dress more fashinably but gave up when he realised he was trapped. also if he doesn't dress up ppl wont be after his heart n he can be alone)

mylo : bro does dress up he's in a popular kids clique LMAO, (he plays basketball so sometimes wears tank tops/tank top hoodies sometimes but he has a RANGE of outfits. as long as it's in style he can wear it. LMAO)

blaise : perfect. button ups are cute its the outfit i somewhat envisioned him to wear upon meeting MC for the firts time LMAO. He also wore a jacket then but that was bcs it was late so he might not wear it 4 valentines

kiana : STYLISH like i wanna steal her fits. Crop tops, cute pants (headcanon but not rlly bcs i made her that she has baggy jeans with big patchwork hearts all over them)

nicolas : okay so nicolas (ik it's cliche but i swear its meant to be) so he MIGHT have hidden eyeliner that he'd only wear alone but also he wears a lot of dark closthing in general. (he has a lighter selection of clothing... but he just prefers smth darker). baggy black pants w like chains?? and to balance that out he might wear like a dark green top or maybe orange?? he'd look good in everything so he didn't care too much.

OMG I CANT WAIT THO!!! LITERALLY SO EXCITED!!

[eyesxxyou]

this is mostly a blurb for me since im tall but not skinny in the slightest-- Mostly fluff and a teeny bit of angst abt body image: You aren't small, by any means.

Its one thing being a tall skinny person, and it's be another thing being short and 'fat',

But you got stuck with the worst of both worlds, Chubby and tall. Not skinny enough to be able to wear anything comfortably low waisted but not curvy enough to be able to express these insecurities without being accused of seeking attention or being told how people would kill to look like you.

you were lucky to meet a man like Hobie--who is taller than you, loving, fun, overall perfect.

Maybe even too perfect..

He always how much he loves you. he always says "You're beau'iful in my arms, darlin'."

Beautiful. That doesn't sound right, that is the oposite of what you've heard all your life. hollow complements of men oversexualizing your curves and beautiful smaller, thinner friends asking to borrow one of your jackets because it'd be 'cutely oversized' on them.

And it isn't that you're ugly either, you sometimes feel like the baddest bitch on the planet--before seeing the person in the mirror that makes you hate those rolls on your back. that pudgy stomach. the plump large hips that adorn the top of your squishy legs.

"What're you doing?" Hobie asked with a playful smirk as he looked over at you, you were trying on clothes you had bought online--biggest size and everything.

"These stupid jeans are meant to be baggy and shit but they fit me normally and don't even- zip!" you say back to him with slight exaspuration while trying to work the zipper of a pair of jeans that you really wanted to fit since they matched your style perfectly.

those jeans were too tight below your belly button and their supposedly baggy length fit you normally because of your height.

"Shh, sh. calm down, it's alrigh', we can return them and order the next size u-" He tried to tell you reassuringly as he walked over to you and put his hands on your waist.

"Thats not the point, these are already the biggest damn size." You groan as you suck in your stomach as much as you physically can to try and force the zipper closed or get the button through its designated hole.

"Woah, woah," He said as he put his hands over yours to stop you from forcing the fabric againts your skin and straining the material over your plump flesh. "We can go to the mall or something and get you jeans like these there, once we return these, get the money back and talk about whatever is actually bothering you." His tone is cool and calm while his hands start lowering the jeans from your hips to get them off of you.

He always knew that you would prefer to at least be shorter or at least bthinner, while to him you're already beyond perfect to him. He hates going to the mal because of the branded clothing there that only further corrupts capitalism after every cent and here he is.

Offering that to you to make you happy <3

BOYFRIEND HOBIE 🔛🔝

[starry-skies-116]

Samuel Lee Witwicky: Body Headcanons/Facts (Reboot AU)

Sixteen year-old Chinese-Australian American. So naturally, he has both traditionally ‘asian’ and ‘european’ features, that being golden-toned/warm-toned porcelain-esque skin with freckles. It’s a far cry from the stereotypical pale yellow- think of Mari and Sunny’s skin tone from OMORI (at least, Sunny before the pizza came).

Despite the height difference not really being all that much, he’s the shortest one (he’s 5’3/160 cm, Mikaela is 5’6/167 cm, and Heidi is 5’4/162.6 cm).

Despite being somewhat slim, petite and mildly toned, unlike other asian characters in Transformers like Miko Nakadai, his body type actually has some pretty prominent curves. His body type is actually really curvy around certain areas, and he's one of those trans guys who's not a skinny white twink (no offense meant by this /gen). One of his associations is nature, healing and life, and nature is plentiful with its bounties. His skin is also really soft since his parents urge him to always take care of it. This is why he likes to bind- he doesn’t mind being curvy in areas like the hips and thighs, etc, he just doesn’t like the curves on his chest aka breasts (someone pay for his top surgery or I sue /j) 🙂

He has traditionally really gentle and traditionally ‘beautiful’ features, like a button nose, dimples, bow-shaped lips, etc. But the one that stands out are his beautiful, bright and sparkling green eyes that’s inherited through his father’s side of his family (descended from Archibald). He also inherited his freckles from that side of the family too.

He has iridescent rings around his pupils that are an indication/foreshadowing that he’s not exactly ‘human’. Whenever his powers are triggered, or whenever he wills himself to use them, sometimes the pupils or the whole eyes light up with that blinding gilded light. And whenever the transformation into his other ‘Transformer’ form is triggered, they flash green.

Speaking of eyes, did I mention they’re monolid eyes? And they’re what some call ‘peach blossom’ shaped? And he lines them with red eyeliner? Bro is straight rizz material-

Trans dude, bisexual and polyamorous, born intersex (PCOS): him being trans and intersex plays into his body type where he has quite a bit of body hair on areas like his chest and legs. There’s not as much on his arms, though.

An INFJ Pisces and supreme peak autistic, what can I say lmao-

Sam dresses very modestly and formally, usually in collared shirts and in patterned sweaters/sweater vests (but mostly sweater vests). And most of the time, he wears baggy, decorative zip-up hoodie jackets atop them. Sometimes he wears cardigans or painted/decorated jean jackets, loose tops with floral or other cute patterns, and shorts. In the winter, he slaps on trench coats over his outfits along with cute gloves and scarves.

Sometimes his aesthetic is light academia with dark vests, sometimes it's cottagecore, sometimes it leans towards cute, muted pastel kidcore, sometimes he has a few retro-esque fashion items on, who knows? At the end of the day he looks as cute as he is on the inside 😊

But on some occasions, he does have blazer top jackets, y2k accessories, and turtleneck top wear that he wears on some occasions. Mikaela encourages him to wear them more often because she and Heidi both think that it makes him look awesome. He deserves to feel happy in his own body. Some of the blazer jackets have Chinese patterns, others have 80’s/90’s patterns. He sometimes adorns them with a pin or two.

If this man has his first date in the future, he’d wear a hanfu to it. He’d wear a hanfu to prom. He’d accessorize in all the cutest ways, and thinks it won’t look good. People proceed to die.

Y’know those Pacific Rim drivesuits that the pilots always wear? Think of Sam wearing something similar- that’s what he always wears into battle. There’s always a belt that he wears that has the steel Autobot crest on it on the armor/pilot suit.

Sam 👏 wears 👏 makeup 👏

And that’s on PERIODT.

He wears tinted and scented lip gloss, sometimes even those glossy expensive brands of lipstick that his mother owns, he learned how to properly apply eyeliner from his mother, he puts that on top of a bit of light foundation and blush, but even then he’s so damn pretty without makeup.

You cannot tell me that this man doesn’t have a natural blush on the tip of his nose and his cheeks, and some across the bridge too.

And jewelry?? On god. He wears those ebony stud earrings lined with gold with an amethyst dangling below it, those are his favorite earrings- and he has necklaces and pins, and he even has pearl jewelry and so many y2k-esque rings on his fingers that he likes to twirl and play with. He has jewelry for EVERY occasion.

He only wears the rings sometimes, though- he already has his bracelet to toy with.

And nail polish. He either goes with the glittery light purplish pink one, or the straight black nail polish with the extra shine, because that’s what suits him the most in his opinion.

He loves flowers and plants so much that he has a eucalyptus leaf and flower anklet that he wears on occasion.

Not to mention the Buddhist clay and brass bead bracelet that he stims with on occasion, twirling it around his finger in repetitive patterns as some sort of self-grounding and self-soothing behavior. He even sometimes chews on the jade pendant of the necklace his mother gave him- he wears that shit all the time.

Naturally, Sam’s body is capable of some pretty weird stuff, as you can imagine if you have the heart of a literal primeval CREATOR GOD merged with your own since your birth that’s been altering your DNA and fundamental molecular structure to superhuman levels-

When he transforms into a more robotic form, he pilots it like a mech or a jaeger with his own body in the ‘Transformer’ body’s spark. It’s an extension of himself, like he IS the body, because of the nature of his heart as well as the neural link established with the suit. If the Transformer body feels pain or takes damage, then he feels the pain of that damage and takes that damage as well. The only exception is severed limbs- in which case, the limb of Sam’s ‘human body’ merely is disabled/paralyzed until repair/medical aid is administered. Think of how Mark from Mech X4 operates the Mech itself. Coupled with that, the mech has all of the standard abilities of a Transformer, including an alt mode.

He can breathe underwater and in space when transformed. Or, rather, this is because he feels no need to breathe when transformed.

You know Blue Beetle’s mechanical scarab wings? Well, think of Sam’s more robotic form having those. The scarab wings with the sunset color palette, glimmering in the light as they unsheathe, having the ability to shift and turn into a shield of sorts as they arch over his head and in front of him, expanding their area to shield his body… foaming at the mouth rn help-

These come with side-effects, such as enhanced reflexes, strength, senses and dexterity, and the ability to interact with Cybertronian technology as well as reading several different scriptures/forms of Cybertronian to an extent. Given how Transformers sometimes communicate via telepathy or technopathy without any sensory channels/input required… Sam also has these kinds of abilities pertaining to the mind. He can establish neural links with other living beings and dreamwalk, creating a metaphysical manifestation of their realms of consciousness to navigate and telepathically talk to them.

Sometimes, he can even revive dead life such as plants, and on rare occasions he’s accidentally created new life. Other abilities include absorbing and redirecting energy, kind of like Black Panther’s nanotech suit.

When Sam grows older, I imagine he’ll have a small ponytail and have some beard facial hair. I imagine him also gaining a few more centimeters, in addition to maybe getting himself a tattoo of the Autobot crest. He’ll also embrace his body and grow into it, learning to be proud of who he is and not deny or show shame for parts of himself. He’ll also ofc have a few battle scars, because who wouldn’t when fighting in a war honestly. C’mon guys /lh 

[yumenosakiacademy]

i am not blessed w the ability 2 draw or design v well but i can try 2 Describe what i think a human ajaw design would look like.

note: as the only way 4 him 2 appear human is thru projection form, all of him is pixelized, altho smth closer 2 his forms from kinichs fiery pursuit trailer, ie having more detailed pixel work. note2: 'power is unlocked' = kinich's burst, when his limiters r released.

long neon green mohawk. u can choose how High it goes, esp since we dont kno if slime condensate can b used as hair gel in this universe, but it has a lil bit of height at least. not entirely like a Punk Rock Spiked Up mohawk, but 1 of the more long 80s types, mayb. mayb he switches it up, even. hair fades to a yellow at the tips or has bits n streaks of yellow interspersed.

optional but the mohawk can appear fiery, mayb. either by default as an alt hair style or when he gets angry. (4 an example of the hair style in mention, see sculker from danny phant0m)

sharp teeth! rawr :3

piercing green neon eyes. reptilian slit in em. eyes turn red when power is unlocked.

yellow scales on parts of his arms, legs, neck, n perhaps the sides/edges of his face. they turn dark green when power is unlocked.

sunglasses, of course! a Given. normal shaped, but he has a separate pair thts more triangular 2.

2 mirror kinich, he might Also have a headband, albeit now in a bright neon yellow w neon green pixels all over it n transitioning 2 a green gradient at the tips in pixels (ie not meant 2 b a clean smooth gradient).

green wings can come out when power is unlocked, but r hidden any other time. (would they come out if he tried 2 fly too? or would he b able 2 hover like dragon form? i think he could choose 2 deploy them whenever he wants 4 Style Points but they come out on their own when his power is unlocked. same w the triangle sunglasses)

his tail is still there. nothing changed abt it except now its bigger bc Hes bigger. yippe 4 a tail :)

yellow jacket similar in design 2 tht of dav!d martinez from cybrpunk but more punkish than looking like a firefighters jacket n w the high collar either optional or omitted. like a mix between his jacket n a punk leather jacket, imo. small pops n accents of green pixels+pixelated lines running across it, esp along the edges of any white lines. does he wear it or hav it at his waist like kini? u decide. (prob the latter)

shirt borrowed from kinichs wardrobe or made by kinich, ie a tight-fitted black shirt w a zippable collar n all the lil bits n bobs on his top, w the main difference being the shades of green on said bits r Much brighter n the main 1 in the center has yellow in it.

similar pants to kinichs, but likely a lil tighter/not as baggy/shaped. lines of green and yellow pixelations running down the sides and yellow n green at the bottoms in a giant smattering of pixels.

spiked yellow and green gravedigger ankle boots, w a dash of black in places.