#its their hands technically but they're definitely there

[tackytigerfic]

Do harry and draco ever get the chance to meet little Scorpius ??🥹

Yes! I'll stick it below the cut as it has spoilers for First Watch.

This is set about a year after the fic ends. Harry and Draco use the needle to visit Potter and Malfoy, but not too often - they don't want to risk overburdening the magical systems of their two universes. So this is only their second visit. They've agreed to do some tests at Malfoy and Potter's Ministry to see if they can learn more about the way the two universes interact, and by the time they finish, they're too exhausted to travel home and decide to stay at the Manor. They haven't met Scorpius yet. (Full disclosure this is unfinished, there's a sex scene where Harry and Draco talk about their plans for the future, but I'm not going to get that written any time soon, so here's the bit where Draco meets Scorpius).

In Draco's version of the Manor, there's a beautiful Axminster down in this vestibule, but since this is Malfoy's version of the Manor, and Malfoy is a masochist, the bare flagstones are icy under Draco's feet as he makes his way towards the corridor. He's following the noise.

It's a not-unfamiliar sound—the snuffling of a small animal, perhaps, or a curtain shifting in the breeze of an open window. Certainly not anything malevolent; even though Draco has crossed about eighteen timelines to be here, the magic in this Manor still recognises him by the ties of blood and ownership and simple fondness, and the sense of the undisturbed wards gives him easy reassurance. There's no threat here.

It's just as well Draco knows these halls as well as he knows his own magic. The lamps are all off, the whole wing in darkness, though the sky through the window at the end of the corridor is picked out in starlight, clean-edged with the gleam of a thin cold moon. Draco's toes curl, a draught sweeping up his pyjama legs (Malfoy's pyjamas, technically), and bloody hell he loves this place in any universe—its high ceilings, its uneven walls, its fucking frigid corridors and welcoming magic and rolling landscaped lawns and the vast vast sky above it. Home.

The sound picks up in urgency now, a long breathy rasp, stifled. This is, in fact, Malfoy and Potter's wing, Draco registers belatedly. He'd been exhausted when they'd shown him to bed, only vaguely remembers Malfoy gesturing, knowing Draco would know exactly where he meant. Draco hopes he's not going to end up barging into their bedroom, but this noise is far too restrained to be them, even if they've not put up any Silencing Charms. He moves forward, carefully, trying to work out where the sounds are coming from. In his own Manor, he'd light this whole corridor with one wave of his wand hand; here, he can't risk it, so he just treads the stones in darkness.

Three steps forward, four, and then he moves closer to the lefthand wall. Up ahead there's the merest hint of a door, a thin line of light at ground level. Closer than that again there's a shift in the shadows, a change in the pattern of different darknesses, and the sound comes again, more forcefully, from the general direction of Draco's knees.

"Hello?" He only whispers it, but it's loud enough here, in the silence of the Wiltshire night.

An answering murmur, and a noise most definitely animal, a wounded whimper that has Draco bending down blindly patting, grasping. There's an answering clutch, and he finds himself holding onto a small wriggling creature—hot little hands, a hot damp head, hair sticking to hot fat cheeks. A child, crying.

He stoops, clings, lifts—with some effort, it must be said, his centre of gravity thrown off by the unexpected muscular density of the small body in his arms—then stands.

"Scorpius?" His arms tighten. It must be Scorpius of course, that he's holding—or rather, who's clinging to him, wet face in his neck, legs clamped around his waist, so all Draco has to do is balance him on one hip, anchoring arms around him.

"Daddy," Scorpius says, and as though the word is Alohomora it unleashes something in the child, the force of his shuddery breaths rippling through him and into Draco with an intensity that makes Draco hug him closer. The collar of Draco's pyjamas is damp where the child is crying into it, everything moist with breath and tears and probably snot, which is… well, Draco isn't going to think about it.

"Shhhh," Draco murmurs, into Scorpius' hair. "It's alright, I'm here. Let's just…" He bounces gently foot to foot, grip slipping slightly as Scorpius wails louder. Draco doesn't know what do with children, really; this is the first time he's ever held one unsupervised. He begins to walk down the corridor. Someone will be awake, surely, to take over.

The door, barely visible in the shadows, swings open invitingly as they draw near, a cracked-open glow of lamplight. Draco shoulders it open further, slides in sideways so as not to bump Scorpius off the door frame. The room inside is warm and well-lit. In Draco's world, it's a reading room, but in this version he sees a little bed, dwarfed by the high ceiling, the damask wallpaper, the sweep of velvet curtains. A dragon mobile hangs above the bed, suspended by invisible threads or perhaps just old magic; Draco had always wanted one himself, as a child, fascinated by the jointed wood bodies, the bright colours, the sparkling false flames.

Scorpius' room, obviously, and as good a place as any to set him down and go in search of his parents. There's a portrait on the wall next to the door, rather a good one too, done in oils with a deft hand. Potter and Malfoy, posing, baby Scorpius a swaddled bundle in Potter's arms. Potter winks at Draco; Malfoy yawns, stifling it behind his hand.

Draco has to kneel to reach the low bed, almost staggering under the weight of the child, shifting him round to his front so he can hold him more carefully, cupping the back of the small head in one hand. Scorpius goes down easily, with a little hiccoughing sigh.

"There," Draco says, satisfied, and draws the blanket up so that Scorpius is covered. The pillowcase is decorated with tiny Snitches, repeating rows of spectacles, a lightning bolt motif. It's the same sort of tat they've started selling in the tourist kiosks down Diagon since the war ended, where you can pick up replica Potter glasses and garments with a truly terrible picture of Harry on that say "I saved the world and all I got was this lousy t-shirt". Which is a bit rich really—Harry wasn't even <i>there</i> when Voldemort died, though Draco's not inclined to set the record straight for fear of sparking a similar line of merchandise with his own face on it in horrifying close-up.

There's something sweet about the dreadful bedclothes, though, with Scorpius snuggled into them, blinking and hot-cheeked.

"Are you okay?" Draco goes to touch him, hand hovering indecisively before he decides it's probably alright and brushes Scorpius' hair off his forehead, tests how warm he is. He's not even sure what he's looking for—it's not like he knows what's a normal temperature for a child—but he remembers his mother doing it when he was little, the comfort of her cool palm.

"Daddy," Scorpius says, then reaches up and pats Draco's cheek contemplatively. His eyes narrow. They're a hazy almost-blue, the exact colour Draco's were when he was the same age, but Scorpius has Potter's judgemental expression, his generous mouth, his stubborn chin.

"Daddy, your face is different." His moist little fingertips graze Draco's skin, perilously close to his mouth. And then: "You're not my daddy."

"No," Draco agrees. "I think your daddy is asleep. It's the middle of the night, you know. Do you want me to go and find him for you?"

"My head feels poorly," Scorpius says piteously. "Want Daddy." As though he's reminded himself about being sad, he begins to cry again, tears sliding effortlessly out of his eyes and down his cheeks. He sneezes, violently, and continues to cry, his nose running now. "Nose," he says to Draco, his voice thick with liquid. "Blow my nose."

He's so pathetic that Draco almost forgets and reaches for his wand. It would be so simple to just perform the old charm, but of course here he has to be more careful.

"I can't use my wand," he tells Scorpius. The child's face crumples, and he sneezes again, very possibly maliciously this time. "Hang on, look."

Draco's got a t-shirt on under his pyjamas, all the better to combat the cold of the Manor. He struggles out of the pyjama top, snagging his hair on the buttons, and then he folds the sleeve up a few times.

"Here." He holds the folded fabric to Scorpius' nose. "Blow."

Scorpius does, so enthusiastically that Draco has to move to a different section of sleeve before he's done. He uses the other sleeve to wipe Scorpius' face down after, patting at his drying tears.

"Better?"

Scorpius blinks, nods, then yawns hugely. His eyes are drooping.

"My daddy didn't have a wand before," he says, voice still muffled by the tail end of his yawn. "But Father got it back for him." He hitches in a breath as though in preparation for a wail. "I want Father."

The word is almost slurred, the th sliding into a soft v sound in his sad small-boy voice.

Draco pats at him frantically, rubbing his hair. "Don't cry," he murmurs. "You just close your eyes and I'll go find your dads, okay?"

"It's alright, Draco." Draco jumps at Potter's voice, but Scorpius just turns over in his bed with a pleased noise and snuggles deeper under the covers. There's a door in the wall that Draco's pretty sure isn't in his own Manor, carved cunningly into the panelling. Through it, Draco can see a slice of the next room, just soft lamplight and the end of a big bed. Potter stands in the doorway, Malfoy behind him.

"Just a minute, Scorp." Malfoy sounds exhausted, and then he puts a hand to his mouth and turns quickly, retreating back into the room. Then comes a distant, dismal retching sound, and then Potter steps into the room and lets the door close behind him, shutting out the noise. He's wearing flannel pyjama trousers with nothing else, feet bare. Draco looks away from his soft stomach, the line of hair above his waistline.

"Sorry," Potter says quietly. "He'll be alright. Just, you know, something he ate."

He kneels down at the side of the bed, kisses Scorpius, smooths his hair back off his face. His expression is nakedly tender, the low light reflecting softness. He's not wearing his glasses.

"I found him in the corridor," Draco says, stupidly. "I was just coming to look for you."

"Poor baby," Potter says. "Couldn't you sleep?" Scorpius doesn't answer, dozing, eyes closed already under his father's careful touch.

"I wasn't asleep anyway," Draco says, though Potter hadn't asked, was still watching Scorpius with that awful raw look on his face.

"His room is meant to be warded," Potter tells Draco, voice low. "But I think he can sometimes do wandless magic in his sleep. He had a bit of a sleep regression when we got back from your world. We usually wake up when he does, but I suppose I was tired from earlier, and Malfoy's been sleeping so badly…"

Malfoy had looked wretched over dinner, face too angular, complexion waxy. He'd barely eaten, barely spoken. He'd been a bit off with Draco since their last visit, when Draco had refused to bring his mum to visit, to take part in the tests Malfoy's Ministry team was conducting on them all. Malfoy wouldn't do anything as gauche as say something out loud, but Draco knew him, and worse, knew what he himself would have wanted if his mum was the one who had died. Malfoy had the sort of hunger Draco himself understood, but that didn't mean he'd let his own mum be the one to satisfy it.

"Scorpius thought I was Malfoy at first," Draco says. "I suppose that makes sense."

"He's a little monkey. And I was really looking forward to introducing you and Harry to him in the morning, too," Potter says. He looks weary too, now that Draco sees him up close, but then, it had been a long and tiring day. "He's not at his best at 3am, funnily enough."

"He's lovely," Draco says, and finds that he means it. Between them on the bed, Scorpius shifts, lets out a fluttery little snore. "He reminds me of—" Myself, he almost says, but of course he doesn't mean that. Draco's room had been off in the nursery wing, with Nanny in the connecting chamber, and he would never have been allowed lightning bolt bedclothes or dragons on the ceiling. Draco would have got in trouble for being out of bed at night, if his father had even noticed. "—Malfoy," he finishes, somewhat inadequately. "And you, weirdly. Despite the colouring."

"He's quite a mix of us both," Potter says, smiling down at Scorpius.

"Good luck to the Hogwarts staff in about eight years' time," Draco says, and it startles a laugh out of Potter so he almost looks like his usual self again. His smile is just like Harry's.

"Sorry he woke you." Potter stands, knees creaking, and stretches. From this angle, Draco can see faint silver stretchmarks on his lower belly, catching the light. He stands himself, a bit too quickly.

"It's fine." He hesitates, but the tired lines at Potter's eyes convince him to continue. "Look, if I can help with anything… If you need a break, or someone to babysit…"

Potter's eyebrows are creased in confusion, but he's smiling.

"Draco, thanks, but I'm alright. Malfoy's been a bit under the weather recently, so I've been the one on night duty and getting up in the mornings at the crack of dawn with the incredible non-sleeping child. I'm just a bit tired."

"I don't mind, though. I mean, obviously, I'd offload most of the work on Harry, he's the one who's good with children—"

Potter laughs again.

"You seemed to be doing an alright job tonight." He rubs at the back of his neck. Draco had almost been managing to ignore the full expanse of skin on show, but now he's faced with underarm he thinks it's time to go back to his own room. "Okay, well, if you're sure. Maybe you and Harry can take Scorpius for a walk after breakfast, then, and I'll have a quick nap?"

"Perfect," Draco says. "Righto, I'll let you get back to bed."

He makes for the door, stepping back out into the hallway where the stone floor is once more icy against his feet, no warming charms like the ones that keep Scorpius' room toasty. As he pulls the door shut behind him, he sees Potter Accio a stack of blankets and pillows from a cupboard, shaking out a duvet and laying it on the floor beside Scorpius' bed.

[kagooleo]

low blood sugar lance

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

i cant really tell if yuu's involvement in ace's character is more for fanservice reasons or because they really did play a part in his character development.

like in nbc we have malleus choosing to focus on finishing the task at hand as quickly as possible so that they can then find the prefect rather than drop everything there at that moment and prioritizing finding yuu. (iirc) and compared to that we have ace who does put a lot of emphasis on finding yuu especially when no one seems to remember it during the halloween event it feels very traditionally fanservice-y ? and i cant really tell where the line is drawn for ace anymore. and you did mention a lot of other points in another post that you made esp with ace's dream recently dropping and the fact that hes the only guy whos dream yuu was actively involved in idk its a little confusing for me i hope im making sense TT no shade to the shippers im just a little slow in comprehending it all bvbvsjdj

your posts are always really neutral and accurate it just helps to clear up a lot of my confusions and questions i have when playing so thank you for your hard work!

[Referencing this post; you might also find this related post useful in the discussion of Ace and Yuu's relationship!]

DISCLAIMER: I do not mean to invalidate or detract from Ace x Yuu or Malleus x Yuu shippers or anyone who may interpret their relationship as romantic. You should ship what you like and have fun doing it. My reply aims to be more objective, but that should NOT impede on your enjoyment or whatever it is you choose to ship.

iufipaerasfeao Thank you for the feedback! I'm glad you find my posts helpful. I try my best to be objective when it comes to analyzing the story and characters, but there's no true way for someone to be completely neutral. There are definitely times when I have an aside to insert my two cents on a situation or I get super heated about a particular topic. Hopefully I still leave enough space for everyone to come to their own conclusions.

I think it's both fanservice and because Yuu actually plays a big part in Ace's character development? Like, it's technically fanservice but it does not feel egregious because it fits Ace’s teasing nature and Ace's bond with Yuu has been established from the start. He was the first student we met at NRC and we spend so much time with him since then; there's no way Yuu wouldn't have had an impact on him, especially when book 7 is now paralleling the two as people with insecurities about being weak/unable to do anything + not contributing enough and Yuu encouraging him when he finally gets his UM.

I commonly see people joking about Malleus having "missed the meeting about Twst not being a dating sim" and holding him up as "the main love interest". (And to be clear, Twst isn't a dating sim, nor do all Twst fans see the characters romantically; I am only speaking about this in a romantic lens in the context of this post.) However, I think there's a very strong case to be made for Ace as well. The thing is, I also feel that Malleus and Ace fundamentally appeal to two different groups of yumejoshi. Malleus is the tall, dark, and mysterious type you can "fix", the type of guy that would burn the world down for you. Ace is the teasing and approachable boy-next-door that has your back and supports you even when the entire world is against you. This is also evident in the ways they're set up in the main story; Malleus is introduced in a way that encourages much more "filling in of the gaps" due to how little he actually shows up in front of Yuu in the main story. It gives the player a lot of space to imagine what their relationship with him is like because there isn't a ton of interactions in canon to go off of. Meanwhile, Ace has many more canonized interactions with Yuu (eating lunch, doing homework, watching movies, playing video games, etc.), so the effort of thinking about what they actually do over the course of their relationship is already done for you. There is an established friendship and connection with Ace, but you barely see Malleus enough to truly have a strong impact on him or to change him. Does that make sense?

IADUPADF9A9FSBdb I do find it sort of funny that Malleus is basically like, "Oh, something unexpected happened (ie Yuu is missing). We'd better solve this." Not really showing much emotion about them being gone in Nightmare. (Malleus only gets annoyed when Leona begins to take charge; he is not mad at the fact that Yuu is gone.) Meanwhile Yuu is missing in Endless Halloween Night and Ace is the FIRST person to excuse himself to check Ramshackle for them.

If you consult the fandom and the fandom alone, you'd think the situation would be reversed. Edit: Malleus does have his moments of intimacy with Yuu (which I won’t be getting into here because then I fear this post would veer into shipping wars), but the English speaking Twst fandom has a VERY strong bias for Malleus x Yuu. Because of that, there is a tendency to misinterpret or misattribute every little thing that Malleus says and does to support the idea that "Yuu is his most important person". (For example, even though Malleus provides no reaction at all when Skully kisses the back of Yuu's hand, many Malleus fans claimed that he would be very jealous or would harm Skully for doing such a thing. In another Halloween event, Glorious Masquerade, people believed he was angry at Rollo for harming Yuu even though this was not the case; the event states that he was mad because the invitation he had been extended was a fake one.)

It is because of thinking like this that a lot of English speakers genuinely believed Malleus would OB in book 7 in a desperate attempt to prevent Yuu from returning to their original world. Misinterpretations, headcanons, misattributions, and personal projections were conflated with canon, leading to many people to believe that Malleus was closer with Yuu than they actually are. Instead, Malleus ended up OBing because he feared Lilia leaving and he barely even considers Yuu after he OBs. And, ironically, Ace is the character whose dream prominently features Yuu and a scenario in which Yuu doesn't have to leave them forever. It was always Ace that we had a strong relationship with, not Malleus.

Ace is often overlooked even though he has far more canon interactions with Yuu in the main story. I think this could maybe to chalked up to a combination of him being "boring" compared to the literal DARK FAE OP CROWN PRINCE M. Draconia over there and the fact that so many of those "gaps" are already filled by the main story. There's less room for imagination because the game has already defined what Ace and Yuu's relationship entails. Malleus is just so much more appealing when it comes to intrigue and mysteriousness. When you look at it objectively though... Yuu only meets Malleus face-to-face like 5-6 times for brief conversations. (Edit: I’m not counting voice lines because those are arguably directed at the player, not Yuu, to endear the character to you and/or all characters get similar voice line fanservice. The canonicity is questionable since the same familiarity in voice lines is not carried over to the main story.) 5-6 times… That's not nearly long enough to make a huge impact or change in his life (unless you as the player extrapolate and imagine more Malleus and Yuu interactions outside of the ones we see in the main story). At best, I think you could say Malleus is glad he can have a special little friend who doesn't know of his name and status? He doesn't really change because of that relationship though. Malleus doesn't even show up until book 2. But Ace has literally been there since the beginning, canonically spends tons of his free time with Yuu, and has been through several near-life experiences with them (several OBs). He has the chance to bond with Yuu. Malleus does not. (He has given Yuu advice once, sent them a card once, and reassembled a stage for them once; all other interactions in the main story are short talks.)

It makes a lot of sense that Ace would be the one "touched" by Yuu's influence, whether you see it as romantic or platonic. Both he and Malleus (and all the other characters, really) get their moments of fanservice--but very few characters' development is directly impacted by Yuu's presence. Yuu might be there for most of the main story, but they actually get only a few moments to engage with the other boys in the cast to the point of actually changing them. It feels like the changes that occur are more often the result of the other boys (Trey standing up to Riddle and holding his hand afterwards, Epel and Deuce bonding on the beach, the twins telling Azul he's lame but also being the first to check up on him following the OB, Idia finalizing his farewells with Ortho, etc.) Ace just so happens to be an exception to that, as Yuu very clearly plays a big role in his development.

[killerplink]

TAILORED

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Female Reader

Plot: What starts as a simple suit fitting quickly turns into something much messier, and much more satisfying. ( @water-god19's request )

Words: 7,9k

CW: established relationship, 18+, smut, oral sex, cum swallowing, public sex, praise, suit sex, creampie, aftercare

It starts innocent enough, really. You and Nanami are just running errands, the kind of errands you actually like because they're fancy errands. Grown-up errands that make you feel all wifed up, even if technically you're just his girl. You're in the passenger seat, sundress fluttering around your thighs, legs crossed, lip gloss freshly applied because you can't help yourself.

This isn't just any tailor shop you're going to. This is the tailor shop, the one Nanami swears by, the only place he trusts with his suits. The kind of place that smells like expensive fabric, leather polish, and just a hint of something herbal you can never place.

The drive over is harmless, just him with one hand on the wheel, the other resting comfortably on your thigh. He's relaxed today, glasses perched low on his nose, shirt sleeves rolled up to show off those forearms that have no business looking that good. You're already a little squirmy and you know it's only gonna get worse once you see him suited up again.

Because today's not about picking a new suit, today is about picking up the suit. The navy one, the one he wore the night he pinned you against the wall after dinner, hand already up your dress before you even made it to the bedroom. That suit suffered for your sins. The tear at the seam was worth it, though.

The tailor greets you both with that same respectful smile he always has. He's older, kind eyes, never once makes you feel out of place even though this shop is the definition of upscale. He treats you like you belong here at Nanami's side. Because you do.

You can't stop yourself from trailing after Nanami when the tailor leads him to one of the private fitting rooms. They're not like regular dressing rooms; these are spacious, softly lit, a little sitting area in the corner, a full-length mirror framed in dark wood. The kind of place that makes you wanna pretend you're in a romcom trying on dresses, except this time it's your man trying on the suit that fits him like sin.

You sink into the little loveseat, legs crossed, sundress riding high enough that Nanami's gaze flicks to your thighs for just a second before he starts unbuttoning his shirt. You're watching. Of course you are. How could you not?

His broad back flexes under the crisp white fabric, and you already know what his skin looks like underneath—tan and smooth, that faint line of muscle leading down to where you really wanna put your mouth.

Then comes the suit jacket. Navy blue, tailored within an inch of its life, perfectly fitted to his shoulders. You can't stop staring. It's like a sickness, this obsession you have with him in suits. Something about how clean-cut he looks, how put-together, all while you know exactly how filthy he can be when no one's watching.

Your thighs press together, a subtle shift, but Nanami catches it. Of course he does. His eyes meet yours in the mirror's reflection, and for a second, you think maybe you're imagining the way his brow lifts, like he knows exactly what's going through your head.

You've had this fantasy for so long, it's practically part of your brain chemistry at this point. You, on your knees, sundress pooled around you, Nanami towering over you, fully dressed except for his cock—heavy, thick, flushed—right there for you to take.

Maybe it's the contrast, the elegance of the suit and the absolute depravity of sucking him off like you're starving for it. Maybe it's the power shift, the way you could ruin him without even trying, smear spit and gloss all over his expensive trousers and watch him lose that careful composure.

You're already wet. There's no stopping it. And when he turns to face you fully, adjusting the cufflinks like he's not watching you squirm, you know you're done for.

"Do you like this one?"

His voice is low, smooth, but there's something under it—amusement, maybe? Or just the kind of knowing that comes from fucking you often enough to read your every filthy thought.

"Yeah."

Your voice comes out softer than you mean it to, almost breathy, and you swear his mouth twitches like he's holding back a smile.

The tailor excuses himself, says he'll be right outside if you need anything, and the second the door clicks shut, Nanami's stepping closer, towering over where you're sitting. His fingers hook under your chin, tilting your face up until you're looking at him properly.

"You're staring," he says, and his thumb drags along your lower lip, catching just a bit of gloss. "Something you want to tell me, sweetheart?"

And oh, you're fucked. Because if he gives you even an inch—one tiny opening—you're gonna confess everything. But instead, you shake your head and clear your throat.

"N-nothing, baby," you murmur, voice soft and just a little shaky, because even standing there fully clothed, Nanami's presence alone could knock the breath right out of your chest. "Here, let me help you with that."

You reach for the tie he's holding, the one you love maybe a little too much. It's that tie, the yellow one, buttery soft, threaded with black dots of different sizes. You've always loved that stupid tie, not because it's particularly fancy, but because it's so Nanami.

Just the right mix of serious and a little unexpected. A splash of color against the muted tones he favors, a reminder that even your no-nonsense man has a playful side, one that only you really get to see.

Your fingers work automatically, threading the silk around his collar, pulling it into place. You've done this before, tied it for him when he was too busy, too distracted, or just wanted an excuse to let you touch him first thing in the morning. But today feels different. Your hands tremble, and it's not because you've forgotten the steps.

It's because you're close enough to smell him, that warm, clean scent that clings to his skin no matter how many hours he's worked. His cologne, subtle and expensive, a little woody with just a hint of spice, the kind of scent that burrows into your brain and makes your mouth water. But underneath that, there's just him, the scent you know better than your own perfume, the one you've clung to when you bury your face in his chest after a long day.

Your fingers linger at the knot, pulling it just a touch tighter than necessary, and you have to bite your lip to keep from whimpering. Your panties are sticking to you already, slick and embarrassing, and all you’ve done is help him with his tie. Pathetic.

When you finally step back, hands landing against his chest like you need the contact to ground yourself, you tilt your head up to look at him properly. "You look so hot in this one, Kento."

It comes out breathy, needy, and you hate how obvious you sound. Nanami chuckles—low and indulgent—like he's already in on the joke you're desperately trying to hide. His hands settle at your waist, fingers warm through the thin fabric of your sundress, and he pulls you in until you're flush against him. His mouth presses to your forehead, achingly tender, like he's some innocent boyfriend just showing affection, and not the man who turns you on just by standing there.

"Do I, my love?" His voice is a little rougher than before, just enough to make your stomach flip.

You nod, cheeks heating, thighs clenching involuntarily. You know he feels it, the way your body reacts to him without permission. And of course he knows, because Nanami knows you inside and out. He knows the way your pulse quickens when he stands too close, the way your pupils dilate when you're already thinking about getting fucked before he's even touched you.

He knows how wet you get when you see him dressed like this—crisp suit, perfectly tailored, every inch of him controlled and put-together, while you sit there trembling, wanting to ruin him. And God, he loves it. Loves how easy you are for him, how just a look, a touch, can turn you into this needy, desperate thing.

He's hard already, half-pressed against your belly, and the fact that you both know it but neither of you says a word? It's enough to make your head spin.

"Sweetheart," he murmurs, fingers slipping just a little lower, tracing the curve of your ass through your dress. "Are you okay?"

You murmur, "Yeah, I just... I want you."

He laughs softly, a little caught off guard by the sudden confession, but not entirely surprised. "Okay, I'll finish and we'll—"

"No, baby," you cut him off, fingers curling slightly against his chest. "I want you here."

That stuns him into silence for a second, brows lifting just slightly. You're bold—always have been—and it's one of the things he loves most about you. You're the kind of girl who grabs what she wants, who kisses first, who pulls him into bathrooms at restaurants when you can't wait until you get home.

And sometimes? He indulges you. But it's safe at home. He likes the comfort of your bed, the security of knowing no one's going to walk in on you mid-thrust. This? This is very much not that.

And yet, there's something about the way you're looking at him, eyes wide with that particular hunger only he gets to see, lower lip caught between your teeth like you're already thinking about how good his dick would feel hitting the back of your throat. Yeah, it does something to him. Something primal. Something he'd never admit, but you've got him half-hard already and you haven't even touched him.

"We can't do this here," he says, voice low as his hand reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, gentle as ever.

"Why not?" you almost whine, leaning into his touch, fingers curling in his lapels. "No one else is here."

"Well, yeah," he concedes, "but Peter might come—"

You don't even let him finish. You just spin on your heel and march right out of the fitting room, leaving him standing there dumbfounded, mouth slightly open, hand still halfway raised like he's trying to physically catch the conversation before it escapes him.

He's still processing when you return a few minutes later, arms overloaded with suits you both know he's not going to try on. You shut the door firmly behind you, smiling sweetly at him as you chirp, "Thank you, Mr. Peter! We'll be fine in here, just take care of your clients."

Then you lock the door with a soft click before arranging the suits neatly on the rack.

Nanami's brows furrow, confusion flickering in his warm brown eyes. "My love, what—"

"Well..." you saunter toward him, hips swaying just enough to make the hem of your sundress flutter against your thighs. Your hands slide up his chest again, slow and teasing, fingers tracing the lapels you just straightened. "The shop's packed, baby. I'm sure we won't get interrupted."

You press a kiss right at the edge of his jaw, sweet at first. "And besides..." Another kiss, just a little wetter this time. "You're gonna try some suits."

Your smile turns wicked, and he exhales through his nose, a soft huff of disbelief that melts into something much dirtier when you press yourself flush against him. "You're unbelievable."

There's no real protest, though, especially not when you tug him down into a kiss that's hungry. You kiss him like you're starving, like you've been thinking about this all day—because you have—tongue sliding into his mouth like you own him.

You suck on his tongue just to be filthy, dragging a soft groan out of his throat that he tries and fails to swallow. His hands fly to your hips, fingers digging in through the thin fabric of your dress like he's trying to ground himself, but you're not even close to done with him yet.

Your other hand is already sliding down, fingers tracing the line of his belt until you palm him through his trousers. And he's hard, just like you knew he would be, heat radiating through the expensive fabric like his body's betraying him.

"Sweetheart," he mutters against your mouth, almost a warning, but it's weak, barely there.

You squeeze him just a little, enough to make him jolt, and you smile against his lips. "Don't act so surprised, Kento. You know you want this too."

His head falls back slightly, throat bobbing as he swallows hard, and you take advantage, kissing down the column of his neck, biting just shy of too hard. He's already so gone for you, muscles tensing under your hands, breath a little shaky. He can't even pretend to be scandalized anymore, not when you've got him hard and half-wrecked already, and you're just getting started.

You sink down to your knees, the plush rug cushioning you just enough, though you barely notice. You're too focused on the man in front of you, on the sharp lines of his slacks stretched taut over his thighs, on the outline of his cock straining against the fabric. Your hands are already working—too fast, too eager—as you fumble with his belt, popping the buckle open, fingers trembling slightly as you tug at the button and work the zipper down.

Nanami's trying to say something, voice soft, half-hearted—maybe a gentle, "Sweetheart, we shouldn't", or some weak protest about time or place—but the words never make it past his lips. Not when you lean in and press soft, open-mouthed kisses along the length of his cock through his boxers. Not when you nuzzle your nose against the heat of him, breathing him in, mouthing at the damp spot forming at the tip.

"My love—"

It's barely a whisper, his knuckles brushing against the side of your face like he's not sure whether to stop you or pull you closer.

You don't give him the chance to decide. You hook your fingers into the waistband, tugging his boxers down just enough to free him, and God, he's so hard, thick and flushed, precum already pearling at the tip.

"Fuck, Kento," you murmur, more to yourself than him.

Because no matter how many times you've had him, seeing his dick—fully dressed, buttoned-up and perfect from the waist up, while his dick stands out heavy and throbbing—yeah, that does something to you. Something wicked.

You start slow—too slow—dragging your tongue along the underside of his cock, from base to tip, tracing the thick vein you know so well. His thighs tense, and you hear the faintest hiss of breath through his teeth as his fingers flex at his sides.

You kiss the tip, sweet and almost innocent if not for the way your tongue immediately darts out to lap up the precum, swirling around his slit like you're savoring it. You hum softly, half in appreciation, half to tease, and his cock twitches against your lips.

"Baby," he breathes, almost a warning, but so damn weak.

Your fingers curl around the base, stroking him slowly as you take him into your mouth, just the head at first, your tongue tracing every ridge and curve, memorizing him all over again. His hand finds its way into your hair, fingers threading through, not to push, never to force—Nanami would never—but just to hold. To ground himself. To feel you, because that's all he's ever really wanted.

You moan around him, just to feel his cock jump against your tongue, and you know it's torture for him. The sight of you on your knees, sundress pooling around your thighs, hair tousled, eyes wide and shining up at him as you hollow your cheeks and take him deeper.

"Fuck."

The curse slips out soft, almost reverent, and his thumb strokes absent-mindedly over your scalp, like he's thanking you for this, even though you're the one who's absolutely wrecked for him.

You work him with your mouth like you've got something to prove, tongue swirling, lips tight around his shaft, sucking him in until he nudges the back of your throat. You hold there, eyes fluttering shut, breathing through your nose as you swallow around him, making him groan low in his chest.

"Sweetheart..." His voice is ragged, hips shifting just slightly.

You slide back, letting his cock slip from your mouth with a wet pop, and you smile up at him, spit shining your lips. "You taste so good, baby."

His head tips back against the fitting room wall, jaw tight, eyes dark with hunger as his thumb drags against your lower lip, smearing a strand of spit and precum.

"You're unbelievable," he mutters again, but this time there's nothing but lust behind it.

"Then stop pretending you don't love it," you purr, and before he can respond, you take him back into your mouth, faster this time, sucking him down until your nose brushes his pelvis, the scent of his cologne flooding your senses.

His grip in your hair tightens—still gentle, still Nanami—but there's tension there now, a warning you're both about to ignore. You've got him deep in your mouth now, spit slicking his cock, pooling at the corners of your lips as you work him with that filthy desperation that always drives him just a little insane. Your hand strokes the base where your mouth can't reach, twisting slick fingers around his shaft while you suck him down, tongue pressed flat to the underside so you can feel every little pulse and twitch.

"Sweetheart..." His voice is soft, breathless, that warm baritone going slightly rough the longer you keep him in your throat. "You're so good to me."

Your cunt clenches around nothing at all, panties already ruined, because Nanami is the first man to praise you, and God, it's everything. Your whimper vibrates around his cock, and he groans softly in response, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw.

"Look at you," he murmurs, thumb dipping into the corner of your mouth, playing with the spit spilling over. "So eager. So pretty for me."

You moan around him, cheeks hollowing as you suck harder, and he shudders, hips twitching ever so slightly. Even now, with his cock buried in your mouth, Nanami's careful not to be too rough, but you wish he would be. You want to choke on him, want to feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, want him to fuck your throat until you're dizzy.

His other hand strokes through your hair, slow and gentle, a soft counter to the filthy mess you're making of him. "You're so beautiful like this," he breathes, and your cunt clenches again, needy and empty and aching for him.

He's starting to lose it, soft praise unraveling into broken little curses under his breath, fingers tightening just slightly in your hair, hips jerking despite himself.

"Fuck, baby—" His head tips back against the wall, jaw tight, muscles tense. "I'm so close."

That's all you need to hear. You double down, sucking him harder, faster, cheeks hollowing until they ache, tongue flicking over the head every time you pull back. Your free hand drifts between your thighs, rubbing yourself through your soaked panties, desperate for any friction while you work his cock like it's your only purpose in life.

"Do you—" his voice breaks slightly, so close to unraveling. "Do you want to swallow, sweetheart?"

You nod around his cock without hesitation, eyes wide and glassy, looking up at him like you're begging for it. He groans low in his chest, fingers trembling slightly as they stroke your cheek, and you swallow him down again, nose pressed to his pelvis as you moan around him.

That's all it takes. His cock throbs on your tongue, his breath catching in his throat, and then he's cumming—thick, hot spurts hitting the back of your throat as you swallow every drop. It's so much, almost too much, salty and bitter and so him, but you take it all, tongue swirling to make sure you don't miss a single drop. His praise is breathless now, almost shaky.

"Perfect." His voice is soft, reverent. "You're perfect, baby. My perfect girl."

You swallow again, making a show of it, and his cock twitches one last time in your mouth, sensitive and spent, but you can't stop yourself from licking him clean. Your cunt throbs painfully, desperate to be filled next, but for now, you're drunk on the taste of him, on the way his body shivers under your hands, on the soft way he murmurs your name like it's a prayer.

You pull back slowly, tongue flicking out to catch the last droplet at his tip before you sit back on your heels, licking your lips. "I can't wait for you to fuck me next," you whisper, voice still a little wrecked from taking him so deep.

His breath catches again, and the look in his eyes says you won't be waiting long. His hands are gentle as they help you up, thumbs brushing over your wrists before his fingers cup your face. There's something tender about the way he looks at you, warmth flickering in his gaze, but that sweetness doesn't last.

Not when his mouth crashes into yours, tongue sliding deep into your mouth to taste himself on your tongue. He groans into the kiss, a low, wrecked sound that sends heat straight to your core.

He's still so hard, cock twitching against your thigh through the open slacks, and you’re so wet that your thighs are sticky with it, panties completely ruined. When his hand slips past the waistband, fingers sliding through your slick folds to find your clit, you almost collapse right there, knees buckling at the first touch.

But you can't wait. Can't let him tease you, not when you need him inside you so bad it hurts. You break the kiss, breathless, grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand free, ignoring his slight confusion as you tug him toward the love seat. He lets you push him down without a word, hands resting on his thighs as he looks up at you, a little dazed but so beautiful, tie still perfectly knotted around his neck.

You climb into his lap, knees bracketing his thighs, and he's already pulling your panties to the side, thick cock brushing against your slit as you grind down. The heat of him, bare and slick with your spit, drags through your folds, and you both moan softly—him at the feel of your drenched cunt, you at the sheer size of him against your swollen clit.

"Not so shy anymore, baby?" you tease, voice breathy, fingers tracing his tie down to his chest.

He groans, hands settling on your hips to drag you harder against him, letting his cock slip between your folds, rubbing against your clit every time your hips roll.

"No point," he mutters, already a little wrecked for you. "Not when you're this wet for me."

He starts to shrug off the jacket, but you stop him, hands flattening against his chest. "No, Kento." Your voice is soft, almost shy. "The suit stays on."

His brows raise slightly, but the smirk that follows makes your belly flip, because you know exactly what he's thinking. "This turns you on, doesn't it?"

Like he doesn't already know. Like you haven't fucked yourself stupid on his cock a few times while he was still half-dressed, his shirt unbuttoned, his tie loose, slacks shoved just low enough for you to sink onto him.

But this? Keeping him fully dressed, expensive suit against your bare skin while you ride him? This is the fantasy. And this time, you're not letting him strip out of it.

Your cheeks burn as you murmur, "Yeah, it does."

His smirk softens just a little—affectionate, almost amused—but before he can tease you further, you sink down onto his cock, slow and steady until he bottoms out inside your messy cunt. His moan is low, breath hitching at the way you take him so easily, your slick making it effortless to slide all the way down until your thighs press against his.

You're so wet you can feel it dripping onto his slacks, leaving a dark stain where your bodies meet, and you almost apologize, but before you can, he palms your ass, squeezing firmly before giving you a soft slap.

"You'd better not make a mess on it, then, my love."

You grin, leaning in to kiss his jaw as you whisper, "No promises."

You settle yourself fully onto his cock, taking him deep and slow, savoring the way he fills you, stretches you open just right. It's obscene how easily he slides in, your pussy so wet that every little movement makes a filthy sound, slick coating his cock all the way to the base.

And you know Nanami loves this, not the rushed, frantic kind of fucking, but this. The slow, deliberate roll of your hips, your walls fluttering around him every time you sink back down.

His hands fit so perfectly on your waist, fingers curling just slightly, guiding you into that rhythm he loves. Steady. Unhurried. The kind of pace where he can feel everything, the way your walls cling to him, the way you squeeze down every time the thickest part of him drags through you. And when you circle your hips, grinding just right, his breath catches, a soft moan slipping past his lips, because you know exactly how to drive him crazy.

He can't help himself—one big hand drifts up your back, then catches the hem of your sundress, pushing it higher and higher until it pools just above your waist. He holds it there, thumb tracing lazy circles into your hipbone, his other hand cupping your ass to pull you down a little harder on every thrust.

His gaze drops between your bodies, watching where his cock disappears into you, glistening every time you lift up. And he sighs, almost reverent, voice low and warm.

"You look so beautiful like this," he murmurs, thumb brushing over the swell of your belly, feeling the faintest press of his cock through your soft skin. "Taking me so well."

Heat blooms in your chest, spreading fast and hot down to your core, making your pussy clench around him. His praise always does this to you, makes you ache, makes you needy in a way nothing else can. And he knows it too, knows the way you tremble when he calls you beautiful, the way your cunt squeezes him when he tells you how good you feel.

"Always so perfect for me," he breathes, thumb sliding lower, catching the slick mess you're making between your thighs. "So soft, so wet. My pretty girl."

Your head tips back, a soft, helpless whimper falling from your lips because fuck, it's too much—his cock filling you so slow and deep, his sweet voice pouring honey all over your already overheating body, his hand gentle but firm where he holds your dress up just to watch you. To see how much you need him.

"Love you like this," he whispers, hips rising just enough to meet your next roll, sinking even deeper into your soaked cunt. "You're so good to me."

Your thighs quiver, pace faltering just a little, and you know if he keeps talking to you like this, you're gonna lose it completely. But that's exactly what he wants. To make you come undone, sweet and messy, right here in his lap, dress hiked up, suit still perfectly in place, except for his cock, slick and shiny, buried inside you where you both need it most.

Nanami meets every slow roll of your hips with gentle thrusts of his own, pushing up into you just enough to make your breath hitch every time his cock nudges deep against that spot inside you. It's maddening, how good he feels—thick and warm, stretching you open like he was made for you, his cock sliding through your slick so easily it's almost embarrassing.

Every thrust pulls another soft sound from your throat, and you're so wet, so messy, you can feel your arousal clinging to him, making your thighs sticky where they press against his.

His hands never stop moving, one staying firm on your waist to guide you, the other tracing soft, reverent touches over your back, your sides, your hips. Like he's memorizing every inch of you all over again. And all the while, he keeps murmuring to you, voice so sweet, so warm, filling your ears and your head until you can't think about anything except him.

"You're so beautiful like this," he breathes, eyes heavy-lidded as they roam over you, taking in the flush on your cheeks, the way your lips part every time you sink back down onto his cock. "My beautiful girl. My perfect girl."

"K-Kento," you gasp, voice thin and stuttering, fingers clutching at his shoulders for balance.

His name breaks apart on your tongue when his hips rise to meet yours again, cock pressing so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat.

"Yeah, my love," he answers, tender and breathless. "Cum for me, sweetheart. I've got you. Let me feel it."

It washes over you too fast, too intense, pleasure crashing through you like a wave you didn't see coming, stealing the air from your lungs. Your pussy clamps down around him, tight and pulsing, your thighs shaking where they straddle him, and you can't stop the soft, broken moans that spill from your lips as you fall apart in his lap.

You keep moving, even as you tremble, hips stuttering through the aftershocks, chasing every bit of pleasure you can wring from his cock. It's messy and uncoordinated, your cunt so sensitive that every drag of him inside you feels like too much and not enough all at once.

"That's it, my love," he breathes, voice full of quiet awe, like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. "Just like that. So good for me, sweetheart."

His hands stroke soothing lines down your back, his thumbs brushing the crease of your hips as you ride out your orgasm, still moving even though you're shaking from it, soft little whimpers spilling from your lips every time the tip of his cock kisses that tender spot inside you.

"Always so perfect for me," he whispers, leaning up to press his lips to your throat, your jaw, catching your lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

You keep fucking him, slow and deep, the way you know he loves. And Nanami lets you, always lets you take whatever you want from him, because you give just as much in return. Your love, your touches, your body, your soul.

He's never had to ask with you, never had to wonder if you'd hold back, because you never do. You offer it all freely, and so does he. There's no keeping score between you two, no tallying up debts. Just this endless, effortless give and take that's made him so helplessly, hopelessly yours.

But even though you're taking the lead, he can't help himself. His hands move up your body, large palms curving around your ribs until his fingers slip under the straps of your sundress and pull it down, baring your tits to his hungry gaze.

His eyes darken, breath hitching softly at the sight of you—flushed and bouncing softly with every slow roll of your hips, your nipples stiff and begging for his mouth.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, voice low and rough, so full of quiet reverence that your walls flutter around his cock, and you can't stop the soft moan that spills from your lips.

He leans in, hand splayed at the small of your back to keep you close, and then his mouth is on you—warm and wet, lips sealing around your nipple as his tongue flicks over the sensitive peak. He sucks softly at first, gentle, savoring, but when your pussy clenches down hard around his cock, his groan vibrates against your skin, and his teeth catch your nipple, tugging just enough to make you gasp.

"Fuck, Kento," you whimper, fingers tangling in his hair, holding him there like you're afraid he'll stop.

But of course, he won't. He moves to the other breast, lavishing it with the same attention, kissing and licking, tongue swirling before he sucks hard, dragging another sharp gasp from your throat. And the whole time, his eyes stay locked on yours—heavy, heated, full of something that makes your belly flutter and your cunt leak around his cock.

"You're so perfect," he breathes between kisses, voice soft and low. "Every inch of you."

You move faster, hips rocking just a little harder, chasing that deep grind you both love so much. His cock stretches you wide, so thick and warm inside you, every inch dragging slick and snug through your soaked cunt. It's obscene how wet you are, his cock shining with it every time you lift your hips, and you know he can feel it too—the way you drip down his length, making a mess of his slacks, just like you warned.

But he doesn't care. Not when you sound like this, soft moans and broken whimpers spilling from your lips with every bounce of your hips. Not when you feel this good, your pussy clenching and fluttering around him every time his mouth finds your tits, every time his praise slips past his lips.

"Look at you," he whispers, thumb brushing over your spit-slick nipple. "Taking me so well. My beautiful girl."

His voice makes you tighten around him all over again, and he groans softly, head falling back against the loveseat for a moment, eyes heavy with lust and something softer.

And because he knows you so well—because he's thoughtful even when he's buried balls deep inside you—he asks, voice low and a little strained, "Want me to cum inside, sweetheart?"

He always asks. Even after all this time, even knowing the answer, even after countless nights of filling you up at home, in the shower, in your bed. But this isn't home. This is a fancy tailor shop, with walls that aren't exactly soundproof and a risk of someone walking in. Still, he asks. Still, he wants to make sure.

And that? That alone could make you cum.

You nod, so fucking eagerly, grabbing him by the tie—that stupid yellow tie you love so much—and pulling him into a desperate, messy kiss. Your lips crash against his, teeth clicking, tongues tangling immediately, wet and hungry and so fucking needy you could cry. His groan rumbles low in his chest, vibrating against your tongue, and you moan right back into his mouth as you press yourself closer, tits flattening against his shirt.

He tastes like mint and you, and the kiss is filthy—all spit and heat and soft, helpless noises—but it's also sweet, because it's Nanami, and even when you're fucking him senseless, there's still so much love in every touch, every stroke of his tongue, every slow grind of his cock inside you.

You start to move harder, hips rolling down with more force, grinding against the root of his cock, and he meets you halfway, fucking up into you with that steady, deliberate pace you love so much. He's got stamina for days—never rushes, never loses control—just fucks you like he's savoring every second, like he wants to commit the way you feel around him to memory every single time.

His cock stretches you perfectly, thick and warm and so fucking deep, nudging that spot that makes you whimper every time, makes your walls flutter and squeeze around him.

And the praise keeps slipping past his lips between kisses, soft and breathless, "So good for me. My perfect girl. Taking me so well."

You're close, and so is he, you can feel it in the way his hips stutter slightly, in the way his fingers dig a little harder into your skin, in the way his breathing grows heavier, raspier. And when he finally cums, it's a low, wrecked groan against your lips, his cock pulsing inside you, filling you up with thick, hot ropes of cum that leave you gasping, trembling around him.

That first spurt always gets you—the way his cock throbs so hard you can feel every pulse, the way his cum spreads warmth deep inside you, spilling into every inch of your needy pussy—it always tips you right over the edge, and this time is no different.

Your cunt clamps down hard, milking every drop from him as your own orgasm crashes over you, making you gasp his name, broken and breathless.

"K-Kento—fuck—"

"Yeah, my love," he groans softly, forehead pressed to yours, still fucking you through it, slow and steady. "Just like that. Cum for me."

You keep moving, even as your thighs shake, even as your pussy flutters around his still-hard cock, soaking him with every pulse. His cum leaks out, mixing with your slick, dripping down onto his slacks, but neither of you cares. All that matters is this, the way he feels inside you, the way he holds you like you're something precious even as you make a complete mess of him.

You finally slow, hips losing their rhythm until you're just sitting there, his softening cock still buried deep inside your spent, sensitive pussy. His warmth fills you up so completely it leaves you shivering, the way it always does when you're this blissed-out and full of him.

You're both breathing hard, bodies trembling faintly, skin damp with sweat, but all of it feels good—so fucking good—because it's him, because it's you, because it's always been this easy, this perfect.

You lean in first, lips brushing his in the sweetest, softest kiss you've shared all day. No urgency, no hunger, just the warmth of mouths meeting, tongues stroking each other so gently it makes your heart ache. You feel him sigh into it, like you're both coming down together, grounding each other in every unhurried slide of lips and tongues, every tender press of your body against his.

His hands—so big, still so capable of ruin—soothe down your back now, tracing slow, gentle lines, like he's memorizing you all over again. And your hands drift into his hair, fingers tangling in those perfect strands, nails scraping lightly against his scalp just because you know he loves it.

When you finally pull back, he looks at you with something so fond, so fucking smitten it makes you giggle, breathless and flustered and so obviously gone for him.

His eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles and says, "God, you're insane."

But his tone is so warm, so full of affection, it's impossible to take it any way other than the purest kind of love.

"But I love you more than anything," he adds, voice softer, like the words are precious. Like they still mean just as much as the first time he ever said them.

Your smile stretches wide, cheeks burning, and you murmur, "I love you too, baby. So much."

You both stay like that for a moment, bodies still joined, arms wrapped around each other, warmth shared in every breath. His cock is still inside you, and even though you can feel him softening, you both seem unwilling to part just yet. There's something too perfect about being this close, this tangled up, that you never want to let go.

Finally, with a soft sigh, Nanami reaches for your dress, setting the fabric back over your bare breasts. But he pauses—of course he does—leaning down to drag his tongue over each nipple, lazy and playful, before sucking the left one back into his mouth.

The wet pop when he lets go makes you shudder, moaning softly, "Stop that if you don't want a round two."

He smirks—soft but smug—and says, "I'll take that challenge, my love. But at home."

You nod, giggling, and he exhales like you just saved his life, because with you, he never knows. You're wild, unpredictable, utterly insatiable, and he wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. It drives him crazy sometimes, the way you want him anywhere and everywhere, but it also makes him feel so wanted, so worshiped, that it knocks the breath from his chest.

Because as much as he's careful, reserved, a little too serious sometimes, you're the one thing he's never been able to resist. The one who makes him reckless. The one who makes him want to bend every rule. Because loving you feels like standing too close to the edge, and instead of stepping back, he's learned to love the fall.

Finally, finally, he rearranges your dress properly, smoothing the fabric down with a gentle hand, always taking care of you.

A few more minutes pass, your bodies still tangled, his softening cock resting inside your slick warmth, and you swear you could just stay like this forever. But eventually, he helps you off his lap, big hands gentle on your hips as he lifts you up, and that's when the mess starts. His cum spills out of you, a hot, sticky trail dripping down the inside of your thigh and onto his slacks.

You gasp, mortified, already reaching for your bag, when he just chuckles—low and warm, entirely unbothered—and says, "Seems like I'll really try some new suits, after all."

"God, baby, I'm so sorry," you murmur, cheeks hot, but he shakes his head before you can spiral into actual guilt.

"Don't be," he says, reaching for your hand, pressing a soft, deliberate kiss to the back of it. "This was hot."

His tone makes your stomach flip, makes your pussy clench even though you're still messy and leaking all over the place.

"We'll clean these up with some wet wipes," he adds, ever the problem-solver, "I'll put them back in the bag, and I'll buy another suit. No worries, sweetheart. Okay?"

You nod sheepishly, still feeling a little bad despite his reassurance, and that's when he smiles and says, "That's my sweet girl."

The tenderness in his voice is enough to make your heart ache, enough to make you melt as he kisses your hand again, like you're something precious, something to be cherished.

You dig into your bag for the wet wipes you always carry—because you're nothing if not prepared—but before you can even pull one out, he takes them from your hand.

"Keep your dress up, my love," he says, soft but firm.

"Baby, it's okay, I can—"

"Like hell I'm letting you clean up yourself," he interrupts gently, and you giggle because of course.

Of course, he's like this, always taking care of you first, always putting you before himself. It's one of the million things you love about him, the way he never lets you feel like an afterthought.

You've never had to ask for it—his gentleness, his attentiveness—it's just the way he loves you. Thoroughly. Unconditionally. Like you're the center of his whole world, and you know you are.

He kneels between your legs, unfolding a wipe with that careful precision he brings to everything, and you bite your lip as he gently cleans up the slick mess between your thighs. His touch is tender, reverent, and every few swipes, he pauses to press soft kisses to your belly, your hips, the tops of your thighs.

"You're so perfect," he murmurs against your skin. "So beautiful." Another kiss. "So good for me, always."

Your face burns, but you can't stop the little whimper that slips out when his mouth brushes over a particularly sensitive spot on your inner thigh. He hums at the sound, kissing the same spot again, like he can't help himself.

Once you're clean, he carefully pulls your panties back into place, smoothing your dress down with hands that linger just a little too long, like he can't quite bear to stop touching you. Then he stands, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his palm cupping the back of your neck for a moment before you both turn your attention to his slacks.

You help him clean up as best you can, dabbing at the fabric with wipes, and when you glance up at him, he's smiling down at you like you hung the stars.

True to his word, he changes out of the suit, folds it neatly into the garment bag, and reaches for another one to try on—this one is just black, tailored just right, hugging his broad shoulders and trim waist, the jacket cut to perfection. The matching trousers sit low on his hips, sharp creases running down the legs, and the whole thing makes him look like he walked out of a damn magazine.

When he turns back to you, adjusting the cuffs, you catch yourself staring, teeth sinking into your lower lip.

"Do I pass inspection?" he asks, teasing, but his voice is softer than usual, like maybe he still feels a little shy under your gaze, even after everything.

"Perfect," you murmur, still drinking him in, admiring the way the black suit hugs every inch of him just right.

"Good," he says, adjusting his tie with a little smirk. "Then we'll get this one too."

Right on cue, there's a sharp knock at the door, and you both freeze for a second. Your head whips toward the love seat, scanning for any obvious signs of the mess you made, but by some miracle—whether it's the angle or the lighting—nothing betrays the absolute filth that went down in this fitting room.

"Come in," Nanami calls, voice smooth, like he didn't just spend the last minutes buried inside you.

Peter steps inside, smiling wide and blissfully clueless to the debauchery that took place just minutes ago. "Oh, that suits you well, son," he says warmly, nodding with clear approval.

"Thank you," Nanami replies, that polite tone perfectly back in place, though you swear you catch the faintest glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "I'll leave in it."

"Perfect. Let me take the tag off," Peter says, pulling a little pair of scissors from his pocket and snipping the tag free from the sleeve. "I'll wait for you at the checkout. Take your time."

The moment Peter's gone, the door clicking shut behind him, Nanami turns to you, eyes glinting with playful warning.

"Well," he drawls, "let's go before you decide to get wild again, my love."

You giggle, cheeks hot, and slip your hand into his. "No promises," you whisper, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth before he grabs the suit bag—the very one containing the ruined, cum stained slacks—and steps out with you into the main floor of the store.

He keeps your fingers laced with his, thumb rubbing soft circles into the back of your hand, and despite everything—the sheer filth you got up to in a public fitting room—it still feels domestic. Easy. Like every part of being with him is a perfect balance of wild and soft, tender and unhinged, and you wouldn't trade a second of it for the world.

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

Not a request but imagine Viktor debating whether or not to augment his dick because on one hand fun sexy times and on the other it's his dick shit can go wrong and he doesn't want to affect his fertility if he decides he does want kids

You know, as a fandom, I feel like we don't discuss the dick situation as much as we should... like, I've given my opinion on what's up with the Arcane Herald Penis Predicament (go read more on that in my one-shot The Prophet spoke, and the faithful knelt 👀), but I can't imagine the Machine Herald Cock Conundrum is the exact same...

Here is my hypothesis:

So, Machine Herald replaces the parts of his body that he considers weaknesses or that could be augmented with technology and machinery.

Dick and balls are pretty inconvenient from a technical standpoint, they're an easy target to incapacitate someone in a fight ((fun fact, some animals actually know this and will attack the face or the genitalia of other animals/humans to inflict the most damage)). Plus, they are a strong testament to how much the human body is controlled by emotions and impulses, so it wouldn't be that far-fetched to assume MH!Viktor would have gotten rid of them.

HOWEVER

I believe that this theory would be missing an important aspect of MH!Viktor's philosophy and identity. What he craves is an evolution of the human species through the removal of weaknesses of the flesh, such as illness. And evolution REQUIRES the continued existence of a species through time, which means reproduction is still a key aspect in his vision. It would be counterproductive for him to want to get rid of reproductive organs: they're an essential part of making sure a long-term evolution is even possible.

Additionally, MH!Viktor has been shown through various parts of his lore to be exceptionally caring about children. In that same vein, season 1 Viktor often brings back the concept of having a personal legacy...

Considering both of these factors, I'd say that, yes, MH!Viktor still has his human penis. BUT, he would also definitely get rid of the flaws I mentioned earlier.

For example, he would likely be able to at least partially regulate blood flow to his cock, in order to be in control of his own bodily reactions (ie., when he wants to be hard or not). He would also probably add some sort of protective cover or coating over it, with a flexible but resistant material that would prevent genitalia from being used as a weak spot. Almost like a permanent, metal cocksleeve.

If he was to gain a lover along the way, perhaps the sleeve could be tweaked a little, to add some bonus features. A length enhancer, or some bumpy ridges... the possibilities are truly endless. But it would all be solely for the purpose of his goal, of course, not for something as trivial as pleasure. A lot of research seems to correlate female orgasm to higher chances of pregnancy; he's only doing what has to be done to strengthen the future of the Glorious Evolution. Any additional physical enjoyment is merely a side effect, nothing more.

IN CONCLUSION, according to my professional, scientific opinion, I believe MH!Viktor would keep his human penis, but remove all its conceptual weaknesses with technology. There is simply no version of Viktor in the multiverse that doesn't make use of his big, fat cock, and that's just the way things are 😌.

[ranneondeeznuts]

Imagine a Yandere! Idol who sings every song based on you.

𖹭 You met Ivys when you two were 8. It was the cliché childhood bff trope.

𖹭You guys were stuck to the hip since his mom was your mom's boss and they were actually pretty good friends. You two hung out a lot. Well, often because you were forced to as Ivys was quite clingy, and when meeting up, he'll kind of force you by his side. You were used to it anyway.

𖹭Growing up, Ivys was like, your only friend, Well, true friend, actually. He was a handsome young fella and you were just… Well. You. He was popular and talented. And you were just a little fly around him (Well, according to your classmates)

𖹭Whenever Ivys was absent, the others will put down their masks and start insulting you, claiming that Ivys would just throw you away when he'll get bored of you.

𖹭It got so bad, that you started getting uncomfortable around him, trying to push away the haunting words of those stupid bullies.

𖹭But, no matter what you did, he won't budge. He's in every corner, no matter where you go and it's sort of creepy. But, you think he's just being nice, right? I mean, if he avoided you, you'd probably still try to catch up to him, right?

𖹭Thankfully, when you're with him, no one will disturb you, He liked everything that you like and you didn't really hide anything from him. You gave him your interests, and one of them was to be an idol (Just pretend guys)

𖹭You were saddened when during fourth year high school, he left because his family had a new country to continue his business. But, it was how life went. So, you needed to move on.

𖹭You expected the bullying to continue, but it stopped. Even after he moved out.

𖹭Ivys loves you. He always did. Even after he moved away (He punched the glass of his mirror and wall when he found out he was moving away)

𖹭He was considered the perfect boy. Handsome, talented, and smart. But, of course, not everyone is perfect.

𖹭He always knew about the bullying. He always knew about your insecurities. He always knew your interests. And those were idols.

𖹭He silently thanks the bullies because he could comfort you and wrap you to his side tightly. Sure, you were being quite stubborn because you feared the bullies, but don't worry, sweety. He'll chase them out. (He doesn't need to cuz a single glare will let them run away)

𖹭He knows your likes, dislikes, hobbies, and every little thing you do! Like, chewing on your pen to focus, squeezing your pillows to make them more comfy, and swaying around when you get bored. Oh, so so cute!

𖹭And he knows your current fixation on idols. Its so cute when you chatter about them, saying how they're so handsome, have pretty voices, and nice dance moves (Hm? No, he's definitely not planning for their demise)

𖹭So, when he moved away, he immediately sought your attention. Even if you aren't together. So, he's following his dream. Technically, no, but it's what you want! To be an idol.

𖹭Imagine a few years later, you're staying at your cheap apartment, eating some lame-ass ramen noodles. It was your average Saturday until the show you were watching had an ad. You sighed and tried to click the skip button. But your hand froze when it flashed a familiar name.

"Ivys Yveonne!"

𖹭You almost choked into your noodles. "What the fuck." she stared at the screen. He looked handsome as always. But way more handsome now. Then, it showed his concert address and ticket cost. It was happening in your town! And the ticket was only 300 dollars!

𖹭You wanted to see him again. Not in an obsessive way, but in an "I miss you" kind of way. It's been 8 years now and this was a good opportunity.

𖹭Little did you know that he planned all of this.

𖹭Ivys was shaking in excitement. He planned all of this. He easily got into the agency, got famous, and ordered some agents to track where you were. He literally didn't have to wait because, after a week, you were located.

𖹭He immediately scheduled a concert in a week (By blackmailing his managers) and already made the list of  all the songs he was gonna sing. (Love songs)

𖹭Nah, it isn't particularly love songs. You know those Japanese songs that sound innocent and have a catchy beat but in reality, it's about suicide and cannibalism? Yeah. But in his case, its about him wanting to sleep with you, keep you in his basement, marrying you (Forcefully)

𖹭Imagine his excitement when he sees you in the crowd. His non-existent is basically wagging in a hundred miles an hour. And when you ask his managers if he did good, they will all say the same thing. He sang like it was the end of the world.

𖹭You had a free VIP seat (Somehow), and you were amazed. He was majestic even. The lights shining his white hair and his yellow eyes looked like golden jewels. His movements were swift yet smooth, like a river.

𖹭You were cheering your heart out, supporting your friend, but you were afraid he already forgot about you. Well, he probably already did. You were just your average overworked business girl, stuck in an office with paper work.

𖹭He was looking at you. He noticed you the moment you entered. Of course, he had to keep his eyes to the crowd, knowing he'll get a scolding if he doesn't.

𖹭When the concert was over, you wanted to go up to him and hug him, but of course, you can't, too afraid to get rejected and let the body guards get you.

𖹭But, when you were just about to go to the exit, you were blocked by large bodyguards, "Please come with us," they said. Without waiting for your answer, they immediately took a hold of you and dragged you to the back stage, despite your protests.

𖹭You were scared for your life. Were you about to die?! Did you do something?! But, you were seated on a chair, as the bodyguards went back to guarding the entrances.

𖹭You looked around, frightened. Just as you were about to ask and probably scream, a pair of familiar yellow eyes was in your sight, the same white fluffy hair that you have missed so dearly.

"Hello, love." 𖹭

[ofmd-ann]

I was just watching David's video for Behind Our Flag on VOD

Some of my highlights ✨

- David is looking good! 😍 🔥

- He has Ricky noses in a framed box behind him (quotes might not be exact) Quotes ----------

“Pirates are macho, it was fun to look at something as an action genre, and not do that at all.”

“I'm flattered people feel that way. I'm in awe” (on the fandom reaction)

“They are pirates because whatever happened to them on land wasn't working. It's looking at a bunch of people who don't technically fit, and they are finding a way to fit. And make life fit them.”

“We knew we were making something special.”

“When the show came out it was crickets, and they didn't push it very hard.”

“The scene in the bathtub, that was a beautiful scene. We hadn't seen them play much together. Just watching them play off each other, and how beautiful the acting was.”

“I thought we are going to get 3 seasons. I bet we could do it, the fanbase is there.”

“Dangerous Dave, Salty Dan, something dumb. You don’t choose it someone has to give you your pirate name” (What would be your pirate moniker be?)

“Immediately.” (When did you decide they should kiss?)

“There was no resistance to the kiss from the network or Rhys and Taika.”

“There was a moment where they are at the lighthouse and they hold hands.”

“My favourite moment in the entire show is the you wear fine things well moment. There was so much beauty in the way they played it. Him taking the scarf out and putting it back in that's a kiss, its not a literal kiss, but its a kiss. And them looking back at each other and actually wanting to kiss and not doing it, that's a kiss.”

“I told Taika and Rhys about the kiss. Taika said ‘oh yeah okay.’ and Rhys says 'Which one kisses which?'”

“Rhys Darby is pound for pound one of my favourite actors.”

“They were nervous because its weird your kissing your friend of 20 years, and you're feeling things for this platonic friend of 20 years, and when you do this your body doesn't know its a play. You're falling in love with your mate, that's the job you're gonna do for 4 months”

“Cats are witches, they have knives in their feet.”

“They are amazing improvisers. Rhys can improvise and can bring it home in a way that very few people can.”

"It was 100 degrees and Taika's in that leather thing, and Rhys is dressed in all his stuff. They did 3 takes and Rhys did the thing and he was like "That's me". And it was like they're incredible, world class athletes. The 'this is happening' moment was scripted, Lucius witnessing these guys coming together and realising their falling in love." (on Blackbeards bar n grill scene)

"I think it just happened. It's definitely there. I don't think anyone was aware of it until people started noticing it. And then it was like oh yeah that makes a lot of sense. That was another nice coincidence." (was it intentional to have the characters display neurodivergent traits?)

“I'm working on something now that feels like the neurodivergent x-files.”

“It’s fun and its easier, trying to get everyone to do the same accent. When people don’t talk in their natural voices, you lose a lot of 'them'.” (On cast using their own accents)

"Blackbeard. In the first season i was imagining him as Sofia Coppolas Blackbeard. He's like lost in translation Blackbeard. He's famous and he's bitter and lost. And he's looking for something to believe in. He doesn't think he’s gonna find anything cool. And then the dorkiest, most amateurish manic pixie dream guy comes along. It's his amateur status that makes him fall in love with this man. Watching Blackbeard be seduced in the first season and tracking that and why it would happen, and why he would fall for this guy was the most fun for me." (Which character was the most fun to write for?)

"He'd want something badass. I think he'd do his favourite book something like that, but it would end up being really cool. You write him off, you make fun of him, he does something goofy and then he wins." (What would Stede's first tattoo be?)

"City mouse and country mouse go to a thing, and they invert. It's first time we see Blackbeard out of his depth. Where he's gotta go pretend to be a fancy man. I love that because Stede rescues him for the first time. He doesn't like that they hurt his friend. Rest of the series Stede is a fish out of water being a pirate, and to flip it and have him be in Stede's world. I love the idea of that and how it came together." (On The Best Revenge is Dressing Well)

“Blackbeard and Stede switching outfits, the innocent kinkiness of it.”

"Blackbeard went on a bender, everyone's unhappy. They are all eating cake and they all have PTSD" (What happened between season 1/2?)

“A third season would start in the Inn and you only live twice playing. Blackbeard's unfurling fabric/cloth, and the Inn is now a thing. We don't know how they got to this point. Life happened in between the seasons. The 3rd season that would be a longer time jump.”

“Whatever you guys think is as valid as I think.”

“It's a joy to have anything to do with this show.”

[delopsia]

stalling | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 3,200 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, cunnilingus, hand jobs, a men's masturbation sleeve, PBR! Rhett, implied marriage. (But also, Rhett Abbott being needy.) Exhibitionism, if you wanna be technical about it. Brief Summary: You're going to be in so much trouble if someone walks in and finds out that the PBR's best cowboy is eating you out in a bathroom stall.

It's the obnoxious squelch of his drooling tongue gliding over your clit that's going to give him away. 

Wet little noises punctuate his every movement. So sharp that they bounce off the walls, running round and round the room and in your ears until it's all you can hear. Has your shivering fingers pulling harder on his hair, yanking him away just enough for one of those deep groans to escape, and oh god, it's only making things worse.

The last thing you need to do is give someone a reason to open the bathroom door. Walk in and catch sight of Rhett's knees against the concrete floor, between another pair of legs. Unzipped jeans pooling around his ass, one-of-a-kind rodeo buckle glinting in the light, right next to where his neglected cock rests in his lap, so heavy that it can no longer stand upright. 

Cheers roar outside. A buzzer sounds, chased by the muffled shout of an announcer you've already forgotten the name of—another eight-second ride. But it's not going to be enough to steal the number one slot. No, not with that shiny new record, not even thirty minutes old yet. 

"Thank you," he's panting, hardly able to draw himself back to speak, as if doing so will cause his whole world to crumble.  "Thank you for letting me eat your pussy."

His tongue is so hot. A wet flame that presses into you, lazily working in and out, the tip of his nose bumping against your clit, barely there touches that have your hips jolting. But as quickly as his tongue appeared, it's drifting away entirely. Bold enough to test the waters but too impatient to commit, already venturing up, up, up, back to the swollen little bud that he can't stop tormenting.

You're going to be in so much trouble if someone walks in and finds out that the PBR's best cowboy is eating you out in a bathroom stall.

"Y' taste so good," speaking directly into you, his voice rumbling up your belly and into your chest, jostling the cluster of butterflies that have been resting there. 

The heels of your palms press into his forehead, but it's not doing anything. You can't escape the frenzied twitch of his tongue, rolling back and forth, a feather-light contact that ought to send you through the roof. 

"Rhett, you're gonna..." The sound of your voice is meeting your ears, but you can't feel your mouth moving. "Oh fuck—Rhett, you're gonna get us caught." And there's more that you want to say, but you're being cut short by your own drawn-out squeal, fingers knotting in those deep brown locks.

Your heart hammers against your chest with all the strength and fury of those bulls he rides. Thighs shivering, nerves set alight as his lips wrap around your clit, sucking so harshly that the noise echoes all around the room. 

"'s my reward, ain't it?" He sounds almost innocent. As if his devilish tongue isn't hanging out of his mouth, the definition of sin itself. "They can't object to that."

You'd like to argue that they can, but fuck, those loose little circles are about to put you on the goddamn floor. Hips writhing, held in place by the big hands squeezing the fat of your ass, forcing you to remain upright until he's had his fill of you. 

"Rhett—"

Hinges squeal as the bathroom door swings open. 

Sparkling blue eyes dart up to your face, and you can't see it, but you can feel the grin working its way across his face. Boots thump across the floor, then fall silent. The sharp sound of a zipper sliding down kisses your ears. Whoever it is, they're only here for the urinal. 

But Rhett Abbott doesn't care what they're here to do. Opening his mouth to lick a long, fat stripe up your pussy, so content with himself that his eyes close midway. And there's not a damn thing that you can do about it. Hands flying up to clamp over your mouth, stifling a whimper that would surely give you away. 

That big, dumb idiot is pointing his tongue now. The soft tip of it delicately dancing across you, like too much pressure will cause the walls of this bathroom to come crumbling down. Diligently rolling your clit around like you're a piece of candy that he can just idly toy with. A cry squeaks out of you, hardly masked by the loud flush of the toilet.

There's no reason that this should be causing heat to pool in your lower belly, but it is. Winding tighter and tighter, a taut string pulled to its breaking point. So close to snapping that every step this stranger takes is too slow. Thunking closer and closer to the door, until finally...

It screeches open. Then, begins to close once more. 

You've never been so thankful for someone not washing their hands. Already reaching down to tangle your fingers in Rhett's hair and yanking. Forcing that sinful mouth of his away from your sex before—

"No, no, no," Rhett's babbling, whining, like his life depends on it. "Please, I want y' to cum on my tongue. Please, please, I want, I want..."

You can't even begin to argue with him. Because he's already wriggling himself loose, and his dripping tongue is back on you, and his stubble is scratching against you in the most mind-numbing fashion, and your whole world goes silent. 

Nothing but a faint ringing in your ears as your thighs clamp down around his skull, cumming without the slightest bit of warning. Head tilting back, thunking against the wall. A wildfire rushing across your skin in the form of a shiver. And Rhett just can't help himself, humming, licking you through it until the involuntary spasm of your pussy devolves into oversensitive, full-body jolts. 

"You..." sucking in a gasp, "have a problem." 

Understatement of the century. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was being paid. 

Rhett leans back onto his haunches, scruffy, unshaven chin glistening in the light. Dripping, even. "But I'm your problem." You don't know who taught him that, but they're going to get an earful when you catch them.

"That you are," weak, you pull on his hair, hardly enough to even sway his head. "Come up here, dummy."

There's hardly a bit of strength left in your body, and yet, somehow, your little motion is enough to get him moving, knees creaking and all, as he rises to his feet. Wet nose bumping into your cheek, nuzzling you in some odd, dog-like fashion that has you succumbing to the urge to slide your hand down and scratch him behind the ear. 

Eyelashes flutter. Pushing back into your hand. "You pettin' me?" 

"You gonna do something about it if I am?" Taunting, beneath your breath. 

His eyes roll, but he doesn't need to open his mouth for you to know what his answer is. Not when he's smiling like that, a lopsided grin and half-lidded eyes. So laid back and content that he hardly seems to realize that both of your hands are making their way down to his waist, grabbing hold of it and forcing him to spin around. 

Boots chirp against the floor. And you're reaching toward your purse with one hand, blindly feeling against the stall door until you can find where it's hanging. The other arm slips around his belly, cinching him to you. His back knocks into your chest, so close that his hair tickles your cheek. 

"Y' ain't gotta..." he starts, but whatever he's trying to tell you dies in his throat. Shut up by the clear object you're drawing out of your bag. The new stroker sleeve you've been saying you'll try out but have never had the patience to dig it out of the drawer. Inconspicuous at first glance, just a rubber cylinder, textured with little nubs on the inside. 

"Can you do something for me?" Ghosting your lips over the shell of his ear. 

It's impossible to miss the shiver that rattles down his spine. "Uhuh." Nodding dumbly. 

"Touch yourself." Comes out as more of an order than a request, but that doesn't matter because Rhett's already reaching for himself. Big hand wrapping around his neglected cock, sucking in an audible breath from that alone.

You can't dig the lube out fast enough, popping open the cap and blindly pouring it into the toy. So half-assed that some of it winds up spilling out the side, running over your fingers and dripping to the floor. But you don't care; a mess is worth the sight of Rhett stroking himself, twisting his wrist just how he likes it, hips greedily leaning up into his own touch.

Lazy, you drizzle some of the lube right onto his hand, uncaring of the mess you're making. Almost entranced as he spreads it over himself, shimmering in the dull bathroom light. 

But then he's reaching out, sticky hand impatiently curling around yours, trying to guide the toy toward himself. "I want..." his head shakes, searching for words. "Want..." 

If this were any other day, you like to imagine you'd play dumb. Force him to put into words exactly what he wants and how. But the rodeo crowd and the booming voice of the announcer are still out there, anticipating his celebratory return, and that new, sparkling record ought to warrant him a reward. 

He knows that he's getting what he wants, too. Hand sliding back to his base, holding himself still as you lower that dripping toy onto him.

His head tilts backward with a gasp, falling onto your shoulder.

All that and you've hardly slid the thing past his flushed tip, almost have to squeeze him to you in order to keep him still, working down him inch by devastating inch. 

"Oh my god," a little waver in his voice, hips involuntarily jerking up into the sleeve. Those knees buckle, knocking into each other. "Fuck."

A giggle rumbles out of him, and you don't need to look in the mirror to know that his cheeks have turned a nice shade of strawberry, set off by the sound of his own voice. One of these days, you'll get him to believe that he sounds pretty like this, but right now, you've got a different agenda on your plate.

"Tell me how it feels," you whisper, slowly drawing that toy back up, squeezing your fist past his cock head, then beginning to draw down again. 

"Feels..." but he's forgotten how to talk, mouth floundering without a sound. "'s tight...and—mmh!"

Maybe it's your fault for twisting back up so quickly, but you just can't help it. Not when his ass is squirming back into you, unsure if he wants to push into the toy or wriggle away, mouth hardly muffling that long, drawn-out groan. Even through the thick silicone, you can feel the way he twitches, jerking in your hand like a live wire. 

So, so sensitive after a couple days of no fun.

Your hand is already quickening. Too eager to hear those breathy little oh, oh, oh's, set off by the flick of your wrist when you pass over his head. Thighs squeeze together, one of his hands flying out to brace himself against the mirror. The one that you can't quit looking at. Downright obsessed with the sight of this clear silicone hugging tight around his cock. The way precum is already spilling out of him and dripping onto the floor below. 

"Feels—feels good," tripping over his own words, voice so high that you hardly recognize it. "Fuck." 

And just like that, your hand stops. Squeezing firm at his base as he involuntarily jolts forward. 

A whine echoes through the bathroom. Pitchy. Frustrated. "Why...why did you..." He tilts his head to meet your eye. "You stopped." Speaking dumbly.

"I know." Grinning. Your hand loosens just enough for him to move again. "Try and fuck it by yourself."

Almost automatically, he tries to jerk forward. Boots stumbling across the floor, forearm flying up to catch himself as his upper body falls forward. Forehead against the mirror, dark blue eyes locked on the sight of that sleeve wrapped around his cock. 

Weak, his hips begin to move. 

Hissing as he draws back, almost hesitant to move, like he's afraid to slip out of the toy entirely. And it's...fuck that's a sight you haven't seen before. The obscenity of Rhett fucking a cock sleeve, how his balls sway with the motion of his body, perfect for you to reach down and grab. Heavy in your palm, so full that you worry what may happen if you do anything more than run your thumb up and down them. 

"This ain't—I can't," Rhett croaks, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "This is hard." 

The hand around his dick tightens, sends him jumping. "You can do it." 

And he just can't help himself. Feet shifting the slightest bit, trying again. Quicker this time, the lube squelching so loudly that it bounces off the wall. His mouth falls open, fogging up the mirror, panting like a dog on a summer day. Soft noises tumbling out of him, unable to stop a single one of them. 

"There you go," you murmur directly into his ear. "That's a good boy."

Pearly white teeth sink into his bottom lip. Eyes squeezing shut. 

He's trying. 

He's trying so, so hard. But he just can't move quickly enough. Trapped in the crevices of this awkward position, fucking himself into your hand, arms braced over his head, legs too close together. So frustrating that you can hear it in his little grunts, bubbling out of him with every thrust.

"Please," he rasps, head thunking against the mirror. "Please, please, please." 

You've got a feeling you know what he's after. "What do you want?"

"I wanna cum!" He's blurting before you've even finished talking. "Please—please let me cum." 

The buzz of yet another eight-second ride sounds. Loud. Booming through the walls and into this little bathroom. But it's not enough to cover up Rhett's sob as your hand begins to move once more. Pumping him in tandem with his frantic hips. Drinking in those airy cries rolling off his tongue, hanging halfway out of his mouth.

"This what you were wanting?" Coy, your teeth find the lobe of his ear, tugging gently. 

"Mhm," is all you're getting out of him. And he's reaching down between his own legs, dragging your hand out from where it's still toying with his balls and squeezing it tight. Needs something to cling to. Anything that isn't this cold mirror in front of him. 

Those darkened eyes peel open, locking with yours through the reflection, and his mouth is shaping around what you think is your name, but not a syllable is escaping. Almost immediately, they flicker shut once more. Your wrist flicks once. 

Rhett cums with a strangled moan. Body jerking against yours. Feet stumbling. And your hand is moving so fast that the toy catches that first rope of cum before it can splatter on the mirror, then the second. Smearing it across his spasming cock, creates a dizzying mess with the lube, so much of it that he's dripping, little spots of it scattering on the floor and the toe of his left boot. 

"Fuck," his breath fogs the glass. "That was...oh."

Your hand freezes halfway down his length. Almost forgot it was moving to begin with. 

"No, no, no," lazily tilting his head to peer over his shoulder, "keep goin' for a second."

And so you do. 

Slow as you can possibly manage, dragging the mess of a toy up and down his cock. He's sensitive. You know he is because he's shifting his weight onto the tips of his toes, fist tightening until his knuckles whiten, but there's a shiver visibly running up his spine. Cum spills out of his swollen tip. Hardly enough to count, but it's something. 

"'s good," Rhett murmurs after a moment. You've hardly got to do anything; he's already pulling away on his own, drawing that softening cock of his out of the toy altogether. Falls limp against his thigh, that sickly mixture of cum and lube already beginning to stain his jeans. 

It's a mess that'll have to be dealt with in the privacy of your hotel room because he's already tucking himself away. Pulling up his zipper and fastening that gaudy championship buckle. One of a kind. 

A selfish part of you hopes that tonight's buckle is a little easier on the eyes. 

One of his knees buckles as he turns, a big hand flying out to catch himself against the wall. "Shit," he's giggling, peering at you through the hair that's fallen into his face, "y' got me all weak in the knees, doll."

"Don't tell me you need to be carried," you're saying as if you're not intrigued by the idea of giving it a shot. 

"Nah," shaking his head, smile so big that his teeth glint in the overhead light. "Might need a few kisses to get me through the night, though." 

Eyeroll. Your free hand darts out, grabbing hold of his shirt collar and hauling him in, meeting those pale, swollen lips for a sloppy smooch. The first one lands awkwardly on the corner of his mouth, both of you leaning in the wrong damn direction. But then Rhett's tilting his head, nose bumping into yours, and he's meeting you properly. One little chaste kiss after another. 

A muffled voice creeps through the walls. Distorted, but you can still hear those two little words all the same. 

"They're calling for you, Abbott," speaking against his lips, making no real effort to pull away. It'll be a few hours before you get to steal this many kisses again. 

He hums. "Which one?" Kiss. "There's two of us standin' here." Kiss.

Weak, your hand thunks against his chest. "The dumb one who climbs on dangerous animals for fun."

"That's both of us, sweetheart," he had to have been storing that. There's no way he could have come up with that so quickly on his own, grinning like a cat that's gotten the cream.

"You're not a wild animal," adjusting the hem of your shorts, blindly feeling about to make sure that they've fallen back into place. 

Nobody will know what you've been up to, so long as they don't see the bite mark on your inner thigh. 

"I can be," Rhett winks. 

That's an argument that you'll have to settle in the hotel room. Before you can even say another word, he's darting for the door, sliding open the latch, a melody of laughter trailing behind.

"Hurry!" He's barricading himself up against the entryway. Feet dug into the ground, hair sticking up every which way. "Before Archie comes lookin' and figures out 'm not actually sick." 

You can't get to the sink quickly enough. 

And if anyone notices that Rhett is a little looser than usual when he climbs that stage to accept his award, nobody says a word. Too focused on the hoopla of a brand new record, the glimmer of a brand new belt buckle, tacky as all hell and a lifetime worse than the one that sits sideways against his belly. 

...but they might notice when he turns his head and flashes a ruby red bruise lurking just below his ear. 

Sure wonder where that came from.

[ariadnes-elixirs]

thinking of a villain yandere...

(male yandere x gn vigilante reader)

tw: things like implied violence and description of injuries. no yandere behavior yet, but it will come.

in a world full of glamorous and shining stars, you were one of the ones that actually deserved that title. the "heroes" claim to be bringers of justice and champions of the people, but everyone knows that's not true anymore.

in the beginning, the heroes and their agencies did genuinely begin and operate with the intentions of helping the general public. now, they turn a blind eye to anyone that isn't from a wealthy area. they're only interested in what makes them the most money, which means they only fight the big bad "villains," and help the people who can pay the most.

fortunately, you had the power to actually make a difference. instead of working as a hero, you decided to embark on a different path.

two years ago you became a vigilante.

two years of helping the people who need it the most.

two years of helping the people who couldn't cough up the cash to keep the heroes interested.

someone needed to deal with the less-than-glamorous problems that the heroes conveniently forget about.

someone needed to deal with the issues and crimes the heroes refused to touch.

and that person was you.

~

as you were finishing up a patrol, you noticed a slumped silhouette in an alleyway. you couldn't tell what it was at first, but you realized it was definitely alive when it started moving

as you approached, you moved quietly and cautiously, trying to assess the situation before making any snap judgements. all you could see from this distance was a dark human-shaped blob.

you crept closer and closer, now around five meters away while trying to stay silent. as you steadily moved forward, you could make out more of the figure.

it looked like a man on the taller side. you noticed that, he was wearing some loose and dark clothing that obscured his figure. it looked to be reminiscent of a techware style, designed with functionality in mind above fashion.

there was no mask or anything covering his face, but you could see a small cut cross the right side of his face.

he appeared a conventionally handsome man, probably in his twenties, and had dark hair to his ears.

the man was slumped on the ground, possibly unconscious. his dark clothing also made it difficult to check for injuries, but further examination revealed a small trail of blood coming from elsewhere leading to the man.

after this making observation, you crossed the remaining distance and crouch directly in front of him.

it was clear that someone had attacked him and he had managed to escape. in addition to the trail of blood, his gloved hands appeared to be clutching some small object.

maybe someone mugged him and tried to take... whatever that is?

or maybe he took it from someone?

you weren't totally sure, but it wouldn't be the first time you ran into someone in a situation like this. while it may seem stupid at first glance, you decided the best course of action would be to bring him to your apartment to patch him up.

bringing a complete stranger covered in blood to your home generally isn't a good idea. however, you don't know this guy's financial situation and if he can afford to go to a hospital. additionally, you need to determine the severity of his injuries before deciding whether he needs medical assistance from a professional.

after making what could possibly be the dumbest decision of your life, you remind yourself of what you set out to do when becoming a vigilante.

you set out to help everyone you could, and if you had the means to help, you would.

most superpowers were separated into different classes based on their roles in combat. technically, your power officially falls under the "support" class, but it has its applications both in and out of combat.

you happen possess the unique gift of lulling someone to sleep and then keeping them asleep until you wish to wake them.

your opponent can't fight if they're asleep, right?

all it takes is your target being in your line of sight and a snap of your fingers.

the man was already almost out cold, so there's no harm in just... making sure he's completely out cold.

snap

as the rest of his consciousness leaves him, he completely slumps over onto ground in front of him.

you move to pick him up, noting that he is more... lanky... than he appears. eventually, you are able to bring him up and throw his arm around your shoulder in a makeshift fireman carry. from this position, you can move him, albeit slowly, to your apartment.

~

somehow, this turned what should be a five minute walk into a thirty minute herculean task. you underestimated just how tired you were after a full day's work and a five hour patrol.

eventually, you make it up to your apartment while carrying the man. as you feel your strength about to fail, you gently set the man down on the ground in front of you so you can find your keys and unlock the door.

once your front door is open, you drag him to your living room couch as gently as you can. at this point, you can't even muster the strength to lift him up onto the couch. usually you don't keep someone unconscious for more than a couple minutes, so thirty minutes of using your powers really made the fatigue hit you even harder.

you can feel your legs about to give out as well, but you have to deliver first aid as soon as possible.

one catch that comes with your powers is that to put someone to sleep and keep them asleep, they have to constantly be in your line of sight.

in order to make sure he stays asleep, you keep your eyes on him and walk backwards into your bathroom. then, you make a run for it to grab the first aid supplies and return to where you can see him as quickly as possible since he's left your line of sight.

now holding the first aid supplies and rushing back to his side, you notice that even with your power's grip weakening, he's still out like a rock.

this gives you the chance to further assess his wounds and patch him up. after removing his jacket, vest, and shirt, you can finally get a decent look at his torso.

it looks like most of his wounds are localized to his right shoulder, with a trail of wounds leading across his collarbones and down his left arm. this confirms that he was attacked, probably by someone attacking from his right side? maybe?

it's hard to tell, but you clean and disinfect as much as you can, stitch up any open cuts, and wrap the affected areas with bandages.

you'll have to redo the bandages in the morning, but that should suffice for now.

you take a couple minutes to gather yourself before finally moving him up so he can lay on the couch. you take a couple steps backwards whole keeping your eyes glued to the unconscious man and feel for a blanket you left on a chair nearby.

after grabbing it, you move back to the couch and gently place the blanket over him.

then moving to sit on the chair you took the blanket from, you finally get to sit down for the first time in hours.

the sheer weight of your exhaustion overtakes you as you find your own consciousness slipping.

your sleep deprived brain seems to momentarily forget about the strange man you brought into your home.

you had planned on staying awake to keep an eye on him, but it appears that that won't be happening.

as your eyes close, you try to shake the feeling that you've seen him before. he wasn't wearing a mask, but his outfit definitely looks like one you would see on television. maybe he's a hero? villain? another vigilante?

but the odds of that were low, he's probably just some civilian that got caught in the crossfire of some confrontation, right?

regardless, that was tomorrow you's problem, as you finally find yourself falling asleep. completely unaware of just who you had brought into your home.

completely unaware of how this one act of kindness will change the rest of your life.

a/n: sorry this was mostly set up, how do we feel so far? any thoughts? should i keep it going?

also i will probably be busy for the next two ish weeks, but i'll have a decently long break after that so i hope to write some more then!!

[pressureplus]

HEYA HELLO HI

first, i want to genuinely thank you guys for the account's existence and your hard work. reading through the posts is often the highlight of my bleak days, and im immensely grateful for you providing those moments of joy :]

SECOND UH ID LIKE TO ORDER A SPECIFIC KINDA HEADCANONS LIST IF NO ONE MINDS AND IT HASN'T BEEN WRITTEN ALREADY ALRIGHT YEAH

a nonbinary reader who is pretty similar to Seb's stubborn, independent and sassy persona but WOMP WOMP, they're suddenly head over heels for him. NEITHER WANTS TO ACKNOWLEDGE THE FEELINGS (aka "HE'S FUCKING MARRIED, IT'S NOT MUTUAL AND IM BUSY WITH NOT DYING, BUT I CANT GET HIM OUT OF MY HEAD" & "I HAVE A WIFE AND THEY'RE JUST SOME EXPENDABLE BASTARD, GET OVER IT, SOLACE"). the distracting, unnecessary, painful pining. how do both cope and who's gonna break first? and most importantly, is either gonna throw their ego and rationality out the window to confess despite the fear of looking pathetic?

oooof i hope it's not too much and it's not breaking any rules. thank you in advance if you find it interesting enough for writing! :D

Awww, thanks so much! Although I should make it very clear the wife in question will remain vague and is NOT BASED ON ANYONE! Thanks for the request ❤️

♡Married! Sebastian Solace x NB! Similar! Reader Headcannons♡

Warnings: Sebastian is Married and Y/N is technically an Affair Partner

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟

He had found you interesting from the moment you opened your mouth and got sassy with him, mostly because most people don't have the balls to do it

Despite finding this slightly irritating, he also found it refreshing, so he didn't immediately shoot you if only for his own entertainment

A terrible mistake he'd soon find out

He developed some definitely unhealthy feelings the first time one of your comebacks had an almost flirtatious undertone

It was an accident on your part, but it got him thinking

He was a married man fawning quietly over you, how awful is that?

I mean of course he’s flashed the wedding band, and of course he's mentioned his wife when others flirt with him, but that doesn't change his feelings

If you flirted with him, would he really reject you?

Could he?

He hadn't known the touch of his wife in years, the softness of her hands, the warmth of her kisses

After everything that's happened he couldn't even remember her name. He should be able to remember his wifes name right?

Does he really even care about her? Does he love her now? Did he love her then?

It comes with an odd sense of guilt he doesn't like to look at. Especially when you do something that makes his heart flutter.

You, on the other hand, probably didn't develop any real feelings until he actually saved your ass.

You'd been running for your life and he’d snatched you up and into the vents, tossing you easily into his shop and shutting it behind you

His gaze transfixed on said vent, a hand on his gun. Something about him choosing to save your life while also putting up with your attitude was a little attractive…

Okay, insanely attractive

Sure, Sebastian’s guilt for being attracted to you is bad, but so is yours

You’re attracted to a married man who has absolutely gushed about his wife in front of you before. Even if it was only because someone tried to get a little flirty, what does that matter?

Honestly the mutual attraction makes it hard for you both to focus

Everything about that man is intoxicating, his smile, his laugh, his attitude. Can you really be judged for this?

Neither of you can focus on anything but each other whenever you’re both in a room.

It’s led to Sebastian getting surprised whenever another person buys something off him because he had no idea anyone else was in here

Its also led to you freaking out whenever one of the other expendable touches your shoulder without you having realized anyone was standing behind you

You hide it well…at least you hope you do?

The longing glances and quiet staring on both sides is unbearable though

Especially considering you’re both making those dolly eyes at each other, batting lashes and daydreaming

It’s cute but it’s also incredibly wrong of you two and you’re painfully aware of it

No amount of sharing food and acting like it’s not a date will make it less of a date

He’s already long since decided that he’s going to offer you come with him so you both can leave together

And though neither of you will have the heart to confess for quite a while, I think he’d do it on your way out. Something about you almost dying when you both escape makes him desperate to tell you how he really feels

When that ‘I think I’m in love with you’ slips out while he’s bandaging your arm that’s been cut by glass, how can you refuse?

Especially when you’re in love with him too?

He’ll toss that ring into the ocean once you reach the surface, his wife never loved him like you did anyway

[karlachismylife]

Side note but Cerberus Ghost but it's hyena Cerberus

This thought graced me briefly a couple of times, but now that you said that out loud, why not make it into official first spinoff episode of the hyena 141 au?

I present to you hyena Cerberus!Ghost (and hyena task force 141) headcanons:

Tug-of-war 3 vs 1 as in every Ghost head gets to play with its own opponent out of other three boys at the same time. It's the only way they can have a chance against the mass of this huge monster, since whenever one of them tries to go one on one, he gets flung around with the piece of rope they're competing over. Yes, when they're in their human forms too. Hyena Cerberus!Ghost is a force to be reckoned with even more than normal hyena!Ghost.

Every head of the hyena Cerberus has a unique mane. The right one (the left if we're looking at him directly) is a hyena buzzcut basically, kept short and neat: it grows unevenly and quickly becomes patchy if he doesn't groom it that way. Just like with the skull shape (yes, I'm making it canon that it's not a natural pattern, but something he needs to bleach regularly, otherwise he'd have a normal cute hyena muzzle), Price is the one Ghost trusts to do that. When the fur gets too long and starts acting out, he comes to his Captain and sits patiently as John works the humming shaver, leaving a nice streak of short, thick and very fluffy to the touch fur. It's the softest out of the hyena Cerberus Ghost's manes, so it always attracts Soap's restless fingers - he buries them in the fluff, tugs and scratches, and that absolutely melts Ghost, even if he tries not to show it, since this scruff always gets particularly itchy.

The middle head has, on the contrary, the most coarse mane, it grows the longest, since it's not a liability (there really isn't a way to grab onto it in combat, the brave idiot that tries gets his hand chewed off faster than he can realize his mistake), and is striped, dirty blonde broken up with patches of brown along the long crest all the way to the back. It's the most extended one, too, going past Ghost's massive shoulder blades along his spine and slowly mingling with the shorter fur somewhere in the middle of his back.

Finally, his left head (or right if you look at him head-on) has something similar to his human hair: blond and wavy, so even if it grows as long as the middle one, it looks shorter due to the curls. It's Gaz's favourite mane, he never misses a chance to get his deft fingers into the soft strands and twirl them - or nuzzle into them and chew on them in his hyena form. Gaz also tried putting products into this mane, softening it further and trying to make the curls even more prominent, and Ghost got so pissy every time, grumbling and scowling all three mouths at Kyle, yet still allowing him to do it. If only because then he gets hyena!Gaz cuddling up to him and sniffing at the nice smells of the products massaged into Cerberus's hide...

Technically could easily be the most dominant one in the clan (until they get themselves a Queen, obviously), but requires someone's leadership over him, so never undermines Price's authority unless it's during play/train time and only without witnesses. If someone (probably a rookie, these dumb cunts always run their yappers without a single braincell active) even suggests a possibility of hyena Cerberus!Ghost overthrowing his Captain and taking his place, they get jumped by all the hundreds of kilograms of the beast, cackling at them menacingly in three voices, and cannot get up until Price calls his guard monster off.

Yes, he is extremely loyal. Ghost is in general the definition of loyalty, now make it cubic because of three heads, each with a more or less separate personality, even if they are still connected into one conscience. Complicated? No shit, but you don't really have to think too hard about it. At the end of the day, this is still Ghost, he is still a terrifying enemy and the best ally. And he has his human and hyena traits and moments just like anyone else.

Hyena Cerberus!Ghost is weak for ear caress just like normal hyena!Ghost. Reliant on hearing, he obviously demonstrates immense trust whenever he lets someone cover his plush round ears and massage them, turning him all putty and pliant, or, if it's one of the other hyena boys, lick and nibble on his tender shells, tickling them with hot breath and gentle grumbles. This is also a good way to ground him when he has a flashback or struggles mentally: cover all three pairs of his eyes and lavish some sweet attention on his ears, filling them with nothing but loving words and soft humming. No explosions or cries, no alarms allowed to go off in his heads. Only safety.

He loves to be cuddled. Any version of Ghost does, being the little spoon or laying cradled like a baby is that man's joy of life, he needs that safety cocoon, but if it's relatively hard to accomplish even with normal sized Ghost, hyena Cerberus!Ghost needs the whole clan to swarm around him in a mess of human and hyena limbs, all flanks covered and protected. When not everyone is available for a giant cuddle pile, whoever Ghost sees first, falls victim (literally) under his weight plopping on top. How come Soap is the one that gets squished the most?..

Only lets all three of his heads sleep at the same time when he feels completely safe, which isn't often, but having everyone dear to his big monstrous heart huddled around definitely helps. His right head (with the short buzzed mane) snores the loudest, but the middle one makes weird gurgling noises. It's okay though, just some trauma aftermath.

It's actually more or less impossible to put collars/collar on him because of the way his anatomy works, but it never stops everyone who loves him from trying. However, I recommend trying headbands (with bows or other season appropriate toppers - like soft antlers for Christmas or devil horns for Halloween). If you think a giant mass with three rabid, drooling, scowling snouts gets less intimidating with a pretty pink bow on the middle head, think again.

While he tolerates (hardly) headbands, he actually enjoys when you or Gaz braid tiny braids into his middle mane and put small beads or feathers or other little tokens there. He never says that, but he actually considers those lucky charms that keep him from harm.

Needs help with grooming. His mass and three heads partially glued together make it hard to reach some places on his hide, so it falls on his more than willing partners to do it for him. Everyone has their own style, with Soap being an absolutely unbearable playful menace about, Gaz going extra miles to pamper his Lieutenant and Price staying methodical, but extremely thorough. Hyena Cerberus!Ghost's hide is always in the best condition no matter what trouble he gets into, because there are people (hyenas) that love him. And will lick him clean of blood whenever he gets drenched in it.

Actually hates being alone. One-headed Ghost, human or hyena, already prefers to always be a silent presenсe in his partners' vicinity, but three heads and the jumbled thoughts, voices and other unpleasant experiences that come with those, make him even less of a loner than everyone thinks. Having Johnny talk/cackle all of his ears off is a much better alternative to being consumed with three separate inner monologues that sometimes take him to very, very dark places.

One of his (and everyone's in the clan) favourite things is to hug him around his partially grown together necks. Hyena Cerberus!Ghost is a thick boy, so you need to spread your arms veeeery wide to grasp all his might in an embrace, but it always feels like drowning in the softest, fattest, sweetest giant plushie. Three fluffy snouts nuzzling the hugger's head, low, slightly distorted purring coming out of three throats. Hyena Cerberus!Ghost needs love, and he is finally at the point in his life, where he has it in abundance.

Series masterlist | Main masterlist

[velnna]

i want to say, i ADORE the limb differences (other words for 'missing limbs' that i prefer to use) in the under garden, from the art of them that youve posted on here!! absints lower arm for example :)

i havent read yet, i havent been able to scrounge up the money to buy (hopefully soon!!) but im super excited to buy and read for many reasons, this among them!!

but just, seeing characters with limb differences who are still cool and important and often seem powerful.. it just gives me hope and makes me feel seen!! fantasy is my ansolute favorite genre, but im disabled and i havent found much fantasy stuff that includes disabled characters at All, i can count on one hand the amount of disabled characters ive seen in fantasy stuff :,)

i dont have a limb difference myself (degenerative disc disease and worsening hearing for me) but seeing ANY disabled character is just so lovely, it brings me joy :,) so thank you for including characters with disabilities!!!! it doesnt go unnoticed, and its heavily appreciated and wonderful to see!!

it also makes me curious, do you have any characters in the under garden who are disabled in other ways?? vision, hearing, mobility related conditions, etc? having just one type of disability repped is also amazing regardless of if you have others of course, im just curious :)

and if you ever need a disability-related sensitivity reader/info person based on lived experience for anything, if you ever make a post about it id definitely hit you up XD

have a lovely week, and i hope this ramble isnt too huge haha!

Thank you so much! I hope you enjoy it when you do manage to read it 🖤🖤🖤

The Under Garden has a couple of separate "storylines" with their own casts and we haven't set everything in stone for most of them, so take this with a grain of salt. Amongst primary and secondary cast, we have a couple of people with disabilities/chronic pain from injuries, medical complications, etc, some more explicitly shown than others. Technically Ashton, for instance, has a degenerative condition (loosely linked to the idea of butterflies having a very short lifespan after cocooning) and it's a big part of his role in the story overall

There's other instances of characters that could potentially have parallels to real world illnesses or disabilities but they're so intertwined with magical/fantasy mechanics that it's up to each reader to see how they feel about it.

Oh and we're toying with the idea of one of our main characters having a severe hearing impediment but it's a WIP because it might actually affect the plot

[thefishywizard]

can you tell us more about your mcd rewrite/headcanons? obsessed with your version of the kiddos! how does the 7 year time skip work? how old is dante? how old are nekoette and dmitri? does alina exist? is this garrancemau? does aaron exist? well probably since lilith is lycan, but i’m so curious and amazed and definitely sold on whatever’s going on here

OH BOY STRAP IN I'm so excited to talk about this.

for starters, the 7 year time skip is in place of the 15 year time skip, but since its fiction, characters like Travis and Michi will still be adults since we didn't meet them season 1 and don't have to adhere to preestablished ages. the biggest changes are really to the world and the kids. (keep in mind there are some other changes that happen in season one that would effect how characters work or how things play out, for example KC being the traitor or Nichole being a werewolf both heavily effect the plot that plays out around them and how their characters behave. i can hear your screams about KC but just trust me. hold my hand. we'll get through this together)

side note. the reason its 7 years is because that's the actual length they are in the Irene dimension in the episode. technically 7 minutes and 30ish seconds so its a 7 and a half year time skip.

Dante is 22 in season 1 and 29 maybe 30 in season 2. in season 2 Dante is much less in charge of guarding a village and more so, protecting the remaining members of phoenix drop after O'Khasis and Scaleswind burnt it to the ground and most people left. Its important to note that this time, Alexis, Kyle, Levin, and Malachi are not present. The only guard besides Dante is Nicole who was disowned by her father at the end of season 1 due to being a werewolf (its an allegory for being gay but she doesnt know that yet shhhh) and KC is staying out of a sense of trying to make up for her mistakes (she was the traitor in season one because Zane threated to have her deported back to tu'la, (where shes wanted for being a magicks user,) if she didn't put the listening amulets into her dolls and give them to the guard (Dante) so Zane could listen in on their meetings. but she ends up coming clean in the end and refusing to help Zane anymore) anyways BECAUSE of these factors and Dante's closeness with both of his perspective baby mamas combined with the fact that there is NO WAY Dante had any sex ed experience. Dimitri is born earlier than he is in the series. but not before Nicole realizes she's a lesbian and amicably breaks things off with Dante, staying friends (they're roommates for awhile). Dante and KC start dating and its through hanging out with Dante and baby Dimitri that she realizes she wants that with Dante asks him how he would feel about having another child. Which, of course, born-to-be-a-girl-dad-Dante is overjoyed about. Dmitri and Nekoette are both younger than they are in the series by the time we meet them. Dmitri being around 4 while Nekoette is about 3.

Alina does exist! sort of! she's not the same character as she was in the series. instead she is Shad and Irene's unnamed daughter who was turned into a relic. I'm actually shocked that plot point got introduced and the ACTUAL girl who was turned into a relic didn't even get a name. I also think it would be interesting if the people who the relics were made out of could speak to their holders and Lilith is the one who ends up with it instead, making Alina still important just in a different way. (shes also older, like 8)

hell yeah its Garrancemau. they get together near the end of season 1 and the series as a whole ends with their wedding.

Aaron does exist, but much in the way Alina does, he's a lot different. he's not shads vessel (that's Laurance), he IS still Liliths dad and he does still die but this time its for good. Aaron is significantly older than Aphmau and their relationship is not a romantic one, its a mentorship. Aaron is the example of someone who married a member of his guard and it worked out (changing Lily to his head guard because what do you MEAN she was the guards daughter) he's an example of exactly what Aphmau most fears, losing everything and it being her fault. he's actually a FANTASTIC parallel to Aphmau because in so many different ways he represents what her future could look like. and then he dies. and she has to cope with her first ever huge loss. and so does Lilith, and everyone else who had grown to like him. (he's less broody and stand-offish and is known better for his wisdom and advice) and he doesn't come back. we have to cope with that loss the same way aphmau does and find a way to move on without him. while she tries to remember everything he taught her. (also instead of the amulet blowing his town up it transforms him into the ultima and he goes on a mindless killing spree. that's way more blood-on-your-hands than accidently blowing everyone up.) I have more i could say about him but this section is already too long.

I'm happy to go more in-depth on any of this if you're interested! me and my sister have put A LOT of thought into this as we've been watching it together so if you want me to elaborate on anything PLEASE ask.

[cripplecharacters]

Hello! 😊

I have a character with albinism in my story and I need help figuring out what to do about her photophobia. The setting is a medieval fantasy world and the character is a dragon.

The problem I'm having is that she's huge. She's probably around the size of a blue whale.

I was going to give her sunglasses, but they would be absolutely massive and extremely heavy, and I feel like the weight of the frame pressing down on her skin all day would probably be extremely uncomfortable or even cause skin damage. Also, the glasses would probably be really thick and I'm not sure if she would even be able to see through that much tinted glass?

I thought about a hat, but I'm not sure what it would be made out of. I feel like any sort of fabric at that size would just crumple under its own weight. I could have supports inside of it, but that would probably make it really heavy which wouldn't be good for her neck.

The only other thing I can think of is some sort of semi-transparent fabric veil that she can tie around her head that covers her eyes, but I know that trope is kind of iffy. Although I'm not sure if it would count since she's not legally blind (her vision is around 20/100. I think. Would vision measurments still work the same for someone with giant eyeballs? 🤔)

Is there anything else I can give her to protect her eyes that won't hurt her?

If it makes a difference there are two blind characters in the story who do not wear glasses of any kind, and another character with albinism who wears sunglasses and a hat.

Hello!

I believe I'm the only active mod with photophobia so I'll try answering, but keep in mind I'm neither blind nor do I have albinism.

So photophobia is a spectrum, right - it's really wide. On one end you have people who can't open their eyes because of the pain unless they're in a completely blacked-out room and on the other are people who kinda just push through it and don't bother with anything. There's a huge variety in severity. I was on both of these (plus everything in-between, plus non-photophobic at one point too) so I'll try to give you some ideas.

If she's on the first end, then well - close the eyes, and hopefully she has a sighted guide. Sunglasses don't help here anyway (source: experience) unless she'd have to wear them while closing her eyes because the tiny amount of light showing through a person's eyelids can still be painful (source: experience). A hat or a veil here would be like putting a bandage on someone who blew up. If she's permanently like this, she's functionally totally blind (but with some stereotypes that don't really represent all totally blind people - most of them don't keep their eyes closed 24/7).

If she's on the second end then I already kinda answered your question; Nothing is sometimes a solution. Same how not everyone with knee pain uses a cane, even if it technically could be of some benefit - too much hassle.

Now for the hard part: everything in-between these two. Since your character is somewhat logistically complicated due to both being a dragon and of that size, I'll try to think of the accommodations one can do with their body rather than external aids.

Squinting is a legitimate strategy. Is it great, not really. But it does work for a lot of people. You can squint your way through a lot.

Hand (claw?) to shield against the sun, same as above. Most people (IDK about dragons) don't sit around in bright sun all day, if you quickly have to go through an area like this you can just cover it.

Brow ridge (no idea what is the dragon equivalent) is a sort of built-in sun protection on its own to be honest. It's definitely not 100% for obvious reasons, but it does help against the brightest light sources. However, with her being a dragon this could be a legitimately successful solution - both Eastern Asian and European dragons tend to be portrayed with protruding parts above their eyes. Normally I'd say that it would be a bit of a cop-out, but as you say there is another character with the same disability, so I'm not worried here.

Last solution would be some sort of contacts. Obviously they didn't exist in medieval times, but there's a dragon there already so it's fine to get creative - could shed scales be thinned down and used as a block-out contact? Maybe some sort of mineral? Or leaves from a comically big tree? All of these would definitely hurt a human but again, dragon anatomy and how tough their eyes are is free to speculate about until something very unexpected happens.

Now for the rest;

Consider her lifestyle and where she physically lives. Is there a lot of sun there? Does she go outside during the day? Does she prefer winter over summer because she can go out more (and/or with less pain)? Not all photophobiacs will have the same kind of lifestyle and will thus need different accommodations; keep that in mind.

Hope this helps! Good luck writing disabled dragons

mod Sasza

[sevs-corner]

Here i am giggling and kicking my feet over the idea of navy! reader being so at odds with the Tf 141 squad being army. (let's just imagine that they're either back to being cadets or they're visiting officers or part of an older class.)

You, a newly enrolled student at the Navy Academy, quickly got the attention of the four while they were stationed at the nearby army base (quite literally in the same area-- considered as close neighbors to the academy who are quite often at each others throats) for having already oustanding records as just a plebe.

And they wanted to recruit you to their lil' party troupe over at the army. (More like kidnapped 'cause they could use you more effectively at the army compared to the muppets and hooligans they ended up training and getting into their squadrons.)

But as they try coercing you at first, you firmly deny them- despite them holding authority over you and can get transferred with the amount of strings they can pull to make it happen, but they don't.

Because they want to see you do it willingly.

You, on the other hand, simply take it as another challenge to "BEAT ARMY" at every opportune moment. To see them crushed beneath the feet of someone who had trained for this very moment in your life-- and you're not just going to let that one chance go in place for canoodling with a bunch of silly army soldiers.

And seeing the fire of contest in your eyes made them accept your challenge, that-- until the day of your graduation-- whoever has the most points by that time, you would either stay in the Navy or work for them and their squad in the army.

Oh, just imagine the amount of unnecessary squabbles that would get you in trouble for by sneaking over to their academy and dorm room (and vice versa) to settle disputes in either card games, gun ranges, push-up counts, and many more-- basically making a competition out of everything.

You canonically have an on-going scoreboard that you update quite frequently like its a spreadsheet. Detailing everything from status reports of how, "MacTavish was so off his game today that he was a millimeter off from beating me at the sniper range" to "Beat the old man at his own game of mental 4D chess."

Even though you're at even odds against each other on land, on water on the other hand-- its quite a staggering difference.

With the record holding 20-4, you'd think they'd try for different events but no-- they're determined, undeterred at the thought of beating you at your own game.

Until Soap gets caught in a sail, gets hauled up, and is hanging by the sails-- and they swear off those competitions for a while.

Though when it comes to the fitness ones, somehow you always come short of winning with a close score of 30-28, with you up by two for the recent ones at the obstacle course at the Navy Academy. You had homecourt advantage but that never mattered between you five-- what mattered, was that Gaz tripped up at the last moment and fell to his demise on a rope because of the lack of grip from the mud crawling section of the course.

Even then, you were only seconds off from winning-- and of course you had to let them know by bring out your friends from the band, to stroll and march as you exited in style, leaving them more amused than disappointed really.

Who's to say that they don't mess with you as your- technically higher ranking- superiors?

They'll definitely call you out more when it comes to Navy-Army joint training sessions, or handle some of classes in combat or weapons handling.

They are definitely abusing their powers by pulling you out of your classes just to drag you into their silly competitions, which makes your workload stack and you even more determined to slam them to the ground in the gym, with the goal to grapple and flip the opponent first.

They don't feel bad at all, not when they can tease and play with their favorite underclassmen. They honestly just can't wait for you to be in the field with them, and with all this chemistry-- they already had plans for creating the perfect spot for you in their team.

You slotted into their dynamics so well that most of your classmates and other superiors wonder too on why don't the Tf 141 just adopt you already?

Well, because you're insistent in your goal-- and they respect that, though by doing so in challenges to see if you really, truly are committed to it. Elsewise, they would just pick you up and take care of you themselves.

All these hijinks and somehow, you forgot the true purpose behind them--

And TF 141 never forgets to fill in their end of a bargain. So watch out and make sure those scores tally in your favor~

Masterlist for my other works here ! Inspos that I just happened to watch on my feed here! From Sam Eckholm's YT on: -What's Inside the US Naval Academy -What's Inside the Air Force Academy

[suzukiblu]

New WIP start behind the cut, based off a request from @itty-bitty-fun: “I'd definitely love to see your take on micro/macro”.  . . . you know that thing when a kink is not really your kink and you’re like neutral on its existence, but then, like . . . someone asks you to actually consider it, and then you get way too invested in the process? no reason. asking for a friend.

“This is mortifying,” Kon mutters into his hands, trying not to die of said mortification. 

“Kinda reminds me of my Barbie phase, honestly,” Cassie says with a smirk, offering him the set of doll clothes she just got back from digging up. He glowers disgruntledly up at her, but it’s technically an improvement on the spare ace bandages from Tim’s utility belt that he’s currently wrapped up in. Kon is not actually a self-conscious guy and wouldn’t normally care about anyone seeing him naked, but normally he is two hundred and fifty pounds of half-Kryptonian muscle and not the size of a goddamn Barbie doll, as Cassie has so helpfully and mercilessly seen fit to point out. 

Actually, probably a Barbie doll would be bigger. Like, Kon did not have a “playing with dolls” phase for several very obvious reasons, but he’s pretty sure they’re bigger than he is right now. He’s more, like, action figure-sized. Which, obviously he’d rather be an action figure than a fucking Barbie, given the option, but also Barbies are bigger than action figures, and–and–

Stupid magic.

“You’re really small, wow,” Bart observes as Kon snatches the doll clothes and eyes them sourly. “I bet we could fit you in Tim’s coffee cup. Or maybe even his utility belt. Or maybe–” 

“Shut up, Bart!” Kon snaps, because he really doesn’t like how this feels, actually, and it’s actually kind of freaking him out, and he probably is small enough to fit in Tim’s stupid coffee cup and that’s just not something he really wants to be a thing right now! At all! Or ever! 

Also, the doll clothes are big and shapeless and awkward and came off a stupid cheesy “legally distinct” knockoff Troia doll, which means they’re also sparkly and kind of itch, it turns out, while also being stupidly flimsy and so paper-thin they're practically see-through. He feels like an idiot in them, and doesn’t even wanna think about how stupid he must look. 

Fuck his stupid fucking life. 

Look, Kon’s a big guy, okay? He’s used to being a big guy. Used to being the meat shield and the tank and the one who gets between everybody and the problem. Like this . . . 

What the fuck use is he, like this? 

The spell’s temporary. It’s not permanent or dangerous or anything like that. It’ll be gone by this time tomorrow, if not sooner. 

But it’s not gone yet, and Kon’s no use to anybody like this. 

“Could put you in a dollhouse for the night,” Cassie hums, giving him an amused smile. “Tuck you into bed like a baby doll.” 

“I actually hate you,” he informs her, and she laughs, because she’s the worst. 

“Actually I really like that idea,” Bart says musingly, tapping his mouth. “You grifin’ never let us take care of you.” 

“I still have TTK,” Kon reminds him threateningly, and Bart just cocks his head, looking him over speculatively. 

“So you’re not as strong, but you're still pretty invulnerable?” he asks. 

“Who fucking cares?!” Kon snaps in frustration. He’s still no use right now either way. 

“I just wanna know if we could fuck you like this and not have to worry about hurting you,” Bart replies reasonably, reaching out to stroke a fingertip down his chest. Kon–sputters, kind of, and reflexively recoils from it. 

And also, like. Burns alive, kind of. 

“I–like this?” he sputters. “I'm like, fucking doll-sized, Bart!” 

“Yeah, I know,” Bart agrees. “Like the perfect size to pick up and play with.” 

“Burning alive” is actually not a strong enough phrase for what Kon is doing right now. 

“You already let us dress you up,” Bart points out, poking at the strap of his borrowed clothes. Kon metaphorically vaporizes into atoms and literally dodges away from the poking. 

“I dressed myself,” he says defensively, mortified by the idea of–what exactly does Bart even have in mind? He's not big enough to do anything for any of them. His dick is definitely not big enough to do anything for any of them. Like–how would that even–how would they even–? 

“Hmmm,” Cassie says, and then just puts both her hands around him and picks him up, because she is again the worst, and–well, and then she flips him around, unzips the front of her shirt, and sits him down to recline right on top of her bare cleavage, his head resting back against her breastbone, which is . . . fine, alright. Like–he’ll live with that. Getting snuggled up to a pair of tits big enough to sleep on is not the worst imposition of his life, especially when said tits belong to the most Wonder-ful member of their whole weird nebulously-defined team situationship thing. 

But also, it’s embarrassing, because what the fuck is he supposed to do for her like this?