#these two just do not talk things out but this is honestly more a case of 'let's just leave that for right now and come back to it later'

[aniesvision]

𐂃 𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒏𝒙𝒊𝒆𝒕𝒚- 𝑴.𝑺

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒓!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓, 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕, 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒅𝒓𝒖𝒈𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒙𝒊𝒆𝒕𝒚, 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒅𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆, 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕, 𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒍 (𝒇! 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈), 𝒑 𝒊𝒏 𝒗, 𝒑𝒖𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒖𝒕, 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆, 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇

𝚊/𝚗: 𝒊 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒆𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒆, 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒖 𝒈𝒖𝒚𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒐 ♡︎ 𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆!!

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒖𝒑 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒊𝒎

3450 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔

Selling weed to drunk teenagers and young adults at parties wasn't my first option, but high school ended a few years ago, I live alone since my parents kicked me out of their house and college is expensive as fuck. I tried to get a normal job, but my classes were taking a lot of time and it wasn't working out. Maybe it could, but I felt like I was going to explode any second, and mental health is also expensive so I couldn't afford a therapist if I needed one.

I used to love parties, drinking and dancing with my friends, just running away from all the responsibilities. Now I hate them. I have to talk to people I don't like, people I don't know, weird guys that give me what I need to sell and then I get back barely enough to pay my bills. They're not exactly dangerous, but I don't have the energy to fight back and ask for more.

My luck was to become friends with a girl in college who knew influencers and got us in a few parties. Honestly it wasn't a surprise that almost all of them used something, I mean, they have to find a way of going through life and sometimes getting high is a great escape from reality. I do it myself and I don't even get hundreds of comments about everything I do online.

Since they were all rich or close to being rich I always charged more than normal. They could pay and I needed that money, so it's only fair. Funny thing though it's not all influencers are assholes and I ended up getting involuntarily closer to one of them.

Matthew Sturniolo. Didn't seem like the kind to use stuff, and didn't look like he had done it before when I handed him a joint. I had to teach him how to smoke, something I've never done before to anyone, and when I realized his shaky hands and bouncy legs I immediately caught the reason he even asked for it.

We talked a lot the day we met, even told him my number in case he wanted more weed, but deep down I was curious and hoped he would text me so I could see him again.

When days later he called me wanting more I was surprised. First because he called, not texted like everyone does, second because for some reason I could feel through the tone in his voice that he felt the same he did at that party. He was beyond anxious and I felt bad, he seemed decently nice to be in the environment he was in that day, but I guess he needed to be present.

I found out he's a triplet, and his brothers had no idea that he wasn't sober anymore like the other two. I wonder if they're also as nice and calm as he is, at least he talks about them with love so I think they're all really close.

I have no idea why, in fact, it's a really bad thing for him to trust me enough to get in my car and smoke with me without even knowing me, but I was glad he did. It was the first time I was hanging out with a customer, and I wasn't mad at all. I did the talking for a few minutes, watching as he visibly calmed down, and eventually started talking back.

When he left I made sure to warn him about the smell so he could take a shower before his brothers noticed, and when I drove back to my place I couldn't stop wondering if he'd call me again.

But this time he texted. And he was alone, so he asked if I wanted to smoke with him inside his house. It was a bad idea, clearly a huge red sign, and I still said yes. We know a little bit about each other by now, and he had the opportunity to do anything when he got into my car, yet he seemed more like a scaredy cat than anything else, for him I probably looked like the dangerous one.

Matt is cute, all shy, but kind. More of an introvert, he gets anxious a lot, but have things to help him, and people, weed shouldn't be on the list. It was the third time we saw each other, the third time smoking together, third joint I had sold him, and I was already starting to regret selling him.

-Why did you want to smoke? -I ask, holding my joint in between my fingers and looking at him.

His smile falters as he processes the question, taking a deep breath before deciding to open up.

-I think my anxiety was getting worse and I couldn't find anything to help me anymore. I didn't want to bother my brothers, they have their own things going on as well.

I nod, feeling more empathy for him than I probably should. Talking to him felt like talking to a normal boy, not like talking to those internet famous people who somehow became "famous". He was genuine, he was showing true feelings and being relatable, I just couldn't help feeling like he was my friend and I had to help him, or try to.

-What did you do when you felt like this?

I take another hit, carefully placing my joint down and kicking off my shoes to get more comfortable on the couch. He follows my movements with his eyes.

-Journalling, going on walks, nature, fortnite. –He chuckles, looking to the other side. -I like seeing animals, watching movies, I don't know, anything that could distract me.

I smile, nodding and taking a sip of water from the third bottle we've opened since we started smoking.

-That's cool. Why don't they seem to work anymore?

He shrugs, taking the last hit before throwing the finished joint into a bowl. The smoke left his lips smoothly, now being more used to the feeling and not coughing, eyes turning slightly red as the effects hit him.

-I don't know. They don't feel the same, it's like I'm losing interest, y'know? -He asks, with his accent showing up.

I nod once again, knowing exactly what he meant. That's one of the reasons why I started smoking, years ago, and knowing how I just simply cannot live without it I feel responsible for making Matt realize this is not a good option and there are other ways of making the anxiety disappear. I don't want him to be like me.

☘︎☘︎☘︎

Matt has texted me at least once a week for the past three weeks and it was starting to worry me how badly he needed more. Smoking more than one joint, smoking alone, I warned him I wouldn't sell him that much, but he was getting used to the idea of not thinking about his problems while high and our texts were no longer just about him wanting to buy stuff.

We talked every day. I tried to keep it as superficial as possible, but it was no use since we ended up opening up to each other. I told him my reason for selling, almost all that happened in my life, and I knew so much about him too. My concerns only increased as the days went by and now, with him in my apartment for the second time this week, I knew I had to do something about it.

-Long time no see. -I joke, seeing him at my front door.

His face said what he didn't need to, he was almost panicking, sweating, pink cheeks, glossy eyes, shaky hands. He didn't seem healthy at all, and it was hurting me to know that part of it was my fault. I gave him access to drugs, I showed him how to smoke.

-I need one. -He sighs, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

We sat down on my couch, him watching me intently as I started rolling a couple of joints.

-That bad, huh? –I ask, my voice sounding a bit lower than normal. -You know I can't keep selling you this shit, right?

I look at him, my eyes sending him a warning. We talked about it before, I had to bring up how much he was contacting me for drugs and how much I disliked it.

-I know, I'll stop, I just feel really bad right now. -He tells me, but I had no trust that he'd actually stop.

-I hope so, I care about you, Matt. You're not just my customer, you know that.

My voice was soft, full of sincerity, and he knew that, his eyes also softening when he realized he was being too much.

-I just need to find other ways to deal with it. -He looks down, almost embarrassed, fidgeting his fingers.

There's a silence for a minute, all we ever talked about, how much I worry about him, how I feel responsible for him, how I'm so grateful we met and how much I hate to see him like this, all going through my mind. I couldn't bear to watch him suffer and fill him with drugs to make it go away, because I knew that it wouldn't, it just makes things worse.

I'm not an addict, at least not to the point it makes my life harder, I just use weed whenever I'm stressed, which is a lot. Although, I have the strength to do what I need to and that's good for me, it means I'm still healthy enough to go through my stuff. But Matt isn't. He doesn't seem or act healthy, and although is not just because of the weed, I think it makes him feel like he can only do stuff when he's high. And that is dangerous.

I try to think about other ways of making him feel better. My tongue sealed the first beck, putting it aside as I worked on the second one. There weren't many options, all the things he used to like seem boring to him now, and there's not much we could do. He needs something that makes both body and mind work at the same time, something that makes him tired, makes him feel.

I was reluctant to ask him what came into my mind, but as I saw him become impatient and my fingers close the second beck, I knew I had to do something, and I had to do it now.

-Matt, would you fuck me? -I ask, sealing the second beck and putting it aside.

I could've worded it better, but I felt desperate to avoid him smoking again. His eyes widen, jaw falling in surprise. I was also surprised with myself, but if I'm being honest it wasn't the first time I asked this, the only difference is that I usually ask it to myself, in my brain, not out loud, not to him.

-What?!

-You heard me.

Saying it once was enough, I had no courage to ask him twice, but at least it was kinda working, he stopped fidgeting his fingers and didn't even look at the joints that I discreetly set on the coffee table.

He seemed to think about it, processing my words, eyebrows raising as his eyes looked everywhere but at me. He licks his lips, placing each hand on each side of his body.

-I mean, yeah, I guess, but why?

His answer was not what I expected, but I didn't know what to expect. It made my heart beat faster and now I felt like the shy anxious one. I never did this before, nothing that I did with Matt I did before in my life with anyone else. Being friends with a customer is not usually the best idea, most of the time it's not even possible, but more than that?

He knows me. He truly does, and I know him, as much as he lets me. This is not just a common selling-buying relationship, it's way past that.

-Well, sex is a decent way to help with your anxiety, better than drugs.

I explain, my voice slightly shaky, eyes meeting his awkwardly, hoping I was making any sense.

When he studies me with his eyes I feel nervous, he could pay for the weed and go away, never talk to me again, say all the worst things he could think of.

Instead, he only nods, face turning serious.

-Do you want to do it or do you just want me to quit the weed so bad you're considering it?

His words caught me by surprise, but by now I shouldn't be surprised with anything anymore. Although it was kind of a harsh statement, I knew where he was coming from and the tone in his voice showed me he was as hesitant as I was.

-I do want you to quit, but I wouldn't do it just because of it. -My answer was clear, and almost a relief, for both of us.

There was another silence, not long, but that carried all the emotions and uncertainties both of us had at the moment.

-I get anxious a lot. -Matt says, half joking, half teasing.

Feels like we got ourselves an agreement, and I just know things are changing drastically between us now.

-I'm aware of that. -I joke back.

We smile at each other, taking in the final moment of acceptance before Matt's lips are on mine. I quickly kiss him back, our lips moving slowly at first, savoring each other's taste. There was a pause to breathe that didn't last long until we were kissing again.

With those two kisses I was more than happy with myself for thinking of such a good way of helping him, if I wasn't sure why I felt the urge to do something about it now it was crystal clear. I like him. Talking to him, being his dealer, being his friend, getting to know him, caring about him, it might or might not be in a romantic way, but I like him, a lot.

Feeling his lips on mine, our tongues brushing together, him carefully laying me down on the couch and hovering me, with one hand finally holding my waist. I definitely like him, and I like this, I like his touch as much as I like his voice, I like kissing him as much as I like hanging out with him, I like all of him.

Our shirts were on the floor, my bra hanging over the coffee table, his hands exploring my skin as I shivered, eyes connected as he slipped my pants down. His fingers were cold, pressing on my soaked panties, eyes admiring it like a work of art, speechless.

All anxiety in his body left when my last piece of clothes was discarded and his mouth did wonders on me, moans probably pissing off the neighbors as I tried to pull him closer by his hair.

-Fuck, Matt, I'm gonna cum... -I warn him with a whiny voice, back arching and head falling back.

-Please do, wanna taste you so bad. -He barely takes his mouth out of me to say, hands gently caressing my thighs.

My first orgasm with him was surprisingly good, not that I expected it to be bad, but definitely didn't expect it to feel so... perfect. He smiled at me like he was proud, kissing all over my body until his lips found mine again, making me taste myself.

His clothes were soon discarded as well and just by the sight of him I knew I had one more reason to like him. He seemed the calmest I've ever seen him, considering what was happening, a smirk of confidence on his lips proving he knew exactly what he was doing to me. His hand wraps around his length, teasing my folds with his tip and holding himself up with his other arm.

-Wanted to do this for so long, if I knew I had a chance I wouldn't even ask for so much weed just to see you. -He smirks down at me, circling my sensitive clit with his tip.

The feelings were so intense I almost missed what he said, but when my brain processed his words I was shocked. My jaw fell in surprise, eyes widening and my arm lifting so I could slap his arm with my hand, giving him a look of disbelief.

-You're unbelievable, you didn't have to buy anything, or use anything! We could've just hung out. -I say, trying not to smile at the fact he confessed he wanted to see me.

But in awful terms and I felt even more responsible for his acts.

I didn't have time to be mad at him, though, because he decided it was the perfect time to push all of him at once. My gasp was so loud that the entire building probably heard it, my walls fell on fire for a few seconds and he remained in the same position until my expression softened and he started to move.

His confession fully disappeared from my mind when I felt just how good he could feel. It gave me butterflies to feel him moving at a slow pace, keeping eye contact like he wanted to make sure everything was okay. His eyes looked so pretty, dark and full of desire, but also affection.

Matt kisses me again as he fasteners his thrusts, making me moan against his lips. One of his hands grabs one of my thighs, holding it up against my chest, hitting deeper.

-So fucking good. -He whispers, a long breath leaving his lips as his eyes roll back and his head falls.

My nails leave bruises on his back as I feel my second orgasm building up, sounds getting louder and my body squirming non-stop under him. Didn't take long for me to reach it, him following and pulling off just fast enough to paint my stomach with his seed.

After deep breaths and a long hug to calm down, Matt stands up and walks to my bathroom, already knowing how to navigate through my apartment, and comes back with a towel to clean us. When we were done he left me putting on my clothes again to get me some water.

Both decently dressed, a pause to the bathroom and lots of water later, Matt and I sit back on the couch, looking at each other, my head resting on the backrest and his hand moving my hair behind my ear.

-I didn't smoke all the joints I bought. I gave some to my friends who smoke. I only smoked once without you and I hated it. I was too nervous to ask you to just hang out, I wasn't sure if you'd want to, so I kept coming back to buy more because I knew I could spend time with you that way.

His voice was soft and sweet, only sharing his truth with me without being scared of it. Although it was adorable that he wanted to see me so much he found a way he thought it was the best, I hated how unsure he was if I'd want to spend time with him back. I also hated that weed was involved in this.

I smile at him, taking his free hand in mine and interlacing our fingers, rubbing my thumb against his skin.

-Matt, I really like seeing you and hanging out with you, there's no need to feel nervous, weed or no weed I still want you around. Honestly, preferably with no weed, you don't need it, never did.

His eyes showed so much gratitude, almost shining with relief. He smiles back, nodding his head and looking down at our fingers, his other hand still playing with my hair.

-Yeah, it didn't help me that much, but at least it brought you into my life, so I'm grateful for it.

My heart swells with affection, butterflies flying free in my stomach. I reach out to press a soft kiss on his lips, wanting to show him just how much I enjoyed knowing how he feels.

-I'm so happy to have you in my life, Matt. -I whisper, pulling away just enough to say it.

We smile at each other, both of his hands now on my cheeks, cupping them gently.

-Does this mean you'd say yes to a date?

I giggle, nodding and wrapping my arms around him.

-Yes, I'd love to.

➪ @riowritesitall @sturniolosarethebest @hyacinthst @deers4luv @sturncakez @watercolorskyy @delooshunalhoe @sarosfilms @blahbel668 @sturniyolo69 @sturniolosl0t @colbsposts00 @fallingforfalll2 @stvrnmc @faithlia @katie-tibo @monroesturnns @chrisxcherry @shaquilles-0atmeal @fratbrochrisgf @dayzeandhaze @h3arts4harry @star-yawnznn @asherrisrandom @pip4444chris @sturniolo-fann @beansprout713 @conspiracy-ash @sturnsxbitvh @ivysturnss @mattsbitchh @larallott @stqrnlvs @sssoniaswiftt @s1ut4chris @lovingregulusblack @sturnslutz @star-yawnznn @jupiter-rebel

[remus-poopin]

It seems like you somehow manage to have one foot in the marauders fandom and one in the snape fandom and I’m so impressed. How do you do it?

Also, since you get to see both sides of things I’m wondering what you like the most about each fandom?

Ok this is an interesting question! Honestly I think I’m able to do this, and do this enjoyably, because I really try to make an effort to not moralize. This hasn’t always been how I interacted with fiction in the past, so it’s been a tricky process of learning how to do this with consistency. But it is something that I think is very important for me to do, not only because I have a better time in fandom when I'm not moralizing, but also because it inspires a sort of self reflection and allows me to practice empathy in a way that’s feels more analytical than emotional/inherent. And in the case of navigating two fandoms that have a built in tension between them, this becomes especially helpful.

The tension between the snape and marauders fandom almost always comes down to moralizing. The back and forth arguments between fans are usually rooted in the idea that the other character is not only morally flawed, but more morally flawed than theirs. If you look at any anti Snape or anti James post there’s an underlying agenda that’s trying to prove one is worse than the other. This is pretty irritating to me because I find it to be very boring, silly, and just missing the point of the characters and themes. But this is also irritating because I find that it's ineffective in producing any real meaningful analysis on these characters. Because the goal is not to understand that character, but to condemn them.

(This doesn’t mean that I think you shouldn’t examine the behavior of the characters, just that assigning a moral judgment to that behavior outside the world of that character leads to heavily biased analysis (meaning making it personal and about your standard of morality leads to a messy understanding of the character and story))

Going back to the tension between these fandoms, I think when you’re busy trying to prove how shitty a fictional character is you have a hard time separating them from their fans. Because it’s not really about the character anymore it’s about you and your personal feelings and beliefs.

I very frequently run into posts talking about “snape defenders” and “marauders defenders”, like this is some kind of battle where a side needs to be picked, and then picking a side is a reflection of your morality and politics (I’ve seen marauders fans imply that “snape defenders” are fascists or fascist sympathizers and I’ve seen snape fans call marauders fans “class traitors”, all in the last couple days mind you).

I’m going to be honest and say that whenever this pops up it’s gets pretty frustrating, frustrating because it feels like people are just using these characters as avatars for larger discussions they actually want to be having, but because these characters have specific stories, motivations, and complexities it makes this extremely messy (want to vent about the cult of conservatism that's growing all around us? Bring out the Snape Ken doll and talk about how he deserved his bullying (if he even was bullied)! Hate feeling the weight of capitalism on your chest while the class divide grows larger and larger? Call James “bourgeois scum”!)

(Or as @sideprince wisely said, it’s a way to be political without actually engaging in politics)

So yes I find this tiring, but I also really get it. I have done some form of this myself plenty of times. I am not immune to moralizing or having these same type of strong emotional reactions to a fictional character. In fact, I had this very recently when I watched “Girls” for the first time last month. Until maybe this week I felt a strong hatred for the character “Adam”. This hatred came from seeing him do something in a scene that I considered to be morally repugnant. The scene itself was incredibly graphic and triggering to the point where I had to stop watching the show for a couple days. The disgust response firing in my brain made it so I was incapable of viewing his character as anything but a POS, and all the complexities of him were lost because I refused to engage with them. So all his actions after that were viewed with a moral judgement from me. I mean even when he was being funny, sweet, or just interesting I felt incredibly annoyed because I desperately didn’t want to like him. However I was cognizant of the fact that I was having this sort of moral reaction to fiction because this is a show that is defined by its complex, complicated, and realistic characters, who have all done some very questionable things, and yet he was the only character getting this treatment in my head. So feeling frustrated with my own hypocrisy I decided that I needed to start approaching this differently.

So I made a choice to look at his action, the one that I found disgusting, and start breaking it down: Why did he do that? What was it saying about his relation to shame, power, control, violence, sex, gender, etc.? How else has he reacted to those issues in the show? I kept asking those types of questions, on and on, until suddenly I wasn’t just thinking about the disgusting act itself, but the character. The act stopped being about my own feelings and trauma and became about him.

That’s what I do with the marauders and snape, that’s what I strive to do with any fictional character, because to me that’s the most enjoyable way to engage with fiction. And I find that the fun I have in fandom is greatly limited when I’m pissed at a character, because it makes it difficult to interact with others who are their fans. If I see that someone is playing with that character, a little voice would go, “but what about my anger?” followed by a sharp sting. That type of anger, that moral anger, is personal, but this character is public, it lives beyond me and my feelings. My anger is mine, it never belonged to the public.

And I have at some point felt that same type of moral disgust/anger for both the marauders and snape. But I zeroed in on what specific action was making me feel that way, tried to understand why I had that reaction in the first place, and then went back to the action itself and tried to contextualize it within the character and story so it was removed from myself.

That’s how I’ve been helping myself with the moralizing issue. I’ll still have these reactions in the future, I might even have one on here, but I'll keep working on it. Because either way I love all of these characters and I want to continue to be able to exist in both fandoms without having to choose a side, or even lean a certain way. When you're not trying to win the war on which character was the Shittiest™ the pressure turns off and you can just enjoy these multifaceted characters with their many flaws and many strengths.

And as for what I like most about each fandom: I adore the snapedom because I've always felt that the best meta in the entire hp fandom came from there. Honestly the whole reason I love snape so much wasn't because I ever felt particularly identified with him, but because I read a billion incredible metas and analyses about him and truly came to appreciate his complexities.

For the marauders side I think I really enjoy the camaraderie, there are a lot of really sweet and cool people I’ve talked to on here and that's always been a blast!

[pandaofsecrets]

I really really really love the idea of the Miraculous being based on broad abstract concepts. It makes them super versatile in what powers they can provide, which helps keep the plot from going off the rails while still being fresh and interesting. The problem is that the concept (heh) wasn't utilized well at all. So, indulge me in a long-winded breakdown of ML's power system.

The cracks started showing almost immediately. The Cat and Butterfly Miraculous are okay, but the Ladybug for some reason can purify akuma and has restoration abilities, which. First of all, purification should be the Cat's ability, because it represents the destruction of impurities. Second of all, how does the power of creation allow you to restore things? I know someone will say Marinette is recreating what was destroyed, but if that's the case then Adrien is long dead and the character we're seeing right now is just a replica. Fun! Miraculous Ladybug also does more than just recreate, since we've also seen it destroy byproducts of the akuma attack, like Horrificator's slime. So if anything, it should be a combined ability of the Ladybug and the Cat. I'll talk about unifications later, let's just stick with the Miraculous for now.

The Fox and the Turtle started out great, but ended up being disappointing. Here's the thing, both Protection and Illusion have a lot of potential applications, like for example someone who uses the Fox could convince someone that anything they're saying is true, stick them in an illusionary dreamscape or even induce pain in them without actually wounding them. Someone who uses the Turtle could deplete moving objects of their momentum, make themselves immune to the opponent's magic, or imbue objects with durability. This would have made the fact that Volpina can do multiple illusions while Rena can only do one a lot less infuriating, because Rena would have had a bigger power set to draw on. Volpina on the other hand would be limited to just illusions, so she'd be able to get more mileage out of them, like a breadth vs. depth thing. Instead it's just. Rena can only do one illusion. Carapace can only do one shield. Boring!

Things got really shaky with the introduction of the Bee Miraculous, because that one isn't even related to its stated concept! "Subjection" means "bringing someone or something under one's control or influence". I don't know about you, but to me that sounds like mind control and telekinesis, not paralysis—paralyzing people sounds more like the Turtle. The writers sort of tried to fix this by changing the Bee's concept to Action, but that's almost worse because it's power is to prevent someone from taking action.

The Dragon and Rooster have a similar problem of power not really matching concept. "Perfection" means "the act of improving or making better", which sounds like the Dragon should've been a healing or restoration type Miraculous. In fact, the Rooster should've had the same power, since "sublimation" means "making nobler or purer", so the Dragon and Rooster should've really been one Miraculous instead of two. Speaking of which...

Where things really went off the rails was the Peacock Miraculous. The Peacock honestly warrants an entire separate post, but I'm getting ahead of myself. First of all, what does the concept of emotion have to do with the ability to summon a kaiju? Second of all, if the power to create a kaiju should've gone to any Miraculous, shouldn't it be, you know, the Ladybug? But no, I guess the power of Creation loses to a turkey with delusions of grandeur.

And this got even worse once the Zodiacs were introduced. Just about all of them have powers that could've easily gone to the main 7 we already had. The Ox's concept was already covered by the Turtle, the Tiger, Monkey, and Eagle do basically the same thing as the Cat, and the Mouse and Goat are basically just the Ladybug again. The Butterfly might be the worst afflicted by this. Not only is the Rooster's power of giving any power already covered under it, but one of the meanings of "to transmit" is "to send from one place to another", so the Horse's teleportation ability should've gone to the Butterfly. We could throw the Dog's power in as well, since all Fetch does is teleport an object instead of a person. Heck, since space and time are the same thing, the Rabbit's time travel should've also gone to the Butterfly. I mean, I'm glad it wasn't because that would've made the Butterfly extremely OP and would make it very hard to explain why Gabriel hasn't won by now, but you get the idea.

The only Zodiac Miraculous that are somewhat unique are the Dragon, Pig, and Snake, and even then the Snake Second Chance ability could be expressed as Butterfly (time travel) + Turtle (stasis) and the Pig's Gift could be expressed as Butterfly (empathy) + Ladybug (object) or Fox (illusion). Even the Peacock can be basically be broken down into Butterfly (empathy) + Ladybug (creation) + Bee (control) + Cat (destruction).

This brings me to my last point: unification. The way we were told combining the Ladybug and Cat works in Origins, you'd expect that unifying the Miraculous would create a new power that is the combination of the already existing ones. This means that the writers wouldn't have had to invent a new Miraculous every time they wanted to use a power, which would have saved money on character models and lead to a lot of interesting teammate match-ups. Instead, all the heroes get is the ability to use the two powers at the same time.

[elainsgirl]

the petty side of me laughs at how poorly all these gwynriel comms and posts are going to age. they repeatedly talk about gwyn and azriel being mates as if it’s canon, despite zero definitive proof and more proof to the contrary, and it’s hard not to feel secondhand embarrassment for them.

at least most elriels will preface their art and posts with “this is what i think will happen because of XYZ” or “this is my favorite theory” or even outright say it’s a crack theory; meanwhile gwynriels are out here with their whole chest saying “they are MATES and i can’t wait for them to find out that they’re MATES and nothing is more important than the fact that they are FOR SURE MATES and this is CANON because SPARK”

they are setting themselves up for failure at this point and it is going to make looking back at their old comms and posts physically painful tbh.

i guess it doesn’t help they don’t have any actual canon to go off of, whereas we do and can create from that. it would make me feel bad for them if they weren’t so toxic and rude about it

anyways, thanks for listening to my rant, happy elriel announcement year!!

Hey anon 🫶

Honestly, I think they’re just going to go on a huge mass delete and erase everything they’ve said about elucien/gwynriel. It depends on how serious they take the shipwars - I know some act as though it’ll affect their actual life whilst others do not care. Idk about comms, there’s beautiful art of both elucien/gwynriel however their theories/opinion posts? Yh. Does will not age well and give second hand embarrassment. I can imagine them rereading all posts wondering where they went wrong lmfao.

The obsession w mates its so…weird? Can’t just be me who feels this way. At this point - its not even about love or true soulmates. It’s a hostage situation especially in Elucien’s case.

I think the funniest thing about antis claiming gwynriels are mates - is that simple logic, Sjms patterns and literally acosf disprove this so easily. Yet they hold onto that spark and over exaggerate it to be something it isn’t. Which in the end will backfire when it’s proven sparks ≠ mates in every case.

Yeah see, when you’re working with 0 canon or very little of it - you don’t have an outline to work with. Anything goes which is why 1) you have so many different versions of elucien/gwynriel and how their stories will go 2) thats now how canon ships work. Authors who hint at a couple a book or two prior to them being canon will always leave an outline (don’t know the technical author word for it) so you know how this couple will turn out to be.

Like - elriel is the same dynamic and have the same theories or direction of the story no matter who the elriel stan is or which platform they’re on and that’s because elriel has an outline within the book. You know how they’ll turn out to be - Elriel is just consistent whereas with the other two - you have different versions of the ships heading into different directions.

At this point, Im just waiting for the announcement and the fandoms reaction after bcs I know the announcement wont end the shipwar but instead antis will change their tune and I want to see how far they’ll go to basically backtrack what they’ve believed and said for years.

Anytime anon 💕

Happy Elriel announcement year ✨🤞

[seilon]

pro: ran into a coworker at a bar last night who I don’t really talk to usually (he works upstairs, I work downstairs) and we talked and im pretty sure we were highkey flirting and he bought me a drink and the bar merch shirt i was interested in and thanks to the power of alcohol i guess i asked for his number and he gladly gave it to me and. yeah

con: i have the second worst hangover i have ever had and have been fighting for my fucking life just to eat saltines

[meatriarchived2]

im still on my fuckshit but when i think of cc maria ( by extension also nosy maria but specifically noting the isolation aspect of cc );

can you imagine one day skimming the paper. its been a few weeks since all the commotion knowing your friends' had attempted to come find you but then were chased off. never actually heard or saw any of them, but you know they were around.

but you've been moved from the cells to a mattress upstairs. you're given more freedom, more wiggle room, you're allowed to do things - little hobby-type activities - you're given better foods, you're looked after by the older woman at the other house. the man who took you, who terrifies you still to some degree, slowly doesn't feel like such a stranger anymore, you're right to still be cautious around him but as the days, the weeks, pass by, there's simply a different air about him, and in the shack. lighter, in a sense.

you find yourself growing used to the new daily - the new routine. of waking to the sound of him getting ready for the day, of being left alone in there for hours sometimes, others trailing after him like a duckling, around the older womans' property, helping with an array of tasks. and you worry about upsetting her at first, unsure if doing so will earn a knife to the throat. you listen, you do as you're told, you find some kind of way to co-exist - all the while still, in the back of your mind, there's still a ray of hope,

that maybe, maybe, since the rest of them got away - that they're merely licking their wounds, that they'll get word out and even with all the silence since they had been on the property, there's that shred of hope that maybe? someone will waltz in, guns blazing so to speak, and you'll get out of this hell finally.

that is, until that day - that you're skimming through the paper, and you recognize yourself in a little column - and you realize you're staring at your own fucking obituary.

and in that moment everything seems solidified.

you're never getting away.

there's no point in it.

there's no one out there who are still trying to find you, get you back, bring you home, back to your mothers' arms, back to being an older sister, back to the circle of friends you loved so dearly.

you're dead.

not just to the world, but to those you loved - those who claimed to have loved you, too.

what else do you have at that point? where else do you go, even if you still tried to leave? who wouldn't look at you sideways for the blood that's already stained your hands? for the flesh caught between teeth?

who else is there, except the one murmuring encouragement and praise in your ear?

the only constant you've had in all these weeks? whose words rang true - clearly - that no one cared? that they abandoned you? left you there, didn't even care to make sure you were alive or not? only thought of themselves and got the fuck outta there without confirming if you were even still alive.

[meatriarchived]

i did not sleep yay for me im still on my fuckshit but when i think of cc maria ( by extension also nosy maria but specifically noting the isolation aspect of cc );

can you imagine one day skimming the paper. its been a few weeks since all the commotion knowing your friends' had attempted to come find you but then were chased off. never actually heard or saw any of them, but you know they were around.

but you've been moved from the cells to a mattress upstairs. you're given more freedom, more wiggle room, you're allowed to do things - little hobby-type activities - you're given better foods, you're looked after by the older woman at the other house. the man who took you, who terrifies you still to some degree, slowly doesn't feel like such a stranger anymore, you're right to still be cautious around him but as the days, the weeks, pass by, there's simply a different air about him, and in the shack. lighter, in a sense.

you find yourself growing used to the new daily - the new routine. of waking to the sound of him getting ready for the day, of being left alone in there for hours sometimes, others trailing after him like a duckling, around the older womans' property, helping with an array of tasks. and you worry about upsetting her at first, unsure if doing so will earn a knife to the throat. you listen, you do as you're told, you find some kind of way to co-exist - all the while still, in the back of your mind, there's still a ray of hope,

that maybe, maybe, since the rest of them got away - that they're merely licking their wounds, that they'll get word out and even with all the silence since they had been on the property, there's that shred of hope that maybe? someone will waltz in, guns blazing so to speak, and you'll get out of this hell finally.

that is, until that day - that you're skimming through the paper, and you recognize yourself in a little column - and you realize you're staring at your own fucking obituary.

and in that moment everything seems solidified.

you're never getting away.

there's no point in it.

there's no one out there who are still trying to find you, get you back, bring you home, back to your mothers' arms, back to being an older sister, back to the circle of friends you loved so dearly.

you're dead.

not just to the world, but to those you loved - those who claimed to have loved you, too.

what else do you have at that point? where else do you go, even if you still tried to leave? who wouldn't look at you sideways for the blood that's already stained your hands? for the flesh caught between teeth?

who else is there, except the one murmuring encouragement and praise in your ear?

the only constant you've had in all these weeks? whose words rang true - clearly - that no one cared? that they abandoned you? left you there, didn't even care to make sure you were alive or not? only thought of themselves and got the fuck outta there without confirming if you were even still alive.

[malkaviian]

i am having a great time here on life dot com

[keikakudori]

              HOW MANY TIMES OVER THE YEARS HAD AIZEN ALLOWED THE KIDO TO PLAY ITS POWER OVER GIN, choosing to end some evenings when his partner was ill and being a particular brat by using the influence of that particular one to send him into rest? Too many times to count, really; there had been days when the younger man would refuse the care and doting that surfaced in him, echoes of a boy who had been unable to do anything for his mother spending time and effort and will dealing with someone who was utterly stubborn about refusing the care that was needed. There were wounds in him that had healed crooked, that would never be unknit without a truly tremendous force to override what had come before and not even this new sweeping expanse of a pinnacle in his power and strength had been enough to overcome such wounds and scars. The snarl was met with a pool of brown that was world-weary, a sorrow and new depth of understanding of things in evidence -- and with the eye that had been stained evermore by that day into a depth of silver against amethyst. He was raw, stripped of illusion and hubris, but no less himself. Perhaps, instead, he was more himself than he had ever been at any time past -- or at least far more himself than he had been for the last two years. Now he was exposed beneath the live-wire of those blue eyes that had become able to cut through every layer and every illusion, aware of how exposed he was to him now..

              ❝ Fair is fair, Gin, ❞ came the soft murmur of his words to ease the younger man down into his slumber, the honeyed tone of that rich bass seeking to chase the viper down into unconsciousness that awaited him. ❝ Sleep. ❞ It was not the first time that Aizen had ever said that in reply to the younger man when using what Gin named one of his own tricks and he hoped that it would not be the last time either. Of course, the viper might decide to throw a punch at him later for doing this. But Aizen would accept any punches hurled at him by his partner in crime, especially since he knew he deserved that and worse.

              Yet how easily he slipped beneath the blankets, the fire flaring a little with a touch of his power to ensure that it would remain warm throughout the night and be unlikely to go out; coals were fine but rebuilding a fire that had gone out was annoying even, even with kido and such abilities at play. Despite the exhaustion that burrowed throughout his body, Aizen was not able to find his own sleep immediately. No, his own mind was a turbulent mess, cascading through the shock of revelation that had hammered at him without his having a few moments of respite. The knowledge that Gin had not only survived but was here had been the largest shock of them all, something that he had not truly stopped reeling from until now, it felt. Even with everything that had happened, it all felt a fever dream, a heated rush of knowledge that had only finally begun to settle the way mud or silt stirred up in water took time to settle back into place before those waters could become clear again. Then the first death since their reunion, Gin cutting his head off, himself still trapped in the cage, Gin being wounded, Gin being killed, droplets of his blood arcing in a fluid drapery in the air as they prescribed a comma with a long tail ---

              A shudder shook his body at that memory, something that saw those limbs tighten gently around the svelte figure that meant so much to him. Bastard that he was, Aizen could only greedily drink in the contact now as his mind decided to pipe up, a demented little whisper in the back of his head that said how well he knew Gin could remain asleep, especially with Hakufuku. Punching his own brain was impossible, but he chased down a few pleasant seconds of reverie by imagining himself strangling that voice in particular at this point in time with a hint of a smile upon his face even as his eyes closed and he relaxed with a low sigh of sound -- or perhaps it was better to say he mostly relaxed, a contrast to what that brief whisper of an almost forgotten hunger echoing somewhere in the depths of mind and body alike.

              But he was not able to slumber as of yet as his arms cradled Gin close, face tucked in against his throat the way that they would often lay together in first his quarters at the Fifth's barracks and then furthermore those shared nights in the chambers which belonged to them both, and he found himself thinking even as his eyelids drooped shut. It might have been called overthinking and it would not be entirely incorrect to make such a statement. His mind was not able to stop working despite the exhaustion that weighed his bones down like a coating of lead, not able to stop from turning everything that had unfolded in the last -- what was it? Two days? Three? He had lost track of time --- over and over on themselves even as power hummed beneath his skin. It was as if something vastly misaligned had suddenly somehow been set to its proper place within his body -- perhaps in his very soul. He could never go back from this point, he knew.

              The power, now that he had touched it, was always going to be there with him. A stark difference underlined the differences of the last few days and the prior events of his own life, though -- this time, Aizen did not shy away from the power that he bore the way he had used to, the way he had turned himself away from the lion's share of what he contained The air was warm, not just from the fire, but from what rolled off of him in gentle waves that wrapped around the unconscious silver-haired man in a cocoon of protective weave, his senses racing outwards. Nothing would be able to cross that subconscious perimeter that would not immediately have him on alert. For now, the worlds were held together by the presence of the thing that he understood on a level deeper than thought. It was etched into his bones, aware of it just as he was of the malign star upon the horizon that was the presence which marked Yhwach's own power and presence alike.

              This was the heritage he had never asked for.

              A heritage that had destroyed the life of the only woman he had ever truly loved and had slowly twisted through him, growing, thriving as it ever had and not something he had thought of. He did not know of what Kyoka Suigetsu had done when Aizen Sousuke had been driven to break the chains of his own self-restraint and to embrace the full depths of the power that he was endowed with when Gin had witnessed her. Aizen had allowed Gin to behold that inner world more than once and she had always been a delighted hostess, elegant and graceful, her smile calling to mind legends of fox-faced women. Obviously, Aizen had been influenced well before Gin had ever come into his life, for she had been formed long ago and had guided him along to understanding her. He was not aware of the gratitude that she had displayed in response for the fact that he had, at last, finally stepped into the fullness of his power. Always and ever from the moments of their first meeting had Ichimaru Gin become a catalyst for Aizen Sousuke and his evolution. First had come that monstrous Hollow at the height of the events within Karakura Town, where Aizen had been felled by the divine spear that had cut through his body and destroyed his heart.

              And now his bloodline had awakened within him, quickened, and he was nothing more than the product of that heritage in a true sense of the word -- but he was also what that heritage had always been meant to become, perhaps. Just as Yhwach's abilities had returned in full to him, so did the Shinigami parallel him with the refulgence of his abilities having surged to the forefront. It was not the events of the past day and a half that Aizen dreamt of, however; it was of a memory of an event that had come to him well over a hundred years ago, long before he had ever met the viper that his weary arms held against himself now, unknowing of the turmoil that Gin's soul was undergoing, of the discussion about redemption and forgiveness. His mind sank back to what had been a dream that had surged through him following the one time before these recent catastrophic events when he had nearly unlocked the power of his Bankai before. When he had laid fingers upon the golden thread that danced within the depths of his soul.

              It had been mere chance, him slipping without thought to the depths of his own soul and beholding what laid beneath the waters where the moon shone bright and the night sky above was speckled with stars, where the flowers glowed with fireflies dancing across the lotus blossoms that floated upon the water, a mirroring of the moonless skies above. Down below the water he had sunk, guided by his own meditation and feeling out something he had never noticed before, something that stirred the depths of his soul and a brightness that dwelt below, pulsing, brilliant, blinding as he drew closer and closer to it. It was like how they described the stars in this modern age; not just pinpricks of light, but giant gaseous balls of flame held condensed by their own gravity. He had shrunk away from it, fearful, even as he was drawn towards it. It was laced over with dark chains, so many that only thin shafts of light spilled out from between the links that held back so much of that power that he knew was his own He was already immensely strong, enough that he tried to conceal it, aware of how much it would only isolate him and make others fearful of him if he were to show it off.

              Yet, for one moment, his hand had found a spot between those chains, drawn to touch without conscious thought and drawn close without his being aware of it, as if hypnotized to come closer. He had reached out and only one fingertip had brushed against that star's heart. The heat should have left him ashes, the density of power should have crushed him beneath its gravitational pull. But no - this was his own power, more than he would ever need, more than he ever wanted to know he possessed, at his fingertips.

              He had never wished for power like this. It had been his nascent power that had ruined the life of his mother and seen her withering away. It had been that power which had seen Hollow pursuing him when he had been but a boy, intent upon devouring him and instead taking the opportunity to devour those lesser souls who were ever kind enough to take him in. It had been because of power he had been isolated and it was power that he shunned and wished desperately to be parted from. But one fingertip found the boiling surface of this star and touched across it ----

              A flash. A room draped with dark curtains that hung from a circular dais mirrored by heavy architecture above in circumference. There was a power here and he was staring at a large block of blue crystal that bore a shadowy figure within it. Aizen Sousuke found cold sweat breaking across his back as he realized with a gutted sort of awe where he stood as more features resolved. A body, limbless, but for vague indentations where arms had been, where the legs had been hacked off above the knee. A face that was flawless and perfect, eyes that were open and -- and--- AND IT WAS LOOKING AT HIM. For one long, silent moment in which all of creation seemed to pause, his eyes met the strange ones of the entity that was known as the Soul King AND AIZEN SOUSUKE WAS LEFT FOREVER CHANGED BY THAT SIMPLE ACT. Here, in the presence of this being, he was left suddenly aware of his own body, of the power that waited to be called forth if he but attempted to use it in the way it was meant to be. He was suddenly aware that there was something that tied him to this -- THING.

              Cells bloomed suddenly with a new awareness and he found his legs trembling, lips parted, awareness suddenly spilling out from him in a cosmic web of possibilities as his mind raced down pathways that had never before been opened. Images were a blur, impressions of moments, of physical sensations that cut across his mind, flashes of moments that suddenly bloomed here and there into random coherency. He was suspended within a void and watching as this being stepped forth and spun the worlds into creation. It was with a resounding cascade of noise throughout the universe, three worlds spun into life and a fourth by design, a realm for the truly wicked to progress towards when the time came for them to perish. Stars burst into life and he was but one small figure in the vastness of the cosmos and once again, those eyes were turning towards him and a hand reached out. Despite himself, Aizen found his own hand lifting and reaching out as if to connect in the way that a plant would reach towards the heat of the sun itself ----

              And then he understood without knowing how he understood and rage ripped through him.

              ❝ -- you, ❞ he breathed, fury rising hot and fast within his breast. ❝ It's you--. I had never thought, never even guessed at who could have -- and now I know. I know it's your fault. It's because of you that she's gone. It's because of you that things are -- so wretched! Do you even care about us?! Do you feel anything at all for us?! I know you never cared about her so I won't ask you about that - but what of those of us who lived in the Rukongai?! What could you ever say for yourself! ❞

              There was, however, no answer. He doubted there would ever be one. Those strange, alien eyes continued to regard him even as that hand stretched out towards him. Was it benediction? Warning? Was it an offer to give him more than this? Aizen could not have said and he didn't

              ❝ You're the reason for all of it, aren't you?! You're the one responsible for my own And now you reach out to me?! Never-- I could never belong to something as uncaring and unfeeling as you are. Whatever you are -- you don't understand anything about those of us who live here! You took her from me! It was your fault! Whatever it was, it remains your fault! Because of you, I cursed her before I was ever born and because of you, she died when she didn't have to! I lost her because of you! I lost her because of what I am! A monster, just like you! ❞

              Words that made logic in the nearly forgotten piece of himself that would ever remain that boy that had watched in mute silence as his mother's body was wrapped in winding cloth of white in the wake of her passing, one of her combs clutched between his small hands. He had not wept then as she was laid in her final resting place. That comb had been one of her favorites -- and one of his. A beautiful piece of lacquered hardwood, painted with greens and golds, with mother-of-pearl songbirds nested in a group of leaves with golden berries picked out amongst the jade foliage. His aunties had been kind even as they'd descended upon her belongings to divide them up between themselves. He remembered his favorite one, the one who had snuck him sweets from the kitchens, had been the one to take it. Aizen had wanted to kill them all. That comb and those clothes had belonged to his mother. No, the owner of the brothel said, they belonged to him because her contract had been owned by him. And then he had thrown Aizen out.

              He had not wept for her. He had always hated himself for that moment, of being unable to cry for his mother's loss. The tears did come, eventually -- but not for years upon years and his shame at them when they had come had made him never want to weep again. But he had wept more than once in his life ---- and he had wept TEARS OF GOLD over Ichimaru Gin. But in those moments, with her wrapped in her shroud and being carried to the unmarked grave that a prostitute would be granted out there in the Rukongai. He had tried to remember where it was when he'd gone back, years later, had tried to know which of those sad little hints of raised earth had been hers. But his memory had failed him and he'd never known which one it had been. He had always hated himself for that too. A child should remember where their mother was buried, after all. He had never invited Gin out there with him though he would make brief, occasional forays out into that district, trying to piece together the location from foggy memory. Maybe he would change that, now. It had been too intensely personal back then. Just as Gin's own secret had been intensely personal. When this was over, when they were left to take their peace---...

              Silence continued to hover and then there was a flicker of something else that made his head turn as a motion at the corner of his eye drew his attention, Aizen beholding a man he did not recognize, a man with a prominent nose and a mustache that flowed across his cheeks in wings of black, with red eyes that met his own depths of brown. In that moment, there was a sense of recognition that seemed to blaze between them both. They were, the two of them, tied together in some way; they were both of them tied to the Soul King, a tether of blood that bounded between their forms. Three worlds. Three points to a triangle. This man represented one point and Aizen the other; they were divergent too in their own powers for Aizen's power was innately born and this man's was parasitical and that too was representation of their diverging paths. The Soul King was the third point. He understood that too as they stood equidistant from one another in that strange, colorless place that seemed washed through with static and whiteness that overwhelmed. Still, this man that Aizen met at a glance was somehow familiar, familiar on a level which was not to do with what they were but something further than that, deeper than that, a familiarity that was a reflection of their disparate origins.

              Brotherhood was not something they pursued, however - neither of them wanted it. They both understood that when their eyes met in this vision. In the true world, Aizen would turn him down with a quiet sneer decades later in the dark.

              Then the vision was shattering and the young Shinigami was suddenly coming back to his body, falling out of Jinzen so fast he nearly plummeted off of the rock he was seated upon and onto his very face as he shook with the exhaustion that came with barely touching upon his Bankai. It was the closest that he had ever come to it before the events of this war that saw the Quincy rising from their graves in an effort to follow their leader, their figurehead, their King of the Quincy. What had begun on that cool spring afternoon when he had sat in Jinzen and had descended more deeply into his own soul than he ever had before had been fulfilled now, when red had flashed through the air. He had thought, in Muken, that the vision that had come to him of Gin falling, bleeding, had been from that one singular moment during what had occurred in Karakura Town, in that alleyway. He had not realized the vision had involved him, back then, until after the fact. He had put those things out of mind.

              But no, even that vision that had made no sense back then had been fulfilled, now; whether it was divine premonition or it had been one of the few articles of power from the barest touch of his Bankai's power to him, a singular dewdrop imparted to a man plagued by thirst, he would never be able to say. He had seen Gin falling, blood fountaining into the air, and it had been enough to play the tumblers on those locks and then suddenly see that power being seized in his hands at last as Aizen had consumed that star in full beyond taking the merest sip of the sun's power as he had for so long within his life. How he had not feared it -- until it had come time to use it. To use his power in the most selfless act that he could ever do, to give everything he was and everything that he could become in the name of saving the only person who had ever matched him, the only person who could ever count as the other piece of his soul. And even then, the fear had not been the fear of that power -- it had been fear of it overwhelming himself and running out of his control.

              Still, he had chosen to persevere despite that fear and step forward into the realm of a power that had been something that had ever been a source of revilement for him before, a notion that probably would have been at odds with what others believed of him, if they thought he was naught more than a power hungry despot aiming at the Soul King's domain for his personal gain. More fools they. For Aizen, he had not hesitated at all in his readiness to use that power for the sake of this man that he cared for. Perhaps the traitor should have been used to the way his relationship with Gin evolved over the years but he doubted tha that he ever would be. And there was a peacefulnes that came with that. Aizen would rather have Gin at his side and enjoy the chaos that came with it than remain alone, suspended forever in a singular spot and ignoring the world as it passed him by, a swirling river of light and noise tha would never encroach upon his soul-deep pain and solitude.

              His dreams had him twitching, from time to time, curling tighter about Gin's body with his own, his legs tangling with Gin's even in their sleep. Comfort came from the fact that they were together, but emotional exhaustion had him feeling the depths of his own weariness. Of course, they were both suffering from similar exhaustion. Gin's came from a secret unearthed after a hundred years by the man who had been the instigator of such pain and Aizen's own came from a constant turbulence that had disrupted and shredded his otherwise inert placement in the world itself before there was the sudden return of Gin into his life, of being killed more than once, of discovering his Bankai and the power contained therein---… everything was strange now. Everything was different.

              Everything since he had come to awareness and seen Shunsui standing there, beckoning in Gin, had been so much. Only now, during sleep, did he begin to have a hope of processing anything that had come before -- processing the fact that Gin was alive. That he was here in his arms. That he had achieved Bankai at last all in the name of saving this man that he had damaged. There was also the moment of processing the knowledge that had spilled out of Gin, information that was not exactly something that Aizen could own but something that he could not deny - nor would he ever deny them again. Gin had been correct to call him out and he was left changed by this as much as he was changed by Gin's revival back into his life. He was changed by his own Bankai and his acceptance of the power that now echoed through him and showed itself in the simple weight of the air itself. He was changed and he would always remain changed from all of this - he would never be the man he was before and that knowledge did not pain him nor upset him. It was for the best. After all, the man he had been before had been something of a real asshole --- as he was sure Gin would say.

              This was for the best.

              Yet what had him waking suddenly, lifting himself upwards, was the sudden feeling that cascaded over him and left him gasping quietly. Gin's own awakening had him moving a hand towards Gin, unhesitating, fingers touching down upon the pale strands of hair without thought as if to soothe the younger man back into the depths of slumber. Weariness still hammered away at his body, but less so than before. Whatever he had dreamed, Aizen could not recall beyond a vague sense that something of monumental importance had been shifted into place while he had rested, something that saw him stroking that hand through Gin's hair. Somewhere within himself, he had acknowledged that he would never allow anything to happen to him again. He'd surrender his own body first, his own immortality, his own life, before he ever permitted Gin to fall once more. Between them both, he was the one that Aizen would always choose to live, to survive.

              For all of that sentiment, something about the way the air hummed and twitched against his skin had Aizen wanting to bare his teeth at nothing in particular. His reiatsu slivered into the air, a vibrato of a deep bass note that hung like a bell's peal, going on and on, hanging in the air like a sustained note of musical origin -- no, not a bell but an organ's groaning sustained press of a key, rippling with brassy richness of massive pipes. It played through the air as he moved, as if a shadow of his power clung to him in a phantom echo of his movements for but a second or two. Then it was fading away once more and he closed his eyes. Two individuals, perhaps three kilometers out, touching the first of those far-flung barriers -- unfolded even while he'd slept, natural instincts that had been absent for TWO YEARS due to his being entrapped within Muken; barriers to keep himself and Gin safe, barriers crafted to keep out even the strongest of his Espada --- yet those strongest had ever had certain permissions to enter, sometimes.

              Yet the Quincy did not. His head tilted and he brought his hand up towards his own face, the side of his finger touching to his own mouth for a second before he murmured quietly. ❝ --- two Quincy, both at least three kilometers out and away from here. There is plenty of distance that they'd need to cover to find this place and my veils will keep us concealed, but I'm certain there's a reason why they would be out here at all. Probably best if we were to take care of them both sooner rather than later. ❞ Doubtless, they were searching for the two traitors in hopes of accomplishing something. Of course, he'd need to be creative. He had a few suspicions about Yhwach that he didn't want to voice as of yet, but the memory of the vision he'd seen so long ago was lingering in the back of his head. He had willfully forgotten about it years ago, not wanting to entertain the notion that he was somehow different and apart back then. And now it turned out he always had been.

              Then, slowly, that visible brown eye edged towards Gin and Aizen offered a ghost of that old smirk as his fingertip touched to his lips for a few seconds longer, almost provocative, nearly flirtatious in how he regarded the younger man at his side and he lowered his hand slowly and down to his lap. ❝ … what would you say to the idea of a hunt, Gin? It's been so long since we've gone on a hunt at all with the freedom to do as we please. If you're feeling up for it, that is. I do understand things have been strenuous lately, but … ❞ How he left the invitation hanging open and allowed the one he named his viper to decide on whether or not he wanted to pursue the idea of a hunt -- but Aizen would be fine enough if the younger man decided to opt for the idea of a mere snipe instead. It wouldn't be the first time that he had aimed those shots and it wouldn't be the last time, Aizen was sure. Gin had fine senses, but given that Aizen had built those barriers, his understanding of where the two intruders were was even keener than the younger man's might be.

              But oh, it was many more things than just an idle suggestion of something like a hunt. It was a tentative olive branch and a subtle flirt, something that he offered almost shyly. Two years had been a long, long time -- and Aizen was suddenly and acutely aware of the nearness they shared, of how the air was warm from their shared body heat, of how near Gin as to him. It had his heart thumping a few harder beats in his chest, a warmth touching the pit of his stomach. It was such a silly offer but it was equally made in earnestness, in a quiet sort of hope that Gin would agree to the idea of going and having some simple fun, as if to get their feet beneath them both now. Aizen needed a little bit of a test run with this change in his power, he knew, and he was certain that Gin wouldn't mind too terribly, of course.

THE FAMILIAR SENSATION OF HAKUFUKU WAS DIFFICULT TO MISS, even amid his raging emotions and utter collapse inward. Gin detected that telltale bloom of blurred snow drifting down from the ceiling, hollowing out the cabin’s innards, blackness searing onto the edges of his vision. Hazy, he remembered gripping at Aizen’s front with rage and grief both still brewed potently inside of himself, a hunch of his shoulders as though contemplating one last vicious lashing of a felled predator. He was wounded, and being smothered – smothered enough that he jolted, briefly, in an instinctive recoil. A rejection. And in that rejection, those haze-filled eyes pierced into Aizen’s, his expression a snarl.

❝ That trick’s mine, you ass – ❞ More of a slurred growl than an actual curse and loathsome reaction to feeling the surge of slumber gripping at his awareness. The more Gin fought it, the taller the wave brimmed on the horizon. Eventually, as all things with him seemed to be doing as of late, it crashed down.

The snowfall continued lazily, absorbing the cabin into its whimsical winds. Out and beyond the frozen lake that took form within the great expanse of Gin’s inner mind stretched into view. The little shack was stable, albeit fragile, with roof panels disheveled upon its ragged top. They’d need fixing again. Something around here always needed fixing.

❝ I’ll become a Shinigami to fix things – ❞ an echo whispered, childlike in its hope, yet matured by the specks of blood that tainted that little pipe dream. There was no grand serpent here amongst the mountainous horizons to greet Gin – no, only himself, a boy, shrouded by blackened night draped over his too-small shoulders. Shinso did not always adorn himself with such theatrics, though Gin surmised the spirit was likely feeling a little… raw, just as he was. Scraped free of its scales, the hide of the beast hid within itself the anger of a boy who had only barely understood the gravity of a crime he briefly observed, peering down from the dirt pathway above.

❝ At least, that’s what I thought I’d do. But I didn’t. You didn’t. ❞ his voice was eerie, lacking the dialect his silver tongue typically wove its words with, a low hissed tone slithered its way between the breaths that puffed out from his smiling little mouth – the implication that at any moment the monstrous force of Kamishini No Yari could bring forth its forked tongue from his lips. Until then, vibrant eyes gazed up. There was raw emotion, but there was primarily… scrutiny.

❝ It’s been… decades, now, hasn’t it? A hundred years. She doesn’t know. You made sure she doesn’t know you haven’t fixed it. Seeing as you’re so… comfortable with him, now, letting him hold you like that… why not just move on? Why, you’re on the road to forgiveness at this rate. ❞ A slicing little smile reached practically ear-to-ear, devoid of any true reason to smile.

Gin received that smile akin to a spit in his face. The words were equally so vile. They were abhorrent. He knew the feeling well – this particular flavor of self-disgust.

❝ Move on from it? From what he did? That’s not my choice. It ain’t my trauma to bury, here – ❞ He edged towards reprimanding, an authority that matched Shinso’s hissing undertones; don’t challenge me.

❝ Then why carry it, why hold onto it all this time? ❞

The challenge was, apparently, unavoidable.

❝ She doesn’t remember what happened, she doesn’t know what was taken. If she knew, she wouldn’t try so hard to hide her failin’s behind th’ mask of alcohol ‘n laziness to excuse her lack of strength as a lack of drive. She wouldn’t keep everybody at a distance, she wouldn’t act like everythin’ was fine. ❞ Shallowly assessing the depths of what was done to his childhood friend felt criminal, but Gin supposed there was enough blood under his fingernails to excuse the cruel brevity for now. He was speaking to the only other person who knew that there was more than what was spoken, after all.

❝ You remember what happened, you know what was taken – and yet you still hide behind a mask, don’t you? You excuse your deeds as a necessity. You keep everyone at a distance. You act like everything’s fine. ❞ The child’s voice was low and methodical. A surgeon’s precision. Ill-fitting for the guise of a lanky young boy.

❝ Rangiku ain’t ever in a position where tellin’ the truth about herself could get her or her loved ones killed. ❞ Gin’s quip was equally precise, a reminder; I don’t have the luxury of drinking my nightmares away.

❝ Aizen Sousuke didn’t kill you. No, he might have tried, that day, but so did you. And in the end, when you were eventually killed and not by his own hand, he still brought you back to life. ❞

The child was unmoving, save for that wicked mouth. Gin narrowed his eyes, pacing to the side. The snowfall crunched beneath his steps, though he didn’t need to trudge through the accumulation quite yet. ❝ It almost sounds like you’re arguin’ in favor of Aizen. Where’d all that… divine righteousness of yours go, hm? ❞

❝ Forgiveness can be a righteous act. ❞ A calculated reply. The serpent was rather set on the matter. Gin bristled. Shinso remained steadfast, wearing his own skin, smiling.

❝ Do you forgive Aizen Sousuke for what he did to her, to all of those people? ❞ Now, Gin felt a sliding knife of betrayal place itself against his back. Not quite delving into his skin, but the prickling sense of the threat was there. His blade, his weapon, his one true reliable entity… was Shinso doubting him?

❝ Do you? Can you? Will you? ❞ The child watched, waiting, assessing Gin the same way Gin now sought to assess him.

❝ I ain’t one of his victims, I don’t get to decide whether or not he’s redeemed himself for what he’s done. I don’t get to decide that I’m done, that I wanna jus’… forget. ❞ The scrutiny Shinso gazed at him with seemed to intensify, and the winds of doubt ripped with more force against his frame.

❝ I can’t imagine Rangiku could hold the grudge that you have for over a century. ❞

❝ If you wanna plead with me to forgive him, then you gotta at least tell me why you’ve changed your tune. You wanted to eat his heart. ❞ Gin spoke slowly, measured, obscuring the tremor of emotions which still ran too high for his comfort. Too intense for his head to not pound, his ears ringing with the song of his heartbeat lodged somewhere in his throat.

❝ I only ever wanted what you wanted. ❞ The sincerity Shinso spoke with burned Gin. He returned the favor, almost akin to a plea for a ceasefire.

❝ I don’t want to forgive him. ❞ A tired confession, a hollow one.

❝ I think you do, you just don’t realize it. You want it over and done with. You want to wash your hands of it all. ❞ Shinso’s words felt… wrong.

❝ I can’t forgive him, it’ll never be over, and I’ll always have stained hands. ❞ Finality rang out and Gin despaired over the verdict he issued himself. This despair was something familiar to him, something he accepted long ago – it presented itself as an old ache, something belonging to a scar that sometimes grew sore or tight after already healing over.

❝ Can’t, or won’t? You won’t let yourself even try. ❞

❝ Do you think those men let Rangiku try to run away from'em before chasin’ her down? ❞ Gin snapped, a whirlwind of heavier snow swirled, the billowing bite of cold at their cheeks.

❝ That happened when she was a little girl, she’s a grown woman now, do you honestly think it needs to be held for this long – especially now, now that you’ve opened his eyes to it? Now that you can finally speak about it? ❞

❝ Would you tell that lil girl to swallow those negative feelin’s she’s havin’ – jus’ like you’re tellin’ me – because too much time’s passed 'n she needs to move on? I held a mangled girl’s soul in my hand, the one he ripped outta her. I had it, I had it. I can’t let it go. ❞

❝ Why hold on!? Why grit your teeth, the prey’s lost, you need to move on! ❞

In a blur, the naked blade of a wakizashi unearthed itself from the draped sleeve of Gin’s right arm. He struck the boy at his left, severing the limb in a clean cutting instant. The boy did not jolt nor did he wince, though his eyes veered toward a sort of mixture between confusion and hurt – a wound not of flesh, but of the soul. And Gin, with all of his snarling, did not restrain himself from spitting venom at the veiled serpent’s bloodied body still standing so small, there, before him.

❝ – move on from that. ❞ Another mutilating strike to the other side, lopping flesh from forearm and wrist, a hand dropping into fresh snow at their feet. The red bloomed outwards, a poison. ❝ Forgive that,❞ The blade plunged into the boy’s chest, twisting. ❝ – don’t hate that it happened. Don’t loathe th’ pain, the loss.❞ Gin yanked the blade free and swept the following ribbon of blood outwards in an arching strike away from himself. The billowing robes of white remained pristine, but the snow around them was bloodied. The boy was mauled, spurting, dripping crimson from that ever-smiling mouth. ❝ Is that what you want me to tell myself? ❞

❝ Forgiveness has to be earned, but yes. ❞ Bloody lips still spoke, though a shuddered heave hitched itself, wet, inside the boy’s throat.

❝ And he HASN’T EARNED IT! He won’t ever earn it. And neither will I! ❞ The winds howled but Gin’s rarely raised voice still carried past the tormented blizzarding air.

❝ Didn’t you just say you couldn’t decide whether or not he has redeemed himself… ❞

❝ Redemption 'n forgiveness ain’t the same. He might’ve redeemed himself, but he’ll never be forgiven. He’ll need to crawl on his hands'n knees in front of her, confessin’ everythin’… he’ll need to beg, he’ll need to unmake every piece of that rotten thing before I even consider that an option. ❞

❝ It seems we’ve found where my righteousness went. ❞

❝ It seems that, given your weak-willed backtrackin’… maybe I should’ve accepted Hollowfication. Maybe then you would’ve been good enough to defeat'im. ❞ Spiteful words spoken, ones that Gin internally recoiled back from after they left his mouth. Or maybe that was an indiscernible flinch from Shinso that he felt.

❝ Being stubborn is not synonymous with being right about something, Ichimaru-sama. ❞ A sadness, an exasperated tone. Gin was speaking to a child and yet he was not the elder here – the serpentine spirit was, and he was the boy. The boy he mutilated, the boy he left a crippled mess, a heap of bloodied questions; why, why, why, why –

❝ This was never about what’s right 'n what’s wrong. ❞ Tiredness exuded from him and Gin looked away, looked into the biting winds and shut his eyes to let the cold sink its teeth into him.

❝ Of course. It’s about… – ❞

The dream faded to the tip of Gin’s mind as it groggily emerged into wakefulness, a slow blink of his eyes hazily clearing the fog. Hakufuku draped over his senses like a warm and heavy blanket. Gin needed a minute to gather himself, the thickness in his throat residual from his dreamstate’s heightened emotions. Or perhaps he was sore from sobbing – either way, he swallowed and shifted. The bed was warm, and for a brief flickering moment the world seemed warless. Gin felt transported back to a time when waking to find himself accompanied in bed was normalcy.

It was only when Aizen’s body shot upright that Gin became aware of the fact that he’d been embraced by the older man whilst asleep. In the absence, he felt a chill roll its way toward his shoulders. But he could not dissect his current emotional stance on the act of cuddling – whatever stirred Aizen into that look of concern and alertness was enough to bring Gin to a sluggish ascension, too.

❝ Somethin’ comin’? ❞ It’d not surprise the Shinigami, at least. Aizen’s time spent in recovery also allowed their enemies time to recover and regroup, too. Out beyond their barriered-off safehouse were two scouting Quincy, set forth to seek the special threat of Aizen Sousuke. Scouting out in hopes of serving their struck-down lord – and perhaps, soon, leading Yhwach to their doorstep.

[himbosandhardwear]

"Look who's talking, Mr Ponytail and a Crop Top," Steve says with a smartass grin.

Eddie looks down. "Huh?"

"You," he waves toward Eddie's general vicinity, "looking like some kinda Metal Cheerleader." He noticably swipes his tongue over his bottom lip.

Okay. This is it, this is the perfect moment to tell Steve he's sending signals that he definitely doesn't understand he's sending.

"Steve," he has to clear his throat before continuing, "I need to tell you something."

He leans in, wide eyed and focused. "Yeah?"

That's not helpful. "Um. So, to guys like me... Gay," he chokes out, still hard to say aloud even though he knows Steve knows, "sometimes you say things or do things that come off as...flirty. And I know you didn't know," he rushes to explain, "but I wanted to make you aware. To not do that. You know, in case the wrong person overhears it. It's a safety concern," he finishes lamely. Safety concern! Ugh. More like 'You're breaking my heart, I can't take much more of it.'

He waits for Steve to say something but he's just blinking owlishly.

"Steve?" He prompts, concerned.

"......yeah?" He finally seems to come back to himself. His eyes drift away, over Eddie's shoulder. "So...you want me to stop flirting?"

"Yeah, just in case, you never know who-" Wait. What? "What?"

Steve still isn't looking him in the eye. "What?" He mumbles.

"Did you say..." He can't even repeat it, it sounds like putting words in his mouth, but he did say that, right?

"Yeah. Sorry. I'll stop. I didn't realize it was bad, I guess. I thought... It's stupid. Nevermind. I'm gonna, um, take off actually. I'll see ya around, maybe."

He hops off the back of the van and actually starts walking away, like they're not 6 miles from his house. That snaps Eddie out of the paralysis spell he was under, adrenaline taking over like a bump of cocaine.

"No!" He shouts, like an insane person, and then takes it one step further by jumping up and tackling Steve into the grass.

"Uggff," Steve grunts when Eddie accidentally shoulders him in the gut, but he ignores the embarrassment in favor of crawling up his body so they're eye to eye.

He gets Steve's face between two hands and smooshes it. "Were you flirting with me on purpose?" He shouts.

"Are you serious?" He mumbles, half coherent, through pursed lips. "I'm gonna jump into the quarry."

"Answer the question!" He rattles Steve's head a little bit, for good measure.

"I work for Scoops Ahoy." Steve deadpans, unamused.

Eddie is going to throw one hell of a tantrum in a second. "Steve."

He smacks Eddie's hands away from his face. Doesn't bother to move out from under Eddie, he notes absently. "Yes, dude, obviously I was flirting with you on purpose! I thought that was, like, an understood thing that was happening. Why are you surprised?"

He feels like he's losing his mind. Why are you surprised the grass is made out of taffy? Would've made more sense as a question.

"Because you're straight." The duh is implied.

Sensibly, he asks, "Why would I flirt with you if I was straight?"

Eddie becomes very aware of every inch they are pressed together. Aware of the sound of the leaves rubbing together in the wind, aware of Judas Priest still playing through his speakers. Love Bites is a hell of a track to be having this revelation to.

"You're not straight?"

"No."

"And you were flirting?"

"Yes."

"With me?"

He rolls his eyes, not an ounce of bitchiness lost to his embarrassment. "No, Eddie, with the crusty blanket on your van floor. Yes, of course with you- Mmmphh!"

They probably shouldn't be making out on the ground at Settlers Quarry in broad daylight but, honestly, the shambling corpse of Jason Carver could show up right now and Eddie would not give two shits. Steve slides a hand down the back of Eddie's pants, grabbing what little bit of ass cheek he has, and Eddie thinks, Hope you're watching from hell, you bastard. Enjoy the show.

[seonghwaddict]

save a horse, ride your best friend — song mingi

in which your best friend can’t believe you’ve never ridden a dick before, so he takes it upon himself to teach you.

best friend!song mingi x fem!reader. requested by anon. genre. slight fluff. smut. best friends to friends with benefits. warnings. explicit sexual content mdni, inexperienced!reader, thigh riding, fingering, use of a dildo, big dick!mingi, multiple orgasms, unprotected, creampie, swearing, nicknames (baby, angel, pretty). wc. 4k. rating. mature.

lilo’s notes. this was requested a while ago but i’ve been putting it off because… i’ve never written anything about toys being used so uh, i was worried about the pacing and stuff. i wasn’t sure if you meant for them to be in an established relationship, so i went for the fwb route. IMPORTANT!!!! i lost access to my google account bc of a stupid mistake, if you sent in a request through my google form and would still like me to see it, please send it as an ask <33 i remember a few of them, but do send yours in just in case!!

listening to. need to know, doja cat // if u think i’m pretty, artemas // moonlight, kali uchis

masterlist.

it was a regular saturday evening. you were on a video call with your best friend, mingi, talking about anything that came to mind as you each ate a bowl of ramen as if you were really in the same room. he really only lived a couple buildings away, a two minute walk at most, but actually joining you in your apartment didn’t cross his mind until something interesting was brought up.

you weren’t sure what led to the conversation, but somehow it steered into the direction of something less innocent as you found yourself talking about an embarrassing date you’d gone on a while ago. recounting the story, laughing together, soon turned into a conversation about what each of you like in bed.

“oh, it’s just amazing,” mingi laughed as he gulped down a mouthful of water, momentarily pausing his rambling about how much he loves it when someone rides his dick. he ran a his hand through his short, washed-out pink hair, “honestly, my favourite thing ever since it probably feels just as good for whoever is, y’know, riding.”

based on everything he’s said so far, you came to the conclusion that he was more into giving than receiving, that he got off on seeing all the pleasure he can give his partner. so, it made sense he’d choose to mention the fact that riding him would feel good. not that you would know.

“can i admit something?”

he looked up from his bowl, sharp eyes looking almost hopeful as he nodded.

you looked around your kitchen jokingly, pretending to make sure no one sense was listened as you leaned closer a whispered, your hand cupping the side of your mouth.

“i’ve never done that before.”

his jaw dropped at that, letting out a small laugh. “you’re kidding.”

“no, really,” you insisted, going back to eating casually as if you were having the most normal conversation in the world with your best friend, “i really haven’t done… much, so i can’t confirm or deny your theory.”

“huh.” he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he thought for a moment. his head tilted and it was then that you felt how warm your cheeks felt, how your thighs were pressed together under the counter. of course, he was well aware of the fact that you had much less experience than him, only knowing about two people you had slept with. but damn. he clicked his tongue and shook his head ever so slightly. “that won’t do.”

furrowing your eyebrows, you opened your mouth to ask him what he had meant by that. he beat you to it before you could get a word out.

“i can… teach you, if you want?”

you blinked at your screen, resting your wrist on your countertop and gripping your chopsticks a little too hard. a silence followed his offer, though it wasn’t awkward. in fact, he could see you genuinely considering it as you thought it over. eventually, you gave him a tiny nod.

“i mean,” you shrugged, shifting your eyes away shyly, “sure, i guess. why not?”

he grinned, trying to hide it as he shoved a mouthful of noodles into his mouth and shoved his bowl aside. he chewed, swallowed then got up and made sure to bring his phone with him. you recognised his hallways then bedroom as he walked through his apartment. “i’ll be there in like 15, i need to buy something on the way. just wait there, and where something comfortable and… um, accessible.”

you nodded, despite your confusion, and he hung up. accessible? you looked down at your clothing—or rather, lack thereof. since you were home and not expecting anyone, you’d settled on wearing just a shirt you stole from mingi that was too large for him and much larger for you, and panties. you lifted the hem of the worn shirt, assessing how much of your dignity you’d lose if he saw your pink hello kitty undergarments that you only wore if you were doing laundry.

you could already hear him giggling at the sight.

groaning and cursing under your breath, you dropped the shirt and sped to your bedroom to dig through your closet in hopes of finding something a little more appealing. after making a mess of one of your closet’s drawers, you finally pulled out a pair of less offensive panties. they were made of soft cotton; a muted light blue with thin white lace trim, the cut shaped more like a bikini than what you call your grandma underwear.

deciding they were flattering enough, you slipped off your hello kitty pair—ignoring the embarrassing amount of wetness creating a wet patch right where it was pressed against your core—and replaced it with the new pair. as you untwisted the waistband and adjusted it to fit properly, your doorbell rang and you froze on the spot before pulling yourself together and heading to open the door.

the walk to the door felt abnormally long as you stumbled over on wobbly knees. admittedly, you were a little nervous. sure, there have been times where you wanted to do some more than friendly activities with mingi, but you never actually thought it was happen. yet here you were, opening the door for him so he could come in and show you what being a cowgirl feels like.

“hey,” he greeted you softly, stepping into your home and closing the door behind him. you noticed a small plastic bag in his hand, eying it curiously as you watched him kick off his shoes and hang up his coat. once that was of the way, he took one of your hands in your free one and pulled you to where he knew your bedroom was.

once there, he set the bag down on your bedside table and dragged you to stand between his knees as he took a seat on the edge of your bed. he looked you over, lingering on the familiar t-shirt.

“so you’re the one that took this shirt, huh?” he quirked an eyebrow, glancing up at you as he released your hand and brought both of his to your hips. his thumbs caressed the curve of your waist over the shirt. “it was my favourite.”

you laughed softly, “clearly you didn’t care enough if i was able to keep it for three years without you noticing.”

“you little thief.” his nose scrunched as he glared at you jokingly, giving you a gentle squeeze.

“if you really want it back, you can always take it.”

“nah, it’s fine, keep it. it looks cuter on you anyway.” he took a breath and gave you another once over, humming appreciatively when he moved his hands up higher, dragging the shirt with it until he caught a glimpse of your panties. you tensed, caught off guard by how close he felt. “i need you to relax a little, how about i help you loosen up, yeah?”

you nodded, averting your gaze but returning it to him when you felt him pull you onto his lap. he slotted one of his legs between yours, easing you down to straddle his thigh. his hands ran up and down your sides and few times before resting on your bare thighs, your breath stuttered and he held back a smile.

“are you still okay with this?” he asked quietly, absentmindedly playing with the hem of his your shirt. “if i do anything that makes you uncomfortable, just tell me and i’ll stop immediately and we can just watch a movie or something, okay?” when you only nodded, he continued, “i need you to say it, please.”

“i’m okay with this,” you muttered in return, resting you hands on his biceps, “and i’ll let you know if i need you to stop.”

“good, now…” without waiting any longer, he leaned forward to attach his lips to your neck, his hands slowly beginning to rock you back and forth on his lap.

you sucked in a sharp breath and clung into his arms a little tighter, your stomach fluttering at the feeling of your clothed cunt on his firm thigh, your panties dragging against your clit with ease thanks to how wet you already were. he lifted you slightly as he pulled you towards him, pushing you down as he pushed, the varying pressure making your lips part in a soft whimper. he nearly groaned at the sound, moving his lips right below your ear.

“you know,” he rasped between the licks and kisses, “i can’t deny that i’ve wanted to fuck you for a long, long time now.”

“r-really?”

mingi chuckled as he pulled back to look at your face, half surprised and half needy. he noticed that if he relaxed his hands, you’d continue grinding against his thigh.

“yeah, really. i mean, look at you,” he glanced down, one of his hands lifting the hem of your shirt to watch you ride his thigh slowly, a dark wet patch forming right where your leaking pussy sat. he bit his lip, “you look so perfect… and i bet you’d feel perfect, too.”

you nearly whined at that, fucking yourself on his thigh just a little faster as he sucked a dark mark right above your collarbone before returning to mutter dirty words into your ear.

“i know practically everything about you and your cute little body, you know. better than anyone else,” one of his hands inched it’s way up your thighs, brushing against the edge of your panties, “i’ll make you feel so good, angel, i promise.”

“mingi?” you whimpered, prompting him to lean back a little to look at you with a curious tilt of his head and a raised brow. “if you don’t shut up and kiss me right now, i might lose my mind so… please.”

his beautifully plump lips stretched into a smile as he wasted no time in practically pouncing forward and smashing his lips against yours. it started a little slow as you got acquainted with each other, despite the fact you could feel a nearing orgasm as a knot in your stomach drew tighter with each roll of your hips, but soon the kiss turned hungry.

he groaned into your mouth as you let his tongue explore, making you let out a quiet moan. mingi knew he wouldn’t be able to kiss anyone ever again. you, his best friend of all people, had the most inviting lips he’s ever felt. so inviting, so perfect and so soft. he thought everything about was soft. his hand slipped just under the edge of your panties as his other one made your grinds slow down.

you didn’t mind the slow pace, knowing just a few more rocks of your hips would have you tipping over the edge. but he evidently had other plans as he finally made your hips still completely. you pulled away from his lips with a pout. if you were trying to make him feel bad, it backfired terribly.

all he could think of as he looks at your swollen, red, wet, pouty lips is how much prettier they’d look wrapped around his cock. but he could save that for another time.

“there’s no need to rush, baby,” he chuckled, wiping some saliva away from your bottom lip.

eventually, when he was sure you had calmed down enough, he lifted you off his lap a little and turned to lay you down on your back, pressed against the comfortable mattress as he kneeled on the edge. he gripped your knees and bent them, pushing them closer to your chest with his eyes zeroed in on where your slick was leaking through your panties.

with one hand keeping your knees together and elevated, he ran his other over the fabric, pressing down on where he knew your clot would be and elicit a sweet little moan as you squirmed beneath him. he thought you were so cute like this, you looked so flustered as he gave you nothing but featherlight touches where you needed him most. for now.

“don’t get all shy on me now,” he cooed as he glanced up and noticed you covering your face with your hands, “let me see you, pretty.”

he didn’t continue his touches until you finally removed your hands, giving him a nice view of your abused lips and round eyes, pupils blown wide with lust in a way that had something stirring in his abdomen. and his pants.

he let down your knees for a moment so both of his hands could slip under the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs. he actually moaned when he saw the strings of arousal clutching onto the fabric as he dragged it away, snapping when he got too far.

“you’re so pretty, baby,” he murmured, watching your entrance squeeze around nothing, making more slick drip out.

after tossing it aside, he wasted no time in getting your knees back to the previous position and running his fingers through your folds.

“oh, fuck,” he groaned, eyes squeezing shut for a moment as you let out a moan when he tapped against your clit, “you’re soaked.”

he glanced up at you, wanting to see your face as he slowly pushed in too fingers and catching a glimpse of your hard nipples poking through your shirt. your face contorted for s fraction of s second before relaxing, your head tipping back against the mattress as you let out a whine.

he choked back a moan at the tight walls around his middle and ring fingers, the fingers of his other hand digging into your thighs. “sh-shit… you’re so tight. i’m gonna have to stretch you out first, okay?”

you nodded mindlessly, too distracted by his fingers prodding at your sweet spot to care about any words he may have said. but you furrowed your eyebrows and lifted your head when you felt both his hands leave you, finding him reaching for the bag. your curiosity outweighed your disappointment as he pulled something out.

it was a dildo. about as thick and long as the biggest person you had before, and made of what looked to be transparent silicon. your insides tightened at the sight, somehow the thought of him seemingly buying this just for you turning you on even more.

he returned to kneeling at the edge of your bed, leaning down to loop his arm around your waist and lift you up to place a pillow under your hips before letting lay back down.

“couldn’t find one my size, but this should be fine,” he held the dildo and ran the tip through your pussy, collecting wetness as you shuddered, “my cock will just have to stretch you the rest of the way.”

you breath hitched at the implication of his words. so he was bigger than that? your thighs pressed together at the thought of being completely stuffed by him. he chuckled, separating your knees enough for him to have a clear view of your pussy, pulsing and dripping and begging for his attention.

he began slipping the toy into you, filling you up inch by inch and watching your needy hole stretch around it and swallow it up. the sight had him choking back a moan, biting down on his bottom lip.

the stretch had your back arching and pushing yourself against it desperately, feeling like that alone could get you to finish. it only took a few deep strokes for your pussy to get used to the size, squeezing and writhing around it until you couldn’t handle it anymore. your arousal coated it quickly and seeped out with each stroke, squelching sounds filling the room that shot straight to his dick.

when you finally came, your toes curled and your body twitched as you let out a string of and whines and moans, little curses slipping between. he watched with fascination as you came undone right beneath him, not wanting to wait any longer to be inside you. he shoved the toy deep inside you, leaving it there as he leaned back for a moment to discard his clothes, slipping his hoodie and sweatpants off.

when you were brought back to your senses, you found yourself on his lap again, straddling his hips this time as he sat with his back against your headboard. you felt his erectile straining against his boxers and pressing against your core. you couldn’t help but rock your hips against his slowly.

“do you ever ride your pillow?” he asked suddenly, voice dropped what felt like two octaves lower than his regular tone. your eyes widened at the question but you nodded. he nodded too, his hands finding your ass and helping you grind against his clothes length. “this is a lot like that, except you have something in you… and it’s more of an up and down movement… and i’m obviously not a pillow… still, there’s really no right way to do it, just go slow and you’ll figure out what works and what doesn’t. plus, i’m here to guide you.”

he gave your ass a squeeze as if to punctuate his sentence, massaging the soft flesh in his palms. when you felt ready, you dropped your hands from his shoulders to his boxers, palming his length a few times before hooking your fingers into the fabric and dragging it down until his cock sprung out.

he definitely wasn’t lying when he said it would stretch you more than the already-big dildo. he was definitely a lot bigger than anyone else you’ve been with, well over average. you nearly dropped at the sight, wrapping your hand around him and jerking him off, eyes fixated on the angry red tip leaking precum as you passed your thumb over it.

the muscles of his abs rippled and squeezed as your worked your hands on his cock, his head thrown back against the headboard and letting out stuttering moans. all the sounds he made encourage you to sit up on your knees, guiding him through your folds and whimpering as you finally sank down on him carefully.

the two of you moaned at the same time, him at how well you squeezed around him and you at how well he stretched you. you stopped when you reached just halfway, unsure whether or not you’d be able to fit more. his hips jerked slightly as his hands squeezed your hips.

“come on, baby,” he moaned softly, looking up at you with encouraging eyes, “just a little more… we can make it fit, right? just breathe.”

you nodded and as you took a deep breath, he used his hold on your to sink you further down until he finally bottomed out. he cursed silently, the back of his head finding the headboard again as you whined and dropped yours onto his shoulder.

you felt his tip pushing against your cervix, the new feeling making a lump form in your throat as you blinked back tears. this time it took a while to get used to the stretch before you tried grinding back and forth. it was slow, almost painfully so. he was amazed that despite stretching you with two different things, you were still so unbelievably tight, hugging him in a death grip as your raised your hips an inch before dropping down again.

your soft noises were muffled by his shoulder as your hands rested on his biceps, panting and squeezing gently as every inch of him dragged against the sensitive spongy patch in your walls every time you grinded on him. soon enough you were able to lift yourself to his tip and drop all the way down, your wetness letting him slip in and out with ease.

still, you kept the pace torturously slow, savouring each bounce and grind. his hands had left your hips at some point, exploring your body under your shirt, massaging your breasts and tweaking your nipples. he lifted the fabric but kept it on your as he watched your tits bounce temptingly, your puffy pink nipples making his mouth water as he pushed himself forward to take one into his mouth.

your hips stuttered as he sucked and nibbled at your nipples, throwing your head back and arching into his touch as your grinds grew sloppy. he felt your decreasing pace, using the hand that wasn’t teasing your other breast to guide your hips once more. he angled you slightly differently in a way that made your clit press against his pelvis each time he bottomed out, the speed of your grinds picking up quickly as his hips bucked up to meet yours.

his lips detached from your bruised breasts with a popping sound as he leaned up to capture your lips in his once again. it wasn’t much of a kiss, more teeth and tongue and moans and groans than anything else as you swallowed each other’s sounds.

you finished first, pushing yourself down hard and stilling, filling yourself with his throbbing cock and pressing your clit against him. he held you tightly, burying his face in your neck to suck at all the spot he knew would get your to writhe. many tickling fights contributed to his knowledge on all your sensitive spots.

your body twitched as you returned to bouncing on his length, your juices looking at his base. the overstimulation burned a little, making your thighs and knees quiver, but you were determined to get him to finish too. and by the looks of it, it shouldn’t take much longer.

“shit, baby,” he said, halfway between a whimper and a moan, fingertips digging into your hips as he threw his head back in bliss, “‘m so close— fuck, you feel s-so good.”

his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, bottom lip caught between his teeth. his cheeks and the tip of his ears flushed a deep red, his plush lips a few shades darker and coated in your mixed saliva from your kisses. as you adjusted the angle of your hips, something in him snapped, grabbing your hips tighter and taking over. he took over your movements, thrusting his hips up desperately as you fell forward onto his chest with the sudden change in intensity. his tip pushed itself against your g-spot continually, another knot tightening in your stomach.

the wet sounds of your cunt and your skin slapping against his egged him on until finally he felt like he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“baby, p-please— fuck— please, can i cum i-inside you?” he begged through a groan, “i— please, angel, i-i can’t wait any longer.”

you nodded against his chest with a whine, you were on the pill anyway. not a second later, he released into you, filling you up with stuttering hips. he pulled you down, flush against him and keeping you there as he emptied himself with softly muttered curses, his head dropping to press open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder.

it felt new to you, the warmth making you squirm until you came again without warning. it was much weaker this time but still enough to make you shake in his arms, panting softly after letting out a strangled moan against his skin.

after a few long moments of trying to recover from the shared orgasm, he lifted his head, one of his hands cupping your chin to tilt your head to look at him.

“so,” he started, lips stretched into a smile, “how’d that feel?”

“fucking amazing.” you rolled your eyes at how smug he looked after your confession, not protesting as he leaned forward to kiss you.

this one was much softer than the previous kisses you shared, much more tender. it was a lot shorter too, he pulled away first to rest his forehead against yours.

“yeah?” he whispered, kissing the corner of your lips, “just wait until i hit it from the back.”

networks. @cromernet @wonderlandnet @cultofdionysusnet @pirateeznet

permanent taglist. @ad0rechuu @sankatchu @mlink64 @yeosangsbb @seonghwasbbgirl @likexaxdaydream @dreamingofyeo @yalyallic @yunhoswrldddd @coffee-addict-kitten @thunderous-wolf @chngbnwf

[gabseyoo]

PROOF — SAKUSA KIYOOMI

content: msby!kiyoomi, female reader, best friend!kiyoomi, pwp, cunnilingus, fingering, kinda best friends to lovers. word count: 2,7k.

note: this was supposed to be shameless smut but ended up being kind of romantic (?) just because a kiyoomi being in love with us is my sexual fantasy. also, i'm not satisfied with the ending, but i had no other ideas. maybe when i come up with something better ill change it, who knows :p

“Kiyoomi, do you go down on girls?”

The question took Kiyoomi off guard. You guys had spent the last twenty minutes in almost complete silence, just hanging out in his living room and completely ignoring the random movie you had chosen because you both were scrolling through your phones, which is why the last thing he expected to hear out of the blue was such a question.

He turned to look at you, who were lying across the couch with your feet resting in his lap and still staring at your phone screen. Not knowing what to say, a ‘huh’ was the only thing he could think of. 

“Just answer.” You poked his thigh with your foot. “It’s not like we’re strangers.” 

That was true. You two were good friends, practically best friends, and therefore, you both had full confidence in each other. But, you had always kept a limit when it came to talking about both his sex life and yours, to the point where that part of your respective lives was a complete mystery to each other. 

And this is a secret— but he liked it that way. Because he was more than sure that he didn’t want to know what you did with other men at all. Just thinking about it made his stomach turn with jealousy. That’s the reason he didn’t bother to tell you about his own experiences with other women either, just in case there was a small chance that you might feel the same way he did. 

“None of your business.” He answered sharply. 

You rolled your eyes before getting up from your comfortable position to sit cross-legged, “C’mon, Kiyoomi, It’s just a question.”

“A question I won’t answer.”

“Why not?” You crossed your arms, looking at him defiantly. 

Kiyoomi narrowed his eyes at your posture, why did you suddenly want to know that? Moreover, why did you insist on wanting to know? Did someone say something to you? Is there a rumor about him? Or maybe you had suddenly awakened an interest in him? He was overthinking, but still he hoped more than anything that it was the latter option rather than the others. 

“Just because.” He said, and before you could protest, he continued: “And, why are you asking anyway?” 

A smirk appeared on your face, “If you answer my question, I’ll answer yours. Deal?”

“Never mind.”

“You’ll never know why I asked, then.” You said, casually looking at your nails. “Unless we make a deal.”

He shouldn’t accept so easily, he knew, but now he was genuinely curious why you broke an unspoken rule between you two to ask him if he did orals, of all things. 

So, he agreed. “Deal.”

Your smile of victory almost made him smile too, but he did his best to remain serious. “Okay. Tell me.”

He sighed before answering honestly. “I do.”

Your eyes widened and an incredulous laugh escaped your lips before you said, “Really?” The surprise in your voice made him frown, why was that surprising? Should he be offended?

“Yeah.”

“Are you serious? You go down on girls?” You couldn't even hide the disbelief in your voice. “You?”

“I already said yes. Now, tell me. Why are you asking?”

Without further ado, you grabbed your phone that had been forgotten in your lap to unlock it, and a second later you were showing him what appeared to be your TikTok feed.

“A fan made a TikTok with the title: Ranking how good MSBY players are at giving head and you were raked as a zero just because he’d rather die than put his mouth there.”

What the fuck?!

“Let me see that.”

In the blink of an eye, Kiyoomi snatched the phone from you to watch the video with his own eyes, regretting it as soon as it started thanks to the embarrassing selection of music and photos chosen from the team members. He scoffed, a random person on the internet had felt entitled to make this kind of ranking just based on appearances and assumptions. It’s not like they could have any real evidence at the end of the day. But it seems that for many people a video of this kind told the absolute truth, because it had thousands of likes and thousands of comments, and—to his misfortune—he couldn’t help but read them.

Now he wished he had never done it. 

In addition to most of the comments agreeing and mocking Kiyoomi’s ranking, saying that at least his face makes up for it and that maybe he gives head as long as he has his face mask on—that one was actually funny, but he wouldn’t say that out loud—, the other vast majority agreed that Atsumu and Bokuto were the best. 

But the question here is, did you think the same?

“You actually believe this crap?” He asked, actually sounding more hurt than he planned. 

“Kiyoomi, it’s just a TikTok. Of course, I’ll believe it.” You were obviously trying to make a joke, but still, the expression on his face showed pure disbelief. “I’m joking, jeez.”

“I know it’s a just TikTok, but I still want to know.” He sounded serious. 

You sighed and rolled your eyes, perhaps thinking he was exaggerating, maybe he was, but he wasn’t offended by the fact that someone made that video, there were probably hundreds just like it. It was the fact that you, of all people, seemed to agree with an assumption about him and his very private intimate life. 

“Kiyoomi, I just thought it was funny. That’s why I asked.”

“But you didn’t believe me when I told you I did.”

“I did believe you.” He narrowed his eyes, showing that he obviously didn’t buy your words. “I’m not lying. I believed you, but— I was just… shocked.”

“Why?”

“It’s just that…never mind.”

“Tell me.” 

You looked him in the eye for a few seconds before sighing heavily.

“You’re… a little too special when it comes to cleanness and— where you put your mouth, you know?” You weren’t even looking him in the face, obviously nervous about the direction the conversation was taking. “I’m not judging you, we should all be careful where we put it. And, I just thought that… yeah” You waved your hand as you finished, trying to play it down. 

Kiyoomi couldn’t blame you or others for thinking that, after all, that was the kind of reputation he built for himself. But, even when he didn’t care what others thought about him, he always cared what you thought; for that reason alone, he wasn’t going to let you walk away with the wrong idea about him. 

“Yes, we should. But now you know that I actually go down.” He said, and, simply because he had a good feeling, he added: “And I’m pretty good at it, I can assure you.”

You scoffed. “Are you?”

“I am.” Confidence exuded in his voice, perhaps that was exactly why the next words came out of his mouth: “You want proof?”

What happened next was a delight to his eyes. 

You got fucking nervous, of course he noticed, you were his best friend after all. You widened your eyes, opened your mouth a couple of times in an attempt to say something but nothing came out. But what was a poem for him, was to see how you moved your hips slightly, in a movement that could have gone unnoticed if he hadn't paid all his attention to you. 

You cleared your throat as you looked away from his gaze. “I have no desire to ask your previous flings how good you are down there or watch any pornographic videos of you, so no, thanks.” You folded your arms as you sat up straight, suddenly finding the movie interesting. 

The room fell into silence, accompanied by a heavy tension that you two were obviously aware of. 

This situation was actually kind of funny. Thanks to a fucking TikTok, he now had an opportunity in front of him that he had been waiting for a long time. An opportunity he was going to take. 

“I wasn’t referring to that kind of proof.”

Three minutes later, you were lying on the couch with your head resting on a pillow, your pants thrown aside on the floor and Kiyoomi between your legs, spreading kisses across your belly. 

“This is weird.” You said, maybe in an attempt to break the intimate silence that had formed where only your breaths and his kisses could be heard. 

“It is.” He agreed before lowering his lips to your inner thighs, where he surprised you with a light bite that made you gasp. “We can stop if you want.”

You were quick to reply with a no and he smirked against your skin. Of course you didn’t want to stop, neither did he. Both of you by this point were already immersed in lust, even though it had only been a few minutes of foreplay.

When he was desperately taking off your pants minutes ago, Kiyoomi debated whether to just go for it or take it slow. 

But the moment he saw the longing in your eyes, how pretty you looked underneath him, he knew he would take his time. He didn’t just want to prove something to you; he actually wanted to taste you, to make you squirm, to make you enjoy this as much as he would. 

Gently caressing your thighs with both hands, he moved down until his mouth made contact with your pelvis, where he left another trail of kisses until he reached right where your clit was. Still above the fabric of your panties, he kissed you there, which was enough to elicit a moan of frustration from you.

“Please, just do it.” 

He kissed the same spot again before smirking. “Let me just go get my facemask, can’t do this without it.” 

His sudden joke made you burst into laughter which elicited a chuckle from him. “Don’t kill the mood.” You said as you gave a small pat to his hand that squeezed your thigh. 

He smiled and brought both of his hands to the waistband of your panties, pulling them down slowly. “At this point that’s impossible.”

“I know.” You muttered as you lifted your hips to let him remove the garment easily. 

As quickly as the garment hit the floor, Kiyoomi’s eyes focused on the middle of your legs, you may not have noticed, but the mere sight of your pussy glistening with your arousal made him twice as hard as he already was. 

“Don’t stare.” You said, trying to close your legs as much as you could since Kiyoomi was in the way.

No, no, no. There was no way for you to hide from him now, or ever. 

“Why not? You’re so fucking hot in all places.” 

Hearing his words, in an act of fluster, you brought both of your hands to cover your face, perhaps trying to hide how his praise made you feel. “You think so?”

The question came out almost in a whisper, and in response, he took both of your hands, interlaced your fingers and placed them on the sides of your head with the purpose of looking you in the eyes. 

“There’s no day when I don’t think that you’re hot,” He confessed, his voice deep and serious with the purpose of making you understand that he was not playing games. “Now that I just told you how crazy I’m for you, open your legs and let me make you feel good.”

You nodded, and staring at him with desire in your eyes, you opened your legs wide open again until that part of your body that he wanted to devour more than anything else was once again fully at his mercy.

Kiyoomi let go your hands and he lowered his body until his stomach made contact with the soft cushion of the couch. Now in that position, he wrapped his arms around your thighs, squeezing the flesh eagerly before dipping his head into the middle of your legs. 

“God.” You sighed, jerking your hips upward in surprise. 

He played slowly with his tongue, running it up and down before concentrating on sucking your clit. 

He was hard as fuck. Maybe more than he had ever been in his life. He even felt his tip leaking and was almost certain that if he started grinding his hips against the cushion, he could come at any moment. But he would save that for later. Right now, he was getting drunk on your taste and the sound of your moans. 

And fuck… those moans were heaven itself. 

He lowered his mouth, right at your entrance, where he began to lick gathering more of your juices before he deepened his mouth against your clit, sucking harder, quickly realizing that you liked it by the movement of your hips and the loud whimper that came out of your mouth. 

Kiyoomi was getting excited, even more so when he felt your hands stroking his head before pulling his curls, holding him closer to you, as if you were afraid he would break away, taking with him the pleasure you were feeling, but Kiyoomi wasn’t willing to do that, right now what he wanted most was you coming as hard as you could in his mouth. 

Hungry to increase your pleasure, he didn’t think twice when he let go of one of your thighs to stick a finger inside you, thrusting it in and out a few times before slipping another one in and curving his fingers to reach that sensitive spot inside you. 

“There, oh god, there.”

He would give you whatever you wanted, so he focused there. Feeling lovesick at this point. Loving the way you sounded. Loving the way you pulled his hair. Loving  the way your tight pussy squeezed his fingers. 

He moved his tongue back down to your entrance at the same time he pulled his fingers out, but only to start circling them over your clit. This is where you put a hand over your mouth to keep from screaming, but Kiyoomi didn’t want that, he wanted to hear you come undone for him, no matter if it woke up the neighbors. So with his free hand he took you by the wrist at the same time that he separated his mouth from your sex.

“Don’t hold back those sounds, I want to hear you scream for me. Okay?”

You nodded. Too shocked to formulate words. 

“Good girl.” He praised before placing a short kiss on your wrist, releasing it a second later to immediately return to seal his mouth with your wet pussy. 

This time he put both hands behind your knees to spread your legs wider and pushed them against your chest, giving himself more room to continue devouring you, proud that you were no longer shy to scream with pleasure when he flicked his tongue, sucked and bit your pretty pussy. 

“I’m close. Fuck! Don’t stop, please.”

Kiyoomi wouldn’t stop, he was sure of that.

It was a matter of seconds when started to came in your best friend’s mouth. 

Kiyoomi kept licking, drinking up all your release until your legs began to shake from overstimulation. 

He gave a peck to your clit before gently letting go of your legs, settling them slowly on the cushion. He caressed your thighs as he left kiss after kiss on your belly, helping you relax as you tried to control your breathing after such an intense experience. 

You were lying there staring at the ceiling, your chest rising and falling rapidly. Perhaps processing everything that just happened, but Kiyoomi wouldn’t give you time for regrets, not now, not ever. He moved on top of you, resting his forearms on either side of your head and looked down at you, connecting your gazes before asking with a cocky smile on his face, “And? How was it?”

You let out a chuckle and rolled your eyes playfully before answering, “I think TikTok and I owe you an apology.” You said as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “You’re definitely not a zero.”

“I’ll be happy with yours alone.” He said before lowering his face further until your noses brushed, “Your opinion is the only one I care about afterall.” He added before finally kissing you.

[krysmcscience]

At long last: either an alternate explanation for or continuation of my prior comic regarding how Bill was ABSOLUTELY naked in Ford's karaoke night drawing. (Because errors in art do not exist. Artists do not make mistakes. So if you see any in this comic, No You Do Not.)

I am so normal about these old dorks.

I'm not really clear on exactly when Bill started throwing his desperation book at Ford just like a needy ex do, but I find it extremely funny to imagine it happening literally the day of or after the makeshift funeral. Bill just gets this weird sense of 'Ford is taking steps to move on' and CANNOT FUCKING ABIDE.

I hope you enjoy all the goofy things I added to each page of Bill's sad spieling. (Everything SHOULD be readable so long as you view the full size, but I have added basically this whole little fanfic in the image descriptions, LMAO, which lays out all the little written notes and such.) Also don't ask how Bill managed to sneak that vampire pen in there. I have no idea, and honestly? I don't wanna know.

Oh, and a little bonus comic:

Of course Bill would take it as flirting. Because between the two of them, Bill is the bigger masochist By Far. :)

Also I have continued applying The Good Place logic to any of Bill's attempts to swear. Case in point, one last bonus image, this time with a motivational line from my slapdash Theraprism OC, EV-01:

Yes, its name is just 'love' backwards. No, I will not be taking any feedback on this. Yes, EV-01 was only ever assigned to Bill's case due to the Theraprism being desperate to make some progress in rehabilitating him. No, it did not work anywhere close to staff's expectations - Bill didn't even appreciate EV-01's matching fondness for bowties! (He claimed the fondness to be "cultural appropriation" and insisted he'd been traumatized by it.)

Anyway, if you like my stuff, reblogs are very much appreciated, and if you really really like it, perhaps consider my commissions or yeeting a teeny tiny tip my way? I am trying to recoup over 500 dollars in vet bills, ahaha... 🙃

In other news, I loved all the fun tags people added to the prior naked-karaoke comic (such as 'the hat and bow-tie stay ON during sex' and the classic '[insert keysmash here]', as well as the many amused/bewildered remarks about how I either made the bricks a piece of clothing or just straight up peeled Bill's skin off). However, I think my favorite thing by far was the several people losing their shit over the fact that I gave Bill toes. Like, excuse me? The magical talking triangle can have fingers but not toes??? Since when was that a rule????? 🤣 (Also the one person who reblogged with the cropped panel where Bill's fishnets pants are falling off to ask why Bill peed himself. Dude, I want to examine your brain...?)

Okie-dokie, I'm sick of looking at all of this stuff now and I'm off to go to work, after which I will either scribble some more goofy "Billford" comics or perhaps draw my lame human!Bill in Situations, idk yet. Maybe I'll even finally draw more than just a single other person's human!Bill...? Who knows, but I sure hope I can mix it up a little and not turn whatever I draw into a month-long fukken project. >:\

[sistertotheknowitall]

Masterpost

“But to the BatFam? That is just Some Guy. A random dude - if you will.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m missing my spleen.”

“Oh cool, yeah, missing organs suck. I’m missing a kidney and part of my liver. Oh! And my gallbladder but that was more of a necessary evil, it was like, poisoning me or something.” Danny was so focused on applying pressure to his wound (and maybe being a bit too light headed) that he didn’t notice how silent his friend had gotten. Like-wise the comms had gone equally quiet as Gotham’s vigilante family realized that they knew very little about this kid.

It was concerning how quickly they all started to see him as a friend considering it was them as vigilantes he interacted with the most. Tim was the only one who saw him frequently when out of the suit because he was a regular at Danny’s day job. (He worked as a barista in the coffee shop Tim favored.) The others saw him occasionally but more often than not it was just in passing. Steph, Duke, and Dick had to stop themselves from approaching him on the street.

It was odd, one day he had just moved to Gotham, seeming to appear out of nowhere, and then the next he was a constant presence in their lives. Usually armed and ready with a concerning or odd quip, it had started with him being another victim of the city’s petty criminals and had snowballed from there.

Now it wasn’t like the bats saw Danny everyday, but it was expected that he would cross paths with at least three of them before the end of the week. They ran into him more often than any other Gothamite, including the criminals and rouges they fought.

At first the constant meetings by “coincidence” was suspicious. If he wasn’t the one being saved from a mugging, kidnapping, or city wide villain assault, then he was near by and trying to help.

(“Trying to help” usually meant drawing attention to himself so the original victim could escape. Once it had meant Danny armed with a baseball bat against four grown men. Bruce and Dick have tried to talk to him about putting himself in harms way but the kid is surprisingly elusive when he wants to be. Yet, even when avoiding Batman and his eldest, Danny could be found on the patrol route of another family member.)

But honestly? The guy seemed just as exhausted as they were of seeing each other. By the twelfth time in a month, Danny had accused them of stalking him.

The background check Bruce and Tim had run came back clean and he never seemed to be involved in the various criminal activities. He was just there, a weirdly unlucky bystander. So as far as Dick and the others could see, Danny was a completely normal dude. He just said strange things and wasn’t intimidated by them, he actually made it a point to be unhelpful sometimes. When trying to learn his name he gave them the run around for two months. (“I know about stranger danger. I don’t care how often you say you’re the ‘good guys.’ I’m not falling for it.”)

On one memorable occasion Danny had disappeared for a week and a half. When they started to assume the worse, he popped back up behind the counter at work. Tim had relaxed significantly when he entered the shop to Danny organizing pastries in the display case. Once he’d placed his order, the young CEO asked Danny if he’d been on vacation. To which Danny had just sighed and told Tim “I wish, but no I was called to court to handle some affairs I couldn’t get out of.” (After a check to see if Danny had gotten charged with something and coming back empty, Tim had concluded that it was an odd way to say he had had jury duty.)

Thinking about it now, outside a stray comment or two, Danny didn’t talk about himself or his life. They knew he didn’t have a good relationship with his parents, “they were much more goal oriented than that joke of a kidnapper, but I think drugs do that to a person.” (It was still unclear if he meant his parents were kidnappers themselves or on drugs.) They knew he had an older sister who would “kill me again if she finds out I was in another bank robbery.” They also knew he was, possibly, depressed after last week’s comment of “is it considered murder if you’re already dead but, like, still alive?” (Damian had saved him from a drug ring but after another “baby ninja” comment the young Robin had threatened to give Danny back to his would-be murderers.)

Dick knew Danny was a weird guy who never wanted to elaborate on the things he said. (Jason was still confused on what he meant by “rotted milk soul.”) That didn’t mean the comments themselves didn’t say a lot about him. And tonight’s comment, accompanied by the prominent and jagged autopsy scars, said more than Danny was probably willing to share.

Part one

[capsi-cuminme]

Blowing Off Steam

summary: in which you're very stressed, and sparring is the only way you can destress. you're having trouble finding a partner though, so logan volunteers to help.

pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader

word count: 1.7k

warnings: mild swearing, fingering, some dirty talk, lots of horny thoughts, 18+ MDNI

author's note: ahhhh sweaty logan on a fighting mat is all i need. anyways, thank you guys sm for the response on my other fic, as a gift i bring you smut ;)

•──✦──•

You’re stressed. You’ve been overworking yourself, you know it, and you need to relax, destress. Your body feels wound up with tension and energy, and you’re unable to release it. It’s not like you have super complicated abilities that mess with your mind and make you lose your shit, no - that’s Jean’s set of troubles, not yours. Your ability is simple enough - super strength. 

So what is it that isn’t simple then? Right. Someone you can actually truly train with and exert yourself out with. There aren’t a load of people who can physically keep up with your strength, not except Colossus, and even he’s just a kid. So when, at times, you want to blow some steam by training, you have next to no one to do it with. 

Or, you didn’t, not until Logan came along. You’ve sparred with him a couple of times, but only for excessively short periods of time, due to you not being able to keep your shit together because of his overwhelming attractiveness. Honestly, you don’t think it’s your fault that you’re unable to focus; his arms look like he could rip apart logs of wood with them, his shoulders are so wide that they’re practically made for people to rest their ankles on, and his demeanor - his understated, wolfish demeanor makes you go insane. 

And as if all these things weren’t bad enough on their own, they tend to get exponentially exemplified whenever you guys spar. Obviously, fighting makes him breathe hard and stuff. So your life becomes even tougher. 

Really, you aren’t trying to be horny around him all the time. But that’s the thing. You’re pent up, stressed, overworked. Being a member of the X-Men means that it gets really hard to get laid due to several factors, and then when your coworkers are so hot? God help you. 

As you sit on the gym’s bench, staring at the sparring mats, you strain your mind to think of someone to spar with. You could ask Colossus, the kid’s always more than ready and could give you some competition on one of your bad days. But there’s too much of a risk. You’re already restless with energy, itching to let yourself go; in case the kid isn’t prepared or you get too excited, you’d end up hurting him, which is something you can’t risk. 

You could maybe go to Ororo and Scott, ask them to come at you together? The two of them together would successfully tire you out. Maybe they’d become a bit more than you’re mentally willing to handle. You don’t want to have to strategise at every step. 

God, you just need someone who can handle whatever you throw at them without having to think too much. Unfortunately for you, there’s only one person in the mansion who can do that. 

“Oh hey Bub, what you doing here? Got no classes to teach?” The somehow smooth but gravelly voice breaks you out of your train of thought as you turn to look at Logan, entering the gymnasium. 

Internally rejoicing at his choice of clothes - the white wifebeater under the oversized jacket - while simultaneously praying that he isn’t here to stay, you get up from your seat to speak to him. “Oh, nothing much. Just wanted to blow off some steam.”

“And you’re blowing off steam by… sitting on the bench?” He raises an eyebrow, looking at you questioningly. 

You sigh through your nose, smiling exhaustedly. “No, genius. I was confused about what I should do to destress.”

Your prayers go down the drain as you notice his eyes light up at the prospect of a sparring partner. Nodding to the mats, he asks, “You wanna go?”

Tongue in cheek, you review your options for a moment. Go to bed frustrated and stressed, or fight an extremely attractive man who’s also able to keep up with you. 

“Sure, let’s go.” 

And that’s how you find yourself attempting to elbow Logan in the face. He dodges and takes a step back, but not too far. Turning, you see the grin etched on his face. Taking it as a challenge, you feign a movement to the right, but attack from the left. Your arm aims for his face, but he deflects it by pushing your momentum to one side, stepping away and behind you and putting you into a headlock.

“What’s up?” he murmurs into your ear. “Can’t figure out what to do? Are you really that tired, huh?” 

You felt his chest heave from behind you, his warm breath tickling your ear. Body humming with excitement and mind buzzing with the thrill of finally being in an equal match, you grit your jaw, throwing your head back against his. As much as you enjoy the tone of his voice, you hope it hits him in the mouth just so he can shut up, because being aroused is not something you’re looking forward to. 

Yes you’re horny, maybe even a little perverted, but you truly don’t have any ulterior motives. 

Logan hisses as his grip on you loosens. Shimmying your way out of his grip, you lunge at him, arms ready to swing, but instead of throwing a punch when you get near, you use your leg to swipe at his legs, resulting in him landing on his back.

Silently rejoicing, you straddle him, pulling your arm back to land a punch on his jaw, but unfortunately he grabs hold of your arms before you can do that. As a result, you’re left heaving on top of him, arms immobile, face right above his. You don’t miss the way he breathes, sweat trickling down his forehead, eyes glinting with something you can’t fully identify. You also don’t miss the dampness of your underwear, the electricity you feel where you’re sitting on him. You realize you’re playing a dangerous game. Just as you’re about to make a move to get up, Logan suddenly moves you by the grip he has on your arms, slamming you onto the mats with considerable force. He looms on top of you, looking down. You squeak in indignant surprise, but he pins your arms on both sides of your face, lodging his thigh between yours. You gasp, not expecting the sudden escalation of events. “Darling, you know I’ve got a heightened sense of smell, right?” he asks, drawling. “I can smell your arousal, practically feel how you’re soaking down there.” Eyes wide and mouth agape, you stare up at him, not sure what to say, how to apologize. “Logan, I- I’m sor-” “Don’t have to say a word, Darling, I’m the same as you,” he emphasizes his point by rolling his hips against yours. You whimper quietly, feeling his erection pressing against your clit. “If I’m not interpreting this correctly, you can stop me,” he hums, getting closer to your face. Waiting for your approval, he looks at you. You close the distance between the both of you, borderline moaning as you feel his tongue grazing against your lips, asking to enter your mouth. More than willing, you grant him entry freely, whimpering as his tongue explores your mouth. You break the kiss, short of breath, but your distance doesn’t last long. Logan is sloppily making out with you as he grinds against you. Your bodies move hurriedly, in urgent need of release. 

“Lo,” you gasp between the kisses, “need you so bad, please.” He complies, hands leaving your arms as he gets on his haunches and quickly unbuttons your pants, pulling them down. His hand moves to your pussy, thumb pressing against your clit, gauging your reaction. Your eyes widen due to the unexpected movement, and you gasp. Satisfied with your response, he rubs short, quick circles against your clit, stimulating you as he slowly pushes in one finger. You moan, hands reaching down to stop the sudden intrusion. It’s been a while since you’ve done this, so your body’s sensitivity is at an all-time high. Logan doesn’t care, swatting away your hands, slipping in another finger. He moves them in shallow thrusts, stretching you out while looking for the spot that’ll finally get you wound up enough for his liking. You bite your lip to keep yourself silent, staring at the way Lo’s fingers pump in and out of you, making a mess out of your cunt. Suddenly, his fingers press into that spot that you’re never quite able to reach yourself, making you let out a loud moan. “Lo, Lo please, right there please, don’t stop-” you break your own voice off with an even louder whimper, eyes closing due to the pleasure. Logan watches you with keen eyes trained on your face. He speeds up his fingers and thumb, enjoying your reaction thoroughly, as it ignites something deep within him. He palms himself lightly, hissing as he realizes how hard he is. “Shit, darling, you make me insane,” he mumbles, guiding one of your hands to the bulge in his jeans, making you feel him. Your mouth falls open with a little “oh,” as you feel him. You try to palm him to relieve some of his tension, but fail as his fingers pump in and out of you, driving you closer and closer to the edge. “O- oh God, Lo, I’m cumming, please please please-” you moan loudly as your orgasm crashes over you, thrashing on the mat. Logan holds down your hips, continuing his languid movements, easing you out of the feeling in waves. As you finally relax, catching your breath, you look up at him, unsure of what comes next. Usually by this point, guys tended to take their own pants off. Logan’s were still very much on. Before you could verbalize your confusion, he speaks. “I think we’ve blown enough steam off in the gym,” he chuckles. “I don’t want Charles to gim’me looks the entire month. I say we take this upstairs bub, what d’ya say?”

You stare up at him, wondering why he’s even asking, when there’s only one possible answer you could make out through the haziness of your mind. “Yes, let’s go.”

[hairmetal666]

No one knows who writes the Hawkins High Tattler. It comes out every week, without fail, has for almost two decades. Everyone reads it, even teachers, even parents. It's caused more the one suspension, grounding, and even--famously--a shipping off to boarding school.

Steve's never let the Tattler get to him much. He's in it, of course, practically a new story every week. But it's just silly gossip.

Of course, Steve is also, currently, the titular Tattler, so. It's not like he's surprised when his name shows up.

It's his third year, his last year, and he knows everything that ever goes on at Hawkins High. It's pretty easy, honestly. Everyone thinks he's ditzy and vapid; nothing more than hairspray and polos. People will say anything around him, assuming he's not listening or not interested, and then bam. It's in next week's Tattler. No one even suspects him.

The confessions locker probably helps. Down by the theater, busted and unusable, the perfect place for people to leave tips, to tattle on their friends (or enemies, as the case may be).

That's what he's doing right now, checking the confessions locker. After 9:30 on a Friday night, the place silent as the tomb, perfect time for it. Pretty standard fare this week. The only thing of interest is that Eddie Munson was the person who broke all Ms. Click's pencils and left the stubs on her desk. This one, he laughs at, can't wait to publish it; can't wait to talk to Munson about it.

He gets a lot of stuff about Eddie. Most of it he doesn't publish because it's bullshit about satanic rituals--the nerdy kids he babysits play dnd, and there's no way Karen Wheeler is letting anything satanic happen in her basement--or about his sexuality, and one thing Steve doesn't do is out people.

Gathering up this week's submissions, he closes the locker with a soft clink, and he swears, swears he hears the squeak of a tennis shoe on the polished tile of the floor. He freezes, heart in his throat. Nobody has been here this late before.

Seconds pass but there's only silence. Confident he's only hearing things, he heads out, the parking lot just as empty as when he arrived.

---

He sees Eddie a few days later, when he's picking up the kids from the arcade. They typically exchange casual greetings, but as Steve waits, Eddie stands with him, offers him a cigarette.

"Read that was you who messed with Click's pencils. Good one."

Eddie shrugs, gives a little bow and a smile. "Happy to be of service."

"It was my class, when she found them. Never seen her so mad."

"No way," Eddie laughs. "Not even when Hagan drew dicks on all the textbooks?"

"Not even then, man. She was throwing pencil stubs everywhere."

"Fuck, sad I missed it." Eddie takes a drag, Steve's eyes following the movement, lingering on his mouth. Something warm and tingling builds at the base of his spine and he forces his gaze away.

"How long you in detention for?"

"I'm not. Swore it wasn't me, and Click doesn't want to admit she reads the Tattler, so. Not much they could do. "

"I've seen it sitting on her desk!"

"I know! She reads it when she has detention duty!"

They lean against Steve's car, laughing, and Steve feels good. This is good. He likes Eddie. He's funny and dramatic and smart and kind. He's not deserving of any of the mean things that get submitted to the Tattler.

The kids come streaming into the parking lot then, and Eddie stubs out his cigarette, says "see you around, Harrington," and Steve finds himself flushing for reasons he can't quite explain.

---

He starts seeing Eddie around way more. He's in school most days, smoking in the parking lot after the last bell, chatting with Steve in the hallways.

It shows up in the Tattler; big news that the King and the Freak are hanging out. Most of the submissions are about it, increasingly elaborate rumors about their supposedly deep, close friendship.

He wishes he could tell Eddie.

Eventually, Eddie invites him to smoke at the quarry. He doesn't hesitate to say yes, doesn't even bother to try ignoring the swoop in his stomach, the speed of his heart.

They sprawl out in the back of the van, Eddie's loud, raucous music pounding around them, sharing a joint back and forth.

Steve gets hazy, boneless, can't stop watching Eddie, the way his lips purse around the joint, his long hair glinting gold in the weak light of the camping lanterns, the pleased shine of his eyes every time he makes Steve laughs.

He likes Eddie so much. Everything about him, honestly. Butterflies ping in his stomach, happy and slow, and he thinks how nice Eddie's lips are, wonders how soft they must be. And he thinks--he's read the submissions, right--he knows the things they say about Eddie, and he wishes it was true, he wants--he wants--

He wants

---

Steve's running late to check the locker. Lost track of time at the diner with Eddie, and it's making him panic.

He stuffs the submissions haphazardly into the pocket of his hoodie, dancing with nerves, willing himself to grab them all and get out.

Locker emptied, he sprints towards the exit. He has a second to process someone barreling towards him in the dark, but he's going too fast to stop, can only brace himself as they collide.

It sends him sliding across the floor, Tattler submissions spilling out of his pocket like snow. He hits the ground, scrabbling for the papers, praying that whoever is here with him can't see them in the low light.

Hands grips his biceps. "Stevie, Steve, we have to get out of here" and there's a second where he's comforted by the familiar rasp of Eddie's voice before terror spikes again.

He pulls himself from Eddie's grasp, searching for any dropped submissions in easy reach. "Wha--why--what's--"

"I ran into Jason Carver and his band of idiots at the gas station. They're on their way to here to try to catch the Tattler in action."

Steve freezes. "I don't--that's not--I--"

In the deep silence of the empty school, they both hear the slamming of a door, a bitten off giggle. Eddie grabs his wrist and they run. Into the theater room, through a door Steve didn't know existed, to the backstage area of the auditorium.

"You should be safe here," Eddie says.

Panic spirals through him. "I can explain. I was just--I forgot a--I needed--"

"Harrington! I know, okay? I already know."

Steve can only blink at him, swallows rough in his throat. "What--Eddie, I--"

"I saw you. Weeks ago. Forgot my notebook in the theater room after Hellfire and had to run back for it. You were there, at the locker."

"You can't tell anyone."

"I'm not going to."

"No, Munson, you really can't. Nobody can know. Nobody--"

"Swe--Stevie, I promise. The secret's safe with me." He rocks back on his heels, chewing on his lip for a second before he continues. " I--I couldn't figure you out, you know? I saw you around with those kids and it didn't make any sense. King Steve, babysitting tiny nerds? But I saw you at the locker and..."

"You're giving me too much credit, man."

"I don't think so. You're never--fuck, Harrington--you're never mean. At least, not in the last couple years. You spread gossip, but you don't punch down, and you're funny as hell. Mean as shit too, but only to the people who deserve it."

His ears burn and he looks down. "Just because I have fucking--fucking editorial standards doesn't mean that I'm anything special."

Eddie scoffs. "Remember, Stevie, I was reading it a year before you were here. Cruel, vapid garbage. Always the most vile, pointless stories about people who couldn't defend themselves. And how many submissions have you gotten about me, for instance, that you've never used?"

Steve clenches his fists. "I would never--"

"I know. Sweetheart, I know. That's why I li--You're so fucking good, Stevie."

He laughs, ears burning. "I'm really not, Eddie. I try to write about fun gossip that can't hurt anyone too much, and nobody's found me out because they think I'm too dumb--"

Eddie reaches out then, fingers connecting softly with the edge of Steve's jaw. He can't help but lean into the touch, eyes flickering closed.

"You don't want to hurt people because you're fucking kind. You know how I know for sure? You must get submissions every week about me, and you've never once printed that I'm--" Eddie stops then, swallowing hard.

Steve's throat goes tight. He rests his hand over Eddie's, still holding his face. "Me too," he whispers. "Kind of. I like--it's both. For me."

"Oh," Eddie breathes, mouth lifting in a bright, beautiful smile that Steve can't help but return.

He's watching, sees when Eddie's gaze drifts his lips, making his breath hitch. He doesn't really think about closing the distance between them, slotting their mouths together in a tentative, gentle kiss.

"You're just full of surprises aren't you, Steve Harrington? Eddie asks when they part.

Steve blushes. "That's sort of the last of them."

"Sure. Next you'll be telling me you've played dnd."

"I have a character."

"What???"

"Human paladin. Dustin worked on it with me. Ready to get out of here?"

"Human paladin," Eddie gapes. "You know--you said--what's happening?"

Steve twines their fingers together, leading Eddie towards the auditorium exit. "Well, first we're going to walk out to my car and then we're going to my house, and we're going to look through Tattler submissions. Maybe makeout a little bit."

Eddie giggles. "What the fuck? Like. What the fuck, sweetheart?"

He turns to face Eddie, smile big and pure and bright with happiness. "If you're really nice to me, I'll let you help write this week's issue."

"Oh, oh. You're going to wreck me." Eddie mumbles, almost to himself.

"If you're lucky." Steve beams.