#but i am fascinated by the workings of your mind. what a vision to be plagued with.

[ethogirlsanonymous]

I had a not really dream but half-asleep-daydream sort of thing where I imagined Etho came out as gay by saying he was "one o' them faggots" and Cleo gave a round of applause

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#confessions #ethoslab #anon i don't even know what to say about this information #but i am fascinated by the workings of your mind. what a vision to be plagued with.

[defectivevillain]

through gritted teeth

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary:

The man says he’s your husband.  He’s polite, charming, intelligent. He seems a little pretentious, but he appears to know you rather well and the thinly-veiled devotion in his eyes dispels most of your remaining doubts.  It certainly helps that the man is rather well-dressed—and attractive, a traitorous voice in the back of your mind whispers.  Unfortunately, you have no idea who he is. 

word count: 3.8k | ao3 version

You wake up to fluorescent lighting burning into your eyes, pulling tears down your cheeks as you blink stars from your vision. Your entire body aches with exhaustion and you can feel a headache brewing already. Groaning, you try to push yourself up to a sitting position. There’s an IV attached to your arm and, upon closer inspection, you seem to be in some sort of hospital room. White walls line the space, and there’s nothing much of note in your immediate vicinity. You blink a few more times past your absurdly dry eyes and continue inspecting the room, until your eyes catch on the chair to the right side of your bed. 

There’s a man sitting at your bedside with his eyes closed. He stirs within a few moments, as if he can sense you staring at him. Relief is written all over his face as he leans forward and clasps your hand with a small smile on his face. You can’t stop yourself from instinctively flinching at the contact and he notices, removing his hand at once. 

“Do you remember who I am?” He asks. His words are carefully constructed, strung together with eloquence and remnants of what sounds like an accent from a European country. You blink at him once, twice. It takes a moment for you to process the question, and another to contemplate the answer. The man doesn’t look familiar. Indeed, he looks like a stranger. 

When you tell him as much, a sad smile works its way onto his face. It seems he expected your answer. He begins to explain the circumstances surrounding your visit here, which you are immensely grateful for. You know next to nothing as you sit in this hospital bed, and, try as you might, you can’t remember anything save for your name. 

Apparently, you’ve suffered a serious head injury that left you with a spontaneous case of amnesia. Fortunately, your memories will likely return to you in due time. Somehow, these two revelations aren’t the most shocking of statements from the stranger. What the man reveals next shakes you to your core: he’s your husband. 

Upon closer examination, you find that the man is charming, polite… He’s rather attractive, too, with fine-combed hair and sparkling brown eyes with flecks of amber. His face looks as if it was sculpted by Michelangelo himself—sweeping lines, sharp edges, soft curves. The man is intelligent and [perhaps as a result] a little pretentious. From his attire, you can only assume that he makes a lot of money and has rather particular tastes. You could see someone like this going to the opera regularly. 

But there’s something else about this man—something lurking beneath the surface. You can’t puzzle out what it is. There’s something sinister concealed in those reddish-brown eyes, an unspoken violence in the man’s careful poise. And you think you catch him intently scrutinizing you—as if you’re under a microscope.  

You soon learn that the man’s name is Hannibal Lecter. He’s a psychiatrist who used to be a surgeon. He’s in his 40s. He has refined tastes—and even goes to the opera on occasion, yes. He is fascinating, intriguing beyond measure. He discusses heavily philosophical topics with ease. He is slippery, only giving you the information he wants to give you. He has a very controlled image. The dishes he cooks you are extravagant and lavish, with ingredients you’ve never even heard of. (The meat in them is always some sort of organ, and it turns your stomach every time.)

In the wake of your injury, you’re unsure of almost everything. But you know one thing for certain: Hannibal is not your husband. And you’re convinced that he’s dangerous. You don’t trust him—can’t trust his carefully crafted words, his home-cooked meals, his polite smiles. It’s all a farce. 

It would be all too easy to ask your next visitor about this well-dressed, enigmatic man. Unfortunately, you don’t get any other visitors. In fact, your next visitor is Hannibal again… And again. And again. It gets to the point where your nurse gives up on having him sign in when he visits. At first, she had been rather strict in enforcing the rules; she seems to have caught onto something that you still haven’t grasped, because she now collects herself with an entirely different—almost heightened—awareness. 

You’re having increasingly conflicting feelings, especially when you consider the fact that Hannibal hasn’t actually exhibited any behavior that justifies your wariness and suspicion. If anything, he’s been the perfect supporter—the perfect husband—throughout your recovery. You want to believe your gut sense, want to believe the whispers in the back of your mind that tell you to exercise caution. But, at the same time, who’s to say they can be believed? You still have almost no recollection of who you are. Why are you questioning the only person who has bothered to show up for you throughout your recovery? 

Days pass in the blink of an eye; before you know it, Hannibal is walking in one morning with the declaration that you’ve been officially discharged from the hospital. Despite your misgivings, you head to the bathroom to change into some normal clothes before putting on the pair of shoes near the door. Your heart is racing as Hannibal’s gaze refuses to leave your form. Why can’t your mind rest? Why can’t your thoughts be silent, for once? Why are you so damn suspicious of every minute kindness? 

The walk out of the hospital and through the parking lot is painfully silent. You can’t resist sneaking glances at Hannibal, waiting for his mask to crack and fall. It never does. He catches you looking and sends you a smile, which discourages you from looking again. You let your eyes roam about the shiny cars in the parking lot as the warm afternoon sunlight greets your skin. You missed the fresh air. 

“Where are you taking me?” You finally ask, as you continue to follow behind the man.

“Home,” Hannibal remarks. He pointedly does not say your home or even our home. Your heart is racing in your chest. His back is turned, leaving you to imagine the expression on his face.  

It isn’t until you’re secured in the front seat and Hannibal’s driving out of the parking lot that you summon the courage to utter the question that has been plaguing your mind. “Are you really my husband?”

“Hm?” It’s clear he heard you; he’s giving you a chance to retract the remark. You know you should take it, but… you want to know what’s going on. You need to find an answer for the seemingly irrational fear drumming in your chest and rushing in your ears. 

“You say you’re my husband,” You repeat yourself, gaining a bit more confidence. “But I don’t think you are.” For an awful moment, there’s nothing but silence. The car zips along the road. You feel your hand trembling at your side—hopefully the only visible sign of your distress. You clench your shaking hand into a fist and try to remain calm. Panicking won’t do you any good. 

“Do you remember how we first met?” Hannibal asks instead. You stare at him in disbelief, surprised by how he completely ignores your accusation. There is an utter lack of emotion on his face. Seconds later, you remember his question and shake your head. “You’re an FBI agent,” Hannibal reveals. “I was called in to perform your psychiatric evaluation.”

Great. Just great. Out of all things, you had to be an FBI agent. The thought of forgetting your work—forgetting all the victims left to die in muddied puddles of crimson, forgetting all the killers with mocking smiles and cruelty written in the lines of their faces—is sincerely troubling.  

And Hannibal is a psychiatrist. That seems to fit—you can see him in a needlessly extravagant office, surrounded by books and expensive elegancies. You have to shake your head to get rid of the weirdly vivid imagery that your thoughts produce. “Are you… my psychiatrist, then?” You ask. 

“If you wish,” he replies with a mirthful smile. That answer doesn’t satisfy your curiosity—not in the slightest. 

“Were you my psychiatrist?” You press. You get the feeling that you need to be asking the right questions in order to get the answers you want. The man across from you is adept at picking apart people’s words, flipping them around and twisting their intended meaning. Your wording will be immensely important. 

“I was your psychiatrist, for a time,” Hannibal acquiesces. From that statement, you get the sense that he really was your psychiatrist, until something evidently happened. You ask him as much, but you seem to go too far, because he regards you with an amused glance. “You’re asking a lot of questions.”

“And you’re not giving me any answers,” you feel the need to respond. You have simultaneous suspicions that honesty is dangerous in front of Hannibal, and that he values honesty above sugar-coated words. Your eyebrows furrow. “You haven’t exactly been forthcoming with information.”

“Is that so?” Hannibal is providing more questions in lieu of answers. He’s definitely hiding something. Sensing that you won’t get anything more from him, you fall silent and settle for staring at him out of the corner of your eye. His gaze is locked on the road ahead.  Despite the time you’ve spent together, talking about your past, you still aren’t totally convinced that you’re married to Hannibal. Is there a way you could test him—test his knowledge of you? Surely there’s something you can ask him to determine if he truly knows you or not. 

It comes to you a moment later. “What’s my favorite color?” You ask, before you can think better of it. The man doesn’t react at first, instead staring straight ahead. Just before you can repeat the question, he answers. 

“I can’t imagine you have a favorite color,” Hannibal responds. “You once told me the very notion was foolish.”

Okay, he’s sort of correct there. But that was an easy question. You sort through the few memories you have, looking for something you can ask him. “What’s my middle name?” That’s an answer that you just barely know yourself—a memory came back to you a mere few minutes ago, of you and your childhood friend talking about middle names and nicknames and other unimportant things. 

Hannibal answers the question correctly again. The two of you must’ve been friends, at the very least. You continue to search your mind for something you can ask him. 

Five minutes and several questions later, you’re starting to doubt your own conviction. Hannibal answers every single question correctly, providing you with information you don’t remember but know deep-down to be true. It’s unnerving and disturbing to think that you could’ve forgotten this man so easily. He seems… utterly unforgettable, in every sense of the word. Furthermore, he’s your husband—perhaps you shouldn’t be doubting him so easily. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, before you can quite contemplate your next words. Hannibal’s eyes are locked on the road, but you know he’s listening. “I don’t mean to doubt you, I just- I don’t know what to do. I don’t remember anything, obviously, and… I feel so lost.” You choke out, your throat burning. You bury your head in your hands for a selfish moment, hoping for some solace and clarity. 

“Don’t apologize, dear,” Hannibal says. You hate how the remark sends a shiver down your spine. Damn it, why can’t you just be comfortable? This man is practically a dream, so why are you trying to ruin it? Can’t you just accept that, sometimes, you deserve to have nice things?! Hannibal continues, unknowing of your internal dilemma. “You’re going through a lot right now. I’m just happy to be here with you.” 

You feel ashamed, knowing that you’ve been holding yourself back despite the fact that Hannibal has shown you nothing but compassion and affection. “I’m… happy you’re here, too,” you say. Guilt prickling in your chest, you impulsively reach out and clasp his free hand resting on the console. Somehow, this surprises your husband, because he stiffens for a second before reciprocating, gripping your hand reassuringly. 

“We will get through this,” he promises. You push aside your doubts and decide to believe him.

Maybe things really will be alright. Maybe, you’ll get your memories back sooner rather than later, and you’ll be able to look back on these moments—riddled with doubt, insecurity, wariness—and laugh. You take a deep breath and look out the window, watching the passing trees blur together. 

Your hand slips from Hannibal’s and you look at your nails, picking at your cuticles. Your hands are somewhat indicative of the life you led—the one you don’t remember living—with a few scars stretching down your wrist and climbing up your forearm. You look down at the healed wound and frown, trying to remember how you got the scar. 

Suddenly, you get a flicker of a memory. It’s faint and fast, but it’s a reminder of the past nonetheless. You squint ahead, trying to focus on keeping the flashback in your mind for long enough to dissect it. You remember… blood. A corpse, perhaps? Yes, a corpse. A woman’s corpse, hoisted and impaled on antlers. You remember… staring at that corpse for so long that you had to be physically led away from the scene, albeit with a gnawing feeling in your gut that something just wasn’t right. You remember… walking into an office, only to be met with Hannibal’s curious gaze. That must’ve been the first time you met the psychiatrist. You put a hand to your temple and try desperately to concentrate. 

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Hannibal says, effectively throwing your focus. You blink and chance a glance at him. He’s still looking at the road, yet you can’t shake the perplexing conviction that he’s been watching you. What’s more, you can’t shake the feeling that his interjection was purposeful—that he meant to throw you off and break your concentration. 

“I- just remembered something,” you choke out, feeling a bolt of pain slide down your scalp to the back of your neck. You bring a hand to the nape of your neck and press, hissing as your fingers glide over sore muscles. “Something important.”

“Congratulations,” Hannibal hums, immune to your internal panic. You don’t know exactly what this man did, but he must’ve done something. Your subconscious is convinced that he is incredibly dangerous, and you feel inclined to trust your gut. 

Another flashback arrives, apropos of nothing. You remember sitting across from Hannibal in a finely-decorated room, lined with bookshelves and artifacts. You remember averting your eyes as you speak, desperate to avoid the roaring flames racing up your skin with every additional moment of prolonged eye contact. You remember… a twisted grin on Hannibal’s face. You remember… the intensity to his gaze as he studied you when he thought you weren’t looking. 

Unsettled, you shake your head and try to refocus on the passing scenery again. To your surprise, you think you recognize where you are. Hannibal must be taking you home. You take a deep breath. You just have to survive this car ride—then you can figure things out from there. You have all the time in the world to muse on the nature of your injury and the nature of your “husband,” once you’re safely contained within four walls. Right now, though, you need to be wary. You need to have your wits about you, you need to watch for any sudden movements, you need to be ready-

“We’re here,” Hannibal announces, promptly throwing your thought process to a halt. You blink and look ahead, only to find a nondescript home with beige siding and a somewhat weathered front door. Vaguely, you remember pulling your car into this driveway, remember unpacking boxes from your trunk. Yes, this is your house. Hannibal is much quicker on the uptake, as he gets out of the car and walks around the vehicle. You don’t realize that he’s opening the passenger door for you until you feel him staring at you expectantly. You thank him and get to your feet, a sudden bout of dizziness sending you wobbling. Hannibal is there in a moment, steadying you with a hand on your forearm. You pretend not to notice his hand on the small of your back as you walk up the path to the front porch. When you’re finally situated in front of the entrance, you realize that you have no idea where your keys could be. 

“Left pocket of your jacket,” Hannibal murmurs, as if reading your mind. You nearly choke on a breath. 

“Thanks,” you respond a bit breathlessly. When you finally manage to unlock the front door and swing it open, you turn back to face him. “Well, thank you for the ride.”

“Of course,” Hannibal responds easily. There’s a regretful smile rising on his face. Everything around you fades to obscurity. “I’m afraid this is goodbye.” That remark sounds strangely ominous. Your heart is in your throat. 

“Thank you for keeping me company,” you feel the need to say, regardless of your suspicions about the man. He was the only one to visit you. You don’t want to think about how you would feel if you spent your entire hospital visit without a single familiar face. “...Bye.” Suddenly, there’s a hand on your cheek. Hannibal’s hand cradles your jaw, his thumb gently roving along your skin. He regards you for a moment, his eyes sparkling, before kissing you on the cheek and leaving. You watch him return to his car and drive away, apprehension and adrenaline coursing through you. Somehow, you get the feeling that you’ll never see Hannibal again. 

Your doorbell rings about an hour later. You look through your peephole, only to find a somewhat intimidating man with his hands shoved in his pockets. You have to focus on quelling the foolish spike of hope that had risen in your chest when the doorbell rang, and the subsequent disappointment at the unfamiliar figure you found. You take a second glance at the stranger, only to find that he looks somewhat familiar. This vague familiarity convinces you to crack your front door open slightly and ask him, “Who are you?”

The man pulls something out of his pocket. “Jack Crawford, FBI,” he answers, showing you his identification card. You stare at him for another moment. “Your boss.” Crawford supplies, when you can’t seem to get the words out. After a few seconds of awkward silence, you decide to invite him inside. 

Before long, the two of you are settled in your living room. The tension that first appeared when you opened your front door has yet to fade. You’re not sure why this man has yet to crop up in your memories—he has a rather powerful aura of authority, not to mention the fact that he’s apparently your superior. You decide not to beat yourself up about it. Your memories will come back in due time; until then, you’ll make do with what little you have.

Crawford—Jack, he tells you to call him—clasps his hands over his knees and levels you with an unreadable gaze. “I need to ask you something,” Jack says, rifling through his other pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper. He unfolds it slowly, before revealing it to you. “Do you remember this man? Hannibal Lecter?” Jack explains, immune to your growing dread. You feel sick to your stomach as your eyes flit across the black-and-white photograph of the same man who watched over you vigilantly as you recovered, who claimed to be your husband and kissed you on the cheek mere moments ago. “He’s the Chesapeake Ripper—the serial killer who has been evading capture.” 

“I-” You stammer, bringing a hand to your temple. Your headache from earlier is returning and your head is spinning from this sudden disclosure. You almost don’t want to believe Jack, but you get the feeling that he’d have no reason to lie to you. If anything, lying would just make his job harder. You take a shuddering breath in, trying to come to terms with the fact that you just narrowly escaped a serial killer’s grasp. 

“It’s alright,” Jack tries to reassure you, evidently sensing that you’re growing a bit panicked. 

“No, I-” You’re choking on the words. Recent memories are mixing with old, creating a convoluted and murky timeline of events. It’s hard to sort through everything, to find the truths hidden amongst the lies. You’re not sure how long it takes for you to collect your composure and organize your thoughts into a relatively coherent statement. “I saw him. He… visited me in the hospital. He drove me home.” 

“What?” Jack asks, utter disbelief written all over his face. You don’t remember your boss very well, but you get the feeling he isn’t usually so expressive. The look on his face would be comical, in a different situation. “What did he say to you?” He implores.

“He said a lot of things… Nothing very important.” You try to recall what you can, but your memories are quickly slipping through your fingertips in granules of sparkling sand. You press a hand to your temple, your headache growing worse as you try to recall what happened. “I tried asking him questions about me, to throw him off, but he knew all the answers.” 

Somehow, Jack doesn’t seem surprised by the notion. “You two were… close, before,” your boss evidently settles for saying. There’s a certain suspicion in his voice, as if he suspects you may have been more than “close” with Hannibal. You’re feeling too discombobulated to rise to the bait or bother calling him out on the obvious verbal trap. 

“He said ‘goodbye,’” you continue, eyebrows furrowing. Somehow, you get the sense that Hannibal isn’t the type to utter goodbyes. Moreover, a goodbye ushers in a sense of finality, as if you will truly never see him again. You pinch the bridge of your nose, pretending that your exchange with him on your doorstep isn’t replaying in your mind. He kissed me on the cheek, you don’t say to Jack. He said he was my husband. He watched over me in the hospital when no one else did. And it may have been fake, all of it… But that gleam of affection in his eyes didn’t look manufactured—it looked genuine.  

Jack looks troubled and somewhat restless. “You’re lucky you made it out alive.” He states. You don’t think you can quite believe his words. For whatever reason, Hannibal Lecter—the Chesapeake Ripper—is interested in you. Whether sick fascination or cloying obsession, you have to face the facts:  luck had nothing to do with it. The Ripper kept you alive because, inexplicably, he wants you alive. 

And that unnerves you. 

hannibal taglist, cause i think y'all would be down with reading this since it's also hannibal: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69 @flow33didontsmoke @mrgatotortuga @house-of-1000-corpses-fan

#defectivevillain #hannibal x reader #Hannibal Lecter x reader #hannibal #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter #Hannibal Lecter x gn reader #hannibal x gn reader #Hannibal Lecter x male reader #Hannibal Lecter x transmasc reader #male reader #transmasc reader #gn reader #ok I think that's enough

[ikinremu]

HI, all of your Tommy Shelby works, involving smut have gotten me all fired up!

So, I am asking you if you cou could please write a Tommy Shelby smut, where Tommy and the reader both have their own favorite part(s) of each others body, and that may lead to teasing one another.

or

Even where Tommy's voice or any of his mannerisms turns the reader on.

Thanks, :)

Hi anonymous, thank you so much for reading - its so appreciated and I’m overjoyed that you like my works! Thank you so so much for the request!! So sorry it took so long for a response. I really like this idea and I hope you like what i’ve done with it.. enjoy :)

|| Nsfw || Teasing - Tommy Shelby ||

Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader

A Tommy Shelby teasing based smut oneshot!

tags: Fingering, Orgasm Denial, P in V, Teasing

! Smut Warning !

You adored Tommy from head to toe. Truly. Though, of course, everyone has their strengths and weaknesses - and ironically enough, what you considered to be Tommy's strengths were often what sent strikes of weakness through you.

Your fascinated gaze found no problem with projecting itself - and its ferocity - through the Garrison, swiftly parting any obstacles with a lack of consideration.

Truthfully, you weren't at all proud of the way Tommy's mannerisms alone could excite you - and they certainly didn't act in solidarity; even a seemingly innocent quality of his could have a shameful effect on you.

Your lustful fixation found captivity as you studied Tommy's hands with great intent. You surveilled the motions of them, peering through your tunnel vision as the routine bustle of the Garrison drifted further from your focus.

Frankly, you rather favoured Tommy's hands - it was simply difficult not to when you withheld the knowledge of their capabilities.

Elbows pressed against the Garrison's most popular attraction, Tommy's curled fingers twirled a cigarette between their bridges. Veins accentuated his hands, trailing disorderly paths beneath his skin; it was truly against your power to keep from absorbing every detail. A light push of smoke slipped the part of his lips, softly staining the air as your mind wandered astray.

It didn't, however, take much observation to recognise the smug portrait painting Tommy's face. He knew you were looking at him, and no doubt he'd realised what specific feature had fallen victim to this lewd motive of yours.

One thing Thomas Shelby needed zero assistance with was eye contact - it was to be considered above a strength. He always kept a firm hold on you, and if his hands were disrupted in doing so, his eyes would easily substitute.

His pupils practically split you in two, keen stare unfaltering as a cigarette resumed contact with his lips. In what could be viewed an instinctive manor, your stomach began to flutter as Tommy trailed his focus over your frame - gaze echoing with allure.

His expression did everything but soothe you, shooting a rush of adrenaline through your body. What you'd interpreted as this subtle understanding, communication even, could only spike your anticipated arousal.

It was only a matter of minutes before Tommy would approach, you'd connected those dots immediately, though he was far closer to the double doors you'd been rather blatantly eyeing - and honestly, you just couldn't resist such a ravenous nagging any longer.

Mindlessly, you arose from the stern seating of a wooden chair - one specifically distanced from the intended accompaniment. Tommy's eyes hadn't left your own, their only travel being such gloriously hungry glances over your body as you continued to step closer. Regulars were dotted all over, however in this moment it felt as though Tommy and yourself were the only people in the world. You knew what you wanted, he knew what you wanted; it was reduced to a matter of strides before you were able to indulge in this shared interest.

With a hoarse cough, Tommy cleared his throat, stubbing out his cigarette with the help of a nearby ashtray. Hands harshly digging into his trouser pockets, Tommy took a seemingly accomplished walk in the direction of the room you both knew was due to lose its vacancy.

The moment privacy was activated, you brazenly launched yourself in Tommy's direction - expecting him to meet you half way. Your clothed chest pressed against his, breath desperately hitching beneath your silk blouse. The hands you'd been dreaming so fondly about now squeezing your hips, you elongated your stance, neck stretching as you veered to connect with the supple lips in-front of you - however, you weren't met with a kiss.

Tommy chuckled with a gentle, somewhat mocking, shake of his head. "I'm gonna give you exactly what you wanted, love."

His callous fingers stroked just beneath your chin, forcing your vision upon him to remain stationary.

You had an inkling for where this was headed.

"Tommy-"

"Shh.." He dismissed, "Don't want people to hear us, eh?"

His hushed tone only furthered the flame of intimacy, a soft smile tugging at your lips - pleading to be freed from the compression.

"On the table." Tommy instructed, nodding in the direction of his firm demand.

You hopped atop the familiarly rounded surface, scooting back against the sleek wood as your skirt developed an ever so slight, upward crumple.

Tommy slipped a rusted key within the lock's shadowed opening, twisting it with a pop. You hadn't been made aware of this oddly enticing possession of his until now - though it certainly made the specifics of the circumstances far easier.

Your chest could only indulge in the deepest of heaves, stomach flitting with anticipation as Tommy's body became exceptionally close with your own.

His right hand snaked between your clenched thighs, splitting the friction you'd subconsciously built as he spread them apart.

"So fuckin wet." He groaned, the heat of his words tickling your ear as tantalising sensations began to form elsewhere. His swift fingers traced teasing, supple circles over the sodden material of your underwear - varying between intensities as your clit met the brunt of the touch. "You got this wet just from thinkin about my hands, mm?"

His words were laced with amusement, sound waves clambering down your exposed neck. You nodded - the sentence confirming your suspicions of his awareness. With a smug curve staining his face, the thick fingers of Tommy's opposing hand slid beneath the well-fixed waistband of your skirt, yanking it down with a singular pull - also discarding the soaked underwear with impressive unison.

Tommy's arm slung round your back, the painstakingly expensive fabric of his button up brushing your blouse before he hauled you forward with an unexpected, rather harsh, jolt.

At the greed-enthused collision, you buried your face against Tommy's neck. With a steep inhale, you ingested his strong, musky scent - desperately revelling in his touch.

Suddenly, you felt a crisp motion between the slick of your upper legs, barely brushing over your heat. Your teeth sunk into the plush of your lower lip, body melting against the fingers sliding inside your increasingly wet hole.

"Shit.." You breathed, eyelids painting shadows over your vision as a large hand cupped your chin.

"Look at me. Eh?" Tommy breathed, delicately pressing his forehead against your own - passion radiating through the closing gap between both of your jaws.

As you unclenched your drooped lids, releasing a heavy exhale, Tommy's fingers began strumming your swelling clit. Your hands clutched at the width of his shoulders, finding stability as the stimulation quickened. With the prompting of very little temptation, you submitted to the urge of pressing your lips against his. Before your mouthes could properly connect, Tommy re-enacted his previous dismissal of a kiss.

"You wanted my fingers so bad? That's all I'm gonna fuckin give you."

As vexing as this - soon to be - teasing was, it somehow amplified the stakes of your desire. Mouth agape, you let a whimper slip your throat - hot face still touching Tommy's, despite the infuriating lack of a potentially incredible embrace.

His fingers pumped inside you, finding an insatiably rapid pace as they teased your sopping pussy.

"Fuck, Tommy.." You grew careless of containing any moans as desperation seeped from your every pore, clit throbbing against the pleasing motions of his fingers.

"This what you wanted, love?" His eyes hadn't broken their dedicated train to yours, balmy foreheads clashing with one and other as your back began arching in response. "You wanted my fuckin fingers?"

"Mhm." You uttered, an all too familiar stir flooding your pitted abdomen, "I'm getting close."

As you became submerged by the feeling of an orgasm's sloping build, Tommy's fingers retracted from your so heavily drenched arousal - blocking the release at its very brink.

God, was he agitating when he wanted to be.

"I want to feel you come around me." The lustful nature of his speech - of his breath - was enough to drive you to the edge, and his smirk only added to the mix.

Body processing the denial of a release, you only grew to crave it further.

Driven by this pure, unfiltered thirst, you made light work of Tommy's buttoned waistcoat and shirt, soon following through the momentary process once more  - this time your blouse being the subject.

It wasn't at all long before the pair of you had completely deserted all clothing - not a single strip of fabric sheltering your skin.

Tommy's large hands spread over the thick flesh of your bare behind, eagerly kneading at it as the space between you lessened. With a slow push, his hard cock filled the previous depravity of your tight hole - his eyes rolling back as he entered.

Utilising his grip on your ass, Tommy pulled you to match his first, deep thrust - leaking tip taunting your sweet spot as you firmed your grasp on his, now exposed, shoulders.

"Fuck, you feel good.." A low grunt fled his mouth, hand planting a light slap to your behind before returning to its previous, hungry grab.

His hips bucked faster, reaching euphorically deep within your seeping arousal. Your head lolled back, teeth relentlessly torturing your bottom lip as your back formed a rather significant arch.

Tommy grinned, "Right there?"

You - subtly though frantically - nodded, whispering clusters of breathy confirmations as his pulsing erection pounded into you. Your hole clenched around the pleasing motions of his length, moans escaping both mouthes.

Your hips bucked against Tommy's, a singular hand of his jumping to massage your soft breasts, flicking the tenderness of your nipples as the friction caused their pebbling. You pressed open mouthed kisses to the upper planes of his chest, helplessly whining as he marked rapid thrusts.

He flicked your hardened nipples, tip slapping the places you craved most as he pleasured your drenched arousal. You trailed sloppy, heated kisses down his naked torso, nimble fingers still adamantly clutching at his shoulders.

Tommy’s skilful hips continued to slam against your own, burying his cock deeper in your sopping cunt. His hand suddenly retracted the touch from your breasts, sneaking beneath the intense contact as his fingers began to toy with your throbbing clit.

"Fuck!" You slipped a less than quiet moan, instinctively grinding against his dexterity as a knot grew apparent - creeping up from the depths of your fluttering stomach. "I'm gonna cum.."

"Cum for me, love." He grunted, teasing words breaking from the binds of his throat.

His fingers applied further pressure, erection thrusting as deep as you knew possible.

The burning tension coursing through your body wound tighter, preparing to wash over you - clearly without the intention of implementing any limits.

Tommy groaned lowly, granting one final pound into you as you felt a sudden warmth spread within your cunt.

You couldn't help but tremor as your orgasm struck, much anticipated release possessing your body - sensitivity peaking like never before due to the pent up frustration of your earlier denial.

"Shit.." You panted, more breath than word, as you came down from the euphoric climax - a smile stretching your pinkish lips. You pressed your now rather heated forehead against Tommy’s, his soft lips meeting yours - insinuating the kiss you’d had such a desperate longing for.

After a few short seconds, far too short by your own judgement, the passionate embrace was rather frustratingly split.

“I love you.” He spoke, gravelled voice tickling your ears as he tucked strands of your disheveled hair to the side.

“I love you too.”

Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed! Please feel free to use the asks feature on my page for requests of oneshots/drabbles/blurbs etc.. would be greatly appreciated! <3

#smut #smutty #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #thomas shelby smut #tommy shelby smut #peaky blinders #peaky blinders smut #tommy shelby oneshot

[deerspherestudios]

Hey! I just recently met and went through the demo of "Mushroom Oasis", and I already have so many questions! I hope I won't be too intrusive. You may not answer some questions if the answers contain spoilers.

Questions about the game: 1.Will it be possible to choose the MC gender? Is it possible to choose the gender of the cat in the same way? It's just that when I started the game, I named the cat after my cat and it was a little funny to me when the pronoun of the cat was "she" when my cat is male.

Will we be able to choose some kind of "style" for the MC, according to the type of clothing, at the beginning of the game?

Questions about Michael:

Does he see the world like an ordinary person? I mean he has 2 pairs of eyes and 3 pairs of pupils. And it baffles me.

If the MC suddenly goes out alone and doesn't come back by midnight, will Mychael worry about the MC and will he go looking for the MC?

How does Mychael feel about piercings and tattoos? Does he know about it? If so, would he like a piercing/tattoo?

I wonder where Mychael gets things for the house. That is, I saw that he had a broom, thread and knitting needles. Where did he get them???

If Mychael saw me (I'm 164 cm tall and I have red hair), would he think I'm some kind of witch, because of the color of my hair, or something like that? How would he react if he saw me?

And sorry for the mistakes, I used google translator. English is not my native language :( I also want to say that I am your fan from Latvia (I don’t know why I’m saying this, I just want to please you with the fact that you have a fan from the Baltic countries)

Oop!! Ty for the questions!! Let me try and answer em under the cut, since it might end up as a pretty long post hahaha. But hi hello!!! I'm always happy to know where my fans come from, it's always a surprise for me to see people around the globe enjoy my silly little game ;v;

Questions about the game:

1. Will it be possible to choose the MC gender? Is it possible to choose the gender of the cat in the same way?

Being nonbinary, I just choose not to mention pronouns when writing for the game, so anyone can fit in their shoes. Unless it comes to a point where I have to use it, I'll probably code in a pronoun tool but for now it doesn't seem necessary! As for the cat, that's a good suggestion. Perhaps I'll try coding it in for the next update so the cat can be male or female, according to player preference!

2. Will we be able to choose some kind of "style" for the MC, according to the type of clothing, at the beginning of the game?

Probably not, as I'm not really good at setting that up in Ren'Py. I did make an MC design though! But what they look like is entirely up to you. I've drawn a POV shot of them wearing jeans and sneakers but that's about it. They can look however you like!

Questions about Mychael:

1. Does he see the world like an ordinary person?

He does! Trigger warning for unsettling iris images if you wanna look this up, but his bottom pair is kinda what people with polycoria has. Except it's normal for him, and not really a condition. His vision is normal, he just has lotsa peepers.

2. If the MC suddenly goes out alone and doesn't come back by midnight, will Mychael worry about the MC and will he go looking for the MC?

Yes? He didn't save you just to have you running off into danger again. He'd absolutely track you down and find you.

3. How does Mychael feel about piercings and tattoos? Does he know about it? If so, would he like a piercing/tattoo?

He knows about it, but not enough to really understand how it works! He finds it fascinating humans decorate their bodies with shiny beads and jewels, and turn their skin into tapestries for art. He'd probably assume you can take them off any time and that the tattoos are drawn onto the skin.

I don't imagine he'd want a piercing, but he'd probably try a tattoo! (Until he realizes it's ink going under the skin, in which case he might change his mind haha)

4. I wonder where Mychael gets things for the house. Where did he get them???

He has his ways ::-)

5. How would he react if he saw me?

He wouldn't be reacting much to how you look. You're not the first human he's seen! He's been around plenty of them, but you'd be one of the few he's interacted with the longest. And that's what makes you stand out more than anything else.

Phew that was a big ask!! But thank you for the interest :-D!! Hope everything's good in Latvia!

#mushroom oasis vn #mychael ask #cheea chatter #bts

[simlit]

Chosen of the Sun | | dawn // thirty-one

| @maladi777 | @izayoichan

INTERACTIVE POLL | Should Indryr use his [TRUTH SCROLL] on Duke Eldewyn? Voting to use the scroll will provide more information about the past history of the trials and those involved, however, there may be consequences from using such magic. Choose wisely. Vote now!

next / previous / beginning

INDRYR: A fascinating idea. There is a great deal of faith placed in lunar priests. Suppose if they should misdirect and say they have received visions they have not… No one would be any the wiser. ASTER: Now that I think of it, how does that whole heaven-to-earth pipeline work, anyhow? KYRIE: Quite ambiguously. Around the time of the Selenehelion, we begin receiving hazy visions. For my sister and I, it was always somewhat complicated. In general, there is only ever one lunar priest of age at any given time. However, because Alphanei and I were twins, our visions were often shared. It was suggested, once, that we conduct together, but I declined. Alphanei’s emotional investment in leading the ceremony seemed to strengthen her ties with the moon. My visions lessened, and hers became stronger. Only now that I’m leading myself do I feel an innate sense of connection to the Chosen. You were all strangers when I brought you here— I’d never heard nor met any of you before. But even before seeing you in the flesh, I felt as if we had known each other for years. INDRYR: And is there some consequence to you for not following the Moon’s vague instruction? KYRIE: I admit, I don’t know. A great part of me feels compelled. It’s hard to explain. Even when I sat aside and let my sister operate on her own, I felt overwhelmingly as if I was doing something wrong. I guess this connection we have, it’s something we’re born with, and impossible to eradicate. That being said, if we should act against that feeling… By that I mean, could a lunar priest have lied about the selected Ten? Yes. I think he could. LUCIEN: But wouldn’t that upset the goddess? KYRIE: Maybe. The truth is, I don’t hear her anymore than you. Divine sensation is just that: Sensation. If she were to punish me for going against her wishes, I can’t imagine what that might look like. Only, in our hearts, I suppose it would feel a bit like betraying someone… something… we love deeply. It would feel immoral. But… there’s nothing impossible about sinning. ELDEWYN: Fascinating, indeed. I never thought about it… Interesting creatures lunar priests! KYRIE: We’re not animals— ASTER: Well! How about that specialty brew you’ve been saving? ELDEWYN: Ah, yes! Let us retire to the parlor. We’ll be more comfortable there. KYRIE: If you don’t mind, I just need to step out a moment… ELDEWYN: Oh, of course, Your Grace. INDRYR: Are you feeling well, Your Grace? KYRIE: Yeah, it’s… I’m fine. INDRYR: Forgive my saying so, but you seem somewhat put-off. KYRIE: It’s alright. I don’t… mind. KYRIE: I think sometimes I feel a bit like a circus act… Maybe I am. INDRYR: Your gifts are unique. And specialness is strange, but not all of us think so shallowly. I understand perfectly well how it feels to be the odd piece out, but you’re no less part of the puzzle. You’ll find your place to fit, and it won’t be here with people like that. KYRIE: Thank you, Indryr, for saying so. INDRYR: No need to thank me. It’s simply what’s true. The Duke has a very… interesting perception. I wondered what sort of society might support the trials in their former iteration. Meeting him, well, it becomes clearer to me. KYRIE: I think there’d be more than a few happy to see the tradition return to the way it was. A sick sense of excitement… It doesn’t matter. I guess I’m more bothered by the idea that my predecessor might have been involved in what happened twenty years ago. You were right. If this was a cover up, the priest heading the ceremony must have allowed for it. INDRYR: I don’t think we can deny it anymore, Your Grace. KYRIE: No, but I do think there’s more to the story. Whether or not the Duke knows, is another question entirely. INDRYR: We could use the scroll? KYRIE: Yes, but it’s not without its risks. I suppose then we must decide… is it worth trying, regardless of the consequences?

#ts4 #ts4 screenshots #ts4 story #ts4 bachelor challenge #chosen of the sun #oc: kyrie loren #cc: aster songleaf #cc: indryr #oc: lucien aravae

[sapphicromanoffxo]

Drabbles of Natasha out of the blue wearing Wanda’s corset?? 🥹🫶

Here you go, bro! 🥹🫶

Corset Discovery

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

Word count: 657

Warnings: nothing but fluff, Nat's naughty mind. That's all. 🤚🤞

╰┈➤ Masterlist

Natasha finds herself sorting through their laundry, separating shirts by their color, texture, and fabric. Wanda finds this all fascinating and can't believe how she tricked Nat into doing simple chores.

"I can't believe a witch like you beat me in chess. I'm an international super spy for God's sakes," Natasha mumbles while throwing side glances at Wanda. She can't fathom how messed up the consequences of losing the game are, which is doing the laundry. She could have been riding her bike around, but no, she's doing batches of washing, spinning, and drying instead.

"Well, if you hadn't let yourself be distracted by my legs, then maybe you would have won," Wanda defends herself, though she finds it adorable how Nat cannot accept defeat.

"I'm pretty sure you put a little magic in my head that made me think about how those long legs of yours would wrap around my waist, screaming my name—"

Wanda cuts her off immediately, knowing how nasty Nat's mouth can be.

"Enough with your silly comments; you lost, so now you're doing the laundry," the witch proudly says while walking towards the door. "I'll meet you later after my flying drills with Vision. Have fun doing the laundry. Love you!"

"If you truly love me, then you wouldn't torture me like this," Natasha sighs to herself. She can't do anything about it, so she decides to be dramatic.

While Natasha is waiting for the second batch of clothes to dry, she finds Wanda's corset, which is part of the new ensemble that Tony designed. She knows how tight those corsets can be; knowing Tony, he'd definitely want to highlight Wanda's cleavage.

Having some time to herself, she tries on the corset to see how it would look on her body. Wearing corsets is nothing new in her line of work, and this one is pretty comfortable and truly emphasizes her natural gifts. She stands in front of the full-length mirror, clad only in the corset and tight sexy shorts, which show off her round booty. Nat seems very satisfied with the visual she sees in herself and decides to take some photos to entice the witch and maybe get back at her for putting her on laundry duty. Nat snickers when she hits the send button.

Little does she know, Wanda is already on her way back to their room at the same time that Nat sent the photos. She was right in front of the door when she received the photos and audibly gasps. Wanda is fuming with a mixture of rage and lust. How could Natasha be so daring! It's infuriating how this tiny assassin holds so much power over her. She sometimes forgets how she was able to win Natasha over when there are thousands of people out there who want her girlfriend as much as she does.

Wanda enters the room and finds Nat sitting on the bed, her legs dangling off the edge. "Look what the cat decided to play with. Having fun with my corset, Romanoff?"

"Surely I am having the best time of my life. I certainly get the appeal you have with corsets, Wanda," the spy replies with a mischievous grin on her face.

"Hmm, I knew you'd look good in corsets. Why don't we swap our superhero outfits? Imagine how sexy I would look in your tight suit, malysh."

Natasha's throat runs dry, and she finds herself absent-mindedly nodding to Wanda.

"Yeah, yeah. We should definitely do that and rip each other's clothes off afterward. What do you say we do it now?"

"As much as I would love to do that now, baby. But your dryer is screaming and calling you right now. So get back to work!"

Nat scrambles out of the bed, her boobs almost spilling out of the tight corset.

"Stupid laundry," the spy angrily says. She can't believe she's being cockblocked by a bunch of dirty clothes.

#wandanat #natasha x wanda #wandanat fanfiction #marvel #wlw #natasha romanoff #sapphic

[not-so-allegiant-general]

Eldritch @huxloween

Hux was always dressed from head to toe. Hat. Uniform, gloves. Kylo realized that he never seen much of his co-commander. Not even a wrist. Just his face and his neck above the collar. Now it kinda made sense.

"Close that damn door Ren!" Kylo did it with hand wave, with eyes still glued to Hux. "Kriffing hell can you learn to knock!? " He wanted to put on a shirt but Kylo stopped him.

"No. Wait... " Hux snorted but discovered that he can't move.

"REN. STOP THAT NOW." Kylo ignored him looking at bright blue spots on his body. It was almost like blue freckles on his shoulders and neck and then spots were becoming bigger and bigger. Kylo was staring at him fascinated.

"What are... Those?"

"Can't you just mind your own business?"

"I won't stop asking." Hux sighed.

"Release me at once. Am not talking to you half naked." Kylo obeyed and Hux put on his under shirt. He sighed and sat down on the couch. "It's just... Disregular skin colouration."

"Yeah? Well thank you i wouldn't have realized." He said sitting next to him and tracing his arm. Hux caught his wrist before he could touch bigger blue spot.

"Do not." He hissed.

"Why?"

"First. I do not remembered giving you permission to touch me. Second. It's... Poisonous." Kylo blinked.

"What?"

"The bigger ones are... Yes well quite poisonous. Not deathly for someone like you, in a short contact but... Better not." Kylo was staring at him for a moment.

"What are you?"

"Oh kriff off. Leave me alone. " he looked around and covered himself with blanket. "Tell someone and i will kill you Ren. Rip you apart." Kylo glanced at something else, there was white spot on Hux's neck. Hux caught questions in his eyes and sighed. "Kriffing hell. Fine." Kylo pulled of blanket and looked at the line of white hard spots.

"Is that... "

"Part of my spine, yes."

"Dose it hurt?" Hux shook his head. Ren cleared his throat. Hux was sitting stiffly, visibly uncomfortable and caught off guard. "I... Should have knocked."

"That we agree on." Hux snorted. "Are you done? I have better things to do than being stared at like some sort of odd specimen."

"You are beautiful." Hux froze.

"What did you said? "

"You are marvellous. I want to see more i want to touch you. Please."

Hux was staring at him feeling weird. But there was nothing mocking about Kylo's tone nor posture. He bit his lip.

"if it's not some sort of stupid joke..."

"It's not. I am honest."

"Come here after my shift. Now get out. I have work. "

***

Kylo almost forgot about breathing when Hux dropped his robe on the ground.

"Straight to the point i see" he mumbled. Hux smiled.

"You wanted to see me don't you? And touch me, if i can recall correctly. You can't do that from there. "

" Haven't you said that you are poisonous Hux?" He asked taking a few steps forward.

" By all means. Want to take a risk?" And Kylo was up to the challenge.

*****

"You feel fine?"

"Dizzy." Kylo said blinking a few times. "Tingly... "

"It will pass in a few hours. " Hux sat at the edge of the bed. Kylo smiled looking at him although his vision was a little blurry.

"You are really something else."Hux laughed at that.

"You wouldn't even know. But... I think i don't want to eat you just yet... Going to keep you for a while. What do you say?"

"Sounds great" Kylo said. The realization hit him after few minutes.

" Wait. What did you just said?" he raised himself on the elbows. Hux grinned. It was a hungry smile. "Eat me?"

"Lie down. You will be fine. " he muttered sweetly.

And Kylo decided that this is a problem for tomorrow Kylo. If there is a tomorrow for him.

#kylux #armitage hux #kylo ren #huxloween

[loving-n0t-heyting]

Out of curiosity what do you dislike about Ada Palmers books

so tbc i made my way thru vol 1 of terra ignota and the first bit of vol 2 before quitting, so im working with a limited sample. but such is the case with dismissal! so here goes:

the prose is... bad. its very likely i should just develop a higher tolerance on this, ik im effectively gatekeeping myself from some very conceptually solid fiction over a relatively superficial skill detached from the stuff that really deeply matters, but the style on a sentence-to-sentence level is just very underwhelming, which is a particular problem when in universe its supposed to be elevated and uplifting (like the speech at renunciation day). i dont mind purple prose but it like marries imo the worst aspects of purple and bland, its a chore to get thru it

the pacing feels sort of mechanical and arbitrary,. every fifty pages, on the dot, theres another twist pulled from the Twist Bag! im told this im proves but its a) not enough to make up for the other deficits and ii) a common thing said when it takes a certain amount of time for ppl to inure themselves to an in fact persistent defect in a long work

Your Kink Is Not My Kink (But Your Kink Is OK)

i do not care about these characters. its hard for me to go into more detail bc i have little grip on what makes characters "work" for me in general but i just. dont care what happens to any of them (besides best not-girl eureka weeksbooth 🤤)

the worldbuilding. by far the biggest letdown. ppl will tell you—repeatedly, at length—that this is the great strength of the series. do not listen to them! they are misguided. ada palmer is really good—gifted, even—at the first step of worldbuilding, much moreso than most writers! shes top notch at coming up with a broad element of the society that makes you think "whoa, i want to know how that works!" and then... you never do. the depths are never plumbed. the depths are never even adequately hinted at. nor are the depths even conspicuously hidden from view! she just... tells you that there are a bunch of totally complicated details, trust me guys, look here i came up with some technobabble and some percentages like i totally promise theres stuff going on behind here! but there just, so aggravatingly obviously isnt! the technobabble does not even give the illusion of depth, the way (imo) it does in almost nowhere, it gives the appearance of earnestly trying to project such an illusion. tears me out of the immersion every time. its probably worth mentioning that i know from firsthand reports that she is into larp stuff irl, which is notorious for attracting ppl with a high tolerance for would be un-suspensors of disbelief. which, again, may be a virtue on their part! but if so its one i lack, at least here

i was talking to birdblog who suggested much of it might be that the work is very capital-L Liberal, and i am very not. which i think is kind of true, but less in that this is a drawback it possesses and more that its a virtue it lacks. theres lots of fiction i enjoy that is transparently committed to big philosophical/moral/political claims im vehemently opposed to! off the top of my head: any shakespeare that involves kings, any bernard shaw that involves Society, log horizon (at least s01, havent seen past it), nausicaa of the valley of the wind (the manga, the movie is sort of opaque philosophically), a bunch of outright propaganda films from wwii (american, british, russian, japanese), several kipling short stories...

but like, i think that a visceral sympathy for the earnestly felt message of a work of art does help one excuse other flaws, and i suspect a lot of my fundamentally Liberalism-oriented friends are able to enjoy the series bc the author shares that same basic vision. which is certainly like, an interesting one! but on its own its not enough to compel me past the artistic demerits by being either spiritually akin to encourage me or sufficiently weird and novel to fascinate me

anyway, tell me why im wrong, terra ignotans! humani nihil a me alienum puto

#ask #spacific-sunrise #terra ignota

[k-dokja]

SEONG TAEHOON REQUESTS ARE OPEN ITS THE HOLY GRAIL HOLY CRAP

[ Where do you see yourself in ten years? ]

To Seong Taehoon, someone who lives on a day-by-day basis, that is a loaded question. He has no idea what he'd have for dinner that night, it'd be insane for him to know where he'd be in ten years. In fact, the timeline alone makes him roll his eyes back into the sockets. Maybe in five years, some of his classmates graduated from their university, some are even working, and others are adrift with life.

Him, however, he cannot envision the life he has even one year from now on. Five years would be a mighty stretch. What would he even do to answer ten years?

After spending ten seconds with nothing coming to mind, Taehoon leaves the answer blank. The questionnaire is not compulsory anyway, he'd have no trouble if he leaves it be. A silly question coming from a silly future career survey his school has the students doing. He'd forget about it in a matter of hours.

Except, he doesn't.

A few hours later, he sits on the floor of your bedroom, his back leans on the side of your bed.

You hurdle over the floor table, memorising some formulas he has problems understanding from one end to the other. Every now and then, the scribes of your pen are interrupted by you stopping to calculate or thinking over another problem. After watching you work for what would be five minutes, he decides his boredom should no longer be his own.

"Hey."

You answer without stopping. "Hm?"

He recites the question, word for word. "Where do you see yourself in ten years?"

"How should I know? I don't have the future vision."

Taehoon reaches out to pull your cheek, effectively stops you from studying, "Hypothetically, dumbass. Like, if everything goes right, where would you be?"

"What do you expect me to say?" You swat at his hand, but it's too late, the damage is done. "Have a nice, decent income with an apartment in the city? Have a healthy liver and a social life on top of my busy schedule?"

He leans forward on the table, chin landing on the palm of his propped hand, "Where am I in it?"

"Eh?"

He repeats again. "Where am I in it?" His eyes bore into yours.

You look at him, then you don't. In that sudden moment of interrogation, you turn away to collect your thoughts. He knows that, yet, all it looks like to him is that you find the innumerable amount of books on your shelf more fascinating than his question.

"Uh..." You turn back to him. That confused expression is on your face again. Any other occasion, that'd have made him smile. "That'd depend on what you want to do?"

"But I don't know," he hums, "I don't know what I want to do yet. I know I will continue to do Taekwondo but."

He stops. Now, it is his turn to look at your innumerable amount of books. Weirdly enough, on all of the occasions that he comes here, he has browsed them more than a few times. Yet, Taehoon never knows how many books are on there. "I don't know, maybe I will go back to MMA again?"

"Then you'll be a successful MMA fighter in ten years," you say it with such nonchalance that he almost believes what you're saying is a spoken truth, not the undeterminable future.

"That easy?" He laughs quietly. "What if I get kicked out due to misconduct again?"

"I'd like to think you're capable of growth," you stick your tongue out, "and no longer as much of a shithead."

He lunges at you with a snap of his teeth. You recoil, keeping your tongue firmly in your mouth again. The look on your face makes him grin. "You were my friend back then," he points out, "you don't have a leg to stand on to criticize about my personality."

"Exactly! I'd never date you from back then." You turn up your nose. Decidedly a bad choice on your end, because he takes that moment to squeeze it. "Ack! You bastard! That was so uncalled for!"

You swat at his hand again, openly glaring back when he shows you his signature smarmy grin. "That's what you get for loving me conditionally."

"As if you don't love me conditionally, too!" You grumble. "Anyway, why did you ask?"

"Eh, some stupid questionnaire from a career survey," Taehoon says, "it doesn't matter really."

You look back at him with those curious eyes again, "What is your answer?"

"Like I said, I don't know," Taehoon shrugs, "I just wrote some stupid shit like becoming the president and having a mountain of cash."

"Seriously?" You look like you're about to laugh. "What else did you write?"

Taehoon grins again. Immediately, what cheer you have on your face diminishes a little. "That I'll have a supermodel wife who's at least a head taller than you and a hundred times hotter than you."

"H-Hey!" You smack his shoulder, but he manages to dodge it in time.

With the limited space between the two of you, however, he cannot escape your wrath the second time. Instead, he decides to take it head on and capture your wrist. You glare up at him defiantly, yanking your hand back from his hold. However, it is not possible when his original purpose was to keep you there.

When you raise your other hand to strike him, he captures it, too. Now, you're stuck and looking stupid. He cannot say it doesn't delight him.

"Taehoon...!"

He leans in again, and you lean back. Nowhere to go, as it is. "I'll let you go if you give me a kiss."

"I don't want to kiss you right now," you scrunch up your face, "go kiss your model wife, you stupid—"

"Aww, are you jealous~?" Taehoon says. "I'll leave her for you, promise."

"No, I don't—"

"All for the price of one kiss~"

"No!"

"Are you really mad about this?" He snickered. "Over some fictional woman that I made up? Does that mean you thought the position belong to you instead?"

"Ugh, it doesn't matter," you pout, but your glare remains on him, "you said it was stupid so it is stupid."

"Then why are you mad~?" Taehoon slackens his hold on your hands and you're quick to draw back. However, he remains defensive for the next few seconds in case you strike again despite his lax attitude. "You should be honest with your feelings."

"My honest feeling is that you deserve a kick in the ass."

"You know, it's cute when you're jealous."

You turn away from him, fully trying to shun him this time around. "Hmph. I'm not jealous. Think whatever you want."

"Seriously, c'mere." He pulls you to his side, which is a bit of production with the table between the two of you and the fact you're uncooperative. You're not resisting him, but you don't make it easy either. Finally, Taehoon lifts you up and lands you on his lap.

Once again, you refuse to look at him, but he'd say this is progress enough. "Are you really mad at me?" He kisses your hair and cuddles you while you remain stubborn in your defiance "Really~? I made all of that that up."

"Why you—"

That's it. You turn back to curse him out, but in doing that, you give him easy access to your lips. He kisses you, short and sweet. When the two of you part, he's grinning and you're pouting. Cute.

"Ugh." You thump your fists on his chest. "Stop messing with me!"

"But you make it so easy~"

"Taehoon!"

#seong taehoon #seong taehoon x reader #how to fight #viral hit #fics

[pintobordeaux]

to elaborate:

Bruce terrorizes Superman villains with just angry glares and growls.

Clark has to learn to live in a not invulnerable body.

Clark on his first night as Batman: "Ouch! You stabbed me! It hurts!!!!"

Everyone thinks Batman has gone completely insane and might turn into a new Joker.

The Pentagon is this close from activating their anti-Superman plan because the man looks one inconvenience away from a worldwide dictatorial regime.

Bruce has to learn to hold his strength back because he breaks absolutely EVERYTHING.

obligatory NSFW: they masturbate to see how the other's body works (bc of course Clark has alien genitals).

Bruce starting to have blood pressure issues from having to act meek with all the ppl shitting on him at work.

Clark not putting up AT ALL with Riddler's schemes and riddles and stops him by entirely other means.

Clark getting anxiety from having to be in the spotlight all the time and being chased by ladies.

@jellyfitzjelly OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG. Yes this 100000000000x this!!! (You sent it in two messages so I screenshoted the first for context for everyone and I’m using the second as the answer since I didn’t wanna transcribe it lol)

I am WEAK in the soul for body switching fics and headcannons. To add on more thoughts to your thoughts

The absolute body horror/dysmorphia/dissociation at being in a body but not your body but still having that vouyerustic fascination at being able to explore someone else’s body from your own consciousness.

^^^ I am 100% on my bullshit about those “I have a crush but we haven’t said anything or been close yet and it’s so wrong but this is my opportunity to get as close as possible to them in a way I’ve been dreaming about” tropes.

The uncanny valley at seeing the other’s expressions on their face! Like Batman’s signature scowl on Superman’s normally cheery face. Or Clark’s sunbeam smile on Batman.

An excuse to push them together to work through it! Maybe secret phone calls alllll day to each other. “How do you deal with the Wayne enterprise board?” “I broke another door handle. What now?” Just so many options.

Do they try to hide it? CAN they hide it? If not who figures it out first?!? If they don’t hide it now what? What do they do with their time?

I 100% believe that Bruce would make Clark practice sparring/ hand to hand combat in Bruce’s body. Just let the implications of that sink in. Are those thoughts nice and marinated yet? Because YES.

Do they have the angst and unsureness of “this might be forever?” Or the bittersweet relief of “we only have _ amount of time to experience each other like this.”

And on that note - if it’s established relationship Superbat. O.M.G. The wonderful idea that they get to use this opportunity to get to know each other in ways they never could under any other circumstance.

Like imagine Clark finds out all the little things bruce has been hiding. Maybe Bruce actively suppresses blushing every time Clark runs a finger up his arm. He had no idea. And Bruce finds out that while he knew Clark doesn’t need to eat he actively craves certain things sometimes. They use this to learn more about each other and carry that over into a stronger relationship once they’re switched back.

My obligatory NSFW addition - sleeping together. Is it an act of ego? Sure, maybe. But the body is a shell to house the person they love. That can change and they’ll still love them no matter what. I wanna see some fic that just goes for it. Let Bruce as clark sleep with Clark as Bruce. No cop out ‘this is too weird.’ Na bro it’s interesting and novel and Batman is a detective who loves puzzles, and Clark is an investigative journalist. You bet your ass they’ll sleep with their partner who physically looks like themselves.

Second NSFW addition - in Smallville the heat vision is absolutely first triggered by horny feelings. I just want Bruce to have to experience that and Clark having to bumble through and explain it to Bruce. But then Bruce’s mind immediately goes to “so you have to be turned on to use heat vision!?” And letting flashbacks of all of the times he’s seen Clark use it.

And if you wanna go the public/political/social investigation route - ooooo boy! How does each of them handle that stress? Are any aspects of each other’s life harder than they thought? More pleasurable? Surprising?

Does bruce cry big alligator tears when visiting Martha Kent and she calls him “son” and looks at him with such love? Sources say yes. (Sources are my head)

Okay okay but also if they don’t know each other’s identity when the switch happens?!!?!!! Wouldn’t that be something? Alllllll the identity reveal. And the mad dash to find each other to help hide both secrets from the world. Do they form an initial alliance? Lay it all out?

Alternatively, what if Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent body switched. Neither knows the other’s superhero identity. But the sheer panic from Clark about Bruce using super strength and immediately finding out. And Bruce panicking because Alfred doesn’t know he’s not him. What if he says something in 2 seconds upon arriving home about anything batman related and this investigative journalist will now immediately know who batman is.

I just have a lot of thoughts and feelings about this. Not enough cohesive ones to write something. But A LOT of thoughts and feelings.

#superbat #plotbunny headcannons #AskAnswered #if anyone wants to use these ideas PLEASE take them. I’ve literally read every fic tagged ‘body switching’ for Bruce/Clark. i want MOAR

[missingcarrion]

carrion//ch6 skin and bone

heh this was 7 pages

tag list: @tapioca-milktea1978 @neapolitantoebeans

masterlist

-

There’s something distinctly wrong when Shepherd awakens from his sleep. It is still night, and his room is empty. He can move, there’s nothing keeping him from sitting up, yet something is wrong. The shadows that haunt the corners of his room feel like people, it feels like Clare is in here again. It feels like he’s hopeless – hopeless and like someone is sitting on his chest, suffocating him.

            Shepherd can’t put a name to the suffering, but it’s his and he fucking hates it. It’s like a burning, searing pain that splits from his head, down to his knees, rending him as useless in the confines of his mind as he is in the real world.

            A broken, fractured cry escapes his lips. Something is so very wrong. Things flash in his mind – more memories, hands of flesh replace the hands of synthetic skin. A heart thrums within him, instead of a deadened, constant hum of fans and components. He feels human, with hot breath leaving his lips. But something shatters this vision – this hallucination – and he’s sitting on the harsh, cold floor of his room. Desolate and alone.

            Who am I?

                        WHO FUCKING AM  I??????????

            None of this is real, none of him is real. But something in him says he is real, realer than the cold of his floor and the longing in his chest. He is real. Despite it all, he is real.

            Shepherd finds himself wandering the halls, bare feed padding against the cruel flooring as he searches for something – someone. His mind is addled, ruined with thoughts. He sees people, so many. Faces, doctors, scientists. People he thinks he recognizes but the memories are blurry, like they’ve been tampered with.

            A peculiar door stands out to him. It’s far away from his room, furthest from most of the staff dorm rooms, but… this one holds more than just a bedroom. Access to a private laboratory, amongst other things. Shepherd doesn’t need to look at the name on the door to know the person who lives here. Aasimar. It’s curious that in his state, in the addled mind of a man trapped in a body, he finds himself seeking the fascinating little scientist. And yet… he’s here, hand suspended against the door, like he can’t figure out if he wants to knock or not. It’s so late…. It’s so late, so late it’s almost early, but after a moment of hesitation, he knocks. It takes several minutes, standing outside feeling like an idiot, before the door opens.

            Aasimar feels exceptionally smaller when he opens the door, wearing something more casual than his usual eccentric attire. He looks… sweet, wearing his sweatpants and tshirt with what he assumes is a cat on it and an interesting set of gold rimmed glasses. His hair is in a long, mussed braid. He envies the length of his hair, how it reaches to his knees. It looks beautiful on him. Everything looks good on him.

            “… S – Shepherd?” Aasimar blinks and rubs his eyes, like he’d been halfway to sleep if not for working on something. “What are you doing at this hour? Is everything okay?”

He stands rigid, brows furrowed as he finds particular interest in the floor. “I… something is wrong with me, Aasimar. I just – I know it.”

A pause, and then Aasimar steps aside, head nodding in a way that tells Shepherd to come inside. “Talk and I will listen.”

“A – Are you sure? Weren’t you sleeping? I wouldn’t…. I couldn’t bother you …” Shepherd feels embarrassed, and shame costs the insides of his body, like even his own components know better than to come crying to some scientist at the first sight of something odd. But… Aasimar is safe, at least as far as the people who don’t want to hurt him goes.

“You came all this way. To see me no less, I’m not going to turn you away, Shepherd. I don’t sleep very well, or often at all when I do. Your company is welcome.” The smile on his face, although tired, is genuine, so Shepherd takes the tentative steps forward.

His room is expensive. Probably the largest one in the compound, but most of the room is occupied by tanks full of aquatic animals, save for one that’s more of a pool, with nothing in it. The lab must be in an offshoot of the main room, but there’s a bed in one corner, rather simple and neat, like it’s never really been used. There are books and other things thrown about, but what catches his attention are notes on quantum physics and engineering. Something about technology advancements. Aasimar must be exceptionally smart, smarter than anyone has given him credit for.

On the other side is a seating area, not really a living room, but it has a couch and a bean bag and a TV, but Shepherd isn’t even really sure if anyone who lives on the compound watches it.

As if sensing Shepherd’s gaze, Aasimar starts tidying up, shoving his books and notes elsewhere. Out of sight and hopefully out of mind.

“You have a pretty room.” He says, instead, focusing the conversation onto something else for his comfort. “Very blue. I like your fishes.”

Aasimar snorts, “thank you, you are very kind. But we are not here to talk about me. Something’s bothering you.”

“I had another vision…. Memory? It… it was violent. I felt… I felt alive, like I had a heart and I could breathe, but it was hurting.” Shepherd watches him, looking for something, anything that could help him.

“Sit,” Aasimar pulls him close, gesturing for him to sit on the couch. He sits on the other end, head tilted. “Do you know what might’ve caused this episode? This … human memory must’ve stemmed from something.,.”

“I was dreaming,” he murmurs, gaze averted to the colorful fish in the tanks, “I was thinking of you, which I guess isn’t really dreaming. But I was thinking of how kind you’ve been, even if you didn’t have to be. It’s the only thing I can do to not think about what happened. I — I wish I was human, like you, maybe I’d – maybe I’d understand everything better.”

“I’m sorry,” Aasimar sighs, and looks at him, golden eyes mapping out every detail. “You know, I’m not human either. Technically, I’m classified as humanoid, like you, but even my insides are inhuman. But fitting in is overrated, Shepherd. Sometimes even we don’t understand things, but that’s how we learn.”

“But why would – why would Clare hurt me? She… she did something to me, broke my mind. I can’t – I tried to sleep but it felt like I was right back in that moment. She ruined me, Aasimar,” Shepherd hisses, his throat tightening with a sorrow that settles deep into every crevice of his mind. “I don’t get it. Why me? Why do I have to hurt for others to succeed?”

Aasimar is oddly quiet, his face solemn. It’s an uncomfortable look on a man as bright as him, but there’s a familiarity in the way he looks at him, like he understands. He shifts forward, sitting himself beside Shepherd now, and he reaches and holds his hand.

Shepherd’s getting spoiled with handholding and hand touching, with touches of comfort. They shouldn’t make him feel good, it should feel wrong, but it doesn’t. He desires to be seen, to be heard in the way that only Aasimar seems to understand.

“Those questions won’t help you,” he says, quietly, fingers hooking around Shepherd’s, careful of his claws, “ask yourself what can be done to ensure no one ever hurts you again. Ask yourself what you can do to make yourself unafraid again.”

“I – I don’t know, Aasi,” he whispers, shaking his head, “I was not designed for this. I was designed to help to – to guide people.”

“Be kind to yourself, Shepherd. You were thrust into this world, into this life, with fleeting memories of a time we aren’t yet sure of,” Aasimar gives his hand a gentle squeeze, “what you were designed for and your purpose are two separate things, sweet one. Your purpose is what you want it to be. What do you want, Shepherd?”

He pauses, brows furrowed in concentration. He braces himself, as if worried about the repercussions of what he’s about to say, “I don’t want to help people. I want to be me, whatever that means.”

Aasimar hums and he leans his head back, smiling, “It can mean whatever you want it to. I do have an idea, though. Would you like to venture outside with me? The stars should be out still – if you’d like to go and see them.”

“Yes!” Shepherd nods quickly, his mournful feelings disappearing to make way for his excitement. “Please? Can we go now?”

Aasimar laughs and his hand withdraws from Shepherd’s, “let me go change into something else, then we can go.”

—

            Shepherd follows eagerly behind, wishing they were holding hands still, but following nonetheless. Excitement blinds him – it’s happening, it’s really, truly happening! The stars are just beyond his reach, getting closer and closer with each hurried step. It feels big to see something so small.

            The doors to leave are right there, but he falters, pausing. What if it’s not what he expects? What if it’s all just some big sham and he’s left wanting a freedom he’ll never get?

            “Shep? Are you alright?” Aasimar looks at him, brows furrowed.

            “I – I’m scared, Aasi. I don’t… I don’t know,” he looks down, biting his lip, “what if it’s just… another prison? Another place to never be free from. What if it’s just as bad or… or worse?”

            “Shepherd,” he whispers and steps closer, “it could be, I won’t lie to you, but it could also be better. You could see things that will make you long for more, you would certainly have more out there than you do here. And besides, you’ll have me. You won’t be alone.”

            This is enough. It is enough. Aasimar’s words of comfort are enough to reassure him, to get him to resume walking towards the door, and even if he’s still nervous, still utterly terrified. Shepherd must be brace, and when Aasimar offers his hand, he’s more that ecstatic to take it. Comfort is found here.

            When they step outside, everything changes. Nothing will ever be as it was before the moment his body passes the threshold. His eyes linger on the green plants, and the asphalt, but then, when Aasimar tugs his hand, his gaze shifts.

            A million little lights sparkle and dance across the midnight sky – they smile down at him. It feels like… It feels like he’s finally free, a weight has been lifted from his chest, and he can finally breathe. The air feels right against his skin.

            “Those are the stars?” He asks, voice hoarse, and he grips Aasimar’s hand tightly.

            “Yeah, that’s them,” he nods, and through Shepherd’s peripherals, he sees the man smile from ear to ear practically. “The smile suits you, Shep. I’m glad I got to see it.”

            He bits his bottom lip and shifts his gaze, flattered and a bit embarrassed. “They’re so much prettier than I ever thought they’d be. I want… I wish my room had a hole in the ceiling so I can watch them…”

            “Hm, well, we have all night to watch them tonight, and maybe we can make it our thing. I don’t… I don’t get out that often anyway, it’ll be good for the both of us I think,” Aasimar grins and tugs him forward, “let’s go, we’re not out here entirely for pleasure. There are some things I want to teach you.”

            “Self defense?” He peers at him curiously, lips pursed. “I don’t know… I don’t – I don’t want to hurt people.”

            “Self defense isn’t because you want to cause harm, it’s to protect yourself from those that do.” Aasimar shakes his head slowly. “Your love for stars is charming. What draws you to them?”

            Shepherd shrugs, “you were born knowing the stars. I was made knowing only their shadows. You got to see them every day of your life, but today… you’ve made a difference. Thank you, Aasimar.”

            “This is the bare minimum, Shepherd. You are worth the moon and the stars beyond, this is just the beginning.” He says, and for a moment Shepherd is struck by a feeling of awe and inspiration.

            “You deserve everything, too.” Shepherd whispers, and Aasimar looks away, shaking his head slowly.

            “I am not the person deserving of such words, Shep,” he snorts, a bit of self deprecation, “I am not a good person. I’m not deserving of your praise, but… thank you, anyway. You are kind as always.”

            Shepherd grabs his hand, forcing him to stop moving. “What do you mean? What would make you unworthy of the same kindness that you show me?”

            “You only know the part of me I let you see – it’s that simple, Shepherd. I work at the Institute, for all that it’s worth. Good people don’t subject themselves to that,” Aasimar looks up at him, brows furrowed, “anyway, let’s just go, alright?”

            Shepherd quiets, though his gaze lingers on Aasimar a worrying amount. His friend was suffering from something he isn’t really sure of, but he sees the way Aasimar gets quiet and almost makes himself small. He doesn’t want to just leave it there – he wants to understand why he’s upset, to comfort him the way he’d comforted him.

            After a while of walking, Aasimar brings him to an abandoned warehouse, but once inside, he realizes it’s fitted like an old club, a bit rundown and not exactly taken care of, but there’s things strewn about that indicate this place is home to someone.

            “What are we going to do here?” Shepherd looks at Aasimar who drops his hand and wanders towards a large computer system.

            “You’re going to learn to fight,” he says, and types several things and a startlingly realistic hologram appears, “by fighting a holographic version of myself. I am a bit too small to train with you without causing some harm and besides, I don’t like getting all sweaty and dirty, makes my gills get soggy.”

            Shepherd fights back the urge to snort and bites his bottom lip. The image of him is near exact, down to the nails which feel far more terrifying than they had been before. “You’re not – You won’t use those against me, will you?”

            “What? Oh, my nails? No,” he laughs and shakes his head, “they’re for show, not for hurting. Not usually anyway. The hologram is programmed to not hurt you. We’re not there yet. Today, we’re going to focus on you learning to punch.”

“Maybe you should’ve used Clare’s image for this,” Shepherd mutters, and the bitterness in his tone surprises him.

“I thought about it but not yet. When you know more about fighting, perhaps, but not today. Today, you get me.” Aasimar crosses his arms, “fake me will not do more than blocking. It’ll be a good start for today.”

“What? Punch you and ruin your pretty face? Are you sure?” Shepherd snorts, eyeing the hologram. “What do I do?”

“You flatter me,” he shakes his head before guiding Shepherd’s legs into a specific stance, “when you must fight, stand like this. I don’t know if you’ll meet anyone capable of knocking you off balance, but if that does happen, this stance will help keep you on your feet. Something about distributing weight, who knows.”

Shepherd snorts and he cocks his head to the side, but he lets Aasimar move him into a position akin to fighting. “You know you could just upload fighting information into my code, right?”

“Why? And lose out on quality time with you? No chance.” Aasimar’s hands drop to his hips as he steps back. “Punch me.”

“What?”

“The hologram, sweet one, punch the hologram. It’ll feel realz perks of engineering holograms that have mirroring electromagnetic fields that interact with yours.”

“O – Oh, right.”

Shepherd states oddly at the replica of Aasimar. It looks like him but it doesn’t feel like him, it’s nothing more than a husk, a shell. Still, Shepherd hesitates for a moment before eventually convincing himself that hitting the hologram wouldn’t hurt Aasimar.

The punch lands a bit lopsided and he pulls his hand back, hissing in annoyance.

“Mm, try a hook. You’d punch upwards like this,” Aasimar demonstrates, “it’ll knock your opponents head back if you hit hard enough.”

For hours, they train like that, with Shepherd mirroring Aasimar’s actions, repeating them several times if he messes them up to ensure he gets them right. It’s delightful and Aasimar is a kind and gentle teacher, despite the fact that it’s him Shepherd is punching.

After a few hours though, Aasimar seems to consider him worthy of completing the first session of training. Then, he invites Shepherd into the lounge area on the second floor, where they sit and admire the rising sun.

Shepherd sits in a prolonged silence, realizing he had unfiltered access to trillions of data at once that otherwise would’ve been blocked by Institute censors.  Information passes through his mind, settling into every nook and cranny. It feels weird to have such unfiltered access, and yet there’s power in it.

“Why did you say you didn’t deserve kind words earlier?” Shepherd’s gaze focuses on him, taking in several thousand new pieces of information. All of which attach themselves to Aasimar in one way or another. Articles on siren folk, on relationships, on the Institute. Everything he could read if he watched to pry, but he doesn’t. He locks them away, keeps this information away from everyone. It is not his job, but something in him longs to protect Aasimar the way he’s protected him.

“Shepherd, it’s not a big deal,” he waves his hand dismissively, “the byproduct of growing up different from everyone else. You wouldn’t know it , but there are a lot of mutants and other freaks down here. But people like me? With webbed feet and gills? Not exactly the norm. I did some things when I was younger. Bad things.”

“Mm. That does not make you any less deserving of kindness now,” he tilts his head, “you are worthy of the things you give. No matter what you did before, you made a difference with me. You could’ve ignored my cry for help, if you were truly unworthy of kindness, and yet you saved me. You saved me and punished her for hurting me.”

Aasimar keeps his gaze elsewhere, like there’s a shame in looking at anything else. “You are too good for this world. Shepherd. I hope the world will be kinder to you than it was to me.”

A frown finds itself on Shepherd’s face and he scoots closer to Aasimar, hand reaching to grab his. “I’m a lot tougher than you’d think. I don’t mind being tough for the both of us.”

He’s quiet before giving Shepherd’s hand a reassuring squeeze. He sighs, “we should get heading back. I’m sure they might be wondering where we’ve gone.”

“I don’t want to,” Shepherd’s grip tightens, “not yet, anyway. I can see more things, things the Institute had kept hidden. I – Can we just stay like this for a while longer? I promise I’ll behave.”

“You don’t have to behave in order to experience freedom, Shep,” Aasimar sighs and leans his head back, inhaling slowly. “I own this place, but… you can come here whenever you’d like. Once they start sending you out more, you might find yourself wishing you had a safe space.”

“You say that like you’re planning on leaving,” Shepherd says, and then he turns rigid, “you… you aren’t leaving, are you?”

Aasimar’s thumb traces circles against Shepherd’s hand, “worried I’d leave you, Shepherd? I won’t do that, not to you. You have been surprising, Shep. In so many different ways, but you have been so much more than I think even you thought you’d be.”

“What do you mean?”

“You care for people, you care for the things that no one else notices. The stars… to me, to all of us, they are just stars. But to you? I wish I could see them the way you do.” Aasimar sighs almost wistfully, almost like his inability to see the world through Shepherd’s eyes had brought him some level of sorrow.

Shepherd’s gaze shifts when Aasimar looks at him, eyes dipping to the man’s lips. A thousand images flash across his face then – images and videos of people kissing, touching, loving. A million images of people he doesn’t know, scenes from movies he’ll never see, and all of them are replaced by the image of Aasimar.

“Don’t… don’t do things you’ll regret,” Aasimar murmurs, his eyes darting from Shepherd’s lips to his eyes, shifting between them like he can’t figure out where to rest his gaze.

“How will I know I’d regret it?” The reply comes out breathless, and he furrows his brows. “M – May I?”

Aasimar swallows hard, his eyes shifting like he’s thinking, “You may.”

#carrion [wip] #carrion project #missingcarrion #ch: aasimar #ch: shepherd

[ijuststareatstuffhereok89]

hiii :)

I saw you’re taking fluff requests at the moment so here I am😍

More or less this scenario was ghosting around in my dreams yesterday;

The reader's a very silent, calm person, not really talking much and always leaving parties or gatherings early. Loki is somehow intrigued by her mysterious nature but when he started trying to get closer to her, she just thought he was kidding (she thought of herself as boring and weird). One day Loki found out the real reason for her former 'aversion' and set up a romantic dinner or something to convince her of the authenticity of his feelings…❣️

If it’s something you would want to work with I would be so happy. Thank you so much!!! :)

So, I am a naturally loud and assertive person, and I think nearly all of my Reader characters have reflected this, so this will be different for me to write, but great practice! Hope this finds you and makes your day, anon!

“The God and the Wallflower”

Summary: After a lifetime of being the unassuming background player, you don’t understand why the most interesting being you know is fascinated by you.

Pairing: Loki x Shy!Reader Content Warning: descriptions of verbal/emotional bullying (although this WILL be fluff so nothing too intense) Word Count: 1.5K (sorry, this became a little longer than a drabble)

Always against the wall at the party. Always in the shadows outside. Always the ensemble player in the musical. Now, you were the secretary in a sea of superheroes.

As a girl with a gifted twin sister, you grew up essentially looking out for your own needs. Your parents, the desperate social-climbers they were, lavished attention, praise, and extras on your twin, who got straight-As in school, led the color guard to their first national championships, and got a full-ride to Columbia U, all while you couldn’t even make editor of the school paper because the advisor forgot you’d even signed up. Your twin was also a beauty, somehow, she’d gotten the bright redheaded gene that made her stand out even more in the family. You just had your plain, frizzy, brown hair that often got dry. Your sister was a thin, graceful, interesting lady. You were much more of a dumpy, lumpy, faceless being.

Of course, this meant in school you got the comparisons from teachers and the taunting from bullies about how there was no way you weren’t adopted. You became an adult with your only superpower being your resourcefulness, but that could only get you a nice job as opposed to what you really wanted: friendship, companionship, maybe even a romance. Not a single person of any gender cared to look your way. Not because you were ugly (you weren’t), but because your natural ability to blend in rendered you invisible, so you chose not to fight it, and instead resign yourself to your lot.

You did pull off one amazing feat that your perfect sister never could, however: Tony Stark hired you to be his second-shift personal assistant at the Avenger’s compound in Dutchess County, NY. He was the type of guy who needed so much help that he needed a right hand for every hour of the day. Because of your natural resourcefulness and quick mind, he appreciated your ability to introduce him to everyone at a part whom he vaguely remembered but couldn’t quite put a name to. He also almost immediately admitted that he’d liked you because you didn’t seem “the type to get in the way.”

Tonight, however, was a victory celebration, and while celebrities and Avengers mingled, you weren’t of much use. So, you took your usual position along the far wall and people-watched until the earliest possible time you could go home.

Watching the Avengers mingle could be entertaining on its’ own. Steve, of course, was a hit with the ladies. Bruce and Natasha tended to work the crowds as a unit. Whenever Clint could get away from his family, he’d usually be cracking jokes with Thor somewhere in the middle of the room. Wanda and Vision usually stayed close as a couple, and like you, they were more of the wallflower type…but at least they had each other.

You looked at your watch nervously, hoping that it was midnight, when Stark would allow you to head home. Drat! It was only 9:41.

“You look like a woman with a lot of stories.”

Startled, you gasped lightly and turned your head to your left, where someone had joined you against the wall.

Thor’s shady brother Loki was the one who had initiated the conversation. You hadn’t seen that much of him since your hiring. He was one who preferred keeping to himself in the library, or sometimes drinking with his brother after most of the others were gone or asleep.

He unsettled you a little, and not because of his trickery or history with trying to conquer cities. He always walked through a room like a knife through butter, quick, confident, knowing where he was going. Although, his confident stride, along with his long block curls and devilish grin, kind of made him attractive to you. Sometimes you found yourself looking at him with interest in crowded situations where you could disguise your gazes as something else. But Loki was (technically) an Avenger, and thus, he could have his pick of any of the beauties (or studs) in the room. No matter how you felt about him, he was leagues above you, and really should have been on the arm of a model or actor or politician’s child.

So why was he here talking to the sentient cardboard cutout who’d never said a word directly to anyone in the room who wasn’t Stark?

You shook your head silently. No, not here, you thought. Would someone really stoop to mocking me here?

“My intention wasn’t to startle you,” Loki apologized. “But I’ve been keeping an eye on you most of the evening, and I’ve been biding my time, but I’ve been hoping to get acquainted with you for a time now.”

You looked down, embarrassed that you were already beginning to feel tears forming. “Please, don’t.”

Loki looked at you with concern. “What is it, Y/N? I assure you I’m—”

“—I can’t do this tonight,” you blurted out, brushing past Loki and quickly leaving the room, leaving the God standing there, confused and hurt.

Loki couldn’t believe how completely he had just struck out. It wasn’t something he was used to, especially when he’d been planning on how to approach you for nearly a week, and deciding that this soiree was the opportune moment.

“Ooof, bad idea, Vixen,” said Tony, sliding over to Loki, still dumbfounded and hurt at the rejection.

“I barely said ten words, and she wouldn’t—”

“—there’s a few things you should know about her,” Stark explained. “She’s extremely shy.”

“Why is that? She’s beautiful,” Loki said quietly.

“She grew up with a sister who was great at everything and always got the attention. I hired her because she’s got incredible self-reliance, so I barely have to explain anything to her. She never quite lived up to the bar her twin set, and when she felt short, she was usually shut out for it. When I hired her, she actually asked me if I was feeling okay.”

Well, if anyone understands what it’s like to live in the shadow of a better sibling, it’s me, Loki thought as he bit his lip. “I was too forward, then.”

“Big time, Bambi.”

He sighed. “Well, what do you recommend?”

Tony shrugged. “Getting someone like her to believe she’s special enough isn’t going to be easy, but it may be the only way to convince someone that stubborn.”

Loki smiled. “Not to worry, I already have something in mind.”

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

The following evening, Tony unexpectedly relieved you of duty a few hours early, saying he wanted to have a date night with Pepper. “But,” he added, “before you do, could you go out to the roof and check for a file I may have dropped the other day?”

You snorted. “Why did you have a personal file on the roof?” you asked softly. “You always tell me they don’t leave the basement.”

“Because…well…” Tony stumbled over his words for a second. “Just…go to the roof for five minutes before you leave, okay? Damn this sappy shit…” he mumbled under his breath, walking away before you could ask more.

Groaning, you obeyed and made your way up the floors, opening the door to the roof and not expecting to find a table set for two, tea lights strung up all over, a record player emitting soft, gentle, romantic music, and Loki standing awkwardly by the table.

“Oh my…” you felt a pang of nausea in your gut, and you instantly went to turn around.

“No, please, Y/N!” Loki called after you. “I’m in earnest!”

You stopped and shook your head. “There’s no way.”

Loki walked toward you, holding out a hand. “I set this up for you, and I don’t go to such trouble for people I deem less than worthy of my attention.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “You have me all wrong. I’m really nothing.”

“Stark said you’ve been through things, that you’re used to keeping quiet because that’s what everyone expects of you,” he said. “Y/N, the same thing happened to me. Do you not remember who my brother is?”

You found the courage to look Loki in the eye for the first time. “I don’t understand. Why me? I’m the most plain, boring, unassuming—”

Loki shook his head and dared to take your hand, bringing it to his lips and laying a gentle kiss on it. “May I ask you something? Do you think me someone who wastes their time with common people?”

You shrugged silently.

“Well, I don’t. So please, take this as a gesture of my interest,” Loki said, indicating the beautiful set up he’d worked all afternoon to perfect for you. “I want to know your story, and please, leave out no details. I want to savor every chapter of you.”

You still didn’t understand why or how, but looking into Loki’s icy blue eyes and seeing the sincerity in them unlocked your heart, and you decided in that moment to exercise cautious trust, and to give the man access to your soul.

“Well,” you said, finally smiling and letting yourself open up slowly, like a rose bud, “I guess if that’s true, the sooner we start, the better.”

Your heart fluttered when you realized Loki wasn’t dropping your hand as he guided you towards the supper table. For the first time, you felt ready to open up to someone.

Well, here it goes…

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

Please keep sending me requests and ideas, friends. I’m enjoying writing these very much!

@lokisgoodgirl  @michelleleewise  @xorpsbane  @mochie85  @mischief2sarawr @lokisprettygirl @kellatron55

#MCU fanfiction #MCU Loki #Loki x reader #MCU drabble #loki fluff #Fluff #fanfiction #shy #fic request

[januarygale]

I am SO curious to see if The Mars House is in any way inspired by Aye, And Gomorrah... by Samuel R. Delaney.

Delaney's story is a short story from 1967 and was first published in Dangerous Visions, an anthology of 'risque' new wave sci-fi. (And it's an allegory for being queer during the 60s).

It's about a so-called "Spacer", an astronaut who works physical jobs on different planets -- who has been neutered prior to becoming a spacer to eliminate the risk of harmful mutations of the reproductive cells (don't question the science, it was the 60s). Anyway, on earth Spacers are fetishised because they are androgynous and somewhat of an 'exotic' thing and some of them are sex workers, and pretty much all of them are living at the edges of society and keep to their own community. The plot is about the disconnect between "frelks" (the ones with the spacer kink) and Spacers -- the protagonist wants to be seen as human, as a person, and the frelk fails to view them as anything other than a sexually stunted object of her fascination.

And I get that that's way too sexual and direct for a Pulley novel but somehow with Aubrey being non-binary and January being "Earthstrong", something that sets him apart from the people from Mars, it kind of seems to touch on the same themes. Obviously Spacers and Earthstrongs are different kinds of people entirely -- one too 'childlike' and the other one too strong thus 'dangerous' -- but they are both far removed from the 'normal' population of their (new) homeworlds and therefore misfits of sorts. And given how much Pulley's novels so far have been about a desire for connection... Especially connection that shouldn't exist in the eyes of society, and connection that the MCs (Valery and Raphael come to mind) simply don't think they can or should have. I feel like the parallels are there, but maybe that's just me.

And I don't know how Pulley is gonna treat Aubrey's being non-binary, but I suspect that we're gonna get a whole ass analysis. And if we do, I hope the whole 'living on a different planet on which your body behaves and developes differently until it's in stark contrast to what other human body of your sex/gender look or feel like' is going to be part of it. Which would also be a parallel to what's implied with the Spacers.

Idk if I'm making sense but all in all I'm chewing drywall about it currently.

You can read Aye, And Gomorrah here, btw. Do it. Delaney is one of sci-fi's most prolific writers for a reason and the story has aged pretty well.

#the mars house #natasha pulley #long post

[yourlocaltrashpandaa]

This oneshot was originally posted on my second wattpad account and I wanna post them here instead because I know ppl will see them

++============++

Cat Paradise

++============++

Genshin Impact one-shot

{xiao x fem!reader}

++

"Hehe, I am never leaving!" You exclaimed, petting and giving all your attention that you could give to the cats that surrounded you.

You were visiting Liyue as you always did when you weren't busy with knight stuff. As a knight to the Knights of Favonius well a captain, you have a lot of duties on your plate and you can get them done with ease but that doesn't mean you overwork yourself with knightly stuff. You have a great relationship with work and play, taking care of yourself to keep yourself sane.

You decided to take leave for a bit with Master Jean's permission of course and used your time off to see Xiao in Liyue. You and the Mighty Yaksha had a strange relationship, you came to Liyue for the first time and you ran into the a Ruin Guard, you don't have a vision so you're lacking in that sort of power that's when Xiao came into the picture, saving you from the Ruin Guard.

The adeptus really intrigued you and being a curious knight you asked many questions and I mean a lot of questions. You didn't leave him alone and the small male found you annoying but you oddly fascinated him. So most of the time you spent in Liyue, you spent with Xiao.

And today was on of those days. One of the first times you and Xiao spent together you told him about your love for cats and you don't see too many in Mondstadt unless you went to the Cat's Tail which you don't go often since you usually don't have time to. So, Xiao decided to do something nice and took you to a place in Liyue where all the cats hang out.

Xiao has a weird habit of trying to make you smile. It made his heart beat quickly when you would but honestly he'd lie though his teeth when you ask him if he did this for you. Xiao would get embarrassed and tell you off saying "Of course not, mortal." But in reality he did.

"Xiao!" The yaksha had his arms crossed over his chest when turned his head to look at you when you called for him.

"What is it?" He asked.

"You did this for me, didn't you?" You asked with a smirk, having a cat in your arms

Xiao blushed red turning his head away from you smirking face. "Of course not, mortal. Don't be ridiculous." He growled.

"Sure. You totally don't listen to me when I talk." You said rolling your eyes with smile patting another cat on the head.

Xiao looked back at you as you sat in the middle a swarm of cats, giving them your undivided attention which made the adeptus slightly jealous and honestly he felt a little silly for feeling that way they're just cats not people, but that's another story.

The Mighty Yaksha scowled and he walked over towards you making the cats around you scatter as Xiao sat himself beside you. Both of your knees brushed against each other's and your shoulders side by side. You widened your eyes seeing Xiao sitting beside you a bit too close, it was a bit out of character for him and honestly you didn't mind.

Xiao's heartbeat quickened since you haven't said anything to him. He was relieved and scared at the same time.

"Xiao." He perked up at his name leaving your lips. He quickly looked over at you, your eyes meet, the next thing Xiao knew you picked up a cat near his face, making the cat's wet nose lightly press against his cheek. Xiao blushed as you pulled the cat away, a smile making its way onto your face.

"Thanks for taking me to a cat paradise." You said with the same smile on your face.

Xiao blinked a bit before a small smile appeared on his face. "Anytime."

#genshin x female reader #genshin fluff #genshin impact #genshin xiao #xiao x reader #x fem!reader #genshin fandom #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #x female reader

[crystallizedtwilight]

Hello!!!! I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I was just wondering if you’d be willing to share any of the inspirations or design choices behind your designs for various Shakespeare characters?

I’ve been a fan of your work for a while, and I was mostly just curious about how that process was for you? + Perhaps any characters who you found easier / more difficult to make designs for? Sorry for the long ask, I hope you have a good day/night!!!!

Sure! It will be quite long so I will put it under the cut:

My Designs for Hamlet:

[Reference Sheet]

Designing difficulty - Easy/Medium. I felt like I had a good vision of what I wanted these characters to look like since their personalities were all so distinct.

Hamlet - The platinum blonde hair is inspired by the the 1996 movie actor

Horatio - I designed Horatio to look very studious, since the first thing they do in the play is shove him out to talk to the ghost because he 'went to college' lol. I wanted him to have a soft, gentle, almost sad look to him, since we know what he will bear witness to

Ophelia - I designed Ophelia as a traditional goth because I figured if she was dating hamlet, as macabre/fascinated with death/moody as he is, perhaps she also had an interest in the beauty of darker aesthetics and subjects.

Laertes - As Ophelia’s brother, I wanted him to look very similar to her. He also has a canon fan club, so I tried to make him look quite dashing with his long, tied back hair.

Polonius - Goth dad

Rosencrantz - In the play, everyone keeps mixing up Rosencrantz and Guidlenstern so I wanted to design them both in a way that was extremely similar. I did this by switching the color palettes of their hair and eyes so they look somewhat different...but it might take you a moment to remember which is which.

Guildenstern - See above

Gertrude - Honestly I had just finished designing Sonia’s mother and that “older royal woman” hairstyle was still on my mind lol

Claudius - I think I had Théoden on my mind at the time

Fortinbras - His green eyes and curly hair are based on the 1996 movie actor, but I tried to make him look slightly more modern with his haircut and earrings

--

My Designs for a Midsummer Night’s Dream (Fairies):

[Reference sheet]

Designing difficulty - HARD. I redid Oberon's color scheme, like, 3 times. I wanted to design versions I had never seen before and that was not an easy task.

I am quite pleased with how these designs turned out as they took a lot of thought, are 100% original (uninspired by any play or movie version), and turned out pretty much how I'd hoped!

Titania - Colors Based on a rosy maple moth. I wanted her to be etherial but have something memorably absurd about her, hence, how I came up with the idea that spites hold up her hair so it does not collect leaves on the ground. Looking back, the one thing I think I would change would be the shape of her wings. I designed her before I designed Oberon, so I wish I had given Titania wings that matched the rosy maple moth's shape and let Oberon be the sole design with the luna moth shape.

Oberon - Based on a Luna moth

Puck - Based on a roseate skimmer. I wanted to design Puck in a way that was different from any version I had ever seen. Many performances give him an earthy color palette with many browns and greens and I wanted something totally different.

--

My Designs for Romeo and Juliet:

These designs are all simply based on the actors from the 2010 French musical. I exaggerated them a bit, such as making Mercutio’s hair purple, but all in all they are meant to represent the designs of the actors in this particular performance.

--

My Designs for Macbeth

[Reference sheet]

Lady Macbeth - I based her long, red hair on the 1971 movie actress

Macbeth - idk I just made like the most generic Macbeth ever lol, I don't really plan on drawing him again so I was lazy

--

Much Ado about nothing

[Reference sheet]

Designs loosely based on the actors in the 1993 movie

[mephinomaly]

[TL] Open the Door - Mayoi Ayase

Mayoi Ayase 3*

Character(s): Mayoi Ayase, Arashi Narukami, Mika Kagehira

Directory

Your skin is pretty as well, hm? ♪ Do you perhaps take good care of your appearance?

Mayoi: (Ahh… I’ve finally arrived to class)

(During the MDM, everyone in ALKALOID was in the middle of returning to school, and Aira-san was concerned that I wouldn’t attend lessons)

(I felt awful that I made Aira-san worry about someone like me, so that’s why I’ve come in today…)

(After all, there is no place for me in a classroom overflowing with sparkling idols……)

…………?

(It feels as if someone is looking at me…)

(Who would want to be in the same place as me…?)

Arashi: ………

Mayoi: (Narukami-san…? No. Someone who is at the centre of many shining people shouldn’t lay eyes on me. You’re being excessively self-conscious, Mayoi!)

(Ah~... I want to disappear completely. I should at least hide myself under this desk)

(After all, for a person like me I am more suited to being in the ceiling. Though, I shouldn’t create any more stress for Aira-san…)

…………

(Let’s actually go to class. Hnng, my body won’t stop trembling… though I’m sure it's from excitement)

Time: Lunchtime

(Haa…The long morning lessons are finally over. Now that it’s lunch, I want to at least escape from sight)

Arashi: Wait, Mayoi-chan

Mayoi: Hygah…!? I’m sorry I’m sorry, I’m sorry for being alive!

Arashi: Oh my, did I give you a fright? I’m sorry

Mayoi: N-no, it's fine…

Arashi: If you’ve not got any work to be doing, do you think I could speak with you for a sec?

Mayoi: Eeh!? M-me? Are you sure you’ve not got the wrong person…….?

Arashi: Fufu, I’m sure. It’s just a quick question

Mayoi: Aah, I’m sorry that someone like me has entered your field of vision!

Arashi: Uhh… all this apologising is unexpected. Do I really seem that scary?

I just wanted to ask you something about your hair

Mayoi: Hair..? My hair?

Arashi: Yup. It’s long and really pretty- I couldn’t help but be fascinated with it. That’s why I’d like to know how you look after it

Mayoi: But it’s not— m-my hair being long is nothing special…

Arashi: Don’t be so modest. If your hair is long, you must have a routine since it’s so lovely

Mayoi: T-that’s terrifying…

Arashi: …? Oh my, Mayoi-chan

Mayoi: Hygah!?

Arashi: Your skin is pretty as well, hm? ♪ Do you perhaps take good care of your appearance?

Mayoi: Aahwaaa…

Arashi: …Oh, I’m sorry. I should be more mindful when looking…

Hmm, TV cameras these days are pretty good, don’t you think?

Because of that, I’ve been more concerned about my hair and skin. I’ve gotten into the habit of tuning in straight away to check…

Mayoi: Ah, i-is that why? In that case, if I stand here, please observe me to your heart's content…

Arashi: Thanks ♪ Mayoi-chan is kind

I’m sorry, I feel like I’m taking advantage of your kindness… but you’re quite fair-skinned. What do you do to keep it like that?

Mayoi: It’s only because I’m a shut in…

Arashi: Hehe, is that so? Didn’t you give us a wonderful performance at the MDM?

Mayoi: Urk. I believe you may be talking about something different…

???: Heyyy, Naru-chan

Mayoi: ….Eek!

Arashi: Oh, Mika-chan ♪ Come on over

Mika: Oh, you're talkin’ to someone in our class

Arashi: Mhmm. Have you perhaps come to invite me out for lunch?

Mika: Yeah I was. Sorry for botherin’ ya though

Arashi: You shouldn’t think of yourself as a bother to me

Mika: But you’ve been speakin’ to this person from ALKALOID. Before ya knew it, you’re already friends

Mayoi: Hya, Narukami-san and I are friends…

Arashi: That makes me feel lonely if you say it like that, y’know? So, since we’re here, do you think you would like to come get lunch with us?

Mayoi: Eeeak!? With s-someone like me…?!

Mika: Let’s get lunch as a trio today. Nice t’meet ya, ALKALOID’s… uhh, Ayase-kun?

…Speakin’ of which. A while ago, Naru-chan invited just me out for lunch. How nostalgic~

‘m sorry I can’t hold a conversation as well as Naru-chan can… I feel bad

Arashi: Somehow, I get the feeling that Mika-chan and Mayoi-chan are going to get along just fine

Mayoi: Urk. I respect that you have volunteered to try to get me to join such a good circle of friends…!

Arashi: That’s quite the exaggeration. I just wanted to talk to Mayoi-chan for a bit longer

Though, I am being selfish. Of course, if Mayoi-chan would rather not, it’s okay to say no as well

I’ll invite you again, ‘kay? Do you want to come get lunch with us today? We might not end up getting on well, but you never know until you try, right?

Mika-chan and I are really good friends now, but we didn’t know that we would be at the beginning

Mayoi: Narukami-san…

Mika: It’s just like what Naru-chan’s sayin’

I’m not very good at talkin’ t’ people I don’t really know. If Naru-chan hadn’ta asked, maybe we wouldn’t be as good of friends as we are now

Ayase-kun, if you wanna, let’s be friends

Mayoi: (Let’s be.. friends…? Is that even possible…?)

(I don’t have a place in this class, or this school, or even this world. I don’t think I fit in amongst these people…)

(Aah, but still. If someone can reach out their hand like this—)

U-uh, it’s a pleasure to meet you…!

Arashi: I’m glad. Well then, from today, we’re friends ♪

Mayoi: O-okay…

Arashi: It’s decided then

Now then, let’s head over to the Garden Terrace. Lunch is almost over

Mika: Yer right, it’s gone real fast

Mayoi: Fufu, let’s hurry up then…!

#ensemble stars #enstars #translation #mayoi ayase #arashi narukami #mika kagehira