#without ever having the intention of drawing

[fayerie]

your legs are trembling - quivering petals held open under his gaze, thighs parted with purpose, vulnerability carved into the curve of your hips.

his fingers, slick and sure, sink deep into you - two knuckles brushing against something sacred, curling like a hook in your core, coaxing out the breath you didn’t know you were holding.

the sheets are twisted beneath you, sweat gluing the backs of your thighs to the mattress, your cunt dripping down onto his palm with every slow, devastating pump of his hand.

"god, you’re fucking messy," he mutters, the grin on his face all sharp teeth and glowing pride. "this is what happens when someone actually touches you right?"

you whimper, eyes glassy, lips parted around the breath he’s stolen, your head falls back, neck displayed as an offering, skin flushed.

he hasn’t even given you his cock yet.

suddenly, he strikes your clit with the heel of his palm - unkindly. the sound is wet and obscene, the sting blooming through you like lightning in water.

your body jolts, a shiver shot through bones, and for a moment, the world fractures; silver bursts behind your eyes, stars scattered across the dark of your mind.

it isn’t the force that undoes you, but the intent - measured cruelty, crafted to make you writhe, to draw that helpless little cry from your throat like thread through a needle.

you give it to him - of course you do, because you were made to tremble under gojo satoru, only he knows exactly how to make you beg without lifting a finger.

"p-please, gojo-"

"toru." he slows his fingers to a cruel, taunting rhythm. "say it like you mean it - otherwise, i’ll keep you here. like this. all night."

he leans down, glossy lips brushing your ear, voice sweet as honey laced with dripping venom, kiss too close, and it might be the last thing you ever do, "i’ve got nowhere else to be, sweetheart, not when i have you here."

he’s keeping you perched right at the edge, a breath away from breaking.

his eyes analyse every shudder, every trembling breath with precision, like a hunter savoring the slow unraveling of his prey.

you’re caught in that gaze - exposed, utterly consumed - as if he could swallow you whole without a second thought.

your lips tremble as you moan his name like a prayer - "toru, please - fuck, i need it - i need you-"

"yeah?" his breath fans over your flushed cheek. "you need this cock that bad, baby?"

he drags his fingers out and taps them against your clit once - twice - before his tongue darted out sucking the slick from them as if he’s tasting the most delicious, savoury thing in the world, "...mmhm..mh.."

his cock slaps against your thigh as he shifts between your legs, flushed and leaking with pre-cum, sooo thick you twitch just from the sight of it, he grins when he sees you stare.

"don’t look so scared now." he leans over you, positioning himself, sliding the tip along your folds, letting it catch right at your entrance. "you were mouthing off earlier, weren’t you?"

then - he sinks in. one brutal, gorgeous, perfect thrust.

you cry out, grabbing at his arms, nails digging into the muscle as he stretches you wide, too deep, too fast, but your cunt clenches around him like it’s been yearning for it.

"fuckin' tight-" he groans, head falling against your shoulder, "you're made for me."

his hips begin to grind before your lips even part - a fierce, merciless rhythm, both ruthless and fluid, like a dark river carving through stone. each thrust is a masterstroke, as if he’s memorized every curve, every shiver beneath his touch, wielding his body as though he's an artist bent on reshaping you.

his cock plunges deep again - hammering that sweet, sweet - secret chamber inside of you, each thrust stealing the air from your lungs, leaving you letting out the prettiest noises - each whimper a note in the symphony he’s coaxing from your body: his favorite melody playing just for him.

your body isn’t just reacting you realised - it’s worshipping him, every snap of his hips, every little pant against your neck, every hissed out praise and degrading taunt - you're drunk on him - oh, gojo satoru.. ? he’s lovin' it.

art by _3aem on twt

[electrikworm]

Poisoned:

Relationships: Clark Kent/Lois lane

Content Warnings: Blood and Injury, Kryptonite poisoning, Emetophobia

Summary:

Lois Lane's evening doesn't go how she'd expected it to when she comes home to Clark laying in her bathtub with kryptonite poisoning. With Clark barely strong enough to keep his own head up, it's up to Lois to save his life.

Word count: 3,222

Read on Ao3

Work bag tucked under one arm, plastic bag full of the few items she'd decided on to keep her fridge stocked a little better held in the other, Lois fumbles with her apartment key. It almost slips between her fingers, but Lois catches it by pinning it against the door. She has a better hold on it when she tries to get it in the keyhole the second time, and the door swings open with relative ease.

As soon as she's in her apartment, Lois places her bags on the floor with a sigh. All she really wants to do is sit down, but she'll have to tidy the shopping and try and figure something out to eat. Clark had planed to come over and cook something, but that had been swiftly wiped off the table when the messy incident over the airport unfolded.

Lois kept an eye on the live feed of the incident, the fight ending in Superman's favour in the end. It's not that Lois seriously doubted it would turn out that way, but she liked to keep up to date. By the looks of it, Clark would have to stick around to report on what happened, since that was his excuse for leaving work early.

So Lois gets to eat dinner alone after all.

Depositing her shoes at the door, Lois moves to collect her bags. But something makes her stop. She's sure she heard something, but it's gone the moment she notices it. Her hand instinctively goes to the bat she keeps near the door.

Exposing Lex Luthor a couple months ago has painted something of a target on Lois Lane's back. Nothing she can't handle, she was never under the impression that journalism would be a safe job. Not if you're set on reporting the truth, that is.

Ready to fight off any potential intruder, Lois waits for the sound to be repeated, giving away the location of its origin. As she advances, scanning her apartment for anything out of place, Lois's eyes catch something over the back of the couch, something bright red. She doesn't have to pick it up to know what it is: Clark's cape.

Lois still approaches it, running a hand over the hem of it, sighing. “Clark! One of these days I'm going to actually hurt you if you keep sneaking in here without any warning,” she shouts, knowing damn well that a baseball bat won't have a real chance of hurting Superman. Clark will have heard her arriving, likely from miles away if he was focused on it. Sometimes Lois gets the impression he forgets that she can't do the same and doesn't just sense that he's in her home.

Silence answers Lois's exclamation, leaving a bad taste in her mouth. It's already a little strange that Clark would leave his cape on her couch, but the silence is starting to unnerve Lois. Clark usually has the suit with him, but he's never this careless, leaving parts of it where others could see it.

“Clark?” Lois turns, eyes flicking around the living room. Is this a trap? Has someone set this here to confirm Lois Lane's connection to Superman and try and expose his identity? Inhaling sharply, her grip on the bat tightens again. Something felt wrong before, the feeling becoming steadily worse.

A loud clatter from the bathroom draws Lois's attention suddenly, sounding like something hit the edge of the tub. She rushes to the door, swinging it open with the intent to fight off anyone inside. The weapon almost immediately slips form her grip, clattering to the ground loudly.

It's Clark, like she'd thought when she first saw the cape, but not in a condition she ever hopes to see him in. Lois can't see what's wrong from the door, only knows that he can't possible be well by the fact he's laying in the bathtub, still in his suit, barely moving.

Anything but Clark forgotten, Lois lets herself drop beside the bathtub. He's curled up on his side, skin shockingly pale with a sickly sheen to it that intensifies around his veins that just screams of kryptonite poisoning. Face twisted in pain, frown on those lips that are so often forming a smile, Clark rests his head on his shaking arm. Lois's heart drops even further when she realizes just how bad Clark is shaking. The clatter most have come from the shower head falling. The pipe is partially wrapped around Clark's leg, the shower head laying on his side.

“Lois,” Clark rasps, trying and failing to lift his head. His unfocused eyes flicker in her direction. Lois can sense the apology that's about to leave his mouth before he can voice it.

“Don't, just tell me what's wrong and how I fix it.” Clark is dying in her bathtub and she has to solve it. There's hardly time to find anyone else to do so.

Clark shifts with such difficulty, it hurts to watch. “Kryptonite,” he slurs, gesturing to his side. Only then does Lois notice the hole burned in the side of Clark's suit.

That shouldn't be possible, Lois has seen that thing withstand all kinds of temperatures its been exposed to. But there's no denying it, there's a hole larger than both Lois's hands splayed out in the flank of Clark's suit. The skin underneath is covered in ugly blisters, small flecks of bright green clinging to the raw skin. Shit, it won't be easy to get all that off.

Lois grabs the shower head, turning the water on quickly. With an apology, she points the stream at the burn. Clark's breath catches in his throat, a broken cry of pain, so weak it's more of a groan, breaking past his lips.

It's sickening to watch Clark try desperately to hold still whilst clearly in agony. Upon Lois's insistence, he'd once told her what being around kryptonite felt like, information she'd never use for one of her articles. She knows that it's a pain like no other Clark knows, that it it feels like his body is being torn apart form the inside, withering away one cell after the other. Symptoms similar to a number of human illnesses – headaches, fever, nausea – surface with the poisoning too.

Despite it being necessary, Lois can't help but feel bad for worsening that pain for Clark. But it's this or death, and Lois knows Clark intended to do this to himself in the first place, that that's why he got in the bathtub. It still feels cruel.

Peeling back the burnt edges of the suit exposes the worst of the kryptonite poisoning. Among the burns, a different type of damage shows its self. It bares a resemblance to the blistered skin, though the skin look like its withered away. Radiation burns caused by the kryptonite.

It's hard to tell what damaged the suit, Lois's bet being on a chemical substance. Finding out what exactly happened will have to wait for later.

Clark groans, sweat soaked hair falling across his face as he twitches. His eyes slip closed again, and if his chest weren't still heaving with every intake of breath, Lois would worry he might have stopped doing so. Stopping to comfort Clark isn't in the cards currently, but Lois takes the time to brush his hair out of his face with one hand. His skin feels far too hot to the touch.

The water takes care of most of the kryptonite, though smaller shards of it still cling to the open wound stubbornly. Lois swears under her breath. She's going to have to switch to a more direct approach.

Turning the water off, Lois places the shower head on the edge of the tub. Clark grasps after it with a shaky hand, only succeeding on knocking it off the edge. As is loudly clatters to the ground for a second time and Clark forces an apology past a weak cough, Lois grabs a hand towel. Wetting a corner of it, she scrubs at Clark's side. Dead skin comes off with every movement, hopefully taking the rest of the kryptonite contaminating the wound with it.

The noise that Clark makes in response is heartbreaking. It's painfully obvious that he's trying hard to keep quiet, trying to keep from disturbing anyone or drawing attention to himself. Lois can't focus on that noise, can't let Clark's pain affect her. If she does, she might falter, a potentially fatal mistake with Clark's life depending on her.

Blood openly weeps from the burn now, soaking into the suit and staining the side of the bathtub as well as Lois's hands. She washes the towel off before flushing the wound out once more. Diluted blood flows from it and down the drain. Lois keeps going a lot longer than likely necessary, wanting to be certain the burn in clean.

After turning the water off, Lois carefully inspects the burn. Nothing green reflects or glints back at her.

“Clark?” Lois asks. “Did I get is all?” Clark doesn't react immediately, so Lois cups the side of his face carefully. He looks up at her with wide, glazed over eyes.

Nodding, Clark tries to sit up. Too weak for his arms to hold him up, Lois helps him with a hand on his back. “Think you did.” Sighing in relief, Lois runs a hand through Clark's hair.

A small smile crosses Clark's lips for all of half a second before he's doubled over. With a groan, he throws up. Most of the bile ends up on his shoulder and chest, sharp scent mingling with the smell of blood. “'m sorry,” Clark mutters, Lois shaking her head in response.

“No,” she says, grabbing another hand towel. He's already in the bath, so the clean up is a simple job. And it's not like Lois hasn't ever thrown up on her self in the past, for a less valid reason than this if she's not mistaken.

With the vomit washed away, Lois helps Clark sit up the rest of the way. He's barely upright as they use their combined efforts, Clarks significantly weaker than Lois's, to free him from the suit. Without it, Lois spots a number of ugly bruises that have been unable to heal thanks to the kryptonite. If Clark was still, it wouldn't be hard to mistake him for a corpse.

Delaying having to move Clark as long as she dares, Lois throws the largest towel she finds around his shoulders and offers her hands to him. Despite the poisoning and lingering injury, Clark has surprising strength for his state as he pulls himself up with Lois's help. Getting him over the edge of the bathtub is another story, little coordination remaining in Clarks limbs. After his leg gets stuck on the edge three times in a row, Lois pulls it over one-handed, keeping the other on Clark's shoulder.

As soon as his second leg is over, Clark stumbles into Lois and wraps his arms around her. If he weren't half dead, the action would be very sweet. Not wanting them both to end up falling to the bathroom floor, Lois manoeuvrers Clark so he's sitting on the closed toilet.

“I'm taking care of that burn, then you're resting,” Lois states firmly. Running, or rather flying, off to join a fight or the clean up actions of the incident that landed Clark here doesn't look like something he'd be up to currently, but Lois knows to make things like these clear. Clark hasn't got the best track record of being mindful with himself when he's in recovery.

Pulling the towel tighter around himself as he shivers, Clark's tired eyes are trained on Lois as she crouches down in front of him. “It'll be gone in a couple hours, don't bother.”

Lois knows damn well Clark's aware that that's not the truth. It'll take more than a few hours for the kryptonite poisoning to clear, and even if that wasn't the case, the sun just went down. Unless Clark suddenly recovers the strength to move somewhere where he can be in direct sunlight, he's stuck with that burn for a while.

“That's a lie and you know it. I'm not leaving an injury like that out in the open for that long.” It looks like Clark might protest further, but no attempt to argue leaves his mouth.

“Thank you,” he says instead. His knuckles are white with how hard he's gripping onto the towel. A dark red spot is spreading where the white fabric covers Clarks right side, prompting Lois to fetch her first aid kit quickly. Grabbing it from underneath the sink, Lois moves to Clark's right side, encouraging him to let go of the towel enough for her to see his flank. He complies, the way he shakes seeming to worsen with more skin being exposed to air. For someone that would walk around in the dead of winter wearing shorts and a t-shirt, the fact that the temperature of Lois's heated bathroom is bothering him is deeply concerning.

Tacky, half dried blood is smeared around the burn, more having run down his flank and across his thigh in the short time he'd been out of the bathtub. Using a clean corner of the towel, Lois wipes the area carefully. When she switches to disinfectant, Clark reacts with a low hiss, muscles in his arm and chest visibly contracting at the contact.

“Can't get an infection, Lois,” Clark protests weakly. Lois could be fooled into thinking it's the additional sting making Clark averse to the disinfectant, but knowing him, it's the fact that he may be wasting her time that's making him argue. Negating his own discomfort is so rarely a motivator for anything Clark does.

“You're almost human when you're recovering from kryptonite exposure, I'm not willing to take that risk.”

Clark goes quiet once more, expression pinched and lips pressed in a thin line.

For any human, a burn like this would have meant an immediate trip to the ER, but what is Lois going to do? She can hardly take him to a hospital. The first aid kit Lois keeps around isn't badly stocked, but she's not prepared for this extensive of a burn, potentially caused by a mix of chemicals as well as through radiation. Best Lois can do for it is cover the open skin with petroleum jelly and cover it by taping multiple smaller pieces of gauze over the wound. Only when she's certain it will hold does Lois stand up.

She doesn't get far, Clark fumbling for her hand with a weak swing of his arm. Lois takes a firm hold of his hand, preventing it from slipping away due to Clarks shaky grip. With her other hand, Lois cups the back of Clark's neck, running her thumb through his hair. His eyes are barely open as he looks up at her with a weary smile. Even if she were some metahuman megalomaniac with a general destain for all living things, Lois isn't sure she could perposefully harm the man sitting in front of her. She is, however, somewhat biased in this opinion.

Taking a moment to press a kiss to Clark's forehead, Lois tries to give him an encouraging smile. Leaning down to sling Clark's left arm over her shoulder, Lois takes a moment to steady them before walking. Clark's holding on to her tightly, most of his weight becoming Lois's problem to deal with. The couch would be nearer, but she won't make her sick boyfriend sleep uncomfortable when she can prevent him from doing so.

It's still strange to think of him as that, as her boyfriend, Lois thinks as they shuffle their way out of the bathroom. He was the guy she was going out with, but nothing as committed that she'd refer to him as her partner. A relationship was never Lois's main priority in life, and it's not like her and Clark are an obvious match. They come from completely different worlds, even without considering the fact that Clark is an alien.

For the longest time, Lois had interpreted Clark's kind and hopeful nature as an act, as a deceitful way to gain other's favour or make them underestimate him. The way he'd write his articles and how he'd weasel his way into allegedly getting interviews with Superman only served to piss her off further.

When they started going out, Lois never thought they would become anything serious, not lasting for more than a few months at best. But somehow, she fell in love with the ridiculous man that sees the best in others despite having being proven otherwise countless times, will tirelessly risk his own life for the safety of others and still swears with the exact same vocabulary his mother uses.

Once they reach the bedroom, Clarks legs give out from under him. He lands halfway on the bed, half still precariously clutched in Lois's arms. Groaning, Clark starts to pull himself fully onto the bed.

Lois helps Clark get into sleep clothes and pauses to dry some of the remaining moisture out of his hair. Thanking Lois again, Clark drops onto his side, curling up. Throwing a blanket over him, Lois promises to be back shortly. She has to still eat something, no matter how small.

In the light of the kitchen, Lois gets a good look at her stained hands. Blood has dried under her nails and in the creases of her skin. Using the sponge next to the sink, Lois scrubs off as much of it as she can, though the desire not to leave Clark alone for too long prevents her from doing the best job. Throwing what has to be refrigerated into the fridge, Lois grabs two pieces of toast and starts to eats them on her way back to the bedroom. She's still chewing one of them after changing into her own sleepwear and slipping into bed next to Clark.

He's barely conscious at this point, but reaches for her non the less. Lois wraps her arms around his shoulders, bringing his head to rest on her chest as she strokes a hand across his back, the other moving to tangle into his messy hair. Clark sighs softly, breath shaky. Despite how warm he feels against her, he's still shivering.

“Should have cooked today,” he mumbles into her shoulder. Lois almost laughs.

“When you come home and find me dying in the bathtub, I'll be sure to remind you to tell me it was my turn to cook too.”

Clark lifts his head to look at her with an expression reminiscent of a kicked dog. After giving him a look, Lois leans in to kiss the bridge of his nose. “Sleep, you need it.” For now, his recovery will be slow, but that'll change once the sun is up. And as soon as he's strong enough to get to the Fortress, Clark will be rid of the injury quickly. He'll likely still have to take at least a day off work, but that's a problem for tomorrow.

Taking a moment to consider what Lois said, Clark nods. Despite the pain Clark's in and the remaining worry Lois feels for the man pressed against her, they both fall asleep not long after that.

[cattysapien]

this might be a hard pill to swallow. but coming from someone who just went on a really long hiatus from drawing and had a several years-long journey of rediscovering my love for art… I think some of u online artists need to just take a break.

like— the amount of times I see people stressing about everything they post and beating themselves up for not being creative as they wish they were is insane. mama! you are burnt out! your mind and body are begging for a break. that’s why it feels taxing to create. that’s why validation isn’t cutting it anymore. that’s why you’re feeling doomed. the more you avoid taking a break and keep pushing yourself, the tougher the recovery process will be.

take. a. break!!!!!!!!!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

💙❤️Happy Holidays!❤️💙

[illusorysinger]

i put a new art in the queue but it's such a healthy queue now that it'll be weeks before it gets out and i'm thinking to myself. why not post all my new drawings now. why spread them out

[mostly-imagines]

So This Is Love

jason todd x fem!reader

aka you show each other what love is supposed to be like

4 in 1 blurbs

warnings: section 1: close-call panic attack for j, mentions of ptsd for j // section 2: implied sexual activity // section 3: mild angst w comfort // section 4: implied ptsd for j

He feels like his heart might burst through his chest.

The nightmare wasn’t anything unusual for him, but it did feel particularly vivid tonight. It was more of a memory than anything, though. That same one that plays on a loop in his head throughout the night the more he tries to push it away during the day. It was the last thwack of the crowbar that had him jolt awake in bed.

You shift in your spot next to him, opening your eyes to see his rattled state. If he’d been in a clearer frame of mind he would’ve lied to you. He would’ve expertly leveled his breathing and told you everything was fine and to go back to sleep.

But instead, he looks over at you with wide eyes, chest heaving and shaking like he might start hyperventilating at any moment.

You shoot up from the bed, instantly on alert. This isn’t the first time he’s had one of these nightmares around you, so it’s not hard for you to guess where this is coming from.

“Jay? What’s—what do you need?” You know better than to try and touch him unprompted right now, you’ve panicked enough yourself to know that sudden contact only makes it worse.

“I—I can’t, I—” Now he really looks like he’s about to lose all control of his breathing.

You sit up further, moving onto your knees. “Here, let me—can I see your hand?” you ask gently, holding your own out.

He extends it to you without question, a tiny act of vulnerability that he couldn’t have dreamed of doing in this state before he met you.

You flip his hand over, palm-up and start tracing lines over it in the moonlight. You’re looking at his hand quite intently like there’s something very important on it. It’s enough to make him question what the hell you’re doing. 

“I can read palms.” You tell him, simply. 

“What?” His voice almost breaks, like he’s right at the edge of tears. 

“Yeah, my friend taught me. I can tell the future and everything.” You look up at him, fingers not stopping their trailing. “Do you wanna hear yours?”

All he can do is nod.

You smile and start to inspect his hand carefully, tracing over calluses and a few tiny scars. You draw your finger across the short, deep line parallel to his fingers.

“This one…see the way it curves upwards right there?” He nods. “That means you’re very resourceful and ambitious. Like a leader.” His breathing starts to slow as he watches you, trying to focus on what you’re showing him in the dim light from the window.

“And this one,” you trace the line that curves downwards in the middle, “This one says that you’re strong and stubborn, which I can confirm,” he huffs out a laugh. It’s little but it’s genuine. “But it also means that you’re resilient. You’re built to overcome things and bounce back even stronger because of them. Which I can also confirm.”

He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. He takes in a deep breath, watching you draw patterns across the base of his palm.

The sensation soothes him in a way that he frankly didn’t know he could be soothed. He figures he usually can’t, except when it’s you. He tries to match your breathing, syncing up with you. If anyone else tried to get this close to him when he was on the verge of a panic attack they’d get punched, at best.

But you…you always know how to help him. He’s considered in the past that he did something really right somewhere down the line and you were sent to him as reward. He’d racked his mind for hours of every good thing he’d ever done, trying to find one that could explain your presence in his life. For anything that could explain why he deserved you. He poured and poured over every memory he could dig up but couldn’t find any good he’d ever done that surmounted to a single piece of the good in your heart.

There was a time when he would’ve thought—when he did think that you were only in his life to be taken away as soon as he felt safe. That would certainly be in line with previous experiences. But you showed him quickly that you have this way about you…it makes those loud thoughts in the back of his head shut up and just listen. Listen to your words, your breathing, your footsteps, your laugh…anything he could. Because it turns out, when he listens, he feels safe. 

He’s quiet for a long time, contentedly watching you work. He notices that at some point you’d stopped tracing the lines and began drawing designs instead. 

He breaks the silence after several minutes, softly commenting, “You don’t know how to read palms.”

“No, I do not.” 

But you continued to leave your invisible art on the palm of his hand just the same, both of you taking comfort in the sound of the other's breathing and the soothing feeling of each other’s skin.

The radio plays lightly in the background, surrounding your night with soft ambience. You’re working at the cutting board with tomatoes as Jason leans against the counter next to you, having just finished getting the pasta set up on the stove.

His hands find your hips, resting them there as he watches you work over your shoulder.

“Watch your thumb.” He comments when the knife gets a little too close for his liking.

You shrug him off, “I know how to do it.”

He eyes the way the knife stutters as you cut through the tomato, slicing through not very cleanly at all. “Doesn’t look like it.”

You ignore him, elbowing him gently in the abdomen. He’s joking, but he’s not. The skill level you’re displaying is only above Bruce and slightly below Tim, which is not great.

“Will you let me do it?” he asks you when he realizes there’s going to be no improvement. 

“Fine.” You relent with faux annoyance. 

You switch over to the stovetop, keeping a careful eye on the pasta as it cooks. It’s quiet for a moment as he works, chopping with much more efficiency than you had.  

“You didn’t have to stay here tonight, you know.” You say quietly, still intently watching the stove.

In spite of the music, your low volume does nothing to faze him as he continues his actions, “Why wouldn’t I?”

You stir the contents of the saucepan around. “Well, I know Roy wanted you to go out…”

“Not missing much.” He mumbles, opening up the above cabinet to get out plates.

You lull your head to the side, “Come on, he’s your best friend.”

Jason frowns. “He’s not my best friend.”

You turn your head towards him, “No?”

He meets your gaze, frown consistent. “No. You are.” He says it like he’s confused that you don’t know that. 

“Oh.” You smile, “You’re my best friend too.”

His eyes soften at that, a light smile gracing his lips. He knew that, and he knew you’d say it, but hearing it out loud just…does something to him.

You flick the stove top off, prompting him to on instinct reach for the Marinara jar and crack it open for you. He hands it to you and you accept with a smile, twisting it open the rest of the way as you turn back to the stove. The jar sputters as you open, spitting out sauce.    

“Oh, shit.” You hiss, when the splatter hits your shirt.

He takes one glance at the mess on your shirt and pulls his own shirt off his back. He’s tugging yours off just as fast, replacing it with his. You’ve barely processed what happened as he scans your body, eyes lingering on where his shirt stops at your thighs. “Can you wear this to bed tonight?” He asks, hands running over your waist.

You laugh, “Really?”

He meets your eyes, face serious. “Yes.” He squeezes your hip, “You look good.”

“In your shirt.” You say with a knowing smile.

“In my shirt.” He confirms.

You turn back to the stove to dish out the salsa, his hands skimming around your thighs as you do. He watches you as you work, though rather than watching your hands he’s fixated on the size of his shirt over you and how fucking good you look right now. 

“Or…” He sweeps his eyes over your legs before looking back up at you again. “Did’ya turn the stove off?”

You tilt your head at him, “I did…?”

He grins at you, lifting you up by your thighs til you’re a head above him. “Good.” He maneuvers you over to the counter, setting you on top. He brings your wrist up to his mouth to press a delicate kiss before dropping to his knees.

You’ve been laying in bed for at least three hours, bordering on sleep but never quite falling in. You and Jason had a little spat, though nothing insurmountable, it was still the biggest fight you’ve had to date. You’d tried going out (at night) to see your friend that was having a hard time, and yeah, you should’ve told Jason you were going. It was only five blocks, give or take, but in Gotham at eleven o’clock at night, it’s a risk to say the least.

You should’ve told Jason, you know. But he wouldn’t have let you go or would’ve insisted on putting hold on patrolling to accompany you. You always feel bad when he does that—people could be getting hurt somewhere because you needed your boyfriend to walk you down the street. Unfortunately, it didn’t matter in the end because he caught you red handed before you’d even made it a full block away. Of all the nights for him to come home early, it had to be this one.

He dropped down from the rooftop behind you and scared the absolute hell out of you, and you didn’t even have time to be relieved that it was just him because he was on you in a flash. 

“What the hell are you doing out here?” His voice was hard through the modulator, a rare tone for him to use with you.

“I just—my friend—” he sounded tired and angry, sure signs that he’d really not had a good night so far which was probably all the more reason that you shouldn’t have been out by yourself in the middle of the night.

“What are you—no! Go home. Now.” You would’ve, you really would’ve, but your friend called you crying about her boyfriend cheating on her again and she needed the in person support. 

“Ja—” You’d cut yourself off, “It’s down the street, it’s fine—” He dropped his shoulders in a huff and faced you dead-on. You didn’t need him to take his helmet off to know exactly how he was looking at you.

He dropped down and hooked his arm around the back of your legs, lifting you off the ground with no discernible effort. “Wha—”

He started walking before you were even fully planted on his shoulder, arm wrapping around your legs to hold you in place. 

“Hood! I am so fucking serious, put me down!” You swatted at his back and struggled in his grip, though in the back of your mind you knew it was a pointless effort. Even if you were a match in size, whatever mood he’d been pushed in was enough to guarantee that you had no chance. 

He ignored you, not even pretending that you were giving him any difficulty with your squirming. He marched you back down the block to your apartment, not stopping until you’re outside your door. He set you down in between him and the entrance, digging into his pocket for his key.

He kicked the door shut behind him, finally letting you go. He wordlessly grabbed one of his spare guns and two cartridges of ammo from inside the closet by the door and turned back to you with a firm stance. “Stay here.”

You immediately tried to push past him again, at that point more angry about him dragging you back here than about having to duck out on your friend. He stopped you, holding you by the arms, which led you to respond by raising your voice at him, “Jason!” 

But he didn’t waste any time letting you know how it is, “I will lock you in this fucking apartment. Stay. Here.” Him cursing at you like that was very rare and not a particularly good sign, so through your anger you’d made the decision that it was better to relent, for now. Your posture dropped and you frowned at him resentfully, a visible cue that you were giving in without you having to say it. 

He stayed true to his word and locked the door on his way out, though knowing you could easily unlock it from the inside. You’d trudged into your bedroom, slamming the door behind you.   

Now you lay on Jason’s usual side of the bed, partially because you do miss him, partially because the bed feels a little less empty when you can’t see all the empty space. You know he was just trying to keep you safe after what was probably a rough start to the night, so you feel less than great that you’d yelled at him.

Your dwelling over the memory is interrupted by a quiet creak of the bedroom door. You blink up at him blearily, “Jay?” You sit up, furrowing your brow. You didn’t even hear him come home. “What’s wrong?” You figure he must be hurt to come in here—it’s not unknown for him to sleep on the couch if he feels like he did something wrong or upset you.   

Your eyes attempt to adjust to the darkness, scanning over him for any injuries. He’s out of his armor and in his regular clothes which means he must have showered already. And you know from dozens of nights patching him up that he always tends to his injuries before showering.

This leaves you confused, as you look up at him, waiting for an answer. “I can’t…I don’t want to sleep without you.” He whispers, eyes on the floor. 

You shuffle back into your usual spot near the wall and hold your hand out to him expectantly. You’re still a bit cross with him, but you miss him too much to care right now.

It takes him a second to move, but he eventually lingers away from the door and makes his way to the bed. He takes your hand as he climbs onto the bed, letting go only when you lay down after him, staring up at the ceiling next to him. 

You weren’t entirely expecting him to wrap his arms around you and tug you into his chest. Somewhere in the back of your mind you’d assumed he would lay on his side and you on yours and that would be enough for him to fall asleep with. Instead, he tightens his arms and buries his face into the crook of your neck. You lay there in silence for a couple minutes, both thinking.

“You’re mad.” He mumbles into your shoulder after a while. You know he feels badly about the dispute, you knew it while it was still happening. As hard as he tries, he’s not very good at hiding his emotions. Not with you, anyways.

You shrug slightly. “Barely. I’ll get over it. This is more important.”

He picks his head up to look at you, “I love you. You know that?”

You wiggle out of his grip a bit, making him frown. You use the new space to flip over to face him, before placing his arm back around your waist. You peek up at him, looking him in the eyes, “I do. You know I love you. Even when we fight.”

He looks at you like he’s a bit thrown off by your words. “I’m sorry. It was just…it was a rough night…I—I’m sorry.” He tells you dolefully.  

You shake your head, frowning. “Don’t be. I should’ve texted you.”

“It—yeah. Please. I just worry about you.” He looks so sad and it makes you feel somehow worse.

“I know,” you whisper, “I’m sorry.”  

“Don’t be.” He kisses your forehead, not moving away after.

You feel like you can finally relax and your tense body doesn’t take long to slacken in his hold. Soon after, he does the same, both of you closing your eyes. You feel your heart slow and your mind starts to find a space of peace.    

Jason didn’t get it at first.

Honestly, he didn’t really realize that you noticed things about him that even he didn’t see.

Your neighbor was having their place remodeled and you knew there would be construction going on near your apartment all day.

Jason didn’t really care, planning to bury his head under the pillow and trying to sleep through it. You however, seemed very adamant about getting out of the apartment that day. You’d left hours before the construction crew had even gotten there, telling him it was a nice day out.

It was an alright day, but he let you have your way.

You held his hand as you walked down the street, looking into shop windows and commenting on things you think he’d like.

You led him into a book store excitedly, telling him about how the author he’d been binging had just published something new. He didn’t even know that.

You were browsing the sections, flipping through books as you went. You peered across the shop at a kid holding an absolutely massive pile of books, who was clearly struggling to keep them in his arms.

His mother tried to help him but he shook his head and strided away independently, albeit very slowly. The weight of the books though, did get the best of him, and you could tell by the quivering in his arms that he was going to drop them.

“Loud noise.” You said quickly, seemingly out of the blue. Jason turned to you, confused, before seeing the stack the books splat flat onto the ground. It was indeed a loud noise.

He tilts his head at you, though you’re still busy watching the little boy as he throws his head back in frustration.

“What was that?”

You look at him, “He dropped his books.”

“Yeah, I saw. But why—”

His question gets cut off by the kid bursting into tears, wailing. You turn back to look at him, your gaze getting caught by the new book you’d been telling him about. “Ooh!”

You grab his hand and pull him over with you, smiling widely when you have the book in your hands. The sight of you makes him feel so warm so fast that he forgets about the odd interaction all together.

A couple hours later, you sit outside a cafe and eat lunch together, his back to the road, you sitting diagnal to him.

He’s telling you about the shit Damian got in trouble for at school last week, holding your hand with his right hand and eating with his left.

“He thinks he’s not going to get expelled for pulling shit like that every other week, it’s ridiculous.” He says, tossing his napkin down on the table.

Your smile is wavers as your eyes move past his shoulder looking down the block before widening, “Car—”

The sudden noise startles him enough to make him visibly jump, hand flying to where his holster would be. He looks over at the fender bender, shoulders relaxing.

He turns back to you to find your eyes looking far more worried than they should. You seem to be scanning his face, looking for something and he’s about to ask you what’s wrong when it sinks in.

He does get scared by unexpected loud sounds, doesn’t he? He never really thinks of it until it happens, but his mind is trained to expect gunshots or crowbars making impact.

It doesn’t happen often, but it noticeably takes a little piece out of him when it does.

“You…” he tries, but falters. He’s not even sure he’s processing this right.

He’s never seriously tried to fathom that you love him half as much as he loves you, though love doesn’t feel like a strong enough word. He lives and breathes for you, you’ve become a lifeline he’d been stranded without for most of his life. But now you're here and you’re everything, you’re in his head all the time, in every emotion he feels.

He thinks he’s here for you, that he was brought back from the dead because of you. You can’t possibly understand how much his heart is full of you, he doesn’t understand it himself.

He knows you love him, he’s gotten that through his head. But he can’t get a grasp on the idea that he’s equally matched in the who loves who the most battle.

Do you really care that much about him to go out of your way to keep track of things that might startle him? He knows there’s a million things about you that are in the back of his mind at any given time, but surely you don’t operate that same way with him?

Do you?

There’s this burning in his heart that aches and it only gets stronger when he sees you looking at him like that. So genuine. With care, with love.

He squeezes your hand, “I love you. More than anything.”

The look on your face sinks back into that sweet, adorable look that he’s so used to and it makes him want to scream.

You smile that bright smile and it sends his heart rocketing into oblivion. “I love you.” You squeeze his hand back, “More than everything.”

He feels like his heart might burst through his chest.

[yameoto]

caitlyn jerking off into (all) your panties

tw; jealous!caitlyn, pantyhuffing, pantyfucking, somnophilia, brat!tamer!caitlyn except she’s also a brat (what is cumming in all your girlfriends panties if not an exceedingly explosive temper tantrum) wc; 1.6k

She'd never. Caitlyn is not some lowlife pervert. On a usual day, if she felt the need—she’d simply use you, instead. Like, c'mon. Get serious. Why would she do that when she could simply pull you over with a kiss to your nape and have your pussy greedily suck up her cock and the cum she so graciously spills into you? All deep and eager and ever so snug around her shaft? She'd never stoop so low as to go about fishing around your dirty laundry. Not when she has the real thing. How dare you even suggest that.

You know, on a usual day. Unless. Unless if it were a day she wanted to give you a little reminder of just who you belong to; but without granting you the satisfaction of her, inside of you. Filling you up, like your insatiable, greedy little pussy always so aches for. Unless if it were a day you were begging for her attention, in ways she finds completely fucking distasteful. For instance; if you were at some social event—philanthropy (what a joke), your hand curled around that boy from Noble House of Whatshisface? Laughing, that hopelessly infatuating laugh that carries across the breeze and infects a flurry of heart-eyes across the entire pavilion. 

On a day, in which Caitlyn is incorrigibly, inconsolably, infuriatingly jealous.

She knows you’re just begging for a fuck. Just by the way your head slants and your eyes meet hers, for the briefest moment. Eyes glittering, even though you can’t possibly see the way her grasp tightens on her wine from the way you’ve leaned so close. Her darling brat who will act a complete and utter slut for her attention. 

But Caitlyn won’t give you what you want. What good would that do? She does, however, give you the cold shoulder for the night. Eye-patch facing you, and all. It’s infuriating, for the both of you. Usually, she’d have your legs hooked around her shoulders as she fucked the utter audacity out of you, already. The entire night, you’re on edge, waiting for her to roughly yank you to the side and just fuck you, already.

(Not that Caitlyn doesn’t want to. Oh, the thought has pre-cum stickying her panties and her dick drawing up, underneath her backless dress that hugs her figure like so. Yet, alas, because you’re so intent on being such a fucking brat—the two of you are as stubborn as mules—and there's no way in hell she'll give you the satisfaction. Though, that being said; that doesn’t mean she should refuse herself of her own pleasure.)

Which has her; here. Settled on the end of the bed, eyes lidded heavy as her cock rouses in her hand, simply at the sight of your sleeping form. Granted, it helps that you’re moaning her name.

“Cait—“ That breathy little voice does wonders. You roll over, thighs squeezing in your sleep. She wonders, what exactly you’re dreaming of. If even in your sleep, you’re still whining for her to fill you up and fuck you raw. She did send you to bed, wet and wanting, after all.

Caitlyn skims her nightgown over her thighs, and silently slips the drawer to your underwear open. Has one of your clean panties in her hand, wrapped around her cock, in only seconds. Her breathing shallowing as she falls back against the bed, propped up by the elbows, gliding the silken fabric along her length. 

Her hand curls into a fist, pre-cum spurting out in gobs. Her slit, glossy. She hisses, low, so as to not to wake you—as she slowly begins to jerk herself off by the fabric of your panties. Biting back a growl when your legs brush against her hips and the skinship is enough for a guttural sound to crawl from her throat, eyes fluttering upwards as her pace increases. God, if only you weren’t such a brat, today. She could be unloading in you, instead of her fucking the daylights out of your laundry. You certainly wouldn’t be asleep right now, if that were the case.

Caitlyn takes a deep, shuddering breath, sliding up and over to nose into the nape of your neck, still fisting her cock through the thin veneer of your underwear. She breathes you in, eyes rolling back as her dick slides, pressing against your ass, heat against heat. It leaves a slick residue behind. Still, she can’t do anything about it—that would ruin the point of all this—and instead, she’s left to fantasise the feeling of you; stretching around the thick girth of her cock. How you'd take her as she burrows her deep, deep inside; jammig herself, impossibly flushed—at a slight tilt, the way that always gets you screaming—her cum dripping hot from your hole.

She orgasms, just thinking of the strangle. 

Caitlyn cums into your panties, again, and again and again. A fresh pair, each time, until none of your undergarments are even remotely wearable. They're drenched—completely saturated in her cum. No match for the warmth of your cunt, but it’ll do.

She saves the prize for last, of course. By now, she’s panting, elbows wobbly as she grunts in effort, lifting herself up off the end. Her dick pulses weakly in her hand. 

It takes an immeasurable amount of her willpower; to not press her still-leaking head along your folds (glistening, pulsing, tempting) and settle for dragging your panties, cautiously, down your shifting legs. Oh, fuck. They’re so wet. Like; so-fucking-wet. She can smell it.

Ugh. 

She smothers herself with your used panties and breathes in, deep. Shit. They’re still warm, dampness stifling against her cheeks. A whine, filtered by the way she burrows herself into the fabric. She’s not sure quite what you’re dreaming about (her cock splitting you open, hopefully. At least, that's what she’s dreaming of, right now), but it’s certainly left your panties practically drowned.

Her cock twitches back to life, and never had Caitlyn been so happy to have the refractory time of a volcano as she bites into the wet fabric and beats herself til’ she’s raw. Half-delirious on the scent of your arousal, dampening the fabric—along with her own saliva, her own cum, for each time she feels her balls tighten and her muscles seize she’s wrapping the silk around her cock again and burying her face into the mattress to muffle her croons. The fact your cunt is only inches away, so tantalisingly close, only serves to drive her further off the edge—stuffing your panties back up to huff as she gets intoxicated on the aftermath of your wetness.  

When she's finally, finally, milked herself dry—she flops back, beside you. Thanks the stars you’re such a heavy sleeper. Her cock sighs downwards, head swollen and rubbed raw, uselessly splurging the leftover cum as her balls clench and unclench, thoroughly fucked herself out. 

(And she calls you, insatiable).

The next morning, the bed is empty. Caitlyn’s an early riser, so you don’t think anything of it. Sluggishly, head foggy with sleep, you blindly reach to slip into the panties you left out to change into, last night (because your admirable pre-emptiveness includes anticipation of wet dreams) and— oh. Oh, my god.

It's wet. And sticky.

You pad to your girlfriend’s study, irritation (and arousal) prickling all over. Each motion sends an uncomfortable squelch along your thighs, as the damp fabric clings to your skin, and the sodden warmth of your folds.

“Caitlyn.” 

“Yes, love?”

“You came in my underwear.”

“Mm.”

“You came in all my underwear.”

Not for the first time, you curse all the gods below and above and currently walking the earth that blessed Caitlyn with such an impeccably statuary poker face. Her impassive, “Mhm,” betrays nothing, though, the exaggerated sip of her tea belies a spark of deep, deep amusement at the sight of you standing in the doorway, in only your panties, the damp spot of her own cum soaking it to the bone. You are evidently, pissed. And reeking of her. It’s delightful. 

“I suppose you’ll just have to go commando, til' they're washed.”

“You did this shit on purpose!“ You accuse, ignoring the hotness in your cheeks as you dangle one of many soiled pairs in your hands, waving the sopping thing as if Caitlyn isn’t intimately aware of how it felt to ruin your clothes with each arc and spurt and burst of her cum. (Extremely good, if you were wondering). 

“Did I, now?” Caitlyn doesn’t even flinch, though she’s stopped bothering to stifle a smirk. “Did you or did you not, slobber all over that pageboy in hopes that i would drag you away and fuck you in an impassioned fit of jealousy?”

Ok, well.

“Not. Don't be conceited.” You scoff, ignoring the crimson on your cheeks and sudden flare of heat sparking between your legs because, fuck, yes. That's precisely what you were gunning for. 

She shrugs, like, have it your way, and returns to matters that are entirely less important than your current lack of wearable underwear. You whine. Consider stamping your foot, even, because hello? It takes another two seconds of standing there in your underwear, hardening with your girlfriend's inexplicable amount of cum, for you to cave.

“Fine. Whatever. We're even now. Let me borrow one of yours—we have a meeting in an hour.”

“Hm. No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“I mean; no.”

“What? You already didn’t fuck me yesterday.” Maybe you sound a little whiney, but really. You'd pulled out all the stops, and Caitlyn hadn’t even stuck you the tip. Continued punishment seems wholly unnecessary. “This isn’t fair.”

“So, you think you’re entitled to my cock, now? That's awfully manipulative of you. Consent is important, you know.”

You scoff. “Oh, rich coming from the woman who just used my entire underwear drawer as a cumrag.”

Caitlyn sighs, faux wistfully. “Aren’t we made for each other?” 

Her laugh follows you as you storm out, throwing your hands up in the air and accepting your fate, (if only because you know she’ll ghost her fingers up your thigh and slide her digits into you, under the table, during said meeting. You know her like the back of your hand. That's when you’ll get the fucking you deserve.) 

Caitlyn can only hold herself back so much, after all. For now, though—you'll have to suffer with the stickiness between your thighs—and the wretched ache in your cunt. Ugh. You'll take care of it. All by your lonely self.

Man. Fuck your girlfriend.

[lotuswish]

˗ˏˋ how they hold your hand (housewardens & jamil) ⭑ .ᐟ

synopsis: fingers intertwining, a gentle squeeze, the warmth of a palm against yours—how each boy holds your hand says more than words ever could. from shy, lingering touches to firm, protective grips, every gesture is a glimpse into the way they love.

featured character(s): riddle rosehearts, leona kingscholar, azul ashengrotto, kalim al-asim, jamil viper, vil schoenheit, idia shroud, malleus draconia.

content warning(s): none.

a/n: just a cute and silly idea i had at 3am. :3

link(s): (masterlist)

riddle rosehearts

riddle holds your hand like it’s a delicate porcelain teacup—carefully, with just enough pressure to keep it secure. at first, his fingers are a little stiff, his cheeks faintly pink as he focuses on not fumbling. he tries so hard to get it just right, and when he feels your fingers relax in his, his grip softens, almost shyly. he’ll sneak a glance at your face, and if he catches you smiling, his hold tightens slightly, a quiet boost to his confidence.

“i hope… this isn’t too forward,” he says softly, his voice careful and deliberate, though his gaze lingers on your joined hands with the faintest hint of pride.

leona kingscholar

leona’s hand intertwines with yours with effortless confidence, his hold firm yet unhurried, carrying a subtle possessiveness—like your hand was always meant to be in his, and he has no intention of letting go. his fingers slide between yours with ease, and he occasionally shifts your hands against his leg or his side, keeping you close without making a fuss. if you try to pull away, even as a joke, he’ll tug you back with a low grumble, his tail flicking once beside him in annoyance.

“don’t start something you can’t finish, herbivore,” he drawls, his tone low and gruff. though he acts nonchalant, deep down, it's his way of keeping you close without having to say it out loud.

azul ashengrotto

azul holds your hand like he’s trying to make the perfect impression, his fingers enveloping yours carefully, almost methodically. his palm is cool, and every so often, his grip tightens subtly, like he’s testing the waters to see if this is really okay. though he maintains his composed expression, his gaze flickers nervously between your face and your joined hands. when he sees your reassuring smile, the faintest flush of pink spreads across his cheeks, despite his efforts to stay collected.

“i trust this arrangement is… satisfactory?” he asks, his voice soft and composed, but the way he clears his throat afterward betrays his nerves.

kalim al-asim

kalim grabs your hand without hesitation, his fingers threading through yours in a fluid, lively motion, like he’s been waiting to do it all along. his grip is strong and eager, a comforting warmth radiating from his palm. the giddy smile on his face makes it clear that your touch is his favorite thing in the world. as you walk, he swings your joined hands, and every so often, he’ll squeeze your hand gently or press it against his chest when he’s particularly excited about something.

“i’m so glad you’re here with me,” he says, his voice bubbling with joy, as though holding your hand is the highlight of his day.

jamil viper

jamil holds your hand with calculated ease—his touch appears casual, but every movement is deliberate. his fingers lace with yours slowly, his grip just firm enough to keep you close without drawing attention. to anyone else, it might seem detached, but the way his fingers subtly shift to match your movements or the faint, almost unnoticeable tension in his shoulders reveals the truth: he’s hyperaware of you.

he doesn’t say much, but after a quiet moment, he glances at your hands and murmurs, “you don’t have to hold on so tightly,” his tone calm, though the slight squeeze he gives your hand betrays just how much he doesn’t want you to let go.

vil schoenheit

vil holds your hand with an air of practiced elegance, his fingers lacing with yours smoothly, as if even the smallest gestures between you deserve the utmost intention and care. his grip is steady and purposeful, his hand fitting perfectly against yours. sometimes, he’ll lift your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against your knuckles before letting his fingers curl a little tighter around yours.

“your hands are quite lovely,” he murmurs, his tone carrying its usual polished air, but softer, more personal. “i suppose i shouldn’t be surprised—everything about you tends to draw the eye.”

idia shroud

idia starts by linking pinkies with you, his hand hovering awkwardly at first. his skin is warm and a little clammy, his nerves written in the way his fingers twitch slightly. after a few moments, he works up the courage to slide the rest of his fingers into place, his grip loose but earnest. his hand fidgets slightly against yours, like he’s still adjusting, but when he notices you’re not letting go, a shy, genuine smile tugs at his lips.

“uh… your hand’s… really warm,” he mutters softly, his voice unsteady as the tips of his hair flicker pink. “it’s… kinda nice, actually.”

malleus draconia

malleus holds your hand with a quiet reverence, his long fingers intertwining with yours with a gentle but steady grip. his touch carries a subtle chill, and there’s a deliberate care in the way he adjusts his hold, as if mindful of not startling you. occasionally, he lifts your hand slightly, aligning his palm with yours as if to compare their size. his fingers slowly curl around yours again, his touch gentle and his gaze filled with quiet wonder, as though the contrast holds a meaning only he can understand.

“your hands are small, child of man,” he says softly, tilting his head as if deep in thought. “yet they feel as though they were meant to be held by mine.”

congrats on making it to the end! if you enjoyed this, likes, comments, follows, and reblogs are always appreciated—they help motivate me to keep creating and sharing!

[sonicboomseason3]

a brief recap of what has been going on with the sonic movieverse in the past several months:

paramount has come out in public support of israel

keanu reeves, a man who has publicly rubbed elbows with none other than benjamin netanyahu, reportedly gets cast as shadow for the upcoming third movie

james marsden, the guy who plays tom, got exposed as having written a letter of support for a convicted pedophile

there's fucking??? zionist propaganda in the knuckles series???

kind of connected to the last point but adam pally, the guy who plays wade, is evidently pro-israel too

this is a complete and utter joke.

EDIT AS OF 4/30/24: if people see this version of the post, i'd really appreciate it if you reblog it instead of the other versions, as it's the most updated one with all the information that i want included. thank you :]

you know, it's been a few days since i've made this post, and some of you (not most) are staying determined in defending/justifying/giving the benefit of the doubt to keanu for that photo with netanyahu, whether it's because "it was a decade ago," "him being civil to someone he ran into at a party one time doesn't mean anything," "he's probably just silent because his pr managers won't allow him to speak up," etc. i've made my thoughts on the matter quite clear by directly responding to these people, but at this point, i'm tired of both seeing them in my notes and repeating myself, so take this as my final word on the issue.

i can't help it if you don't think the photo with netanyahu is damning, and i'm done engaging with everyone going out of their way to tell me that. i obviously disagree, especially after finding out that 1. the host of the party, arnon milchan, is a former israeli spy who has a history of developing israel's nuclear program and promoting apartheid in south africa (information that had broken out a few months prior to the party and thus would've been fresh news around the time keanu chose to attend) and 2. keanu has been caught hanging around at least two other weirdos, but if you don't find any of that to be cause for reasonable concern, then there really is nothing else i can say afaik.

with all that said, i'm beginning to realize how strange it is that these people's first instinct when seeing this post is to start debating about keanu's political stances without ever acknowledging any of the other bullet points. you guys realize that this isn't just about him, right? i know tumblr reading comprehension is known for being piss-poor, but like… you realize that i was trying to make a point of how there are MULTIPLE terrible things that have broken out about the people and company involved in the sonic movies, right? and yet, a lot of the people leaping to speak on keanu's behalf in my notes are completely ignoring the parts where i bring up paramount, pally, etc. all in favor of zeroing in on the singular point about keanu and making bad faith assumptions about me for holding him accountable. really makes one wonder where your priorities lie if, in a post that talks about so many other things, me accusing an a-list celebrity with, according to google, a net worth of almost $400 million is where you draw the line and apparently the only thing worth your acknowledgment.

ultimately, what i'm trying to say is that the intention of this post was just to gather up everything that i had been hearing for the past several months and put it all together in one place. there were a bunch of people who didn't know about at least one of the bullet points before seeing this post, and i'm glad that i could help inform them, that was what i was hoping to do! but as for the keanu thing, i've said pretty much all i can say for now, and i don't want to derail the original post even more than i may have already. unless something new comes up, i'm done talking about him.

[jinusajas]

11/10/24; 09:04am

{ 18+ drabbles / headcanons }

[ when you try to break up with them, and they convince you otherwise ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel

queued post; published time 02:50pm

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

sylus no longer had the time to be with you, filling his days with various meetings and conferences while you were left to your own devices back at home.

and when your text messages were left unread, coupled along with how your calls would always end up going straight to voicemail-

you decided that enough was enough.

knowing that he had just returned from a business trip last night, you take quick strides towards his office with your suitcase in tow. you had every intention of showing just how tired you were of being neglected by him, and that you were through with being a mere afterthought.

not even bothering to announce your arrival, you grab at the door's handle and fling it open, allowing them to slam against the walls. sylus quirks an eyebrow at you, looking away from the gun he was currently polishing.

"what's this? is my kitten throwing a little tantrum?"

"i'm not your kitten- not anymore." you hiss at him, tossing back your hair while meeting his crimson gaze. "i'm leaving you, and that's the end of it."

a flash of annoyance was seen in his gaze, and he trails his eyes downward, finally noticing the suitcase in your hand.

"is that so?" with a click of his tongue, sylus pushes aside his gun, taking casual strides toward you. when he stands before you, his smirk seems to widen before placing his hand beneath your chin-

yet what you weren't expecting was for sylus to pin you against the wall, tossing aside your skirt while sliding down your panties with his teeth, revealing your soaked entrance to him. as he inserts a finger within your slick heat, thrusting that single digit in and out of you to draw out even more moisture from you, you could no longer resist him-

could no longer ignore just how much you had missed this intimacy with him.

the sensation of it all was enough to make you toss your head back in response, nails gripping at his hair when sylus manages to hold you by the back of your thighs, keeping you upwards using his strength alone before diving into your honeyed sweetness with his tongue. you gasp and unconsciously began moving your hips-

riding his face as your pushed your aching cunt against sylus's eager mouth. using his skilled fingers, he keeps thrusting it in and out of you, drawing out even more of your breathy moans as you felt your abdomen clench in response to your incoming release. within mere seconds, you felt a rush coursing through your veins, climaxing within sylus's awaiting mouth as he groans at there pure taste of you, swallowing all that you had to offer him.

feeling like your legs had effectively turned to jelly, you nearly fell to the ground had it not been for sylus. he keeps you pressed against the wall, using his free hand to unbuckle his belt before pulling his cock out of it. you tremble, seeing the way his lips were still shining from the evidence of your release briefly before crying out to him the moment his cock impales you.

"heh, as if you could ever live without me." sylus speaks to you in harsh tones, fucking you against his wall when his hips harshly met with yours in a series of passionate thrusts. "i won't let you leave me, not when everything i have done was for the sake of your happiness."

even while he was speaking, you couldn't bring yourself to understand him, feeling his cock filling you so well that you gripped him with your walls almost greedily. as if reading your mind, sylus gives you a shit-eating grin, leaning closer to whisper hotly in your ear,

"as if you could live without this cock."

you knew that zayne was a busy man that had big dreams of becoming the best cardiac surgeon in the world-

however, you felt like you were getting in the way of zayne achieving his dreams.

it wasn't like zayne was ignoring your calls, or remained unavailable because he was ignoring you. that was never the case when it came to him. in fact, you understood that he spent most of his days performing surgeries that would save lives-

and he shouldn't have to deal with you when you felt like you were nothing more than a distraction for him.

when evening came, you arrive at akso hospital with a solemn expression on your face. in your hand was a bag filled with various dishes you had prepared for him. this would be your final act of love and kindness for him before you broke it off with him.

arriving at his office, you felt your throat clench up with anxiety, knowing that what you were about to do was by far your hardest feat yet.

taking a moment to gather your thoughts, you breathe in deeply before knocking at his door. a faint 'come in.' was heard coming from the other side when you invited yourself inside his office.

zayne was settled in front of you, remaining seated at his desk all while appearing worn out. his hair was messy, like he had run his hands through them many times throughout the day. once you shut the door, zayne sees your figure approaching and gives you a tiny smile, "hello darling... what brings you here?"

you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze, settling the packed meal off to the side before admitting to him, "z-zayne, you deserve better than me."

shock was written all over his face when he stands from his seat, "what do you mean?"

you shake your head while clenching your eyes shut, "i mean- you're someone who surpasses me. you save lives with what you do, a-and i just feel like a distraction to you and your dreams. that's why, i'm break-"

however, your words were cut off when zayne grips at your chin before pressing his lips against yours in a searing kiss. it was enough to make your mind go hazy, forgetting all about what you wanted to say to him when he delves his tongue into your mouth. your respective tongues fought for dominance, and you were losing this battle against him.

"z-zayne, stop, i-i can't think clearly when you do t-this."

zayne let's out a sound between a grunt and a groan, "then don't think, just feel."

and just feel you did.

all forms of coherency were lost the moment zayne places you on top of his desk, shoving aside all of his paperwork before kneeling before you. with your pants off, zayne spreads your legs all while pocketing your panties, wasting no time when he shoves his face within your slick heat.

his tongue was felt tracing at your pussy lips, making you cry out as your hands automatically delve themselves into his hair. you tried to bite down at your bottom lip, not wishing for anyone to see you in this compromising position with your exboyfriend.

knowing the ins and outs of your body intimately well, zayne was able to curve his fingers and swirl his tongue within the depths of your walls. he expertly draws out your honeyed arousal with a groan, and with a final pinch felt at your bundle of nerves, you released yourself completely into his hot mouth.

the intensity of your orgasm kept you in a daze, making you dimly aware of the sounds of shifting fabric before something hot and velvety was felt pressing against your entrance. a single grunt of your name was all the warning you were given when zayne pushes his cock inside of you, not stopping until he was completely sheathed.

zayne sets a steady pace, gripping at your clothed chest while ramming his cock in and out of you. he was panting, unable to ignore the sensation of your tight walls gripping him so sweetly when he tells you-

"i won't let you leave me... not when you're the only thing that keeps me grounded in this world."

you knew that your boyfriend's life was not only busy, but filled with danger as well.

it wasn't easy, working as a hunter while coming home exhausted nearly every single day. and despite how lonely you felt without him by your side, you figured it was best to end things now before it got too serious.

your heart was still a wreck at the thought of it all, because really, could you break things off with someone sweet like xavier? could you bear the thought of seeing his innocent, blue eyes filling with tears as you broke it off with him?

but at the same time, wouldn't he be better off without you? where he wouldn't need to think about your happiness-

your heart jumps within your chest when you heard the sounds of the door unlocking, revealing xavier as he alerts you of his return. tired, blue eyes met with your panicked gaze, and you felt so anxious that you simply blurted out-

"let's break up."

the sleepy quality of his eyes were gone now, with xavier standing up rigidly, "what?"

you refuse to meet his gaze, afraid that you would turn into a coward and back out. choosing instead to ignore him, you began to ramble all while gathering your belongings together, "it's just, well, you work all the time, and it wears you out. it feels unfair of me to take away all of your time and i just- you deserve less stress in your life, and i'm certainly not helping, being a burden and all, a-and-"

your rants were cut off when xavier stands behind you, wrapping his arms around your front before picking you up. a flustered expression was seen on your face, and you tried to wiggle yourself out of his embrace-

only to feel xavier's arms tighten around you, ignoring your protests when he enters the bedroom before placing you on the bed.

"we are not over." xavier speaks to you in a matter-of-fact tone. "and just to prove that you're wrong..."

he hums, eyes never once looking away from you even as he places his hands down the waistband of your pants, making you gasp when you feel his calloused hands touching at the border of your entrance. "you're not a burden to me... you never were, and you never will be."

you end up gasping while arching your back against the bed, feeling xavier's slender fingers dip inside of you. he thrusts his fingers in and out of your slickness all while pinching at your clit. unable to stop him, you were only able to grip at his biceps, your back arching against the bed as xavier thrusts his fingers in and out of you. the overwhelming sensations of pleasure were almost too much for you to handle-

yet xavier refuses to stop.

he keeps on toying with your aching core, drawing out even more moisture from you when you suddenly released yourself against the palm of his hands just mere seconds later. letting out a hum of your name, xavier extracts his hand from your now soaked panties, admiring the shiny quality of his fingers as evident of your release.

curious blue eyes admire his stained fingers for a moment before putting it in his mouth to lick it clean. "hng... so sweet..." he meets your flustered gaze, blue eyes now eclipsed with darkness as evident of his desire. "i need more..."

filled with desperation and need for you, xavier grips at your clothes, seeming to rip them away from your body before tossing it in a pile on the ground. with both of your bodies left bare, xavier wastes no time when placing his face between your legs, devouring your soaked core a man starved-

and when he manages to thrust his cock within your silken walls, let's just say you both forgot about your talk of breaking up.

"let's forget all this talk about us being over... and have you ride my face instead."

your eyes go wide upon hearing rafayel's bold words, and you found yourself at a standstill now.

knowing rafayel's passion for art, you felt like you had gotten in the way of his work. there were times where you felt like you were a nuisance to him, especially when he had to stop working on a commission each time you came over, or even called him, voicing your desires to be with him.

despite how rafayel never minded sharing his time with you, your anxieties kept telling you otherwise, the scathing voice in your mind filling your heart with doubt.

like how you were simply an unnecessary distraction for him-

that you were someone that got in the way of his work and dreams-

that rafayel never needed you.

deep down, you knew that your boyfriend never viewed you in such a manner because of how much he loved you-

yet in the end, you allowed your deprecation to win, convincing both your heart and mind that rafayel was only with you out of pity.

but when you tried to break things off with him-

rafayel simply met your gaze while demanding that you ride his face instead.

were you missing something?

"rafayel, didn't you hear what i just said? we're ov-"

"oh i heard you loud and clear, alright. i just refuse to do it." the young lemurian purposely cuts off your words all while giving you a come hither movement with his hand, "now, why don't you be a good girl and ride my face instead?" rafayel was practically purring at you, "i know my princess just feels a little stressed, and she didn't mean to say all those mean things to me."

your traitorous body clenches in response to his seductive words, with your heart racing out of his chest the moment rafayel takes off his shirt. seduction was seen in his gaze when he pulls down his pants and boxers, not stopping until he was utterly bare for you. your eyes immediately see the way his cock slowly became erect for you, making your mouth water at the sight.

swallowing thickly, you could do little than to allow rafayel to grip at your hand, leading you back towards the bed. giving you a wink, rafayel grips at your backside before giving it an audible smack, "you know what you want to do, princess."

your boyfriend was smirking at you, letting out one last hum of your name before laying down in bed. your heart begins to skip its beats as you trail your eyes down to his cock once more, your cunt clenching at the sight of how it twitched in anticipation, waiting for you.

with trembling fingers, you shakily unbutton your blouse, allowing the thin fabric to fall to the ground as your shorts and panties follow suit. when you were left in your bra, you sigh and unclasp it, tossing it to the ground before climbing on top of the bed.

rafayel's gaze turns hungry when he sees your figure approaching him. "that's it, that's my girl." he grips at your wrist, pulling your body toward him as he slides you until your soaked entrance was directly over his face.

"fuck, such a pretty little flower..." you nearly fell on top of him when his finger traced at your pussy lips, teasing you as a rich chuckle escapes from his lips. "all wet and ready for me... come on, princess, you know what you want to do."

unable to resist him any longer, you bite down on your bottom lip and land on top of his mouth, rubbing your slick walls over his mouth. you shiver upon feeling his groan vibrating through you, tossing your head back as his tongue manages to travel inside of you, massaging at your slickness.

"hah..." you felt breathless, your thighs already squeezing rafayel's head as you tried to chase your high. no longer thinking about anything that wasn't rafayel's face buried within your sweet cunt, you continued to ride him, tossing your head back each time his tongue tried to reach even deeper inside of you.

your moans and his muffled grunts were all that you could hear, and when you tried to quicken your pace-

you found yourself needing something bigger to help with assuaging the painful ache between your legs. looking behind, your eyes widen upon seeing the way rafayel's hand desperately gripped at his cock, giving it quick and fast strokes while his tongue kept delving into your core.

not even fully comprehending your actions, you lazily got off of his face, purposely rubbing your wet heat down his chest as rafayel struggled to sit up, "princess? why'd you stop?"

but you ignore his question, not stopping your slow descent across his body until your slick walls gripped at the underside of his cock. you bask in the way the veins seemed to pulse against you, making you let out a dreamy sigh when you gently gripped at his shaft.

"b-baby-"

a low hiss was heard coming from rafayel when you slap his cock against your entrance for a few brief moments before holding it in place, allowing yourself to sink down on him. the young artist ends up tossing his head back at the sensation, letting out a string of curses, "fuck yes! that's it princess, that's it... my pretty girl..."

rafayel was left a babbling mess now, praising you in an almost drunk manner the moment you kept bouncing yourself up and down his cock. "that's my good girl, such a good girl f'me...- fuck!"

you loud cries and whiny moans echo throughout the room, and you rode rafayel's cock with a reckless abandon, earning a smirk from him when he manages to tell you,

"this is where you belong, princess, right here, bouncing up and down on my cock."

end notes: my thirst for my fave lads men have returned 🫠 i swear i had this in my drafts since early october, so im happy that i was able to think of a good plot for it just now ;A;

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[meo-eiru]

I think Dana and Darling's dynamic is something like this

This will sound weird, but I'm curious about Darling and Dana's perception of her, does she really live without difficulties and full of luxuries like Dana thinks or does she also have her difficulties? I mean, I don't know what twist you want to give your story, if something more fanciful where Darling is a big-hearted girl and forgives Dana for trying to kill her and "live happily ever after" or something darker, where Darling suffers the misogyny and absurd standards of that time, and ends up developing some kind of Stockholm syndrome for Dana, a toxic relationship where Dana takes it out on Darling for what happened to Dana's mother D:

By the way, I made this when I was bored

That’s probably the scariest image someone has ever sent to me and I’ve had someone draw monstrous Lavi before

I won’t get too into Dana and darling’s relationship after she learns about Dana’s real identity and intent (i wanna explore that in its own post) but I’ll say darling does have her own struggles, as I mentioned in the fic she doesn’t really have any friends other than Dana and she does face misogyny even though she’s often shielded from it.

But while she has these struggles it’s the truth that she has lived a privileged life Dana can’t even dream of.

Darling is an only child to one of the top ranking duke’s of the empire and has been spoiled a lot growing up. Her father and mother actually don’t have the best relationship, it was more of a contractual marriage forced by their parents. But even so they did love her, their only daughter, so she didn’t really notice any of the fraction

For those wondering I already have a scenario for when someone asks for her hand in marriage and how Dana reacts to that

Anyway, I don’t think darling has a big enough heart that she’d forgive Dana immediately after. He did try to kill her multiple times after all. But I imagine he’d probably have a “playing with fire” effect on her.

He’s pretty much the only man she’s close with (except her dad) and a really beautiful one at that. She must feel flustered knowing how he basically saw and touched her nude body multiple times while dressing and bathing her. I think her feelings might slowly develop into a “ugh I know I shouldn’t… but the idea sounds so attractive…”. She’d be painfully aware of just how wrong it is in every way possible but breaking the rules and secretly having an affair with this pretty boy when you’ve spent your entire life being good would sound… fun let’s just say

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ REFLECTIONS kim chaewon x reader

❀ ͘ ⴰ previous chapters | richgirl ⭢ that girl (she’s delicious) ⭢ idon’t smoke ⭢ pretty when you cry ⭢ homesick ⭢ super rich kids ⭢ girl, so confusing ⭢ take your mask off ⭢ carmen ⭢ untitled

↳ warnings richgirl!yn, , angst, guilt, a lot of confusion, hints of over working, more guilt, very chaewon and yn focused

the feeling of having no sleep is one of the most uncomfortable things to exist, your eyes sting as they fight to stay open, your limbs grow heavy like they’re weighed down by lead, and a strange chill settles over your skin without warning. all of it was hitting chaewon at once, and it was unbearable.

her mind was basically mush. she wondered if anyone had ever gone through this many emotions and realizations all at once, or if she had just broken some kind of world record for mental overload.

she doesn’t remember when she got up from kazuha’s bedroom door, just that somehow, she ended up sitting in the kitchen with the sun already out, pouring through the windows like it had been waiting for her.

she rests her head in her palm, one name echoing in her mind, yn.

god, how she hated her. the girl born in front of the entire country, the girl with more money than anyone could dream of, the girl who carried privilege like a second skin. everything about her felt unfair.

but she was also the girl who knew,who had lived through, the darkest, most hidden corners of the moon family’s truth. and how foolish of chaewon, really, to ever disregard that.

it wasn’t like chaewon had never heard about the moon family’s problems, everyone had. but anger has a way of clouding reason, of turning empathy into static.

if you asked chaewon why she hated yn, she’d have a quick answer ready, something clean and surface level.

“because she’s privileged. she gets all the praise, all the money in the world. she’s spoiled, and she only made it into the group because of her father’s power.”

but if you pushed a little harder, scratched past the rehearsed bitterness, her voice might waver into something far more complicated.

“I don’t know. there’s just something about her… her eyes, they’re too alluring. she has this energy that draws you in, like gravity. it got me the second we locked eyes. and it made me feel trapped. I hate  feeling trapped, from the moment we met just that energy alone made me feel like I need to prove myself, assert some type of dominance but she shut me down immediately, she knows how to play with your emotions, like she’s always one step ahead. honestly, I could go on for hours about everything wrong with her.”

but no one ever asked chaewon to go deeper.

no one ever tried to understand what hid behind the hate, except yn.

“I’m talented, and you hate that. I’m probably the most talked about person in this group. just admit it, chaewon, what’s the real reason?”

chaewon remembers that day like it was yesterday,the way the words slipped out, sharp and cruel. she said things she knew would hurt, but at the time, it felt like the only way to gain some kind of control. to tip the scales in her favor, just once.

because yn had to know what she was doing to her, right? the way she looked at her, spoke to her, existed around her, it had to be intentional. it felt like she was being taunted, like yn was playing a game only she understood.

and now, this guilt, this awful, gnawing guilt was starting to settle in her chest like something rotten.

she needed to get rid of it. fast.

and she knew she could.

chaewon flinched at the sound of footsteps entering the kitchen. assuming it was sakura, she muttered a quiet, “morning.”

“a good morning? from you? what’s the occasion?”

her blood ran cold.

she froze.

she turned around slowly and there yn stood, in all her effortless glory. even freshly woken, she looked like something out of a magazine, wrapped in a hot pink robe that hung just loose enough to reveal the edge of a sports bra underneath.

chaewon’s eyes couldn’t help but trace the length of her, head to toe, lingering far too long. something stirred in her chest, unfamiliar, uneasy. she inhaled sharply, her gaze locked on yn like it had a mind of its own.

“um?” 

chaewon snapped out of her daze, forcing herself to pull it together. she tried to shoot yn a sharp glare, but it landed weak, more flustered than fierce.

“I thought you were someone else,” she muttered, voice tighter than she wanted it to be.

“ah, that explains it,” yn said casually, opening the fridge and pulling out a container of strawberries like this was just another normal morning. “I don’t even remember last night. did you see me and zuha come in?”

her tone was light, but chaewon felt every word like a stone in her stomach.

because she did. she saw everything and somehow, it spiraled into a night of world-shifting realizations she still hadn’t recovered from.

“no,” chaewon mumbled, eyes fixed anywhere but on yn, trying her hardest not to look because looking might unravel her all over again.

stop, she’s supposed to be strong.

she snapped her eyes at yn and gave her a sharper glare that landed better, “our comeback is really soon, so don’t be late to practice like you usually are.” she said with as much hostility as she could muster.

yn paused, the strawberry inches from her lips. her soft, doe like eyes sharpened in an instant, and the shift sent a strange,   unwelcome twist through chaewon’s stomach. what the hell was happening to her?

“you’re saying that to the girl who stays and practices until three in the morning?” yn tilted her head, voice edged with amusement. “there’s a reason I’m the best so maybe let’s not question my work ethic.”

with that, she popped the strawberry into her mouth, grabbed the rest of the container, and sauntered out of the kitchen.

chaewon let out a groan, dragging her hands down her face.

partly out of frustration, because yn was insufferable. and partly because she’d been so distracted by her face, her voice, her presence, that she barely registered a word she said.

so much for getting rid of it.

the feeling hadn’t left, if anything, it had only grown louder. that slow unraveling at the edges of her sanity, the way yn consumed her thoughts like a fever she couldn’t shake. 

she let out a quiet laugh, bitter and breathless. yn had always lingered somewhere in her mind, but not like this. not in this way that felt so consuming it was almost nauseating.

yunjin’s voice was like background music to her as she looked out the window, she felt hyper aware of everything and the fact that yn was sitting right behind it wasn’t helping.

was it weird that she swore she could smell yn’s perfume, rich, expensive, and so distinctly her it made chaewon’s head spin?

or the way her voice softened when she made offhand comments to kazuha, sending chaewon’s heart into an unsteady rhythm?

yeah. it was weird. so weird it was starting to scare her.

 chaewon didn’t know what the hell was wrong with her.

this wasn’t her. not even close.

and yet, all throughout dance practice, she kept catching herself adjusting her moves, her angles, her energy all for yn’s attention. like some desperate need to be seen by her had rooted itself deep inside her chest.

it was pathetic. and it was making her sick.

this wasn’t what she was supposed to be doing.

her eyes couldn’t leave yn, even if she tried. it was like some invisible force kept pulling her back.

this was insane.

if someone had told her a year ago that drunk words from yn would flip her entire world upside down, she would’ve laughed in their face.

but now? now she wasn’t laughing. not even close.

“are you good?” she turned to see yunjin look at her with concern, “you keep zoning out.”

what chaewon wanted to say was, “no and it’s all yn’s fault.”

but instead, she swallowed the words,brushed the girl off, and gave a stiff nod. because saying it out loud would make it real and she wasn’t ready for that.

the rest of practice passed in a haze for chaewon, her body moved on autopilot, but her mind was somewhere else entirely.

she watched yn take a sip from her water bottle, eyes half lidded, calm like she had all the time in the world. the others were.  gathering their things, slipping into hoodies and grabbing their bags, and chaewon already knew what yn was going to say before the words even left her mouth.

“you guys can head out without me, i’m gonna stay and practice a little more.”

the girls nodded, it wasn’t anything new. kazuha hesitated, sending yn a brief, worried glance, but left without a word.

and chaewon?

she stayed. because of course she did.

yn hadn’t even realized chaewon was still in the room not until she glanced at the mirror and caught the reflection of the leader,  standing silently behind her.

she turned, brows furrowed. “why are you still here?”

chaewon didn’t answer right away. she just stared, frozen in place, like her own thoughts were holding her hostage.

this was too much.

she couldn’t keep living like this with yn constantly in her head, wrapped around every thought in ways that felt all wrong. her presence was suffocating and addictive. chaewon hated the way her heart pounded at the sound of yn’s voice, hated how it only got worse now that yn’s full attention was on her, now that they were finally alone.

and maybe that was the real reason she stayed.

because some part of her, no matter how much she tried to deny it was starting to want that attention. to crave it.

maybe she always had.

“why do you stay so late?”

yn blinked, caught off guard by the question. her eyes widened slightly, and chaewon didn’t blame her she had surprised herself too. since when did she care what yn was doing?

well… not never.

this was just the first time that truth was slipping into the open for both of them.

“to practice,” yn replied simply, but there was a hesitation in her voice that hadn’t been there before.

it was obvious the question had thrown her off.

chaewon didn’t know what she was doing. it felt like her mouth was moving faster than her brain.

“but you already get enough practice. it’s late… kazuha seemed pretty worried.”

yn’s face twisted slightly as she turned to fully face her, the playfulness in her features gone. “zuha’s always worried.”

“yeah, but—”

“why are you really here, chaewon?”

the words cut through the room like a blade sharp, direct, and nothing like the usual yn. and for the first time that night, chaewon had no idea what to say.

chaewon’s brain was going a mile a minute.

her heart was slamming against her ribs, her thoughts tangling into knots she couldn’t undo fast enough. yn’s question echoed in her ears why are you really here, chaewon?

she opened her mouth, then closed it. panic swelled in her chest.

her throat felt dry, her hands clenched at her sides. 

say something. anything.

“because…” she breathed out, voice barely there, “you’ve been on my mind since last night.”

the words slipped out like a secret she didn’t mean to tell.

and it stunned them both.

yn’s brows lifted slightly, but her face was unreadable. frozen.

chaewon stumbled over the silence like it hurt.

“I—I don’t know how to explain it,” she rushed out, words tumbling in chaos, “I just… I can’t stop thinking about you.”

yn didn’t blink. she just stared.

chaewon kept going, unraveling by the second.

“your voice, your face, even the way you looked at me. I—it’s messing with my head. I feel weird. not like myself. and U need to get rid of this feeling but it’s getting worse. stronger. I don’t know what to do.”

her voice cracked at the end, and for a moment, she looked like a girl completely lost in her own storm.

yn’s expression changed.

not softened—shattered.

her eyes filled with something heavy, something sharp, and then she spoke, her voice like broken glass.

“you’re an asshole.”

chaewon blinked, stunned. “what?”

“do you enjoy playing with me?” yn snapped, cutting her off. her voice was louder now, but shaking. “you’ve had me on your mind? now? after everything?”

chaewon opened her mouth, but nothing came out she was too busy drowning in the sight of yn. even angry, even hurt, she was devastatingly beautiful.her chest rising and falling fast. chaewon’s eyes trailed her without meaning to face, shoulders, down her arms, her trembling hands.

“you’ve done enough,” she spat, voice breaking, “but pretending to care now? that’s the worst part.”

chaewon’s throat tightened painfully. a lump sat there like a stone, unmoving.

“yn, wait—”

“no. you know what? maybe I’ll go home.”

yn grabbed her bag, shoving things inside with shaking hands, her back to chaewon.

chaewon’s lungs felt like they were caving in. her eyes stung. her nails dug into her palms. she hated this. this loss of control. this guilt. this ache.

and worst of all knowing she caused it.

“yn—” she tried again, desperate.

but yn didn’t even look at her.

she didn’t say a word as she slung her bag over her shoulder and walked out.

the door shut behind her with a quiet, final click and suddenly, the room felt too big. too silent. too cold.

chaewon stood alone in the middle of the practice room.

staring at the space yn had left behind.

and for the first time in a long time, she had no idea how to fix any of it.

[catssluvr]

dating nerdy/loser natalie scatorccio <3

⭑.ᐟ Straight up just obsessed with your existence, Nat’s blindly in love with you and would do anything to make you happy - probably loves you tons more than playing video games and that’s a compliment.

⭑.ᐟ Makes you watch all of her favorite movies, not so subtly looking over to catch your reactions to her favorite parts and also yapping about little details that no one else notices.

⭑.ᐟ Takes the gameboy she bought on second hand everywhere with her, pulling out in public whenever she’s on a line or even at school when she’s bored. She plays the games you find most interesting so you’re also entertained.

⭑.ᐟ Drags you to the arcade and makes you play the duo games with her, then plays the other ones while you sit close to her eating some snacks she got from a vending machine.

⭑.ᐟ Tank tops and pajama checkered pants are her go to outfit - not that you could ever complain. Also likes graphic tees with a long sleeved under them and sometimes the infamous leather jacket she wears just for you.

⭑.ᐟ Absolutely tears up whenever you give her flowers or anything of the sort, mostly just overwhelmed with how nice she thinks you are to her.

“Baby, are you crying?”

“What- no! I just had hot cheetos and they were extra spicy.” Meanwhile pouting with trembling lips.

⭑.ᐟ Talking of pouting, it’s probably Nat’s top one reaction to you being mad at her. She’d never make you feel anger towards her on purpose so most of all it makes her panic right there. Tries to solve it as quickly as possible because all she wants is to see your frown dissolve into a sweet smile so she can finally hug your bones out.

⭑.ᐟ Loves to sleep in and will not let go of you until she’s fully ready to get up, nuzzling into your neck and practically whining when you make move to take off the covers.

⭑.ᐟ The biggest cuddle bug and particularly adores being the little spoon. Have her lay her head on your chest while playing with her hair and she’ll be purring like a cat in seconds.

⭑.ᐟ Is an absolute tease who wants your attention 24/7, will pinch your cheeks and arms until you finally look at her.

⭑.ᐟ This girl gets the zoomies randomly, giggling about stupid things and jumping on top of you to tickle your life out and cover your pretty face in wet & very sloppy pecks.

⭑.ᐟ Never having to be scared of her cheating cause realistically she’s a big loser who can barely talk to a girl without stuttering and wears shirts that say ‘i love my gf’ every other day.

⭑.ᐟ Is so freaking clumsy, keeps on hitting her toes on wall corners and breaking cups because she trips on literal air. It’s all worth it for her though because she gets to have you as her personal nurse, putting a band aid over where she’s hurt before placing a kiss over it.

⭑.ᐟ Paints your nails while you tell her about the latest gossip going on, listening attentively and gasping dramatically when she thinks something is particularly shocking.

“He did what!? :0”

⭑.ᐟ Genuinely leaves hickeys on you sometimes without even noticing. She’ll be kissing your neck without any second intentions and before she can stop herself there will be a whole bruise on it.

⭑.ᐟ Has a lego collection with spaceships from star wars and some geeky video games. Gets sooo giddy when you buy her new ones and prepares a whole date night for you to build it with her.

⭑.ᐟ When you’re sitting together in class she draws silly doodles on your notebook, making very bad drawings of both of you holding hands with hearts around you.

“Look, that’s us :)”

⭑.ᐟ Sometimes gets a bit insecure and doesn’t understand what you see in her, it’s hard to believe you actually love her for who she is. But once you call her over when you’re with your friends in public and literally show her off she knows there was never a reason to doubt it.

[heartyluv]

Not the same anon that originally requested this, but I absolutely loved your fic where Zayne and Sylus react to you saying you want to be the first to die. The way you wrote their reactions was perfect and wonderful to read, and (if you’re interested, of course) I’d love to see how the other three guys would also reply to such a statement c:

I only recently found your account and I can’t wait to read through more of your works <3

Note: I’m so happy that you enjoyed and even more so that you’re considering reading more. It makes me super happy. I’m really hoping I wrote Xavier and Rafayel accurately. I’m kinda nervous about theirs, but I hope you enjoy, luvly!

Warning: Mentions of Xavier in an accident, Mentions of Caleb dying (THEY ARE OKAY!!!)

Link to Zayne and Sylus’ <3

Creds to @/enchanthings-a for the divider!

Rafayel

You were elated when your boyfriend invited you over for a little date in his studio. Of course you said yes, because not only is Rafayel hard to say no to, but his studio is one of your favorite places to be.

It’s where you feel your safest to create, and it’s not just about painting. You draw, color, and even write poetry when you’re there. You completely understood what he meant when he told you that the energy in this place was so empowering because you’ve experienced it first hand.

As you and he work on your own respective projects side by side, he starts telling you about how he recently rewatched Romeo and Juliet. You listened intently, even if you already knew the story. But it was as he told it that you found yourself growing slightly emotional.

The story is something almost everyone is familiar with, whether they learned it in school or took it upon themselves to read it on their own time.

The story of two people loving each other so much and so hard that it kills them, because the mere thought of them not being alive to experience life with you, build a stronger love with you, makes nothing else feel worth it—it’s incredibly heartbreaking. And now that you have a boyfriend, the sentiment is much heavier. The thought of Rafayel dying, stirs a pain so uncomfortable in your chest that you know never, ever want to experience it.

“Hey,” he calls to you gently, noticing how dazed out you seemed. He sees the tears forming right above your waterline when you face him, and immediate concern is etched across his ethereal face.

“Let me guess? It makes you cry too?” he teases, gently rubbing your cheek and smearing a faint light blue paint on your skin. “I’m not ashamed to say that I succumb to the emotions every time myself. I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t.”

But when you don’t laugh, when your lower lip quivers the more you memorize his features like he’ll disappear, he began to realize this has become something he needs to take a little more seriously.

“Did I say something wrong?” he asks innocently, completely dumbfounded by your change in emotions.

“I’m so sorry,” you finally speak, your words fumbling out as you wipe the tears from your eyes. You feel embarrassed, but you know better than to feel that way around him. He always makes sure you know that embarrassment will never be a real thing between you two. Nothing is off-limits. “It just…the story. It makes me think of you—of us.”

He tilts his head, his soft purple hair swaying across his forehead. “Oh? What do you mean?”

You sigh, taking a deep breath as you get ready to lay your little heart out on the table like you’ve done for him dozens of times.

“Rafayel, I legitimately cannot lose you,” you emphasize, feeling your heart thump harder in your chest from intense emotions. Your voice is shaky as you continue. “And I know this is so random and I didn’t mean to make you telling me about your movie night into a whole thing, but the thought of me experiencing anything in this life without you makes me..sick. It would break me. It makes me realize that I have to be the first one to go the day our time on this Earth is up.”

He smiles softly as you, cupping your cheek in his hand. “Have you seen how I act when you take more than five extra minutes to come home?”

That makes you laugh, a joyous feeling sparking in your being. Most people dislike anyone who turns something serious into something lighthearted, but your Raf always has a way of making heavy situations and conversations feel weightless.

“But in all seriousness,” his face shifts to match his tone to let you know that he takes your worries and thoughts seriously. “I don’t want to hear you talk like that. Ever. You know why?” He stands from his stool, walking to stand between your leg where you sit. “Because we are never going to be apart. I’ve already told you before, you’re not allowed to leave me.” He winks, making the tension ease.

“I’d swim across every ocean for you a million times over. For a man like me to find and experience the love of someone more glorious than himself, it’s not a privilege I take for granted. I’ve always been Rafayel, but I can admit that I will always be a better him, with you beside me. You add too much value and good to my life for you to ever think that I could actually survive without you. I can deal with a lot, but a world with no you? That’s too harsh.”

He presses his forehead to yours. “You have nothing to worry about. I feel just as intensely as you do, pretty girl. I don’t want you thinking of what could be. Think of everything in between, yeah?”

He leans down to kiss your lips and you desperately cling to him. “You’ll never lose me and l’ll never lose you, fair?”

You chuckle, knowing that conversations like this make his heart hurt, too. Similarly to you, your boyfriend hates the idea of abandonment or being separated from you for any reason. He doesn’t take the idea of it lightly. But when he needs to be stronger for you, there’s nothing powerful enough to crush his will to protect your heart.

“Fair,” you nod with a smile.

“Good. I’m glad we understand each other.” He kisses your nose. “Now, why don’t we go for a walk on the beach? We can see about getting something sweet on the way.” He holds his hand out to you and when you slide your hand into his, you know that no matter what the further holds, thinking of what you have now will always be more important.

Xavier

You almost had a heart attack when the hospital called you to let you know that your boyfriend has been in a car accident. They assured you it wasn’t serious, but the only person you’ve ever loved and accident being in the same sentence, made you experience emotions you never thought you were capable of.

They said he couldn’t have called you himself since he was going through some tests and check ups, but not being able to hear his voice made you feel…insane.

When you ran into the hospital, begging for his name and room number, a nurse walked you to him with too much ease. You needed her to be faster, much faster.

“He’s right there. Room 410,” the lady politely smiles. You can’t bother with kindness, moving past her and rushing into the room. He’s sitting on a hospital bed, his blood pressure being checked by the doctor standing beside him.

“Hon,” he says with slightly wide eyes. “I guess the hospital called you.”

“Xavier, oh my god,” you cry, running towards him. You cup his face in your hands, running your eyes over him like your scan is better than a doctor’s. “Are you in pain? How’s your head? Your body?” His eyes stay on you the whole time as you examine him, the doctor chuckling softly beside you both.

All you smell is alcohol, rubber gloves, and oversaturated—but necessary—cleanliness. You don’t like him here. You don’t like it one bit.

“You’re free to go home,” the doctor confirms. “Just make sure you take the pain medicine if you need it. Other than that, nothing to worry about.”

When the doctor leaves, you finally weep. You thought the absolute worst. You thought you lost him.

“I was so scared,” you cry, resting your head on his shoulder as his hands comes to the back of your head to soothe you. “What happened?”

“The taxi I was taking to come see you…A car came out of nowhere down the intersection on a red light, and it was a hard collision against the backseat area where I sat. I saw it last minute before I was able to move, just barely.”

“Xavier… I..” you trail off, not even wanting to finish. “I can’t lose you, Xav. I would rather die than lose you.”

“You don’t mean that,” he says gently, his hand going down your back.

“I do. I can’t live without you. We can’t control how it ends, but however it does, you can never be the one to go first. I’ll never survive it.”

“And neither would I,” he asserts. “A life without you is a life I don’t care to have. Losing you is essentially the death of me.” It falls silent between you two as he makes you pull back to look at him.

“How about this? How about both of us make it a point to be present for as long as we can. Like you said, while we can’t control the end, we can control what our current reality is. And that’s you and I together, loving each other, being here for each other.”

You nod, melting into his touch as he wipes your stray tears. “Don’t say things like that though, okay? Even in extreme situations as concerning as this. I don’t like to think of anything happening to you just as much as you don’t like it for me. Your life is too important to me for you to say anything so drastic over yourself.”

“You’re right,” you sniffle, making it a point to kiss him again—this time extra hard. “I won’t, I swear. But YOU,” you point a finger at his chest. “You’re not allowed to leave the house for the next…forever!”

He smiles, kissing your hand then pulling you close again to kiss the side of your neck. “I’m sure you’ll make sure of that?”

You run your hand through his hair, giggling as he sporadically places kisses wherever his lips will land. “You can count on it.”

Caleb

You shot out of your sleep, your heart racing and your body dampened with a thin sheen of sweat. Cold wet tears fall down your cheeks and you quickly wipe them away, not liking how they feel on your skin. You blink tiredly in the dark bedroom, looking over to where Caleb is supposed to be. Not only was he not there, but it was cold when you placed your palm against the bed. He’s been gone awhile.

You had another nightmare. For some reason, they’ve been plaguing you more and more lately, their origin not making sense when the events occur in your sleep state. But this one, this was the worst by far.

The imagery of Caleb dead. Shot and killed. It replayed over and over until your mind finally won the right battle, letting you wake up to see your reality. But the fact that Caleb wasn’t beside you, it made you panic.

You threw the blankets back, put your slippers on, and exited the bedroom to search for him. You wouldn’t allow that dream to make you think it was real, that he was actually gone. You refused.

He wasn’t hard to find at all though, sitting in his hobby room, putting together another aircraft set he collected. He heard the door open, turning around to see you. He smiled widely, turning fully in his office chair. You didn’t waste a moment more, walking up to him briskly. He pressed his head to your stomach, kissing it tenderly before looking up at you.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” you question softly.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he shrugs. “Didn’t wanna wake you, so I just came to mess with this.” He sees the sadness on your face, the dewdrop tears that rested on your lashes that you didn’t wipe away when he looks up.

“You’ve been crying?” he stands immediately, ready to handle whatever has his girl in distress. “What happened?”

You try to smile the sadness away, but you see it all over again. You rest your forehead on his chest, your body shaking as you silently cry. You understand that it’s okay—normal, to be emotional about something like this, but you feel like no one will ever get it unless they’ve experienced it. His death… it felt so vivid. It makes your whole body ache.

“I had a nightmare,” you weep, trying to push it out. “That you died, Caleb. It felt so real…I had to make sure. And when you weren’t in bed I…”

“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry,” he whispers, kissing your head before wrapping his arms around you. You press your hands to his back, pressing close just to make sure he’s real.

“I’d die without you, Caleb. I wouldn’t be able to survive…” You choke on your sobs. “I’d rather it be me than you, every time. You don’t understand.”

“Never,” he says sharply, but not to cut. Just to make his point abundantly clear. “Death is never an option for you, do you understand me?” He’s stern, holding your face in his hands.

“I do understand what it’s like to love someone with your whole being, so much so that you can’t differentiate what’s you and what’s them because you’re so intertwined. It’s why I will never let you put me above you. Ever. Because you are what makes me. There is nothing for me if you’re gone.”

You only cry harder, trying to wipe the scene away from your brain and embrace this moment and all the good ones that’ll follow one day.

“I don’t want you to ever speak over yourself like that again. No matter what’s troubling you, causing you pain, rather than wishing it would happen in another way that would only bring you harm, just tell me about it so I can deal with the brunt of it. I’m meant to protect you, let me do that.”

You nod, letting him ease your overwhelming emotions. “I’m sorry,” you say meekly. “Can we go to bed, please? Together?”

“You don’t even need to ask. C’mon.”

He takes your hand, not pushing for details on the dream or the particulars. He’d never imagine making you relive something so traumatizing, even if it was fake. It was real enough to actually hurt you, and that was enough for him to make sure he comforts you to the best of his abilities because you in any type of pain is something he has always vowed to keep you safe from.

[oystermark]

Mark variants (sinister, no goggles, mohawk mark) x M!reader (cis & trans options for all of them) MDNI

a/n: just random porn stuff, turns out no plot and just porn is more fun to write for me lol.. can u tell whos my favorite

smut without plot

intentional lowercase

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────

sinister mark

biting. just, so much biting. it’s not only just marking you as his, it’s like feeling your pulse under his teeth and tongue pierces his soul with want so ravenous that he could take you apart right then and there as you’re taking his dick with the sweetest moans (grunts & groans) ever, music to his ears!

if you don’t want teeth on your dick or cunt do not let this man give you head. if you’re a freak like him and you do want it, spread your legs and don’t forget to lock them and push him even more into your sex by his nape. he likes it when you use force, as much as you can anyway. for you with dicks, when he takes you to the base, he will  be biting down, your scream and whines just making his own dick twitch. for you with a cunt, he will be biting down on your clit. you can thrash around and pull at his hair and curse him out as much as you want, remember, “you wanted this, so stop fucking squirming and cum in my mouth already.” 

no goggles mark 

this crazy bitch loves to fuck you on his lap the most, the second position he loves more is drilling his dick into you on the floor. any position where he can bully you with his dick is his favorite.

always starts out with a…rough foreplay, lets say. he tackles you down on the floor, the wall, your bed, the kitchen counter anywhere accessible to fuck really. the ‘kisses’ are so animalistic and painful, biting and hissing and clashing of teeth as you both grind down onto each other. your grunts, groans and hissing– god he could cum just from your punches and biting, it’s so good, it’s so fucking rough and it’s just how he likes it.

such a fucking bully when you’ve been fucked dumb, gripping your face with one hand as he shakes your head, his other hand patting your cheek, “c’mon babe, don’t give up on me now, fuuck– take it,” not even stopping his hips as you cum for the nth time, your mouth opening for a scream but all you can let out is a pathetic gasp for air as the orgasm wrecks your body violently. making you shake and cry out when he pounds his cock just right hitting that spot over and over again as he giggles and bites down on your collarbones, hard enough to draw blood– then of course licks it all up, he would never let any drop of your bodily fluid go to waste after all. “give me another one, come onnnn be my good boy, you said you’d behave, do everything i want if i just gave you a good fuck, so come on. one more time. give it to me.” 

mohawk mark

teasing bastard. will give you a neck kiss when he’s just passing by you as hes beating up some random, cackling as you yell behind him. his fingers will never stay in place, either trying to go under your clothes or straight up jerk you off, no in between. you can never tell with him.

to me, his favorite thing to do while you two have sex is just, having you lay on your back as he jerks you off with one hand as his tongue or fingers take care of your hole, teasing you about how good of a boy you are, how pretty your cock is, how cute it looks when your hole clenches down on his fingers. if you have a cunt, his mouth will never stop sucking on your clit as he fingers you ‘till you cum so hard you see stars behind your eyelids, his tongue is not leaving that clit even if you bash him on the head repeatedly. so condescending in such a hot way though, “awww look who’s cumming already? such a quickshot aren’t you babe?” cackling as you throw a pillow at his face.

[luveline]

if it’s at all possible, i’m requesting the fluffiest, giggliest fic with poly!marauders where reader is just sad and teary so they get in a big cuddle pile and tickle her and kiss her until she’s a giggly mess and all cheered up 🥹 thank you lovely jade!! <3

ty for requesting angel! fem, 1.1k

You watch yourself in the mirror. At your vanity, a cotton pad soaked in toner in hand. You wash down your face gently, your eyes hot and heavy and waiting to fill with tears. 

Maybe it’s because it’s Sirius who’s sitting on your bed that you end up crying. It’s hard to explain why it makes a difference, why he’s the one out of everyone who you can’t hide from when you’re sad. It’s not as though James or Remus are any less understanding than he is. James is the most generous person you’ve ever met, he’d let you cry into his arms for days on end without complaint, and Remus understands better than most what it is to be in pain, but Sirius won’t make you talk about it. When you’re feeling better, you’ll realise that it’s the complete lack of pressure to confront your feelings that brings them to the surface. Sirius won’t ask you to explain yourself. 

The tears fall down in discordant waves. One from the left, two from the right. Your nose grows hot, an uncomfortable wetness gathering at the back of your throat. 

You put your cotton pad aside, sniffling. 

“You okay, my angel?” Sirius asks, turning another page of his novel. 

You take a shaky breath. “Yeah,” you say, voice thick with tears. 

“You don’t sound okay.” You watch in the mirror as he puts his book down. He stands up quickly, and you’re presented with how good looking he is. Even through tears, he looks pretty. “What’s wrong?” 

You bend in on yourself, pressing your fingers to your eyes. “It’s nothing.” 

His hand falls against your shoulder, warm, the other not far behind. He leans on your back. “Come on, sweet girl,” he whispers, “don’t cry by yourself. Come to bed with me.” 

He doesn’t push you. You knew he wouldn’t. 

You let him usher you into the bed, where he sits with crossed legs and you fall into his chest. Your shoulders ache with your crying, shaking as the tears turn to sobs. You think about everything too much. And, despite the best intentions, Sirius’ gentle patting and hugging makes you cry harder. 

It’s a quiet house. The sound of your breakdown attracts another boy. He climbs into bed in front of you both. You know it’s Remus because James’ would’ve exclaimed in fear at the door, his hand tentative on your thigh. “Is everything alright?” he asks softly. 

“She’s okay, just a rough day,” Sirius says. 

It isn’t a lie. You wrap your arms around his waist like a clamp and lay there, face slipping down against his stomach, all bent and hurting as tears soak his dark t-shirt. 

“Really rough, it must’ve been,” Remus says. He rubs your thigh. “It’ll be okay. We’re here.” 

That makes you cry worse, too, but eventually the sentiment is driven home. No matter how bad the day is, or what happens to you, you’ll always have people to come home to who love you, and who want to rub your back for you when you can’t calm down. 

Remus pats your leg in a rhythm. Sirius stays very still. They both, somehow, know what you need. 

A little later, you lay with your face pressed to Sirius’ chest just shy of his armpit, Remus’ patting turned to light tickling, his voice a low constant. “You’re just so beautiful it intimidates people, that’s your problem, dovey, you’re scary because you’re that pretty. You think I’m blowing smoke, but I’m serious, and Sirius agrees with me, and James would get down on his knees right here and now and testify to that same thing.” His hand slides between the soft upper insides of your thighs to squeeze one reverently. “Everyone is jealous of you.” 

“Stop it,” you mumble. 

“She’s smiling,” Sirius says, drawing a loop behind your ear. 

“Stop.” 

“Everyone is jealous of me,” Remus furthers, “at Books and Coco, whenever you come with me, the boy behind the counter always gives me that stupid chauvinistic look like I’ve done some great service to men-kind in landing you.” Remus leans down to kiss your leg. “And it’s silly that he gives me that look, but his sentiment isn’t wrong. I can’t say I landed you, but I am lucky.” 

“Stop,” you say again, laughing as his breath further tickles your leg. 

The door to the bedroom clatters open. You jump, having not heard the front door, but Sirius rubs your arm and you quickly calm. After all, it’s James coming in. He’s far from scary. 

“Hello,” he says, a little breathless, “you guys wouldn’t believe the photo I just took at the pond. The sun was setting and there were all these colours coming through the trees and over the water.” He gives you a funny look. “Have you been crying?” 

“Just a bit,” Sirius says gently, hugging you a half inch closer, “she’s alright now.” 

James frowns. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.” 

“It’s okay,” Sirius answers for you. To some, his speaking for you might irk them, but right now it’s exactly what you need. It’s less embarrassing to have him talk for you. “Remus has praised her half to death, and he keeps tickling us both.” 

“Oh, you’re tickling him too?” you ask. 

Remus squints at you. “Well, just a little bit.” 

You put upon a forlorn sigh. “I’m not as special as I thought.” 

“Sweetheart, you are the most special,” James says, climbing into the bed, making you the centre of their flower, “you’re gorgeous. Let’s have a kiss.” 

“That’s what I said,” Remus says, laughing as you lean away from James’ kiss, even as big hands find your cheeks to hold your face. 

“Come on, lovely girl, just give me a kiss so I know you’re alright,” James says. 

You evade to tease him. You can’t help laughing as you turn your head one way and then the other, quick to dodge him, his lips pressing half kisses against whatever bit of skin he can as you move. 

“This is harassment!” you laugh. 

“Just one kiss…” He holds your face steady, and he looks at you long and hard. When you move your chin up to kiss him, he moves away. “You’re okay?” he asks softly. 

“I’m fine,” you laugh, kissing him quickly. 

James collapses atop you, all his weight and smells. “Thank god for that.” 

“Well, thank Sirius,” Remus says, “he did all the back-rubbing.” 

Sirius groans and tries to get out from under you. “You’re all very heavy.” 

“James? Can I see your photo?” you ask. 

He squeezes you half to death in answer.