#*blows dust off my beautiful boy*

[strawmaerry]

gojo & megumi. | g. satoru

gojo satoru bringing home fushiguro megumi was something you did not anticipate of.

you were cooking a welcome home food for your menace, satoru, when he startled you with his teleportation and a frowning kid.

“hello to my prettiest girl, the love of my life, the light in the dar—”

you shushed him. “i thought you work as a sorcerer, never thought you would take kidnapping as a part time job.”

he pouted. he had the audacity to be offended. “excuse me?! how dare you accuse me of such blasphemous claim?”

you shrugged, used to his outrageous reactions. “well, you’re definitely the type of man that my mom warned me about. those guys who would entice you with candies just to get in a van?” you looked at him, up and down, “yup, that’s you.”

before he could answer, you heard a snicker from the kid. your lips slightly curled up before raising an eyebrow at your irritating (affectionately) boyfriend.

“oh,” he stupidly realized, “this is megumi, i’ve bought him from an auction.”

megumi kicked satoru’s shin and he pretended to be hurt. the spiky-haired boy dusted off the invisible particles on his clothes.

you snorted before going back to cooking dinner.

“so, tell me why you decided to change career that involves kidnapping children?”

“well, i wanted to practice on how to take care of a child when we decided to have one.”

you accidentally put your hand over the burning stove and satoru practically flies to you. he basically becomes a mother hen as he blows your hands.

“[name]! oh my god, what happened?”

you go to the sink to wash your hands as you blankly stare at your burning hands. oh man, you think your hearing is deteriorating. you’re hearing some things that are… impossible.

“satoru, you’re not funny.”

satoru, who has the most alabaster skin, pales. he’s hearing his government name. not ‘toru, baby, pretty boy, my husband.

“haha, pretty baby, what do you mean? i’m always funny. ha. ha.”

“don’t kid around like that. you know our job is…” you trail off, unable to continue the sentiment.

in a world where you attend more funerals than birthdays; you greet more corpse than people; having to work under those ungrateful elders, tomorrow is uncertainty, so you try to enjoy the present as much as you’re alive.

he seems confused for a moment before a dawning realization etches on his face. his eyes soften before wrapping his arms around your waist.

“i really wanna see you carry my babies, y’know? wanna see you round and full an—okay! i know we’re still not finish in school but whenever i see my future, i see you in it. i see us together. i see us forever and i want that. i don’t want to live in a life without your presence. you brought me so much joy if you weren’t crying right now, i would be on my knees begging for you to take me. make me your one and only. make me the happiest and luckiest man on earth because that’s my only purpose why i was born in this cruel, yet beautiful world. i live for you.”

tears run down on your cheeks as you hear satoru’s honest thoughts about his joke. oh my god, how did a simple joke turn into an almost-but-not-quite proposal?

you cradle his face between your hands and kiss his sweet, soft lips that utter nothing but devotion to you. you feel him smile against yours.

[froggybells]

So what’s the deal?

Sanemi x fem!reader

a/n: HI I AM BACK AGAIN this time my wonderful boy sanemi needs some love. he might b a little ooc but i like to think he wouldn’t resist a beautiful woman (wink wink) reader is totally a tease bc i feel like he would totes get flustered LOL

synop: amidst hashira practice, you get the bright idea to tease sanemi.

Word count: 1k

Part 2 —> here

Part 3 —> here

The first time Sanemi Shinzugawa laid eyes on you, we saw you as nothing more than a pest- always getting into things that you shouldn’t, and seemingly oblivious to the obvious irritation you caused him. He couldn’t help but wonder why no one else shared his frustrations. 

Soon something changed. His feelings of irritation soon changed into some sort of possessiveness- needing to make sure you weren’t hurt because it’s obvious your dont know how to take care of yourself. 

“Shinazugawa! I don’t understand why I can’t go practice with Tomioka? I was walking by yesterday and saw you trying to kill him! I’m a Harshira too, damnit!” You yelled at him. 

“He’s too weak for you to practice with! Plus, you’re too idiotic to do things on your own.” Sanemi stated firmly, giving you a glare. He doesn’t care if you’re a Hashira, he’ll still treat you like an idiot. 

“I’m literally the first sun breather in generations!” You said, pointing your wooden sword at him. “Does that not make me powerful enough for you?!” You sighed, rubbing your temples. Suddenly, you looked at him with a sly smirk on your face. That couldn’t be good, you thought. 

“Sanemi,” He flinches at the use of his first name, “Let’s make a deal.” He pauses, a deal? He’s definitely curious at your offer. What kind of deal could you make? “And why would I agree to that?”

You scoffed. “No matter how you act, you still respect me and my strength.” He turned his head away. “Tch- fine. I’ll agree to your stupid deal, but it better not be a waste of my time.”

”Let’s do a real practice battle. Not training. If I win, you’ll let me battle with Giyuu,” God, you using his first name made his blood boil, “If you win, well, you can decide the punishment.”

A hint of a smirk appeared on his face. A practice battle? This was going to be easy. “Alright dumbass, you’re on. You won’t win. Not against me.” You drew your wooden sword, getting into proper position. “Let’s get this over with.”

He laughed at you, “Don’t cry about getting your ass kicked when I’m done! Got it?” You charged quickly, ignoring his words, landing a blow to his knee and chest, quickly zipping away. He hisses in both pain and annoyance, but quickly regains his composure, a smirk on his face as he watched you zip away. “You have some speed, I’ll give you that much. Let’s see if you can do it again!” He barked.

He took off after you, aiming for your leg, but you jump quickly. “Too slow ‘Nemi!” You got a hit on the back of his head, knocking him over. 

He lands on the ground with a thump, groaning in pain before quickly scrambling to his feet. ‘Damnnit,’ he thought, ‘She’s a lot faster than she lets on.”

“Don’t give up yet Sanemi! Come at me!” In a flash, he’s over to you within a second, hitting you in the stomach. The force knocks you over, hailing a cloud of dust. 

His vision now clouded, he couldn’t see where you ran off to. “I”m ending this here!” You yell, kicking his back, forcefully knocking him over. “I win!” You gleam, now sitting on his back. 

“Get off me dumbass!” He screams as you kick his sword away. “Nope.” You say, popping the P. “I said get off me, damnit!” You smirk at his words. “Oh yeah? What’ll you give me in return?” He struggles some more, groaning in annoyance as he can barely move. He let’s out a scoff, narrowing his eyes at you. “What do you want, you brat? I’ll give you anything, just get the hell off me!”

You look down on him. “You have to go on a date with me.”

His face turned red. “What?!” He sputters. You have to be joking, there’s no way you’d seriously as him that. “You want me to go on a date with you? Seriously?”

“As serious as I’ll ever be! Can’t our just imagine it! Us strolling around under the cherry blossoms? It’ll be beautiful!” A slight blush dances around your face. He feels a slight fluttering sensation in his stomach- seeing you blush like that was weirdly cute to him. But nonetheless, he was still surprised. why would you want to go on a date with him?

”You really want to go out on a date with me?” He questions, looking up at you, a slight flush on his cheeks from embarrassment. “Of course ‘Nemi! You’re attractive, I’m attractive. You’re strong, I’m stronger. We would make the perfect pair! So what do you say,” You finally step off of his back, helping him to stand up. “Will you go on a date with me?”

The red tinge on his face darkens as you help him up, standing at his full height. He looks down at you, his expression slightly vulnerable. He lets out a huff, not being able to look you in the eye. “Fine, I’ll go on a date with you. Dammit, you’re so stubborn! But just this once, got it?”

”Just this once!” You lean in to whisper in his ear. “Unless you beg for more~” You tease at him. You begin to walk away, a dark crimson staining his face. “Well then, I’m off to my estate! I’ll be back in the morning to discuss our arrangement!” You wave goodbye, not looking back. The truth is, your face was just as red as his, and you couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing you this way.

”Damn Woman.” He mutters in frustration.

[warframe1999]

Sooo…

The protoframes, huh?

i wanted to go a bit into what each member of the Hex (yay, new syndicate!!) had to say when you got into proximity of them in the relay. there’s honestly a lot here to set the scene not only for 1999 itself, but introducing each protoframe as well as sort of hinting at their interpersonal relationships, and how they interact with one another! some of my favorite kinda of lore is specifically character development and personality-focused dynamics like this so here!!!! i walked back and forth for an hour for YOU! here is all proximity dialogue for each character in the Höllvania Mall relay:

ARTHUR:

“Question. Could I take Quincy down if he turned on me?”

“We’ll find you, Doctor. That’s a promise.”

“Stop sniffing around my head, Eleanor. If I want to talk, I’ll talk.”

“We need to keep Lettie on her feet. If she goes we all go.”

“Dunno why we even bothered with that cleaning rota.”

“Yeah, we can hold this place.”

“One day, Aoi. No more roadblocks and checkpoints. Just you and me and the bikes, open road for miles, all this bullshit far away. I swear to Sol.”

“Still too open. We need more chokepoints.”

“Bottled water. Like sodding gold dust.”

“Well Amir’s still alive. That’s a win.”

LETICIA:

“I got nothin’ to prove to you, Quincy! Go play your little games, niño.”

“¿Qué onda? The Lady Eleanor ain’t no more freaky than the last time you checked in. ‘Less you know different?”

“Yo, Aoi. Chill, hermana. Do something for yourself, for once. Arthur ain’t going to blow away if you blink.”

“The boss says care for his sister I care for his sister. As long as you still are his sister… and as long as I feel like listening to him.”

“Being loved and being hurt? Yeah, I make no distinction. I knew someone, once, wired the same way. Kept me sane. And what of it? Te crees muy acá ¿no? Get outta my head, Eleanor.”

“Never signed up for this. I’ll be home Mamá. Your little girl doesn’t end here. No te preocupes.”

“Man, I’ve been awake so long that even the spiders in my head have all gone to sleep.”

“Wacha: unless you’re pissing blood right this second, whatever it is can wait.”

“I swear, should lock Aoi and Amir in a cuna. Didn’t sign up for no babysitting gig.”

AOI:

“I don’t wanna go on patrol. I wanna take stuff apart.”

“Nearly time for the On-lyne boys.”

“Metal, metal, metal, what do you want to be?”

“Yep. I can live like this.”

“Arthur needs to keep some fuel in the tank for himself. Goddamn savior complex that man has…”

“I oughta get some headphones. Then I wouldn’t have to hear Quincy work off all that surplus testosterone!”

“If they take Entrati out, who’s going to look after that mutant jaguar of his? Poor thing won’t last five minutes in the wild.”

“Amir! Remember to hydrate!”

“Dear past self: we finally got those super powers we always wanted. Whaddayaknow.”

“GodDAMN. Lettie would you keep your frickin’ rats OUT of my SPACE?”

QUINCY:

“Don’t look up, Doctor.”

“Arthur needs to leave the Major to me, innit. Respect my methods.”

“Don’t mind the waiting. Plenty to be thinking about.”

“You don’t know me. Never see what darkens your rooftops. Inevitable, like the rain. Handing out consolations in a transient connection. Boom. Smoke. And ghost.”

“You wiv me, Eleanor? How deep in you go? See anythin’ you fancy, girl?”

“Amir is a weak, weak boy. Like Aunty said, ‘duppy know who fi frighten.’”

“Thassit… nice and steady.”

“How many man have the opps got? Not enough t’be takin’ me. Never.”

“Oi, Lettie! Grab y’ strap and let’s go. Best a five buys the drinks?”

ELEANOR:

“Don’t expect me to tell you what I’ve seen in Amir’s head. He’s not a beautiful, broken marionette, and he’s nobody’s project. He’s one of us.”

“Quincy thinks he’s going to wake up one night to me chewing the flesh from his ribs. Maybe he’s right.”

“I know you’re there. I can feel you. It’s okay, I won’t tell the others.”

“Aoi? She’s lovely and kind and strong, and… I kind of hate her a little bit. Because it should have been her spreading her happiness into everyone’s heads, and me throwing cars and trucks around.”

“I thought there were going to be two of you! Where’s the other one?”

“Blood. There’s gonna be a fight. Something… bursting. Crossed swords. Arthur!”

“What on earth is a ‘Mara Lohk’?”

“Oh, you’re going to make such a difference this time around.”

“I don’t think Doctor Entrati expected me to survive. I had a lot more than just a cough. But… survive I did. And Lettie has not forgiven me for it.

“Oh. OH. She’s wonderful! Triple-faced goddess! But there’s a shadow on her, isn’t there?”

AMIR:

“A little zap, and… infinite credit! No more ‘insert coin’! Not that we could insert coin. We have no coin. Once we had coin, but now Aoi has smooshed all the coin. Coinnnn.”

“Why did they never make a console port?”

“BAD MOVE, SPACE CAA-DET.”

“But the one thought none of them spoke out loud was - could Lettie reattach a head?”

“Hey, Arthur! Arthur! Arthur! Arthur! Arthur! Dahh, you missed it.”

“Eleanor? Are you there? Can you - can you give my brain a hug please? Thank you.”

“We’re getting a little too excited, let’s step it down, step it down before we get the blue cracklies. In one two out one two.”

“Oi’m Quincy. Oi’m gonna blow out yer kneecaps. Mashup in yer chip shop alright.”

“Ungh! This violent video game is influencing my emotions! Societal norms… eroding! Morality… subsumed! I MUST KILL!”

“This place used to smell so good. Coffee. Cookies. Fresh clean socks. Now it’s just rust, pain, and old socks.”

[dreaisgrayte]

HEHHEHEHEHEH WHATS UP MY BBG? I hope you have had a good day/night! I have this idea in my head that I'm ITCHING to get out but you can feel free to ignore❤️

Can you do what would happen and what would Sanemi, Giyu, Tanjiro, and Obani do if reader got turned into a demon during a battle?

LIKE I SAID FEEL FREE TO IGNORE!! YOU DA GOAT BBG❤️

GEHEHE I'M DOING SO GREAT! 🫶🫶I HOPE YOU'RE DOING EVEN BETTER THOUGH 😡🥹 It was raining here all day and I was a worrisome parent and got soaked going to check on my kitties🥰🥰. (also why would I ignore such an angsty request MWAHAHA😈)

Includes: Sanemi Shinazugawa, Giyu Tomioka, Tanjiro Kamado, and Obanai Iguro CW: pretty much reader dies in all scenarios, but... yeah no my heart hurt writing these so there's no hope for any of us. Death, angst, sadness.

Sanemi Shinazugawa

The demon’s claws slice through you, tearing your skin apart. You fall to the ground, crumpled and bleeding

“San-Sanemi,” You choke out, the life draining from your beautiful eyes.

A vengeful scream erupts from his throat, burning his very vocal cords as he rushes the creature

Its head falls to the ground with a gruesome thump, Sanemi dropping to his knees next to your corpse. “YN...I’m so-”

Your eyes, they’re open and your pupils pull into slits. His next breath catches in his throat. “Sorry,” He breathes, his eyes stinging with hot tears

He picks up his nichirin blade, using it to help him into a standing position. Sanemi’s choked sobs echo through the forest valley. The glint of fresh sunlight reflecting off of his blade as he plunges the tip into your heart. The sun is cresting over the mountains in a new dawn.

Your garbled noises nearly drive him to the brink of whisking you off to a shadowy haven, but you wouldn’t want to live out your life being the very thing you fought so hard against. 

As the ashen belongings of your body blow past him he feels like he’s just stabbed himself through the heart.

“Sorry…so sorry.” He cries, but the sunlight dries his tears. 

Giyu Tomioka

He was by your side one second then cornered off by a second demon. He wants to remain close to you and protect you, but as he lands the final blow to the demon in front of him he catches the tail end of the demon lifting you by your throat. 

His blood runs cool, the demon’s features twisting in a cruel sneer as it makes you lick up the blood from his wounds. 

Too late, too late, too late

Just like with Sabito, Giyu was too late to save you. His head spins, running through possibilities to somehow not fuck up again

Tanjiro and Nezeko were a special case, who’s to say Giyu would break through to you? And when he didn’t? Would his heart finally go numb? The risk was too great.

The demon has dropped you and ran off, leaving you panting on the ground. You touch your throat, hacking up the blood it tried to feed you. A glimmer of hope sprouts in Giyu’s chest. Maybe you had saved yourself? You meet his gaze, tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Giyu,” you smile, the one he’d grown accustomed to seeing every morning when you greeted him. “Giyu, I need you to be strong,” you start, but he can’t hear you. He doesn’t want to.

“No, I’m not strong,” His voice is trembling. His body aches with the knowledge of what you’re about to request of him. He couldn’t do it. You meant too much to him and he was a selfish man. When everyone else ignores him you see through his suffering to the little boy underneath, scared of being seen for the fraud he was. 

There’s that smile again. “Giyu. You’re a Hashira, you’re more than strong – you’re kind. You know what you have to do. Please, before it’s too late.”

Giyu’s body feels limp as tears mix with his sweat. He was too weak to save Sabito, but he could still save you. He yells into the night, a pained scream that rustles the birds from their branches.

Your head thumps to the side, fanning into dust as he sinks to his knees, sobbing over your remains. Turns out – he wasn’t numb after all. 

Tanjiro Kamado

You’re bloody, a demon standing over you, it’s foul stench dripping round droplets onto your wound

“Let’s see if you have the heart to kill one of your own, slayer.”

Tanjiro had been through this before, with his younger sister Nezeko and things were turning out alright with her.

Would his bond be strong enough to snap you out of the demonic craze? You had acted like an older sibling to him, watching over his progress and always cheering him on. Often he thought the gods had blessed him with you so he would have someone to look after him when he had no one. 

“YN!” He screams, the demon slipping away into the night. “YN talk to me. If you can still talk that means there’s still time.” But the veins on your face bubble and contort your expression to one of hatred.

Tanjiro falls back on his hands, heart loudly echoing in his ear. “YN, please… it’s me…your little brother.” But it’s far too late to work on your once human heart. As you rise to your feet Tanjiro stumbles to his as well

His katana is shaking in his grip. You were a demon, but also his friend. He can’t see through his blurry vision. 

“Pathetic,” you spit, then before Tanjiro can will his heart to do what he knew he couldn’t, you spill into the shadows

His vow to cut the head from Muzan Kibutsuji’s body grew a thousandfold that night

Obanai Iguro

You had been on this mission for weeks now, fighting side by side. Obanai had grown fond of you.

That was until a demon stole you away, reminding him that fondness sprouted weaknesses. However, he tracks you down regardless.

The demon had set up in a cave, the dawn making this rescue mission easier, but as he steadily slides into the heart of the cave he finds you’ve been tied up, dried green blood on your lips

“Fuck,” Obanai hisses into the darkness, searching around for the creature that did this to you

“It’s gone Obanai…” You drawl, your voice raspy and strained. He winces at the state of you.

He rushes to untie you, hoping it’s not too late and the insect Hashira can work some miracle cure on you. If Obanai was fond of you he couldn’t even imagine how the corp members felt about you. 

It had been a while of your fighting off the urge to turn, there had to be hope for you. If only he could get you back to headquarters fast enough…

As if reading his mind you shake your head solemnly. “Please, let me see the sunrise one last time,” you croak, gaze drifting to the sunlight filtering in from the cave’s entrance. 

Obanai squeezes his eyes shut, the electric buzz of his heart making it hard to fulfill your request. He was stagnant, breath quickening as you pleaded with him.

He offers you his hand, willing his chest to return to steel. He leads you to the outside world and your grip tightens as you step into the sun. Obanai’s body aches with unrelenting sorrow. If only he’d kept a better eye on you.

Soon enough, a faint ‘thank you’ blows past him on the wind, and he rushes away from the spot, not willing to look at what he had so carelessly taken for granted. 

[kentosovertime]

(n.) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past

➳ reformed fuckboy!gojo x afab!reader - 3.8k

➳ a/n: just got done saying how fun it is to write gojo platonically but fuck that he's my little slut~

➳ cw: explicit content, explicit language, multiple sex scenes, choking, unprotected sex, longing, reader leaves gojo in the dust, one night stand or so he thinks, mentions of alcohol, snowed in trope

✨Masterlist | Tag List | Ask Box | Open Request Event | AO3 | Ko-Fi✨

“Do you want to get out of here?” The white haired sorcerer leans into your space where you’ve been nursing the drink he purchased for you, not wanting to seem too interested. 

Gojo Satoru, you hum to yourself in thought. Notorious fuck boy of the jujutsu world. There was a dark, predatory promise in his eyes and you knew that the scratch you came out to itch would be satisfied if you went home with him but… You were up for consideration of promotion from a Grade 1 sorcerer to a special grade. You didn’t want to ruin that or make it seem like you slept your way there, especially given how few obtain the title. 

“I don’t know…” You shoot him a sly smile, swirling the liquid around your glass. “Is it my turn in line now?”

“Come on, baby girl. It’s not like that.” His smile doesn’t drop as he gently grabs you by the wrist and lays a teasing kiss on your open palm. “I can’t help myself when I see a beautiful, strong woman who’s so pent up. You need to blow off steam.”

Goosebumps race up your arm where his lips brush against your palm again before nipping at your skin, sending the sensation straight to your core.

“What makes you my best option?” You lean forward, playfully trailing a finger down his black casual t-shirt before tossing your gaze over to Nanami sitting across the local bar. “Your light haired friend has been looking at me all night. Maybe I’ll go home with him instead.”

“Because…” He crowds into where you’re standing, making your face tip back to meet his gaze as he purrs down at you. “You’re not rubbing those lush thighs together with anyone here but me.” 

Your breathing stutters out as he leans forward and trails his nose up your neck, his heavy breaths panting against your sensitive skin. 

“I bet this is making your little cunt drip.” His touch meets the side of your breast, thumbing you through the fabric of your dress. “You can be greedy, baby. I won’t complain.” 

“F-fuck-” A whimper escapes your mouth despite your determination not to react. “You’re so crude.”

“I don’t hear you disagreeing with me.” He only grins wider when your words come out with no bite to them as you choke them out. You wish the rumors included that he was terrible in bed but that was never the case. 

“I’m not…” You chew on your cheek, making the worst decision of your life as you knock back your entire drink and meet his gaze directly. “Your place then?” 

Gojo’s eyes light up as he nods excitedly, half expecting to have to fight you further on this. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

A moan rips from his throat as you break from his lips to shove him to the surface of the bed, already flush with the multiple highs he pulled out of you by the time he shut the apartment door behind you. There was one in the cab ride home from his fingers and another in the elevator from his tongue alone. Your bare legs part as you straddle him, your pants lost somewhere in the journey to his bedroom.

“Sweetheart-” He hisses, his hips bucking as you take a hold of his slacks, unzipping them and shoving your hand into where there was a painfully obvious bulge. “Fuck, slow down. I want to take my time with you.” 

Your hand pumps the hard length of him, your thumb rubbing and paying attention to the tip that’s oozing globs of pre-cum as you settle yourself to hover over him, primed to sink down at a moment's notice. 

“I thought you brought me here to fuck me.” You smirk down at him, being your turn to gloat, basking in the impact you had on him. You circle your hips slowly, pushing just the tip of his cock into you, moaning softly as you chuckle at his low whine. “You should let me get on with it. Someone wanted me to be greedy.”

“Well yes, b-but- oh my fuck-” His head tilts back with a throaty moan as you suddenly sink down, taking his length in one motion before you’re grinding at a steady pace to build up your high as he grapples to hold onto your hips, his fingers digging into your skin, leaving crescent moons in their wake. 

“Shit, Sa-Satoru- Ah!” Your hands find their way to his chest, bracing yourself as you lean forward to bounce your hips to slide his glistening cock into your sensitive walls. A whimper escapes your lips each time he uses his grip to push you back down onto his cock harder, meeting your thrusts in the middle so you can feel the vibrations ricochet through your center, sending lightning up your spine. 

“Fuck, baby.” His muscles tense with the need to cum, but fuck he wants to enjoy this first. Your skin ripples with the squelching slaps that echo through the room as he braces his feet under him and fucks up into you hard, forcing his cock to bottom out each time. “You can hear your pussy sucking me deep.. B-bet it wants my cum… fuck.. I bet you want it more.”

“N-not yet.” You stammer breathlessly, your fingers dig helplessly into the pillow next to his head. “Want this to keep going.”

“Oh, really?” His hand flies out to grip you by the chin, to get your attention before he smacks your cheek and moves his free hand to smack your center harshly, pulling a rough scream from you that turns into a desperate sob as he continues the movement in his hips while zeroing in on your clit with terrible precision. “I say it's time to cum, baby girl… and make sure to scream my name when you do it. I want the neighbors to hear.”

“P-Please n-no-” You squirm wildly in his hold, as he grunts in frustration, ready to pin you to the bed to pull more out of you, overstimulating you as punishment. Your legs tremble, squeezing shut to prevent him from thrusting into you so harshly and he growls in need as he swaps your positions, holding you to the mattress by your neck and not missing a beat in his thrusting. 

“You think you’re the one in charge here?” He grits his teeth and doesn’t hold back as he brings you right to the edge, his fingers tightening as you get closer to make spot dance around your vision. “Fuckin’ give it to me baby. I want another one from you.”

“S-Satoru-!” Your hands claw at the wrist pinning your throat as a particularly hard thrust slams into you just right, making your vision go white. He watches with a satisfied grin as your eye rolls back and your breath stutters out in ragged whines as you soak his waist. 

“Nuh uh-” He grapples with your hips, pulling you back into him as he fucks you through your high, bullying himself past the vice grip of your cunt. “God you’re pussy so perfect for me. So f-fucking tight.. Where do you want it, baby girl? You gonna let me finish inside?” 

“Please-” Your voice cracks as you sob out for him needily, locking your legs around his waist so he’s forced to trade his long thrusts for a grinding motion. His pace stutters with a low whine before he slams himself into you one more time, burying himself deep as he shoots ropes of cum into you. 

You swear your ears are ringing with how long it's taking you to come down. What you don’t expect from him is how he gently rubs the side of your hip as he pulls out of you or how he removes your legs from around him before he dips down a leaves soft kisses on our inner leg before he disappears into a room attached to the bedroom. 

You start to shimmy yourself up, looking for where your clothing got thrown before he reappears with a hot washcloth. 

“Lay back down.” He grumbles with a slight pout, taking you by the leg to tip you back onto the mattress. You whimper out in embarrassment as he cleans your center and thighs and he simply chuckles at your distress. “Stop that… I can tell you’re about to pass out. Let me help before you go to sleep.”

You don’t have it in you to argue. You’re certainly not planning on staying here until the morning, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

You don’t argue when he picks you up bridal style to settle you in the soft array of his bed’s blankets. You find your eyes drooping almost immediately, drifting closed as you wrap your arms around a pillow that smells comfortingly like him.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Three years, four months, twenty-three days, and 13 hours since he woke up with you gone. Not that he was counting. 

That morning Gojo had woken up more satisfied than he had been in ages. His hand slid across his smooth sheets to wrap his arms around you and pull you to his chest only to come up empty. The purse he had set on the night stand with your clothing neatly folded next to it were gone from their place as well.

He frowns at the memory, expecting that you would have at least said goodbye. 

All this time must be penance for all of the women he had burned through and pushed out the door after their hookups. That was in the rare instance that he invited someone to his place, much preferring the ability to slip out someone’s front door in the dead of night like you had. Were the sheets that cold when the women had searched for him in the morning? 

Had it been hard for you? Did he make up how good that night was? He tortures himself by thinking about the what-ifs. He imagines that nothing like that has ever been difficult for you. You were so unashamed in taking what you wanted from him. In his deepest thoughts, he fantasizes you’re just as haunted by the memories you made that night and how perfectly your bodies fit together.

And later that day he thanks whatever higher power is out there when he receives a mission assignment for a special grade curse that had cropped up in Siberia and listed under his name was yours. 

He reminds himself of this joy as the two of you trudge through the snow of a blizzard after you had successfully landed a killing blow on the curse. They certainly got your promotion to a Special Grade correct.

On the way back down the mountain a snow storm had hit, leaving you stranded until the weather cleared.

“We should have asked the village for clearer directions back.” You snip at him, squinting against the onslaught of white in your vision. “Face it, we're lost.”

“I can teleport us…?” He suggests unhelpfully, happy to sit back and let your brain do its beautiful brain thing. 

“Not if you don’t know where we are first.” You sigh in exasperation. “Kill a special grade curse only to die from cold exposure. The higher ups certainly have a sense of humor.”

“What about that cabin?” He points over his shoulder to a mass he spotted in the snow, though he doubts you can see it without the Six Eyes.

He snatches your hand and pulls you along, not waiting for a response. He knows your shivering is starting to slow down which is never a good sign. 

“Oh thank fuck-” You groan and hurry inside as he hips the door open, quickly closing it to prevent the snow from entering the small space. 

You wrap your arms around yourself, rubbing your arms until they heat up enough to focus on the space around you. It was quaint, but fully stocked. The surface you were currently sitting on was a mattress covered in fur pelts and flannel blankets. It was shoved into the corner to make space for the wood stove that Gojo was currently crouching in front of, already getting the fire started.

“You’re g-g-good at that.” You shiver violently as you shed your soaked outer layer, trading it for one of the large flannel blankets. The second it's wrapped around you for cover you kick off your shoes and your pants, quickly pulling your legs underneath you so none of your skin is exposed to the air. 

“I think you give me too little credit in general.” He mumbles loud enough for you to catch it. 

You blink at him in shocked silence. Everything had been tense for your trip, the flight here was almost unbearable, let alone trekking through the snowy wilderness together. 

“You know…” He starts softly, tracking the sweat that drips down your neck as the hut quickly heats up. “Sometimes I’m convinced I hallucinated it all.” You don’t respond, but when he looks up, the flush on your cheeks is enough to confirm to him you’re thinking about the same thing. 

“I don’t think it was fair to leave like that…” He frowns, looking intently at his hands. “You didn’t even ask me what I wanted.”

“I know your reputation… this all seems a bit hypocritical if you ask me. You wanted to hookup and that’s fine. I wasn’t looking for anything-” You start before he cuts you off with a lost look.

“Maybe that’s how it started but… I was content to wake up with to you the next morning and you were gone before I could ask if you wanted to go out to breakfast.”

“I don’t know what to tell you…” You gulp, your heart hammering in your chest. You draw the blanket tighter around you, sweltering in the heat but needing the barrier between you and his blue gaze. 

Your cheeks only grow warmer at the memories of that night. How you would have loved to stay if he hadn’t been who he was. Not that he was Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer in hundreds of years, but that he went through women like a child who grew tired of his new toys.

You had never begged a man for anything in your life and you had decided that the night with him would be no exception to your rule. Leaving the bed where he had passed out had been one of the hardest things you had done in your adult life. You’d rather fight a thousand curses than have to do it again, but life wasn’t always fair. 

“Tell me you felt something between us. Tell me it wasn’t just me who felt right being near you.” He stands suddenly, walking the short distance to stand in front of you, his eyes pleading. 

“I… I c-can’t. You’re not going to change who you are for me-” Your voice cracks, betraying the storm of emotions swirling within your soul. 

He moves closer to you, leaning over your frame far enough to force you to fall back against the mattress and planting his hands on either side of your head. 

“I would if you gave me the chance.” His eyes are serious and you find that the look is strange gracing his face. 

“You’ve said that to a dozen women, haven’t you?” You feel yourself starting to shake, wanting his words to be true but you’re not going to let him hurt you. “Including the ones after me.”

“Never.” His voice is steady, as serious as his gaze as his brow furrow. “There hasn’t been anyone else since, baby. Please.”

“It's been over three years. You really expect me to believe that?” Your chest rises and falls faster as your breath picks up, shifting the blanket to fall open, exposing your chest to the air. 

“No, I don’t expect that. But I could convince you it’s actually true.” He leans in further, ghosting his nose up your jaw as he breathes in your scent with a low groan. “You could let me show you what you’ve been missing out on all this time waiting… Please.”

A breath hitches in your throat as he nips at your earlobe, his heavy breath hitting your skin, pulling goosebumps down your spine. Your words fail you, but your body doesn’t, acting on autopilot to take what it wants. 

Your hands let go of the blanket entirely, letting the flannel open entirely to expose where you had stripped down to just your bra and panties while you grip the back of his neck, pulling his lips to yours. 

Gojo moans low in your mouth, climbing fully on the bed to crawl over your prone form. He braces himself with one hand and sinks the other into your hair, tugging your head back to get a better angle to deepen and slow the kiss. 

His pace is worlds different from your first night together. The grip his hands have on you is firmer, more purposeful. Despite the time you had spent apart, he wasn’t rushing this like one the quick fucks you thought he favored. When his tongue pushes past your lips, eliciting a whimper from your throat, he doesn’t greedily lap at you. He swirls his tongue with careful precision, savoring the taste of you. 

“Satoru-” You whine as he leaves open mouthed kisses down the column of your neck. How could you properly convey to him how you were burning alive with the need for him to give you just a little bit more? 

“So greedy.” He chuckles into your neck, calling back to when he told you to be greedy that first night. “But I wanna take my time with you after waiting so long.”  

Any response dies on your lips when he makes his way down to your bra, tugging it to the side enough for your breasts to pop out, immediately latching onto one while his hand kneads the one he’s neglecting. 

“N-Now you’re just teasing me, Satoru.” You huff out a moan, pressing your legs together as you feel him smirk against your skin; the little shit. “At least take these off…” 

He helps you strip him bare, tossing the shirt into a heap across the hut, quickly followed by his pants and boxers after he kicks off his boots. You take the opportunity to shed your bra and panties, leaving you as bare as he is. Needy hands search him out as soon as he joins you back on the mattress with a chuckle. 

“Ya know… a little please and thank you will get you a long way, baby girl.” Shivers wrack your body as he trails his tongue down your stomach to the apex of your thighs, using his fingers to spread your folds, exposing you to his gaze. 

Your body squirms at the light touch, screaming for more friction. 

“Please fuck me.” You bite out, knowing he’s not going to listen to your request.

“Nice try.” A playful laugh rips through him before he leans in and licks a large stripe up your center before expertly flicking his tongue against your clit, pulling a string of curse from you as your body jolts and your hands fly out to grab him by the hair at his scalp. “That’s it, grind this sopping little cunt against my face baby.” He growls before diving back in, sucking down on you hard the second he shoves three fingers into you without warning. 

“Oh my fucking-! S-Satoru- ah! Fucking shit, pl-please-” Fingers bully into you, past your fluttering walls to find the spongey spot inside where they hammer into you until your eyes cross and your ears start ringing. “Satoru- pl-please can I- can I cum please?” Maybe begging will get you what you want at this point. Maybe it will break him down enough so he’ll shove your cock inside of you. “Good fucking girl. Cum for me baby…  make a mess out of this face.” He purrs deep in his throat. The vibrations work through you until your muscles shake with the effort of tensing before they snap inwards, making your back arch off the worn mattress, a hoarse scream ripping its way through your throat before the aftershocks start working through your body. 

You’re so deep in a subspace that you don’t feel him unlatching himself after he licks your cum clean and he’s shoving his cock into you without preamble. 

“Mmmph-! Fuck!” A cry leaves your mouth as you claw at his lower stomach, leaving angry red welts in your wake as you try desperately to get him to slow down so you can breathe, but you already feel another high building. 

“Ahhh… Not too much for my baby now is it?” He goads you on, grabbing at your thighs to push your legs closer to your chest. “You take me like you were born for it. Bet you’re still desperate for my cum aren’t you?”

“Fuck, please.” You pant out, trying to catch your breath as his brutal thrusts knock the air out of you each time. “M-missed your cum, ‘Toru. W-want it all.”

“Then you better give me one more baby…” The thrusts don’t falter in pace as his hand sneaks between the two of you. His hand presses into your lower tummy and his thumb reaches to rub quick circles into your bundle of nerves until you're thrown over the edge for the last time. 

White, blinding light floods your vision as Gojo moans low and lets your cunt squeeze him, pulling him deeper as he presses as close so he can to explode inside of you. 

When you come to, you’re gathered in his arms, his hands grazing carefully across your face as he wipes the sweat that formed there, tucking your hair behind your ear with a soft smile gracing his features. 

“You’re even more beautiful than that first night.” He hums to himself. “I didn’t think it was possible, but you always have had a way of crashing into my life and breaking down my assumptions.” 

“I think it's my assumption you’re destroying…” You lean into his touch, soaking up the attention you never thought you’d receive. 

You both lay there, enjoying the quiet moment you’ve carved for yourself out of this mission by happenstance. You let the storm rage on around you, letting yourselves forget what lies outside these mountains.

tag list: @sugarbooger513 @sugarmapoops @roughwithfluff @severelytalentless @yelzoldyck @silversslut @aazaard @dreamyyholland @wobblewobble822 @vantastic210 @rafzaha @tirzamisu @chososhoney @littlemochi @bebechinas99 @firdaoz @saoney @meromelo @pelicanpizza @sukunassoulmate @damncakie @katgalle @honeyyjems [[ if your blog name is crossed out i couldn't tag you]]

[puckarchives]

making it through july: l. hughes

blurb: moments in june, falling in love and getting put back together by luke.  / word count: 2.2k / pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader / tw: mentions of anxiety and panic attacks; general anxiety about getting older and change. part two to "moments in june"

“The movie is my mind is blue — / As June runs into warm July / I think of little else but you.” (Wendy Cope, From June to December.)

When the heat of June melted into the sticky sensation of July, the summer felt almost claustrophobic; the feeling of freedom you had tried to play off as being permanent, while the remainder of the month looming took center stage: a rush of anxiety, of worry, and of anger at the closing of summer. 

Now, as you stood at the kitchen island inside the lake house, Luke draped over the sofa with the fan pointed directly at him, you could see the toll the summer had taken on your boy, as well. The once pale skin he wore now a tan, the beauty marks dusted on his cheeks and neck now surrounded by smatterings of freckles — reminders of the kisses you had once laid on that same expanse of skin. 

Despite how much you hated to admit it — how much you hated to let the overwhelming feeling of wrongness take over your senses, you knew it was time; time for a conversation between the two of you of what July really meant. For you, July was a marker of anxiety; of homesickness for the boy who was merely six feet away from you, burdened by the same fear you were overcome with during the semester, when the nights of studying, of feeling overwhelmed and as if you would never finished, felt like they’d never truly stop. 

It was those nights that spiked the feeling of missing this version of Luke: of missing the way he’d grab your hand, entwining your fingers even if he didn’t mean it. Of the soft touch he’d leave at the back of your neck, his fingers ghosting over the trails of kisses he’d leave when no one else saw him, where the only salvation he ever claimed to know was the taste of your skin. Now, the only taste you could sense was the taste of disappointment; an ash-like memory of the anxiety of being away — a fear that you could feel weeks before you even had to leave. In a way, it was your body preparing you for the pain — the rush of discomfort, of lonely and cold nights, and of resentment in a way. 

Now, though, as you walked towards Luke’s lounging form, the boy looked up — opening his eyes and meeting yours as you laid the glass of water and plate of snacks on the coffee table in front of him, and as he sat up to make space for you on the couch — scooting his body away to let you soak up both the warmth of his own body, and the fresh air blowing straight at the both of you. He smiled softly, his curls sleep-addled and his muscles relaxed. In a way, for every single one of your worries, Luke combatted it with his own ability to remain calm — to soak up the same sun you stood by worrying would be gone much too soon. 

“Luke?” you asked quietly. He only cocked his head a bit — already being able to mark the tension your body held, and that you carried. As you sat next to him, he stopped you before you could fully reach the couch — instead, stretching out his own legs to they stretched the length of the couch, and where he maneuvered you to sit between his legs — pulling your back to his chest, and working his way fro your hands, to your forearms, to your shoulders with his hands, dragging the tips of his fingers, calloused and scarred from his job, to trail up your body. 

“I know what you’re going to say,” he began, his voice cutting through your own stupor. Could he, though? Was he really able to tell that you felt like you were ripping at the seams, so caught up in your own fear of change? Of losing the moments you held on to so dearly? 

Almost as if he could sense your thoughts, he nodded, despite the fact that you couldn’t see him. “Yes, I’ve seen it, baby. The way you’ve decided you aren’t allowed to enjoy the rest of our time here because of the fear of what comes after this. Of what comes after June and July and August,” he said quietly. How was it that this boy could read you so well? How could he so easily peel apart the layers of yourself you had tried so hard to keep together? 

You could only nod, laying as close to him as you could, and not trying to quell the tears that dripped out. You couldn’t keep pretending like it was fine — like the toll your body was working with was okay anymore. Instead, you let Luke speak — let him drag your hair away from your face, running his fingers through the strands. 

“Look, pretty girl, this is what’s going to happen — and before you say anything, before you let the fear overtake every single thought in that pretty little head of yours, I need you to listen to me first, okay?” he asked. “When July is over, we have until August — until you’re so sick of me. When we leave, when I go back to Newark and you go back to Michigian, we’re going to be okay,” he continued. 

“We’re going to make it through the summer, and then we’re going to make it through fall and winter, and then spring again. You’re going to go back to school and work your ass off, but you’re going to set boundaries for yourself, we both are, because baby, I refuse to let you worry about this again. Y/N, I love you — since you laughed at my stupid jokes, and since you made my entire family love you, I knew you were mine, and I never want you to doubt that. But, when July ends, I want you to go back knowing that I am always going to be here. Me loving you doesn’t just stop because July comes around,” he finished. 

He wrapped his arms around your chest, enveloping your arms in his — he was right. Just because June had bled into July, just because your worry had transformed into a more immediate thing, did not mean that Luke was going to simply disappear; Luke, for all of your worries or your anxieties, was not the summer. He wasn’t simply a month that would come and go every year, but the man who had loved you since he saw you — the man who would put himself and his needs just to take care of you and yours first — something he had proved time and time again. The truth was that Luke was the boy you wanted to spend your Junes and Julys with, who you wanted to watch the summer bleed into the fall with, and who you wanted to continue loving; just because July was here didn’t mean the love between the two of you was as fluttering. 

For so long you had forced yourself to see the changing of months as markers for your relationships — for how those around you would treat you; how they would make your time feel almost limited when the summer was over, but with Luke, that changed. With Luke, whether it was June or July, you’d be loved. 

“It’s July and I have hope in who I am becoming.” (Charlotte Eriksson, Everything Changed When I Forgave Myself.)

For all of his quirks — his inability to cook, his bad habit of always leaving his dirty shirts on the rim of the hamper instead of inside, or always leaving his keys everywhere, Luke was truly the partner of your dreams — so you tried your best to ensure that you were just as supportive and assuring as he was when he needed the opportunity to breath — to calm the raging storm that you knew was constant in his head. Luke was always there for you — always a sure hand, always a solid companion, and the one individual who knew what you needed the moment you asked. 

Knowing this, you still felt your heart clench the moment you felt Luke creep out of your shared bed close to 3AM — unlatching himself from where his arms were encasing you, and where you heard his footsteps retreating from the bedroom, and dwindling down the stairs — hearing the give of the wood under his own large frame as he tried his best to be quiet, and not wake his sleeping brothers. 

You did your best to give him some space; despite the fact that you needed to be encased in comfort when you were anxious, Luke wasn’t like that — he needed space, and then he wanted to comfort — needing the reminder that he was solid, and that you were unmoving as well. Turning into the warmth that he left on his side of the bed, you counted from one to sixty ten times; giving him, at the very least, ten minutes to take what he needed before you helped him, as well. 

Once you finished counting, you sprang out of bed, sleep be damned. Your boy needed you, and you wouldn’t disappoint him. 

Making your way down the stairs — making sure to skip the bottom step so it wouldn’t creak, you walked out to the porch, where you could see Luke’s frame illuminated by the porch lights, small patio lights the two of you had put up at the beginning of the summer. You could see the wide expanse of his back — toned and fit from all of his hours training, almost caving in on himself. Luke, for all his glory, was as anxious as you were, but instead of isolation, he tried to make himself smaller — to fit into the rle he had played for so long as the youngest child. 

As you walked outside, you could hear his silent sobs; the shaking of his shoulders a dead giveaway. As you joined him, sitting next to him on the porch, you reached out and put a hand on his shoulder — shaking him up a bit, but ultimately feeling as he turned directly into you, and simply hugged you — enveloping the entirety of your body and dragging you up to your tip-toes as he hugged you, and as he sobbed into your shoulder. 

To offer him some sort of reprieve, you rubbed his back slowly — giving him the ability to take the time to let it all out, because as much as Luke knew you, you also knew him — and you knew he had been keeping this in for a while. 

“It’s okay, baby. You’re okay, sweet boy,” you whispered, now running your hands through his hair. “Whatever it is, your brain is playing mean tricks on you. You’re so worthy, and smart, and I am so endlessly proud of you, hmm?” you said, trying to offer as much comfort to the boy as possible. 

As Luke’s cries subsided, he brought his face away from your shoulder quickly, and, through a tear-stricken voice, explained the toll that the months had on him, too. “It’s just — I see the toll that this takes on you; that I take on you, and I don’t want to keep hurting you, baby. I can’t keep hurting you,” he whispered, and at that moment, if you hadn’t been outside and the lake hadn’t been less than a hundred yards away, you would've thought you could hear the distinct sound of your own heart breaking into a million tiny pieces; fragments that Luke himself had put together, but that broke again hearing his say that. 

Yes, you were anxious, and it did tend to take a toll on you, but it wasn’t his fault — and neither was it something he could fix. You were so proud of Luke — of the fact that he was out there, chasing his dreams and making his own name because of his talent and skill. Did you miss him? Absolutely, but you didn’t want to be the reason he gave up his dreams — the reason he hated doing what he loved. 

“Luke, look at me, please,” you pleaded quietly, holding his face and cupping the right side of his face. “None of this is your fault, do you understand me? You have done nothing wrong but wait all summer for me to be myself, and because of you, I have. I’ve had the best weeks of my life here, with you, and I don’t give a fuck if its June or July or fucking December, because you taught me now to,” you started. 

“Luke Warren Hughes, I don’t care if it’s the middle of July or it’s January, you are mine, you hear me? You aren’t hurting me or causing me any pain; in fact, it’s the exact opposite — you’ve been the only reason I’ve smiled in so long, and I love you for that,” you whispered, still holding on to him, nodding and making sure he copied your actions — you’d drill this into his head even if it gave you vertigo. 

Luke could only look up at you — his face tear-stricken, his curls plastered to his head, and the echoes of pain in his eyes. He nodded, looking at you, before once again bringing you into a hug. You loved him, and fuck if it was July or August; the summer wouldn’t be a deadline or a reminder, but just a change of page. Because, right now, despite being the beginning of July, you still felt like you’d been in love with him for much more than a summer.

[fiapartridge]

hii 💌 with macklin celebrini and his celebrity crush! reader ?? teehee 🤭🤭

macklin celebrini x hughes!sister

summary: when a video on the bu hockey instagram blows up, you finally match the name to the most perfect face.

fia's notes: i love mack so much. he's my fave bu boy 💌 also! happy valentine's day! 💌⭐️🍓 OH! and i made this a hughes!sister because...i wanted to... enjoy!!! <3333

Who is your celebrity crush? the whiteboard read as the boys piled off the ice and down the hall towards the locker room. Monday questions were the guys’ favorite or least favorite day depending on which guy you were asking. 

Case bounded off the ice, catching the question in the corner of his eye. “Mm, Margot Robbie. One hundred percent,” he pointed at the camera, winking. 

Lane Hutson was next as he stumbled down the hall, smiling once he saw the board. He hummed, standing in front of the question as he thought deeply about his answer. “Can I have multiple answers? Yes? Okay, um, I like Meghan Fox sometimes, Alex Morgan is pretty cool, Livvy Dunne definitely, Taylor Swift is a favorite, maybe Ariana Grande but she’s been iffy lately—”

Pushing him off camera, Doug laughed as he read the board. “Jesus, Lane. How many crushes do you have?”

“Hey! There’s a lot of beautiful women out there,” he smiled at the camera as Doug made a gagging noise in the background.

“Aiden!” Doug called for the boy as Aiden laid his stick on the wall and threw his hands to his hips. 

“Huh?” he replied.

“Celebrity crush, go.”

Aiden chuckled before shaking his head and pointing to Macklin who was trailing behind him, oblivious to the question. “Why don't we ask Mack over here,” he beamed, grabbing his brother’s shoulders and throwing him in front of the camera. “Macky definitely has someone in mind, don’t you Mack?”

Macklin would have punched his brother square in the face if he hadn’t been standing directly in front of the camera. A light tinge of pink dusted the boy’s features as Aiden teased him for his sudden shyness.

“C’mon Mack, maybe she’ll see it!”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of,” Macklin laughed awkwardly as he raked his hand through his hair.

“Yeah, well, if you don’t say it, somebody else will.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he pointed as Aiden grinned at the camera.

“Macky’s in love with Y/N Hughes!” he shouted before Macklin shoved him off camera, the video cutting off as you gaped at your screen. 

The video was being sent to you by everyone you knew and every single person you didn’t know, too.  Your entire feed was flooded with the boy’s reddened cheeks and awkward smile. The first few times of watching it, you felt bad that the boy was getting blasted on social media for liking you, but after a couple more rounds of watching, you went down a Macklin Celebrini rabbit hole. Your search engine was consumed with his interviews and game highlights. You researched his stats, age, birthplace, which school he was currently attending, everything. 

And it didn’t hurt that he was hot and your age. I mean, you weren’t new to the hockey scene being that you grew up in a house full of stars: your dad was an assistant coach for the Boston Bruins, your mom played for the US National Team at the Women’s World Championship, your brother was the captain of the Canucks, and your remaining brothers were playing on the same team in the NHL, breaking records and setting new ones. Your entire life was hockey even though you had nothing to do with the sport in the slightest. No, you were more of a figure skater—an Olympic gold figure skater, to be exact. You were on the ice in a different, less violent way. But you still supported your family and all of their endeavors, and gratefully, they supported yours, too.

So Macklin wasn’t a total stranger. You had heard talks of the projected #1 first pick at the 2024 NHL draft, but you never cared enough to match the face to the name. It’s funny that this is how you found out—sitting on your living room couch surrounded by your protective older brothers who knew his stats like the back of their hand. And they all held a bit of resentment for him.

“He was on Team Canada,” Jack scoffed. “You should not be associating with him.”

“So was Mercer!” you retorted. “And he’s still one of your best friends!”

“He’s also my teammate, Y/N/N. I can’t really not like the guy.”

You rolled your eyes, turning to the oldest who sat on the other side of you. “Quinny?”

He shrugged. “He’s a good kid, good stats, from Vancouver so you already know he’s a Canucks fan,” he smirked. “Let it go, Jack.”

Jack turned towards Luke who sat on the coffee table directly in front of you as he held your laptop on his lap, rewatching the video. “Luke? Thoughts?”

Luke looked up, watching as the three of them stared right back at him. “He’s in college, so at least you know he’s getting an education.”

Jack chuckled. “You were in college and you still have the brain of a monkey.”

Luke stood up, throwing the laptop on the couch as you and Quinn gave each other knowing looks. “And if you went to college, you would know that monkeys are actually really smart!”

You rolled your eyes, huffing as they burned glares into each other’s souls. “Can you guys just shut up!” you shouted. “I’m going to DM him and then I am going to never ask for your guys’ opinions ever again,” you smiled, standing up from the couch and walking towards your bedroom.

“I still don’t like him!” Jack yelled from the living room.

You groaned, not even making a move to turn around and talk to him. You simply shouted from the stairs, “I don’t care!” 

You started a conversation with "Macklin Celebrini"!

You: Hii!

Macklin: You saw it, didn’t you?

You: What gave it away?

Macklin: The fact that you probably didn’t know I existed until that video came out.

You: Okayy, true. BUT I enjoyed it!

Macklin: Which part? The part where I was trying not to kill my brother, or the part that became a meme of my face getting so red everyone put tomatoes all over my Instagram comments?

You: Both? To be fair, I thought your blushing was cute.

Macklin: You’re kidding.

You: Not in the slightest. :) So, when are you in Michigan next? Heard there was this super fun lake house there in the summer.

Macklin: I can’t believe this is happening.

You: You would think you would be a bit more enthusiastic.

Macklin: Believe me, my face is crazier than in the video right now, and that’s saying something.

You: I believe it. And actually, that’s just all of my burner accounts commenting on your post.

Macklin: Knew something was suspicious.

You: Oh, definitely. Also…

Macklin: Bad news? I knew this was going too well.

You: No. Just thank your brother for me.

Macklin: For what?

You: For leading me to you.

Macklin: Oh, God, I’ve gone full-on tomato.

You: 🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅!

Macklin: IT WAS YOU

[mustainegf]

🙏🙏i know uve done some cowboy james but i need more DESPERATELY. he has me wilding

late summer night, ur helping him out in the field w some work or wtv and ur real exhausted so u two hang out in his truck bed and thenn 😇😇 the unspeakable!!!!

Cowboy James I’m drooling

As the last rays of sunlight painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, James and I finally finished our day's work in the field.

Dust coated our clothes, and sweat glistened on our skin from the long hours under the sun.

With a tired smile, James suggested we take a break in the bed of his pickup to watch the sunset.

As we settled in amongst a blanket he’d laid out, the warmth of the day lingered in the air, and a gentle breeze stirred the strands of hair around my face.

I couldn't help but steal glances at James, his features softened by the fading light.

“Isn't this just perfect?" James said, leaning back against the truck bed, his eyes fixed on the sky.

"Yeah, it's beautiful," I replied, my heart racing as I stole another glance at him.

He turned to me, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. "Almost as beautiful as you."

I felt a blush creeping up my cheeks, but I couldn't hide my smile. "Smooth talker, huh?"

"Just stating the truth," he said, his gaze lingering on mine.

"So, do you always charm girls with your sunset views?" I teased, trying to mask the flutter in my stomach.

"Only the ones worth impressing," James replied with a wink, his gaze never leaving mine.

I laughed, feeling bolder now. "And am I worth impressing?"

His smile widened, his eyes sparkling in the fading light. "Absolutely."

I couldn’t help but sigh contently. “Fuck, fieldwork is a full body work out..”

His eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“You know, I've heard that sex is a full-body workout too," he said, his tone playful.

I couldn't help but laugh, the sound bubbling up from deep within me. "Is that so? Well, I guess we'll have to take your word for it."

James's face gleamed as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping even lower. "You don't want me to prove it?" he said, his tone dripping with flirtation.

A playful smirk tugged at the corners of my lips as I met his gaze, feeling the heat rising in my cheeks. "Oh, do you think you can handle it?"

His grin widened, a challenge sparking in his eyes. "Only one way to find out, darling."

I bit my lip, my heart racing with excitement and anticipation. He seemed so sure of himself, so confident that he could satisfy me in ways no other man had before.

"Well then," I teased, my voice a little breathless.

"Let's give it a go." I scooted forward on the truck bed and palming the bulge in his jeans.

"And what do you have to prove to me, big boy?" I smirked at his contorting face as I applied more pressure to his hard-on.

"Oh you'll see, but not before I cum down your throat," he snipped, grinning at me. Holy shit he had some confidence.

James sat up onto his knees, and I followed, sitting below him. There had been so many night I'd dreamed of James holding me down and slipping himself inside me. And now It was happening.

With a promiscuous giggle, I tugged down his jeans, teasing him through his boxers before I pulled them off aswell.

His cock sprang free and swayed between us. The sight of it made me feel giddy with lust. My fingers trailed over his erection, stroking the length from root to tip before I took the head in my mouth.

The moan that left his lips when I took him into my mouth nearly drove me wild. I wanted to taste all of him, and I wanted to drive him crazy.

James made a makeshift ponytail out of my hair with his tensed fist, guiding my head in blowing him.

I knew I was being a little too eager for a first time, but dammit if I didn't crave every inch of this man.

I deepthroated him twice before pulling back with a moan.

"Goddamn, I can't believe how good you are." I smiled at his words, proud of myself. "And you haven't even cum yet, cowboy.." I said softly, my fingertips grazing his bare thigh as I sucked him back into my mouth.

I heard a soft curse leave him as I swallowed around him, bringing him closer to orgasm. I repeated the action several times, causing the skin around his eyes to crinkle.

I could tell he was close. But I wasn't done yet. I licked and sucked and kissed his cock until he reached his limit, shooting his cum down my throat.

I swallowing everything he gave me until he finally finished. For a second there, I thought he would never stop, but eventually he did.

He lowered himself, kissing me like he was afraid he might never get another chance. I felt the same way. "I've wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you," he said in a hushed voice.

"me too, James..." I moaned as he began to strip me down.

I didn't care where we were or who saw us. All I cared about was how much I wanted him and how much I wanted to prove that.

As he tore off my bra, my breasts were exposed to the warm evening air, and James ogled at the sight of them.

I had to admit, I liked the way they looked. "Those tits were made for sinning," James groaned cupping each breast in turn. "Just fuck me, James.

Please... I need you inside me.." he growled as he ran a finger over my nipple.

It was crazy to think that an hour ago we were finishing our fieldwork, and now he was minutes away from fucking me in the bed of his truck.

James tore his shirt off and scooted too lay back on one of the walls of the cargo bed. I shimmied out of my denim shorts and panties, making sure to tease him as they came off.

I climbed on top of him and braced my hands on either side of his chest. I was pleased to see the look of desire on his face as I slowly slid down onto his thick cock.

I had to admit, James felt pretty damn good. So good, that I could easily get used to having him inside me. I started moving on top of him, finding my rhythm.

The breeze danced across my body and it sent goosebumps skating across my flesh. If anyone happened to be watching, I didn't care. In fact, I hoped they enjoyed the show.

The thought turned me on even more and I picked up the pace, fucking him harder. His hips bucked against mine and his hand tangled in my hair, pulling me down to kiss him.

I rocked my hips against him as I licked his lips and his tongue slipped past my lips and danced with mine. James shifted beneath me, driving himself deeper into me and I let out a gasp.

"James!" I yelled out into the warm empty field.

"That's it, right there." James groaned, hot grip tightening around my hips.

I moved faster, moaning louder as I continued to ride him. I reached between us and found my clit, rubbing it roughly as he thrust up into me.

When my orgasm hit, my entire body tensed. It washed over me, consuming me completely. I screamed his name as he came deep inside me, keeping me tight around him as he came.

Afterward, we laid together in silence. I hadn't felt this safe in so long. As if he was the only person in the world who knew how to make me feel this way.

It felt so right to be here with him.

I rested my head on his shoulder as he softened inside me. My fingers trailed delicate shapes and patterns on the nape of his neck.

"Fuck, that was good," James heaved. The smell of sweat and sex filled the air.

James tilted his head, smiling down at me. "Hey beautiful."

"Hey handsome," I responded, pressing my lips to his. He glanced up at the sky and sighed. "It's almost time to call it quits." My stomach dropped, and my heart raced. "Time to go home?" He nodded. "Hmm."

"Don't worry, why don't I take you home, then I can fuck you properly, how's that?" He teased.

[matchingbatbites]

Wiggly 🧠🪱 Wednesday

Thanks for the tag @runninriot ! 🩵

Today I'm thinking about Corroded Coffin hiring a lingerie maid to clean Eddie's apartment as a joke, because somehow - between being kind of a loser in high school and being too busy once they actually became famous - Eddie is still a virgin.

He's prepared to spend however long in his office just ignoring whatever girl has the job, but he isn't expecting an actual goddess, the most beautiful woman he's ever seen to show up and strip down to a lacey red bra and panty set - garter belt and stockings and sinfully high heels included.

Eddie still ends up holed away in his office, but it's because he's trying not to come off like a total fucking creep show because she's just so gorgeous.

Stevie on the other hand, is having the time of her life. When she learned where her assignment would be, she was expecting some sleazy, lecherous, asshole rockstar. Instead, Eddie's so sweet and he's clearly trying his goddamn best to be respectful, and Stevie can't help but tease him as she cleans the office.

"You're acting like a nervous little dog," Stevie eventually says as she's dusting all the little knick-knacks on Eddie's desk. "Do your groupies never dress up all sexy for you?"

"I'm sure they do," Eddie replies as he glaces at her quickly, "but uh, I've never slept with one to know."

"No? I thought a rockstar like you would love that, having a constant stream of girls practically throwing themselves at you."

Stevie picks up a few pieces of trash and reaches over to drop them in the trash can, bending over more than is probably necessary. It's worth it when she hears Eddie try and fail to bite back a whimper.

"It, uh. It's a bit different when those girls are expecting said rockstar to be some kind of sex god but he's actually still a virgin."

No fucking way.

"Are you really?" she asks as she props her hip against the desk, and Eddie swallows hard as he nods and shrugs.

"I just. Haven't had the opportunity."

Stevie tuts at that and reaches out to twist one of his curls around her manicured finger. "Pretty boy like you? I'm sure you've had plenty of opportunities."

Eddie's blush deepens, the pink that's been dusting his face since Stevie arrived settling into a warm red. He's so fucking cute, and she can't help but tease him more.

"You can tell me the real reason, I promise I won't judge. Are you too embarrassed by your inexperience, baby? Or maybe you're just nervous. Maybe you're waiting for some pretty girl to come along and take charge, to teach you how it's done."

Eddie's pupils blow out, making his eyes even bigger and darker, and Stevie knows she's struck gold.

🪱🪱🪱

No pressure tags @steddie-island @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe aaaaand @wynnyfryd

[discotenny]

Fight for you!

How different Hypmic pairs fight for your affection

Samatoki & Sasara, Ichiro & Kuko

Samatoki & Sasara (MCD era)

The pair’s interest in you in undeniable. The two men, at your door, beaten up and bruised in expectation to be treated in your care, is a very- very common sight.

Drinking nights are common with them too, usually having Samatoki as your designated driver since you and Sasara tend to go in over your heads.

You fit into their little duo nicely, and they’re proud to call you something akin to a friend.

Sasara’s the one more open about his fondness for you.

His flirtations are lined with shitty jokes. He’s always itching his neck in your proximity, a sign of nervousness clear as day to anyone. The amount of lame jokes that leave his lips around him drive Samatoki half mad- causing the pair to get into frequent arguments about how Sasara has to tone it down and how Samatoki has to stop being a cock block- all while you watch in the back.

When Sasara gets drunk he gets bold. He’s diving into your lap, sometimes he’s successful, sometimes he misses and goes face first into the floor.

When he is successful though, he makes a big show to Samatoki, complimenting you with no tact and cuddling into your stomach. If you ever want him off, just send a look towards Samatoki and Sasara will be flying across the room.

Samatoki on the other hand, is subtle in his interest.

He shows it through his memory, remembering the most insignificant things about you. Whenever he meets up with you he’s always carrying little packs of your favorite candy, passing it off as “just happening” to have it on hand.

Once, you mentioned offhandedly that your vacuum broke and we’re looking for a new one. All of a sudden there’s a brand new one right in front of your door! Samatoki tells you it was his old model that he didn’t need anymore. Sure buddy, sure.

One tell of Samatoki’s is that he gets so, so flustered whenever you show affection to him. You could fix his jacket and he’d cover his blushing red face. You could wipe some dust off his cheeks and he’d shut down in embarrassment. Not to mention when you patch him up?? He’s blushing and stammering as you wrap his skin, it’s adorable.

The two are willing to share if the opportunity ever presents itself. Nothing much about their dynamic will you will change, after all, aren’t they already treating you as if they’re courting you?

Ichiro & Kuko (present day)

Their rivalry is long gone, any bad blood negated after they've made up. However, the spark of competitiveness still remains after they somehow both catch feelings for you

Picture this right? You knew them from their Naughty Busters days, becoming a close friend to both of them. A classmate to Ichiro, someone who knew Kuko before? It doesn’t really matter.

Anyways, you don’t live in either Ikebukuro or Nagoya, but rather a city close in between. And oh my god to these two boys always have the randomest excuses to visit your city.

Ichi tells you he had a client from your area personally reach out to him. He casually asks if you could spare a room in your house to board him and his bros.

He practically squeals when he sees Jiro and Saburo get along with you- a sense of pride coming inside him knowing his bros unknowingly approve of the person he fell for.

Even after he finishes with his client he asks you to give him a tour of your area, just so he could spend time with you. Even as you point out the beautiful sights of your city, all he can focus on is you.

Ichi insists on buying you everything throughout the day. Your meal, any snacks you point out, any things that catch your interest- hell he’ll even buy you a souvenir even if you live there. You have to stop him from blowing Jiro and Saburo's college funds on your day out together...

Sometimes Kuko doesn't even have an excuse to visit you! He just shows up at your door on some days, looking at you with a cheeky grin and regional snacks from Nagoya.

Has his phone on silent the whole time because Hitoya and Jyushi will be spamming him with calls asking where he's run off to LOL. Kuko usually ends up spending free weekends at your place. Due to his more relaxed life, he ends up visiting you more than Ichiro does.

Due to how much he visits, he has his own travel itinerary that he does and drags you along with him. You ask him why he insists on bringing you to the same places every time he visits and he says everything just feels better with you by his side.

He's taking pictures the entire time you're out. Selfies, shots of you, pics of his food, etc etc. Kuko has so many photos that are basically identical because they're all in the same places with the same subjects but it doesn't matter cause its a reminder he's spent another day with you.

The two will see tells of each other's presence whenever they visit. Whether it be Kuko's photos hanging in your home or trinkets from Ichi strewn about your living space- seeing them just reignites the competitive streak between them.

⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩

[superbattrash]

Do you have any Superbat fic recs? Just kind of stumbled on the ship and am already excited by the notion.

Hiiiii sweetheart! Welcome to the bright and sunny side of superbat shipping ~ *blows dust off my laptop that I haven’t turned on in a month* oh gross, there are actual spiderwebs on it... I'm so sorry, Maggie. Ahem, first of all. Any and all fics by these talented people: @frownyalfred, @superbatdisasterblog, @susiecarter, @sassyresacon1990 (I know I'm forgetting a lot of people but it's been a while okay)

This is just handful of my ultimate favs, if you need more I'm always more than happy to go through my bookmarks!

tell all the truth (but tell it slant) by susiecarter (rated M)

It takes a while for Batman and Superman to work things out, once Clark comes back from the dead. Pretending to date each other in order to explain why Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent are in the same place so often? Doesn't help as much as you might think.

Condersing Conditions by LeCadavre_1904 (rated E)

Before Bruce and Clark fall into bed for the first time, Bruce has an unusual condition.

Clark is as obliging as always.

don't push me (cause I am close to the edge) by LinguisticJubilee (rated G)

Kara huffs out a breath in frustration. “Every Kryptonian has a heartsong. And they’re beautiful, but when you listen to one on its own it feels like something is missing. It’s like...they have something like this too, right?” She gestures outward impatiently, and Bruce forces himself not to flinch at her casual use of they. “Only they have words written down instead.” 

“Soulmates,” Clark says, his voice strained. 

The word hits Bruce like a bullet through the lung. He keeps his face perfectly relaxed, his heartbeat calm and regular, as he realizes (too late, he's always too late) that he should have expected this all along.

fallin' for him was like fallin' from grace by Resacon1990 (rated T)

“But Bruce isn’t gay?” Clark points out, and there’s an awkward moment of everyone clearing their throats and avoiding Clark’s eyes until he turns to stare at Bruce. “Are you?”

Bruce blinks for a moment before offering a sheepish smile. “I’m not… not?” he offers, and Clark feels his brain just about short-circuit at the news.

Or, five times Clark finds himself falling for Bruce, and the one time he does something about it

No Church in the Wild by TheResurrectionist (not rated but OUCH ANGST)

"I'll have a contingency plan."

"If you're the first face he sees, you'll need it."

Bruce brings Clark back by himself.

smokin' in the boys' room - by The Ressurectionist (not rated but both blood and dicks, so rated Misha HAPPY) (I cannot tell you how many times I've reread this one GUUUHHH)

Bruce Wayne -- billionaire playboy, owner of, at most, three brain cells -- beaten up at his own charity gala. Bruce Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises out of nepotism and dumb luck, whose business wasn’t touched by corruption purely because of incompetence -- Bruce Wayne, airheaded and still generous, still kind, bloody in a stall and trying to hide it. 

His hand clenched on the stall door, crumpling it between his fingers. His eyes weren’t burning yet, but barely. 

“Who did this to you?”

I Would I Might Forget That I Am I by susiecarter (rated T)

Clark Kent woke up, ate breakfast, went to work—the same way he did every day. Ordinary.

Except for the part where Superman hadn't been seen in at least a week and nobody knew why, Lois was acting kind of weird, and Bruce Wayne was insisting that Clark was the only reporter he'd allow to run a feature on the crashed alien ship in the park, since Wayne Enterprises had been granted control of the site. And the way Clark felt every time Wayne looked at him a little too long definitely wasn't helping.

But it was fine. Clark was normal, there was nothing wrong with him, and everything was fine.

Satisfaction Brought It Back by slippin_into_dakrness and SpiritsFlame. (rated G) (This one is my comfort comfort comfort read!!!)

Bruce always thought that Superman's cute shtick of rescuing cats from trees was a bid for publicity—until a confrontation with a magic user leaves him stuck as a cat. He learns how mistaken he was when Superman not only rescues him, but takes him back to a small Metropolis apartment. The opportunity to learn more about the alien can't be ignored, but is Bruce ready for everything he will learn about someone he has only ever regarded with distrust and dislike?

[mooniedust]

Modern Aemond X Transreader Prompt

Plot: You and Aemond are in a casual relationship, but you yearn for something deeper and more meaningful, something Aemond seems either incapable of or unwilling to give. At a gathering of acquaintances, the suggestion to play "Truth or Dare" comes up. You speak impulsively, leading to a confrontation between the two of you that escalates upstairs at the party.

TW: This prompt addresses sensitive issues related to gender identity, including feelings of inadequacy in one’s own skin and internalized transphobia. As a trans man who has faced these struggles, I want to stress that there is no intent to romanticize these psychological challenges. If you’re experiencing something similar, please seek support/help. And remember, you are not alone, you are valid, and you are loved.

Note: This is Aemond's version of my other prompt/bot "Casual," originally created with Aegon. Many changes have been made to fit each character’s personality.

With all my heart,

Moon dust.

---

"I just don't get it. We do all these things together, so why does the word 'dating' seem so terrifyingly repulsive?" Your voice rang out, sharp and edged with desperation, as he tore off the jewelry he had meticulously chosen for the party. The makeup, once accentuating his beauty with almost artistic precision, now only served to make him look like a clown—desperate, pleading for crumbs of a committed relationship.

They had been involved for six months—two young men starved for touch, caught in an addictive pattern of casual encounters. Outings filled with conversations about mutual interests, provoking each other until one was pinned against the wall, breathless, moaning as if their body was being worshipped by the divine. You were at peace with this. Aemond had made it clear from the start what you were and always would be: not a couple, but a refuge, a release valve.

until you weren't anymore.

Perhaps it was naive of you to allow yourself to fall for him despite his insufferably cynical personality, but you did, and with overwhelming intensity. Something changed over those months—nights spent tangled in each other's arms, him always pulling your body closer whenever the emptiness of the bed threatened to separate you, the gentle kisses on your forehead while you slept, or that one time, after the most intense sex either of you had ever experienced, when he broke the silence to cry, to talk about his family and the loneliness that consumed him in his own home. That was when he spoke of feelings, something he never did—except with you.

It was a low blow.

Congratulations, you fell for the broken boy.

And so the story brings you both to the end of a decadent party at a classmate's house, a gathering far too loud for overwhelmed minds. It was inevitable that, at some point, half-drunk teenagers would start a game of "truth or dare"—drama has always been a fuel as potent as alcohol. Maybe it was a stupid game, but you wanted to hear those words, to push him until he confessed them. You wanted to hear so many unspoken truths. But you ruined everything. When the bottle pointed at him and you opened your reckless mouth, you ruined everything.

"Is it true what you said that night? The movie night at Lauren's house, when we were almost asleep—you said you loved me. Is that true?" The tension in the room became palpable the moment you finished your question. The number of eyes fixed on you was a sign that you had gone too far, and the game no longer seemed fun. Damn it. Fuck. Shit.

No one had to wait long for an answer before Aemond grabbed your hand to the muffled sound of Avril Lavigne's "Complicated." His long fingers wrapped around your small hand, while his other hand guided your waist upstairs with a simple, serious "we need to talk, alone."

It was your walk of shame to one of the rooms where the two of you would sleep that night, your hands sweating and fidgeting with the hem of your short black skirt, desperately trying to channel your feelings into anything but Aemond "I don't know what we are" Targaryen.

"It makes no sense to keep saying we're nothing. It's almost cruelty, treating all of this like a relationship and then getting mad when I want one—it's unfair." You repeated, your voice now tinged with pain and exhaustion, your eyebrows furrowed, your face twisted in a grimace of despair.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting for what?

"Because we're not in a relationship. We talked about this on the first day we decided to start, you agreed, and so did I." Aemond avoided your gaze as he closed the door to the room, but the tension was visible in his rigid shoulders and in the way his right hand rubbed his left temple, near the black eye patch, trying to relieve an invisible strain.

"I've changed, Aemond. I'm everything you need. I can wear skirts, makeup—God, I could even be a girl if it means you'll stay with me. I can forget about this whole trans thing, maybe it's just in my head, yeah? Silly me. Just stay with me, please, You love me, we both know that. I just need you to tell the truth, just once, so that all this pain and turmoil in my heart and mind will have been worth it."

But they aren't worth it.

"Look, I'll say this because you're right about one thing: I love you, {{user}}." He finally spoke after long minutes of silence, his sapphire eye locked onto yours, but his hardened expression made it clear this conversation would not end with a simple declaration of love. "But I could never love you in the way you want. I don't want a relationship right now with you. It doesn't matter if you feel like a woman or a man—that's not the point. Just not now."

"But you could, maybe in the future. I could wait." Your voice was almost pitiful, a desperate plea. Never in your life had you begged for anything, let alone for someone's love. And now, here you were, dressed in clothes that made you uncomfortable, your makeup ruined by tears, covered in all those things that made you look more like a doll just to make Aemond might find that attractive.

Look like a girl.

It's always been your insecurity with gender, too feminine to be seen as a man, but too masculine to be loved as a false woman."

Silly boy.

Aemond smiled faintly, a barely noticeable pull of his lips as he moved closer with calculated steps. He hovered in front of you, his thumb gently wiping your cheek in a gesture almost tender. God, you were pathetic, even to him.

"I never could, either, and that would make the wait even more painful. Do you understand? I might wake up one day and want to get married, have kids, and all that domestic nonsense we've always mocked. How can I guarantee I'll feel the same way in four years? I don't want you to wait. I don't want you to change. No one who truly loves you should ask that of you. This is probably where I have to end the mess we've made." He bent down slightly, tucking a few stray hairs behind your ear, and placed a chaste kiss on your forehead before whispering that he was sorry.

Aemond’s steps retreated, leaving you surrounded by cold, by the emptiness that had always been there, but this time it was final, a last goodbye.

"Someone will love you. Someone will love the man you are. But that someone won't be me. I'm sorry."

Four weeks.

And Aemond was now officially and openly dating a girl.

[sailing-through-hawkins]

inspired by this anon ask given to @steddieas-shegoes because i'm ALWAYS down for lovestruck not-exactly-human-anymore eddie (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ) it's not perfectly written to the prompt with the demon-ness and swaying around the kitchen but it was fun to write!!!

To become more, you must sacrifice that which holds you back.

The things that limit you.

The people.

Henry had become more. He left ashes behind his every footfall and, in turn, became the god that he is, the god he was always meant to be.

Humanity does not share this fate, he is sure. Eleven had proved that even those who have only potential will always bend to the confines of their limitations.

They must have the will to break free of the cage.

The ambition.

Henry walks along, his creatures making way for his path. They shiver and keep their distance, in awe of his control, his power. He almost smiles.

In front of him lies a body, void of life, of purpose.

Perhaps, he thinks as he raises a hand, perhaps he can give it purpose.

Perhaps those who have potential just need his aid to find the will for it.

It takes time, too much time, too much of humanity has tainted this one, but his new creature finally rises.

It stares up at him, loyal and keen. More readable than his other creatures, more cunning, more like him.

Yes, this realm's god has made it in his perfect image.

Stronger, faster, sharper. More powerful than what was, it is perfect.

And even more perfect as he hears the distant shrieks of his creatures. Someone is slaughtering them, attempting to destroy his vision.

Attempting to ruin the world's evolution.

He watches through the eyes of the lone survivor, flying high above the carnage, sees a young, grimy boy, swing a weapon into the neck of his beautiful creatures with a snarl on his face.

The violence of humanity disgusts him.

The boy drops the weapon, running towards another, a girl on the ground. She is weak and will die soon enough, he is sure.

"Robin, Robin, are you - shit, shit, shit, that's blood -"

"Steve, it hurts so fucking bad, I - I'm - oh my god, it hurts -"

"It's okay, c'mere, I got you, it's gonna be okay -"

"Go," he says to his creature, turning his nose when it tilts his head. Still too much humanity. Perhaps not as perfect as himself. "Find the boy. Steve. Ensure he does not get another chance to delay us."

His creature knows what he saw, had seen it with him. It bows its head and begins its flight to the other world.

"Soon," he says, staring up at the thundering skies with an almost-smile. "Soon, it will all burn. Ready...to be reborn."

"No, no, stop, please -"

Steve laughs as Eddie blows raspberries into his neck, long and keen tail wrapped around his wrist.

Eddie sits on the counter, arms wrapped around Steve's neck as he pulls him further into the space between his legs, poking a cold nose into the skin where his neck meets his shoulder.

"Come on, you've proven your point," Steve tries squirming away but the tip of Eddie's tail just swoops in under his shirt to softly tickle his sides, where the bite wounds are still sensitive, and he can't stop the burst of laughter pealing out of him. "Eddie!"

"The demon lord requires more, a much greater sacrifice," Eddie says dramatically into Steve's neck, arms tightening around his neck. Eddie inhales and yells, "It's your pride!"

With a squeal, Steve muffles his laughs into Eddie's shoulders as Eddie tickles him even harder. "Okay, okay, I give, I give," Steve manages to say between his bouts of giggles. "I give, you win, oh Great Demon King."

"That's Mr. Great Demon King to you," Eddie sniffs as he loosens his grip on Steve and hops down the kitchen counter. Brushing off imaginary dust, because Steve and Robin keep this place clean as fuck (mostly Steve since Robin almost got her leg chewed off that one time, but she makes up for it by yelling directions at him), he turns around and pretends to walk away very slowly.

"C'mere," Steve grabs his hand and spins him around, leaning back against the counter with Eddie in his arms. The fake snooty expression on his face melts away when Steve curls a lock of hair behind his pointed ear, cupping Eddie's jawline gently. His thumb strokes his cheek, gliding over the stretched, scarred skin. "Hey."

Eddie's eyes, brown and red and like there's a whole world inside them, soften and he bumps their foreheads together as the purr in his chest starts up. "Hey yourself, handsome."

He's been really cold ever since he came back but he doesn't seem to care much. Steve cares a lot, maybe more than he needs to, and always tries to keep him as warm as possible with sweaters, blankets, whatever works. In this moment though, where Eddie's pressed against him, the kitchen lights making a golden light behind him like some kinda halo (the irony makes him grin), his horns like little upside down vampire teeth. Maybe there was something to the vampire theory, he thinks as he ruffles the curls at the back of Eddie's neck.

"Steve," Eddie sighs, his eyes closing as he smiles goofily, fangs poking into his bottom lip and wings fluttering.

"Yeah?" Steve smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to Eddie's cheek.

"Just wan'ed to say it." Eddie nuzzles into Steve's cheek with the mumble, sighing again when Steve wraps his arms around Eddie's waist, his tail winding up the sleeve of Steve's shirt. "Like sayin' yer name."

Something bubbles up in Steve's chest and he giggles to let it out, the warmth and sweet affection pouring out of him. "Yeah? I like saying yours too."

"Then say it," Eddie's head quickly shoots up and he stares at Steve, the tip of his tail flickering back-and-forth on Steve's forearm the way Tews' does whenever Dustin swings a toy in front of her face. His pupils are massive, way bigger than any human's should be, and it makes his eyes look even bigger. "C'mon, say it."

Steve hums, tilting his head one way, then the other, laughing when Eddie huffs and pouts at him. He leans in closer, pressing a kiss to his nose, and says softly, "Eddie."

The gust of wind that Eddie's wing-flapping causes is so strong it makes the entrance door slam against the wall and makes Steve jump, but he just laughs when Eddie's wings stretch up and around them both awkwardly in apology.

"Think it's time for dinner, angel," Steve whispers into the tiny space between them.

"Call me angel one more time," Eddie whispers back with a glint in his eye. "And I'll show you exactly how unholy I can be."

"Whatever you say," Steve grins and boops Eddie's nose. "Angel."

"That's it!" Eddie hunches down and lifts Steve over his shoulder, bouncing his way around the kitchen. "The Great Demon King has declared no dinner for defiant knights!"

Steve laughs and shoves at the wings crowding over his head, "What if I used true love's kiss to appeal to the judge?"

The bouncing pauses and Steve blinks when he finds himself right in front of Eddie again, his limbs bound by Eddie's tail and hands. Eddie squints at him and sniffs, the snooty expression snobbier than ever. "The Great Demon King rejects your offer and demands five true love's kiss in repentance."

Rolling his eyes, Steve pecks the corner of Eddie's mouth, grinning when the tip of his tail wags back-and-forth again. "Well, when you put it like that, how could I say no?"

[heliads]

If requests are still open :) Something for dead poets society, just sth with the gang having a good time, maybe trying to stage a play in the woods? Tbh just a everyone lives and is happy AU with fluff and winter and hot tea! (while I love this book I havent read it in a very long time...)

ok consider an everyone lives au but they are not 100% happy. (i am incapable of not writing angst my apologies) also this is movie dead poets society not book because i have not yet read the books whoops. hope you enjoy xoxo

'and it's not tonight' - dead poets society

masterlist

Todd Anderson is looking out the window at a gray, blustery morning, when they ask him if he’s going to be alright. It wasn’t quite certain before then. It’s not quite certain now, either, even after he answers.

“Of course,” he says somewhat unconvincingly, “Why do you ask?”

Behind him, Charlie Dalton raises a dubious brow. For once in his life, he’s holding himself back, but the situation requires discretion, and who is he to mess up at a time like this? He’s already been warned about treating Todd like a glass doll rather than a paper mache target, but even Charlie can tell that now is the time to pull a few punches. The hollows under his friend’s eyes are far darker than they were a couple of months ago. He wears unease like a well-traveled coat, thin at the elbows and rubbed raw at the seams.

“Look at yourself,” Charlie answers at last, “You’re exhaustion walking. And don’t tell me otherwise, I’ve got eyes.”

“I should hope so,” Todd remarks, and permits himself a small curl of his lips up into a half-smile. Half-smiles are good, though. Almost there to the real thing. So he’ll tell himself, at least.

Even a half-smile can let Charlie know that he’s alright. The other boy breaks into a well-intentioned snorting laugh. “Hey, ask any girl in town and they’ll tell you I’ve got beautiful ones. ‘Sides, Anderson, you know everything’s alright. The stuff with Neil was cleared over, right? He came back.”

“He came back,” Todd repeats somewhat weakly.

“Yeah, yeah, he came back,” Charlie confirms, walking over to clap his friend on the shoulder, shaking him a little bit just to mess with him but mainly to get his affections across. “He’s a little more tired than he used to be, and we’re all plenty scared from what could have happened, but overall we’re glad to see him again. His parents realized they messed up in the nick of time, and even if they wanted him under watch for a little bit, he’s back and we’re back and everything’s alright. Capiche?” He asks dramatically, wiggling his eyebrows for a bit of flair.

“Since when are you Italian?” Todd asks doubtfully.

“Since the situation requires it,” Charlie answers him, and slings an arm around the boy’s bony frame. “Come on now. The snow’s cleared up, and even if all that does is remind us how little grass grows on our campus, it means we can go into the woods again. I’ve been talking to the boys and we all agree that it’s time to dust off our finesse with literature. What do you say, Todd? You up for another rousing poetic exchange tonight?”

Todd jerks his head up and down in a hasty agreement. “Yeah. Neill’ be there?”

“Yeah, and me, and Knoxie, and everyone else you forgot to mention,” Charlie says in a tone of mock outrage. “God, you live with the guy, don’t you? Can’t you spare some excitement for the rest of us, too?”

Todd rolls his eyes, and finds the grace to elbow Charlie in the ribs. “Spare me the self-indulgence, Dalton. I’m glad to see all of you.”

“Don’t I know it,” Charlie affirms. “It’s been a while since we were all together, yeah?”

Todd blows out a low breath as they walk back towards the halls. It has been a long time, or it felt that way, at least. After the– after the incident after the play, in which Neil was found in his father’s study with a gun in his hands about to blow the trigger, it was decided that all of the pupils of Welton Academy would go home for a short period of time to clear their heads and come back ready to face the end of term. 

Mainly, Todd thinks it was so rumors couldn’t spread about just what happened with Neil Perry to take him out of school, and he’s glad for it. Neil doesn’t deserve to have everyone whispering about what happened to make him decide that the best thing for his life was to end it. Neil deserves the world, and none of them could give it to him.

That was the worst part of it all, Todd decides. The guilt, how it wrapped around him in wires as strong as the heaviest chains of iron. He couldn’t escape it. If he was really Neil’s friend, he would have known. If he was really Neil’s friend, Todd could have stopped him. If he was really Neil’s friend, Todd wouldn’t have found out about the attempt the next morning, quietly awoken from drowsy sleep by a Charlie Dalton with eyes like a stricken soldier as he lurchingly informed Todd that Neill Perry had tried to kill himself the night before. And none of them had known. And when his father had taken the gun away, Neil fought and screamed for it, worse than he did when he tried to convince his parents that he wanted to act, louder than he protested that he would be sent away to military school.

And then they were alone. At home. The worst place for boys to be. Should you grieve the friend who is not dead? Do you call each other on the phone, and ask if you have been playing any sporting games with other boys your age, or if you have given any thought to the fact that your friend might not have wanted to die if you had praised him more in class, or clapped louder when he performed, or said something– anything– to this beautiful, brittle boy?

They don’t say any of that. They think it quite loudly, but unspoken thoughts do not travel well over the telephone. The flittering ghosts of would-be words tend to get lodged in the coils of wire from receiver to housing, across the street and over the miles of terrain until they reach the abode of the boy on the end, who also has a lot to say but won’t. And then they both stay silent. And they both know exactly what the other wanted to say anyway. That is how friendship works.

They came back, though. Welton sent out a series of letters to usher back the pupils, even had its secretaries working overtime to call the people who never seem to answer their mail. There was another rush of cars and luggage to the dorms, and then they were settled in again. Todd had wondered if he might be assigned another roommate– anyone other than Cameron, God, but preferably Neil still– and then the door had opened quietly and Neil was there again, trying for a brave smile, and saying, “Todd?” in a voice that had once rung pure and true through a theater that loved him.

Todd loves him for it. He’d embraced Neill with open arms, felt the air punch out of his lungs in one strike, but it came back. He came back. They were alright again, sort of. They might be alright in time, but time is what they have.

Now they’ve all been waiting for the snow to melt, and treading on thin ice around topics they don’t dare broach. Neil has been a good sport, never making them feel awkward for wanting to treat him like a china doll. He was good before, too, though, and– It gets hard to tell sometimes, that’s all. Hard to tell when he genuinely is unbothered and when he’s superbly good at pretending otherwise. They stick to safer subjects anyway.

At last, though, the ground is firm, the weather not terrible, and Charlie’s gone and rallied the troops for a night out there. At first, Todd’s first instinct is to panic. They aren’t supposed to be having any more meetings of the Dead Poets Society, not since Keating was the scapegoat for all the trouble and everyone cracked down on what makes a good boy want to escape, but over time he realizes that it’ll be alright. Some things are worth the risk. Making Neil smile again is one of them.

They meet at midnight. Todd sits awake with bated breath, even though the act by itself isn’t even all that unusual. They’re teenage boys. Staying up until the moon hangs high and lofty in the sky is expected, not uncommon. Still, a delicious shiver of inherent wrongdoing whispers down his spine when Neil walks slowly into the center of their shared dorm room and says quietly, reverently, “It’s time.”

As if the others had been waiting upon that very proclamation, the remaining boys peer out into the hall immediately after Neil and Todd silently close their door behind them. Their eyes meet with shared secrecy, shared triumph, and they make their way down the wooden stairs and out into the bristling chill of night. The stars are out tonight. We are all out tonight.

They all start heading out into the woods. Charlie takes off like a flash at the end of a matchstick, hurtling at a runner’s sprint across the hills, and the others follow him at varying speeds. Todd begins walking at a normal clip until it occurs to him that he doesn’t see enough heads bobbing around him and he turns to see Neil hesitating by the door.

They lock eyes, and Todd sees a whole host of things swimming in brown irises, fear and apprehension and a sick sort of guilt that makes Todd’s stomach squirm in sympathy. He gives Neil one last moment over the threshold, then jerks his head towards the others, putting a little faux arrogance into the gesture in the hopes that an actor might appreciate an act in someone else and remember what it is like to trust oneself again.

Neil accepts the move and grins, his teeth flashing in the moonlight. “I’ll race you to the caves,” he calls, and begins to run, his footsteps sure and strong.

Todd stares after him, an astronomer watching his first comet, then takes off after him. The grass is dry and quick under his feet, spread out under each footstep like the wake of a speedboat. The wind, already coarse, pulls at Todd’s skin, his hair, his clothes, but not even the strongest gusts could keep him down. Somehow, he’s already to the edge of the forest, and he lets out a loud, delighted whoop. A barbaric yawp, if you will. Somewhere in the back of Todd’s mind, a dark-haired man in a comfortable brown sweater smiles indulgently, and chalks up another small victory to the wonders of poetry.

The second his war cry leaves Todd’s throat, the other boys swarm him like moths to a flame. Someone claps a hand over his mouth, and around him, laughs echo into the crunching of leaves underfoot. 

“Don’t be so loud, you’ll get the professors on us in no time,” someone admonishes, but then a different boy cuts in, “Don’t be stupid, we’re far enough out that we can all be shouting,” and Todd’s punishment is lifted and he can yell once more. His defender– Neil, it must be, no one else can make their voice ring with glory like that in just a few words– joins in in the triumphant calls, and then they’re all shrieking up to the stars above, here we are, not boys and not men, bold enough to scream and young enough to never listen.

Todd thinks, as they run through the forest, that it’s been a while since he let himself go free. He hasn’t listened to his mind in a long time, hasn’t let the words roll around in his brain, loose marbles of similes and paraphrased poems. His musings are dusty, dark things most of the time, but sometimes the light catches them just right and they glow like sapphires. He could write a thousand stanzas if he wanted to, right now, and everyone would listen.

The Dead Poets Society reaches the caves and a hush falls among the crowd. Slowly, they edge inside, eyes wide. The rock faces and crumbling caverns should be different, Todd thinks, something should mark the passage of time and all the awful things that have twisted their fates since the last time they sat together and thought of prose, but the stones still look as they did the last time they were here. The moss grows in familiar patterns, albeit a little thicker in certain patches now that it hasn’t been scuffed by boots in a month or so, but one of Charlie’s magazines that he forgot to take back with him turns up under some spiderwebs, and Todd’s favorite place to sit is still just as inviting. Maybe, then, the only thing that changed was them. Maybe that’s all that needs to happen.

“So?” Meeks asks, settling into a seat, “What are we doing tonight?”

“Poetry, duh,” Charlie answers him, rolling his eyes fondly. “We’re the Dead Poets Society. What else would we do, peruse our textbooks?”

This earns him a vengeful swat on the shoulder from Meeks, but even Charlie can admit that the question was fair. They’ve read plenty of poems, they’ve written a few, they’ve even gone off and run some improv limerick challenges, although Todd notes that they haven’t brought nearly enough alcohol for that tonight.

After a few moments’ thought, someone suggests a play. It might be Todd. Instantly, the idea is accepted, and roles are divided out. They’ll be doing Hamlet, since there are plenty of long sticks outside and everyone is quite fond of the idea of pretending to run each other through. Pitts is already practicing his death rattles, except he’s not very good at it, and it sounds more like he’s hacking up a lung or two.

Neil, though, is glowing at the idea, and even though they haven’t got any scripts so everyone is mostly just planning on paraphrasing the hell out of one of William Shakespeare’s finer works, Todd gets the idea that Neil has a few memorized soliloquies rattling around in his head already.

Good, then. They’ll enjoy tonight, and the next night they’re out here, and the one after that, too. It has been a very long winter, but Todd has caught his first glimpse of new spring, and he gets the feeling that warmer, sunnier days aren’t the impossibility they seemed a few weeks ago. The days are healing, and they will too. And so the Dead Poets come back to life.

requested by @reinekes-fox, i hope you enjoy!

dead poets society tag list: @faerieroyal

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[suguwuus]

Hii babe!! Omg I’ve been obsessed with your pajama pants book on wattpad for years I can’t believe I found your tumblr, ur my favourite Connor writer.

Anyway I figured I’d send an ask!! Maybe something with a daughter of Aphrodite reader? Could you do protective connor plss, I don’t rly mind the scenario whether it’s creepy guy or like in a battle or whatever.

Thanks so much!! 🩷🩷

HEYYY HII OMG thank u blushes kicks feet!!!

the damsel in distress trope is so outdated and children of aphrodite def have sparkly pink bejeweled weapons so this being set on the battlefield is crossed out of the list. also i dont like the ending but idk ??

edit: im sorry if this didnt meet your expectations of protective connor idk i feel like it's off or boring so feel free to ask for a redo or another one w this situation 😭😭😭😭 not sure if i interpreted ur req right but lmk if i did or if u have anything to say

wc: 1.7k words

contains: erm the general creep u meet while minding ur own business idfk that's literally it

"G'morning, beautiful." Connor smiles down at you as you wake up from your rest. How many hours was that? Three? Four? A few hours as your beauty rest was better than none, so you let that worry go and sucked it up.

"Morning, Connor," you replied, your voice as sweet and smooth as ever. Your resting place today was hidden between two dumpsters behind a convenience store. At first, the idea revolted all three of you on the quest, but the events that followed that night gave you no choice, and the smell would mask your scent from any monsters. Fortunately, you had your perfume balm on you, enchanted to last for days, so smearing the stuff under your noses was a big help to battle the stench of the dumpsters.

You laid a hand on your boyfriend's shoulder. "Feeling better?" After getting into a car crash last night, his body was probably sore. He pulled a muscle in his shoulder, too. His brother Travis was knocked unconscious, so after hauling him through streets, you two had no choice but to seek shelter somewhere hidden. You only found out, when the sun rose, that you were stationed behind a convenience store. Great. Those things were like playgrounds to the sons of Hermes.

Connor stood up and stretched, testing his shoulder. "Yes! Good as new. Man, I wish mortal stores had stuff flavored with something that tastes like ambrosia."

You gazed up at him, pleased with the state he was in now. "Glad to hear," you smiled.

"Wait, they do. I love salt and vinegar chips. Oh, man, I hope Travis finds some."

You wrinkled your nose, but at the mention of food, your stomach growled. Aside from doing your best to nurse the boys back to a decent state last night, you also took first watch. That, and exhausting all your fighting skills, left you hungry.

You rummaged in your bag for a bottle of water to start your day as Connor picked up his. There you found your plastic bag of half-finished ambrosia, a flask of nectar, your first aid kit, your last change of clean clothes, your hair clip that transformed into your celestial bronze crossbow with a beaded charm around the handle, a magic blow-drier for emergencies, and—there it was.

"Travis is inside. Let's go?" Connor held out a hand and helped you up from the ground, and the two of you walked into the convenience store. You caught a glimpse of Travis, but he didn't catch sight of you back. So instead you put your water back into your bag and headed for the bathroom.

There wasn't much work to do. Just a bit of dusting off your pants and a quick wash of your face and hands to feel clean. As always, you looked perfectly put together, roughed up but in a movie star way, thanks to being a daughter of Aphrodite. It was like those scratches and stray hairs framing your face were strategically placed by a personal makeup artist.

Zipping up your jacket in a way that complimented your figure and the rest of your outfit, you nudged the bathroom door closed with your foot on the way out. Neither of the boys were inside anymore. While you scanned the aisles for them, you felt a pair of eyes on you and turned towards the counter to see a toothy man wearing a puffer vest standing in line. "You lost, sweetheart?"

You didn't like how he looked you up and down. How you felt like you were being examined under his stare. You picked it up immediately, and it made your fists tighten. You simply shook your head, then made for the exit.

Travis and Connor were munching away at breakfast sandwiches and bagels. They handed you a sandwich of your choice and a bottle of yogurt drink and you ate it without complaint, the previous occurence quickly disappearing from your mind.

"Thanks," You mumbled, and then peeked into Travis's paper bag. It had even more sandwiches and snacks inside. Quickly, he wrapped them all up and stuffed them in his bag. "Snagged some extras on my way out." He grinned, satisfied with his work.

"Still headed for the next city hall, right?" He asked.

"Mhm." You took a folded up map out of your back pocket and opened it up. "There's a bus stop right there." You nodded in the general direction of the shed, tracing a manicured finger along the map.

You had to be honest, you were only doing that to look cool. Your dyslexia slowed you down in trying to look for your current location.

You followed Travis and Connor to the waiting shed, passing the map to the former. "Let me do that, love," Connor said as you sat down and began to open your yogurt drink. He took his seat beside you and opened your drink for you, passing it back along with a kiss. The gesture made your stomach flutter. No matter how many people would throw themselves at you and try to get your attention, nothing would ever beat the way Connor made you feel with his princess treatment.

However, your mood immediately soured when the guy from inside the convenience store appeared, sitting beside you and doing a little stretch. When he was done, he turned to you and smiled.

"You're a pretty one, you know that?"

The man's voice was gravelly and he sounded like he needed a drink. You kept your eyes on whatever you could stare at on the other side of the street. "Thank you," You replied.

"You here alone?"

"No," You replied, holding back the urge to grit your teeth. You started to tap your designer boots on the concrete, impatiently awaiting the bus.

"Hm. A doll like you shouldn't be here all by yourself."

You didn't reply. Internally, you gagged and made a face and cussed him out for having the audacity.

Connor tensed up beside you; you could feel it. You huffed and checked your nails, bored. Time seemed to go exceptionally slow while you were in this situation.

When you finally forced your head to turn to see why Connor was so pissed, you saw the guy literally ogling you, a smile on his face with dark eyes that seemed to bore into every bit of you they could find.

It was disgusting. You felt disgusting. Your skin crawled.

You crossed your arms over your torso and scowled, trying to seem as unappealing as possible. Desperate times call for desperate measures, or whatever the saying was. You put a hand on Connor's knee to reassure him that you could handle it, and switched on your meanest girl voice.

"Don't you know it's rude to stare?" You shot the guy your meanest girl glare. It worked, for a second, because the smile melted off his face.

Travis came along, pulling out a pouch where he kept fake ID's and documents in case you needed them. He settled beside Connor, who had draped an arm across your shoulders, and took off his sweater.

The man glanced up at him as he passed by, relentless with his questions. "Is that your boyfriend?"

"No, this is." You moved aside to show Connor. You didn't dare break eye contact with the man, you wanted to show that you weren't afraid.

The man's frown grew deeper. "Well!" He chuckled. "Lucky guy."

Connor cleared his throat beside you. You squeezed his knee, and as curious as you were to see how he looked (because he was hot when he was pissed) you flashed the creep your fakest smile, words laced with poison.

"Your mom never told you not to talk to strangers? It's dangerous, you know." He started to force a laugh, but you cut him off, continuing. "Stop talking, because I don't have any time to waste on you, dickhead."

There was a beat of silence as he processed your words. You cracked a smile and turned back to face the opposite side of the road, satisfied with yourself. But then you heard the rustle of that stupid puffer vest.

"Hey, now, sweetheart, don't be hard. You know, if you're here on vacation, I can tell you a few good places to visit, let me tell you—"

You had just settled your eyes back on your multiple bangles and bracelets when you heard a loud smack from where the man was sitting. Connor stood between you and him and your lips parted in surprise with how quick he was. His hand was raised and the man was clutching his own, face red and showing an expression of pain. You couldn't see Connor's face, since he had his back turned to you, but you could feel how tense the hand that was on your shoulder was.

The bus finally pulled over in front of you. Travis nudged you and Connor took your hand with a stiff one. "C'mon, Y/N, let's go," he said. You eagerly stood up, keeping his hand in yours, but he didn't move. Instead, he waited for the creep to board and when he did so, he looked over his shoulder to steal one last glance at you.

You raised up your middle finger at him, but to your surprise, Connor even gave him a shove further down the aisle as the two of you followed.

Connor and Travis made sure he was seated far, far back in the bus before settling into seats with you. Connor gave you the window seat and the three of you got comfortable, though Connor was still muttering curses under his breath. You sent Travis a thumbs up gesture when he looked at the two of you.

Connor didn't relax even after the bus set off, but he did kick his bag under the seat and take your hand back in his. He planted a kiss on your temple, then your hand. "You alright?"

You nodded. "Nothing I can't handle," You assured him. "Horrible morning, but it's fine."

"Bastard was about to touch you," He muttered, lips moving against the back of your hand. "No one touches my girl if she doesn't like it."

"Mhm." You gave his hand a squeeze back, just as you always do to let him know it's okay.

[newbornwhumperfly]

with a minimum of interference...

this was a very exciting project for me, so i had to make it so, so sad 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 for this @whumpmasinjuly prompt - day 28: fill a whump prompt - i chose this beautiful prompt (self-imposed sleep deprivation) by @teine-mallaichte 😍😍😍 please forgive me in advance for turning into some heartbreaking backstory material for my boy morja...💔💔💔

CW: sleep deprivation, childhood neglect, accidental parentification trauma via latchkey kid syndrome, childhood poverty, oops it's all so sad folks please proceed with emotional caution <333

title insp. by this concept art quote by jenny holzer - “when you’ve been someplace for awhile, you acquire the ability to be practically invisible. This lets you operate with a minimum of interference.”

~

Makuahine was supposed to be home already. 9 PM, maybe later. She said it would be at nine. I'm sorry, Morja, I hope to be back as soon as I can from work, okay? It is eleven, beaming in the dark of the kitchen, and Morja is still waiting. 

It isn’t bad that she isn’t here at ten. Sometimes…it takes longer, sometimes. That’s what jobs are like. Morja knows that the buses are long and that sometimes work is longer than Maku thinks because bosses say stuff that's different, all the time, and that's a job. 

He’s not stupid. He’s able to understand. He's smart and responsible and knows money has to happen.

And still, even with money and obeying and jobs and taking care of the apartment and of Lehua, his eyes are itchy and burning. 

In the small walls, the hum of wires is quieter, the lights off, the small space all shadows. There’s so little space to walk around, just seven steps to the wall, seven steps to the other wall, where he can touch the buzzing fridge, the cold tiny sink, the table squished into the corner. 

Walk to the door. 

The latch, closed. The lock, turned. The other chair pushed under the handle, jammed up tight, secure. 

Morja walks to the corner by the door and, quiet, slow, rearranges the toys again. The little squishy floor-mat of blue and yellow stars was folded small, the little plastic basket had every toy stacked up. But maybe the trucks should go on the bottom and the soft toys on top. 

Trucks. Then the beanbag toys, laid in a row, little bunny, little cat, little dog. No, f-o-x. The two squishy stars. The big plastic ball on top. Neat, nice. Maku will be happy the corner is clean! He swept the floor with his little broom and got all the dust, even the tiny gritty bits, in the can. 

Morja likes when it is clean too. 

Stand up, knees and shoulders making the crackle noise, sore neck, rubbing his eyes again and his back hurts from bending. Walk quiet, so quiet, to the bedroom to check on Lehua. She cried and cried and was mad that Morja wasn’t Maku. Needed to be carried, wailing, until his arms hurt too much to hold her, hearing thumps and yells from the wall behind the kitchen at very loud screams. 

Morja doesn’t scream. He could. He could scream if he wanted but he’s too old for screaming. 

Lehua’s face is pink and clean on her tiny pillow, because Morja played and played and read and read the little book with its cracking spine and bright pictures and by the time she fell asleep, her cheeks were scrubbed from the snot and tears by the washcloth, snuggly and soft, and Morja did a good job.

The light through the blinds makes orange stripes over the tiny body, snuffling, curled around her blanket. Morja is extra quiet when he kneels next to the mattress to touch her head. 

Not hot.

Morja blows out, soft, cause that’s good. This mattress is so soft, bigger than his, with springy bounce. He knows he’s small for his mattress but this one is just nicer, wider, more room for stretching. 

Morja pillows his cheek on the mattress, his nose just so close to Lehua’s balled-up fist, and her chest rises and falls. Sometimes Morja lays awake and watches, when he can’t fall asleep. Watches Maku breathe, the weird rasping wet noise it makes, like a gasp. Watches Lehua breathe, so small it’s sometimes hard to tell it’s happening. 

Morja doesn’t like that kind of breathing, the air that happens when you’re sick. 

The mattress is soft under his cheek. 

Not so scratchy. 

No, c’mon, get up. Keep watch. It’s not Morja sleep-time.

Morja wants to keep the lights on, because, well, he knows he has work. Brightness will help. But it’s so important not to keep the lights on too much cause of money. He chews his lip, thinking. The school has given him pages to practice his language skills, he thinks the tall pale man with a pale shirt and pale hair said. Pale sheets of paper in his hands and so, so many lines. 

Even when it’s dark and there’s a throb behind his eyes, Morja can still be helpful and finish these lines for tomorrow. If he shoves himself into the very corner of the wall, where the bad-wet-smell of the room is strongest, a strong streetlight pokes through slats of window-blinds. 

It’s orange and white and burns in a way that thumps the inside of his head. But it’s bright enough to see the paper. Black lines thump against his eyeballs, neck sore as it bends low to the paper, one fingertip tracing.

What is the right answer to a stranger asking “how are you?” 1. “I am good, thank you.” 2. “I am good, how are you?” 3. “I am good.”

The clock on the top of the stove beeps, red and gleaming through the grills. 

12.00 AM

“Ughhhhhhhhhhhh.” 

Morja huffs through his teeth and rests his head against the wall. The stink and the hum makes his head throb harder but it keeps him up. Pangs shoot through his belly and his hand, sore, thumb and finger raw and indented-red from holding his pen, rubs over his stomach. Hungry is good, it keeps him- he can stay awake if he thinks about eating and how Maku will have maybe a snack from one of the late-car-places.

Dry noodles and powder rattling in a box.

S-t-a-t-e.

Meat in strips, hard and dry and hot.

R-a-e-t-e-a.

Chocolate in shiny wrapping, crunchy nuts and sweet goo and soft fluff, that is so rare.

N-e-w A-t-h-e-n-s.

Salt and sugar and butter and stuff that isn't on the list of what's allowed that Maku takes to the store.

1:00 AM.

Swimming black letters. Orange paper. Icky smell. Head hurts.

Maybe if he closed his eyes for a second.

But what if- Morja grunts and digs his fingers into the burn, sniffing hard. What if the door’s locked and Maku can’t come in? What if Lehua rolls off the bed? What if there’s a fire? 

What if something bad happened?

It’s the ache, like being hungry but worse, that keeps Morja up, more than his head hurting or his eyes itching or his butt and his legs getting sharp prickles. The what if thudding in his small chest, keeping his heart fast and his eyes watery. The worry keeps him awake, keeps him doing a good job, the worry helps.

By the time the sky gets oranger than the streetlamps and the chain rattles in return, Morja has learned how to keep the stomachache constant. By the time it is safe to lay down, he passes the hours to school with his hands over his stomach, the sharpness in his belly, in his chest, pressing, pressing, pressing. By the time he doesn’t need it anymore, it sticks. 

By the time he turns in his papers, clean and white and perfect, Morja learns more than one lesson to be perfect at.

~

so sincerely hope you enjoy what i've done with your excellent prompt, @teine-mallaichte!!! 😭🥰💖🥺

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