#about a post where I said IF they were black this is how they’d style their hair

[starlooove]

Will forever be mad that everyone ignores that Musa’s og style is based in hip hop and tbh that is literally indicative of how white people think everything we do is “alt” like the baggy pants and shit Is things white ppl did to rebel they rebel by copying us because everything we do is weird and outlandish to them and now its “alt” which is FINE or whatever but then they completely ignore the black aspects of it like

[greatunironic]

eddie wakes up in a strange room. this was not particularly unusual for him, historically: he’d spent most of his twenties waking up in new and interesting places (including a handful of jail cells). but after eddie, the label, and the los angeles superior court system decided it would be best if he stopped drinking and doing blow, it stopped being such a regular occurrence.

so it’s almost alarming to him, now, to be blinking up at an unfamiliar cement ceiling with the raging bitch of all headaches and generally feeling like he got hit by a truck, got whiplash in a crash with the way his neck aches. he’d think he was hungover like all those times before except for how sharp the pain is, bright.

he worries, briefly, he’s relapsed, or someone’s slipped him something. but he remembers what him and the boys had been up to, before this, and he thinks it’d’ve been a strange night indeed if someone roofied a c-list (b-list if he’s feeling charitable) musician at a fucking frozen four game.

because yeah, eddie remembers: they’d been third row, watching the wisconsin ladies clean up and cheering for jeff’s kid sister like she was about to get olympic gold. (she probably would, someday. her and that mayfield girl who played defense were looking down the barrel at a 2026 run apparently.

eddie’s been to a handful of games over the years, when touring and recording allows them to go. he’s resolutely never been a sports guy but he’ll admit, when pressed, that live hockey is pretty dope. to say nothing, of course, of how jeff would probably murder them all in their sleep if they didn’t rep the red and white for lottie.

(and also — and this is between eddie and his god alright — but lottie’s coach? standing back there in his suit, hair styled and dialed, snapping his gum, yelling at the refs? kind of doing it for him, okay. worth the price of admission, even if the tickets weren’t free.)

when he thinks harder — which hurts too — the last thing he clearly remembers was someone from the beavers scoring, bringing their lead to 5-1, and a slapshot from the other team getting out over the boards and nearly taking out some lady’s popcorn. someone behind them in the seats said, “jesus they’re getting desperate, eh?”

then shit goes dark on him, not even a fade to black, but a full on smash cut, roll credits black, and the post-credits scene is where ever the fuck eddie is at the moment. it smells like human and cold and icy hot, so obviously, he thinks, he died and went to hell like all the church ladies said he would back in hawkins, or probably just a locker room. what the fuck?

he blinks at the ceiling, at an interesting water stain on the cement texturing. he’s in the middle of wondering where the rest of his band has gone if he’s here alone, fucking abandoners, when a sweaty redhead with the bitchiest expression he’s maybe ever seen enters his field of vision.

“you’re alive,” she says.

eddie blinks again. “why do you sound so disappointed?”

“yo coach!” she shouts, already on the move away from him. “he’s alive!”

he tries to sit up, but that makes the pain in his head worse, and also draws attention to the fact that his back also hurts. he squeezes his eyes shut and makes a truly embarrassing noise of pain — if pressed, he’d call it a whimper — and a pair of big hands land on his shoulders.

“out, out ladies i got this! hey!, hey, man, don’t move just yet,” says big hands.

“yeah, no problem, i don’t want to anymore,” eddie says. he stirs up the will to open his eyes again and very nearly slams them back shut. because of course the person staring down at him is fucking coach hottie snackycakes himself. he’s even better looking in person, too, big droopy eyes, lips as pink as his bubblegum, and shiny, jesus christ. he’s still got eddie by the shoulders, hands warm through the thin cotton of his flannel and tee — because eddie’s always been more fashion than sense, wayne always said, and it’s even worse now that the paps are on him—

“oh, fuck this is gonna be all over tiktok later, isn’t it?” he moans.

“maybe not.”

“don’t lie.”

“listen, eddie — it is eddie, right?” asks coach hottie. “i’m steve. coach harrington. faughnsie — lottie, i mean — she said you’re eddie. her brother’s guitarist? what do you remember?”

“more like he’s my singer,” he says, “but sure. and not much.”

“well, you’re gonna be okay,” says coach hottie — steve. “it really wasn’t that bad, and it was probably too fast for anyone to get it, unless they already had a camera on you. you took a puck to the head when one popped up. i’d apologize but it wasn’t one of my girls who did it, so. anyway — you weren’t out for long, which robbie says is good — she’ll get a look at you in a second — but you got your bell rung pretty good. and you’re gonna have quite the shiner, trust me.”

“speaking from experience?”

“oh, yeah. closer and faster too.” he gently raps his head with his knuckles. “too many concussions too early ended my nhl days, in fact.”

“oh. oh shit, sorry, i—“

“don’t worry about it, man, it happens,” he says. “and if it hadn’t, i wouldn’t be here.”

“at the frozen four.”

“yeah, sure, that too.”

“what?”

“what?” steve waves him off. “anyway, i’m just glad to see you up, ish, and talking. looked pretty scary, from the bench.”

“i really don’t remember,” says eddie. “but i’m sure i’ll see it on tiktok later, like i said — at least, my unconscious, bleeding form.”

“i got up there pretty fast, so i doubt it,” says steve.

eddie blinks, twice. “you—?”

“you were behind my bench, and you. well,” he says with a shrug, but he’s clearly a little embarrassed, finally putting those hands away — weapons of eddie destruction, he thinks — and shoving them into his pockets of his tight slacks. “i should be getting back out there.”

“do you? you’re murdering them pretty good, unless i black out and missed them getting four more goals,” eddie says.

the corners of steve’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. eddie thinks he might just pass out again. “no, we’re still gonna cinch it, i think. looks bad, though — first time coach missing the final period so’s he can hit on the cute musician who got his clock cleaned by the biscuit.”

“oh,” he says. swallows. “uh.”

steve’s crinkly, smiley eyes go wide. “unless—“

“no less!” eddie shouts and then immediately winces. at a better, less damaging to his more than slightly concussed noggin, volume, he says, “more, actually. because pretty sure i shouldn’t be left unsupervised, and i’ve clearly been abandoned by the band, so—“

“so,” says steve.

“coach, two minutes!” someone calls.

“so, i was hoping maybe i could keep hitting on the hot hockey coach back at his?”

“i’m at the ramada inn,” he says, “and i got tape to watch for the finals.”

“i live for room service,” eddie tells him seriously. “and i’m suddenly very into wisconsin sports teams.”

“coach! go time!”

“yeah?” he asks.

“yeah.”

“COACH!”

he jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “i gotta — but, uh, later?”

“pick me up in twenty?”

“probably more like half an hour, with stoppage,” he says.

someone bangs on the door. “COACH!! let’s boogie!!”

with one last look, wide eyed and smiling, steve leaves. eddie watches him go. he’d heard hockey players were caked up but lord — eddie is about to convert to a new religion, or maybe found one, over the stretch of those slacks.

“damn,” he says quietly.

“gross,” a woman says. eddie startles and looks to the side, where a lanky brunette with a bob and an undercut is staring at him, unimpressed. she’s in some get up that screams athletic trainer, and there’s a white board in her hand.

“how long have you been there?” he asks.

she raises an eyebrow. “long enough, and honestly, i don’t know if that counts as a you rule for him, or a you suck for you,” she says and does not elaborate when he asks. “also don’t look at him like that. it’s steve. he’s basically my sister.”

“yeah? any tips then?” asks eddie. “i promise i’ll only use them for good. well. mostly.”

“god,” she says with an expansive eye roll. “you’re gonna be a nightmare, aren’t you?”

a cheer goes up outside the room as the teams, presumably, take the ice again. eddie, head throbbing, concussed, embarrassed, grins. “sure hope so,” he says.

[paalove]

so you & i have discussed what we think happened between raymew in that video boston has, which left boston & top both convinced that they'd had sex while ray & mew both insist that they didn't. i would love a post-canon incident where ray & boston, in the middle of a hangout with sand & nick, finally hash out the mystery of why they are on completely different pages about this. & then i want ray to repeat what he did with mew only with boston this time, in a doomed attempt to prove in the face of overwhelming opposition that it totally didn't count as sex, you guys, mew said so.

indeed we have! now, you sent this pre-finale, so you absolutely weren't expecting this bostonray fic to mainly be a tonnick fixit, but Such Is The Way Of Things xoxo

on ao3 here

...

Nick takes a deep breath before the door opens.

Holds it.

Releases, just as Boston turns, hair a little longer than it used to be but clearly heavily styled, makes eye contact, and the expression on Boston’s face turns from friendly and welcoming to something more complicated.

“Nick,” he says, and nothing else.

Smiling like he doesn’t notice, or really like he does, Nick says, “Hey, Ton.”

Boston swallows and looks him up and down – wonders at him, really, and Nick can feel it working the way it used to, making him all warm and sparkling and giddy, but it doesn’t sweep him away like before.

Makes him smile, though.

Especially when Boston stands in his own doorway, letting his arms dangle uselessly by his side, just staring at Nick.

“Won’t you let me in?” Nick asks.

Boston smiles at that, and it’s wide and growing and happy as he steps back.

This isn’t anywhere near as big as Boston’s place back home, of course, that’s a family home and this is a stylish apartment – or, Nick’s pretty sure, a condo – but it’s just as clearly expensive. The furniture is sleek and black and matching.

He peers at a tiny corner table, black and shiny enough to see his face in, and says, “Oh, this is cool!”

When he stands back up, Boston is staring at him.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” he says.

Nick shrugs and admits, “I got your address from Ray.”

He’d visited Boston over the summer, and it had just taken Nick mentioning – completely truthfully – that they’d been texting and sometimes Nick saw cool art he would like to send Boston, before Ray had eagerly given him the building and apartment number.

“Ai’Ray,” Boston mutters to himself, shooting a glare at the kitchen area, visible from here.

It makes Nick smile.

When they started texting again, Nick went slow. He’d text Boston and then set the entire app to being unable to notify him, so he wouldn’t be able to wait on tenterhooks for Boston’s reply; he’d deliberately be the parts of himself that he was always pretty sure Boston didn’t find cute or interesting, too.

Nick’s pretty sure, now, he knows how to not get swept away in Boston – but Boston smiles at him all teeth and says, “I’ll get you something,” and disappears to a cupboard and Nick isn’t sure.

He returns with a can of pepsi and says, “Sorry, man, I don’t have anything else – Ray didn’t tell me he was sending you.”

“Well, he didn’t send-“

They both turn to the noise at the door – the same electric beeping of the doorbell earlier.

Boston frowns.

Nick closes his eyes and thinks it’s karma for Sand’s birthday, because he didn’t tell Ray he was coming but Boston was expecting someone, and he doesn’t have anything alcoholic in his fancy, expensive condo, three days before New Years.

But Boston doesn’t have the same realisation, saying, “Huh, I wonder who that is.”

He smiles at him and picks up his can; opening it, he decides a week with friends isn’t too much worse than a sexy-romantic surprise visit.

With his ex.

Whatever, they’ve been texting, and Nick might have a boyfriend but this wouldn’t be happening if it was cheating, and…

He’s sinking in his seat a little when the confused, “Nick?” greets him from behind.

“Hi, guys,” he greets them both dimly.

Yeah, of course Sand and Ray are here.

They have a group chat with Boston, he knows, and it’s not used as often as the one they have with him but it’s in regular use and also they’re for sure trying to get out of the blast zone for April and Cheum’s current situation at the hostel – they’re the ones who tried to do the throuple thing, they’re the ones who can handle that awful party. Ray and Sand have had one turn of it.

Nick kind of has too.

Ray’s grinning, and Sand’s eyebrows have migrated to the top of his skull, as they both look at him, and Boston, and him, and Boston, and Nick rolls his eyes and says, “Surprise.”

This is when Boston seems to realise that Ray didn’t send him; he rears back, looks at Nick with new eyes again, and opens his mouth.

Great.

No way are they leaving without answers.

…

Sand loves it when Ray is annoying.

Right now, he’s interrogating Nick about his presence over the sound of some music playing from Boston’s speakers, echoing through the un-carpeted, shiny condo. Sand is watching, of course, and Boston obviously is as well.

Nick is still in the definitely-for-a-date slightly fancy clothes he was wearing when Sand arrived, but the rest of them are dressed casually – Boston for lounging and Ray and Sand for travelling. Ray has changed one part of his outfit, though, from the thick pants he insisted on for walking through the New York winter into a pair of shorts that come to about a third down his thigh.

The left leg of them is riding enough to expose the lyric tattoo Sand had watched him get.

It’s where his gaze likes to rest.

Ray nudges, and cackles, and gets in Nick’s space, and Sand watches the furrow in Nick’s brow deepen and deepen, until-

“Man, I don’t know what you’re talking about here. You think exes can’t be friends? Weird and homoerotic friends who like to watch their boyfriends make out until they bleed?”

Boston snorts and Sand laughs as Ray pouts.

“He’s not really my ex,” Ray insists, the way he likes to when people mention it or when Sand talks about the time they were fucking behind Mew’s back, because Mew and Ray have decided between themselves that that wasn’t cheating, actually, and they do expect everyone else to agree.

And Sand contributes with a lazy, “Hey, only Top ever ended up bleeding.”

It makes Nick laugh and nod, and he seems less annoyed as he looks at Ray, more… confused.

“Actually,” he says, “There’s something I always wondered about, with all that.”

Ray blinks at him inquisitively, and Sand doesn’t like how wide and airy Boston’s apartment is – he can’t just reach out and squeeze Ray to him from all the way over here.

Nick continues, “You and Mew, I mean, but not that time.”

“Us being friends?”

“The time you kissed,” he says.

Ray shifts uneasily and Boston sits up slowly, like he’s seen something interesting and wants to get a good angle on it; it makes Sand shift too, turning so he’s facing the corner Nick and Ray are huddled together on, facing the same way as Boston about half a yard away.

Boston says, “Back before you knew us?”

“Yeah,” Nick agrees, probably as oblivious to Ray’s discomfort as Ray was to his – not at all oblivious, in other words, just willing to ignore it – as he presses, “The time that you recorded.”

Recording is a topic that makes them all glance at each other uneasily, and normally Nick is the most sensitive to it, but he’s been growing in himself and his confidence all this while, Sand has seen, and he sits up straight as he mentions it.

He looks Ray directly in the eyes, and Sand can only see Ray’s reaction from behind but he seems to almost be shying away, as much as he ever does, as Nick stares at him.

“Why did Boston and Top both think you guys fucked?”

Sand blinks, surprised – they have an answer to that, don’t they?

Ray seems confused too, looking over at Boston and saying, “Well, Top thought that because Boston told him. But Boston didn’t really believe it, he saw everything.”

“You guys absolutely fucked,” Boston tells him. “Top knew it because I showed him the video of you guys fucking – my bad.”

Now Ray is shaking his head and insisting, “We made out!”

Sand can’t believe this is happening – he looks over to Nick and sees Nick looking at him, a smile on his face that looks like amusement and something simpler, the kind of joy he gets glimpses of, sometimes, when Nick is texting his guys.

Boston being one of them.

Apparently.

The squabble is friendly, but it’s not getting anywhere, so Sand raises his voice enough to be overheard over them as he says, “Hey! Hey, guys, come on, chill. Why don’t you tell me exactly what happened, huh?”

That part’s for Ray alone, and his voice drops into the warm amusement he reserves for Ray.

Raising his chin at Boston like he’s declaring victory, Ray says, “Okay. I will.”

Boston shakes his head and rolls his eyes, friendly and annoyed in equal measure, but he looks at Sand and nods.

Sand sits back.

“You confessed to Mew, then you kissed him, and he kissed back a little before he stopped it and told you he didn’t want to. That’s how you explained it to me,” he prompts Ray.

Ray nods eagerly and Boston smirks to himself.

Then Ray says, “That’s how it happened. But- we didn’t stay stopped.”

Not what Sand expected.

…

Sand looks bowled over and Nick feels kind of guilty for bringing it up, but…

Well, Ray was being annoying, and also it’s not like Sand is jealous over Mew anymore – you kind of can’t be jealous of a guy whose boyfriend you did a multi-day sexcation with even if you are monogamous by nature. Nick’s pretty sure that’s a rule.

And Boston is still looking certain he’s right, so Nick says, “How didn’t you stay stopped, huh?”

Ray mumbles something.

“Huh?”

“I tripped on him when I got up a bit after,” he repeats more loudly.

Nick coughs his laughter at that, and he can see Boston snorting at the same moment – the synchronicity makes him feel warm, and a thrill goes through him when his eyes meet Boston’s.

He ducks his head away, still smiling, and says, “Uh huh.”

Even Sand looks amused and disbelieving.

“I know that move,” he tells Ray.

Ray flicks a middle finger and makes a face at his boyfriend but shamelessly agrees, “Yeah, it was on purpose. He kissed back and he kept making eyes like he was curious – I wanted to see how curious. So I tripped into his lap and made eyes until he kissed me again, Sand.”

It’s so funny how easily those two make each other jealous.

“And then you fucked,” Boston says conversationally.

Ray makes another face and tells him, “We didn’t,” looking around at himself and Sand for support as he repeats, “We didn’t. We made out for- I don’t know, a while,” looking all red. “And yeah, we did some heavy petting, but it was all over the clothes and-“

He looks at Boston, and Boston looks back at him, and Ray rolls his eyes.

“And I came in my pants, okay? That’s all. We didn’t fuck, me and Mew talked about it – we just made out and I got ahead of myself, it wasn’t sex.”

Boston has a grin on his face but he shakes his head and says, “It wasn’t just heavy petting, I saw – man, what moves count as that to you, huh?”

“Those moves,” Ray insists.

Humming something surprised, Sand says, “Why don’t you show us? You two have your opinions, but we,” and he points to Nick and to himself in an oval motion, “Don’t have ours, yet.”

“You want me to trip on your lap,” Ray immediately flirts back.

But Nick points out, “You guys will definitely make it sex, come on. And you won’t remember you’re supposed to be demonstrating anything. Nah, it should be the ones who were there who demonstrate.”

“Ray and Ton?”

“Ray and Ton.”

Boston looks curious, challenging.

Belligerent, Ray says, “Fine. I’ll do with Ton what I did with Mew.”

…

He hadn’t thought he’d ever be a fan of watching Ray make out with someone else, especially not to prove a point, but Sand feels kind of okay with this.

It’s only him and Ray, Nick and Boston here – they’re all people he trusts, Ray with his heart and the other two with the higher honour of Ray himself. This isn’t threatening.

No, Sand’s current problem, as Boston spreads his legs only a little, sitting with exaggeratedly-proper posture in an impression of Mew, is that-

Ugh.

Sand loves making Ray cum in his pants, is the problem.

He gets too desperate to take them off, or too intent on watching something Sand’s doing for him, or sometimes Sand just won’t let him take them off because he likes to grope him through the fabric sometimes, and Ray gets panting and mewling and squirming and, just.

Mew won’t have appreciated it.

Clearly didn’t.

But he got to do that to Ray, see it, and Sand is never jealous of Mew anymore but he hates the idea of someone getting that sweet and wanting Ray and not knowing what to do with him.

Ray doesn’t trip onto Boston’s lap, just takes a seat there as Boston bats his eyelashes and says, “But Ray, I’m saving myself for a hotel heir-“

“Man, shut up,” Ray cackles, as Boston puts his hands on Ray’s hips to steady him.

The shorts are riding high, still, showing the lyric tattoo.

And Boston says, “You weren’t sitting like this.”

“We were at first,” Ray tells him.

Boston squints, like he’s struggling to remember, and says, “Oh! Yeah, it was like,” and he makes what has to be his surprised-Mew face and stares dramatically at Ray before leaning in, over him, and kissing him.

Ray is kissing back slowly, and it’s…

Huh.

Sand is finding it hot instead of wanting to kill Boston. Maybe the pool thing was an outlier.

He watches as Ray, who had been tilted back slightly as if he’d tripped elegantly onto Boston, lifts himself up using Boston’s shoulders for leverage, raises himself until he’s no longer sitting on Boston’s lap but kneeling over it, and Boston licks into his mouth and brings both hands up and around Ray’s neck, not quite squeezing but Sand still frowns, because-

“Did Mew do that?” Nick interrupts.

The two break apart and look over, Ray annoyed-and-dazed and Boston inquisitive.

Sand already knows what Nick means, and he nods as Nick clarifies, “The hands around his neck – that’s a Ton thing, not a Mew thing.”

“Shit,” Boston says. “Sorry, man, it was just one hand, right?”

Ray nods, “Yeah, one cupping the back of my neck, the other one- hey!”

The last part is a yelp as Boston gropes his ass.

And then they go back to kissing, Ray squeezing at Boston’s chest but, Sand will admit, nothing that would be out of place just doing heavy petting.

Ray moves again, then, seeming like he’s winding around Boston as he shuffles his legs over so one is between Boston’s and the other stays where it was, just on the outside – he’s straddling Boston’s leg, and Boston pulls him up it, closer, with the hand that Sand can see most clearly, in its position on Ray’s ass.

And that’s when Sand sees what Boston meant, because Ray isn’t just straddling Boston’s leg but grinding on it, hips working and hands grasping at Boston.

He feels his mouth go dry.

…

Sand is obviously about to die.

Too much blood in his dick, probably, and Nick understands very deeply.

They need to keep a scientific mindset, though.

Ray is grinding on Boston’s thigh and Boston is kissing him and squeezing his ass in a way Nick remembers with his body when he sees it. The whining is reasonable and respectable, really.

Of course, it’s also standard for Ray – Nick’s still Sand’s roommate, he hears a lot of shit.

He’s listening to the whining from the back of Ray’s throat and thinking he probably has enough to answer his question, but on the other hand…

“Hey, Ton,” he calls over, “He came last time, right?”

Obviously they all know the answer, because Ray said, but he directs it to Boston for a reason.

Sure enough, Boston gets it first, grinning over at Nick all knowing when he languidly replies, “Yeah. But Mew didn’t touch him.”

Nick knew Sand was his brother-in-arms, and Sand is smirking too, now.

Yeah, he’s trying for deadpan, but really fucking badly. He raises his eyebrows at Ray all challenging, because Ray has twisted around to look at Sand, then glance at Nick.

Ray’s eyes widen in surprise.

Then intrigue.

And then he looks around once more, looking carefully at each of their faces like he’s checking in, and then Ray shrugs and says, “Okay.”

When he kisses Boston, he doesn’t look like he’s trying to remember his past script anymore.

Boston definitely isn’t pretending to be Mew.

They’re moving a little more, and Boston’s hands have migrated up to Ray’s neck like they always do- well, not always Ray’s neck, of course. Ray’s grinding, legs squirming, it’s all entirely visible because of the shorts which Nick is assuming were Sand’s choice, considering everything about Sand and Ray.

His legs are deceptively well-defined, actually, and Nick would.

Boston is panting, kind of, and so is Ray, but it’s Boston whose chest Nick wants to watch heave – when the shirt is off it. He’s the one controlling the pace of the kissing and not doing a damn thing about the pace of the grinding, pretty much being pointed in how he ignores Ray’s increasing want.

It looks almost casual the way he kisses Ray, pulls back, kisses again and leaves his face dazed.

Nick prefers it when Boston loses that control.

There’s time until New Year.

Ray is nowhere near being in control, his panting faster and his grinding not rhythmic. He twists again, when Boston releases him from the kiss, to look at Sand.

Those are the pleading eyes that Nick has seen Sand give stupid amounts of anything to.

Today, Sand gives Ray a sincere-sounding, “Su su!” and a thumbs up.

Nick’s mouth drops open in shock and laughter; Ray actually whines out loud in more of a complaint way than a sexy way.

“You’ve done it before, Ray,” says Boston, calling Ray’s attention back to him and Nick’s with it, “Losing your touch?”

He also squeezes absently at Ray’s bare thigh; Nick is watching his hands.

Ray tilts his head at Boston and gets a competitive look in his eyes and says, “I don’t think so.”

The cool head there instantly seems to depart him when Boston kisses him again and Ray’s hips start tiny little nothing-humps against the muscular thighs that Nick wants around his neck.

Even Boston is getting visibly affected now, gaze getting more intent on Ray’s face like he does when his partn- the guy in his bed is getting close.

He licks his lips, just enough to wet them, Nick only spots it because he’s staring at Boston’s face as it happens and Nick wants Ray off Boston and his own hands on him, on that face and body now.

Ray twists out of the kiss to look at Sand again, and when Nick looks up-

Yeah, there are tears of frustration in his eyes now.

And yeah, Sand looks so horny he’s like, forgotten how to count, he looks stupid with the want in his eyes, but the rest of his face is impressively cool as he tilts his head and purses his lips as if judging Ray, finding him wanting.

Nick shoots Sand an impressed double-thumbs-up, but Sand doesn’t see.

Probably something to do with Ray’s louder whining, more desperate writhing, as Boston moves so both hands are on Ray’s thighs – either to help him along or hold him back, Nick can’t tell.

As Ray obviously cums, he whines, “Motherfucker,” and that could really be for anyone.

He falls forwards, or tries to, but Boston pushes at him with annoyed hands.

Laughing, he says, “Get up, Ray, I’m not Sand – you actually have to move yourself.”

Sand shoots Nick a glare.

That’s fair, it definitely could be Nick’s fault Boston knows that, but then Boston has eyes and also Ray’s phone number, so.

“Fuck off, Ton,” Ray says, but he’s smiling as he manages to stand.

Obviously he immediately picks his way over to Sand and dumps himself against his side, where Sand clasps him with one arm and a heated look.

It’s time for them to go and fuck, so Nick slides a sideways glance at Boston to see if maybe-

“Well?” Boston asks.

“Huh?”

He rolls his eyes at Nick’s question, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth, and says, “Was I right, or were Ray and Mew right?”

“Oh yeah, that was fucking,” Nick tells him. “You guys just fucked.”

Sand, with Ray now propped against his shoulder, nods in agreement and says, “Yeah.”

“Ehh,” Ray says into Sand’s shoulder, waving a dismissive hand, “Sure, I guess. But when me and Mew did it, he didn’t think so. Anything can be fucking if you think it’s fucking, so like,” he makes a noise into Sand’s shoulder as Sand stares at him like he’s a lamb wearing a bowtie that can recite a poem, or something, “It’s not when Mew lost his virginity, is the main thing,” and he’s rambling a little as Nick’s attention gets caught.

Boston stands up, walks over to Nick, and picks his pocket for his phone.

Standing up straight as Nick stares in disbelief, he unlocks it without asking Nick for the code, and is soon holding it to his ear.

“Ton, what the fuck,” he asks, not really expecting an answer.

Boston smiles at him, then hears something on the other end that draws his gaze away as he bursts into a rapidfire, “You actually do know you guys fucked, right? You’re ju- he hung up.”

He’s pouting like he wasn’t expecting that for about a second before he shrugs.

“That’s chill, he doesn’t know my new number. I’ll text him,” Boston says, wandering off in search of a phone.

Huh.

Nick realises that right now, he wants to, like, drag Boston into his bedroom by his hair. He’s so fucking hot and weird with it, it makes Nick feel all fucking caveman about it. There might not be a The One for him like the two idiots who are finally stumbling towards Boston’s guestroom, but he doesn’t ever want to stop seeing this one.

[isadora-greenhall]

DnDads Halloween Week 2k23

Day 1: Watching horror movies

Okay, so I’m giving up getting this finished today, but I’m gonna post what I have so far! It’s a gothcleats date night where they watch a beloved creepy kids film together.

Under the cut so it’s not too long 🫡🙌🏼

(Tentatively titled) Too Close to Home

They’d been planning on going to a fancy restaurant together for their one year anniversary, but about an hour before they were going to leave Linc had received an email regrettably informing them the restaurant had lost power in the storm, and wouldn’t be up again until tomorrow. Lincoln had been relieved — the place wasn’t really his style — and when he’d told Scary she’d looked relieved too.

“Sorry,” Linc had said. “Do you want to head home, or…?”

She’d scoffed. “No? It’s our anniversary?”

Our anniversary. He loved the sound of that. “Well, we could watch a movie?”

Scary’s eyes shone at that. “Ooh, something spooky?”

“Well, we don’t really have horror movies…”

“I didn’t say horror, you dork,” she said affectionately. “Spooky. Like Over the Garden Wall. Man, I love that show. Those pumpkin freaks? Pure nightmare fuel.”

Linc led her over to his family’s DVD collection - Marco had a thing for physical media - and had a quick flip through. Nightmare Before Christmas? No. Paranorman?Nah. Corpse Bride? Maybe. Labyrinth? He moved his body in the way of that film so she wouldn’t spot it — they’d tried to watch it together once before and Linc had found himself getting more jealous as the film went on, because of the way Scary was glued to the screen each time David Bowie and his stupid tight pants were on screen. Not that he could fully blame her…

Then he spotted it. “Coraline!” He pulled it off the shelf and showed it to Scary. “What do you think?”

She looked blank. “Never seen it.”

“What?! I love this film, super creepy.”

She smirked at him. “Is there an orange cat in it?”

“No! …A black one…”

She laughed. “Okay, sold.”

Linc slipped the DVD into the player then they cuddled down together on the couch as the haunting opening of the film began. He could feel Scary beside him, watching awed as the doll was altered to turn into the girl on the cover — blue hair, a yellow raincoat.

She sat, silent and rapt for so long…until Coraline found herself in the Other World and met the Other Mother and Other Father, at which point Linc felt her stiffen beside him. And as the film went on she seemed more and more tense. Lincoln had no idea what went wrong - he was sure she’d love this film, it was edgy and dark and was made in the “coolest animation style ever” (Taylor hadn’t spoken to Scary for a month after she’d declared that). He didn’t know what to do - she hated it when he made decisions for her, and she hadn’t said she wanted them to turn the film off yet.

But then the Other Mother revealed her true colours, and Scary made a small, anguished sound, and Linc decided to call it. He paused the film and turned to her. “Are you okay?”

She didn’t answer for a second, just staring at the screen. Linc winced when he realises it was paused on a shot of the skeletal form of the Beldam, grinning viciously, hands reaching for the girl with dyed hair.

She pulled her knees up to her chest and tugged the shirt down over them - Linc tried not to wince at how that would stretch his shirt. “I just…it hit too close to home, alright?”

“In what way?”

Scary looked like she wanted to die rather than admit it. She waved a hand vaguely at the screen. “An angry mom, a pathetic dad…people changing. Becoming worse. I don’t know, man.”

[purplecrkl]

(Wrote this two years ago and never posted it. Now that I have free time, I want to practice writing again!! I have no idea where this was going, but it’s my first time writing something, so hopefully it makes some sense 💀)

Also I pictured Daniel as Aaron Taylor Johnson from that one BLACK AND WHITE AD URGH 😩 #freeATJ 😔✊🏼

—————————————————

(10 years earlier)

“Tell me to stay. Tell me, if I choose to walk away, you will never speak to me again. Tell me I’m making the biggest mistake of my life. Tell me-“

“Tell me you know how to start a sentence without using ‘tell me’, right?”

“Tell me you’re an asshole without *telling* me you’re an asshole. How’s that?” I say back. Daniel, unfazed by remark, reaches for a pillow on my bed, hurling it at the side of my head. Carefully dodging the laptop showing the unfinished script of my latest story.

“I’m just saying, you’re reaching. I mean come on, no one actually says this stuff. Let alone out loud in an airport. Imagine the looks you’d get if we held up the line like that at Heathrow. I’d barely have time to spit the second line out before security kicked us out. Not to mention the ‘No Fly List’ we’d be put on, and rightfully so.”

This has been our routine since we met in 8th grade. Now, both in college, Daniel remains the only person I share my stories with. The path to becoming a screenwriter is long and treacherous but Daniel had always been supportive of my dreams. If there was anything I could count on him for, it was his brutal honesty. He would never tell me what I wanted to hear, and was always careful to reel me in whenever I was too harsh on myself.

While I wrote, Daniel would sketch quietly on my bed. He had dreams of becoming an architect and could talk my ear off about the ingenuity of various finite materials, how brutalist architecture is his least favourite style and why he’d move to Japan in a heartbeat because timber burnt houses had proven to increase the lifespan of its tenants.

Truthfully I think his desire to create a home that stood the test of time had to do with the fact he hadn’t experienced one himself. Mr and Mrs Keating weren’t bad people per se, they were just bad parents. Daniel didn’t remember much about his childhood. Bringing up the past never bode well for him. A feat Daniel was cruelly reminded of when he was asked to recall his favourite part about his seventh birthday at school the next day.

“My Lego bike”, he said proudly.

“And when I saw daddy kissing mummy in the library.”

The kids in his class let out a chorus of ‘ews’, whilst sneaking glances at who they’d declare their love for in the playground later that day.

Mrs Keating apparently cherished that moment too, going as far as giving it its own highlighted section in the divorce papers she served Mr Keating with the following weekend. A memory she would have no recollection of, if it weren’t for Daniel’s reminder. And after both parties agreed to sell the house, cashing in a hefty cheque large enough to erase 7 years of marriage, Daniel had barely managed to pack his favourite toys before he was waving goodbye to the house he grew up in. To hell with that library, he thought.

Though I didn’t know him back then, anyone could have guessed using your child to communicate the failings of the other parent; then shipping him off to boarding school when he refused to choose a side would end in serious emotional unrest in said kid. To this day, Daniel refuses to subject himself to any notion of love in fear of repeating his parents mistakes.

“God, I cannot wait for the day Daniel Keating confesses his undying love in the middle of an airport” I say, while crawling my way into the space beside him. A loud scoff erupts from his chest and it’s my favourite sound I’ve heard all day. But then it’s silent for a beat too long and I’m afraid I’ve offended him with such a preposterous idea. Daniel, capable of love? Ha.

In a second he’s up on his feet, pacing the room with my laptop in hand. He studies my script for a few seconds and it takes all I have to not stare at him too long. But it’s Daniel Keating. And in the last six years I’ve known him, I’ve stolen enough glances to confidently recite every part of him in my sleep.

Almost, every part.

A quiet chuckle brings me back and I’m scared he’s finally caught me staring this time. He hasn’t. And although it’s impossible to see anything beyond the dark cesspool of cocoa in his eyes, I still catch that devilish glint when he stalks towards me.

“Tell me to stay Lex,” he says.

If his head full of curls weren’t brushing against his ears, I’m sure he would’ve heard my heart stop.

“Tell me you’ll never speak to me again, if I choose to walk away.”

That’s impossible, I want to say. You could walk away a million times and I’d welcome you back a million and one.

Daniel reaches me on the bed and I’m certain if I don’t take a breath in the next second my respiratory system will take ‘you’ll never speak to me again’ quite literally. Does Heaven give out ‘do-overs’ for misunderstandings like this? It’s not like I meant to stop breathing. Blame the boy currently intertwining my hand with his.

“Tell me, I’m making the biggest mistake of my life Lex.”

He cups my cheek, and I wonder if he’s noticed I’ve come undone in the palm of his hand. I wonder if he knows everything I’ve written up to this point has been about him.

About us.

I’m certain I’ve stopped breathing. But I’m not worried. There are worse ways to go out, than having Daniel Keating here with me, like this. So with my hand in his right, and my heart in his other, I make a vow right then and there. To love him with everything I have.

Daniel.

I will love you when you stay.

I will love you if you choose to walk away.

But most importantly, I will continue to love you even if it turns out to be the biggest mistake of my life.

And it is.

[gingerbreadmonsters]

[head in wip-soaked-hands]

everything has been piling up and i’ve missed THOUSANDS of tags - please accept my sincere apologies, in the form of this ultra-mega-super wip wednesday <333 thank you very very much to @autisticempathydaemon ​ @romirola ​ @zozo-01 ​ and @bicyclepainting ​ for your kind tags!!

5 wip excerpts for your perusal - as always, titles are subject to change, but i think you can see where i’m going with this, in 5 words or less :D

you’re the cat’s meow! - silent films are so boring

(a return to the world of motion capture, now in vivid technicolour and surround sound!)

(You couldn’t even move. They’d taken him away, and you hadn’t been able to do a thing to stop it. Disappearing through the door and he’d looked so… small. It hadn’t been right. Elliott had never seemed small before. Larger than life, like he’d stepped right out of the silver screen and into your arms, like the whole world melts away when he stops looking at it.)

(Maybe it’s true, after all. Maybe the world really does crumble away when he’s not there, and this is what it’s like to fall. You’ve never known what the world was like without Elliott. The golden snatches of his time, the sweet spotlight of his affection - now, you’re swept away in the scene change, and all is silent in the pitch-black of the wings. When’s your cue again?)

thicker than water - sibling rivalry just got bloody

You might think that it’s madness. That it’s like some crazed, bloodthirsty, animal state that descends upon them, that it’s like they’re totally different people. You’d be wrong. Both of them are perfectly, boringly sane when it happens. There’s no madness here, no delusion - just a brother and a sister who hate and hate and hate. She’s entirely rational when she tries to sever his spinal column with her teeth, he’s not confused about why he’s trying to rip her arm from its socket. Perhaps it runs in the family. Tearing each other apart comes naturally.

return to me - possible human experiments in limerence

You poor thing. If only, little trickster god. You put up a good fight, but alas - the metaphysical theory behind it disproves you.

But h-

We can talk about it later, dear. He’d pretend to examine the object label on the wall to your left, brushing off your misplaced concern - you don’t really need to hear him explain all that. Far too boring, far too dense and dull. A singular waste of time and effort, especially considering how precious little time he gets to spend with you as it is.

Marble and varnished wood and wrought iron. The museum is vast and full of fascinating things. Easily enough to fill an afternoon and then some. Take your time.

Walk with him.

Beauty, it is said, is in the eye of the beholder. Blake disagrees. Whoever said that had clearly never met you.

rose and cherry red - at last, it’s all complete

(He misses it sometimes, his hometown. When was the last time he went back? How long has it been since then? It might be the nostalgia talking, but he’ll tell you it’s a beautiful sort of place - a great blue sky stretching out every which way you look, long roads disappearing in the haze of heat, peaceful afternoons that last forever. There’s a good life to be had there, if you’ve got the temperament for it.)

(It hurts, but he knows he’ll never go back. That place belongs in the light of day, the heat of summer, the sun where he’s not welcome. He has no right to it, not any more - the car door cut it out of him, and it bled to death somewhere in the rain when he wasn’t looking.)

breathe me, baby - not quite the janitor’s closet

(note: in the style of the Great Purge, this one has had to be… modified slightly for the sake of this post. i can’t imagine why…)

“What’s our rule, lovely?”

Bastard.

You’d tell him, if you were capable of complex thought right now. His voice is smooth and dark, murmuring against your neck as you desperately try to form the words to reply, but the hand over your mouth makes it a little bit difficult to say anything.

“Say it, baby, or I’ll stop…” You can hear the smirk in his voice as he says it, a low whisper in your ear as his hand slides further around your waist, pitching your hips back even more and groaning as [?????]. “What’s the matter?” It’s all so much - your heart races at the silken scrape of his teeth across your pulse, not quite enough to break the skin as he kisses your shoulder.

“My poor little lovely. Scared someone’s going to hear?”

[ammg-old2]

My 6-year-old boy died in January. We lost him after a household accident, one likely brought on by a rare cerebral-swelling condition. Paramedics got his heart beating, but it was too late to save his brain. I could hold his hand, look at the small birthmark on it, comb his hair, and call out for him, but if he could hear me or feel me, he gave no sign. He had been a child in perpetual motion, but now we couldn’t get him to wiggle a finger.

My grief is profound, ragged, desperate. I cannot imagine how anything could feel worse.

But vaccine opponents on the internet, who somehow assumed that a COVID shot was responsible for my son’s death, thought my family’s pain was funny. “Lol. Yay for the jab. Right? Right?” wrote one person on Twitter. “Your decision to vaccinate your son resulted in his death,” wrote another. “This is all on YOU.” “Murder in the first.”

I’m a North Carolina–based journalist who specializes in countering misinformation on social media. I know that Twitter, Facebook, and other networks amplify bad information; that their algorithms feed on anger and division; that anonymity and distance bring out the worst in some people online. And yet I had never anticipated that anyone would mock and terrorize a grieving parent. I’ve now received thousands of harassing posts. Some people emailed me at work.

For the record, my son saw some of the finest pediatric-ICU doctors in the world. He was in fact vaccinated against COVID-19. None of his doctors deemed that relevant to his medical condition. They likened his death to a lightning strike.

Strangers online saw in our story a conspiracy—a cover-up of childhood fatalities caused by COVID vaccines, a ploy to protect Big Pharma.

To them, what happened to my son was not a tragedy. It was karma for suckered parents like me.

Although some abusive posts showed up on my public Facebook page, the problem started on Twitter—whose new CEO, Elon Musk, gutted the platform’s content-moderation team after taking over.

I posted my son’s obituary there because we’d started a fundraiser in his name for the arts program at his neighborhood school. Books didn’t hold his interest, but he loved drawing big, blocky Where the Wild Things Are–style creatures. The fundraiser gave us something, anything, to do. Most people were kind. Many donated. But within days, anti-vaxxers hijacked the conversation, overwhelming my feed. “Billy you killed your kid man,” one person wrote.

Accompanying the obituary was a picture of him showing off his new University of North Carolina basketball jersey—No. 1, Leaky Black—before a game. He’s all arms and legs. He will only ever always be that. Cheeks like an apple. His bangs flopped over his almond-shaped eyes. “Freckles like constellations,” his obit read. He looks unpretentious, shy, and bored. Like most children his age, anything that takes more than an hour, such as a college basketball game, is too long.

Strangers swiped the photo from Twitter and wrote vile things on it. They’d mined my tweets, especially ones where I had written about the public-health benefits of vaccination. Someone needed to make me pay for vaccinating my child, one person insinuated. Another said my other children would be next if they were vaccinated too.

I tried to push back. Please take the conspiracy theories elsewhere, I pleaded on Twitter. That made things worse, so I stopped engaging. A blogger mocked me for fleeing social media. Commenters joined in. My grief, their content. “Your one job as a parent was to protect your children,” wrote one person. “You failed miserably.”

[thestudentpoet]

WIP Wednesday

It’s WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it woks:

Post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post.

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in or just post.

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

WIPS:

Through the Fire and Flames

Summer Nights are often Coldest

The Twitching Hand

Excerpt:

The interior of the Student’s Union had taken the same vintage design cue as its exterior. Men in fishbowl helmets with ray guns defended scantily clad damsels on the posters lining the wall. The furniture was a mix of fifties diners and the retro-futuristic style that any fan of The Forbidden Planet would appreciate. The fake leather covering of the cushions was cracked with age and the once bright red dye had faded into a patchy pink. As Benjie entered, he had to think about taking his steps because his shoes stuck to the floor. Decades of spilt drinks and vomit had seeped into the linoleum. There was a sweet scent of bleach mixing with those of alcohol and cheap food that Benjie registered with an affectionate smile. He’d only been going there a few months and he already thought of it as a second home. Beyond cursory glances at the sound of the door opening, no one stared at him the way they did at his “real” home.

No one knew anything about him except what he presented, there was freedom in that.

Benjie followed Siobhan to the bar, picking up flashes of conversation amongst the undercurrent of noise. An early war rock song played on the speakers, from the period where revolutionary furore had yet to be replaced by a dull complacency to the forever war. The consequence of a civilisation that spanned solar systems was that conflict moved quickly but peace moved at a sluggish pace. Benjie recognised it as a song that his mum used to listen to and he tapped his foot with the beat.

“What’ll you have?” Siobhan asked once they’d arrived to the front of the bar.

“Hmm?” Benjie replied, before hearing the question anyway. “Oh, a pint of First Landing, please.”

“You got it.”

“Are we at our usual table?”

“Of course.”

“Will you order me some Mozzarella sticks and I’ll send you the money?”

“No problem, I owe you for last Friday anyway so we’ll call it even.”

Benjie frowned, unable to remember what had happened last Friday night but figured that was probably why she owed him. There were vague recollections of a table getting knocked over and someone getting their boobs out. A standard night out for Siobhan, in other words.

Pint in hand, Benjie followed Siobhan to the group of gender freaks and sexual deviants that had laid claim to the large booth at the back of the Student’s Union. It was a source of pride for them that there wasn’t a member of the group who was cisgender or heterosexual. Except for Alan, unfortunately, who was a lot of fun anyway so they let him get away with it.

James was sat with his back to them, leaning forward as Naomi and Reva argued and looking uncomfortably amused at the exchange.

“-what do you mean you don’t believe it? Do you even watch the news?” Naomi said.

Reva sat back and shrugged. “All I’m saying is they’ve been pushing toward us for centuries. They take some planets, we take them back the next year and Aphora remains perfectly safe. Why will this time be any different?”

Naomi let out a groan of frustration. “Reva, babe, this isn’t just another border skirmish. The Tsardom is pushing, hard. I heard the black prince is leading the–”

“Oh don’t tell me you believe those fairytales. The black prince is propaganda. If… and that’s a very big if, he exists, he’s just another member of the incestuous royal family. No worse or better than the rest of them.”

“I can’t with you sometimes,” Naomi replied before turning to James. “Will you tell her?”

James’ face fell, and any trace of amusement was destroyed by being put on the spot. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and said, “Well I don’t know about all that but I can tell you you won’t see any Tsardom thugs on Aphora if I have anything to say about it.”

“Our hero,” Siobhan said, taking a vacant seat that had her pink fluffy coat on it.

Benjie looked around for somewhere to sit and was dejected to see none.

“You can sit here,” James said and Benjie saw that he’d budged up to make enough room for him to sit on the edge.

Benjie reddend and squeezed into the seat. Without thinking, James wrapped an arm around him to keep him from falling over.

“Thanks,” Benjie mumbled, trying to find a perfect balance between enjoying the contact without letting anyone see that he was enjoying it. The effort of suppressing his blissful smile and the hyperventilating was the last thing he needed on top of the binder constricting his breath.

“That was intense,” James muttered.

“Yeah? Were they a bit much?”

“Nothing I didn’t expect. Naomi and Reva haven’t changed much.”

Benjie sighed. “No, they haven’t.”

Allowing himself to look up at James, Benjie saw there was a tensity in his jaw and a distant look in his eyes. In all the years he’d known James he’d never seen a look like that. He felt a sudden urge to take his hand and squeeze it.

“Are you all right?” Benjie asked.

James snapped out of it, smiling again. “Of course, was just in my head for a bit. Don’t worry your pretty little head,” he said, ruffling Benjie’s hair.

Benjie pushed his hand away, laughing despite himself. “Fuck off, James,” he said leaning into James’ body a little further to take advantage of the contact.

James desisted and put his arm around Benjie again and they all went back into the rhythm of reunion. While everyone asked James about his time in bootcamp, Benjie sat there thinking with increasing concern about the fact that James’ reply didn’t sound genuine at all. It wasn’t like him to hide anything, so what was wrong.

As Benjie ruminated on this, a waitress brought over his mozzarella sticks. They were cooked to golden perfection in the industrial microwave that all the student union’s food was cooked in. It wasn’t exactly gourmet but neither were mozzarella sticks in general and he was starving after a full day of seminars followed by his shift. There was food at his dorm for him to eat but he needed something now or he’d waste away. The mozzarella sticks were widely known to be the best on the menu so it was the logical choice. Before he could take one Siobhan snatched one from the little basket they were kept in. Benjie shot an incredulous look at her and she shot a smug one back as she took a bite.

“Tax,” she said as she chewed with her mouth open.

Benjie grimaced at the sight but decided not to press the matter. When he turned back to his food he could feel James staring at them. Pushing the basket over to him he asked, “Do you want one?”

James face softened and he stared at Benjie as if he’d offered his last sip of water in a desert. “Really? You don’t mind?”

“Sure, I’m not too hungry,” Benjie said.

Siobhan went to protest but he shot her a glare that shut her up. Then he shot her a second one to tell her to stop eavesdropping.

“I’ll only have one,” James said, making his selection with hungry eyes.

“Have more. I really don’t mind,” Benjie said, suppressing the rumbles in his stomach so that no one would hear.

James took a bite and his whole body seemed to melt, he let out a groan of pleasure that seemed to shake him to the core and his whole self trembled with satisfaction.

Benjie laughed. “They’re not that good.”

James shook his head. “You have no idea how hard it’s been surviving on army rations for a year and a half. This is a five-star meal as far as I care.”

Benjie took a stick and began to chew on it. The cheese was a bit rubbery and the breadcrumbs burnt but it tasted fine. The tomato dip helped but it was clear James would appreciate them more.

“Help yourself,” Benjie said, pushing the basket closer to him again.

“Are you sure?” James replied, struggling to find the strength to refuse him.

“Sure,” Benjie said. He’d already decided to let him have the lot. He’d just eat when he got home, whenever that was. It wasn’t all bad, at least he wouldn’t throw up when he inevitably got drunk, he thought as he sipped his cider.

[neochan]

GENRE | smut, idolverse!

WARNINGS | smut

WC | 2.6k +

A.N | this is a repost of my older work. i hope you enjoy it <3

You could still hear the unintelligible screaming of thousands of fans as the boys filtered off the stage and into the greenroom. Another successful concert in the long string of tour stops. You couldn’t even remember what state you were in because the days of traveling, unpacking, setting up, and doing it all again the next day ran together.

The boys were dripping sweat, immediately grabbing bottles of water and towels to wipe themselves off. They had worked harder than normal today since during one of the sets the microphone cut out and they had to perform acapella. Someone was getting fired for that.

Taeyong flopped onto the leather couch dominating the center of the room, water in one hand, phone in the other. “People are already uploading photos.” He outstretches his arm so the others could view the pictures pulled up on his screen.

“Johnny you look ridiculous,” you point out, laughing as a fan had caught Johnny in the act of wildly waving his light stick.

“I was having a good time, okay?” He chuckles and walks into the dressing rooms to change out of his stage outfit. Half of the group filtered out to change and half stayed to peruse through the gifts left by venue staff and play on their phones until told otherwise.

You were wondering where Hyuck was when you heard his voice from the hallway. He saunters in and gives you a kiss on the cheek, “Enjoy the show?” His golden skin was tainted pink, hair matted to his forehead by the sweat that was trickling down the side of his face. He grabbed his shirt and lifted it to swipe at his face, revealing his cute tummy. You had to resist the urge to poke it.

“I enjoyed hearing thousands of pretty fans scream your name” You give him a smirk knowing that he hates when you downplay your relationship.

He nudges you with his shoulder, “You know I meant the songs,” his doe eyes look into yours, his long lashes brushing against his cheek when he blinked “Besides, you know I love you and only you.”

Mark began to nervously giggle in the corner while Doyoung made fake gagging noises from the vanity he sat at. “Oh, shut up.” You say, throwing empty water bottles at the two, “And hurry up I wanna go swimming before it gets too late.”

The ride home was peaceful once the swarms of fans cleared a path for the bus. Per the managers request you slouched down in your seat so know one could see you through the window. It didn’t make much sense because the windows were tinted, but Haechan had to argue for his life to allow them to let you tag along on the tour, so you didn’t question them. Once you were on the road, you sat back up and snuggled close to Haechans side. He rested his hand on your thigh, absentmindedly stroking you with his thumb. His head leaned back against the seat, eyes closed, listening to music. It was so loud you could almost make out the words but you didn’t say anything – you let him stay in his post concert utopia for the whole trip.

The hotel was about an hour away from the venue so that no one would find them, and they’d be closer to their next destination. It was nicer than the others because it actually had a pool. You and Haechan made an agreement to go swimming after the concert, and you couldn’t wait. The staff also rented more rooms, so instead of four people to a bed, it was just you and Haechan.

After checking in everyone filtered off to their rooms leaving the both of you to freely do whatever you wanted - within reason of course. You both got changed, your gaze admiring the hard lines of Haechans back. “Don’t stare.” He blushed, wrapping a towel around his upper body.

You pulled on your bikini which made Haechan go silent. You specifically picked this one because it brought out your skin tone well, and cupped your features beautifully. “Now who’s staring?”

It never failed. The butterfly feeling you got in the pit of your stomach when Haechan watched you with loving eyes. You wrapped a towel around your waist, allowing Haechans eyes to roam the tops of your breasts, peeking out from the almost too small bathing suit.

His cheeks turned pink once he noticed he was caught, “Let’s go”.

The hallways were quiet since it was almost midnight, so you wordlessly made your way down the stairs and out into the night air. It had grown considerably cooler than when guys first arrived that morning, but the sky made up for it. Pretty stars pricked the vast expanse of dark blue and black infinity. You could see the moon peaking out from behind a single cloud, casting a shadowed glow on Haechans honey skin.

The gate was closed when you walked up to it so you stopped to read, “Aw man, the pool closed an hour ago,” You set your lips in a pout, “no wonder the lights weren’t on.”

“Hey it’s okay, no lights, no cameras, they probably wont even notice we’re here if we keep quiet.” He moves closer to you, eyebrows raised expectant for an answer.

You hesitated wondering if you really could pull it off, after all you’d been looking forward to this for the whole day, “I don’t wanna get in trouble..”

“You said you wanted to swim and I’m going to make sure that happens,” He gets down on one knee, “step on my leg, I'm gonna help you jump the fence.”

He boots you over, and grabs your arms to help lower you on the other side, but his hand slips and his nails dig into your shoulder. “Ow, fuck.” You wince rubbing the spot he scratched.

“Sorry, sorry” He says giggling, jumping the fence with such quietness and ease that it looked unreal. “Come on, dare you to do a canon ball!?”

He ran ahead throwing his towel on one of the pool chairs and jumping in the water. You cringe away from the loud slap his body hitting the water made. You walk slowly to the chair, deeply inhaling the addictive chlorine scent.

He finally stands up waist deep in the water and pushes his hair back. The blue water reflected against him, making his skin sparkle. “Come into the water y/n” he splashed some water into your general direction, but not enough to touch you.

“Okay, Okay.” You drop the towel and slip into the water. It was cold. Really cold. You gasp and recoil away, but not fast enough, because Haechan has wrapped his arms around you and started carrying you towards the deep end. You struggle a bit in his grip but his arms provide an iron cage that you can’t get out of. “Haechan let me go!”

He presses a warm kiss to the back on your neck but doesn’t comply with your wishes, instead making a curve and bringing you towards the underwater benches. He fixes his hold on you so that now he’s carrying you bridal style. You stare up at him, water droplets falling off his chin. His eyes were already red from the chlorine and you hoped that it cleared up by tomorrow nights concert. His plush lips sat in a pout, strong jaw set. He was so very pretty; and all yours. You smiled to yourself, deciding to keep that image locked away in your memory forever.

Once he gets to the benches he sets you down and glides in beside you. “You know It’s colder than I thought it was going to be.” He lifts a hand and sheepishly rubs the back of heck, “and you look way hotter in that bikini than I thought you would.”

“I don’t know if that’s supposed to be a dig or a compliment.” You scoot closer to him so that your thighs were pressed against each other. Finding his hand underwater, you intertwine your fingers with his own.

“A compliment babe.” He chuckles and slouches in the water so that only his head sat above it. You both sit there for a moment until it becomes too cold to sit still.

“Well I’m going to put it to use and go swim.” You push off from the cement and paddle around. The only way to stay slightly warm was to keep moving. Haechan watched you, eyes crinkled in a smile, bottom lip caught between his teeth. It was fun to watch you play in the water but the bathing suit was making him think of other things you two could be doing.

And that was how it stayed. Haechan watching while you performed for him.

A while had passed, the calm exterior of the pool getting to you, making you drowsy. The cold blue water washed over your hands while you gently skimmed the surface, making your way over to where Haechan was. You hummed a short tune under your breath, trying to keep yourself distracted. it was close to one in the morning now, but Haechan still sat on the bench, slightly shivering from the brisk air, hands gripping his thighs under the water while his mind wandered far away from the present.

“Watcha thinkin’ about” you ask, moving closer to him, hoping to catch some lingering body warmth.

“Fucking you ,” he moved off the seat and dove under the surface, only leaving small ripples in his wake. You stand there for a second wonder how he could be so blunt, so forward in his desires; he was never like this.

He swam a single circle around your body before popping up in front of you, giving you a mini heart attack. He pushes you back against the tiled walls, “I’ve spent the last hour thinking about fucking you. Thinking about how pretty you’d sound.” His head dips down to kiss along your collarbone, and your hands grab the back of neck, holding him there while his tongue sucked bruises into your tender skin. His hands grazed the bare skin of your arms, giving you goosebumps.

He moaned into the side of your neck, biting and sucking away, wanting you to yearn for him like he did for you. He lifted his head so that his mouth hung over yours, his small puffs of breath fanning over your face while he tests the waters. “Can I kiss you?”

Without giving him an answer you pull him closer by the roots of his hair. His kissing was messy and sweet, and while your tongues moved together, his hips began rubbing circles against you, trying to gain some friction in the cool water. Small heavy breaths were the only sound you could hear, aside from the occasional splash as Haechan moved restlessly.

Your hand wandered down his chest and below the surface to where you could feel him straining against his shorts. You began to stroke him over the fabric, his hips pushing against your touch. He broke the kiss to watch as you peeled down the elastic from his hips, his cock freed from the restricting material of his swim shorts. You watched him twitch slightly as the cold water met his length.

“You can’t make any noise.” You place a single finger against his lips.

“No promises.” He whispers, a devilish smirk breaking way on his face. His hands caress you thighs, pushing your bottoms to the side. The cold water hit you, making you gasp and push into Haechan who just whimpers against your touch.

He tried to stay quiet, only soft grunts between gritted teeth and muffled moans as his hips pushed into your own. The water created resistance but it just enhanced how good he was feeling. He hurriedly grabs at your legs, pulling them up so that they sat around his waist. Your back dragged up the tiled walls, scraping your tender skin, but you could only focus on Haechans cock thrusting deeply in and out of you. He stared longingly into your eyes, filling you up completely, wanting to savor the way they fluttered in the back of your head.

“You love the way I fill you up huh?” He groans into your ear, a hand falling forward to grip the cement ledge of the pool.

You couldn’t respond without fear of moaning so you nod your head wildly. He began to bite and suck at your collarbone, pushing you closer to the edge. Looking down he sees your nipples, erect, poking through the wet fabric of your bathing suit. His eyes grow wide, hips stuttering into you. Fuck you were hot.

“Haechannie, I think I’m going to come.” You squeezed your eyes shut trying to focus on the feeling coiling in your stomach.

“Not yet.” He growls, hands moving to pin your wrists against the cement ledge, “Hold it princess, I know you can.” The water began to slosh around faster as Haechan thrusted harder into you. The sound was so loud its no wonder you didn’t hear the keys jangling against the hip of the guard making his way towards you two.

“Hey!,” he shouts running towards you, “The pool is closed! Get out! Are you two-” He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as you and Haechan spring up out of fear and take off. It was easy to push yourself up onto the pool deck. The guard made the mistake of following you two and leaving the gate unattended. You and Haechan ran out, giggling, making your way back into the hotel. You didn’t stop until you got into the room and slammed the door behind you.

With your heart hammering in your chest you lean against the dark cherry wood . “Holy fuck we could’ve gotten in serious trouble.” You gasp out, clutching a hand against your wet bathing suit top.

“Babe we’ll be gone by morning, no one is gonna know.” Haechan paces in front of you trying to catch his breath. His shorts hung dangerously low on his hips, it was miracle he got them up in time.

“We’re so banned from this hotel.” A knock on the door makes you jump away from it, the worst of punishment's filling your mind. What were they going to do? They couldn’t arrest you, could they?

Haechan walks forward and turns the knob slowly, revealing a sleepy Doyoung. His oversized t-shirt hung off one shoulder showing off his gaunt collarbone. He was rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“What do you want Doie?” you ask softly.

“How was getting chased by the guard?” he gives a sleepy chuckle, still half in his dreams.

“How did you-,” A look of realization hits Haechan, “You reported us?” He whined, pushing Doyoungs bare shoulder so that he stumbled back.

“Sound travels over water dumbasses and you guys were loud, I was trying to sleep!” Protesting, he pushes Haechans wet shoulder back.

“Well, now we’re going to be twice as loud.” Haechan slams the door in Doyoungs face and grabs you, throwing you on the bed. You give a squeal, and hear Doyoungs fist hit the door.

“I swear I’ll make a noise complaint.” He sounded more irritated than sleepy now.

“Go ahead, you’re just mad I’m getting laid and you aren't.” You playfully slap Haechans arm, but he nips at your hand. The other side of the door grows silent, Doyoung either going to report you two, or going back to his room defeated.

“Shall we pick up where we left off princess?”

[k-llama-llama]

Team Effort

Stray Kids AU: 9th member

Tori x Stray Kids

Stray Kids feel that Tori's effort with her crush are a team effort.

A/N: Hey! This is very much some fluffy nonsense just to ease into being back! I'm accepting requests and I'd love to hear your thoughts. This also takes place during Maniac, but we're kind of ignoring the massive time skip from the last posts...anyways...enjoy!!

Requests are OPEN and your feedback is still greatly appreciated!

Masterlist and other Follow Me links in bio!

“What on earth are you two doing?” Chan’s voice cut like a blade into the greenroom.

Tori glanced towards the door, not lowering her arm from where it was held into the perfect selca position.

“Taking a picture?” She furrowed her brow. “For snapchat.”

Chan sighed, pointing down with his finger. “Than what, exactly, is Felix doing?”

Felix, who was on his knees at Tori’s feet, using his hands to push her boobs up into a more flattering angle, grunted at the uncomfortable position. “I’m helping. Obviously.”

“One more, Lix,” Tori turned back to the camera, “You’re doing great.”

“I think I’m going to have bruises on my knees.”

Tori held one finger up to her lip in what she hoped was a tastefully seductive pose. She was trying to copy a picture she’d seen Zoey post a few days earlier, and hoping that it would entire a certain someone to take a freaking hint.

“They said we have fifteen —” Jisung stopped. “What are they doing?”

“Selcas!” Felix shouted. “Tori, my arms are killing me.”

“Fine, fine,” She lowered her arm and stepped away from him, letting him drop his arms to his side. “You’re a peach. I’m sure one of these will be good enough.”

“Since when do you put that much work into selcas?” Jisung asked. “You usually don’t even worry about having a filter on. You’re already in a full face and wardrobe for the shoot, why did Felix have to suffer?”

Tori flipped her hair over her shoulder. He wasn’t wrong. Normally she would snap one or two quick pictures and pick from the best of them. She wasn’t picky, and was generally confident enough to post without wearing makeup or searching for the perfect filter. The fans were used to it by now.

But this picture wasn’t for the fans.

“Let’s look at the pictures,” Felix stumbled to his feet, his knees creaking. “I don’t want that to have been for nothing.”

Tori passed him her phone, leaning over his shoulder as he scrolled through the 40-odd pictures she’d taken. She did look pretty cute. Her hair, currently so long it flowed past her ribs and styled in dark purple and black curls, framed her face perfectly. Her makeup was simple — they’d kept it fairly lowkey for the Maniac comeback, and her outfit — a strapless black leather corset over a fishnet longsleeve, looked incredibly flattering. Her boobs also looked pretty good, thanks to Felix and his willingness to push the boundaries of a normal friendship.

“This one is a little too much,” Felix quickly deleted one. “You want to look sexy, but not like you’re trying too hard.”

“Right, right. I have to keep it casual.” She agreed.

“What is this about?” Jisung demanded. 

“Seriously. This is more effort than I’ve ever seen Tori put into anything.” Chan tilted his head.

Tori stuck her tongue out at him. “That’s just rude.”

“Well, you’re being weird.” He shrugged. “Now, as the leader and resident grown-up, I demand to know what the hell you two are doing.”

Tori sighed, snatching her phone back from Felix. “I told you. I’m taking selcas.”

“For Seonghwa,” Felix added unhelpfully.

“Felix!” She hissed.

“What?” He demanded. “It’s not exactly a secret. You’ve been all gooey over him since you met.”

“Gooey?” Jisung looked disgusted.

“Gooey my ass.” Tori smacked his arm. “Why are you literally the worst?”

“How am I the worst? I’m helping you take pictures so that you can get a boyfriend.”

Chan timidly raised his hand. “I might be out of the loop…but why do we need to…seduce Seonghwa? I thought he was already into you.”

“We don’t need to seduce anyone,” Tori frowned. “And, for the record, neither do I. He just needs a little…encouragement.”

“Encouragement?” Jisung shook his head. “I don’t know why I talk to you. I just end up distrubed every time.”

“I’d be perfectly happy if you never talked to me again.” Tori glared at him.

Felix decided to continue explaining, despite Tori’s dirty looks. “He’s totally obsessed with her, of course. But he’s dragging his feet. They’ve hung out like a thousand times and he refuses to call it a date or make a move. It’s staying strictly platonic, even though everyone knows he’s into her.”

“Why does he have to make the move?” Jisung asked. 

“What?” Tori asked.

“I mean…you’re a modern girl,” He gestured loosely at her. “Why don’t you make the move? Kiss him. Proclaim your feelings. Propose. You know.”

“Propose?” Chan sputtered. “I think that’s —”

“Exactly what I keep saying.” Felix nodded. “I said Tori should have kissed him when they went to karaoke last week, but she wimped out.”

“I did not wimp out!” She protested.

“Who wimped out?” Seungmin asked, holding the door open as the rest of the boys filed into the room.

“Tori won’t make a move on Seonghwa.” Jisung filled them in.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Changbin froze. “I thought she was still undecided about Seonghwa?”

“Why are you talking about me like I’m not here?” They ignored her.

“Hyung, she likes him, she just isn’t sure how much because they haven’t been on an actual date yet,” Jeongin explained.

“Can someone please tell me why every conversation about my love life has to turn into a group discussion?” She asked.

Minho reached up to pat her hand, missed, and ended up smacking her in the stomach. “It’s because we care.”

“Care my ass, it’s because we’re invested.” Changbin laughed. “So…we’re making a move?”

“We are doing nothing. I am sending him a casual selca in which I look particularly gorgeous, to try and convince him to ask me out on an actual date.” She explained.

“Why don’t you just ask him out?” Minho asked.

Tori groaned loudly, turning to bang her head on the wall. “This is going in circles.”

Hyunjin, who had been silent up until this point, looked up from his phone. “Will it help if I tell you that Ateez are also trying to convince him to make a move?”

“They are?”

“Did you tell them to do that?” Tori screeched. “Hyunjin! That’s so embarrassing.”

He made a face. “Tori, what’s more embarrassing: his friends telling him to ask you out, or you being so much of a coward that you’re sending him sexy pictures.”

“Tori,” Chan warned.

“Tastefully sexy!” She exclaimed. “And…fine…I see your point. I’m just getting impatient. Like…why won’t he ask me out? I’m not trying to sound desperate or anything,”

“Which you are,” Jisung smirked.

“Screw you, I am not. I just…I like him, but I have no idea if he actually likes me or it—”

“HE LIKES YOU!” The boys practically shouted at her.

She placed a hand on her hip. “But do we know that for sure?”

“I’m pretty sure the only one who doesn’t know that is you, you sweet, stupid girl,” Felix mussed up her hair.

“And…you’re sure you actually like him?” Chan asked, looking, to his credit, only marginally uncomfortable with the conversation.

Tori shrugged. “I think so? He’s really funny, and super sweet and talented. And he’s so handsome and—”

“Yeah, she likes him,” Felix confirmed. “Hence the pictures.”

Tori sighed, looking down at her phone. She knew he wasn’t wrong. She’d never acted this way over a guy in her whole life, even if she felt that she was still being somewhat rational. Like, yeah, she might be being a little bit flighty about the whole thing, but was it so wrong to want him to make the move first? She’d been the one to reach out when she’d first started hanging out with Seonghwa, and she’d been the one getting Hyunjin to drop hints. She’d even sent gift baskets, for crying out loud. It was fully within her rights to expect Seonghwa to be the one to take the next step. 

Still, some little part of her cringed at the idea. “Do you guys think I’m being totally ridiculous?”

Some of her insecurity must have leaked through, because Jisung didn’t say anything snide, and Seungmin reached over to squeeze her hand.

“Not at all, Tor,” He promised. “A little obvious maybe, but definitely not ridiculous.”

She bit her lip.

“And if Seonghwa can’t take a hint,” Minho added, “Then he’s the idiot, not you. You guys would be perfect together.”

Tori gave them a small smile. “Aw, you guys are being supportive.”

“It does happen every once in a while,” Changbin grinned. “Now, send your picture. I want to know what he replies.”

“Okay, okay.” Tori lifted her phone, clicking on the picture Felix had deemed worthy and quickly typing a caption. 

Filming for our MV :) 

And then she hit send.

It took every fiber of her being to lower her phone to her side. The boys all stared at her expectantly.

“What?” She demanded. “I can’t give you an update until he replies.”

“Good lord,” Felix groaned. “This is agony.”

A little ding went off from Tori’s phone, and she jerked her phone back to her face. “He opened it!”

“And?” Jisung exclaimed. 

Even Chan was leaning forward. “What did he say?”

“He…” Tori scrambled with her password. “He…left me on read.”

Felix swore.

“Noona, I think we should find you a smarter boyfriend.” Jeongin shook his head.

“Hey, he’s plenty smart.” Tori protested. “Just…maybe a bit obtuse.”

“Obtuse?” Hyunjin shook his head. “Should we just go over there and formally offer him your hand? Like on Bridgerton?”

That probably would be easier. 

Tori sighed, throwing her phone onto her bag. “Let’s just give it a few hours.”

“Urgh!” Felix shouted. “Why does no one appreciate my effort.”

[visionofhope04]

Hii I was lowkey wondering if you would do something maybe like a one shot of neglected where reader is older (18-20) and dipped out of the house and became a singer and one of her songs basically exposed them for how they treated reader and in like an interview she full on tells them how she doesn’t even talk to them and like only Jason

This is literally perfect. I love this idea! I was planning on making a singer batsis reader anyway so here you go! I'll be making this part 4 of the series instead of a one shot. There’s a bit of angst. Btw, thanks so much for your support everyone! I'm glad you enjoy this series! Feel free to request anything you'd like besides smut as well!

This is the longest thing I have ever written so there will be a part 5. I planned on this being the last part but it's just so much. It’s not proofread and neither are all of the other parts because I post at 1 am most of the time lol. Hope you like it!

f/n = friend name

Y/G/N = your group name

N/S = news station

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 (Current) Part 5

---

You were sick of it. Sick of how even after confronting them about how you felt and almost dying because of it, they still neglected you. You couldn't wait to move out at the age of 18, even if it proved to be a struggle. You had taken mini jobs since you turned 15 and saved up since then. You just couldn't see them anymore as it would remind you of how they treated you that day at that hospital. None of them apologized either. They just pretended it never happened and continued to ignore you. The media had a field day with speculation of what had happened but eventually stopped because Bruce had claimed it was “just a bad case of the flu” which they believed.

Jason was always the only one that would talk to you. He was the only one that actually cared enough to make sure you were taking proper care of yourself and that you wouldn't have a repeat of what happened. He took you places, spent time with you and gave you advice. You even had a tradition where you'd always meet up at the manor's library every week at the same time that same day every week and just have a mini book club together. He always made time for you and never bailed on you.

So on your 18th birthday, he helped you move out. You managed to rent a small apartment in Star City with the money you had saved up. It wasn’t that close to the manor which was a good thing. The neighborhood wasn’t good but it wasn’t as bad as Gotham’s neighborhoods so you would be fine. You could handle yourself with your assassin training if needed. You also managed to get hired at a cafe which was about a five minutes walking distance from your apartment.

It had taken a while but eventually, you had packed all of your belongings into color coded containers and moved them into Jason’s car with his help. You didn’t say goodbye to anyone as you had no friends to say bye to and you knew that your so called “family” couldn’t care less about what you did with your life. ‘This is it, hopefully the last time I’ll ever be near this place.’ You thought. You didn’t plan on stepping foot in Gotham ever again after you left. It would bring back too many memories you prefer to keep buried away deep inside your mind.

The car ride to Star City was entertaining. You and Jason conversed the whole time, telling jokes and listening to his funny tales with the radio playing softly in the background. Eventually, a song you both loved came on and you both started yell-singing along to the lyrics. You wished those moments could be permanent. You were both so carefree and nothing else mattered besides having fun and enjoying yourselves.

You now stood in the doorway of your new apartment, admiring your new home. Jason and yourself had just finished unpacking all of your belongings. You really liked how it looked and thought you both did an amazing job at designing the place perfectly according to your style. Jason, unfortunately, had to leave in order to avoid raising suspicions. Once you both said your byes, he left you to your apartment.

Jason drove back home in silence. He hated to admit it but he would miss you dearly. You were always there for him and helped him with anything. You tried your best to always comfort him and make him feel better on his darkest days and it would always work. Somehow you seemed to always have the right words to say or knew exactly what to do to help him. Out of everyone he was closest to you. He assumed it was because he could relate to you the most. More so how you felt. He’d felt like the black sheep of the family before you came, and he was. When you came, you took that role from him. It pained him to see how much their insults would affect you, even if you were good at hiding it. He could just tell.

Jason made it back to the manor after a while and went straight to the library. He didn't want to deal with the others. After the whole hospital situation, he'd never really bother interacting with them. He hated how they treated you as if you didn’t exist and hated how much pain they had caused you and that they didn’t even care. He guessed that they'd probably be doing something for Damian's birthday and forgot that you were his twin. They probably couldn’t even remember that Damian had a twin.

He made it to the library and pulled out one of his favorite books. He’d read it so many times you’d often joke that he could probably recite the whole book by heart at this point. Sitting down in a chair, he started to read. However, he couldn’t bring himself to stop thinking about what it would’ve been like if they treated you how they did Damian. The both of you were Bruce’s real children. You both even looked like clones of him! At first, Jason thought you would’ve been the favorite twin due to your personality. Even though you were twins, your personalities were polar opposites. You even refused to kill! You were trained by the League so why didn’t you kill as Damian did?

Jason knew you would benefit them greatly if you joined. You had self control, didn’t kill, could act perfectly, lie perfectly, do well under pressure, and not to mention your skills. Being raised by the League may have been torture, but you managed to gain incredible skills out of it. You could take on at least ten guys who doubled you in size and beat them within five minutes. You even bested Damian in spars and he was supposedly dubbed the “better twin” by Talia, so why hadn’t they let you join their nightly crusades like they had let Damian when the both of you first arrived?

Damian passed by your room but noticed something was off. He decided to take a look. He twisted the doorknob and pushed. The room which was once occupied by you now looked extremely plain and bare, stripped of all of its accessories. The only things left were the bed itself, multiple dressers, and a vanity. It looked as if it had been vacant the whole time. It might as well have been. Damian couldn’t really remember what it had looked like since he’s never paid much mind to it but he could tell there was a drastic difference. He knew that you disliked just leaving your room plain unlike himself and wanted at least something to make it look less boring.

He couldn’t help but wonder what had happened. Had you finally been kicked out by Bruce? Did you get shipped off to a boarding school like he had been suggesting to your father for years? He decided to go ask. He exited the room and closed the door behind him, taking off for Bruce’s office. Walking down the hall, he suddenly remembered that he had seen you leave with Jason. This meant that you were not at a boarding school like he had originally thought. But then why was your room vacant?

Instead of going to see Bruce, he decided to go see Jason and bring up the matter with him instead. He changed directions and headed to the library where he knew he’d find Jason. It was no secret that Jason was a book worm so Damian had a fifty percent chance of finding him there.

He entered the library and was immediately greeted with the sight of Jason sitting comfortably on a chair, legs crossed with a book opened in his hands. Jason didn’t bother to look up from his book as he spoke.

“What do you want Demon Spawn?”

“I’ve come to obtain the whereabouts of my sister.”

“You mean my sister?”

“She’s not your sister!” Damian exclaimed.

“Well I act more like a brother than you do.”

“Where is Y/N? Her whole room is bare.”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

“Just tell me, you imbecile!” Damian said, growing increasingly frustrated by Jason’s blunt answers.

“She’s not here.”

“Then where is she?”

“Not here.”

“Just tell me already Todd, I have no time for your foolish games!”

“She moved out.” Jason said, giving in.

“What?! Where.” Damian demanded.

“Why would I tell you?”

“Because I demand to know!”

“Okay and?”

“Tell me!”

“No.”

“Why not!”

“Because you don’t even care.”

“And you do?”

“Yes, I actually do Damian! I’m there for her when she needs me the most. I’m there for her while she’s watching you live the perfect life that she’s just a background character in! While you and the others ignore that she even exists! I’m there for her when she breaks down and has panic attacks! And what were you all doing to try and help her? Nothing! Absolutely nothing!” Jason snapped.

“Y/N’s fine, I know my twin!” Damian screamed.

“Do you even know what her favorite color is?” Jason questioned in a harsh tone.

“...” Was Damian’s reply.

“Exactly! You don’t! You and the others have never cared about her, so why all of a sudden do you care now? You don’t know anything about her so don’t act like you do!” Jason then stood up and walked out of the room in a fit of rage.

Damian stood there, shocked. Had Jason just refused to answer his question? He was about to follow him but decided against it. Why was Damian going to chase Jason down just for her? She was just an annoyance, a mistake, imperfect. He had been wanting to get rid of her for so long, so why doesn’t he feel relieved? Why does he feel guilty? He decided to stop dwelling on it and get on with life. He figured it would happen eventually if it hadn’t happened then.

---

It had been a year since that day. The day you left your old life behind and started a new life, a better one. One where you weren’t constantly ignored. One where you actually had more than one person care about you. Instead of seeing yourself as a failure and disappointment, you now saw yourself as an amazing person (which you always were). You had been going to a community college in Star City. You made many friends there and started up a music career with three of them.

Their names were f/n, f/n and f/n. You all started off by taking random gigs anywhere you could. You performed covers of songs and would receive standing ovations all the time. Seeing as your group was well liked, you decided to write and produce your own songs. At the age of 19, Y/G/N released their first album. It went viral within a day and everyone was talking about it. After a week, several articles were posted, praising your work. News Stations talked about all the records Y/G/N managed to break. People started to stream it like crazy, and you couldn’t be happier with all the positive feedback you were receiving.

You had been a Wayne once, meaning you had experience in dealing with the media. Since you had already been used to it, you knew you’d all eventually be invited to interviews. So, when you had received an email stating how N/S wanted a one on one interview with you, you weren’t sure how to feel. You weren’t looking forward to interviews with your whole group, let alone one where you would be alone. You knew how unfiltered interviewers could be and didn’t feel comfortable with it.

However, you decided it would be best to go. So here you were, sitting in front of the interviewer in an uncomfortable chair preparing for the interview to start. You had somehow managed to keep a smile plastered on your face the entire time while you were a nervous wreck on the inside. You hoped none of the questions would be sexist as they usually were towards women. However, you had no more time to think about that. You heard clicking, signaling that you were about to go live. Once you heard the last click, you knew you were live and the interview had begun.

“Hello everyone, welcome back to N/S. My name is Jerald Tangleberry and I’m here today with songwriter, singer, and celebrity, Y/N Wayne! How are you?”

You waved to the camera and then answered, “Hello everyone! I’m doing good, how about you?”

“I’m doing great, thanks for asking! So by now I’d assume everyone knows that you’ve released an album with your group. How does it feel to gain more fame?”

“It doesn’t feel any different. Fame wasn’t our goal when we released the album. It was to express ourselves.”

“Mhm, well Ms. Wayne, what inspired you to write songs?”

“Well we know people may be in a tough spot in their life right now and want them to know they aren’t alone.”

“That’s so true. Some fans have been speculating that every member has three songs that specifically relate to them since there are twelve songs in total and three of the songs have the same group member as the introduction part of the song. Is this true?”

“Yes, it is true.”

“So all three of your songs relate to family issues of some sort. Is that hinting that you have family issues?”

“Yes, actually. My family isn’t the best. They ignored me all the time, even when they weren't busy. The only person who didn’t was Jason.”

“You’re saying it in the past tense.”

“I moved out about a year ago. When I was around 14, I suffered from anorexia. My family would always ignore me since they were either busy doing work or hanging out with each other. The only family member that acknowledged me was Jason. I assumed it was because there was something wrong with me. I started to hate myself so much to the point of starvation. One day, I passed out right before a gala and my oldest brother Dick found me passed out on the floor. They took me to the hospital and when I woke up, Bruce, Dick, Tim, and Damian started fussing about how I’d ruin their image if the media knew what actually happened. They started to yell at me and told me how I was a useless burden. I started to have a panic attack so I kicked them out. Jason stayed behind with me and comforted me. Ever since then I made a planed to save enough money so I could move out when I turned 18, which I did.”

“Oh, wow. So Jason was the only one who interacted with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Looks like the Wayne family isn’t as perfect as they seem.”

“No family is actually perfect.”

“Did your family try contacting you at all after they found out about Y/G/N?”

“Not yet. They’re probably too busy or don’t care.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright, I got over it. What’s the next question.”

“Oh-” He cleared his throat and continued the interview. (So basically I don’t wanna bore you all lol)

---

Jason had woken up late into the afternoon that day. Patrol that morning had exhausted him. There was a huge breakout at Arkham they had assisted with. They successfully locked up every escapee, so today, Jason just wanted to relax until it would be time for patrol again. Even though he was exhausted, he knew he couldn’t take a break. The others wouldn’t and it would be unfair to them if he did.

He headed over to his couch with his phone and a bowl of popcorn in hand, ready to watch random movies the entirety of the day. He set down his phone on the coffee tables and grabbed the TV remote. When he turned on the TV, he almost dropped the popcorn and remote. You were sitting on a chair, giving an award winning smile while you politely answered the man’s questions. He was baffled. He didn’t know why you were being interviewed, let alone on TV at all! You made it clear you didn’t want to have any relations with your family any longer and you couldn’t stand publicity, so what were you doing?

He placed the bowl down and snatched his phone off the table. Unlocking his phone, he quickly dialed your phone number. However, he realized that the interview was live and that he would be interrupting it if he called you then. Deciding to wait, he placed his phone back down, picked up the bowl, and then got comfortable.

---

Tag list: @fake-id-69 @pepelachanel @loxbbg @what-0-life @yoongi-holland @omnivorousfangirl @cawcaw-pretty-thing @sexysamsungl @iceddonuts @buginetye @portrait-ninja @azazel-nyx @alculai

[jackoshadows]

It’s often mentioned that Jon’s lack of communication with his men is a leadership flaw and one of the reasons for his downfall. This is not exactly true considering Jon did try, several times, to convince Marsh, Yarwyck and co. of the necessity of letting the Wildlings come this side of the wall.

It’s just hard to convince bigots to do the right thing and Jon did fail to make them see sense, though his arguments should have logically found merit with them if they understood the threat of the Others. I mentioned this in another post, but book Bowen Marsh and co. were the equivalent of Show Sansa - prioritizing petty squabbles and old feuds when an existential threat is on the horizon. And as Jon Snow finally admits - no amount of discussion with them was going to be productive.

Instead, Jon’s relationship with the Freefolk is where he shines as a leader. His relationship with Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun, where he gives the giant lots of veggies, wine and beer and spends time learning about Wun Wun’s culture, stories and the Old Tongue with Leather’s help.

Or his relationship with Leathers who he appoints as Master-at-Arms ot Castle Black over Bowen Marsh’s objections. Leathers who is fluent in both the Common Tongue and the Old Tongue and can make his point as well as Jon Snow

"These are godless savages," said Septon Cellador. "Even in the south the treachery of wildlings is renowned."

Leathers crossed his arms. "That battle down below? I was on t'otherside, remember? Now I wear your blacks and train your boys to kill. Some might call me turncloak. Might be so … but I am no more savage than you crows. We have gods too. The same gods they keep in Winterfell." - Jon, ADwD

Or Morna White Mask - the warrior witch with a weirwood mask - to whom he gives the castle of Queensgate to garrison and settle her people. The Spearwives to whom he gives Long Barrow.

Or winning over the Thenns and integrating them into the North with the marriage of Sigorn and Alys Karstark.

And of course there is Tormund Giantsbane, Mance Raydar and Val.

Mance Raydar mentions to Jon Snow how hard it is to get the loyalty of the Freefolk.

“When I left the Shadow Tower there were five men making noises about how they might be the stuff of kings. Tormund was one, the Magnar another. The other three I slew, when they made it plain they'd sooner fight than follow." 

Mance had spent years assembling this vast plodding host, talking to this clan mother and that magnar, winning one village with sweet words and another with a song and a third with the edge of his sword, making peace between Harma Dogshead and the Lord o' Bones, between the Hornfoots and the Nightrunners, between the walrus men of the Frozen Shore and the cannibal clans of the great ice rivers, hammering a hundred different daggers into one great spear, aimed at the heart of the Seven Kingdoms.

"Free folk don't follow names, or little cloth animals sewn on a tunic," the King-Beyond-the-Wall had told him. "They won't dance for coins, they don't care how you style yourself or what that chain of office means or who your grandsire was. They follow strength. They follow the man."

And by the end of ADwD, Jon Snow has them. He has earned their support.

The Night’s Watch will make for Hardhome. I ride to Winterfell alone, unless …” Jon paused. “… is there any man here who will come stand with me?” The roar was all he could have hoped for, the tumult so loud that the two old shields tumbled from the walls. Soren Shieldbreaker was on his feet, the Wanderer as well. Toregg the Tall, Brogg, Harle the Huntsman and Harle the Handsome both, Ygon Oldfather, Blind Doss, even the Great Walrus. I have my swords, thought Jon Snow, and we are coming for you, Bastard.”

And as Mance pointed out, that’s no easy thing. Last we see, the Freefolk were pouring out of the shield hall at the commotion in the yard. They are not going to be pleased with Jon’s assassination.

Note also that Jon has the support of the recruits from Mole’s town - Satin, Horse, Arron, Emrick etc. He also has the support of many of the Night’s watch crows - like Iron Emmett, Edd Tollett etc. Also present are Northmen and Queensmen who are not going to be happy with mutiny at the wall.

It’s going to be a bloodbath. Marsh and co. are not going to even know what hit them in the aftermath. The Freefolk are going to be drinking some pomegranate juice soon.

[tevanbuckley]

The thing that I can’t get over with Loki is that I just hate that Sylvie exists as a character, she’s just a terrible, awful copout. You can love her, you can think she’s the baddest bitch the mcu has ever offered up, you can think her and loki are the best romance that has ever dared grace our screens. And honestly if they’d written more effectively around the incest issue I think what they were going for could’ve worked. But you can’t avoid the fact that she exists as a character because marvel was either too ignorant or too chicken shit to actually make Loki genderfluid. After explicitly saying that he would be. That’s a fact. I don’t care how much you love the character, the show or the relationship. At some point in your enjoyment of it you have to reconcile that.

Loki could’ve been brilliant, like genuinely all of the building blocks were there. A queer character who has to break free from this oppressively normative organisation and decide their own destiny after literal centuries of trying to compete with their hyper-masculine warrior-archetype brother? Fucking sign me up. But for that to work as an effective allegory you have to be willing to centre Loki’s queerness. Why not have a good omens style relationship between Loki and Mobius where Loki is the “corrupting” influence ala crowley that allows both of them to break free, or by making Sylvie explicitly trans (and ya know, casting a trans actor). Like a Loki who’s literal nexus event was them identifying as the perceived ‘wrong’ gender and our Loki realising through that mirror that they can be literally whatever they want? Again ideally through some kind of expression of his own queer identity. Chef’s kiss. But the show isn’t willing to centre Loki’s queer identity (any identity) in any meaningful way. We get one line. One. And some set dressing that is contradicted by the script on multiple occasions.

Let me compare it to TFATWS, if you swapped Sam out for a white man the entire premise of the show falls apart. Sam’s anger at what’s happening post-blip and his sympathy with Karli is directly presented through the lens of his identity as a Black American. Now cut that one line from Loki, literally nothing about the show would change, because nothing about this show was constructed with that identity even remotely in mind. There’s no stakes to his queerness. And the idea that that’s a good thing, that “oh queer people are just like straight people, sexuality doesn’t matter” is based in some very sketchy early 2000s respectability politics. Queer people aren’t just Straight and/or Cis people with a spicy dating life. It’s not much to ask that my experience as a queer person matters more than just “he said he dated a man once”.

[pjisskullourful]

. . . . . ╰──╮𝕘𝕒𝕪 𝕖𝕟𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙╭──╯ . . . . .

🏳️‍🌈Damiano X Ethan X reader

part 2/3 [catch up on part1]

NSFW! 🔥 filthy smutterific smut

° Damiano David & Ethan Torchio & female reader insert [throuple style]

° you spend more time with Damiano & Ethan, having fun & beginning to develop feelings

word count: 7,241

° requested by @superchrystaldrug 💋 far too encouraging of me & shoutout to @dreaded-earth-witch 💋 thankyou for your super sweet words after part1 & shoutout to my pal john who i stole the Simba story from 😝 cos word for word his messy ass did that to a guy once!

You pushed open the door to your balcony, stepping out into the morning sun. You approached the vaping figure sitting on the concrete, furrowing your brow as you considered him. "Ladies room, right?"

Damiano turned to you, mirroring your thoughtful expression. "Yeah, I think that's where I saw you."

"Oh, right." You said.

Then he smirked at you, tongue peeking out from between his teeth. You giggled, feeling a flutter in your stomach.

"Hi."

"Good morning avida."

"Oh is that my name now?" You asked, reaching your foot out to stroke his exposed thigh.

"If the label fits…"

He was wearing only his underwear, his face bore the smudges of his ruined makeup. Your vape was in his hand and a teacup rested by his knee.

You had no idea how long he had been out here as you had just woken up, beside Ethan in your bed. You had detangled your limbs from his, not needing to search long to find the third member of your slumber party.

"I met Elena, she helped me find the tea." He said. "And she had enough class to not ask any leading questions or mention hearing anything from last night."

You lowered yourself down to the ground alongside him. "Yeah, she usually doesn't hear anything 'cause our rooms aren't actually that close together. Thank God, I hate having quiet sex." You took your vape from his hand and had your first hit. "Last night was, oh my God- it was so much fuckin' fun. I mean, I've never… not with two boys before."

"Well we've never…"

You tilted your head. "Oh?"

"With a third before."

You nodded. "Oh."

"Yes, yes, we've slept together, a lot." He said with a smile.

"But no dating?"

"He doesn't want to date me, he has made that very clear." He had become very interested in inspecting the state of his black nail polish. "He doesn't see us as compatible 'cause he is definitely queer, most assuredly, he is pansexual. And I'm… I don't even know."

"A slut?" You offered.

"Right."

You could see a change in his appearance, some of that sexy bravado involuntarily falling away. This was clearly not the time to be joking to lighten the mood. "But you would date him if you could?"

"Of course, are you kidding? If he would let me, I would just adore him - cook for him, brush his hair, suck his cock, write songs about him and tell him how fucking hot he is."

You were nodding along, all of these ideas sounded great to you - lovely things you would gladly do for him or Ethan. "You should do all of that…"

He shook his head, taking a sip of tea. “Um no, he doesn’t want that.” You scooted closer, it would have been impossible to not notice how he was suddenly unable to maintain eye contact. “He doesn’t want me in that way, ‘cause he’s been hurt in the past. He’s been involved with the wrong guys - guys who lied and said they were out, but then they’d hide him away, like literally not let him post anything online that could link them together and treat him like a dirty, shameful secret.

“Or he’d have a fuckboy tell him that he wanted an exclusive, serious relationship. But then, sorpresa - they’re fucking, like, 20 other people behind his back. Or else they were just experimenting and they’d get bored and ghost him.”

Your stomach twisted. “Are you serious?”

“He just hadn’t been appreciated the way he should be, so I understand his trepidation. I understand that it’s easier to be friends. He doesn’t need to date some amateur who doesn’t know the first thing about Stonewall, or who had to Google what pansexual actually means.”

“You’re saying that you’re too straight for him?”

“He thinks so, you should’ve seen how disappointed he was when I said that I’d never seen Priscilla.” He exhaled a cloud of smoke with a shrug. His lips formed a half-smile, which had absolutely no impact on the rest of his features. “We just work better as friends with benefits, I don’t want him to feel like he has to educate me on how to be a queer man, that’s not his responsibility.”

You moved closer to him again - thinking about putting yourself in his lap, thinking about kissing all of those sad expressions off of his face. “I think he’d be lucky to have you. And the world at large would be lucky to have such an outrageously attractive couple.”

At that, his smile gained some ease. “Ah, sorry to get all deep on you. You literally just woke up and I’m, like, info-dumping so much shit. That’s not how it’s supposed to go with a one night stand…”

You nodded stiffly - you had noted this as well. If any of your trysts had stayed overnight, there had been no deep and meaningful conversations the next morning. You had learnt of a woman named Angela’s food allergies when you offered to buy her breakfast. But there had been times when you didn’t know the last name of your brief houseguests.

But what you had experienced with Damiano and Ethan was so unprecedented, so unique that surely it deserved a brand new category. You didn’t want it to follow the same pattern of your other one night stands, not when it already felt like so much more.

“One night stand.” You repeated, ready (unwillingly so) to pull the plug on any attachments at the first hint of him heading for the door.

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve got freetime, if you’re not sick of me, if I didn’t bite you too much last night…”

You smiled. “You can bite me more, I’d be perfectly happy if you wanted to totally consume me.”

“Oh, would you just?” He asked, an eyebrow arched.

You placed yourself in his lap, facing him with your legs around him. You played with his long hair, twirling it around your fingers as you licked your lips.

“Call me your greedy girl again.”

He responded by putting his hand to the back of your head, immediately closing some of your hair into his fist. He tugged, causing you to turn your face skyward.

“You have to earn that.” He said into the tensed skin of your throat, letting you feel a brief graze of his teeth.

You purred, eyes fluttering shut. “Yes Daddy.”

His lips began to ravage your neck, hungrily dancing over as much of the skin as possible. Your hands went to his shoulders as you rolled your hips into his.

He reached for the lapel of your satin dressing gown and pushed it open, enough to expose your bare breasts. You forgot to care about the proximity of the neighbouring balconies - such things didn’t matter when you could feel the beginning of his excitement pushing against the fabric of his underwear.

“You…” He had loosened the tie of the robe. “...are not wearing…” His eyes had widened, looking slightly transfixed by your body. “...anything under here. What a naughty girl.”

“I don’t see the point of putting panties on while the two of you are around, ‘cause you’d have me ruining them in, like, seconds.”

He smiled, looking like he was going to chuckle or moan. “You are filthy. I wanna stick around and see what kind of trouble me and you could get into.”

“Good, ‘cause I like you Damiano. I like talking to you, I like watching you work the pole, I like fucking you.”

Beneath the satin fabric, he ran his hands up your back, bringing your chest flush to his. Your mouth went to his, lips working against one another as the charge of intense passion moved through your body.

You thought about letting him have you right here and now, disregarding the lack of privacy.

And maybe you would have gone through with it - if not for your concentration being broken by a loud car alarm beginning to blare down on the street.

You broke apart from one another, breathlessly smiling. You remained in his embrace.

“We should wake Ethan up.” He said.

“Yeah, let’s do that. How?”

“Coffee.”

“Oh, a rational man after my own heart.” You brought the robe shut again and fixed the tie before standing up.

“Give me a few minutes to finish my tea and calm down a bit…” He said, a raised eyebrow adding extra emphasis to his innuendo. “And I’ll be right with you.”

………

“Really? Jalapeños, that was the best you could do?” Ethan asked, a look of distaste on his face.

He was yet to leave your bed, the coffee had failed to motivate such movements. Instead of trying to pull him out of the comfort, you and Damiano had gotten back into bed, once he had gotten another cup of tea. It was Sunday morning after all.

Ethan was entirely too easy to cuddle with, there wasn’t a single part of him that wasn’t comfortable to lie against. And Damiano fit so perfectly between your legs, inflicting playful pinches when he didn’t have any clever retorts.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t have my rolodex of perfect panty-melting pickup lines on hand.” Damiano said. “I guess I let the team down.”

“Hang on, panty-melting pickup lines? Well, I have to hear one of those.” Ethan said.

You raised a warning finger in Damiano’s direction. “You’re not allowed to steal mine.”

Ethan looked at you with a smile. “What was yours?”

You giggled, shrugging. “Nice shoes, wanna fuck?”

“Well, while that does have a certain…” He paused, awkwardly clearing his throat. “Sophistication.” You met Damiano’s eye and made a funny face. “You have an advantage that I believe you’re over-looking, in that you are an attractive woman and so you could speak total gibberish but end it with a hair flip and you would not go home alone.”

You sat forward, jostling Damiano’s arm. “That’s what I was tryin’ to tell him last night. Do you think that you or he don’t have the same advantage?”

“Well…”

“Very flattering, thank you.” Ethan said.

“I want you to try right now, hit me with the opposite of a panty-melter and just try to turn me off.” You said.

Damiano was the first to take this challenge, clearing his throat and placing his teacup aside in preparation. “Did you just fart?”

Ethan looked up at the roof. “Jesus, forgive him, please.”

“‘Cause you blew me away.” Damiano said, winking and sticking his tongue out.

You laughed, covering your mouth. “And still, I would blow you.” He blew a kiss in your direction, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Okay, how ‘bout this? If you were a booger, I’d pick you.” Ethan said, looking deeply into your eyes and not breaking his serious façade until you started laughing.

“I hated every second of that.” Damiano said. “Look, let me redeem this and give you one of my platinum…” He brought his thumb and forefinger to his mouth, performing a loud chef’s kiss. “...panty-melting pickup lines.”

You gasped excitedly and grabbed Ethan’s arm. “Oh my God, it’s happening. Write this down.” He spread his hand out and mimed writing onto his palm.

“Was your mother a beaver?” Damiano asked and you fought back a chuckle as Ethan clung to your arm for support. “‘Cause dam.”

Ethan burst out laughing, falling back. Meanwhile you sprung forward, throwing your arms around Damiano and covering his face in enthusiastic kisses. You had come at him with all of your body weight, knocking him back onto the mattress.

“Take me now.” You shouted. “I have never been so aroused in my whole life. Mmm!” You made a comically loud moan, worthy of a porn star.

You felt your robe lifted from your ass and Ethan accessed a better view. “I think it worked Daddy, I’m not seeing any panties here, you melted them away. Platinum line, indeed.”

Damiano laughed, applying both hands to your ass in a firm spank. “Tell ‘im the real reason he isn't seeing any panties, avida.”

You squirmed and clapped a hand over his mouth. “You talk so much.”

You sat up and pushed your hair off of your warm face. Ethan took his chance to grab you, snaking his arms around your middle and pulling you back into his embrace. “What’s the story baby?”

You hummed, feeling an embarrassed blush in your cheeks. “I dunno, I may have…” You giggled, looking down from Damiano’s penetrative stare. “I may have said that there wasn’t any reason for me to put on underwear, ‘cause with you boys around, I would ruin them too fast.”

“Oh, is that a fact?” Ethan asked.

He ran his hand down your front, caressing your bare skin. You whimpered at his first stroke across your cunt. He explored down, fingers discovering the wetness coming directly from your entrance. You wanted him instantly inside of you, but he didn’t go any deeper.

“Yeah, I can see how that would probably dirty your panties quick.” He said, removing his hand altogether and held up his glistening fingers for Damiano to see.

He took Ethan’s hand, bringing it towards his mouth. His eyes were locked, unblinking, onto Ethan’s face. Slowly Damiano opened his mouth, unrolling his tongue. He lapped up the moisture then curled his tongue around the digits, to draw them into his mouth. He swallowed them in and you were impressed by the strength of his gag reflex. You could feel how hard Ethan had become, his breathing was heavy by your ear.

“Fuck…” Damiano’s hands went to your knees and he pushed them apart. “I have to taste you properly.”

You held tightly onto Ethan’s arm that was secured around you, trying to brace yourself. “God, yes. I was hoping I’d get fucked again.”

“Greedy, greedy, greedy girl.” Damiano said, making you quiver as he lowered his head down.

He parted your folds with his fingers, giving his tongue immediate access to your clit. You held onto Ethan tighter, ready to quickly ride Damiano’s tongue to your spectacular release.

Ethan began to kiss you but you could only respond weakly, as you were so thoroughly distracted by Damiano playing with your clit.

He took his time, really allowing his tongue to explore and test the sensitivity of your clitoral hood. He bumped it with his nose, making you twitch. He applied his lips to it, in a series of soft, barely-there kisses, making you whine. He sucked the bud into his mouth, sucking on it and twirling his tongue around it, making you moan.

His long hair tickled the insides of your tensed thighs. Ethan’s hardness was becoming more present with each passing second.

“Actually…” Damiano sat up and you huffed, feeling a twinge of frustration. “I have a better idea.”

You and Ethan watched in silence as Damiano repositioned on the bed, tossing the box of condoms at Ethan in the process. Damiano placed his head on a pillow and stretched out, lying flat on his back.

“Avida, you, here.” He said, pointing to his mouth. “Come and take a seat right here.”

Instantly you started to move forward, grinning, absolutely thrilled by the offer alone.

“And you, love.” He said, sticking one leg straight up into the air. “Right here.”

While Ethan sheathed his erection, you made a decision to not face the wall as you mounted Damiano’s face. You positioned yourself to allow you to watch Ethan at work.

Again, Damiano took his time to warm you up, letting your arousal dance across his tongue, without penetrating you. You could already feel yourself losing your breath, this teasing pushing you to a higher level. You put your hands to his stomach to steady yourself as your body writhed in search of the rhythm you needed.

“Fuck.” He gasped, falling away from your cunt for a moment.

You lifted your eyes to see that this was in response to Ethan penetrating him. You felt a fire burst to life in the depths of your gut and you were mesmerized by the poetry their bodies created.

Ethan had one of Damiano’s legs in his grasp, holding it against him in order to gain the best angle into Damiano’s tight hole. Muscles rippling, Ethan manipulated the other man’s body to suit his need. The foot that rested by Ethan’s shoulder looked to be shaking slightly.

When Ethan looked up, he reached for you straight away. With his hand at the back of your neck, you leant forward to kiss him. He sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, bringing a moan from your throat.

This only got louder when Damiano returned his mouth to your needy cunt. He put his tongue to your clitoris, applying a pressure to it, letting it pulse against his tongue.

He began to roll his tongue over the bud, producing more hot, wet excitement. You sank into this rhythm, rocking forward, increasing the friction. You thought back to your earlier request for him to completely consume you and you grinded down harder against his divine mouth.

More momentum was added to his movements when Ethan started to rut into him. The speed and force kicked up another notch, the three of you finding an unstable way of working together. One wrong move could throw all of you off this rhythm, but if you succeeded - you anticipated an Earth-shattering orgasm.

Your mouth left Ethan’s as you threw your head back, crying out. Damiano had plunged his fingers into your cunt (you weren’t sure how many - but you were stretched too wide for it to be a single digit). He was so deep so fast that you felt your world stop for a moment.

Ethan applied his lips to your neck and you clung to him through the overwhelming sensations that came from Damiano’s fingers pumping within you. He was hitting so close to your g-spot, keeping you gasping, even when his lips failed to smother your clit.

“Yes, oh yes, Daddy. Fuck me just like that, yes. Yes, yes, oh Daddy.”

“I’m gonna come.” Damiano proclaimed.

And it would have been impossible to not notice how erratic his movements had become. He was in a frenzy, chasing his finish relentlessly. And Ethan let him have it all, his pacing consistent as he fucked Damiano over the edge.

Acting according to your new pet-name, you locked your hand around Damiano’s wrist, determined to ride his fingers to your own climax. He kept his fingers inside of you, no longer thrusting up the tight opening. He concentrated on your deepest part, curling up to hit your g-spot then relaxing before curling with power again - his movements completely unpredictable.

“Fuckin’- ah. Fuck.” He stammered. “Unf.”

He spasmed into his orgasm, making the most erotic moan you had ever heard. High-pitched, long, barely restrained - the sound of it causing more drips down your thighs.

It only took a few more rolls upon his magic fingers until the dam within you burst. Twitching, you slumped forward and you heard Damiano moaning again. This time, the noise was over sooner - quickly becoming muffled when he put his mouth back to your pussy. He lapped up all of the cum he had gotten out of you, leaving you unstuck from time, whimpering.

You were still twitching when you climbed off of him, collapsing onto the bed.

You opened your eyes when you heard Ethan’s ragged breathing. A look of serious concentration on his face as he continued to rail Damiano.

Damiano’s expression was one of pure ecstasy. He had lifted himself up slightly, a hand on Ethan’s ass as the other went to his throat.

“Yes, love, yes, own my fuckin’ ass. Use me baby.” Damiano coached, with Ethan just moaning in response.

When Ethan did come (springing into his partner a couple more times, with such power that the bed’s headboard knocked into the wall), it wasn’t easy to determine who was more excited by this. Damiano continued to encourage, a gigantic smile on his face.

Ethan fell back, his legs detangling from Damiano’s and he tried to catch his breath. Damiano moved up to sit beside him, a hand on his cheek.

“Open your mouth, love.” 

Not opening his eyes, Ethan did as instructed. Damiano looked back to make sure you were watching before hovering over the drummer. You bit your finger when you saw a large droplet of spit falling from Damiano’s mouth as he strived to share the taste of your orgasm with Ethan.

It looked sexy and had a promising beginning, with the liquid landing on Ethan’s awaiting tongue.

But then Damiano swayed and soon he was drooling on Ethan’s nose. Ethan yelled and pushed the other man away when some saliva landed on his shut eyelid.

“Ugh, your aim sucks.”

Damiano scooted up the mattress, sitting alongside you. “Says the guy who jizzed on my forehead the first time I sucked him off.”

Ethan sat up, wiping the back of his hand over his face. “You said that was hot.”

“It was.” Damiano said and you put an arm around him, resting your head on his chest. “Until you put your thumb in it and smeared it across my forehead…” He demonstrated by drawing a semi-circle in the air with his thumb. “So you could recreate the start of Lion King and say Simba…”

You giggled while Ethan flipped his middle finger into the air. But this pouting didn’t last for long - soon he had snuggled in at Damiano’s side, giving him a few kisses on the cheek. He rested his head on Damiano’s shoulder, holding his hand.

“I, um…” You cleared your throat and pushed your nerves aside. “Please don't feel obligated if this isn't what you guys are looking for, but I just, I would regret not saying anything. I don't want this to be a one night stand. I have had the most fun and it's not just the sex, I wanna hang out with you and I wanna listen to more of your music and I wanna hear more of your stories and I would really like to get to know you more." You said, before immediately rushing to say more when more than a millisecond of silence passed. "But there's no pressure. But I'll always make sure I have lots of gum."

"Aw, sweet thing…" Damiano put his hand to your cheek, caressing your bottom lip with his thumb. "You don't need to worry so much. And I don't mean to speak for Ethan here, but what I said to you before, I meant it, I wanna see what kind of trouble me and you could get into."

"Yeah, you're, like, super easy to talk to and also, you're hot, so…" Ethan said. "I'd love to see more of you."

You smiled. "But all three of us together again, right?" Looking at the way they fit so perfectly together, and thinking back to Damiano's passionate words about his bandmate, you didn't want to entertain the thought of separating them or getting between them in any shape or form.

"This guy, really?" Damiano asked, pulling a face of exaggerated distaste. "You really wanna see more of his face?"

"Shut up, you love my face. I've seen your phone's lockscreen."

"When you send me smokin' hot selfies, what am I supposed to do? Not save them?" Damiano asked. "And I love more than your face."

………

Gay baes - the three person group chat was lit up with notifications when you stepped into the elevator. You hit the button for your floor and held your wet shoes at arm's length, grateful to avoid the judgments of another person in the elevator. Rinsing the sneakers hadn’t been enough to kill the smell from having a stranger vomit on your shoes and you envisioned the icky feeling from that bus ride wouldn’t be dispelled as easily as taking a shower.

But this day could still be saved and you were filled with hope when you saw that you had received messages from both Ethan and Damiano.

But it wasn’t good news - Måneskin were in the recording studio again tonight and so you wouldn’t be able to hang out with them. They were apologetic and promised to send you Snapchats. They agreed to a video call once the session was over. Until then, you would have to find your own way to ease this tension from your workday.

It had been four days since you had last seen them - four days of sometimes explicit messages and feeling a growing attachment to both of them.

You had been the one to give the group the title gay baes, thinking it was cute.

Ethan had been the first to respond, is that the name we’re going with? Worried, you had rushed to type back, is using bae too cringe for you? Damiano had defended your idea, what’s wrong with it? It rhymes. It’s cute.

Ethan had provided an elaboration, I don’t mind it, but are you okay with that label Dam? I’ve never really seen you identify as gay before…

You had blinked at your phone, dumbfounded. You assumed it was a joke, surely Ethan didn’t see how Damiano treated him and only saw this as a light-hearted infatuation with an end goal of friendship.

I identify as your puppy, Damiano wrote back. Down boy, had been Ethan’s response.

All of the evidence you had been able to gather, led you directly to the conclusion that Damiano was in love with Ethan. If Damiano had a chance to - he would send you a cute photo of Ethan, with very sweet captions. You had received Snapchats from Damiano that described Ethan as a dream boy or the sexiest man on the planet or simply captioned with a series of heart-eye emojis. It melted your heart to see.

But there were plenty of messages that kept your attention firmly on Damiano. Flesh-baring pictures had led to increasingly dirty talk, until it felt like your whole body was aching for him.

It hadn’t been enough to tell him how horny you were. You had taken off your panties and taken a photo of the wet patch darkening your underwear. You typed, what’s your address? I wanna send Daddy a gift. His response came through quickly - a closeup of his tongue, with the caption, you can put Daddy’s gift right here.

You had never felt this kind of attraction before, it was so strong, dominating your thoughts shamelessly. He wanted a photo every morning for you to show him what colour underwear you were wearing. He sent you voice notes of him saying your name in a low, sensual voice - calling you avida, filthy, greedy, naughty.

You had been masturbating far more than usual. And Ethan’s incredible body was only adding fuel to the fire. He sent you mirror selfies from the gym and you would send back as many expletives as you could. Along with post-workout selfies, there were post-shower photos.

You would complain to him about being too horny to go to sleep, sending him a photo of a pillow clenched between your thighs, lamenting how that was the only thing you could hump. His response had been to send you a photo of his crotch, impressive bulge on display in his tight underwear - completed with the caption, I’ve got something better for you to hump.

You were insatiable, ready to beg either of them at a moment's notice.

But ahead of you was a night alone.

“Honey, you’re home.” Elena called from her spot on the couch, there was a game controller in her hands and you could hear continuous gunfire coming from the TV. “Hey, so you got a package, I put it up on your bed and I…” She trailed off, a confused look coming onto her face as you got closer. “What’s with the wet shoes? It literally hasn’t rained all week.”

“Oh, that’s not rain water. That’s hose water, ‘cause I had to rinse off the chunks of spew from a queasy guy on the bus.”

“What? Why are you takin’ the bus?”

“Bert needed my car.” You said, prompting an eye roll from your roommate. “I’m gonna chuck these in the dryer.”

Elena got up. “Here, let me. You should go check what’s in that delivery.”

“I wasn’t expecting anything.”

“Well, maybe it’s something from one of those new boys you’ve got.” She said, taking the shoes from your hands.

“Maybe…” You left her to it, beginning up the stairs. Your bedroom door was shut, which wasn’t usually how you left it.

You stepped in, straight away noticing a scent different from the perfume you had sprayed before leaving for work. You switched on the light, but didn’t find a delivery sachet on your bed.

“Oh hey, what’s up girl?” Ethan asked.

Both he and Damiano were relaxing on your bed. “We were gonna hide and wait for you to find us. But you have, like, no furniture…”

“Yeah, well I basically had to start over after my breakup, but I didn’t get further than a bed and a desk. I guess I never made it to Ikea.” You said.

“We should go to Ikea.” Ethan said.

“Yeah.” Damiano said before slipping into a brutish voice. “Men bring furniture, then men build furniture, get all sweaty to attract woman.”

You dumped your bag off of your shoulder. “So Elena lied then, there’s no package?”

“Well…” With one hand, Damiano gestured to Ethan’s crotch.

“Well…” Ethan repeated, putting a hand to either side of his crotch. “Maybe not in the way you were expecting, but…”

You giggled. “I would jump all over you and kiss you both, a lot. But I’ve gotta shower and get the spew smell off.”

“Spew, what happened, are you okay?” Ethan asked.

“I’m fine, it wasn’t my vomit, just some guy on the bus got sick on my shoes. Well, next to my shoes. But don’t worry, I’ll be super quick in there.” You said and shut the bedroom door.

“I don’t smell anything, here, let me have a whiff.” Damiano said, standing up.

“What? No, I’m not gonna let you sniff-test me for vomit. Are you-... oof.” Before you could turn around, your feet were lifted from the ground as he picked you up.

“I’m still not smellin’ it.” With his arms tightly around your middle, escaping was not an option. He carried you over to the bed. “Ethan?”

You cringed and shut your eyes as you awaited his verdict.

“I’m not picking up on anything.” He said and you felt a tug at the front of your pants. “But just to be on the safe side, we should probably get you out of these contaminated clothes.”

“God, he’s so smart. I never woulda thought of that.”

You were placed back on the ground. “Really? Never?”

Damiano winked at you before putting his hands to your shirt buttons, working his way down. At the same time, Ethan undid your pants.

“It’s been too long since I’ve had you in my bed.” You said, mounting Ethan where he sat.

You kissed him, full of yearning. His hands moved all over your body, rediscovering your skin. Behind you, Damiano undid the clasp of your bra, removing it. Seconds after the skin was exposed, his hands pushed forward to cup each breast. When he pinched your nipple between his fingers, you parted from Ethan with a moan..

You reached back, cradling Damiano’s head in your arm. “You’re still wearing too fuckin’ much.”

Ethan laid back and shed his black tank top. You put your hands to the fly of his jeans while behind you, Damiano shed his white sweater. You leant into him, the heat of his skin marking your own.

“I missed you Daddy.” You whispered as Ethan became preoccupied in readjusting to remove his jeans.

Damiano put his hand to the back of your head and brought a sting to your scalp by tugging on your hair. “I know baby, you’ve been sending me so many naughty things…” He kissed across your jaw. “You’re such a bad girl…” He pulled at your nipple, bringing a loud whimper out of you. “Keeping me so fuckin’ hard, with no one to help me take care of it. Such a bad, naughty, greedy girl.”

“Yes Daddy.” Your eyes were shut as your body tensed, you were ready to be consumed by his desire.

His hand went to your throat. “Are you gonna be a good girl for me?”

Your heart felt ready to burst out of your chest and you spun around to put your arms around him. “Yes, please. Please let me be your good girl.” He placed both hands around your neck. “Let me be your good girl, Daddy.”

He applied some pressure to this area, watching how you responded, with a smile on his face. He played with your bottom lip, using his thumb. You turned your head and brought his thumb into your mouth. You reached down and started to undo his pants. His hold on your throat tightened.

“I wanna show you how good I can be.” You said, tugging his pants down.

Ethan’s hands came to your shoulders, lightly caressing your skin. Damiano looked at him and something silent passed between them, causing Damiano to release your throat.

Ethan kissed you on the cheek, easing you back. You turned your head, capturing his lips with yours. You reached for his body, running your hands over his muscles. He brought you down, lying you out on your back.

He laid down on his side, facing you, his hand gliding over your cheek. He kissed you and you wanted to float away with him. He kissed you slowly, tenderly and so romantically, letting you feel this warmth through your whole body.

Your heart was fluttering as he pulled back. You stroked your hand down his front until you could wrap your hand around his erection. You saw his Adam’s apple bounce, his eyes growing darker. You gave it a lazy stroke, feeling his length and seeing how he responded to your touch.

Your hand held him a bit tighter when you felt Damiano’s tip teasing your wet entrance. You bit into your bottom lip, increasing your pace on Ethan’s cock and watching him lose his breath. You felt your hand growing wetter and you relished every single second of it.

Before you could set into any kind of mind-blowing technique, your concentration was broken by Damiano putting his hand on your throat. Before you could turn to him, you were shocked by how quickly he was stuffed into you. You cried out, your body briefly becoming rigid.

“You gonna be a good girl?” He asked, still standing by the side of the bed. “You gonna take all of me?”

There was a moment where you weren’t sure if you could form any words, so overwhelmed by the first assertion of his power. You nodded. “Yes.”

He stroked your neck with his forefinger, a hint of the gentle lover he could be. Then he thrusted into you, his balls slapping against your ass and your gut tightened. You gasped for air, your walls fluttering around him.

Ethan’s lips on you served to bring you back from the brink of giving in. You kissed him back and readjusted your hold on him, finding the right angle for optimum mobility of your wrist.

When Damiano set his hips into his hungry, impatient pace, you did your best to match this on Ethan’s cock. This led him to dive deeper into your kiss, his tongue gaining access to your mouth. You felt him throbbing in your hand as you made sure to stimulate him from tip to base, taking none of him for granted.

He fell away from your mouth with a gasp, resting his face against your neck, panting. You could feel more sloppy excitement coming from your cunt as Damiano’s relentless rhythm teased your most sensitive parts to life.

Ethan put his lips to your nipple, sending a hit directly to your core. In your surprise, your hips jerked up, bringing Damiano closer to your g-spot. All of these sensations flooded your mind and you half-squealed, half-laughed.

“Who told you two that nipple-play is one of my biggest turn ons?” You asked, smiling.

“No one. I just really like playing with nipples.” Ethan said.

You moaned as your nipple was engulfed by the warmth of his mouth again. This made you pick up speed on his dick. He was only able to complete a few circles of his tongue around your hardened peak - then his tremors became all the more powerful. He moaned into your skin, mouth falling slack.

He had tensed then violently bucked, spilling himself on your hand and the side of your body.

You removed your hand, bringing it in front of your face. Using your tongue, you cleaned his essence from your skin, unable to keep yourself from moaning over the primal flavour. You looked over to where Damiano was watching you, faltering slightly before he increased the tempo.

You reached for the panting man beside you and grabbed his dick again. Ethan flinched and grunted, but didn’t make any attempts to avoid your grasp. You applied a couple of pumps, collecting more cum from his tip.

You slapped this liquid onto your chest, drawing straight down your front as Damiano watched, his eyes growing wide in amazement. You reached up and tapped your sticky forefinger to his lips.

You smiled, feeling some power come to you from this move. “Clean me up Daddy. I need you to clean me and make me your good girl.”

He didn’t need any further encouragement, hovering over your body and beginning to lap up Ethan’s cum. His rhythm suffered from this new angle, but he maintained his force.

You could feel your finish coming upon you, ready to shatter you. You pushed up into his thrusts, until you could feel your eyes roll back momentarily.

He finished consuming the cum that marked your body and sat up again. He flicked his hair away from his face and for the first time, you noticed the gold earrings dangling from each lobe. The intertwining chains were decorated with two pearls and you became hypnotised, watching how they swung with every movement he made.

Somehow, this made the scenario you found yourself in, even sexier.

Your orgasm began to come over you and you couldn’t help but cry out immediately. Your body was being taken over by such a great force, that was almost daunting.

You lost all self-control as he continued to push you deeper into your pleasure. You screamed for all of your failed attempts to reach this level on your own. You screamed for every muscle in your body that felt like they were snapping.

You heard one of his high-pitched moans, but then the world fell away. Perhaps you lost consciousness for a bit - disappearing completely into your aftershocks.

The next thing you were aware of was Ethan’s arms around you. He pressed soft kisses to your forehead as you struggled to catch your breath.

“You okay, baby?” He asked.

“Never better.” You replied weakly.

Your eyes snapped open at the feel of something cold and damp touching your skin. You looked down to find Damiano wiping a cloth over you, cleaning up the last traces of Ethan.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure, sweet thing.” He said with a wink.

The three of you fell into the effortless banter you could share. Damiano went outside to smoke a cigarette. Ethan pulled his pants back on and walked around your room, telling you what furniture you could get for each space.

After a while, you agreed to order from one of the restaurants listed on UberEats. Waiting for it to arrive, you asked about how their time in the recording studio had been going. Unlike you, they didn’t have any coworkers they needed to rant about. Their biggest issue was trying to decide on which language to write in - Italian or English.

Ethan received the notification that the delivery driver had arrived at the address. He got out of bed and headed down to the lobby.

As soon as he was out of the room, you rolled over, giving Damiano your most serious look. "What's the deal with you and Ethan, but for real? 'Cause friends with benefits, I'm not buying it. I'm not gonna man-splain your feelings to you, but I've been picking up on things here and, like, you're in love with him, right?"

He sighed, meeting your eye. "I fell in love with that beautiful boy in the first second that I saw him."

You melted, reaching out and holding his hand in both of yours. "That's so sweet."

"It was kinda scary at first, 'cause I'd never felt that way about a guy before, in, like, my whole life. I'd slept with some guys and certainly felt attraction, for sure. But a feeling like this, it's so totally above anything else. I wanna be around him all of the time. I get, like, butterflies when we're meeting up. I wanna protect him. I wanna just always hold his hand. I want the applause from the audience to go straight to him every time, 'cause he's the biggest star in the world, in my eyes…"

You felt like you were hearing all of your favourite love songs for the first time. It was exciting and unknown, but something you instantly yearned for.

"But it makes no sense. I always just thought I was straight, you know? Or like, bi-curious at most. I have only dated women and my bedroom walls when I was a kid, it was just posters of girls. I didn't see myself getting married to and starting a family with a man, only with a woman."

"Until Ethan?" 

He scooted down, lying on his side as well - making you feel like you were just a couple of kids at a slumber party.

"Until Ethan…"

"This is literally the most romantic shit I have ever heard. Does he know? Why aren't you two dating?"

Damiano shook his head. "It's never gonna happen, I'm not gay enough for him…"

"Who the Hell told you that?"

"He doesn't need to actually tell it to me. I know him, babe. He's gonna think that it's just a phase 'cause I've never dated a man before, he'll think I'll get bored once I get used to fucking a guy." He said, making you feel salt in your own old, invisible wounds. "He'll be waiting for that moment when I go, just kidding, gonna go back and date women for the rest of my life."

"I really wish you would rethink whether or not you should tell him. I don't think-" You paused at the sound of movement on the stairs and immediately lowered your voice to a whisper. "That sounds like him, just-"

The door opened and Ethan returned, bags of food in his hands. He approached the bed, a concerned knot developing in his brow. "What're you talking about?"

You hadn't come up with any cover story, but you looked at him with a smile. "Gum."

"Bubblegum, to be exact." Damiano added.

. . . . .

🌈 read more of this series!!

If you like my writing, feel free to tip me. I am open to both commissions & requests, commissions get priority & the most input

[bokettochild]

The Scarf Fic!!!

Inspired by This post by @sekiumiarashi and written as a gift for @into-the-linkverse

I wanted to write Ravio sharing scarves, but I accidentally found that I like writing Ravio, and more importantly, writing him and Legend like they’re a pair of elderly people, because... just because.

Giving Legend glasses was a choice that I didn’t see coming, but do not regret. I do regret Ravio’s naming scheme, but it was too funny to back out so I kept pushing. I’m not sorry that you all must suffer.​

Feel free to read this as being part of my main fic The Ties That Bind, but it can also be separate, just consider the uncle bit as being related to predecessors and stuff.

Enjoy! :)

 Mr. Captain Hero Sir wasn’t wearing his scarf.

 The one constant Ravio knew he could always count on during the war, was that the captain would be wearing that bright blue scrap of cloth with all the pride in the world, no matter what the circumstances (good grief, one time he’d stumbled upon the man bathing and the scarf had been the only thing that saved them both from embarrassment). But today, he wasn’t.

 The heroes had come to stay at Mr. Hero’s house again after a long battle, and Mr. Captain Hero Sir was currently sitting on the couch in the living room, one arm resting across it’s back and his feet propped up on the table. A scowl marred his fine features and his neck was horrifyingly naked.

 “Mr. Captain Hero Sir! Where is your scarf?” The words were out of his mouth in a moment as he looked around the captain to make sure it simply hadn’t fallen off or been laid aside (things the captain would never let happen, ever. He’d once been bleeding out and still managed to keep the trailing blue fabric out of the mud.)

 “It’s shredded.” The captain sighed, a bitter look in his eyes as he motioned down to the arm hanging from a sling around his neck. “And I’m currently unable to mend it.”

 The thought of the captain not having a scarf was so utterly horrible, simply unthinkable, that Ravio didn’t even think about what he was doing, instead bounding over to plonk himself onto the couch and quickly unwind his scarf before rewinding it around the captain’s neck (he had a dozen of these things anyway).

 “There! You can’t be without a scarf.”

 Mr. Captain Hero Sir smiled fondly, fingers reaching up to gently stroke the fabric. “And you can?”

 Ravio shrugged. “I have a dozen of those, keep it, it looks fabulous on you!”

 The captain’s eyes sparkled brightly, a familiar cockiness erupting within. “Are you kidding? I make everything look good! Even the Vet’s fashion choices would look fabulous on me!”

  Ravio sniggered. He’d heard and seen plenty of the goods from Hytopia, and he wasn’t entirely sure that Mr. Hero even knew what fashion was. But then again, he was just a simple Lolian; for all he knew, things like bomb outfits and heart shaped collars were absolutely acceptable and normal in this world.

 “But where is your scarf, Mr. Captain Hero Sir?” He asked after a moment, cocking his head on one side as the man looked at him oddly.  

 “Don’t you ever get tired of saying that? You can call me Warriors like everyone else you know.”

 “I know, Mr. Captain Hero Sir, I don’t mind.”

 Mr. Captain Hero Sir blinked. “O-kay.” Shaking his head, he answered. “Legend has it. Since I can’t use my dominant hand, he said he’d stitch it up for me.” The captain hero nodded towards the corner of the room, and Ravio followed his line of sight.

 Mr. Hero was perched in that Lolia-awful rocking chair that had been in the house since Nayru knows when. It was a horrid thing in his opinion, old, out of style and absolutely stiff and uncomfortable, and he’d shoved it into the furthest corner of the room ages ago. Mr. Hero loved it though, although he never said why, and he didn’t seem to mind that it was now nearly next to the fireplace all the time, even if he did have to pull it out of the corner to properly rock in it.

 Mr. Hero sat with one leg tucked underneath him and the other one hanging down to gently push at the floor, making the big chair rock steadily. Mr. Captain Hero Sir’s scarf lay in his lap and a pair of spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose, a needle in his hand as he dutifully labored over the brilliant blue fabric of the famed scarf.

 “His eyesight is terrible.” Ravio snickered to the Captain.

 “But his hearing is perfect.” Mr. Hero’s voice rang clearly across the room, violet gaze darting up to look at them disapprovingly over the top of his spectacles.

 The minute he looked away, merchant and captain shared a grin, only to burst into muffled laughter.

...

 Mr. Smithy and Tune are cold.

 It’s obvious from the way the two huddle in place at the kitchen table as everyone enjoys the meal that Ravio and Mr. Hero have pulled together (Mr. Hero is hesitant to let even the finest of chefs in his kitchen for some reason, despite having stated that Mr. Champion Hero is a very good cook and better than him (at cooking, life, or heroing, he does not specify)). Tune- Wind has all but attached himself to Sky’s side, using the bigger hero as a heat source as he slurps down his warm stew, and Mr. Smithy has bundled himself against the Mr. Rancher.

 It’s only autumn, but both of the smaller heroes act like it’s the start of winter with the way they shiver and rub at their arms.

 Mr. Hero’s only response when he asks is to sigh, but when he presses, his pink haired doppelganger eventually explains. “Their Hyrules were never corrupted, so they’re used to warmer weather most of the time, if not always. The mist from the ocean is the worst Wind knows, and heaven only knows if Four could survive a proper freeze.” Mr. Hero shakes his head, wiping the last of the broth from their meal off a plate with his dish-rag. “If they need something, they know to ask.”

 But Mr. Hero isn’t really that cold hearted, he’s worrying too if the way his brows furrow and the lines around his mouth deepen is any indication. “I offered blankets, but they don’t want them.”

 “Does this happen often?” He muses as he takes the plates from Mr. Hero to dry and put away, and to his displeasure, his housemate nods.

 “When we come here or to Sky’s Hyrule, yeah. Usually, Wars will bundle them up in his scarf, or Sky with his sailcloth, even Twilight shares his fur, but...” Mr. Hero’s ears twitch irritably (truly adorable how they do that, although he’ll never say as much). “Sky’s asleep with his cape, the wolf pelt is a bloody mess after that battle, and I haven’t finished mending Wars’ scarf.” The ears flap again. “That thing is so dang complex and Warriors apparently hasn’t the faintest about the proper cloth to use to mend it. He used new material to mend a hole! Brand new material, Ravio! It’s an awful state and I swear if Styla could see it she’d faint dead away!” The vet huffed as he plunged another dish under the sudsy water of the wash tub. “Using new cloth on a worn scarf, it’s like he wants the thing to be ruined...”

 Ah yes, Mr. Hero’s rants. There’d be no righting this one until he’d fixed the problem, and considering he’d only been torn away from the scarf that lay peacefully sitting on his rocker in order to make food, it was quite likely that once his kitchen was clean again, he’d be right back to working on it.

 Ravio smiled, Mr. Captain Hero Sir would be quite pleased.

 His gaze traveled over to where the hero in question was sitting. The captain and Tu- Wind, were talking on the couch, the younger staring nearly longingly at the rocker and the scarf on top of it.

 Kid really liked that scarf, huh? If Ravio remembered right, half the time during his adventure with Mr. Captain Hero Sir, he’d constantly seen either Mask or Tune hanging onto it.

 Somewhere inside of a bunny head, an idea sparked and green eyes brightened excitedly.

 He’d donned a new scarf just before dinner, but it wouldn’t do quite right, so instead, he darted off to his room, much to the displeasure of his dish partner as his rag flew into Mr. Hero’s face and left his housemate spluttering indignantly.  

 “Ravio! You didn’t finish-”

 “One sec!”

 Mr. Hero’s grumbles followed him out of the kitchen, but faded as he darted into his room and towards his wardrobe. It was the work of moments to select two of his largest scarfs, and less time than that to dart back out to the living room and wrap one around each of the smaller heroes.

 “There! Snug as a kit in a quilt!”  

 Two small heroes stared down at the black and purple fabric that now draped around their shoulders, smiles brightening their flushed faces as Tune buried his face happily in the fabric with a bright hum.

 “Thanks, Ravio!”

 “Thank you.” Four’s eyes glimmered warm brown as he sunk into his seat, only the top of his face and his hands visible beneath the striped fabric.

 Mr. Captain Hero Sir’s eyes sparkled as the man looked up at him, and Ravio fought the blush that rose in his cheeks as he fiddled with his own scarf (he’d mess with his sleeves, but he’d shed his robe to help do the dishes, and his undershirt wasn’t nearly long enough to fiddle with). “Don’t mention it, it’s-” He chewed his lip for a moment before a smile broke loose, the one Mr. Hero said was cheesy and fake, the one for when he was trying to sell things. “It’s a complimentary gift for exceptional customers and/or guests!”

 “We’ve never bought anything from you.” Four deadpanned, eyes glinting with a smile Ravio couldn’t see past all the scarf in the way.

 “Yet!” Ravio chirped back, and darted back into the kitchen to help Mr. Hero finish doing the dishes.

...

 Mr. Champion keeps rubbing his scars.

 The heroes had left for a short spell, traveling off to fight more monsters only to be dumped in the orchard a week or so later (Mr. Hero said it’d been a month and a half for them, but by his time it was a week). And when Ravio said they’d been dumped in the orchard, he meant in the orchard. He’d been busy picking some of the ripened apples before the birds took them all (most of the wild birds knew better, but still, it was the principle of the thing, fresh fruit was rare in Lorule) when a shout and the snapping of branches had sounded all about him.  

 Ravio had shrieked in surprise, thinking that he was alone only to find (once he’d removed his hood again) that there were nine heroes hanging from various tree branches around him, and Mr. Hero himself was hanging upside down, one foot caught in the branches, as his face dangled inches from Ravio’s own, a scowl darkening it as a string of mumbles escaped his room-mate.

 He couldn’t stop himself, he kissed Mr. Hero’s twitching nose.

 Mr. Hero shrieked in surprise, jerking in place and effectively loosening himself from the tree, falling all over Ravio in the process. It was worth it, Ravio giggled as he lay on the ground. Mr. Hero was so like the bunnies in Lorule and their noses simply demanded to be kissed.

 Laughter and grumbles sounded around them, the heroes pulling themselves down from the trees around them.

 Captain Hero Sir Jr. moved with surprising ease, despite his heavy armor, clambering down the tree with the same grace that Mr. Champion did most of the time. Some things never change, he could still see him climbing up onto Mr. Captain Hero Sir’s shoulders in the same manner (only now he rather doubted either of them would attempt to do that anymore, Captain Hero Sir Jr. was much bigger now).

 It felt entirely too natural to lead them all up to the house, Mr. Hero trailing at the back with a bushel of apples in his arms. Settling them all down in the kitchen was easy as could be, and he and Mr. Hero worked quickly to set some fresh apple cider to boil before starting on a meal for everyone.

 He missed not having them all around, it was going to be awful dull when they all had to go back to their worlds when this adventure was over again.

 He was determined to enjoy the moment for that very reason while they all sat about in the living room, sipping apple cider as Mr. Hero had settled down in his blasted rocker, spectacles on his nose and more mending in hand. He never would rest until the light was faded, and Ravio had half a mind to take out his knitting (he was still currently short three scarves) before he decided to simply flop down on the nearest open spot on the couch and just enjoy his cider.

 Except, Mr. Champion was sitting in the seat beside him.

 The young hero kept rubbing at his scars, eyes distant, and despite the numerous amounts of times that either Mr. Captain Hero Sir or Mr. Rancher tried to move his hands back down to the still full mug he was cradling in his other hand, Mr. Champion (he was younger than Ravio though...would Mr. Be an appropriate title for him?) kept reaching right back up to rub his neck and face.

 The scars were enflamed, harsh red and puffy where they peeked out from beneath the collar of his shirt, and it made Ravio wince to even think of how he’d acquired such injuries that would scar so.

 He only winced more with every drag of broken nails and rough finger pads over the skin, but Mr. Champion- Wild? He could think of him as Wild right? He was kind of the kid’s uncle in a weird way- didn't seem to even notice that he was doing it. Cornflower blue eyes stared unseeing into the fire, face still and only his hands moving.

 Mr. Captain Hero Sir sighed, worry pulling his lovely face into shadows as he grasped Wild’s hands again. “Wild, hey, no more of that, okay? You’re hurting yourself.”

 Fingers twitched, but no other movement came from the young Champion until Mr. Captain Hero Sir (wait, was Wild also Captain Hero Sir Jr.? Or was he Champion Hero? Oh fiddlesticks, he wasn’t sure anymore) let go, and then broken nails moved right back up towards swollen flesh.

 Ravio shifted in his seat, uncomfortable.

 Mr. Hero had spaced out before, did it a lot when the sun set or when he was outside, but he never scratched like that. He sang and fiddled with his rings. If Wild Champion Jr. Sir (oh heavens) did something like that, it would be fine, but this was... this was rather unsettling.

 Ravio shifted in his seat, curling around his mug as Mr. Captain Hero Sir had to reach out to stop the wild-child's hands from reaching the inflamed wounds (the last scratch had broken skin, and a thin trail of red has appeared).

 It was without a thought that he acted, pushing his mug into the captain’s hands and promptly looping his scarf around Wild Champion Hero Captain Jr.’s (oh Lolia help) neck.

 Thoughtless fingers nose just as before, but this time, they brushed against soft fabric. Ravio tensed, dearly hoping that his scarf would not be ripped off or simply pushed aside.

To the surprise of all of them, rough fingers brushed over the fabric, paused, and gently stroked its material. The Champion’s face did not move, but slowly, long fingers ran down the fabric, rubbing it between their tips as cornflower blue eyes blinked slowly. In an instant, the young hero’s gaze was lost to sight as the fabric was nuzzled with all the fondness of a cub nuzzling their parent.

 “He likes scarves, of course he does.” Mr. Rancher chuckled wearily, a tired smile playing over his features as both he and Mr. Captain Hero Sir sat back (but not before Ravio took his mug back).

 “So he does.” Mr. Captain Hero Sir sighed, eyes fond as he watched the hero in question curl up on the couch, face lost in purple fabric and bare toes the only moving part of the kid. The wiggling toes were almost like a dog wagging its tail, but weirder, still, he wasn’t one to judge.

 Mr. Captain hero Sir caught his eye. “Thank you, Ravio.”

 “Customer loyalty.” He murmured softly into his mug.

 He caught the way Mr. Hero and the others stared at him though, and he could only be thankful his hood shaded his face enough to hide his pleased blush.

...

 Mr. Rancher needs to wear more color.

 It’s like looking at the photos of Mr. Hero from just before he’d come around. Mr. Hero always fussed at him for going through things, but he couldn’t help but laugh at how odd his room-mate looked with black hair and dark clothes. “You dyed it?”

 “For safety reasons. How many people have you see in Hyrule with pink hair of all things? It was a dead giveaway!”

 “But you’re the hero?”

 “A hero whose face was plastered on every wanted poster in Hyrule. Still is in some cases.” Mr. Hero had grumbled, folding the last piece of newly clean washing and throwing a pointed glare in his direction. “Life on the run sucks. I was thirteen and just wanted to be ignored.”

 A glance at the dark haired but smiling youngster in the photo and back up to the bitter pink haired hero he knew told him (even if Mr. Hero hadn’t already) how well that wish had been fulfilled.

 But seriously, those photos at least showed Mr. Hero with some color. The most Mr. Rancher wore was that horrid sash and obi, and the orange and blue looked simply terrible with his color scheme, something that, when brought up to Mr. Hero, his friend seemed to agree with, stating that ‘he’d never get into Hytopia’s capitol looking like that’.

 Ravio had never been to Hytopia, but based on the stories and mannerisms Mr. Hero took on after that adventure, he can only agree.

 Originally, he’d hoped he could simply find something among his wares that he could sell to Mr. Rancher, but that proved to only be so effective, after all, when one sells weapons and items, it’s hard finding a normal piece of clothing amidst all the blessed or charmed pieces.

 Oh well, he was counting on ending up sharing the rest of his scarves with them all anyway.

 It wasn’t any dramatic or particularly touching moment when he walked up and slung a clean scarf around the rancher’s shoulders, but Mr. Rancher, after initially starting, smiled as he touched the sun-warmed material. Of course, that expression quickly faded into one of awe as the hero squeezed the fabric lightly.

 Mr. Rancher’s eyes lit up like a dog being given a new toy (Ravio wasn’t stupid, he knew a dog when he saw one) and the man proceeded to continue squeezing and petting the springy fabric with eyes sparkling as if Ravio had just handed him the stars themselves.

 He was down to two scarves now, but it was worth it.

...

Mr. Traveler Hero is small.

He is small, and wild, and the clothes he’s wearing are nearly too small. The traveler is a growing child (never mind that he’s still a teenager himself) and he’s out and about in nearly threadbare garments that leave Ravio shivering at the mere thought of wearing.

And this is the other hero who grew up in a corrupted world where the sun doesn’t shine as bright as it should and the winters are always too long.

Ravio doesn’t think twice when he sees the first signs of cold in the young hero. He’s got two scarfs recently made, and he’s only too happy to share.

Purple and black stripes nearly drown the young hero when he walks over and wraps not one, but two of the comfiest scarves he’s ever made around the youngster's neck.

Like Mr. Rancher, nothing is said or done immediately, but Mr. Traveler Hero smile at him shyly, holding up a hand and scampering over to his bag.

The pair of polished stones he’s given don’t make much sense, but he catches sight of Mr. Hero and Captain Hero Sir Jr. Both smiling over at the two through the doorways.  

“Thank you.” He murmurs warmly, tucking the rocks in his pocket.

“Thank you.!” Mr. Traveler smiles in return, eyes twinkling in the shade of the room and scarf tails flapping like the four wings of a fairy as he spins around to show them to Mr. Hero.

...

 Captain Hero Sir Jr. has nothing comfy to wear.

 Once more, the heroes had been whisked away, and once more they’d appeared at the house weeks later, looking exhausted and utterly soaked.

 The chill autumn rain might be to blame for that.

 Mr. Hero hadn’t even protested that... Wild (he’d just call him Wild, he couldn’t do this title thing this time) had bustled off into the kitchen to warm some tea, and instead promptly collapsing in all his soaked glory onto the couch.

 The other heroes followed suit, and Ravio (like a good host) immediately hopped up and fetched some blankets. Mr. Rancher was already stoking the fire, and with a bit of work, Ravio was able to help Mr. Her grasp what was left of his own steaming mug of cider (his hands were quite the state in this bitter weather) before popping off to the kitchen to brew more of the sweet apply goodness to share with the heroes.

 Armor and over-clothes had been stripped off, sitting wet and dripping in one corner (Mr. Hero eyes it with distaste, knowing just as Ravio did just what that would be doing to the floor) but neither housekeeper said anything, Mr. Hero nursing his cider and letting its warmth sooth his gnarled fingers, and Ravio puttering about with a kettle and mugs to share with everyone else.

 Blankets had been pulled from the shelves and were cast around quaking shoulders as chattering teeth uttered breathy thanks to the purple-robed merchant.

 There was nothing like being thanked for good service, and Ravio beamed as he passed between them.

 That smile faded however when he noticed Captain Hero Sir Jr.

 The man sat in a thin linen shirt and under-armor, looking far from being near the level of comfort that the rest did in their undershirts and pants (or a dress in Mr. Hero’s case).

 Come to think of it he’d never seen Captain Hero Sir Jr. dress in any comfortable manner since he’d come along behind Mr. Hero that first time since they’d started this adventure. Did the poor kid- er... Man, not have anything comfortable to wear?

 While the heroes slept that night, in the two bedrooms and sprawled across the couch, Ravio kept Mr. Hero comfortable, sitting before the fire with his knitting needles while Mr. Hero repaired yet more damaged clothing (poor mister Chosen Hero’s sailcloth had been damaged somehow).

 Usually, one or the other of them would eventually remind the other to go to bed, but both were so wrapped up in their work (Mr. Hero started singing even, that goddess ballad Miss. Princess told hm about) that neither seemed to remember to check the clock, or even to go to bed.

 Come morning, Ravio finds that he has fallen asleep wrapped in the tails of the scarf he’d been making, and Mr. Hero has become entangled in his mending, a peaceful smile on his face, worn fabric brushing his cheeks and spectacles teetering precariously on the tip of his nose.

 Mr. Chosen Hero is the one who wakes them up, stirring awake with a violent sneeze, but he smiles fondly when he lays eyes on them, opening his arms in an offer of a cuddle if either feels inclined to return to sleep. Neither does, but Ravio appreciates it, and even if Mr. Hero doesn’t say as much (quite the opposite really) he knows his friend does too.

 The day is normal, as far as a day with nine heroes in the house can be, and with the rain still pouring, they spend their time cleaning, although Mr. Hero shoos them all away after a time because they’re not doing it the right way (AKA Mr. Hero's very practiced manner of cleaning and organizing). It’s after Mr. Hero had shooed them all into the main room while he organizes the basement (thank goodness, it's an awful mess down there) that the talk starts.

 It’s cold out, and most of the heroes have donned the scarves they’ve been gifted over time (Ravio isn’t blushing, he’s not). Smiles shine and laughter rings as they explain to their brothers how they’d some to have them.

 “And he just... threw t at me! Not a word, not an explanation, just came up and tossed it over my shoulders.” Mr. Rancher chuckles. “Kinda like how my ma would do when I was a tot, jist wrap it up and ‘round soon as the cold weather came a’creepin’ up.”

 The others nod, smiles fond. Ravio beams as he lights the candle set near the masks on the wall.

 “I had one too once,” Captain Hero Sir Jr. Muses aloud. “Back in the war, you remember, Wars?”

 “Do I ever.” Mr. Captain Hero Sir smirks. “I used to tie you up with that thing when you got too rowdy.”

 “You and the general both.” Captain Hero Sir Jr. Chuckles, soft and deep and so different from his nearly witch level cackle that Ravio remembers.

 “What ever happened to it?” He asks curiously, blowing out his match and turning to move towards the rest of the group.

 Captain Hero Sir Jr. Smiles at him, eyes far older but far more at peace than they used to be. “I outgrew it. It was a child’s scarf, even if it was a bit big at the time. I considered bringing it, but it just doesn’t do much anymore.” A thin smile pulls at his features, almost guilty as he admits “I didn’t take the best care of my clothes as a kid.”

 Well, that doesn’t matter over much. Ravio smiles at his young (old) friend, and around him he can hear the others whisper and laugh. They know what’s happening, and Captain Hero Sir Jr. Does too if the twinkle in his eyes is to be believed, so Ravio makes a point of flourishing his gift with all the fuss he can before reverently draping the garment around the tall man’s neck. The eldest hero has to stoop, even from where he’s sitting on the couch, so that Ravio can reach, but it only adds to the mock reverence as Ravio adorns another bare neck with one of his toasty scarves.

 “Mind you take care of that one,” He scolds lightly. “I was up all night making it.”

 “Yes sir.” Captain hero Sir Jr. responds with a playful smile in his eyes, even if his face is the picture of obedience.

 Giggles sound around them, and despite hating it, Ravio takes the only seat left available (he really hates that rocker) and curls up. “You all be quiet now, I’m tired and need a nap.”

 “Okay, gramps.” The sailor whispers faintly, a giggle in his tone as titters and chuckles erupt.

 Strangely, it doesn't take too long for Ravio to doze off, especially when Mr. Hero settles in beside him and starts to rock the stupid chair, humming lightly as fingers work over another project, the light buzz of activity all around them as Ravio allows himself to be carried into dreamland.

...

 Mr. Chosen Hero has caught cold.

 He’s not surprised, not with how drenched the others all were day before last, but the Skyloftian is shivering madly, miserably sniffing into handkerchiefs and trying his best to avoid drinking the nasty herbal teas that Mr. Hero claims are good for people. Ravio doesn’t care if Mr. Hero drinks them, but for pities sake, drink black tea if you’re going to drink tea! What sort of decent being are you if you’re just drinking plant water?

 “Legend, I’m serious, I don’t-” Mr. Chosen Hero breaks off coughing. “I don’t think tea will-” Another cough, nastier than the last. “I don’t think it will help.”

 “Trust me.” Mr. Hero already has a small table pulled up to Mr. Chosen Hero’s side, tea and handkerchiefs both set carefully on top. “Tea’s just what you need. Eucalyptus does wonders for a cold.”

 “He’s right.” Mr. Traveler Hero chimes in, gaze warm and sleepy as he sips some of the tea himself. “And it’s got a calming effect.”

 Mr. Hero cocks a brow. “What are you, ‘Rule, a koala?”

 No one knows what that is, except Mr. Traveler Hero, but it doesn’t seem to matter much, as Mr. Chosen Hero breaks into another coughing fit and bundles a blanket closer around his shoulders, voice hoarse when he speaks. “I wish it’d stop raining. I didn’t even realize-” A cough sounds and is followed by a sniffle. “I didn’t realize the surface got so wet.”

 And Ravio sees where this is going, the shivering hero, the gentle atmosphere. He doesn’t bother waiting for Mr. Chosen Hero to sniffle again, he just wraps a scarf around the man’s neck, tucking it in close enough to keep the heat in.

 The smile exchanged is silent, and Ravio is thankful that the others aren’t about at present to tease, only Mr. Hero and Mr. Traveler Hero are here with them, and neither says a word as they sip their leaf water.

 “I’ll make you some real tea.” He murmurs softly, offering a wink and a gentle pat to the knee before he’s off towards the kitchen.

...

 Mr. Hero doesn’t have a scarf.

 It was glaringly obvious, as whenever the rest of them appeared at the house, they'd all be wearing their Ravio gifted scarfs proudly, smiles on their faces as the ends trailed or dragged after them (despite that, they were all in perfect condition).

 But Mr. Hero didn’t have a scarf.

 He was never going to get one either.

 They’ve all just returned to the house (it’s been two months since the last visit) and the snow outside it up to Ravio’s waist in places. It took him ages to shovel himself out of the house, but the harvest of apples is in and the bees are well prepared for the winter, and Mr. Hero finally tidied the cellar enough that they have room for food storage aplenty.

 Cider and tea are brewed as the heroes gather, fluffy socks and scarves on full display as they sit around the fire.

 Mr. Hero is shivering.

 Curious glances are thrown at both himself and Mr. Hero as the heroes drink their beverage of choice, concern in their gazes as Legend eventually gets up to pull the most ridiculously bulky quilt in the entire house over his shoulders. He’s all pink in the face and he’s shaking like a leaf, and it’s only because he won’t hold still that Ravio hasn’t attempted to try and help him hold a warm mug enough for his fingers to relax.

 Mr. Hero moves like a man thrice his age, if not more, and he creaks worse than the roof does in the wind outside.

 “Where’s your scarf, vet?” Mr. Captain Hero Sir murmurs softly, one brow raised as he watches Mr. Hero fumble with the quilts edge.

 “My what?”

 Glances are exchanged among the others. “Your scarf? The one Ravio gave you?”

 “I don’t have a scarf.” Mr. Hero answers, dropping the quilt again with a scowl that makes his nose wiggle.

 “But” Cornflower blue dart between himself and his housemate. “Aren’t you two friends? How do you not already have a scarf? Even Time did!”

 “It’s a customer service thing.” Mr. Hero murmurs. “I’m already a loyal customer, so he doesn’t waste resources on trying to earn my loyalty. That, and I don’t wear purple.”

 He shakes his head, loosening his scarf as the eyes of the others twinkle, but rather than taking it off, he only loosens one end, before wrapping it tightly around his friend’s neck, fluffing up the quilt in both of their laps, and settling a warm mug of cider in Mr. Hero’s hands.

 “Nonsense!” he chirps, trying not to be hurt at the obvious surprise on his friend's face, so he muses Mr. Hero’s hair instead. “You have every item I offer except this scarf. Why would you keep buying from me if you get it? I have to keep you from having one until I get something better in, otherwise business will plummet!”

 Knowing smiles are exchanged amidst the others, but Mr. Hero just sighs and shakes his head, leaning slightly into Ravio’s side as he sips his cider.

 A bitter expression overtakes Mr. Hero’s face. “You forgot the cloves.”

 “Oh shoot!”

[shinidamachu]

I need some Inuyasha as a great father (more like DILF, amirite?) headcanons, can you help me out?

I'm here to serve!

• It isn’t until they’re happily married for at least one or two years that the possibility of children are brought up.

• At first, they took that time to relearn each other, enjoy their company and make the honeymoon phase last a little long. They did spend three years apart, after all. There’s so much time to make up for, so many catching up to do before they’d even think to throw a kid into the mix. Plus, being a modern woman, Kagome would know how to avoid pregnancy the best her new circumstances allowed and how important that time alone is for a newly-married couple.

• They never actually had the child talk because Kagome just assumed that’s where their relationship would naturally lead to, given her motherly tendencies and Inuyasha’s history of ultimately giving her everything she wants. For his part, Inuyasha knew she wanted to be a mother someday and he'd be lying if he said he never indulged the fantasy of fathering her children. However, he has serious trouble wrapping his mind around the idea that, in reality, Kagome would still be up for it if he were to be the father. He could never dare to ask of her more than she has already given him. Be that as it may, it was not a big deal because it was not a dealbreaker. Nothing was.

• But with time, Kagome would have noticed how good Inuyasha is with Hisui and the Mirsan twins. How his relationship with Shippo had developed from a sibling banter to a makeshift paternal relationship. How people like Shiori and Bunza would look up to him like he was some kind of movie hero. How every kid in the village seemed to adore him despite his grumpy demeanor.

• And Inuyasha would have noticed the way Kagome would look at him whenever he so much as interacted with a child, the way her smell would spike significantly.

• She, of course, was the one to make the first move, jumping him one night, after they had spend the whole day stuck with babysitting the Mirsan children and popping the question.

• Inuyasha was relutant. There was a part of him that was adamant on making her happy and even believed having babies would make him happy too. On the other hand, he was terrified. Terrified of how her body would react to childbirth, of if her spiritual powers would accept his demonic energy. But mostly, about what would happen once the baby was born. The last thing he wanted was for Kagome to go through everything his mother had to go through. Or for another kid to face the same prejudice he did. Besides, he grew up with no father figure whose steps he could follow. He didn’t know how to be a father.

• Kagome assures him that they won’t have a baby until they’re both ready and on the same page, that they have time and that Inuyasha will be a great father.

• Inuyasha believes her.

• Then it is him felling some type of way whenever he sees Kagome around kids. And something deep inside desperately wishes to find out what would their children look like, what would it be like to hold and take care of someone born from their love.

• Finally, he caves.

• Inuyasha wants a big family, considering how lonely his childhood was. Kagome finds it pivotal for their first-born to have a sibling, since she had Sota and their relationship was one of the most important things in her life. That’s why they’d have two children minimum, preferably a boy and a girl. However, giving how dangerous and uncomfortable childbirth can be, especially without the perks the modern era provides, I don’t think they’d have more than three.

• Naturally, Inuyasha relies on Miroku for advice and the latter is more helpful than not. Except for the times Inuyasha asks or says something that makes it way too easy for Miroku to mess with him. Like the time he told Inuyasha that if he doesn’t get Kagome whatever food she craves while pregnant, the baby will be born looking exactly like that food. And Inuyasha believed him.

• And if you thought Inuyasha was protective of Kagome before... oh boy! He’d be almost overbearing, but Kagome would see it as endearing. Most of the time. Sometimes, though, a woman has got to have her privacy. He also becomes more attentive, more gentle, sweeter.

• After their first child is born, Inuyasha gets a makeover of sorts. He’s always borrowing the Fire Rat to Kagome and the baby anyway, so he figured it’d be more practical to just pass the clothes on to them already and get something new for himself.

• It’s white.

• Inuyasha becomes taller, stronger. And often lets Kagome experiment with his hair with braids, top nots... and ponytails.

• Old Myoga is the first one to notice the resemblance. And it’s true. He’s the spitting image of Toga. Former enemies and allies often mistaken him for Toga and Kagome thinks the look on their (and Inuyasha’s) face is hilarious.

• Sesshoumaru does not care for it (I stole this one from @heavenin--hell).

• Inuyasha hates his human nights even more because now his vulnerability also means he might not be able to protect his family as he usually would (Together Changed by @goshinote and @lostinfantasyworlds inspired this one). Plus, the black hair and lack of dog ears confuses the baby, who cries and fusses for a good while until realizing it is, in fact, Inuyasha holding them (this one I saw in an adorable fanart I can’t find).

• But since he needs way less sleeping than humans and he spends the New Moons up anyway, Inuyasha gets a lot of quality time with their infant at night, which allows Kagome to actually get a good night sleep unless the baby is hungry.

• The Beads of Subjugation get dooled and chewed on. A lot.

• A little contest takes place between Kagome and Inuyasha about what the first word of their first child would be, with Kagome going for “dada” and Inuyasha going for “mama.”

• Kagome wins.

• Inuyasha’s fighting style changes. He still says some snarky remarks, but now it’s more to push his opponent‘s buttons down so they would get sloppy than anything else. After all, he has a child to think about and provide for now. He doesn’t have the luxury of gambling with his life anymore. He has a home to come back to and therefore won’t be taking any chances (credit to @born-for-eachother for this one).

• And so he becomes more lethal on the battle field. Pragmatic. Objective. Calculating. Decisive. Cold blooded. Much like... Sesshomaru.

• He had never been more offended on his life than the day Sango pointed this out to him.

• When the kids grow up a bit, Inuyasha and Kagome start to tell them bedtime stories, with the PG version of the story about how the met and defeated Naraku being their favorite.

• Kagome tries to be a reliable and calm narrator while Inuyasha exaggerates the events and the voices, almost always breaking objects of their house in the process.

• After hearing one too many times about the Beads of Subjugation, their child tries to “sit” Inuyasha. Of course it doesn’t work, but he still makes a big deal out of throwing himself on the ground every time they say the word just to hear them laugh.

• The first actual toy Inuyasha buys them is a ball, just like the one he had as a kid, at the same time accomplishing a childhood wish through them and ensuring that they would always have someone to play with.

• Kagome is more protective of their physical state while Inuyasha is more protective of their emotional one (see Fist Fight by @omgitscharlie)

• Inuyasha goes to Totosai and asks him to make a weapon out of one of his fangs to each of their children once they get old enough for it. Not necessarily a sword, just something of their choice and that better fits their personality.

• He would be a just father, doing his best to show no favoritism, treat his children equally and make sure no one felt overlooked or unloved.

• But truth be told, if one of their babies turn out to be a daughter, he would definitelly let her get away with almost anything, no matter how much of a gremlin she is. Daddy’s little girl would have him wrapped around her tiny fingers.

• Life never treated Inuyasha kindly. From a very young age, it was kill or be killed. It wouldn't be too far off for him to think the exact same thing could happen with his kids, therefore he tries to prepare them, to tough them up so they can take it.

• And I believe this sentiment would be significantly amplified with a son, because it would involve the whole “suck it up”, “men don’t cry” and “man of the house” aspect of it. The “it is your duty to protect your mother and sister when I’m gone” too, especially because he couldn’t protect Izayoi himself.

• It’s “tough love”, but it’s love nonetheless. And in the right dose, which I believe Inuyasha manages to nail, it can be very important for one’s development and growth.

• But it’s hard to imagine him being as tough with a daughter. Probably because he sees so much of Kagome on her that the mere idea of seeing her cry simply breaks him.

• Kagome would actually have to step in when it comes to disciplining and saying “no”, because he simply wouldn’t have it in him to do so.

There’s actually a really nice post by @keichanz I reblogged a while ago discussing precisely that, but I can’t find it to save my life (should I start to properly tag my reblogs? No, it’s a lot of work and I’m right not to).

Anyway, that’s all I got for now.

Peace out.