#to go through them and see what can be donated or tossed

[jonlybonlyfromboldlygo]

.

[screampied]

‘ CANDY BOY ! ’

ᡴꪫ sum. who would have thought that the #1 camboy in your city was no one other than your virgin roommate gojo, who’s totally putting on a show for his fangirls. he talks too much, but maybe you can shut his mouth and put his sweetened little fantasies to reality.

wc. 5.8k

warnings. fem! reader, camboy!gojo, college au, gojo's a virgin, switch! gojo, unprotected, dirty talk, he gets pússy drunk quick, overstim, "good boy" usage, cunnilıngus, premature ejaculating, nipple play, lots of spıt, handjōbs.

if someone would have told you that your loser of of a roommate who stuffs his mouth with a bit too many sweets, cries at romcoms, and is just an overall dork was a camboy, you’d call them crazy. batshit crazy even, yet that’s exactly what happened—

gojo was rightfully one of the top camboys in the city, probably in the world too. he was sort of a household name, it was more of a side hustle for him. he did it only for the money—sure, he adored his fans, even the ones that went a little too extreme with the provocative thirsting. but that’s all part of the job, he’s about seven months strong in his little gig. every saturday and sunday, he logs on under the user of: @/GOJOSLUTORU.

the moment that same notification pops up that he’s live, a plethora of his fans join immensely, wondering just what their favorite camboy satoru was up to today. his streams would last for a good two hours—longer sometimes if it was some kind of special event where he’d reach a massive amount of donations, a special treat for his fans. gojo was beloved for his flirty personality, he’d make his fangirls swoon with his words, despite knowing full well he doesn’t know the first thing on how to please a lady.

that’s until you came along—more like catching him right in the act. it couldn’t have been any more embarrassing though. eleven thousand eyes were cheering him on, showering him with lewd "good boy" praises until you drop your bag.

“satoru?” you utter, curling your brow into a surprised furrow once you take in the scene in front of you. tossing the spare set of keys into the bin, you glance at your roommate—he freezes mid stroke with the most flustered expression. his hands were a bit … occupied, and a glimpse of a familiar cloth you once wore catches your eye. “are those my panties?”

“no….?”

with a deadpan, your shoulders drop before you drag your feet towards him to take a quicker look. oh, those were definitely your panties. so that’s where they ran off too. gojo tries to shield his nude exposed lower half with a nearby towel but it’s no use—you saw everything you needed to see.

“anywhooo,” he swallows, taking a brief peer at his chat that was flooding with all types of questions. they wanted to see you, they wanted to see gojo’s pretty roommate who he’s always rambling about on stream. clearing his throat, he runs a hand through his hair before pitching his tone. he tries to sound more attractive but ends up butchering right away, stuttering at his first pathetic sentence. “ i- i didn’t think you’d get here so early. how was the exam?”

“it was … fine,” you mumble, barely acknowledging his words. your mind was racing vigorously, trying to process how you’d just seen your roommate half naked. going up behind him, you lean in towards his neat set up—you grew a bit curious, immediately, your eyes meet the other eyes that stare back at you. near the top right displayed his large following of eight hundred thousand, the top left displays his current view count, a whopping amount of almost twelve thousand. peeking at the chat, you’re met with dozens of freshly new comments saying how pretty you are, asking if you’re his girlfriend he always talks about, and so on. “you’re a camboy?”

“heh, camboy’s kind of an exaggeration but,” and he’s nervous, you can hear the slight tremor in his voice. it’s cute, gojo was prepared for you to judge him for his side hustle but instead you don’t. he relaxes a bit, shifting his attention away from his crude chat and towards you. “i like to label myself as a um, streamer..”

you have a growing simper. “i don’t think streamers usually get naked for their audience,” and you take a quick stare at his attire—he was practically shirtless, his boxers were covered although he was wearing some kind of tank that had ‘submissive and breedable’ printed on the very front. you furrow your eyebrow, though you choose not to question it. his nervously sly smile only grows once he catches your eyes quite literally checking him out. glancing at the comments again, you hum. “why do they keep asking if i’m your girlfriend? you don’t have a girlfr-”

“woah, s-shut up!” he whines, cupping a hand over your mouth. you giggle, feeling the warmth of his palm rub against your lips. gojo lowers his voice, speaking in a faint whisper. “they think you’re my girlfriend,” and he peels his hand away before running a finger down his nape. “i told them that because-”

“satoru,” you roll your eyes, noticing how he was quite stiff with his body language. being this close to you, your mere elegant fragerence was so exhilarating for him. you made him this nervous, truth be told ; you were far too caught up in your academics to even realize your roommate had a little crush on you. however, you do wish you found out in a more … non less of a lewd way, a way where he wasn’t caught red-handed fondling with a pair of your pretty sage-colored panties. with a sigh, you mumble to him. “you wanna fuck, don’t you?”

that’s definitely not what he thought you was gonna say,

with pouty shimmery lips, gojo’s eyes widen before a sheepish grin marinates against his features. “pft. do i wanna fuck, whaaat?” and he doesn’t even last a second before sighing, dropping his head down in defeat. “y-yes..”

the ringing from his monitor — dozens of women sending him gifts, tickets, donations, begging for their favorite camboy to notice him only gets more disruptive.

the ringing grows louder, the repetitive chiming sound of bells, the blaring notification it makes whenever someone sends him a sweet contribution. pretty soon, he was on the verge of meeting yet another goal. ever since you got spotted on the stream, his viewer count doubled.

“well, why didn’t you just ask? besides, there’s other ways than using my panties to get off.” and a wave of embarrassment washes over his face. the towel’s still covering his torso before he shoots you a shy smile. any closer you could’ve got to him and he thought he was gonna explode. the heat radiating from you had his head going in a crazed ditz. stroking his cheek, you speak softly.

“i’m sorry,” he whines, bottom lip poking out. you end up sitting flat on his lap, and instinctively, the curvature of your waist was met with two big hands snaking around it. you’re so pretty like this, he wanted you so so bad. swallowing, he peeks towards his chat before you cup both of his temples to stare right back into your eyes. “i was gonna ask you but- but i’ve never done this, you know,” and the way you slide a finger behind his neck, skimming the texture of your middle finger down his undercut snatches a purr from him. “i- i want you, but i just don’t know what to do with like .. i wanna make sure that i don’t embarrass myself.”

oh, he couldn’t have been any more cuter,

you heard the slight crack in gojo’s voice at the end of his candied sentences before you sling your arms over him. “don’t be embarrassed,” you softly reply, still straddling his lap. “i can always show you how.” and he gulps, your voice was smooth as silk. sweet as honey, the more you strum your thumb down his undercut, the more he can hear the rapid pulse of his heart beat throb through his ears. the simplicity of your touch was enough to have him weak.

“please..” he murmurs in a hushed tone, loving the way how gentle, how tender you were with your touch. gojo mewls out a needy whimper, feeling a sudden tent rise near between his legs. he was hard, you’d giften him a pretty solid boner and whilst you were propped up on his lap, you felt it rub against you all too well.

gojo awaits for you to make the first move, but you’re teasing . . seeing if he was going to initiate, and he does, inching his sheeny lips into yours.

your roommate pulls you into a deep kiss, he tastes like candy, candied. with your arms still occupied, wrapping around him, you glide your tongue against his, parting lips, teeth clashing amongst each other in sync. you could hear the faint sounds of whimpers run from his lips, he doesn’t exactly know what to do with his hands though—so gingerly, a hand of his strums down your back, giving the fabric that stuck against your skin a soft yank. he wanted you, the strain beneath his half on boxers only grows the more he starts to suck on your tongue.

heavy, wheezing breaths collide against each other, hitting each moving muscle like a wave,

he’s so eager,

gojo’s mind clears everything out of his head and he’s just focused on you. the saccharine tang of your signature lip gloss, he tastes it and it’s so delicious.

through cerulean-pristine hazed peripherals, gojo looks towards his chat to read some of the comments . .

chososdoublehomicide: i miss choso

zorosthroatwarmer293: i wanna be gojo >:( she’s so pretty

secksybabeamy: Hey hot stuff ;) Subscribe to my only fans!

throatgoatemily: His whines omg

as the kiss deepens, gojo whines once your hand slithers its way down between his legs. slowly removing the towel that sheaths his exposed body, you feel against his dick. at first touch, he whimpers, then whines, then whimpers again.

he was so pent up—you could feel it, you were gentle with your fingers, brushing it against the length of his dick before gently wrapping a hand around its girth. gojo moans in your mouth, feeling hitched breaths arise from his lungs. he could never get enough of how fucking sweet you were,

and he didn’t even want to.

pulling away for a long gasp of fresh air, he bites his lip as he looks down to feel your hands stroke his cock. gojo had quite the staggering inches on him, he shivers at how precise your hand movements were—

up and down,

with a hand of yours gripping over his fat length, a thumb of yours runs down the vein that coats his shaft. its pulsing, he’s needy for more of your touch so bad that it sends shockwaving static to rigorously coarse through his bouquet of neurons.

“y-your hand feels so much better than mine, heh,” he breathes, swallowing the imaginary balled up lump that resides near the back of his throat. blue irises, dilated and all stares at you—a hand reaches towards your back before his thigh starts to bounce. “not to be weird but i kinda had a dream about this, angel.”

“a dream about me stroking you?” you hum, amused before sneaking a wet kiss near the crook of his twitching lips.

gojo nods wearily, forever deeply captured by your beauty. your hands swiftly resumes to stroke him, feeling the tender skin that lives near his frenulum peel back every few seconds. gojo moans, burying his face into the very depths of your neck. so desperate, he wanted more and more. “aw, is this too much? should i slow down?”

“no.. don’t stop,” and his desperate plea was so sweet, though he wanted to go further. you giggle once he suddenly lifts you up, dragging you towards the bed. “f-fuck, ‘m sorry. can’t wait anymore,” and he hovers over you with that crazed look of total desire. “can i … eat you out?”

with a coy smile, you’re laid on your back as he just stands over you — eyes gawking at your entire physique, the way your thighs were all out with the short hem of your shorts reaching against your ass. you could tell gojo was impatient, that hungry stare in his eye never once faded.

“yeah,” you coo, parting your legs slowly. oh, you were a fucking tease.

not only were you a tease for him, you were a simple force to be reckoned with. no panties on either, gojo felt himself get hard yet again before he kneels down. with your roommate positioning himself between your legs, he lets off a soft sigh.

combing your fingers through his soft tangles, he looks up at you with a craving yet impish expression. you giggle, making him look right into your eyes. peering at his chat that was going ballistic over his girlfriend, you speak in a soft tone. “do you know how to even eat pussy, ‘toru? i can h-”

“girl i know how to eat pussy,” he grumbles, and he sounds almost offended at you asking if he needed any sorts of help.

sure—gojo literally didn’t know the first thing of eating a woman out, maybe visually.

but now that he’s up close, he has to stop himself from folding right then and there. so soaked, he gets a full view of your slick entrance, your pussy was the prettiest thing he’s laid his eyes upon so far.

as he’s a few inches a apart, with sprawled open thighs—the last thing you’d expect was for to gojo to start drooling all on your cunt. a stringy, syrupy concoction of his own saliva pours out of his mouth and onto your folds. just a quick glimpse and he’s pussy drunk. fuck, he’s more embarrassed than he’s ever been but he can’t help it. gojo didn’t even get a taste and he’s already salivating at the sight of your sopping wet arousal. a thumb of yours wipes the spit that dribbles near the corner of his mouth and he whines at your touch again before he finally digs in.

lolling out his tongue, the very tip licks near the inner moistened entrance of your pulled out labia. gojo for probably the umpteenth time lays his tongue flat before he goes all in. a broad left hand of his attach towards the fat of your thigh as he remakes a long striping lick. “s-shiiit, ‘toru.” you gasp, the coldness on his tongue taking you by sheer surprise.

the texture of it .. you’re weak, gnawing on metaphoric bars of your enclose as well as the skin on your lip, you whine.

for someone who’s never had much experience, let alone no experience, you’d easily second guess. your back arches forward while gojo’s tongue rummages through every part of your clit. he sucks on your nub, closing his eyes and fully sinks into bliss. gojo’s pristine white brows cock into a furrow before he slides a thumb down your wet entrance. he just can’t get over how wet you were for him. sopping wet, inept lips of his constantly quivers before he gives your cunt a sweet kiss.

wet for him, he breaks his lips away for a few seconds just to smear his face against your pussy.

“m-mhm,” he whimpers, wanting your scent to linger on his face for as long as it could, your scent .. it was hard to not get obsessed, a few minutes in and he already felt his mouth watering.

as bundles of minuscule taste buds of his tingle with excitement — his tongue swiftly swirls through every orifice, not missing any spot. he searched through the gooey crevices of your walls, lips moving in complete tandem. his dick strains between his thighs that it’s almost painful.

if eating you out tasted this good, he only imagined what it’d feel like to be inside,

shoved deep into your pussy, stuffing you full with his luscious thickset inches . .

that same repeated whine that always sounds raw dies straight out of your esophagus, you yank on the strands of your roommate’s messy hair as his pace quickens by a mile. in the midst of devouring your heat, a broad hand of his caresses near the juncture of your thighs—he kisses the long slope inside of your entrance, lips all glossy and glittering with gloss thanks to you. that same panging throb starts to grow within you again. your toes curl up tightly before your eyes meet the drywall splattered on the ceiling. his tongue, the way it continues to scrabble all through every part of your cunt, he grows addicted almost immediately. gojo can’t help but lather a few sloppy kisses on your folds, sliding his tongue through your slit.

he even starts to tongue fuck you, softly thrusting the swollen tip of his tongue in and out until you’re about to whine out again for him.

that was his favorite part by far, pushing his tongue in and out of your puffy folds — relishing the way your pretty pussy coats the underside of his chin with a lustrous amount of sweet, burnished slick.

“ngh, ‘toru,” you’d wail, and your hips start to jitter against his face. he doesn’t mind . . in fact, gojo brings two hands to grip against the curves of your hips.

once he maintains a secure grasp, he lets you rub your wetness all over him. with his tongue thoroughly exploring in every part, he starts to whine too .. so eager to touch himself but he wants to keep his hands on you. a whiny whimper wrenches from the back of your throat before you start to babble. “satoru, ‘m gonna cum, fuuuck. jus’ like that, keep l-lickin’ there, baby.”

he was such a quick learner, part of you thinks he maybe had more experience than you oughta thought. gojo can’t help but attack your sweet syrupy folds with a multitude of kisses, drooling lips of his making you more sticky than you already were. your legs could barely hold themselves open.

he had to pry them open with clammy hands, slurping in every drop as if he was dehydrated with thirst. a thirst you happily quenched with him being propped between your legs. after a while, he runs a thumb down your slit once more, pretty eyes glancing up at you, wanting to see your sweet face. “a-am i doin’ a good job?” and his voice was a bit hoarse, the way he speaks, drooping eyes and a sheepish grin—visibly pussy drunk, you grab onto his strands before rocking your hips into his mouth. he giggles, muffled noises eliciting from his mouth, taking your eager jittery movements as a yes.

he just couldn’t get enough of his roommate’s taste.

occasionally, he likes to depart his lips to gather a nice concoction of saliva—only to then spit right onto your sopping folds, whining at how it was so shiny. so pretty, he’s mesmerized again at how it looks, and you end up cumming with the cutest shrieking orgasm. it snatches out of you roughly, your speech is slurred for a moment as your legs quaver in utmost pleasure.

you’re shaking, feeling him clean you up with the flatness of his tongue—gojo moans, white lashes fluttering as he takes your beauty in. this was so much better than one of his risqué wet dreams. so much better,

without even a single word leaving from his lips, he gets up to pull you into a kiss. almost immediately, you taste yourself that lingers on his tounge. it tastes sweet, gojo props himself between your thighs as you sit up, a free hand of his sliding between your stretched out legs. the constant rings of his donations continue to scream out that same annoying chime before he leans in to shut his computer. he’d probably have left so many—thousands of his fan girls devastated, but there was only a new fan girl he was fixated on.

you.

gojo was addicted, with tongues colliding against each other, hot breaths wafting against each own, he feel his breath hitch at your touch. a hand of yours snakes down to feel on his erect dick. he whines, gnawing at the bottom of your lip before his tongue gets more curious. he licks the bottom of your chin, the side of your mouth, only to then pull you into another deep kiss. “f-fuck, ‘m so hard,” he rasps between sultry kisses, heaving from each breath. you still couldn’t get over the taste of yourself that loiters all on the flat of his pink tongue. “i wanna feel you from the inside, angel.”

“but your stream,” you tease once he finally pulls away, taking a second to catch your breath yourself. you felt the heat roam across the room before stroking his cheek — flushed lips of his burn with such intensity, you had him feral. “your fans, i wouldn’t wanna interrupt them, ‘toru.”

“fuck them,” he pouts, the cute frown on his face tugging against his lips. “okay that’s mean, they help me pay rent but just- i want you right now,” and he’s so needy. he paws at your t-shirt, glossy eyes widening, god. his bottom lip pokes out, squinting for two seconds before seeing how your nipples invitingly poke out. so perky, he could feel his mouth watering sporadically. he lays you back before swallowing, a loud gulp before he hovers over you. “you knew this was gonna happen, didn’t y-you? such a tease.”

you simper, opening your legs for him and he gets a good glimpse. gojo sucks his teeth, still so soaked. he only dreamt of what you’d feel like inside.

probably so tight and warm,

the more he thinks about it, the more he could feel himself starting to drool. gojo’s panting as if he’d just finished a marathon. a hand of his wraps around his length—giving it a few solid pumps. “i thought you’d wanna do doggy for your first position,” you sweetly say, and oh, he pouts for you again. you sit up, awaiting for him to take the lead first before smiling. “missionary though? you’re not so good with eye contact, baby.”

“i know how to do missonry.” he grumbles.

“missionary,” you correct him with a titter.

he pouts again, preparing to align himself. so wet, your pussy was sopping wet, swollen from just being eaten out so good. a warm breath fans out through his lips before he rubs it against your slippery slit. “and don’t call me baby,” he moans, although the simple pet name for him a lot harder than he thought it would. slowly, gojo’s fat leaky tip continues to ghost against your folds. you hold back a sweet moan, laid all out on display for him on the mattress. he’s waited for this moment, had dreams about it, even fantasized about it. “fuck,” he’d huff out, and his voice cracks. you’d laugh but he’s staring at you the entire time with that cute pouty expression. “can- can we hold hands? for you know, leverage?”

“leverage, sure,” you play along, your fingers locking against his. damp, perspiring palms squeeze against yours before his rounded tip starts to slowly make its way inside. immensely, a breath gets caught in his throat and he whines. the warmth he’s rudely greeted with makes him gnaw his pearly whites together. “you’re kinda b-big, so go a little slow, ‘toru.”

“i’m big?” he repeats—cutely enough, it boosts his ego that you think so, yet his confidence fades the further he dumps a few hefty inches into your entrance. as you expected, you were a bit tight and stiff for a few seconds—unyielding against him for a moment, you moan. saying gojo was big was a mere understatement, he couldn’t help but lean in to lay against your chest. “how’s it feel? s-slower?”

“it’s good. that’s good,” you start to heave, gasping once he inches his head closer to latch his lips against your neglected cold nipples. he doesn’t even lift up your t-shirt, he runs his tongue through the fabric and sucks on your perked tits. “t-toru, fuckk.”

it was a soft twinge sensation at first before he’s close to bottoming out . . so close,

it’s at the moistened tip of his tongue. gojo’s shaft resumes to go in further, you feel him pulse inside before once he’s all the way in, he’s already out of breath. with his mouth occupied—he’s still sucking on your nipples through the shirt, whiney. a free hand of his runs gives your left thigh a nice firm grasp before he starts up a single few thrusts.

you whine, tossing your arms over him and he glances down at you—beads of sweat race down the sides of his brow before he sits up in a proper position. gojo can’t get over how pretty you look for him like this, he’s fully in and he sneaks a kiss onto your lips. “can i m-move?” and the falter in his voice was adorable, gojo’s breath continues to get more heavy before you give him a nod. he peppers various kisses near your mouth, neck, and of course, your precious chest. his personal favorite,

with frail arms wrapped around him, pulling him close—you run your ankle down his back and he moans. “oh, ‘s even better than i imagined,” he whispers against your ear, hot breath sending you antsy judders. the more his breath goes against your skin, the more you smell how minty it was. fresh, you desperately yearned for more so you pull him into another kiss for the nth time. “ugh. the way you clamp down, ‘s gonna kill me,” he babbles in a low puff. he’s speaking between staring up at decent pace for you to get accustomed to. you whimper, trying to get adjusted to his barreling length but he was just so fucking big. it was an ongoing rumor that between gojo—and his best friend suguru geto had the top biggest dicks. of course, you always wondered exactly how whoever started that rumor would even know, but gojo was definitely a packer. he stretched you out in ways you’ve never felt before. with strained breaths, he coats your mouth with many wet kisses. time and time again, the feeling of himself going into you raw has him drooling again. “pussy’s so wet, ‘m gonna die, oh my god.”

“don’t be dramatic, you’re not gonna die.” you try to reassure him. the grip on your hand only grows tighter, crimson lips of his suck against the underside of your chin.

so damn needy,

mussed strands of white tickle against your forehead the closer he presses his body into you. gojo was shivering, just a few minutes in pussy and as if it was a game—he’d be on the last level, game over. albeit, you feel it too. the warmth, it turns into a sweltering hot. as his hips rock, his whines start to become more vocal. he sneaks a hand down to feel the area that’s being stuffed, a thumb skims against your tummy before he moans,

“feel me t-there, yeah?” he whispers, a cute attempt at dirty talk but alas, it’s subtle. gojo easily folds once your eyes meet his gaze.

you moan, intertwining your fingers with his, moaning out a soft, “yeah,” and you sound out of breath yourself.

he’s jerking back and forth — his pace, his tempo . . wasn’t too slow or two fast, perfect.

with a quivering bottom lip, he leans in to lick against the outer shell of your ear. your cunt’s singing in harmony, sloshes of wet that leaves its metaphoric vocal cords and you start to get a bit louder. “f-fuck, ‘toru right there—fuuuck.”

“s-shit, you’re so pretty,” he pants, repeating his ways at coating your entire face with his wet kisses. you had him weak, entirely. you found it a bit silly considering how this could have happened anytime—anytime at all, all he had to do was ask. but gojo being gojo, he was not only a man with barely any experience, but he was nervous. he’s always had a bit of a crush on you but confessing sounded way scary. it was as if this entire thing was mere coincidence though, you happen to find out he’s not only a sloppy eater but,

he’s a camboy.

part of you wonders what he does on his streams. if you saw him rubbing one off while thinking about you—you could only imagine what other lewd antics he participated in.

gojo’s rutting into you at a much more quicker pace, he’s whining into your neck;

forgetting to praise you, and it’s more of the other way around. you’re cupping his face, stroking his cheek before repeating in that same melodic voice, “good boy, ‘s so good, makin’ me feel good, ‘toru baby.”

your voice, oh your voice, he could listen to it all day. you feel the constant twitch of his cock inside you and he whines every time your ankle rubs down his back. with the way your pussy holds him hostage— it’s so provocative, his reaction time was as slow as a sloth, droopy eyes stare at you before he grunts out a pleading, “f-fuck, ‘s gonna come,” and his voice sounds like a soft purr, gojo was like a kitten to you— so cute, his pout always make things more true too. he’s groaning in your ear, fat balls thwacking against you before his ears starts to ring. you’re moaning with him, bodies thrusting in sync that it’s almost like a pornographic choreography. “ugh, i- i feel it, ‘m gonna cum so much. so hot, gonna die.”

“breathe, baby,” you whisper, pulling his face closer to you. his chubby cheeks squish together once he’s within your grasp, the sharp piston of his hips makes you moan. his thrusts gets a bit sloppy and you press a kiss onto his mouth. “mwah,” you hum, watching how flustered he gets at a lick of your affection. “you wanna finish inside, don’t you?”

gojo whimpers. “yeah, yeah. really bad,” and the moment you suggest that, his ears perk cutely. he’s gotta be careful though—with a cunt as addicting as yours, he just might end up falling in love.

speaking of love, it’s as if heart eyes pour into his irises as he glances at you—again, metaphorically of course. gojo gulps at the tender touch of your fingers, leaning in to nip a kiss near your neck. through muffled words, he mewls. “i wanna fill you up. ‘s only fair since you’re milking me s-so much, ‘m so thirsty,” and he’s just babbling, pulling him close—he whines once he feels your finger glide through his sensitive undercut again. “hngh, gonna break me. let me make a mess in you please? i’ll even eat it out of you once ‘m done.”

you’re tempted at his pleads, giggling before dragging him into a deep kiss. “such a blabbermouth,” you tease between kisses, staring to feel the tears of sweat race down the sides of your forehead also— with a sly smile, you lick the drool that was about to run down the side of his lip. “finish in me, ‘toru. it’s okay. be my messy boy.”

his eyes dilated once he hears that,

your messy boy.

he even repeats it, “y-your messy boy, yeah, ‘m so messy for you, roomie,” and as he’s preparing for his inevitable release, he sinks into your warm embrace. “one more kiss, h-hold me.” and as if on command, you yoke his head in close, giving him a deep, passionate kiss. his pulsing heart beats through his ears. gojo—by this point, he was already whipped. the way his hips pick up, growing more sloppy and deranged—he’s feral.

the feverish under parts of his thighs burn, longing for its incoming conclusion climax—yet, as your smoldering heat gnashes against his, it finally comes.

with a primal gasp, it’s here.

the nirvana—euphoria, whatever it could have been called to describe this feeling, it was here.

gojo whimpers, going into a complete spazzing fit once he feels the slow orgasmic waves of himself starting to shoot literal humid blanks inside you.

it’s hot, parching hot— your heat against smelts his, it scratches a fervor itch in your brain. his tongue rummages the inside of your mouth again as he’s painting the insides of your gummy walls with his snowy white color.

satiny ropes of your roommate’s seed trickle into you, it’s so gooey and hot that it starts to stick against the inner parts of your thighs. each rough kiss reflects the same desire the both of you share before he shudders.

slow thrusts, he’s barely moving as fast as he was before but he’s still active. he wants to make sure you feel every inch he’s saved for you,

for weeks, months, maybe even years—

“god,” he whimpers out, pulling away from your glossed lips—a pretty cobweb of spit departs from each and he happily laps it up with his tongue. who knew your roommate was nothing more than a mere freak.

not you, not by a long shot.

it takes a moment for him to catch his breath, with a flustered look— gojo’s now clingy.

he doesn’t wanna move away from you, nor does he wanna exactly pull out. not just yet, he’s plugged you full of sticky cum that was threatening to ooze of your hole before he kisses the bridge of your nose. “that was so awesome.”

and just like that, the mood’s ruined—you pant, he’s hovering over you, his weight barely on you before you sigh.

“you know,” you change the subject, brushing a thumb against his cheek. “your moans, you sound more like a girl than me, ‘s kinda hot.”

“whaaat?” he grumbles, his sweetened pout forever returning. “that’s not nice, ‘n besides if it’s anyone who moans louder it’s you, angel.”

you kiss near the twitching corner of his lip, watching his sudden attitude shift like a light switch and he’s now a puddle. “you finished a bit early though,” and with your arms wrapping around him again, you speak in a soft voice. “wanna go again? you’re a natural, ‘toru.”

“please,” he whines with a nod, feeling how sweltering hot it felt to be still buried into the comforting tightness of your cunt. “this time, i wanna try doggy.”

“okay, pretty boy,” you tease, leaning in for another one of gojo’s sloppy, need kisses. just before he could pull out, the door springs open. the hinges scream once it pulls back and the two of you both look to see what the racket was.

as the door opens, it was geto—gojo’s best friend, and he had the most disgusted look on his face.

with a scrunched up face, he utters. “i’m never running errands for you two again, what the actual fuck.”

and as he turns his heel to leave, gojo snorts. “suguboooo! aw, don’t leave just yet. you can always joinnn.”

[rebelliousstories]

Restored Once More

Relationship: Remy LeBeau/Gambit x Reader

Fandom: X-Men

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: Fluff, Brief Suggestive Themes

Word Count: 908

Main Masterlist: Here

X-Men Masterlist: Here

Summary: Once Gambit had gotten back to his own timeline, he was certain there was only one thing he wanted to do, and with only one person.

Consider Donating: Here

Slow mornings were not something that came often for a member of the X-Men. Their lives were constantly full of danger and adventure. However that was not the case for the past couple of weeks for the couple. In a motel off the beaten path, as the sun was just beginning to break the horizon, they were starting to stir. Tangled with one another, the pair had been sleeping off another night of partying on Bourbon street.

Remy awoke first, and looked down at the woman in his arms. Sunlight was just now pouring into the room through the windows behind him, which bathed everything in a warm glow. While his body was shielding the majority of the sun from her, some did peak out from around his shoulders which just barely touched her own skin. It was then that she began to awaken much like her lover.

Her eyes blinked open, and took a moment to adjust to what she was seeing. Gambit was cloaked in warm sunlight. It made him look angelic with the backlighting. A halo of light was around his hair, highlighting every little stray lock of hair.

“Good mornin’, chere.” Remy murmured in a deep, gravely voice. The rumble ran through his body and into hers from where they were connected. She always did love how he sounded first thing in the morning.

“Morning Remy. How are you so awake right now?” Her head was burrowing deeper into his chest which caused him to chuckle.

“Can’t do nothin’ to keep da Gambit down for long.” His retort was met with a puff of air being blown through her nose in amusement.

“Whatcha feel like for breakfast, mon amour? Sweet? Savory?”

“Can I have both and just eat you?”

“Nothin’ I would like more. But you promised us some fishin’ out in the bayous today. Please, chere.”

Remy nuzzles his head into the crook of her neck. She giggled as she felt the tickle of his stubble against her bare skin. He threw his leg over her, straddling her body, and continued his assault. Tickling her torso, the woman wiggled and writhed as she tried to get away from her boyfriend’s fingers. Sheets were thrown, pillows were tossed, and the two were rolling around on the bed like they were kids again.

“Okay, okay. Geez Remy, I’ll skip out on a nice breakfast so we can go fishing. You go start getting ready and I’ll make us something quick and simple.” Pressing a kiss to his lovely lips, she melted for just a moment into it.

“Merci, chere.”

With that, he left the warmth and comfort of the bed in favor for getting ready. For the past few weeks, this had been their routine. Plenty of slow mornings to wake up to the sun with nowhere to be on a set timeline. Being granted leave for a month following his return from the Void, Gambit knew there was only one place that he wanted to be and with only one person. Back in his home state of Louisiana was his version of paradise. He made sure that no Thieves or Assassins could mess with them during their stay as well.

As Remy hoped into the shower, he heard her groan as she, too, got out of the bed. His side was already starting to get cold but she did not stop to think about that now. Throwing on one of his discarded shirts, she strolled into the kitchen and began to make them some breakfast. It was a pleasantly cool morning, she noted, once she opened the window. Popping some bread in the toaster, she got to work on making her lover his favorite; spicy eggs and boudin. The latter being a treat that he did not get to have often living in New York with the X-Men at the school.

Glorious smells greeted Remy as he stepped from the steaming bathroom. With a towel slung low on his hips, he smiled to himself as he thought about his situation. Life was going great once more. Throwing on some jeans, Gambit left their room and headed towards the kitchen. He leaned against the frame as he watched his girlfriend cooking for them.

“Jus’ when I thought I couldn’t be more in love with you than I already am, chere.” His words startled her, making the woman jump briefly as she was at the stove.

“Whatcha doing without a shirt on mister? Trying to make us late?” She teased, flipping the eggs in the pan. Gambit just saddled up, wrapped his arms around her, and pressed a few kisses to her cheek.

“No, chere. Jus’ wanted to show my appreciation is all,” came his reply.

“Well then, you can appreciate after breakfast. I didn’t make all this sausage for me, ya know.” It was then that he finally realized what she had on a plate that was now being passed over to him.

“Ooo, you spoil me, chere.” His smile was contagious, as was the kiss he placed on her lips in thanks.

Sitting at the table, they ate in relative silence. It was not an uncomfortable silence, but a rather nice and peaceful one. They were enjoying the calm, and the quiet. They were going to fishing later with not a care in the world. And no crazy big, world threatening, life ending peril to tear them down in their little slice of paradise.

[harmonyrae]

Inked: Bonus Chapters

Synopsis: What was the first date really like? What revelations about Rafayel will you discover? And what happens when Rafayel gets "art block"? Maybe you can help him through it.

AN: Darlinggggg, guess who’s back from jail!! Sorry, hello. Of course I had to write some bonus chapters for Inked. Especially after @obligatedart collabed with FriskyInk (on the tweet tweet). Sad I had to hide his pp btw... Y’all best follow Obligated & check them out to see the other Rafayel pieces they’ve done. 

Content Warnings: first chapter is pure fluff, second is SPICY, explicit language & sexual content, Masterbation (M), light voyeurism, PiV, genital piercings, half creampie (?), Dom Rafayel coming out to playyyy, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 6.6k 

FIRST DATE

Don’t overthink it. Don’t. Overthink. It. You’re 100% overthinking it. You should have just texted him this morning and asked what you should wear. It’s too late, he’ll be here in an hour and if you text him now it’ll seem like you didn’t really care about the date and you’re a procrastinator… which you are, but you didn’t this time you’re just…

“Overthinking again…” You whisper to yourself as you slide another hanger over, rejecting another outfit option.

It’s been two hours. Two hours of pacing, redoing your hair, going through every item in your closet at least three times looking for something to wear. You have plenty to wear, but it has to be just right. Spinning around, you dig through your dresser. This is the first time Rafayel is seeing you as, well, you. You had worn super casual clothes to get your tattoo so this is the first time he’ll see what your everyday style is. What if he hates it? Oh god…

Your playlist shuffles and a song you haven’t heard since high school starts to play. Bless you Hayley Williams, you always show up to save the day. You sprint over to your laptop and hit the loop button. Tossing your pajama pants and tank top on your bed, you dance around your room in your underwear. You were 16 again, just trying to find the perfect outfit for the garage party your best friends were hosting. Your nerves melt away as you sway your hips and sing along.

Your hand brushes past the clothes in your closet and as the chorus ends you pull the first thing your eye catches. A purple plaid miniskirt? Okay… outfit ideas loading… Skipping to your dresser you dig out a pair of black tights and knee high socks. Your eyes scan your room and you spot the basket of clean clothes you’ve yet to put away. On top, the perfect top, a cropped vintage band tee. Caleb had been obsessed with Linkon Park in high school and donated all his shirts to you before heading to college. 

“Fuck it. I’m reliving my youth!”

Allowing a silly smile to form, you toss on a cropped long sleeve shirt before the band tee, the tights and socks before smoothing the mini skirt over your hips. You pack your small crossbody bag, just big enough for your phone, house key, a lip balm and your wallet. Just as you lace up your boots you hear a knock on your front door. 

“Oh fuck… oh shit… okay. Everything is fine. This is fine. You look fine. Chill chill chill.”

Scurrying across your living room you stop at your door and fluff your hair once, twice, fuck it, three times for good luck. You open the door and are completely stunlocked. How is he more gorgeous than he was yesterday…? Even in baggy cargo pants, a loose tee and a black denim jacket, the sleeves rolled up just enough to show off his delicious ink. He’s stunning. He gives you a once over, his smirk blossoming into a full blown smile. 

“Damn, you look amazing. I must look like a bum, huh?”

“No! Not at all. Yo-you look good.” You stammer, swearing at yourself for the fumble. 

“Aww cutie, you’re nervous?”

“What? No of course not…” You pause, staring at him as he gives you a knowing look. “Is it that obvious?”

“No, I’m just very perceptive. But if it makes you feel better, I’m nervous too.”

“Wait, why?” 

“Well, I haven’t been on a date in a while. A long while actually. Shop’s been too busy or I’ve been travelling. But most of the time, I just don’t click with anyone.” 

You smile and stare at your boots. 

“So you’re saying you think we ‘clicked,’ is that it?”

When you look back up, he’s leaning on the door frame and running his thumb across his lower lip, stopping to play with his lip ring before tipping his chin up and smirking. 

“I think so. I hope by the end of tonight, you will too.”

As you walk out of your apartment building you slow a bit to let him lead, when he stops in front of a dark blue motorcycle you clutch the hem of your skirt.

“Shit… Should I change? I didn’t realize… I should have –”

“You’re fine! You’ll be sitting behind me, so I’ll cover you.”

He hops on and offers a helmet to you. You stand next to him while you both put on your helmets. His a dark blue to match his bike with white lines around the visor. It’s a distinct pattern, but you can’t tell if it’s intentional. Yours is all white with a blue tinted visor. He holds out his hand and you hold onto him as you swing your leg over. You adjust your skirt and scoot closer to him, sure enough, when you lean forward you feel completely covered. 

He looks over his shoulder whenever he talks to you, his voice only moderately muffled by the bike engine and wind. You hold onto his waist as he drives at a leisurely pace. He weaves through the city streets with ease and before you know it you’re arriving at the pier. 

“Hope you’re ready to be sworn to secrecy.” 

He tucks his helmet under his arm and offers to take yours, but you hang onto it, instead you offer your hand. His cheeks flush and he drops his gaze as he takes it. He leads you down the pier to a building that has large wooden boards covering the doors. When he turns down a back alley you hesitate.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to kidnap you. I’m taking you to the back entrance.”

“Back entrance? To where?”

“Well, it doesn’t have a name yet. I can’t decide. I usually leave those decisions to the last second anyways.” 

He unlocks a thick padlock and pushes the door. The unassuming exterior and covered windows and doors would make you think it’s just an empty shell. How wrong you are.

Gorgeous murals cover every wall. Teal waves with swirls of indigo, cerulean, sapphire, melt into ivory and baby pink mist. The tables are mosaic masterpieces, sea glass and shells encased in resin. Plush chairs that look like clam shells circle each table. A massive bar, lined with tall white bar stools sits against the wall. The liquor case is fully stocked and color coded to perfection. A large stainless steel table at the center of the room serves as the focal point. The shelving unit tucked beneath holds a variety of bowls and plates that would typically hold sushi.

“Rafayel, is this… Is this your sushi restaurant?”

“Yup!” He chirps.

He leads you into the kitchen, which is just as gorgeous as the dining room. Crisp white walls holding framed artwork, counters, stainless steel appliances, open doors showing offices and break rooms yet to be completed. He stops at the counter next to a huge window overlooking the dining room. 

“Is this two-way glass?”

Rafayel nods and you lean over the counter to get a better look. It’s the perfect vantage point to watch the bar and center display table. It would provide extra security too, since you couldn’t even tell it was there when walking through the dining room. 

Rafayel releases your hand to start pulling containers from the cold storage beneath. You watch as he sets out a plate of expertly cut salmon sashimi, followed by plate after plate of other ingredients - tuna, crab, cucumber, avocado, bottles of sriracha, eel sauce and a tiny container of tempura flakes. He slides a bowl of sticky rice over to you, with a rolling mat and sushi nori. You stare at the items like they’re some kind of wild animal. 

“Are we making sushi?” 

He chuckles and turns to wash his hands and grab a pair of gloves from the box mounted to the wall. When he returns you’re looking at each ingredient with your tongue between your teeth. 

“Cutie, whatcha thinkin about?”

“I’ve never made sushi before…”

“Well, tonight you’ll learn. Just pick whatever you like and slap it in there. There’s no rules tonight. The kitchen is ours.”

You wash your hands and don a pair of gloves, returning to his side to follow his lead. You’re fairly daring but you stick with what you’re familiar with, at least for tonight. 

“Okay, rice is down. Salmon, yellowtail, avocado, cucumber, now I just roll it up?”

Rafayel reaches over and points to the small dish of water. 

“Just dip your finger in here and run it along the edge of the nori when you get near the end so it’ll stick. Roll it tight so when you cut it, it’ll stay together. Just like that, damn, you’re a natural!”

“Guess you’ll just have to hire me then.”

You giggle as you roll, glancing at his own roll as you work. Spicy tuna, mango slices, crab, avocado and cucumber. He sets his roll on a long plate and begins layering toppings - choosing mango chili sauce and tempura flakes for his. You try to make a pretty design with avocado, jalapenos and sriracha but it looks like a big mushy mess by the time you’re done. 

“Can you cut mine? I think I made a mess…”

“As long as it’s a delicious mess, that’s what matters, right?”

You watch as he slices your roll with a slow and steady hand. With just as much precision as when he was tracing the lines of your tattoo. Once the rolls are cut, he pulls over a serving cart and loads up the food along with the extra sashimi, bottles of chilled green tea. He leads you to the elevator and your breath is taken away, once again, as you take in the rooftop terrace.

Round marble tables line the balcony, the same cozy shell chairs from downstairs wrap around a fire pit next to another huge bar. Local plants cover the terrace, the scent of flame lilies and ocean breeze is so strong it’s like you’ve been swept away in a tidal wave. The view is insane, the city lights behind you, the ocean and brightly lit pier in front. The fact you’re here alone with someone like Rafayel and he’s pampering you with gourmet sushi? How is this your life?

“You’re eerily quiet…” Rafayel says softly as he places the food on a table with a clear view of the beach and sunset.

“I’m just - I don’t know, stunned? Amazed? This place is gorgeous.”

”Thank you. It’s been a passion project for like, 5 years now? Haven’t been able to get it off the ground with how the whole tattoo thing took off.”

“You mean your well-deserved fame?”

He holds the chair out for you to sit down. What a distinguished gentleman. 

“You think it’s well-deserved, hmm?”

“I do. Your art is… what’s a good word for it…?”

“Bewitching? Exquisite? Alluring?” He teases.

“Special.”

He blinks, such a simple word had such a profound impact. 

“I’m glad you think so.” 

The sound of the waves fills the silence as you eat. As soon as you take the first bite, you moan in delight and proceed to devour the whole thing. Plus one piece of Rafayel’s - only because he begs you to. The spice is absolutely divine, especially with the chilly night air seeping through your thin skirt. The tights and socks really did nothing for you… 

“Would you like to walk along the pier for a bit?”

You go to nod, but are cut off by a shiver. Rafayel immediately stands up and shrugs off his jacket holding it up for you to slide your arms down the sleeves. You don’t even bother arguing, the warmth of his jacket envelopes you, his scent, even stronger than the lilies. He deposits the dishes in the dishwasher before taking your hand and beginning your stroll down the pier. 

The lights along the shore twinkle in the distance, the crashing waves grow louder as you cross over the shoreline and continue to the end. Rafayel leans against the railing, closing his eyes and tipping his head back to let the wind sweep through his hair. You cross your arms and rest your shoulder against his as you lean forward on the railing next to him. 

“Why the ocean?”

He opens his eyes and rests his cheek on his shoulder to look at you, a brow raised.

“I mean, of all the things you could choose as your muse, what made the ocean stand out?”

“The ocean isn’t exactly my muse…” His eyes scan your face, his hand rising to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “But it is a source of inspiration, but more than that, it’s my home.”

“What do you mean?”

“For as long as I can remember, the ocean has been my safe place. The waves would sing to me, the water protecting me. Fish would swim around me, some mocking, some playing, we became friends. Sort of.”  He chuckles, turning to face you fully before continuing. 

“I fell in love with the song of the ocean, how it would speak to people. Providing the message they needed to hear most. The sea doesn’t worry about hurt feelings or context, it just is what it is. No apologies. That’s why the message is so important.”

“What kind of messages does the sea send?”

“You tell me. Close your eyes.”

You raise your brows, but when he straightens to stand behind you you do as he says. His fingers run down your arms, sweeps your hair over your shoulder to gently caress your neck, he finally settles his hands on your hips. His tender touches, the waves beneath you performing a sweet melody, the last bit of sunlight finally fading away leaving you in total darkness. It’s magic. When you hear a soft humming, you open your eyes and look over your shoulder. Rafayel’s eyes are closed, his head tilted forward. You realize his humming is in time with the waves and almost perfectly resembles the tune your mind had invented. 

“Some people need a message of peace. Some a message of destruction. Yours sounds a lot like hope. What are you hoping for?”

His eyes open and he’s so very close. Your breathing falls in line with his and you lean back against him. Suddenly, you’re far too hot. 

“I don’t know yet.” You whisper. 

He doesn’t push, he tilts his head away to give you room to breathe. Lifting his hands from your hips he slides past you and extends a hand.

“It’s getting late, I should probably get you home.”

Following him to his bike, you mount up and feel his heartbeat with your chest pressed against his back. He takes a few turns too quickly and you squeal, making him laugh. He reaches back and pats your knee. His touch lingers and you pout when he returns his hand to the handlebar. 

“I want to show you one more thing.”

He shouts as he speeds up and swerves past a rundown apartment complex. You were entering the rougher part of town. Not as bad as the N109 Zone, but still fairly dangerous. He pulls into a parking lot nearly filled to the brim. When he parks in a VIP spot you can’t help but scoff. Fame privileges. At least that’s what you thought until you saw the front door bearing his name. 

“Artist Playground, sponsored by... Wait, you own this place too?”

“I do. No no no, don’t go inside. Follow me.”

He grabs your hand and drags you to the side of the building. As you shuffle down the narrow alleyway the scent of paint becomes stronger. Bright lights blind you as you enter a large courtyard out back. The lush trees, flower beds and custom fountain take you by surprise. It’s a stark contrast to the front of the building. Vending machines with snacks and drinks line the back fence, as well as a vending machine for what looks like spray paint. A table next to the back wall holds abandoned bottles of paint and small cans and brushes. While the landscape is elegant the artwork that adorns the worn brick walls, the concrete, the tall wooden fences varies in style. From customary spray painted lettering to intricate murals, it’s endless.

“What is this place?”

Rafayel leads you past a group of teens practicing their lettering and carefully sidesteps a young woman creating an optical illusion with chalk on the sidewalk. He opens the gate to an alleyway.

“The Artist’s Playground. It’s a place for everyone to practice their art, no matter what form. We have a photography studio upstairs, a music room with free instruments and recording equipment. There’s a dance studio in the basement. We are building a stage in the lobby for performances. The theater kids are determined to put on a spring musical. And out here?”

He kneels to pick up a can of hot pink spray paint, when he stands he holds it out to you. You stare at him blankly, unmoving. He chuckles before removing the cap and giving it a shake, he turns to the wall. He sprays a fine line, testing the pigment. You watch as he creates a heart shape, you’re about to comment on it being too wide when he bends to pick up a dark pink paint. He outlines the top and rounds out the bottom, letting the paint fizzle out into a fine mist to make a shadow beneath it. When he picks up a can of white you start to see what he’s making. You barely notice how he keeps stopping to look at you, tilting his head and scrunching his nose as he makes adjustments to the piece. 

“I think that does it.”

He braces your shoulders and moves you in front of his masterpiece. He closes one eye and squints, his smile widens. 

“A perfect likeness.”

Looking over your shoulder, you let out a breathy laugh in disbelief. 

“You’re saying those are my lips? You painted my lips on the wall?”

He stoops down to pick up the can of pink paint and offers it to you. 

“You can cover it up, if you want. Up to you.”

You look from his glittering eyes to his paint smeared fingers holding the can. Back and forth until you’re sure he’s lost patience, but he remains steady. His lips curve into a sweet smile and he waits. Finally you take a deep breath and take the can, turning to face the wall. You hear the gravel under his boots creak as he steps back to give you space to work. You’ve never even used spray paint before, but you don’t want to pass up the opportunity to create art with him. 

After a few careful swipes, you step back to examine your work. Rafayel chuckles and moves to stand beside you. You decided to keep his work uncovered, but added your own flare. If they’re your lips, they might as well reflect your personality. Two tiny pink devil horns and a tail with a heart-shaped tail tip sprout out from the piece. Rafayel picks up the white paint again.

“Want to add some dimension?”

“You should do it, I’ll ruin it.”

He shakes his head and takes the pink paint can, replacing it with the white. He points to the wall and crosses his arms expectantly. 

“You can’t ruin it. Just have fun with it.”

So you do. You step up and add a few highlights, even daring to pick up the darker pink to try your hand at a shadow under the tail. When you’re done, you smile and pull out your phone to open the camera. Turning around, you hold it up to get the piece positioned behind you. Before you snap the pic, you look at Rafayel and giggle.

“Well, come on! It’s not just mine. It’s ours.”

He circles behind you and hides half his face behind your head, the spotlights lining the alleyway reflect in his bright eyes. You can just make out the way his brows relax as he smiles. You snap a few pictures and turn to face him. 

“Thank you. That was a lot of fun.”

He nods, lacing his fingers with yours as he leads you through the building for a proper tour. By the time you get back to his bike, you’re exhausted. You cling to him as he drives you home. He doesn’t drive fast, one of his hands covers yours over his stomach for the majority of the ride. You wish the drive was longer, or that you didn’t have to work tomorrow, anything to keep this night from ending. He walks you to your door, you remove his jacket and stifle a giggle as he hastily puts it back on. 

“I’ll bring a jacket next time, I swear…”

“So, there’ll be a next time?”

You blush and he takes the chance, his lips brush against your cheek and you freeze. He does it again and you reach out to touch his chest, his hands finding your waist.

“Are you available Friday night?”

His nose touches yours, his fingers shifting away from the sliver of bare skin at your waist. Such a gentleman… damn it. 

“I am.”

“Good. Same time as tonight? I’ll bring a car this time.”

You nod and laugh. As your laughter dies down, he kisses your cheek once more. You lean into him, but he backs away to straighten his jacket and run a hand through his hair. 

“See you then, cutie.”

As you close the door to your apartment and kick off your shoes, you can’t stop smiling. You flit through your living room and into your bedroom. Falling face first onto your bed, you burst into a fit of giggles. What are you, a teenager who just got asked to homecoming? While you should be embarrassed, you can’t help but kick your feet in the air behind you. You don’t remember the last time a guy made you this giddy. If ever. One thing is for sure, you can’t wait for Friday night.

Post-Talia Party, Before Bike Accident

“Do I risk it?” Tara whispers as she slides up to your desk.

“Don’t.” You lean back and point at her like a stern parent.

She sits on the edge, looking back and forth between the desks. She smiles and you know what’s coming.

“It’s quiet.”

She giggles like a maniac and skips away as you swat at her and nearly fall out of your chair. 

“I swear if a huge Wanderer attack happens in the next 10 minutes it’s your fault!” You scream.

“Are you hoping for that to happen?”

This time your ass leaves the chair and you grip the edge of your desk, you turn to face Jenna who is already laughing at your expense. 

“She’s not wrong. It’s been a slow day. That’s a good thing in our line of work.”

“I know, yeah, it’s good. It’s super… duper good.”

“You’re bored out of your mind.”

Sighing dramatically, you throw your arm over your eyes.

“Guilty as charged.”

“Go home.”

You sit up in your chair and stare at her with wide eyes.

“Wait, no, I’m sorry. I can do paperwork, I didn’t mean –”

“You’ve been doing paperwork the past 2 hours. You were starting to read through old case files for fun. Take a half-day, go home. We’ll call you in if things pick up.”

She pats your shoulder and steals the box of case files off your desk. You follow her advice and pack up your things. Tara waves at you as she skips down the hall to another meeting. Guess that means you get to surprise Rafayel, maybe watch him tattoo for a few hours before making dinner with him. 

The drive to Lemuria Studios from the Association is relatively short. After parking your bike, you stop by the coffee shop on the corner and stroll down the street to the entrance of the studio. As you walk in, several of the artists look up and give you a smile or a nod. You’ve been hanging around Rafayel for less than a week and his team already knows you by name. 

“I brought you your regular!” You chirp as you slide a cup across the counter to Thomas. 

He looks up from his laptop and closes his binder, which is far too full. He should really get a new one, but you know he’s trying to make a statement to Rafayel. They’re overbooked, it’s a good and bad thing, and it gives Thomas an excuse to complain a little. You can’t blame him. 

“You’re an angel.” He eagerly takes the coffee and takes a sip, hissing at the sudden heat, but taking another sip immediately.

You look around and notice Rafayel’s private studio door is open and you can tell it’s empty. You hold the coffee carrier awkwardly and stand on your toes to see if he’s lurking around another artist. When you hear Thomas chuckle you return to the front desk and set the carrier down, propping your hand up on your hip.

“He’s not here?” 

He shakes his head.

“Nope. He said he’s having a bad case of ‘art block’ and…” He puts his fingers up to make air quotes. “‘Can’t work under these conditions’ - so he cancelled his appointments and went upstairs a few hours ago.”

Instinctively, you look up at the ceiling and bite your lip. Do you interrupt him or give him space while he works through whatever ‘art block’ is for him. 

“Does he prefer to be alone when he’s like this?”

Thomas doesn’t look up from the laptop as he types.

“Sometimes. Other times, he recruits me or one of the other artists to join him on a trip to the playground.” He pauses and looks at you. “I realize that sounds weird, you know about the Artist Playground he owns right?” 

You chuckle and nod and he sighs in relief, returning his focus to the screen.

“He didn’t ask for that today, so I don’t know.”

You pick up the carrier and adjust your bag on your shoulder.

“I’ll go up and check on him. At least give him his coffee.”

Thomas waves without looking up and you weave your way through the studio to the back door. You climb the stairs to reach the exterior door of his apartment and use the key he gave you to let yourself in. How you’ve kept getting that key a secret from Tara, you have no idea. She’d never let you hear the end of it. She already damn near deafened you when you told her about the party. 

Creeping into the studio apartment you glance around, when you don’t see him you quietly close the door and kick off your shoes. He might be in the bathroom or up in his loft where his bed was. After putting the coffee cups on the kitchen island, you set your bag and coat on one of the stools. 

His home art studio - basically just his living room - was a mess. When you left this morning there was an unfinished painting on the easel, but all his paint supplies were tucked into their bins on the metal shelves. Now there was a paint-stained sheet on the floor and cans of paint and brushes on a table he’d dragged over. You stare at the painting, nothing’s changed. 

As you make your way up the staircase that leads to his loft, you pause half-way when you hear a soft moan. You wait another moment and when it’s followed by ragged breathing that’s unmistakably Rafayel’s, you cover your mouth. You have a pretty good idea what he might be doing, the question is - do you interrupt? Of fucking course you do. 

Tip toeing up the rest of the stairs you peek over the banister and see Rafayel on his bed. The floor to ceiling windows let in the afternoon sunlight, filling the room with a warm glow. You step closer and hold your breath as you fully take in the sight before you.

His clothes are tossed on the floor near his bed, where he lays, his head tilted back, eyes closed. His body glistens, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with his hand stroking his cock. He hesitates, running his finger along the tip to catch his piercing, the sound he makes almost makes you announce your presence. So needy, desperate, beautiful. When you spot a trail of what looks like blood on his cheek you wince, quickly looking around to see if there was something you missed when coming in. The sudden shift of your feet makes the wooden floors groan, you freeze and stare at Rafayel with a ‘caught in the headlights’ expression. In an instant, his eyes fly open and he finds you, his hand stalls and he sits up to place a pillow over his erection.

“Cutie, I… didn’t hear you come in…” 

Oh, his low breathless voice is going to undo you right here, right now. 

“So, is this how you cure ‘art block’? You snicker as you approach the bed.

He shifts and attempts to roll his eyes, his lips form a pout that doesn’t stick.

“I figured if I could blow off some steam, you know, relax a little, maybe it would help.”

You sit next to him.

“Did it?”

He looks down at the pillow and shakes his head. 

“What happened here?” 

You brush his slightly sweaty hair away from the trail of blood only to realize it’s paint. He chuckles and lifts his hand to wipe it away.

“I was trying to paint, guess I got a little messy. But I can’t even do that…”

You run your hand down his arm and he shivers lightly at your touch. So he needs to reignite his creative inspiration? Hmm… oh! Lightbulb moment! You almost wish you had a lamp you could hold over your head for dramatic effect. 

“I have an idea. How about I help you?”

He gives you a cheeky grin, but you shake your head. You hold out your hand and he stares at you with trepidation. 

“What are you planning, cutie?”

“Trust me, you’ll love it.”

He takes your hand and follows you to the staircase. When you look back and see he’s still holding the pillow over his dick you laugh loudly, grabbing it and tossing it onto his bed. He gasps and gives you a ‘scandalized maiden’ impression, which only makes you laugh harder. You pull him down the stairs and skip over to his painting set up. 

“Paint me.”

Rafayel crosses his arms and squints at you. A small smirk tugs at his lips.

“Like a portrait or…”

“Like my body.”

His eyes light up and when your hand dips to unhook the button of your pants his mouth drops open. He watches you strip, tossing your clothes onto his couch. You attempt to make it sexy, but getting your boots off proved to be tricky and your bra was not cooperating today… Rafayel steps up and circles behind you, unhooking the claps and slowly guiding the straps down your arms. He tosses it onto the pile before running his hands down your sides, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder. 

“Paint me. However you like…”

Stepping away from him, you lower yourself onto the floor and lay on your back. He steps around you, eyes dragging down your body to take in every detail. He looks away just long enough to pick out a few cans of paint. He kneels beside you, pours a dollop of pale green paint onto a worn palette, he wets his brush and dilutes the color. Just as he’s about to make contact, he pauses, the brush hovering over your stomach.

“Raf, stop thinking.”

You reach out and grab his wrist, lowering his hand so the bristles glide over your skin. You gasp at the chill of the paint and slowly release his wrist one finger at a time. His breathing steadies as he moves the brush in small strokes. You close your eyes once he settles, his hand stops shaking, his strokes more confident. 

You peek at him occasionally during pauses when he changes colors or brushes. His brows drawn together, lips parted, shoulders relaxed. He seeks out every beauty mark, adding color to each, stretch marks become vines for the flower garden taking over your torso. He moves down to your thighs, switching his method to carve out lilac scales which taper out to a pastel pink at your ankles. You sigh as his hand grazes the skin of your calf, guiding you to move your legs. He settles in between your thighs, spreading your knees further apart. A hand comes down beside your shoulder and he looks down at you, his brush dripping ivory onto your collarbone. 

Closing your eyes once again, you surrender to the sensations of his brush. The slow drag down the center of your chest, fanning out the color to connect with the flowers adorning your stomach. A moan escapes your throat as he turns his attention to your breasts. What was first unhurried touches become more erratic and wild. You’re not sure what he’s creating, but your mind is fuzzy, your desire spiraling fast. 

He glides his brush over your nipple making you shiver. He does it again and you bite your lip to control yourself. When his lips meet yours you flinch and as his brush crosses your sensitive skin again you gasp into his mouth. He slides his tongue inside to begin a feral dance with your own. Soon his brushes are abandoned and his hands become the primary source of contact. You feel paint slide and melt under his warm palms, but can’t bring yourself to stop him. When his chest meets yours you stop holding back. Your hands reach up for his face, fingers sliding through his hair and digging into his scalp. 

“My beautiful little muse…” He whispers.

His lips trail down your neck allowing your unfocused eyes to examine your surroundings. Your search is a quick success, your hand flattening against the palette abandoned next to you. As your hand smears the paint along his back he groans into the hollow of your neck. He pries your bodies apart to reveal the wild streaks of paint covering his torso. Your hand braces against his chest and descends, turning the mess into distinct handprints. Your clean hand stroking his cheek, thumb teasing the corner of his mouth. Rafayel sighs, his voice low and ragged.

“Keep touching me.”

Your lips form a wicked smile. Your hand moves from his face to his cock, he’s so incredibly hard, his tip flushed and weeping. As you stroke him, he throws his head back, his eyes rolling back as his eyelids flutter closed. You tuck your other hand behind his neck and pull yourself up just enough to kiss the center of his neck. He grunts, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tries to swallow the sound. You latch onto him, sucking in tandem with your strokes, as if you’re suckling his tip. You play with his piercing and he trembles. You sink your teeth into him and he whines loudly. Pulling away, he slams his mouth down onto yours. His hips roll as he fucks himself into your hand. 

“Use me baby.” You manage to say between sloppy kisses.

Lining him up with your desperate pussy, you slide his tip inside. His hips jerk, sheathing more of himself inside of you. Strangled moans fill the apartment as he takes you. Your hands are finally free to explore his paint-covered body. His pelvis slams into yours and you shout, his hands reach down to direct your legs up and over his shoulders. You get a good look at the delicate scales he meticulously painted getting blurred as his hands grip your flesh roughly.

“You’re a work of art. No paint required…”

He can barely speak, but his words make an impact. Your pussy flutters at his compliment and he swears under his breath. With another snap of his hips you’re coming, hard. Your breathless whimpers make Rafayel move with reckless abandon. His climax hits and his warmth fills you, but he suddenly pulls out, his cum spilling onto your stomach. You look down and watch as his cock twitches. Your legs fall apart as he leans forward to lower himself onto his forearms over you. His lips ghost your jaw as he finishes.

“Thank you… thank you thank you thank you…” He repeats it like a prayer.

Before you can say a word he sits up, his eyes darting around to find his canvas. He crawls off of you to retrieve it off the easel and sets it beside you. His fingers glide over your stomach, gathering his cum and remnants of paint. Your mouth falls open as you watch him add the mixture to his canvas. Fingers tapping and swirling to add dimension to the chaotic ocean scene he’d created. He cleans one of his hands on a towel draped over the table and scooches back over to you.

“May I?”

Without thinking you nod, his hand lowers between your legs and he tucks his fingers into your tender cunt. He removes them and smiles as his fingers drip with your combined release. Watching him mix it with paint and add it to the canvas nearly makes you come again. Rafayel leans back and admires his work… both of his works. Sitting up, you rest your palms on the floor behind you. 

“Didn’t you say you wanted to hang that in the studio?”

He stands to place the canvas on the easel again. He returns to your side to offer his hand, he helps you stand and brings your body against his once more. His hands hold your hips as you sway back and forth.

“It's going to, yea.”

Your shocked expression brings on a fit of laughter, and his laughter is so damn contagious. You laugh with him, thinking he is joking. 

“Does it bother you? A painting with our cum on the wall? And no one knows… only us?”

He kisses your ear, your jaw, relishing every tremble you try so hard to contain.

“I think you like it. Our little dirty secret.”

When he kisses you again, it’s sweet and soft. His hands running down your arms to lift them over his shoulders. He lifts you and your legs wrap around him. He stops to wipe his feet on the clean edge of the sheet before making his way to the bathroom. 

“Looks like your art block is cured.” You giggle into his ear.

As he carefully scrubs away the paint from both of your bodies, his lips barely leave yours. The steam from the shower creates a little safe haven, a world apart, where only soft touches and affectionate kisses exist. 

“Cutie, I think you cured more than my art block.” 

His sudden confession brings tears to your eyes, you grab his face and kiss him as they quietly spill over. It’s not long before he’s got you pinned against the shower wall mumbling praises in your ear as he pounds into you. Beyond all logic, you know you’re falling for him. You feel like you’ve known him your whole life, not barely a week. As you come undone you stare at the ceiling, surrendering yourself to the fall of a lifetime.  🐟𓆩🖤𓆪‎🏍️

Inked Chapters: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Epilogue

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22 @letharue @silverbrain @alastor-simp @drama-trauma @0tterteeth @mysticcollectionvoid @godzillaglitter @godoffuckedupcats @klmpun @ariallaisawesome @spidy-spider01 @m00nchildwrites @plsdonttakemyname @hauntedbysmut @withering-dream @lostwingz2236 @simpfortheseven @bubbleteakittyy @spacegrotesk @namjoonseuphoria @celestialforce @rafshottestgf @oxamarok @zaynessbeloved @animecrazy76 @yournextdoorhousewitch @addiglessthanthree @4ttack-ur-heart @moonberry69 @pandoras-rabbit @cookiesaresquishy @hamnaalien @needlewandandthimble @brekkers-whoreais @goddexxluv @satansdaughter123 @poisonf0rest @darkalleycat1987 @morrigan87 @never-justforever @ericherries @lev-berryz @aishasylus @altair718 @yuhuahuaaa @lazypostfandomer @chloepluto1306 @dummiebunny @3fingersofscotch @freddy-2002-blog @sylus-hunter @yourlocalcatscammer @beaconsxd @stellar-seas

AN #2: Secret authors note woo woo! With how extensive Vow is becoming, I would have made Inked a bit more in depth. I may write a few more chapters, BUT my priority is the sequel & future stories for the other boys. I will say this, I have the individual plots for each boy planned & the overall plot that involves all of them. The "final book" will be INSANE. Thank you for the support and I hope you stick around for more tattooed, pierced, smutty goodness.

[sunni-stuff]

You, Me, and a Screen.

—★! NSFW, MDNI, AFAB! Ghost likes to show off what he's got.

—★! Part 2 here!!

Alright, We've all heard about y/n having only fans and Ghost going absolutely nuts for her but what if the roles were reversed?

You're a dedicated worker, or perhaps more accurately, a merciless taskmaster, given the number of hours you put in at your job every week. Time off was a luxury you weren't granted, so your apartment became your only sanctuary for any sense of peace. As soon as your feet crossed the threshold, all the tension in your body melted away. The comforting scent of home enveloped you, welcoming you after a long day.

Your uniform is swiftly tossed aside, forgotten in mere moments - soon you're in more comfortable clothes, a pair of shorts, and a simple t-shirt. Lunch went bust earlier when one of your coworkers needed someone to cover their shift, leaving you hungry. So now you're lounging in bed with your laptop, snacking on your favorite bag of chips while aimlessly browsing various websites, searching for something to watch or any form of entertainment really.

An accidental click causes a popup ad to disrupt your screen, flashing and intruding on your space. The damn ad blocker hardly ever works. You close it, thinking it was just a minor disturbance, only to have another one immediately take its place. With an annoyed click of your tongue, you go to close the tab once more, but something on the page catches your eye and stops you.

You pause, eyes narrowing - you stare intently at the dark laptop screen. Suddenly, you see it again - movement. It's a live stream. A chat window pops out and now a man's figure steps out from the darkness in the background. The camera only shows him from the neck down, but it's clear that he is a man based on the grunt he makes as he sits down. His face remains hidden, but you can see tattoos peeking out from under his long-sleeved black turtleneck.

He remains silent, shifting in his seat to get comfortable. The chat room erupts with excitement at the mere sight of him, begging and pleading for him to perform for their eager eyes. His cargo pants reveal a visible tent, adding to the anticipation of the audience who came for this very show.

"What a needy bunch." His words resonated with a deep rumble, colored by a distinct British accent.

A chill runs down your spine as his voice fills the room, captivating you completely. He lets out a deep chuckle as his large hand rests on it, hidden beneath the fabric. You lean in closer, fixated on the bulge that visibly twitches under his touch.

Ding

A donation of 100 pounds comes through with an attached message: "Stop teasing, GD!"

GD? You're puzzled by the username "GD" and scroll down, hoping to find some information about them. You expect to see a bio, but instead, there's nothing - no age, name, or any other details. The only thing present is their username: "Going Dark".

"Donating won't make me go faster, sweetheart," GD responds with a sly tone, causing the audience in the chat to protest. Yet, donations continue to pour in, raining down on the enigmatic man with seemingly never-ending wealth.

He pauses, leaning back in his chair as he slides his hand down his cargo pants and into his trousers. A pleasurable groan escapes his lips as he starts to palm himself. The audience is captivated, waiting for the moment when he will finally reveal himself. He takes his time, slowly pulling out his length from within his pants.

The head of his penis is an angry red, oozing with precum. He may not be long, but he makes up for it in width and girth. He could easily fill you up and leave you feeling him inside you for days.

Your mouth goes dry and your eyes stay glued to the sight before you - him. You've seen penises before, but never one like this. It's almost… intimidating. How can someone have such a thing just attached to their body? Your gaze follows his every movement, from the delicate way he rubs the tip to the contented hums he makes when someone donates. This man is like a jack-in-the-box, waiting to pop out once he's ready.

He keeps moving his hips, pumping into his hand with varying rhythms as he gasps for air. One moment he's going at a slow and steady pace, not holding back on his moans of pleasure. And then he switches to a relentless speed, chasing a pleasure that only he knows, his arousal leaving slick traces on his hand with each movement, the sound of wetness accompanying this pace.

GD gets closer, you can see his hips falter and shudder before rising to meet his hand. He pushes himself to the edge, then slows down and falls back into a rhythm, ready to start over again. Your panties are drenched at this point from watching him pleasure himself. The way he moves is incredibly erotic, even though all he's doing is stroking himself.

Ding

250 Donation: "GD, give us a money shot?"

There is no verbal response, but the way he grips his cock tightly tells you he read the message. GD quickens his pace, tighter and harder, as if trying to chase away any thoughts or distractions. His breaths are ragged and heavy, his movements becoming sloppy and uncoordinated as his hips demand more. He leans back in the chair, moaning in pleasure as his cock explodes, releasing thick ropes of cum that cover his chest beneath his clothes.

He remains still, not making a sound or uttering a single word. His chest rises and falls with each breath, the only indication of his exhaustion. Just when you think the performance is over and he has used up all of his energy, he suddenly sits up, his face still concealed. He leans over and grabs something from the desk nearby. To your surprise, it's a bottle of lubricant and a pocket pussy.

The anticipation built, and soon he was ready for another round. His member stood tall once again, eager to continue the pleasure. The previous climax faded into insignificance, as he was already eager for more. "I know you all want this, wishing it was your cunt," GD taunted with a smirk, his husky voice echoing in your ears. "What a bunch of naughty girls.."

GD coated his hands with lubricant, adding even more moisture to his already slick cock, making it shine in the dim light. He took his time, moving his hands up and down his shaft in a slow, deliberate rhythm. He gave attention to his balls, squeezing and massaging them gently as they were heavy with cum.

With a joyful hum, he set the lube aside and grasped the pocket pussy firmly with both hands. He teased the opening with his tip, gliding up and down its artificial folds, trying hard to suppress a moan. GD's self-control was reaching its limit; he couldn't resist any longer. He was on the verge of entering, penetrating this sinful paradise, tip just about to push through.

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[victusinveritas]

I will not, under any circumstances, give money to your gofundme, Kofi [if that's still a thing], paypal [definitely not, fuck off], or other charity case cash transfer site. If you send me a request for such aid, you will be summarily blocked, no questions asked, no matter what sob story you tell me.

See under the cut for the whataboutisms that come to mind (it's nice but also a note on the state of Internet Discourse that whataboutism is accepted as a word by spellcheck).

But what about the people in Palestine and all the appeals coming directly from there? I give directly to relief services, like a person with common goddamn sense, verified things that help actual people. So many of the pages on here are scams, the modern Nigerian princes (still out there, still stealing from rubes and the not-so-competent).

A very angry, exhausted, and honestly saddened post because I am an elder millennial who is burned out. Skip if you want. But the point is fuck right off with your tales of woe that require a small donation. I'm just kinda ranting on that below. You will be blocked. If you reach out to me in chat for such things, I'll probably send you a rude message or gif back for your shenanigans.

But what about me, I'm a [X, Y, and Z things, lost my legs to the same rhinoceros that killed my parents, and blackballed political affiliation besides] (boy was this originally written to piss off Fucking Everyone [I got creatively specific based on some reblogs of campaigns and petitions I've seen] but then I was like wait, wait, I probably shouldn't say that just because I'm pissed off, kill the fascist voice in your own head and all)? You have my sympathy. If I live in your area, reach out, I'll see what I can do to help ya directly, hook you up with legal aid, hell, I'll help you fill out forms for a frickin' passport if you want to get out of the country, I'm not just tossing you a stack of cash because another person on the Internet is going through trouble. I have people in my life, people I love and care about, that need my help, support, and occasionally just straight up remittance--which they get because I trust them. I know they are not trying to bullshit me. I don't know you from Adam, nor, honestly, do I care about people on Tumblr. I've got serious, whole side of a cow beef with the 'struggling x or y minority queer disabled community that just needs help with the rent or the stove or the car or the wolf at the door' on here, because I know people in that community, actually struggling, and they...don't ask for shit. I help them because they're my friends.

But how can you be a Socialist, Mutualist, Antifascist, and Anarchist if you don't help lift everyone up? Quite easily. I work within my community. Again, I help people around me, that I know. Just tossing money at The Glorious Cause for The People or the Liberation of the People's Red Freedom Party of Kalifornia...is just lining someone's pockets, and worse somehow, someone who doesn't give a flying fuck about me no matter how swaying their rhetoric. I practice mutual aid, I work with Anarchist Black Cross, I hire folks I know to do work, overpay them (but that's capitalist/bougie behavior--jump. up. your. own. ass), and usually share a fucking meal, because that's how I was goddamn raised by non-party reds, ya exist in the capitalist system, but you fuckin' help.

But that's transphobic! It isn't. At all. I'm not helping you because I don't give a shit about any part of you. I won't help you regardless of what is or is not under your chosen ass-covering or assless chaps. Ok, if you are a resolute assless chaps wearer AND have the ass to pull it off, I might just help you. I don't want pictures, I just want to know you've got the confidence to rock that look. If you can't convey that in writing, than you probably don't have that kinda swagger.

The only, and I mean fucking only, if you've read everything above, exception is if you are someone I regularly correspond with, and you need help, let me know. But take the time to get to know a guy first, act like you, in fact, care about me, and that if the tables were reversed and I needed help, you'd try to help if I came to you with hat in hand after...at least weeks of friendship.

OK, there is another exception there: If you've got a book that you think I might like, sci fi, history, fiction, basically anything but self-help or your cult's latest tract, let me know and I'll push that shit if I think it's worth it, and if I like it I'll probably buy several copies because supporting writers is the tits. I want to say the same for artists, but my wife says if I buy more art she'll take away my credit card and make me operate on cash only. Which is honestly fair, and she should also do the same thing for books, because hard times are coming and we can't ultimately, eat books, as much as we might like to, as cool as The Book Eaters is (Sunyi Dean, order here or other places, just not from Amazon if you can help it).

I feel like I ended in the middle of a thought, but if you read this far give yourself a gold star. Do not ask me for gold stars, I will not send them.

To end: this is the internet. None of you are real and it is at best silly to think that you are.

[wisteria-lodge]

I LOVE the version of Lucius in your fic Prison of the Phoenix. He's different from a lot of portrayals I've seen. Why did you decide to write him how you did?

A lot of the fun of writing a book-accurate fix-it fic comes from taking the events of the book, and removing JKRs (simplistic, misleading, sometimes just weird) narrative framing. Slytherins = baddies, Gryffindors = goodies, you know. 

This is especially fun with Lucius Malfoy, who just like… isn’t very evil? Chamber of Secrets is his most villainous book, and I’ll get to that, but otherwise? He tries (unsuccessfully) to get the animal that attacked his kid killed. He donates to hospitals (but in like, an evil way.) He is a hilariously incompetent Death Eater, and then he's Voldemort’s punching bag. 

That’s kind of the point of Lucius. He looks the part. He commits to the aesthetics of the thing, with the hair and the peacocks and the snake-wand-cane. He likes the mystique of walking into a room and knowing that you know (but can’t prove) he’s a dark wizard. It allows him to be… kinda lazy. He can coast on his family name, money, reputation, privilege. I really think that if you sat Lucius Malfoy down and asked him to walk you through all the wizard-supremacy talking points he wouldn’t be able to do it. He’ll toss around words like “mudblood” and “mudblood-lover” no problem, but in the end he doesn’t really care. Lucius is not a true believer. The way the world is set up benefits him tremendously and he doesn’t want Voldemort back. That’s just text:

“Use your brains, Ron,” said Bill. “If they really were Death Eaters… I bet they’d be even more frightened than the rest of us to see him come back. They denied they’d ever been involved with him when he lost his powers, and went back to their daily lives… I don’t reckon he’d be over-pleased with them, do you?”

Lucius and friends had too much to drink at a sporting event, put on the old outfits (again with the aesthetics) and started levitating muggles. Which obviously isn’t GOOD, but they’re not killing or torturing, or furthering any kind of agenda. It’s important that Barty is so insulted and pissed off by the way they’re basically playing Dark Wizard that he casts the Dark Mark to “show [them] what loyalty to the Dark Lord meant, and to punish them for their lack of it.” Which kicks off most of the events of the book. 

Prison of the Phoenix is going to have a companion, parallel fic told from Harry’s POV (tentatively titled Harry Potter and Malfoy’s Suspicious Interest in Werewolves.) Lucius does show up in that one, and I was honestly surprised by how much more frightening and intimidating he is when filtered through Harry’s perspective. Because with a Severus POV… when Severus is used to spending time around Voldemort, Greyback, Bellatrix, honestly Dumbledore and Sirius Black…. Lucius is not scary. Lucius wants to buy presents for his son, go to high-profile events with his beautiful wife, and wear a variety of snake-themed accessories and extravagant hats. 

I wanted a kind of college-roommates-who-stayed-friends feel for the Severus + Lucius relationship, because they are friends. Sirius calls Severus Lucius’ “lapdog,” and Narcissa calls him Lucius’ “oldest friend.” Lucius is also part of the welcoming committee when Severus is first sorted into Slytherin. He’s five years older (I think Jason Isaacs is the only Harry Potter adult the same age as the character he plays), which would have affected the dynamic between him and Severus a lot in school. Personally, I think it makes sense for Lucius to be a little protective of this brilliant half-blood kid with no money. And as an adult, there’s some guilt mixed in there as well. Severus probably would not have been sucked into the Voldemort thing nearly as deep or nearly as fast if it hadn’t been for Lucius, and the war kind of destroyed him. Lucius remembers a younger Severus who was modding potions, inventing spells, coming up with cheeky nicknames for himself, and that person is gone. That’s a big part of the reason he’s so invested in the Severus/Remus relationship in Prison of the Phoenix. Something about Remus has managed to wake up parts of that younger Severus, and Lucius thinks that’s fantastic.

I also think Lucius might be the character who knows Voldemort the best. He’s one of the only Death Eaters who Voldemort calls by their first name (Bellatrix, Severus, and Draco are the others) and he’s weirdly familiar with his “slippery friend” Lucius, addressing the whole speech about how/why he returned to him, for some reason? Anything that helps Voldemort make sense as a person I’ll take, and to me it makes sense that young Tom Riddle charmed Abraxas Malfoy, Lucius’ father, first. The dates are right, and he’s exactly Tom’s type - rich, pureblood, probably easily flattered (let’s be honest) and sitting on a pile of magical artifacts. It’s very Hepzibah Smith vibes, is what I’m saying. And rich, posh, popular seventeen year olds don’t join cults. But if Lucius’ father was already in a cult… 

It also makes sense to me that Tom Riddle got sort of stuck when he killed Marvolo Gaunt, and made his first horcrux at sixteen. He has this fascination with sixteen year old pureblood wizards (so Barty, Draco, and Lucius would have fit this profile.) He sort of wants to be them, but also sort of wants to break them? It’s messy, and complicated. It’s creepy and compelling, that Lucius is aging but this spectre that’s dominated his life isn’t. 

And so when Lucius gives Ginny the diary in Book 2… it makes sense that he’s just trying to get rid of it. He was just at Borgin and Burkes selling dark artifacts, but knows that the diary is worse. He needs to make sure it can’t possibly be traced back to him. So he gives it to the daughter of the head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office. (It is an enchanted muggle artifact, after all.) If Arthur Weasley finds it and deals with it, fine. If Ginny is discovered with it in a way that blows up in Arthur’s face, also fine. If it does get to Hogwarts and does open the Chamber of Secrets - well Draco is going to be fine, and it might undermine Dumbledore. If it was really important to Lucius that the diary rid the school of muggleborns… he would have given it to Draco and had him use it. Or given it to Draco, and told him to leave it somewhere for an enemy to find. But Lucius doesn’t do that, because he doesn’t want Voldemort back and his politics just aren’t that important to him. 

The one trait I did give Lucius is being an unrepentant wife guy. (And I mean… it doesn’t contradict anything. There isn’t anything in the books to suggest that he isn’t a wife guy.)  EDIT: I cannot believe I forgot the little "it's going to be okay" wrist squeeze Narcissa gives him right before he passes Voldemort his wand. This meta does a fantastic job getting into who Narcissa is, and I am officially justified in writing them just as googly-eyes about each other as I want. Also going full Gomez and Mortica makes them a better foil for the Weasleys, and the (not typically on the same page) Arthur and Molly.

[justmeinadaze]

"The Haunting" by Set It Off...I heard this song and immediately thought it was Toxic Eddie coded 🥴🫠 can I request a little blurb based off it?! You're amazing and I am OBSSESED with your writing

Warnings: Toxic/Jealous Eddie🫠, mentions of following her

Sorry this took SO long. Enjoy!

Word Count: 654

Eddie chuckles as he continues to thrust his fingers slowly into your cunt in front of your full-length mirror on your bedroom floor. His legs over yours kept them open wide allowing you to be on full display as he nibbled your earlobe, constantly whispering things that had your naked body shuddering against his fully clothed form. 

“You thought you’d get away with going on a date with some muscle-bound jock? Thought I wouldn’t find out because you two went to a fucking football game?”

His fingers pushed deeper into you causing you to push against his chest with your back but his other arm across your stomach kept you in place.

“Thought I wouldn’t follow Miss Popularity and sit a couple rows above her to take note of every transgression she makes?”

“E-Eddie…please…”

“Thought I wouldn’t notice him place his hand on your thigh and you not pull away.”, he grumbles darkly as his own palm comes down to smack your inner thigh roughly. “That I wouldn’t follow you in the parking lot back to your car where you giggled at his stupid fucking jokes like a fucking dumb little schoolgirl!”

“I-I-I’m sorry.”

“But my absolute favorite part was watching him tilt down and put his sloppy, beer ridden lips on MY girl.”

“I’m not YOURS!”, you shout as you try to elbow him in his chest but he easily wrestles your arms back down to your sides as he clings to you tighter. “I’ll—mmph—never belong to you!”

Aggressively, he grips your jaw and forces your face forward as his fingers begin to move at a much faster pace overwhelming you as you moan at the feeling. 

“Is that why you fucking call me at 2am to come fuck you when you’re lonely? Or how about on the weekend when your parents leave you alone to go fuck their other partners. Huh, little girl?! I’ve loved you since the moment I listened to you speak in class. You obviously care about me to so why the fuck are you making this so complicated!?”

Your eyes began to flutter closed as the coil began to wind tighter and tighter but him firmly pinching your cheeks had you opening them again. 

“Don’t you dare close those eyes. I want you to see what I fucking do for you…why you beg for my cock all the time.” As he pumped his fingers at a blistering pace, your jaw went slack as he pressed his nose to the side of your face and began to whisper. “No one will ever make you feel this good. No one can touch you or treat you as well as I have, Y/N. No one will love you like I do and always fucking will. You’re mine. Say it.”

“Fuck—I’m…I’m…”

“Say it, sweetheart.”

“I’m yours.”

“Again.”

“Ahhh! I’m yours, Eddie.”

“That’s right. Cum on my fingers, pretty girl. That’s it. Good girl.”, he coos as you cling to his arm as your orgasm overwhelms you. While you try to catch your breath, his lips trail down to your neck. “I’m going to make sure you never forget that again, Y/N.”

Jumping up from the floor, Eddie easily lifts you like a ragdoll and tosses you onto your bed. You watch with lust blown eyes as he reaches for your phone and throws it beside you before unbuckling his belt to shimmy out of his jeans. 

“What do want me to—”

“Call him. Mr. Jock.”, he replies all to casually as he spits into his hand and strokes his cock a few times before gradually guiding himself into you. 

“Oh f-fuck. C-Can I call t-tomorrow?”

The metalhead laughs through his teeth as he places his palms on either side of your head and slowly thrusts his hips. 

“Aw, baby. I obviously can’t trust you. No…you’ll call him now and don’t worry. I can tell you what to say.”

##############

Donate to me/ Eddie Asks

[bumpen-underbeds]

Need a custom fitted outfit for an event? Need a date to go with said outfit? Why not the local drider? Sure his shop is a little spooky but the silk embroidery will leave people dying to know more and that's just what he needs.

I thought I should do a few more drider fics/drabbles and cliche as it is, I like the idea of a seamstress/tailor drider that embroiders with their own silk.

Pulling your hair out, the event was three weeks out and you had nothing, nothing! Most stores had nothing that fit the theme or had thematically appropriate outfits but nothing in your size, you may as well drop the idea of attending and enjoying the free catering that drew you in initial, sure your friends were going to but they had their partners and such to help make the night go by easier.

Sighing as you toss your phone onto the couch, another online scroll through fashion nova or shein not helping at all, fast fashion was just that, fast and likely to break the night of the event or more common arrive and look nothing like what you ordered, it's so tempting to just grab your phone and see if someone wants a solo ticket to the event but something makes you hesitate, shoving your phone in you pocket and grabbing your bag maybe all you need is a good walk.

Leaving home and wandering the streets in the late afternoon was helping a little, you were sure you had seen two or three people panicking and darting from store to store looking for clothes, so maybe you weren't the only one down to the potential wire for this thing.

Turning down a side street as you follow some graffiti you come across a small but quaint shop, there is no catchy slogan or quirky title to the joint just a sign that reads 'Silk and bobble' maybe it was a fabric store? One of those little independent ones that ran off the retired population and church donations? Peaking inside as the little brass bell rings, you marvel at the actual size of the store, it's not wide but it is tall the walls lined with different materials and threads, bobbins and yards of different textures, a dream for a cosplay or a dressmaker.

Maybe you were lucky and they made clothes as well as sold fabric? But even then three weeks was a rush order at best, a pipe dream at worst but something in the back of your mind pulled you in, running your fingers along the nearest bolt of fabric it felt like water under your fingers but still sturdy somehow.

There is a creaking noise followed by a soft chittering, over the rungs of the banister to the loft area comes a hulking mass of a drider, long dark red hair against pitch black skin with beautiful grey and white markings, the glasses he wears are custom made for his multiple eyes, looking strange but working perfectly on his features. It's hard to not stare in both wonder and enraptured awe, drider's are common in towns or cities, hell most country towns usually only have werefolk and maybe a ghost or two, but a drider? They were like a rural farm area, seven houses and a corner store/post office kinda people.

Not in the middle of a side street in some semi large town on the coast.

The drider smiles at you, a hint of too much teeth, so many sharp, sharp teeth, introduces himself as leonine the owner, tailor and general craft master of this little store. Swallowing thickly as you introduce yourself back, shuffling closer to the bench he had settled behind before you ask him if he makes clothes on top of tailors them, your eyes can't help but follow the pointed tip of his finger as he taps his bottom lip humming as he nod and says he can make a few things from some of the pre-made patterns he has.

Pulling a small binder out from under his bench, the pages are mostly suits, dresses and such but one of the outfits is perfect for your event, lighting up you tap the page and ask if he had what he'd need to make this particular outfit and how long it would take. Hoping you didn't look too eager as he looked over the one you had picked, waiting and wanting the answer to be two or so weeks, begging whatever gods might look over you that this was the licky break you needed.

The drider simply nods, saying that if he takes your measurements now he can have it done in two weeks tops and that if you hear him out on an offer he will even throw in a discount, nodding a little too eagerly as you follow him to the measuring area, stepping up on the little round platform as he pulls his measuring tape out and begins to take down the needed lengths and widths, "If this outfit is for the event I am think of, I'd be more than happy to offer a discount, but the only catch is you'd have to attend with me..."

Watching as leonine moves around you, so swift and graceful for a half man half spider, "I would be happy to attend alone but... It's been a slow few months here in the shop and I think if we both attended together, dressed in something made by me then I could pick up a little business don't you think?" His eyes are lidded as he looks at you through your reflection, hands holding the measuring tape around your waist, finger marking the number before he lets go to write it down.

"So what do you say? A generous discount and all you have to do is agree to be my partner for the night? Helping me, helps you..."

[thetriumphantpanda]

Come Away With Me | Joel & Tommy Miller (Saturday)

Summary | Back together as a family, but with a secret confession burning in your pocket. How is Tommy going to take the fact that you love his brother more than you probably should?

Word Count | 4.8K

Chapter Warnings | Our family back together. Mentions of consumption of alcohol & food. Explicit sex. Unprotecting PiV, breeding kink, (double)creampie (I said what I said👀), cum play, a sprinkling of anal/ass play, threesome dynamics (MMF), dirty talk, Tommy back to being our favourite cuck in the room kinda, Joel back to being our favourite breeding stud.

Authors Note | I.... actually think I hate this lmao. It's the first time I've felt meh about a chapter of this story, but the longer I look at it, the more I know I'll hate it, so I'm sharing it anyway. It's refreshing to have our trio back together though, they're as filthy as ever so I hope you all enjoy it! Two more chapters to go until we wrap up with these three and I am so emotional. If you enjoy this, please consider commenting, reblogging or coming into my ask box to scream with me. And, as always, If you want to support me, you can donate to my Ko-Fi.

A reminder that I no longer use taglists - to keep up with my writing, please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs and turn on notifications to keep up to date.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Joel wakes the next morning to you wriggling about in his arms. He cracks an eye open just enough to see you clambering to straddle his lap, palms resting on his biceps to steady yourself as you lower your pussy onto him, already hard, to drag him through your folds, already soaked for him, or maybe still soaked from him from last night. 

“Mornin’ trouble,” He speaks, voice still heavy with sleep, “What are you up to?” 

His hands shift to your hips so you don’t stop those slow glides of your silken folds across him, watching as you shift your face from watching between you, to his own face. You bite at your bottom lip, bashful like a child who has been caught doing something they shouldn’t be. 

“We could have fucked all day yesterday,” You drawl out, gasping as the head of his cock brushes against your clit, “I’m just trying to make up for lost time before we have a houseful of people.” 

He drags your hips back and forth over him, watching as you toss your head back and gasp with every pass of him over your clit. He’s trying not to think about the fact that in a few short hours, you’re not going to be his anymore, you’ll go back to being his brother’s, a façade kept up for the sake of the rest of your family. He pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind, sitting up so he can wrap his arms around your back and kiss you. 

“You gonna ride me, pretty girl?” He murmurs against your lips, “Gonna sit on my cock and make yourself feel good?” 

You pull back, look right into his eyes, hips still grinding against his, “Fuck yeah,” You breathe, “Can I?” 

“Such a good girl,” He growls into the skin of your neck, “Askin’ all pretty and polite like that,” He settles himself back on the bed, head on the pillows, “Go on, pretty girl, take whatever you need from me.” 

You use your hands that are back on his chest to push yourself up a little, reaching one hand down between you to grip the base of his cock, lining it up to your soaked core, before you sink down onto him in one go, burying him inside you to the hilt. He groans, and you cry out, feeling that twinge of pain along with the pleasure that has been so prevalent over those past few days. 

You lift yourself up, almost all the way off him, sinking back down, finding your rhythm, which Joel quickly adheres to, thrusting himself up into you on your downward strokes so his cock is brushing against your cervix almost every time. His hands favour your tits this morning, cupping the weight of them in his palms as his fingers roll your nipples into peaks, squeezing perfectly every once in a while, to add to the mix of pleasure you get from him spearing his cock into you. 

You lean back, motions moving to more of a grind on his cock as you cup his balls in your hand, rolling them gently in your hand, as Joel’s own fingers slip down your body and find your swollen clit, thumb rubbing circles across it as you continue to grind on him. 

“You gonna come on my cock, pretty girl?” He asks, as if he doesn’t already know the answer. 

Heat is licking at the base of your spine, threatening to topple you over at any moment, and you can tell from the way his hips are stuttering up into you, that Joel is close as well. You’ve had each other too many times this week for this to last very long. 

“Fuck- keep going,” You groan, feeling that tight knot threatening to come undone in your tummy, “I’m – holy shit – I’m gonna come.” 

“Go on, pretty girl,” Joel coaxes, thumb staying exactly where it is, doing exactly what it needs to do, “Come for me.” 

And you do. Pussy clenching around his cock as you fall forward. Joel’s arms wrapped around you, keeping you pressed to his chest as he takes control, thrusting up into you as you moan into the skin of his neck. He chases your high with his own, spilling into you just seconds after your own climax hits, his fingers digging into the skin of your back as he holds you tightly to his body. 

As you both lie there, catching your breath, he wants to say something. Wants to push the hair from your face, kiss the tip of your nose and tell you that he wishes this didn’t have to end. Wishes that he didn’t have to wait a month to find out if he was successful in giving you another baby. Joel selfishly wishes he hasn’t, just so he doesn’t have to go back to waiting for that one night a year. He remembers though, his words from last night, that he’s trusting you to fix this, to come up with some solution that means he can have you differently going forward, so he keeps his mouth shut, only opening it once he’s pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“I love you.” 

Breakfast is a cobbled together affair of fruit and coffee considering most of the groceries you’d bought together have been eaten. You sent Tommy a list of things for him to pick up on his way to you. He’d set off yesterday, stopping halfway to spend the night somewhere, not convinced that Joshua would cope with doing the whole journey at once, and it shouldn’t be long until they’re here, Sarah too. 

“Excited, baby?” Joel asks, pressing you against the counter to dip and kiss you once you’ve both finished the washing up. 

“I am going to give my baby the biggest squeeze known to man,” You smile against his mouth, “As much as he exhausts me sometimes, I’ve missed him.” 

“We talking about Joshua or Tommy?” Joel teases, hands wrapping around you to grip the globes of your ass through your jeans. 

You laugh, feeling light again. This man is the Joel you know, the Joel you love. The man who loves his brother just as much as you do, probably even more, and who takes his duties as Uncle incredibly seriously. You peer over his shoulder, looking at the clock on the wall, there’s enough time for a quickie, is what you think. You start trailing your hand down his chest, resting it on the front of his jeans, palming him through the material. You’re about to start dragging down the zipper when the front door opens. 

“Dad?!” 

Joel pulls back from you like you’re on fire, putting enough distance between you so as to not look suspicious as he calls out to Sarah. 

“In here, kiddo!” 

He gives you a look that tells you he’s sorry, that he wants nothing more than to have that one final moment with you on your own. You shake your head, heat flushing across your face at almost being caught, motioning for him to go to his daughter. Sarah finds the kitchen first, embracing her dad as he kisses the crown of her head. 

“Hello brainbox,” You greet her when Joel lets her go, pulling her into a hug of your own, “You look good!” You say when you finally let her go, keeping her at an arm’s length to really look at her. 

“Thanks,” She smiles, looking around for a second, “Where’s Uncle Tommy?” 

You look at Joel over her head, because right. The story he concocted for her meant that he’s been here all week with Joshua and the two of them are nowhere to be seen, and neither is his truck. 

“Uhhhhh…” You glare at Joel’s response, quickly trying to come up with something in your mind. 

“He’s out grocery shopping,” You say quickly, Joel nodding in acceptance, “Ran out of stuff this morning so he’s taken Joshua into town to stock up.” 

She nods, accepting your answer, moving back to give her dad another hug, “Which room is mine?” She asks, “I’ll go and drop my bag.” 

“First door on the left.” Joel speaks, pointing down the hallway across from the kitchen. 

“Alright, I might get changed too,” Sarah nods her head outside, “It’s a nice day, maybe we can take Joshua swimming?” 

“Of course,” You smile, “Take your time, bug, there’s no rush.” 

Once she’s started off down the hall, you fish your phone from your back pocket, punching in a text to Tommy, as Joel shifts back closer to you, not being able to bear being away from you too long. 

Sarah arrived. Covered for your absence. Message me when you’re on your way from town and I’ll meet you outside. 

You lean up into Joel’s face, letting him kiss you as you put your phone on the side. You push up into his mouth, opening your lips against him to taste his tongue when your phone vibrates on the side. 

Just leaving town now sugar, great timing. See you soon. 

You put a hand on Joel’s chest, leaning up to give him one last peck on the lips, “Tommy’s almost here,” You say against his mouth, okay, now this is the last kiss as you press them back to his, “I’ll wait outside for them.”  He smiles but his eyes are sad. You’ve spent long enough staring into them to know that look. You press one final kiss to his mouth now, “Remember I love you,” You insist, “And I’m gonna make this right.” 

“I believe you,” He relents, squeezing your hand as you move around him to head to the front door, “And I love you too.” 

“Mama!” 

“Oh, my baby boy!” You exclaim, pulling Joshua out of his car seat and into your arms, holding him tight to your chest as his small arms try and wrap around your neck, “I missed you so much baby.” 

As much as this trip had given you the opportunity to be a woman again, not just a mother, the way your son fits into your arms, the way he smells when you take a breath of his hair into your lungs and the way he nuzzles into your face make motherhood all worth it. You have never loved something as much as this boy in your arms. Not your husband, and not his brother, and that’s something you never thought would be true. Something you’d never thought you’d ever understand.

Tommy is rounding the front of the truck, slipping his hand into the back pocket of your jeans as you lean your face up, kissing him, “Missed you too, handsome,” You smile, pulling your attention back to Joshua, giving his cheek a kiss, “Have you and daddy had fun this week?” 

“Yeah!” Joshua exclaims, wriggling about in your arms, he’s almost too big for you to hold like this anymore, “We played lots!” 

“That sounds like fun,” You smile, turning back to Tommy, “We told Sarah you’d gone to town for supplies, so that,” You motion to his and Joshua’s overnight bags, “Will have to stay hidden until we can sneak them in.” 

Joshua wriggles a bit more in your arms, “Uncle Joel!” 

You turn slightly towards the lodge, where Joel is coming down the steps. He reaches out and claps his brother on the back in their usual greeting, before he reaches over and pinches Joshua’s cheek gently between his thumb and pointer finger. 

“Hey bud,” He greets, “You’re getting so big!” 

Joshua unwraps his arms from your neck and reaches out to Joel, flexing his fingers in the way he does when he wants something. Joel laughs, “Let me help your dad get everythin’ outta the car bud,” He smiles, “Then we’ll have a cuddle, okay?” 

You smile at Tommy as Joel rounds to the back of the truck, opening the back door to reach in and grab some of the grocery bags, “Help your brother,” You smile at Tommy, leaning up to kiss his cheek, “I’ll take this little monster inside.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Tommy speaks, a little two-finger salute added for effect. 

It’s been a wonderful day. The sun has started to dip behind the trees, a cool breeze opening up a little. Sarah and Joel are still playing in the water with Joshua, their laughs mixed with his as they splash each other in the water. You’re sat on a towel by the shore, head leant against Tommy’s damp shoulder, his hand resting on your knee. 

You’ve been in and out of the water all day, floating around with Sarah and Joshua, watching as Sarah plays with him on her own, sitting off to the side as Joel and Tommy sip beers and catch up. You smile the whole day, laugh for most of it too, but there’s always that fear that threatens to spill over when you think about what you have to do.

There are nerves bubbling in your tummy. You have to tell him. You have to speak to him. Looking out at the water, to where Joshua is perched on Joel’s shoulders and Sarah is splashing water at her dad, you know you have to tell him, but you’re still not quite sure how he’s going to react. You’ve run through this conversation so many times in your head over the last twenty-four hours, switching your opening sentence, developing your defence, but none of that comes out now, what comes out surprises even you. 

“I love him.” Easiest to tear the band-aid straight off, you think. 

Tommy barks a laugh next to you which surprises you. You lift your head off his shoulder and look at him, he’s smiling, “I know you do.” 

“But I love you too.” You quickly add. 

“I know that too,” He’s looking back at you now, clearly understanding the confusion on your face, “Why do you think I had no problem lettin’ you come here with him, huh?” He asks, squeezing the hand he’s got resting on your knee, “Or the way I’ve never complained about letting you go with him for his birthday?” 

“Are you not mad?” You ask, biting at your bottom lip. 

“No sugar, I’m not mad,” He leans down, kissing your cheek, “I love that man more than you will ever understand, he’s always had my back, always bailed me outta the shitty situations I’ve got myself into, never once thought about himself since that little girl was born,” He nods his head towards Sarah, “You make each other so happy, I ain’t ever seen Joel so happy since he started helpin’ us out, and I want nothing more than to keep makin’ him happy.” 

“I don’t want to leave you,” You insist, your own hand resting on his thigh. 

“I know you don’t, I don’t want you to leave either,” You can feel your eyes start to well with tears, “I’ve been sharin’ you for years baby, and I ain’t gonna stop because you two have finally admitted you love each other.” 

“Finally?” You ask, using your free hand to wipe at your eyes, “What do you mean?” 

“Baby, I’ve been watchin’ you fuck him for months, I know I’m slow sometimes, but I’d have to be fuckin’ blind not to see what you mean to each other.” 

You maneuver yourself so you’re practically sat in his lap, arms wrapped around his neck as you cry into his shoulder a little. You wonder in this moment what it was that you did to deserve him, to deserve them both. Two men who love you unconditionally, who just want you to be the happiest you can be, and two brothers who just want to see the other happy too. 

You pull back, clutching Tommy’s face in your hands, “So you don’t mind if I want to see him more often?” You ask timidly.

“Not at all, sugar,” He leans forward, kissing your lips, "That man has never once thought about himself, put himself first, not since Sarah came along, and it's about time he did something for himself, we've just gotta help him right?" He asks, to which you nod in response, “We’re lucky men to have you.” 

“And I’m a lucky girl to have you both.” 

Things had seemed so normal over dinner. Tommy had grilled an insane amount of meat that’d you’d all devoured. You’d drank beers together, Joshua had sat on Joel’s lap for most of the night, favouring his uncle over anyone else. It felt like it always did when you were all together as a family, Sarah feeding small bits of food to Joshua, Tommy’s hand on your knee under the table as you all talk about different things – how Sarah is getting on at college, how this time next year Joshua will have started school. You know they’re different now though, although Joel doesn’t. You wonder if he’d seen you speaking with Tommy earlier, if he did then he must know that things are okay, right? That there wasn’t an argument so it must be okay. You want to tell him, want to take his face in your hands and kiss him at the table so he knows everything is okay. 

You’re propped up against the pillows of your bed now – those so familiar to you now after this week. Reading the book you’d been trying so hard to focus on this whole week and still finding you can’t quite concentrate on it. Tommy had put Joshua to bed a few hours ago, Sarah had gone to bed at the same time as you, leaving the brothers on their own to clean up and catch up. You wonder now what they might be talking about. 

It's not long before you find out exactly what they’ve been talking about. There’s a soft knock at the door before it opens, revealing Tommy, who steps into the dimly lit room, closely followed by Joel, who closes the door behind him gently. 

“Hello.” You greet, looking up from your book. 

“Joel’s been tellin’ me what a good girl you’ve been for him all week,” Tommy speaks, “He’s given you a glowing report, sugar.” 

Oh. So that’s what they’ve been talking about. You wonder if Tommy told him? Wonder whether he’s given his brother the permission he needed to have you like he wants. You close your book and set it on the nightstand, turning back to them. 

“We’ve been trying really hard baby,” You speak, voice sweet, “Haven’t we Joel?” You look into that familiar face, “I’ve been so full all week trying real hard for this baby.” 

Tommy walks slowly to your side of the bed, gripping your chin to tilt your face up to look at him whilst Joel watches on. 

“You gonna show me what you’ve been gettin’ up to?” He asks softly, “Gonna let me fuck you?” 

Tommy pulls back the duvet, letting his fingers gently trace down between the valley of your breasts, covered by your nightdress. He trails further down to the hem, letting his hand sneak under the material. You spread your legs for him slightly, keeping your eyes on his as his fingers slip between your folds finding you already wet for them both. 

“Looks like the answer is yes,” He chuckles, dipping down to kiss you as he drags his slick fingers up to your clit to circle gently, “How about you give Joel your pretty mouth, baby?” He asks, “I’ve missed this pussy, I gotta be inside you.” 

He takes his hand away from you, letting you shift so you’re on your hands and knees, nightdress pushed up to the small of your back, so you’re spread and on display for Tommy. You reach out a hand and motion with a finger for Joel to come to you, which he does, hands already moving to unzip his jeans. Joel lets them pool on the floor before he gets onto the bed in front of you, fist around the base of his already hard cock, guiding it to your mouth at the exact same time as Tommy nudges himself inside you, sliding in slowly until you’re full of him, Joel doing the exact same to your mouth, letting his cock slip across the length of your tongue until he hits the back of your throat. 

He feels absolutely delicious inside of you, like he always has done for all these years, angling just perfectly inside you to brush against that spot that's been so stimulated this past week. Your moans are muffled, vibrating around Joel's cock as you take him down into your throat, saliva pooling around the edges of your mouth. 

This, you think, is what you were made for. To have two men, two of the most beautiful men in the world, taking their pleasure from you, but giving you twice that in return. 

Joel's hand grips your chin as he starts shallow thrusts into your mouth, you look up at him, your own eyes rimmed with tears, his blown out and dark from lust as he fucks your mouth, groaning in pleasure when you do. 

"You're a lucky girl, ain't ya sugar?" Tommy husks from behind you, his skin slapping against yours, "Two men here to adore ya," He leans over and kisses at the skin covering your spine, "Always were meant to be the centre of attention."

Joel lets his cock slip from your mouth, looking down at you with one eyebrow cock, his hand around your jaw to get you to look at him, “He’s right, ain’t he, pretty girl?” He asks, running a thumb over you spit soaked bottom lip, “Love bein’ the centre of attention, don’t ya?” You nod, totally overwhelmed by the feeling of Tommy’s pace behind you, but Joel taps your cheek, “Words, pretty girl,” He chastises, “Use your big girl words.”

Tommy’s hands grip your hips, pulling you back onto him as he thrusts into you, making you cry out, “Yes!” You gasp, realising you have to try and keep quiet, Sarah’s only just down the hall. 

“Yes what?” 

“I love it,” You whimper, looking up at him, “Love being the centre of attention.” 

“Course ya do,” Tommy quips from behind you, “We love you bein’ the centre of attention too.” 

Joel uses his fist to guide his cock back into the warmth of your mouth, resuming his short thrusts into your mouth as Tommy pounds into you from behind. The sounds in the room are obscene – there’s the sound of Tommy’s skin hitting your own, the sound of you almost gagging on Joel’s cock, and the mixture of grunts and groans that are pulled from their mouths as they use your body to make themselves feel good. You almost wish you could see yourself right now, speared at both ends of your body by these two men. 

Joel trails his fingers as far down your arm as he can, and you think he’s asking for you to put your hand on his balls as you take him in your mouth, so you do, but he’s swatting it away, gripping your wrist as you look up at him again, tears falling down your face. 

“Put it on your pussy,” He instructs, “Make yourself come for us.” 

You snake your hand down, fingers circling your clit, slick as always. You start working in fast movements just as you feel Tommy’s thumb start to tease the tight ring of muscle of your ass. You whimper again around Joel’s cock as his hands gather your hair, using it to drag your mouth up and down him.

“You want it, sugar?” Tommy asks, pulling his thumb away before you hear him spit, the warmth spreading down your ass as his thumb works the wet into your skin there. 

Joel, once again, pulls his cock from the wet heat of your mouth, motioning for you to talk, “Go on, pretty girl,” He coaxes, “Tell him you want it, we know you love it.” 

“Please,” You breathe out a beg, pushing back lightly into his finger, “Please, Tommy.” 

“Always sound so fucking pretty when you beg for it baby,” He chuckles behind you, “I’ll give it to ya, don’t worry.” 

When his thumb pushes inside of you, as the same time as Joel feeds you his cock once more, it’s almost immediate, the way your orgasm slams into you. Stuffed full in every possible way, as Tommy’s thumb presses gently into your ass, as Joel’s cock hits the back of your throat over and over again and the way Tommy is pounding into that delicious spot inside you as always. The knot of pleasure snaps, Joel’s cock muffling your cries as your pussy clenches around Tommy, walls fluttering as you work your clit through the aftershocks, body convulsing almost violently. 

“God damn it sugar,” Tommy groans behind you, “Gonna – fuck – m’gonna come baby, where?” 

“Inside,” You moan, pulling off Joel’s cock, “Please, inside me baby.” 

He gives you exactly what you want just seconds later, stilling behind you, with his cock buried as deep as he’ll go. He lets out that sound that you love, a high-pitched whine that’s similar to some of the sounds he and his brother draw from you as you feel him fill you up. He’s not giving you much time to recover, groaning lightly as he pulls out, stopping briefly to watch as his cum drips from your spent pussy. 

You roll onto your back, fingers drifting down and inside of you, slowly pumping in and out as Joel comes into view. He stands at the side of your bed, pulls at your legs so the backs of your thighs are pressed against his chest, ankles by his face. He pulls your hand away from your pussy, pushing your fingers into your mouth as you clean Tommy’s cum off them. 

“Go on brother,” Tommy encourages, settling himself on the bed behind you, “You’ve still got a job to do.” 

“Ain’t no way she’s not full of my baby,” Joel growls as he sinks his cock into your pussy, your slick and the cum his brother’s just filled you with making it so easy for him to slide in all the way, “Is there, pretty girl?” 

His hands are splayed over your stomach now as he pounds his cock into you, the squelch of your pussy filling the room, “Filled me up so good, Joel,” You moan, hands palming at your tits as your head turns to look at Tommy, “Been full of him all week baby.” You say in his direction. 

The attention you’ve been giving Joel with your mouth means he’s already on the edge, “Sucked me so good, pretty girl,” He mumbles, “Gonna come for you.” 

You’re gripping the backs of his thighs, pulling him closer to you as he ruts himself as hard and fast into you as he can manage, “Please Joel,” You sob, feeling the head of his cock bruising at your cervix, “Give it to me, please.” 

“Quit your crying,” He spits, “You know I’m gonna give it to you.” 

And like clockwork he does. He groans out, low and loud as always, as you feel the hot spurts of his cum filling you up, mixing with what Tommy gave you just minutes ago. He slips out of you, watching as his cum mixed with his brother’s drips from your used cunt. He runs his fingers down the folds of your pussy, scooping up what’s left you, pushing it back in, because he’s got to be sure, got to be sure that he’s given you every drop of himself. 

You expect the aftermath to be a little strange as you pull the hem of your nightdress back down. Tommy’s already half asleep on the bed, clothes haphazardly thrown back on as he shuffles himself under the sheets. You follow suit, watching as Joel puts him underwear back on. 

Tommy has already wrapped an arm around your waist, dragging you to his body, light breath fanning against the skin of your neck. You’re watching Joel as he straightens up. 

“Hey,” You speak softly, grabbing his attention, you reach out a hand which he takes, “Stay.” You say simply, tapping the empty side of the bed, the side of the bed that had been his all week. 

He smiles, squeezing your hand, and you think he might refuse, opting to take the final bedroom, but he doesn’t. He climbs onto the bed, far enough away that your bodies don’t touch, respecting the claim Tommy has staked by holding your body close to his, but keeps his hand in yours, as physical reminder that he’s here and he’s not going anywhere. He leans forward, soft kiss pressed to your lips, before his other hand pushes your hair back from your face. 

“Sleep, pretty girl,” He insists softly, “Tomorrow is a new day.” 

And sleep you do – one Miller brother strong against your back, arm draped over your waist, other Miller brother led facing you, chocolate brown eyes watching you as you drift off to sleep, your hand clutched in his to anchor you to him just as much as you’re anchored to his brother. As your eyes close and you drift off, you realise you’re exactly where you want to be, held by both the men you love, and that’s absolutely enough for you right now. 

[oh-no-its-bird]

This comment on the recent One Step Three Steps chapter possessed me and I ended up doodling Ichigo in one of those cute bo-peep dresses

This whole thing is made cuter by the fact that Ichigo's mother, Keiko, is in fact one of the clans sheep headers.

I am obsessed w the idea of the Hatake having sheep. I need it in my life. The Hatake wolves and their little known sheep,,, They are quite possibly the best protected sheep in all of the elemental nations, constantly surrounded by wolves (some summons, some normal wolves) who know to keep them safe

I can feel myself starting to itch with the urge for a Hatake lore dump so actually, that is what we are doing now. Sorry not sorry, I have too many thoughts and opinions to not take this opportunity to ramble now that I've found myself here

In the warring states, the Hatake were farmers-- they interacted with other clans very little because in general, everything they needed, they made or grew for themselves, Including wool products.

They would collect the wool in the summer, spend spring and fall preparing it to spin-- cleaning it, sorting it, dying it, etc. Then in winter, when there was little work to do compared to the rest of the year, they'd begin to weave. Blankets, tapestries, clothes, etc.

The wool is distributed among those who wish to weave based on a mix of merit and favor. The Hatake themselves are a very communal bunch, sharing pretty much all of their tools and resources, and their small size only makes them closer.

So, when it's time to hand out wool, the finer wool goes to those with the skill to make something truly great out of it. Then the slightly less as good wool goes to the next in line, and so on.

There's a whole weaving hierarchy within the clan, with some doing it just for fun and to kill time (and thus being given the more bottom of the barrel yarn) while others spend all year planning to make things intending to sell for the clan to earn coin (and then those people are given the better quality yarn)

I'm actually going to expose myself here, take something I wrote for a possible far in the future Here Before and After Me chapter, from what is supposed to be the Hatake's introduction:

Instead, Haruka was busy poking through the thick blankets presented to her. Piled up high on a wheelbarrow, the labor of love of so many hands over the winter. "Hoo, the weaving this year really is spectacular. I'm almost tempted to say we shouldn't sell them." She ran her hand across the thick pelt of a blanket lined with rabbit fur. Keiko's work, she recognized instantly. 'Good shit,' as the kids say. Besides her, Tetsuo, her young chosen heir, pet a blue and brown quilt thoughtfully.   "They could make for an impressive gift, if we're ever in the position to have to give one." "As good an excuse as any to keep one or three." Haruka chuckled, picking a more intricate blanket out of the pile and holding it up to admire its pattern.

^ When winter is done, everyone who made something will donate at least one thing they've made to an overall collection, which is then sorted through and (usually) sold.

(With occasional exceptions to save more impressive works to keep as a clan treasure, or future gift or bribe if they need one)

He sorted through them, trying to separate by quality and method of craft. But, seeing as they all shared space on the same wheelbarrow, there was really only so much separation he could do. "Ugh, Tsuki." Tetsuo cursed under his breath, picking out a tapestry carefully embroidered with near hypnotic spirals that seemed to go on forever. "We can't sell this, it'll end up cursing someone." He tossed the supposedly cursed tapestry over a shoulder, burrowing through more thick sheets before he paused. A disgruntled expression passed over his face as he plucked out an already tattered blanket, more bundle of half-burnt rope loosely woven together than anything. "Who let Sora donate to the pile again? She was supposed to be banned, after last year's disaster." When he examined it closer, it seemed like it was made only from scraps of the thick wool they'd spun specifically for their winter weaving. At least no one had given her anything valuable to destroy then. It joined the spiral tapestry slung across his shoulder. "Daisuke, at least, as good as always." He noted, picking up a thick weave of color. Seeing how brightly colored this year's project was, suddenly he understood why the man's hands had been dyed so thoroughly for most of the winter months. Although... Tetsuo brought the blanket up to sniff and then made a face. "Ugh, we'll need to wash out the tobacco smell. His nose really must be failing him, to have left it this strong."

^ quality will vary, and so you'll also have different works that get disqualified from being sold. (And, inevitably, some people who have been told to stop putting their disaster creations into the pile.)

The Hatake's weaving being really high regarded and high quality,,,, them doing something to the wool when they treat it that makes it extra good,,, I need it,,

Anyways, just. The Hatake and their sheep. I need it. There's so much potential there, like. From aesthetics to references of the relationships between sheep and wolves, and beyond.

I love it !!! Give those wolf people some sheep to protect.

[charlotteking27]

Hello! I know what I'm about to write here may seem strange, but in my head, it's just perfect. Imagine a scanario of Batmom×Batfamily where S/N(batmom) is a witch (like those in the Harry Potter universe), but she's always been afraid to tell her family because she feared they would start to hate her and that Bruce would ask for a divorce (and also because, as we know, there's a law that prohibits them from exposing this to not-witch). However, somehow they discover her secret, but in the end, everything turns out fine.

Kisses♡

Sooooo... I am a witch

Bruce Wayne x witch reader

It was an average day, nothing out of the ordinary, the boys were looking through their old stuff planning to donate it. They decided to start in the attic which they didn't even know they had. But boy was it filled with a lot of stuff in labeled boxes.

"Hey look my old toy car, I forgot I had you well time to donate you", Jason said tossing the car in a pile of stuff he didn't want.

"Hey guys look what I found", Tim said picking up a box with a do not open painted on the top of the box.

Damian took the box, "I think we're not supposed to open it, Oh well". He hurriedly opened the box, and the other boys peered their heads over Damian to see what was in the box.

Surprisingly when they opened it they saw a book, some photos, and other weird things. It all looks so cool like from a movie, Dick slowly took some photos out scrutinizing it.

"Guys look at this", Dick said holding out the photo in front of his brother's face.

"That girl she looks familiar", Jason said reaching out for the photo it was of a girl behind a tree wherein a green and black color robe.

"guys, that's Mom, see the girl has the same birthmark as Mom", Tim said pointing at the girl and the picture of his mom he had taken on his phone.

The boys hurriedly raced down the attic trying to find their mother. Damian had the box in his hand while Tim had the picture. They raced down the stairs almost knocking into Alfred in the process. Finally, they saw their mother in the living room watching one of her favorite movies Princess Diaries.

Y/n heard the sound of footsteps looking in the direction of the noise. She looked at what Tim was holding, and immediately Y/n got up and took the picture out of his hand. " where did you get this" Y/n demanded taking the other things from the other boy's hands.

"Mom, what is this? what have you been hiding? Dick said pointing at the picture. Mom, it's okay you can trust us", Jason said while nudging Damian to go and hug Y/n.

" I am a Witch, I am from Hogwarts where I learned to train and use my power. But not too long ago I fell in love with your father hiding the secret I was a witch, for I was prohibited from telling any non-witch about my powers. So I hid all my stuff in an attic before we got Dick, but you kids must have found it".

"so father still doesn't know", Dick said still trying to process this story. Y/n shook her head no. "You have to tell him Ummi", Damian said. "your right, I will tell him right when he gets home", Y/n said confidently.

Soon Bruce came home, greeting all his children before going upstairs to his and Y/n's room. There he saw Y/n sitting on the bed looking straight at him not a single emotion on her face.

Before Bruce could talk, Y/n started to cry heavily, slumping her shoulders, and looking away from Bruce. Bruce quickly rushed over to her scooping her up in a hug and whispering soothing things in her ear trying to calm her down.

"my pretty girl, what's wrong?", Bruce said continuing to massage Y/n's back. "Bruce, I have something to tell...I am a witch", Y/n didn't wait to see his reaction before continuing "You are probably mad at me but I understand so if you want a divorce then I am fine with it", Y/n said so fast it was hard for Bruce to even comprehend.

"Y/n were not having a divorce, I love you too much for that, no matter if you kept a secret you probably had your reasons and I am not mad", Bruce said in a reassuring tone. Bruce stood up holding Y/n close to him swaying them side to side and humming a beat. Y/n started talking about her past as a witch telling everything to Bruce. She felt so happy to finally tell Bruce after so long, feeling so much better.

"So does that mean since I have powers I can fight crime like you", Y/n said with her best puppy dog eyes. Fuck, it was so hard for Bruce to resist those puppy dogs eyes. "Fine", Bruce said letting out a groan and seeing Y/n jump up and down clapping her hands, smiling widely at Bruce.

Question for the readers: what is your house in Harry Potter?

mine is a Slytherin

[brianwashere]

Heyyyy I love your dc stories and I wanted to ask if you maybe would write one for me.

Story would be: Teen trans!male reader that is (soon to be officially) adopted by the batfam and has been with them for a while. He didn‘t tell them he was trans and Jason was going into reader‘s room for a usb stick or something like that and sees blueprints and a handmade binder reader made so he can patrol better. Reader walks in on Jason staring at the binder and almost get‘s a panic attack. That is because the adoption is to be official soon and reader is scared that they would kick him out for being trans. Jason comforts him and it turns into a heart to heart. Dick and Tim were searching for their brothers bcs patrol starts soon and they didn‘t show up in the cave. They find them in reader’s room. And then fluff just ensues.

This is SUPER self-indulgent and I would love for you to write this since I‘m awful at writing myself :)

He he ha ha. I am feeling DEVIOUS with this one >:))

I love older brother Jason sm. Btw I also got the title from “Living on the Sand” by Colter Wall. I love that album sm.

**I do not own any characters or part of the franchise from DC**

Pairing: Batfam x trans!batbro!reader

Genre: hurt/comfort

Summary: go to req

Tw: near panic attack, kinda forced coming out(?)

Forgive me forgive me, don’t it sound more clear

Four days. Four days until you become a legal member of the family. At first, you were ok keeping being trans a secret, but the closer the official adoption day came, the more anxious you became. Sure, Bruce donated to tons of LGBTQ+ charities and several of your brothers were on the queer spectrum, but how would he feel having a son who was…different?

Would he still want to adopt you? Even worse—you knew your family’s more private lives. How you had taken on a private life. What would happen when Bruce tosses you aside when he inevitably finds out?

You were sitting in the kitchen, scrolling on your phone and eating cereal despite it being around 12:00 am.

The door to the kitchen opened and you glanced up to see Jason coming in, clad in his Red Hood suit, save for the helmet.

“Yo, loser. You got a free usb? Need it for blackmail storage.” He asked casually.

You raised your eyebrows in a ‘seriously?’ expression and swallowed the bite in your mouth.

“Yeah, it’s in my room on my desk. Next to the lamp.” You went back to scrolling through your phone. “You better buy me another one, I need it for a school project.”

Jason just gave you a thumbs up and walked out of the kitchen. When he got to your room he walked to your desk and grabbed the usb, but something akin to blueprints caught his eye and he stopped to examine them.

‘Hope he doesn’t go snooping through my room, I could have embarrassing stuff lying around.’

You thought to yourself, taking the final bite of cereal.

‘Though I don’t know what he’d find—basically everything embarrassing is hidden or put away…’

You drank the milk from your bowl and got up to put it in the sink.

‘What did I even do in my room today?’

You were hardly paying attention to whatever was on your phone screen now.

‘basically just worked on making my binder and I put that away—‘

Your heart dropped to your stomach and suddenly the cereal wasn’t sitting well with you.

‘You didn’t put it away because you weren’t done with it tonight. You didn’t put it away because you were hungry.’

You dropped your bowl and it shattered on the kitchen floor. You ran as fast as you could to your room, through the broken shards of the bowl.

You practically threw yourself up the stairs and sprinted so fast to your room you almost passed it. You caught yourself on the doorframe, panting heavily. Your feet stung so much, you dropped to your knees.

To your horror, Jason held the design for your binder in one hand and the prototype in the other. Your throat constricted suddenly and you heaved for air. Jason looked at you and he dropped the binder and blueprints in his hand. He rushed to your side.

“Hey hey hey hey. What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Deep breaths. In for four, out for four. Follow my breathing.” Your older brother placed your hand on his chest and demonstrated the breathing patterns.

You followed to the best of your ability, focusing on being able to breathe so you could talk and explain and maybe—just maybe—have a chance to not blow this.

When you could breathe relatively normally again, you immediately began to explain.

“I swear—I swear—it’s not—I don’t—I just—PLEASE DON’T KICK ME OUT! YOU’RE THE ONLY REAL FAMILY I’VE EVER KNOWN AND—” You settled for when you couldn’t explain what was found out about you.

“HEY!” Jason snapped you out of your rambling. “Who said anything about being kicked out?”

You hadn’t even realized his arm was around your shoulders but it suddenly felt comfortably heavy. You rubbed away the tears that had gathered in your eyes and looked at him.

“First off, you’re still being adopted, ok? Nothing will change that.” He started with. “Second. What you’re doing is extremely dangerous. Why are you binding unsafely?”

You looked up at him.

“I just…I couldn’t bring myself to even consider coming out to you.” You gulped heavily, looking back to the ground. Jason’s arm tightens around you comfortingly.

“I’m sorry if we ever made you feel like that. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like that.” Your older brother says sadly.

You shook your head ‘no’, leaning into him.

“It wasn’t your fault. I just didn’t have the courage…” You trail off.

“When I came out—it—“ Jason huffs a laugh. “Man—it was awful.”

You looked at him, urging him to keep going.

“Ok, so I found out I like guys and girls, right?” He was smiling now, adjusting himself into a more comfortable position. “But I was all anxious to come out, ya know? I found a guy I wanted to go out with and I didn’t wanna hide it from…dad.” You didn’t ignore Jason actually calling Bruce ‘dad’.

“—and this was before Dick came out so he had like barely any idea about labels and stuff—“ Your older brother continued. “So I stand up and tell him ‘Bruce, I’m bi.’” Jason paused.

“And?” You asked.

“I have never seen someone so smart, so confused. He says—entirely seriously—‘Jason, you only speak one language.’” Jason burst out into laughter.

You laughed with him. It felt nice. You felt seen, in a way.

Time passed, you’re not sure how long. Maybe an hour? It was long enough for two of your other brothers to take notice and look for their missing brothers, ready to berate them for being late to patrol.

You and Jason were on the floor wheezing after he had showed you some meme he found.

You heard a knock on the door and saw your two older brothers peer into your room. Dick titled his head and Tim raised an eyebrow at the state of you and Jason. Them walking in sobered you up a bit from your laughing fit. You swallowed and glanced at Jason. He sat up and nodded at you encouragingly.

Dick and Tim glanced between the two of you. You stood up and cleared your throat.

“I’m—I’m trans.” You ripped the band aid off.

Dick and Tim blinked owlishly at you. Tim talked first.

“So…your pronouns are—?” Tim started.

“—he/him.” You interrupted.

Tim nodded, still seeming to process the information. Your answer seemed to only confuse Dick more. Jason made eye contact with Dick and gave him a look of “say something, asshole.” That startled Dick from his stupor.

“Dude! I’m so proud!” He said gleefully, opening his arms for a hug, which you gladly gave.

Tim gave you a side hug too.

“Does Dad know?” Dick asked.

You shook your head

“No.” You sighed.

“You probably should tell him.” Tim patted you on the back.

“But what about the adoption—“ You were cut off by Jason.

“Hey, what did I say about the adoption?” Jason scolded.

You groaned. “Yeah yeah…coming out won’t change anything…” You sighed.

Your three older brothers nodded in approval which made you roll your eyes.

“We’re proud of you.” Dick smiled and ruffled your hair. “Bruce will be too.” He added.

“Proud of what?”

You looked to the door and saw your father standing in the doorframe.

You took a deep breath and walked over to your father.

“Dad, I’m trans.” Your voice cracked and you couldn’t meet his eyes.

A large hand rested on your shoulder. You looked at Bruce.

“Well we better make sure those adoption papers are correct then.” He smiled at you.

And you smiled back.

[violetarks]

CONGRATULATIONS ON 3K VI !!!!! THAT'S SO EXCITING !!!! could i pleaseeee get something with denji !!!! with patching each other up and rivals ???? TYSM 😘

"why are we so complicated?"

anime: chainsaw man

character: denji

summary: being devil hunter yourself, you have to be there for the other workers. when one of the more annoying hunters gets hurt, kishibe places you in charge of fixing him up.

warnings: g/n! reader, no pronouns used (you didn't mention any specifics, i hope this is okay :D), reader and denji don't like each other because they think the other thinks they're better than them, reader and denji are the same age

"ow! you pinched me so hard!"

"oh, no i didn't."

you make sure to squeeze his cheek a little harder between your thumb and index finger, to which he yelps at again. he pushes your hand away from his face after you apply the square bandage to his forehead. he glares at you while you innocently look through the first aid kit.

while you respected your older fellow devil hunter, kishibe, you were pissed art him that he put you in this position. denji got himself scratched up during the last mission, and nobody wanted to donate any blood for him to consume and heal himself. kishibe, your captain, assigned you to patch him up while the rest either went to a briefing with makima or helped the clean up crew deal with the debris.

you offered to switch with someone else like kobeni or arai, but both of them sourly refused, as they didn't want to spend more time with the devil who prolonged their mission by two more hours for being stupid and messing around.

"ugh, i can do it myself!" denji groans as you wipe away at the cuts on his arm. the antibacterial wipes seemed to be working well so you ignore his pleas. "y/n! you're not even listening to me!"

"can you just shut up for a second? you love to hear yourself speak." you grumble out as you discard the red tissue in the bin beside you.

you regret even letting denji step foot in your apartment, but per kishibe's orders, you had to take care of him before sending him back to aki.

“y/n, you’re so mean,” he grumbles back to you as you pop open a spray bottle of disinfectant, “could ya’ stand to be nice for once?”

“could you stand to not die every single mission?” you scoff at him, “god, you make my job so much harder. ultimate devil chainsaw man, bleeding out in the bathtub.”

he looks away from you with an angered expression before you spray his cuts. he jolts and you narrowly evade his elbow as he hisses at you.

“you act all high ‘n mighty and you can’t even deal with some first aid,” you groan as you toss the disinfectant back into the box, “i don’t get what makima sees in you.”

“i could say the same about you!” he yells back with an accusing finger, “you think you can just show up n’ be the best!”

“i was here before you!” you argue back.

“nuh uh!”

“yuh huh!”

he grits his teeth as he forcefully looks away. you roll your eyes at him as you press the bandaid to his wound.

you didn’t really know when you started disliking denji, but you think it was around the time he saved meowy to cop a feel. your opinion of him went down when you stood next to aki while he called upon his devil to dispose if the enemy. the whole entire time you were deadpanning with your weapon in hand.

denji decided he didn’t like you because you were always getting praised by makima. she pat your head once and he got even more jealous when he saw that you looked embarrassed and irritated. you didn’t deserve it, he thought.

however, everyone else was just a little confused. why would you two hate each other? you never interact unless it’s to insult the other.

“drink that,” you sigh at him and hand him a glass of water and medicine, “i don’t want to see any dirt on my floors. clean up your mess before you go.”

leaving him in the kitchen, you go back to the bathroom. he reluctantly chomps down on the medicine and gulps down the water. his face sours before he hears you let out a hiss of pain.

peeking into the bathroom, he sees you with your back to the mirror, looking over your shoulder to see the slash the devil made on your skin. you let put a groan and drop your tissue in the bin. denji scans you in your tank top, how your muscles move with your hand as you try to wipe away all the dried blood on your shoulder. you din’t even notice denji watching until he clears his throat.

“you, uh…” he begins. you glance over to the doorway. “need help?”

“from you?”

“who else, dumbass?”

“don’t get quick with me, smartass…” you grunt towards him.

you think about it. you’ve seen denji try to patch up aki, and it looked like he didn’t know half of what he was supposed to be doing. though, you’re too embarrassed to call up aki or himeno to help. so you roll your eyes and nod your head.

denji makes his way over and you face the mirror, hands bracing the sink as he grabs an antiseptic tissue for medical use and presses a bit too harsh against your cut.

“ow!” you hiss and lean away from him, “denji—!”

“my bad,” he mutters out before gently wiping at the dark blood, “sorry.”

“‘s fine,” you reply shortly. you hang your head with your button up and jacket slung on the bathtub. your grey tank top was drenched on the shoulder and upper back areas. “what are you guys havin’ for dinner?”

“i dunno’,” denji responds with a shrug of his shoulders. he sees your downcast eyes in the reflection of the mirror. “aki said he’d call you when he can pick me up.”

you sigh and lift a hand to brush your neck, “right… well i’m cooking curry tonight, if you want some.”

“really?” he chimes with raised brows, “i can have some?”

“yeah,” you huff as he drops the tissue into the bin. you hand him a patch to put on top of the slash. “it’s like 6:30. i’d feel weird eating dinner while you were sittin’ there all sad and hungry.”

he rolls his eyes at you with burning cheeks. “shut up…”

his fingers gently press the bandage to your shoulder, smoothing it out shortly after. his fingertips dance across your skin, as if itching to get closer. but he pulls his hands away and shoves them into his pockets. “all done.”

you seemed so tired but denji’s never seen you so relaxed around him. you were always uptight, sure, but now, you were more loose. it took him a few seconds, but he realises how nice you look in the lighting. messy, yes, but still… you looked good.

“thanks,” you mumble to him as you roll your shoulder and turn around to him. grabbing your shirt, you button it up and look to him. “you’re gonna’ help.”

he nods slowly as you look to the mirror again and wash your hands and face. splashing water onto your face, you feel denji bump his hip against yours, trying to get closer.

“denji…” you groan as you pat the water from your face with a towel, “what is it?”

he furrows his brows at you with a heavy blush taking over his face. you blink at his state before a smile breaks out on your lips.

“oh,” you hum as you tap your own cheek to mirror the patch set on his, “want me to kiss it better or somethin’?”

denji doesn’t reply when you laugh at his reaction. he only grows a little more irritated at your response. “w—what? stop laughing at me!”

“i thought you hated me, denji,” you state, stance now up straight, “look at you now.”

“i do! shut up!” he argues back to you, “you’re so stupid! i don’t like you!”

his stammering stops as you lean forward and press a gentle kiss to his bandaged cheek. your lips are warm and it distracts him enough that he lets your fingers dance along his other cheek.

your kiss leaves him confused. why would you do that if you didn’t like him? were you playing with him?

when you pull away and notice the hot blush on his face. his surprised is permanently painted on his face, which causes you to chuckle and your gaze to soften. he’s a good guy, really. but he just needs a little guidance. even though you’re the same age, he’s so vastly different from you. the thought makes you sigh and reach out, hugging him tightly.

“it’s okay, denji,” you mutter against his shirt, “you’re pretty alright.”

“i—… whatever…” he grunts as he squeezes you back. you let out a slight hiss and he pulls away as you rub your wounded shoulder. “sorry.”

“‘s fine,” you reply whilst craning your neck, “let’s go make dinner. don’t want you rummaging through aki’s cupboard when you get home.”

he watches as you leave the bathroom, early following after you. you weren’t so bad after all, but he’d never admit that out loud. it was his little secret that you knew all too well.

[ladylooch]

Bones - Part 24 [Mack X David]

A/N: We are really winding down now 😭 We get to see a lot more of the boys' personalities in this one and their sibling dynamic. Also David is perfect. These nights are supposed to be about him, but all he cares about is Mack 💜 P.S. Sorry this is a bit late, had to work through lunch!

Word Count: 3.4k

As Mack watches her three son’s shuffle in their red, white, and blue Nikes through the Rangers locker room door, she thinks her dimples might be forming new dimples from smiling so hard. Tonight a celebration they’ve been steadily climbing towards: David Carlson’s 1000 game celebration. He hit his milestone during a road trip, but tonight is the ceremony at Madison Square Garden. The air in the arena has been electric since the doors opened.

Through the years, David has become a fan favorite because of his personality and caring nature, but also for his hard nosed play on the ice. He gives it all to the team every night- a skilled, grinding defensemen who isn’t afraid to toss a punch into an opponents face to get the crowd going. 

For some reason, New Yorkers respond to that.

The day has had many special moments already. David has been fielding countless phone calls and text messages. As many people as possible are in the stands tonight to celebrate him including Mack’s parents, her sisters and cousins, Iowa friends, collegiate teammates, and coaches throughout David’s extensive hockey career. The whole team walked in with t-shirts adorned with David’s face and wore his name and number on their jerseys for warm ups. Those will be signed and auctioned off where proceed will be donated to a charity of David’s choice - a national foundation that helps farming families and communities navigate tough times.

But what’s about to happen in the locker room is a special surprise. 

The Carlson boys tip-toe forward as coach starts to wrap up his speech. The three kids are unexpectedly quiet, listening and looking at Mack for when it’s okay for them to walk forward. Her pep talk must have worked- not a peep out of the boys since they entered the room.

“Tonight is about a few things, gentlemen. Clean break outs from our zone, controlled precision in the neutral zone then getting pucks deep and getting after it, alright?” Murmurs and nods ensue. “Okay, Woody.” Coach turns it over to Connor.

“Big game tonight boys. Huge actually- if you know, you know.” The players snicker and Mack scoffs. Is he seriously making a dick joke right now? Yeah, he is. Of course. “Ah, anyways, we have some special guests to read the starting line up…” Mack urges Nicky to walk forward. He does while Mack leans over to see beyond the wall to catch David’s excited reaction. 

“Babies! Three of… oh there is mama, four of ‘em!” A delighted smile spreads his mustache on his upper lip. The locker room claps for the entrance as the boys hesitantly walk forward, looking around. Connor comes up to them, giving each of them fist bumps and gentle head rubs.

“Go ahead, boys.” Connor encourages them as he hands the paper over to Nicky. He holds it in his hands for a moment, looking down at it. Then he turns back to look at Mack, unsure.

“You got it, baby.” She encourages, nodding excitedly. Nicky looks back at the paper then quietly says the first name.

"Brody."

“Hey!” The boys clap. Nicky smiles, then continues with the next name.

"Joe."

Clap.

"Benny."

“Yeah!” The boys clap again. Beau gets excited at that and rushes towards David. Knox, never one other be left out, goes with him, leaving Nicky in the middle of the room by himself. He finishes through with confidence.

“Daddy!”

“Yep!”

“Uncle Ono!” The nickname Connor has earned from the Carlson boys, started by Nicky himself. 

“Yeah!” 

“Cheese!” He finishes with the Swiss goalie’s hilarious nickname.

“Yeah!!!!” The boys cheer, clapping loudly. 

Nicky then runs to David who pulls all the boys into a big hug. Nicky pushes his forehead into David’s neck and Mack can see his little, overwhelmed sigh which has her tearing up. David quietly talks to Nicky who nods. Her and David share a smile as he walks them back over to her. He leans down to kiss her.

“See you out there, honey.” He says. She nods excitedly, then collects the boys back. With Beau in her arms and the older boys flanked at her sides, they follow the Rangers staff to their holding position for the ceremony. 

“Hey babies..” She calls to the boys over the loud, arena music. “Thank you so much for listening and being patient. I know this is different than what we usually do and you’re all being so brave!" She complements them. “We are almost done. After this we can head to the suite and get something to eat okay?” The boys nod, looking wide-eyed from the Zamboni tunnel as the pre-game video and lights go. Knox holds his hands over his ears in annoyance, swaying on his feet to soothe himself, so he bumps into her thigh. “I’m sorry, bubba. I forgot your ear muffs.” She apologizes to him with a hand on his black hair.

“I brave!” Knox yells back to her. 

“So brave!” She compliments him. She crouches down with Beau, opening her arms for the boys to step in for a hug. “When we get onto the ice, stay close to me. There will be some noise and cheers and daddy is going to come visit us okay? We aren’t going to run to him…” She feels compelled to add that.

“Okay.” Nicky says.

“Knox?” 

“Yah.” He repeats with a heavy side of sass. 

She has been coaching the boys on this for a few days to help ensure a smooth ceremony and to help them know what to expect. 

“Where’s grandpa?” Nicky asks.

“He is in the suite. We will see him soon.” Mack smoothes his hair as she stands back up.

The teams are flying out onto the ice. Everyone is starting to crowd towards the zamboni doors. Mack has butterflies dive bombing inside her abdomen. She watches the video board and reaches for Nicky’s hand as the public address announcer begins to speak.

“Knox, take Nicky’s hand.” She asks him. He does so, swinging his and his brother’s hands as he wiggles about, squeaking his shoes. 

Mack and the boys are introduced to a thunderous applause in Madison Square Garden. The boys do amazing with all the noise and activity. They smile, and Beau even laughs, waving at themselves on the video board. David is leaning at the Rangers bench, watching them step onto the ice with a huge grin. He waves at Knox who has zeroed in on him. 

“Knox, stay.” Mack reminds him as her husband tosses a ridiculously sexy wink at her. A blush rushes up her neck and fills out her cheeks.

“His tenacious work ethic and love for the game helped pave the way for incredible success over the past 13 seasons. His career has contributed to numerous franchise milestones including two Stanley Cup Championships. Today, we celebrate his incredible NHL milestone, 1,000 games played, all in a Rangers sweater, and thank him for his outstanding contributions to the organization, community, and city. Fans, accompanied by his wife Mackenzie and their three children, Nico, Knox and Beau, please welcome Rangers Defenseman, David Carlson!” 

No less than a thousand emotions roar through Mack as she watches her husband skate over to their family with the bellow of the crowd. On a day that’s all about him, where 20,000 people chant his name, he looks at her like that. Like it always does, everything fades away for a moment as he reaches her. He laces their fingers together at her thigh, then leans his face down to her. She smiles up at him, falling in love all over again as their lips gather together. Tears blur in her water line as he begrudgingly pulls away, then drops a kiss to each of the boys. 

Beau clings to his jersey, so David takes him into his arms, grinning at the little boy who excitedly holds up his replica silver stick. Mack puts her arms around the older boys, running her fingers through Knox’s black hair where he clings to her left leg between her and David. Nicky soaks it all in, then looks back at his dad in wonder. 

Kinda like how his mom looks at daddy too.

As the video tribute begins, David slides a hand into the back pocket of her jeans, hidden by her long, blue blazer. His thumb rubs against her cheek there as they both tilt up to watch the screen. While sweet tributes and electric highlights spill onto the screen, Mack watches the journey, inspired again at how much he’s accomplished in his career. The effortlessness he exhibits between managing a successful farm while also playing at the highest level in professional hockey tickles her. And that doesn’t even scratch the surface of the loving husband and father he is off the ice. He is more incredible than any of this could ever give him credit for. 

Mack’s fingers curls into the two older boys as they lean harder into her legs, all of them feeling the emotions of what this means for David, but also their family. Mack licks her bottom lip into her mouth. Lucie was right; this moment is truly indescribable. It’s everything, and yet it still barely shows glimpses of who David really is. His deep character, sense of loyalty, and sunshine demeanor aren’t things that can be described or even shown. They need to be experienced.

How lucky is she that she gets a lifetime of that?

As the video shifts from on the ice to off, her parents shine on the screen. A massive grin stretches her face apart as they cheer, celebrate, and exclaim their love for him. Rangers fans even cheer at the sight of the former Devils captain. Next is Lucie, Connor, and the girls. The message is simple, but impactful: We are so proud of you. We love you, Uncle Davey. Mack peeks at her husband who is sucking his cheeks in, lips pursed to hold his emotions at bay. Felix and Lorena are next from the farm. Then the video quickly zooms out, showing all of his farm hands, hometown friends, and neighbors. David laughs excitedly, then grips her tighter to him as she comes on by herself. 

“The boys and I are so proud and in awe of you, babe. For everything you do on the ice for your team, but also for what you do for us off it. Our family has unforgettable memories and experiences because of your hard work and dedication. Thank you for that gift. We love you so much. Congratulations on 1,000 games!”

The video switches to the boys who yell: Go Daddy! Love you! Mack giggles, thinking of the no less than 100 takes they had to do to get that. Three rambunctious boys who don’t want to sit still, or speak, and that was the best they could do. David chuckles because he knows. 

The video fades away to a shot of David ripping a slap shot then excitedly celebrating at the blue line before it fades to a stilled image of him at 1,000 games. The roar in MSG swells with the music. David leans down to kiss Mack again then lifts his hand out of her pocket to acknowledge the crowd. Mack claps along with the arena, proud as hell to be standing next to her man. 

Connor and the two assistant captains, Joe and Blake, skate over to the group. In his hands, Connor holds David’s silver stick. 

“Chances he drops it?” Mack jokes to David.

“About 0. I threatened him.”

“Nice.” Mack chuckles. 

“I also told him to wear white gloves but I see he didn’t care about that.”

“The level of disrespect.” 

“Out of the will.” David hands Beau back to Mack then steps forward, pulling Connor into a hug. Being able to give this to David means a lot to Connor. It’s obvious in the lack of joking between the two of them. They’re having a real, joyful moment- not watered down by humor or jabs. They share a few words together, slapping each other on the back before Connor pulls away. 

“Love you, Mackie. Congrats!” He hugs her around Beau. He gets fist bumps from all the boys, then steps aside so Mack can be given her flowers. 

“Thank you.” She smiles at Blake, giving him a hug, then Joe too. The three hockey players clatter onto the rug in their skates, posing for pictures before they head back to the bench. 

“Are we good?” David asks the group after pictures are finished. The event staff nods. He crouches down to the boys, giving them smooches again, then double checking they both have their replica sticks. “Okay, boys. Thank you for being so good! I’ll see you after. Love you, babies!” He kisses Beau too, then licks his lips before kissing Mack. His tongue glides along her bottom lip for a moment then he pulls away. “I love you, honey. Thank you for standing here with me for so many of those games. Wouldn’t wanna be here without ya.” 

“I love you. I’m so proud of you. Play safe today.” She murmurs.

“You need help with the boys?”

“No, they’re doing great today.” Mack assures him. She adjusts Beau in her arms, then takes Knox’s hand. “Okay, Nicky, walk back off the ice.” She tells her oldest. 

“Bye, dad!” Nicky calls, waving.

“Bye, buddy!” 

“Score a goal!”

“I’ll try!” David laughs, then skates off to the home bench.

As they reach the edge of the ice, Mack looks over her shoulder at David. She watches, briefly, as he tosses his hair back and puts his helmet back on. He is laughing with his teammates, even squirting a water bottle at Joe before he takes a hit of water. Then his smile glides off his face and instead a look of pensive determination falls over his features. 

A smirk tugs her lips up at the switch he is always able to flip. 

There won’t be many more days like this for their family. 

With that in mind, she continues down the tunnel, ready to find their seats and soak up the moments they have left. 

- - - & - - -

The hardest part about the end is knowing that it’s arrived.

Even when you prepare for it, nothing actually makes it easier to hit that finish line. Mack tries to remind herself of this after the puck hits the back of the Rangers net and the team is defeated in the second round of the playoffs by the Pittsburgh Penguins. She thought she would be ready for this. Sworn she had prepared enough that the ache wouldn't feel like it was drowning her in her seat. She inhales heavily, instant tears burning her vision painfully. On the ice, laid out on his stomach and slowly coming to one knee is her husband. Mack’s heart lurches in her chest, exploding under her hand as she clutches at it trying to keep it together.

This was a high possibility. How many players get the opportunity to go out on top? But the belief this team had in their potential and each other makes this hard to swallow. Beside her, Lucie is silent. She sits slumped in her chair, a sleeping Winnie burrowed into her side. Her brown eyes look out at the ice too, zeroed in on the number 26 of her husband’s back. He has one more year left on his contract, but it won’t be the same without David. They all know that. 

Slowly, 26 skates over to 14, patting 14’s blue helmet in comfort. Afterwards, Connor leads the team to the center dot to wait for the handshake line. He stands there alone for several moments until David pushes himself up and goes to stand behind him. The rest of the team sullenly follows suit. The line is long. Every player of the Penguins taps David’s chest or helmet, congratulating him on a career that will live on long after he takes his skates off today. 

Mack tries to find comfort in that. 

But tonight isn’t the night for comfort. 

It’s to scream and rage about the road running out before they were ready for it.

David and Mack had already discussed that if they lost today that she would head home without him. So her, Lucie, and the kids all load into a couple luxury, service cars and get shuttled back home together. Neither of them discuss further about the game or the outcome. A heaviness hangs between them as they hug. Both of them start to cry in their embrace, then release with sniffles. 

“We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” Mack agrees. “I love you.”

“I love you.” Lucie squeezes her forearm before continuing down towards their unit as they split off in different directions.

Mack does a quick bedtime with the boys. They all get into pajamas quickly and get the same bed time story read to each then dispersed into their individual beds. Mack is grateful there is no fighting or pushing back. She doesn’t have the energy. 

Once they’re down, she goes into the kitchen. From the cabinet above the fridge, she grabs an expensive bottle of whiskey. She pours out two fingers worth and takes a big gulp then tries to exhale as much of the tightness in her chest that she can. A lump blossoms in her throat instead. 

The front door opening stops her from deteriorating further.

David comes through the door with his bag. His face is covered in a thick black beard with grey hairs streaked throughout. His tie is in his fist, suit jacket tossed over his forearm. He drops everything in the front entry as their eyes meet. Mack remains as reserved as him, waiting for him to make the first move. 

She will be anything he needs tonight and she tells him so with her eyes. Tentatively, she licks her lips as he steps towards her. She turns her body to him and they step into each other's arms. Mack rests her cheek on his chest, letting the ache in hers seep out to him. Tears fall before she can even attempt to talk herself out of crying. David releases one arm around her, grabbing the whiskey she poured and taking a long pull. Whiskey fills her nose when he exhales heavily. Her finger tips curl into his back more.

“I’m okay.” He finally speaks. She nods. “Sad as hell, but okay. This is the right decision for us, even now with how it ended tonight.” Part of Mack wondered if he would change his mind after tonight. Or hell, maybe in a few days when he cleans his locker out for the last time. But something about his voice and the steady way he holds her convinces her he won’t. 

This is really it. 

“Are you okay?” He asks her.

“Yes. I’m sad too.”

“Mhm.” He acknowledges. “How are the boys?”

“Too tired to care.” David chuckles.

“That’s good. We will see what tomorrow brings.” 

“When should we start our plan?” 

“Tomorrow.” David says. “That’s when I would like to.” He smooths her hair down as if to soothe his words over her gently.

Mack looks around their space. It was originally David’s and they made it into theirs over the last decade and change they’ve been together. This is where they brought 2 of their 3 babies home from the hospital. This is where they fell in love and got back together. Where they melded together during that first time and came out changed forever. It was never just sex. It never could have been when he was the other player in their game. She can’t believe that the first part of the end is putting the center of their world here on the market.

A quiet sob slips from her lips.

Who would they be without this place?

“Can I tell you an idea I have?” He whispers. “It might help.”

“Yeah.” She sniffs.

“We sell this. Which I know is going to be hard for us. Who we have been here over the years... these memories… we will take them with us as much as we can, knowing some of that stays here after we are gone. But, we take that money and build a new home on the farm.” 

“Really?” She whispers, very surprised at this. David has loved the old farm house. It still is mostly the same from the first time Mack saw it. The only big changes have been the decorations they did to the boys rooms, other than a few minor updates over the years like flooring and appliances. 

“Yeah. It’s time for us to build our forever home, honey. One that represents us and our family. Not mine and a past that doesn’t hold a damn cent to what we have built together.”  

“How do you always make it all okay?” She laughs despite her sadness. “It’s like… you…” She trails off, biting her bottom lip as she looks into his green eyes. “You always know what we need.” 

Mack realizes how secure David is in this latest decision too. Not the house, but saying goodbye to hockey for good. Because they need that too. She shakes her head at him. He does the same back to her. 

But when they hug again, they both still cry about it. 

Because sometimes the right choices is still a really, really hard one.

Read more Mack and David here.

[ask-rok]

🇰🇷Headcanon dump #1

To start off, these are head canons i have for Yong Soo!

He is a big fashionista! From shoes, belts, jewelry, shirts and pants, he will go out a limb to find the best of the best.

He enjoys going to the Noryangjin fish market to get good seafood and talk to all the people, also help them if they are looking for someone.

He tends to walk a lot and takes the subway and bus if he has to.

He doesnt have a car, but the korean government has a car for him if he needs to either head some where else or head up to the border, really depends.

His favorite place to visit is busan due to his love of land and ocean, and of course? The seafood.

His go to coffee order is an iced americano

He tends to blink a lot due to contacts or lack of sleep due to insomnia

Hes a big video game lover and player! From league of legends to maple story, snd even Pokémon, he likes to play them after a stressful day

He likes to go to the PC cafe and blends in, talking with people and playing games.

Hes been into webtoons a lot, but still enjoys a good manga every now and then. Hes currently rereading Naruto

Hes a big animal lover and has a cat and a dog.

He recently got talked into getting his left ear pierced and takes it out when he either has meetings or sees Yao.

He does have scars as all nations do, a couple on his back, the back of his head, one on his shoulder and one of his leg.

He used to horse back when he was a lot younger and was really good at it too.

He checks on the border at least twice a month, asking for a run down and meeting with the current person in charge.

Currently his hair is getting shaggy and hasn't had time to get it cut due to his busy schedule.

If he can, and if he tries? He will nap for at least an hour.

He has 2 big storage units of old stuff. From the early 1900s to even the late 1800s. He likes to sort through it and see what he can give to historical societies or museums.

Yong soo mostly donates anonymously or say it was an heirloom.

Only government officials and some of the military know and what he really is. And other nations governments know as well.

He has to get an updated picture for his passport and his drivers license every 10 years, and mostly all of them look the same.

He likes to draw scenery and animals when he can.

He goes down to jeju island in the spring and summer to hike, walk the beach and eat good food.

He exercises a lot! From walking, weight training and tons of cardio. But his baggy clothes always hides it.

He physically looks like he is between 18-19 years of age.

He gets mistaken a lot as college student and takes that as a compliment.

His favorite dish is Kimchi jjigae

He has a huge obsession of buldak ramyun and has a whole pantry of different types.

He likes to mix stuff just to try something new.

He tends to toss and turn at night due to his insomnia but is prescribed medication to help him get at least a little sleep.

He likes to walk the Han river in the morning if he can, and enjoy the beauty of it

He loves the morning and loves looking at the clouds

He has a small place in the country side to get away from Seoul and enjoy the nature.

He likes to nap in the sun on a small swing he bought online.

He enjoys cooking despite many to go options now a days, it brings his busy mind to a peaceful state.

He misses his twin brother more than anything in the world, still holding on to the last strand of hope.

When he gets frustrated, he rolls his eyes twice out of habit of north rolling his eyes and yong soo doing it as well.

He has way too much skin care products but enjoys trying new ones

He loves kdramas and likes to switch between romance and historical.

He likes to listen to a lot of other music besides kpop. He likes a lot of bollywood music, indie and alternative as well.

He likes to feed the stray cats and dogs and will have extra food to give them