#I tried to proofread

[girlsdads]

https://www.tumblr.com/girlsdads/762007245755170816

It looks like daniel is peeing

em!!! you put this in my brain and i promptly had a crisis, so of course i had to give Max that same crisis, and somehow this became 1.3k 🫡

cw: (consensual?) voyeurism, romanticized peeing

Practice gets red-flagged early on. Max doesn’t see who is in the barrier as he slowly passes, just knows it isn’t Daniel. He’d been assured of that down his radio almost instantly, though he hadn’t asked. He thinks it must be team protocol to tell him this, that it’s not his teammate in the totaled car. Still, Max flushes bone-deep, feeling too exposed, too obvious. Feeling like they know, everyone must know, his brain turns to goop around Daniel and he never catches himself in time.

He trails Daniel to his driver’s room anyway, knowing how it looks. Daniel grins over his shoulder at Max, starts skipping ahead, makes Max chase him. Warmth blooms in Max’s belly. He may be always following behind Daniel, but Daniel is always looking back.

Daniel shrugs his race suit off his shoulders, lets it hang open around his trim waist. The humidity has stamped dark patches on his white fireproofs where he’s started to sweat through. Max closes the door behind himself and stands there awkwardly, trying to think of something to say that will make Daniel laugh, trying not to make direct eye contact with Daniel’s sweaty armpits, lest he shove Daniel against the wall and stick his nose there.

What happens instead is much, much worse.

Daniel is making a beeline to the bathroom, thumbs hooking into the elastic over his flat pelvis. Max’s vision tunnels, the air in the room seeming to close in around him with a swoosh.

“What are you doing?” He hears himself ask, stupidly.

It’s obvious what Daniel is doing. He’s shimmying his hips side to side as he nears the toilet, wiggling the Nomex down. He’s left the door wide open. He stops and smiles at Max, blinding. “Gotta drain the snake, as they say.”

Who is saying this other than you, Max wants to shoot back, knows he should match Daniel’s cheeky tone, rib him a little then leave the fucking room like a normal person. He hears the wet pop of his own bottom lip dropping open, feels the weight of the words against his larynx, but is struck completely dumb watching Daniel pull out his flushed, soft cock.

Max has of course seen Daniel’s dick before, it would probably be more weird if he hadn’t, like he was purposely trying not to. But the handful of other times have only been glimpses in his periphery, nothing like this. Like this, close range and staring openly because Daniel knows Max is there and still he didn’t close the door, Max can see everything.

The double-stacked waistband of his briefs and fireproofs is tucked up snug under his balls. Max can see where the dark, stubbly hairs are starting to grow back, on his sac and around the base of his cock. Daniel has joked before, about manscaping, but to see the evidence of it like this is dizzying. Max wants to go to his knees and pull each ingrown hair free with his teeth.

Daniel holds himself loosely in his left hand, the ruddiness of his shaft clearly visible through the gaps between knucklebones. The head is peeking out past the circle of his index finger and thumb, fat and flushed a little darker than the rest of him. Even soft, his cock looks heavy and full. Max’s mouth floods with saliva and he sucks it back with his cheeks pinched in, hoping Daniel won’t hear the wet slurp.

His skin feels hot. He’s stuck like an ant under a magnifying glass in the sun, his insides incinerating as he watches an arc of piss flow from the gorgeous tip of Daniel’s cock, noisily splashing into the bowl.

Daniel groans, his chin bobbing down toward his chest like someone cut the string that was holding his head upright. Piss hisses out of him, harder now, like he’s pushing it. It is so loud and the walls are thin—anyone lingering nearby must be able to hear, to know. Max wishes he could put up a forcefield, shelter them both inside where only Max can hear the sounds Daniel’s body makes.

It is all over so quickly. The stream trickles to a stop and then Daniel is shaking off the last little dribbles before he’s tucking himself away. Max feels a pang in his chest like grief—he hadn’t finished mentally cataloguing every angle of this moment, needs the image 3D printed into his brain so he can remember forever. Daniel will probably never speak to him again after this, will certainly not let Max anywhere near his bare cock once he turns and sees—Max is hard.

Daniel is shrugging back into the shoulders of his race suit and Max is standing there tenting his own, mortifyingly obvious. Max braces for whatever awkward joke Daniel will try to make to mask his disgust, as he faces Max finally.

He watches Daniel notice. He watches his eyes go slightly bigger and rounder, watches his jaw tick like he’s going to drop it. His gaze feels like a physical weight. Max’s dick throbs once, twice. There is no way Daniel cannot see.

Daniel says nothing, in the end. He smiles at Max, easy as anything, as if Max isn’t a complete freak of nature with a boner from watching his teammate take a piss. He even claps Max on the shoulder as he passes on his way out the door, doesn’t seem to catch how Max sways, knees wobbly, under his touch.

And then Max is alone in Daniel’s driver’s room. Alone and hard and—fuck, a realization burns through him—Daniel didn’t flush.

Max lurches forward before he can stop himself. His foot catches on some part of the floor and he stumbles, nearly going to his knees right there in front of the toilet.

It should be mostly clear, with how they are supposed to be staying hydrated, but apparently Daniel is not doing a very good job. Max has to steady himself with one hand on the wall as he stares down into the bowl, dazed. The water is tinged an unmistakable yellow. It hits Max viscerally, that Daniel has bodily functions and that he did one of those right in front of Max, was comfortable enough to not care if he saw. It’s unbearably intimate in a way that Max can’t think too hard about or he’ll forget how to drive his car, probably. He thinks, wildly, that he wishes he could live inside Daniel’s body, surrounded by all the microscopic things that make him him. He wants to kiss every single one of Daniel’s cells and thank them for keeping him alive.

Even more wildly—he wants to massage his bladder from the inside, tell it he’s sorry it had to get so full, that Daniel should never have to hold it for too long, that he could always if he cannot wait tell Max to go to his knees, and Max would, anywhere, tip his head back and open up for everything Daniel has to give—

Max rips his layers off, feeling frenzied. Elastic stretches around his thighs as he squats lower, his cock now leaking bare over the bowl full of Daniel’s pee. He had foregone underwear earlier, the crotch of his fireproofs now absolutely soaked through with precome. It will be cold and sticky around his cock and balls when he gets back in the car, he will have to drive again and feel it and he will think about Daniel and his dehydrated piss and the sound he made when he let go—

Max comes, shaking, aiming his cock so that it splatters into the bowl, milky white swirling with yellow. Max and Daniel together, like it should be always.

[lycheeloving]

ANOTHER MULTIVERSE FIC because I can't stop myself, apparently. An injustice!Superman one, this time. I imagine you were a small-time hero/vigilante in this one, so Superman knew (and liked) you before he turned bad, but you weren't super close, before.

-You wake up in an unfamiliar room, tied to a chair, not knowing how you got there. Kal doesn't ever let you leave the fortress. But you don't know how anyone else could have gotten in to take you here, wherever here is. Maybe it was Kal? But why would he do that?

-You spot a woman tied up in another chair next to you, it seems like she also just woke up. She reminds you of someone, but you can't remember who exactly... You want to ask her if she knows more about what's going on, when you realize you're both gagged. Shit. You can't even communicate with her!

-A man comes in, rambling something about how he's glad you're finally awake and about his plan finally taking shape. You feel like you should know this guy, but can't quite put a finger on it...

-Being unsure if you know who he is, as you're "not from here", he introduces himself. He's Lex Luthor.

-Wait. Lex Luthor? The Lex Luthor? The dead one, who was killed by Superman? Is this a prank? Because if so, it isn't funny at all. And quite dangerous for everyone involved.

-Luthor (if that is his real name) then focuses on the woman next to you. He addresses her as "Mrs. Lane".

-Lane as in Lois Lane? Like, Lois Lane from the Daily Planet? Clark Kent's, Superman's wife? Now you know something is extremely wrong. She's dead, too, and everyone knows not to mention her name unless they want to face Superman's wrath... You make a few muffled sounds beneath your gag, itching to ask about just what is going on here.

-Luthor says he's going to explain everything, don't be so impatient! He has a machine that can open portals to parallel universes, which is how he got you here. His plan includes kidnapping the person that is most important to Superman in his own universe (Lois Lane), the person most important to Superman in a second universe (You!) and then making the Supermen fight each other by threatening your lives. The only way to save you is if one Superman dies. This room is Superman proof, he can't hear or see anything that's happening in here, so they can't just swoop in and save you. After the fight, he's going to let the winning Superman enter this room, promising him that he can rescue Lois or you. Except not really, because he's going to try to kill the winner too, because that should be easier after he just fought another Superman, right? He hasn't opened a portal to let the Superman from your universe know about how he can save you, yet. He closed the portal he got you through immediately after kidnapping you, so he had more time to prepare everything. How he found you? Something about being able to detect kryptonian dna residue on you. And you were in Superman's fortress. Easy to combine that you must be important to him.

-That's... actually not a terrible plan! Sure, it might not work out exactly the way that Luthor is planning, but beating Superman with Superman is a great idea! Actually it'd be great if Luthor got a third one here. Two Supermen should definitely be able to defeat one Superman, right? Unfortunately you can't communicate any of this through your gag. Damn, you'd love to help him improve his plan...

-You wonder if he chose your universe completely randomly, or if he chose an evil Superman on purpose. You don't think he did, he didn't mention the regime with one word, and if it existed in this universe he wouldn't be working on this stupid plan. And Lois wouldn't be alive, probably.

-Before you can let your thoughts spiral even more, Luthor falls over. Huh? Is he unconscious? You spot Batman coming towards you. Ah. That explains that, then. Man, you haven't seen Batman in such a long time...

-"Are you two alright?" He quickly cuts through the ropes tying you to the chairs, freeing you. "Good thing you used your bat emergency-signal, Lois. I was able to get to you before Superman could fall for Luthor's trap." Wait, why would Lois contact Batman? Oh, right, sometimes you forget that he and Superman used to be friends, so obviously his wife would trust him too.

-He takes off both of your gags and then turns to you. "We figured out you're from a parallel universe, but don't worry, Nightwing is currently working on a way to get in contact with the Superman from your dimension, so-"

-"NO!", you scream, making Batman look at you in confusion. You quickly tell him to contact Nightwing, to make him stop trying to open a portal or god forbid, contact Kal!! Noticing the urgency in your voice, Batman quickly complies and lets Nightwing know to stop what he's doing, before asking you to elaborate. Phew! The last thing you need is an angry Superman wreaking havoc in a second universe.

-You start explaining to Batman about how your Superman started changing for the worse after Lois died (sparing the details, as she's kind of sitting right next to you), started to get darker, kill villains, everyone who did something bad, people who disagreed with him. Other heroes, even. People he used to be friends with. How everyone who didn't agree with him and join his regime, including you and Batman, had to go into hiding, trying to find a way to stop him. Clark, no KAL-EL found you at some point, but instead of killing you, he unexpectedly took you, basically imprisoned you. Kept you like a pet who's not smart enough to make their own decisions. (You never even knew he liked you like that at all, before that. Sure, he was always nice to you, but he had Lois!)

-Lois seems visibly shocked, whereas Batman just listens to you stoically. "All this to say, it's good to see you alive, Lois!" You smile weakly. She tries to smile back, but before she can respond, Batman cuts her off. "We should leave this place. I doubt it's very safe here. We should return to the Batcave, think of a plan." You spare one last glance at Luthor, who's still lying on the floor (Are we just going to leave him here? Huh. Ok.), then follow Batman outside.

-As soon as you're out of the building, something rushes past you. "Lois! Are you ok? Did he hurt you?" Not something. Someone. You try not to flinch as he fusses over her, while she reassures him that she's fine multiple times.

-After he's convinced she's not hurt, he turns to you with a gentle smile. "Hello! So you're close to the Superman in another dimension, then?" As he takes a step towards you, you instinctively take a step back towards Batman. Clark frowns at him quizzically. It's funny, he almost looks like a confused puppy. You would smile if you didn't know that this is all a facade to distract from his god-like, destructive powers.

-"Turns out the other version of you is some kind of evil dictator." Well, leave it to Batman to get straight to the point. Clark opens and closes his mouth a few times, thinking about what to say. "Well, I can assure you that I'm not like the Superman you know. I promise you, I'm a good person! At least I try my best to be one. You don't have to be scared." His voice is getting increasingly gentle, trying to reassure you.

-"Oh yeah? That's exactly what the Superman from my dimension would have said, before..." You don't mention his wife's death, not wanting to anger him. "The same thing could happen to you. You might be nice now, but who knows what the future holds?" As you're saying this, you slowly move slightly behind Batman. Just in case. He should have some kryptonite on him, right?

-Superman just frowns harder, then turns to Lois. "We should go home." He picks her up and turns to Batman. "Contact me as soon as you have plans for... handling the other me." With that, he takes off.

-Batman ushers you into the Batmobile, where Nightwing (another ghost, to you) is already waiting. You keep turning to look at him during the drive to the Batcave, while Bruce explains the situation to him. If they notice your weird looks, they don't mention it.

-You allow yourself to feel some hope. Maybe you can contact your Bruce? Help him out! Send a few still good Supermen! Your head is spinning with ideas, and you're sure Batman can come up with even better ones. You can't help but smile, your nightmare might finally be over...

[taitavva]

the consequences of taking any wayward child with red eyes under your wing ....

(sequel to this + full text under cut)

[thesunisatangerine]

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part two

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: implied sexual content

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 2.5k

You weren’t sure what woke you at first but when you opened your eyes, you found the brilliant, early morning light that streamed through a crack in the curtains. Groaning, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, not missing the unmistakable rustling of clothes somewhere at the foot of the bed. 

Peeking over the sheets to the source of the sound, you found Ale working to put her pants back on, her bare back to you. You propped yourself against the headboard as you watched on, biting your lip at how Ale’s tattoos deliciously shifted over her rippling muscles. She picked something up from the floor before she turned towards the bed and you caught sight of the darkening marks on her neck and chest. When she saw you looking at her, she smiled, a little bashful, which you returned in kind.

“What time is it?” You cringed at how you croaked out the words.

“Early. You should go back to sleep.” Ale said, putting her bra on as she kept your gaze.

You hummed. “I could say the same for you.”

Ignoring what she said you sat up on the bed, allowing the sheets to slide down and settle by your waist as you stretched. Ale’s eyes wandered to your chest which, you supposed, bore the same marks you could see on hers, and you relished the attention. Once she found your eyes again, you sent her a knowing smirk before you left the bed, headed to the closet where you grabbed the nearest fresh shirt you had, and tossed it to Ale. 

Without even looking at the shirt, she caught it with ease. You raised your brow, both in question and in wonder. In response, Ale just smiled innocently at you. Ale pulled the shirt over her head, hiding the marks from view, then she moved towards you, her eyes dark and shining with intent.

Your body remembered last night’s endeavours before you did: every nerve in your skin lit up in anticipation for Ale’s touch, a fuse waiting for a spark. She laced an arm around your waist and pulled you flush to her front with a strength that left you breathless, her clothed body firm against your bare flesh. Without your heels she almost towered over you that you had to stand on your toes to wrap your arms around her neck. You closed your eyes when you felt the words she spoke against your temple.

“As much as I’d love to stay, I have to go.”

You sighed, unable to hide your disappointment. But what did you expect? You knew what you were getting into last night–you knew this was meant to only be a one-time thing. Besides, you were never one for relationships anyway; all your dalliances were brief and fleeting, ending before they ever got serious. Still, something about Ale pulled you to her, a force that compelled a desire to get to know her. The logical part of you already accepted the fact that you’d probably never see her again after this, but a small part of you wanted to rebel and resist that fate. 

Unsurprisingly, logic won out.

“I shouldn’t keep you, then,” you whispered against her collarbone. Ale shivered and that made you smile: it’s good to know you weren’t the only one still feeling the effects from the previous night.

“You’re not making this easy,” she whined and you laughed. 

“Alright, alright. I guess it’s time for me to let you go.”

There was a moment of silence but not an uncomfortable one. You looked at her, soaked in how her features caught the morning light, how her fair hazel eyes almost appeared like twin golden suns. You were tempted to kiss her lips then but you settled for a chaste one on her cheek instead. “Keep the shirt, to remember me by and… a thank you for last night. It was wonderful.”

“I had a good time, too,” she hummed, a small smile on her lips. 

You returned her smile, and then you gently pushed her away as you took a step back. “Go, Ale.”

Ale stood there for a moment more, took one last look at you, gave you one last smile and she was out of the bedroom. When you heard the front door shut, you sighed again as something akin to regret settled in your bones. Maybe you should’ve at least asked for her number…

“So… did you have fun?” A deep voice filtered through the speaker before you saw the familiar mop of blonde hair and blue eyes on your screen. You rolled your eyes at his dry tone but you smiled nonetheless.

“Oh hi, Derek, I’m doing fine! Thank you for asking!”

Derek gave you an unimpressed look. “Come on. I need details cause that club was exclusive for a reason. So, did you hook up with someone?”

“Dude, stop! That’s so–” you shook your head, a palm over your face. You swore if he wasn’t family you would’ve… you breathed through your nose. “Thank you for the pass and everything but I’m not obligated to tell you shit.”

“Fine, I see how it is. Just ‘cause I’m not there you’re keeping secrets from me now, huh?” He raised an exaggerated eyebrow. 

“Then maybe you should’ve come here with me,” you retorted with faux annoyance. “What’s the point of you owning a house in Barcelona if you’re not going to use it? It’s literally rotting here! The fact that you haven’t even put any personal things in here is criminal!”

“And let this agency burn down to the ground while both of us are away? Pfft, yeah, right!” Derek scoffed. “You know it’s either you or me who can keep watch around here. Besides, the house can wait and you’re using it now, right? So, a win-win in my book.”

He was right but you weren’t about to tell him that so you opted to change the topic. “How are things on your end anyway?”

“Chaotic, as usual. And it doesn’t help we’re now down two–actually, three including you–of our best in the Spot News department.”

At that, you sat up from the couch, alarm and dread filled your body and you brought the phone closer to you. “Oh my god, did something happen?” 

Derek sighed heavily, his demeanour clouded over as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “It was Jones and Gilda–they’re stable, don’t worry!–they got caught in a flash flood on the way to the base at their area. Sick with some minor injuries, Jones more so than Gilda, but thankfully they’re both okay.”

At that, you breathed out in relief. You were well acquainted with the dangers that came with your job but you could never get used to how quickly a situation could get from bad to worse. The mere thought was enough to turn your hands cold. 

“When did this happen?”

“Early morning today in our timezone.”

“Oh, fuck. Derek, why didn’t you call me?!”

“Dude, you’re on leave. And it’s not that I didn’t want to let you know, I just wasn’t about to wake you up in the middle of the night to give you this headache. I’m just about done with the paperworks anyway.” A moment silence, then Derek sighed. “You really chose the worst time to go on leave. You know, I had to send Jersey to start covering Spot.”

“Not my fault you authorised it. I was happy to wait another month, remember? Wait, so if Jersey is doing Spot, who’s doing Sports?”

“I know, I know, don’t remind me ‘cause I’m already regretting it. And no one’s doing it. Spot coverage is more important but–”

“–we get a decent sum from Sports, too,” you finished for him. You did some quick estimation in your head: a month or two without Sports could prove costly, too great of a sum to let go. You hummed, rubbing your chin, but it didn’t take you long to realise that you could help out, your mind immediately fleeted to your conversation with Ale and her suggestion.

“I’ll cover it, Derek.”

“No. You’re supposed to be enjoying your leave–”

“Derek.” You fixed a stern gaze at him, the one you knew that he knew meant your mind was made up. Then you proceeded to reassure him that it was fine, and then you told him about your plan. “Alright, then, I’ll leave the press passes to you.”

“I’ll e-mail them to you once I get ‘em, most likely by tonight your time. I–” 

“Derek, you got to see–” Another voice filtered through the speaker while you watched as Derek turned his head to the side and held his hand up to whoever it was before returning his focus back to you.

“Okay, as much as I’d love to keep talking to you, Robert just brought me a huge stack of paper so I’m going to bail.” 

“Alright. Have fun, you. Talk to you later.”

“Ha ha, very funny. But seriously, thank you.”

“No worries. Kiss Mom for me when you see her.”

“I will. Love you, sis.”

“I love you, too.”

After calling Jones and Gilda to ask about their condition and to send them your well wishes, you decided to spend the rest of your day at the nearby square and the beach. A day as good as this wasn’t meant to be wasted by staying inside so you grabbed several rolls of film and your beloved Leica camera before heading out. 

It was already late afternoon when you found yourself trudging along the shoreline of one of Barcelona’s beaches, appreciating the orange-tinged skies and how the gulls called from above. When you looked to the horizon, you found a mother and her little daughter paddle-boarding just a hundred meters from the shore. You could see almost no details in the shadows of their silhouette but the large setting sun framed them in such a way that you felt to take a shot of the moment. So you adjusted your aperture accordingly, pressed the viewfinder against your brow, lined up your shot, and pressed the shutter.

“I thought you looked familiar… And I was right.”

Your thumb froze over the advance lever when you heard someone speak from somewhere behind you. That voice… could it be?

You whipped your head over your shoulder and found none other than Ale standing there. She was wearing a pair of jean shorts, a white opened blouse that put her toned abs and Nike sports bra on display, loose hair slightly damp, with a leash in one hand that lead to a small, fluffy dog. She also had on a pair of black wraparound sunglasses that she moved to the top of her head, revealing her hazel eyes that captivated your gaze immediately.

You could hardly believe your eyes and your luck; you already accepted her fleeting presence in your life but to meet her again in a city as big as Barcelona without any means of contact… that surely was nothing short of a miracle.

“Ale, hi! I–I never thought I’d see you again,” you said after you finally found your voice but as soon as the words left your mouth, your cheeks warmed. What were you supposed to say to a one night stand in this situation, especially when you clearly wanted it to happen again?

“Me neither. I should thank Nala for dragging me out here.” Ale grinned as she glanced down at her dog by her feet. You crooned as you bent down, then you offered your hand first and only after Nala licked your knuckles did you proceed to pet her.

“Thank you, Nala, for taking your owner for a walk.” At that, a hearty laugh came from Ale which caused Nala, who seemed to be overjoyed by the sound of her owner’s delight, to yip and wag her tail. And just as quickly as she had, she seemed to get bored and began to bound forward, urging Ale to move as well so you stood up, brushed the sand from your palms, and fell in step with her. 

For a moment, the space between you was filled by the sound of the waves, the sound of the shifting sand beneath your feet, and the ever-bustling noise from the city. Then you recalled your conversation with Derek this morning.

“I thought about what you said, about covering women’s football. I’m going to be given a press pass for a match, not sure which one they’ll give me, though. But do you know of any big matches coming up?”

“Really? That’s great! Do you have any particular team in mind or…?”

“Research is still on my to-do list so no, not really. I’m all ears for suggestions, though.”

“I see. Well, there is this match coming up: Real Madrid and Barcelona. Since you don’t know, there’s rivalry between the two teams so any match between them tends to get crowded. You should come watch.” 

“That sounds like a good one. I hope that’s what they’ll get me into. Will you be there?”

“I hope so, too. And yes, I’ll be there.” As she said this, her eyes shone with a glint not dissimilar to what you saw in them the night you met. Her lips tilted to the side, closed but quirked at the corners like she was holding in a laugh. If it weren’t already clear that night, it was now–you were definitely missing something here.

“What?” You asked, confused. What was she not telling you? But at the question, Ale only let out a small giggle, grinning as she did so.

“Nothing, nothing,” she said, shaking her head. You didn’t believe her but you let it slide one more time and the fact that she looked so distracting didn’t help either.

She had her head turned to you, her loose hair framed her face and strands fluttered in the cool, ocean breeze. You had to tilt your head up slightly to meet her eyes and, without any bidding, memories from that night and the morning after filtered through your mind: the way she held you against her, the way you wanted her to stay… maybe you should ask her if she was free tonight.

“–what do you have in mind?”

You blinked. “What?”

Ale threw her head back, letting out another hearty laugh before she looked at you and you saw amusement swimming in her eyes. Then, she continued with a smirk, “you asked if I was free tonight. I said yes. Or… was I not meant to hear that?”

Your ears and cheeks burnt while you internally cursed your slippery tongue.  That was smooth. Real smooth. “Ummm…”

You woke the next morning with a delicious soreness between your thighs, a pleasant reminder of the way Ale ravished you last night. Similar to the first morning after, you heard the rustling of clothes being put on. But before you could fully open your eyes, warmth from Ale’s lips branded the skin on your shoulder. 

“I have to go. See you next time?” Ale murmured softly. You shifted slightly to the side and you saw how the sunlight behind her gilded her hair with an amber halo and made her eyes appear like molten gold. 

Brushing a loose strand behind her ear, you hummed in confirmation and pressed your forehead sleepily against the sharp line of her jaw, closing your eyes as you did so and you whispered, “you know where to find me.”

[mydearchoso]

geto and a reader with capnolagnia (a fetish/attraction to the smell of cigarette smoke/the act of smoking) and so everytime he wants some puss, he steps out for a few and comes back REEKING of it.

he loves doing it at movie theatres, restaurants, sometimes before he comes to visit you at work or before entering your house. any excuse to make you hot and bothered that inevitably leads to him being dragged to the bathroom or bedroom, sometimes not even bothering to hide it and just doing it right there as discreetly as possible.

he just loves the stark contrast when you go from bright, smiling, and cheery to furrowed brows and rustling thighs. mouth all but watering as you fuck the man to oblivion behind your eyes, before finally pouncing on him.

geto has also certainly fucked you WHILE smoking... slow lazy thrusts as he watches the ash flutter down to rest on your torso. smearing it with his hands as he slides it up to play with your nipple idly. putting the filter to your lips to inhale. all before he's locking your lips with his, grabbing each of your shoulders so hard his nails dig into your flesh. inhaling the smoke from your mouth as he pulls you down towards his hips. his leisurely pace turned cruel and hyper. fucking you like a rabbit who's only goal is to finish before it's heart gives out.

he gets so needy as he exhales the remainder of smoke across your face, watching your expressions as he drills into you ruthlessly. he may be using you like a toy right now, but after a little clean up, when he's put his briefs back on and you're in his shirt, you'll step out onto the back porch for a proper smoke. cuddling on the sun bed and passing the cigarette back and forth. staring up at the stars as you ramble about nothing special as you both bask in the afterglow of your ecstasy... and once you're back inside, who knows? maybe you'll be going at it again.

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

All Funk, No Punk - Still Hobart Brown

Gold chains instead of silver spikes. Gator shoes in place of thrifted boots. And an afro bigger than Hobie's -

Spider-Funk is Hobart Brown - Earth 831

Hobie Brown maybe Artie's chiller, rougher, and louder self - but somehow, they get on like a cop car on fire (or whatever the saying is).

And Artie Brown maybe Hobie's cockier, flirtier, and flashier self - but they just tell people they're twins.

Or at the very least - they call each other 'brotha' and 'bruv' all the time.

When people ask about the accent thing - you know, Artie being American, they say 'Ever seen The Parent Trap?'

[A LONG ASS post - Below is Artie's Origins, Fighting Style, Relationship to Hobie, and how he got recruited - All About the Brown Bros! Artie & Hobie, FunkPunk!]

It's Hobie 2 - Electric Bugaloo!

And just when Miguel thought he could only stomach one of them.

Though he calls himself the older brother, being born over a decade earlier, Artie is Hobie's less mature, more materialistic, but just as kind variant.

He's a pacifist instead of an anarchist - Full of Soul instead of bursting with Rock.

And he still hates cops.

Origins:

When Artie was drafted for the Vietnam War in 1969 - the first thing he did was burn his draft card. Then he joined the Black Liberation Army.

He wasn't the only one - Artie was part of the almost half a million draftees to do so.

And then President Osborn was elected.

To fill the gap in enlistment, Osborn came up with a solution.

V.E.N.O.M - A highly toxic, unfeelingly aggressive, and wildly bloodthirsty symbiote. A solution to the protests and draft dodgers.

Engineered by Oscorp - if you didn't induct yourself as a soldier, the V.E.N.O.M would make you one. And suddenly his friends were disappearing one by one.

A subtle but sudden-onset disease, the V.E.N.O.M variant was nearly undetectable, very persuasive, and incredibly effective.

More primal than animalistic, the symbiote's function didn't raise one's bloodlust, - instead it lowered, and at worse cancelled, your empathy. The symbiote subtly normalized dehumanization - attacking neurons in the cerebral cortex to destroy one's capability of empathy, compassion, and at times - recognizing faces. Able to follow commands without a second thought - the perfect soldier. Convincing the host of necessary order and their own biological superiority, over the course of 72 hours the host would lose their ability to recognize the people around them as anything other than sub-human. In 138, V.E.N.O.M turns you into an animal. In 831, V.E.N.O.M turns everyone around you into an animal.

It could make anyone into an unfeeling, unrelenting soldier - no guns needed.

The best of them got sent overseas to the War - and the rest, he turned on the people, hunting down all those who dared to dodge their call.

While on tour in DC, Artie was bitten by a radioactive spider, as he attempted to burn draft papers at a government facility.

He burned the papers. Plus he got some sick powers out of it. Plus Plus he gets to beat up The National Guard on a weekly basis. Ain't that a score.

And Hobie may hate the name Spider-Punk (or so he says), but Artie loves being Spider-Funk.

He calls them Funk & Punk. Hobie calls them that too, but like in a cool ironic way.

Artie & Hobie:

Personality:

Hobie knows that Artie is going through his 'Pavitr Phase', so he cuts him some slack. Artie's only been Funk for a year and some change.

He's got more Ws than Ls, so he's always one to be a bit cocky and reckless - though never at anyone's expense.

He's more talkative than Hobie - and WAY more flirty than Hobie, ready to wink at anyone willing to stare.

Like Hobie, Artie has his own groupies. And the pair on campus do get stares (and whispers. and giggles); Two 6'5 dudes with enough hair to cause an eclipse, walking around in loud ass boots, they're sure to draw attention.

Something Artie loves.

Artie considers himself a Ladies' Man. And a Man's Man. And what gender you have to offer really. (He's still a 'Hobie' - he doesn't discriminate)

He's got a waterbed in his boathouse, shag carpets, and wine at the ready. He loves sweet-talking people, and showering them in compliments. Whereas Hobie's love language is Physical Touch, Artie's is Words of Affirmation.

But all Hobie has to do is open his mouth and Be British and suddenly Artie's date is swooning and he's like 'Brotha, I'mma need you to shut the hell up for a second right quick.'

If you hang out with them, get ready for Hobie hanging off your shoulder, while Artie is in your ear complimenting your outfit.

Fighting:

Artie's fighting style is a lot more fluid than Hobie's with a lot of martial arts involved - similar to blaxploitation movies of the era.

Hobie thinks he looks bloody ridiculous meanwhile Artie is like 'if dem damn jeans weren't so tight maybe you could get like me and have some flair in your fight, my man.'

He also has an INCREDIBLY MEAN backhand.

Ideology:

The two of them are fairly close, hanging out with each other a lot. Though the two of them are fairly different. Artie is far more pacifist than Hobie, but that doesn't mean he's above violence.

He's just not one to talk about it, or threaten it. He's more of the 'let people talk - don't start none, won't be none'. Camp - and he'll almost never throw the first punch. Though he absolutely considers intimidation, selling hard drugs, and fucking with the general population 'starting some'.

Their ideology may clash heads everyone once in a while, but they hardly ever fight. At all. Instead, they have frequently heated, in-depth debates.

Artie may not be as radical or educated on things as Hobie, plus Hobie has ten years of extra history to pull from, but the two of them do it often, and it keeps them spry.

The only problem is, they get so into it, it SO HARD to understand what they're saying. Accents, slang, cutting each other off, roping other people into the conversation to back them up. It's WILD.

Artie is a lot more materialistic than Hobie. Not as critical of capitalism, Artie likes to game it rather than complain about it.

Unlike Hobie, Artie LOVES the finer things in life, and spoiling those around him. He likes gold over silver, and wears more rings than spikes.

He's a bit full of himself, and he carries a rag in his pocket to whip blood off his nice white boots. Something Hobie wouldn't be caught DEAD doing.

And Hobie clowns him for it everytime. Artie doesn't care. 'True playas never play sloppy.'

But how can he afford all of this? Well,

He's not as uhh,..honest as Hobie. But he has a heart of gold (get it?). And he never lies just to lie - if he's doing it, it's probably for work, or to Miguel, because he does not respect Miguel.

Artie be stealing. He's a master at sleight of hand. If it's a big corporation, it's free game. He never steals money - but to put it concisely: He's a smooth mfer.

He likes gold - he thinks it looks nice. But he knows for a fact that the worth of it is completely manufactured my human and capitalism, and that it's literally just a pretty metal.

He knows that paying hundreds for a chain or gold is exploitative, especially when it's stolen to begin with. So to him, it's justifiable, gimmie.

He also does it mostly for fun, a magic trick - in the same way Hobie makes stuff 'disappear' while talking to Miles, and doing hand tricks.

Artie does that, but more often, and more skillfully.

He doesn't do it all the time, but the first time he did it in front of Hobie - snatching Hobie's homemade watch of his wrist - Hobie was genuinely surprised.

Mostly he does it to make things disappear from your hand, parts he finds lying around, and playing pranks on people like Miguel. Generally, just being a lil shit.

He's a sweet-talker and a big steppa.

Unlike Hobie, Artie knows better than you force his way in. Artie slides in. He can talk them in to anywhere.

He'll pretend to be someone else, pretend to know someone else, steal passes and key cards to get in, and try to attack from the shadows when he can.

In battle, Spider-Punk is the louder, chattier, more immature one. And Spider-Funk is the chiller, sarcastic one.

Like twins, the two of them have their own in-jokes, and they hang at each other's places all the goddamn time. Though they live in different universes and decades, Artie & Hobie are kinda a package deal.

They may not always be together - they both got their own shit to do and they're not actually brothers - but if you hang with one, it's only a matter of time before you meet the other.

"Why is your brother American?" "Divorce." - "Adoption." ........ "Adoption." - "Divorce." "One of you or the both of you are lying."

Diane & Artie & Annie -

[This section is about my main OC Disco-Spider Diane, and her variant Annie P. Disco-Spider is Hobie's....something and they are happily....a something]

Every Hobart needs his Diane, and Artie is no different.

Artie & Diane:

And like usual, it all starts at the beginning.

Diane was the one to recruit Artie - because of course she was. And Lyla had told her two things: He was a guitarist, and his name was Artie. That's all she needed to know.

Lyla wanted it to be a surprise.

She snuck back stage to his show, brushed off the nearly palpable feeling of deja vu in the air, broke into his dressing room, and then tried to flirt him into joining the Society. Easy peasy.

Diane is a very oblivious woman. They spoke for nearly 10 minutes - and Artie decided to hear her out. He sat down on the couch in his dressing room, pulled back his hair and-

Diane goes -

"Hobie??? Is that you?! Oh my goodddd, you look so cute! Your hair!! Hobarrrrt - Why you ain't say nothing, had me standing here doing all this."

Speech completely forgotten. Mind you, she still hasn't explained anything. Diane is destined to freak out every Hobart she meets.

Artie is starting to think he should stop flirting with weird ass groupies that break into his dressing room.

Diane takes out her watch, the watch he doesn't know she has. She pulls up Lyla, the AI he doesn't know she has. And Diane asks her -

"Lyla! Does Artie stand for-" "It does!" "Oh my god!!! That makes this SO much easier! You're soo sweet, awww!!" "You know I saw the mission and thought of you-" "Am I on drugs right now?"

Needless to say - Diane's recruitment was successful.

Diane and Artie actually get on well, really well. Like weirdly well.

Artie and Diane are both extroverted, flirty, and a bit full of themselves. They're expressive, and more into their hair than they're willing to admit. They're perfect for each other - and people notice.

And Diane finds it a TAD BIT WEIRD

I mean, the differences between her and Hobie is what Diane loves about them - they're like sugar and spice, PB and J.

Sometimes Artie and Diane may accidentally finish each other's sentences - and Diane will be like 'Hey don't do that :)'. Other times, Artie will playfully be like 'Why are you standing so close to me, mama?' Just to piss her off.

Of course, Diane thinks he's 'cute'. But not Hobie Cute. And unfortunately, he 'speaks American'.

Besides, Hobie is the only Hobart for her.

Artie is definitely into Diane, but more in the 'she's a catch I would go for' kinda way. He did hit on her a couple times early on in their situation - but once she made it clear that she was 'seeing Hobie', he took the hint.

There's no jealously there - Hobarts are incapable of it. In fact, he's kinda proud the only other guy who could pull the hot girl is ..another him.

Now, Artie is a lot more like a big brother, kinda like the ones Diane grew up with in the Panther's house.

He's protective of her, in a 'Be mean to her and I'll deliver an ass whoppin on a plate' way. He thinks she's cute in the way a platonic sense, and finds her groupie mode to be as amusing as it is adorable.

It's ironic though that his ACTUAL girlfriend is - well, Diane's Opposite.

Artie & Annie:

[This section is shorter, and will be longer in Annie's post]

Diane Pastors is Annie P. is Mod-Spider.

Artie's girlfriend, Annie is the farthest thing from Diane while somehow still being just as big of a diva.

An avid feminism campaigner and modern woman, she would never be caught DEAD hanging off of Artie like that. And she can't stomach Diane all that much.

Hobie, Annie HATES. And not in a coy way. She thinks he's obnoxious - she calls him a poseur. She thinks he's a scrub.

Her & Artie are in a committed relationship - officially boyfriend and girlfriend. And instead of Annie, Artie is the one who wears her name on a chain.

Just like Diane and Hobie, Annie and Artie have a musical duo - called ModFunk.

We're almost done I PROMISE.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Random Details:

Artie's design is an inverted version of Hobie's, but it's also inspired heavily by Jimi Hendrix, mainly this photo on the left.

Right is an example of Artie's Style. His universe has a paint-marker aesthetic, a lot more colorful and soft than Hobie's, with dripping paint and splatters, but it tones down a lot - like Gwen's.

Artie plays Soul, Jazz, and Funk.

He has a band with his version of Daredevil, Felicia Hardy, and Captain Anarchy.

Artie has killed cops - and soldiers before. But he doesn't see it as a big deal. He hates cops, but he doesn't focus on it. He doesn't discriminate. Ass Whoopin's for everybody.

He DOES pull his hair back, his face isn't covered all the time. Maybe 80% of the time.

He can get around with Spidey Sense, so he doesn't care much - he loves his fro and is always picking it out.

He Pavitr are like best friends. Pavi and The Brown Twins get LOUD AS HELL when all together.

Gwen thinks he's an absolute goofball - So Artie tries his best to make her laugh. She seems like she needs it.

When not on stage and in battle, he prefers to play an acoustic guitar, which Hobie doesn't like playing. His acoustic is also blue.

Him and Hobie can play on each other's guitars, but it sounds very trippy, and VERY VERY weird, abnormally so.

If their heads are covered, or hair done like each other's, they can seamlessly pass as each other.

Hobie SUCKS at an American accent - but somehow, he can mimic Artie's perfectly.

It's the same for Artie - sucks at British, but can speak like Hobie.

He loves chocolate candy bars, Hobie likes fruity candy.

They do write songs together and go to each others shows, though they don't ever really perform together.

They wrestle A LOT

Artie is a genius as well, and they work on mechanics together, Artie is great at math specifically.

He and Hobie do each others hair care and help oil each other's scalps.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So uh.....that's Artie :) The guy

If you made it this far THANK YOU THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ENTERTAINING ME - Artie platonically gives you a red rose.

ALSO TELL ME Why I tried to draw him like Jimi Hendrix But he looking like the Jackson 5 IM SO SORRY YALL

Here's OG Hobie as a thank you! Just imagine two Hobarts standing on either side of you both tall and with big hair and touchy and talkative as fuck Diane is living the DREAM let your OCs be happy

Bye.

[tervaneula]

u said leoichi drabble prompt request. consider. one injured and the other protecting them and then the injured one has to calm them down bc 'they're okay, really, promise, rest now'

OKAY SO this fused with a ghost of an idea I've had for a while and it ended up being a bit more serious than the prompt called for and a lot longer than just a drabble. (It's ~1120 words.) CW: blood and injury

Also I made a silly header thing I don't know what to do with, so I'm putting it here since this fic doesn't come with art of its own :'3

“Yui, I’m okay–” 

The rabbit turns his head to look at him, furious. 

“I heard your shell crack, Leonardo, and I'm not an idiot! Now stay down and let me handle this!” 

He falls quiet for a moment before redirecting his glare towards their adversary and then adds a muted, “Please.” 

There's no compromising with Yuichi in this state, apparently, and Leonardo stays right where he got crushed between metal claws and the concrete, splayed on the ground next to those very same claws which had gotten swiftly cut from the wrist for their transgressions.

He does roll onto his side to get his body weight off his shell, and yeah, alright, one or more of the old cracks that never healed properly must have split open again. It's tough to breathe and his back feels… His kimono is sticking to his shell and his back feels wet now that he's paying attention, and that. That is not good. 

Just his luck to run into a massive mecha wreaking havoc on an otherwise lovely day, huh. He wasn't even supposed to be on patrol and thus is embarrassingly swordless. 

Good thing that his date and their resident samurai always carries his. 

The slider watches as Yuichi does quick work of the metal hunk's wiring behind its knees, his frighteningly sharp katana slicing through the cables like butter. The mech falls with a ground-shaking rumble, unable to rise again, arm flailing as it tries to catch the rabbit. It's no use, Yuichi is much smaller and faster – and as soon as he reaches the mech's head, it's already rolling. The construct immediately loses power and Yuichi wrenches the windowed hatch in its chest open. Turns out there's no pilot, just a program-operated dashboard, and he makes sure that none of the controls are functional after he's done with them. 

Leonardo thinks he could watch Yuichi trash villains all day long, he's practically mesmerised by the strength hidden in that soft frame despite his shell throbbing unpleasantly in tandem with his heartbeat. He sighs, lovestruck. 

As his final move, Yuichi thrusts his katana into the heart of the mecha and Leonardo sees a spray of ink-black oil splash all over Yuichi's face and the front of his kimono. It makes him laugh and he realises his mistake too late, his lungs struggling to draw breath again as he finally gets hit with the pain, his body trying to stop him from moving; from causing any more damage. Shit, shit, shit. 

He had hoped he wouldn’t need to bother any of his brothers today since he was supposed to spend the whole day with Yuichi but he knows to pick his battles, now. He opens the comm link embedded in his prosthetic, contacting someone who he knows will pick up. 

“Che~ello!” comes the cheerful answer in just a few seconds, and Leonardo can't help but smile. 

“Mikeyyy, hermano, I'm in a bit of a pickle,” he wheezes, feeling the shift in his little brother's energy as soon as he hears the strain in his voice. 

“Leo? Are you okay?” 

“Not really, no,” Leonardo grunts. “Got into a scuffle with some big haywire robot– don’t worry, that’s taken care of. I suspect Donnie will want to scrap it for parts. Um. My shell’s– my shell’s cracked though.” 

Leonardo can vividly imagine the colour draining from Michelangelo's face and it would be funny if he wasn't acutely aware of a broken shell coming with the very real possibility of his innards turning into outnards. 

“I'm calling Draxy. Stay put, I'll get Lee to pick you up.” 

“Right,” Leonardo sighs, the line going out just when Yuichi is finally done with the mech and rushing to his side, face haphazardly wiped from oil. His gaze is sharp as he kneels next to him, sweaty and out of breath, and Leonardo thinks he looks like a knight. Or maybe like a samurai of the old, in this case. 

“There’s my hero,” he coos before Yuichi can get a word out and the rabbit’s brow furrows. 

“Don’t start,” he snaps but his tone softens almost immediately, “I saw you calling someone. It’s bad, isn’t it? It… it looks really bad.” 

“Yeeeah, this kimono is definitely ruined,” Leonardo laments, “unless you know how to, gh, get blood out of corduroy? No? Or the obi?” 

Yuichi stares. 

“A– a shame, really, I did like this one a lot–” 

“Leonardo!” Yuichi interrupts him and grabs his bicep, looking two seconds away from crying. Leonardo frowns. He knows he’s getting a little delirious but he was sincerely trying his best to lift his mate’s mood. 

“Leon, please, you’re rambling. Is someone coming? Can I do anything?” 

“‘m not rambling,” Leonardo grumbles, hissing when he fills his lungs again. “Leo’s coming to get us, Draxy– Draxum will treat the shell. And no, better keep the obi in place until we get to the medbay.” 

Yuichi’s shoulders slump and he sighs, most likely relieved that he’s not going to have to figure out how to deal with a cracked shell. Leonardo does not like the lingering worry in Yuichi’s gaze one bit, though, and he offers him a grin. It’s a little shaky but whatever. 

“Heeey, bunbun. Listen. This is nothing I haven’t been through before. I’ll be fine.” 

Yuichi gives him an honest-to-God kicked-puppy look and Leonardo thinks it’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen in his life. He almost tells him so but Yuichi cups his cheek and his forced grin melts away into surprised silence. 

“I hate seeing you hurt,” Yuichi murmurs, leaning down to press his forehead against Leonardo’s. The slider’s eyes flutter shut and he lifts his hand to hold onto Yuichi’s wrist. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I mean it. I should’ve been more careful.” 

Yuichi huffs and leans away to gently bump their foreheads together. 

“It wasn’t your fault.” 

“Maybe, but ’m still sorry. Didn’t want to worry you.” 

“You’re an idiot,” Yuichi says, exasperated. “You should know that at this point, I’ll always worry.” 

Leonardo grins and this time it’s genuine. Breathing in his partner’s scent is like a balm to him, even if it’s tinged with the bitterness of motor oil, even if his body currently thinks that breathing is overrated. Even if he just got called an idiot by none other than said partner. 

“Raincheck on the date?” he mumbles, and finally he gets a chuckle out of the rabbit. Yuichi straightens his back and flicks him on the nose. 

“Like you even needed to ask. Idiot.” 

Before Leonardo can express his displeasure of being called an idiot for a second time there’s the familiar electric hum of a portal opening behind him, and someone whistles. 

“Sheesh, old man. That kimono is definitely ruined.” 

[sheepalmighty]

Here are the tricky dialogue comic bits for my Chai-tentatively-joins-Vandelay AU -- there are so many speech bubbles in these images. The rest under the read more is focussed on filling in a few of the gaps I haven't covered yet, solely Chai and Kale stuff.

To preface, I apologise for the absolutely stupid and cliche pages - that are supposed to be pivotal for these two - I decided to draw lower down this post. It would not leave my mind and so I had to manifest it.

While this has some linearity between pages I did leave a couple gaps because I didn't want to iron out the dialogue or events (I've been thinking about this almost exclusively for a year but I'm still not sure what to go with) and I've already drawn these two too many times during this drawn-out, self-inflicted, errr, thing. Still shaky on drawing stuff from the game events proper, doesn't sit right with me but nothing really changes (not sure really) because of the motivations of the main characters.

Something that partly influenced this batch was this one yt comment that said that In A Blink's lyrics / vampire theming weren't supposed to be homoerotic and were just about capitalism, and I thought "why not both?". Anyway, thanks for reading.

[They then argue about who likes who for a bit]

A few small things after the above below:

[solidwater05]

It's ADHD awareness month so l thought it'd be nice to explain why someone with ADHD might consciously make horrible decisions despite being aware of the consequences

So, let's image a situation. A person with ADHD is doing a mildly entertaining activity, let's say doomscrolling. This person also has a task to do. I made a graph where the brighter the color, the higher the satisfaction that the person gets from an activity

[ID: A graph showing a line that divides into two separate lines. The main line, and the bottom line, are a dull yellow. The top line starts off black, and turns bright green as it gets further away from the bifurcation. /End ID]

So here, doomscrolling isn't super gratifying but hey, it's better than nothing. The person has the choice to keep doomscrolling, even though it's honestly pretty boring, or they could do the task they need to do. When they're done with that task, they'll feel a lot better, so they should do that, right? Just do the task because there's literally no cons? Well. Look at this other graph:

[ID: The same graph as before, but cropped to only show the bifurcation itself. This way, the top line seems to be completely black. /End ID]

This is how a person with ADHD perceives the choice. They can logically know that they'll feel better if they do the task, but executive dysfunction makes it literally impossible to get any sort of motivation or satisfaction for gratification that doesn't currently exist. So the choice goes from 'feel meh or feel good later' to 'feel great in comparison or never feel good again'. And what's the obvious choice here?

[nowheregeneration]

The word "Revolution" gets thrown a lot these days by a lot of different people, and I'm not here to tell you what it is but I'll tell you what it isn't. There is no racism in revolution. There is no sexism in revolution. There is no homophobia in revolution. There is no xenophobia, there is no nationalism in revolution. And if you find yourselves under the umbrella of something calling itself a revolution, and one or more of these elements are present, then you, my friends, are in the wrong fucking revolution!

Rise Against Live at Hurricane Festival 2022

[osamusriceballs]

Miya special course! <3

Enjoy the special meal for today! I humbly offer:

Osamu x creampie + Atsumu x degradation

Warnings: NSFW, fem reader

Words: ~ 3,2 k

A/n: Happy Birthday to our beloved twins ✨

Kinktober Masterlist II -> Next day

"C'mon, Y/N. Do you really want me to spend my birthday with that ugly-ass prick?"

Your eyes dart towards the sulking blonde setter, who has his arms crossed in front of his chest to show his dislike. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up just enough to reveal his impressive forearms, proof that he has been training even harder lately for the Olympics.

"I promised that I would spend the day with 'Samu and that I'll spend the night with you. We all decided that together last year, remember, 'Tsumu? To avoid the chaos?"

You smile at him, and his gaze softens when he looks at you, his arms now falling at his sides and revealing his broad chest. "I'll miss ya, pretty girl. Don't have too much fun with him; I get jealous otherwise, ya know?" He winks, and you feel a blush creeping up your cheeks. His silver tongue and charm always get you flustered with seemingly no effort.

"Oy, oy, 'Tsumu, know your place. Your time's tonight. She's mine for the day." OSAMU brings his arm around you, effectively pulling you into his chest, and you shamelessly press your hot face against his body to conceal your embarrassment and deeply inhale his scent. The alluring mix of his perfume and the pleasant smell of freshly made food fill your senses, clearly a sign that he cooked something today, probably something for you, since the restaurant remains closed today. "C'mon, princess, I prepared something for us. You can leave, 'Tsumu. See ya later." Osamu directs you towards the back of the shop, his arm never leaving your waist and holding you close to him. He simply ignores the protests of Atsumu, his lifelong experience with dealing with Atsumu showing, and his yells and rambles become just a faint background noise as Atsumu exits the shop.

Osamu's touch sends shivers down your body. His warmth is comforting to you, and the slight pressure of his arm as he holds you makes you feel safe with him. Your eyes dart towards his face, curious to see if he is as relaxed as his posture and tone make it seem, and he is. Osamu looks good, as always, his calm demeanor making him even more handsome and attractive in your eyes. His dark hair messily hanging into his eyes, long forgotten the days when he used to dye it grey, but he looks equally as good with it, so good that you can't even decide which color you prefer on him, much to his disdain when he had asked for your advice a few years back. Your response made him pout adorably, a sight you only know from him when he accidentally messes up a food order.

"Shouldn't I be the one to cook for us? Or get takeout for us? It's your birthday after all." You look up at him, but he only tightens his grip around you for a second and effectively squeezes your body with one arm, while the other opens the door swiftly.

"Princess, it's my duty to make sure yer satisfied- and that includes you having a full stomach as well." He directs you through the door and quickly closes it, your eyes barely taking in the sight of candles and a delicious meal on top of a table right next to a cooler with a bottle of champagne, before he suddenly spins you around, your back pressing against his chest and your ass right at his crotch. "Wanna spoil ya so bad, princess. My beautiful girl."

His lips find your neck, his hands roaming over your sides, while his fingertips just barely graze the skin under your shirt. You instinctively arch your back into him, tilting your neck to allow his lips to press against your throat, and he releases a deep breath before he starts to nibble on your skin. Your hands press flatly against the door, your heart beating slightly faster in your chest the longer he continues his ministrations, surely leaving a few dark marks that Atsumu will see later. You enjoy the feeling of his lips against your throat though, of his hands, that are now completely under your shirt and lazily grope your chest.

You slightly wiggle in his grasp, your thighs pressing harder together the more he works you up, and you can feel his lips basically curl into a grin before he pulls back and brings his hands down to your hips to turn you around. He's still caging you against the door and you look up at him expectantly, eager for him to continue. "What do you want to do? It's your birthday, you can wish for anything today." He quirks a brow at your words, his grin widening, and he looks like a predator observing at his prey when he leans down until your foreheads touch.

"Shit, wanted to keep it tame, but princess. Can't stop when you offer yourself like that," he barely rasps against your lips before he connects your lips, deepening the kiss instantly and groaning when you return the kiss just as passionately and wrap your arms around his neck. Your hands fidget with the hem of his shirt, feeling his warm skin under your fingers and the muscles of his neck tensing under your touch. One of his hands coming to your cheek to tilt your face in the perfect angle to deepen the kiss and to push his tongue into your mouth, and you moan as you hold onto his broad shoulders to keep you steady. Your legs clench together as you push your tongue against his, feeling spit already coating your chin, but you don't care, not when he's kissing you as messily and hot as he is right now.

"Samu-" you groan his name, and he suddenly presses a leg between yours, the muscular thigh causing you to stand on your tiptoes. "Just- a bit more, princess." You feel the hard bulge pressing against you, a clear sign of how much he's turned on, your pussy pulsing when he suddenly starts to grind his leg against you. You kiss him again, your hands now clawing into his shoulders while you rock yourself on his leg, the fabric of your panties rubbing against his expensive dress pants and creating just enough friction to keep you satisfied for now. His hands glide down your body and one of them moves under your skirt, making you moan and grab his shoulders harder when he rubs against your panties, finding your clit with just a few strokes of his fingers. The lace allows him to easily rub through the material, and you mewl under his touch, desperately kissing him even harder, his groans vibrating against your opened mouth.

"Wanna feel you inside, Samu- please-" You throw your head back against the door, not caring about the slight pain when you bump against the wood, and his response is an immediate nod, quickly pulling back and directing you towards the counter, wordlessly gesturing you to lean over it. You quickly follow his directions, pulling your skirt up to free your ass, and his hand almost immediately connects with your ass check, leaving a slight sting that sends just enough pain to your back to arouse you even further. "Princess, yer temptin' me here to give ya a good spanking. Want Tsumu to see how dirty our princess is for me. How yer beggin' me to fill ya up, to see my cum drippin' out of ya." He presses his coffined cock against your back, and you push yourself further against him, just waiting for him to finally fill you up. Another sharp sting on your ass makes you yelp out, the pain pleasurable and all forgotten when his hand kneads the sensitive spot on your ass.

"Samu, please- don't tease me," you whine, your legs spreading further, knowing how much he enjoys the view. It only takes a few moments for him to pull his pants down until his cock is free, rubbing the tip a few times against your panties before he pushes your panties to the side and slowly presses against your entrance. It's a blurry haze for you, the way he is almost tortuously slowly pressing his cock inside of you, centimeter after centimeter, every vein and ridge of his cock rubbing against your insides, feeling so, so good. "You'll look so good when yer full of my cum. Wanna feel that cunt creamin' for me, show me, princess." He stops for a second when he's fully bottoming out, his hands gripping your hips firmly and holding you close. A sudden sharp thrust of his hips takes your breath away, and you find yourself giving into the fast and harsh rhythm that he sets.

"Yes, just like that, just like that, Samu-" you press your ass further against him, arching your back for him when you feel his cock hitting just the right spot, his groans and deep breaths making you moan even louder for him, your mind hazy and filled with pleasure. "Oh, princess, I'll fill ya up so well, my good little girl, such a good girl for me-"

A gasp leaves your lips when you clamp down on him, your walls pulsing around his cock and milking him. You barely notice how he relentlessly pounds into you, your mind only filled with the thought of him filling you up- and you're basically screaming his name when he cums, his body tensing and his grip firm around your hips while he holds you in place. You're almost drooling at this point, your breaths shallow and uneven, and you barely realize how he whispers sweet praises in your ear, his hands rubbing your sides while his lips graze your neck again, softly kissing the dark spots.

"Yer gonna keep it inside and tell Tsumu that ya've been a good girl for me. Taking me so well, lettin' me fill up that pretty little pussy." A shiver runs down your spine at his words, anticipation already filling you up for Atsumu's reaction. You gasp for air when Osamu slowly pulls his softening cock out of your fucked out pussy, instantly fixing your panties to stop his cum from spilling out as you tense your muscles on your lower abdomen to hold it in. You slowly turn around, his hands still on your hips, and his gaze ever so soft when he looks at you.

Osamu presses a final kiss against your lips, so loving and sweet that you melt against him without any resistance, and then finally proceeds to carry you to the table.

xxxxx

"Come here princess.“ ATSUMU tugs on your wrist and pulls you down to straddle his lap, effectively putting you in a position that you slowly realize will make Osamu‘s cum drip down on him with no way for you to prevent it. Atsumu is quick to notice a shift in your demeanor, he always is, and your eyes widen when he brings a hand between your legs and presses his palm against you.

"That‘s from him?“ his fingers rub against your panties, clearly feeling the wet stain of the mixture of your cum and Osamu‘s- and you feel how your face burns at this action. "I- yes.“

His gaze seems to darken, and a smug grin adorns his lips. "It‘s alright, princess. 'm sure he fucked ya real good, didn’t he? Can’t deny a birthday boy, right?“ You nod at his sympathetic tone, your heart almost pounding out of your chest, knowing fully well that the marks on your neck and the wet stain on your panties are enough to get him riled up and competitive. Atsumu taps your panties twice, his fingers ever so soft when he finally pushes them under your the fabric right into the mixture of your cum. He pushes two of them inside with no warning, his fingers thorough as he curls them into all your sensitive spots, causing you to gasp his name and to claw your fingers into his shirt. "'Tsumu- what are you-" you whine when he pulls them out abruptly, your body feeling empty and missing his fingers already, but he is quick to shush you.

"Now clean that mess up. Be a good little whore for me, hmm?“ A sinister look is reflected on his face while he stuffs his fingers in your mouth, enjoying the way you squirm on his lap while you lap your tongue obediently around his digits. "Samu‘s princess, but a whore for me, huh? Ya want it both, pretty girl? Need both your twins to satisfy ya?“ Your eyes widen at his words, you pussy pulsing and aching for him, craving for his touch while you suck his fingers clean. He presses your tongue down and you gag when his fingers advance further towards your throat.

"You're doing so well, princess." The pet name sounds mocking coming from his mouth but you mewl under his touch, enjoying the way he makes you hot and bothered with just a few words. "C'mon. Pull down my pants and take what ya need. Be a good little slut for me." His dialect is thicker now, his eyes heavy lidded while he watches you, and you only manage to nod, his fingers still in your mouth, drool coating your chin while you hastily scoot back a bit to fumble with his belt.

Your fingers tremble and you furrow your brows when you need a few attempts to open the clasp, a low chuckle leaving his lips at your desperate attempts to pull down his pants. "So eager, huh?" You frantically nod, and don't hesitate for a second before you pull down his pants with his help, just enough to free his cock. He's hard already, not surprising you much, but just seeing him, leaking a drop of precum that rolls down that delicious curve of his cock, adds to the coil of desire in your stomach. He suddenly pulls his fingers out of your mouth, bringing his wet hand down to your ass and smacking you hard- his aim precise like always, a skill of setting and analyzing countless moves for years now.

"C'mon, fuck yourself on my cock like a good little slut. Don't make me wait." Another slap on your ass check emphasizes his words, and you involuntarily clench around nothing. You desperately lean down to kiss him, but he tilts his head to the side just in time for your lips to meet his cheek. "C'mon. Ya need to earn a kiss if ya want one."

His teasing and mocking tone is almost too much for you to take, but you know that he's craving it as much as you do when he sighs and wordlessly kisses you after seeing your pouty face. The kiss is heated, his desire unmistakable in the way he touches you, the way he rests his hands on your lower back and holds you close. His cock presses against your lower stomach, slightly twitching the longer you both make-out.

You slowly direct your body over his cock and hastily pull your panties to the side to align him at your entrance. He sighs when you start to sink down on him, taking the fat tip of his cock inside of you, filling you up so good already. Your head falls back when he thrusts his hips and finally bottoms out, his hands on your back the only thing holding steady. Your hands bury into his blonde locks, pressing his face effectively against your chest, his lips quickly moving to kiss and nibble on your exposed cleavage, leaving marks there alongside the ones you already have from Osamu.

You slowly start moving, raising your hips until he's almost completely outside of you, and his grip tightens around your hips at the action, his jaw clenching when you slam down on him, your mouth fully opened and gasping for air at the sudden pleasurable feeling. "Such a good little slut for me, my good little slut, c'mon, use this cock, it's all yours," he rasps against your skin, and you move again, more vigorously, grinding and fucking yourself on his cock.

You gasp his name, your hands gripping his shoulders for support, and you can already feel the muscles of your legs burning as you keep on moving the more you speed up your movements. His hands grip your hips tighter when he notices how your breaths come more labored, and he start fucking up into you too. You clench around him and moan his name, knowing fully well that you won't last long like when he keeps on fucking you like a toy.

You both moan and groan, the sounds definitely reaching the neighbors that will complain the next day for sure, but you just moan louder when he thrusts even harder. You don't even warn him that you're getting close, you just clamp down on him when you stumble over the edge, overwhelmed by pleasure, moaning his name and gushing around him while he moves your body further on his cock. "Fuck- princess-" a surprised groan accompanies his words while he keeps on bouncing your body before he curses again and spills into you, his cum mixing with yours.

You fall down on his body after a few moments, your bones and muscles limp after he slightly eases his grip around you, but he still makes sure that you don't fall back to the ground. You cling onto him like your life depends on it, your arms weakly wrapped around his neck while your face rests on his shoulder.

"Shhh, I'm here, I'm here for you princess. Breathe with me, you did so well, always so pretty when ya cum for me," he whispers in your ear, the sound of your heartbeat so loud that you almost can't hear him, and you let him whisper sweet words into your ear until you finally come down and breathe normally. His hands hold onto your body, his lips kissing every inch of your skin that he can find, and you find yourself slowly relaxing against him the more he keeps on treating you with utmost softness and care.

"C'mon, let's get back to Samu, and he'll cock somethin' nice for all of us." Atsumu's voice suddenly brings you out of your haze, a little louder than the sweet whispers before.

"I don't think he'll cock something for you." You retort with a snort, thinking about the last time they were bickering when Atsumu came to the restaurant and kept on demanding for free food.

"That's why you're the one askin'. He'd never say no when yer beggin' him for somethin'." Atsumu chuckles and rubs your back one last time before he leans back to look at you- his blonde hair messed up in a way that makes him look even more attractive- almost too much for you to take.

"Okay." You smile at him, loving the way he's all playful and caring especially after doing such lewd things, just your adorable Atsumu.

"Y/n?"

"Hmm?" you look expectantly up at him, and his smile is so adorable and soft that your heart skips a beat at the sight.

"Ya know that we love ya, right? Yer perfect. Perfect for us." He accompanies the words with a soft kiss to your lips, and you smile widely when he pulls back.

"I love you too. Both of you."

[johnslittlespoon]

all the actor/celebrity au posts lately combined with troye bringing ross on stage last night for one of your girls has got me thinking...

a musician x musician au where gale is a troye sivan–esque ultra–famous queer pop star, and john's the singer of a well known indie rock band, and he gets asked by gale's team to star in a music video similar to one of your girls...

to everyone who doesn't know him personally, gale feels like this untouchable pop star. he's been in the industry for years, one of those classic 'i used to make music in my bedroom in my small town' stories, working his ass off before finally a song of his blows up and gets traction and then it's such a fast rise to stardom that he doesn't have time to wrap his head around it.

he never gets used to it, but he doesn't get an ego from it; he still hangs out with the same group of friends he's had since high school, and his team does most of his social media posting for him, because it freaks him out having all that attention, as grateful as he is. he's not shy by any means, not like he was when he started out, but he's not the biggest fan of all the fanfare and interviews and being put on a pedestal and all that. he keeps himself pretty distant online, and that coupled with the diva/superstar energy in his music/projects gives him this air of being on another level– a rare type of star all around.

john has a similar story, the whole growing up on the internet thing, making music in his basement in high school with the friends he's now in a pretty popular indie rock band with, working tirelessly to make a name for him and his friends. but that's kinda where their similarities end.

because john is known for being an absolute shit–poster, a little fiend online, a running joke in his fandom that 'john doesn't know that he's famous', 'should someone remind him this isn't a finsta?' type of vibe. he feels so accessible and down to earth, and while he's just as level headed and humble about his celebrity status as gale is, he displays it by being more present and trying to show the human side of it all, vs gale trying to create distance between gale cleven and the gale persona the world knows.

the band is first and foremost john's thing, but as he's grown in popularity, he's of course gotten offers for other avenues here and there, and at the insistence of his manager he decides to agree to try out a modelling shoot one day. he's not naive; he's more than aware of all the comments going on about his looks, stumbles across more tiktok thirst trap edits of him sweaty and shirtless on stage than he can count, isn't all too sfw in some of his band's songs, either.

he finds it all funny, but he also is someone who will always jump on new opportunities/experiences, and he ends up having a good time modelling, and picks up more gigs as time goes on. this is how gale becomes aware of him, somewhat because gale does occasional modelling too, but mostly because he's worked with a lot of big fashion names for tours and videos, so his and john's circles occasionally crossover, though they never actually meet in person.

so then comes this music video shoot, one that gale's been agonizing over for months, planning every little detail and making sure everything is perfect. it's something that drives his manager (marge? <3 gotta include the angel in every au obvs) insane because gale's got so much on his plate as is, but he likes to be so hands on with his projects, and she knows by now there's no talking him out of that. and everything is going great, until the person who's meant to be starring opposite gale has to pull out last minute due to a scheduling conflict or personal emergency or something.

and the usually very collected and put together gale is freaking out. it's the day before the shoot, everyone involved has already travelled to be on location, choreography is set in stone– this is his nightmare scenario, never doing well in situations where he has a lack of control. it's half of what scares him so much about being as famous as he is, is that he doesn't have a lot of autonomy or control over his own image or how he's perceived in the public eye (and digging deeper into backstory, probably stems from wanting to take back control after a childhood filled with being controlled by family.)

but it's situations like these where he's reminded why marge is his manager and he isn't, because she leaps into action the moment they find out about the cancellation, calming gale down so they can put their heads together to find a replacement. they reach out to a few of the names they have connections to, but it's too short notice for all of them, so maybe marge even just resorts to going through the people gale follows on instagram, and stumbles across john's page. he's got a good rep in industry and has worked on less 'conventional' projects before, so marge shuts down gale's fretting over "would he be comfortable with something like this?" by telling him there's only one way to find out, and contacting john's manager.

john agrees before he even hears the full pitch, and he's just as keen afterwards (albeit a bit nervous because by no means is he a professional dancer), knowing it'll be good publicity, and curious to explore a more artsy/out there gig, but also curious about the illusive gale, who he'd been surprised to receive a follow from a few weeks back.

john is flown out that night to the city of the shoot location, barely having a few minutes to change and head to the rehearsal space, where he meets a very frazzled but very thankful gale for the first time.

maybe they both have some preconceived notions about each other, despite having mutual respect and no actual interactions; john probably expects gale to be a bit stand–offish or conceited given his high celebrity status, but finds gale's actually bashful and quiet and easygoing when the cameras are off (when they're on, it's like he flips a switch, slipping into this persona, exuding confidence and sexuality and it honestly blows john's mind to witness in person).

gale probably expects to john to be loud and abrasive based off his well known social media posts, maybe even a little uncomfortable around gale, who is openly queer, whereas john isn't– maybe john hasn't ever stated his sexuality, has never given much thought to it, it doesn't matter much to him. instead he finds john's actually a little shy, much less bravado than he'd anticipated, but very enthusiastic and eager to learn and get the choreo and everything else right, assuring gale repeatedly that he's down to do whatever is needed.

so the two of them rehearse till the early hours of the morning, john taking it as seriously as though it's his own project he's invested months into, and gale gains such admiration for his commitment and willingness to stick his neck out for a borderline stranger (even though he's obviously aware this is a big boost for john's career). john gains a newfound appreciation for gale's work ethic and how much effort goes into every little thing for a huge artist like him.

and inevitably... there is sexual tension during the rehearsals. they're both overtired and sweaty and it's such a strange situation to meet for like five minutes and then jump right into dancing together so intimately, having to shed any inhibitions and self consciousness, but it's a blessing in the sense that they have to get comfortable around each other so quickly. there's no room for modesty or shyness, and john is genuinely speechless at how gale puts business first, and after double checking that john isn't uncomfortable, how he has no qualms about physically directing john, moving him how he wants him.

it's hot to john, the way gale knows exactly what he wants and is so passionate about his vision, and he'd be lying if he said the combination of being starstruck and being lowkey manhandled isn't getting to his head a bit. which is a whole other thing to unpack, because aside from vague acknowledgement of some men being attractive/beautiful, he's never actually found himself flustered by one like this, and it catches him off guard. he stays professional, but he still can't help but let his naturally flirtatious/joking personality slip out as the night drags on; he's like that with everyone he works with or hangs out with, and he thinks it would be weirder if he wasn't like that with gale, like everyone else would somehow notice.

meanwhile gale is fighting his own demons because he's got a very sought–after, very hot, very straight man dropping everything for him and letting him puppeteer him, on top of being so stubborn that even though gale can tell he's exhausted, john's refusing to call it a night until gale does, and THEN as if all that's not enough, john's effortlessly witty and complimentary and flirty. and gale's not one to mix business and pleasure, so he's not even entertaining these emotions, but he can't help but feel flattered by it all, while also reminding himself that john probably doesn't swing that way.

basically they both are discovering they have competence kinks lmao, like objectively they both find the other attractive, but it's not like they aren't constantly surrounded by beautiful humans in their lines of work, so it's more so the emotional side/work ethic that gets them both flustered, coupled with the inherent sexuality of dancing with very little clothing, hands on sweaty skin and toned muscles. but neither of them act on it, too tired by the time they call it a night even if they'd wanted to, and then it's back to their respective hotels to get a few hours of sleep before the shoot.

john isn't called to be on location until mid afternoon, and when he wakes up to his phone ringing and glances at the time, he freaks out, thinking he's slept through the shoot or something because he'd expected to be called early in the morning. he's told that he didn't sleep through it, but he's disoriented until he shows up, when he's told that gale had moved things around, filming as many scenes as he could without him before john was needed for his part, so that john could get more rest. (john swoons. just a little.)

he gets swept up in the capable hands of hair and makeup and wardrobe in his own trailer, and he doesn't see gale until it's time to film, and when he does, he almost doesn't believe it's gale. the glam makeup, the long blonde wig, the form–fitting sheer black dress and heels– gale's pretty as is, but with his features accentuated like that, john doesn't even know what to do with himself, feels like he's going through a midlife crisis at the ripe age of 25. he'd known gale would be in some sort of getup for their choreo, but nothing could've prepared him for this.

it makes it even more endearing that gale seems so awkward about it when he greets john, clearly out of his comfort zone in the ensemble, but john knows there's no way gale doesn't know how stunning he is, it's not a lack of confidence that's making him awkward. john keeps it together, reminds himself to be professional. tells gale it was really sweet that he let him sleep in, that he didn't have to do that, to which gale waves him off like it's no big deal. and he compliments gale too as they walk onto set, tells him, "you look great, wow," tame as he can be, and gale tells him "could say the same for you," and john snorts, gesturing to his simple jeans and boots and lack of shirt, says "feeling a bit underdressed, actually," and it gets a laugh out of gale.

when the cameras are rolling, any of that visible discomfort or awkwardness in gale disappears like someone's snapped their fingers and rid him of it, movements fluid like water, not an ounce of anything other than confidence and power and sensuality seeping through as he commands the camera with his energy. despite his aching body, john's grateful they ran the routine into the ground last night to the point that it's nearly muscle memory, because it's hard to concentrate when gale's looking down at him through long faux–lashes and gloss–plumped lips, caressing his jaw, playing with his hair, the sway of his hips and roll of his waist beneath john's hands so mesmerizing, john's half convinced he's being serenaded by a siren.

the tension would be insane, but equally confusing because neither of them would be able to discern what's an act and what's not, or if it's all just an act, pushing and pulling at an invisible line but never quite stepping over it even once the shoot wraps, both for the sake of professionalism but also for fear of rejection.

maybe after it all, john's on his flight back home and realizes in the whirlwind of everything, he never got gale's number (has a moment of 'why would i need it? this was just a gig' lol okay yearner). john's not even sure at that point what/how he's feeling about gale, the conflicting emotions of feeling attraction to him while in borderline drag doing nothing to help the confusion, especially because he can't excuse the attraction as just that when he was feeling things during rehearsal in casual clothes too.

he knows he could easily ask his manager to reach out to gale's manager for his number, but then he gets in his head convincing himself that if gale had wanted to talk further, surely he would've asked for john's number, since gale has way more reason to be selective with his own with his status.

he doesn't realize that on the other end of things, gale's realizing he also never got john's number, only he's talking himself out of reaching out because he doesn't want to read into john's friendliness as something flirtatious when as far as he knows, john is straight, and this was likely just a job for john, as well as they seemed to get along.

cue miscommunication when one of them actually works up the courage to dm the other on instagram since they're mutuals– either john dms gale something simple, a 'thanks again for the opportunity', and because gale is never on his socials and gale's team doesn't check messages much, it's weeks before anyone clocks john's message, during which john becomes sure he's nothing more than a coworker to gale, which he understands but is sad about. or, gale dms john, but from a private account with an innocuous username that he has just for friends and family, and john never even opens it because the lack of profile picture and generic user blends in with all the other message requests he gets a day.

they only end up reconnecting when the music video actually drops, because obviously it breaks the internet, and john happens to be doing promo interviews and radio shows at the time for his band's new album and tour, so an interviewer of course asks him what the experience was like working on a set like that and working with gale. john gives a glowing review, goes out of his way to praise gale– "the nicest guy you'll ever meet, and the craziest work ethic i've ever witnessed firsthand in hollywood."

when the interviewer asks if john would ever consider working with him again, y'know, the classic question an interviewer has to ask so they can drum up clicks with a 'john egan hints at possible future project with gale cleven!' title, john lays it on thick the way he always does with a wink at the camera and a "he can call me up anytime," but then adds a serious "no, really, i would love to work with him again, he was great."

predictably, the people who are already losing their shit over the music video and making edits and fan theories about the two of them go even crazier, spam–tagging gale and his team in the comments of this interview post, which leads to it eventually making its way to gale, and gale then realizes that john hasn't been uninterested; he must've just not seen his message since surely he would've replied if he had (marge looks at him with so much disappointment when gale mentions his attempt to reach out– "gale, no one with that kind of following is going through dm requests from faceless, private instagram pages, you of all people should know this").

gale hasn't told marge about his possible feelings, but marge isn't dumb; she didn't stand on set for nearly 24 hours with her eagle–eyes and not notice the way gale had been looking at john. to anyone else, it might've just seemed like he was leaning into his persona, but marge has known gale for a long time, and she could tell it wasn't all him playing it up for the cameras.

so marge puts her manager–brain and best friend–brain together and decides that with all the hype surrounding the new song and video, the two of them being seen together in public and making a few posts together would be a great boost for both of them. but she knows gale will never go for it if she voices this to him, because he'd see it as using john for popularity; she reasons that if he doesn't know, it can't be using. so she reaches out to john's manager and figures out when they'll both be back in the same city, and relays her plan as if it's just business, asking for john's manager to let john know that gale will be in town the next week if he wants to set something up, and she gives the manager gale's number for john to contact.

when gale wakes up one morning to a 'hi, this is john! my manager passed on your number to me, hope that's okay. i was told you're in town next week? :)' and then 'egan. btw. lots of johns out there.' and then 'the music video guy.' (john, absolutely panicking on his end, worrying that gale might not even remember his name, not knowing gale's been stalking his socials and confusion–pining just as much as john has been doing the same.)

and then more miscommunication after they arrange to hang out, because john assumes this is just for publicity based on what his manager told him, and he understands, as much as he wishes they're hanging out properly. but gale assumes this is a genuine hangout, because john never says otherwise, until the end of the evening, when gale has to leave for a dinner event and john says "we better take those pics for the 'gram before we say goodbye, or the big guns'll have a fit."

and either gale masks his surprise and then disappointment and goes along with it, thinking maybe he missed a memo or misread things, and this conflict and miscommunication is dragged out even longer, or gale doesn't hide his confusion in time, and john is then equally confused, says "your manager didn't...?" and gale says "sorry, i didn't know; i guess i misread your texts," feeling stupid that he's been thinking the hangout is anything other than a pr stunt. and then there's the awkward "no! no– well, yeah, i was told that this was to promote the video, so i thought– i mean, i would've liked to hang anyway, i just didn't think you wanted to?" from john.

gale is slowly connecting the dots in his head and he's so embarrassed, but also relieved that he hasn't misread things and made a fool of himself. john looks on the verge jumping out of his skin as gale sits quietly, so gale puts him out of his misery, smiles and pushes his irritation about the incident down and says "i do want to, john. i think marge– it doesn't matter. it was a miscommunication, i guess." and all the tension evaporates out of john's body, and he lets out a laugh, and a "oh, thank god. fuck. i was about to walk into the street," and gale lets himself relax too, scoffing at john.

so they decide to have a redo the next week, since they both do feel obligated to take their stupid pictures now to please their teams (and the internet), and thus a tentative friendship is born, the two of them dancing around each other and around feelings because everything is confusing as is, let alone with the way their careers affect every aspect of their lives. so much slowburn, lots of john trying to figure his attraction out and gale keeping his walls up because the thought of literally becoming the person he's singing about in his music video is laughable, he doesn't wanna be strung around or used as an experiment for john.

and john respects this unspoken boundary and also appreciates that they can get to know each other as friends while he tries to stop freaking out every time he pictures him and gale doing less than platonic things. probably a whole lot of chaos on john's end with the absolute tornado that he is, ie: '4am 'am i gay' quizzes taken in the dark of his bunk on a tour bus, asking an openly queer friend from his band if his feelings toward gale are normal, rumours started by a fan that they saw john in a gay club after a show, etc.

because john doesn't do anything halfway– he's ready to literally go out and kiss men and explore his newfound feelings, not just to prove himself to gale, but to figure himself out, because he's terrified of hurting gale since john doesn't have the best track record with relationships. overthinks the shit out of everything and doesn't realize it's not that deep, that liking gale doesn't mean he's suddenly attracted to all men, that all gale wants is for john to be confident in himself and his feelings for him before pursuing anything.

there's a lot of back and forth and messiness and emotions stacked on top of their already crazy hectic schedules and lives, the theorizing and prying from fans and paparazzi, caution from management, but when they eventually have their point of no return moment and cross that line from friends to more, the chemistry is so intense that both of them feel stupid for dragging things out for so long.

when the initial new relationship shyness wears off, the sex is also insane, all the exploration and playfulness (and inevitability of the whole feminization thing coming back into play since that's what starts everything in the first place lol). they're barely able to keep their hands off each other, almost always spending the night at each other's places, stealing as much time as they can to make up for the time apart when there are tours or other events separating them.

they try to keep things private for a while, but with how active john is online, he slips up a good few times– tiktoks where a hat or something of gale's is accidentally left in the background, story posts where john's wearing one of gale's hoodies unthinkingly, mirror selfies where there's a mystery hand or leg in the background. the internet is torn, some convinced it's coincidence, some certain it's all a pr stunt to get people talking, some adamant that they're in a secret relationship. gale's never upset about it; they both just know how much things will change if they go public.

months are spent sneaking around, rarely going on public dates, the odd paparazzi shots still leaking out until it finally gets to the point that there's no point hiding things anymore, it's obvious that they're not just friends. they never actually announce it or make some relationship launch post; they just stop caring, and it's freeing and neither of them expect to be so affected by being able to publicly show affection for each other, but it's such a sweet thing and makes things feel so much more real.

john goes to gale's sold out arena shows and stares up at him in awe and can't believe that gale chooses him every day, and gale goes to john's band's high energy festival sets and watches his golden boy light up with joy every time he glances at him side stage and can't believe john chooses him too.

:-)

lol this post was meant to just be the two lines above the cut but then i got to thinking about origin stories and whoops new au drabble because i'm a master at getting carried away!!

[hephaestn]

Bucky’s chest felt hollow, like his insides had been ripped out with a single sentence: “He went down swinging, John.”

As soon as he returned to Thorpe Abbots, he felt nothing but sympathetic looks and smiles directed his way. His fellow companions and friends, all telling him how sorry they were—like they all had accepted it. As if they all were convinced Gale was dead.

He wasn’t. He couldn’t.

The coldness of the cockpit barely mattered as he gulped down the hard alcohol; it burned down his throat, falling directly into that dark hole in his stomach. He was trying to fill in the empty space that had taken over him since he made that call back in London but nothing was helping.

He would know, wouldn’t he? If Gale was dead. He would’ve felt something; a piece of his heart being torn apart as the other man drew his last breath. It couldn’t be. Buck had to be alive.

John hit his forehead with the palm of his hand, trying to remove the imagined flashes of Gale’s possible demise. His mind had always been like this, too vivid, always trying to show Bucky scenarios that hadn’t happened yet, that maybe would never happen—but even if he knew that it was nothing but foul play from his own head, he couldn’t remove the asphyxiating pressure in his chest.

He gulped down some more alcohol, squeezing his eyes shut in pain. If he concentrated hard enough, John could still make out the soft texture of Gale’s skin under the early morning sunrise. His eyes would glint in the soft light, cheeks rosy from the cool English wind. John would stare sometimes; would catch himself absorbed by the movement of Buck’s mouth as he spoke.

How could he be dead when Bucky still had to tell him he meant everything for him; that he was his lifeline, keeping him whole in this terror?

John felt like shouting.

[unordinary-diary]

Blyke and John: Parallel Characters

I’ve written multiple entries about this,

[x] [x] [x]

But I’m back to make a comprehensive analysis about the glaring similarities between these two. I’ll try not to repeat myself here.

‼️SPOILER WARNING for the whole series‼️ but this mostly focuses on the story before John’s suspension.

Firstly, this scene:

ch. 121

This conversation takes place near the beginning of the Joker arc. It’s after John targets Zeke, after he targets Juni, and the day before he goes after Seraphina’s kidnappers. The timing is important.

“If someone hit your best friend, would you let it slide?”

That question is supposed to remind us what John does to people who hurt Seraphina: hunting them down and sending them to the hospital. Blyke shooting a destructive beam really close to John was an example of a trait they share: they both blow up violently when people mistreat their friends.

John’s downward spiral carries strong themes of hypocrisy. He’s angry at the world, he’s angry at himself, and as a coping mechanism, he chooses to believe that everyone else is as bad as he is. That means that most of the traits he hates others for are the same things he hates about himself. In this scene, Blyke is unintentionally calling out this hypocrisy: “What I did is no different from what you do”.

But Blyke’s just trying to connect with John here, he has no idea what John’s been doing. And John, of course, doesn’t give a shit about what Blyke has to say. This line was here for the audience to notice.

They’re both so similar, but their similarity immediately causes tension between them because, well, John was on the wrong end of Blyke’s protectiveness.

I really love the way this was written— there are so many flashbacks to this scene, but they remember it differently. John remembers the part that hurt him— he’d describe it as “the time that jackass shot a beam at me”. Blyke remembers the part that hurt him, or rather, hurt Remi: “the time that jackass hit Remi for no reason”.

Blyke and John are both hotheaded characters with strong ideals. They’re similar enough that Seraphina points it out:

(ch. 80)

As Blyke grows as a character, he becomes more like John: sticking up for low tiers and speaking out against the injustice in the world. But while Blyke is doing that more, John is going in the opposite direction, until they are fully opposed to each other.

Speaking of Blyke’s character arc, it took me a few rereads to actually understand what part of him changed. His kindness, selflessness, bravery— all of those things were there from the start. Blyke’s character arc was about becoming more aware of his surroundings, and how his carelessness can harm others. Blyke was never malicious, but after X-Rei and integrating more with the school, he becomes aware of people suffering around him and how he unintentionally contributes to it. He becomes less reckless, privy to the flaws in the system he grew up not questioning, and uses his power more responsibly. He even comes up with a more controlled way to wield his ability. The part of Blyke that changes is his maturity.

Part of John’s character arc is also about being careful. It’s not as close of a parallel as other things are, but one of the things that John works on during his redemption arc is holding back. Both of them learn self-control throughout the series, and for John, that means acting early before his emotions spiral out of hand.

Adding onto my first point about the two of them wanting to protect their friends— the fact that they can’t do that makes them both angry and desperate. For most of the story, the “block” that prevents John from protecting Seraphina is in his head. It’s his own trauma that holds him back. The block that prevents Blyke from protecting his friends is, guess what? Also John’s trauma! Parallels abound.

Another thing I noticed in Episode 80 is this:

Notice that when Seraphina says “I’d take that over strength any day,” John is looking at the camera. He’s avoiding Sera’s gaze. Seraphina is saying she prefers honesty over strength. John is very strong, and very dishonest, but Seraphina thinks the opposite because John is so dishonest. John appears to be reflecting on this disconnect.

In relation to this analysis, Seraphina is actually pointing out a major difference between Blyke and John. Beyond that, she’s praising Blyke’s traits, (less strong but very open) above John’s traits, (strong as fuck but a liar with his pants on fire). Furthermore, John really cares what Seraphina thinks of him. Knowing that she would think less of him is the main reason why he spent so much time and effort preventing her from catching his lies.

This leads into my main point here: Blyke is the “goody-two-shoes” version of John. Or, more accurately, the person that John wants to be. Blyke has a clean track record and doesn’t really get into trouble. He is respected and left alone by the school without being hated and feared, he de-escalates conflicts without taking things too far, he doesn’t lose control, he’s someone Seraphina thinks highly of, hell, even his grades are better! Blyke represents everything that John wants to be, and the person that he could have been if he’d gone down a different path.

But, crucially, John is also what Blyke wants to be. Well, not wholly, but his ability? His strength? It’s one of the things John hates about himself, but Blyke wants that strength so desperately that he risks his life for it over and over again.

They’re both desperate to be like each other, even when they hate each other the most. Neither of them have any idea how alike they already are.

I don’t know what Season 3 holds in store for us, but I do hope that John realizes that Blyke embodies who he wants to be, because mutual jealousy would be a very interesting dynamic to explore in my opinion. I also hope that it ends up being something they can bond over, by helping each other accomplish their personal goals. (Blyke being another helper in John’s character arc, and John helping Blyke train.)

A side note: John beat up Blyke four separate times. That’s more than any other character, which is interesting because John’s main rival is supposed to be Arlo. For reference, John has beaten Arlo twice, three times if you count the time when Seraphina intervened, and he only beat him unconscious once. But John beat Blyke to the point of passing out all four times, the worst of which being a shot clean through his chest. (shoulder? Unclear. S1 finale).

It’s odd, isn’t it? Out of everyone, Blyke is the one who John physically hurt the most. John’s only grudge against him is an old memory from episode 33, of an event that didn’t actually harm him. John’s grudge against Arlo is much more serious and again— that’s his main rival. So why is it that he’s so much more violent towards Blyke?

The problem here is that I’ve been thinking about these fights as “John picking on Blyke”. And that’s… kind of true? But while Blyke didn’t start any of these fights, they were all consensual in a way. He didn’t seek to fight John, nor was he ever happy about fighting John, but he was always a willing participant.

(138, 153, 206, & 211)

In three out of these four fights, John didn’t even expect to be fighting Blyke going into it. This is significant because while Arlo is John’s main rival, John absolutely fills that role for Blyke. Blyke’s own agency is what leads to most of these events. The reason, narratively speaking, why they fight so much is not for John’s character, but for Blyke.

For John, his reason for fighting Blyke so much is not narrative but moreso symbolic. John is angry at everyone and everything, but ultimately the person he hates the most is himself. It’s only fitting that the character most like him would bear the brunt of his wrath.

As John is having his positive character arc (suspension and post-suspension), he is becoming more like Blyke, and the two of them reach a point where they’re even more similar than they were at the start of the series.

In the Rowden amusement park, John does start to realize how similar they are:

(249)

Additionally, I want to draw your attention to the parallels between this scene:

Blyke and John’s argument in chapter 249

(which the image limit won’t let me add, scroll until you see red hair.)

And this scene:

Argument in ch. 121 (it’s at the beginning)

Two sides of the same coin.

Furthermore, in the S2 finale, Blyke is shown being taken to Keon. There is an implication that by Season 3, Blyke and John will share Keon-related trauma as well. Despite my pessimistic predictions, I do hope that this is a similarity that can bring them together rather than tear them apart.

[fallenwhumpee]

Worth it.

• Masterlist •

Warnings: Blood, magic whump, hypothermia, stranger caretaker, hallucination(?)

Leader always believed that their worth was defined by the people willing to help them when they were in their lowest. They always believed having people back them up was the real tresure.

Judging themselves by their own thoughts, Leader was worthless.

Trembling in the water, Leader tried to stay still. They were floating on their back, their blood oozing around and their thoughts as blurry as their vision. They had no strength to get themselves to the shore. Hell, they had no idea where the shore was.

Leader should have been panicking by now. But there was no point in trashing. Waste of their precious time and strength. They were probably not going to make it, and they could only hope the blood loss would rock them to sleep before hypothermia could.

When they eliminated panic, only an odd feeling left. The magic showed them another death. A lot more merciful one. A good ending, at least, even if getting there was torture.

Leader didn't think magic could be mistaken, or the future could be changed. They didn't think they would be dropped off in the middle of water just because of fear, after being ambushed by their own. If they had only listened Leader... that future could happen.

But maybe it wasn't the magic that showed Leader those. Maybe it was just what they wanted to see, and the truth just came to spit on their face. There was no way that they could explain how they didn't break any rules yet cast such powerful spell after fighting all day.

Leader felt their will crumbe as if it was frozen with the cold and someone was hammering it. Not for the first time, they felt the line between dark magic and the forbidden magic blur into each other. Sure, Leader was willing to sacrifice their emotions or give up some of their strength, but they weren't desperate enough to sacrifice something else.

Why not just give in? They could save themselves.

Leader trembled again, pushing the poisonous thought away. They didn't want to become a mindless puppet, and they were stronger than the temptation.

But did it really matter? When they were slowly fading away?

Leader breathed, their lungs screaking for some air. Those were dangerous thoughts, and they didn't belong to Leader.

A cough shook their body. They had to turn to expell some of the water from their lungs. Their head was barely above the water as they coughed their lungs out, their control over their body slipping.

Leader forced themselves to turn on their back again, not able to keep themselves afloat. They ignored how much water they swallowed in the progress and how it made their stomsch turn. They were too drained to care about it.

Leader’s vision blurred, the sky above merging with the depths below. The cold seeped deeper into their bones, numbing their limbs until they could barely tell where the water ended and their body began. They tried to take another breath, but their chest tightened, and a sharp pain shot through their ribs. The taste of salt and iron filled their mouth, darkness taking over their other senses momentarily.

A wave rolled over them, pulling them underwater for a brief, terrifying moment. When they resurfaced, Leader’s body barely responded to their will. Their wet clothes were sticking on them, the howling wind freezing their skin through the thick and wet layers.

They were so, so tired.

Deprived of their magic and strength, they didn't want anything else than closing their eyes. They doubted they would wake up, but at least they weren't in pain. Breathing slowly, they let their thoughts focused on only one thing.

Cold.

All they could feel eas cold. Reasonably, Leader thought. But it didn’t feel right. They had passed the point they were supposed to feel cold. They tried to move, but they didn't feel the swaying feeling of the waves. They were... still. Their back ached on the solid ground, their heavy body slumped on the floor.

Barely able to crack their eyes, Leader met with darkness. Soon, it became a thick, suffocating sight, as if it was wrapped against their throat and pressing their chest. Were they sinking? Was all of this just a last cry of help from their body to wake up their mind?

"You suffered too much," a voice whispered, gentle and soft. Leader struggled as they tried to remember if they had ever heard that voice before, but their mind failed to progress.

Slowly, it got easier to think. They could feel warmth embracing them, giving them a break from the constant shivering.

"You know you don't have to," the warmth burned their cheeks, the voice feeling closer to their ear. "You have the strength to make it stop."

Leader wanted to argue, but their body wouldn’t move, their voice trapped in their throat. The heat held them captive, and all they could do was listen as they felt their skin burn.

"You tried so hard," the voice murmured. "To be strong, to lead, to protect. Only to die alone, bleeding and broken. The people you cared never cared about you. But I won't let this injustice go on any longer."

Leader clenched their fists, nails digging into their palms as they struggled against the crushing weight on their chest. "No," they managed to whisper, the word barely audible. There was nothing to do within their strength to save themselves.

Leader’s heart pounded in their chest as they tried to move again. "No," they muttered again. They tried to open their eyes. Their body seized with pain as they found themselves on a softer ground, the world spinning around them. They were still cold and hot at the same time, still weak, but they were alive. Every part of them hurt, from the deep wound at their side to the biting cold that clung to their skin. The remnants of the dream (hallucination? nightmare? they weren't sure) clung to them, and for a moment, they almost wished they had given in—at least then, they wouldn’t be in this agony.

It took several long moments before Leader realized they weren’t alone. Someone must have pulled them from the water and wrapped them in a blanket. Not that they weren't grateful, but it did very little to chase away the cold.

Blinking through their blurry vision, Leader noticed a figure kneeling beside them.

Leader’s heart pounded in their chest. They flinched away from the person, their body too weak to do much more than that.

The figure said something softly, holding up their hands to show they meant no harm. Leader didn't understand one word from the stranger, and even though the gesture was clear, Leader wasn't buying it.

Leader tried to push themselves up to get away or at least seem intimidating, but their limbs were uncooperative, trembling violently with the effort. They barely managed to prop themselves up on one elbow before collapsing back, their breath coming in ragged gasps as a coughing fit took over.

The figure panicked, helping Leader back down with more words Leader couldn’t understand.

Leader’s vision swam as they stared up at the stranger, every instinct telling them not to trust, not to let their guard down. But they were too weak to fight, too drained to argue or make a point. They gritted their teed with frustration as they realized just how helpless they were.

The stranger mumbled, their voice soothing, almost hypnotic in its calmness. A magic circle with light colors glowed over them, but Leader couldn't summon the strength to break through it.

Leader���s eyes fluttered closed despite their efforts to stay awake, exhaustion - or the spell, they couldn’t tell - winning over. The last thing they felt before sleep claimed them was the gentle touch of the stranger’s hand on their forehead, cool and reassuring over their warm skin, even if it failed to ease the alarms taking over their fading consciousness.

Leader drifted in and out for a frustratingly long time, their mind a haze of pain and fevered dreams. The warmth that surrounded them was a far cry from the icy grip of the lake, but it was no less disorienting. Every breath was a struggle, their chest tight and burning, each inhale rattling painfully in their lungs.

But alongside that pain was something else—something softer, warmer. A hand, perhaps, carefully dabbing at their forehead with a damp cloth, or the feeling of a thick, scratchy blanket tucked securely around them.

When they finally managed to crack their eyes open, Leader found themselves in a small, dimly lit room. A fire crackled softly somewhere nearby, filling the air with warmth and the faint smell of burning wood. For a moment, Leader wondered if their mind finally pitied them and gave a calm dream, but the pain in their chest and the wet, rasping cough wasn't something they could make up.

The stranger was sitting on a stool beside the bed, busy with something Leader couldn’t see. When they noticed Leader’s eyes on them, they turned, offering a small, reassuring smile.

Leader tried to sit up, but their body refused to cooperate, a wave of dizziness forcing them to stay down. The stranger made a soft sound—something between a shushing noise and a hum—before gently pressing Leader back against the pillow.

The stranger patted the bed with a frown, pressing their hand to Leader's forehead.

Leader whined, frustration bubbling up inside them. They needed to know where they were, who this person was, and most importantly, why they had saved them. But when they tried to speak, their throat burned, and all that came out was a hoarse, unintelligible croak. They couldn't even raise their hand to push the stranger away.

The stranger sat next to them. They gestured to themselves, placing a hand on their chest. “Caretaker,” they said slowly, enunciating the word as if trying to make it easier for Leader to grasp.

“Caretaker…” Leader murmured, the name foreign on their tongue. They tried to repeat the gesture, but their hand barely lifted from the bed before falling back, too weak to complete the motion. Caretaker smiled again, this time with a hint of sadness, and placed their hand over Leader’s, giving it a gentle squeeze.

For a while, there was silence. Leader’s eyes drifted shut again, but they fought to keep them open, determined not to slip back into the void. Caretaker seemed to notice and began speaking softly, their voice low and melodic, though Leader couldn’t make out the words. It didn’t matter; the sound was comforting, a lifeline in Leader’s confusion and pain.

Leader tried to get a hold of themselves, and they did, even though they noticed Caretaker was gone by the time they regained awareness. Leader felt the loneliness crush them again, the emotions they supressed for the sake of staying calm surfacing. But they couldn't have that. They weren't ready to deal with any of those. So, they did the only thing they knew with those. Used them to cast a spell.

They knew how pathetic it sounded, but they were desperate to save their team, and it left them absolutely drained. Now they were feeling even worse. They had to relieve some of the pain to keep their sanity.

Leader weakly moved their hand to their chest, curling their fingers. They murmured the spell and let the dark circles surround their body like a blanket, their pain fading to the depts of their mind temporarily just like their feelings.

Leader flinched when they heard a gasp, the spell breaking with their concentration. Usually, such things wouldn't affect them, but they were too weak to keep the spell under check without focusing on it.

Leader turned their head to where the sound came, only to see Caretaker frozen in their place. Then suddenly, Caretaker began checking their plants with panic.

"Hey," Leader rasped. They tried again when Caretaker ignored them, but a coughing fit took over. Caretaker hesitantly came over, unsure if they want to help.

Leader pointed the plant in the corner, and weakly made a gesture like pulling it before shaking their head, hoping it meant no for Caretaker too. Then they pointed themselves and made a pulling motion towards up, magical energy forming for a moment before disappearing as Leader felt their strength fail.

Caretaker checked that plant. Leader knew what the other person thought, but they also believed they proved it wrong. Leader wasn't pulling life force from other things, which was the core of forbidden spells. There was nothing to be afraid of as long as Leader had their self-control.

Caretaker came back after making sure the plant was untouched. They took a paper and a pen, scribbling something. Leader recognised the basic healing spell, of course. The source came from the caster's magical energy, which Leader lacked. It was the reason of their lean towards dark magic— they used their emotions to make up their shortcomings.

Caretaker put the pen to Leader's hand. Leader wrote their own slowly, their hand trembling. Only a few symbols were different, but it must have satisfied Caretaker because Leader could see the relief in the other's eyes.

Leader closed their eyes as Caretaker looked at the spell more carefully. They were lucky that the magic came from the same runes. It proved Leader innocent.

With an excited smile, Caretaker tore the paper from Leader's hand— it didn't require much strength. They scribbled some spells and circled some symbols.

Safe, sleep, heal.

Caretaker looked at them proudly. Leader would laugh at the solution to their lack of communication if they had the energy. But they also knew if they laughed, they would start crying.

Did Leader deserve this? From a stranger? Perhaps not. But fate - and the stranger - decided they were worth it.

[doingitforbokuto]

sucking off husband!Kuroo in his suit!

Kuroo has always liked performing well. He worked hard at school and university and got good grades. He trained hard and became a successful volleyball captain. He worked out a lot and was fit and muscular. He had always liked giving his tasks his everything. It made him feel good and accomplished, every day when he went to bed he could reflect on his day and feel at ease. It was one of the things that got him through his day.

But he didn't just do it for himself. When he was a child, he desperately wanted to please his parents. Parents that were too busy hating each other to care about their child. So, he attempted to get them to listen to him by doing everything perfectly. His room was squeaky clean. He was the top of his class. He helped clean the house without being asked. All in hopes of getting a smile, a pat on the head, a nice word. 

Eventually, he stopped trying for them to notice him, or love him better. But that didn't stop him from trying his best. Coming home and immediately diving into homework or a work out gave him the opportunity to clear his head and ignore the yelling from his parents. It felt good, even if he didn't get any praise for it. 

But that was then. Now, he had you. His sweet little wife, who always listened to him talk about his day. Who would tell him how well he did today. Who would smooth back the hair that had fallen out of its place and brush off crumbs that had fallen onto his shirt. 

Your hands always look so cute against him. It made his heart beat faster when he felt your hands on him or when he saw your smile that was directed at him. He wanted you to look up to him, to tell him he was doing well - to show him how much you appreciated him. He would do anything for a single word of praise from you, even if he knew he didn't have to try so hard. 

Like today. He had just come home from a long day at work and there you were, waiting for him at home. You came to the hallway when you heard his keys rattling in the door, gingerly taking him in your arms. 

"Did you have a good day, Tetsu?" 

"Hmh." He hummed into your hair, inhaling your scent. 

"Did you work hard?" You pulled back a little and brushed over his forehead to push his hair back a little, just the way you knew he liked. 

He nodded at your question and with just one look, you immediately knew what he wanted and you were more than willing to do it for him.

Like so many other nights before, you slipped your hands down his body while you sunk to your knees. Despite the hard floor, despite you being tired too, despite everything, you were excited to see him, feel him. When you unbuckled his suit pants and pulled his cock out, he hadn't had enough time to get even half hard. But with your hands wrapped around him and your lips pressing small kisses to his tip, he was hard and throbbing in no time. 

This was his favorite sight: You, on your knees, with your mouth on his cock, praising him for all his hard work in the best way possible. Your hands were caressing his thighs and his waist. You were always so careful with his work clothes since you knew how important they were to him. He loved his job and he wanted to be well-prepared and well-dressed. Seeing you please him while he was still in his suit, freshly back from work - it made him desperate to fill you up with his cum.

And you knew how much you riled him up, you loved it. You wanted to tease him more, hear him moan and beg for you to let him cum down your throat. You loved seeing how quickly you could get him like that. It wasn't hard, not for you at least. All you had to do was suck on his tip, swallow around him, maybe slip a hand down to his swollen balls and then - 

"Fuck, fuck, baby.." 

Kuroo's head was already thrown back, his hands both on the back of your skull. You knew what that meant, too. 

"Please, baby, can I - please -" 

The hum that you gave him vibrated through his entire length and it was all that he needed to hold your head in place and start fucking your face in earnest. It was hard to take him whole, it always was, but he always made it worth it. He was a whimpering, moaning mess, stringing together barely coherent sentences of love declarations and pet names.

It didn't take long for him to cum down your throat. Warm, thick liquid spilled into your mouth and even though it had a bitter taste to it, you wouldn't dream of washing it away with water like Kuroo initially thought you would. It was bitter and a little weird, but it was him. Your Testou. Your husband, who worked hard every day. Who always made sure to thank you for everything that you did for him. Who always sends you little texts throughout the day. Who rubbed your back until you fell asleep. 

Who was standing above you now, in your shared hallway, with sweat beads on his forehead to shaky thighs from the orgasm you just gifted him. With messy hair and a look full of love. 

"Thank you." 

His thumb rubbed over your chin as he wiped away a small drop of cum that had escaped your mouth, carefully scooping it up and guiding it back into your mouth. 

"Let me take care of you now, hm?"