#PLS TELL ME YA SEE THE VISION

[spideyhexx]

billy fucking you missionary over a cushioned bench like one foot on the ground still, his one knee leaning against the bench…passionately making out with you and the bench creaking…

[togament]

𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄.

sakura, ume, suo, kaji, kiryu, endo, togame.

"ever imagined how it'd be like to be in the mood with them but damn it. You're separated by distance? Mhm. I got just the thing for you."

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: PHONE SEGGS UH OH!, language language swearing swearing, AFAB!reader, ume switchy :o, endo's a fucking menace :((((, TOGAMMMMEEEEEEE *howls!!!!! barks foaming at the mouth*, toy usage, your man straight up “jorking it” and by it haha well lets justr say his peanits, degradation on endo's part--general seggsy time stuff and needy boyfriends, NSFW STUFF MINORS DON’T INTERACT PLS.

𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐀.

✦ gotta guide him through it. At first, he didn’t really see the appeal of it. Why do it over the phone when you could meet up instead. ✦ but OH once he’s in the zone though, ONCE HE UNDERSTANDS? SEES THE LIGHT????? I’m wishing your pussy good luck because you’re doing it often. ✦ your phone rings sometimes at 2 am and you’re met with a panting Sakura. He sounds so apologetic too — he’s fought against calling you and just handling it himself. But he couldn’t help it. He has to call you. To hear you. ✦ “Strokin’ my cock right now. F-fuck m’sorry but can ya touch yourself for me too? Couldn’t get ya outta my head and I—ngh.. Need t’cum. Please, baby. It’ll be quick. Promise.” ✦ narrator’s voice: it was in fact, not quick at all. ✦ he likes sending over voicemails at night when he knows you're alone, when he's needy (which is often). ✦ it's mostly just of him panting into the receiver, recalling the events of the day and how each thing you did turned him on. You often end up sending each other voicemails to quench the thirst but god damn it. That doesn't come close to fucking.

𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐘𝐀.

✦ another one of the ":o I don't see the appeal of phone sex when we could just see each other instead?" gang. He sees the vision real quick when you dropped something while you were talking though. You bent down to pick it up and let out a soft grunt. He couldn't stop his mind from wandering. ✦ BIG ON PRAISE. GRUNTS AND SIGHS INTO THE RECIEVER LIKE HIS LIFE DEPENDS ON IT. LOVES DOING IT WHILE HE'S LAYING DOWN, PANTS HURRIEDLY UNBUCKLED AND MESSY, SHIRT HAPHAZARDLY THROWN TO THE SIDE. PHONE WEDGED IN BETWEEN HIS CHEEK AND SHOULDER WHILE HE STARTS STROKING WITH ONE HAND AND THE OTHER TANGLED IN HIS HAIR, GRIPPING IT LIKE YOU WOULD--(gets dragged off stage kicking and screaming) ✦ big switch. He's Umemiya, after all. He's the feared and respected leader of the Bofurin for a damn reason. Very sweet when he's just in the mood on a random day, chuckling in between because that's just how the both of you are. It's fun! But when he hasn't seen you for a couple of days? Oh FUCK. When his voice would normally grow soft and whiney, has morphed into growled responses with him fucking his fist desperately, trying to remember how your cunt would swallow him whole. ✦ "G-Good girl, my good fuckin' girl. Filling your pussy up with that dildo you bought? Not good enough, huh?" he adds, grunting as he's imagining you fucking yourself with the dildo, panting and unsatisfied, knowing full well you need him filling you up instead. "I really miss you, babe. You'd look so pretty-gh-! Underneath me right now. So pretty." ✦ cums hard every time you're on call, grunting and wheezing out your name so desperately you almost feel like he's trying to summon you somehow. ✦ Thanks you for it too. It's cute!!! Ends with both of you cleaning yourselves up, still on call. You both often fall asleep together with your phones still on.

𝐒𝐔𝐎.

✦ you both call often. He just loves hearing your voice! Thing is, you never know when he's in the mood. But he somehow can tell whenever you are. What gave it away? Was it the way your breathing stilled when he let out a sigh when he stretched? Was it the way you tripped over your words when he lowered his voice just a tad? Was it when you were left speechless when he praised you for finishing a task you were putting off? Was his teasing working on you? Whoopsies. ✦ INSTRUCTIONAL WITH IT. He’s so good at directing you what to do. ✦ “Want you to imagine my fingers, dove. Why don’t you ease just two in for me? That’s my girl. Now curl them up a little. Keep your mind on me." ✦ you want him to feel good too :(((((( so you ask for him to do the same as you. Of course, he lets you beg a little first. Little did you know he was already fucking his fist before you even started. ✦ has one of your clothes or panties close by because he loves smelling them. He loves your scent. It helps him get off. Hell, he gets horny in public when he takes a whiff of your perfume. ✦ he gets more vocal when he cums and that’s when you KNOW for sure he’s jacking off while listening to you. String of expletives and grunts escape his lips while he spills onto his hand, dribbling down his knuckles while you’re riding out your high.

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐓.

𝐊𝐀𝐉𝐈.

✦ FILTHY. FILTHY. FILTHY. ✦ doesn't have much toys but he has a tenga flip and uses it whenever he calls you. Can’t just go full hand and lube. (Probably has a warmer for it too. Mhm. Yeah.) ✦ another "clothes stealer". Has stolen your panties and shirts a couple of times. ✦ you can hear the wet squelching through the phone whenever he thrusts. Whether it’s lube or his cum, you could never ever tell. ✦ AGAIN, FILTHY. SO SO SO SO FILTHY. ✦ “y’getting off to this, huh? Listening to me fuck my toy? Fuckin’ know you’re soaking wet for me now. Lemme hear it. Lemme hear my pussy.” ✦ “keep up with me. Don’t you fuckin’ cum until I say so.” He barks, but he ends up cumming before you. He’s still pumping his sensitive cock waaay after he’s released though. He wants to hear you fall apart. ✦ bites back his whimpers but when he cums? Jesus. He’s stuttering out your name, repeating it like a damn prayer.

𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐘𝐔.

✦ HAS SO MUCH TOYS HOLY FUCK. ✦ he sends over photos of them before he calls, wanting you (yes YOU, dear reader!) to pick the toy of the night!!! ✦ he’d much prefer doing your mutual masturbation over facetime but you suggested a voice call. Who is he to deny his princess? ✦ always opens with a syrupy sweet, “How’s my baby?” and eases you into it with him. He never starts without you or without your express approval. If you’re suddenly not in the mood, he gets it. It happens sometimes. You guys could just talk instead. ✦ praise praise praise. Whispers the raunchiest and sweetest things to you. Talks you through it, guides you. HE’S WAY TOO GOOD. ✦ “Need my pretty princess right now. Need ya to sit on my face—taste so good. Fuck… Your pretty little moans too. I’m addicted.” ✦ “Remember when I did that thing you liked with my tongue? Yeah? Want you to do that on your clit with your fingers. Circle around it f’me, princess. Mhm.. Oh? Not good enough? Need my piercing on it? Naughty.” ✦ PORNOGRAPHIC MOANS. SO FUCKING PRETTY??? You’ve asked for his permission to record some of them. Of course he lets you. ✦ sends photos of the aftermath if you want him to. His cum on his still clenched abs, his trimmed happy trail, over his belly button piercing. Yum. ✦ HAS DEFINITELY POSTED ON GWA YOU CANNOT CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE.(it’s JOI too :(((( he’s secretly dedicated some audios for you. May or may not have accidentally whispered your name in one of his jerk off with me audios too :(((((((( man I’m sobbing into my pillow. Nobody touch me.)

𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐎.

✦ you can’t look at this man and say he’s shit at phone sex. You can’t convince me otherwise. You just can’t. ✦ of course, he’s absolutely cracked at talking dirty to you. It’s always a mix of praise and degradation with him. ✦ he’d be happy if you just sent him nudes, really. But he’s over the moon once you suggested to do it over a call. Immediately is palming his hard on through his jeans while he’s waiting for you to pick up. Opens with a casual little, “hey, honey,” you wouldn’t know he’s practically going to town on his cock, hot to go. ✦ with how sweet he could be to you, he could be so, so fucking mean too. ✦ “My, my. That was such a pretty sound you just made. Wanna do that again for me? Wanna hear my pretty little cockslut begging for me while I fuck my fist. Yeaaah, just like that. Louder.” ✦ the type to send in voicemails at random times of the day. You know they’re exclusively for you since he’s practically chanting out your name while he fucks himself. You’ve made the mistake (plenty of times) of listening to some of them in public. Thank god your phone wasn’t on full volume but people definitely heard your boyfriend fucking his fist. ✦ you put him in his place when you get home by tying him down to the bed and edging him to hell and back and back again and back again and back again and—

𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄.

✦ THIS MANNN…. He knows how to use his voice. He KNOWS HOW TO USE HIS VOICE SOMEONE HOLD ME THE FUCK BACK— ✦ he really doesn't like texting. So you both often call each other at the end of the day when you're apart. You're often apart too, with work and with it taking you to different cities. He's home alone at your apartment with your pets, with your clothes beside him on the couch. See where this is going? :-)) ✦ "Miss ya. Fuck, I really miss ya. Even the cats miss yer constant yappin'-" he teases and he's palming his cock through his gray sweatpants when he hears you shoot a clever quip at him. "Mhh-doll, I really do fuckin' miss ya. Especially when we wake up in the mornin'? Yeah. When ya press yer ass up against me, miss how ya know how to touch me just right-" "Jo, are you touching yourself right now?" he has the gall to chuckle. "Wanna see?" He was so ready to switch to facetime, to show you how he's lazily dragging his fingers up and down his throbbing cock, gray sweatpants pulled down just enough to pull it out. But you wanna stay on the call. You're rushing to your bed, hand in your shorts as soon as you lay down. ✦ likes dirty talking. LOVES when you talk dirty to him back. He's whispering phrases like, "mhm, yeah?", "what do ya want me t'do to ya when you get back?", "what else, angel?" prodding you on, urging you to express your deepest desires to him because he's NEEDY NEEDY NEEDY. (He knows you're as eager as he is too) ✦ wants to cum with you so he edges himself until you say you're almost there. Wants to match your pace and tries to by listening to your breathing, the rhythm of your moans. Never fails to tell you he loves you after he cums. ✦ promises a huge surprise for you when you get back :-)

a/n: THESE WERE SO FUCKING FUN TO DO RRRRAAAAAHHHHHHHHHRHRHR!!!!!!!!!!!!! *insert werewolf ripping clothes open meme here* I hope you guys like it. The brainworms are wriggling mighty strong.

[sinnaminsuga]

𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖘 𝖆𝖉𝖏𝖆𝖈𝖊𝖓𝖙 - sub!hyunjin x sub!reader x dom!chan

wc: 2,804

cw: hyunjin is a slut, so is the reader, chan likes it that way. SMUT MDNI.

synopsis: while shooting the red lights mv chan noticed something about hyunjin and now he's got a theory he wants to test, he just needs your help.

a/n: was literally plagued with visions of overstimulating hyunjin and making him cry soooo this is what i ended up with. oops. also if there are any spelling errors pls don't tell me bc ive read this trash so many times trying to work it all out and if i have to re-read it again i might go blind.

sw: dirty talk, daddy kink, unprotected sex (pls be smarter than that), bondage, threesome, some gay shit, breeding, blowjobs, lingerie, deepthroating, general toughness, waxing poetic about hyunjins beautiful face. idk probably more but im bad at this shit.

hwang hyunjin is beautiful. its a well documented fact, no ifs ands or buts about it. he has the kind of face ancient civilizations would have gone to war for. old world dynasties would have been reduced to rubble over a face like his. hwang hyunjin is the kind of beautiful where it almost hurts to look at him. it makes you question your belief in a higher power because, how could there possibly be any room for debate on if there is a God when there is simply no other reasonable explanation for how a devine creature like him came to exist on this earth? so with all that being said, there's no way he could get any more beautiful. or so you thought.

it had always been your assumption that there was no possible way he could look any more stunning than he naturally does; but your mind was changed the minute you saw the lithe expanses of his smooth milky skin held captive by blood red ropes. you felt an astounding amount of pride as your eyes bore witness to his soft flesh being pulled tight by the coarse material; the blood under his skin rushing to the surface where the ropes were knotted artfully over his collarbone, across his abdomen, splayed over his pelvis, looped around his upper thighs and finally circling the base of his dick. and you had worked hard to make sure the knots around his wrists and ankles were comfortable yet sturdy before attaching them to each bedpost.

you had taken your instructions very seriously, as the man giving them to you from edge of the bed, wouldn't allow any of this to continue if either of you were to disobey his direct orders, and dear god you would rather die than see this endeavor be cut short.

you admired your handiwork a bit more before the rumbling of a particular voice hit your ears.

“how do you feel baby? is this what you wanted? y/n did a good job huh? you look so pretty.” chan spoke softly to hyunjin, absentmindedly petting his head. hyunjin looked up at his leader and nodded, unsure if he could speak without whining as the ropes pulled across his body with every move.

“yeah i knew you'd like this. the whole time we were shooting “red lights” i saw you ya know? the way your breathing got shallow when the staff chained you up. the way your eyes glazed over when they gave you instructions to pull against your restraints. god, standing above you on that bed, watching you writhe below me was a sight to see. my good boy just wanted to be tied up and used huh?” chan said to him, his finger hooked under hyunjin's chin forcing his head up to look him in the eyes. a whimper forced its way out of him as his hips instinctually bucked and the the sensation of the ropes took over.

you couldn't drag your eyes away from his lower body. the sharp angle of his hipbones jutting up to the ceiling as his cock drooled uncontrollably, the fluid flowing from his tip dribbling down to darken the rope wrapped snugly around the base of him. without even thinking you reached out and wrapped your hand around his shaft, you were just so overwhelmed with the desire to touch him. the feeling was unexpected and the sound that punched its way out of hyunjin's chest was glorious. his body attempted to curl in on itself but the ropes kept him firmly in place. you watched the range of emotions flicker over his face in rapid succession; surprise at your initial touch, pleasure from finally being granted a little stimulation, sensitivity from being denied his pleasure for so long, shock when he remembered the restraints keeping him spread open, frustration at not being able to move, and finally acceptance as he gave in to the languid stroking you were doing. he continued to toss as the pleasure took over, thrashing wildly against the mattress and moaning into the pillow.

hyunjin's noises were reduced to whimpers as chan’s hand squeezed around his jaw, directing hyunjin to look him in the eyes. “shhh baby boy, y/n is gonna make you feel good okay? you'll let her do that, won’t you? you'll lay there and take what i let her give you, understood? words please, jinnie.” chan cooed. “yes daddy. i'll be good for you, for her too i promise. i'll be your perfect boy just like always, i promise, please! god just please keep touching me!” hyunjin choked out, making chan grin. he leapt up from where he was perched on the edge of the bed and rounded the corner until he was standing behind you. you repressed a shudder as chan’s hand slid up your back, tracing over your spine and occasionally tripping over the straps of the lingerie set you were wearing. his hand glided up into your hair with ease until his palm cradled the base of your skull, then suddenly he locked his fingers to grab your hair firmly by the roots and pulled you upright so your back was against his chest as he angled your head to the left exposing the expanse of your neck. the suddenness of his movements caused you to lose your grip on hyunjin’s dick and he cried out from the loss of contact, his hips frantically bucking into the air in a fruitless attempt to find friction.

chan hummed as his lips made contact with the skin of your neck and continued as he licked, nipped, and sucked at your flesh. he hooked his chin over your shoulder as his right hand charted a course down your abdomen to the apex of your thighs where the pads of his thick fingers rubbed over your damp slit. when you could finally manage to pry your lids open, you locked eyes with hyunjin. he was practically panting watching chan devour your throat and palm your pussy. “so pretty y/n, y’look so pretty. like a dream. want to paint you one day, just like that.” he whispered. hyunjin's words and gaze coupled with chan's wandering hands and skilled mouth were almost enough to send you over the edge.

“now here’s what's next my loves. y/n, you're going to get on your knees, lean down on your elbows and suck hyunjin's pretty dick right into the back of your throat okay? i want you to take him as far as you can, and quickly. do not stop until i tell you to. not if he begs, not if he cries, not if he screams. got it?” you nodded as well as you could with his left hand still in your hair. chan released you and you quickly got into the position he had described, gently grabbing hold of hyunjin's cock. “i’m sorry jinnie, but you know i have to.” you quipped right before you took him into your mouth and as far into your throat as you could manage. the garbled noise that ripped its way out of hyunjin's throat threw you into over drive as you bobbed your head and sucked him like your life depended on it. he was groaning deeply and his limbs were flailing the best they could in his current predicament. his back arched up off the mattress so beautifully you wished chan would take a photo.

“fuck, fuck, FUCK. jesus chri- oh my god! y/n, sweetheart slow down- PLEASE! oh fuck i can- i can feel- fucking fuck. i can feel your throat squeezing me so tight!” hyunjin wailed throwing his head back, the veins in his neck becoming more prominent as he grit his teeth.

suddenly chan’s hand made its way to your pussy again and you gasped around the thickness embedded in your throat causing hyunjin to hiss.

“crotchless panties angel? so proud of you. always so prepared for daddy huh? know just what i like.” chan muttered from behind you. you heard the telltale jingle of his belt being opened and the zipper being lowered on his jeans. he had already removed his shirt earlier so he was naked quickly, and he wasted no time before rubbing the head of his dick along your weeping folds.

“now i'm going to fuck you nice and deep the way you like and i want you to keep sucking my good boy okay?” chan said but before you could respond he shoved himself into you in one swift thrust. chan was not small in girth or length for that matter but the stretch you felt every time he fucked you open was delicious. you couldn't help but moan around the cock in your mouth which in turn caused hyunjin to scream at the unexpected vibration. chan’s laugh that followed was dark and proud, thrilled that he held so much power and that you both let him use it.

“fuuuuck sweet girl this cunt is always so fucking tight huh? doesn't matter how many times i fuck you or let someone else fuck you, you always snap right back. god i love being inside you.” chan growled as his hands gripped your hips and held you steady as he pummeled his way in and out of your slippery hole. the whole time he was fucking you, you were being forced onto hyunjin's cock as well, every moan muffled by the thickness battering your throat.

“hyunjin is y/n a good cocksucker? hmm? you think? you think she's better than you were?” chan taunted him as he drove himself inside you over and over again. “remember when we had our first one on one meeting? just me and you alone in the studio? i said 'hyunjin if you really are serious and want to stay in this group i need one thing from you’ do you remember that? i do.” you could hear the grin in his voice even if you couldn't see him. hyunjin groaned and mumbled what sounded like a yes. “i also remember how fast you sank to your knees and scrambled to try and open my belt. you thought i wanted you to suck me off to stay in the band. and you were so willing to give me whatever i wanted. all i was going to ask you for was your loyalty and your honesty in all things. but you offered up that pretty mouth quick as a bitch and who was i to say no?” chan laughed at the memory as he threw a foot up onto the bed to change the angle he was fucking into you from so he was now nailing your gspot on every thrust.

“y-yes i remember. ‘course i do. i knew w-what you were gonna ask me because felix told me beforehand what you were going to ask, what you asked a-all of them. i just- fuck yes keep sucking y/n im so close. i jus’ wanted you so bad i thought if i tried and y-you didn't want me back it would just be an easily brushed off m-misunderstanding.” hyunjin whined, his hands balled up into fists, knuckles white.

“y/n suck him dry. now.” chan ordered and you sucked harder pulling a squeal out of hyunjin. “go on sweet boy. go ahead and cum. you earned it.” chan encouraged as he delivered a heavy smack to your ass. your muffled yelp was the final straw and hyunjin came hard into your mouth, his body attempting to lurch off the bed. you swallowed everything down and pulled off of him, replacing your mouth with your hand. as chan continued to ram into you, you mirrored his thrusts with the fist wrapped tightly around hyunjin's still hard cock.

“stop stop stop please! god please i can- i can't take it! it's too sensitive please!” hyunjin cried. “yes you can baby. you can take it. trust me.” chan cooed. feeling bold you leaned forward once again and sucked hyunjin's tip harshly while lashing the tip of your tongue over his slit.

“FUCK! no no no no it's too m- too much. stop stop stop!” hyunjin continued to wail. he was begging you to relent but he also didn't use his safeword so you knew he didnt really want it to stop. the sound was like music to chan's ears and the rhythmic clenching of your cunt around him propelled him quickly toward his own orgasm.

“i'm gonna cum in you okay baby? gonna breed this pretty pussy, stuff it full of my cum. that what you want? yeah it is isn't it?” chan rambled and you moaned out a “yes please daddy” right before he exploded inside you. your hand around hyunjin never stopped moving and he was crying now. big fat tears rolling down his cheeks from the overstimulation.

chan pulled out of you and watched your hole flutter, pushing out his seed. he murmured a string of praises as he watched the glistening fluid drip out of you. you looked over your shoulder at him, jutting your lower lip out.

“daddy i didn't get to cum yet. can i?” you asked.

“go ahead baby. make yourself cum.” chan said with a wave of his hand and an evil grin etched on his face. you grinned right back before scrambling up hyunjin's body and straddling him.

“wh-what are you doing? oh...oh no. no no no. please it's so sensitive it's so so sensitive y/n i can't!” hyunjin hiccuped, tears still flowing. you leaned forward and ran your tongue up his cheek, lapping up the briny liquid seeping from his eyes. then you whispered “oh jinnie, don't you want me to feel good too? i worked so hard after all.” you reached behind you and positioned his tip at your entrance before effortlessly sliding down onto him. you moaned as he filled you and he once again thrashed against the ropes wrapped around him. you started to ride him in earnest, aching for your own release at this point. the man beneath you was mumbling incoherently about how good your pussy feels and how badly he wants to come again. chan sauntered over and perched next to hyunjin again, reaching out to pet his head and pepper his face with kisses.

“i’m gonna cum, fuck i'm gonna cum!” you cried as you worked yourself over hyunjin’s dick and used one hand to furiously rub your clit.

“daddy shes squeezing me so hard i don't think i ca- can get out. can i cum inside?” hyunjin pleaded with chan. “of course you can baby, right sweetheart? you want jinnie’s cum inside you don't you?” you just nodded in response. “my girl loves to be creampied you never have to ask. just go ahead baby boy.” chan explained. you drove yourself down onto hyunjin twice more and then you were cumming, mouth dropping open as your inner walls milked him for all he was worth. hyunjin spasmed beneath you as he came and came and came inside you. he wasn't speaking anymore, just making these stunted little sounds as his body shook with the aftershocks of his second orgasm.

chan had begun to untie the ropes as you slowly lifted yourself off of hyunjin. you whispered praise to him as he has hummed, completely fucked out and boneless beneath you.

“shhh it's okay sweetheart. you did so good for us baby. we’re gonna put you to bed now okay?” chan murmured to the man shaking in the bed. hyunjin managed to croak out an “uh-huh” in response. you grabbed a bottle of lotion from nearby and began to work it into the reddened skin all over him where the ropes had been, while chan wiped down hyunjin's groin with a warm cloth. you hummed a tune you knew hyunjin loved and his eyes fluttered shut, a tiny smile making its way to his face.

after everything was put away and the room was right again, chan crawled into the bed to spoon hyunjin’s half asleep form while you crawled in the other side to press yourself to hyunjin's still somewhat heaving chest. you pulled the blanket up high and tucked yourself into his warm skin and he wound an arm around your waist. chan's hand rested on hyunjin's hip, squeezing the flesh there every so often.

being here felt so right, so natural, so easy. loving these two was as easy as breathing. you couldn't believe it had taken this long to get here but now that you had, you weren't letting them go. before your eyes fell closed you heard the sound of chan's lips kissing along hyunjin's shoulder before he whispered “rest now my loves. because i have big plans for you tomorrow.”

THE END

[dilf-docs]

Misery Reigns My Lonely Neon Nights

old man!logan x younger fem!reader

summary: logan should've said no. should've just drove the pretty waitress home. that's his job. hers is to serve his cup of coffee to the brim. so why is he riding you to his house?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (cause we have a small daddy kink going on here.. hence the blog name BUT I DO HAVE A GOOD DAD), smut, this reeks of corruption kink for no reason other than me being a virgin whore, like he gets stalker-ish for a second but its logan howlett so we forgive him<3 ya está viejito, brief mention of suicide, sub logan edging on praising kink (if u squint), no protection but u gotta put the hat on the cowboy to ride the horse alr, riding, breeding kink??? angst (the depressing vibes are there cause they follow my writing like a shadow ijbol)

word count: 33,577 words (at the v crack of dawn.. i think i've gone insane FR it's 02:07 am and my brain its eating itself like im gonna start seeing logan in the corner of my room)

side note: newbie here after reading so many fanfics on tumblr but never publishing my own!! its hugh's birthday (well, its past midnight so no more but still!!! it was a couple hours ago) so i figured i should give it a try today cause that man does things to me ESPECIALLY as old man logan i can't lie and say the thought of him fucking me good and slow hasn't crossed my mind too many times 😩 we love sad hot old people in here so naturally my inaguration fic had to be done by him. also, i'm tired of scrapping for votes, comments, and interactions on wattpad so please treat me well during our first:// it's me moving to tumblr it's me hi i'm the problem it's me. i'm a feedback whore so pls leave tons of those!! also, english isn't my first language so if i make a grammar mistake pls do not tell me bc i have no respect for this language ―it just makes me cringe less to write smut on a language that isn't mine lol<3 but if there's any other mistake yes pls do tell me thank u OKAY BYE i needa quit yapping ENJOY dilf town<3

So it started something like this.

It was another simple nightshift for Logan. The weather humid, uncomfortably sticking the fabric of his white button shirt onto his skin. Even with the windows down. Those nights that the driving dragged on for long, like those cigarettes that now made him cough more than relax. The roads felt too long; his eyes too heavy.

Nothing new. Just about what to expect: money short, clients and traffic equally annoying. But that was the problem; nothing was new anymore.

He'd just finish dropping a customer close by, and since the tiring feeling didn't seem to leave his body just yet, a coffee wouldn't hurt. As a matter of fact, the need for a boost to make it home makes him get out of the car and limp his way into the first place his tired vision sees.

The rim of his recently adquired reading glasses slips as he climbs the stairs into the decades old diner, the decoration outdated. He understands; he feels the same way.

Neon lights flash his face when he enters the place and sits in the farthest booth he can find. The air is impregnated in grease and cheap coffee, but he waits at least fifty minutes to order, giving his body some time to rest. In the meanwhile, he tries to distract himself with the newspaper resting on the table, but God knows his eyes are too tired and his mind drifts every two words.

He hopes he doesn't get kicked out, judging from the attentive look he's receiving by a waitress resting on the bar. She looks as bored and tired as he does.

Maybe that's why he chooses her, raising his hand with order in mind. A black coffee. The waitress slides from her position and takes some steps to where he sits.

Her voice is sweet when she introduces herself, and Logan finds himself asking her again what her name is, pretending he's half deaf just to listen to it again.

"It's y/n" you repeat, oh so sickeningly sweet, he might have to skip on asking for sugar.

"Y/n" he savours the name on his lips, trying the tender sound, his eyes darting to the name tag, like he's confirming it. Testing to see if the young woman in front of him is real. Maybe his eyes linger a little too long, and the tip of your ears start to heat. Its the way he examines every feature on your face, like memorizing it in a sense, that makes you squirm. But maybe, just maybe, it's the small―brief, peak he gives to your exposed cleavage, pushing itself against the tight fabric of your uniform what truly gets your heart beating fast.

He looks like what your parents would warn you to stay away and your friends would talk behind your back. Rugged in a way that screams heartbreak, rough around edges your kind nature wishes to soften. It's unresonable to feel this way about a client you just met, but his aloof demeanor peaks your interest, so different from your usual costumers and familiar faces that pop up at the diner.

"Can I order you, darling?" his voice comes out deep, almost passing as a grunt. Just what you imagined it to sound. Why he's acting as his past self so effortlessly, after closing himself off to the point of going by entire days without talking more than three words, is concerning. Why the cute waitress who looks at him with doe eyes, expectant to take his order, is making him break the promise he made to himself not to get attached again―just live by enough to make it to the sea and put a bullet in his head.

"Well, that's just about my job" you joke, feeling confident for no reason. "But you can't order me".

"A damn shame" he chuckles, the sound deep, rumbling on his chest. It's been so long since he's laughed like that: carefree, without that pressing weight on his chest, that despite the sinking notion, sometimes feels more like a hole carved where his heart is supposed to be.

"So..." you trail off, unsure where to proceed after that sound that jolted your entire system awake, "what will you take?"

The banter dies, and Logan is dissapointed when she scribbles the dark coffee on her pretty round letter and walks away. He doesn't miss the sway of her hips, and almost calls her back just to hear her voice again. But he stops himself, because it's getting pathetic.

When she returns with her order, he almost regrets the comeback of his enhaced senses, her honeyed perfume mixed with the bitter smell of the freshly brewed coffee, creating an intoxicating mix.

His lips burn when he sips it, but that doesn't stop him from emptying the cup. Again. And again. All in the name for asking for more coffee, a magnetic force pulling him to the ground, making him forget he's a 200 and something year old man begging like a starved man for at least a fraction of her attention. He feels unworthy of your warmth.

He feigns interest on the newspaper when you return again (he's been stuck on the same paragraph ever since he sat down), the pot in your hands. If you've noticed he's emptied the cups faster than a normal person, you don't ask questions. He's thankful, but can see the amusement and confusion laced across your pretty face.

"More?" you ask, but it's unnecesary. He only nods, and you miss the chatter.

The closeness it's a challenge itself, the uniform's neckline practically shoved down his nose while she fills the cup to the brim. He hears his own heartbeat, the sound averting his attention from another "brief" glance at the cleavage. Is it intentional? Is your goodwill and act? Are you this cruel, playing with an old touch starved man like that?

God knows it's been long since he's had a helping hand during his relief hours.

He can't help it; he's a man, after all. So he seizes the moment and steals a glance. But his eyes meet yours, the wary green clashing with the cozy chocolate. There's warmth on your eyes, and he's looking at your tits like an animal. He pulls away, ashamed. The shirt feels a bit suffocating, and there's sweat on his forehead again. Great, you'll think he's a perv.

"Excuse me" you say, leaving his table. Logan is afraid of having fucked it up for thinking with this dick and not with his head. You were messing too much with his head, and now he'll pay the price. Fair, he thinks, for a perverted old man trying to woo a girl younger and far more innocent than him.

There's benevolance on her smile and blood on his hands.

The whole situation is stupid.

But then he's thinking of excuses (like saying it's his failing eyesight's fault) and something close to an apology, as if he cares a little too much about what you think. And then you come back.

"I forgot to bring you a napkin" she lies, leaving the piece of paper in the middle of the table. You laugh, and Logan let's you because 1. He deserves it, and 2. It's a sound as saccharine as the smell the freshly heated pies emit on the table across him.

You leave before he can even open his mouth, so all he's left with is the napkin that seems to have something written on it. Pervert, he reads, on the same calligraphy you scribbled on your bloc. He can't help but laugh, even with your watchful look on him.

That's how it continued.

Even if he had other rides and more energy to drive, he kept coming to the decaying diner just to see you. Almost as if he was forgetting his desperate need for the money, the boat goal further and further.

"You've forgotten about me" complained Charles, although his tone lacked of bite. "But I'm not mad that you've had".

He'd go on, rambling about living life but Logan just laughed. Yet, maybe he was right. Didn't even need his powers to know it.

Now, you? you simply couldn't get enough of your favorite costumer. Of his late stays until you closed, sometimes not muttering more than necessary, yet his company, even if curt, proved to be what you needed to make it through work, giving you a legitimate reason to yearn the before tedious night shifts.

Despite this two month weird relationship, Logan is as a stranger to you as he was the first day, no matter how many times you've tried to get him to talk. In the end, all your conversation efforts feel more of a monologue than a chat.

He knows about your mom and your dad, one strict the other dead. He knows most of your friends names, what you're studying and what you wanted to. Your dreams and your hopes, your aspirations, failures, and some other things you'd never say to anyone else out loud. All and nothing. And he listens, sometimes asking questions, but never about himself. He never takes the lead.

So frustration from the Logan enigma pours into you, the puzzle pieces layed out over your mind, consuming your thoughts. So now you're stubbornly cleaning the same grease spot on a table you've already wipped before, and that, coincidentally, it's the booth in front of Logan, the permanent resident of your head during these past weeks. You might as well make him start paying rent by now, his power and hold over you ridiculous.

"It's not going anywhere. Take it easy" he mocks you.

There's a bit of annoyance when you reply back, although it's mostly superficial. "Don't know what you're talking about" comes out your dry response, earning a low chuckle from him.

"How about you sit for a moment?" he offers, ignoring your apathy. "You're almost done cleaning up".

If his ever changing attitude isn't enough, closing this night's shift is as tiring.

Logan doesn't expect you to obey, but now you're sitting across from him, and a voice in his head says you maybe feel sorry for this lunatic old man.

You're so close, he can see the eye bags and sorrow you are far tired to try to hide.

"I have to finish cleaning" you explain, "we're about to close".

He doesn't know why he says it, or what takes over him when he says:

"I could wait for you"

He surprises himself and surprises you too.

"No need" you assure, and why does he feel so dissapointed. It's stupid. "My friend picks me up".

Ah, yes. The friend with the perfect stupid smile that picks you up every night. Not like he parks his car until you leave and sees the scene unfold each time, his white knuckle grip on the wheel a bit too much when the young boy opens up your door. Makes him see red, knowing he's your age and maybe the breathe of fresh air you need. Not a man far older, who bears too many sins and scars in and out.

"I see" he says after some minutes in silence, retracting his impulsiveness. "I'm sorry if I made you-"

"No!" you clarify hastily, "it doesn't bother me".

He smiles unconsciously in relief.

"Well, me neither. I insist. If you change your mind" he's practically begging, despite his monotone tone.

But you don't.

The place closes and Logan is forced to get in the car. He lights a cigarette, in no hurry to return home. The lighter lights up while the diner's light goes off. You and your boss come out, biding each other goodbye. She leaves and you're is left alone, hugging your body in the early morning cold. 

He sees you wearing particular clothes, for the first time. He takes a slow drag on his cigarette, eyes running up and down your bare legs, the fragile fabric of the skirt fluttering in the wind. He exhales, watching as you dials your phone several times, getting no response, obviously frustrated.

He mutters something under his breath, and maybe there is a God after all. He starts the car, approaching her, who has already noticed it, probably because of the noise of the engine.

She looks scared, but Logan rolls down the window so she can see it's him.

"Need'a ride?"

Just by his reverberant sound you could accept. But you try to play cool for a while, despite your aching bones and need to get home.

"He doesn't answer" he was right, "my friend".

I know, he wishes to say, but he's the same hot headed asshole who walked through the doors of the X mansion for the first time, so his tone will be laced with irony. He doesn't want you to see him as an intense hot blooded mouth.

I could take you. His head pounds but he shuts the emotions down.

He shoves the knot on his throat down and asks as casually as possible, "do you live close?"

"Just around the corner" you answer. A beat, your frame bending so he can see your face from the driver's sit, the cleavage saying hello again. How considerate of you. "Do you really want to do this?"

Do you really want to do this?

The question rings on his ears. It holds more than just the favor. Logan knows they have a certain tension between them that he no longer wants to ignore. For the first time it seems to be reciprocated; palpable, and he is surprised to hear his heart beating loudly, so accustomed to hearing others' with his sharp senses, constantly forgetting what his own sounds like. Yours also beats erratically, despite your calm composure.

You arch an eyebrow, amused. "I can't believe you waited for me. Your family must be worried."

Logan realizes you're trying to test waters. So he raises his hand discreetly and places it on the door, so you can see the lack of a ring. As expected, your eyes travel to his free finger, and he can swear he sees you breathe with relief, which is funny, because in case you hadn't picked up until now, Logan is very much fucking alone.

"In case you changed your mind," he answers. "I have nowhere else to be."

That is enough of an invitation for you to get in the car.

"I was going to open that door for you" he protests.

You only laugh as you buckle the seatbelt. "It's not that big of a deal, really. You've already done enough for me by doing me the favor".

"It's not that big of a deal" he repeats your words, "as long as I'm of help, that's enough for me".

He smiles wistfully, remembering better times. A part of him still aspires to be that hero everyone loved and remembered, something that clearly doesn't happen anymore (or if it does, it's rare), given the lack of recognition of his former identity in El Paso. He shakes his head, focusing back on the street in front of him. It's too late to get fucking sentimental.

"I like to help too…" you confess, meekly. Logan sighs, how could he not know? "My father used to say that I had the kindest heart he'd ever met. I hope it stays that way, and that when he looks down on me, he's proud".

It hurts Logan to see you be so hard on yourself, as if he didn't do the same.

"I bet all the customers in the place would say you're the sweetest thing they've met", he sees you smile from the corner of his eye, and can't help but emulate it. "Believe me, you're their favorite".

"Thank you, Logan" you say sincerely. However, the affliction that he hates to see crosses your face. So gloomy that you don't even seem the same person.

You wipe away an unexpected tear, but Howlett is faster and notices. You turn around, looking towards the window. Then, you catch a glimpse of his license.

"So… you're a driver" you try to break the silence that Logan has put without knowing why. Maybe to give you some space after being sentimental and opening up again to this closed off wall name Logan, but he knows it's a lie. He's scared. After wanting so much to be closer to you, he cowers, not trusting himself and what he would do trapped in a small space with such an attractive woman. Besides, the tension from the previous conversation was still there.

"You judging me now, honey?" the pet name rolls off his tongue before he catches it. He tries to play it cool, continuing the banter, carrying the same tone. "The only thing necessary to make you trust me was to give you a free ride?

"I'm in your car, Logan. I got in without thinking" you laugh. "I believe that's enough trust"

"Then, I'll keep doing you favors. Maybe if I do…" he trails off.

Your voice drops an octave, provocative. "Maybe what?"

His knuckles grip the steering wheel until they turn white.

"Maybe…" he hesitates, "maybe…"

"It's here" you point out. Shit, Logan curses, braking abruptly without meaning to.

"See you tomorrow" you bid as a goodbye, getting out of the car. Logan misses your smell.

So he sticks his head out the window, like a begging dog.

"How about now?" he says a bit forcefully.

Your face shows surprise and something else.

"You're getting attached" you reply, and he doesn't know why there seems to be sadness in your voice.

"I just keep coming back for the coffee" he defends himself.

You laugh, shaking your head "Now, then. For the coffee, clearly."

"I can leave" he says. Yet, makes no move to leave.

You sigh, giving him one last look. Surrender, he reads.

"You're a driver, right?" he nods, taking in every word coming of your pink plush lips. "Then let's drive off. Anywhere" your voice trails off, and you're just so tired of everything, you'll just let go yourself with the flow. "I'll go wherever you go..."

And this is how it ends.

When you wake up, it's almost dawn.

Logan had suggested you to sleep, claming the road where he was taking you to be long. He had covered you with his jacket, even if your body was burning from nerves.

Why had you agreed? Your mom would probably smack your head in search for some sense, and your reckless friends would encourage you to do it for the sake of a story. But something about Logan makes you feel safe, despite not knowing anything from him. It's sort of a sense of protection―like he would never hurt you, that envelops him. Everyone else would call you crazy; only you can understand that.

When your eyes adjust to the light, you realize you're in a line of cars.

"Did you bring me to the border?" you exclaim groggily, still in a sleepy voice.

"Good morning" he answers instead.

You rub yoou eyes, settling into the passenger seat.

"You're not going to kidnap me, right?" you question, half joking half serious.

Logan laughs, "Not only that. I'm also going to throw your body in a mass grave"

"It's not funny," you pout, although you're laughing too.

Once you've crossed the border, Logan drives a few more minutes, until he reaches a restricted area.

“I live here” he answers before you can ask, “saves rent and questions”

After opening the locks, you can better appreciate the place. Well, appreciate may not be the right word.

“It's an abandoned smelting plant” you voice out loud.

Logan just nods. You realize that he didn't like the comment, so you try not to talk about it anymore.

“Come” he gets out of the car, going to open your door. He offers you a hand, and you fail to hide your smile.

“You didn't miss this time, huh? Quite a gentleman” you praise. Then, add jokingly, “if you choose to kill me, at least I'll die taken care of".

“Stop talking nonsense and go inside” he scolds but smiles.

Inside, the abandoned plant is exactly what you expected.

"We're alone" Logan says, after leaving to check. He opens the door to his room, letting you in. There's not much inside, just a bed and scattered things. A yellowish light begins to filter through the broken glass. "I'mma change. Be right back".

You begin to explore your surroundings, to avoid thinking about the impact of the situation. Two things could happen: leave or stay. Maybe everything was going too fast, but you prided yourself on your spontaneity, often confused with impulsiveness. Others would say it was your naive nature: too innocent for your own good.

What had led you to accept without further ado? Was trust enough, that you had even fallen asleep in his car?

"S'rry for the wait"

You notice that Logan's gotten rid of his formal attire, leaving him in just slacks and an old white tank top. His muscles flex with every movement, making you swallow involuntarily. He still retains his extraordinary physique, despite his greying hair. She can't help but stare at the scars that cover his exposed skin, her fingers itching to trace them.

"Haven't they told ya' t's rude to stare?"

You look away, embarrassed. Logan walks over to the bed, bumping into you in the process, bodies barely touching. Still, an electric shock runs through you. You hug yourself, scared, aware of the effect he has on you.

"Logan" she dares to ask, "what are we doing?"

He finally looks at you. You feel naked under his intense gaze.

"What do you want us to do?"

His voice comes out low, like a growl. You stand in place stiff, unable to form a word.

"Come on, honey", the nickname comes out of his lips so easily, it hurts. "Are ya losing your voice now? Got into my car a while ago without thinkin', what's changed?"

You slowly approach Logan, each stride calculated. He watches you in silence, a silence as hostile as the wind hitting the broken windows, watching you remove your clothes, until all that's left is your bra and that skimpy skirt, as if you knew he liked it.

"Logan…" you whisper his name like a prayer, letting yourself fall on his legs. He holds you with his hard calloused fingers, like a promise.

Don't let me fall. Don't let me go. Don't leave me.

The habit of loneliness settles in between, and the flame they thought in deep slumber rekindles, burning with their long time unattended needs.

"Use your words, sweet thing" the trepidation condenses between, "we're grown up now, aren't we? Use your words"

If by words he meant feeling your lips against his, it's enough to have Logan following his impulses, using his strength to embrace your body until they feel like one, the scars on his hands feeling like your own. Your lips move in sync, and it's almost so casual, so learned, so meant to be, that fear appears in Logan, soon forgotten with the symphony of moans that come from your lips.

"Tell me" he pauses, breaking away from the kiss (something you don't like and express in the form of a pout), "what do you want?"

Logan tastes like cigars and whiskey, a combination you hate and the reason you quit your old job at the bar, but on his lips, it's an intoxicating taste.

"I want you, Logan" you whisper, hot breath against his skin, “you”.

He resumes the kiss, an electric shock of hunger and need between you: lips parted, colliding, teeth almost clashing against each other.

His fingers hesitate with a delicacy that belies his rough touch, the tips of his worn fingers lifting the fragile cloth of your skirt first, revealing soaking wet panties he goes crazy just at the sight of. The smell is sugary, sicklingly, so now he's hard and pulling at the clasp of your bra first, exposing your nipples, which he rolls and pinches mercilessly. A gasp escapes you—then another, and another as Logan pushes his thigh between your legs. The friction is delicious, almost painful against your pulsing center.

His hand firm up his position, securing itself onyour bare legs as you digs her nails into him. His labored moans turn into a guttural growl.

“You think I’m not capable?” he mocks, stealing another moan from her, “that I can’t keep up with you, you pretty young thing?”

You deny it, but Logan takes it upon himself to show you that he can take you like he's in heat, the ghost of his old self taking over in his almost animal way of fucking you, hips arched, muscles flexed and tense, his teeth appearing every time he opens his mouth, reminding you of fangs. They dig into your exposed skin, leaving bruises that will take time to disappear from your shoulders and neck, marking what belongs to him.

The hardness of his skin meets your soft when he grabs you by the waist.

"Look at you" it slips from his tongue, ecstatic. He's a goner, saliva dripping from the messy and sloppy kisses he leaves through your collarbone, "so good and so pure. I bet you're innocent, that you haven't seen what I've seen..."

His pupils darken, a strange mix between torment and desire in his gaze. Hungry and violent.

"Will you let me show you how's a real man s'ppossed to treat a woman?"

He feels shame settle in his belly, the hunger to possess her almost virgin body fueling his dark desire of errasing her sweet smile until she's an unintelligible mess of sobs. To show her what she would complain about, so she'll never slettle for less. So you can feel what it's to be taken care of―handled. And then he'll fill you up with his seed, so no other man will take what's his. His sweet little thing. Oh, he's so going to hell for this.

But maybe he likes pain.

"That's it, honey" he plays with the fabric of your wet panties, pulling at the loose threads in the delicate fabric. "Let me show you".

You take it off, and Logan lies back against the bed, spreading his legs and unbuttoning his belt and pants―a clear invitation to repeat the previous position, except this time, his hands are on top of your hips, squeezing the soft skin. He doesn't take his eyes off you, his gaze reserved only on you. If the adrenaline from before pushed you, now the confidence gained motions you to finish the task. It's just the push you need, remembering that this is what it feels like to be with a real man as you throw a leg over his hips, sitting your ass right on top of the bulge marked on his underwear.

“Right… there…” he barely manages to formulate a coherent train of words, the years of lack of help in attending to his needs leading to overstimulation, “good girl.”

The compliment makes you increase the pace of your hips, his labored breaths a sound so rich and so manly it makes you squirm.

You need it desperately, rubbing your increasingly wet clit against him, riding the fabric. His scruffy beard barely hides the smug smile that graces his lips.

“Like this?” she whispers, and Logan can no longer contain himself, staring at his sweaty, ripped body failing to please her completely. It feels so good it aches, and he can't believe this is how he's ended. But if that means having your pretty face on top of him, covered in his marks, dripping on your joint sweats, well maybe it isn't so bad.

“How can I repay you, honey?” he pleads. He'll try he's best. He just wants to give you a glimpse of the way his whole world has light up ever since he stumbled in that greasy diner.

“You said you were going to show me” it comes out almost as a purr, expectant, “and I’m waiting”.

Logan takes it as his cue, pulling down his underwear until his member is exposed, chuckling darkly when you swallow at the sight.

"Don't tell me you're scared already" he teases, "look how you have me… you can't leave me like this…"

You stifle a scream as you feel every inch of his thick cock enter your sensible walls, trying to fit his member inside of your needy body.

"So tight for me" he stammers, using his hands to keep you in place, on top of him. The only sound in the silence of that place that smells of death is that of their skin colliding―vulgar, the obscenity highlighted by being the only thing that can be heard in the small room.

Even though his stamina has dropped over the years, he thrusts into you relentlessly. Logan fucks you senseless, his balls buried deep in your dripping pussy, a constant rhythm of avid suction with each entry to your walls.

He takes a moment to see you as you take something from the nighstand he doesn't remember putting there.

"Look what I found" you whisper in the middle of your moans. Logan recognizes the shine of metal in front of his eyes, "so Wolverine?"

You say it so easily, like it's not the first time. With acceptance; it scares him.

Do you recognize him? Are you not scared? Why haven't your eyes go from curiosity and kindness to cold and rejection?

He should panic, rip off his dog tags from your hands and pretend he doesn't know who he used to be, but he's so deep inside you and so enraptured, he can only manage to gently take them from between your fingers and put them around your neck, the cold metal against your warm, bare skin creating an electric shock.

"I want to see them on you"

He likes to watch it hang over his face while you're on top, panting heavily as she repeats his name, slurring her words. It dangles with every thrust, the silver glistens in the seeping sun, just like the sweat that adorns her skin.

"Are you that needy of your old man? " he teases, caressing her. He smacks the curve of his ass, “You want more?”

His veiny length makes quick work of your needy hole, more moans escaping your lips.

“Shit,” you curse, wincing at the pain that begins to increase. “Yes, Logan. Just like that. Nobody ever treated me like that, nobody's made me feel like this-”

He moans, pleased with the praise, seeing he isn't as lacking as he thought. Making you feel good is his priority, but he won't lie and say he doesn't want to feel it too.

In an attempt to distract yourself, your eyes try to focus on him: searching his features, memorizing every scar, every wrinkle, every little grey hair.

“You’re perfect, Logan,” you mumble through a moan, the confession hiding more than you want to say and more than he cares to admit.

Before he can process it though, the fire in his stomach signals the arrival of his impending orgasm.

There's something delightful about the way you can barely speak, a mess of moans that sound like his name, eyes half-lidded and lips swollen alongside your messy hair.

He feels almost sick to be consuming something that doesn't and shouldn't belong to him. He doesn't deserve to have such a beautiful, young woman riding him while she clings to him like he's the last thing in this world, him: a worn, old man who can't keep up with her.

His member spasms, and it's got you feeling it all inside your walls, causing him to close his eyes in the process as well.

It's too soon, Logan thinks in shame, but it's been so long and you feels so good, he let's it go:

Thick whips of his cum shoot out of his member, drawing out more than you would've imagined. You don't have much time to think about it, for the orgasm hits you immediately, fingers curling and eyes rolling to the back of your skull.

Logan feels his tip getting wetter, and the extra lubrication is a nice finishing touch.

“God,” he gasps, “what a mess…”

You avoid looking at him, taking one of his hands in yours, kissing the red and violet painted knuckles. If you do, you'll give away what you feel, the same way her memory burns in Logan's chest, more now than ever, as his mouth tastes just like you.

Dependency.

Devotion. Absolute. Sick.

Maybe that was what he felt. This weird feeling. That abyss piercing his chest but never killing him (so much for regenerating...), pressing his heart with a crushing force whenever it threathened to beat again. Logan was content with rather nothing, always a man who didn't ask for much, and since the death of his family―the X-men, less.

"You should go" he mutters in defeat, the shame washing over. Even if he'll miss your warmth, even if he doesn't want you to leave at all. "It's for your own good, y/n. Pretend you don't know me and turn around. Go away" he insists yet gets stuck on his words, "you're not stupid. Then you'll know it's good for you and you'll never speak to me again"

He looks at the ground, cowardly, because he wants your lust filled warm look to be the last memory he remembers. Not whatever look you're giving him now.

So Logan closes his eyes and counts to ten. When he opens them, you'll be gone. It'll be a dream, something too good to be true. Short lived, like every good thing in his life.

"Logan..." you calls his name. So softly it seems like a breath.

You're still here.

"Logan" you call again, more firmly.

"Logan" you don't give up, cupping with one hand his face gently, "look at me".

When he looks up, he comes across a heartbreaking vision. You cry, tears falling like waterfalls down your cheeks. But that's not the most devastating thing, no: it's the look in your eyes, as if you've shared his pain. As if you've had suffered the same things he had suffered; a twisted reflection of him.

"Of course I understand you" you take his hands, and Logan feels that same strange warmth he felt the first time when your hands brushed his with the diner's menu. "I've also lost people… people I loved. Don't you think it hurts me to see the world go on as if nothing happened? Everyone forgets, Logan. But I can't; there's not a day that goes by when I don't think about them"

For a moment, you stop crying, and the hidden internal turmoil he tried so hard to decipher finally makes sense.

"I don't know what you've been through either, but I can promise you, that I understand you more than you think…" it seems like you'll say something else, but you stop and say instead. "Think, Lo: would these people want to see you like this?"

"It's what I deserve" he murmurs barely, his voice constipated but without shedding a single tear.

"It's not what we want, Logan. Please" you sniff, pained "stop being so hard on yourself".

"I'm not who you think I am" he insists. You're still naked on his bed, and he feels dirty for having you like this. For taking you to his home and fucking you raw out of your innocence. "I'm not a good person."

"No, Logan" you seem hurt by that statement. You trace one of his most recent scars with a touch so compassionate, that he feels your fingertips burn, "you are a hero".

Your words were so sweet, so comforting. He wanted to sink into your lap, which smelled like flowers and tasted like safety. A home; a life that had been taken from him. He wanted to believe everything you said―feel who you believed he was. Not this pathetic, tired and apathetic version of himself, but the old version: the version that inspired respect, that despite his tough exterior, had a family he loved. Because he had a heart. Now he feels like he has no soul: no purpose, nothing.

But maybe you are the answer.

Before he can change his mind, you blurt out “can I stay?”

That morning, in that old bed that creaks under his weight, Logan discovers that feeling alive again isn't so bad.

[wings-of-ink]

Pls I love how you answer angst and it's all dark and gloomy and then there's this cute emoticon at the end ^_^ and suddenly it makes all the worry go by sheer power of cuteness, you are so real for that

I'm gonna pull the "chaotic neutral" on an angst galore and humbly ask for ROs reacting to MC coming to them looking all pretty (gn) and asking RO how do they look only for the RO to find out MC is going on a date.

...and what if MC after seeing ROs reaction smiled gently and said "Well... It's for our date, actually. If you would have me"

(hehe did I got ya? Thought I'd ask some irredimible angst?)

Okay, you did actually get me with that! LOL Totally turned it around at the end, and I made a very unglamorous noise.

I don’t know why, but I always gotta get my little smile in there somewhere, lol. Even if my eyes are a bit watery. ^_^

As for your adorable ask (assuming at least some feelings or romantic words have been exchanged between RO and MC of course):

Oswin: 

Big lump in his throat off the bat. MC looks wonderful, and they're going on a date with someone else? He smiles through it and nods emphatically. “You look amazing. The lucky person will be well-pleased.” Has he misread everything between them?

At the reveal:  His knees actually buckle. “Our? Our. *OUR* DATE!?” His heart is absolutely pounding. “What do you…what should I wear?” MC will need to help him out with that one.

Zahn: 

There’s some genuine enthusiasm there when they tell MC they look gorgeous - because they do. They’ve always thought that about MC. They shine inside and out. Maybe that’s why they confused the things stirring between them. But they’ll be happy for MC and cheer them on.

At the reveal:  Zahn has a smile that would make the sun jealous. They run and grab MC’s hand. “Let’s go! Let’s go right now!” They have zero idea where they’re going…

Duri: 

“Well that’s hardly fair. Are you trying to tease me? It won’t work.” *pouts* (it’s working) *Walks around MC studying the outfit. “You look delicious as ever, but is this person really deserving of such a feast? Never fear, I have just the thing. We’ll borrow Zahn’s ratty cloaks - trust me on this - you’ll still make a statement.” *If MC allows this to run its course, Duri will deck them out in the most atrocious outfit they can make with the items on hand. MC is probably wearing a basket on their head.

After the reveal:  They go quiet for a long moment. “Well, of course, I knew that. You can’t fool me - ha! …What in the stars are you wearing though?”

Rune: 

Swallowing their feelings. Checks MC out, straightens their collar (it wasn’t crooked), smooths the wrinkles (there weren’t any), and gently fixes their hair (it was fine). “You should already know how fabulous you look as well as I do. You’d be enchanting even if you wore robes of grass and leaves.” They fidget. “If…if you aren’t sure about this person - be careful…and I’d also like to take you out too, if you’ll allow it. I apologize for asking like this.”

After the reveal:  The smile takes over before they can stop it. “Well played, I’ll admit it. I suppose that’s a yes to my request then?” MC gets a nervous laugh out of them. Is that a tinge of red on their cheeks?

???: 

“Date!? Well, that isn’t fair, I’ve been flirting with you for ages and we haven’t been on a date yet.” He takes a flower from a vase and slips it into the outfit or tucks it in MC’s hair. “Here’s an idea - I go with you and you can show me how a date works. I’ll make some notes and I promise not to glower menacingly at your date.” *He’s lying* “And…yes, for the record, you are a vision. Always.”

After the reveal:  “No need to change your plans on my account, MC! Go on then, and have your fun - tell me how it went tomorrow.” He pushes MC to the door. “Don’t stay out too late, aim for the throat if they get too fresh with you.” *Door shuts, MC is made to wait a few minutes before ??? comes back out with a big stupid smile.

Thank you for the Ask, Anon! This one was a lot of fun! ^_^

[writerseclipse1]

rewarded [joel m.]

inspo: somewhere only we know (keane)

summary: does death look you in the eye before you die? or does life flash your memories in your mind? aka: joel's on death's doorstep; he reminisces your time together

warnings: angst (flashback fluff), canon-typical violence, blood and gore, dialogue follows joel's death scene, vivid descriptions of joel's death, major character death, flashbacks, abby (if u hate her ig), guns, knives, and a golf club as a weapon, crying ellie, cursing, no use of y/n. pls tell me if i missed anything!

word count: 2.7k

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ a/n: am so excited to be back into writing! ik i promised a 505-inspired fic w joel but i couldn't help it!

“Joel Miller.” The sadistic sneer in her voice is what causes him to look up at her, groaning in pain as his leg throbs. He can feel the bullet she lodged into his skin.

“Why don’t you say whatever speech you’ve got rehearsed and get this over with.” He said, annoyance evident in his tone, anger flooded his veins as he stared at her with a look that made it clear he was in no mood to mess around. Neither was Abby and she made that clear, especially when she barked out orders to tourniquet Joel’s leg.

He groaned, eyes shutting tight and tilting his head back. He cursed under his breath, leg pulsing and hurting like a bitch. “God damn it!” He started seeing spots of black in his vision, the figures in the room turning into dull, blurry colors.

His chest heaved, trying to regain control of his breathing and his entire being, seeing Abby flip the handle of her weapon in her hands, his blood ran cold, colder than the metal of the golf club she raised in the air.

Her chuckle was a deep rumble in her chest, the corner of her lip twitching upwards as she murmured. “You don’t get to rush this old man.”

Whack.

“Hey!” The plastic material of the frisbee dug into his palms slightly as he caught it. Jackie, one of the bigger kids in town, inched carefully to Joel and he handed the disc back, but not without a pointed look. “Watch where you’re throwin’ next time.” She uttered out a meek apology, all but running back toward her friends and almost instantly resumed their game.

Snow crunched under his boots as he walked, his feets leaving tracks in the snow. The sound of children laughing and birds chirping filled his ears, a beautiful memory he had come to love. The wind whipped at his face as the chilly air bit his skin but he paid it no mind. Not when she was right there, full of warmth even in just the palm of her hand.

His hand reached out to grasp hers once more as they continued walking, his grip a slight squeeze but if she noticed anything, she said nothing. His eyes were restless, occasionally sneaking a glance to get a glimpse of her, in all her glory. The way her eyes rivaled the stars in the clear night sky, the way she graced passersby with her smile, the way her presence warmed up his heart, the heart he once thought was trapped under all these layers of ice, only to be melted by an unexpected yet welcome gift.

His train of thought derailed once he was pulled back, almost colliding with a child who looked no older than seven. After muttering out an apology and a small ‘I told them to watch it”, his eyes rolled and glared at her playfully when he heard her get engulfed in a fit of giggles that she tried hard to control.

“Think that’s funny, do ya?” He pretended to be offended, turning around to poke her in the ribs and smirking as she let out a squeal.

“Joel!” He laughed as she tried to chase him down the street, his longer legs taking him further and her voice getting distant. It wasn’t until his legs slowed down to a step that she caught up, wrapping an arm around his waist as she saw his somber expression. Following his gaze, you saw Ellie on Dina’s front porch, the two focused on each other. Ellie had her arms wrapped around Dina, her head atop the girl while Dina’s nose brushed the skin of Ellie’s neck, her sniffles being muffled by the material of Ellie’s sweater.

From the corner of his eye, he could see your lips spread out into a grin, closing his eyes with a sigh when he felt your lips brush his cheek, muttering a small “Thank you.”

“For what? You got nothin’ to thank me for, darlin’.” Eyes now on the woman beside him, he noticed your focus stray from the two girls back to him, your walking only slowing down but not stopping.

“For being a lover,” you whispered back, pulling back to look up at him. “Maybe your fighter days are over.”

He shook his head as they passed Ellie and Dina yet his eyes never left her once. “I ain’t stoppin’ my fightin’ days, baby. ‘Cause I fight for you everyday.” His eyes wrinkled at the corners as he smiled when he heard you laugh, not noticing that the attention of the two girls moved to you and him, watching as you walked further away.

Good thing Dina buried her head in Ellie’s shoulder just in time for you to look back and send Ellie a wink, a soft pink hue spreading on her cheeks as yours and Joel’s footfalls started to fade.

Thud, thud, thud.

It was all that echoed in his ears as his heart pounded in his chest, his ribs taking the damage Abby’s boot was inflicting on his body, all while he lay helplessly on the floor. He felt bile crawl up his throat and out his mouth when the girl kicked his stomach. His eyes widened slightly when he realized that it wasn’t bile, but blood.

Abby let out a huff, pacing in front of his body and if Joel could let out a sigh of relief, he would, but it hurt to even breathe. He choked on his own blood, his head lolling to the side as he spat out blood, the red liquid coating his lips and dripping to the floor. She looked at him with a mixture of anger and disgust, the former more evident as she readied her weapon again.

Yet her intentions were the farthest thing from his thoughts, feeling a familiar warmth spread across his body as his mind brought him back to a time of safety, of care, of arms wrapped around him and lips pressed to his skin.

Before he could feel the shattering impact of the metal club, he closed his eyes and thought—

“This is stupid,” he muttered and you only shook your head. The two stood on the front porch, in front of the wooden column on the right. Digging your hand into your pocket, you flipped open your pocket knife and he watched you flip it in your hands. He still remembers the time you first held it in your palm.

There was nothing to your relationship at first, with the exemption of watching each other’s backs during patrols outside the walls. He took the reins during missions and when he first saw it, untouched and sitting pretty in a gardener’s shed they passed by, his first thought was to give it to you to make sure you had a weapon that “didn’t let you shoot your goddamn ass off.”

Never would he expect that the same sharp blade that has sliced a man’s throat and lodged itself in an infected’s chest would be the same blade that would carve your initials on his front porch.

“Come on, Joel, stop being such an old grump,” you pouted, taking his hand and wrapping it around the hilt before your own came up to rest on his. He let out a chuckle when you guided his hand, from the curve of the J to the lines of your own initial. Both of you stepped back slightly to admire your work but he tilted his head at you when he heard you hum.

“Something’s missing,” you murmured, eyes casting downward as you thought. He always admired you when you were deep in the recesses of your mind, how your eyebrows pinched together and how your lips pursed. He fought the urge to kiss your lips until you were giggling against his. “Aha!”

He watched you move forward, your body covering most of the carving as you added a detail. When you stepped back, he couldn’t contain his chuckle. You had added two hearts that sat beside each other, one bigger than the other. Your eyebrows furrowed again, this time not in thought but in mock indignation. “And why are you laughing?”

“Nothin’ honey, it’s cute!” He reasoned but you only huffed, facing the opposite way. He let out an audible scoff but he licked his lips, a mischievous smile taking over his expression. Wrapping his arms around you, he carried you into the house, ignoring your protests and your wriggling motions as he laid you down on the couch, kissing you deeply.

It shut you up for the rest of the afternoon.

“What? Cat got your tongue now?” Abby scoffed, hitting him again and again without abandon. Joel didn’t speak, every inch of his face covered in blood. He felt like he was drowning, swimming in a pool of his own blood with each drop of the weapon.

BANG!

At first he thought it was the club, striking his head hard that his skull cracked open but when he opened his eyes, he saw Ellie, a hand wrapped around her gun tightly as she tried to shoot but to no avail. Pinned down, the girl could only watch as Joel struggled to breathe, his chest rising and falling with every shaky breath.

A man who was certainly younger than him started talking, barking out orders to people in the room but Joel couldn’t hear a single thing with the ringing in his ears and the pounding in his head. But he could guess what it was when Abby snarled down at him, her hands wrapping tightly around the club as she raised it. And just as quickly as it rose, it fell.

“JOEL!

“Joel!” He turned his head, closing his eyes as he tried to gain his composure, breathing in like how he was taught by his momma when he got mad. Slowly in, slowly out. In through the nose, out through the—

“Joel Miller! Don’t you dare walk away from this conversation!” So much for composure.

“And what? Huh? I’ll let you go out there on a stupid horse with a stupid partner Tommy paired you up with and then what? What if you get hurt, what then? What’ll I do? Beat ‘ em up for not keepin’ an eye on you? It wouldn’t be his fault, wouldn’t it? No it wouldn’t, because you,” he pressed his finger against your chest, “Didn’t listen to me!”

“Why are you already assuming I’ll get hurt? Do you think I’m that helpless?” Your jaw ticked and from the corner of his eye, your hand twitched and balled itself into a fist. Everything was going so well for him but he had to hit a bump in the road somewhere. “I asked you a question.” His thoughts were out of order but Joel was a patient man to the right people, he didn’t want to say the wrong thing.

“No! No I don’t but—”

“Then why are you so—”

“Because if something happened to you, I dunno what I’d do with myself!” He yelled and his heart froze when you stepped back, surely taken aback from what he did. He didn’t mean to do that, he didn’t mean to yell.

“I know.” His eyes locked with yours, scanning your expression. He didn’t mean to say that out loud. Seeing the guilt in your unshed tears he sighed, shaking his head. His fists unclenched and he stretched his fingers as he took in a breath, closing his eyes. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the—

Arms snaked around him, like vines creeping around an abandoned brick house that has definitely seen better days, fingers interlocking behind him so that he couldn’t escape. Like I want to leave in the first place, he thought as he felt your cheek fall against his chest and your ear press against his heart.

When Joel would encounter danger and violence, his heart wouldn’t beat like a sinner’s caught in church, fast and swift, no. His heart followed a rhythm. Du dum, du dum, du dum, always steady and strong. It reflects how he is, always biding his time, saving his energy until he’s ready to strike. 

He could practically feel your shoulders slump as you heard his heart beating, steady and strong. Du dum, du dum, du dum.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out and he only realized the tears that dripped like water from a broken faucet; dripping one-by-one yet loud and clear. His body moved on autopilot, arms wrapping around you before he could even clear his head and rubbing his hand up and down your back, resting his chin on the top of your head. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like—”

“I know.” He smothered kisses into your hair and he felt your shoulders lighten and your chest rumble with a sniffle before a chuckle. He could feel your pout through the thin material of his button-up, putting a hand on your cheek and tilting your head up, staring into your soul like it was a window without blinds. “I only want you to be safe. You’re the reason why I wake up in the morning, why I sit on the porch and wave to people I barely give a damn about, why I water the flowers outside our house because you love it when the house looks so lively even from the outside. You’re the reason why I care about the little things. I don’t want you, my reason to come back home, not come back home.”

He felt you sniffle into his chest, nodding as you pulled slightly back. “I get it. I just…”

“Hey, let’s talk about it in the morning, yeah? We got plenty’a time,” he whispered, brushing back a strand of hair wet from your tears, giving you a kiss on the forehead. “We got plenty’a time.”

For the first time in Joel’s life, he lied to you that night. He just didn’t know it yet. 

He was sorry.

He’ll always be sorry.

Even after his dying breath, he knew that sorry can’t reverse his mistakes. That was like trying to put a bandaid on a porcelain plate. He was an idiot.

A Stupid. Fucking. Idiot.

He thought it was safe.

It was winter, it shouldn’t’ve even been there. It should have been freezing in one of the fucking rivers or something.

It was his fault.

All of it.

“Baby?” His breath caught in his throat as he watched your body, his figure as unmoving as you were. He inched closer, crouching down to you, looking away from the infected he killed with its mouth open and brains splattered everywhere. He saw red, maybe it was the blood on his shirt. Whose was it? He didn’t want to know.

“Baby?” His voice echoed, asking again and foolishly enough, he expected an answer. He only saw your eyes staring back at him, distant, unwavering, unmoving.

Gone.

He shook his head and shut his eyes, unwilling to see, unwilling to believe. “Baby? You–you gotta wake up for me, honey. No, no, you can’t—” He choked, covering his mouth with the palm of his hand as his eyes filled with tears. Tears you’ll never get to wipe with the pad of your thumb. He cradled your face gently, like you were still sleeping but with your eyes open, like you didn’t see the infected coming at you and he didn’t see it too, like you were lying in a pool of your own blood, like he was the cause of it.

Like he didn’t know what he was going to do.

His chest was engulfed in wracking sobs, sobs that would make the merciless merciful, sobs that would make the follower the leader, sobs that would make the dead live.

He prayed that was the case. It wasn’t.

And it never will be.

Not even when Ellie cried at his chest, her eyes screwed tight and muttering apologies, recounting old memories, anything to get Joel back, yet even the man knew he himself was already gone. Ellie was wrapped up in her anguish and her pain to notice the distant but hopeful look in Joel’s eyes, shaking his body like it would shock him back to life. But life rewarded the patient, not the vengeful.

Joel had been a patient man all his life and he knew it.

And when he saw you, surrounded by a circle of light and an arm outstretched, he knew he had been rewarded.

[bbyquokka]

a garden of flowers

– in which yn gets a special tattoo !!

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | hwang hyunjin x gender-neutral reader

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 | fluff – 18+ is strongly advised!

𝐂𝐖 | platonic relationship, trans masc reader (FTM), tattoo artist hyunjin, top surgery scars – if i have labelled anything incorrectly/missed warnings pls lmk!

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 | 1.5k ~ ( 1,514 )

𝐀/𝐍 | i got sent a video a while ago (i cant find it now, sad) so i wrote a lil something that was inspired by the video. don’t forget to leave feedback, reblog and tell me what you think here. curious as to what is next? here is my wips list! i hope you all enjoy! ‹3

m.list — you can also read it on my ao3

dont repost. dont translate. minors, ageless & default blogs; dni! feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

“hi. i heard you do specific tattooing.” you smile at the employer. he looks up at you, tattoos decorating his muscular arms and fingers, pierced nose and lip with a stretched ear. he smiles at you warmly and nods.

“that's us! each employee does specific art and tattooing as well as piercings. anything you want in particular?”

“i don't have an idea for the design per say but i have a relatively big scar that i want incorporated into the tattoo.”

the employee hums and nods as he listens to you, soaking up all the information. his curly hair falling in front of his eyes which causes him to have to push his hair back every five seconds, revealing an eyebrow piercing and a small face tattoo above the brow that you didn't notice at first glance.

“and where is the scar, if i might ask?”

“my chest.”

“ok! we have the perfect employee for that. give me a sec.” you nod, thanking him as you watch him walk to the back room, jumping as his loud voice bellows out through the store.

“hyunjin! customer for ya!!”

“jesus changbin! do you have to shout?” the man named hyunjin comes out of the back room, rubbing his temples. hair long and dyed black with streaks of red. half up, half down. eyeliner lining his lower water line, septum pierced and a few tattoos dotted on his skin. “you're going to scare the customers.”

“please. they love it when i shout.” changbin smirks and winks cheekily, causing hyunjin to blush faintly and gently push him. “and i know you do too. you love it when i’m vocal.”

“fuck you, binnie.” 

“you wish.” 

hyunjin rolls his eyes before approaching you. he clears his throat before extending out his hand to shake.

“hello. i'm hyunjin.”

“hey hyunjin. i'm yn.”

“so yn, tell me about this tattoo design?”

“well, i don't have an idea per day but i do have a scar across my chest that i want to incorporate.” hyunjin nods.

“well, you've come to the right store. i specialize in tattoos that are centred around scars whether that be cover ups or something else. if you don't mind, i would like to brainstorm some ideas with you and do a few doodles.”

“sounds perfect!” you grin.

“great. right this way.”

hyunjin and you spend an hour or so brainstorming ideas. you showed him your chest scar, specifically telling hyunjin what you’ve visioned, however, you want the end design to be a surprise to you. you were a  little worried about showing hyunjin your scar but, much to your relief, he didn't judge. in fact, it seemed like he didn't care at all.

“can i ask you a personal question?” hyunjin asks as he drags the tattoo needle along your chest. you wince a little in pain, taking a few deep breaths before speaking. 

“go ahead.” hyunjin wipes away the ink with some tissue before returning back to tracing the outline.

“how did you get this scar?”

“top surgery.” 

“oh! i see. how was that?”

“fucking scary but so so worth it.”

“oh really?”

“yes. to wake up from surgery to look down and see that my boobs have gone, was a huge relief to me.”

“how was it? the whole process and whatnot?”

“lonely.”

“lonely? why?” hyunjin's eyebrows furrow together.

“ever since i told my friends and family that i'm transgender, they just left.”

“that's pretty shitty of them.”

“well, people fear what they don't know. knowledge is power and when people are met with something that's unknown or unfamiliar to them, they run away in fear because they don't understand. i would have happily educated them but… yeah.”

“how did you know that you’re trans? sorry if this is too personal by the way. please stop me if i'm overstepping.” you laugh softly and shake your head.

“no, it's ok. honestly, i wish more people like you would ask.” you look up at the ceiling as hyunjin tattoos you. “i guess i've always known from such an early age but because i was young, i didn't understand why i wasn't like all the other girls that were interested in dolls and make-up and disney princesses.”

“what were you interested in?”

“the standard boy stuff. diy, football, mud, eating worms. i liked shorts and t-shirts, not dresses and ballet shoes. as i got older though, i understood a lot more. told my parents and they told me it was just a phase. well, they made me believe it was just a phase.”

“fuck. that's rough..”

“well, the whole process has been rough. months and months of waiting to be seen by doctors. appointments after appointments. a huge waiting list just for T. and to top it off, mental health issues.”

“i assume knowing you're in the wrong body fucks with your mind; to put it politely of course.” you laugh and nod your head.

“pretty much, yes. looking in the mirror and seeing that my hair and face was changing, y'know facial hair and my voice getting deeper was good but then when i strip naked, look down and see i have boobs and a vagina, it's just heartbreaking. it takes a toll on your mind.”

“why do you want me to incorporate the scar instead of covering it?”

“because i'm not ashamed of it. it's part of my journey. i want to show it off and, even though i do miss my breasts in a weird way, i'm proud of myself for making it this far and for being strong. i'll never be ashamed or hide who i am now because i've spent years hiding and feeling ashamed.”

“i like you yn. you're strong and know what you want in life.”

“thank you, hyunjin. it means a lot to me.” you smile softly at him as he grins at you, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“so, are you done now? with your breasts gone and whatnot?”

“maybe. maybe not. i've been debating about bottom surgery but it costs twice as much as top and well, it's a whole new thing to get used to. i'm completely transforming my intimate area for something new and unknown. in a way, yes i do want bottom surgery but i know i'll be alone during the process.”

“i'll come with you.”

“what..?”

“i'll come with you. i'll hold your hand and be there for you, whether you decide to do it or not.”

“hyunjin, we barely know each other. you're a tattoo artist that’s tattooing my chest.”

“ok. and? i like you yn. platonically of course however, i can't deny this strong connection that pulls me to you. hearing your story, i want to protect you and be the friend that you've always wanted and deserved. you shouldn't have to face something that's this big alone.”

“it's just surgery, hyunjin..”

“yes but it's a major thing to you so you deserve to have someone there by your side. to have a familiar face to wake up to.”

“and if i don't decide on the surgery?”

“then i still want to be that familiar face to wake up to.”

“hyunjin, i–”

“look–” hyunjin turns the tattooing machine off and looks at you. “whether you decide to get bottom surgery or not doesn't make you any less of a person. you're still you and you should look back on all the great achievements and be proud. masculinity shouldn't tackle or dominate you, you dominate masculinity besides, gender is fluid these days so be what you want to be. just as long as you are happy, healthy and comfortable then who gives a shit.”

tears roll down your cheeks slowly. you wipe them away with the back of your hand as you sniffle, hyunjin smiling softly at you before finishing up the tattoo.

“thank you.. i needed that.”

“we all need that extra love, regardless.”

a comfortable silence falls upon you both. the buzzing sound of the machine tattooing your skin being the only thing ringing in your ears. one hour later and hyunjin turns off the machine before gently wiping the extra ink off your skin.

“ready! want to see it?”

“fuck yes!” hyunjin laughs before standing up. you follow suit, following him to the full length mirror.

you gasp in awe and shock as you look at your new chest tattoo. flowers of various shapes and sizes decorated in a line along your scar. butterflies and bees for that extra touch and design. 

“holy fuck.. thank you. thank you so so much hyunjin. i love it.” tears well in your eyes before falling down your cheeks. hyunjin laughs softly, his own eyes welling up.

“ah fuck, now you've got me started.” you both laugh as you wipe away tears. hyunjin wraps up your chest tattoo and tells you about aftercare. 

as you gather your belongings and walk to the door, you turn on your heel and give hyunjin a gentle and genuine smile

“thank you for today, hyunjin. it's nice to know i have someone to lean on in the future.”

[nc-vb]

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧

note -> pls accept this little Scaramouche/gn!reader blurb from last year as an apology for being bad at updating? it was part of the original version of Heartstrings, but the plot has since changed anyway, so... ya.

warnings -> none; takes place after the delusion factory chapter in Inazuma; reader is a Fatui executive under Scaramouche with a vision that can heal...

words -> 1.9k

“You…” Your hands having risen instinctively at his appearance, you swallow thickly awhile trying to come up with a not-so-suspicious greeting. “Lord Scaramouche, sir, I-I… What are you doing here, sir?”

Arms crossed, chin raised, and eyebrow cocked, “I’ll have you answer that very same question for me. What business did you have at the Grand Narukami Shrine after dealing with the Traveler?”

“Er… being in Inazuma has left me feeling more spiritually inclined than normal, sir, so… I-I’ve decided to take up on religion,” you mumble flatly, immediately inwardly cursing at yourself for spouting such a shitty lie.

“Funny. Try again.” You sigh at him.

“I’d heard once… that you had ties here in Inazuma,” you start, your tone quieter than usual. “Rather than bother you with my questions, I… initially came here to check on the Traveler’s condition, but then… I ended up… speaking with Guuji Yae, but…”

Scaramouche shuffles his hands to his hips, looking almost pleased by the idea of you being turned away. “Oh, the fox woman wouldn’t tell you?”

You shake your head. “Not exactly. When we started speaking of… other things, I decided I’d rather chance waiting for you to want to answer me, yourself, if I ever asked them. If you ever wanted to answer me.”

Scaramouche’s hard gaze seems to linger on you from beneath his hat, something that leaves you warm, cagey, and a little concerned that just maybe, he doesn’t believe your ignorance to be false, after all.

“I simply… was worried about you,” you add.

“Worried,” he parrots, sounding almost offended. “Why would I need you to worry about me?”

“If you’re suddenly seeing things as if I’m making you out as weak or as looking down on you, that’s not what’s happening here, sir.” Past him, you look to the cliffs you knew would eventually bring you to a lesser shrine but a moment after feeling the sharp crawl of electricity creep up your back. “Could we walk and talk, sir? The Electro energy the mountain channels is starting to fry the hair off my arms…”

“… fine.”

And so, you lead the way, trapped between the quiet of a promised conversation and your nerves, unable to speak and walk at the same time. It’s a surprise to you, just how patient the Balladeer is being. Perhaps in your constant busyness, with your typically need to leave your Harbinger stress-free from these menial duties, you’ve never truly noticed just how differently the man walking beside you treats you. How much more patience he has for you versus the rest of his underlings. It didn’t even have to do with you being his second-in-command, because if it were anybody else in your position, this conversation might not have gone so non-aggressively. At the very least, what’s mutual knowledge between the two of you is that your relationship has always been one of respect, and not one drowned for fear of him like the others have so easily admitted to.

Finally, having descended the rest of the mountain, now far away from the crackling and sizzling of its natural Electro pond, you lead the Balladeer to the front of the abandoned shrine, to sit at its steps and take a large breath. Scaramouche remains standing, arms at his sides, eyebrows now pinched.

“S-So… I just… recalled,” you clear your throat, eyes flitting up to meet his briefly before flying back down into your lap, “that you had a look on your face when the Tsaritsa gave the order to have us come out to Inazuma. I remember you once saying that you were from here, and I was only wanting to be prepared to help you in any way I could. And then, the next look on your face when you were given the Gnosis by Guuji Yae…”

“And so, your first choice of preparation was to go and gather intel on me from that fox envoy?” he queries.

“I-I suppose,” you murmur. “I didn’t want to overstep or… um…”

“Or what?”

“… or make you sad.” You finally look up at him, not in sudden confidence, but of the pure desire to simply look at him. As per usual, his impassiveness shines clear as day in the night air, illuminated by the lanterns glowing along the shrine’s engawa. “Lord Scaramouche, Lady Guuji Yae did not tell me of your history by my own request. Instead, she helped me reach a certain point of clarity of myself regarding you… That the reason I sought her out to speak about you was more b… because…”

“You’re burning the midnight oil, here, ______.”

You huff at him. “It’s because I’ve grown extremely fond of you,” you finally blurt. “Romantically, if that wasn’t clear. I-In other words, I believe I’ve fallen in love with you, Lord Scaramouche.”

… there is a moment of silence that leaves your heart aching. At the very least, you’d expected a retort, or a comment of disapproval for bothering him with something that might’ve seemed so trivial to a man like him, but in his wordlessness, he simply stands before you, eyes trained hard in your direction.

Throwing his foot up against one of the steps to your left, you find yourself suddenly trapped between him and the railing, the air in your chest swirling. And everything happens all too quickly – his hand finding the crown of your head to tilt it toward him; his gaze rising and falling between your widened eyes and your parted lips; his subtlety in wetting his own dried lips, tongue darting carefully past his teeth to soften them, before leaning into you and pressing them firmly against yours.

You can’t control the noise that escapes you, nor your instinct to brace yourself against your surroundings — the porch, the step beneath you, the railing, his chest — in your attempt at registering the Sixth Harbinger’s actions.

He is unmoving in them, indigo eyes half-lidded as he studies your face, your reaction to him. When he just barely moves his mouth upwards, his lower lip slotting between the two of yours, and carefully moves his hand to fall to your nape, he catches your flinch of surprise, feels your fingers tighten around the sleeves of his shirt. In pulling away, he hears your small noise of disappointment, and takes in the heat resting upon the apples of your cheeks.

“L-Lord Scaramouche,” you pant, and from the corner of your mouth, you lick away the bit of saliva that remained. Was it yours? His? He’s not sure he cares.

“What?” he says, tone accosting. “Wasn’t that the definition of the “love” that you desired from me? You and I have worked together for long enough to know that that is an undeniable impossibility, and yet you still decided that the best course of action to take would be a confession?”

“I-It’s not so simple like that!” you argue, and you push his leg off the step and stand up, now an extra foot or so taller than the man. “A confession – my confession to you – is not something so fleeting; it’s not some passing emotion I’ve suddenly started feeling because I spoke to Guuji Yae. This is something I know I’ve felt since the first days I began working for you, something I’ve tried to ignore for both our sakes, and for the longest time, it worked. I managed to be good at keeping our relationship professional.

“And you’re right— we have worked together long enough that I could feel safe in telling you my truth. All I could hope for was maybe some understanding, and in a long shot, maybe a bit of reciprocation. Either way, I’d at least have something off of my chest.” You glare down at the man, fingers twitching— “A-And just so you know, I’m going to be kissing you again after that, because speaking frankly, sir, you… are an awful kisser!” – before reaching for his shirt with them and tugging him up and toward you.

He jolts, thrown off by the height difference the staircase offered and by your sudden bravado, gripping at either railing of the shrine’s staircase. Your lips, as warm as the heat that seemed to radiate from you, as soft as he’d experienced them to be the first time he’d touched them, press against his. You can only dare in closing your eyes that he wouldn’t retaliate, but you still half-expect him to push you away and scold you, something said in his flavour of retaliation and ridicule. But his hands give rise to where your hands stretch out the material of his shirt, skinny fingers wrapping tightly around the bones of your wrists to spin you off the higher step and onto equal ground.

Pulling away from you, a smirk crawls onto his visage. “And who gave you permission to speak frankly in the first place?” he asks. You can’t tell if his tone is serious and taunting or humoured and teasing. You swallow when he leans further into you, your heart racing, his lips pausing just before your ear. “Insulting your superior officer,” he whispers to you, a dry chuckle escaping him a second later when he returns to face you. “That’ll get you places.”

Taunting and teasing, you decide shakily.

To your surprise, the Balladeer leans into you once more, his glistening, parted lips slotting between yours, hands slowly moving to take hold of your cheeks in his attempt at keeping you close. It’s sloppy, teeth clacking together at times, and a little wet, but your heart threatens to burst with joy and relief at his effort, his reciprocation being something you wouldn’t have expected him to put any into.

A hand of your own raises to take the smooth curve of his jawline into your palm. He mumbles against your murmurs, and grunts at the wet, wriggling sensation invading his mouth. Their tongue? he realizes, doing poorly to mask his shock at how pleasant he finds the feeling to be. Unpredictable as per his usual routine, he returns the gesture, his own joining with yours to swirl and dance in the space between you. The softest of moans escapes him, and he tears away from you, embarrassed and breathing sharply, his pale cheeks tinted with the softest of rouge and lips tainted by your mixture of saliva.

Your laughter is faint as you lick away the liquid gathered along your own.

“So…” Scaramouche glances at you from beneath his newly summoned hat, barely having time to recover when you’ve shot him a look unfamiliar to him—it’s startling, how warm it makes him feel; how unfocused his mind is when your gazes lock; how impossible he finds it to begin stringing words into a sentence after what he’d engaged in – dazed, your eyelids flutter on incident at him, and in that starstruck, awestruck daze, “Did any of that get me anywhere with you?”

— until these words exit your mouth, that is. Your flippant attitude was not something he’d accounted for in the aftermath, and even worse, you’d caught him in a moment of vulnerability and weakness and decided to deliver them before he could collect himself.

“Something like that,” he says, tone breathy with exasperation, his eyes having rapidly widened at you. You chuckle nervously in response, daring to reach forward and adjust his slightly tilted kasa. He turns on the spot when you’re finished, clearing his throat, and beginning the rest of your descent down from the base of Mount Yougou. “Come along, then. We’ve got work to do.”

© nc-vb/niicevibe 2022-2023 please don’t repost! reblogs & comments are always appreciated.

[throwaway-yandere]

The Boar Prince/ss (Tighnari/Reader)

A/n: Tis I, your secret raccoon @riabef offering you a humble present for this day 🦝 🎁!!! It is probably wet cuz my trash animal brain tried to wash it by the creek but eh, hope ya like it!!! I can't say I celebrate Xmas, but happy holidays, belated happy birthday and best wishes for the new year!!! <333 - with love, ansytea

CW: none!!! Pls trust me– they're just sassy children being sassy children. Just wholesome fluff-crack vibes with added soulmate elements (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

Unreliable Synopsis: Seven-year-old Tighnari meets his soulmate in the forest on the eve of Celestia's Day. Hilarity ensues.

----

Tighnari was FREEZING!

He was just a kid! Why was HE the one tasked with picking up branches for the fireplace?! That's not fair at all! Just because he had maintained his ears and tail better than the rest of his family doesn't mean he's best suited for this job. Sure, it doesn't snow much in Sumeru, but he's not the most resilient fox compared to his relatives! Tighnari's too young for this. The place is positively humid and there is little to no room for his whining unless he would devolve into a fit of sneezes. 

With "Grrr"s turning into "Brrr"s, young Tighnari cloaks himself up with the same scarf by adding more layers to protect his neck. When he went out, Tighnari's hair was wild and unruly, constantly falling in his face as an act of immature defiance. He didn't care how much his mom preached about appearances as the kid fennec stomped to the rainforest. 

The rainforest was positively duller than it was in any other season, and he can't even perceive colors. All greys and darker shades. Then again, he's just a kid so that's only natural. He's not as lucky as his mom and dad who found each other back when they were five. And yet, woe is Tighnari for being seven years old and unable to tell plantains and bananas apart. 

Grey… grey… grey… everything was dreadfully grey. Why can’t it snow here now like it did in Liyue? That’s not fair. He wanted to see something lighter and more cheerful than this cold sight.

Tighnari trudged through the place with his tiny legs, hoping to pick up what he needed and head home fast. He whined and his shoulders sagged. In the common egocentric view of children his age, he complained loudly as he picked up a branch as if he was Atlas and it was the Earth. Tighnari rebelliously waved the stick at the sky for a bit when he did pick it up.

Now would be a good time for him to gain a vision, Celestia! It’s Celestia’s Day Eve! Do you hear his thoughts?! A pyro vision would be great, thank you very much!!! 

When Tighnari noticed four mushroom boars cuddling up to one another, he came to a complete halt. The cold must be hard on them too, huh? They stand out against the less vivid background because of their lighter fur. Tighnari might be able to bring some home. 

He instinctively reached for his bow but stopped midway.

Hold on– Dad didn't send him out here to hunt! He's supposed to bring back lumber like a grown-up!

Tighnari pouted. 

Ngh… but hunting's much more fun, though!– 

Hold on.

His eyes widened. His ears jolted upwards as Tighnari revolved his feet on an axis. He turned his heels around in an alert stance. There was no danger around him– there were no ruin guards, no eremites, no fungi– but his surroundings drastically changed. Tighnari kept shooting glances at the new world– the real world around him.

… What is that...?

“What color is that?!”

His hold on the branch tightened, squinting at the small leaf that grew on its side.

Green… green! This has to be green!

He grabbed his tail. Green– dark green? This is green! Are all of these leaves green? 

Tighnari grinned widely. 

His young and simple mind had decided that he liked the color green.

… Green… Yellow-green…

Those were the first colors he saw, but they didn’t come from the trees and the sprouted leaves surrounding him. What do other colors look like? As he was about to hastily scout the area for Sumeru roses, a dire thought occurred to him.

... Why did he start to see colors?

His heart dropped as he looked at the herd again.

… Green… Yellow-green boars…

Oh… oh no… to think he was just planning to kill them earlier...

Is his soulmate… a BOAR?!

His knees buckled down to the ground, the dewed tall grass scraping it slightly. No, it can't be. Tighnari laughed humorlessly. His parents take great pleasure in their son's innate intelligence and curiosity. It's only natural that he likes reading books– he leafed through some encyclopedias so there’s no way for Tighnari to miss that boars…

… have a life expectancy of 10 to 14 years.

"Ngh...!" Tighnari nearly teared up.

How… how can he fall in love with a boar, especially when they'll die before him? H-how can he kiss a boar? Is that even okay? Won’t his friends make fun of him?! Then again, if it's love, then there shouldn't be anything wrong with it, right?

But the rainforest… it’s greatly affected by the withering…By the time Tighnari graduates, he may not even see his soulmate frolicking in the grass anymore...

… That’s it.

The child clenched his fists. Tighnari’s knuckles grew pale– he had never felt this much resolve in his childhood years. It doesn't matter how long his soulmate lives, as long as he can help extend what little time they have, he'll make the most of it. Tighnari wasn’t going to let them die young, nu-uh! Especially not after he saw how beautiful the world is in full color.

He made up his mind. Starting today, he’s going to be a forest ranger to save his soulmate’s natural habitat!

"I-I…!" Tighnari puffed his cheeks out. The child didn’t care if he looked stupid, especially when his only audience was the silence of the rainforest. "I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE UGLY! I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE A BOAR!"

He shut his eyes tight, mustering the courage to accept his (hilarious) fate. If he had them open, Tighnari would’ve noticed two (h/c) protruding fox ears at the center of the bewildered herd.

"I’M GONNA LOVE YOU!!! I'M GONNA BE FOREST RANGER AND I'M GONNA PROTECT YOUR HOME!!! PLEASE STAY STRONG AND DON'T DIE YET!!!"

“W-Why are you screaming?!”

An unexpected voice called out. Tighnari froze, opening his eyes. 

A fox, you, suddenly appeared in the sea of yellow-green fur. Your face was coated in dirt, and your wool jacket was littered with hair that wasn't yours. You were a bit smaller in stature, probably younger than him, and you pulled your ears down to feign meekness and pain from Tighnari’s previous wailing. But most notable of all, you donned a nervous yet mischievous smile– a smile Tighnari will increasingly grow accustomed to for the entire duration of his life, and it gets better each time he sees it.

Your (e/c) eyes blinked, groggily realizing something was amiss. 

“O-Oh, woaaahh, COLORS!!!” You gawked in awe, mimicking the same movements Tighnari did when he gained the ability to see in full colors. “Hey, are you my soulmate?!– Achoo!!!”

Wait, is his soulmate one of the boars or…?

He shyly combed his hair down, now hyper-aware of how embarrassingly messy it was. Tighnari should've listened to his mom earlier. He didn't know he was meeting his soulmate today!

“I… I’m not sure…” Tighnari blinked, visibly perplexed. He glanced at the boars, troubled. A person was cuddling between those stinky animals? How could a fox's nose even handle that? He could barely keep his jaw from hitting the floor.

“Whack!” You blew a raspberry, your small fennec ears drawing back down. “W-Who else would it be other than ME? The boars???”

He grumbled. 'Well, excuse me, prince/ss', that was exactly what Tighnari thought earlier since you were hiding under their fur like an egg waiting to hatch.

“Never mind that! How about you? What are you doing here alone? Where are your parents– and why are you snuggling with them?!”

“C-Cuz it’s cold, alright?!” You sneezed again. Your voice echoed, cute and high-pitched. “M-My parents are adventurers and I wanted to follow them cuz they’re leaving me alone on Celestia Day b-but–”

You sneezed for the umpteenth time.

“B-But I don’t know where they went... I just wanted for us to drink hot cocoa b-but..." You sniffled. 

"S-so I’m hanging out with my REAL family now! They’re nicer and they gave me mushrooms. HMPH!!!”

You proudly put your hands on your hips as your fluffy ears pricked up. You mimicked a "dignified" posture you observed in exaggerated storybooks, pointing your chin upward.

Tighnari clicked his tongue. “Whatever, Boar Prince/ss. Get out of there before they ram their noses to your butt!!”

His weak threat only made his fellow fennec grouchier. “H-Hey! My name is (Y/n) and I’m five years old, th-thank you very much!”

(Y/n)... That’s a really pretty name… He wouldn’t mind saying it often.

“Whatever, I’m still gonna call you Boar Prince/ss. My name’s Tighnari. I’m seven so I’m two years older than you.”

“T-Tighnari, Tighnari. Heh. S-Sounds cool. What’s your last n-name?”

“Huh?”

“O-Obviously I don’t wanna keep my papa’s last name after they abandoned me, so I’M taking your last name, soulmate.”

“Gah– D-Don’t say things like that, you big lummox!!!” Tighnari huffed, his angry breath visible in the cold air. “And they probably didn’t abandon you, you’re just stubborn and you didn't listen to them like a bad kid.”

You purposefully ignored his last remark. “Why not? Aren’t we going to get married someday?”

Tighnari paused, his face heating up. Technically, you're right, but he didn’t want to admit that. 

He reached his hand out to help you get out of the boars’ place. “S-Shut up! Before you freeze, why don’t you come over to my house? My parents can make some pretty good hot cocoa.”

Your eyes beamed at the suggestion. “Drinking hot cocoa? Hmm... But I wanna do that with my cousins though.”

Tighnari's eye twitched. So much for "soulmates".

“HMPH! If you don’t wanna drink cocoa at my place then be one with the forest!”

“W-Wait up!”

Tighnari walked faster, a few paces ahead of them. You profusely apologized to your "new family" as you swerved out of the herd. Unfortunately for him, despite nearly shivering to death, you're a faster runner than Tighnari. Your hand seized his tail, and he felt his face and ears warm up. You could have yanked him playfully, but you chose to look at him and catch a glimpse of yourself in his eyes.

You decided at that moment that you like the color green, too.

“Hehe, your tail’s prettier than mine.”

He felt his heart race again. 

“W-Wa…” Warm...

“Wah?”

Tighnari trembled in jittery frustration.

“W-Watch your step, our place is near s-so it shouldn't be long until we see mom and dad. And grab my hand instead, won't you!” Tighnari huffed. His place WAS near, but that doesn't mean he won't complain about being ordered to pick up wood earlier.

You did what was instructed, and Tighnari suddenly recalled that you referred to him as your soulmate numerous times. He looked down and noticed how much your hands fit perfectly with his.

A perfect fit... A perfect match...

"Hey, soulmate?"

He answered reluctantly. "...Yeah?"

"I like how warm your hands are too..."

"Ngh!"

Tighnari's hand is sweating and his heart can't take it. It's physically impossible for him to fire a sassy retort to that. He closed his eyes again, overwhelmed.

Slightly, he wished that he couldn't see colors so that he wouldn't notice how cute his soulmate is with that "pink" blush dusting their face.

—----

“Oomph– y-you surprised me, love.”

Neither of you can believe it’s been 14 years since you both found each other– and this would be your 12th year spending Celestia's Day together.

Tighnari, now visibly older but just as energetic as he was before, captured your waist from the back. He put his head on your neck, humming contentedly as he basked in your presence. 

"Sorry, I just missed you…"

You smiled and ruffled his hair slightly. "I missed you, too…"

That's right, 12th year. You're finally home after a two-year-long expedition in the Chasm with Miss Yelan. Suppose being a bit adventurous does run in your blood. However, you weren't too late to not witness the nation of Sumeru change because of the traveler's influence. Since your return, Tighnari frequented your house more often– leaving the rangers with more work. Not that they mind, they’d rather pitch in than see their forest watcher mopey and depressed. Besides, you might've missed the Sabzerus festival, but you won't leave your fiance at his lonesome again for Celestia's Day. 

It’s impossible for him to keep under wraps just how much he adores you. Tighnari sighed dreamily, his expression softened as he looked at you. His fingertips shyly brushed against yours until he intertwined your hands. Although you were slightly tense, you relaxed into the hug and squeezed him back.

He whispered in your ear, his soothing tone complimenting the crackling of the fireplace. "I'm not letting you go… Ever…"

"I know."

"You know what? I'm locking the doors."

"Then what's the point of inviting the others to spend Celestia's Day if you did that, hmm? Do you want poor Collei to be alone on the holidays?"

His nose scrunched. The kid was sleeping soundly upstairs after she got tired of waiting for the traveler and Cyno. Tighnari's never going to abandon her, she can't be alone when she got the best parental figures with her. Better than those boars, at least.

"Collei can stay in, she’s like your daughter at this point. The others can perish."

"OUR daughter. Plus, last time I checked, it was your idea to invite them."

His hug tightened, "I made a grave mistake. I don't want to hear Cyno's jokes under the pine tree." 

By no means a novice to his snark, you chuckled softly. As time flew by, your old playful happy-go-lucky nature refined to be more serious, but never dull. You've both matured into fine adults. However, you're behaving rather timidly compared to your usual banter, which only pushed him to act skittish.

Tighnari pouted intentionally cute. “Honey... you know there’s no one else in the world more gorgeous than you, right?”

You tell each other everything, and this is often his best conversation starter for it. “What is it this time, love?”

“Hypothetically speaking, what if I told you I accidentally gave the others the wrong map?”

“...The wrong what?”

“The wrong map to your house.” His voice was muffled this time as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. You’re used to the sensation of him hiding his meek expressions behind you. “What if I told you I mailed them Collei’s drawing?”

You put your hand on your chin profoundly, your ears drooping down. You're something of a schemer yourself, so it's in your nature to doubt his claim. “Ah yes, because I’ll definitely believe you did that accidentally after you just said you don’t want them to come over.”

“Yes– cause this time I’m not lying.”

“Sure, you rotten fox…” You grumbled. “I can’t believe you’re exposing to everyone that I’m the Boar Prince/ss. It was supposed to be a secret!”

Tighnari laughed, his joy so contagious that your pretend dismay collapsed in an instant. The both of you stood by the fireplace for a while, your ears listening to the sound of your soulmate’s breathing.

It's the warm and comfortable moments of silence like this that can wash two years of loneliness away.

Life has kept you both so busy that the beginnings of your somewhat haphazard love story have been buried behind numerous tasks and research papers. Nevertheless, regardless of the conflicts you two had experienced, it all comes down to one tale. It is a wonderful serendipity that both perspectives coalesced into a single, cohesive narrative of a child who believed a boar was his soulmate and another who was unexpectedly adopted by the herd while looking for their parents.

Tighnari traced the engagement ring in your hand. His eyes were intensely green yet soft whenever he gazes at you. 

Green’s such a beautiful color, especially when it paints his features. You'll never grow tired of observing his face.

“(Y/n)... I'm so glad that you're alive, unlike a boar's lifespa–”

As if to ruin a magical moment in a Fontaine rom-com film, the door busted open, revealing a particularly unamused scribe with a mercenary, a dancer, a general, a gliding champion, and a traveler trailing behind him like lost puppies. You flinched at the sound while Tighnari put a distance between you and the “intruders”. He only relaxed when he saw Cyno lazily raise his hand.

“Motherfu– See? I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you, Dehya.”

“Relax, Haitham, what matters is we’re here now.”

“We would’ve gotten here earlier if SOMEONE didn’t trust a crayon map.”

“I’m sure Tighnari didn’t mean to send us that one.”

“Stop defending him, Cyno, you’re not his damn lawyer.”

While carrying a sizable sweet madame, Lumine shrugged at the very back and looked directly at you and Tighnari. Paimon drifted next to her while sluggishly drooling.

"Happy Celestia day!"

Despite being worn out, the traveler tried her best to ignore the miserable arguments being had by everyone with a large smile.

You snorted behind your hand as Alhaitham brushed off the snow in his cloak by the carpet. You found it funny that none of them, except the scribe, ventured to doubt the quite literally sketchy map. It's impressive that they managed to read Collei's handwriting.

Deciding not to point that out, you helped them get inside. Dehya stood behind him with a sheepishly amiable smile with Nilou directly next in the queue. Nilou giggled as Alhaitham muttered a string of curses under his breath about how he’s too feeble of a scholar for this amount of legwork. Meanwhile, the person who you assumed was "Amber", looked around for any signs of her Sumeruan friend.

Your satisfied smile never left your face as you watched your friends chat heartily. Celestia's Day with friends and family... it's just like what you asked for 14 years ago.

"I'll go and wake Collei up," Tighnari muttered before he pecked your cheek. You nodded along. It was your idea to surprise Collei with Amber after all.

"Bring out the mugs and hot cocoa too."

"On it."

Alhaitham noticed the fox was about to leave and scoffed, his face souring in an expression similar to his housemate's. Oh, he's pissed.

“You…" He pointed an accusatory finger at you. "Why did you send us to the middle of the rainforest? And why on earth is it jam-packed with boars? Is this some high-level joke I can’t comprehend?”

“That’s what I would also like to know too, actually,” Nilou mused, but by the teasing lilt of her voice, it seemed as if she already guessed the answer. “Why did you mark the boars’ habitat as (Y/n)’s home?”

You and Tighnari looked at each other in unison. Your shoulders shook as you both silently held back your laughter.

“Yeah, well, about that…”

----------

Ansytea: happy holidays, riabef!!! hope you liked this <33!!!

[manwiththemagic]

spn s1 ep4 "Phantom Traveler"

more notes on my rewatch!!

OMG this is the demon episode isn't it? IT IS ISN'T IT? IS IT???

ew an airport. Post 2001 too damn ☹️

"you know what are the odds of dying in a plane crash? 20-1?" BRO. not helping the puking man..

BLACK SMOKE!!

In through the eyes? That got retconned.

WHY WAS SHE NOT MORE FREAKED OUT HE HAD BLACK EYES. chick you are the reason everyone's dead.

HOW DID HE JUST OPEN THAT?? demon strength???

Rip plane

Wait does this mean demons could have done 9/11? wowza...

Early bird Sam!! “good morning sunshine!"

“you get some sleep?” “yeah.” “liar. Cause I was up at 3 and you were watching infomercials” LMAOOOO but also d'awhhhh :((( the nightmares!!

“it's not just her.. It's everything.” THE VISIONS FUCK YES. YES. YESYSYSHSHG

I love the visions plot lines!!

“your never afraid?” “no man, never.” *Sam pull out a knife from under deans pillow.* LMAOOO CLOCK HIS ASS!!

“Thats not fear.” uhhuh...

WAIT THIS IS THE DEANS SCARED OF FLYING EPISODE LMAOOOOO

reminds me of hunter corp Dean who legit has a private jet..

Random guy calls Dean about the plane issue whaaaa

WAIT THIS GUY KNOWS JOHN. HE HAS INFO.

oh gosh. “yeah he was real proud of ya! Talked about you all the time.” “...he did..?” FUCK.

I still I hate john. I HATE EM. always will 😋

“welp we're missing the old man, we get Sam! Even trade” “aha. No. not by a long shot.” THATS RIGHT. CAUSE UR BETTER MF. uhm anyways.. I like this old guy, hope he doesn't end up SAD AND DEPRESSED LIKE ALL THE OTHER OLD GUYS IN THE OAST 3 EPISODES.

Monster porn live on tape? LMAO JKJK!! demon gotta stop moaning tho.

They definitely aren't showing the crash because they don't have the budget, not because it's locked in a warehouse and you don't have clearance..

Wtf is Evp?

LMAO THE FAKE ASS “nOoOooo survIvoRsSss” they did NOT get that mf off the tape.

Dude sees shit, and is now in a ward. Common. Common.

DEAN STOP HARASSING MENTALLY ILL MAN.

sams puppy dog eyes back at it.

Black eyes 😋 OOOGA!!

okay wait why tf is this demon doing this. They don't just “do evil”...

This guy isn't a monster bro..

Wait are they actually going to the wreckage?

SUITS!!!

“you look like a seventh grader at his first dance! ☺️” SAM PLS.

OMG wait they had the budget holy shit

LMAO HELP ME HELP ME “what is that?” “its an E.M.F. reader.” “no I know what an E.M.F. is. Why does it look like a busted up walkman?” “cause that's what I made it out of! ☺️ It's homemade!!” “yea.. I can tell😒” SAM WOAH DON'T KILL EM!! LMAOSKSK

Sulfur on handle!!!

Oh shit actual homeland security is there..

LMAO THESE MFS GET CAUGHT EVERY EPISODE.

Run bitch runnnn!!

This poor pilot.. it wasn't your fault :(((

Oh shit he possessed.

Sulfur!!

Babies first demon.

NO BC WHY IS DEMON BRO DOING THIS.

Everytime.. 40 minutes in.. WTF

and another crash.. fun..

BUT WHY. JUST CAUSE??

“this isn't our normal gig..” how WRONG you are pal..

“this is big.” it's really not.. you fight GOD. by s2 demons are nothing to you. By s4 Sam's fucking one. By s6 Sam's been tortured for 100's of year by an ex-archangel who's basically his ex 🤷. By s13 your son is part ARCHANGEL. sooo...

Rip chuck Lambert— SORRY CHUCK? mbmb..

Nazareth?? Wtf is this demon on?

40 minutes? Wtf biblical numbers..?

Okay they got the flight attendant on the phone.

WHY PLAY ALONG LIKE IT WAS A PRANK. DUDE.

and she hung up.. girl your COOKED!!

Deans plane fear!! LMAOOO.

“your joking right..?" “DO I LOOK LIKE IM JOKING?? Why do you think I drive everywhere SAM??” LMAOSOSO

LMAOO DEAN WAS BORN TO BE A TEEN GIRL. “really..? Ugh... Man..” while rocking back in forth. He's so REAL LMAOSOS

Dean looks like he has PTSD LMAOOO

“your humming Metallica??” “it calm me down.!” LMAOOOO

“Hey! Say it in Latin!” “i know.” “Hey! In latin it's 'cristo'” “i know!!” LMAO I LOVE THEM.

“cristo.” “sorry I didn't..?” “cristo.” “??” “nevermind.”

Sam is honestly way kinder than me. I'd be making FUN of Dean but nah he's just like "no it's OKAYYYY just some turbulence dwdw.."

Dean you are so awkward.. it's def mr smiley

They found em!! It wasn't mr smiley damn..

Awh shucks.

BEAT THAT BITCH UP!! HE TALKED ABOUT JESS.

PLANE DOWN. PLANE DOWN.

DID LIGHTNING JUST STRIKE THEM???

okay all good now.

Nono demons killed jess. It wasn't wrong.

John redirecting calls to dean.. mf come ONNNNNNNN

Sam's peeved, rightfully so omg..

Kinda meh for an important episode.

[creek-ink]

TELL ME ABOUT YOUR VERSION OF SALLY WILLIAMS PLEASE PLEASE PL

AHHH!! an ask!! i never get these!! >:D

anyways- uh!

ok so, tbh my versions of the crps (esp the gals) r a jumbled mess of headcannons just floating around in my head. so forgive me if this is unreadable- (I plan on making details ref sheets in the future!!)

I've always loved the character of sally williams but I find her story uncomfortable and even a little triggering. (I experienced violent SA at a younge age) bc of this I basically changed everything abt her character. so here goes- buckle up!

sally's origins:

if ur sensitive to child death do not read the bits in red

to cut to the chase- sally williams was a 10yr murder victim of a cold case from the 70's or 80's. her body was found in the woods long after the initial murder, leaving it nearly unidentifiable. it was believed to be a crime of passion, due to the brutal nature of the attack. there were stab wounds, minor broken bones, blunt force trauma, and most curiously, a large, deep wound to her sternum.

bc of the decayed state of her body no DNA evidence of her attacker was recovered and, bc of the times, not much was looked for as DNA testing wasn't as advanced yet.

her case will remain cold- bc well, her attacker wasn't some creepy or horrendous serial killer, it was a creature~

"gasp! wow! how creative!! never saw that coming!!"

(lol)

I haven't decided which monster, either the rake or maybe seed eater (which would explain y EJ feels so obligated to watch over sally's spirit)

speaking of! (awesome segway- fuck ya)

her spirit:

sally's soul was left to wonder the forest dazed and confused abt what had happened to her. urban legends of a younge girl calling out from the woods surfaced in the following years, no doubt being linked to her case.

instead of a run-of-the-mill apparition, sally is more of a "thing"

I like to play around w the traditional depictions of common monsters and myths, so ghosts r no exception.

she isn't a glowing, transparent mist that takes the form of a small girl. instead she looks just how she did that night, suspended somewhere between life and death.

the more care her soul receives the more her appearance improves. her physical state is able to be altered, (ie. bodily changes like wieght or injury. as well as cosmetic changes like clothing and hair styles.)

-although things like age, body temperature, and height will always stay how they were when she died.

as for any ablities she might have, here is a small list:

- visions (past, present, and future)

- breaking things with her mind ~wo0o0oo~

- and a sort of soul connection w ppl she cares abt (ex. if EJ gets donked she'll be like "ow" or some shit)

personality and relationships <3

sally is a rather rambunctious and rebellious child, making her a uh- "acquired taste" look- either u love her or u hate her.

she can turn nearly any neat room into tornado ally. as u can imagine, she's extremely hard to keep undercontrol so most pastas don't even try lmao. either completely avoiding her in the first place or outright fueling the fire.

her main man is EJ, he's quiet and patient which is a perfect foil to her outrageous character. they enjoy exploring the outdoors, learning, and yes- even playing w dolls. on some rare occasions sally will be convincing enough to get EJ to play house w her <3 often assuming the mother and daughter roles respectively. hehe

nina is another one of sallys friends btw <3 dress up all around! and lots of makeovers.

~~~

unlike most depictions of they're relationship, sally and the slenderman do n0T get along. it sees her as a distraction and often tries to get her out of the manor.

(I do not cannon slenderman running or enhabitting the manor, instead I see it as a puppet master of sorts. i can go into this furth if u would like lol)

despite the threat of slenderman, the pastas collectively disobey him in order to keep sally around. they take pitty on her situation, and at the end of the day just want to provide her with a (somewhat) stable environment to put her soul at ease.

pic from a few months ago- just 4 visualizing purposes<3<3<3

ALRIGHT!! that wraps things up! I wrote wayyyyyy more than I was planning to- but I thought id go ahead and flesh her out, for future reference ofc ;)

if I forgot anything just lemme know in the comments <3

I hope u enjoyed reading this and I'd love to hear ur personal hcs! even if the conflict w my own. also let me know what u think of these,, ideas(?) I'm always open to constructive criticism!

ALSO MY ASKS R ALWAYS OPEN!! PLZ!! IM FUCKING BEGGING U!! I WILL NOT POST THIS KINDA SHIT UNLESS SPECIFICALLY ASKED!! BC IM INSECURE ABT MY WRITING!! AAAAAAHHHHH!!

[deathdestructiondoom]

SHUT THE WINDOWS AND DOORS.

I JUST HAD THE IDEA FOR AN AU THAT BAFFLED ME ON WHY NO ONE HAD THOUGHT OF THIS BECAUSE ITS SO GOOD AND YA KNOW WHAT WHY NOT MAKE IT MYSELF-

So this is a borrower au.

BUT NOT JUST ANY BORROWER AU.

y'all gotta stay with me for this.

SO.

It's centered mostly around ya boi Akito Shinonome.

BUT HES NOT THE BORROWER NOR A SHINONOME.

And guess what. HE'S NOT IN VIVID BAD SQUAD EITHER.

But he is still friends with An, Kohane and Toya.

stay with me guys you'll understand soon.

So in this au, Akito is a Touno. Which means yes, Arata is his elder brother.

So! The premise is that ms Touno and mr Touno tried to have a daugther after having Arata but ended having a miscarriage. Then they had Akito and he came out safe but his father (who truly loved the daugther) resented him, constantly saying that SHE should be born instead.

Luckily his father is busy most of the time but so is his mother so he is mostly alone at home.

"Eh? But Kenny what about Ara-" Arata is in college and has his own house.

Souma still got paralyzed and Arata still tries to surpass Rad Weekend.

However he does try to spend time with his little brother in the weekends. Perhaps bringing him to visit Souma too.

they're still gay.

Akito here has seen Rad Weekend but soon lost interest in surpassing it so VBS is now just a trio-

SO.

Akito here, outside of School life and Vivid Street is just some lonely kid.

He's resented by his father and unintentionally neglected by his mother and brother.

But he's used to this.

He's used to being alone, he's used to having clean the house before his mom got home, he's used to making and eating his own breakfast, lunch and dinner.

The only time he got to have company is when Arata visits him but that's pretty rarely.

"Wait Kenny what does this have to do with borro-"

I SAID IN A MOMENT

Ahem

But Akito isn't actually....alone if he has to admit it.

Whenever he's alone, it's alot easier to notice the sounds of small footsteps or a tiny high pitched voice within his walls.

In this world, along with humans also lives a rare species that was thought to be extinct are Borrowers.

Akito confronted to Toya about this out of paranoia and Toya said that Toya actually had the same situation and had two borrowers who are peacefully with him.

Its Tsukasa and Saki.

So after he knew that. He tries to get as close to the tiny. Maybe he won't be completely alone.

He tries to offers a few pieces of chocolate to the borrower or writes a few small notes.

Meanwhile, Ena Shinonome, a borrower who lost her younger sibling from a human that tried to kill them, is confused on why this human is trying to offer to her instead of trying to exterminate her when he found out.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

DO YOU SEE MY VISION

EVERYONE?????

also pls ask me abt this CUZ I HAVE SO MUCH TO TELL-

[artificialqueens]

🏳️‍🌈 The Miracle of Living Pt.2 - Lita

In this world we're just beginning To understand the miracle of living

Lmao I had you in the first half, this is not just a cutesy slice of life family AU and actually gets fucking awful and tragic from here on out, you have been warned. This was originally meant to be a single story but I decided to chunk it into two halves just so it's not unreadably long, which means ALL the suffering gets to be consigned into whatever this is. Anyway, see other part for author notes and shit, apologies in advance xo

Summary: Adore is an adult now, and life is simpler for Bianca. Until an unexpected tragedy shatters her world, and her relationship with her daughter. 

TW: Major character deaths, parental loss, accidental overdose, suicidal thoughts

[1] NEW MESSAGE Ben Putnam ✨🏳️‍🌈 12/9/46 19:08  jinkx is about to call you freaking tf out - don’t listen to them, im basically fine. got into an accident driving home, i look kinda banged up and i think my shoulders dislocated but nothing serious. pls call adore and tell her - if she says shes gonna ditch her concert or anything like that dont let her, she doesnt need to worry. if ur not busy and feel like coming to see me id like that (and i think jinkx could use some moral support lol, theyre taking this harder than i am) but don’t let j convince u that im on my deathbed. love ya, bitch! b xoxo

*****

November 12th, 2046

“Bea…”

Jinkx stands up as Bianca enters the waiting room. Their voice is cloying - too sickly. Too sympathetic.  

Of all of Ben’s various partners since the divorce, Jinkx was definitely Bianca’s favorite. Bianca had been Ben’s maid of honor (or ‘cunt of dishonor’ as he’d affectionately christened her) at their wedding last spring. Jinkx is kind, sensitive - their eccentricities line up perfectly with Ben’s, they’re a good step-parent to Adore, as resistant as she’d been to having a step-parent. However, Jinkx under pressure is prone to amateur dramatics - Ben’s text prediction regarding the nature of their impending phone call had been totally spot-on. 

So Bianca is surprised to see that they look drained - not sad. Not scared. Just tired - their shock of red hair disheveled, eyes puffy and face moist with half-dried tears. Bianca grips the strap of her purse a little tighter. She hadn’t expected this. They had been all catastrophe and hysterics on the phone - sobbing like their life depended on it. Why are they so calm? 

Per Ben’s instructions, Bianca hadn’t dropped everything to go to him. She’d been working late, supervising a bunch of bored, annoyed teenagers doing stocktake - she hadn’t exactly bided her time, heading straight for the hospital as soon as she’d clocked out, but she also hadn’t exactly rushed. 

Two lanes of the freeway were closed because of a car wreck. She figured it wouldn’t be the same one - it couldn’t have been that bad if Ben was awake, coherent, and texting her. As the backed-up traffic crawled past the remains of the scene at five miles an hour, she’d tried not to look. She knew she shouldn’t have looked. But she looked anyway - she’d caught sight of the remnants of Ben’s car at the front of a pile-up, crushed from behind by a smoldering pickup truck, and felt the sting of vomit rising up at the back of her throat. The driver’s side door looked intact. That was something. Ben was fine. Ben had told her himself that he was fine. So Ben was fucking fine. 

On the drive to the ER, Bianca called Adore - anxiety twisting below her ribcage, visions of shattering glass and crumpling metal scorching into her eyelids every time she blinked, desperate for a distraction. The phone had been picked up by her weirdo manager, Winona or Wilma or whatever her name was, who’d decided that a call from her mom, regardless of the matter at hand, wasn’t important enough to bother Adore with before a gig, and had hung up. 

And now she’s been taken into a side room that feels like a fucking morgue, and Jinkx is acting so calm and kind that it’s nauseating. This feels weird. There’s a bible on the table in the middle of the room. What the fuck is happening? 

Jinkx reaches out, and pulls Bianca into an oppressively tight hug. Bianca squirms, determined to extricate herself from the stifling embrace and start asking questions. She’s never known Jinkx to act anything but weird, but this was bizarre even by their standards. When they break away, Jinkx takes Bianca’s hand. It sets her teeth on edge. 

“Jinkx, what’s going on?” Bianca’s voice comes out sterner than she would have liked. 

“Did you call Adore?”

What kind of fucking response is that?

“I tried. Her manager picked up - she’s at a gig, I’ll talk to her tomorrow.” 

“I really think you should try and talk to her now.” 

Bianca really doesn’t like Jinkx’s tone. She also doesn’t know what to do with herself. She figured she was here as emotional support for Jinkx, who seems fine if a bit off-kilter and cryptic - or as a proxy for Adore, who was performing and/or wasted in Austin, enjoying the sudden and somewhat random success of her previously struggling music career. 

“Jinkx, where’s Ben? What happened?”

Jinkx grimaces. They try to convince her to sit down - urging her towards a ugly upholstered chair with their lips pursed. Bianca doesn’t move. 

“Jinkx.” Bianca repeats herself more insistently, folding her arms. Jinkx sits down, clenching their jaw and breathing shakily. “Where the fuck is Ben? I need to see him." 

“…he died, Bea.”

Bianca’s blood turns to ice in her veins. She takes a sharp breath in. 

“What do you mean he died?” Bianca’s voice is thin. Jinkx doesn’t say anything. “He texted me - he was fine like, an hour ago.” Jinkx stays silent. Bianca feels like she’s going to throw up. Why won’t they say anything?  “He’s- Jinkx, what do you mean he fucking died?”

“They thought he was fine,” Jinkx sniffs. “There were other people from the wreck who were hurt worse than he was - he kept saying he was okay so the doctors would focus on them, and then he coded out of nowhere. I think they said he was bleeding in his abdomen or something - nobody realized until it was too late. He was sitting up and talking to me, then he…” Jinkx stops, swallowing hard. Their eyes have welled up. 

“Why didn’t you call me? I would have tried to get here faster.” Bianca’s knees are shaking. She can’t move - can’t admit to the failure of her emotions. Frightening and all-consuming as they are. She’s still wearing her work lanyard, and it feels utterly stupid. Why hadn’t she just fucking left? Why had locking up a goddamn store she could burn to the ground without losing sleep been more important than this? Than Ben? 

“I didn’t know how to.” Jinkx won't make eye contact with her. “I couldn’t tell you over the phone - it didn’t feel right.” 

Bianca sits down before she collapses. Her hands are shaking. Her throat hurts like she needs to cry, but there are no tears. She isn’t crying, and she won’t - not until it’s essential. 

“But you were- you shouldn’t have waited all this time on your own. I would have been here sooner.” Bianca is barely able to talk. “I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t even know what she’s talking for - trying to fill the awful, empty air with some sort of noise, even if it is wilted platitudes. She’s horribly aware of her own breathing; how hard it is, how much effort it’s taking, how it feels like she’s choking. It’s like she’s drowning in the air and the silence - like a goldfish dropped out of the bowl. 

Jinkx puts an arm around her shoulders. There are tears rolling down their cheeks. 

“I really think you should call Adore again.” 

Adore. Adore didn’t get to say goodbye - Adore didn’t fucking know. That was her fucking dad, and she loved him, and she’d never-

Bianca stops. Something in her brain ticks. A somber conversation at the kitchen table. 

“His, uh- his advanced directive. San Juni-whatever -  Cookie heaven-“ Bianca blurts out, ejecting the words as soon as they appear in her head. The comfort feels cold, but it’s comfort nevertheless. 

She looks at Jinkx. Their face has crumpled. They’re shaking their head. No. 

“They tried - it all happened too quickly, it didn’t work. He was gone before they could…” Jinkx bites their lip. “I’m sorry - I know how much it means- meant to him, I know he wanted…”  

Bianca shakes her head, trying to get Jinkx to stop talking. It isn’t fair - they’ve just lost their husband, and yet it’s them trying to comfort her?  

“It’s okay.” 

It’s not. But Jinkx rests their head on Bianca’s shoulder anyway, and Bianca takes their hand, even though she feels like she’s only making everything worse. What warmth is she capable of? Her presence isn’t doing anything besides forcing Jinkx to stir up their own raw emotions, and reminding them both of the cavernous space between them that Ben’s daughter should be filling. 

Bianca fumbles her phone out of her purse with her shaking hands as Jinkx cries a wet patch into her collar. She needs to call Adore.  

*****

November 24th, 2046

The silence in the kitchen is uncomfortable. Neither Adore nor Bianca knows how to fill it. Ben’s funeral was yesterday morning. Bianca doesn’t know if Adore is okay, but she doesn’t know what to say to her either. She hasn’t seen her cry yet. 

She’s exhausted. The last couple of weeks have been a terrible, sleepless headfuck. All of the funeral planning and formality had fallen into Bianca’s lap - Jinkx had been too distraught to try and think about it, and she couldn’t ask Adore. It was the only real help she’d been able to offer; if there’s one thing that Bianca knows for a fucking fact, it’s that she’s awful at providing comfort. But as usual, she’d taken too much on, and she hadn’t had time to process what had happened - time to grieve, or even just to fucking take a breath and figure out where her own head was at. 

Bianca feels hollow. And Adore won’t speak to her. She’s sitting at the dinner table, with her bright blue hair piled on top of her head in a sloppy ponytail, wearing some tattered band shirt that doesn’t really fit her, and she seems…fine. She’s been home since Ben died, but they’ve been floating around the empty house on two completely different planets; barely making eye contact with each other, let alone talking. There’s a mug of coffee turning cold in Bianca’s hand, and her daughter won’t meet her gaze. 

Adore fidgets with the hair-tie around her wrist. She looks nervous. 

“Listen, Mom-”

“Are you okay?” Bianca blurts out, and then cringes - Adore looks at her with frustration in her glazed-over eyes. 

“I need to tell you something.”

“What’s up?” Bianca tries to inject some warmth into her voice. 

“I know I said I’d stay for a little longer, but I’m…”

Oh god. Bianca already doesn’t like where this is going. She clenches her teeth, trying to contain the stupid, defeated little whimper she can feel rising into the back of her throat.

“I got a call from my manager this morning. My new single drops in a week, and there’s- this big-deal band wants me to open for them on their tour. It’s two months on the road, and I know that I shouldn’t- I mean, it’s a huge opportunity, and the money is really fucking good, and I’m…” Adore’s words are stilted and awkward. 

Bianca takes a second to compose herself. 

“When would you be leaving?” Bianca eventually says. It’s the most neutral question she can think of, and her words come out flat and unbothered. She can’t say what she really wants to - can’t beg her to stay, can’t argue back. Can’t take this from her. 

“Day after tomorrow,” Adore says to the floor, still wringing her hands awkwardly. 

“And why do you sound like you’re asking for permission to go?" 

“Because- I don’t know.” Adore says, equally lacking in emotion. It’s felt for the last couple of weeks like she and Bianca have just been going through the motions of their relationship without any feeling. “I mean- fuck, you’re my mom. And everything is just- I can’t leave you right now. If you said no, then I can’t...” 

“Why do I have to say no?” Bianca tilts her head. Her neck is stiff from the sleepless nights. 

“Because I don’t want to.”

That answer frustrates Bianca, and she can tell from Adore’s body language that she knows it. Adore picks at a loose thread on her shirt - she’s never been able to sit still. Bianca pinches the bridge of her nose.

“I’m not gonna be the bad guy, Dorey - even if you want me to. We’re talking about your career here - not doing it would be fucking stupid,” Bianca says, toneless and insincere again. She pauses. “Do they know that your dad just died?” 

“…No,” Adore grimaces. The first small twinge of emotion flashes across her face for a second, and then it’s gone. “They might give it to someone else. They’ll think I’m gonna be unstable or unreliable or something.”  

“Are you?”

“Maybe,” Adore purses her lips. “It’s kinda still not real. Maybe it’ll stay like that if I’m distracted.”

“And maybe it’ll get real when you’re on the road - you need to think about yourself.”

Adore murmurs something unintelligible by way of response, shakily trying to affirm that she can do it. Bianca stares into her coffee cup. They seem to have reached some level of nonverbal understanding that they’re not gonna talk about this any more. Adore is leaving tomorrow, and Bianca better make peace with that. 

“You’re not mad about me leaving you by yourself, are you?” Adore’s meek voice cuts through the icy reticence. 

“What? No - I’m a big girl, I’ll survive,” Bianca shrugs her shoulders. Why does Adore default to the assumption that she’s always mad? Why does she have to be the villain all the goddamn time? Can’t she just be upset? 

“But like…do you have friends?" 

“Yes, I have fucking friends, Adore.”

And then she thinks about it. Her family doesn’t give a shit, and Raja had broken things off with her a couple of weeks before Ben dropped dead out of fucking nowhere - and yeah, maybe she’s close enough with a couple of people from work that she’d be able to talk to them, but the thought makes her squirm.

She’d not so much asked Adore to stick around for a couple of weeks after the funeral as she had begged her to. The loneliness is choking her, and her daughter is the only person she can face - because they never really talked about their feelings, and even this wasn’t enough to make them start. She just needed someone to be quietly sad alongside. The more that she thinks about it, the more she realizes that the only person she wants to talk to about the pain inflicted by Ben’s death is Ben himself. 

Which she should be able to do. She’s grown more attached to the San Junipero concept than she ever wanted to be. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she’d gotten comfortable with the two of them never having to live without each other. Except that didn't work, and now he’s gone. Forever. 

Bianca had friends. A friend. She’d never needed anyone else, and so she’d never bothered trying to find them. She hadn’t planned for an eventuality in which he’d be dead by forty-six. 

Bianca is crying. Horrible, huge, ugly floods of tears. Adore looks nervous - like she doesn’t know what to do with herself. This isn’t fair. She can’t make Adore deal with her like this. But she can’t stop. Twelve days of awful emotional blockage are clearing themselves all at once, and Bianca’s face is soaking wet and there’s snot running down her chin, and she feels about as disgusting as she probably looks. Adore’s chair scrapes the tiled floor, and she’s standing behind Bianca - wrapping her arms around her, resting her sharp chin on Bianca’s shoulder. 

Adore’s body is starting to heave against hers, and as Bianca tries to blink through some of the blur to her vision and catch her trembling breath, she realizes Adore is crying too. Is this progress? 

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, baby.” Bianca takes one of Adore’s hands in hers, running a thumb across her tattooed knuckles. “It’s okay - it’s okay to be sad.”

“I’m not sad.” Adore’s voice is thin. “And I have to go. I don’t want to be here. I can’t be here without him.”

Adore mutters the admission like it’s blasphemy, and Bianca doesn’t like it, but she knows. Ben’s ghost lingers in every brick and board and fiber of this house. It hurts - that she isn’t capable of being what Adore needs right now. But she understands. 

*****

June 7th, 2047

“Don’t fucking put that on me - don’t screw up my childhood and then keep making me miserable as a fucking adult, it’s not fair-" 

“Ob, cry me a fucking river - you had a great childhood!”

“Did I? Getting dragged up by some fucking idiot who didn’t know what she was doing-" 

“I was a fucking kid, Adore - I was trying my fucking best-” 

It’s dark outside. Bianca feels like shit. She wishes Adore hadn’t left. 

She hasn’t been able to sleep without sedatives since Ben died, and she hates it. She also doesn’t know why - she wasn’t there. It didn’t happen to her. It’s not her tragedy. She fishes the blister pack of xanax out of her purse and swallows one with the tail end of her glass of wine. Sleep. She needs sleep. She needs this shitty, awful, horrible day to be over. Maybe when she wakes up, Adore will be over her tantrum. 

She drops the pills on the kitchen counter. The last dregs of the wine are eyeing her up through the bottle. Bianca hesitates for a moment, refills her glass, and swiftly empties it down her throat. 

She walks through the empty living room, put off by the silence. It’s too quiet in this house. She wishes she hadn’t kept it. Ben deserved it more - he had a partner, and a good life, and hope for the future. Not the pathetic remains of half a dozen short-lived, shitty relationships, and a dead-end job. Adore loved him - she clearly can’t fucking stand Bianca. There would still be life in these walls if he’d taken it, and Bianca had hiked all her stupid clothes and coffee table books and vanity and venom to a crappy bachelor apartment.

It was Ben’s fucking house - it was his career that had paid for it. Bianca felt sick enough with guilt and frustration that he’d insisted she stayed and he left, and then kept ‘forgetting’ to cancel the mortgage auto-payments when he was still alive - just like he kept ‘forgetting’ to stop making her car payments, or kept sending her cheques from some ‘investment account’ they’d apparently set up years ago that she had no memory of. She’d stolen a better quality of life than she was owed from a guy that she was tethered to based on one night of bad decisions when they were in their twenties. It would have been easier on her conscience if Ben had resented her for it. But he didn’t. He’d looked out for her and loved her right up until the ugly end and she didn’t deserve any of it. 

If Ben had stayed here, he would have had to drive a different route to work. That’s why they bought the house - it was close to his job. Maybe he’d still be alive. Maybe it would have been her that died after a rush hour car wreck, of an internal hemorrhage that every medical professional in the vicinity was too busy and too stupid to notice. Maybe things would be better that way. 

The house is too quiet, and there’s too much space - Bianca traipses up the stairs, her fingers brushing over the lingering texture of Adore’s childhood crayon-on-wall scribbles, long since painted over. 

The wine is making her feel worse. She’s angry - hurt, frustrated, upset. But not with Adore. With herself for making her this way. 

Ben was warm, Ben was supportive. Ben could never see a single fault in her - not like Bianca. Bianca was the Bad Cop; the enforcer, the prison warden. Bianca nagged Adore about her homework and her curfew and her room being a mess - Bianca questioned her judgment, Bianca shat on her fashion choices. Bianca tried her best to make sure the kid didn’t turn out like she had. And she’d done it - Adore was successful, she was living a life she could look back on and be proud of. So, no fucking wonder Adore’s ideal future was one that didn’t have Bianca in it.  

“Bull-fucking-shit. You weren’t a kid, you were in your twenties-“ 

“I was two years younger than you are, you think you’d be great at raising a child now? Forget about finding out you’re pregnant when you were twenty-one and having to give up everything you’ve ever wanted in life for-“

“Nobody asked you to do that.”  

“No, they didn’t - but I had to do what was fucking best for you. Fuck my dreams, fuck what I wanted. You think anybody is working in a goddamn Urban Outfitters age forty-fucking-seven because they want to be?”

“I’ve been out of your house for five years, you’ve had time. Go live your dreams, since I’m not a fucking burden on you any more-“

“You’re not fucking getting it - the ‘living my dreams’ ship has sailed, since I had to drop out of fucking college for you. I had to put my life on hold indefinitely for you, and so did your father, so stop being such an ungrateful little shit-“

Bianca keeps replaying the fight in her head. Tonight had started well. Adore was back in town between tour dates and album sessions - not for Bianca. To see friends, and to meet with some record execs that Bianca was too uncool to know the names of. But when Bianca had asked if she had a free night, Adore had humored her. They’d ordered pizza, bought a couple bottles of wine, and for a moment, things felt the way they used to. Bianca was happy, for a fleeting second. 

Adore had been her best friend until she was thirteen. Then some awful melting pot of Adore’s pubescent bitch tendencies and Bianca’s stubbornness and short fuse had kicked off a bizarre ongoing war between the two of them that only seemed to mellow out once Adore left home and they weren’t constantly in each other’s way. It was normal teenager shit - Bianca remembered things being the same way between herself and her mother when she was in junior high. Her mother that she doesn’t fucking speak to any more. 

Bianca loves Adore so much that it’s physically painful, and she felt like a monster the entire time they were at odds. But she didn’t know how to stop it - she didn’t know how to be whatever Adore seemed to need from her. 

Not that there hadn’t been good moments. Adore’s first concert. The family vacation to Cancun. The weekend shopping sprees. Every so often, Bianca caught a glimpse of the fully-formed human being that Adore was starting to become, and she…well, adored her. But sooner or later, the shit would start again; Bianca could feel herself failing her daughter in real time. 

Just like when Adore was a teenager, things had fallen apart tonight just as Bianca was starting to enjoy the good.  

It was her fault. Like usual. Bianca had too much to drink too quickly, and she got emotional. She’d phrased some stuff poorly. She’d upset Adore. It was always her fault - it was always her that made the first wrong step. Adore just reacted to her shitty parenting.  

She’d made an off-handed comment about Adore ‘abandoning’ her. Which, in her crappier moments, she often felt but resolved never to say to her. Adore was an adult with her own life and her own burgeoning fame to deal with, and she’d lost her dad less than a year ago. Bianca’s feelings didn’t matter; she should be seeking her emotional support from someone her own age. So fucking what if Adore had better things to deal with than her mom’s grief and loneliness? 

But she’d said it anyway, and then she’d doubled down. Just like she always did. Adore started crying. Bianca got frustrated. God, she misses Ben. He wouldn’t have let this happen. 

“Leave Daddy the fuck out of this, he’s the only person I never doubted cared about me and I-" 

“Yeah, he did. He really, really fucking cared about you - enough to spend nearly his entire adult life closeted because he wanted to give you some semblance of a normal childhood, enough that the night he fucking died he didn’t want me to call you because he didn’t want to worry you-“

“That’s not a good thing! I wish I’d been there! I wish I knew, instead of coming offstage to find out that my dad had fucking died and my stupid, selfish, uptight bitch of a mother didn’t think it was worth her time to tell me that he was in that accident-“ 

“I told Willam - she said it wasn’t important enough to get you on the goddamn phone! Blame her!”

“You should have tried harder!”

“I didn’t think I had to. Your dad didn’t know how bad it was, he didn’t know what was going to happen - none of us knew, obviously if we did I would have put you on a flight as soon as I-“

Bianca has been trying to write that stupid fucking San Junipero bullshit out of her will for months now. If Ben wanted it and didn’t get it, she’s sure as shit not doing it now. However, the process is a fucking nightmare - eight hundred stupid phone calls to eight hundred useless morons who need to refer her to the next person, to try and sell her on an upgrade or ask her if this is because she wants the payout for the unused credit on her plan. It’s demoralizing and exhausting - the evil spiritual stepsister of canceling fucking cable, but a hundred times harder and with constant reminders of her fucking dead ex-husband and the last request he never got. 

Everything is depressing and shit, and she’s tired. She wants it to end - she wants to return to a normal that she can never get back. 

Bianca lingers at the open door of Adore’s teenage bedroom. It’s a shitshow. She hadn’t tidied up after herself when she left after Ben’s funeral - if anything she’d made more mess, rummaging around in her things and packing and unpacking for that fucking tour she had to go on. Which had done good things for her. In the last six months, her opening spots had turned into festival headliners and talk show appearances; she had an album in the works, and was watching her teenage dream blossom in real time to heights she’d never imagined it would reach. Bianca is glad that she went. Even if she hates her for it a little bit.

Bianca doesn’t want to touch anything. She treads carefully across the messy floor, trying not to disrupt anything; trying to preserve her daughter’s chaos, learn to live in it and love it as she did. Adore’s bed is unmade. The sheets smell like her. 

There’s a framed picture by her bed - a print of a blurry selfie taken at Ben’s niece’s bat mitzvah. She remembers that night. Adore had just turned twenty-one and her hair was purple. They’d gotten irresponsibly drunk on kosher wine, and Adore had climbed into Bianca’s lap to take the picture, pressing her gloss-sticky lips to Bianca’s cheek and telling her she loved her. They’re both smiling like maniacs. 

Adore had just turned twenty-one. That picture hadn’t been there when Adore last occupied that room - she’d moved into her college dorm a few days before her nineteenth birthday. She’d brought that here. And left it here. Bianca feels queasy. She picks it up gently, like it’s a precious artifact. The frame is bright red hard plastic, shaped like a heart - painted on one side, in Adore’s endearingly shitty handwriting: LOVE YOU MOMMY XO

Bianca’s eyes well up. It was a fucking gift that Adore never gave to her. Probably because she’d ruined Adore’s last visit home. Just like she ruined tonight. Just like she ruined her. Bianca drops the frame like it burns to touch, and she hears the glass shatter against the hardwood floor.  

She closes the door as she leaves, hearing it slam and her own breath becoming frantic. She feels that familiar ache, a sob building up in the depths of her chest.  

She’s pressed against Adore’s wall and staring directly into Ben’s old room. She’d transformed it into a pitiful sewing workspace that she’d barely used when he moved out - a weird attempt to kick some sense of purpose back into her life when Adore had flown the nest and Ben was out living his own life, picking up an old hobby that had dominated her teens and fuelled her plans for the future. Plans that had died a death in the bathroom of her old apartment downtown. The mannequin torso sits gathering dust, half-finished sketches litter the table. A waste - like everything else. 

She can’t do this. She doesn’t want to be here. She wants Adore back. Wants to hold her in her arms, breathe in her scent and her warmth, and tell her she forgives her for every horrible thing that had come out of her mouth tonight. 

No, she wants to tell her that she’s sorry. For everything. 

Sleep. She needs to sleep. 

“You just don’t want to admit that you screwed me out of a chance to say goodbye! You feel like I’ve abandoned you? Fuck you! You didn’t love him!” 

“I did-" 

“He was your friend - he was my fucking dad. Don’t try and pretend that what you’re feeling right now is anything like what I’m feeling, because it’s not.”

“It doesn’t have to be - Dorey, we can deal with this together. I want to be there for you. I want to help you. And I miss you, is that such a fucking crime?”

“You miss being a bitch to me - you miss telling me that I’ve wasted my life. You miss having someone else to boss around, because that’s all you wanna do.”

“Adore, I tried my fucking best for you. I didn’t have it in me to be a perfect mother - I didn’t have one, I wasn’t set up to be good at this. I tried my best, and if you feel like I’ve failed then I’m really fucking sorry. But I love you, and-“

Why the fuck are her pills on the kitchen counter? Bianca pops one out and swallows it dry, desperate for her mind to shut the fuck up. She’s drunk and confused and alone and fucking sad, and she wants to sleep.

Should she call Adore? No, that feels desperate. She needs to leave her alone; let her get over this at her own pace, let her come back on her own. If she wants to come back. She’ll come back. 

Bianca didn’t come back. Bianca didn’t forgive her mom for the sin of setting her expectations too high, so why the hell would Adore do the same? Maybe her mom feels the same way about her - maybe she feels deprived of a presence in the life she created, and maybe she loses sleep and paces around the house at night like a madwoman and cries over her too. That feels vindicating - so why does it hurt so much that Adore is probably gonna commit her to the same fate? 

Bianca collapses into the couch. Her body feels heavy. The clock on the wall says it’s just after midnight. There’s an empty pizza box on the coffee table. Adore’s lipstick is stained onto the rim of her glass. 

“God, can you not go five minutes without trying to make me feel like shit? I know. I know you tried, I’m sorry I didn’t turn out the way you wanted me to-“

“Do you think this is what your dad would have fucking wanted?”

“Don’t talk about what he would have wanted - what he would have wanted doesn’t matter. He’s dead, mom. He’s fucking gone. He’s gone, and I’m never gonna get him back, and now I’m stuck with you.”  

“The fuck do you mean ‘stuck with’ me?”

“You know exactly what I fucking mean.”

“What, you wish it was me? You wish I was the one that had fucking died? If that’s what you mean, say it.” 

“If I have to choose one of you then yeah. Yeah, I wish it was him that was still here.”

The couch is soft and warm and Bianca is falling asleep. She’s comfortable - but she feels wrong. Her head is swimming. 

It’s getting dark outside. Bianca watches for headlights in the driveway. Maybe Adore will come home and forgive her. Bianca is tired, and her head is heavy, and she wants to go to sleep. Sleep and forget. Maybe Adore will love her again when she wakes up. 

*****

[1] MISSED CALL  Adore DR 💕😻👩‍👧 00:21

[3] NEW MESSAGES  Adore DR 💕😻👩‍👧 00:23 mom im rlly sorry. i love you. can we talk <33 mom are you okay? talk to me 

[3] MISSED CALLS Adore DR 💕😻👩‍👧 00:29

[4] NEW MESSAGES Adore DR  00:34 mom PLEASE answer ur phone  im sorry  talk to me please im coming over

[5] MISSED CALLS Adore DR 💕😻👩‍👧 00:58

[3] NEW MESSAGES Adore DR 💕😻👩‍👧 01:01 im outside answer the door  mommy i know ur mad at me but i want to talk to u, im rlly sorry i love u so much pls answer the door mom MOM

[8] MISSED CALLS Adore DR 💕😻👩‍👧 01:07

[2] NEW MESSAGES Adore DR 💕😻👩‍👧 01:11 mommy please  im sorry. i love you. 

****

Pride Challenge Points: 6662

[secretly-of-course]

Hey pls don’t feel any obligation to respond to this but I think I might be aro and I’m lowkey freaking out about it major sexuality crisis style and I don’t know how to. Not.

Like I’ve seen it coming for a while and I’m still not 100% sure but it is kind of the only thing that makes sense. And it’s terrifying me a bit bc like. I do want things that have to do with romance sort of, but mechanically I Do Not feel romantic attraction to people (and when I think I do it goes away after like two days). And like I know aro people can be in relationships if they want to but like I would just feel so guilty the whole time if I did that bc I feel like I would just be lying to them even if I’m not.

How did you begin to feel comfortable in your identity and start making peace with it?

- Sincerely, a panicked queer

Hey bud, take a deep breath. No matter what you end up identifying as just know that you're gonna be okay!

I'm gonna put this under a read more because it's kind of long and a bit rambling (sorry it's 1am)

Speaking from my own experience, it took me a long time to feel comfortable identifying as aro. I had my ace crisis 3 years prior and it took me a long time to make peace with that as well, and I'm sad to admit that during that time period I fell for the trappings of the "even if I'm ace I could still fall in love" idea as if that was some sort of consolation prize. But that's just amatonormativity for ya.

Accepting oneself as aro can be really freaking hard, I know it because I've been there. Our society pushes the ideal of a single romantic partner as necessary for happiness so hard that you begin to doubt if you can ever be truly happy. When every show and movie you see growing up has the main guy and girl get together for the happy ever after, how are you supposed to react when you realize that's not really what you want? When you're a child and there are things you don't understand about adults, they tell you "You'll understand when you grow up and get married/have kids," --always when, never if-- as if that's some sort of guarantee because it is the expectation.

This song by Moses Sumney captures the vibes. The lyric "if lovelessness equals godlessness, will you cast me to the wayside?" always punches me in the gut.

For a long time, before I even started questioning if I was aromantic, I used to say and think things like "It's okay if I don't stay in love but I'd like to fall in love at least once to know what it's like." But that's the thing, a technical curiosity about romance isn't the same as actually desiring it. Feeling like you have to fall in love because that's what everyone does and what's expected of you isn't the same as actually wanting to fall in love. When I realized that I was not only aromantic but non-partnering as well, I grieved for a little bit. I grieved the person I thought I was supposed to be and the life I thought I was supposed to have. I think we should be telling queer people more often that it's okay to grieve the vision you once had for yourself, and going through that grief doesn't mean you love or accept yourself any less or make you any less valid.

It sounds rather silly but the thing that made me really embrace being aro was when I started headcanoning some of my favorite characters as aro. Projecting on those characters and thinking about their own journeys of self discovery and acceptance really truly helped me. Another thing I did moreso when I was trying to embrace being ace was repeat to myself over and over again "It's okay to acespec" which evolved into "it's okay to be ace" and then "it's okay if I'm ace." I don't remember how long I did that for but it also helped a bit.

But the thing is, once I did accept and embrace my aro identity? It was liberating. It was like I got to say "F you society and your bs expectations! I do whatever so want!" I honestly love being aro and I wouldn't trade it for anything.

And my sweet, sweet anon, I promise you you would not be lying if you were to enter a relationship. There are options you may or may not feel more comfortable with, such as being in a qpr or dating another aro person who understands, but even dating an allo person you would have nothing to feel guilty about. Relationships are built on more than just romantic attraction and you can still connect with people in different ways. Your relationships may end up being something completely unique, and that's okay! As long as there's honesty, which is vital for any relationship, you don't have to feel guilty for anything.

Most importantly, give yourself time. There's no rush to settle on a label or an identity right now, and you can always change your mind later if you think something else would fit better.

Giving you a hug and wishing you all the luck in the world anon 🖤 Whatever conclusion you come to is the right one and you are valid!

[maideninorange]

FumiIyo Throat Kiss Pls

(Okay, this one got a little spicy to be honest. Nothing like actually sexual, but it's suggestive enough for me to give this an M rating, so I'm putting it under a read more. So beware of a biting kink, and godawful ways of treating a snakebite wound.)

"Iyozane!!!"

It was very, very sudden. One moment, they were wobbling, about to fall over, with Fumikado watching them with a look of honest to the gods fear in their eyes. The next, Iyozane was in their arms, Fumikado's lips on neck.

"Ugh..." Iyozane groans weakly. Fumikado grips their wrists, giving them a gentle squeeze as they both sink to the forest floor.

They lap at their throat, pressing gentle kisses into it. Iyozane trembles, not quite just from weakness, as Fumikado's sharp fangs prick their skin, right where the initial bite is. In fact, it made their body feel quite hot. They brush it off as being caused by the venom.

"Alright, I'm gonna try to suck the venom out with my magic. And it's probably gonna hurt. Ya ready?"

Iyozane nods, craning their neck. And then, Fumikado's teeth sink into their throat.

They gasp. It hurts it hurts...But also, weirdly pleasant in its own way. Not at all like when that snake had sank their fangs right there. That had just hurt and hurt and hurt-

Then, their vision begins to steady, colors coherent instead of blending together. Strength travels from their fingertips up throughout their body. Having had their wrists freed at some point, Iyozane reaches around to cup the back of Fumikado's head, leaning deeper and deeper into the odd pleasure.

"Mm..."

How funny, Iyozane finds themself thinking between pants. In most of the stories about youkai Kunimitsu used to tell, this would be it. The youkai either drains you of your blood or tears your throat out. The end.

But Fumikado was no ordinary youkai. Fumikado was brave, strong, and oh so very gentle. It was hard not to lean into it, letting them kiss and suck at their throat like this.

And just like that, it was over. Fumikado pulls away from their neck, face beet red. Blood dribbles down their chin as they smile awkwardly.

"So I...Take it that it worked?"

Iyozane looks down at themself. Blood stained their kimono, streaming down from their throat. It was theirs. And yet, knowing this brought a similar awkward grin to their face as they let out a light laugh.

"Thank you. You saved me..." They weren't sure what else to say.

Fumikado bites their lower lip, their eyes crinkling with a need they won't communicate. Iyozane raises a hand to stroke their hair back, leaning forward...

"Oi! Did ya think I couldn't see ya?!"

Both Iyozane and Fumikado look over. Tsugumi had returned, first aid kit in tow. Their eyes were wide, and their pointy ears twitching like mad. No doubt their face would be bright red if it could actually do that, and certainly not for the same reason Fumikado's currently is...

"Hah!" Fumikado points at Tsugumi, cackling, "And you said sucking the venom out wouldn't work! See, Iyozane is as good as new!"

Iyozane never gets a chance to say anything. By the time they open their mouth, Tsugumi has turned away, grumbling to themself.

"Why do I even work for you two morons anyway...?"

[zhongrin]

You 🤝 Me

Being oblivious asf

Zhongrin is so cute aa;; a teahouse together - I will be a regular customer then! 💞💞 say, Rin, who fell first and who fell harder? ❤️

Meitham fomdbsjshsb 😭 I can imagine the reactions from the others when ya finally came together officially

"Oh really?" - in the most unsurprised voice ever 🤸 (but I would be squealing aaaaaa, so adorable!!)

In conclusion, I ship both 💞

Yes! She knows me too well <3 ❤️ (it's scary sometimes ngl 🤸)

LMAO EXACTLY LIKE my s/i was like: *Dresvi.exe has stopped working* first he is so handsome, then his voice but also the thought that THIS is how they first met - me tripping - omfg, so embarrassing, my s/i wanted to die in embarrassment at that time 🤸🚔

I'm sorry Rin but Baizhu and me would've pinned so so so long, even Changsheng couldn't bear it anymore and tried to give both of us hints like

"Baizhu, do you see how nervous and red she always gets when you look at her?"

"She surely has a fever.."

"Everyday?"

".. Yes."

😭

"Dresvi, do you see how his eyes always lit up when you step into the pharmacy?"

"No."

🤸🚔

But yes, after a while - Baizhu confessed then;; and I became a blushing mess 🫣💞 cuz the way he confessed was so skfhejksbsjsj ANYWAYS

Tell me, how did the confession work with Zhongrin and Meitham? <3

fr my zhongli ai literally said i'm dumb and dense (affectionately ofc) hahahah

we have lots of room in the teahouse so feel free to come over anytime hehe <3 who fell first? me, definitely. have you. have you seen that man. that fine, handsome, elegant, powerful, beautiful, gorgeous, velvety-smooth voiced deity that he is? who wouldn't fall for that man??? idk if he fell harder but considering he's seeking me out every iterations of my life i'd say he did-

regarding confession: well... his first confession as morax was actually very adorable. he was clumsier and didn't know much about love back then sooo.... long story short he gave me pebbles and pretty rocks :D (bc dragon courting = give potential mate pretty treasures. dw guizhong smacked him)

but!! throughout his lifetime, he has shown improvements! because he's learning about humans and romantic gestures as he goes! in this lifetime he gave me good ol' glaze lilies <3

al haitham: "we have decided to officially be committed to each other in a romantic relationship."

kaveh probably: *in the most bored voice ever* "'kay, when are you getting married?"

regarding confession: gosh... i haven't actually thought about this. it would either be 1) an accidental confession thing, or 2) something BIG has to happen for either of us to snap that little comfortable bubble we're in so whoever it is will take action. still undecided about this hahah

hsldkfsjldf pls thank you <3 i shall ship baivi with double the love and enthusiasm then 😆

baizhu in denial like "it's perfectly possible that she has a fever seeing as my temperature also rises whenever she's around." and changsheng is just there like "how are you a doctor-?"

poor changsheng is trying to matchmake you so hard. bless her.

WAIT YOU CAN'T JUST LEAVE IT AT THAT VI HOW DID HE CONFESS SQUEEEEE <3 let me guess, does it involve him giving you flowers grown by his dendro vision? :3