#and then I’d have an excuse not to go out!

[hjvi]

𝙋𝙚𝙣𝙖𝙡𝙩𝙮 𝙁𝙤𝙧 𝙈𝙮 𝘼𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨

Pairing: Hockey!Chris x Fem!Reader

Summary: Chris promised no more fights, but when a cocky opponent crosses the line and touches you, he can’t hold back.

Warnings: Smut. MDNI. Violence. Make-up sex, fingering, oral, all that good stuff.

Word Count: 7k

The arena hums with anticipation, the sound of skates slicing across the ice filling the space, mingling with the roar of the crowd. You pull your hoodie tighter around you, your breath visible in the chilly air as you glance down at the rink. Chris stands at center ice, his stick resting on his gloved hands, his dark brown hair tucked beneath his helmet but still somehow messy and perfectly him. His blue eyes dart toward you for a fleeting second, and even from this distance, you can see the unspoken promise in them—a reminder of the one he made to you last night.

“No more fights,” you had said firmly, clutching his bruised hands in yours. His knuckles were still raw from his last outburst on the ice, and you couldn’t bear to see him like that again. “You’re getting hurt, Chris. You’ve got to stop. For me.”

He’d hesitated, his jaw tightening, the stubborn defiance you knew so well flashing in his eyes. But then, as always, he softened under your gaze. “M’kay,” he murmured, his voice low but sincere. “I’ll try, for real. No more fights. Promise.”

And now, as you sit on the cold bench near the glass, watching him skate with that effortless confidence, you hope he’ll keep his word. He’s always had a temper, quick to boil over when someone crosses a line, and hockey only seems to amplify it. But tonight, you just want him to play. To stay out of trouble.

The game begins, and Chris is electric, weaving in and out of defenders like they’re nothing. He’s fast, almost too fast, and you can tell he’s showing off a little, especially when he scores the first goal and immediately glances toward you, a smirk tugging at his lips. You can’t help but smile back, your heart swelling with pride and affection.

But as the game wears on, your focus is drawn away from the ice.

It starts innocently enough—a guy from the opposing team, number 27, walking past during a break and tossing you a casual, “Hey, you’re way too pretty to be sitting here alone.”

You roll your eyes, leaning back in your seat. “Not alone. My boyfriend’s playing.”

He laughs, a cocky sound that grates on your nerves. “Oh, the bad boy on your team? Figures. Bet he doesn’t treat you half as good as I would.”

You glance toward the rink, where Chris is waiting for the puck to drop, his posture tense. He must have seen the interaction because his jaw is tight, his eyes narrowed as they flicker between you and number 27.

“Just leave me alone,” you say firmly, turning your attention back to the game.

But the guy doesn’t take the hint. Between plays, he keeps finding excuses to walk by, flashing you a grin or making some snide comment. Each time, you can feel Chris’s gaze burning into you, his grip on his stick tightening. He’s trying to hold back, you can tell, but the strain is visible in every line of his body.

When the second period ends, the guy takes it a step further.

He walks over to your bench, leaning casually against the barrier like he owns the place.

“So, what do you say? One date? I’ll even let your boyfriend keep his teeth—if he behaves.”

You stand up, your hands curling into fists. “I said no. Now get lost.”

But instead of backing off, he steps closer. His tone darkens, his words dripping with venom.

“You know, I think you’re the type who likes it rough. Does he even know what to do with you? I’d bet anything you’d be screaming for me in minutes.”

“Shut up,” you snap, trying to sound firm, but your voice trembles.

He grabs your wrist, pulling you closer, his grip tight and unrelenting. “Don’t act like you don’t like the attention. Your boyfriend’s too busy trying to show off to even notice.”

“Let go of me,” you say, your voice rising in panic.

But instead of releasing you, he shoves you against the cold plexiglass. One hand pins your wrists above your head, his breath hot and sickening on your cheek. “You scream, and I’ll just make it worse,” he murmurs, his tone dripping with malice.

Tears sting your eyes as you struggle against his grip, but he’s too strong. The cold air bites at your exposed skin as his free hand yanks your hoodie upward, exposing your chest. The chill makes you gasp, but it’s nothing compared to the humiliation burning in your chest.

“See? That’s better,” he sneers, his eyes roaming over you. “Betcha Chris love these titties.”

“Stop it!” you cry, your voice breaking, but he presses a hand over your mouth.

“We’ll save that screaming for later,” he whispers, leaning in to brush his lips against your cheek.

“Let me go!” you shout, your voice trembling, but he only presses closer.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice sickly sweet. “I just want a little peek.”

You thrash against him, but his hold is too strong. Red circles form on your wrists from his crushing grip.

“Get off me!” you scream, tears streaming down your cheeks.

The sound of someone shouting your name cuts through your panic, and suddenly, the weight is gone.

Chris’s teammate, Ryan, shoves the guy off you, yelling, “What the hell are you doing, man?!” Another teammate quickly steps in, throwing his jacket over your shoulders to shield you from view as you collapse to the bench, shaking.

Chris, meanwhile, is oblivious, focused entirely on the game. He scores again and turns toward you, expecting your usual wink of encouragement. But instead, his eyes land on the commotion.

His face pales.

One glance at you, disheveled and trembling, and at the guy being restrained by his teammates, is all it takes for Chris to understand.

Chris throws off his helmet and skates full speed toward the bench. He leaps over the boards in one fluid motion, his entire body radiating fury.

“Chris, no—” Ryan starts, but it’s too late.

Chris grabs the guy by the collar, yanking him to his feet. “You sick piece of shit,” he growls, his voice low and menacing.

Before the guy can respond, Chris’s fist connects with his jaw, sending him staggering.

The sound of the punch echoes through the arena, silencing the remaining murmurs of the crowd. The guy stumbles back, his smirk replaced by a look of shock as he tries to regain his balance. Chris doesn’t give him the chance. He grabs the guy’s jersey, yanking him forward, and lands another punch—this one to the cheekbone.

“You think you can put your hands on her?” Chris snarls, shoving him against the boards. “You think that’s okay?”

The guy smirks through the pain, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “What are you gonna do about it, lover boy? Hit me again?”

Chris obliges, landing another punch square in the guy’s face. Blood sprays from his nose, and he lets out a pained grunt, but Chris doesn’t stop.

“Chris, stop it!” you cry, but he’s too far gone.

His teammates try to intervene, trying to pull Chris back, but he shoves them off with a force that surprises everyone. His focus locked on the man before him. “You’re gonna learn real quick that you don’t mess with her,” he growls, landing another punch.

The guy struggles, trying to shove Chris off, but it’s like trying to stop a storm. Chris delivers a series of blows, each one harder than the last, the sound of bone meeting bone echoing in the arena.

“You don’t touch her!” Chris yells, his voice hoarse. His knuckles are split open now, blood staining his gloves and smearing across the guy’s face. “You don’t fucking look at her!”

The guy finally fights back, swinging a weak punch that barely grazes Chris’s shoulder. Chris laughs darkly, his eyes wild. “That all you got? Hit me, you coward! Come on, hit me!”

When the guy hesitates, Chris slaps him hard across the face, leaving a visible handprint on his cheek. “What’s the matter? Scared? Hit me!” he yells, his voice echoing through the arena.

The guy takes a shaky swing, but Chris dodges easily, retaliating with a brutal uppercut that sends him crumpling to the ground.

“Hit me back, you pussy!” Chris roars, slapping his own cheek hard enough to leave a red mark. “Come on! Hit me! Show me what kind of man you think you are!”

The guy tries to crawl away, his hands raised in surrender, but Chris grabs him by the collar and lifts him off the ground. “You were so confident before,” Chris spits, his face inches from the guy’s. “Where’s all that big talk now?”

“Chris, stop!” you scream, your voice breaking through the chaos.

But Chris doesn’t stop. He slams the guy against the boards, the plexiglass rattling with the force. The guy’s head snaps back, his eyes dazed, but Chris isn’t done. He raises his fist again, his knuckles raw and bleeding, ready to deliver another blow.

Chris looms over him, his chest heaving, his knuckles split open and bleeding. His jersey is torn, and a bruise is already forming on his cheekbone. He looks more animal than man, his rage consuming him entirely.

“Chris!” you cry again, louder this time, tears streaming down your face.

This time, he hears you. He freezes, his fist hovering in the air, his chest heaving as he glares down at the guy. Slowly, he lowers his hand, his fingers trembling.

The refs finally manage to pull him away, but Chris doesn’t resist. His gaze shifts to you, and the fury in his eyes softens, replaced by something else—guilt.

He starts toward you, his steps unsteady, his face a mess of bruises and blood.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice raw.

But you’re not okay. You’re shaking, your wrists throbbing from the earlier assault, tears streaming down your face. “Why didn’t you listen to me?” you sob, your voice trembling with a mixture of anger and fear.

Chris steps toward you, his hands outstretched, You flinch as he reaches for you, the memory of his violent outburst too fresh.

The reaction cuts him deeper than any punch ever could.

“I’m fine,” you manage to say, though your voice is shaky. You clutch the jacket tighter around you, your wrists still aching where the guy had pinned them.

Chris’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks like he’s about to explode again. But then he takes a step back, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “I should’ve been paying attention,” he mutters. “I should’ve—”

“You promised me,” you interrupt, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and pain. “You promised no more fights.”

“He fucking deserved it!” Chris shouts, the anger bubbling back to the surface. “You think I’m just gonna stand there while some asshole puts his hands on you?”

“You didn’t have to beat him like that!” you shout, your voice rising. “You didn’t have to lose control!”

“I lost control because of him!” Chris snaps, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “Do you have any idea what it felt like to see him touching you, hurting you?”

“I told you I could handle it!” you yell, your voice echoing in the now-quiet arena.

“Handle it? He had his hands all over you!” Chris fires back, his voice rising. “Do you even understand what that looked like? What he was doing?”

“You think I don’t know?” you snap, tears streaming down your face. “You think I wasn’t terrified? But you losing control doesn’t make it better, Chris! It just makes it worse!

Chris stares at you, his chest heaving, his face a mixture of anger and anguish. “I can’t just stand by,” he says finally, his voice quieter but no less intense. “I can’t. Not when it’s you.”

“I didn’t need you to protect me like that!” you yell, your tears coming harder now. “I needed you to be the person you promised me you’d be!”

Chris looks away, his jaw tightening. “You don’t understand,” he mutters.

“No, you don’t understand!” you fire back, your voice shaking with emotion. “Every time you do this, every time you let your anger get the better of you, you hurt yourself—and you hurt me! Do you even see what you’ve done to yourself?”

Chris glances down at his hands, his knuckles bloody and swollen, his jersey smeared with blood that isn’t entirely his. For a moment, he looks lost, like a boy caught doing something he knows is wrong.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

But it’s not enough. “Sorry doesn’t fix this, Chris,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Sorry doesn’t undo the promises you’ve broken.”

His shoulders slump, and for a moment, he looks like he might cry. But then his stubbornness flares up again. “You’re mad at me for protecting you?” he asks, his voice rising. “For doing what he deserved?”

“I’m mad at you for not listening to me!” you shout. “For putting yourself in danger and making me watch you destroy yourself!”

“I don’t care about me!” Chris yells, his voice raw. “I care about you! I care about making sure no one ever touches you like that again!”

“That’s not your choice to make!” you scream, your voice breaking completely. “You don’t get to decide how to protect me, Chris. That’s my choice. Not yours.”

Chris stares at you, his chest heaving, his face a mess of emotions—anger, guilt, pain. Slowly, he takes a step back, his hands falling to his sides.

“I don’t know how to be what you want me to be,” he says softly, his voice barely audible. “I’m trying, but… I don’t know how.”

Your heart aches at his words, but you can’t let yourself soften—not yet. “Figure it out, Chris,” you say, your voice trembling. “Because I can’t do this anymore.”

Chris flinches like you’ve struck him, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he nods slowly, his eyes fixed on the ground.

“I can’t lose you,” he says, barely above a whisper.

“You don’t lose me by letting me fight my own battles,” you say, your voice trembling. “You lose me by breaking your promises. By scaring me.”

The words hit him like a blow, and for the first time, Chris looks truly defeated. He nods slowly, his shoulders slumping, and turns away, leaving you standing there with tears in your eyes and your heart aching in your chest.

Leaving the rink felt like walking through a fog of tension so thick it pressed against your chest. Chris followed closely behind you, his skates swapped for sneakers, his bruised and bloodied face a painful reminder of the chaos earlier.

“Just get in the car,” he said, his voice hoarse but soft as if he was scared of pushing you further away.

You hesitated by the passenger door, your fingers twitching on the handle but unable to pull it open.

“I can’t,” you muttered, refusing to look at him. The sight of his swollen knuckles and the cut on his cheek only deepened the ache in your chest. “I can’t sit there and look at you right now, Chris.”

The words hit him visibly, his shoulders sagging. He stepped back, giving you space, but his hand hovered by the door handle of the driver’s side.

“I’ll park nearby. We don’t… we don’t have to talk about it yet. I just need to get you home safe.”

Reluctantly, you climbed into the passenger seat, folding into yourself as far away from him as you could manage. The silence in the car was suffocating, broken only by the hum of the engine and the occasional, barely audible hiss of Chris’s sharp inhales every time he moved his bruised body.

You sat stiffly, your arms crossed tightly over your chest, refusing to look his way. Chris’s knuckles gripped the steering wheel so tightly that they turned white, though it was hard to tell under the dried blood. His lip was split, the swelling on his cheekbone casting a shadow over his face.

At a red light, you finally spoke. “Pull over.”

Chris’s head whipped toward you. “What? Why?”

“Just do it, Chris. Please.” Your voice was steady, but the tremor underneath was unmistakable.

He obeyed without another word, pulling into an empty lot. You got out, slamming the door behind you, the sound reverberating through the quiet night. Chris followed, watching as you rummaged through the trunk and pulled out a first-aid kit you always kept there—ironically, because of him.

“Sit,” you ordered, pointing to the curb.

He hesitated but sat down, his shoulders hunched as he stared at the ground. You crouched in front of him, your hands trembling as you opened the kit. The sight of his face up close made your stomach twist. His bruises were angry and purple, a stark contrast against his pale skin. Dried blood clung stubbornly to his knuckles.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly as you opened his hockey bag and fished out a small first-aid kit.

“I don’t want to,” you replied sharply, your hands trembling as you grabbed antiseptic wipes and gauze. “But someone has to, because you clearly don’t care what happens to you.”

The sting in your words made him flinch, but he didn’t argue. He let you dab at the cuts on his face, wincing now and then but staying still. Your hands shook the entire time, a mix of anger and worry making your chest feel tight.

You cleaned his knuckles with practiced care, though your hands shook so much that you nearly dropped the alcohol wipes.

“You promised me, Chris,” you whispered, the words heavy with hurt. “And look at you now.”

His blue eyes, usually so confident, were full of guilt as he looked at you. “I… I’m sorry. I don’t know how to make it right, but I’m sorry.”

Chris’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I…couldn’t… I saw him…”

“Stop.” You cut him off, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. “Just stop. I can’t hear it right now.”

He nodded, biting down on his lower lip so hard you worried he’d split it further. The silence between you stretched thin, filled only by the faint rustle of bandages and the distant hum of traffic.

When you finished, you stood abruptly, stuffing the used wipes back into the kit. “Let’s go.”

The drive home was no better. You stared out the window, your arms crossed, while Chris kept stealing glances at you, his jaw tight. As soon as you reached the house, you were out of the car and inside before he could say a word. You slammed the bedroom door behind you, locking it for good measure.

Chris knocked once, twice, but you ignored him, curling up on the bed with tears streaming silently down your cheeks.

Hours passed. The silence in the house was heavy, punctuated only by the occasional creak of the floorboards as Chris paced the living room. You lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, your chest tight and your eyes burning from unshed tears. When a soft knock came at your door, you didn’t answer, expecting him to give up again. But instead, his voice broke the silence.

“Hey,” Chris’s voice was muffled through the door. “Can I… Can we talk? Please?”

You didn’t respond. He sighed, the sound heavy with guilt.

“I was thinking… maybe we could go get McDonald’s fries. You love those, right? It’ll… it’ll help. Please. Just let me do something for you.”

Your stomach churned, torn between your anger and the small, stubborn part of you that missed him—that wanted to believe he could fix this. Finally, you got up and unlocked the door. Chris stood there, looking more broken than ever.

Chris standing there, his hands shoved into his hoodie pockets. His face was even more bruised now, the swelling setting in, and you hated the pang of concern it caused.

Wordlessly, you grabbed your jacket and followed him to the car. The drive to McDonald’s was silent, but less tense than before. When Chris ordered, he only got fries for you and a drink for himself.

“You’re not eating?” you asked, your voice quieter than you’d intended.

He shook his head. “My stomach…” His leg bounced nervously as he added, “I’m just… not hungry right now.”

When the food came, you barely touched it. You sipped on your Pepsi while Chris picked at the fries, holding one up to you.

“You should eat something,” he said softly.

“I’m not hungry either,” you replied, looking out the window.

“Eat,” he urged gently.

“No,” you said firmly, turning your head away.

His hand faltered, You noticed then that his hands looked different—bare.

“You… took off your rings?” you asked, your voice soft as your eyes lingered on his bruised knuckles.

He nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the steering wheel, his fingers tightening on it briefly before relaxing. “Yeah,” he said, almost a whisper. “They have cracks in them now. And… I know little things like that can… trigger stuff. I just…” He trailed off, his leg bouncing erratically. “I didn’t want to make it worse. Even seeing me like this…” His voice cracked, his words faltering as he turned to you, raw and exposed. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

The sincerity in his voice broke something inside you. You turned to look at him fully, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the bruises, and the raw guilt etched into every line of his face. Without thinking, you leaned across the console and kissed him.

The kiss wasn’t soft or tentative—it was desperate, almost frantic, a collision of emotions you’d both been holding back for too long. Chris responded immediately, a quiet, surprised sound escaping him as he slid a hand to your jaw, his rough thumb brushing against your cheek. The other hand tangled in your hair, anchoring you to him as if letting go wasn’t an option.

His lips were warm and insistent, moving against yours with a passion that left no room for doubt. He kissed you like he was trying to pour every ounce of remorse, every unspoken word, every promise of love into you. Your fingers gripped his hoodie tightly, pulling him closer, needing to feel the solidity of him, the proof that he was here and not slipping away.

You didn’t realize you’d climbed into his lap until you felt the firm press of his thighs beneath you, your knees brushing the worn fabric of the seat. The steering wheel was digging into your back slightly, but it didn’t matter. You needed this closeness, this raw, unfiltered connection.

Chris’s hands slid down your sides, pausing at your waist as if he was afraid to hold on too tightly. His breath hitched when your thumb brushed over the bruise on his cheek, and he winced slightly but didn’t pull back. Instead, he kissed you harder, his teeth grazing your lower lip in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, but Chris didn’t let you go far. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured against your lips, his voice shaky. He kissed you again, harder this time, his fingers slipping under your shirt to rest against your bare skin.

You gasped at the contact, the warmth of his touch contrasting with the rough texture of his bruised knuckles. It sent a shiver through you, making you grip his hoodie tightly.

“Chris,” you breathed between kisses, your voice trembling with a mix of emotions.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours with every word. “I’m here, and I’m so sorry.”

His hand moved slowly, reverently, tracing small circles on your skin. The tenderness in his touch was almost overwhelming, a stark contrast to the raw intensity of his kisses. You could feel the faint cuts on his fingers, each one a reminder of the night’s events, but it didn’t make you pull away. If anything, it made you kiss him harder, needing to feel connected to him in a way that words couldn’t achieve.

“I love you,” he said between kisses, his voice thick with emotion. “So much.”

When you finally pulled back for air, you stayed close, your forehead resting against his. His breath was warm against your lips, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath you. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the only sound the faint hum of the engine and the soft rain tapping against the windows.

Your gaze drifted downward, and that’s when you noticed the faint discoloration peeking out from the neckline of his hoodie. Your fingers reached out instinctively, brushing against the bruise on his collarbone. Chris flinched, a quiet hiss escaping him, but he didn’t stop you.

“Does it hurt?” you asked softly, your voice trembling with concern.

“A little,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He glanced down at your hand, his gaze following the slow movement of your thumb over the bruise.

You felt the faintest tremor in his body, and then his leg started bouncing beneath you again. His hands, which had been resting lightly on your hips, moved hesitantly. He began playing with your fingers, his rough, calloused hands dwarfing yours as he twirled them gently, almost absentmindedly.

Your breath caught as you noticed the details of his hands—the rawness of his knuckles, the faint streaks of dried blood around the small cuts, the way his nails were uneven from nervous chewing or a hasty attempt to clean them. His hands had always been rough, worn from years of work and fights, and yet they moved over your fingers so delicately, as if afraid they might break.

“Chris,” you said softly, tilting your head to look at him. His leg stilled for a moment before starting up again.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, your voice gentle but insistent.

He hesitated, his jaw working as he avoided your gaze. His hands tightened slightly around yours, his thumbs tracing circles on the backs of your palms. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost shy. “M’so sensitive,” he murmured, his accent thicker than usual. His eyes flickered up to meet yours for a fleeting second before dropping again. “Can I… make you feel better?”

Mere moments had passed before you were both clamoring into the back of the van, limbs bumping into limbs, soft laughter echoing inside the vehicle as Chris reached over your middle to pull the door shut. As soon as the door had shut, your lips were on his, your hands blindly fumbling with the front of his jeans.

You'd just gotten the button undone when his hands wrapped around your wrists, pulling them back as he pulled away from your kiss. You were left pouting, the sight adorable and pitiful enough to pull a laugh from Chris as he set your hands down in your lap.

Elated laughter bubbled in your chest as his hands slid up and underneath your skirt, the fabric bunching up around your hips. You helped him with a gentle lift of your hips, allowing him to hook his fingers around the waistband of your underwear, before slinking the fabric down your legs.

"You're going to cum on my tongue." He stated, tone full of nonchalance as he tossed your underwear toward the front of the car. "And, I want you over me when you do."

"You want me to sit on your face?" You asked, lips quirking up into a smile as you bit back laughter, truly believing he was joking. "Is that what you're asking me?"

Chris only nodded, and only then did the realization of his request register in your mind. Heat prickled at the nape of your neck, spreading forward until it encompassed your chest in a deep blush. Sensing your nerves, Chris's thumbs rubbed gentle circles above your hip bones, his head ducking down to meet your avoidant gaze.

"Hey," he whispered. " Nothin' I haven't seen before. It'll feel good, doll, promise."

So, you allowed him to help you into a position that didn't have both of you groaning in discomfort. Maneuvering into a position where you straddled his shoulders, in the back of an already narrow car, wasn't exactly the easiest to accomplish. Somehow, you both managed, mostly thanks to Chris's hands keeping you steady as you moved over him.

The chill of his scarred fingers bit into your thighs, keeping you sunk in the present, hovered over him as he looked up at you from below. There was nothing other than pure, unadulterated lust pouring from his eyes, pupils blown so heavily there was only a crescent of color visible. His fingers tapped, once and then again, a nonverbal request for you to lower yourself.

So you did.

He met you halfway, tongue licking a fat stripe up your cunt, delving between your folds to collect your essence against his tastebuds. He wanted to savor you, that much was readily apparent by his hardened grasp on your thighs, all but cementing you atop his face. Your head fell back, eyes fluttering shut as a plethora of broken-off moans tumbled past your lips.

You begged for him, murmuring his name between praises lost on your ears, but not his. Each word, no matter how garbled by pleasure, left his hips rutting up into the air as he circled his tongue around your clit. Your hips moved in synchrony with his tongue, adjacent swirls, and he let you. He had always favored dominance, being in control of the situation, but having you atop him had him praising every divine figure he could conjure in his lust-riddled mind.

“Chris-“ You crooned, the noise so sweet it pulled a moan from his chest, the vibration left directly against your aching cunt. You smiled, a mixture of a laugh and moan leaving you as your hands raked through his hair, tugging at the short strands. “So good, Baby.”

With an open-mouthed kiss to your clit, he pulled away. It was for a fraction of a second, needed to slip his right hand between your thighs, but you were left whining and pouting. He tutted from between your thighs, lips, and chin glistening with your cum.

“C’mon, doll.” He whispered as his middle and ring fingers pushed inside of you, delicately curling to brush against a spot that had your thighs clamping down around him. “It'll feel good, I promise.”

His left hand squeezed your hip, guiding you just as he would if you were riding him. You unconsciously followed his guidance, sliding down onto his fingers, before raising yourself, only to repeat the motion over, and over. Lewd squelches sounded from between your thighs, your cunt dripping a mixture of cum and saliva down onto his palm.

“See?” He asked through a breathy laugh, quickly resuming his position between your thighs. “Told ‘ya I’d make you feel better.”

You wanted to berate him for his cockiness, you truly did, but the feeling of his lips encircling your clit left you breathless. If anything, any ridicule would’ve turned into a garbled mess of his name.

A groan of a laugh reverberated in Chris’s chest, yet he never pulled away. His tongue lapped at your clit, intervals of swirls and sucks following each grunt he managed to sound out. The sounds were carnal, stoking the steadily building flame in your lower stomach. Your fingers tightened their hold on his hair, pulling him closer, yourself closer. In truth, you weren’t sure if he could breathe, but neither of you moved from where you were.

“That’s it, Baby.” He rasped, words hardly audible, muffled from your cunt. You managed a sighed moan in response, your hips rolling, sliding your cunt against his tongue. His fingers thrusted into you, mimicking the tempo of his eager tongue, each lap and circle of the muscle pushing you closer to the edge.

The uptake of an octave, your head rolling back as your eyes squeezed shut; Chris knew each instinctual move of your body by heart. His eyes stayed locked on you, memorizing the sight of you coming undone above him, riding his face like a woman starved. His free hand lifted from your hip, curving around the plush of your ass, knowing he needed a tight hold on you to keep you steady.

“Chri-“

There it was, the familiar beckon of his name. His cock strained against the confines of his boxers, tip leaking precum, smearing against the now dampened fabric. His thighs tensed as his hips rolled, desperately seeking some form of reprieve as your cunt twitched around his fingers. Instead of verbalizing his reply, he squeezed the swell of your ass, wordlessly urging you to cum.

White-hot pleasure seared your veins, unconsciously twitching your limbs, tightening your hold on his hair. Your cunt spasmed, clit throbbing against his circling tongue. You cursed under your breath, eyes squeezed shut, mind solely focused on the ecstasy overtaking your body. Chris grounded you with slow brushes of his hand along your thigh, fingers still inside of you, lips placing gentle kisses on your oversensitive clit.

“Alright?” He asked, tone rough enough to pull a surprised laugh from you. You nodded, threading your fingers through his hair.

“More than alright.” You replied. “Way more.”

Instead of hovering over his face for another second with wobbly legs, you moved yourself back, giving Chris enough time to situate himself upright. His hands found your hips quickly after, gently guiding you back to his lap.

In an almost instinctive move, you lowered yourself to place your lips on his. His hands slid around your back, fingers absentmindedly grabbing at the fabric of your hoodie as his lips moved with yours.

You braced yourself against the rear windshield, the slick condensation gathering in the palm of your hands, smearing your fingerprints down the pane as your lips moved against his. If anyone had passed by, anyone at all, they would've gathered what you both had gotten up to.

Neither of you could bring yourself to care, not when Chris slipped his hands underneath the back of your shirt, his fingernails scraping along the curve of your back to have you closer as he sucked your tongue.

Your lips curved into a smile at the move, the lucrative, nearly addictive slide of his tongue against your own. He knew you, knew your body and how to make it tick. Your hips rocked against his lap, causing his already hard cock to twitch and pulse against the confines of his jeans.

"You're still hard," you rasped into the kiss, "I can make you feel good, too."

He groaned, his eyebrows knitting together as his hips bucked up into you. You bit at your bottom lip as you moved your hands from the rear windshield, letting your now cool skin slide down his front, keeping your eyes locked with his as you unzipped his jeans.

His lips parted in a silent moan as your hand slipped underneath the hem of his boxers, your fingers curling around the thick base of his cock. You could feel each twitch of his cock beneath your palm, the skin slick and warm, coated in his precum. You slid your hand up, leisurely pumping him, the act enough to have him grunting out your name.

You savored each lecherous moan that fell from his lips. With a shift of your hips, you centered yourself over his thigh, rolling your hips down in tandem with each stroke of his cock. You knew you were dampening the denim, soiling it, yet all you saw reflected in Chris's eyes was the same debauchery you held heavy in your mind.

“Fuck me.” You begged, tired of the hassle, of denying yourself the most innate of pleasures. He relented with a lift of your body, allowing his hard cock to slide along your folds, catching against you. You watched as he lowered you onto him, his cock sliding into you deliciously slow.

Thin, red lines followed his nails as they dragged up the skin of your thighs, coming to a halt at your hips where he steadied you. You could feel his cock pulse inside of you, twitching just before your cervix. You watched him with bated breath, allowing him to guide each movement of your hips, and he did so with precision.

"So tight," he murmured, eyebrows knitted together in a mixture of pure lust and concentration, as though the mere sight of you atop him would undo him if he gave into it. "So fuckin' good."

All you could muster was a moan in response, your hips rolling forward, each forward motion brushing your clit against his lower stomach. Your thighs strained, muscles burning, yet you paid them no mind in favor of the persistent push of Chris's cock, the way his tip brushed against your g-spot with each shift of his hips.

His eyes flitted, sight torn between your breasts and the needy, desperate look in your eyes. He shifted beneath you, planting his feet against the floorboard, giving himself enough stability to thrust upward, pushing himself deeper than before.

The shift in position forced the air from your lungs, a pitiful, broken-off mess of a moan passing your parted lips as you grasped his shoulders. He whispered something to you, but whatever it was had been lost on your muddled mind in favor of the budding feeling of ecstasy coiling in your lower stomach.

"Chris-" You whined, the urgency in your call not lost on him. He nodded, wetting his lips as he rolled his hips upward. You could feel your arousal dripping between your thighs, smearing along your skin as well as his, coating his lower stomach in your cum.

"That's it, doll." He whispered, his left hand moving between your thighs to circle his thumb around your clit, rhythm syncing with each pump of his hips. "C'mon, cum for me."

Ecstasy coiled tight in your stomach, and with each swirl of his thumb and pump of his cock, you felt it twist tighter and tighter. Your hands moved from his shoulders, fingers threading through the back of his hair where you pulled. His mouth fell open, eyebrows lifting as an expression of shock-induced euphoria crossed his face.

So, you pulled harder, the harshness of your hold mirrored in the desperate way you fucked yourself on his cock, movements so frenzied you felt your muscles burning beneath your skin.

A deep, almost sinful moan rumbled in his chest. You swallowed it with a kiss to his lips, hands moving to his jaw as your tongue moved with his. His thumb was slick against your clit, and with a gasp of his name, your cunt spasmed around his cock.

"Fuck, that's it." He groaned, words strained as he teetered on the edge of his orgasm. "Let it out, doll."

Your lips moved from his, kisses trailing down his cheek, onto his jaw, before you settled your cheek to his shoulder, simply choosing to give yourself over to the onslaught of pleasure Chris had you wrapped up in. Chris's hold on your hip tightened as his head fell back, his eyes screwed shut, jaw clenched as his cock twitched inside of you, each pulse filling you with his cum.

You both shared the blissful silence that came afterward, the only noises being the occasional breath and whispered praise, the brush of his hands against your skin.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, words muffled by the press of his lips against your throat. "I'm sorry."

You nodded, leaning into his touch, his lips, with a thread of your fingers through his hair. He continued murmuring into your skin, you drank in each word, heart slowing in your chest, calming with the promises he spoke only to you.

His hand moved from your hip, thumb, and forefinger resting against your chin, tipping your head up to meet his eyes. His eyebrows were furrowed together, skin coated in a thin veneer of sweat. His thumb brushed across your bottom lip, yet his eyes never left yours.

"You're my girl." He whispered, and you nodded. "I'd never do anything to hurt you."

You placed a kiss on the pad of his thumb, the sincerity in his words causing you to smile. He smiled in return, fingers splaying against your cheek where he held you gently.

"It won't happen again, alright?"

His voice was gentle, his eyes reflecting the same tenderness. You leaned in, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck and pressing your face into the crook of it. As your head rested there, the faint bruise on his skin seemed to fade under the warmth of your touch. He pulled you closer, his arms encircling your waist, and his hands softly brushing between your shoulder blades, meeting your embrace with a soothing comfort.

"Good apology, been workin' on it for a while?" You joked, placing a kiss on his jaw with a soft bout of laughter. You felt him laugh, the vibration of his chest against yours.

"Nope." He admitted, turning his head to press a kiss to your temple. "You're worth a genuine apology."

"Sap." You teased, but your tone gave way to your true feelings, how much you appreciated his honesty, his words. He caught on, but never made it known, instead choosing to reply with another kiss to your skin.

"Yeah, guess I am."

A/N: I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting to post a fic about Chris playing hockey. The idea of him being so competitive, passionate, and, let’s face it, a little too quick to throw punches has been living rent-free in my mind forever. Thank you so much for reading! It means the world to me that you took the time to dive into this story any interactions are appreciated 😊

tags- tags - : @swagalicious260 @watercolorskyy @coquettechris @lovesturni0l0s @christmastreecake @ellbowmacaroni @blog-luvdance @sophand4n4 @meg4-matt44

[ice-cream-writes-stuff]

ERrOr 0.2

Love and Deepspace Various! / Reader

《File welcomes you! Enter! ... Good Luck.》

-

Wiping down a few menus scattered around the café, you glance at the cloudy skies.

Not quite sunny, but rather plain. Reaching over to the blinds, you lower them down. Ready to close up since you had the key.

DING!

A young man wearing a familiar smile comes in, a jacket wrapped around him as hands laid in his pockets.

“...Are you still open?” He asked politely, the friendly and attitude lighting up the rather quiet cafe. 

Blinking at him, rag in hand. A somber, almost knowing grin creeps up your face. “I… Yeah, please. Come in.”

You move away from the blinds, barely having the courage to look at his handsome face. Setting yourself up at the register, you ask for his order, rag held tightly between your fingers.

He eyes the menu behind you, scanning over the titles until he settles on a few things. Two mini apple parfaits and a single coffee. 

Not even bothering to right down the order, you keep eye contact when asking for his name. Voice almost shrill as the rag becomes tatters in your grip.

“Oh! It’s Caleb.” 

-

Holding the tearful girl in your arms, you keep your mouth shut. Patting her back as she wails incoherent nonsense by your ear. 

While, you wished to tell her the truth, you knew deep down you couldn’t. The only solace you could offer in her time of sorrow were merely gestures of comfort. Hoping it would be enough to appease the both of you.

Glancing at the apple parfaits sitting on your kitchen counter, you hold MC tighter.

-

Xavier blinked at the small bunny shaped dessert, the white porcelain plate glimmering against the sun from the window. You sit in front of him as he blinks the sleep away from his eyes, his lunch barely touched.

“Hi..? Are you awake?” You smile far to chipper, blinding him more the sun rays. Expecting the fawning gaze you directed at him, his lips part into a frown.

The expression you wore was unfamiliar to him. 

“...Mn, ‘sorry.”

“It’s fine, I thought some dessert would wake you up. Don’t worry, it won’t be on your bill!” You wink.

Amused, he nods, grabbing a spoon, lightly poking at the jiggly rabbit shaped pudding. You giggle, enjoying his actions openly. Xavier relaxes a bit, forgetting the small details from before.

“Hey… Is…” You pause, biting at your lips,nervously gripping the tray.

“Hm?” He hums, his beautiful blue eyes keeping sole attention on you.

“Is MC-... I mean-! So, are you and MC doing anything later? I’m free after closing, maybe we get something to eat?” You ask hopefully, knowing you would be dismissed from the offer. You even asked Zayne a day ago if he’d like to meet up for some grub.

Not knowing the next chance, you would be able to see him out and about! Yet before he could even give an answer, he got an urgent call from the hospital. Leaving in a hurry as he grabs your notepad and pen, writing something down before placing it on the table. Leaving soon after… Checking what he wrote in such a rush … HIS NUMBER!? 

You recall skipping home, swinging the paper about joyously.

“I would-”

“FINALLY! I FOUND IT!” 

Rafayel beams, the doors bell announcing his entrance as a sweating MC follows behind. Features censored for readers! 

“YOU…!” She grits out, before gasping and making a beeline towards you. Eagerly like a cat drawn to milk. “I’m so sorry about him, (Y/N)! I’ll kick him out right now!”

Yet she makes no move to do so as she sticks to you like glue, wrapping a hand around your waist easily. She plucks the cafe tray from you.

She holds it as if she were a brave knight, the tray her shield to protect what a knight holds dear! 

Glaring at the purple haired male. “Go, shoo fishy~!” She waves him off, the merman in question scowls.

“Sorry Miss Bodyguard, but I can’t at the moment, now if you would move-” Rafeyels tone was filled with annoyance as the female hunter shakes her head.

“Excuse me, I’d like to order…” 

Blinking, you regain your bearings as MC hisses at the new voice.

“Right! Sorry! Coming right over!”

Moving out her grip, you walk over to the disguised Sylus, you follow after him like a loyal dog. 

   “Not him too..!” She grunts stubbornly under her breath, exasperated. Sighing before receiving a text from Zayne that he was about to stop by the cafe for lunch. Asking if she wanted anything.

With another reluctant sigh, she texts back.

Rafayel huffs, scanning the small cafe, before his eyes settle on the small fish doodle placed near the menu, a few other animal drawings scattered around as well.

-

{Part 1. Side Story 1. Side Story 2. Side Story 3. Side Story 4. Side Story 5.}

[To celebrate the Caleb update! A two parter! I hope you guys like this new installment, if you guys got more caleb ideas or your favs, let me know! Thanks for reading! See yall later!]

@mangooes @deputy-videogamer @yoongi-tunes @3ophelia3 @kuni-k @paledonutking @i-literally-dk @liz9898

[xetlynn]

arcane imagines- vander

it’s (no longer) quiet

pt 2, to this [it’s quiet]

prompt: :)

“Love, could you take that customer. Gotta open a new box.” Your husband passes you, give your thigh a light tap while doing so. You hum in response, nodding your head.

Lately you haven’t been feeling too well. Nausea hitting you like a truck. A lump constantly stuck in your throat. 

Sweat also seems to be never ending in your pores. Giving you that awful oily look that you despised. Heading over to the lady sat at a table, peering over the drink menu. Swallowing down hard you force a smile upon your lips. “What can I get for ya, hun?” Your eye is slightly twitching. “What do you recommend?” She glances up to you and you don’t have the chance to hide the grimace that etched your facial expression. 

You try to play it off, covering it with a bigger smile. “I’d have to go with a plain ol’ Sazerac.” You tell her, which is truly one of your favorites and it’s quite easy to make. “I guess I’ll go with that then.” The lady grins, closing the menu and clasping her hands together. Your shoulders slump, grateful that she wasn’t a difficult customer. “Be right back with that then, my love.” You head back over to the bar. 

As you make the simple drink, you open the absinthe and the smell of herbal like licorice hits your nose instantly. You gag, covering your mouth with the back of your hand. Vander plops down a box of unopened alcohol, raising a brow over at you. Silently you excuse yourself, rushing to the bathroom. Pushing past two randoms. Shoving the stall door and falling to your knees as you throw up. The toast from this morning violently came up. 

Vander went to follow after you but a customer stopped him from doing so, complaining about his drink order. He mentally curses but knows once you come back he can question you about what just happened. 

You flush the toilet, huffing as you stand back up from the disgusting floor. Going to the sink and washing your face and hands. Staring in the broken mirror that you’ve had to replace multiple times already. You observe yourself, looking pale compared to your normal complexion. Your eyes sunken in. A hot mess. 

Sighing you had an idea of what was happening but you plead that you were wrong. Your husband already explained how he felt, so if this was happening. You had no idea how to go about this. How to tell him. Another part of you secretly hoped that it was happening. That selfish part of you. 

You snatch a paper towel, wiping off your hands and face before tossing it in the trash and leaving the bathroom. Fixing your posture. You go behind the counter, making a quick soda and downing it to get the wretched taste out of your mouth. The carbonation burning your throat as it seeps down. Slamming the cup down you go back to making that stupid drink. Holding your breath as you pour the absinthe this time. 

Not noticing that your husband was watching you the entire time. How you didn’t make yourself your own sazerac like you normally did everytime a customer ordered one. Sipping on the drink throughout your shift. 

And later that night after closing, you didn’t even take a shower. Going straight to bed and passing out as your body hits the mattress. Not even covering yourself with the blankets. Which was something that you strictly had to do every night. But fatigue got the better of you. Vander changed your clothes for you, knowing how much you hate outside clothes in your bed. He’s a little worried about your behavior. He hopes you’re not coming down with something. 

Because when you’re sick, it hits you extremely hard and you don’t let anyone help you even though you obviously need someone to. His independent wife. He climbs into bed after his own shower, turning the lamp off and letting you curl into him. He feels your forehead and thankfully you’re not hot but you are sweating. A sign he still doesn’t like but much preferred over a scorching fever. 

•••

You wake up in an empty bed, drenched in sweat. You gaze over to the clock beside your bed, tired. Your eyes widen once you see the time. Two hours past the time you were supposed to open the bar. You shoot up, grabbing clean clothes and heading to the shower. “I don’t even remember falling asleep last night.” You whisper to yourself, wracking your brain for the memory of the night before. As you take your clothes off, clothes you again don’t remember even putting on, you grow irritated with yourself. 

“I need to get a test.” You murmur, climbing into the shower and taking a swift, quick shower. Washing off the disgusting sheen of sweat that covered your skin.

You throw your clothes on, attempting to look as presentable as possible, rushing to the front of your house. You don’t even see the figure standing in your doorway as you try to find your shoes. “Mom, if you’re looking for your shoes you should give up.” The voice startles you, your heart beating through your chest as your glare up at your eldest daughter. “Vi,” You puff, clenching at your heart. “Gonna give your old woman a heart attack.” You pout. 

She apologizes through a laugh. “Dad said you were sick, so he opened with Claggor’s help. Go back to bed.” She crosses her arms and you raise a brow. “He turned my alarm off.” You state, clearly upset with Vander. 

“You’re sick, of course he did.” Violet steps over to you and you roll your eyes. “I’m not sick.” You disagree and she gives you a look. “What? You don’t believe your own mother?” You point a finger at her. “Calling her a liar? Cause if you are you got another thing comin’-”

“Mom.” She puts her hands on your shoulders and you slump down. “Okay, fine. I’m possibly coming down with something.” Your head falls as you lie. You couldn’t tell her that it’s actually, probably from being pregnant. How do you tell your daughter that? “Go lie down, dad sent me to take care of you for the day.” She shoos you back to your bedroom and your jaw slacks as your feet move underneath you. “I’m not a child!” You exclaim. 

“Just go rest.” She orders and you let out a breath in disbelief by the treatment you were receiving. You kick off your work pants, changing into sweatpants and you lay down in your bed. Glaring at nothing, annoyed with your loving family. But as you calm down you realize you can take today to get that pregnancy test from the store. You’d just have to figure out how to get Violet to leave to do so. 

Thirty minutes pass and Violet comes into your room with a steaming bowl, she hands it to you and you stare down at it. Tears threaten the brim of your eyes immediately. “Is this-” You choke on your own words and Violet stands there awkwardly. “It’s your old recipe, the soup you made us as kids.” She finishes your sentence and tears stream down your face as you start to eat it. “Uh… why are you crying?” 

“You’re so cute, oh my gosh.” You sniffle, shoving spoonfuls in your mouth dramatically. “I can’t be-believe you remembered!” You sob and Violet starts to panic. She didn’t know what to do at that moment. She’s rarely ever seen you cry before. “Sit down with me.” You tell her and she hesitantly listens. 

“I have to tell you something.” You wipe your tears away. She nervously looks around the room, wondering what the next words out of your mouth are going to be. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone. Even Cait.” You stick a pinky out to her and she smirks down at your hand. You taught them what pinky promises were, using it as more of a “promise to behave.” type of thing. Not to promise to keep a secret. That was something you were heavily against. 

“No secrets in this household.” You’d all point to them as they lined up in shame after you figured them out for the umpteenth time. “A secret, mom?” Violet tilts her head to the side and you shush her. 

“Don’t think of it as a secret… think of it as… a uh something kept between you and I. Our little thing.” You smile softly and she deadpans at you. “That’s a secret.” 

Your face falls. “Whatever, nevermind. Leave me and my soup.” You shrivel in place, now eating with a frown. Eyebrows furrowed as you do so. “Fine, fine, I promise.” Your daughter sticks her pinky out and you take it with a mouth full of the food she made. Shaking her pinky before letting go. “Okay.” You sit back up. 

“Wow, okay. I don’t know how to say this.” You chew at your bottom lip, thinking this through. “I uh, I think. That doesn’t sound right. Um…” You stammer helplessly, Violet was beginning to get antsy. Staring at you. “Mom.” She places a hand on your knee and you sheepishly grin. “Sorry.”

 “I think I’m pregnant.” You blurt out and Violet sits there silently. Her eyes widened, her mouth open in shock. “I don’t know for sure. I just, I’m having all the symptoms you know. My boobs are quite sore. Do you know how uncomfortable that is?” You ramble on to your daughter who can’t even comprehend what she was just told. “Are you going to say something or am I going to keep talking like an idiot? I just told you, you might have another sibling.” You blink at her, slurping on the soup once again, acting incredibly nonchalant. 

Violet seems to have snapped out of her chance as she closes her mouth and then opens it back up to speak. “You and dad still do it?” She asks and you look taken aback. “Still? What?” You place the bowl on your nightstand. “I mean, like you guys are kind of older… I didn’t know you could still get pregnant. I don’t actually want to know that you and dad do it. That’s gross.” She says, grimacing in disgust and your face twitches downward. “Old!? I’m 38! And it’s perfectly natural! I walked in on you and Caitlyn so let's not forget that.” You throw your hands up, shoving a finger in her face. Her face turns red at your words. “Oh my god.” She covers her face and you laugh. “You promised you wouldn’t bring it up!” She cries out and you bear your teeth, giving a small apology. 

“Anyways… are you sure?” She grabs your now empty hands and you take a deep breath. “I don’t know, I need to take a test. Make an appointment with a doctor.” You tell her truthfully. “I can go get you one, if you want?” She offers and you shake your head. “Nah, I’m gonna go. If you want to come with you can, though.” You say, standing up from the bed. Taking your dirty dish with you. 

“Does dad have any idea?” Violet asks, walking beside you as you guys head into the store. “No, I don’t even know how he’s going to react.” You press your lips together. 

•••

Getting back to your house you notice the lights are on in the living room, your face falls. Violet goes to open the door but you stop her. “Your dad’s home, hold on.” You mutter, shoving the pregnancy test in your pocket. As you do so the door opens loudly. Vander standing there with a disappointed expression. “Love, why can’t you just rest.” He grumbles. You grin up at him, your face turning warm by the fact that you were almost caught. “Sorry, sweetheart.” 

“Vi, I got it covered. You can go.” He exasperates and she glances over to you. You nod your head, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll tell you later.” Side hugging her as you whispered into her ear. “Tell Cait I said hi.” You wave her off as she walks away. “Will do!” 

You then face back to your husband who’s facial expression never falters. “Get back to bed, please.” He gives you space to move past him. “I gotta go pee first, am I allowed to do that?” You ask him in a smart tone. He runs a hand through his long hair, shaking his head. You stress him out. “I guess.” He gruffs, and you hurriedly rush into the tiny room. Slamming the door behind you. 

Vander patiently waits for you, leaning against the couch. After about ten minutes he begins to wonder what you’re actually doing in there. He goes up to the door and as he lifts his fist to knock he hears you sniffling. “Love?” He speaks worriedly. You clear your throat, “yes?” Trying to hide the wavering in your voice. “You okay in there, didn’t fall in, did ya?” He jokes and you let out a small giggle through the tears. “No, I didn’t fall in.” You almost inaudibly say before opening the door. 

Showing the two tests that sit on the counter. His eyes automatically flicker over to them. It was quiet between the both of you as he picked them up. “I peed on those.” You warn him. He ignores you though. Staring at the bright double lines that show on the plastic sticks. “You’re pregnant?” He doesn’t look at you, still kept on what's in his hand.

“Yeah… I’m sorry.” You whisper, letting shame engulf you. His head snaps in your direction, dropping the tests. “You have nothing to be sorry for, [Name]. What are you on about?” He forces you to look up at him. 

“I know you don’t want this.” You shutter, crying for the third time that day. His face softens. “Love, why would you say that?” He asks you. “You said it, you said we don’t have the time for a baby. And we agreed a long time ago we wouldn’t have biological children. That our four we had were enough!” Your body wracked with sobs as you explained.  He thinks back to the conversation in the bar before… your fun activities. He bites his bottom lip, looking down at you.

“Well, we kind of didn’t do anything to prevent that from happening these last two months.” He scratches the back of his head. Ever since that night 60 days ago, the two of you had been going at it like teenagers. “B-but-”

“[Name], my love, it’s okay. We’ll figure this out together.” He brings you into an embrace. ��You want to keep it?” You peep up at him from his chest as his large arms engulf you. He smiles. “Of course,” he cranes his neck down to peck your lips. One of his hands going up and wiping your tears. 

“We’ll make an appointment for next week.” He says, still holding you close to him. 

He stares down at the pregnancy tests, it wasn’t ideal for sure, not exactly planned but he knows the both of you will be okay. This baby will be loved just as much as your other children. He grows excited to see what the mix of the two will look like. Also thinking about how plump you’re going to get. Your stomach that will grow round with him. Your breasts that he remembered you said were already tender the other day. 

You admire him, pondering what his thoughts could be. That gets cut off by getting poked in your stomach and your lips etch upward. Your eyes innocently peering up at him. “You like the fact that I’m pregnant?” You tease him and he scoffs. “That your seed took and I’m going to have your baby.” You purr in a sultry tone, pulling away from him and reaching up. Grabbing his face and making him look down at you. 

“Hm, my dear husband?” You ask and his heart skips a beat. Your tear stained face smirks up at him. “Keep talking like that and you won’t be leaving the house for a while.” He grunts, you take that as a challenge. 

“Like what?” You ask, a hand going to your stomach. “I’m just stating the fact that you impregnated me… fucked me so good while doing so.” Your eyes don’t leave his, watching his facial expressions. How his eyes dilate and go dark with lust. 

Abruptly he lifts you in the air, your legs wrapping around his waist. “Gonna keep you on bed rest this wwwhhoolee pregnancy, my love.” He growls in your ear and you giggle excitedly. Attacking his neck with kisses.

[holylulusworld]

Gap Filler (3)

Summary: Lack of communication leads to fallout.

Pairing: Walter Marshall x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, Walter being a douche, break-up, mentions of break-ups, amends, angry reader, unplanned pregnancy, mentions of calling someone daddy (nothing happens)

A/N: A short drabble to the miniseries.

Gap Filler (2)

“Baby? Y/N? Please open the door. The cactus is an aggressive beast. It tries to poke holes into my chest. The orchid, well, it won’t make it if it stays with me. You know I’m not good with soft things.”

Walter listens closely, hoping you’ll open the door and let him explain things to you.

“Go away,” you growl on the other side of the door. “I don’t want you anywhere near me!”

He sighs deeply. “Y/N, I know I fucked up big time, but please believe me, I love you. Rachel doesn’t mean anything to me. I lied to hurt you.” He sniffs. “I know it was stupid and selfish of me. It’s just… a woman left me for a job before.”

“Do not use your broken heart crap to excuse that you broke my heart!” You kick the door and curse his name. “Now get off my lawn.”

Walter chuckles. “Uh—your doormat is green, but I don’t think it counts as a lawn.” He comments as you throw insults at him. “Please open the door,” Walter whispers now. “Your neighbor is about to call the cops.”

“You’re a cop too,” you bite back. “Get your badge out and tell them to get fucked! "Annoying assholes!”

“Baby, open the door,” he murmurs your name, pleading with you to let him in. “Do not make me raise my voice.”

You snort. “As if you’d dare to raise your voice, Marshall. I’d love to see you try, fucker!”

“Stop swearing so much in front of our baby!” He tuts. “I can still kick the door open.”

“I don’t think so,” you snort. “It’s a reinforced door. Good luck breaking your back, old man!”

“Old man?” Walter hiccups. “Last time, you called me daddy because of the gray in my beard.”

“Marshall!” You rip the door open to size Walter up. “What are you talking about? That’s not true. I’d never call you that.” Wrinkling your nose, you huff. “That’s just ewww…”

He smirks as you realize your mistake. “Hah, it worked.” Before you can close the door, he stands in the door frame, keeping you from shutting the door again. “Y/N, please talk to me. I won’t go away, and it’s your fault if the poor plants die.”

You glance at the cactus pressed to his chest and the poor orchid he’s about to strangle. “Fine, give me the plants, but you can go home.”

Snatching the orchid out of his hands, you keep an eye on Walter.

“Baby, please let’s talk. I don’t want to go home knowing I lost you forever only because I was a fool,” he murmurs your pet name and gives you puppy dog eyes.

“No, this won’t work on me any longer. You hurt me to feel better.” You angrily wipe your eyes. “You told me you want to be with Rachel because you knew this is my worst fear coming true. How could I ever trust you again, or believe that you love me, Walter?

Walter drops his head and nods. “I used your fear against you. This is unforgivable.” He feels like the worst person ever as you look at him with teary eyes. “I let my hurt pride and feelings get the best out of me.”

“That’s no excuse for abandoning and hurting me. I admitted years ago that I’m scared of losing you to Rachel if she ever comes back. And you,” you growl at him, “used it against me.”

He nods slowly. “I knew the moment your luck was more important to me than mine that I was in love with you. When I got to know that they offered a better position to you, my worst fear came true. I couldn’t bear hearing you say that you will leave me.”

“Even if I’d have considered taking the position—” you sniffle. “Do you honestly believe I would have left you? I would have asked you to come with me, if possible. If not, I’d declined their offer.”

Walter stares at you, eyes filled with unshed tears. You have never seen him cry before. Not in all the years you know him.

“Fine, close the door and give me that cactus before you kill it for real…”

Tags in reblog.

[ghostgirl-22]

Patrick wearing lingerie with Tashi….

So… this turned into kink really fast I fear. Sorry if this isn’t what you wanted anon 😞

CW: 18+ !NSFW! Toys, mention of spanking, pegging and mild daddy kink. In addition to what it says on the tin

—-

Patrick’s still trying to dig into their lives. Get into every aspect so they can’t take him out again. Arts not home for a week, and Patrick’s wearing his clothes everyday... Is how it’s going. Sometimes wears his underwear, tight little briefs. Art is just a bit smaller than him, thighs, arms…cock. He’s filled out though. A lot. Patrick gets hard when he thinks about it.

Art’s on a ski trip with the whole Donaldson family and Lily. He isn’t ready to say to his parents and sisters and in laws that Patrick likes to sleep in bed with him and his wife. Art doesn’t say Patrick shouldn’t come but they all know he shouldn’t. And Patrick can’t be alone. Patrick doesn’t say he can’t be alone. But they all know he can’t.

So Tashi stays at home. She’s is happy for the excuse not to go…“I’ve got company in town.” Tashi explains, oh so regrettable that she can’t make it. She doesn’t tell them it’s Patrick or Arts mom would’ve made them both come.

So they’re home alone in a lavish townhouse. He’s showered in their bathroom and he’s digging through Arts clothes for something to wear. And all hidden away in the back there’s this garter and tights. Patrick fishes them out. He leaves the walk-in closet and Tashi’s in bed watching some housewives show and painting her nails. Hair loosely pinned up, in an oversized hoodie and short shorts. She looks so pretty it’s unreal. She doesn’t even have to try.

“Where’s the rest of this? I need you to try it on for me.” Patrick demands, holding up the tights.

She looks up, eyes narrowed and then her expression changes to one of amusement. “Where’d you find that?”

“In the back of Arts underwear drawer.”

“You know…” she goes back to painting her nails, “the clothes I get. But you’re insane for wearing his underwear.”

“I’d wear yours if they fit,” Patrick smirks.

She looks up at him again, still amused but something else is there. Patrick can read her like a book. He walks closer, towel wrapped loosely around his waist. “What?” He asks softly.

She bites her lip. “Those are Art’s.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah… it’s a whole set. Pink, satiny or something. It should be in there.”

“Wait…” Patrick starts because he’s actually having a slight mental breakdown. “You mean he wore pink satin, tights and a garter belt and—and pink satin?

“Don’t have a stroke,” Tashi smirks.

“Fuck,” Patrick groans.

“It was like… forever ago. Halloween. A friend from Stanford took us to a drag night. He was freaking out about what to wear. I bought him that but it was too… revealing. He just wore a dress instead.”

“Too revealing?”

“Yeah… actually you should try it on,” Tashi says, carefully. “Check the bottom drawer, towards the back. I think the gown is in there.”

“You think?” Patrick asks, staring at her a moment longer. She’s looking back at him, those pretty brown eyes dilating in real time, he’s obsessed with her. “Bottom drawer?”

“Mmhm,” she says. “It might fit perfectly.”

Patrick smirks and goes back in the closet. The gown is a tiny, entirely see through number. He drops his towel and pulls it over his head. It’s so smooth… satiny and sheer. Tight on his waist, loose in the chest cause he doesn’t have tits. He’s looking at himself in the full length mirror, he’s got hair everywhere that Art is smooth. He doesn’t bother with the tights for that reason.

He does pull on the satin panties, and that is comical, trying to tuck himself into them. His balls and cock are fighting for space. He turns to look at himself from the side. The frills barely fall below his ass. He could just bend over the slightest bit and he’s exposed. He feels his dick starting to swell, sees it in the mirror.

“Did you find it?” Tashi calls from the bedroom.

“Uh huh,” Patrick replies.

Seeing it on himself, all Patrick can think about is Art’s body, the pink stretched over his chest, the skirt not even long enough to hide his ass, or his cock. Patrick with easy access to both. God, he rubs himself just a little as he imagines it. He wants to call Art right now. “Hey Tashi?” He calls.

“Yeah,” she’s closer now. He turns as she enters the closet, slowly taking him in.

“Do I look pretty?” He asks.

She smirks and then cups his nipples. “Pretty as a princess. Wanna give daddy a kiss?”

Patrick laughs. “And you’re daddy?”

“I am when you’re in that pretty dress,” she says playfully pinching his ass. He grins and looks up before gazing back at her and leaning in to kiss her mouth.

”Good girl,” she sighs against his lips.

“Mm, daddy. You ever peg him in this?” Patrick asks.

“I wish, he would’ve absolutely freaked out. I fingered him once while we were fucking… he came so fast he had an existential crisis,” she sighs, working her thumbs idly over his nipples. Patrick takes a breath, he’s sensitive there and the feeling of her fingers and the satin is crazy. Patrick can understand how Art got off so quickly.

“So you expect me to believe he wore this… and there were no consequences?”

She shrugs and walks her finger tips down his waist. “Well… I spanked him.” She says smiling.

“Say more,” Patrick says, curling one of the stray hairs behind her ear.

“I made him bend over the bathroom sink and I told him daddy was gonna spank him. And then I did it. His ass got so red.” She reaches the panties and slides her fingers over the swell of his cock as she looks at him, her eyes all shiny.

“Fuck, seriously?” He breathes, dizzy as she teases him.

“Mmhm. He got so hard. I’d never seen him like that before. Made me wish I had a dick so I coulda fucked him.”

He cradles her face between his hands, “you can fuck me daddy,” he says, softly.

“Yeah?” She says and she leans in and kisses him. It’s more chaotic. He’s walking her back and then she’s resisting, then pushing him back against the mirror.

“You’re so slutty… can’t even hide it from me,” Tashi says, pushing him back hard and gripping his cock. “I can see everything when you wear that for me.”

Patrick sighs. He can’t help but imagine her talking this way to her husband. Tries to imagine how he’d react.

“I just want your dick,” Patrick says, he’s eager and It’s what Art might say to him.

“I know you do,” Tashi smiles. “I actually have one. Stay there. Don’t touch.” She says.

Patrick lingers in the closet. He’s looking at himself again. Skin flushing, he’s tenting the panties, they were barely doing anything to keep him in before, now he might as well be wearing nothing. He rubs the fabric, continuing where Tashi left off with his nipples. Tashi comes back moments later and she’s got a dildo.

“No strap?” Patrick smirks.

“I’ll get it for your birthday,” she says pushing him up against the glass so she can fuck him with it. It’s slick with lubricant and she’s easing it inside. Panties still on.

“I can take more than that daddy.” Patrick teases.

“Can you pretty girl? You’re gonna come all over your pretty dress.” Tashi says softly. And Patrick sorta regrets saying anything, because moments later she’s ramming into his prostate relentlessly. He almost feels his knees buckle after he spurts come all over the glass in one of the most sudden and intense orgasms he’s ever had. He gets on his knees anyway, she drops the dildo and he grabs her by the waist.

“Does he say thank you?” Patrick says, breathlessly.

“He’s very polite.” She smiles, fingers tangling into his hair.

Patrick tugs her shorts and panties down and licks his “thank you daddy” into the wet heat of her cunt.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

What is your ideal meet cute for Fred and George? Or mistaking them as the other meet cute? (I love the twins)

A/n: I too love the twins 🤭

•Fred Weasley•

It’s the first weekend trip to Hogsmeade of the year, and the chilly autumn air is bustling with students excited to visit the shops. The Three Broomsticks is packed to the brim, with nearly every table occupied and the bar swarming with people ordering butterbeers. You, however, have just managed to snag the last empty booth in the corner, cozy but big enough to share if someone asks. You’re lost in your own world, flipping through a book you brought along, sipping your butterbeer, and completely oblivious to the chaos around you.

Enter Fred Weasley, juggling three butterbeers and a handful of snacks, heading back to where George is waiting at a table,except someone else has taken their spot while he was away. Mildly annoyed but mostly amused by George’s lack of table-saving skills, Fred scans the room and spots your table.

“Excuse me,” he says, leaning down so you can hear him over the noise. You glance up, locking eyes with his freckled face and mischievous grin. “You wouldn’t mind sharing this table, would you? My dear brother seems to have failed me as a table guard.”

You blink, startled but too polite to refuse. “Sure, I guess. As long as you don’t spill anything on my book.”

Fred slides into the booth across from you, setting the butterbeers and snacks down. “Wouldn’t dream of it. What are you reading?”

You hold up the cover, and his eyes narrow as he dramatically scratches his head. “Ah, yes. ‘Advanced Potion-Making.’ Riveting stuff. Do you read this for fun or…?”

“It’s for Slughorn’s essay,” you reply, smiling faintly. “But thanks for the sarcasm. Very refreshing.”

"Ah must be a Ravenclaw..could be the answer to me never seeing you." Fred grins, leaning forward giving you a wink. "You’re welcome. Oh...how rude of me. I'm Fred, by the way. I’d shake your hand, but they’re covered in crumbs from these suspiciously addictive pastries and you are?”

"I am in fact a Ravenclaw and I do know how you are Weasley. I think everyone at Hogwarts knows you and your brother." Your lips twitched into a smile. "But I'm Y/n."You stated and before you know it, the butterbeers he was meant to take back to George have been long forgotten as the two of you start chatting. Fred’s quick wit has you laughing, and your dry comebacks seem to entertain him just as much.

Eventually, George finds him. “So this is where you disappeared to,” George says, arms crossed but smirking. “If you’re done flirting, Fred, our table’s open again.”

Fred barely glances at his twin. “Flirting? Please, George, I’m merely making a new friend. And besides,” he looks back at you, his eyes sparkling, “our table is much better company.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the warmth creep up your neck fiddling with the pages of the book. “You can go, you know. I won’t hold it against you.”

Fred shakes his head with a teasing grin. “I don’t think so. Someone has to make sure you don’t overwork yourself with all that potion-making nonsense. I’m staying right here.”

George rolled his eyes but the smile on his face showed he wasn't bothered by it as he gave his brother's shoulder a pat. "Alright mate...see ya back at Hogwarts."

And just like that, a chance encounter turns into the beginning of something far more exciting than a potions essay.

•George Weasley•

It’s the day before the school’s Halloween feast, and the Great Hall is buzzing with decorations being set up and students sneaking in early to help (or cause mischief). You’re perched on a ladder near one of the floating jack-o’-lanterns, carefully enchanting it to spit out harmless sparks in alternating colors. The first year's would love it and it's not like it's going to harm anyone.

Unbeknownst to you, George Weasley has decided this particular pumpkin is the perfect place to hide one of his new prank prototypes a harmless (mostly) enchanted bat that flutters out at random moments to scare passersby.

As you mutter the final part of your spell, the jack-o’-lantern suddenly jerks forward, shaking violently. Before you can react, a loud POP echoes, and a small bat leaps out, flapping wildly. Startled, you lose your balance and tumble off the ladder, your arms flailing as a small yelp escaped your lips.

Before you can hit the ground, a pair of strong arms catch you mid-fall. “Blimey, didn’t think you’d be part of the decorations too,” a voice teases as you’re set gently back on your feet. You turn to see George Weasley grinning at you, his freckled face brimming with amusement.

“That wasn’t funny!” you exclaim, though the heat creeping up your neck as you stepped a few feet away from him brushing off your skirt.

“Funny? No. Brilliant? Absolutely,” George replies with a mock bow. “I’ll take full credit for that bat well, unless it gets us both detention. In which case, it’s obviously my twin’s fault.” He gave you a wink.

You narrow your eyes at him but can’t help smiling as you fixed your yellow and black tie. “So you’re saying you sabotaged my perfectly good pumpkin just to test one of your pranks? Rude."

He gives a sheepish shrug, though the grin never leaves his face. “Sabotage is a strong word. I prefer ‘enhance.’...made it slightly better.Besides, it was a bit boring, don’t you think? Needed a little excitement.”

“You’re impossible,” you reply, shaking your head.

“But entertaining,” he counters, leaning against the ladder with a confident smirk. “Tell you what, I’ll help you fix it and maybe not rig any other pumpkins as long as you promise to join me at the feast tomorrow. Consider it my way of making it up to you.”

You blink at him, caught off guard by his forwardness. “You mean as an apology or because you think I’m gullible enough to trust you again?” You teased as you placed your hands on your hips.

“Bit of both,” he admits with a wink. “But I promise, no bats this time....pinky swear."

You can’t help but laugh. “Fine. But if you try anything else, you’ll be the one fixing all of the decorations.”

“Deal,” he says, offering his hand to shake, though the playful glint in his eyes suggests he’s far from done with his pranks.

And as you both set to work on repairing the pumpkin, you find yourself smiling more than you’d expected because maybe, just maybe, a little mischief isn’t so bad when it comes with a charming partner in crime, especially when he's as cute as George Weasley.

[noodle-is-unstable]

“HeAr mE oUT” and showing a conventionally attractive man, woman, human, human esque thing, anthropomorphic animal, robot, regular animal, etc IS NOT A HEAR ME OUT ILL DIE ON THAT HILL. EVERYONE AND THEIR MOTHER WILL HEAR YOU OUT ABOUT MUFASA AND SPIRIT THE HORSE AND LOLA BUNNY OFC THEY WILL (I LOVED Lola bunny in space jam oh my god when I was a kid I was like oh my fucking god Lola bunny miss ma’am helLO!!! Gay awakening fr she inspired me to have a crush on a classmate in like 3rd grade and I remember thinking “I wish I was a boy so I could be her boyfriend and hold her hand” then I stole my dads lingerie magazine and I scolded him for reading it and I hid under the dining table and looked at women in their underwear. Seriously how did no one notice I was fucking queer)

Anyway bout to blast my hear me outs that aren’t a lot bc I tend to be superficial and thirsty for conventionally attractive characters. Ahem 😑👓🤏🏻

Mewtwo. Yeah you heard me. The fucking Pokémon. He’s cool as shit and he made good fucking points. He fucking TALKS. He’s just like grumpy bf coded to me no I’m not taking notes.

The Epicurean Paradox. Literally eight lines of philosophical text from Epicurus and I fuck with the principle to the point I would FUCK the principle. DK how I’d find a way.

Curly from Mouthwashing. Not pre accident Curly. Well I mean OF COURSE pre accident but post accident I’d still be saying hear me out (I love that game and I’m not excusing ANYTHING that a lot of ppl seem to be missing from the fucking story. Not spoiling it but literally so many people are missing the fucking point. I’m just saying I WOULD fuck post accident Curly.) ((I can go on for hours about Mouthwashing but I won’t))

Jack from Jack in the Box is NOT a hear me out it is a WOULD. So is Megatron. He’s conventionally attractive. He is a WOULD. Doctor Phosphorus is also a would bc he’s a conventionally attractive skeleton.

This is choctopi on instagram. Like they’re attractive these are would to me if I had to say “hear me out” for you to consider then I’d actually be surprised. Idk how this is a hear me out this is just hot. If I had to explain WHY they are hot… you explain WHY are we friends

Venom is also a would and a monster fucker thing he’s not a hear me out. No I’m not taking constructive criticism on that. But like the person who posted the robot angel named Sunday? Absolutely would. In the kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, garage, dining table, in public and at church—

You know I adore you but I need you to chill 😅

In the real world those are valid hear me outs. Tumblr is just a freaky lil hell site of everything fuckers and size kinks

What's kinky to some is vanilla to others and we don't need to shame people

Just because it's an obvious would for a lot of us doesn't mean it's not a hear me out 💖

[izumi-fanclub]

A3! Translation: Chikage SSR Card “Moonlight Illuminated Face” [ True Self in the Light ]

Grown man reaching his 30s acting like a highschooler like we in Riverdale

Part 1

Business Partner

“—That’s why, I would like to reschedule today’s meeting…”

Chikage

Noted. …No, it’s alright, don’t worry about it. I’ll see you by New Year or so. Now, if you’ll excuse me.

(...There’s no more meetings left, guess I’ll just go home for the day.)

Izumi

Chikage-san?

Chikage

Director-san, it’s not everyday we meet up in this kind of place.

Izumi

I’m on my way back, I was watching a show at this theater nearby.

I thought there’d be a chance we’d meet since it’s near your company, I didn’t think it’d actually happen…

Are you still working?

Chikage

No, I’m already on my way home.

Izumi

Then, let’s go together—

[sfx: ‘Moonlight Sonata’]

Izumi

…Was that a piano?

Chikage

Yeah… a street piano, look over there.

Izumi

Woah, it’s wonderful, it’s like something out of a movie.

Chikage

Maybe there’s an event or something. I see it every now and then.

Izumi

…

Chikage

What’s up?

Izumi

No, I feel like I’ve heard this song somewhere before. …What was it again?

Chikage That’s—

Itaru

Ah, it really was senpai and director-san.

Izumi

Itaru-san! Good work today. I didn’t think I’d meet you here too.

Chikage

I met director-san by chance on her way home from the theater, and Chigasaki…

Itaru

I took a walk to the convenience store not too far from here as a change of pace.

Chikage

Lies. It’s another game collab thing, isn’t it?

Itaru

Touché, it’s convenience store lottery.

Chikage

Same difference.

Izumi

But you don’t seem to have much stuff, it looks like you’re just carrying one bag from the store…

Itaru

I had them pack it in a box and send it to the dorm.

Chikage

Just how much did you pull? Don’t go adding clutter at the end of the year.

Itaru

Uh-huh, well since you two are here I’ll go home with you. I’ll drive the car around in a bit.

Chikage

…He ran away.

Izumi

Ahaha…

Chikage

We’re home.

Guy

Welcome back, it’s rare for the three of you to be together.

Itaru

We met by chance near the office—

Azami

L-love talk!? No way in hell am I gonna talk about that!

Misumi

Woah~! Azami’s eyes are triangles—!

Azami

What kind of eyes even are those!? And stop taking pictures, Homare-san!

Izumi

Sounds pretty lively.

Guy

A doll artist Arisugawa knows is coming.

Izumi

The one whose exhibition we helped out before—that doll artist…?

Guy

Yes, the upcoming exhibition is being planned out but they seem to have ran out of ideas after the fourth one.

So Arisugawa invited them to the dorm to see if he could give them a hint or two.

Izumi

I see, so that’s what you meant.

Guy

Seems like Izumida and Ikaruga are the topic of interest right now, they’re being taken reference pictures of in the lounge. Itaru

Senpai avoided an event. Too bad he didn’t capture the flag.

Chikage

Don’t bother putting one up again.

Guy

Looks like they’re just about to leave, why not say hello? Izumi

We definitely should.

…By the way, Guy-san, is it okay for you to not open the bar up? Isn’t it about time it’s opened?

Guy

Actually, I was looking for Mikage, but I couldn't find him.

All that’s left to look at is the rooftop…

Chikage

…Geez, I’ll go take a look.

Guy

Sorry, I know you just came home. If you find him, tell him I’m already on my way.

Doll Artist

Thank you so much for today! I think I can think of a great piece now thanks to you.

For my exhibitions, I’d love to ask for your help in PR again!

Izumi

I’ll let Misumi-kun and Azami-kun know.

Homare

But two people certainly isn’t enough, correct?

Doll Artist

Yes, I would be grateful if there were one more person…

Homare

Perhaps we should ask Hisoka-kun for help once again.

Izumi

Speaking of, Chikage-san was looking for him on the rooftop just now…

Chikage

——.

Hisoka

——.

Homare

Oh my, it appears he has secured him safely.

Doll Artist

Um, the guy in the suit is…

Izumi

Spring Troupe’s Chikage Utsuki.

Doll Artist

…

Izumi

(B-by any chance, do they…)

Part 2

Izumi

That’s it for today’s practice, thank you for your hard work!

Spring Troupe

Good job today.

Izumi

——Ah, Chikage-san. May I have a minute?

Chikage

What is it?

Izumi

Do you remember the usual doll artist that came by the other day for ideas?

Chikage

I do, but…

Izumi

Well… Misumi-kun and Azami-kun were asked to be guides for the next exhibition… As well as an offer to you too, Chikage-san.

Chikage

Me?

Izumi Yup.

Chikage

… Can I ask why? I’m pretty sure we didn’t even meet at all that day.

Izumi

Actually, they were already on their way home when they saw you on the rooftop and got inspired by it.

Itaru

Flag collector lol.

Chikage

I don’t remember it being that way.

Thanks I appreciate it… but considering my age, it’s hard for me to agree to it.

Tsuzuru

With a Gymnasium* school world view, I think Chikage-san would be perfect for the role of a student.

Masumi

Not that different from a Japanese high school setting.

Sakuya

A uniform would look good on you too!

Citron

Guy and I wore it too, so it is A-Okay.

Chikage

… To think my escape route would be cut off completely like this.

Well, since Spring Troupe got me assured then… What the hell, sure.

[ Option 1: Thank you so much! ]

Izumi Thank you so much! Chikage I hope I don’t come in and ruin the worldbuilding. Izumi No way! I think the doll artist would be pretty happy! Chikage Really? I’m not too confident, but… I accepted the role so I’ll do my best.

[ Option 2: Chikage-san as a student sounds fun ]

Izumi I think it’d be fun to have Chikage-san as a student! Chikage Aren’t I a little too old to be a student? Izumi More like, it feels like your calm demeanor adds a level of depth to your role. Chikage Calm, huh… sure let’s just say that.

Izumi

Then I’ll be sending you the character sheet.

Itaru

Now that that’s decided, let’s start role prep right away.

Citron

I shall help too!

Masumi

Why are the two who got nothing to do with it the ones excited?

Chikage

Not excited, but teasing’s more like it.

Tsuzuru

I knew it’d be a bit small.

Masumi

It’s doable.

Itaru No way am I gonna wear this outside.

Chikage

I’m grateful that you’re helping me out with the role study but why am I being forced to wear Azami’s uniform?

Citron

You are playing a highschool student, it is only natural to put a uniform on!

Chikage

From a Gymnasium* worldview, I think a blazer would be better suited than a gakuran uniform.

Before that, isn’t it weird you’re all wearing blazers but me?

Citron

There is a proper setting for that!

Chikage

Setting?

Itaru “A transfer student that wears glasses and pretends to be an honor student but is actually a former delinquent and underground boss of the local scene.” kinda setup.

Chikage

Sigh… you’re too rotted by manga.

Sakuya

But you’re a transfer student with a hidden side to him, that’s so cool!

Tsuzuru

I’m not gonna doubt the two people with the Gymnasium experience.

Masumi

Whatever, just hurry it up.

Itaru

Then let’s go on with that setup.

Chikage

…Yeah yeah, I’ll play a delinquent, right?

Izumi

“G-good morning everyone! Please take your seats!”

Chikage

…There’s really no mistaking director-san’s flavor of acting.

Itaru

She’s like a nervous rookie teacher, it’s not so bad.

Masumi

Sigh… cutie…

Izumi

“Today I’d like to introduce a new student! Utsuki-kun, why don’t you introduce yourself?”

Chikage

“... Sure.”

Izumi

“Everyone, feel free to ask Utsuki-kun any questions you might have!”

Chikage

“Utsuki Chikage. Blood type A. Single.”

Itaru

Oh he’s single all right.

Citron

“When fighting your enemies do you finish off with a kick? Or are you the punching type?”

Tsuzuru

That’s background info, you shouldn’t ask that!

“I have a question! What’s your family like?” Chikage

“I got a younger brother.”

Sakuya

“What’s your favorite food?” Chikage

“...Sweets.”

Masumi

“What about your least favorite?”

Chikage

“...Spicy food.” Tsuzuru

Could he be…

“Umm… What are your hobbies?”

Chikage

“... Bikes and sweets?” Izumi

Bikes and sweets…

Itaru

Are you actually playing Juza right now…?

Chikage

The only Japanese delinquents I know are those in Autumn troupe, and since Yuki calls Juza a “classic delinquent”, I took inspiration from him.

Tsuzuru

So that’s why…

Izumi

If the exhibition character really is a delinquent, maybe his student role will be related to Itaru-san and Tasuku-san’s?

Citron

…Then I have an idea!

Chikage

… Why’d we move to the courtyard?

Citron

You cannot pull any punches here!

Sakuya

Ehh? What do you mean?

Itaru

I got a bad feeling.

Citron

Commence the fighting etude!

Itaru

He’s not letting up.

Citron

Fighting is a delinquent’s signature move!

Chikage

Let’s just get this over with. I don’t really wanna be seen looking like this outside.

Itaru

I feel the same way too, but——Hey, Masumi, stop pushing me so hard.

Masumi

What a pain. Hurry it up.

[sfx: phone buzzing]

Izumi ?

Oh, I got the character sheet from the doll artist!

Part 3

Izumi

Apparently they interviewed Homare-san about Chikage-san and used the info as reference.

Itaru

Homare as the source… this ought to be good.

Tsuzuru

What’s it say?

Izumi

First off it says that the theme will be “Gymnasium at Night”

Citron

The vibe is completely different than last time, how interesting!

Itaru

Definitely a shift in mood.

Izumi

Chikage-san’s setting is… on the surface he’s an honor student who acts as the head of the discipline committee——.

But he’s in cahoots with the student body president… and acts as a shadow ruler who controls delinquents behind the scenes.

Sakuya

Woah, that setting’s cool too!

Itaru

Not too far off. A discipline committee president is a pretty OP character.

Masumi

Really Chikage-like.

Citron

Then the OG Chikage can do it!

Chikage

Homare-san, how the hell did he even talk about me…

Izumi

But it seems like even as a student you don’t have to keep up the delinquent role.

Tsuzuru

Yeah, seems like the bad boy act is trashed.

Chikage

True, rather I’ll be the one doing the sanctioning as a disciplinary officer.

Itaru

Not like it changes much.

Matsukawa

Chigasaki-kun, there’s a delivery for you. This one’s pretty heavy so I’ll just leave it here~.

Itaru

… Oh yeah, from that new game I reserved, it’s the prizes I won from the convenience store raffle.

Chikage

I see, so more clutter for the room. It’s no good to play all night in such a state.

Citron

He is already doing his duty as a disciplinary officer!

Itaru

For real.

Masumi

…Hey, it says here your hobby’s the piano, what now?

Izumi

Ah, it does.

Tsuzuru

Speaking of, I know you can play the violin, how about the piano?

Chikage

It’s not that I’ve never practiced it, though… I’m not confident. I mean, I can at least practice pretending to play it.

Customer A

Going to the gymnasium at night makes me feel nervous.

Customer B I’m getting mystery vibes from it!

Misumi

“Shh! You wouldn’t want the teacher to find out, do you~?”

Customer A

Oh, sorry.

Misumi

“Ahaha, it’s fine.”

“Hey, I can show you a special place, do you wanna come with me?”

Azami

“...Senpai, you dropped your pamphlet.” Customer C

Ahh, thank you…!

Customer D Um, is it okay to ask for a recommendation? I’d like to know what you think…

Azami

“...I don’t mind, but don’t get upset if you find it boring.”

Customer D

Of course!

Azami

“Then… this way please, follow me.”

Chikage

“You there, please button up that shirt of yours.”

Customer E

U-understood.

Chikage

“Hey, it’s dangerous to hurry around, watch your steps carefully and walk slowly, got it?”

Customer F Yessir…!

Chikage

“Good.”

Izumi

(Everyone’s adapting to the worldview well, I wasn’t really worried about Misumi-kun and Azami-kun, and…)

(Chikage-san as a disciplinary officer, his mature and mysterious allure matches the role well.)

(That delinquent student image might come in handy in the future…)

Customer A

That was so fun!

Customer B

I was completely immersed in the world building.

Misumi

“Bye-bye~! Let’s hang out again next time♪”

Azami

“... Here, I grew these flowers myself. Please accept these as souvenirs, take care on your way home.”

Izumi

(Looks like the last of the customers left… And Chikage-san is nowhere to be found…)

Izumi

(Chikage-san, where did you go? I’ve just about searched every room we used…)

[sfx: ‘Moonlight Sonata’]

Izumi

… Sounds like a piano?

(It’s… the same song we heard from the street piano the other day.)

(A piano would be… in the music room.)

Chikage

——.

Izumi

(What a nice song…)

Chikage

“——Oh, teacher, good evening. Looks like I’ve been found out.”

Izumi

(Could this be an etude…?)

(Seems like my role’s a teacher again.)

“...It’s a really beautiful song.”

Chikage

“Aren’t you mad? For someone like me, a disciplinary officer, to be in the music room at night?”

Izumi

“You gave such a wonderful show so I’ll let you off the hook.”

Chikage

“...Thank you very much.”

Izumi

“By the way, what’s the name of the song?”

Chikage

“Beethoven’s 14th Piano Sonata——Moonlight.”

Izumi

(Oh right, so that was the title. It’s relieving to have some clarity on its name.)

(On top of that, despite saying he’s not confident with the piano, he played it pretty well…)

You’re really capable of anything.

Chikage

“You mean with the piano?” “It’s nothing special, this song in particular is difficult for me and I’m not even that adept at it.”

Izumi

(Not adept at it? I don’t think so. I mean, it’s not like he’s… aiming to be a professional piano player, right…)

How can you play the piano then, Chikage-san?

Chikage

“Basic education, really. It’s not something I started because I wanted to. Maybe I did it to be recognized by adults when I was young?”

Izumi

I see…?

Chikage

…Director-san, when did you stop acting as a teacher?

Izumi

Ah! You’re right, it was acting…

Then that means all that talk earlier about the piano was…?

Chikage

Wouldn’t you like to know? I’ll leave it up to Director-san’s imagination.

Izumi

Ugh…

Chikage

…At the very least, it’s true that it’s difficult and I’m not very good at it.

Izumi

Did you practice for your role?

Chikage

Just to be on the safe side. I used this song in practice in the past, so I figured I could do this much.

Well, not much has improved. It’s a relief no one requested a piano performance.

Still, I thought of practicing and it just so happens that there’s a piano here, so I played a bit.

The song’s not exactly my forte.

Izumi

I see. …Then, how about something other than that?

Chikage

Who knows?

Izumi

… Feels like I’m being misled once again.

Chikage

It’s never easy trying to dissect the ‘shadow ruler.’

Story Clear!

———T/Ns:———

Gymnasium in this sense means German for secondary education institution, which is equivalent to highschool in Japan.

[rouge-fauna]

Some ironic/idiotic points I’ve seen way too many people say:

Tommy and Dream should have worked things out privately

How? Did you miss the part that Tommy literally blocked Dream on everything and refused to talk to Dream? How is he meant to handle it privately? Besides I’m pretty sure Tubbo in his first stream is the one that brought up things like the messages to Tommy’s mom in the first place, so if anything Tubbo is the one who brought up things to the public and made things bigger than they needed to be. Remember, his hour long stream about the meme and reasons why he dislikes Dream and how this is Dream’s “death by a thousand cuts” came first before Dream’s first stream where he reacted to parts of Tubbo’s stream.

Dream takes no accountability

He apologized for something he’s not even done, he literally took down the meme, admitted it was a bad thing to do, apologized multiple times for it, apologized for not doing a proper apology the first time and explained his reasoning. That’s literally the definition of taking accountability. Like what more do you want? Want him to beg on his knees for the internet (who called him every slur in the book) to forgive him? He made a mistake, we all do, he apologized, let’s move on, because there are parties in this drama who haven’t taken accountability or apologized so maybe we should be focused on that.

Dream and Dream Team are sexist and misogynists

Says the people who formed a nation on a role play server called L’MANberg because it didn’t allow woman (or non-Europeans). Says the guy who I get frustrated to watch because of all his sexists and inappropriate jokes (I still don’t understand how the majority of his fans are woman like heh?). Says the people who when asked why they think this only bring up recent public examples, despite a - they have always been sexists behind the scenes implication, all but one of which are bogus anyways.

Well they didn’t handle the Caiti situation properly.

What do you mean? They all responded, I’m pretty sure apologized and owned up and took Caiti’s side and made sure to tell their fandom to not go after her. Meanwhile, you think Dream should have brought her up, when she has specifically asked to not be talked about anymore. Pretty sure if he never responded he’d be bashed for not taking accountability and if he did mention her in the recent video then he’d be bashed for not respecting her wishes.

Dream’s neurodivergence (Autism and ADHD) is not important here why is it being used as an excuse.

It ain’t. I don’t think I’ve seen a single person excuse his behavior or whatever, in fact the same people pointing out the autism piece are also mostly the same neurodivergent people who are the ones upset by the use of the word. But this all blew up with the r word which Dream was told by people using it against him that it can be used by someone who’s autistic. So from the get go it’s kinda important. Then you look at the pieces, at the comments people make about Dream being weird or doing things that are socially unacceptable, is inappropriate, ridiculous…etc and then you get to a 3 hour stream of talking in circles as they can’t seem to understand eachother or at least Tubbo not understanding Dream, which afterwards Tubbo labels his Audhd way of communicating as manipulative. So yea I’d say autism, adhd and neurodivergence are pretty damn relevant and important.

Just ahhhhhsbhfnnabdnnand… I still see people condemning him for the damn r word and it’s like bruh… move on. We are way past that damn meme he apologized multiple times for at this point. Especially from the moment Tommy posted his video and weaponized his fandom against Dream. And good god, and if you didn’t watch the streams then don’t be acting like you have this hot take and posting essays and shit because damn, maybe the reason no one’s said that is because it isn’t true, something you’d known if you watched all of the streams!………….. sorry just had to get that off my chest…

[clarisse0o]

The Mayor - Chapter 4

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternate Universe: Mayor and Architect

Words: 1000

Masterlist

———————————————————————

"And then, she hits me with a 'I hope I didn’t throw you off!' Can you believe it? She’s a woman who wants to control everything and enjoys provoking people—provoking  me  specifically!"

“Well, this sounds promising,” Alessia teased. “I didn’t think she was like that; she seemed nice at the kids' Christmas party at the hospital.”

“Oh yeah, the Dragon has two faces! They’re the worst kind. She’s a real actress.”

Sitting in Alessia’s living room, we’d just finished a platter of sushi. She was laughing. Alessia, with her Italian roots, had long blond hair and bright eyes. Her laughter and infectious joy made her even more beautiful.

“The Dragon isn’t so bad to look at; you can always admire her if it helps,” she replied with a playful smile.

“Sure, with that personality, I almost didn’t notice her at all,” I replied, with a hint of bad faith.

I leaned in and pressed my lips against hers. Our tongues met in a lively dance as my hands moved along her back and then under her shirt to touch her soft, warm skin. She suddenly pulled away from my embrace.

“Is something wrong?”

“No… it’s just… we talked about this, how we should stop if we want to move on.”

She said it in a weary voice, and I frowned.

“Did you meet someone?”

“No, it’s not that. But how can we move on if we keep ending up in bed every few days?”

We’d been apart for almost a year now, without drama but with a lot of sadness. She was in a surgical program that would take her to Canada in a year, and her schedule was relentless. And with my own demanding schedule, our lives had gradually drifted apart. After yet another breakup and the usual reproaches, we’d separated. We hadn’t been in touch for months until I reached out a few weeks ago. Her scent, her voice, her laughter—I’d missed it all. And, of course, we ended up in each other’s arms, which maybe wasn’t the best idea. Since then, although neither of us considered getting back together, rarely a week went by without us finding ourselves together again.

Her comment stung. Sarcastically, I replied, “Excuse me, but the sushi and candle setup made me think this was going somewhere else tonight.”

“Come on, don’t take it that way. It’s complicated; I want to see you too. But where are we going with this? The first one of us who meets someone just leaves? Since we’re not getting back together, right?”

She threw this at me, challenging me with her deep brown eyes, almost black.

“Are you planning to work fewer than 150 hours a week? And not going to Canada?”

I’d hit a sore spot—Canada, the real cause of our breakup. She’d accepted the program without consulting me, and I’d felt left out of her life as she forged her own path without me.

“Do we really have to talk about this again? You know my workload will be much lighter in a year, and you could have come to Canada!”

“Oh sure, like I was so well included in your great plans! I’d just bought my firm, and then you announced all this! So no, let’s not talk about it. Anyway, after today, I’m done here. I’m leaving.”

I grabbed my coat and headed toward the door. She followed me immediately, grabbing my arm, pushing me against the wall, taking my face in her hands, and leaning in close to my ear.

“Stay. It’s too hard. I need you.”

Her words electrified my entire body. I let my coat drop and kissed her passionately. Our tongues joined in a fierce rhythm as I leaned against the wall, breathless. Alessia unbuttoned my blouse, letting it fall immediately. She began to kiss my neck, moving slowly down to my breasts, which she caressed gently. Her tongue circled my hardened nipples, aroused by the waves of desire flooding through my body. Her hand wandered along my thigh, moving dangerously close to my lower belly. She unbuttoned my jeans, slipping them down; I was at her mercy now, in only my black thong, standing before her. As she continued to tease my nipples, her hand gently stroked me through my underwear. She began applying pressure to my clit, making me moan even louder. She then moved lower with her mouth. I decided to shed the last barrier between us. She started kissing my intimate area, licking my lips while lightly touching my clit. She knew me by heart—my body, how to make me feel pleasure. Feeling my excitement, she slid one finger, then two, inside me, moving them faster and faster, while never stopping her tantalizing strokes with her tongue. The pleasure built within me like a sudden fire. My moans grew louder, my hands in her hair. I moved my body to feel her tongue, her fingers,  her , even more deeply within me. I finally climaxed, shuddering with pleasure. She slowly moved back up, covering my body with kisses until she reached my lips and gently bit them. I felt so vulnerable, naked in front of her while she was still fully dressed. I smiled.

“What are you smiling about, miss?” she asked, with a mischievous grin.

“I think I’m standing naked in a hallway in front of a fully clothed person; we might need to remedy this. Would you happen to have a bedroom?”

We laughed heartily. I took her hand and led her to her bedroom—our former bedroom—ready to put her through the same wonderful torment.

[gingerwerk]

I also forgot I almost got into a fight on the middle of the dance floor at my big age so thats enough reasons to not go to clubs anymore

[pixlokita]

When you be disabled, making less money than the previous year and have the medical records to prove it and the government denies you insurance assistance because you don’t have kids …. wha….

[dykedvonte]

Why do you think did Curly let Jimmy go before the crash? I've seen the theory Curly briefly thought about crashing too but didn't expect Jimmy to go through with it

I generally believe it was shock and a bit of denial.

It’s the sort of thing where Curly knew Jimmy enough to know he blows up at things but he never would’ve expected him to go through with something so crazy. He gives Jimmy way too much benefit. It’s just his nature and the dynamics he has with Jimmy. They have a stable relationship as friends but it’s stabilized by the unhealthy toxic aspects that keep him in it. He’s like this with Anya, taking the gun is something he really shouldn’t have kept off the record, so is Swansea’s feigned hostility toward Daisuke. He doesn’t want to get people in trouble and doesn’t want to believe anyone would cause trouble other than to themselves. He’s a very lenient man.

I think the words were hollow in his head. Said but not really meant like all the times Jimmy lashes out and says something cruel to him or others. He never means it, if he did why would he still be Curly’s friend? Curly’s head wasn’t in the right space in that moment, he just got through panicking with Anya and if the sound design is anything to go by, was panicked and preoccupied going to confront Jimmy. I mean, the flash of the warning signs before he runs back are identical to the dissociative episode of sort he has when going to talk to Jimmy to do his Psyc eval.

There is this sort of assumption in fanon that Curly was the idealic person for the job and simply failed. None of them were the idealic people to be there, it’s Curly’s entire concern with the ladder he chose. I see more interpretations of him being purposefully ignorant where I see him as just always looking the wrong way or not in a place where he can see it. There’s something different about seeing something than being told about it in the human mind. It may just be the psych student in me but Curly def has some sort of cognitive dissonance just like Jimmy but when it comes to his role as a Captain vs who he is.

They blur in his head to where if you ask him if he was acting as a Captain or a friend or himself to his crew he couldn’t answer. Not with confidence even if he did. There are many times we see that Curly himself is not in the right headspace to lead the Tulpar and that’s outside of anything with Jimmy. He’s spacey, he’s not sleeping, he’s deeply unhappy with himself and life. It’s why there’s believability he crashed the ship. Maybe the others saw it, or maybe Jimmy heard enough of it to spin it in a way that made Curly seem suicidally depressed.

So the tdlr is I think it wasn’t so much letting Jimmy go, more so not seeing the severity of what he was allowing to transpire. In his mind it’s just another one of Jimmy’s bluffs, cruel words, off words but just words. Jimmy rarely ever acts, why would he now? Maybe he’s never seen it because Jimmy hides those actions? Either way, he just never thought he’d really do it.

[dinosaureleanor]

Saw this on Reddit and I’ve been thinking about it. And like, I can’t speak for everyone. But I’d be happy with this. If my parents love me deeply enough to lie for my happiness after I come out, and even just enthusiastically feign support. I’d be happy. If they make an effort to stay in my life and not try to change this, I can work with that. Like, they’re from a different time. That doesn’t excuse homophobia/transphobia, but there’s a LOT they need to unlearn. Putting in the effort to not let the ways they were taught get directed at me would mean they CAN accept me, and they are just trying the only way they know how.

I want to hug this man’s daughter, for the courage it takes to come out. I also want to hug him, though. And tell him support isn’t about being perfect. It’s about loving someone so much that you make sacrifices for them, try to improve, remember why you lead with love.

It takes a lot to avoid the knee jerk reaction that you’ve been subconsciously trained to exhibit. The effort is what’s important. Even if it feels hollow, all it takes is time. When someone first comes out, you’ve only known that part of their identity for 0% of their life. It takes time to grow to acceptance and change the way you see them to fit the way they’re going forward. Soon, it’ll be 5%, 10%, 20% of their life that they have lived as themselves, and the support will come naturally.

Make the effort, then you can make the memories, and if you need to - then you can make it up to them.

[pepperpixel]

“put me on a pedestal and i’ll only disappoint you

tell me i’m exceptional, and i promise to exploit you

gimme all your money, and i’ll make some origami honey!

i think you’re a joke!!! …but i don’t find you very

fuuuuuuu~nyyy”

More tagr art!!! Assorted stuff this time! Featuring some cute chibi stuff. Some solo gaz’s, a lil uhhh. Comic of an altercation.. and a very belated Halloween pic I started drawing last Halloween and didnt finish lol. Also featuring lyrics from pedestrian at best cuz that song rllly rlly fits my ver of tak lol.

[fujii-draws]

OKAY! Chatot rant in tags below! Read at your own discretion.