#and watched all the documentaries he was in

[nouearth]

red right hand.

pairing. henry cavill x male reader.

word count. 7.3k.

summary. if there was one thing to give your dad credit for (other than helping create your very existence), it was that he has an insanely hot best friend. it was a universal admiration your neighborhood shared with one another. though, how many actively feasted upon their fantasies regarding that hunk of a man? probably only you, because mr. cavill was more than a crush, he was an addiction. and on one summer day, mr. cavill realized that so were you.

content warning. college!reader, dad's best friend!henry, neighbor!henry, age gap, blowjob (r!giving), degrading, throat-fucking, choking, gagging, spitting, kissing, humiliation, body and muscle worship, rough-play, size difference, dirty talk, verbal, praising, size kink.

The warm wind fanned the sweat off your forehead when you slid your window open. The ledge stained your fingers with particles of dust. Grimacing at the fuzz and simultaneous stickiness, it also provoked a storm of laziness as steel reminders from your dad got caught up in the commotion: CLEAN THE HOUSE.

CAR MAINTENANCE.

STOP ORDERING TAKE-OUT AND COOK.

SORT THE ATTIC.

TIDY GARAGE.

CHECK STOVE IGNITIONS BEFORE LEAVING THE HOUSE.

LOCK THE DOORS.

Ya-dah, ya-dah…

Honestly, how could you check-off any of these tasks with this heatwave currently going on? You were sweating bullets, been sweating enough to bathe in your own salt for days now—which you technically were already doing. It was summer, the long-awaited season after the agony of allergies. A temporary relief to your studies as well, until the humidity hit you like a truck and made you realize that living back in a dorm wasn’t so bad. 

At least the building had a functional air-conditioner. 

“Uh-huh, yep.” Your dad’s voice was going in one ear and out the other as you rummaged through your cabinets for a snack. Cereal; stale. Canned meat; too heavy. Potato chips; not heavy enough. “Dad, you know you’ve gone on business trips before, right? This isn’t the first time I’ve been alone.”

“I know, but I’m just making sure. It’s a new house, and I’ve been watching these true crime documentaries about men leaving clubs and—“

“Well, the first mistake was going to a sketchy club in the first place…” You muttered, peering into the fridge, and then lingering, because refrigerator air has never felt so cooling against your skin. You duck your head to puzzle yourself into the cold box, dumbfounded that the heat had gotten you irritated enough to claim a bag of deli meat as your bunkmate for the time being. The sound of your dad’s frustrated sigh on the other line curled your frown into a smile, and you laughed, “I’m a big boy. Stop worrying, and go enjoy—Ow!“ You bumped your head against the door on your way out.

“How can I not worry when you just referred to yourself as a ‘big boy?’ Not even a man?!” You never realized how theatric the man was. It was like his presence never left the house, exaggerated hand movements and all wafting the smell of his homemade meals whenever he would scold you in his favorite place: the kitchen. You smiled at the fond memories.

“Good point—“ Though they were made at your old house, you were sure that once he’d returned, your dad wouldn’t be opposed to creating new memories of scolding your ass off on whatever trouble you’d get into. If you do, that is. You’ve grown since then, finding yourself too tired to socialize.

“Remember, spare key’s in the birdhouse. There’s a compartment at the side of it. Hopefully birds haven’t evolved enough to pick it open.”

“If they have, they’d be picking at our locks right now to kidnap me and probably feast on my body.” Luckily, the fridge was stocked before your dad had left. You crucified him for being overly-prepared at times, but for this month, it was an exception. You picked at a slice of deli meat and cheese, and stuffed it down your mouth.

“Not funny, (M/N).”

“I’m kidding, Dad. Lighten up! I know you’re nervous about presenting, but they invited you to talk to an audience for a reason. They like you. Just be yourself, and remember not to speak so fast. Have some water on standby too.” And speaking of the devil, you gulped down a glass of iced water to cool down your body as your dad chuckled in your ear.

“I know, I know, thanks.” A muffled sound on the other end filled the silence, sounds of people passing and cars honking passing through your ear. “Alright, my ride’s here. I’ll call as soon as I get to the hotel, okay? You better answer—Oh! I forgot to tell you! Henry’s coming over later to look at the car.”

“Henry—Oh, Mr. Cavill? He’s in the neighborhood?” The name rattled a familiar feeling inside of your stomach. Something rather warm, suddenly ravenous when you thought about the last time you saw him.

“Actually, he was the one that told me about this house! He lives down the street. But tool’s in the garage if he asks for them, okay?” 

“Y-yeah, okay. Got it.” You hadn’t seen him many times. Only when you’d come home from semester breaks, yet the mere mention of his name had you flustered as if he was a long-lost friend or something. 

“Okay, gotta go. Love you, and remember, lock your doors! Bye!”

“I will! Bye…” Your phone blinked back to your previous app after ending the call.

You knew he was your dad’s best friend; a divorced father and a bachelor unsurprisngly made a match in heaven.

He was someone that shared your father’s interest in tabletop games and comic books. A replacement for yourself you thought earlier on, but he was way more knowledgeable about those interest than you ever were. You grew up on your dad’s nostalgia. For Mr. Cavill and your dad? These memories altered them who they would be in the future.

He was a friend that would help your dad out on building projects, like that birdhouse he had mentioned. He was a charming man that built the PC you currently use after hearing you complain about the previous laptop you had. And best of all, his looks were as abundant as his kindness. Standing over six feet tall, with a chiseled face that matched an equally sculpted body; he’d been a little crush since you first met him, being the only man who was capable of rendering you utterly speechless.

And in present, the only man who had the power to tighten your briefs and shorts with only a passing thought of his body; muscular and athletic in all the right places. If only your dad could somehow muster up a beach day before summer ended. Either way, the image of his bare body excited you, the blood flow immediately rushing south in agreement. Your dick kissed your shorts at the thought water cascading off his hulking body like meltwater over an ice shelf, freezing you in your place to not-so-subtly gawk.

“Jesus…” Your body couldn’t catch a break, could it? With the ramping heat and the constant sweating, your erection only added fuel to the bonfire that was the pores of your skin. Your cock pulsed madly within the constraint of your briefs, teasing yet begging to be released, to be sheathed from its slick, because it knew you had the key to its relief.

Or rather, Mr. Cavill did.

It was pathetic. You’d been at this for a year now. As much as you were unfamiliar with Mr. Cavill’s disposition, it was certainly the opposite regarding his physical appearance. Though it hadn’t exactly occur to you when this crush of yours had been tiptoeing along the lines of obsession. 

Wait, was it an obsession..? No, no, it was just a crush. 

You hadn’t done anything wrong. All you had done was browse through his social media—he did follow you, and you mutually pursued—and stalked—no—scrolled through his posts. Thank god, he was an avid poster. Pictures of his selfies, his knack for grilling, his love for his pet dogs, his pride over his geeky hobbies, his friendship with your dad and mutual buddies—all of these pieces attributed to allowing you to get to know him more as you were rotting away on campus, missing life back at home. Like clockwork, looking at his feed brought a sense of comfort, a hope that maybe you could be part of his life as well.

“God, what I’d do to ride that mustache…” You blurted out your thoughts, hyper-aware that you were alone in the house. You’d been waiting for this. You’d been surrounded by your roommates 24/7, and then once break started, your dad wanted to insert himself into your schedules as much as he could before the next semester starts. 

As much as you loved them, you needed space. A space bigger than the privacy of your own room. You deserved the whole house to yourself after enduring months of agony from overdue assignments; stress from bickering roommates that led to chaos within the dorm. You haven’t jerked off properly in months, often resorting to a quick session that comforted you on the occasions you’d have to pull multiple all-nighters to get a project done.

You needed relief.

You needed pleasure.

“Fuck,” Your eyes had been fixated on Mr. Cavill’s social media feed as you stripped yourself free of clothing. On one hand, it helped your body cool off from the heat building in the house. On the other, you felt vulnerable, like someone could walk in on you any second, and god, was that a turn-on. 

A grid of his life displayed happily before you, and your thumb scrolled aimlessly in pursuit of multiple pictures ingrained in your brain that had your cock throbbing in your palm. You laid flat on the couch, earbuds fit snug in the canals after briefly switching apps to play your favorite porn in the background of your search. Your stomach sunk deep when the man began moaning in your ears. Hot like the blistering sun outside; you can imagine Mr. Cavill breathing against you like that, as you took his cock in like the video you had playing. Your balls pulled when the man grunted, “Right there,” and you couldn’t help but pull at the ache of your cock, then at your balls to fondle at the loose stretch of skin.

“Right there,” you repeated when your thumb paused at the desired video of Mr. Cavill. Another major part of his lifestyle was working out. Strength training, cardio, marathons. You name it, Mr. Cavill did it all, exceptionally well, and the crème de la crème of it all was that he bared his torso for most of his videos. “Fuck, you’re so big… Fuck, fuck…” 

It was like watching a warrior prepare for battle. Sweat dripped off the holiest parts of his body as he pumped his muscles with heavy weights. Grunts, heavy and lewd sounds filled your ears while Mr. Cavill powered through his body’s resistance. You wondered to yourself if he could take you like that. Force you to take him with brute strength like the weights in his muscular, veiny hands. You were stroking yourself to him, every part of him, palm slick with sweat and spit. Two fingers would get the job done, stretching you out in preparation for his cock. Though, you knew deep down that it would take more than that. Three, or maybe even four, considering the hunk of a man was seemingly built from metal. The video replayed multiple times before you remembered that he had more than enough content for you to jerk off to. You were barely five minutes in, but this was already more pleasurable than whatever you had endured back at the dorms. Your cock felt pleased, spitting out dribbles of thick pre-cum that loosened the stick of your palm as donation to your generosity.

“Fuck, Henry…” You rarely referred to him by his first name. It felt unusual. You were much younger than him. Addressing someone closer to your dad’s age felt rude, like you were trying to assert your dominance despite your age difference. You were many things, but disobedient was not one of them. However, you couldn’t lie. His name felt polishing to your tongue, something that could improve the taste of dreadful meals if one were to whisper it before taking a spoonful.

His name felt like a miracle.

Your sexual appetite was nourished by the frames of Mr Cavill’s second video. He was completely unaware he was bulging, free-balling in his sweaty shorts while he pursued his vitality through jumping jacks, lunges, toe-touches—cardio galore that made his heavy cock bounce in rhythm. You could tell he was large, gifted with insane girth to the point where you could make out the shape of his cock just from him stretching. And the smell; sweat sticking on thick curly hairs on his chest, and a happy trail that seemed to promise a world of musk if you ever had an opportunity to endeavor upon your curiosities. You were practically salivating for him, saliva pooling where your tongue sank, while your cock leaked. You pumped yourself quicker and harder at the frustration that your desire to taste Mr. Cavill’s cock would remain a pipe dream.

All that left you was your imagination, and your own musk. Pulling up at your glans, you squeezed out thick loads of pre-cum before swiping it with your thumb and tasting it off with a suck. Salty, bitterly pleasant on your tongue, and satiated enough to not let your libido falter at the disappointment that it wasn’t Mr. Cavill’s pre-cum, but rather smolder.

“Oh, fuck my mouth… I need that cock, Mr. Cavill. Please—“ The frames of the third video showcased him flexing his arms and torso. His body bursted with pride, veins surging through every fiber of muscle like they were charging him and his very existence. It was veiny too, wasn’t it? His cock. Large and veiny, like how you’d like it. You would struggle fitting him inside of your mouth while his cock veins pulsed with great pleasure knowing that it was Mr. Cavill’s kink that you couldn’t take him. 

No one could.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—“ Your eyes rolled back. The slurping sounds from the porn increased by tenfold as you pumped the volume by a few decibels. Lewd, slick sounds you wished you could perform on Mr. Cavill himself violated your ear drums. Pleasure him. Thank him on your knees for being so kind to your father. For building your PC without compensation. For providing you temporarily relief while you were away on campus, and could only jerk off under the blanket. You were grateful for him. For Mr. Cavill. For his thick arms. For his veiny forearms. For his dashing good-looks. For his muscles. For his strong cock. You’d give yourself to him if you could. Worship every inch of his step, every inch of his body, and that still wouldn’t be enough to show your appreciation towards him. 

Your fist tightened. Your other hand had grown limp by now, dropping your phone to the floor by mistake, but you were too fixated on the pleasure your cock was receiving to retrieve it back. You could watch it from where you were laying, just like this, slickly twisting and pumping your cock to the sound of the porn, to the sound of Mr. Cavill grunting simultaneously as if his thick cock was being feasted on like a hungry beast. “Mr. Cavill, please—I’m going to—“

One earbud slipped from the sweat building on your body, but you were close. So fucking close to coming. And when you do, you’d come on your phone.

All over Mr Cavill’s pecs. His abs. His crotch. His face. Anywhere, as long as it was your friendly neighbor, because—

“Enjoying yourself, (M/N)?”

A voice from behind you alerted your body to jolt and whip around upon instinct to defend yourself. Naked or not, you weren’t going to die, not in the hands of a burglar.

Though, as soon as you did, you regretted it. You felt like stone. Cold, hard stone as all signs of life seemingly felt like it had been sucked dry out of your body, with your erection taking up most of the produce surprisingly as you confronted the intruder.

The six-feet, muscular, handsome, and familiar man of an intruder. 

“M-Mr. Cavill?! What—When did you—“ You were flustered. Radiant heat blooming like the season of Spring across several patches of your naked body. It also didn’t help that your porn could be heard from earbuds once you took the remaining one out, albeit a bit muffled. And your phone, it was facing the ceiling, looping the video of Mr. Cavill training over and over again. Right before him.

Your body was shaking, physically evident despite your efforts to conceal the tremors as the man stared you down, unfazed by the drama of it all. “Fuck—“ You didn’t know what to turn off first. The porn? The video of him working out? Or maybe dressing yourself should be a priority because—Mr. Cavill was still staring, blues lingering on your naked body, seemingly outlining every drop of sweat that followed the contours of your figure. There was movement that naturally caught your attention. 

It was his hand, large and muscular over the center of his shorts. Rubbing, squeezing, fondling at an evidently large mass that made you dry-swallow. You mustered up the courage to finally pause the porn, then clicked your phone off. “H-how long have you been watching?”

“Since the beginning.” He chuckled, stating matter-of-factly. “Your dad told me to come look at your car. Your garage was open. Thought you did that for me, but I guess you really just forgot about closing it considering…” He nodded towards your cock, licking his lips when it acknowledged him with a throb. “Was coming to get you, and I found you like this.”

“And you just watched?!” You sputtered out in distress, hastily dressing yourself back into your clothes, stumbling over your feet in the process. Sweat always made it more difficult to put on clothes.

“Well, I did call you for while I was coming in. You didn’t hear me over your video, and…me, I suppose.” It was smug. Amusing to him that you were in this state of embarrassment after being caught red-handed. You groaned, burying your head into your knees after sitting back down on the couch. The heat was unbearable, but to face Mr. Cavill after being caught jerking off to his videos, you were overcome with horror at the ghastly spectacle of the situation.

“Don’t tell my dad about this,” Your fingers scraped through your scalp out of frustration, but also to keep your head pressed to your knees as they interlaced around you. You refused to even spare one more glance at the man when you felt him practically hovering over you, a gentle smile riding along the coattails of his composure. “…please.”

“I won’t,” Mr. Cavill’s voice sounded clearer, closer than before. Right above you, but still, you maintained your position despite the pleasant scent of his cologne almost breaking away your focus. “Just as long as you suck me off.”

Those final words hit you like a truck. 

You were astounded, confused by the turn of the situation. It felt like a taunt, and it was treated as such because it worked. You whipped your head up upon Mr. Cavill’s demand, almost insulted because it was how guys on campus used to taunt you.

What you expected to grace your eyes with was his face; charming as ever with a mustache that was reliable in stirring immense feelings inside of you.

Instead, you were met with a face full of flesh, Mr Cavill’s heavy and large cock. It sported a strong curve, throbbing veins to prove its accelerating lust, with thick balls swinging low to entice you into a hypnotic state. If someone was to grade you upon your predictions, you’d score a perfect mark, because god damn, he was huge. Hairier than you’d expected, though just as arousing, if not more, because this was unexpected for Mr. Cavill as well. He would’ve cleaned himself a bit if he had a plan to meet you under these circumstances.

“I—You’re serious?” With the string of thick pre-cum dripping from the very slit of his head, it seemed like your question was answered. You could smell him. The musk of his pre-cum. It tingled your nostrils, enchanting you akin to what fresh pastries would’ve done for you on normal, non-libido provoking circumstances.

“Does it look like I’m kidding? Come on, I’m waiting. You didn’t even say ‘thank you’ to me in person when I built you that PC for Christmas. It’s the least you could do, right?” Without warning, he took ahold of his cock and tapped the center of your lips with it. Your orbs shook as you looked up at him, hesitant through the tremor of your lips as Mr. Cavill stared back, determined for you to accept his plea offer with some kind of answer—with your mouth preferably. “Been teasing me for so long… Think I didn’t notice the way you looked at me whenever I came over? How you kept massaging your cock under the table during dinner? Always in those shorts too… God, you were begging to be fucked with your thighs showing like that.”

“No—I-You’re my dad’s friend, I can’t—“ Your hand said otherwise with your fingers taking initiative on their own, wrapping over his large cock, right above Mr. Cavill’s fist. It was a two-hander, a fucking two-hander, yet your fingers struggled to close around his girth. “Fuck, you’re so…”

“Your dad doesn’t have to know, right? I won’t tell. You won’t either. We don’t want to hurt him, right?” One of his hands found its way to the back of your head while he took a step closer, bringing his cock closer to your face. Before you could pull away, there was true grit to the palm of Mr Cavill’s hand as he applied pressure to the back of your head, pressing your cheek flush to the underside of his cock. “Look at you, you don’t have the heart to say no, do you? You’re obsessed with my cock, aren’t you?”

“Y-yes, Mr. Cavill…” You were under his control. Locks of your hair bundled under a grip while he ground his cock against your supple skin, making you smell him; his musky cock, the sweat buried in the deep hairs of his pubic area. It was a glorious scene that returned your cock back to its original state of arousal by tenfold. 

“You’re going to be a good boy and suck my cock off, right?” Almost in your mouth. You parted your lips open to trap his cock into your mouth with the way he maneuvered your head like a rag doll, a brute strength your nape now, pulling and pushing your head as his cock rubbed against your face, but Mr. Cavill pulled at the last minute, right when you were one lick away from tasting meaty flesh. “Close your mouth. You will open your mouth when I tell you so.”

“I—I—Yes, please...” You were pathetic. He held you still, head tilted upwards to face the ceiling and his towering body while his cock and balls laid over your face like a table runner, a perfect heater to warm his meat. A t-shirt remained on his body, and that was a true testament to his appeal, being able to get you off like this half-naked. You reached down, back to fondling at your sore cock, at the blue balls you’d given yourself earlier, sniffing, inhaling the heavy delightful scent of his sweaty cock. Guess his house was having air-conditioning difficulties too.

“I can use your mouth however I want?” He dragged his cock over your face, the head leaking out pre-cum in midst of its journey to introducing itself to every one of your facial features, saving your lips for last. 

“Yes,” You gulped at his rousing speech, breathing in the drying musky pre-cum on the perimeter of your skin. “Please fuck my mouth, please—“

“If you’re good, then this can be a regular occurrence, yeah?” You slipped your shorts and briefs off again, jerking yourself off to simply the teasing taunt of his cock, tapping at your skin, brushing over your eyelids, pushing up against your nose. You felt humiliated. You’d been marked by Mr. Cavill, pathetically as it only took his huge cock to make you submit to him. “You’d like that? Sucking your dad’s best friend off?”

“F-fuck, yes…” His cock was a wand to your body. Every time Mr. Cavill was seemingly about to push into your mouth, you willingly opened it to no avail, even if it was obvious that he’d pull away. You could only get off on his scent for so long. He’d draw your tongue out when he squeezed pre-cum out the tip of his cock, right above your pink flesh. It would sink, drip, slowly like syrup, in thick strings, until it wasn’t anymore with the sudden obstruction of Mr. Cavill’s finger swooping in to nick the sticky web, and letting it waste away on the carpet. “Please, Mr. Cavill… I-I’ll be good…”

It was amusing to him, watching you desperately try to taste and watch him in any way you can, to the point of going cross-eyed as he would center his cock in your vision. He waved his cock like a flag as if he had conquered you. Humiliated you with several heavy slaps to your face, thick smacks that you took in whimpering grace because Mr. Cavill had stolen the resources to your insanity.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Mr. Cavill didn’t waste a single second for you to prepare yourself. The pressure on your nape steeled, bruising to make you open your mouth and whimper, and maybe that was the point, because he seized the opportunity to charge his cock inside of your mouth without warning, making you gag on your own desperation. It was a forewarning. A brief prologue on how you should take his cock as he quickly pulled himself out to properly prepare yourself. In the meantime, he slapped your cheek multiple times with the spit you had already layered him with, cooing at how incredible hard and big he was against your dazed face.

“Fuck, your mouth is so warm. That’s it, you can take it. Good boy.” Saliva spilled out of your mouth like a popped water balloon when he pushed himself inside of your mouth again. You couldn’t control it. You couldn’t control what Mr. Cavill had stripped away from you with the strength he had on your neck. Not to mention, the mass of flesh gagging you into oblivion, leaving you completely incapable of stopping him, as if you wanted him to. “Come on, use your hands too. Don’t be lazy.”

“Mm-mmf…” A compliance that was muffled by a slur of slick sounds, but Mr. Cavill knew what you meant. Amusement played on the corner of his lips as you struggled to fit a hand around the base of his sticky cock, sloppily stroking what was left neglected by your mouth, or rather your inability to take in. You suckled on the head of his cock, plump and heavy on your tongue as it throbbed with every lick you provided him. Stroking its slit with the tip of your tongue, you then dug and slobbered over the salty taste of his pre-cum. “So big… Just like I’d imagined.”

You pulled away to marvel at the size of his cock, taking your time to lube his cock with your spit from tip to shaft before your fist flushed to his pelvis to slap his meaty cock on the pouch of your tongue, lewdly flinging your spit in the air. It was your favorite move, often reliable in coercing a reaction out of the men you’d sucked off previously. The roll of his eyes, the flex of his muscles, the grunt from his gut; you slobbered all over his cock, worshipping every inch with your mouth, polishing the cock knob clean with your tongue and stroking what you couldn’t with two deft hands. Mr. Cavill was no different, he was a man with needs like you, with needs like the rest of the men you’d given head to, and you exploited the hell out of it. You loved making them feel in power, making them feel like you were worth time out of their day, despite their original pleas to use your mouth.

He briefly pulled back to rest a kiss on your lips, one that you’d treasure for the rest of your life. Not only was it because it was your first kiss was him, but because of how delicate he was with you. Warm and inviting like he usually was, his large hands cupped at the end of your jaw, holding you as if you were made of porcelain. “Making me so proud right now, fuck. Take in more of my cock, would you? I like it when you gag.”

“Mm-hmm…” They always do. You mumbled against his lips, no longer needing his guidance to finish what you’d started. Your eyes were glued to Mr. Cavill, aroused by the look he was giving you. A famished stare that demanded to be satiated, by means of sheer persistence as you knew it was going to be difficult to down him with your throat.

Mr. Cavill drove a hand into your hair, cuffing the strands to keep you still, to keep you from pulling away, to dominate you. He watched you without an ounce of kindness, muscles flexing, cock and balls hanging obscenely as you found a better position on your knees with a throw pillow guarding you from bruising. “Want you to throat-fuck me, Mr. Cavill.”

“Fuck, who knew you had such a mouth on you…” He sturdied his stance, spreading his strong legs while manhandling your head between them. You licked a stripe over his balls, then the underside of his cock until your tongue reached the scorching skin of his precum-slicked tip. Approaching the end of the journey, your mouth opened wide to welcome Mr. Cavill back into your mouth, and like tugging on a loose knot, you drew out moans from within his gut, his body loosening in turn of your hot mouth. “Fuck, just like that…”

With a thundering heart, and a building pleasure so morbidly big, you sunk and lowered your head lower, taking in Mr. Cavill’s horse-cock like a fleshlight. Crimson rose to your cheeks, to your neck, as you strained to maintain him inside of your mouth. He was too big. You’ve utilized all the tactics you’ve learned on campus, on a few buddies, on your roommates. Breathe through your nose, relax your tongue and jaw, let your saliva drip out. Yet you’d barely taken a few inches more than you had done prior before a couple of gags alerted you to take a breather. Your head pulled back, but it was met with violent opposition as Mr. Cavill brought your head back down to further shove himself down your throat.

“Mmm—gggrgh!” Your body jolted in defense, stiffening your body into an upright position when you couldn’t refrain from gagging on his cock. Your hands braced on his strong thighs for balance, squeezing at the muscly flesh of skin to distract yourself from the uncomfortable stretch your mouth was receiving.

“Fuck, yeah. Fuck, fuck, just like that. You’re taking it like a good boy.” You were making him proud, so fucking proud. You coughed, gagging, almost choked on your own spit, but the stuffing of Mr. Cavill’s large cock simultaneously emptied your mouth of saliva as it all came flooding down your mouth in lewd webs. “Shit, look at that. I’m making your mouth water, aren’t I? Fuck, what a waste.”

He yanked your head back, pulling him out of your throat, and you had never felt such relief. Breathing, exhaling and inhaling deep to compensate for the prediction that Mr. Cavill wasn’t going to let you spare a second of abandoning his cock like that. Your eyes watered, reddened from straining your muscles to make him fit inside of your mouth. You knew there was a shift in the room when you looked up at him like that, glossy in the eyes, tremors involuntarily making your knees unsteady, coughing as you held onto his thighs. He towered over you, you were beneath him, beneath the ravenous gaze he simultaneously terrified and seduced you with. You couldn’t complain now. You did your job. You made him feel powerful like you’d wanted. Dominating, as his cock leaked in your spit, and spit your saliva back onto your face.

“You were fucking hungry for my cock, weren’t you? Look at you. You’re a bloody mess…” With one swipe, he gathered the layers of spit you had generously supplemented his cock with, and smeared it across your face. You took his humiliation with good grace, moaning at your loss of pride with every smear. It deducted the more he messily layered your face with your own spit, but as demeaning as it was, there was immense merit to the satisfaction on Mr. Cavill’s face. “Open up.”

“M-mm, ah—“ Your mouth opened with a vulgar sound. If Mr. Cavill had something to compare it to, it would be like sticking a spoon into a cup of jello, and then scooping its content out. Sweet and glorious to his ears, salty to your mouth as he bought your head forward again, and plunged his cock back down your throat, deeper, and further within the confines of your throat. You squeezed around him, eyes clenched tight while he brought your face flushed to his pelvis, the hairy bush of his public area gentle abrasive against your nose. He smelled as delectable as he tasted. A hint of spice, sweat, salt, you could lick at it if it was made into a popsicle, lap it up if it was in a bowl and you were on all fours, bowing to his feet.

Your cheeks bulged as your mouth churned internally to produce more slime to seemingly ease the slide of Mr. Cavill’s cock thrusting inside of you now. He was careless, half-bent over your head to lock you into a tight embrace while his spit-polished cock rubbed at either side of your cheeks, rut against the roof of your mouth, then thrust himself into the depth of your warm throat. You couldn’t have escaped if you had wanted to. He was too strong. Two hands unrelenting around your head while he packed his large cock deep into your mouth, pelting into your gags and whimpers with fast, sharp thrusts, the sound of his wet dick choking you mutually turning you and Mr. Cavill on. You want to quit, yet he was choking you too good. Water streamed down your cheeks. Whether it was your own spit, sweat, or tears, you couldn’t comprehend it because Mr. Cavill was uncompromising, refusing to yield for your comfort.

You were fucking grateful. That was what had been missing from your college experience. A man. Someone taking charge for once. Someone utilizing you like the whore you made yourself out to be. Mr. Cavill saw right through you, through your taunts from several breaks ago, and he was fucking furious for making him wait.

“Shit, I’m close,” Fucking your mouth furiously. You could get off like this. Fuck, no. You were getting off to this. Fucking your cock with your fist, doing your best to match the pace of Mr. Cavill’s hips. You wanted to look up, to watch his face morph from admiration to animalistic desire as he utilized your throat at his own disposal.

You blinked away your tears, even if they had stung, and gawked at how captivating Mr. Cavill was for being selfish, thrusting into your mouth with one hand keeping your face free of your hair from obstructing his view. A frown permanently framed his mustache, and his dark brows furrowed at the approaching climax. He wasn’t looking at you. Rather, he was scrutinizing your wet mouth as it was jam-packed with his cock. How could a mouth look so pretty while doing something absolutely obscene? How could a throat feel so tight, so addictive, even after piping his cock down its drain several times? How could you let him treat you like this, a complete stranger, completely violate and humiliate you on your knees, like a broken doll whose purpose was to fulfill a man’s deepest desires? Maybe he needed to have a talk with your father. Talk about how broken you were, and that you needed fixing. Spend a nights with him at his house, and he would help you rewire your brain. He’d fix you. Fix you with his cock. With his lips. With his hands. With his body. Your eyes rolled back at the thought, fisting your cock faster, twisting to his heavy grunts as he was nearing closer and closer to the edge of his insanity.

“Mfghm!” Your throat felt raw, the subtlest whimper scratching at your throat like claws on chalkboard. But you persisted, pumping your shaft vigorously, your ears lapping up Mr. Cavill’s constant appraisal for your performance. Good boy. That’s it. You’re taking my cock like how I want it. You want your reward? Fuck, sloppier. Spit on it. Spit on my dick. I like it sloppy. 

Sweat pebbled every inch of your skin. You couldn’t take it. It was coming. Your stomach sank and steeled upon the sudden rise of fulfillment, and you quickly released your grip after a final stroke before coming into the air. Thick ropes catapulted upwards, your cock throbbing with every pulse, and your balls emptying itself more and more with a bounce, a twitch, and a jolt. “F-fuck, ugh…”

“Fuck, yeah. Look at all of that cum. Fuck. You came that much just from my cock, look at that…“ Your body spasmed as the carpet soaked up your semen. His voice gruff yet gentle at the same time, making your cock twitch once more before softening. 

“Come on, not done yet. Suck me off.” He spat out, tugging your head forward after a quick breather.

Something in you clicked, and you began sucking his cock off like it was your job. Twisting, stroking at the slick shaft while nipping at the head while you caught up to your breath. Suddenly saltier on your tongue as some of your cum had landed on your hand before it was smeared across Mr. Cavill’s dick. You’ve never tasted yourself before, but it was a found contentment you didn’t expect to turn you on.

Then, you took one last breath, cleared your throat, and charged forward. Long, thick inches slid into your throat once more, and you’d hold yourself there upon his final warning, mouth agape, lips pressed into the fur of his pubic hair. Your tongue flattened at the underside of his veiny cock, and your nails dug into the back of his thighs as you felt a thick warmth rush down and coat the inside of your throat. His cock throbbed, and Mr. Cavill’s grunts emptied from his gut with every spill. You could feel every heavy pulse as Mr. Cavill came down your throat in heavy, creamy spurts. You didn’t want to swallow. Not yet. You wanted to savor him. Savor the taste of his cum. You’d pined for it for so long, for all you could know, this could be your last opportunity to properly taste him. Slowly, but surely, his loads rose and pooled in the back of your throat upon barricading it with a tighten of your trachea. The rest of his spurts emptied on your tongue as he pulled himself out, and milked himself to completion. 

“Don’t swallow yet.”

You nodded, panting, awaiting for his nuts to be emptied as he flung his cock a few times, hurling drips of cum and your spit over your tongue and face. When he was seemingly emptied out, his gaze fixated on his cum pooled in the back of your throat; semi-translucent and filthily swimming with your own spit, and then Mr. Cavill’s own saliva, as he then spat into your crowded mouth. 

“Now swallow.”

You whimpered at the vulgarity of this affair, yet you were highly-aroused by this shame you were feeling. Mr. Cavill’s gaze stilled, anticipating with calm amusement while petting at your cheek. With one clean gulp, you downed your guilt, scrunching your nose when the salty taste of his spunk throttled your tastebuds, and sighed in satisfaction.

“Does your throat hurt?” He was on his haunches, carefully examining your throat as if he had his hand around you from the outside. It was a surprising return to his normal self, at least, the man that you knew as your dad’s best friend. Caring and patient, as he tended to your neck with apologetic kisses, and a gentle massage around your nape, where he must’ve gripped too hard upon your jolted reaction.

“A little… Didn’t take you were one to be rough like that.” Your knees gave out, letting yourself fall back onto your butt knowing that the couch would catch your position.

“Not usually, no… You just… happen to rile me up for some reason.” He was smiling, joining you on the floor, and nuzzling his furry mustache into the crook of your neck as if he wasn’t choking you with his cock a few minutes ago. It was unusual, yet charming. “Seriously, don’t tell your dad, okay?” He whispered into your ear before turning your cheek to look deep in his eyes.

A meaningful stare, a beat of silence, before you spoke, “Only if you promise me something.”

“What’s that?” Mr. Cavill pressed a kiss to your swollen lips, another apology for stretching your mouth without much warning.

“You really meant it that this would be a regular thing if I did a good job?” Mr. Cavill scoffed at first. It was almost embarrassing. Were you being naive? Was this too good to be true? Your cheeks flushed red, and you solemnly casted your gaze downwards, defeated because that was that it felt like. The sound of rejection always came with a scoff, everyone knew that. 

“Well, it was going to be a regular thing even if you had accidentally bit my dick off.” He suddenly laughed at how susceptible you were by the smallest actions, and at this moment, you were surprised that maybe this crush wasn’t so one-sided after all. He teased at your frown, kissing the corner of your mouth until it was a smile, and then prodding at your sides when you resisted. “Come on, you couldn’t possibly think this was a one-time thing.” 

“Tempting…” You snuck a head in between his thighs, reaching for a certain tool that had brought in so much pleasure and pain to your body. “I don’t know… we don’t talk much. I don’t know you that well.” 

“Don’t.” Mr. Cavill teasingly warned, stopping you by taking ahold of your wrist. Though, one step too late, as you already cupped his flaccid cock, tormenting his balls with a few tugs and squeeze of your palm as an act of revenge for your throat. “Well… then let’s get to know each other. No problem doing that, right?”

“Mm-mm, guess not.” Pursing your lips, you nodded, feeling placated by his words.

He sighed into your mouth, kissing you again, licking at the inside of your mouth, tasting your tongue and then your cheek, to soothe his selfish stain on your body with the work of his mouth. 

“First, I want to hear you say ‘thank you’ for building that PC of yours before I promise you anything.”

“Jesus, we’re still on this?”

“Yes! Do you know how long that took me?”

“I didn’t ask you to build me one—“

“God, you’re an ungrateful brat.”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[in-another-april]

summary/prompt + genre - Spencer's pretty and you're in love. That's it that's the fic. | fluff

warnings - none

wc - 363

notes - i finally had to use "y/n" in a post on here and im losing it. the flashbacks of my wattpad days have me fighting for my life. anyways more obsessed!reader because wow! they're literally me!

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You adore listening to Spencer ramble, you really do, but right now, you just want to love on him.

He's explaining the new documentary he just finished watching, but you're too busy admiring him to focus on what he's saying. The way his eyes light up, the excited smile on his face. You're caught up in how passionate he sounds, how smart he sounds.

You feel bad for not paying attention, but he's the one that's being so distracting.

"Y'so pretty, Spence." You feel silly that it's all you can say, but it's all you can think about.

He stops, eyes wide and cheeks burning. He's quick to avert eye contact, looking everywhere but at you as he fights back a dopey smile. You make his head spin.

"Stop it," It's embarrassingly high-pitched, almost a whine. He'd be lying if he said he didn't love when you fawned over him, even though it never fails to fluster him.

He pushes himself closer to you to duck his head into your neck, bashful under your affectionate gaze. You don't let him get away that easily, catching his face in your hands and pressing a kiss to his lips.

"Can't help it," You gush, your foreheads still pressed together after you've pulled away from the kiss. Your lips trail across his cheek, up his nose, to his forehead, and he giggles, ticklish, playfully swatting you away.

In the midst of all his thrashing, he falls back onto the couch. He takes you with him, letting out a comically surprised squeak when you fall on top of him, and you both feel tears well up in your eyes from laughing so hard.

You kiss his nose one last time, for good measure, and he smiles up at you. His eyes are full of affection, hands finding your face to run his thumb along your jawline, up to your cheek. You lean into his touch, kissing his palm.

"You're ridiculous." All fondness, voice raspy from all of the laughing.

"Ridiculously in love with my ridiculously perfect boyfriend, maybe." You tease, he just makes it too easy.

"(Y/N)!" His blush gets impossibly deeper, weakly glaring at you in faux indignation.

"Okay, okay, I'll stop!"

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taglist - @lover-of-books-and-tea @maskysluvr @aurorsworld @wisteriaspencer @radioactiveinvisible @mandarinmoons @spencereidapologist @lyd14-d33tz @luvkatryna @khxna @flow33didontsmoke (send an ask or message to be added/removed!)

[rcmclachlan]

Relative Value (buck/tommy)

"And I feel for her, you know? I really do. The dissolution of a relationship, especially a marriage, feels like you're drowning in hot tar, and you spend every waking moment kicking your way to the surface to try and breathe. But if she brings up her divorce again while I'm in the middle of peeing? I'm going to divorce her head from her body."

Buck makes a face at the thought of Maddie's decapitated coworker. "Please don't send the 118 to that scene. I'm not so great with entrails these days. Send the 147—they deserve it after they botched that extrication on Monday." 

Maddie laughs, the sound tinny but comfortingly familiar coming through his phone's speakers. She'd propped her phone on Jee-Yun's dresser halfway through the call so she could put away laundry while she talked, and for the last five minutes he's been watching her fold Jee's clothes like she's being judged at the Olympics. 

It's nice to see that hasn't changed. Maddie should've been in jail years ago for the way she loads a dishwasher, but when it comes to laundry she's a goddamn wizard. When he was younger, his parents saddled him with taking out the trash and doing the dishes, but putting away the laundry was always Maddie's chore. She actually enjoyed it, the weirdo. She used to tell him the first whiff of warm Snuggle right out of the dryer was a cure-all. Also, she can fold a fitted sheet in under ten seconds. He'd timed her once.

Maddie takes an eye-wateringly orange shirt out of the laundry basket and with three decisive motions turns it into a perfect rectangle. If Jee ever decides she wants to go deer hunting, she'll be all set. "Since when are you not good with entrails?" 

"Since that guy was ripped in half last week."

It'd easily been the grizzliest car crash he'd ever been called to. It made the 405 pileup a few years back look like Disney on Ice. About halfway through tagging and bagging almost a dozen casualties strewn all over the westbound lanes of the Pomona Freeway, the guy responsible for the crash snapped awake while Hen and Chimney were setting up and drove off in a panic. The top-half of the motorist stuck under his car was dragged maybe sixty feet, and Buck had a front row seat to the sight of the poor guy's nerves and vasculature trailing behind him like squid tentacles before the driver came to a stop by hitting yet another car. 

"I'm also not eating spaghetti for the foreseeable future, FYI," he adds.

Maddie wrinkles her nose. "Okay, changing the subject: when do you leave again?"

It wouldn't be an overstatement to say the smile that question invokes explodes over his face. He feels it happen; the spark eats the fuse so quickly there's barely any lead-up and his cheeks burn from the sheer magnitude of the blast. 

"You look deranged," Maddie says, laughing.

"I feel deranged." He's been like this all week and it's starting to scare everyone. Chimney keeps leaving pamphlets for Clozaril in his locker. "Tomorrow morning. We're picking up the bird right after we do a coffee run."

"I wish my boyfriend was whisking me away to the mountains for a romantic getaway." Maddie heaves a theatrical sigh. "My husband says the best he can do is Shake Shack."

The whole thing is absolutely bonkers. He'd been minding his own business, half-watching a documentary about volcanoes with his feet in Tommy's lap, when they showed some insanely beautiful footage of Mount Rainier. And although his mind was focused on completing level 29 of Euclidea, his mouth was busy saying, "I've always wanted to go there." 

Thumb digging into Buck's instep, Tommy had made a thoughtful sound and said, "I'd tapped a buddy of mine to get us into Griffith Observatory after hours, but I like your idea way better. Let's do it."

If someone had told Buck 1.0 that someday a beast of a man would be flying him by helicopter to the Cascades for their two-year anniversary, he would've laughed his way into a pneumothorax. And then he would've tried to fuck his nurse. 

He looks across the living room to where their bags have been sitting, fully packed, since last night, and grins. "Tell Chim he needs to step up his game. You're worth Zankou, at least."

Maddie snorts. "Gee, thanks."

Behind her, there's unexpected movement, and every muscle in his body locks up as his heart stops in a moment of brief, blinding terror. 

It's stupid to feel this way after seven years, but a little part of him is still waiting for Doug to crawl out of the shadows like a wraith to finish what he tried to do. He's spent many a sleepless night spiraling to the soundtrack of Chimney's desperate, Do you know he's dead for sure? Did you see a body?

Buck did see his body, but a little voice sometimes whispers to him from some deep, dark place at two in the morning: it was freezing that day. It could've slowed the bleeding, could've kept him alive long enough to go to a hospital. You don't know what happened after the ambulance left with him. What if he survived? What if he's out there right now, just biding his time?

Which are bad and ridiculous thoughts to have because he knows that monster is dead, and frankly he's got better things to think about than Doug, who's absolutely having his skin torn off in hell right now—especially since his adorable, perfect niece is the one who came into the room. 

"Say hi to your uncle, Jee," Maddie says, smiling. In her hands, a pair of polka dot leggings becomes a polka dot brick with hospital corners. 

Jee-Yun jumps a little like she can't quite see him, and Maddie goes over to the dresser to obligingly tilt the camera down. 

"Hi, Uncle Buck." Jee-Yun waves, then rises an inch or two higher in the frame, and he realizes she's standing on her tiptoes. She cranes her head, moving it a bit from side to side like she's looking for something. After a few seconds, she drops back down, grimacing in disappointment.

He looks over his shoulder, but no one's there. "Sorry, kiddo, it's just me."

"Just you is fine, always," Maddie immediately pipes up, and he ducks his head with a smile. It's always nice to hear her say that. "It's just that… well, she had a question and we weren't sure if you were the one we should be asking."

Buck grins. "Lay it on me, Jee."

It's always a little hilarious to watch how Jee reacts when the spotlight's on her. She bounces and twirls a little, and her whale-spout pigtails move with her. For someone getting ready to enter kindergarten, she's got the stage presence of a Broadway star. "Uncle Buck, how do airplanes fly when they're so big and heavy?"

He opens his mouth to answer her, but there's nothing there, just an empty pocket of air that tastes vaguely like the ham sandwich he had for lunch. He closes his mouth with a click, stymied. He could've sworn he knew this one. Something about lift and drag?

"Jee, I-I'm sorry. I don't know off the top of my head. I could look it up for you?"

A little groan escapes her, but it turns into a shriek when a tie-dyed sweatshirt comes winging from off-camera and lands on her head. Jee wrestles the shirt away, static making her hair cling to her face, which she swipes with a whine. 

"That's why I wanted to ask Uncle Tommy!"

Buck has forgotten a lot about the tsunami. Time has softened the memory of how warm the water was, how it shoved its way into his mouth and nostrils like it was trying to find a way inside his veins, and that it was filled with so much debris it scored the insides of his cheeks bloody. But the one thing he never lost was how his feet went out from under him when that first wave hit like a freight train. He hasn't been able to ride a roller coaster since: he doesn't see the need to pay to experience the feeling of free fall again. He remembers every second of it like it just happened. 

He may be sitting on the couch with his feet firmly on the floor, but his stomach is thrilling at the familiar sensation of being completely unmoored. Only instead of being dragged into the dark, he's being pulled up into endless blue. 

Breathless with stratospheric joy, he digs his trembling fingers into his knees like it's going to do anything to keep him grounded, and chokes out, "Who, Jee?"

The look Jee turns on the camera is so confused that Buck isn't sure he was even using real words just then. It could've been a jumble of sounds falling from his mouth like aquarium gravel. 

"Uncle Tommy," Jee says, with the patient air of someone who forgot they were talking to an idiot. "It's okay if you don't know about airplanes, Uncle Buck. You drive fire trucks."

He's pretty sure he was just insulted. Behind Jee, Maddie's wide-eyed and mouthing an ecstatic oh my god! 

"Tell you what. When—" he swallows thickly, overcome "—Uncle Tommy wakes up from his nap, I'll have him call you and he can tell you all about how planes stay up in the air."

She mulls it over, and he can see the outline of her tongue poking the inside of her cheek like she's swishing the offer around in her mouth. Finally, she gives him two decisive nods of her head that has her pigtails bouncing. "Okay. When's that?"

"I-I don't know. Soon." If the lightning had struck a few feet away from him instead of dead-on, he thinks it would've felt like this. Any second now he's going to vibrate out of his skin and scar Jee for life. "Maybe I should go check on him." 

"I think that's a good idea," Maddie says cheerfully, coming into the foreground. Her eyes are glossy and red, and even with two screens and several miles between them it feels like she's about to wrap him up in the warmest hug. "Why don't we let you go for now? Uncle Tommy can give us a buzz later."

"Yeah, t-that sounds like a plan." He knows he's rocking the deranged look again, except it's somehow so much worse. He doesn't care. He hopes his face gets stuck like this. When he rolls into the station two weeks from tomorrow, he's going to take every pamphlet Chimney shoves at him and eat them.

Maddie's grin is threatening to split her face in half. "Give Uncle Tommy a big kiss from us."

He's going to do way more than that. "You bet. Bye, Mads. Bye, Jee!"

The very second the call ends, he's on his feet and practically running down the hall. Tommy had been coming off a rough 24 earlier when he'd sloppily kissed Buck and then staggered into the bedroom. It's been almost three hours and Buck hasn't heard a peep since. 

Buck makes sure to lift the bedroom door when he opens it so the hinges don't creak, and when he sees Tommy—sprawled diagonally across the mattress with his jeans still on and enough drool soaked into the pillowcase to fill a bathtub—his knees decide it's the perfect time to stop working. He clutches the door frame so he doesn't crumble to the floor under the weight of all this euphoria.

Jee thinks of Tommy as family. It's not hard to figure out the logic she must be using to get there: she has an Uncle Buck, who has had a Tommy for as long as she's been making real memories, and therefore… 

He can't help but wonder who else in the world is operating on that same intel. Jee has no doubt told the teachers at her kindergarten about her mom and dad and her amazingly cool Uncle Buck, but maybe she's also told them about her other uncle, who always lets her ride on his shoulders when they go to the park and who talks to her like she's a forty-seven-year old at brunch. Maybe she's told kids at the playground about the uncle who knows why planes stay in the air and who folded himself into a pretzel because she wanted him to sit next to her at the kids' table last Friendsgiving. Maybe she's drawn shitty pictures in crayon of two stick figures holding hands under a smiling sun, and when her classmates ask who they're supposed to be, she tells them, "That's my Uncle Buck and my Uncle Tommy." 

Inhaling shakily, he makes himself move from the doorway to the bed, crawling in as gingerly as he can. It's all for nothing, though, because Tommy cracks an eye open and fixes it on him. Buck scrunches his face up in apology, but Tommy just smiles a little and tugs Buck down, pressing his face into the space between Buck's neck and shoulder and settling with a hum.

Buck slides a hand into his hair and holds him close, breathing in old sweat and a hint of his own shampoo. "I love you, Uncle Tommy."

"If this is a new kink, I'm going to need at least another two hours of sleep before I'm prepared to tackle it," Tommy mumbles. 

Choking on laughter, Buck presses a kiss to the side of his head and wonders if it's possible to die of happiness. "Not quite. Your niece has a question about airplanes and wants you to call her when you wake up."

When there's no immediate answer, Buck is sure Tommy's fallen back to sleep, but then Tommy shifts a little in his arms, presses a kiss to his shoulder, and murmurs warmly, "Will do."

[sugarypinecones]

DODGE!!!!! god i want dodge so bad i want to lay between his stretched out legs and wrap my arms around one of them and rest my head on his thigh while he plays with my hair while we watch smth together but it's all background noise because his dick is so close to me mouf and i js wanna run my nose against the little outline from his washed out jeans IS THAT A CRIME IS THAT SO TERRIBLE please oh my god his strong rodeo arms i just wanna sit on his lap and rub my hands all over him im sorry i think im ovulating

(in lois griffin voice) whoever that was.. thank you….

NO because ur SO real.. like i audibly went holy to this, had to screenshot, send to council, and come back to re read again like that one sarah paulson video.

this was meant to be a tiny tiny blurb but it turned out way longer than expected so sorry lolz + f!reader

ALSO! if you sent an ask i am working on it, but i was on vacation so now im finally home and yupppp

send more asks. anything. i will try and match ur freak as hard as i can pls god, and anyways that being said:

like, get me; it starts out somewhat innocent. tired and lazy because of all the panic bullshit, you two decide to just stay home rather going out to all the random parties and events thrown between each game.

dayna and his mom don’t care that he has you over — they find it nice he found someone, a nice distraction from inside his head.

as for the show, it’s probably some random documentary or reality show: first thing he saw when logging into the streaming platform. he, genuinely, is probably engrossed in it, but you’re engrossed in him: how close you two are.

you’re laying between his legs, obviously, and his hands are strung around you messily, just wanting to have some sort of hold on you. how he’s holding you, you probably have no idea what, focused on the washed-out jeans of his — weathered from wear by rodeos or helping anne or anything else.

he’s probably yapping about something on the TV — “i don’t see how bestfriends could do that to eachother..” bla bla bla, you’re not really focusing in on it - humming, trying to sound interested in whatever it is he’s actually talking about. some “oh really?” and “i know..” are strung throughout the humming, but you have no idea if it’s actually appropriate to his talking.

he seems to catch on, though, unbeknownst to you. it’s hard not to notice his pretty girlfriend’s eyes focused directly on his crotch every few minutes, head shifting back and forth ever so slightly — making his dick twitch with need.

you wondered if his jeans are always this tight — wondering if you looked earlier you could’ve seen it, but the truth was, you really couldn’t. this only happened after the fact you got in the car — but obviously, you weren’t keenly aware of his crotch up until the minute you got in bed.

his hands run up and down ur back softly, and god it just makes the URGE to run ur face along the outline so much worse !!! he’s fallen quiet, so u slightly wonder if maybe something’s wrong or maybe he caught onto your disinterest in his words, so you glance up out of the corner of your eye, only to realize he’s been watching you for god knows how long.

he probably says something stupid, like: “you know the tv’s over there, right?” or “interesting?” something really dumb and smart-assy. you roll your eyes, probably say something back, and one thing leads to another and he’s nonchalantly trying to suggest you could do it if you wanted to.

so you do. and god !! does it feel as good as u thought it would. he twitches beneath u and tries to act like it’s really not turning him on as much as it is, but it’s hard not to, a sticky, wet patch is already forming at the tip of his cock; itching to bleed through the light jeans.

he ends up pulling you closer, forgetting all about the tv, bringing you into a hasty kiss, needy and desperate but still filled with tenderness.

you fix yourself on his lap, smiling into the kiss, glad you got your way, like it was ever a fight to begin with — it never was, he would give you anything you asked for whenever you wanted.

he’s so gentle when he touches you. his large hands wrapping around your waist as he pulls you even closer into his lap, his eyes closed, enjoying the kiss for a few more moments before pulling away, panting softly, breathless.

"you’re really not very good at paying attention." he mumbled breathlessly, a small smirk on his lips as he looked down at you.

he moved his hands down your sides, running them up and down your thighs, his thumbs brushing against the skin beneath the hems of your shorts as he shifted underneath you slightly.

“what’s going through your pretty little head, hm?” he mused, tilting his head slightly as he studied your face.

you hummed softly, looking up at him with a small, playful pout on your lips.

“well… i was listening,” you pouted, “kinda.”

he chuckled softly at your response, his hands continuing to run up and down your thighs, the touch of his palms warm and rough against your skin.

“you’re so cute,” he murmured, “but i don’t think you were listening at all.”

he leaned forward, planting a soft kiss on your nose, before continuing to trail his lips down your jawline and down your neck.

“i think you were too distracted by something else,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin as he nipped at your neck softly.

he knew you far too well - he knew the way your body reacted to his touch. he knew how to make you melt.

he continued to nibble at your neck, gently, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to send shivers down your spine.

“can you even remember what i was talking about?” he murmured playfully, his hands still running up and down your thighs.

“of course,” you retort, clearly defensive. “you don’t get how best friends.. could do that to eachother.” it’s clear you were listening to him, but not the television.

he chuckled softly, his lips pressed against your skin as you spoke.

“of course you remember that part,” he teased, knowing damn well you were paying more attention to his jeans than the television.

he gently nipped at your skin, sucking on a small patch of it for a moment, before pulling away.

“you were paying more attention to something else, weren’t you?”

you flush. obviously you were — who could blame you ?? :(( he was just soo close to u and so there..

he caught the flush of your cheeks, a smirk playing at his lips as he lifted his head to look at you.

“aww, you’re so cute when you blush, you know that?” he teased, “especially when you realize you’ve been caught.”

he chuckled softly, his hands moving up to your waist, his fingers slowly slipping beneath the hem of your shirt.

you pull him into a needier kiss this time, hands roaming all over, as if trying to find the right place to grab: but all seemed so promising, that you couldn’t actually settle.

he groaned softly into the kiss, matching your neediness with his own. his hands gripped at your waist, his fingers digging into your skin, as he pulled you close into his lap.

he ran his tongue across your bottom lip, requesting access that you happily gave him. his tongue slipped into your mouth, exploring it hungrily, as his hands roamed across your body.

he trailed kisses down your jawline and down your neck, his lips leaving a trail of fire on your skin. he nipped at your collarbone, leaving small, love bites in their wake.

he slowly pushed himself back against the back of the bed, pulling you with him so that you were now laying on top of him, your legs on each side of his hips.

his hands roamed down to your legs, gripping your thighs as he shifted beneath you, his hips rolling up against yours.

he groaned softly as he felt the pressure against his lap, his lips still moving across your neck, leaving little love bites in their wake.

“you drive me crazy,” he mumbled against your skin.

you hum in response — too overwhelmed with pleasure to say anything other than jumbled messes, so simplify yourself with a hum.

his hands moved up, slipping underneath your shirt, and running his palms across your skin. he could feel the heat radiating off your body, and it only made him want you more.

he pulled away from your neck, looking up at you with his blue, lust-filled eyes.

“i want you,” he breathed, “so badly.”

your breath hitches — and you want to tell him to have you — right there, however much he wanted, but you can’t strangle any words out.

he moved his hands up to your hips, his grip tightening as he pulled you tightly against him, grinding his lap up against yours.

he let out a soft groan, his head falling back against the back of the headboard as he felt the friction against his straining jeans.

“you’re so beautiful,” he panted, looking up at you with a look of need in his eyes, “so damn beautiful.”

he slid his hands up further, pushing up your shirt as he did, exposing your stomach. he ran his hands up across your stomach and up to your ribs, his touch leaving chills in their wake.

he bit his lip as he looked up at you, studying your face, taking in your features as if he hadn’t seen you a million times before.

“i want you,” he repeated, his voice slightly hoarse with need, “all of you, darling.”

you leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips before pulling away.

“well,” you said, your voice low and sultry, “what’s stopping you?”

he looked up at you, his eyes darkening with need.

“nothing,” he replied, his grip on you tightening as he spoke.

he shifted beneath you, pushing himself up so that he was sitting up properly against the back of the couch.

“except for these damn jeans,” he muttered, his hands moving to the button on his jeans.

you’re quick to help him — eagerly pawing at the button, undoing it with ease.

he let out a soft gasp at your eager touch, his hands moving to grip your waist as you undid the button on his jeans.

he lifted his hips as you began to pull down the jeans, a small, needy whine escaping from his lips as the fabric slid down his legs and hit the floor with a toss of your hand.

“so fucking needy..” he groaned softly, his hands running up and down your sides.

he pulled you back down onto his lap, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he settled you against his lap.

his hips bucked up slightly, his arousal pressed against your thigh as he moved.

“you’re so good to me,” he panted, his hands roaming up and down your back as he spoke, “i’m so lucky to have you.”

he tilted his head, his lips tracing a path down your neck, nibbling at sensitive spots along the way. he left a trail of little love bites, his teeth grazing against your skin in a way that made you shiver.

“i want to touch you,” he murmured against your skin, his hands running up your thighs. “please let me touch you.”

you could give him permission a million times over — and he’d still ask before doing anything else in the process, so gently; a contrast difference to his rough hands.

“please.” you retort softly.

he groaned softly at your response, his hands gripping your thighs tighter as he pulled you closer.

“always so polite,” he muttered, his lips still trailing down your neck.

he slowly moved his hands up your thighs, his fingers slowly sliding under the hem of your shorts.

“i need you so badly,” he panted, his hands moving higher, “can i..?”

you nod vicariously.

he let out a soft sigh of relief at your response, his hands moving further up your thighs, until they reached the edge of your panties.

he ran his fingers along the edge of the fabric, groaning softly at the realization that he was so close to what he wanted.

“you’re so beautiful,” he murmured, “so perfect..”

you hum contemptibly, smiling.

he smiled at your hum, his hands slowly moving up, slipping beneath the waistband of your panties.

he ran his fingers over your skin, his touch gentle and soft, as he slowly moved towards your center.

he could feel you shiver with each touch, his own hips rolling slightly beneath you as he grew impatient.

he slowly moved his hand down, his fingers sliding across your sensitive flesh, his touch sending shivers up your spine.

“you’re so warm,” he murmured, “so ready..”

he gently began to rub at your sensitive bundle of nerves, his touch light and teasing, as his other hand moved to your hip, holding you in place.

he groaned softly at the feel of your reaction, his eyes studying your face intently.

“so beautiful..” he repeated, his fingers slowly increasing their pace.

he watched as you began to move against his touch, your hips rolling in response to his touch.

he groaned softly as he felt you press against him, his own arousal growing more and more with each small movement you made.

“that’s it,” he panted, “just like that..”

he continued his movements, his fingers quickening their pace as he felt you growing closer.

he could feel your body shaking with need, your hands gripping tightly onto his shoulders.

“just relax darling,” he murmured, “let go for me..”

he continued to rub at your sensitive core, his fingers moving in a steady rhythm, as he watched you grow closer and closer to the edge.

he could feel your body growing tense, your grip on him growing tighter, as you began to whine and pant with need.

“that’s it, just like that..” he repeated, his own hips rolling up against you as he continued his ministrations.

he watched as you grew tense, your body trembling as you reached the edge, your eyes squeezing shut as you arched your back slightly.

he kept up his movements, his hand still rubbing at your sensitive flesh, continuing to bring you closer and closer to release, “come for me, please..” he panted, his own need growing stronger by the second.

he could feel you growing closer and closer to the edge with each second, your breath coming in soft pants and moans as you teetered on the brink.

and finally, you came, your body shaking as you reached your climax, a soft moan escaping from your lips.

he continued to move his fingers gently against you, helping you ride out your orgasm, as he spoke softly, “so perfect..”

he gently pulled his hand away from you, his eyes watching as you came down from your high. he studied your face, taking in your flushed cheeks and messy hair.

“that’s it darling,” he murmured, “just breathe..”

he moved his hands to your hips once more, holding you tightly in his lap as he waited for you to regain your bearings.

[silvyysthings]

Hey! I watch armies’s podcast and even though it was great to hear from him I really wish that he talked about the actual root of the situation. It’s not the cannibalism it’s not the alcoholism is the fact that he was accused of SA. I really wanted him to address it and I am curious as to why he didn’t go in hard on it. Because from the outside, looking in you have these women who went on a documentary that is still watchable on discovery and spoke about how he abused them. He only mentioned about it on airmail which nobody really knows about. It’s not considered reputable or on the same level as people magazine or CNN. These women were loud and proud about their allegations and I really am curious as to why he didn’t go in hard and state like I did not do this. I’m curious if there is a legal situation was there an NDA signed? 

Thoughts?

Thoughts?

armie was completely acquitted of all charges, that documentary was absolutely trash as were the people who participated in it or the watching public that still believe all that bullshit with evidence even taken from Pinterest.

The women you think were "loud and proud" were visibly fake, paid and fame-seeking and had no proofs apart their words. The only one who didn't participate is a proven psychopath stalker.

Armie spoke exclusively about her healing journey also intended as help for others, the podcast is precisely about this

[realcube]

the haikyuu brain rot is BACK in full swing omg and i just had another idea BYE

April… stop sending me shit -you… maybe. Jkjk. Anyway.

I’m Anemic and my hands and feet r always cold lol so the idea goes like this: <insert character here> is working/relaxing and then all of a sudden their anemic SO just like assults them with cold hands on their neck or like down their shirt? i think it’d be really funny. If you wanna do this idea u can pick the boys but Haikyuu (obviously bc we share a braincell and it’s almost always haikyuu) and Tendo has to be involved.

thanks for putting up with me 😍 -April

TENDO SATORI

♡ ok well the first challenge with tendo is actually trying to find him relaxed.. like ever

♡ mans in the embodiment of hyperactivity and hyperawareness

♡ he is the guess monster after all

♡ like the only time you'll ever find him unsuspecting and vulnerable is when he is asleep or trying to sleep

♡ thankfully wtih all the running about he does and all the adventures he takes you on, that is quite frequently

♡ oh and whenever you try to subject him to anything academic or mentally stimulating he falls asleep LMAO

♡ you're like "tendo i found this really good documentary we should watch. it's about climate change and it'll just say it's really interesting and educational because i don't wanna spoil too much. wanna watch with me?"

♡ "only if we can watch together!"

♡ you smile and grab the remote in order to put it on. "you're going to love it, i've heard from all my friends it's really informative. and i've seen trailers for it and they've got hundreds of environmental scientists that have been researching th— tendo?" you look back over at him to see him fast asleep and snoring

♡ BEFORE YOU EVEN PUT THE MOVIE ON

♡ as revenge for that level of disrespect of course you need to deploy your ultra secret weapon of mass destruction final attack: cold hands.

♡ you snake them under his shirt then suddenly press your hands firmly against his chest and he SCREAMS

♡ like his eyes shoot open and he yelps while jumping up from the couch

♡ all while you are just laughing your fecken ass off

♡ "(y/n)?! what was that?" he asks, despite the fact he knows exactly what it was because you've done this to him several times before

♡ "that's what you get for falling asleep after you said you'd watch a movie with me! how would you feel if i fell asleep during one of your volleyball games?"

♡ he rolls his eyes as he reluctantly sits back down on the couch, "that would hurt but that's different. you're actually watching me — your atheletic and impossibly hot boyfriend — play."

♡ you roll your eyes but he continues to explain himself, "but it's not like i'm watching you in this movie."

♡ "i am in this movie!" you argue, just for the fun of it.

♡ "really? who do you play?"

♡ "an icicle." you declare proudly.

♡ "are you sure you don't mean an iceberg— AH! STOP!"

♡ he screams while you chase him around the room, trying to capture his arms and his face in your hands, "never!"

WAKATOSHI USHIJIMA

♡ okay so i firmly believe ushijima is so ice cold on the inside your hands genuinely don't affect him

♡ which is such a shame because you so badly wanted to hear him squeal

♡ but no.. sigh..

♡ it honestly frustrates you to no end up you still don't give up, you know someday you'll get the perfect balance of warm room + element of surprise that you'll get some reaction out of him

♡ but whenever you touch him and he just looks at you like '😐 can i help you?' you get sooo disheartened you can't even be bothered to explain what you're doing so literally he has no idea whats going on

♡ kinda like this:

♡ you see him sitting on the couch, engrossed in this month's issue of Gardening Monthly that you just left on the table as a distraction (he doesn't know anything about gardening)

♡ and you start to creep up to him from behind, holding your breath, each movement perfectly calculated so you don't step on any creaky floorboards. you approach in completely silence and then...

♡ BOOM! cold hands to the face!!

♡ your hands are squishing his cheeks and instead of screaming or even gasping, he just turns to look at you his resting blank expression. "what is this?"

♡ "ughh" you groan, tossing your head back in frustration. everything was so spot on but still nothing. "hmph.. nevermind.." you grunt, storming away.

♡ and because you just randomly touch him so often and refuse to explain it, he just thinks its one of those things couples are supposed to do

♡ so randomly when you are together he'll sneak up behind you and place both his hands on your shoulders, giving YOU a heart attack

♡ or when you're sleeping you'll suddenly feel two hands squish your cheeks and at first your blood will run cold until you realise it's toshi

♡ it's all fun and games and cutesy couple stuff until he does it to you in the hallways of your school/college while you are on your way to class

♡ he'll creep up behind you and place his hands on your waist and because you're in a public place you automatically assume its a stranger and spin around to roundhouse him in the face

♡ he's okay though. your hands made a good temporary ice pack while the nurse got him a real one

YU NISHINOYA

♡ 1000000% screams like a little girl and tries to play it off cool

♡ and because of that you love him too much to ever use your cold hands on him in public or in front of his teammates

♡ (bc you both know tsukishima and yamaguchi would never let him hear the end of it and tell EVERYONE they know and one thing leads to another, now everyone has lost any respect for him they may have had formerly.)

♡ (ok that's an exaggeration but it would still be very embarrassing for him)

♡ so you only do it in private and titter to yourself about it

♡ however you do have it as a form of blackmail if he ever disrespects you which is good

♡ jkjk ofc you'd never blackmail

♡ but you do like to tease him because you both know you have that power

♡ like if you ask him to grab you an extra milk from the vending machine and he says no (idk why he would say no though , he's too whipped to ever do that, but just as an example) you could just raise your hands up menacingly

♡ and the way he would DART towards the vending machine

♡ unreal

♡ if he could pull out that speed on the court, he'd send wakatoshi ushijima home CRYING that's for certain

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Needy

A 5 + 1 fic where it’s 5 times the other sides suspect Roman is touch-starved, and 1 time they do something about it. – monkeythefander

Thomas is having a really bad executive dysfunction/burnout day, and it's affecting Logan & Roman the most as his executive function Sides. Everyone ends up in a giant cuddle pile to rest with each other as Thomas learns some self-care. Maybe some gentle bullying into said resting by Janus. Some Remus-classic hug attack & him comforting Roman bc brotherly love. They're all too tired and foggy to care about what they're supposed to be doing (sans Logan & Roman, bc. self-worth issues). Maybe a kinda loopy/tired Janus or Virgil gets possessive over Thomathy like a Mama Hen. No pressure to write this! (/gen) Remember to take care of yourself & rest when ya need to <3 – anon

Hey so if you're doing request and would like to, I was wondering if you'd be willing to write something with aro Roman who still wants a 'romantic' relationship? Maybe with him struggling with internalised arophobia about it and one of the other sides helping him overcome that maybe? Showing that he's still able to have relationships like he wants without feeling romantic attraction and stuff? This might be worded really badly and for that I apologize -w- Even if you don't do this (which is completely fine feel free to ignore me) you should know your writing is absolutely amazing - never fails to make me smile <3 - Princey

Read on Ao3

Warnings: touch starved, internalized arophobia

Pairings: none

Word Count: 5377

Logan will be honest: it is not something he has given extensive thought to, nor did he deem it something worth paying attention to in the grand scheme of things. Simply because, well, he didn't believe it was possible. Roman, touch starved? The prince was more likely to sweep any of them into a ballroom dance at a moment's notice than to deprive himself of something so simple as touch. The very idea was counterintuitive to Logan's fundamental understanding of Roman to begin with. But after this morning… Or, five times the Sides thought Roman could be touch-starved, and the one time they did something about it

 

Logan will be honest: it is not something he has given extensive thought to, nor did he deem it something worth paying attention to in the grand scheme of things. Simply because, well, he didn't believe it was possible. Roman, touch starved? The prince was more likely to sweep any of them into a ballroom dance at a moment's notice than to deprive himself of something so simple as touch. The very idea was counterintuitive to Logan's fundamental understanding of Roman to begin with.

But after this morning…

It had not been a good morning, admittedly. Thomas had little to no executive function, leaving both him and Roman metaphorically drowning in their own issues. He'd gone over every single notebook he could find, trying to locate some guide to dealing with this, surely this could not be the first time such a thing had occurred, and therefore he must have made some note about what was happening and how to fix it. But tearing his room apart—figuratively speaking—hadn't yielded anything more than a ball of frustration in his chest that refused to unwind and a torn notebook cover. Then, of course, Janus and Virgil happened upon him as he struggled to refill his water bottle and the rest, as they say, is history.

Never let it be said that the two of them aren't determined, he'd thought as he was unceremoniously sunk into the living room to be surrounded by pillows and blankets. A slightly loopy Patton had beamed at him, holding his arms out for cuddles and Janus had none-too-gently hinted that he'd be forced into relaxing whether he liked it or not. And yes, he could admit it felt nice to be held, especially when the others had so quickly joined them on the couch to watch mindless animal documentaries and game show episodes.

But then…well, then he'd noticed that Roman was missing.

Struggling upwards through the fog in his brain, he'd managed to mumble something along the lines of where's Creativity, for Remus was missing too, and Janus had quickly stood up to go look. Logan had tried to get up as well, only for Virgil and Patton to flop on top of him and render him quite motionless. Then Virgil had begun to card his hand through his hair and he lost all ability to focus on anything other than the gentle scratching sensation. He'd only managed to rouse himself from his daze when three more bodies appeared.

"Hey, it's okay, Roro, just come lie down."

"But I have to—we can't just stop, I can't—something's wrong with me—"

The genuine hurt and panic in Roman's voice had cut through the worst of Logan's brain fog and he'd sat up, looking over to see Remus barely restraining Roman with a sheet wrapped around him. Janus was on his other side, trying to reach out too, only for Roman to jerk and whimper every time his hands made contact with the sheet.

"Sweetie, it's okay," he murmurs instead, "one day off isn't going to make or break anything. You need to rest, pushing yourself more now won't help anything. No one's going to be angry at you for taking some time to rest."

Roman's gaze had darted around frantically, finally landing on Logan in the midst of being swaddled by Patton and Virgil. Something had undone itself then, his shoulders sagging as Remus finally coaxed him down to lean against the base of the couch. He'd bent close to mutter something, his hand reaching up to brush Roman's cheek, and Roman had flinched.

It hadn't been large enough for Janus to notice, nor did Remus seem to be surprised by it, but it was there. And for the life of him, Logan hadn't been able to figure out why. Not until he'd noticed that after that, Remus was careful to only touch him through the sheet, and that he never ventured close enough for anyone else to lay a hand on him.

That afternoon, when the worst of the fog began to lift, he'd thought about it again. He'd reached a conclusion that surprised him, so much so that he began to doubt it almost immediately.

Roman couldn't be touch starved, could he?

 

Virgil won't ever claim that he's the nicest to Roman, but he doesn't always go out of his way to be a jerk to him. Case in point: when he notices Roman starts getting scared every time one of them except for Remus gets close enough to accidentally bump into him, he doesn't start trying to get close to Princey on purpose.

He's concerned as hell, though, don't get him wrong. Roman's not exactly what you'd call a shy person, nor is he immune to the general theater kid-ism of getting swept up in dramatic monologues to the point where he's willing to drag people along with him. And most of the time if he's going to touch one of them, he's the one initiating it. Hugs, slaps on the back or the shoulder, high-fives, all of it. It's not like Princey's suddenly gone and declared a no-touchy zone around himself.

But Virgil knows what he's feeling.

He knows the stab of something icy cold in his gut when Patton runs at Roman to give him a hug. He knows the prickle of his skin when Janus leans close to whisper in Roman's ear. He knows the momentary lurch when Logan sits close enough that their arms brush. He knows the tensing of shoulders and the drop in his chest when he goes to ruffle Princey's hair. He knows the shudder when Remus knocks against him. Roman is scared, and what's worse is that Virgil has no idea what he's scared of.

Roman isn't the type of person to just take something lying down, not when it's actually, truly scaring him. Sure, he doesn't speak up all the time when one of them hurts his feelings, and he's long since stopped pretending he can tell when Roman's being honest about whether he wants to do something or Thomas wants to do something—honestly, he's not sure J can tell anymore either—but if something's really, honestly scaring him? Virgil's been sat down and told he can't hide in certain caves in the Imagination because it makes Roman freak out that he might've been gotten by something, or that he can't jump off the cliffs by the ocean anymore because the depth isn't always constant and it gives Roman a heart attack. Not in that way where it's like he's being scolded by a parent—no offense, Pop Star—but in that genuine way of hey, please don't do this, you're scaring me, and he'd said yes every single time.

Which is why this is so confusing. It's not like it's just one person, it's all of them. It's not like Roman's handling it well—well, he might be, if none of the others have noticed what's going on—and it's especially not like he's getting any better. The only thing he can think of is that Roman's suddenly developed this aversion to being touched, but that can't be it either.

Why would Roman have problems with being touched?

 

Patton's been feeling cold lately.

Not himself, not in the way where he needs to go put on his fluffiest sweater and huddle under the blankets with a cup of hot chocolate, but there's a part of his chest that's never really warm anymore. It's beginning to worry him, because that's the part that feels when one of his kiddos is upset.

But who would be cold? Janus is the obvious guess, but he's always wearing at least three layers, gloves, and spends most of his time alone under his heat lamp being a happy little snake puddle. He's also been seen scolding the others for not wearing enough outside or for letting themselves forget to do things like move and ask for help if they need it. So it's probably not Janus.

Logan, then, because for as much as he claims to be sensible, he has a terrible habit of believing himself impervious to some of the things in the Mindscape. Object impermanence, he says, when he's about to walk into a freezing Imagination without a coat. Roman helped scold him out of the worst of that, though, especially when Logan got hurt that one time he tried to look for Roman during a brutal rainstorm.

Virgil? Not likely either. He's never seen without that big hoodie and he's always scrunching himself into little corners and huddling under blankets and making a show of how warm he is. That could be a cover for how cold he actually is, but they've come such a long way from those days. He can still remember what it feels like when Virgil's not comfortable around them, and it's not the same.

Remus, then, but that doesn't feel right either. True, he doesn't have as good a handle on Remus's feelings as he does some of the others, but there's something achingly familiar about this cold. Something that makes it feel like he should know it, or at the very least, know what to do about it.

Which leaves Roman.

As soon as he puts name to it, the cold pulses. He puts a hand to his chest and closes his eyes, feeling the dull pain of swallowing an ice cube make itself at home in his ribs. He lies back on his bed, pulling the blankets over himself, trying to figure out why Roman feels so, so cold. Is he upset about something? Did a project not go the way he wanted it to? But Roman wasn't the type to be silent about things going wrong with his work, not like this. And it wasn't like him to be quietly cold either—he can still vividly picture the look on Janus's face when Roman came and flopped down next to him under the sun on the Imagination's rock plateau, or snuggling up under the blankets during the winter. Sure, he was a bit of a furnace himself, but that didn't mean he didn't get cold too. But this wasn't that type of cold, this one was deeper, in his bones, in his soul. As though he could be snuggled up under every kind of blanket, in the hottest desert in the world, and still, he might shiver. The kind where being inside a bonfire wouldn't help at all.

Why was Roman so cold?

 

Janus is concerned about Roman. That sentence has run the full circle of 'being concerned that Roman will mess up his plans' to 'something is wrong with the Mindscape's dear little prince and that's concerning.' Right now, however, he's a little too preoccupied to consider the irony.

Is he proud of the fact that he's snooped in on Roman while he's working on his own projects? No. Is he willing to admit that he's done so to someone like, say, Remus, who's already threatened him half a dozen times against doing that very thing? Not likely. Would he risk it anyway because what he's found out is making him worried?

Yes. Yes, he is.

He's not stupid enough to go intrude while Roman's actively in the Imagination, but he is willing to use the trick Remus taught him to investigate further. For the double doors leading into the Imagination, there's a little button on the underside of one of the handles that takes you to wherever the last person went. So, it's a simple matter of waiting for Roman to come back—through his own door, which is difficult enough to recognize—and then going to see where he went last.

He opens the door into a quiet forest. Fireflies twinkle in the dark green leaves, a deep blue sky opening up just above the treetops. A little ways down a dirt path, he sees a simple wooden cabin with a porch swing out front. He walks towards it slowly, footsteps crunching along the path. Just as he gets to the base of the steps, the door opens and a young man looks out.

"Evening," he says, "you're an awfully long way from the village, stranger."

"My apologies for intruding. I only saw a friend come this way and wondered where he'd gotten off to."

"Friend? Ah, you must be a friend of the prince's. Yes, you've just missed him, sorry to say, he's gone off that way."

"I see." Janus looks him up and down. A perfectly ordinary man, bearded chin turning up as he smiles. "I'm sure you can understand my unwillingness to just take your word for it."

"No, I understand. I can assure you I mean your friend no harm." He closes the door and comes down the steps, taking a seat and motioning for Janus to do the same. "He's been coming here for, oh, I'm not sure I can remember. Quite a while now."

"And what is it you do?"

"Talk, mostly. He helps me tend to the garden around the back—I told him it wasn't my place to accept the help of a prince and he told me not to think of him as the prince, then." He huffs a laugh. "He's a very thoughtful man, your friend."

"He is."

The man looks up at the stars for a moment, before he turns to Janus. "Forgive my questioning, but as his friend, I must confess, I am worried about him."

Janus sits up. "Oh?"

"I offered him payment, of course, or some form of compensation for helping me, but he refused all except for one thing." Here he shifts. "Tell me, if it's not too much, has the prince always been…cold?"

"Cold? How do you mean?"

"The only thing he would accept or request from me is touch. An embrace, or something so small as a hand on his shoulder. I have offered him a seat at my table for a warm meal and he treats it as though it is the finest of offerings from a neighboring kingdom." The man's expression grows more worried still. "In the winters, when I can hardly send him off into the night, he knows he has a place in my bed, but he—"

"Oh, he does, does he?"

The man gives him an almost scolding look. "Not like that. My dwelling is humble but the bed is warm and we are not creatures to deny the warmth of another. But he reacts as though I had given him riches when they are but simple touches."

Janus is quiet for a long moment. Roman sneaks in here to…what, to cuddle? To be touched? To enjoy companionship so simple and pure it belongs in some fairy tale? And then to have to be coaxed into it, reassured that it is freely offered, even if under the guise of huddling together for warmth.

"I didn't know it was like this," he says eventually, "and I thank you for being able to provide him some comfort. Stubborn man often refuses to take it."

"That I know. Would you permit me, if it is not too rude, to ask if you could see that his needs are better met?" He gestures around them. "There is only so much I can do."

"I will do my best."

"Thank you, stranger," the man says and rests his hand on Janus's shoulder.

And Janus wants to weep. Because this isn't touch. The man's hand feels scarcely more substantial than a piece of tissue paper resting atop his cloak. There's no warmth, no solidity, hardly anything more than a whisper of a promise that comes from seeing the hand there and knowing there must be some form of sensation to go with it.

If all Roman is subsisting on are touches like this, what must an actual touch feel like to him?

 

Remus knows his brother is touch starved. He's furious about it.

Because there's only so much he can do by himself, only so many times he can tackle his brother to the bed and smother him with cuddles, and Roman doesn't let him do it where anyone else could see. Why? Because Roman's terrified of being needy, that's why, and apparently letting himself be comforted in the way he needs to be comforted is a bad thing all of a sudden. Doesn't matter that Virgil needs to be squished back into his own body sometimes, doesn't matter that Logan keeps reminding them that they're social animals who need to spend time together, nope, none of that matters. What matters is that Roman is scared of letting them know he actually wants something and that means Remus has to bully his brother into letting him cuddle him because hey, guess what, he loves his brother and that means he's gonna take care of him.

He's not actually mad at Roman. No, it's not Roro's fault he's scared. It's not his fault that far too much of the meetings and Thomas working through things has come off as Roman not being allowed to want things just for the sake of wanting them. Ro's too good for that. He's too good at being quiet about stuff he actually needs, never mind the fact that if Roman actually told them what it was he really wanted, they'd never believe him. Because come on, a hug? A cuddle? Just the ability to say I need a hug and get one without any sort of teasing or mocking? Since when did Roman dream so small?

It wasn't small. That was the problem. To Roman, it's everything.

He didn't end up following through on his promise when Janus confessed what he'd done, only in part because he already looked so distraught that anything else wouldn't have done anything. No, Janus telling him about the cabin with the sweet man who just wanted to make sure Ro was okay made Remus cry out of sheer frustration. Because he's all too familiar with how insubstantial Imagination creations can be, especially when it's to supplement something like actual physical contact. And Roman, his sweet, stupid, sappy brother, was never going to be able to get by with Imagination touch alone.

Not to discount the man in the cabin. Remus has met him a few times, he's really a sweet guy. But that's partly because the Imagination knows Ro, the same way it knows Remus, and so it tries to give him the things he needs in between giving him all the things he wants too.

And apparently, what Roman needs is someone kind, patient, sweet, and caring enough to give him the physical affection he won't dare tell anyone else he's starved for.

So yeah. Remus is pissed.

+1.

It's the most humiliating thing in the world, to want to be special.

To want to have someone look at you out of everyone in the room and say that one, you, yes, I want you. To be the exception. To just be something a little bit different from everything else. To be the one for whom they have a soft spot.

A single room. A bed or a chair or a rug on the floor. A window or no window at all. A fireplace, lit or unlit. A door in the back, open or closed. Quiet footsteps or loud footsteps crossing the room, a blanket or a coat draped over shoulders as another body lowers itself. There you are or you look cold or a soft hum or nothing at all. Arms wrapping gently about shoulders or waists or just brushing against each other. Gentle kisses to the crown of the head or the temple or the cheek, or no kisses at all. Murmurings or soft worried questions or knowing silences. Warmth, always warmth. Warmth and solidity and endless unspoken affection.

Cuddled in a too-big bed with gentle whispers and firm touches. Surprised by a hug from behind, a teasing kiss pressed to a shoulder. Spotted across the room and a smile, arms opening, the come here spoken or unspoken and no less clear in either.

Yes, a humiliating thing indeed.

How can you ask to want to be special? How can you look someone in the face and tell them you care not for the work it takes to grow so close? How can you ask them to give you a place in their hearts when you don't want to give them one in yours, not in the same way? How can you want something that you could never fully appreciate, because you could never see yourself giving the same to someone else?

Give me this, you say, I want it. I want to know what it feels like.

Will you give it back to me, they say, if I give it to you?

You can't. You don't know how. You aren't capable of it. That's for other people, people who do know how to do it. It's better for them to be that for each other, after all, and not for you. You don't get that. You won't ever get it. How could you ever hope to be that kind of special? How could you ever hope for someone to choose you? What do you have that they couldn't get, a thousand times over, in someone else?

You can be liked. You can even be loved. But you will never be chosen.

It is easier, then, a voice whispers in the back of your head, to not have at all. Why would you chase crumbs when you could eat by yourself? You needn't hide under their tables. You could eat on your own. You could have your own food.

And so you do. You make your own and you smell the aromas wafting from their tables and you bite down on your own bland creations. You like them, you do, but sometimes you get a glimpse of what sorts of things they eat and your mouth waters but your stomach never grows any hungrier. You fill your mind with the thought of how good it must taste, what you imagine it to taste like. You wrap your arms around yourself and imagine a full, content stomach. You imagine someone noticing when you get a little hungry and bringing you something they think you might like to eat. But you will never be someone's first choice of dinner companion.

You watch the hugs and touches and kisses and you imagine what it might be like to be a vessel for such affection. You do not position yourself close enough to catch the runoff from the fountain because that will only make it clear how empty you are. You sit bone dry on a nearby shelf and take comfort in the shade for it reminds you of how cool the water must feel. And when it is dark and the fountain has shut off for the night, you think of how it would feel to have someone pour in the cool, gentle water until it laps against the lip at the top. Perfectly filled, just for you. It won't be, it won't ever be, but in the cool of the dark you imagine it could.

You will only be special to the things that you make to treat you as special. They give you some relief, the flat words on pieces of paper describing how badly you wish to be cherished or nourished. The phantoms you conjure in your own imagination whose only purpose is to love you, absent of the realities of touch and only there to give you the idea of it. You tell yourself a thousand stories of being loved, being cared for, being chosen and that never makes it any more real.

You take the humiliation of wanting to be special and bundle it into a cloak, wrapping it about your fragile chest as though the shame of it would deign to warm you.

***

"Is this really how you feel, Ro?"

Roman doesn't look up, the choked voice coming out of Remus enough to let him know how his brother is feeling. He shrugs, wrapping his arms tighter around himself as Remus sniffles. "I just…yeah."

"You're allowed to want stuff, Ro, especially if it's how you want to be cared for."

"But it's not—it's not fair. I can't—I can't do that, so I can't—how can I ask someone to give me something when they're not gonna get anything out of it?"

"Because it's not like they wouldn't get anything out of it." Roman turns away, face burning with shame, humiliation, a cocktail of the two, and the paper rustles as Remus puts it down. "Okay, okay, think of it this way: I ask you to do stuff for me to help ground me and pull me out of spirals, right?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't do that for you."

"Yes, you do."

"Right, but I don't do the same thing. I love you and support you in the way that you need it."

"But I can't—how can I ask someone to get into a relationship with me when I'm never gonna feel like that for them? That's what most people talk about! They feel unloved and it makes them sad and they—and then they break up and I can't hurt someone like that, Re, I can't—"

"Shh, shh, hey, hey, Roro." Remus is up and out of the chair and Roman's shrinking back before he even touches him. "I'm not—okay, I won't touch you."

He relaxes a tiny bit.

"You care about people," Remus continues, "you care a lot about people. And you're really good at making them feel cared about. You know how many times one of the others comes up to me because they can't find you to tell you how much they appreciate you? 'Cause it's a lot, Ro-bro, it's a whole hell of a lot."

Roman peeks out at Remus. He's on his knees near Roman's chair. "Really?"

"Yeah, really. They care so much about you, Roro. They want to care about you. So badly. Do you have any idea how much we've—god, no, you don't. You don't know."

"Know what?"

Remus sighs heavily. "Janus followed you to the cabin a few weeks ago."

Roman freezes.

Then he panics and because he panics, Virgil shows up. And because he can't tell Virgil the truth, Janus shows up. And because the two of them just disappeared out of nowhere, Patton and Logan show up to see what's going on. And now all of them are here and his soul is scrawled out on a piece of paper right there and Remus is reaching up to try and touch him and—

Everything stutters to a stop when warm, solid, real hands cup his face.

"Ro," comes Remus's voice, past the muffled everything of the world, "it's okay. I'm telling you it's okay. We're all worried, Roro, that's all this is. See? Everyone's just worried."

He blinks through the panicked fog to see concern written plainly across each of their faces. But the warmth won't let him think and soon he's squeezing his eyes shut again, a mortifying noise leaving his throat.

"Come let us help you," Remus is saying, "come get cuddles and kisses and everything, okay? It's okay, Roro, it's okay."

And because Roman is weak and stupid and already humiliated, he nods.

"Thank fuck," he hears distantly before there are strong, solid arms around him, hefting him up out of the chair like he weighs nothing, "hey, Princey, shh-shh-shh, it's just me, it's just Virgil."

Virgil carries him over to something soft, something else warm opening its arms to meet them. He's lowered against something else warm and solid and smelling faintly of sunflowers and there's a real kiss against his cheek.

"Sweet prince," he hears, and his mind belatedly supplies Janus, "sweet, dear prince, oh, you poor thing…you're so cold, sweetie."

"Come here, come get him under the blankets." Patton, his fading brain gives him as the faint smell of fresh cookies surrounds him with warmth, "hey, baby, it's okay. We're gonna look after you now, okay?"

Everything is too much. Everything is too much and too warm and too real and too good and Roman can't have this, he can't have this, he's being selfish, he's being awful, he's going to end up hurting someone, especially himself, and then something cool and dark falls across his face and another kiss brushes the spot just behind his ear.

"Breathe," Logan's deep voice instructs, a hand running up and down his back, "breathe, Roman."

His breath comes in great, whooping gasps, but he's breathing. A hand slips down to rest over his stomach and he near sobs with the relief of it.

"Hush, it's alright, we won't go anywhere until you're feeling much better. Just focus on us, alright? Can you do that, my dear?"

Roman will do anything if Logan keeps speaking to him so tenderly. He does his best to block out the thoughts swirling around and around, instead trying to feel the puff of Logan's breath against his cheek, the warmth of his hand on his stomach, the weight of Patton adjusting the blanket, the way Virgil's hand cards through his hair, one of his hands held in several of Janus's. He takes one deep breath in, then another, then another, and the sobs leave him with a foreign softness.

"You're doing so well, sweetheart," Patton murmurs, "so well."

"It's bad," Virgil says, more to the others than to him, "he's really out of it. He's gonna need a lot of support going forward."

"Oh, no," Janus teases, "whatever shall we do? Cuddle our sweet prince until he feels better? Tell him how much we care for him? I couldn't imagine a worse fate."

"Shush," Logan scolds, far too fond to be a true indictment before he kisses Roman's forehead, "now's not the time for jokes. Roman needs our help still."

"He's overwhelmed." Remus shuffles up close to him, pressing his side against Roman's. "Let him go to sleep about it."

"Do you need to sleep, little one? That's alright, shh, yes, that's it, close your eyes, now…sleep, my dear, we'll be here when you wake up."

Deep in the Imagination, a bird carries a letter to a little wooden cabin. A man opens the door and takes the letter, smiling as he reads what's written upon it.

He will be taken care of. Thank you.

"It is my pleasure, as always," he says, and he knows somehow the prince will hear it, "and you are always welcome to come back."

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl

[teoparadise]

last year i had such a huge obsession with trey that i wrote my first name with his last name 100 times so i could marry him

[noodles-and-tea]

Back at it with my enchanted merthur shenanigans

[renaissanceousia]

i have so much respect for this kid

[worstloki]

love the idea of the Avengers adding new members but being stingy about rooms so the OG Avengers each get their own but Bucky and Loki are forced to share one under the guise of it being 'healthy interaction'

[sherbetyy]

misses his bird family.. (they do not exist)

[volleypearlfan]

may there never be another dan schneider or brian peck or anyone like that ever again, especially working around children

[skitskatdacat63]

Jenson Le Mans photo dump bcs I am unwilling to make a coherent post

[golden-knights-of-the-realm]

Going to spend my summer/the off season watching hockey documentaries because I love learning the history of a sport I enjoy watching.

If anyone has any recommendations I will add them to my list.

[in-restless-walks]

Paul Simon in the Netflix Documentary "The Greatest Night in Pop" at the recording of We Are The World, 28 January 1985.