#but i mean punching it again is just tenderizing it more; right?

[sabuleum]

...okay, that got them: they chuckle at his question, forge-hardened arms crossing low across their torso. ❝ well, I wasn't planning to eat my weight in fish today, but if you're challenging me— ❞ they shrug. park them in a dungeon for a day and put a few really solid fights on the table... there probably wasn't a world in which it'd be possible in one day, but they'd certainly make an impressive effort.

❝ nah. I plan to smoke one, whole, and butcher the biggest one into cuts, ❞ that monstrosity was only a little more than a head shorter than him, at most, ❝ which'll be more than enough to cover me for a while. 's good fish, best when it's fresh. so you're doing me a favor, really.

–oh, and if you need help gutting and fileting it, just let me know. it can be a little tricky. ❞ luckily, she's had a lot of practice.

He does, but something about being called Earthmate feels reverent for Raguna? There's a lot worse things he puts up with around Trampoli, names aside. Case and point, Emke is gifting rather than tasking. . . and a whole fish at that?!

"Bwuh? Whoa!" A really big fish, mind you! If he were to heft it up by the tail it looked as though it would be at least half as long as he is tall! "Thank you? But- are you saying you can go through two on your own? Like in a day??" Wouldn't put it past the blacksmith. Something about them.

[lonelainee]

contains nsfw content ... :33 char :: megumi fushiguro, jjk

megumi who is a surprisingly tender lover. in public he hardly smiles, his eyes look sharp and his frown even sharper. any sane person would know to steer clear. just the way he wanted.

he had a reputation for being rough. he fought anyone who got on his nerves, he punched people without a second thought if they said something stupid— typically itadori— and he didn't seem like he cared about how hard his jabs landed either. I mean.. they pissed him off, right? they deserved it.

but you knew that couldn't be farther from the truth.

megumi was a sucker for holding your hand when he slipped his cock through your folds and past the first tight ringlet of your cunt. he'd glance down at your face, his lips agape and brows furrowed. black strands of hair cling to the sweat on his face, his deep blue eyes locking onto yours and refusing to let go of your gaze until he is positive that you're okay.

he'd whisper sweet nothings as he cautiously pushed his hips forward, reassuring you that you'll be okay as your poor pussy took the first half of his cock. when your breath caught in your throat and your body clenched, he would kiss you softly until you calmed down. why? because he cared. he was much more concerned about accidentally hurting you than anything else.

he was so gentle, the roll of his hips felt like his tip was kissing your cervix. when you shuddered at the sensation he'd lightly squeeze your hand, kisses littering up your flushed cheeks.

"breathe.. you're doing so good.. breathe.." was all he would whisper as he picked up his pace, his own breath growing hoarse and rugged as your slick hole squeezed his cock. it took everything in him not to just ruin your pretty cunt for his own satisfaction. but he couldn't— he'd never do something like that to someone as precious and valuable as you. you were the only person in this cruel world that he treated so delicately.

his free hand holds onto the bed frame above your head, his nails digging into the wood. you felt so good it was driving him insane. how could one person be so perfect? your body, your mind, your voice, your laugh— God he just loved it all. he was so lost in the tension on your face and the dazed look in your eyes he hadn't even noticed just how hard he was thrusting.

the sweet sound of your nonsensical murmurs and sharp inhales filled the air, entangling with his own groans and strangled gasps. his hips snapped on their own, the sound of skin slapping echoing through the emptiness of his dorm room. your hands reached hastily for megumi's shoulders, searching for any sense of stability as you felt that familiar tingle growing in your toes, inching up your body with each animalistic plunge. his thrusts were growing uneven and erratic, he must be close too.

all megumi could feel was a sudden gushing around his shaft, it made his eyes widen a little before they fell shut again as a hot load of cum bubbled up in the tip of the condom. and you felt it too. you felt the surge of liquid that forced its way out of your body, followed by the bloated condom that filled itself deep inside your spongey walls. you shivered at the sensation, gasps leaving your lips as your hips shook and your legs trembled. your freshly manicured nails left dents in megumi's back as you battled the sharp jitters in your body, plump glossy lips agape. he leaned in, capturing that vulnerable and personal expression on your face into a deep kiss.

megumi looked down, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. both of your lower halves were soaked in a sticky but sweet liquid, dripping down both of your legs and pooling onto the mattress.

"shit.."

megumi whispered, seemingly flustered by the scene in front of him. he carefully pulled out, taking off the now filled condom and tossing it in the small bin by his bed. he glanced at you, a surprised expression on his face. did he just.. make you squirt..? he had never done that to you before. he felt prideful of course, but also a little worried.

"are you okay?" he stepped off the bed, wiping himself down with a bath towel and pulling his grey sweatpants back up. did he go too far? he should've been more mindful. now the bed was ruined and your body still shook-

"megs.. it's okay." you whisper, your voice a little dry but still so soft and gentle.

he looked at you with the same flat expression as always, but you could tell he held a look of concern in those pretty blue eyes of his. megumi didn't say a word as he scooped you up in his arms, not caring that you were still soaking wet, and carried you into the bathroom to run you a hot bath. your hips still jerked every few seconds and you reassured him that you're okay but he still looked like a puppy that just bit his owner.

he sat by the bath the entire time, not caring that his abdomen and sweatpants were still damp from carrying you. his hands gently cleaned your body with the wash cloth, refusing to let you move a single muscle. he whispered little apologises into your ear as he kissed your cheek, drying you off and dressing you into any random shirt he could find. he most definitely not letting you walk back to your dorm after that, so you'd be staying here for the night whether you liked it or not.

you tried explaining to megumi that you were fine and it wasn't uncommon for girls to do that but he didn't care, seeing you so sensitive and vulnerable must've ignited something in him. some sort of higher level of protectiveness that he didn't even know was possible.

you laid across his bare chest, wrapped up in fluffy blankets as you both decided to sleep on the small leather couch while the bedsheets dried off on the balcony.

megumi wouldn't admit it, but he really wanted to see you do that again.

[0omillo0]

Comfort after a fight

a/n: This was such a heartfelt request! I can really imagine Bang Chan being incredibly tender and empathetic in this kind of situation. The idea of him comforting you after a moment of accidental hurt just shows how deeply he cares. He'd do anything to make it right again, and he'd definitely be the kind of person to sit with you through your toughest moments, never letting go.

this is for @hyunjins-orange-slice-too <3 thank you cutie!!

꒰ 🗯️ ꒱

It was a rough day for Bang Chan, and it showed. His shoulders sagged, face etched with exhaustion, and he barely managed a small smile as he stepped into the apartment. You had noticed his demeanor immediately, sensing that something was off, but you gave him space, as he often needed time to unwind before he opened up.

However, tonight was different. Tension hung heavy in the air, thick and palpable. You busied yourself in the kitchen, hoping to make him something to eat, a small gesture of comfort. But as you tried to talk to him, to check in, his responses were short, clipped. His patience was wearing thin, and you could feel the fragile balance between you beginning to fray.

“Hey, Chan… I made some dinner for us,” you said softly, walking over to where he sat slumped on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through his phone.

“Not hungry,” he muttered without looking up.

You bit your lip, trying not to take it personally. You knew he had bad days, that sometimes his own mind was his worst enemy, but the distance between you tonight felt unsettling. You sat down beside him, offering a small, tentative smile.

“Are you okay? You seem… off.”

At that, something snapped.

“Can you not?” His voice was sharp, cutting through the room like a knife. “I just need space, alright? Why do you always have to push? You don’t get it. I don’t want to talk!”

The words stung more than they should have, especially because you knew he didn’t mean them. But the suddenness of his outburst, the harshness in his voice, felt like a punch to the chest.

You recoiled slightly, blinking back the tears that were threatening to spill over. “I—I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to upset you…”

But it was too late. The floodgates inside you had opened. Your chest tightened, and the familiar, suffocating feeling of panic began to creep in. Your breath quickened, becoming shallow and erratic, and the room suddenly felt too small, the air too thick.

Chan, who had turned away in frustration, didn’t notice at first. But as the seconds passed, he heard it—your ragged breaths, the soft, choked sobs that you were desperately trying to hold back. He glanced over, his anger fading as quickly as it had come when he saw the state you were in.

Your hands were trembling, your eyes wide with fear, unfocused, and your breath was coming in short, panicked gasps. He had never seen you like this before, and the realization hit him like a ton of bricks: he had caused this. He had hurt you.

“Y/N,” he whispered, immediately softening, his own heart clenching with guilt. “Oh God, no…”

He moved closer, gently taking your hands in his. You flinched slightly at the touch, still lost in the grip of the panic attack, but he didn’t let go.

“Hey, hey,” his voice was low, soothing, filled with regret. “I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean it. I swear, I didn’t mean it.”

You couldn’t respond. Your mind was racing too fast, your body betraying you as you struggled to catch your breath. But Chan didn’t leave. He stayed there, his hands enveloping yours, grounding you.

“Breathe with me, okay? Just breathe,” he coaxed gently, his own breathing slowing as he demonstrated for you. “In… and out. You’re safe. I’m right here.”

His voice was soft, a constant anchor in the storm swirling inside you. He repeated the words over and over, never rushing you, never leaving your side.

“In and out. You’re doing so good,” he whispered, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand. “I’m so sorry. Please… I’m so sorry.”

Eventually, the tightness in your chest began to ease, and your breathing, though shaky, started to even out. Your grip on his hand tightened, as if you were afraid to let go, and he responded by pulling you closer, enveloping you in a protective embrace.

“I’m sorry,” you managed to choke out, your voice small and broken. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” he interrupted quickly, holding you tighter. “Don’t apologize. This is my fault. I shouldn’t have yelled. I—I just had a bad day, and I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair.”

You buried your face in his chest, letting the last of the tremors fade as you breathed in his familiar scent, the one that always brought you comfort.

“I didn’t mean to push,” you whispered. “I just wanted to help.”

“I know,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “And you didn’t deserve that. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I hate that I made you feel like this.”

You could hear the guilt in his voice, the way it cracked with emotion, and it broke your heart. You knew he never meant to hurt you, and seeing how much it affected him now made it all the more clear.

“It’s okay,” you said softly, though your voice wavered. “I just… I was scared.”

“I know,” he whispered, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes filled with regret. “I promise, I’ll never let that happen again. I’ll be better.”

There was silence for a moment as you both took in the gravity of what had just happened. But the weight of it slowly lifted as he continued to hold you, grounding you with his presence, his warmth.

“I love you,” he whispered into your hair. “I’ll do better. I swear.”

You nodded against him, feeling the sincerity in his words. And though the panic had left you drained, there was a sense of relief in knowing that he was there, that he understood.

“I love you too,” you whispered back.

And as you sat there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the storm inside you calmed, replaced by the steady, reassuring beat of his heart.

[rafesbabygirlx]

You’re All I Have

Masterlist

JJ Maybank x reader

Summary: you are JJs best friend who’s not John B or Pope and he always comes to you when something happens.

A/N: loosely based of the scene of Luke and JJ in the show

Word count: 567

Warnings: parental abuse, gun, kissing, angst, fluff at the end of

JJ bursts through the door of your small shack, the wood rattling as he steps in. You’re just a mile down the road from him and it seems trouble had found him again. You’re sitting on the couch with a textbook in your lap, trying to make use of a rare day off, but the sudden commotion jerks your attention his way. You can’t see his face clearly; his head is down, and his whole frame is shaking. He paces, muttering something under his breath.

You set your book aside and jump up, reaching out. “JJ? What’s going on?” He swats your hands away, but you know he means no harm—just caught in the whirlwind of whatever just happened. You reach out again, dodging his attempts to push you back, and finally manage to hold his face in your hands. “Talk to me, J. Please.”

He raises his head, and your heart drops at the sight. His face is bloodied and bruised. “Damn it, again?” You pull him to the couch, guiding him down gently. Without another word, you rush to the bathroom to grab the first aid kit. Back at his side, you open it up and start tending to his injuries, every movement practiced, almost automatic now.

“We were arguing—same as usual,” he mumbles, voice thick with frustration. “But this time, it was my fault. I threw the first punch, knowing he’d just take me down. It’s always my fault.”

“J, don’t say that,” you whisper, dabbing a cut on his cheek. “You don’t deserve this.” Your fingers gesture lightly over his bruised face, reminding him of his worth.

He begins to cry, the tears spilling over as he speaks through them. “When he went outside, I saw my chance. I shoved him down the stairs, hard, and when he fell, I… I held it to his head. I wanted to so bad, you have no idea.”

Your heart stops as you watch him reach into his back pocket, pulling out a gun. He grips it tightly, his other hand pressing against his forehead in anguish.

“I couldn’t do it. I should have—I should’ve killed him,” he chokes out. You’re frozen in shock but manage to reach out slowly, taking the gun from his hand and setting it firmly on the coffee table. Then you go back to work, focusing on him, the pain written on his face and in his voice.

“JJ, your life would be better without that man,” you say, refusing to even speak the man’s name. “But I know you. You did the right thing. Because no matter how much you hate him, you’d hate yourself even more if you did something like that. You are not a killer.”

You finish cleaning him up, cupping his cheeks in your hands. “You’re broken, sure. But you’re better than him, better than all this. You may not believe it, but I do. You’re kind, you’re selfless, and you’re the strongest person I know.”

He looks up, his eyes glassy. “You really think that?”

“I do.” His hands come up to cover yours as he leans in, and his lips meet yours softly, lingering. It’s not rushed or intense—just a tender, reassuring moment. He pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against yours, a small, hopeful smile on his face.

“Maybe I can believe in myself a little if you do.”

[kaisaerinlover]

michael kaiser ^__^

tw: not much just previous abuse

he’s so gentle today, you know he’s probably having a tough day, practice might have been difficult; and his head in general. kaiser has a hundred years worth of trauma, and you do too. maybe it’s why you’re together. you want to fix his and he only makes more for you, but it’s okay, you’re both fine with this arrangement, “if you weren’t you would leave” he always told you. it’s okay if he cracks your fragile porcelain skin sometimes, because it makes the sparse instances where he is tender so much more sweet. but it makes the next day bittersweet too. the next punch. next insult. next round of manipulative whispers in your ears. all of them end up being bittersweet after the softness he displayed just the day before. but it’s okay.

you’re laid together on his bed, he probably had a long day at practice. “tell me, schatz;” he starts. you perk up to listen, your eyes boring into his. his eyes look so different right now, but you can’t pinpoint what it is. “why are you with me, hm?” he asks, his voice wavered a little, but he still sounded confident as ever. you’re still looking into his eyes, how come they aren’t the same as normal? “because i love you a lot” you retort back. his eyes, it’s not the colour that’s different, they’re the deep shade of blue they always are.

his hand on your cheek, kneading it and pinching it softly is enough to snap you out from those thoughts about the sudden difference in his eyes. “why?” it’s a vulnerable moment for kaiser, he usually doesn’t ponder things like this. “how do you love someone like me?” he adds. how DO you love someone like him? it’s a good question, even though you’ll only admit that in the furthest corner of your pure soul. you love him because he’s perfect. he’s so perfect for you, and you think you’re perfect for him. you like his eyes. what is it about them that’s different? the shape is the same?

“i like you as a whole” you answer back to him. it’s not a lie, you like everything he has to give you. you like the way he calls you from another room. “prinzesschen come here” and you like those mean words and punches he hurls at you at times. you like the star striker of bastard münchen and you like the remnants of the broken child inside of him. he holds your hand and squeezes it a bit “i love you my baby, love you so much” he’s looking deeply into your eyes, can he tell you’re wondering what’s different? “i love you the most”

“would you ever leave me?” it’s a hard question to answer, but yet again, you wouldn’t ever admit that to yourself. why would you ever admit there’s a possibility you might leave him? he’s pretty mean at times, most of the time, almost all of the time, but even then, it’s not enough to make you leave. nothing is. is he scared you’re going to leave? you aren’t sure. you bring your hand to his hair and play with it in your fingers, turning his golden locks in circles that amount to nothing, just harmless fun for you. “never in a million years” what is wrong with his eyes anyway? you can see your reflection better in them now, why is that?

moments like these are rare. laid in bed with your boyfriend holding hands, playing with his hair as he cups your face in a manner that suggests he’s scared of shattering you, his doll, this is so so rare. it’s almost like you’re a normal couple, both of you enjoy this normalcy, even though only one is to blame for the poor dynamic of your relationship. “wenn du mich verlässt was soll ich dann tun, meine klein prinzessin?” he asks you. “sie sollten nicht einmal darüber nachdenken denn es wird nie passieren das verspreche ich” you retort back. you smile at him and he smiles back for a second.

his smile fades and you almost flinch for what’s to come. maybe a black eye. but all you get is his face buried in your neck and a weird wetness there. your boyfriend is sniffling into your neck, michael kaiser is crying into your neck. you pat the back of his head and shh him soothingly. ah, that’s what was different about his eyes, they were glossy and wet from the tears threatening to spill over and ruin this moment. but it’s okay, it’s not ruined. you squeeze him tightly, in a loving way of course, you squeeze him enough that he doesn’t feel scared about you leaving anymore, not for now anyway. he quietly cries into your neck and you let him, because what else would you do. kaiser is just as broken as you. you like this rare moment of vulnerability, as bad as it sounds. kaiser is really human, isn’t he? the same as you.

right now, you are not adults. you are the same two broken children you always have been, you were before. you’re kaiser’s sweet angel hugging him after he scraped his knee playing soccer at the park. you kiss his head sweetly. it’s hard to not feel bad for him, how can you not. all he is right now is that crying little kid. and he sees you the exact same way. maybe that’s why he was so gentle today, because all he saw is the girl from his kindergarten class, the shy little thing from his class, the one he vaguely remembers, yet didn’t notice her until he dug deep in his memories again.

he’s asleep eventually, still in your arms, and you’re almost there, and you feel the most comfortable you have in years. your insides are soft and you’re content. tomorrow isn’t promised, who knows how he’ll act tomorrow. but who actually cares? you’ll take this small victory for tonight, maybe he’ll be nicer tomorrow if you’re lucky. but even if not, the tear stained shirt and the faint sounds of his sniffles are enough to get you through anything after this.

he’s just human after all, yet you are his little angel

german translations

“what will i do when you leave me my little princess”

“nothing because it won’t ever happen i promise”

sorry for using actual german:< i just prefer those phrases in german since it’s my first language and i like these sentimental valued phrases better in german anyway hehe hope u enjoyed if u read it ♡

[hyperfixationhobo]

Headcanons of the LADS!!!!!

———————————

If there’s one thing that i absolutely love it’s headcanons! I always take my time to study characters and just take the info and sprint with it cause ain’t no one gonna stop me. So why not do it for the Lads? Just some little things I think make them a bit more fleshed out.

Xavier:

. Sleeps wearing running shorts and a sweaters.

. Said sweaters constantly have star themed designs and are pastel.

. Speaking of pastel I really want him to wear more pastel colors. Like I get the color scheme but dammit he’ll look so good in them!

. Uses 3 in 1.

. Please make him stop using that.

. Has the best puppy dog eyes and definitely uses it to his advantage.

. He’s definitely the type to give some guy a quick punch to the throat if he deems it necessary. He does it so fast no one really has the time to process it before he’s using his ‘innocent eyes’.

. Definitely has a ton of plushies after meeting you.

. I think his bedroom would be a bit cluttered.

. The type to research your favorite hobby then proceed to pretend he doesn’t know about said hobby but asks you just the right questions cause he did his research.

. Bunny house slippers…need I say more?

. Definitely watches anime with you.

. Flexible…just gonna leave that here.

. Not the best at being aware of temperature, has worn shorts in the middle of winter.

Zayne

. To me Zayne seems like the type to cry if you cry. I mean like you have to be sobbing and he’ll comfort you and once you fall asleep he starts to cry cause he isn’t capable of taking away what is causing you pain.

. Isn’t the best with expressing emotions so he writes you letters to try to make up for it. Makes communicating much easier tbh.

. Biggest cuddleslut out there. Absolute cuddlewhore. He doesn’t see you much and his power is ice so I think the warmth that comes with cuddling is something he’s addicted to.

. Loves holding your hand, again for the warmth.

. Naturally cold hands so he rubs them together to warm them before touching someone.

. Freezing feet. Just straight up frozen.

. “Zayne I love you but keep your feet on your side of the bed or put on some socks.

. Doesn’t admit it but addicted to coffee.

. Terrible hand writing.

. Hates Brussels sprouts.

. Loves jigsaw puzzles.

. Also loves eggnog, especially with some cinnamon sprinkled on top.

. (I can’t remember which arm of his gets frozen I think it’s the left) His left arm is a bit more tender than his right so he loves when you massage it.

. Wears every scarf you buy him.

Rafayel

. Anytime I image Rafayel in clothes it always contains lace and silk. I have no idea why but to me it seems like something he would wear.

. Has mixed opinions about aquariums. On one hand some aquariums do help out sick and injured sea life and yeah that’s amazing especially if the sea animal wouldn’t survive in the wild anymore. On the other hand some aquariums are greedy money hogging bastards and just keep sea life just to keep it.

. Is the type to give the silent treatment then proceed to break it cause he misses talking to you.

. Has watched the little mermaid, absolutely loves it even if it’s completely wrong about his species.

. “Man if I could steal voices I would.”

. Can’t dance for shit.

. Self care king.

. Gets sick quite easily.

. Can’t hold his alcohol and gets drunk pretty easily.

. Definitely soaks in bubble baths.

. The second idiot in ‘the two idiots’ love trope. Absolutely fuels impulse decisions.

. “That seems very dangerous….lets do it!”

. Two words to describe his studio. Organized mess.

. Really really serious about promises. You’re not allowed to break anymore.

Sylus

. Eats steaks medium rare. He tried rare and absolutely not.

. Unknowingly taps his foot when irritated.

. Also unknowingly clicks his pen when focused.

. Only writes in cursive.

. Picks you up just to pick you up.

. Definitely hates when people wake him up by opening the curtain.

. Gets sunburnt easily.

. Hides your shoes to make you stay longer.

. Is the type to get mad at someone being too loud cause he’s on the phone even though he’s in the middle of a fucking shoot out.

. “Yknow it’s pretty rude to be loud when someone’s on the phone.”

. Definitely has fuzzy house shoes.

. Has had his hardwood floor waxed then proceeded to slip and fall from the waxed floor and now when his floor gets waxed he stays out the entire day.

. Loves ice cream.

. His body is a fucking heater. Cuddles are only done with the AC set to below freezing.

[darlinluxx]

𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 | 𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐀𝐄 𝐁𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐊 ౨ৎ

pairing : saebyeok x fem!reader

angst

warnings : angst, mentions of alcohol, mentions of smoking

summary : even after breaking up, saebyeok can’t let you go and keeps showing up in your life and that includes her showing up at your apartment, drunk late at night

a/n : based off of memories by conan gray

if you have any requests, feel free to message me <3

𝐓he rain is a persistant, annoying drone against the cheap windowpane of your apartment. you’d hoped for a quiet night, maybe a film and some leftover food. instead, you’re staring at the chipped paint of your front door like it holds the answers to the universe. you know the sound that’s coming. it’s the uneven, hesitant knock, followed by a muffled, almost pathetic, “it’s me.”

you sigh, a heavy, tired sound that seems to echo the very rhythm of the downpour. you know the ‘me’ is her. Saebyeok, the ghost that haunts the edges of your life, the splinter you can’t quite pull out. you tell yourself, each and every time, that you’ll ignore it, that you’ll let her stand there until the rain soaks through to her bones. you tell yourself you deserve peace, that you moved on, that she needs to, too. you tell yourself a lot of things.

but when the knocking comes again, harder this time, accompanied by a slurred plea, “please, just… let me in.” you find yourself walking to the door regardless. your hand hovers over the doorknob, a battle raging within you. the part of you that still remembers those calloused hands holding yours, the way she used to look down at you like you were the only star in the Seoul skyline, wars against the part that aches with the sting of the breakup.

with a final, defeated sigh, you twist the knob and pull the door open.

there she is. Saebyeok. hair plastered to her forehead, rain dripping down her face like tears. her eyes, usually sharp and calculating, are clouded with alcohol and a raw vulnerability that still manages to punch you in the gut. her clothes are damp and clung to her tall frame, making her seem more fragile than she ever allows herself to be.

“hey.” she mumbles, her voice thick and rough. she sways on her feet, and you reach out instinctively, catching her before she can fall against the doorframe. the familiar scent of cigarettes, her faint cologne, and something vaguely metallic clings to her, making your stomach flip.

“Saebyeok,” you say, your voice soft, despite your resolve. “you’re drunk.” it’s not a question.

she shrugs, a pathetic little movement that makes you want to wrap her in a blanket and chase away all the ghosts that haunt her. “maybe a little.”

she stumbles inside, and you close the door, cutting off the relentless buzz of the rain. you know you shouldn’t have let her in. you know that every time you do this, you’re just delaying the inevitable pain, the inevitable goodbye that you both should have had weeks ago. but right now, you can’t bring yourself to throw her back into the storm.

you lead her to the couch, pushing aside a stack of books you’ve been meaning to return to the library. she collapses onto the cushions, a small groan escaping her lips. you watch her, this woman who was once your everything, now a mess on your couch, and a wave of complicated feelings washes over you. there’s anger, yes, at her inability to let go, at her blatant disregard for your boundaries. but beneath that anger is a familiar ache of tenderness, a desperate longing to take care of her.

“you’re going to catch a cold.” you say, your voice laced with a weariness you can’t quite conceal. you’re reaching for the blanket from the armrest, offering it to her.

she takes it and wraps it around herself. “i miss you.” she whispers, her voice barely audible above the rain outside.

the words are simple, yet they land like a punch. you want to tell her to stop, to go home, to leave you alone. you want to scream at her until she finally understands. but instead, you sit down in the chair opposite her, the silence filling your apartment, heavy and charged.

you don’t reply. you can’t. because despite everything, despite the hurt, despite the anger, the exhaustion, you still care for her. and she always has a way of coming back into your life. and maybe, a part of you wants it that way.

[imfinereallyy]

Eddie draws on the edge of Steve’s hip, where his shirt rides up from stretching across Eddie’s bed. He’s humming to himself a song Steve doesn’t recognize, but it soothes him.

“What are you drawing?” Steve speaks softly; something about the moment feels gentle. He doesn’t want to break it.

“Hmmm, it’s a secret.” Eddie peaks beneath his bangs and smiles.

Steve leans up on his elbows, “Well, that’s not fair; I think I should know what’s going on my body?”

Eddie only looks at him with mischief as he continues to doodle. “Be grateful, Harrington. You’re getting an original Munson for free.”

Steve can’t help the laugh that escapes him. It is just like Eddie to say something like that. Playful and mean, it makes something settle in Steve. For a long time, he only knows the pain from harsh comments or a sentence with a bite. It is a welcomed change, to feel a bubble of happiness after a light jab.

“Whatever you say, Munson. Just let me see.” Steve tries to push up further to sneak a peek, but Eddie uses his free hand to push him down to the bed. He just happens to catch Steve off guard, sending him into a sprawl that can only be described as a starfish.

“I’m not finished yet.” Eddie grabs his hips and pins him still while he draws. After a few more moments, he says, “Done!”

Steve looks at his work and releases a snort that breaks the careful tension between them. “Are those boobs?”

“Why yes, they are, and a good representation if I say so myself.”

“Do you even know what boobs look like? Like the live version?” Steve knows he should be mad at the sharpie-drawn breasts on his body, but he can’t find it in him to have an angry tone.

“We’ll no. I don’t. And I would much prefer to keep it that way.”

Steve chokes on his spit a little bit, “Did you just come out to me, Eds?”

Steve isn’t sure what he expects. Denial, maybe, Eddie taking back what he said. Steve knows he isn’t handling this right. He doesn’t think Robin would be too happy with his response.

Steve thinks maybe he should see a little bit of fear in Eddie’s demeanor. That shakiness that comes with telling someone a dangerous secret.

What he gets, in the end, isn’t something he could have predicted. Eddie smiles softly, a little bit of his tooth peeking out, and lays his head gently on Steve’s leg. He’s calm and collected. He’s happy, Steve realizes.

“Yea, I guess I did. Not like it was much of a secret, though. Are you upset?” Eddie draws soft circles around the drawing on Steve’s hip—the rough callous on his thumb contradicting his tender touch.

Once again, although the conversation should be anxious, it’s not. Eddie’s question is spoken like he already knows the answer. Maybe he does.

“No, Eddie. I’m not mad. Never would be for that. Just thought it was a funny way of sharing a secret. Though, gotta admit, a very you way of doing it.”

This time Eddie throws his head back when he laughs, before settling back down on Steve’s leg. His giggles never really settled. “Like I said, Stevie wasn’t much of a secret anyway. Well, between us, that is at least. I like to think some, if not all, the kids are oblivious.”

“Erica definitely knows.”

Eddie’s eyes widen in mischief, “Oh, for sure. Pretty sure she would kick the others' asses, too, if they gave me shit for it. And she kicks hard too.”

It’s Steve’s turn to laugh. He’s never had this before, this casualness to serious conversations. Before, Steve is used to screaming and punching, drunken confessions in the bathroom, and throwing up on the mall floor. It isn’t like this, now, with Eddie in his trailer bedroom. It’s good. It’s safe.

“Thank you for telling me, Eds. Something like that is hard to share no matter who you tell it to.”

The softness is back again, “Like I said wasn’t much of a secret. Besides, I don’t think there isn’t any secret of mine you don’t know, Stevie. I think even when I don’t tell you, you kinda already know, don’t you?”

Steve leans one arm forward, while he places his weight on one elbow. He gently takes Eddie’s face in one hand, rubbing circles in the same motion as Eddie’s thumb on his hip.

God, I want to kiss him so bad sometimes, Steve thinks.

“Yea, I already know.”

[dae-hos-wife]

(okay so this is for a request I previously deleted by mistake)

•|Cmon..you trust me..right?|•

(Fem!Reader x RoughDom!Nam gyu)

(Tw: Degradation, rough ASF, Nam-gyu J's being a perv/ slight sub!nam-gyu, reader gives killer head 🤑🤑)

Your such a dumbass. It's literally only been the first game and you feel like every pain in your life has doubled. Even tripled by guilt.

You don't normally feel so..withdrawn. Or unwanting to do anything.

But now, now you couldn't seem to get up from your bed. You can't. You..won't. You're gonna die here. You're so gonna die here. Why didn't you just refuse the salesman and go back to your shit show of a life. It's better than getting killed.

You suddenly feel a soft tap on your shoulder and you tense up, immediately about to throw a punch when you see a familiar face.

Nam Gyu.

"Hey, Hey-! Calm down- I'm only here to-uh...wish you luck-" he snickers under his breath and you roll your eyes, a softish red hue covering your face.

You look at his face, slight blood dripping down his nose. You know he's previously gotten in a fight with some crypto dealer whose scammed them out of their money.

But it's crypto? When has it ever properly taken off? Except for things like bitcoin. But that was obvious.

You grumbled, a soft embarrassed reddish tint on your face. "shut up...your just-- Go away."

You mutter under your breath and look away. Blushing in slight embarrassment and the fact he's getting closer, you step back and he just steps forward.

"hm. Hey y'know what? I wasn't able to get my anger out on that little pussy of a scammer. What if I take it out on yours?"

He smirked wickedly and tilts his head curiously. You look back at him and shrugged, trying to act nonchalant while your genuinely struggling to keep composure

"Hey, we're gonna die anyways right? Better make the most of it." You grin and he chuckles before grabbing your wrist roughly and dragging you down and out the main area.

"Hey! Where are we—" you begun before he shuts you up with a gentle, almost tender kiss and keeps clasping your wrist as you basically melt on the inside. After ages of your wrist aching you finally got there.

The bathroom.

"uh..why are we in the bathroo—"

He shortly shuts you up again, but this time with a more searing kiss. More tongue and teeth clashing together than the tenderness he's used before.

You feel his tongue trying to probe your lips and you have no choice but to part your lips, giving Nam Gyu a split second to shove his tongue in your mouth and let small trickles of drool leak out of your mouth as he takes it with his own so roughly.

"..fuck-..i-i need this-.."

He muttered against your lips and kissed you again, making your tongue wrestle with his own in a rough, passionate fight for dominance. which obviously Nam-gyu was winning.

By far..he was winning.

You felt his hands grasp your uniform desperately, trying to basically rip it off without actually ripping it off.

"Take- take this off...now-..shit..I said now-"

You grab your sweatshirt that the guards gave you and chuck it off your shoulders, leaving it on the floor sprawled out randomly.

"can-can you do head-? I mean..you look like a slut so-"

He stuttered, muttering soft curses.

Man he was weird sounding when desperate.

"hm..I think so." You say with a teasing grin before lowering yourself down on your knees and slowly lowering his sweatpants down his thighs. Making him shiver.

"fuck..faster whore..i want this to be quick. Not a fucking—hng-!"

You interrupt his lecture by reminding him your the one with his cock in your hands by giving it a hard pump with your hand.

"just..let me do my shit kay? I'm good at this."

You mutter as you grab your hair and tuck it behind your ears, letting it stay there and not block your vision from the 7 inch cock in front of your face, twitching and pulsing with every slight breath on its mushroom shaped head, hm.. probably best if you start with that thing first.

"yeah..bet you are sluaahht~!" He moans as you start to lick and suck at the head, letting your tongue kitten lick the slit, lapping up any spare, salty precum that gathers there.

Nam Gyu grabs your hair, threading his fingers through your long, silk like hair, making him groan in pleasure.

"yeah..fuck like that..juusst like that..cmon.."

He mumbles lowly, moaning and panting as you lower your head further onto his cock. You gag slightly as the tip of it hits the back of your throat and makes you feel dizzy. But you remember.

Hide teeth, use tongue and breathe through your nose.

And thats what you do, you double down and increase your vigor tenfold, sucking and licking at the massive cock before you, whimpering Everytime it hits the back of your throat in ecstasy.

"fuck-fuck-fuck- shit- ah- haah-.."

He pants and moans like a bitch in heat, like your bitch..no, not that. He's not like that. He'd hate that..but god if it doesn't turn you on like nothing else...

"fuck- close.."

You hear him mutter and you almost laugh, shit already..? Were you that good or does this man really have that low of a libido..?

"w-where should i-"

He starts, but he gets cut off by a choked moan coming from his throat as you take him to the hilt, your nose pressing against his pelvic bone.

"FUCK!!! cmon-! Swallow it- swallow it you fuckin whore-!"

He whines and bucks his hips into your mouth, spurts of warm cum fill your mouth, forcing you to swallow the delicious taste, after you're sure you've gotten every drop, you pull away with a whimper, his cum leaking from your mouth like a broken faucet.

Lines of saliva and cum trail down his cock and he sighs relaxed.

..maybe here won't be as bad anymore.

[hotheadedhero]

De-Stress Methods

When you're having a bad day, the last thing your turtle boyfriend wants is for you to suffer. Fortunately for you, he has his own special way of helping you out.

2003 Turtles x Reader

Leonardo

Meditation is usually his way of going about things but he knows you struggle to clear your head so easily like him. Instead, he beckons you to a rooftop, being sure to cover your eyes as he leads you up an apartment. It's a risky move on his part, both for potentially being seen and you blindly upscaling a ladder but he knows it'll be worth it. Once you're up, he waits just a moment longer.

Slightly disgruntled by the secrecy, you sigh, "Leo, if this is some kind of training exercise, I'm not sure I'm in the mood."

He just smiles as he gently coerces your hand away from your face. It takes a moment to blink away the blur but, when you do, you are blessed with a wondrous array of oranges and purples amidst the wide sky that hangs above you. The sight is breathtaking and the troubles of your day wash off you almost immediately. Leo sits you down with him atop the roof and together you gaze in content silence. Knowing him, this is probably some corny interpretation of 'tomorrow is a new day' but you feel better nonetheless.

Raphael

This man holds nothing back when he's in a bad mood. Give him a punching bag and he'll go to town on it. You, however, couldn't hurt a fly. He loves that about you but even the softest souls need an outlet. Luckily, Raph is in touch with his softer side, especially when it comes to you. That's why he attempts to show you how to knit - get you focused on a task that requires just enough attention to distract you.

"I don't think I've done it right," you admit bashfully as you showcase your poor knitting skills.

Your sullen glance to the floor almost has him giving up on this idea but he doesn't want you to be discouraged. Instead, he gently pinches your chin, points your head up towards him, and kisses your forehead, encouraging you to try again. The great thing about knitting is that you can easily pull the yarn away from your mistake and redo it. It takes some practice but the beaming grin of accomplishment on your face fills him with such pride.

Donatello

When it comes to methods of relaxation, there's nothing quite like tinkering on a new project to get Donnie to unwind. However, that isn't exactly your idea of a soothing pastime. Even just watching how he operates on machinery gets your head into a spin, akin to second-hand stress were he to feel any such stain himself. He places his tools down on the work bench and gets comfortable on the couch with a book, ushering you to join him. You lay your head in his lap and he begins to read, stroking a free hand over your head. After a few paragraphs, he feels you shift and stops reading to look down at you when he catches your stare.

"Please, don't stop," you object with a smile. "I like your voice."

With a tender expression of his own, he continues to read aloud about the geometry of spacetime. He knows it doesn't matter what he reads to you because that isn't the point. The way he sees it, the more obscure the book, the more likely you are to fall asleep and take the well-deserved nap he knows you need.

Michelangelo

Mikey may be a high-energy, goofball who, at face value, doesn't take much seriously but that doesn't mean he's an idiot. Where he seemingly lacks logical smarts, he makes up for in emotional intelligence. As soon as you walk into the lair, he can tell something's wrong. You don't want to talk about it and exerting yourself with any kind of activity sounds like too much energy. That means skateboarding and video games are out of the question then. Not a problem! There's plenty you can do that requires little to no effort. He quickly makes a batch of popcorn and sits you between his legs in front of the TV. As the back of your head rests on his chest, he feeds you so you don't have to worry about lifting a finger.

Through a mouthful, you laugh, "It's okay, Mikey. I can feed myself."

He gently shushes you and pushes another piece of popcorn into your lips. That's all he needed to hear. The moment he gets a laugh out of you is the moment he knows you're feeling better.

[calciumcryptid]

Here is a collection of my thoughts about We Are ships sex lives because I, an asexual, have them for some reason and need to get them out- (What is We Are doing to me?)

TANFANG

According to novel fans, Tan is the top and Fang is a power bottom; however, the show implies Fang is the top. This means the correct answer is they are switches, but we knew that.

Tan loves to get romantic with Fang. Rose petals, scented candles, whether in the bathroom or in the bedroom Tan commits to the most tender of sex. It is canon Tan does the come hither motion, and as much as Fang puts up a fight he adores it.

Though some days Fang gets into his head about the balance of their relationship and encourages Tan to take. Sometimes, Fang just wants Tan to use his dick like a joystick, and Tan is more than happy to jump into his lap.

Their relationship started from mutual punching, and their canon (implied) sex scene has them wrestling. Therefore, they are the roughest couple in bed. They absolutely have a mutual marking kink shown through hickies and flat-out bites. Some flavor of BDSM, though they (or any of the couples) aren't hardcore with it.

Aftercare game is strong with these two, and they preen at being the one to take care of the other with their mutual taking care of each other kink.

QTOEY

They have sex but in a very (demi)aro(demi)ace way if that makes sense? They have a code in their phone for when one of them is horny and it is "Draw me like one of your Thai boys" (Toey came up with it, Q couldn't think of anything better).

When they do have sex in their own private enclosure and not in Peem's childhood home, it is very artistic. Q has painted Toey's nudes (the only nudes of his boyfriend he has), and he hung it up in their bedroom (fortunately, they aren't the hangout house so they don't have to mad dash to hide it). Q has painted Toey's skin as foreplay, change my mind (you can't).

Before the nudes were painted, Q joked Toey should get dolled up for it and something inside Toey pinged. Since then, Q will teasingly call Teoy "doll" alongside his usual "muse". Their closet has a section dedicated to lingerie (honestly, most of the time they don't even fuck in them. Q just likes drawing and painting tasteful nudes of his boyfriend, and Toey likes being Q's model).

Regardless, the actual action is full of reverence and body worship and Q insists on fucking Toey in natural light because it makes him look more gorgeous than he already is. They have the weakest aftercare game, but considering the couples they're up against it isn't a surprise. Most points are deducted for Q vowing to never paint Toey again as he scrubs his boyfriend's skin. Toey giggles knowing he'll convince Q otherwise.

PHUMPEEM

It doesn't matter what the novel/series says, Phum is a bottom. He wants to be in Peem's lap and monopolize all his attention. Riding is his favorite sex position. The man wants to be railed by his hot artist boyfriend, and can we blame him? (Peem really likes it when Phum is on his back because Phum's hair is a national treasure.)

They do have some pet play going on. It isn't super hardcore, but it is there. After all, Peem canonically calls Phum "puppy" and I think Phum should get to call Peem "kitten" (turnabout is fair play).

There is a reason I placed PhumPeem's section after QToey, and it is because Phum was the person Toey asked to go lingerie shopping with him (lets be real, Toey is not going on his own the first time and Phum is the least embarrassing option). Phum comes home with a few things of his own, and Peem is relentless with the pillow princess teasing as he rails his boyfriend.

PhumPeem are tied with TanFang on best aftercare game, because both couples have a mutual taking care of each other kink.

Oh, right, they have sex on the beach at some point. Also, they are known for fucking in any body of water they can (which wasn't what Peem meant by the water being his safe place, but he's not arguing).

CHAINPUN

They are the kinkiest couple here.

They may not be the most consistently kinky, but they are the most varied. All Pun has to do is bat his eyelashes at Chain, and Chain will indulge Pun in his latest fantasy. Out of all of them, they are the most likely to commit to actual roleplay scenarios. The most often one, of course, being a doctor one (though Chain will make sure to remind Pun he isn't that type of doctor). It doesn't matter though because Pun finds him immensely sexy in the coat.

Although they do get up to roleplay, sometimes Chain wants to spend his time adoring Pun. The body worship is off the charts with these two, and Chain makes sure to love and worship every inch of Pun. Pun loves it, and preens under the adoration though Chain can be torturous in his foreplay.

Soft top Chain, but we all know that.

Honestly, there isn't a couple in We Are that doesn't go all out for aftercare. ChainPuns includes cuddling and snuggling under the covers, and Chain ensures Pun is fed.

[overrboarrd]

WHAT HURTS THE MOST [ from scratch series part ii ]

gif credits to @dejameflorecer for the roman gif!

a/n: surprise surprise! i had majority of this part done when i posted part one, but i had a busy week/weekend. but writing this lil mini series has been helping me out a lot so here’s to part two!

warnings: angst (forgot to put that in the last part, my bad.)

“what hurts the most was being so close”

and having so much to say, and watching you walk away”

Seeing Joe again after all this time felt like being punched in the gut. No, not just a punch—a full-body slam that left Camille breathless and aching. 

Her hands slowed as she wiped down the bench in the studio room. She could still see him there, broad and imposing, his dark eyes fixed on her with a mix of disbelief. Disappointment.

She sighed, leaning against the bench for a moment. What are the odds? she thought bitterly. She’d worked so hard to bury the past, to convince herself she’d made the right choice by walking away from him. And now here he was, larger than life and more infuriatingly impassive than ever.

He’s angry. And he has every right to be.

Her chest tightened at the memory.

┄┄┄┄┄

The roller-skating rink glimmered under the dim lights, the soft hues of blues, pinks, and purples casting an almost ethereal glow over the empty space. Camille laughed as she pushed off, her movements fluid and full of life. Her ease on skates contrasted sharply with Joe’s more cautious strides, his broad frame teetering awkwardly as he tried to keep up.

“You’re still so bad at this!” she teased, her laughter ringing out.

Joe grinned despite himself, his broad frame wobbling precariously as he tried to steady his footing. “Terrible? Nah. I’m just a risk-taker, baby,” he shot back, a flicker of pride slipping into his otherwise self-deprecating tone.

Camille spun on her skates, gliding backward with a mischievous smirk. Her deep curls framed her glowing face, and Joe couldn’t help but watch her, mesmerized. “Risk-taker? You mean like how you risk everybody’s ankles when you crash?”

“Hey, I’m just giving you a chance to one-up me,” he quipped, his eyes softening as they followed her every move. Camille’s joy was infectious—she had a way of lighting up even the darkest corners of his guarded soul.

The upbeat music transitioned, slowing into something achingly tender. Camille’s momentum faltered. She glanced toward Trinity and Jon seated off to the side, their warm smiles faintly shadowed by something unspoken. Her gaze flicked back to Joe, who had stopped skating, standing a few feet away, his expression uncharacteristically serious.

“Joe?” she asked, her voice dipping slightly as she turned back to him.

Joe took a deep breath, his nerves an unfamiliar weight pressing down on his chest. He wasn’t used to feeling unsteady—whether in the ring or in life. But tonight, Camille held all the power, and it both terrified and thrilled him.

“C’mere,” he said softly, reaching out his hand.

Her brows knit together, but she slid her hand into his, allowing him to lead her to the center of the rink. The glow of the lights seemed to close in around them, isolating them in a world of their own.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice tinged with both curiosity and suspicion.

Joe turned to face her fully, her hand still in his. They were warm, steady, even as his heart pounded like a drum. “Camille, I need you to listen to me for a second,” he began, his voice unusually soft.

Her teasing demeanor dissolved. She studied his face, reading the vulnerability etched into every line. “Okay…”

“You know I’m not great with words,” He began, his voice low and raw. “Saying how I feel. I’ve spent so much of my life just… holding it all in. But not with you. You make me want to try, Camille. You make me want to be better. For you.”

“Joe…” her chest tightening as he continued.

“You’re it for me,�� he said, his gaze locking onto hers, fierce and unflinching. “You challenge me, you make me laugh, you make me feel alive in ways I didn’t think I could. I didn’t think I needed anyone until you walked into my life. Now, I don’t know how to live without you.”

Camille’s breath hitched as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small black box, her world suddenly tilting on its axis.

Joe dropped to one knee, his movement deliberate, the lights reflected in his dark, unwavering eyes. “Baby, you’ve been my strength, my peace, my reason to keep pushing forward. No matter how hard life has tested us, you’ve always been the one constant I could count on—the one who makes it all worth it.”

He paused, taking a steadying breath, as if summoning the courage for what came next. “I love you. I don’t want to spend a single moment of this life without you—I can’t imagine my future without you in it. You’re my heart, Camille. My home.”

His hand reached for hers, shaking ever so slightly. “ Will you marry me?”

Her lips parted, trembling, but no words came. The rink seemed to hold its breath. Even the soft music faded into nothingness as Camille stared at the man kneeling before her. Her heart screamed yes, yet a tide of doubt surged to the surface, threatening to pull her under.

“Joe… I…” The words broke, unfinished.

His smile faltered, the light in his eyes dimming as the pause stretched into eternity. “Cam?” he prompted, his voice laced with uncertainty.

Tears blurred her vision as she shook her head, taking an unsteady roll backwards. “I… I can’t.”

The space between them shattered, the fragile intimacy of the moment fracturing into jagged edges. Joe rose slowly, the small box still in his hand.

“What?” The words hit him like a freight train, his voice cracking as the weight of her rejection settled. 

“I’m not ready. I’m not… I’m not enough for this. For you.” Her mind raced with insecurities and fears she’d buried deep but never truly faced. Joe loved her—she knew that. But did she deserve his love? Could she live up to the kind of forever he wanted?

“Not enough?” He stared at her, his usually unshakable composure slipping as he stood still, stunned. “Camille, you’re everything to me. Why can't you see that?”

“Because I’m broken, Joe!” Her tears fell freely.  “Why would you want shattered glass as a fiance? As your wife? You’re asking for forever, and I— I don’t know how to give it to you without failing. Without ruining us. I don’t know how to be what you need.”

“You’re already what I need,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “We’re all broken. You think I’m not? You think I don’t know fear? I know it every day. But I choose you, Camille. I’ll keep choosing you if you just let me.”

Her silence was deafening, her tears a silent answer.

“What more do you need?” Joe’s glistening eyes bore into hers. “Whatever it is, baby, tell me. Please.”

“What if I hurt you?” 

“You’re hurting me now,” he countered, his words cutting through the space between them like a blade.

She flinched, her lips pursing together to hold back a sob. “I love you, Joe. I do. But I—”

“Then marry me, Camille. Don’t walk away,” he pleaded, his voice breaking. “Stay. We’ll figure it out together.”

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, her voice barely audible as she turned away. The sound of her skates on the rink floor echoed like a heartbeat, growing fainter with every step she took.

┄┄┄┄┄

Camille straightened, shaking her head sharply as if she could erase the thoughts crowding her mind. This wasn’t the time for second-guessing. She was a professional, and she had a job to do. But no matter how many times she repeated the mantra, it didn’t dull the ache in her chest when she thought of him.

Why did you agree to this? The question plagued her, looping in her mind. She could’ve said no—she should have said no. But when Ron had mentioned the severity of the injury and how the client needed someone capable, she couldn’t back out. Maybe she wanted to prove something: to Ron, to herself, and, if she was being honest, to Joe. Prove that she could be around him without falling apart.

But a small, treacherous part of her had hoped...

“No,” she muttered under her breath, cutting off the thought before it could fester. Hope was dangerous, and she couldn’t afford it—not here, not now.

The tension in her shoulders hadn’t eased by the time she opened the studio doors. Her phone buzzed on the table, breaking her musing.

Ron: Cam! How’ve the sessions with Joe been? He’s a tough one, huh?

She stared at the screen, the words blurring slightly. Tough didn’t even begin to cover it. But instead of pouring her heart out, she typed a clipped response:

Camille: They’ve been fine. We’ll see how the next one goes.

She tossed the phone aside, exhaling heavily. Fine. It was a lie, of course. There was nothing fine about working with the man she’d almost married. The man whose heart she’d broken because she’d been too scared to let herself be loved that deeply.

As she prepared for the session, she caught herself glancing at the clock too often, her pulse quickening as the minutes ticked closer.

���┄

When Joe arrived, his presence filled the room, heavy and charged, just like every other session. The air between them was tight, crackling with unspoken words. His dark eyes met hers briefly—intense and unreadable—before he dropped his bag by the wall.

“Let’s get started,” she directed, forcing an even tone.

Like the sessions before, the work began in silence. Her instructions were precise, her demeanor professional. Joe followed her guidance without argument, though the grim set of his jaw spoke volumes.

“Raise your arm to shoulder height,” she instructed. “Hold it there for ten seconds.”

He complied, his brow furrowing with effort. His shoulder was healing, but the progress was slow. Pain etched lines into his face as he completed the exercise. He looked exhausted, and not just from the session.

“You’re not sleeping,” the observation slipped out before Camille could stop herself.

Joe’s head snapped toward her, his eyes narrowing. “I’m fine.”

She crossed her arms, her chin lifting slightly. “You don’t look fine.”

His laugh was sharp, bitter. “Didn’t know you were qualified to diagnose that now, too.”

The jab hit its mark, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she pressed on, her voice steady. “Joe, if you’re pushing yourself too hard or not addressing what’s weighing on you, it’ll impact your recovery.”

He rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her tone softening. “It’s more than just the injury, isn’t it?”

He let out another humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t get to play concerned now, Camille. You walked out on that privilege a long time ago.”

Camille took a breath, swallowing the sting of his words. “Maybe I don’t,” she admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care. And this isn’t about the past,” she replied, her voice firmer now. “This is about your health. If you want to get back in the ring, you need to be honest with yourself.”

Joe ran a hand over his face, his frustration evident. For a long moment, he said nothing, the silence stretching between them. Then, with a heavy sigh, he finally spoke.

“They’re trying to make me relinquish my title,” he spat, not meeting her eyes. “I’m on the sidelines, and that’s all it takes for them to start thinking I’m done. Disposable.”

Her heart clenched at the bitterness in his voice. She knew how much his career meant to him, how hard he had worked to get where he was.

“That’s ridiculous,” the words tumbled out before she could stop them. “After everything you’ve done—”

“Doesn’t matter,” he cut in, his voice sharp. “They don’t care about what I’ve done. They care about results. And right now, I’m not giving them any.”

She hesitated, watching him carefully. Beneath the anger, she saw something else—fear. Vulnerability. She felt herself wanting to reach out, to offer him comfort, but she held herself back, knowing he wouldn’t accept it.

“Then prove them wrong,” she responded simply. “Focus on getting back to a hundred percent, and show them why they can’t afford to lose you.”

Joe’s gaze lingered on her, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“It is,” she admitted. “But if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

Joe looked at her, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Maybe.”

For a moment, the tension between them shifted, the edges softened. The rest of the session passed in near silence, but the air between them felt… different.  As he walked out the door, Camille found herself staring after him, her heart heavy with a mix of emotions she couldn’t quite place.

[thecameronchronicles]

Sunkissed

TW: mentions of self image issues. Angst. Heavy flirting.

SUMMARY: JJ reminds you just how beautiful he knows you are.

REQUESTED:

Anonymous Asked

Hey sooo glad ur back ☺️⭐️💗💛 idk if u take request but I love ur body positivity fics could u maybe write one with JJ and chubby reader ??☺️☺️:)))

Sunkissed

"Maybe you should just go without me..." You try to hide the disappointment in your own words but it weighs them beyond the attempt. Your eyes fall and yet JJ comes up behind you, lips on your shoulder as it worsens the tightness in your heart.

"Did you get too hot on the Pogue, princess?"

"No...I..."

"Do you need some water? Here..." He offers his and your chest tightens. Not once has your boyfriend ever made you question your worth in the curves of your figure. But being surrounded by those that are a stark contrast to that society claims you should be, you feel inadequate.

"What is it sweetheart?" He asks a hand to your waist as you shuffle away without drawing immediate attention. You pretend to need something from the cooler although the diversion only makes you feel worse when you look over your shoulder and see JJ setting his hand over his chest, a telltale sign his own anxiety was getting the best of him.

"Are you...happy?" You move quickly to him.

"You make me the happiest I've been been, JJ-"

"So if you aren't dumping me and you know I'm crazy about you, why are you acting so...distant?" He steps closer, taking your hands in his. The warm comfort, slightly calloused from the odd jobs to make ends meet, it makes you exhale in the remembrance he matters more than the thoughts in your head. It's the laughter of Sarah Cameron and Kiara Carrera that make you compare yourself again.

He slowly nods before taking your hand and leading you into the Chateau.

"JJ-"

"What is it? I wanna hear you say it."

"J-"

"Y/N. Tell me." You stand in his room, the one practically gifted to you and him by John B as you linger.

"I just...don't wanna be around them in my swimsuit."

"Good."

Your eyes water and your brows fall.

"I don't want you in your swimsuit around anyone else either. I don't want them to see how smooth and beautiful your skin is or the shape of your-" he bites his back teeth. "I have to constantly remind myself to be better for you because better is what you deserve, princess, but it takes everything I have to not either mark up your skin with my teeth and leave proof you belong to me or punch out the lights of any guy-or girl- that looks at what's mine."

"JJ..." You shake off the thought as you know his kindness has always been that. Kind. You worry being with you is a novelty. A kink even. And even if he's tender and rebellious, passionate and eager, you're worried it'll fade with either summer or the fade of interest.

"You wanna know something? I am not going to say I don't care about your body because honestly it makes me hard as hell. But what really makes me just..." He sighs, repressing something between desire and the need to prove, as he takes a step closer to you.

"What really makes me love you is that you look at me. Not through me. Not to judge me. You go along with all my jokes and pranks, you were there when everything with my dad-" he paused, you step closer when you see how it effects him.

"You know when to be strong and when to let me do that for you. You touch me and I feel like I can't control my hands...or my eyes- my mouth. I want you. I love you. But if I'm being completely honest, Y/N. What I want right now? Is you out of this swimsuit. You're right. You shouldn't wear it. Because it makes me fucking crazy and I'm already one day closer for being committed for it."

You stand in awe, his words poetic for someone who insists you read him the books he gets too bored to even try and crack open. You hate how he doesn't apply himself for what he's capable of and yet you set to prove it in how you support him everyday.

"JJ-"

"I mean it, sweetheart. I'll beg if I have to. But suit. Off." You swallow hard as he closes the door and you understand one thing as his eyes darken in lust.

Before him you were swallowed by the darkness of your insecurities. Being with JJ is like being beneath the sun. Touched and basking in its rays, you forget the worries outside of it. You are kissed by the sun, loved by it- by him. You feel the strength of his love in every touch and the confirmation of his desire by the hold of his eyes on you in any distance when you aren't in his arms.

There is no question of love. And for the days you cannot feel that for yourself, JJ reminds you every reason why you will.

One sunny kiss at a time.

MASTERLIST

[annanother-thing]

Skin of Lies

i was inspired today. a lil bit of hate sex for everyone. all the love especially to vera @hoko-onchi-writes and @sleepstxtic for enabling me

Malfoy: Die and leave me alone

Harry felt that familiar anger rise, burning like the Fiendfyre, righteous and terrible. How dare he? If it wasn’t for Harry he would be rotting in a cell, and yet he had the cheek, the sheer audacity to talk to Harry like that! He might not have saved Malfoy for his own sake, and purely because it was the right thing to do, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t saved him. That Malfoy didn’t owe him. Harry’s hands shook.

Harry: come and do it then

Throwing his phone across the bed, he lay there, fury coursing through him. After all these years, and still he was exactly the same. The same snide jabs at Harry’s hair, at Ron’s lack on money, that wand that Harry himself had wielded pointed back at him, a curse blazing at its tip. The door crashed open, and Malfoy stood there, pale and proud in the moonlight that streamed through the narrow window behind him. his hair was cropped short. Severe. He was only there for a moment before the door swing shut, leaving them both in darkness again.

The floor was cold under Harry’s feet, but he barely noticed. It was a distant thing underneath hot rage. All that mattered was that he got his hands around that lithe neck, pushing the swell of his knuckles to the soft skin under that little satin shirt, ripping teeth into tender flesh. The urge to tear and hurt filled Harry until he couldn’t breathe.

There was a patter of feet, and Harry turned his head. He could see nothing in the dark. Then, a shuffle. Harry launched himself at the sound, fist bouncing off ribs as another body crashed into him, hissing insults and flying hands. The impact sent Harry backwards – when had Malfoy got so solid? Legs crashing into the bed, Harry flailed as he fell backwards. They were a tangle of limbs and fury, spitting and growling. As they fought, memories welled to the surface. Seven years of hatred, of obsession, and hurt and anger fuelled them, and Harry felt as though he was about to burst into flames and it might almost be worth it if he took Malfoy with him.

Suddenly, Malfoy’s hand was under his shirt, nails biting as he pushed Harry down onto the bed. Harry could feel each individual point where Malfoy’s skin touched his. And suddenly, yet not so suddenly, the anger was not the only heat inside him.

It was more biting than kissing. Just another outlet for the rage and pain inside him. Malfoy had a split lip. Or maybe it was him. Either way, his mouth was filled with the copper tang of blood, and the cloying sweetness of Malfoy, like the way fruit tastes before it starts to rot. And somehow it felt better than punching. More visceral, more feral, as though he might physically be able to climb inside Malfoy and see what made him tick, what kind of bone and flesh held together this skin of lies.

The tension between them was a thing so real that Harry could have sworn that if he had the light, he would be able to see it around them, pushing him closer, making his hips buck, and forcing the little pants from Malfoy’s mouth. Malfoy tasted like overstewed pears and lavender. It was not as horrible as Harry might have expected.

Above him, Malfoy shivered, rutting against Harry's own erection, twitching and quivering. Something hot at wet soaked through Harry’s boxers. Realisation crashed over him, but it was not enough to stay the inevitable, he was not sure if it was pleasure or relief, but it rushed over him like a wave, leaving his pants wet and his limbs heavy. Malfoy’s arms gave way, and he fell on top of Harry.

“Fuck you, Potter,” he grunted, words slurring.

“Maybe next time,” Harry replied, a heavy tiredness pulling at him.

It’s ok, he thought. It was quite comfortable, and Malfoy would be easier to kill once he was asleep.

Harry’s eyes closed in seconds.

[drarrily-we-row-along]

"Come on," Draco said, dragging Harry in the door by the lapels on his expensive suit jacket. He looked delectable and Draco wanted to drown in him.

Harry stumbled, collapsing against Draco, pressing him back against the wall in the hallway, "Mmrmph," he managed as Draco grabbed his face and kissed him hard.

His hands went straight to Harry's buttons, tugging them hard enough that the fabric bit into his fingers, stinging as he ripped Harry's shirt.

"Draco," he gasped, pulling back, something in his voice sounding vaguely concerned.

And he very much didn't want that. Draco dove into kissing him again, groping Harry's back, pressing their bodies more tightly together. He didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to think about it, didn't want anything but Harry-

"Draco," he repeated, pulling back again and catching Draco's hands. He pressed them back against the wall next to his head trapping him again but not in a sexy way. "Wait," he said, voice soft, and Draco's saw red.

"Don't," he growled. "Harry. Fucking don't," he spit, shaking his head and fighting against Harry's grip on his wrists. "Let me go."

"Hey," he said, achingly tender, and Draco would have punched him if he'd had his hands free. "Can we talk about that?"

"No," he said, "I don't fucking want to talk about it. I want you to fuck me until I can't think straight."

Harry tilted his head down, trying to get Draco to meet his eyes.

Draco was absolutely not having it, he didn't want to look at Harry, didn't want to feel like this. "If you're not going to fuck me, let me go and I'll go find someone who will," he threatened.

Harry sucked a breath through his teeth, "you don't mean that," he said.

He glared at him, hoped that his face conveyed all of the anger and vitriol he was feeling, "Don't tell me what I will or won't do," he said. "Don't pretend to control me. You don't."

His hands were released and Harry took a step back, his torn shirt hanging open, leaving the image of his heaving chest incredibly clear. "Fine," he said, stepping away and turning toward the living room. "You're right," he added over his shoulder, "I don't control you. But I do get to control me, and I don't like being used."

"I'm not trying to use you!" he exclaimed, storming after his boyfriend.

Harry made his way into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. He took a long drink before he turned to look at Draco, "What were you trying to do then?"

He threw his arms in the air, "trying to get fucked!"

"In order to avoid talking about what happened at your parents'," Harry said.

"What does it even matter?" he exclaimed. "Why does it matter why I want you to fuck me into incoherency? Especially when it's something that you want too!"

"I just want to talk to you first," Harry said. "Is that too much to ask? To just have a little communication?"

He scowled, rage sitting high in his chest, "Yes. It is too much to ask, I don't want to fucking talk. I thought I was dating a man, not some fucking woman who feels the compulsive need to talk everything to death."

Harry flinched, "Too far," he growled.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he snarled, "Have I hurt your delicate feelings?" And he knew he was being an asshole, knew that he was lashing out, but he was so mad, absolutely raging and he couldn't seem to stop himself. He didn't want to stop; he wanted to fight, wanted to hurt.

"I'm not doing this," Harry said. "I'm not having a fight about this."

He stalked over and shoved Harry, both palms flat against his chest, "Fight with me!" he roared. "Yell at me, tell me I'm wrong," his fists hit Harry's chest. "Come on!"

"No," Harry said. "I'm not going to do that. I don't want to treat you that way."

A glass shattered behind him, Draco's magic swirling through him. "I'm leaving."

"Fine," Harry said, standing with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Fine," Draco snapped, stalking away from the other man and heading straight for the door. He summoned a bottle of whiskey and paused on their front step. He had half a mind to go to some club, find some random bloke to sleep with, someone who would really pound him. But decided that Pansy's was actually the place he should crash. She was always good for a fight.

-------------

Draco woke up the next morning, in Pansy's guest bed, with an awful hangover and an even worse feeling swirling in the pit of his gut. "Shit," he whispered, rubbing his face and trying not to panic.

"Hey, there," Pansy said from the doorway, tossing a hangover potion at his head.

He caught it and uncapped it, draining it and shuddering at the immediate effects. "I fucked up," he managed once most of the symptoms of the whiskey he'd consumed vanished and left only the guilt and shame behind.

She nodded, "I said that last night," she replied flippantly as she sat down next to him on the bed and handed him a cup of coffee. "And then we had a spectacular row about it."

Draco sipped his coffee, "I wanted to have a fight with him."

"Right, but he didn't."

He groaned as the words he'd said to Harry the night before flitted through his mind, "I was awful to him."

"Go home," she said.

He shook his head, "What if he's mad?"

"Then you'll get that fight you were so desperate for," she teased, bumping her shoulder against his.

"What if he's not?" he whispered, the thought somehow even more horrifying.

"Go home," she repeated, nudging him out of bed. "I've got company coming for brunch," she added.

He turned to look at her, "Thanks," he whispered, grateful beyond measure that she would fight with him when he needed an outlet without batting an eye.

"That's what best friends are for," she said with a wink. "Now go."

He trudged home, deciding to walk instead of apparate, trying to work out what he was going to say and mostly failing.

When he came in, Harry looked up from where he was sitting at their kitchen table. Unshaven, puffy red eyes, mouth turned down in a frown, his eyes flickered over Draco's body before meeting his gaze.

"I stayed with Pansy," Draco said softly, by way of apology.

Harry nodded, then looked away from Draco to stare out the window, taking a sip of coffee from his cup.

"I didn't sleep with someone else," he continued. Draco couldn't bring himself to walk closer, to come in out of the doorway, he wasn't entirely sure it would be welcome.

The other man winced but said nothing, didn't even nod.

"You're not going to even talk to me?"

"What would you like me to say?" Harry asked, turning his face to look at him, exhaustion written across it plain as day. "Do you want me to tell you that I stayed up all night, waiting for you to come home? Should I tell you that I thought about going out to all of our normal clubs to see if I could find you, but was too afraid that you'd come back and think that I'd left you?" he asked, running a hand through his hair, "Would you like me to tell you that my entire body felt like it was burning up with rage and jealousy but I couldn't-" he broke off and shook his head and looked down at the table. "I couldn't tell you, couldn't do anything with how angry I was because that isn't how I want to treat you. Is that what you want to hear?"

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

At that Harry looked up at him and Draco took a step closer.

"I'm sorry I said those things, I didn't mean them. I was just angry and I wanted to fight with you." He shook his head, "My parents, they just-" he broke off.

Harry reached for him, took Draco's hands in his and drew him in closer before pressing kisses to his knuckles, "I know," he said softly. "I was mad at them too, love. They had no right to speak to you that way."

Tears prickled the backs of his eyes as hurt and resentment build up in his throat and chest at the remembrance of their criticism.

"And I didn't want to hurt you more," he continued. "I didn't want to add to that burden." He tugged Draco down until he had him sitting cradled in his lap like Draco was a toddler instead of a twenty three year old. "I love you. I want to fight for you," he added and Draco buried his face in Harry's neck, his stubble scratching his temple and cheek.

"I love you," he whispered, the feeling so big, so present that it terrified him.

Harry turned his head to kiss Draco's temple, "I love you too. I want to honor you and be on your side."

He nodded, "I want that too," he confessed. "I just get afraid to let myself believe that you want to be on my side. What if I end up needing you?"

His lover chuckled softly, breath ghosting through Draco's hair, "It's a scary thought that maybe we weren't made to do life alone, isn't it?"

"I don't want to need you."

"Why?" he asked softly, hands brushing over Draco's back soothingly.

He held his breath for a long moment before saying, "if I start to need you and then you leave, what will I do?"

With a soft hum, Harry held him closer, "I hear that," he replied. "I'm scared to need you too, but it doesn't change the fact that I do. I could live without you, Draco," he said, "and you could live without me too. But I'd rather live with you," he continued. "I'd rather put in the work to live with you, to love you. My life is better with you in it."

"Mine too," he agreed.

Harry nodded, "Maybe we just take it one day at a time, maybe we just work on trusting that neither of us is going anywhere. Maybe you let me be on your side, and I let you be on mine."

"And then what?" he murmured, fear and hope warring in his heart.

"Then," Harry said, drawing him impossibly closer, "we just keep doing it for the rest of our lives, one day at a time."

--------------------

Read more of my fics

[idontknowreallywhy]

The Last of Them

Not quite sure what this is… it started as a little tribute to David Graham who, while maybe most famous for voicing Parker twice, also brought original Gordon to life.

Then it developed a life of its own and I’m not entirely sure what it became - by its very nature it refers to multiple major character deaths but they are all very old. So I hope it is ok. Maybe don’t read if you’re feeling fragile!

I put them in order of the VAs passing because that seemed right in the circumstances. Apologies if that means it is The Wrong Order for how you imagine it.

💛💛💛💛💛💛💙💚🧡❤️💛💛💛💛💛💛

He never expected to be The Last.

They’d all lived to a good age. They’d all achieved what they wanted to achieve.

But even Tracys didn’t live forever. And Gordon had not expected to be The Last.

Virgil had been first. He was never first at anything and this had been absolutely the last race Scott ever wanted to be beaten in. He took it as a personal affront that the universe seemed to want to run the curtain calls out of order.

Secretly, Gordon believed it had been a stroke of luck. In retrospect, he had been relieved. He knew his tender-hearted brother would have struggled the most at having to say goodbye to one of them and carry on. Gordon knew more than any of them, more than Scott, perhaps even than the man himself, how heavily Virgil carried the burden of attending Scott’s first (thankfully premature) funeral and that his darkest fears had always been centred on doing that again. Perhaps that had been why he’d refused the more experimental, increasingly desperate treatments Scott was lining up. He’d said he was happy, he was content and wanted to face the next adventure at home with his family, ALL of his family, not in a bubble in San Francisco.

Even now, when he closed his eyes, Gordon could still feel that last hand squeeze. Could still hear that rumbling voice telling him he’d done good today. He’d had his brother’s last little throwaway gift - a sketch of a grizzly bear with a squid clinging to its face - engraved at 5x scale on to a steel plate.

As time passed, the voice in his memory became younger, the eyebrows darker.

Scott himself had faltered, hard. But eventually, with the assistance of a horde of grandchildren and great grandchildren, had refocused and thrown himself into the role of patriarch that he’d been reluctant to embrace since Dad had passed. He’d lavished all his vast stores of energy on the subsequent generations as if determined they would know how much he cared before it was too late.

Scott hadn’t expected to outlive TinTin, John or Penny either. But the universe kept shuffling the deck of cards until Grandpa Scott finally gave his last cheeky salute and went to find them.

And then there were two. And Gordon was the oldest. Which had been weird, although expected.

Alan had always hated being the last.

When Gordon had poked his head around the door as the doctor left, his baby brother had been serious, staring out of the window. He’d swallowed and walked quietly over to his bedside but as soon as Gordon had been within reach Alan had turned and punched him in the shoulder and smirked that same irritating little brother smirk he’d smirked for over eight decades:

“Tag!”

Gordon had blamed the tears on tiny, weedy child-knuckles faintly bruising his broad, masculine shoulders.

Alan had just cackled.

Gordon had never expected to be The Last.

But so it had been.

Sometimes the media people dared him to reveal his secret. As if somehow he’d achieved something his brothers had not… As if they had missed a trick… he would look them dead in the eye and swear he’d spliced his DNA with a bowhead whale. At which point they’d usually smile awkwardly, check their notes for references to dementia then back away from the stupid, stupid questions.

He had never expected to be The Last, but as The Last, he had become all of them.

When four generations sat round and told stories of the Tracy family, he was the guardian of the old ones. The original ones. The ones they all knew but pretended not to notice him embellishing. How Scott was faster, Virgil stronger, John more all-knowing, Alan more daring every time the tales were retold.

To the world at large he was a kind of talisman. Whenever IR was mentioned in the media, it became Gordon’s image that was used. Despite having never been in command of either IR or TI, it was his comment people wanted. So he would give one, often irreverent or purely nonsensical and with the same wink his eldest brother had been famous for. It was genetic, after all.

He played unpredictable and eccentric old billionaire nearly as well as he played crazy sentimental Grandpa.

As long as they didn’t ask the stupid questions. He had spent a little while in the pool, gently washing off the lingering taint of today’s holo-interview appearance on some news show. He always did them when asked, the Tracys positive reputation enabled the family to do a lot of good on a global scale and cute old guy Gordon apparently helped. It wasn’t a lot to ask. Scott would have done it, so, therefore, did Gordon. And he would carry on, as long as he had all his marbles. And then maybe just a little longer… to wind them all up.

He sighed. However he might suggest that stricter pre-screening was going to be needed in future.

“So, Mr Tracy, how does it feel to be the last of the old guard?”

He’d swallowed the bitter “How do you think?” The questioner had looked about twelve, they had no idea. No idea how it stung. So he’d called it an honour. Then shifted quickly to the agreed script about their campaign to make Safety and First Aid a compulsory part of the school curriculum in many countries.

Yes, a little more consideration for the ancient squid-man’s lonely heart wouldn’t go amiss. EOS would sort it. He liked EOS. She still got his pop culture references and she hadn’t locked him out of anywhere for years.

His minder for the pool excursion - one of Scott’s great grandkids… or possibly John’s… he was beginning to lose track - patted him on the hand and left him tucked up warmly in a fluffy robe on a lounger to watch the sunset.

Goodness he was tired.

He yawned and wriggled a little, then smiled to himself at the sound of the kids coming out on to the deck arguing about something or other. Alan’s traditional shriek as Virgil yeeted him into the pool was followed swiftly by the combined laughter of the elder trio who claimed the loungers beside and behind Gordon. A count of five, then the littlest bro had his revenge by leaping atop Virgil and soaking him before stealing half of Gordon’s robe and the majority of his elbow room.

Too contented to really complain, Gordon slung an arm over the soggy teen and let his brothers’ voices surround him as he drifted off to sleep.