#camel-back sofa

[geniewithwifi]

Traditional Family Room - Library

Large, traditional, open-concept family room library idea with a dark wood floor, yellow walls, a regular fireplace, and a media wall.

[alittleveggies]

Enclosed in Philadelphia Family room - large transitional enclosed dark wood floor and brown floor family room idea with beige walls, a standard fireplace, a wood fireplace surround and a tv stand

[herlovelyheart]

Enclosed Library in DC Metro A picture of a family room library with a medium-sized ornate enclosed medium-tone wood floor, brown walls, a typical fireplace, and a wood fireplace surround.

[darkyulate]

Living Room St Louis Inspiration for a mid-sized timeless open concept limestone floor and gray floor living room remodel with a bar, brown walls, a standard fireplace, a wood fireplace surround and a concealed tv

[swanatlast]

Living Room Enclosed Large Mediterranean formal and enclosed living room idea with a limestone floor, a regular fireplace, a plaster fireplace, and no television.

[celenawrites]

You apologize to Simon.

AO3 Version

Three days. 

Three days of silence since you and Simon had a fight over something insignificant enough for you to even forget about it after a night’s sleep. Three days of silence and avoidance due to an argument that could’ve ended in less than an hour had you been more amenable. You can make excuses all you want (and you’d like to, it’s easier than acknowledging you’re the one at fault for a change - easier to ignore the lump in your throat and your shortened breath, or how warm your ears are from shame) - talk about how shitty this week had been, how much of a right cunt your boss was, or how things just don’t seem to go your way no matter what you do; despite your best efforts, life seemed to be holding a mean grudge against you and punishing all your efforts for it lately. 

Paired with all the shitty things in your life at the moment, and one of these days when Simon ends up saying something to you in a tone that you couldn’t seem to take kindly to (you try your best to understand people and what they say to you, you really do; yet your past has never been as kind to you, and sometimes your patience runs thin despite your best efforts) - which ultimately resulted in you screaming your head off at him. Simon has the patience of a saint on most days - years of war, trauma, and abuse had motivated him to be much kinder than his family ever was, urging him to do everything in his power to never end up as the man who sired him. 

But you forget sometimes that he’s a Lieutenant and he has the tenacity and the rage needed to put the rowdy recruits at the base into place just fine. So when his anger snaps and it does when you decide that he doesn’t get a chance to defend himself (you’re judge, jury, and executioner and you have condemned him for a transgression not his own), he matches your cruel word for cruel word - dark eyes sizing you up as he raises his voice at you in a way that makes your lip quiver and your eyes burn with tears of shame and burning anger as you throw him a mean glance before locking yourself up in the bedroom. 

Simon sleeps on the couch that night. 

You feel guilty the moment you wake up and notice the cold, empty space beside you - the lack of his warm body lying beside you is a sight that will possibly haunt you for the rest of your days. You note the time and you go out of the room, hoping to find your boyfriend sitting on the sofa after his morning run as he wipes his damp forehead with a micro-fiber towel, his brown pupils tracking the time just as you hear the kettle on the gas give out a loud whistle, evident of the fact that Simon had made both of your tea to share in the morning before you both part ways. Instead, you find the empty apartment greets you.  You expected as much. 

He’s angry - at you and at himself, and if he was here, you’d have told him you share the same sentiments. But he’s nowhere to be found in your shared apartment. So you whip up a quick English breakfast, put out all the things he’d need for him to brew his beloved Earl Grey when if he decides to come back and then you leave for work in a hurry. Your mind is preoccupied with worry - about work, about your mess of a life, about Simon and if he has eaten yet. The day passes you by in a blur, and you find yourself finally free from the dissociation you have been plagued with since morning, when you hear the sounds of your footsteps on the concrete sidewalk, taking the long route back home despite the setting sun painting the sky a blood orange, bleeding into the soft clouds and reflecting off of the shiny glass windows adorning the buildings around you. You prolong the commute for some reason - not in a rush to head back home just yet, afraid that this fight might have broken the camel’s back; that you’d return home and find him just gone. 

Like a ghost. 

Your fears are unfounded, luckily - you open the door to your house and find him sitting near the dining table with his arms neatly crossed up on the mahogany table, his face covered by a black surgical mask, and his eyes are unfocused as if he’s meditating deep in thought. You’re almost surprised that your entrance didn’t break him out of his thoughts, out of his own head. Your head feels heavy just by looking at him, and the way your throat constricts forces you to skip dinner altogether as you quickly grab a granola bar (or two) and decide to leave for the bedroom just as quickly, dumping your office attire in the wicker laundry basket near your bed. You leave the door to the bedroom unlocked. 

Just in case, you tell yourself. 

Your night mainly consists of tossing and turning haphazardly - you’re free to move due to the absence of those strong, scarred arms that hold you still and provide you the tether you need in order to actually fall asleep; but your restlessness eventually tires you out enough for you to catch at most a measly two-to-three hours of rest that leaves your eyes aching for more respite when the sunlight invades the softness of your room uninvited, blinding you for a solid minute as you try to gather your wits about you. 

When you turn around in your bed, you’re surprised to find it all messy (as if someone had slept in it while you were knocked out) and it smells of him. Him and his pine body wash and the little smoke that clings to him whenever he decides to go out and hang out with his military friends in a seedy pub and drink cheap beer and half-assed whiskey (he wouldn’t dare touch their Bourbon unless it was Kentucky). He slept here. 

It has been over a day since you last spoke to each other, but the idea of Simon still sleeping near you gives you a sense of comfort you weren’t aware you needed. 

You spend the day in and out of the house since it’s the weekend - bringing in fresh groceries from the farmer’s market and laying down all the vibrant fruits in a glass bowl at the center of the dinner table. You find Simon standing near the kitchen with a brush as he oils the hinges of the creaky door. You both acknowledge each other with a soft nod of your heads as you go about your day tackling chores that the busy week has allowed you to neglect till now. 

Then, you place the new succulents you couldn’t resist buying (couldn’t resist as they reminded you of Simon), and you adjust the window curtains so that they get ample sunlight. You turn around to see if Simon’s here; if he’d noticed the new plant pots and manure packets you had picked up - you wonder if he’d shake his head, almost amused as he joins you to tend to the little succulent pots. Instead, you hear the whirring of the lawn mower to indicate that your partner is outside, getting rid of the tall grass that invades the grounds surrounding your little home.

Then you notice that it is already noon, and decide to brew yourself some ginger tea and plate some oatmeal cookies on a saucer plate as you snuggle into the weary green couch with your current read (a book you had heard people rave about on social media, which made you buy it the moment the local bookstore had it in stock) and drape the cozy baby pink blanket over your shoulders. Simon is still outside, still working on the sparse vegetation of your lawn. You’d like him here right now, with you - drinking the tea from your cup and stealing one of your cookies as he pinches your cheek while you whine to him about it; his soft hands playing with the stray strands of your hair and pulling you into him till your head rests on his chest and his soft heartbeat lulls you to sleep with a lullaby of his worn heart. 

Instead, you sit alone on the sofa, and you almost call out to him and your lead tongue weighs heavy in your jaw (makes it tick an awful lot) and you reason with yourself that the whirring of the loud mower would make it near impossible for him to hear you anyway, so there’s really no merit in screaming your head off as you try to call out to him over the noise. 

You excuse your hesitation with technicalities - it has been a lifelong habit.

Reading with a warm cup of tea has made you drowsy (almost compliant) and you don’t remember when you had allowed yourself to close your eyes, your hands loosen their grip on the book as it fell onto the plush cushion beside you. You wake up an hour or so later, to the afternoon sun blinding your eyes momentarily, and you rub them lightly with your fingers as you try to rub the sleep away. You find the house awfully quiet, an anomaly from what it usually used to be  - the background noise of the television playing a repeat of an old season of the baking show you and Simon would watch while holding each other close, the rhythmic ‘thump thump thump!’ of the hammer as Simon works on whatever passion project you have on your mind (you remember when he made you a dresser from scratch, and when you showed him the Pinterest post that inspired you to request his services, he squinted at the small device screen as he probably wondered how he had ended up being your personal handyman), or the sound of scrawling of ball-point pens as he tries to solve the daily sudoku puzzle in the newspaper. You can hear none of it. 

And there is no whirring of the lawn mower in the backyard anymore. 

You look into the bedroom, and kitchen en route to find it empty - the bed is still well made and there is no 6 '4 behemoth of a man hunched over the gas stove as he brews himself another cup of Earl Grey for the day. You decide to climb the stairs, hoping to find your boyfriend holed up in the spare bedroom that you both had renovated into a study room - something Simon can use whenever he’s forced to bring work to home, and when you need to hole yourself up as you try to finish an impromptu project the night before a very important meeting (that never worked out for you) or work on your work reports that truly embodies ‘brevity is the wit of the soul’ with how empty the Word document looks despite you staring at your laptop screen for hours on end, urging yourself to just write something. 

You open the door lightly, cringing as the hinges squeak at the minute movement. Guess he only oiled the kitchen door today. You peer into the room, apprehensive of facing your partner head-on, stealing a glance into the usually empty room with your heels off the floor, ready to take flight at the slightest hint of confrontation. God knows your heart cannot take it. 

Simon is hunched over the mahogany desk, his head is cushioned by his crossed arms (you can admire his tattoo sleeve with the black t-shirt he had decided to wear, despite the sweltering heat) and he seems to be fast asleep. Christ, he’s gorgeous. 

The sunlight makes his hair light up, and his relaxed face along with scars and healing bruises remind you of the vibrancy and lightness that Monet’s paintings possess. You never thought a person could be like art. And then you met Simon Riley. 

He’s snoring out loud, his blonde hair is a mess - strands of hair pointing in all directions (you still need to cut his hair right; his last haircut had ended up with him having uneven layers all over his head - you’d have much preferred that he should’ve just taken a trimmer and given himself a buzz so at least he can regrow his blonde hair right)  and he’s sweating buckets while sleeping on the wooden table.  And while you still hold some anger in your heart for how your last argument went, and yet all you can think about is how much you love him. You don’t blame him entirely for how you both are now - skittish and walking on eggshells, the wounds of your previous fight still fresh and stinging and oozing with crimson. 

You know you're in the wrong as well, but it's hard to make amends with your dear boyfriend because whenever you try to speak to him you feel a lump in your throat that stops you from speaking your true feelings out loud to him. Shame creeps up on you like the weight of the world is on your shoulders alone (is this how Atlas felt?), and the humiliation chokes you off - your tongue heavy with unsaid things and your empty arms aching to forego all niceties and hold him where he truly belongs. 

So you decide to break the silence between the both of you in the best way you know how, because you love Simon. Because you love him more than you love your bruised ego. 

You make him his favorite tea (‘Was it his third or fourth cup of Earl Grey?’, you mused while pouring the hot beverage into a clean mug.) and cleanly cut open a clementine from the groceries you had brought in earlier (your hands are sticky with its juices as you try to separate each piece from its leathery peel), fanning out all the pieces over the flowered ceramic plate, something you had convinced Simon to buy for the house when you first decided to visit a flea market together to stock up on necessary things after your lover finally asked you to move in with him. That was over a year ago. 

Words may be failing you right now, but you hope your actions can convey your remorse and love for him.

You walk back into the room to see Simon awake, his hands rubbing all over his face as he tries to get rid of the fatigue. You freeze, unsure of how to handle your current predicament. You have been hoping that he’d be still sleeping so that you could quietly place the tray near the table and leave without disturbing him. But he’s awake, and as he glances back at you, you wonder if you look like a deer caught in the headlights - your little detour interrupted by his alert as he takes all sensibilities away from your being. 

“You brought me fruit”, he said dumbly.

“Yeah. And tea”, you reply back dumbly. 

You stare for a beat too long and then abruptly cross the room, quietly placing the plastic tray with the fruits and his tea mug on the study table. You notice the manila folders scattered around, some pages strewn around his working space but you avert your eyes to avoid reading anything written on them - you’d rather not read all that he has to deal with on almost a daily basis as a man of the military. In such moments, you truly do not envy Simon. 

“Uh, I’ll leave you to it then”, you whisper to him, all soft as you swallow the words you truly wish to say. I love you so much. I’m so sorry. I wish I could hold you. I cannot lose you. Please be angry, be mad at me, yell as much as you want. Hold me, I miss you. 

You wish you could at least choke on them to save face. 

You leave the room instead. 

You clean up the living room - you fold the blanket and fluff the pillows and you ignore how your back burned with his gaze on you as you left the study room. You put the flowery bookmark where you had last stopped reading and you go to the kitchen to prepare something light and easy for lunch (pasta in white sauce and toasted garlic bread) and you ignore the urge to drop everything and rush upstairs and spill all the apologies you have wished to communicate but have failed to since the day of the fight. 

Your ego has always reared its ugly head in moments like these. What was borne as a means to protect yourself with the wounds your loved ones had inflicted on you has now made it impossible for you to make amends with the only man that matters to you on God’s green Earth. But ego is nothing compared to the love you have for Simon. So when you’re done with the cooking, you take your sweet time cleaning up the island of the kitchen and you go upstairs to invite him for lunch - you hope the food will soften him up enough to accept the apology you will offer him as a white flag later on. 

You peek inside the room, standing behind the half-closed room and you see him sitting in the black ergonomic office chair (you had bought it after you couldn’t listen to his back crack every time he got up from bed, or from the plastic chair that he used to sit in while staying at his desk for hours on end, only agonizing his fucked-up back further). He’s leaning back on the chair and it creaks under his weight slightly, and he stays motionless, eyes closed and shoulders tense. It’s even better since you won’t have to be weighed down by his intense eyes. 

You walk on your toes, socked feet muted and nimble as they walk across the hardwood floor and you note that he had finished up all the clementine pieces you had laid out for him on the floral plate, and the orange mug is mostly empty - save for remains of sugar residue sticking at the very bottom of the utensil. (You had been surprised to know that the scary, big man you call your boyfriend had a sweet tooth. Luckily, it gave you the perfect excuse to visit the bakery two blocks down on your way back home from work with a paper box of dessert or two.)

You know how hard it really is for him to be at ease, and his tensed shoulders serve as the testimony to that harsh truth. You know sneaking up on him like this will only make him lash out - all in the name of pure self-preservation. And you won’t ever blame him for it.  He hasn’t told you all of it, but between shared silences and a post-coital cigarette on his behalf, he’d open up - the endorphins would make him talk sometimes, and he’d talk of his Ma. Of Tommy. Never his dad. He hasn’t laid down the entirety of his scarred soul bare for you, but you know enough to not hurt him like that ever again. So you gently allow yourself to take note of his uneven hair and say, “I keep forgetting to cut your hair”. 

Your hand creeps up on his neck, eager palm gently running through the golden tufts as they coil around the tips of your fingers. Your attention is on the way his shoulder tenses when you announce your presence in the room. (You’re certain he knew you had come here before, and he knew you were here before you even came this close. He’d never leave himself this vulnerable if he knew there was a threat abound.)

His shoulders stay the same, but you can hear the audible exhale he lets out, and you slowly use your other hand to gently massage the area where his neck meets his shoulder - aware of the stiffness that has been ailing him there for a while now. He groans in relief, and he blinks his eyes open to greet you with brown pupils and a solemn look you fail to decipher.

He looks at you with his head tilted back against the chair, and you focus on the lightning-like scars that cover half of his face, traveling from his temple all the way to the left corner of his chapped lips. “Thank you for the snacks”, he mutters, his eyes trailing all over your face. 

You hum a little, not providing him with a response.

“Would’ve been nicer if you were here to eat them with me…”, he trails off, hoping you’d catch the bait. 

“Yeah. Would’ve been even better if we talked too, no?” You smile down at him, and you gently scratch his scalp as you kiss his temple, murmuring your apology against his skin like a forgotten prayer to an old deity. I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorry. 

“I’m so sorry for being a cunt. You know that right, Simon?” you ask him, and you can already feel your chest cave in on itself and your eyes burn with tears of remorse. 

“Wasn’t like I was any better, lovie”, he mumbles, and you feel his shoulders sag in relief under your touch. You tell yourself that’s a good sign. 

“Still…”, your fingers gently mess with his hair, “Should’ve swallowed my damn ego, and apologized to you soon”. It’s a learning process. For both of you. 

“Would’ve been easier if you didn’t scamper about whenever you saw me”, there’s amusement in his eyes, and you chuckle at him fondly as you invite him to join you for lunch. He turns the chair around until he’s facing you, and then he pulls your wrist in his hand as he reverently lays down a gentle peck against your knuckles. (You know your skin carries the taste of dish soap on it, and you hope it doesn’t taste too bitter when Simon kisses your hands as if they were God.)

“Missed you”, he speaks against your skin, mimicking your prayer as he looks up at you, and your breath hitches - just a little as you stare down at Simon. Your dear Simon. 

The silence was maddening. 

“I missed you too, Simon”. 

Note -

I got my first apology from a now-close friend of mine when I was 18 years old, and God did it change how I looked at love and people completely. So I guess this piece is dedicated to that friend. Thank you, Voltie. <3

Also, I mainly show my love for people through gift-giving and acts of service and I think Simon is a big 'acts of service' guy…..so here it is - Simon dealing with a girlie who is just as emotionally constipated and can only show her love by doing things for him

totally not inspired by my Asian/Desi upbringing lol

Divider by @/firefly-graphics

[enkas-illusion]

A Good Daddy

Fandom / Pairing: Jujutsu Kaisen / Gojo Satoru x f!reader

Rating: NSFW/Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Genre/Theme: Established relationship/marriage; non-sorcery au

Content warning: fluff, light angst, smut, oral (f.receiving), piv sex, bondage, dom!gojo, sub!reader, brat taming, overstimulation, pregnancy kink, unprotected sex, explicit sexual content, language.

Summary: Husband!Gojo with a pregnancy kink. When he sees you babysitting your close friend’s baby and can’t get the idea of seeing you with a baby bump, carrying his child, out of his head.

Author's Note: Satoru would be such a great dad and you can’t convince me otherwise! The kids are sure to be his exact clones, trusting him with their life cause they know their daddy is just that great 🥹🥹🥹. Daddy Gojo has taken over my brain and is manspreading on my thoughts! As always, I hope you enjoy this one shot. Thank you for reading! 

~ Eren’s Birdie

Song Dedication: Married Life (from UP) by Michael Giacchino / Daddy’s Home by USHER (aka Gojo theme™)

“Sup, how's it hanging? Long time no see,” you say coolly as you see your husband walking out of the kitchen towards you.

You have your knitting kit in hand, body nestling into the soft cushions of the sofa, belly feeling like it’s about to burst after the delicious dinner you just had. 

Satoru lifts your feet up before resting them on his lap as he sits on the opposite end of the sofa. He's massaging your feet with utmost care.

“Where do I even begin?! A lot has happened since we last saw each other about 10 minutes ago. I washed the dishes!” He sighs, raising his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner while his palm presses flat on the bottom of your foot to stretch your achilles tendon, melting the stiffness away, “And what about you? How have you been, stranger?”

You hold the half knitted lavender patch up to show it to him, “I am making a beanie for Hina. It's getting colder so I figured she'd have a cute little warm beanie to go on her cute little head.” 

Satoru crinkles his nose at this before confessing, “Cute. Do we need to babysit her anytime soon again? I miss the little devil.”

“‘Toru, I doubt Rin and Kento go out without their baby that often,” you let out a breathy laugh when he massages the top of your foot with a soothing firmness.

“Maybe we should make one of our own then I'll miss her less,” Satoru pouts, trying to test the waters carefully to see if it was the right chance to bring up the topic. Afterall, it's what he had been thinking about the entire week.

The baby in question was 8 months old Hina, your best friend's baby. The couple rarely went out ever since they had the baby – so the handful of times that Rin and her husband Kento needed a babysitter, you’d happily volunteered, not minding it ruining your Saturday night plans.

And although Satoru would pout at this each time, he secretly didn’t mind taking care of the toddler with you. It almost felt like a ‘trial’ run for when you’d have your own kids in the future – mini versions of you and him. And so he looked forward to babysitting little Hina as he got glimpses of the motherly side of you.

Your husband knew that you wanted to wait a while before you made the huge decision of bringing a child into this world and he was on the same page… until recently. He knew he was having a change of heart on the matter when his daydreams of seeing you with a baby bump started to spiral out of control over the last month.

What broke the camel’s back was an incident from a week ago – when he’d rushed out of the room to tell you he’d won a game of Counter-Strike against Suguru, you’d gently motioned him to be quiet, cradling the sleeping baby in your lap. He silently made his way to you when he saw the baby was clutching a strand of your hair in her sleep. Since you couldn’t move, he took it on himself to free your hair from the toddler’s strong grip. But just as he did that, Hina wrapped her tiny fingers around his thumb, holding it tightly in her sleep. When he looked up at you, you smiled at him with your loving eyes – it was when he’d decided that he wanted to impregnate you asap.

He had trouble falling asleep that night. You, on the other hand, were sleeping peacefully, after fulfilling your duty as the babysitter diligently. You’d wished Satoru goodnight right after handing Hina over to her parents, who’d returned from their date well into the night, leaving no opportunity for your husband to bring up the topic. 

With much difficulty when he did manage to fall asleep, he’d woken up sweating profusely at the wet dream he had where he came inside you instead of pulling out as per usual. He turned to his side trying his best to control his urges to recreate his dream as he slid his hand up under your tshirt to play with your soft nipples, making you stir in your sleep.

“Wifey… let’s make a baby,” he’d whispered, peppering your neck with soft kisses. You mumbled something incoherent as you turned to wrap your arm around his waist, still deep asleep. He sighed as he pulled his hand away, forcing himself to fall asleep, convincing himself that it was just his horny fantasies talking.

Oh how wrong he was! Here he was, a week later, baby fever running higher than ever. 

You look up from the knitting hooks, before giggling, “Yeah, right…”

“Love, I’m serious,” he mumbles, bringing your left leg up to his face to kiss your foot.

“‘Toru, why are you springing this on me so suddenly? You agreed we'd wait a while…” you sigh as you begin, sitting up as you pull your feet away from his hold.

“Yes but–”

“Satoru… we just got married. We need to get used to our married life first. We need to be with each other before we decide to bring a whole new being into this world,” you explain softly, telling him things he already knew.

“But technically, we've been together for almost 6 years now, I say we're beyond ready,” he protests.

“No, I doubt we're mature enough for the responsibility,” you retort.

“But imagine mini versions of us two running around the house,” he places his hands on your feet once again, pleading with a twinkle in his eyes akin to a kid begging for candy at a store.

“Please! My genes won't even fight, our baby will look like you,” you laugh.

“Then we can just make another one,” he says in a playful tone.

“Well… I have a feeling both of our babies will end up looking like you,” you roll your eyes at him.

“Then what about the next 2?” he says hopefully.

“Next 2? ONLY 2!” you scold him softly. He raises an eyebrow at you and you give him a calculated reasoning, “Just so that they have someone they share an unbreakable bond with and aren't lonely while growing up.”

“Exactly! I say the more the merrier!” he squeezes your feet in excitement.

“Satoru, I'm not a baby machine!” you slide your leg to his lap to nudge his thigh jokingly, “Besides, counting you I'd have 3 babies anyway.”

“Now you're just coming up with whatever excuses,” he snickers, slapping your foot away before shuffling to sit closer to you.

“Oh really?” you furrow your eyebrows as you sit up completely in front of him, sensing the conversation taking a serious turn. You place the knitting yarn and hook to the side on the coffee table.

“Yes really,” he kisses your temple to dissolve the wrinkle there. He always does that whenever you seem annoyed at him as he knows it never fails to make you giggle instantly. However, you simply fold your arms over your chest and give him a stern look.

“No… don’t do this. Talk to me Satoru, I’m serious…” you speak and he drops the playful act, nodding and signalling you to put your point across before he gets his chance to speak.

You sigh as you begin, “You’re the love of my life and I don't doubt for a second that you'd be an amazing father with time but I also believe you don't have the attention span or patience that taking care of a newborn requires, at least for now.”

“Are you being serious right now?” he folds his hands over his chest, sitting up straight.

The crinkle on your forehead fades as you try to find the best words to explain your point to your husband without seeming too harsh, “I'm sorry love, I'm not trying to be mean. I'm just saying… for example, when I was trying to get Hina to sleep, you were screaming at your xbox each time something happened. It made her wake up a few times before she finally fell asleep–”

“You should’ve told me, I would’ve tried to be quiet,” he pouts, slumping and leaning back on the sofa.

“‘Toru… I literally called your phone since I couldn’t yell at you but you were too busy with your game to notice.”

“You know I don't play everyday– okay, if it’s just that, I don’t see a problem. I can change that habit,” he says with a determined look on his face.

“Baby, I'm not trying to change you. But you have to realise that things change drastically when there’s a baby involved, whether you want them to or not,” you explain and he can tell you’re tired by the way your voice sounds. You bring your hand up to rub your temple, letting out a deep exhale.

He dips his head low, mumbling something along the lines of ‘but I'd be a good dad.’

“You tried to feed her chocolate saying she loved the taste! You're not supposed to feed them stuff like that till they're like… one! I don’t think you’re ready for such a huge responsibility just yet,” The tone of your voice is strict, a little louder than you’d like it to be and you already feel guilty at raising your voice at him.

He opens his mouth as if to say something but then shuts it back again. “What is it?” you urge him to speak.

“Nothing… it’s alright, I get it. You don't want me to be the father of your babies,” He mutters as he tries getting up. You grab his wrist to stop him from leaving, giving him a ‘you know that's not true’ look.

He sighs as he sits back down, “Okay maybe what you're saying is kinda true. I don't know much about babies besides the fact that they're like cute mini humans. But I can learn, you know? No one has a manual on how to be the best father but I know I will give it my 100%”

When he sees a faint smile return to your face, it encourages him to continue to convince you, “Maybe I might surprise you. Remember when you first thought I wasn't the type to take aftercare seriously but then you told me how surprised you were when I made you feel good during and after our first time?”

“Yeah,” you blush at him, rolling your eyes playfully, “You are good at that.”

“So let me show you baby… I’ll prove it to you, I'll be the best daddy,” He leans his weight on your body, trapping you between the cushions to kiss you. You wrap your arms around his neck, moaning into his mouth when his hands play with your breasts from over your t-shirt. 

When he dips his face down to your neck, sucking you where he knows will have you putty in his hand, you take a shaky breath, biting your lip at the sensation.

“Can’t wait to fill you up with my cum– gonna make your pretty belly swell,” he whispers as his head moves down, lifting up your t-shirt along with your bra to expose your chest before latching his mouth onto one of your hardened buds.

You bring your hands down to place them firmly on his chest as you push him away lightly, letting out a heavy sigh. Satoru stops as he moves back up to look into your eyes, eyebrows knitted.

You simply let out another sigh as you break eye contact to look to the side. He waits for you to speak but when the moment passes, he pulls away completely. You pull your t-shirt down and fix your bra quietly, actively avoiding his gaze.

“I'm going to bed, night,” he mumbles, getting up off the sofa to retire to the bedroom without waiting for your reply. He didn't kiss you good night, he almost never does that unless he's really upset. But why can't he understand where you're coming from?

Can't you understand where he’s coming from?

You close your eyes briefly as you slump onto the sofa. You rest one arm on your forehead as your head starts going into overthinking mode. However, your train of thought is broken before it can reach a destination when your phone vibrates in your pocket. You pull it out lazily as you open the text you’d just received from Rin.

Rin:

Look how cute this is! I never knew I had this in my phone!

<1 attachment>

You download the picture and your heart flutters when you see that it’s a photo of Satoru holding baby Hina in a loving embrace. It’s a picture taken on your wedding day, your husband’s crisp white shirt wrinkled by the way he’s holding the baby and smiling at her lovingly. She must’ve been barely 2 months old at the wedding. You can’t help but smile at the photo, your heart aching when you remember that the same man is sleeping in the other room, upset with you. You’re pulled out of your thoughts once again when your phone rings.

“Did you see the picture? Aren’t they the cutest? I was just telling Kento about how I wish you guys should have a baby soon. It’d make Hina a big sister,” your friend squeals. You laugh back at her but it’s due to the absurdity of her timing.

“Seriously, I’d love to see Satoru being a dad,” she adds when you don’t say anything.

You laugh again, “Right, that makes it the two of you.”

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“I mean that Satoru and I just had a small disagreement about this,” you press your hand to your temple, massaging it. 

Rin stays quiet for a moment before you hear her speak again, “Do you remember that day? He had taken off his suit coat, not because he was worried Hina would spoil it, but because he thought the fabric of his shirt was softer for her to rest her head on.”

You nod, not realising she can’t see you, before you reply with a quiet ‘hmm’.

“All I’m saying is that I know you fear him being too easy going, but Satoru is a serious guy, he knows when to take responsibility diligently,” your friend continues, reminding you of the things you already know and adore about your man. 

You almost tear up – you'd been overthinking this so much that you forgot to acknowledge Satoru for the man that he is. Of course he'd be a great dad!

Even if Rin hears you sniff, she doesn’t comment on it. Instead she asks, “Oh by the way, do you have her blue binky?”

“Huh?”

“It must be at your place. I can't find it here and Hina’s been raising hell cause it's one of her favourites,” Rin explains.

“Oh, just a min–” You look around the sofa, digging your hands into the creases and corners in hopes of finding it. 

“It's here!” you exclaim but your smile fades as you observe the tiny object in your hand, a realisation hitting you with the speed of lightning.

You had been projecting. Sure, having a baby was going to be hard but you were worried about being a bad mother more than Satoru being a bad father. Taking care of a growing life, who’s primarily dependent on you for everything, requires a lot of patience. Making sure your tiny human receives everything it deserves isn’t an easy task at all times. 

Yet, despite all of this, if there’s one thing you knew without a speck of doubt, it was that you wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else but the love of your life, Gojo Satoru. You're brought back to reality, breaking from your ruminations when you hear your friend’s voice calling your name once again.

“Sorry… hey– let me call you back?” you mumble.

“Sure, take care. Good night. See you tomorrow,” your friend speaks softly before hanging up. 

You drop your phone on the sofa as you get up to make your way to the bedroom. When you walk in, you find Satoru sleeping on his side, his back turned to you.

“Baby, are you asleep?” you speak softly. He doesn't respond but you know he's awake – he can never fall asleep when he's lying on his right side.

Shit, he’s really mad.

You quietly strip off your sweatpants and t-shirt, leaving you only in your bra and underwear before hopping on the bed to get closer to your husband.

“‘Toru, my love,” you coo softly as you kiss his cheek from behind. He turns to look at you, poker face on. You catch his eyes wandering down to your cleavage briefly but he doesn’t break his composure nonetheless.

You lean forward to press your chest against his, kissing him on the lips but he's annoyingly stiff. You sit back up as you pout at him.

“Please don't be mad at me baby,” you murmur as your fingers draw lazy circles over the expanse of his chest. Just as you move your hand down his torso, dangerously closer to his crotch, he grabs your wrist and flips your bodies so that you’re trapped under him.

Your giggles come to an abrupt halt and you bite your lip when you feel his hips press against you, fully aware of his evidently erect bulge.

“And why shouldn't I be mad at you?” He mocks, bringing his right hand up to your neck, his long fingers gripping the sides firmly.

“Because you love me?” You pout as you bat your eyelashes at him. He lets out a dry chuckle as his fingers choke you lightly.

“Not enough. Gotta try harder than that baby.”

“I'm sorry, ‘Toru… maybe you can forgive the mother of your future children,” you bring a hand up to caress his cheek.

“Hmm… should I?” He says, adding a bit more pressure. When you let out a quiet gasp, he dips his head down to kiss your parted lips hungrily. Your breathing gets heavier as his tongue explores your mouth, the sloppy wetness of your salivas mixing together making your pussy throb in excitement. Your hands move up to his hair, tugging at his blonde locks.

You whimper into his mouth when he bites your lower lip, pulling it out before releasing it with a soft plop. His grip on your throat releases as his hand slides underneath to unclasp your bra before hastily taking it off and tossing it aside.

You cup his face so that he’s looking into your eyes when you speak. His demeanour almost collapses at what you say next.

“Satoru… don’t pull out. Please fill me up. Don't stop till you put a baby in my belly,” you say timidly, the heat in your cheeks rising. He knows that you know just how much your words get to him and use it to your advantage often – usually he’d let you but this time, he doesn't want to let you have your way with him just yet. He wants to toy with you for a bit first.

“Maybe I've changed my mind?” he says with a smug look on his face. Your hands move down to his hips, hooking into the band of his sweatpants to push them down along with his underwear to his thighs, freeing his dick from its restraints. You lift your hips up to feel his hard on against your core. 

“I doubt,” you bite back, deceitful innocence in your eyes, “...but I could just go to sleep if you're not up for it.”

Your husband lets out a low chuckle as he grabs your jaw firmly, shaking his head at you, “You're not going anywhere until I'm done with you.”

In an attempt to rile him up further, you decide to mock him as you repeat his words in a condescending tone, “You're not going anywhere until– AHH!”

Big mistake.

Within a second Satoru flips you over till you're lying on your stomach, caging you in place with his knees dipping into the mattress on either side of you. He leans back to pull your underwear off and your heart picks up its pace when he grabs both your wrists to tie them behind your back with the flimsy fabric in a tight, makeshift knot.

He pushes your head into the pillow before landing a rough slap on your ass. He kneads the skin right after to soothe the stinging sensation.

“‘Toru��” you whimper. He ignores your pleading voice, simply tapping two fingers over your ass. You know what he wants and you obey immediately, lifting your hips up off the mattress. He folds your thighs further in till your back is arched with your ass up in the air, on display for him.

“You know what happens when you act bratty,” he kneads your asscheeks with both of his hands before clawing at the flesh. You push back in response and he laughs, “... or maybe you’re just a masochist.”

He lands another sharp spank, causing you to let out a tiny sob into the pillow. 

“Tell me what you want baby,” he teases. Your head turns to the side, hoping to catch a glimpse of his face behind you but your movement’s restricted, rendering your attempts useless.

If there’s one thing that Satoru claims to lose his mind over is the look in your eyes. He often calls your eyes his ‘weakness’, confessing he’d do anything you ask of him when you look at him with those fucked out eyes during sex. So for him to take away his weakness, typically with a blindfold, is when you know you’re really fucked.

“Didn’t you have a lot to say just now, love?” he mocks and you feel two fingers glide over your exposed cunt. You sigh at the sensation, letting out soft moans when his fingers begin to play with your folds.

“‘Toru– more,” you beg and he slides two fingers inside you. You hum in pleasure but huff when you’re reminded of the annoyance of being restricted each time you try to move your arms.

His movements are excruciatingly slow and it’s making you lose your mind and patience. You try to chase his touch, failing miserably at getting him to push his fingers deeper inside you. Satoru lets out a condescending chuckle at your poor attempt, “Are you really that desperate for me baby?”

You huff and you’re about to complain but it turns into broken moans when he starts pumping his fingers into you – the squelching sound of your pussy blending with drawn out cries of his name.

“Aww, does my wife like it when I do this?” he teases, curving his fingers inside to rub your walls, massaging a particular spot that has you begging him for more. Your thighs tremble and your pussy flutters around his fingers. “Guess she really does!” you hear him squeal before he pulls his fingers out completely, depriving you of all contact within a second.

“Satoru! S– stop being so mean!” you scold him with shallow breaths.

“Satoru! Stop being so mean!” he laughs as he mocks you, his fingers lightly grazing over your folds.

“Baby… pl–please, I’m sorry,” you cry, desperate for his touch.

“What for, baby?” he nudges further, his finger inching towards your clit.

“For teasing you– mmh,” you whimper when he rubs over the bundle of nerves.

“But that’s not why I’m mad…”

“‘Toru please–”

“Yes?” he sings.

“Fuc– I’m sorry… I was wrong, you’ll be a great dad– ahh,” you squeeze your eyes shut when he pinches your clit.

“That’s it,” he coos softly and you feel him come up behind you to kiss your shoulder, “was that so hard, baby?” he moves down to bite one of your tied wrists, moving further down to kiss the skin over your tailbone. You feel his fingers dig into your ass, pulling the flesh apart before diving his face down as he begins lapping at your cunt with a brutal pace. 

Your ass jerks up at the sudden touch and he continues his ministrations, alternating between sucking your clit and licking down till his tongue’s dipping inside your hole, wiggling it in. You twist your wrists, feeling the urge to grab at something, anything to steady yourself, yet it’s a futile attempt.

“Toru– too much,” your tears wetting the pillow as you feel your legs shake, threatening to collapse at any moment. Satoru is quick to sit up straight and you feel his shuffling movement behind you and see him toss the bundle of his clothes to the side before settling behind you once again, wedging his knees between yours to spread them wider. He taps his swollen tip over your folds, rubbing it back and forth to coat it with your wet slick. 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head when you feel him push the tip in, splitting your walls to adjust to his length. Once he’s completely buried inside you, he grips the side of your hips to support you, “Gonna fill you up so good baby.”

“Oh god– Sa–toru–” you howl when he pulls almost his entire length out before thrusting back into you. When his pace builds up, your body jerks slightly forward due to the force of his thrusts. His grip on your sides tightens as he pulls your hips back to slam you back against him.

The sound of your skin slapping fills the air along with both of your moans and groans. When you wiggle your wrists again in a desperate attempt, the knot loosens just enough for you to wring your wrist free. You bring one hand down to support your weight while the other moves behind you to claw at his forearm.

Satoru hisses at the sudden contact as he twists your wrist, holding it against your lower back while his other hand snakes around your throat, pulling you back till you’re sitting up flush against his chest. His other hand hooks around your waist as he starts bouncing your torso up and down on his dick at the same time he slams up into you.

You free the hand behind your back to pull his face closer while twisting your neck to look back, kissing him frantically, the wet trail of your tears smudging and transferring onto his skin. 

At a particularly rough thrust, Satoru’s knee slides slightly, making his balance stumble a bit. He lets out a breathy ‘fuck’ as he pulls out abruptly. 

“‘Toru?”

“Shhh–” he orders as he grips your waist tightly to pull you down till you both are lying down on your left side, his chest pressed against your back. He adjusts his position to hook your legs around his, opening you up wider for him as he brings his hand down to guide his dick back near your entrance to shove it in your swollen hole. 

His hand is shaky as he brings it to your clit to rub circles as he resumes thrusting into you ruthlessly once again. You cry his name out loud at how good this new motion hits and he bites your shoulder. You know he’s close by how erratic his thrusts get.

His other arm that is placed beneath you comes up to pinch your nipples, the added stimulation is too intense for you as you feel the muscles in your stomach tighten more than they already have. His nose buries in the crook of your neck as his lips bite your skin harshly. When he starts sucking on your favourite spot behind your ear, it causes goosebumps to rise all over your body.

You claw at his biceps as you turn your head back to look at him. He looks so fucked out and the fact that he gets this way only for you is what overwhelms your senses even further.

“Fuck–” his eyebrows knit as he leans down to kiss you. You feel your body twitch as the knot in your stomach gets tighter and tighter before letting go completely, causing your walls to pulse around his cock as you reach your orgasm.

Your moans are swallowed by his kisses and your grip on his locks loosens. When you break away from the kiss to catch your breath, you stare at his face and your eyebrows knit when you see the way a string of saliva connects your lips with his. Your chest heaves as you look into his eyes and you can tell he’s close. 

“Fuck– fuck– shi–” he grunts as he shuts his eyes, biting your shoulder once again and you feel him shoot his load inside, painting your walls. With broken thrusts, he slows down before stopping completely. He stays inside you for a few seconds before pulling out and shutting your legs close to keep his cum from spilling out.

You let out a tired laugh at this as you close your eyes, suddenly feeling hyper aware of everything that had just transpired, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes. He readjusts your position so that you’re lying flat on your back, while he moves on top of you till his head is resting on the valley of your breasts. 

You open your eyes when you feel him tug at your wrist and you see him free it from your underwear that was still hanging limply there. As he holds the fabric up, you see that the elasticity of its band had been completely destroyed. You see red marks on your wrist where it was secured tightly. Satoru pulls your hand down to kiss your wrist, mumbling a ‘sorry’ and turning his head to kiss your other wrist.

You simply hum as you close your eyes again, calming your breathing and nerves. You feel him rub circles over your stomach before moving down to kiss you over your belly button. He brings both his hands up to intertwine his fingers with yours, peppering soft kisses all over your stomach.

“So… care to explain what changed your mind so quickly?” he asks.

You nod as you slowly open your eyes, gulping as you look down to meet his gaze. He moves up till he’s at your eye level, expectantly waiting for your answer, pinning your hands to the sides of your head.

You bite your lip nervously as you begin, “Sorry for insinuating that you’d be a bad father. It wasn’t my intention – I just got scared. I know you’ll be a great papa, I don’t doubt it for a second…” you look away to avoid his gaze, “... sorry for projecting my insecurities onto you– I’m just worried if I’d be able to be a good mom.”

“Baby… you’re so smart, yet sometimes you say the dumbest shit,” he chuckles softly as he brings one hand up to cup your face, “I’ve seen the way you take care of Hina… seeing you be so kind and loving is what made me go crazy about wanting our own babies. I want kids because I’d get to be a parent with you… so that you can be the mother of my children. Don’t go thinking about crazy hypotheticals like that!”

“Hmm, thank you baby. But taking care of Hina is easy when it’s only for a couple of hours at a time. Having our own baby will be like a full time job. I listen to the way Rin sometimes jokes that she doesn’t even have time alone with Kento cause she’s so tired oft–”

“Hey, hey… breathe,” Satoru interrupts you, resting his forehead against yours and your face relaxes as you close your eyes, taking deep breaths. “Even if all of that is true, you have me with you. I’m not leaving your side even for a second, my love. We’re in this together. Taking care of our baby and his pretty mommy is my responsibility and I’m gonna do it right.”

You feel the tears well up in your eyes as you look up at him and he smiles softly at you, “I love you.”

You tilt your head slightly to kiss him before speaking, “I love you so much Satoru. I wouldn’t want to have anyone else’s baby.”

“Oh thank goodness! Wanting a baby only with your husband is the ideal thing after all,” he laughs breathily and you slap his chest lightly. 

“Besides, I think we’ll be ready by the time I actually conceive. I’ve heard that it takes a few months for some couples, so who knows, right?” you think out loud.

“Please,” he snickers, “I’ve got the best swimmers, there’s no way in hell you won’t be pregnant after tonight…”

You giggle as you pull him down till he’s lying on top of you completely like your own personal weighted blanket.

He nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck, “... but just to be sure, let’s go another round… make it certain.”

“‘Toru! I’m tired” you laugh as you try to pull him off of you but he continues kissing down your neck. You close your eyes at how sensitive your skin feels against his kisses.

“Then just lie down. I’ll do all the work, princess,” your husband winks at you before circling his tongue around one of your already hardened nipples. 

You hum contentedly as you rest your head back down, melting into the pillow and accepting your fate – you were going to have to run on very little sleep tomorrow.

~fin~

[c-cobweb]

𝓤ltraviolence ⋮ kai anderson

⨾ “ ‘cause im your jazz singer, and you're my cult leader. i love you forever, i love you forever” — lana del rey.

ᡣ𐭩 . warnings ᯓ +18 mdni!, smut, oral (m receiving), dom! kai, submision, brainwashing, daddy k!nk? (only once). a/n ᯓ english is not my first lenguage! and requests are open ♡.

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Kai was smoking, sitting in the armchair in the basement of his house with his legs open and you kneeling in the middle of them.

How did you get to this situation? You didn’t know it well.

It all started when Kai first entered the bar where you sang jazz on Thursday nights, after your performance that day he approached you praising your angelic voice and offering you a drink. The following Thursdays were the same, with Kai camelling you with his sweet words and his beautiful smile.

But that wasn’t the Kai that was now in front of you.

You didn’t know how but the blue haired boy had dragged you into his twisted sect, brainwashing you and making you his sexual slave. And that’s why you were like this now, wanting to please him.

He unbuttoned his pants and left the rest of the work to you, so you took his cock out of his pants and stroked it from top to bottom, wrapping your hand in it while you looked into his eyes biting your lower lip.

He let out a growl and threw his head back due to pleasure, releasing the smoke he had been containing in his lungs. When you saw his reaction you took your tongue out of your mouth and began to give kitten licks to the head of his penis, knowing that that drove him crazy.

“Stop teasing” Kai demanded with a hoarse and dominant voice, to which you obeyed without thinking and began to put his cock in your oral cavity everything your throat allowed you.

You were going little by little, putting his member in your mouth until Kai got fed up and with the hand that did not hold the cigarette he grabbed you by the head and pushed until the head of his penis hit your uvula, to which you gagged due to the brutality of his actions.

He began to fuck your mouth with brutality, grabbing your head with both hands while his cigarette hung between his lips. When you saw that Kai was so focussed, you took the opportunity to lower your hand down your torso until you reached the waist of your panties, and put your hand inside and begin to delicately caress your cult.

Kai soon realised what you were doing, so he quickly grabbed your hair and stretched it tightly to separate you from his cock. “What do you think you’re doing?” He asked with a frown. “Did I give you permission to touch you?”

You swallowed with difficulty, the last thing you wanted was to make him angry. “No, I’m sorry” You answered nervously while looking at him with begging eyes so that he didn’t do anything to you. “No what?” He spoke again, looking back at you with intensity. “No, sir” You answered with a choppy voice.

He nodded and let go of your hair, putting his fingers between your strands and licking his lips. “Okay, now be a good girl and make me cum” He said and you immediately put his member back in your mouth, this time with both hands on his thighs.

Kai fucked your mouth again with all the strength he had. You closed your eyes tightly by repressing gagging. He growled and let out guttural moans from time to time, the cigarette on his lips that was now completely consumed fell on the sofa, but the last thing he cared about was that.

It wasn’t long before you felt his cock twitch in your mouth, a clear sign that he was going to come soon. To help him, you raised one of your hands to caress the rest of his cock that did not fit in your mouth and you began to move your head from top to bottom, following the movements of his hips.

“Fuck, yeah. I’m gonna cum, baby” He warned you, but instead of walking away you just tried harder to put more of his member in your mouth and turn your tongue around his shaft, definitely throwing him to the edge.

“Oh my god, yeah” He groaned as you felt thick strips of sperm coming down your throat. “Good girl, good fucking girl” Kai praised you with agitated breathing as he lowered his arms to both sides of his body.

When you felt his cock soften, you took it out of your mouth and cleaned the corner of your lips with the sleeve of your sweater. You climbed until you were sitting on Kai’s lap and curled up against his chest, he instinctively wrapped his arms around your waist to keep you close to him. “Did I do well?” You asked while hiding your face in his neck.

“Of course, you always do it well for me,” he replied with a soft laugh. “Now get up, daddy has to continue with his work” He said patting your ass so you can move. You sat on the couch with your knees glued to your chest while you watched Kai dress in his usual clothes to commit murders.

It was usual to leave you trembling and then go to kill people.

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mlist , bots

 c-cobweb 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[pinklemonslices]

wrote a little hurt/comfort thing because of the cancellation and the fact that i won’t see my glorious queen niko ever again, ft. a very sad edwin & established payneland :’)

—

“I miss Niko,” Edwin says one day, barely louder than a whisper, when there are no cases to be solved and the rain pouring outside the office is particularly heavy. And, it’s one thing to think it — god knows he’s always thinking it — but saying it aloud is another thing entirely.

There is a feeling of grief that hangs over him like the rain clouds outside, that never really leaves, always eating away at his soul like the awful, hungry thing it is. Sometimes he worries that, eventually, there won’t be anything left for it to eat, and he will simply cease to exist.

The grief is always there, but today, it’s worse than usual. It’s unbearable.

If Edwin needed air, he would be short of it. His chair is the most uncomfortable thing in the world, at the moment, as his hands clench into fists around the fabric of his trousers repeatedly. His mind focuses solely on the grief, in a way he rarely ever allows.

“I know,” Charles tells him finally, and “I do too,” is communicated just as clearly. Charles gets up from his spot on their sofa — that really is too low to the ground for either of them — and makes his way over to the desk.

For a moment, Edwin thinks he is going to perch on the edge of it, as he usually does, but instead he steps closer, leans down, peppers gentle, sorry kisses on the top of Edwin’s head. Edwin takes ahold of Charles’s burgundy polo shirt, and clings to it like a lifeline. But that’s what it is, isn’t it? Charles is the only thing keeping him from falling completely apart.

Charles wraps strong arms around Edwin, pulling him into an embrace, so tight it feels like he’s trying to somehow crush Edwin’s pain, and that’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

Edwin has never been one to cry, not outside of Hell, at least, but Hell was something entirely different. Now though, his tears spill over as if he had just been torn to shreds again, as if he were still stuck in the worst place, with the worst people, as if he were still being tortured, as if crying was something he did regularly.

Niko would have tried to cheer him — them — up, if she were here, but if she were, well they would not be sad at all. Edwin wishes sorely that he did not have to be sad.

It is unfair, is what it is. It is unfair that Niko is dead. Someone as kind, and caring, and charming as Niko did not deserve to die, to be killed.

It is unfair that Edwin was given a friend, only for her to be ripped away from him. Only for him to have to watch it happen.

Edwin holds onto Charles a little tighter.

He doesn’t keep track of how long they stay like that, but at some point Charles starts crying too, and at another, the both of them manage to stop. Sometime after that, Edwin is able to let go of Charles’s shirt, and Charles pulls away enough to see Edwin’s face. He is sure it isn’t a pretty sight to behold.

And yet Charles smiles a sad sort of smile, and presses a kiss to Edwin’s lips. Edwin’s stomach swoops and his still heart flutters, the way it always does when they kiss. He does not think he will ever get used to it, but he is alright with that.

Niko would have cheered. She would have grinned so wide, and lamented about her inability to take a picture of them. Edwin’s eyes sting, but the tears don’t return.

“She would have loved this — us,” He says, when they eventually break apart. The sound of his voice is like nails on a chalkboard. “She would have been so happy. I told her of my confession in Hell, you know. I wish I could have told her of this. I wish she could see us now.” I wish I could see her now.

Charles kisses his nose. “I bet she can, love. Bet she’s smiling.”

Edwin opens his mouth to say something, once, twice, too many times, to no success. Instead, he offers a small nod.

He recalls something he told her on the roof of the Tongue & Tail, the day everything happened. The day he lost her. “No one is ever gone,” He had said. Maybe she is looking down on them. Maybe she really is smiling.

It is a proper nice thought, but it doesn’t fix the part of him that longs to see her again. It doesn’t fix the part of him that longs to watch Scooby Doo with her, and solve the cases before the characters manage to. It doesn’t fix his longing to hear her voice again, to hug her again, to be with her again.

He kisses Charles once more, and misses Niko still.

[lisenberry]

The sweat on your skin is better than regret on your heart

Part three! (One and Two) I know I promised smut, but I just got really deep into his tattoos. Part four will finish this up, I swear.

Tattoo Artist!Price x F!Reader

He led you towards the back of the shop, past the reception desk and the waiting area, and behind the black velvet privacy curtain.  You were surprised at how clean it was in his workspace.  Welcoming in its warmth.  You expected neon lights and goth décor.  Crystal skulls and gleaming stainless steel.

Instead, it was a palette of rich, earthy tones.  A supple looking camel-colored leather sofa, maps of the ocean and model ships of every shape and size.  A compass rose painted with elaborate detail on the ceiling.  A stained-glass light fixture at its center. 

“It’s beautiful in here,” you mused, as you spun around slowly in a mix of awe and anticipation.  If you were to get a tattoo, it would be the place. 

“If you give me a second, I can draw you up a few ideas.  The ones you showed me on your little phone are uninspired shit.”  He slipped another cig from his pack and tucked it behind his ear.  Always at the ready.

“I’m actually more worried about the placement.”  You bit your lip for courage.  You couldn’t believe you were doing this.  “Could you show me yours?  Maybe that’ll help me decide.”

You sat atop a padded seat that he could recline forward and backward, raise up and down to suit the best position.  It was comfortable and smooth against the back of your knees. 

“I think we can stop pretending why you’re still here.  You want me to help you forget your boyfriend, don’t you?  Work you up so hard—so good and proper—that you don’t remember his name.”

But even as he spoke, he obliged you.  Tugged his shirt off efficiently, pulling it up from behind his neck and shrugging it over the front of his shoulders, letting it come to rest between his wrists.  It briefly looked like handcuffs before he tossed it on the floor beside him.

His hair stuck up in roguish angles before he could smooth it down with a stiff swipe of his palm.   

“No, I want to remember.  Remember this feeling for the rest of my life.”  You couldn’t look away as he stood so close to you, so proudly as if for an inspection. 

At the swath of hair that curled around the thick muscles of his chest and trailed down to disappear beneath the waist of the pants that hung low where his hands rested on his hips.

“What feeling is that?”

“Empty?”  You reached a hand out tentatively to touch the skin along his side.  To move him closer for a better look.  “But free.”

He was inked in a scattering of places, like memories collected over time.  No rhyme or symmetry to their arrangement.  A snake coiled around his shoulder and sunk its teeth into his collarbone.  A black bird with a long neck and hooked beak sat vigilantly on one bicep while a simple, unadorned dagger with wings claimed the other.

Some more weathered than others, it was hard to tell which was the oldest. 

“What’s the bird for?”  you asked, nodding to his left arm.  Below it was written “You’ll never walk alone” in stylized script. 

“That’s a liver bird.  The symbol of the LFC.”  A football club?  You cracked a smile at the boyishness of it.  You wondered if that was his first one, as a lad staking his claim on his body.  And the world.

“And the snake?”  You took your time tracing his right shoulder with your fingertips. 

“I hate snakes.  Scare me to death.”  Brave then, to carry one around with him always, forever creeping up to bite him. 

“And the bees?  You scared of them, too?”  You noted the collection of realistically drawn bumble bees at his side, fresher and with bright yellow colors. 

“Those are for my nieces.  Beatrice, Brenna and Bailey.”  He pointed to each, with a glimmer of softness in his voice as he recalled their names.

As you slid your hands to his hips, you turned him around to view the larger canvas at his back.  Just as disjointed as his front, your gaze fell to a ghostly face. 

More skeleton than specter, it sat on his right shoulder.  It’s teeth were made of bullets, and it stared blankly back at you.  The pitch black in the depths of its eyes unnerving. 

Beside it was a bear, warlike in its posture.  Its face open and fearsome, ready to consume its foe.  A claymore style longsword, with a thistle design at its hilt held in its massive paws.

One last piece balanced out the trinity.  A Knight Templar, crouched in armor.  On one bent knee, in service to a force unseen. 

They felt significant, inked in a similar style and with a fluidity that bound them together. 

“They’re important to you?”

“To be at my back?  Yeah.  They’re the best.”

From there, your fingers moved lower, to a set of four lions sat on their flanks.  You recognized them from history.  They were the Landseed lions of Admiral Nelson’s monument in Trafalgar Square.  They’d once held names too, like his nieces. 

Peace. War. Vigilance. Determination.

But these had arrows in their backs.  You imagined that each one in the count held a significance.  Not a life taken.  Or a victory.  Not something so crass and boastful.  Instead, something lost.

Below each, he’d had a set of coral red poppies added.  Bright and vibrant and new.

“It’s lovely,” you felt a tear drift down your cheek.  You didn’t know why.  It happened sometimes when you were at a museum or a gallery.  Moved beyond words at something beyond yourself.  The unbridled expression of another.

The last was a lone set of crosshairs, in a style so different than the rest.  Thin and unsure, as if doodled in a dream.  Just below his neck.  Dead-center at the crest of his spine.

“What’s this one?” You grazed it gently with your fingers.  Not entirely sure you wanted the answer.

“That’s the one that finally gets me, love,” he growled as he twisted around and held your probing hand in his.  “You’ve looked your fill.  Now it’s my turn.”

[bunny-eats-fox]

chaos

- miyamura izumi

warnings: mostly fluff ; physical violence mentioned (hori against miyamura in the past, like a slap to the face and hitting him) ; comfort wc: 1074 an: now... i get it, slapping ppl as a comedic relief is v anime-esque and shouldn't be taken too srsly and all, BUT... her hitting him, biting him and slapping him constantly is just... blergh. i dont find it funny nor cute n bc of that, here are my two cents how it could "affect" him bc i am a writer and i interpret way too much into everything especially regarding my favs... have fun!

__________________________

Your day had been a catastrophe.

Your toxic boss yelled at you in front of everyone for a mistake that he did but blamed you for. Your heel broke off on the way home which made you stumble and drop the phone you always held in your hand, onto the concrete. This incident in turn, made you late for your commute home and the bus drove off the moment you rushed around the corner. And, if all of that didn’t already had you clenching your teeth and clutching your purse tight to your chest to not burst into tears, a crow then decided to relieve itself onto your shoulder, staining your brand-new blazer.

Safe to say, when you came home, Miyamura’s “Welcome back.” immediately got stuck in his throat when he saw you: Exhausted and on the verge of tears.

“How about you take a nice, long and hot shower and then we eat on the sofa tonight, hm?” That was all he said and you, sniffling, just nodded and limped away to your bathroom to clean the poop off of your blazer and wash away that horrible day.

You were thankful and content when you managed to just snuggle up against your boyfriend and enjoy the meal that he cooked. It was a quiet dinner while you watched TV and when you were done, you left the dishes on the living room table and just cuddled and enjoyed his company.

But then…

It was a minor accident.

So small, in fact, that it was wasted energy to even think twice about it.

Yet, that small thing finally set you off.

Izumi reached out to grab his glass, but, as he looked at the TV, he somehow managed to knock it over. All of it spilled over the table and your legs.

Was it hot and burned you? No.

Was it something sticky and gross? Also no.

Yet, that one, additional tiny inconvenience broke the camel’s back and you started bawling the moment the mere water dripped down your legs.

Once you started crying, you also started yelling at him for not being careful, for being so clumsy and how horrible your day was. Meanwhile, Izumi, who had already apologized and patted your legs dry with some paper towels, just let you vent.

Now. You were someone who had always talked with your hands. You gestured with your hands greatly no matter what you talked about and with what kind of emotion. Izumi knew that. Though, you had only dated for a few mere months at that point and he hadn’t heard you yelling and crying like that before. It did remind him of someone and he thought he knew what to expect.

Hence, when you finally turned to face him and you raised your hands for another big gesture, you were taken aback for a second and even stopped mid-sentence. Miyamura, who had flinched and visibly moved his head sideways with his eyes closed, looked like he awaited a punch or something. His reaction felt like someone had punched you though. Did he really think you would… hurt him like that?

Immediately, you started to consciously control your breathing to calm down again. This was no time to get so angry over something so small. Especially because to you, his reaction was concerning.

“I-I’m sorry. I totally overreacted.”, your voice shook still, “I had such… a horrible day today and… then this happened and… and I’m so sorry for blowing up like that because of… some stupid water. I’m sorry, Izumi.”, your voice broke at the end and you only whispered the last words as another unwanted sob escaped your lips, yet you still took deep breaths to calm down.

“No, it’s okay, please, don’t apologize. It was my fault I spilled water all over you. You can still hit me if you want.”, he immediately said and hugged you tightly afterwards.

“What?! No!”, you cried and pushed him away just enough to look at him, “Why would I do that? I would never. I do gesture a lot with my hands, so I’m sorry if it looked like it, but I could never. I love you, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Oh…Right.” Izumi looked truly baffled by that for a few moments. As if you had just told him you found the 8th wonder of the world.

“I’m sorry, (Y/n) I think… I’ve just gotten used to it.”, he laughed uncomfortably as he didn’t really know how to properly react now.

You just wondered what the hell his past girlfriend did to make him get used to getting hit in the face…

“Geez… don’t get used to that. That’s not okay.”, you whined and then jumped into his arms again, burying your face into the crook of his neck while you hugged him tight.

Miyamura didn’t know how to properly answer that, so all he did was hum in approval and squeeze you tightly. He, himself, didn’t even think that the hitting thing his past girlfriend used to do would even affect him. However, when he saw your big hand gestures, a sense of familiarity shot through his body and he physically got ready for another slap to the face… Hence, when you apologized and told him you would never do that, he was so surprised and speechless, since he was used to being blamed and apologizing for everything.

When you let go of each other, your tears had finally dried and you could smile a little again.

“Thank you and I’m sorry. You cooked for me and everything and I yelled at you like that over something so stupid. Can you forgive me?”

“Of course. I know you had an atrocious day, so that was just the last thing that pushed you over the edge. Don’t even think about it anymore.”, he reassured you and gently, but also teasingly, pinched your cheeks.

“Mn. Thank you. I love you.”, you leaned in to peck his lips.

Izumi quickly reacted and didn’t just let you escape like that, instead, he followed your movement to kiss you properly after he returned those sweet words, thus making you both fall back onto the sofa. Certainly, at that point and after all the things that had happened today, all you both needed were a tight embrace and some kisses and cuddles. And you, as well as your boyfriend, very happily provide those for each other.

__________________________

all characters canonically under 18 are always aged up ; english is not my native language so i apologize for any mistakes ;

[wordsofwilderness]

Fic authors self rec

When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love!

Thank you so much for the tag @futurequibblerjournalist, this was so much fun :D

Spotlight on me (and I'm ready to break) ☆ E ☼ Fame AU, Secret relationship, Switching ☆ 3/16 (11.6k) ☼

Regulus got few opportunities like this, away from the prying eye of the public. Able to fade enough into the background, to appreciate so openly. Always the picture-perfect son. Squeaky clean image and not a gossip headline in sight. Who didn’t date, only because of his time-consuming dedication to his craft. Or that was the official story anyway. Reality told another one.

buy me your world ☼ E ☆ Business AU, Texting, Daddy Kink ☼ 3/3 (17.2k) ☆

There, standing to the side in the lobby, was the most beautiful man James had ever seen. Black, tousled curls effortlessly framed his face, standing in perfect contrast to his ivory skin and rose-coloured lips. Like everyone else in the entire building, he was wearing a suit, but no one else made it look that good—like they’d been plucked straight from a runway instead of a heap of coffee-fuelled paperwork.

Locked Away ☆ E ☼ University AU, Forced Proximity, Omegaverse ☆ one-shot (4.7k) ☼

“Could you not?” “What?” “This is hard enough as it is. Without you…” James trailed off, scrunching his nose as he gestured in Regulus’ direction. Regulus frowned, resting his head back on top of his knees again. Looking away, he scoffed, “This is my dorm, you know? If I smell so awful, then maybe you should’ve stayed away.”

Be Patient with My Frozen Heart ☼ G ☆ Autistic Regulus Black, Relationship Problems, Making Up ☼ one-shot (6.9k) ☆

Maybe Regulus should have known by now that denial never served him well. By some point, the illusion would break and shatter, its jagged shards hurting more than facing the truth ever would. It was early one Monday morning, it finally happened—the final straw on the camel’s back. Maybe Regulus could’ve blamed it on not sleeping well, how he lashed out at something that was seemingly only a minor inconvenience. Maybe it was bound to happen either way.

Closet Talk ☆ G ☼ Gay Panic, Coming Out, Pining ☆ one-shot (1k) ☼

“I wanted to kiss him. I nearly did kiss him.” James froze in place as it dawned upon him what he had just said out loud. The few people occupying the sofas luckily looked soundly asleep. Lily gripped his shoulders, tearing his gaze back to her. Searching his eyes, she echoed back with a hushed tone, “Him?”

np tags: @emlovessid @thebibutterflyao3 @my-castles-crumbling @veryinnovative @jaylienpotter

[menonlywrestling]

Tape Traders.

In the 80s and 90s, Pro Wrestling tape trading was very popular amongst fans. The more obscure, hard to find tapes would fetch big money, but mostly the more well known traders liked to hold on to the rarest items, for bragging rights.

One such tape, known only as 'Danny's Destruction' took on practically mythical status. Many people suggested it didn't even exist. Every trader coveted a copy of this tape.

The tape was said to feature a private underground match, filmed in a basement, featuring a hot young Pro called Danny Da Costa (23), who was facing off against an older wrestler known as Hangman Hennessey (60).

Apparently, young Danny took such a severe, prolonged pro beat down that he didn't wrestle again for six months, or ever, depending on who you spoke to. Everyone wanted to see this tape.

FFW to 2001, when a copy of the video was anonymously uploaded to an underground pro wrestling message board. The grainy vhs quality video was titled 'Danny's Destruction - Three hours of pro ring torture'

The video begins with footage of the younger HUNG wrestler already in the ring, hopping from foot to foot, stretching and pulling on the ropes, ready for action. While young Danny started off well, with some good back and forth, he eventually succumbed to the Hangman's continued attacks on Danny's right arm. Hangman then methodically puts Danny in every conceivable pro wrestling hold. No one had ever seen a 20 minute camel clutch applied, or a 30 minute Boston, before. The postings were brutal, as were the relentless standing elbow and knee drops. Focussed attacks on Da Costas arm continued. Hennessey looks to be in his element. He was getting on a bit and his best wrestling days were behind him. He seems to be relishing the opportunity to actually dominate in the ring again. The handful of men watching were enjoying every second, as they sat ringside on battered old sofas and armchairs, drinking and smoking. So turned on by all the moans, groans and the sound of bodies hitting the canvas. Some of them are also in pro gear and masks.

Around the two hour mark, exhausted Danny has clearly given up submitting, he knows the onslaught wont stop either way. Hennessey then tears Danny's singlet off and tosses it to the group, leaving him in just his pro boots. We see him spit into his palm and rub it onto his now raging hard cock, spit on Danny's hole then enter him. Hennessey fucks poor Danny for a solid 45 mins, seemingly enjoying hurting the younger man even more. Such stamina! When he eventually shoots his load deep into the younger man ass, with a massive groan, the men cheer.

It isn't the end for Danny though. Hennessey, still hard, put his trunks back on, scoops Danny over this shoulders and applies an absolutely brutal torture rack and parades Danny around the ring, one hand round his throat and the other squeezing his thick cock. Danny's body is limp now and it looks like he's going to be broken in half hes being bent so much. Like a power lifter, Hennessey hoists his victim above his head, then drops Danny into an over the knee back breaker. Again brutally bending him so much he looks ready to snap in two. He begins to start jerking Danny's cock, as he tightens the grip on his throat.

After a while he pushes Danny off his knee and leaves the ring. Is that it? Where has he gone? Is it over? During this the camera stays focussed on Danny, as he holds his throat, before panning to his ass and hard cock.

We then see Hennessey re enter the ring carrying a gym bag, from this he produces a long, thick chain with a leather collar on the end of it, and holds it above his head. The men cheer. Danny struggles as the older man tries to attach it round his neck. He knows whats coming. Several forearm smashes daze Danny, and its eventually strapped on.

Danny is tossed over the top ring rope and 'hung', with Hennessey still in the ring, pulling hard on the chain that's wrapped round his wrist. I guess this is why he's called The Hangman.

Some of the men take photos of a bloody Danny struggling, with one man even sucking Danny's dick as he squirms on the end of the chain. One man signals to Hennessey that Danny is out, and he lets go of the chain. Danny slumps to the floor.

The camera cuts to sometime after the fight has finished. Everyone is now in the ring and we see one masked man with the chain round his throat, sucking Hennessey off. One man is fucking Danny's ass, while another rubs his cock over Danny's bloody face, before fucking his mouth, and another sucks Danny's cock.

The video ends with a shot of Hennessey with a really stiff, tight sleeper on Danny, who is being forced to jerk off, until he cums on his hairy belly, while the men jeer in the background. Danny is eventually KOed again.

I hope it was worth the $50 Danny.

[sims2repositoryfinds]

Perfect Match Single Width Colonial Curtains.rar - repo'd to bedding

Perfect Match Single Width Colonial Curtains II.rar - repo'd to camel back sofa

[hazshit-hotel-hater]

Hi, I just want to say this well I don’t like angel dust all that much I do think their is some hope in him. If the show is willing to dig deep. We can’t forget that Angel was a closet gay mafia guy in the 1910-40’s who have fun killing people and die by OD then gotten SA in the after life.

What I’m saying is Angel’s Sa is only tip of the iceberg for the reason why he takes drugs because he clearly have issues and what can cause him to fall of the wagon if one of those issues ever comes back again . In fact what if Angel went with Charlie and Vaggie to heaven for his trial, now Angel if off drugs so now he is in his most vulnerable.

During the trial we are given testimony with all the victims one by one that have gotten their life’s ruined by Angel’s actions. Each given gruesome details, some gotten so bad to the point that the victims begs the princesses of hell to keep angel in hell. This will lead to the final victim that one that broke the camel back which is angel’s boyfriend. ( let’s name him Jack).

Now Jack much like Charlie did everything he could to help angel out with his addiction and problems a roof in his head, hot meals, and a steady part time job working with him in his family small shop. Everything goes well but as Jack soon will find out old habits dies hard and again and again and again. It gotten so bad to the point that money and stuff will go missing from the store. Stranger in the front door demanding money , drug hidden in the sofa it can go on and on. It gotten to the point that when Jack does try to kick Anthony ( Angel’s real name) out guess what Anthony does he tries keeping Jack in line by using sex, drugs, and saying stuff like “ I’m sorry it won’t happen again please forgive me or I have change.” This relationship will randomly in the worst ways by Angel choose his abusive family respect over his caring boyfriend and well he made his choice.

Jack last words before he goes will also be a  warning for Charlie to understand “ He left, with the respect of the of people that he told he hated the most ,I was left in the cold ground slowly dying,alone so be careful princess because that man is only gonna you drag you down with him.” 

This would be both Charlie and Angel wake up call

A; he have to understand that redemption doesn’t mean doing it for yourself so that you can better life, but to understand that your actions have a hurt so many people and that you where a toxic person when you were alive and if you want a better afterlife you need to take responsibility for you own actions.

C: she is going to learn the harsh reality that her plans might under developed that Sinners have layers in them , that teachers them sorry isn’t going to help because where was that apology before? That should sinners will devise to go to heaven and that if they truly are sorry then they should accept their punishment.

Maybe season 2 will tackle that  subject or not we just have to wait and see. Sorry for the long rant injoy the rest of your day.

I really like the concept of tackling repenting as in actually accepting you did bad stuff in your past instead of just trying to be good now, but also I have no idea who Jack is and this is strangely worded like Angel SA’d this random guy?😭

[noel-fielding-web-page]

Noel Fielding On The Last Days Of The Mighty Boosh, The End Of His Youth, And His Camden Camel

He worked 'incredibly hard' to elevate the Mighty Boosh to arena-filling world tours. Then they imploded, 'Luxury Comedy' got cancelled and so did 'Never Mind the Buzzcocks'. Noel Fielding frets to Alice Jones about being 'in limbo', the possibility of children and being the next Spike Milligan

Noel Fielding: Cult comedy status (Dan Burn-Forti)

“I'm not Mr Weird,” says Noel Fielding. “I don't go home and live in a psychedelic castle made out of bubbles, you know.” So what is his house like? “It is quite psychedelic, actually. It's like Yellow Submarine in there.” He guffaws and throws himself back on the sofa, kicking his silver pixie boots into the air.

The boots are the least outlandish element of the comedy star's look today, comprising as it does tight jeans, a shaggy black fur coat with a Chanel logo spray-painted on the back, a giant patent handbag in the shape of a watermelon and, painted across his face, some bright Bowie zig-zags. Does he ever have a dress-down day, slob out a bit? “What, when I put big shorts on? Don't do my hair?” He looks a bit baffled. “I don't go out like that.” When he was younger, he saw Jarvis Cocker in the street, looking cool in top-to-toe corduroy, “and I remember thinking, if you ever become famous, you have to maintain your image. If you saw Nick Cave in the supermarket in tracksuit bottoms, you'd kill yourself. I'm not particularly a slippers and dressing gown type. I don't have that wiring. I don't have a weird tracksuit I put on when I get in… That's not my zone.”

Noel Fielding's zone, as most people know by now, is surreal, funny, psychedelic and a little bit rock'n'roll. (The day after we meet, he interviews Ronnie Wood in Waterstone's about his new book and posts a picture online; they look like father and son – all angles and bouffant hair.) He attained cult comedy status as one half of the Mighty Boosh and mainstream fame on Never Mind the Buzzcocks. His rival team captain on the show, Phill Jupitus, dubbed him a “gothic George Best”; his best friend, Serge Pizzorno of Kasabian, called him a “modern-day Dali”. He is a playful polymath, hopping about in his pointy boots from sitcoms to animations to stand-up, acting to art exhibitions. “Just say I'm a genius,” he drawls.

With Julian Barratt in 'The Mighty Boosh', 2008 (BBC)

He is about to go on tour for a second UK leg of his solo show, An Evening With Noel Fielding, having already taken it around the UK, Australia and New Zealand. “I start getting bored and misbehaving if I don't work hard. It's fine when you're younger, you go out a lot and muck around with your mates and drink and stuff, but I'm a bit over that now.” When the Boosh was at its height – the final arena tour in 2009 played to more than a quarter-of-a-million fans – Fielding would party all night with his younger brother Mike (aka Naboo from the Boosh), then get up at 6pm in time for the next show's soundcheck. His current tour, still featuring Mike in a variety of daft roles, including Fielding's fictional wife, has, by contrast, been the “peppermint tea tour”. “We're too old. I'm too old,” he says.

There is more than one moment in the show when he wonders why he's still prancing around pretending to be a chicken boy, or a herbal teabag, or the moon (which he plays, memorably, by covering his face with half a can of shaving foam). Is he worried about getting older? “Forty-two, Jesus Christ. Peter Pan… When you're young, people say, 'Yeah, he's young, he's daft, he does all this weird stuff,' and then you have success and people say, 'Oh right, he's good.' And maybe in 10 years, I'll be seen as eccentric, like Vic Reeves or Spike Milligan, which would be amazing. But I suppose I'm in this weird transitional period between having some success doing weird stuff and not being eccentric yet. I'm in limbo!”

He cackles, but limbo is on the nail. Earlier this year, Never Mind the Buzzcocks was axed. Fielding, who had been on the show since 2009, found out when the press did. “If a show has lasted that long and people like it, why would you get rid of it? It wasn't losing ratings. People liked it, it wasn't an aggressive male panel show. I liked it before I was on it.” Would he have carried on? “Yeah! I loved doing it – it was very easy… I never know the thinking behind television.”

He is still smarting, too, from his last solo foray on E4, Luxury Comedy. In fact, it is all he wants to talk about, though the second series was broadcast more than 18 months ago and there won't be a third. “No! It was too harrowingly stressful. Someone called the show the second 9/11,” he says with a sad little grin. “We live in strange times.”

He had “absolute freedom” to do what he liked on the show. So there were cartoons and characters such as Roy Circles, a chocolate finger with shellshock; Secret Peter, who is made out of melted Jelly Tots; and Fantasy Man, who rides a porcelain unicorn called Arnold 5. Why didn't it work? “Maybe there were just way too many characters and not enough time to digest them all. What I liked was that it didn't adhere to any rules. It was like, 'Well, we're doing this and then this and then this and then this and then it's over. Bye!'” he sighs. “We shouldn't have called it Luxury Comedy, we should have called it something weird. The problem with calling it a comedy is that it's got to be funny, first and foremost. And we paid as much attention to the visual side of it. I would maintain, regardless of what people thought of it, that there were more ideas in one episode than in most things. It was brave.”

In 2009, his first year as a captain on 'Never Mind the Buzzcocks', with singer Aston Merrygold of JLS and the comedian David O'Doherty (Rex)

Where do his ideas come from? “I don't know what's wrong with me. There is something wrong with me,” he says. “I don't know if it's just because my mum and dad were into a lot of psychedelic stuff in the 1960s and 1970s. You know in Asterix when Obelix fell into the magic potion? I think I fell into a pot of LSD. I've always had a good imagination. If I saw a sitcom and everything was made out of cheese, I wouldn't go 'WHAT?!' I wouldn't get angry. I'd think, 'Right, OK, all cheese? Amazing…'”

Born in London to young, liberal parents, Fielding grew up a “painfully shy” child who loved drawing. No one ever thought the young Noel would become a comedian, but he adored Vic and Bob, and while he was at art college in Buckinghamshire in the mid-1990s, he started writing odd little stories. One night he decided to perform them, at his first gig, in Cambridge; as it happened, his future colleague Jupitus was on the bill. “I was going to run away because I couldn't handle it but he gave me a big hug and said, 'They're just people, it's fine. Just do it.' And it went really well.”

He met Julian Barratt soon after, and the Boosh was born. They won the Perrier Award for Best Newcomer at the Edinburgh Fringe in 1998, landed a Radio 4 series, and their TV show began on BBC3 in 2004. Would it still be commissioned now, in these risk-averse, online-BBC3 times? “Yeah. I thought we were good. We were one of the best live acts around. We worked so incredibly hard. There was no option of not getting on. I was so driven.”

At the height of the Boosh's popularity, Mike Myers wanted to write a film with them, and, Fielding tells me, Jack Black and Ben Stiller were desperate to work with them. Robin Williams came to their show. They had offers to go to America. “Maybe we should have gone – that would have been a way of sustaining it. [But] we needed a break. We'd worked together for 15 years, every day. We were sick of each other.”

Did they argue? “No, that's the problem, slightly. It was just a lot of tension. Like a marriage. All of a sudden it was just POWWWW and everyone was sick of each other. It was mental. We didn't have a day off in 10 years. It was like being in The Beatles.”

The end came in 2009, after a 100-date tour. They were making a lot of money and there were a lot of people with a vested interest in keeping it going. “So we tried to write a film, and it all sort of imploded.”

Barratt now has eight-year old twin boys with his partner, the comedian Julia Davis. Fielding and he are still friends; they live on the same street in north London and play tennis together. “The possibility of us doing something together is always still there,” says Fielding. Ideally, a Boosh film. “The combination of us two was a once-in-a-lifetime thing. You meet someone and you just work, you have chemistry on stage, and writing. That will never happen again for me, I don't think. Which is a real shame. I work with a lot of good people in a good way, like Russell [Brand] and Richard Ayoade, but I don't think I'll ever have that again.”

He is just back from a month in France where he was writing a family film – “a Time Bandits/Labyrinth thing” – and two TV shows (one for America). He'd like to write a children's book, and to act. “But not a part that someone would give me; something people wouldn't imagine.” He struggles to focus on one thing at a time. “If I was rich, it would be fine...” He must be quite rich. “I'm all right. But it goes pretty quickly.”

He lives with his long-term girlfriend, the XFM DJ Lliana Bird, and is at once intrigued and horrified by the idea of having children: “My friends who have kids look like they haven't been to bed for a year. They all look like they've been shot in the legs, or have typhoid or something,” he says. “Because of the Boosh, I got trapped. It takes 10 years to get where you want to get and then you have 10 years there and you think, fuck, I'm this age, all my friends have 10-year old kids… I suppose if it happens, I'll concentrate on that. It's a selfish life being a comedian, isn't it? Bit self-obsessed, really.”

Does he find real life a little boring? “Yeah. Painfully dull. I guess I've carved out a style and once you have some success with that, then there's an expectation that you will do something slightly different. You can't just abandon it, it's part of what you do. It's hard to change. I'd like to do something more real, I've never tried that. That's what I'm trying to write next – something simple.” How's that going? He hoots. “Well, it's a story about a camel. Who lives in Camden.”

Alice Jones is deputy arts editor of The Independent. 'An Evening with Noel Fielding' tours the UK from 12 November to 13 December; a DVD of the live show is out on 16 November

Beyond Boosh: How the mighty have moved on

Julian Barratt

Barratt, who played Howard, has continued to act on TV (Little Crackers, Being Human) and on stage (The Government Inspector at the Young Vic, NSFW at the Royal Court) while also directing, and narrating several BBC documentaries.

Mike Fielding

The Boosh took its name from a Spanish friend's description of the childhood hairstyle (“mighty bush”) worn by Noel's brother, who played Naboo. He moved to Australia after the Boosh toured there. He will appear in the film Zombie Women of Satan 2 in 2016.

Dave Brown

In addition to being a comedian and actor, Brown (Bollo the ape) is an art director who designs books and DVD covers – including those for the Boosh's live tour and boxset – and has mounted photography exhibitions of fellow comedians.

Rich Fulcher

The American comedian, who played Bob Fossil, co-wrote and starred in BBC3 sketch show Snuff Box, with Matt Berry. He also adapted his 2009 book Tiny Acts of Rebellion into a sell-out stage show at the Edinburgh Fringe.

Saturday 17 October 2015 [x]