#closet | cadence

[baylardian-1]

im cringe but im free

[alchemistc]

"I am not packing your kitchen, Buck," Maddie says with a hard set to her jaw and a hand planted on her hip, and Evan sends her a warning look over his shoulder, elbow deep in packing tape and half-folded boxes. Tommy is clearly missing something.

"You found the ring cutter in there with the ladles too, huh?" Snipes Eddie from somewhere in the vicinity of the bathroom, and before Tommy can get a firm grasp on that Eddie's tipping his head back through the open doorway. "C'mon guys, seriously, you didn't pack this shit up before you forced us all to help you pack?" There's an unopened tube of lube in his hand.

"I'm getting things off of walls and that is all, Evan Buckley," comes Maddie's quick rejoinder, and Buck levels them both with a look.

"That could be for normal stuff! Sometimes rings need cutting! Sometimes you need to - lubricate other things!"

It is, of course, the moment Bobby wanders through the unlocked door.

Tommy's still familiar with the cadence of Hen and Howie, ribbing and mocking a form of endearment for them both, so he's not exactly shocked when Bobby just rolls with it and starts listing off the last fifteen calls they've needed it for. None of those things particularly improve the red rising up Evan's cheekbones, but Tommy catches the grin Bobby's hiding while he sets boxes of pizza up at the kitchen table, cleared of the latest seasonal decor Evan had dragged him through three different department stores to find, not that he could be bothered to care when the very existence of them was all it took to shift Maddie's opinion of him from tolerantly friendly to encouragingly approving.

("This loft was a minimalists wet dream before you were in the picture," she'd told him one evening, after she'd manipulated him into admitting he was terrified this didn't mean the same thing to Evan as it did to him. "He started nesting a month after my wedding, Tommy.")

And now they're here. Watching Evan pretend to be miffed by the teasing while he fights a roll of packing tape.

He's going to miss the upstairs shower, wide enough for two grown men to fit more than comfortably; and the balcony on cooler nights when he could tempt Evan out for a slow dance set to the late-evening traffic; the kitchen island at the perfect height to lift Evan onto and tilt his head up for an angled kiss.

He won't miss the open plan that makes it impossible to do much of anything with a snoring Eddie right below them, the tuba player two doors down who only seems to practice the moment Tommy's head meets the pillow at the end of any random days-long shift, the way the elevator always smells like tuna on Thursday afternoons.

There are things he won't have to miss, of course. Evan, on nights when they just can't make their schedules align well enough to justify the drive time. The extra fluffy towel set Evan had refused to reveal the origin of ("You'll buy your own and leave me, I know you're only with me for my towels."). The pictures plastered to the fridge that Tommy's spent the last few weeks plotting out space for on his own before deciding he'd need a new fridge just to fit them all. The plant he'd bought Evan to appease the grump, the first time he'd dragged him to the farmers market at the ass crack of dawn, lovingly named Herbert. The fancy adjustable bedside lamps Evan had bought the last time he'd caught Tommy squinting down his reading glasses at the book in his hands. Evan.

Christ, he wouldn't have to miss Evan anymore. They'd synched up their schedules more or less as well as they could, but Tommy's spent months now trying to ignore how quickly a sleepless night could turn restful with Evan in his bed - how fitful a night without him there had a habit of being.

Most of the loft is already packed. Evan's wardrobe has been dwindling for weeks now, a box at a time carted from the back of the Jeep up Tommy's drive, through the mud room, down the hall and straight to the closet that had never seen such a shock of color or variety of fabric. They'd sprung for a bigger mattress, once they'd gotten over the sticker shock and remembered how much they'd be saving by paying half a mortgage each with no rent to speak of, and other than the kitchen table most of Evan's other furniture was being donated.

All that really remained were the kitchen supplies Evan hadn't been willing to move until he handed over his keys, a few toiletries, a single drawer of clothes just in case he needed them. Pictures on the walls and stacks of books on the bookshelves - half a decade of life lived in this apartment and most of it was already half unboxed and slowly integrating into the fifteen years Tommy had put into his own solitary life.

Evan finishes taping boxes and makes a beeline for his itemized list, and Tommy has to pretend it's giving him as much grief as Evan's sister and best friend to see the clipboard in action. He's not entirely sure how well he sells it, when even Bobby's shooting him aggrieved looks only to grimace at whatever he finds in Tommy's expression.

And just like that, an hour passes and the pizza disappears; the boxes are loaded into the back of his truck; the kitchen table in Eddie's; and Maddie tugs her brother in for a hug, drags Tommy in for good measure too, kisses them both on the cheek as she leaves; Bobby tucks a wooden box filled with handwritten recipes on note cards into Evan's hand and Tommy pretends not to notice either of their teary eyes; Eddie hefts a six pack out of the otherwise empty fridge and promises to meet them at the house in forty-five.

There's still one picture stuck to the fridge - a candid from the first barbeque Athena and Bobby had hosted after their move, Tommy and Evan backlit by a setting sun, tucked up against each other leaned against a porch railing, and Tommy knuckles at it while Evan does a slow introspective spin to take in the wide expanse of windows and brick. He's still staring when Evan finishes and drifts towards him, hands tucking in at Tommy's waist, chin hooking over his shoulder.

"Is this one staying?"

Evan shakes his head, nose digging into the side of Tommy's neck. "Just wanted to keep it out so it could be the first one we put up."

He remembers the night. Karen had gotten him drunk and added him to the wives group chat. May Grant had stolen half his slice of cake right off his plate and dared him to protest. Jee had spent the entire night calling him Uncle Tommy and thrown a massive fit when she realized he wasn't going home with her to read a bedtime story. Christopher and Denny had spent half an hour trying to teach him how to play Fortnite and then been mystified when he trounced them in Mario Kart. He knows exactly why it's significant to him. "Why this one?" he asks, curving into the cradle of Evan's arms.

Evan's so much better with words than Tommy is, and Tommy's just grateful Evan takes his actions for the things he means with them. "That's the night I knew what our something was gonna be," Evan murmurs, and Tommy tips his chin back and angles his head to catch Evan's lips against his own.

[freshpeachpulp]

handle it | unravel

Ellie Williams x wife!reader / 2.3k words / smut, use of restraints, some unserious moments.

You and your wife have had a dry spell of sorts and you believe it’s time to switch things up!

oh friends it’s been so long, i hope there’s still sub!Ellie enthusiasts out there. this has been sitting in my drafts for a hot moment lmao! i hope u enjoy :) btw i have a prequel to this hidden in my google docs somewhere if anyone is interested

You peek over your shoulder and dim your screen before typing on the keyboard. You don’t even know why you did that, you’re literally sitting on the floor against a wall and it’s midnight. Ellie’s fast asleep in the bedroom, or maybe she’s watching tv, you’re not sure. You’ve been in your office all evening, finishing up a project due for work.

You open up a new tab and type in the website. Www.yvesapple.com pops up on your screen. You see, your sex life with Ellie has gotten a little… monotonous. There’s still passion, and you both orgasm, but it’s predictable and doesn’t happen as much. You’re both happy, you know she loves you, but you’re dying to switch it up. Your married friends warned that the bed can get a little dry over time, and that trying new things is a must. You’re both so busy with work and life’s responsibilities, you don’t have the time to get tipsy and fuck in every room of the house like you once used to.

So here you are, on a website searching for something new. In the shop tab you click ‘all’ and scroll through. You don’t know what you’re looking for, something, anything. You scroll past the ball gags and bdsm gear, that’s not something you’re ready for at the moment. You’ve always been a bit vanilla so they kinda scare you a little. You keep scrolling past straps and dildos —you and Ellie already have a good selection.

You scroll but stop when you see a lingerie set. It’s a long silk sash tied intricately around the model's body. As you scroll through the pictures available you notice there’s many variations, an almost endless amount of ways to tie it over your body. The set comes with a matching restraint and a blindfold. It’s been a while since you’ve dressed up for Ellie, the most being your business attire and makeup you wear to work, this could be fun. You quickly order it and close the tab before heading to bed, too giddy to finish your project tonight.

—-

A week later you're at work when you get a notification that your package has arrived. You’re thankful that Ellie works late spearheading a construction project today, you can surprise her. You race home after work and shower, and begin wrapping the silk around your slick, oiled body. Across your chest like a bandeau, crossed over your belly, around your back and bring the rest over your crotch and you tie it in a little bow at your hips. There’s extra silk that you tie under your ass to bunch up the fat.

It took you a while to adjust but you’re pretty impressed with the way the red silk intricately accents your body. You look irresistible. You leave the restraint on the bed and throw on your usual unsexy robe and wait for Ellie to come home.

Her truck rolls into the driveway about an hour later, though it feels like eternity. She steps out and slams her door, disgruntled. You’ve noticed it’s become more common for her to be irritated after work, she’s in need of a good release too.

You hear the front door open and call her name with the cadence you use when you need her help with something. “Ell-ieeeee!”

“What?” she barks, her voice is piercing and you know she’s upset but you can’t help but feel turned on.

“There’s something wrong with the closet door babe, I need you to take a look at it,” you tell her, and you watch as she grunts something to herself while kicking off her work boots. She begins undoing the buttons of her plaid shirt and follows you to the bedroom. You gesture at the closet and move behind her as she observes it.

“There’s literally nothing wrong,” she says, exasperated. “Look. I literally just got home from wor— Oh…“

She turns around in time to watch the robe slip off your body. Her jaw slacks before she licks her lips, the agitation on her face morphing into excitement. You shimmy before twirling around and bending over so she can see how the sash barely contains your round ass and swollen pussy.

“Ooh freaky girl,” she teases and it makes you flush. She walks behind you and grabs your ass, observing the silk ties wrapping around them. Her hands are calloused and rough, a sharp contrast from your soft, warm skin. She squeezes and you can feel your pussy pulsate.

“Aht! No touching baby,” you tease, playfully swatting her hand away. It takes all of your willpower to break the contact. You guide her to the bed and she notices the restraint.

“Can I try that on you Ellie? Do you want it?”

“Yeah I do,” she says. She grabs your chin and pushes your head up so she can kiss you from behind. She grabs your neck and grinds into your ass, and you can feel the world melting around you. You two haven’t kissed this passionately in months, and you feel dizzy thinking about all the things you want to do with her tonight.

Ellie pulls away from the kiss leaving you wanting more, and she knows it. She thrusts her hips into your ass, it catches you off guard and you fall over the bed.

“So. You gonna take the lead tonight, cupcake? Or do you need me to handle it?” You look over your shoulder and she’s so smug, she gently smacks your ass and watches the fat jiggle. You could explode from the tension in your belly and the pressure in your pussy. All of you wants to surrender and let her tie your ankles to your wrists and fuck you slowly with her thick veiny strap. But you had a plan for how you wanted the night to go.

“Let me,” you manage to muster, crawling across the bed. “Come,” you say, grabbing the restraints and pointing to the front of the bed.

Ellie strips of her work jeans and shirt, leaving her in boxers and a wife pleaser. She then sits on the bed and rests her back against the headboard. You seductively crawl towards her, maintaining eye contact the whole time and make a show of mounting her hips, swaying your hair and poking your chest in her face.

Ellie smirks, eyeing your body with reverence and anticipation. She holds her hands out to you and you pin them above her head and begin tying them to the headboard behind her. You’re thankful it’s open-framed, so you can tie her to it like a post, but it’s more awkward to tie her than you thought. You're awkwardly hovering over her, trying to remember just how that knot was supposed to go.

“Need a hand babe?” Ellie laughs to herself, pleased with her pun. She stays completely still for you, content to watch you struggle with the tie, and your cleavage is in her face. Who is she to complain?

She begins pressing open mouthed kisses on your breasts, sucking on the cleavage that’s showing, paralyzing you with pleasure. You’ve managed to tie her hands but you can’t pull away from her mouth just yet. In one swift motion Ellie bites the red silky fabric and yanks it down with her teeth, your breasts springing free in front of her face. You shriek when she quickly takes a nipple into her mouth, too pilant and needy to pull away when she hums and sucks on it. The sash unravels around your body, the same way her mouth is unraveling you. Ellie then pulls away and looks you deep in your eyes, leaving you exposed and burning to the touch.

“I thought you were supposed to be taking the lead tonight?” she mocks, licking her lips. “You know you want more. C’mere baby,” she says, all smooth and low. She knows just how to lure you in like a siren’s call. You almost fall for it, but you regain your composure.

“You love this mouth baby, imagine if my hands were untied. Let me go and I’ll—mumph!”

You turn around and shove your pussy in her face, “I’ll give your mouth something to do!” you grunt, grinding your pussy along her face. Her muffled moans vibrate against your swollen lips, shooting euphoria through your veins.

Ellie, defiant as ever, is determined to get the upper hand. She sucks and licks with hunger and ferverency. She knows what makes you feel good, what makes you fall apart.

You become so lost in the pleasure, reality loosening around you that you jump when she bites your clit. You jolt forward on the bed, body trembling and shiny from sweat. She didn’t bite you hard —she’d never hurt you, just enough to sting for a moment. Ellie chuckles behind you, satisfied with your reaction.

“I’m gonna make you pay for that,” you vow, looking her dead in the eyes.

Ellie licks her messy, wet lips and smirks, she wants to push you to the limit, see just how many buttons she can press, “I look forward to it,” she replies.

That’s how she ends up like this.

“Nnghh” she huffs and writhes, pursing her lips and glaring at you, defiant as ever. Her wife-pleaser has been ripped from her body, and her boxers are long gone, a dusty pink blush covering her from her cheeks to her chest. Her arm muscles are bulging, and her abs are tense. Her body is slick with sweat, you watch as a drop of sweat falls down her breast and over her nipple. They’re so pert and puffy as if they’re bursting with milk.

You’ve been at it for almost an hour now, finding all the ways to drive her body crazy then pull away before she can orgasm. First, you ripped her clothes off and kissed her down from her neck to her thighs, reveling in the way her skin grew hotter to the touch with each kiss. You reached her swollen pussy and opened her lips to flick her heavy clit. She moaned, deep and guttural, growing wetter with each flick of your tongue. You pulled away and kissed her lips, making her taste herself while you dipped your fingers inside to massage her hungry pussy.

You held a vibrator to her clit, watching her writhe as she neared her peak before stopping and using it on yourself in front of her. Made her watch helplessly as you spread your legs and pressed it to your swollen clit, your face contorting while you grabbed your breast to massage it. You watched her eyes grow dark out of jealousy. It should be her making you cum.

It’s sadistic how much you’re enjoying this power over her. Ellie’s enjoying it too, she knows the safeword, she just doesn’t want to use it. You place your face close to hers and she grunts, pursing her lips trying so hard to stay tough.

Her pussy is so wet and throbbing, needy and commanding attention, it’s irresistible not to touch. You dip two fingers inside her pussy and flick them around, fast and sloppy. Droplets of her juices spurt from her with every thrust. “Let me come,” she groans, deep and guttural, her wrists red from straining against the ties. Her body is ready to release and then you pull away, and she looks as if she’s about to cry.

She’s in such a compromised position, disheveled and sweaty and pilant, and you know just how you want to finish things. You push a girthy dildo in her tight pussy. “Augh!” Ellie moans as her muscles pulse and throb around the phallus. She’s paralyzed with need. She’s desperate like she’s about to explode and all she has to do is ask nicely.

“Please baby,” she begs, throwing her head back and something inside you breaks. You hover over her again and she’s unrecognizable, she’s so submissive and docile and completely at your mercy. Her eyes lock with yours and they’re pleading. You reach for the hilt of the dildo and begin to pump it, obscenely loud squelching fills the room and her breath begins to hitch.

“Oohhhh baby don’t stop,” she moans while you press kisses against her sticky, flushed neck. Her arms strain against the silk and you stop to untie them. She gasps from relief and grabs your head and your shoulder, pulling your body flush against hers. She’s gone now, her eyes are glazed and words aren’t coming to her, all she wants is for you to get her there. She whines as you resume pumping the dildo into her, wrapping her legs around your waist and gripping your hair to try to pull you close.

Your arm is burning and you feel grateful for Ellie’s strong arms and fingers that have pumped you for hours on end. You push through the discomfort for her and you’re rewarded by a gush of thick liquid that lands on your forearm.

“Holy shit baby!” you exclaim, licking it off.

“Mmmmm,” Ellie moans, completely fucked out. You clean her up and curl into bed beside her.

—-

“Call off from work,” Ellie says. You’re awakened by her voice and greeted with the morning sun peeking through your window. “Im gonna make you pay for what you did,” she declares.

That’s how you end up with your ankles tied to your wrists while Ellie reminds you who’s the boss.

thank you all for reading this far i hope u enjoyed :)

[lurkingshan]

Love in the Big City: A Proposal to Extend the Discourse

Many of us have been anticipating this full length drama adaptation of the beloved novel by Sang Young Park for months, and when you watch the trailer above, you can see why: this is a queer story through and through, written semi-autobiographically by a queer man in South Korea about his own experiences, and then lovingly and determinedly made into a live action drama to bring his story to more people. It's a landmark show in the Korean media landscape; nothing of its kind has been made before. And that is exactly why the show is drawing harsh backlash before it even airs. It's too honest, too heartfelt, too steeped in empathy and understanding for the nuances of the queer experience in a suppressive society, and that scares people who want to continue shoving queer folks back in the closet.

As a result of this backlash, the story, which mirrors the novel by being structured in four parts with a different director and focus story in each set of two episodes, is being released in one giant episode dump to ensure that it all makes it onto air. Sang Young Park himself confirmed that conservative groups in South Korea are trying to prevent this show from being seen, and he is fighting to keep promoting it and will ensure its release on October 21st. It will air on TVING in South Korea and on Viki for the international audience.

The best thing we can do to fight back against this kind of censorship is to watch the show loudly, to write and make art about it and celebrate it, and to do that for more than just a couple days. Earlier this year, @bengiyo and I started the Love in the Big City book club to read the novel with friends in anticipation of this drama's release. For four weeks we coordinated weekly discussion posts to correspond to each part of the story, and we intend to do the same with the show. Given what's going on with attempts to suppress this story, I want to open up that invitation beyond those of us who are participating in the book club to include anyone who wants to watch and talk about this show, regardless of whether you've read the novel.

So here's the proposal:

Beginning Monday, October 21st when the show drops, we'll each watch the show on whatever cadence we like (personally, I will be watching two episodes at a time with breaks in between, because that is how it was made and intended to be seen)

Regardless of when we each actually watch it, we will post weekly starting on Mondays about each part of the story in turn. So the week of October 21st we will post art and meta and reactions to Part 1 (episodes 1 and 2), and each subsequent week we'll post about the next part (or each set of two episodes).

Ben and I will also write up and post book club discussion questions each Tuesday that will be more about the adaptation to live action and comparisons to the novel. Anyone who has read the book is very welcome to respond to those even if you haven't been in book club with us previously.

My hope with this proposed schedule is that we can keep discussion of the drama alive for a solid month and give it its full due. Tumblr is a crucial part of the fandom ecosystem and I want to do our part to ensure this show isn't buried. This is a complex story with so much nuance, and if we binge and forget about it in a few days, we cannot do it justice. I want to support Sang Young Park and so many others whose stories have been forced under wraps by this kind of oppression, and I would love it if you all would join me.

[55sturn]

All i wanted was you pt2

All i wanted was you pt2

All i wanted was you pt2

All i wanted was you pt2

All i wanted was you pt2

All i wanted was you pt2

All i wanted was you pt2

(Please🙏)

✮ I CAN FEEL YOU ALL AROUND ME

pairing: chris sturniolo x fem!reader

synopsis: in which chris is consumed by his feelings for you and the hurt he feels from his confession going wrong is drowning him, while on the other side of the city, you’re suffocated by the figurative ghost of him everywhere in your apartment.

warnings: swearing, angst, slight comfort, stubborn!chris, stubborn!reader, avoidant attachment!reader, desperate!chris, kissing, mentions of violence, she/her pronouns used for the reader.

disclaimer: this is part two to this fic right here!

THIRD PERSON POV

you were stubborn. that has been a known fact since you were a tiny child, always determined to get your way while never backing down or settling for less. you were stubborn, and there was no other way to put it. everyone who has ever met would use that to describe you. someone would determined as a way to sugarcoat what they really meant, but even in doing so, the real meaning was there, lingering above the light-hearted conversation like a dark cloud.

so to absolutely no one’s surprise, you weren’t letting up on your idea to forget about chris. you wouldn’t even dare speak his name. you knew it wasn’t healthy, this whole “if i don’t think about him, he doesn’t exist.” mentality, but you needed to get over everything you felt for him, even if it meant ridding your life of nearly three years worth of memories, nearly three years of friendship. he was like a stubborn ghost, sticking around and taunting you from the depths of your apartment. his cologne lingering on your blankets and pillows, flooding your senses as you try to will yourself to sleep without thinking about his body next to yours, his quiet laugh sounding in your ears as you ramble about indiscernible nonsense as delirium clouds both your minds.

you would force yourself to toss his clothes into the box at the back of your closet, trying not to think about the memories attached to each article you find, trying not to smile softly at the memory of you wrapping his yellow zip up around your body as you stumble down the sidewalk from some party, chris somewhere behind you, his knuckles bloodied as he lays your douchebag of an ex boyfriend out unconscious on the ground, fed up with the guy’s chirping as you walk away. you will away the thoughts of chris standing above you, his face stoic, an emotion so deep that it’s unreadable storming in the blues of his eyes, darkening them as he tells you,

“i would lay my life on the fucking line for you, i would go to jail if it meant saving you.”

the cadence in which you remember him speaking in sending chills down your spine, the memory of chris timidly raising a hand, brushing your wild hair behind your ears before drawing you in and laying a gentle kiss to you forehead forcing you to shut your eyes, locking the memory in the pandora’s box of your mind.

every part of your body burned with the feeling of his touch, every crevice of your mind and your apartment were haunted by his ghost. you could feel him all around you, and it hurt to mourn someone who was still alive, to be forced to mourn someone as the consequence of your own doing.

it was beautiful, in a melancholic and twisted sort of way how you and chris were feeling the same. the two of you, more often than not, mirrored each other’s feelings. the two of you could be apart for weeks to months due to travelling, and nick would tell you how terrifying it was that he was in the exact same state you were in, even when apart.

the two of you were two sides of a mirror, both of you a reflection of the other. there was no connection quite like the one you and chris shared, you were soulmates, in this life, the next, and every life after and in between. so for his brothers to see the two of you torn apart by your own feelings, was heartbreaking.

chris was distraught, where you were avoiding him and what you felt for him, he was drowning in what he felt for you. there was no way for him to escape the torturous constant replay of the night he confessed to you in his head. he’d wake up, think about that night, he’d eat, think about that night, he’d film, think about that, and he’d fall asleep nearly in tears because there was no escaping the thoughts of you. almost every thought he formed was about you, if not all of them.

he was exhausted, he just wanted one day where he didn’t regret expressing his feelings to you, but that seemed unattainable. he knew he shouldn’t regret expressing them, because there’s nothing wrong with loving anyone, but the way you reacted made him think that he was committing a sin. he wanted to hate you for making him feel so foolish, but he couldn’t. god he could never hate someone like you. you were one of a kind in his eyes, you were the center of his universe. the very reason he changed his outlook on love, you once told him, “to be loved, is to be known.” you explained it in the sense that, to love someone is know everything about them, to know every version, is to learn to love them on their good days, their bad days, and their darkest days.

and god did he love you, he loved every version of you. he loved you in every light, every moment in time. his love for you consumed every part of his soul. for chris to be chris, was to love you.

you had gone out to some hole-in-the-wall type restaurant with your friends, hoping to ease your mind for just a few mindless hours, to forget about chris for just a fraction of your day. but when you showed up, chris was standing outside the door beside nick, completely engrossed in his phone, a blank and solemn look on his face. when you had suggested to eat at this place, it slipped your mind that chris had shown you this restaurant one night when the two of you couldn’t sleep, soon leading to it become his favourite place to eat any time he wanted to go out.

you had two options, enter the restaurant which meant passing by chris and enduring a tough conversation, or turning around and pretending like you never saw him and telling your friends something came up. but your body yearned for his tough, for the type of hug from him that warmed every part of your body, that eased the deepest parts of your heart. and it seemed like you body had a mind of its own as you took tentative steps toward the man your heart called home.

you felt your stomach stir with butterflies wanting to crawl their way up your throat, making you feel like you were going to throw up as approached the man, hoping to pass by him and make your way to your table.

“excuse me.” you mumble, your voice hoarse and unsteady as chris’ head snaps up, his eyes meeting yours for the first time in almost a month.

“y/n, wha-what are you doing here?” he whispers, his fingers twitching at his sides, screaming to reach out and touch your face to prove this wasn’t a dream.

“i’m here to meet some friends but you’re blocking the door.” you sigh, your eyes looking everywhere but his face as you shift awkwardly on your feet.

“shit sorry.” he coughs, stepping to the side as you flash him an appreciative smile, quickly tugging the door open and stepping inside, immediately spotting your friends.

as you sat at the table, you couldn’t find it in you to engage in anything your friends talked about, your mind racing a mile a minute as you tried to drown out the sound of chris talking to his brothers and the feeling of his eyes boring into the back of your head. your closest friend had easily noticed the shift in your mood as the night went on, immediately connecting the dots as she met chris’ eyes across the restaurant, his face reddening as she caught him staring at the back of your head.

chris felt his heart hammering incessantly away in his chest, threatening to crack open his ribcage as he tried, so fucking hard, to keep his attention off you but he couldn’t. and who could blame him? the only girl he’s ever truly, genuinely loved, is sitting maybe fifteen to twenty feet away, and all he wants to do is talk to her, is hold her close, breathing in the sweet but oh-so comforting scent of her perfume, to tell her that things are okay.

but he couldn’t. he knew you wanted space, and he wants to respect that, and so that’s what he chooses to do, but to see you, to have you so close, yet just out of reach, is killing him, and his sense of self control is wearing thinner by the second. all logic and sound reasoning is fleeting as he fights himself internally. and as he watches you place your cash in the table and rise from your seat, he throws caution to the wind. muttering something about getting matt to cover his part of the bill and paying him back later as he hops up from his chair, quickly making his way to the door as your figure exits the building.

“y/n wait!” he pleads, his voice thick with desperation as you immediately halt your movements, his voice always compelling you to do the simplest of things as you turn to face him, your fingers wringing together as chris takes quick strides to meet you halfway.

“what do you want chris?” you mutter, your voice broken and tired as you meet his gaze, the backs of your burning with forcefully unshed tears, watching chris’ eyes dart back and forth across your faces, the whites reddening as he blinks and wills away his own set of tears.

“fuck-i can’t do this.” he exclaims, the unintentional but painful harshness of his words rolling off your back like water as you open your mouth to respond, closing it again as he beats you to talking first,

“i can’t have these, like, short, blink and you’ll miss it type moments with you for the rest of my life. i can’t. i won’t. i won’t survive only seeing you for a few minutes every few months or weeks when i least expect it. not when i know i could spend every day of the rest of my life with you by my side. it will kill me. so please y/n, give me something to work with. i love you, and i know hearing me say that scares the living shit out of you, but i’m here. i am not going anywhere. i know you’re scared of me leaving, but we haven’t talked in almost a month, and i’m still here in the same position, begging you to just let me in, to let me help you work through these fears and worries. i’ve loved every version of you, even the ones that hurt everyone around you just because you were hurting. so please y/n, just make this easier and let us learn to not be scared together.” he pleads, the tears he held back for so long finally flowing freely down his face as he carefully watches your expression, fearful of another night of rejection, but the way your eyes soften, and the ghost of the tiniest smile on your face eases his worries as you step toward him.

“okay.”

taglist: @worldlxvlys @vanteguccir @sturnioloshacker @mattscoquette @sugrhigh @bratzforchris @teapartyprincess4two @lustfulslxt @patscorner @guccifrog @muwapsturniolo @soursturniolo @solarsturniolo @sturnioloshacker @raysmayhem-72 @meanttomeet @ghostofbrock @l9vesick @freshloveee @fawnchives @cindylcuwho @freshloveforthefit @freshsturns @forevergirlposts @sturniolo-fav-matt @sturnifyed @querenciasturniolo @pinklittleflower @ellie-luvsfics @strniolo @junnniiieee07 @hearts4chriss @evie-sturns @sturniolossss @iliketotalk @bambi-slxt @nickssidewitch @nickgetsmewetter @inkyray @jnkvivi @cdbabymp3 @christopherswife777 @certified-chrisgirl @faeriedst @bernardsbendystraws @mattscoquette

© 55STURN 2024 ! REBLOGS NOT EXPECTED BUT GREATLY APPRECIATED ! [ you do not have permission to copy or save or share my work to other platforms and devices! ]

[mikalilys]

“Remus held her and it was like holding himself”

Ugh my poor closeted babys how I understand you

Marlene and Remus planning their first time in tcoptp 😭😭

“Let’s just get it over with” please 😭 they’re both so gay

[nhlclover]

𝐓𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 | 𝐋𝐔𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐒

summary: you return to your small hometown for the winter holidays, encountering your high school boyfriend, luke.

warnings: maybe the tiniest bit of angst, kissing

a/n: based on ‘tis the damn season’ by taylor swift. genuinely one of my favourite things i've written

word count: 1.49k

In your small hometown, the snow fell softly, blanketing the streets and rooftops in a pristine white. It was that time of the year when the air was filled with the scent of pine and the merry sound of classic Christmas carols came from every small shop that lined the streets. Among the locals, there was a sense of anticipation and excitement, but for you, returning to your hometown for the holidays brought a mix of emotions.

You had moved away right after high school, desiring more in life than what your hometown could’ve offered you. When summer had ended, you moved to LA, finding your way in the busy city. The fast-paced lifestyle and bright city lights drew you in and you knew that this was the place for you.

Being in school as well as working a job there, you found yourself not coming home throughout your four years of undergrad, but rather your parents coming to visit a couple of times throughout the years. There wasn’t much of a reason to come to your hometown. The only reason you ever liked home was a non-factor now. You hadn’t heard from him since the day you left.

But now, freshly graduated and working as a freelance photographer, you’re finding yourself overcome with a sudden wave of nostalgia, pining for the comfort of a small town. You let your parents know, booking a flight home for the winter holidays.

Now that you’re back home, you feel a bittersweet sentiment about it. Every familiar spot in town carried a memory that you unconsciously buried long ago.

Walking down the main street, you window shopped, admiring all the festive decorations and knick-knacks they were selling. You dipped into the familiar coffee shop, a small business run by the family of one of your former classmates. You go to the front counter, admiring the case of pastries in front of you.

The bell above the door rings as someone steps in, letting in a cold burst of air. You shiver as it hits it, pulling your coat tighter around your body.

“Hey Corey, how’s it going?”

The voice was unmistakable, as your gaze shifted to the right, revealing Luke's tall silhouette. While the years had subtly etched maturity into his features, his voice retained its distinctive cadence. The unexpected reunion prompted a shiver, exacerbated by the cold burst of air coming from the door opening.

Luke looked at the figure next to him staring at him, surprised to see your face. You were possibly the last person he would’ve expected to see. He would’ve been less surprised to see the Pope standing next to him.

“Y-y/n.” Luke says.

“Hey, Luke,” you replied, a genuine smile on your lips. The exchange hung momentarily in the air, both of you acknowledging the unexpected nature of the encounter. “It’s good to see you.”

It took Luke a second to respond, still a little stunned by seeing you back home. “Yeah, yeah it’s good to see you too.” He says, eyeing your outfit. “You look good.”

Your clothing was an indication of the years that had gone by, now wearing clothing he never would’ve imagined being in your closet. The only semblance of the girl he once knew was in your scarf. The rainbow colour block scarf was a familiar garment for Luke as he was the one who had bought it for you, long ago when you celebrated Christmas together.

“Thank you, so do you.” You smile. “You’re not a teenager anymore, you’re actually like a man now.”

Luke chuckles, the smile on your face sends a rush of warmth through his veins. Even though he'd told himself and others that he had moved on, seeing you now it was clear that you never quite move on from your first love.

“You got a minute to spare? I’d love to sit down and catch up.” You say.

Luke doesn’t hesitate to agree, even paying for your peppermint hot chocolate as he remembered how much you loved it. The two of you sit down by the window, Luke asking the first question.

“What are you doing back here?” He asks you.

You furrowed your brows, chuckling lightly. “It is the holidays, Luke.” You say.

“That hasn’t been a reason for you before.” He shrugs.

You let his somewhat spiteful comment roll off your shoulders, instead choosing to reply sincerely. “Missed home. Wanted to come back and visit for a bit.”

Sitting here, across from your high school boyfriend, the memories flood back. You remember being attached at the hip, spending as much time together as your parents would let you. You would go to nearly every home game, sitting with his parents and cheering from the stands.

He was nearly constant made occupied by hockey, but he still managed to make time for the two of you, staying up till the early hours of the morning talking on the phone if that was the only option.

As the minutes passed, the years faded, and for a moment you felt like you were back in high school, navigating the awkwardness of young love. The conversation unfolded, revealing the divergent paths taken since your last encounter.

“Now I’m playing in New Jersey with Jack.” He tells you.

“No way!” You say. When you and Luke were in high school, he always told you it was his dream to eventually play with at least one of his brothers. Seeing that one of his dreams had become a reality, you feel a rush of pride for him.

“Yeah.” Luke smiles. “It’s such a cool city. And the guys are great. Once upon a time, you would’ve gotten along so well with one of the guys Dawson.”

You scoff. “What do you mean once upon a time?”

“Well, I think high school you would’ve gotten along with Dawson. You guys are both goofy and make jokes at inappropriate times… But now I’m not so sure.” Luke explains. “I think you’ve changed.”

You can’t help but let out a laugh. You hadn’t changed…had you?

“I have not changed.” You argue. “Plus, it’s been four years since we last saw each other. You don’t know me anymore.”

A confident smile forms on Luke’s face. “Oh please. I can still read you like an open book.”

You shake your head, although you know that’s probably true.

“C’mon, I wanna take you somewhere.” Luke says, getting up and putting his jacket back on.

You don’t question him, instead putting your coat and scarf back on, the scarf you’d come to remember had in fact been a gift from Luke long ago. You get in his car, a fancy new BMW he’d purchased with his new contract, and head down the backroads of your hometown.

Eventually, Luke pulls into the familiar parking lot of the Methodist church that sits right beside your high school, disturbing the pristine blanket of white snow that covered it.

“Prove to me you haven’t changed.” Luke says.

He gets out, standing in the headlights of the car. You question what he’s doing as he’s suddenly down on the ground and you can no longer see him. You get out and go to the front of the car, seeing Luke on the ground making a snow angel.

You let out a hearty laugh at the 6’2” boy making a snow angel in front of you, snow flying around him as he swiped it away.

“The old y/n would’ve beat me to it.” He teases, sweeping the snow aside using his limbs.

You get down to the ground, beginning to copy Luke's motions. You ignore your leggings beginning to become drenched from the snow, as well as the possible damage beginning to develop on your leather jacket. A giggle escapes your lips as the falling snowflakes land on your cheeks. Luke joins in on your laughter, the joint melodic sound echoing in the parking lot.

A few moments later, the pair of you stand up to admire your snow angels, although you realize they don’t look much like anything. You spin and face Luke who is now only inches away.

“I haven’t changed at all.” You say softly.

Luke turns to you, admiring the way snowflakes sat delicately on your hair and eyelashes. Your rosy cheeks were a sign of the cold that Luke had yet to really notice he was feeling. In that moment, surrounded by the echoes of your shared past and the beauty of the falling snow, Luke instinctively leans in.

His lips are so familiar to you, it’s as if the last four years of separation had never happened. Luke's cold fingers find your face, gently cupping it as yours grip onto his coat, holding him for balance.

As they stood there, back in each other's embrace beneath the gentle snowfall, it became clear that some things, no matter how much time had passed, were meant to find their way back to each other.

[lostreverb]

sent from above

(kai anderson x reader) in where you try to make your boyfriend's day a little sweeter

content: angst, use of knives (nothing crazy)

a/n: kai brainrot + maternal instincts combo goes crazyyyy

--

You sit on Winter's bed, watching as she sifts through boxes from her closet.

"You really do like my brother, don't you?..." She says with a solemn cadence.

You nod. "I do."

With a sigh, Winter hands you a faded piece of paper. It feels delicate, like it might crumble in your hands. "This is it…"

You trace the faded cursive carefully. "I won't tell him. I'll say I found it while cleaning. Thank you so much Winter."

"Uh- Yeah, no problem. Just… remember that he’s—"

"I know."

For weeks, Kai's paranoia has been ramping up, and you wanted to do something—anything—that might ground him, even briefly. So you'd gone to Winter, asking if she still had one of her mother's old recipes.

As anything was with Kai, this was a risk. This gesture could easily be turned against you; he might even accuse you of using his mother’s memory to manipulate him.

But for some reason you don't care.

--

Later, you're plating the dish when you hear the heavy clomp of combat boots, quickening as they approach, then coming to an abrupt stop.

"Perfect timing." You look up at your boyfriend and smile, holding the dish up slightly. "I made something for you."

Kai slowly walks to you, silent, calculating. He steps close—so close there’s barely space between you, with only the plate in your hands separating you.

"Apple Pie. The all-american dessert." Your words come out in a low murmur.

"Correct." He flicks open his pocket knife, carving off a bite and balancing it on the blade. "Open."

You part your lips instinctively, and he guides the piece to your mouth. As you bite down, the sweetness of the pastry mingles with a faint metallic tang from the knife's edge. Kai pulls it back with a slow precision, leaving a sharp taste lingering amid the warm notes of apple and spice.

Then, in a slow, deliberate motion, he turns the knife around, offering the handle to you. His eyes hold yours, dark and watchful, as you take it and mirror his gesture, bringing a piece to his lips. He leans forward, just enough to take the bite. As the familiar taste hits him, there's a shift—a crack in his steely facade. And for a split second, you see the boy he used to be, before everything turned dark.

Without a word, he raises a hand, a silent command for his guards to leave. They exchange glances but obey, slipping out of the kitchen.

Now, it’s just the two of you, alone.

He speaks in a whisper, but each word drips with a mix of wonder and suspicion. “She sent you… didn’t she?”

The words hang in the silence, and for a moment, his intense gaze softens, his brow knitting as if he’s trying to make sense of what he’s just said. “I knew it,” he breathes. “I knew she…”

He pauses, staring at you with a vulnerable intensity you've never seen before, like he's fighting to believe in something beyond his hardened reality. It's as if he's convinced that his late mother, somehow, some way, has sent you into his life—an angel, perhaps, to guide him, to protect him from the shadows he can't escape. The idea fills him with a fierce, quiet hope. His mistrust, his paranoia, all of it seems to melt away as he stares at you, searching for some sign, some proof of his mother.

You set the plate carefully on the counter behind you, keeping your movements slow and gentle, as if any sudden motion might startle him. Stepping forward, you raise your arms and slide them around him, feeling the tension that coils through his frame. Your hands find their way to his back, moving in soothing, slow circles, the warmth of your touch grounding him.

At first, he stiffens, caught off-guard by the unexpected embrace, his arms remaining at his sides. But gradually, as your hands continue their gentle rhythm along his back, he softens against you, letting the rigidity melt away. His shoulders drop, and you feel the faint rise and fall of his breath, a steadying rhythm that seems to settle him, little by little. Your touch is careful, maternal—each motion reassuring, as if you’re somehow reaching into the lonely places he’s kept hidden, places starved of comfort.

You press your cheek lightly against his shoulder, and the silence stretches between you, filled with a sense of calm that seems almost foreign to him. You can sense him leaning into the embrace, accepting the warmth you offer, maybe even craving it, though he would never say so.

--

tags (ask to be added or removed anytime!): @fear-is-truth @juliamaximoff @jazz-berry @violetsghosts @quickreider @tiffysdeath @honeymoon8 @wcnderlnds @lacucarachapisser @xrag-dollx @oceanblvd111 @andiloveher @vi0l3tgard3ns

[sugoi-writes]

Alastor with a reader who tries on his suit jacket and mimics him in a mirror ( I feel like this nut has a closet filled with the same clothes) and gets caught by him? I’d have to shoot myself if this happened to me but I want to feel the embarrassment radiating off the reader. (He finds it cute tho—phew!)

🍻D runk Danny Asks 🍻

Ahah, same warnings as before!

❤️❤️❤️

You poised in the mirror with your hands on your hips: Superwoman style. You heard that this was a pose that could actually boost confidence if you repeated this action daily... some sort of positive-reinforcement via brain chemistry. But, your train of thought was cut off as you did a giddy little twirl.

You fanned out the longer coat tails of Alastor's coat, marveling the split that made room for his fluffy tail. You squirmed at the thought of seeing it wag, but you controlled yourself. You grabbed a hair brush off of Alastor's nightstand, posing like you had a microphone to your lips.

"Salutations~ Good to be back on the air!" You attempted in your best transatlantic accent. You snorted, fanning your face as you shrunk in on yourself," Hells, that was bad!"

You pretended to lean on your imaginary cane, a hand to your chest as you belted out," Alastor, pleasure to be meeting you sweetheart, QUITE the pleasure! Have you heard of my podcast~?"

"As a matter of fact, I have~" You froze as a slow clap came from the doorway, a shit eating grin on the Radio Demon's face," Dare I say, I'm a huge fan of yours~" He perfectly mimicked your voice, a slight static over the intonation of your cadence. You squeaked as Alastor strode towards you, eyes filled with a prideful glee.

"Dear, if you really wanted to impersonate me... you should really do something about this posture!" Back to his normal tone, you nearly shrieked as Alastor's hands grabbed your hips. He angled them back slightly as he kissed the crown of your head. His hands slid up your body, making you gasp and writhe between them and their wake. He took hold of your wrists, hands loose but firm in their grip. The both of you looked into the mirror, your face warm at the sight of Alastor towering over you.

"Much better, dear... much better~" he practically purred in your ear, your breath becoming a distant thought. You had effectively forgot how to breathe. And Alastor would have been content with the teasing... if your hips didn't meet his own.

"I wonder... how do you sound when you moan my name...?"

You gasp as Alastor ground against your ass, a shocked mewl escaping you.

"Let's find out~"

[cherryredstars]

OH MY GOD REQUESTS ARE OPEN💃🏾💃🏾

gosh cherry i love you and your blog sm it makes my day😭

could i please have a college or highschool au where reader studies subjects like social science and business and literature and he does stem subjects and he at first has like a superiority complex, he doesn’t intend to, but he can’t help it, until he sees the reader like talk about social issues or how she can remember 17 step procedures and shit and he’s like…wow. maybe they can be together and he sees her pretend to teach people to learn and he’s learning stuff from her and it’s wholesome asf

god i don’t know i’m sorry im rambling😭😭 you don’t have to ofc but thank you anyway

and again, love you!!

Thank you, love!!!

He's the smartest person he knows.

It's not narcissistic if it's a fact. He's the top of his major program, already has offers for Ph.D programs nationwide mailed to his door. He's sure to get into any genetics department he wants for grad school. He's the star of the industry-path students. He's just that good, and what's the harm in taking pride in your accomplishments?

But he's never met someone like you before.

Usually he wouldn't care for people like you, with their abstract liberal art degrees in nonsense majors that'll just collect dust in a box in an attic somewhere. But there is something so enduring about you, about everything you do. The way you just know what people are thinking based on the twitch of their fingers and why they think it. The way you're so open to everything in a way that would make his lab buddies laugh with their one-way minds. It amazes him, the way your view is so wide in a way that something like genetics or STEM can't comprehend. In a way they don't allow. There is something so breath-taking about the way your mind has this endless freedom that he can't even grasp. Like a kaleidoscope of colors that are simultaneously beautiful and overwhelming to the senses. Something his factual mind craves.

The first time he had seen you, he was in the library. It isn't a place he would usually go to, but he had to collect some textbooks for his professor in the storage closet. He had gotten in a bit of trouble that day for taking so long, but how could he resist when he had heard the sweet cadence of your voice through the open door of a mini-lecture room. Very few students were in the room, it looked like a side presentation; one of those assignments that forced students to present their ideas on a topic to a group of people to try to captivate them into agreeing with your findings. There was a sort of fiery passion in the way you spoke, a hardened steel in your eyes that showed your resistance to back down. It was... enchanting, siren-like. So much so that he had been forced to sit in one of the empty seats in the back of the room, eyes stuck on you as you paced the front of class and rebutted comments from your peers.

He had no idea what you were talking about, but it still had that overwhelming effect on him. One that had him pressing the surface of his stomach against the hard edge of the lecture tables, his senses honing in to hear every last syllable that departed from your lips. There was this dream-like quality to you, something that consumed the mind and made them listen. A sort of intelligence that he would never know or understand. One that he would spend hours trying to learn if you were the one explaining it. He can't remember how long it took for him to start breathing again when your eyes scanned the room and locked onto him, clear confusion on your face at the random presence of college's most-awarded student. He could feel his heart bursting against his ribs, mouth parting slightly from the honor to be the center of your attention for even a few seconds before you looked away and carried on.

Suddenly, he didn't feel like the smartest person in the world. Not when you left him absolutely stupefied.

[madaqueue]

Pretty Girl (fem!Choso)

pairing: fem!choso kamo x f!reader

themes/content: choso gets turned into a girl for a day, established relationship, use of he/him and she/her for choso. language, smut. pet names (baby), light nipple play (f!choso receiving), fingering (f!choso receiving), oral (f!choso receiving). 18+, MDNI

word count: 2.4k

a/n: heavily inspired by this post of fem!gojo which has been living in my mind since the day i read it! wrote this instead of the last chapter of the series please forgive me :)

Standing in the kitchen, your hands are damp from the sink water as you wash dishes, awaiting your boyfriend’s return. Glancing over at the oven clock, he should be home any minute; he’d been away on a mission for the past few days and you wanted your shared apartment to be tidy for him, with fresh roses sitting on the counter and his favorite cookies cooling on the stove.

The lock jiggles behind you and you hear the door swing open.

“Welcome home, Cho-” you start before the words stall. Turning around, your eyes immediately went to the height you expected to meet your boyfriend at, yet he wasn’t there. As your gaze travels down, it lands on someone who is definitively not him.

In front of you stands a girl, around Choso’s age, with the same tied up black hair, tattoo running across the bridge of her nose, in the same clothes he left in. She looked…almost exactly like him?

“Choso?” you ask, tilting your head in confusion.

An abashed grin forms on her face, one hand raising slightly in an awkward wave. “Hi, baby,” she says.

Her voice is light and airy, something inherently polite to it. Her cadence is an exact match of your boyfriend’s, using the pet name he knows you love when he calls you, it feels all too familiar. Your eyes continue to run over her, noting that even the way she carries herself is the same with her shoulders slightly slumped, head lazily hanging to the side.

It couldn’t be, right?

As your mouth opens slightly in bewilderment, she moves towards you, sliding her too-big shoes into the same spot in front of the entryway closet Choso always uses. When she’s finally an arm’s length away from you, you suddenly recognize the scent hanging on her: Choso’s cologne, the woody musk that smells like coming home.

“What…what happened?” you stammer out.

She laughs nervously. “Um, you know that curse I was sent to fight?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

“Well…it kind of did…this,” she gestures her hands down her body.

“So, you’re a girl?”

“Seems like it” she shrugs. “Shoko is working on a way to fix it, and Gojo said she should be ready by tomorrow, but until then I guess I’m stuck in this body.”

You step forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug. “I’m just glad you’re home,” you smile.

Something about this sweet, feminine version of your boyfriend gives you butterflies. While you love his strength, his body, his masculinity, he suddenly feels so small, so soft, in your arms.

As she leans into you, Choso winces.

“You okay?” you ask, concern in your voice as you pull away.

“Yeah, just um…” he’s quick to explain, a blush forming across his cheeks, “sensitive.”

Cocking your head to the side, you try to understand the sentence. Your eyes roam her body until they land on the likely suspect: her tits. They jut slightly into the fabric of her purple robes, and you can make out the outline of her firm nipples through it.

“You poor thing,” you coo, reaching your hands out to her chest. You palm her breasts, pillowy in your hands as your thumbs trace her nipples. “Sensitive here?”

Her eyebrows crease in pleasure as her teeth bite down on her lower lip, attempting to stifle a moan. “Mhm,” she manages to choke out.

You watch her hands move down her front, landing on her lower abdomen as she paws over her clothes in discomfort.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, worry lacing your voice as your fingers slow their paths over her chest.

“Feels weird…” she mumbles, beginning to massage herself with her fingertips.

Understanding clicks in your mind as you recall the familiar physical sensation. “Aw, Cho,” you purr, one hand tracing down her stomach before landing on her inner thigh, working slowly up between her legs, “are you turned on?”

“N-no,” she stammers, cheeks flushing.

Your fingers slip into his underwear, the now-loose boxers Choso had packed for his trip, and glide one finger up his slick folds.

She shudders at the sensation, arms reaching out to latch onto your shoulders for stability as her eyes slam shut.

“You’re so wet,” you mutter in awe, almost to yourself, as you continue tracing up her cunt.

A soft whine escapes her lips, and you think it has to be the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard. Choso’s sounds were always music to your ears, hearing how his deep voice strained through pleasure, but this was something else. Her voice came out light, sweet and smooth like honey.

It was a sound you needed to hear again.

A devious smile appears on your lips as you pull your hand away, eliciting another whine from her at the sudden lack of stimulation.

“Do you want me to help you feel better?” you ask, placing a hand under her chin and tilting her head up so she’s looking at you.

Those sweet puppy dog eyes meet yours as she looks up at you through long eyelashes, an innocent desperation on her face. “Yes, please,” she nods.

“Of course, baby,” you smile, excitement building inside you as you grab her hand and lead her to the bedroom.

Your hands make their way to her skin, parting the robes over her abdomen as you guide her clothes off. Simultaneously her hands go to you, the softness of her fingertips tingling your skin as she helps you undress.

Finally bare in front of you, your eyes roam her body. Her perfectly-sized tits perk against her chest, her smaller frame with soft edges lining every curve, everything about her is absolutely flawless. A smile forms on your face at the sight, gently leaning forward to place your lips against hers as you take her hand.

Seating yourself on the bed, your back against the headboard and your legs out in front of you, you pull him into your lap, straddling your waist.

“You look so pretty,” you muse as you look up at her, the gentle curve of her jawline, her black bangs loosely covering her softened eyes.

He blushes above you, ears reddening at your kind words as your hands make their way to his waist.

“Okay,” you breathe to yourself, heart beating in anticipation. Reaching out a hand hesitantly, you gather the slick that’s pooled at her entrance and slide it along her. Your thumb finds her clit, brushing circles against the sensitive bud.

As soon as you do she throws her head forward, resting against your shoulder as her eyes close in pleasure.

“That feel good?” you ask through a breathy chuckle.

You feel her nod shakily against your body as you continue your motion.

Moving your fingers down you hover over her entrance, feeling her clench around nothing as the heat in her core builds.

“Please,” she whimpers against your skin, hips rutting down, desperate to feel you inside her.

Normally you’d tease him, make him beg for your touch until he’s on the brink of tears before giving into his desires, but right now both of you need this more than you care to admit.

Slowly sliding one finger into her, she lets out an airy moan, her cunt tight around you.

“Fuck, s’like your suckin’ me in,” you observe quietly, words you had heard Choso murmur into your ear before as he would slide his cock into you. Something about feeling how badly she wants you, hell, needs you, has that familiar heat pooling in your stomach.

Your fingers curl up into her, searching for the same spot that makes you see stars. When she lets out a choked “Fuck,” you know you’ve found it, pounding into her gummy walls with your fingertips. His hips begin moving above you, grinding imprecisely against your hand.

“You want more, baby?”

“Mhm,” she strains as she buries her head into the crook of your neck.

Complying, you slide another finger into her, making her legs shudder at the added thickness.

Finding a rhythm as she rides your fingers, your eyes are drawn upward to her tits, bouncing lightly in front of you. You part your lips, sticking your tongue out to circle around her nipple before placing it into your mouth.

He lets out a choked cry, and you feel his pussy begin clenching around your fingers.

“I - ah,” she whines, “feels weird again.”

You separate from her chest for a moment to comfort her. “It’s okay, just relax, let yourself cum for me,” you hum before latching your lips back onto her hardened bud.

She melts at your words, losing herself in the pleasure of your touch as she comes undone.

Letting out a moan, his body begins to shake as his cunt flutters around your fingers. She curls herself forward into your body, grabbing onto any part of you she can find as she digs into your skin, your warmth the only thing tethering her to reality as her vision goes black.

Your fingers slow as you coax her through her orgasm, holding her tightly against you. His breathing is ragged as he shifts to look you in the eyes, gaze full of awe. Her soft pink lips are parted as she pants, pupils blown wide in lust.

Pulling your fingers out of her cunt, you lift them to your mouth, placing them inside to lick her essence off them. As your tongue moves over your digits, a moan rumbles in your throat at her taste.

“God, you taste so sweet,” you whisper, a desire for more building in you.

If his mind wasn’t so clouded with the pure ecstasy you just brought him he would be more embarrassed, but all he can do now is give you a sweet, fucked-out grin. She leans down, lips messily landing against yours as she kisses you. Her tongue enters your mouth, the taste of her lingering on yours as they imprecisely meld.

Everything about her is impossibly soft, even the way she sloppily kisses you, her delicate hands moving to hold your jaw as her thumbs trace your cheeks. When she pulls away, a thin trail of saliva connects your lips as her gaze focuses on you.

Unsure of how to ask for what you deeply want, you mumble, “Choso?”

“Mhm?” he hums, still struggling to process his words.

“Could you…” you trail off, “could you sit on my face?”

Without a second of hesitation, she answers. “Okay,” she breathes, her glassy eyes lazily roaming your face.

At this moment, he doesn’t fucking care what you want to do - he’ll do anything if he gets to feel how he just felt; you can use him in any way your sweet mind can come up with if it means he gets to cum like that again. Right now, he is yours.

Trying to hide your surprise at her agreement, you nod, shifting down in the bed so you’re laying on your back, granting her enough space above your head. She settles in on top of you, gripping onto the top of the headboard as your hands make their way to her hips hovering just beyond your face.

Pulling him down, he slowly lowers himself onto your tongue, his taste making you shudder in excitement as you lick up him.

“Fuck,” she sighs out, biting down on her hand to silence her cries.

You shake your head into her core in disapproval. “Wanna hear you,” you mutter, breath hot against her.

She adjusts quickly, allowing her mouth to hang open as your tongue resumes its motion. You roughly circle his clit, gently sucking on it as he whimpers above you.

Choso was always vocal, but there is something so angelic about the sounds he’s making as he writhes above you, the shocked gasps and moans leaving his lips nearly enough to make you finish without even feeling his touch.

As you continue working her with your mouth, she begins bucking her hips irregularly, desperate for more. You bring a thumb down to her clit again, pressing rough circles into the sensitive bundle. All of your motions are ones you learned from Choso, and your chest warms knowing they affect him the same way they do you.

“So - a-ah - so good,” he whimpers, hips beginning to stutter as he approaches his release.

His entire body feels light as you moan into his wetness, your grip on his skin tightening to prevent him from floating away into bliss.

Another whine leaves her lips, sensing white hot flames prick at her stomach, the familiar sensation spreading through her body. “I-I’m gonna-”

Before she can get out the rest of her words, her entire body is racked in shivers as she loses herself on your tongue. Her juices flow down your chin as you desperately try to lap up every ounce, low groans vibrating against her cunt. Your name tumbles out of her lips between her cries of pleasure, her voice light through uneven breaths.

As she comes down from her high, her legs finally give out and she falls next to you in bed, completely spent. Your eyes meet her half-lidded ones, unfocused; her mouth hangs open, drool threatening to pool in the corner as she stares lovingly up at you.

Reaching a hand out, you stroke her arm, Choso shuddering at the touch. Her hair is now a complete mess, buns almost entirely undone as pieces fall around her head into the pillow, forming a small halo around her.

“Well?” you hum, leaning up to press a kiss to her flushed cheeks. “Do you feel better?”

A lazy grin tugs at one corner of his mouth as he nods, body numb in ecstasy.

“Good,” you smile, “I’m glad I could help.”

He cuddles up to you, eyes fluttering shut as he nuzzles his head into your neck.

“Thank you,” he whispers, “thanks for lovin’ me no matter what I look like.”

You reach a hand around to the back of her head, gently taking out the buns and running your hands through her hair, slowly carding her black locks through your fingers and you swear you could hear her practically purr against your skin.

“Baby, I’ll always love you,” you wrap your leg around his waist to pull him closer. “You’ll always be my Choso.”

You fall asleep holding him, knowing you will love him, every version of him, forever.

[once-in-a-blood-moon]

Not All "Victors" are Gold, Some are Silver

Solomon x GN! reader

Summary: Everyone grieves differently. Instead of grieving properly, Solomon spirals after losing you and does the unthinkable to bring you back.

AN: It's Ween time, folks! Whoop whoop! I've had this idea for awhile since I've been rereading Frankenstein (my fave), so I've been working on this for the spooky day. Idk Victor Frankenstein kinda reminded me of Solomon... So, here we are, lol. Do enjoy and have a happy Halloween! 🎃👻

Warnings: dark themes, Solomon pulls a Victor Frankenstein, lots of angst, mentions of gore, blood, nausea and vomiting, grief and loss, death, maybe slightly yandere?, ambiguous ending... I think that's it :)

“What have you gotten yourself into this time, Solomon?” his own voice reaches his ears in a strained and solemn whisper. Denial gnaws at his nerves while dread worms its way into his heart where a sense of longing had burrowed before.

It’s all so mundane and quiet, and yet, the overwhelm in his mind makes him hyperaware of everything within the walls that seem to be slowly closing in on him. Back and forth, his stirring makes the murals of neglected cobwebs in the highest corners sway from the subtle breeze. The rushed taps of his soles on hardwood fall out of time with the infernal ticking of his many clocks. He can even hear the flick of his cloak that follows in his restless agitation and the pulsating of his pumping blood as he presses his palms over his ears – growing louder and louder, it’s all too much!

His bloodshot eyes dart around to loose scattered pages, most of which are piled on top of his desk while some have long fallen to the floor. What had been his life’s work for the past five years and had once been intelligible to him was now indecipherable. Or at least he wishes it was. He moves quicker than he can comprehend towards his desk, tears welling in his eyes as he shouts in anger.

“I’m a fool! Why did I do this?!” In one fell swoop, he clears the desktop, and the rest of the pages with anatomical diagrams, alchemic symbols, and maps full of red markings fall to the floor. In another, tools of the surgical kind clang against the floorboards, making flies that had gathered to feed from the drying bloodstains jump and buzz about.

Solomon doesn’t want his research to make sense. He should’ve let it go instead of selfishly clinging to the desperation to bring back what once was. None of it feels real. It’s like he’d done all of it in his sleep only to wake up to a nightmare of his own creation.

The pitter patter of tears dropping and soaking into the wood of the desk is the only sound that accompanies the ticking now. His Adam’s apple bobs in his attempt to swallow down the burn of holding back more. Curses and names are thrown around in his head looking for someone to blame; someone that had to have noticed his decline, someone that should’ve intervened, someone that should’ve known what he was up to. Though he knows it’s a ridiculous pursuit. Solomon had hid himself away with plans only the mind of the genius – or the bothered – would entertain, refusing to confide in his closest friends of the awful state he was in. He has no one to blame but himself.

With a slow pivot, Solomon turns in the direction of where the result of his madness lies, glaring at the blurred outline of his locked closet. Even though it’s only on the opposite side of the room, the dim lighting makes the closet seem to brood miles away from him, reminding him of the millions of miles his eternity has forced him to endure and the lessons he’s learned along the way. Although this time, he’ll be walking towards his punishment for a lesson that should’ve been learned long ago.

A sigh escapes his lips as he pushes off while wiping his eyes with the back his shirt sleeve. His steps keep their normal confident cadence, but the muffled sounds from behind the door create a storm within that almost forces him to falter. A queasy, sickly feeling squeezing at his gut. He reaches into his pocket for the key as he approaches, pulling it out once he’s right in front of the door. With a hard swallow, he inserts the key, twisting slowly until he hears the “click.” Solomon, before losing what little courage he’s retained through this ordeal, grips the cold doorknob and turns it. The slight creak from the hinges is the last thing he hears before the light pours in to let him gaze upon his work.

There, kneeling on the floor with thick, clunky chains fastened around boney wrists and ankles is his greatest love and greatest loss – you.

He took every liberty in giving you a vessel that mirrored your living one. Though due to late harvesting of your already buried body, most of “your” parts had to be taken from other sources, all “ethically procured” from those who had freshly departed. Solomon figured they didn’t need their useless limbs more than he did to rebuild you. He wishes he could feel pride upon seeing you living freely and healthily, but all he can manage is despair as he takes in your rot and decay.

The scratches you gave him on the night of your reanimation hidden beneath his shirt seem to burn in the wake of seeing his blood and skin caked under your fingernails. His eyes lock onto yours that are so cloudy and pale, and lack a certain twinkle of the living. He smells the sick, rotting flesh that crawls and spiderwebs along muscles that tense under the weight of the chains. And he despairs at the visible pumping organ in your chest that doesn’t resonate with the sound he used to listen to before…

Before you left him.

It all hits Solomon too quickly and he falls to his knees, retching violently. The contents of his stomach are spilled onto the floor, and he tilts his head up between heaves to watch you merely blink in indifference to his misery. This isn’t you. He knows because you lack the humanity you would’ve shown him in a moment like this. But in bringing you back, he’s taken away that part of you – and it’s something he can’t sew on or replace. There’s a reason people warn against necromancy and the like, and this is why; you are not the same as you were.

You are a victim of his selfishness. And he is a monster.

“I’m sorry… Forgive me!” he shouts down at the floor with drool and tears joining the pile of vomit below him. He finally breaks down as the weight of his actions crushes the emotion out of him.

Solomon rolls away to lay on his back while sobbing, staring up at the ceiling as he pictures the life he’s made for himself – feeding and watering you while still in your chains to avoid your animal-like aggression, confining you to a life of captivity and darkness. He’ll have to take care of you; God knows he can’t take this life away from you now that he’s given it back, even if it isn’t you. The guilt would destroy him.

Between sniffles, he whispers out in anguish, “what am I going to do?”

[uchu-no-bashira]

𝔅𝔢𝔶𝔬𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔢𝔱 𝔡𝔬𝔬𝔯 - Gyomei x Fem!BlackReader

Authors Note: I’m fixating. Send help.

TW: Minors Do Not Interact. Consensual sex between two business adults.

Maybe it was the way that his shirt squeezed his deltoids, or the way the thin fabric cradled the biceps on his arms. You stopped making excuses for why you’d go in his office to see him a long time ago, bringing him his nth coffee that you both knew he wasn’t going to drink. You picked up that… Maybe he just wanted you around, since he never complained despite the x amount of full cups on his desk, but that’s just y’all’s little secret.

For him, it was your pencil skirt, the way it hugged your curvy thighs almost majestically. It’s not like he couldn’t envision your robust outline - one he’d grown accustom to around the office since you were the “Vice President’s little helper.”

Or, Maybe it was the tone of your honeyed voice when you offered him things. “Here’s your coffee with no creamer, Himejima-san.”

God how he loved that sound. So much so, that today was the day he took a particular interest in why and how you sounded as divine as you did. One thing led to another, and he politely told you;

“Don’t ever stop speaking to me. You sound so beautiful.”

As if you could speak.

How could you? What with the bearable stretch tearing the formulation of words clean from your throat.

Heavy, stifled breaths dwindles the amount of time you have before hypoxia kicks in, or maybe you were just giddy from the pang of your g-spot being imposed on over and over as your nails grip the fabric of his dress shirt.

Your mind is spinning, apparent from the way your body leans back against the wooden shelves rocking behind you, your gasps and moans bouncing off the walls of the broom closet as the clatter of metal cans on the polished flooring warrants a shared gasp.

Gyomei slowed his pace for half a second, his finger pressing against your thick kissers while listening to the sound of determined heels clicking outside of the door. He sheathes himself deeper, pushing the air out of your lungs while pulling your knee up and away from the cleaning supplies.

“Has anyone seen Himejima? What about that new intern?! Where the hell is everyone?! I needed my iced latte and newly trained staff members yesterday!”

Shinobu shouts, veins rippling around the side of her forehead before she lets out a frustrated groan and continues past the solid wood door with the “Please use other closet” sign swaying slowly.

Once the footsteps fade, Gyomei removes his finger from your maw, chuckling softly at the way you sucked and hummed against it desperately. He tucks his forearm behind your other knee, pulling your legs further apart and angling his hips enough to make you whine in pleasure.

“Shhh.. We’ll get in trouble if you’re too loud.” He teases, squeezing your thighs tighter the closer you get to your limit.

Soon, the sound of panting fills the room as shelves beat in cadence with desperate moans, your left high heel dangles from the tip of your toes as composure slips free, you give in to your body’s carnal need for pleasure and allow him as deep as he can go.

The pit of your stomach flutters, sending a heat through each muscle, each tendon, each nerve. A high pitched squeal squeezes through your voice box, the back of your legs clench his forearms as your thighs vibrate against him.

A deep, guttural moan vibrates against your ear and the sensation of heat pooling in your stomach makes you shudder. Trails of white trickle between the two of you and drip onto the marble floor, leaving a mess for the janitorial crew to clean later…

[hermesserpent-stuff]

@honey-minded-hivemind

bro. this au got me crying. ahhhh I blame u and the last two songs of epic for this addition to the red eyed kitten au

Remy slips down a hall and springs upwards. He hides in a closet, panting as he tries to catch his breath. Sabretooth is insane. The man keeps on insisting that he is his child. Remy is not his child. He has a papa. And papais not a fuzz butt.

But the feral had gotten Remy off the drugs and out of restraints. Remy had been biding his time and now had taken a chance to escape. He whimpers as he touches his arm. He had cut it when a mutant had shot projectiles. He rips off a bit of pant leg and then he wraps up his arm. He hears movement beyond the door and shifts a bit. There. A vent cover. He pops off the screws and enters the vent after hiding the entrance with a box. 

He starts crawling. His brain starts whirring, clearer than it had been in days.

He knows about Sabretooth from the stories whispered by the Guild in the dark of night and in the twilight hours of dawn. A killer whose claws and teeth always found their mark. A feral that pursued his prey endlessly. The thieves never wanted to get his attention. They wanted to avoid mercenaries in general. And deadly mercenaries like Sabretooth were avoided twice over. The stories of Sabretooth come from the time before the mutants started their campaign of taking people. 

He takes a breath and hisses a little as he pulls on his wound awkwardly. He quiets as he hears something move nearby the nearest vent cover. He stays deadly still till the footsteps leave.

Remy runs into a dead end. Shoot. His body hurts, aching. He used to be able to crawl for so long… but being tied down to a bed and drugged had not helped his physical state. Neither had Sabretooth holding him in his arms. It had only been luck that let Remy wriggle out while the man slept. Remy tenses as a roar echoes through the vents, rattling them violently. Alright. He needs to get out of the vents. He crawls out and falls out from the ceiling with a yelp. Dust and grim coats his skin and hair. He coughs bitterly and shivers. Remy is out of strength. He needs to rest again. This room… is some sort of bedroom. He drags himself under the bed and curls into a tight ball. He coughs some more, dust thick on his tongue. 

He catches a few hours sleep and then he is woken by the sound of footsteps.

“Oh! Like! Eww!! There's dirt all over my floor.”

Remy cringes away from the sound of a voice and more footsteps. The covers that had hidden the under part of the bed lift and a face peaks underneath. Remy stares back at the girl with wide terrified eyes. His empathic abilities are going nuts, and his fear soaks the air around him. Her eyes soften.

“Hey. Hey. I won't hurt you.”

“Non. Lies.”

He whimpers and pushes backwards. His back hits a wall. The girl shushes and whispers. 

“Hey. Im Kitty. It's like, really nice to meet you, you know. This is my bedroom. I guess you left the dirt here, huh? I don't like dirt, but I can deal with this. Just a bit of vacuuming.”

She chatters on and on, making no more moves towards him. Remy slowly relaxes and then coughs some more.

“Oh! Its dusty under there. Of course! Lemme go get a cup of water.”

She bounces up and out. Then she is back. She leaves the water at the edge of the bed.

“So where was I? Oh yeah! I was telling you about Logan interrupting my date. Anyways. Hes so over protective-”

Remy tries to keep up but finds himself soothed by her cadence and calm. He coughs a little more and finds that he does want the water. He had not drank anything on his own… in forever. All of it had been ivs or forced down his throat. He crawls out, keeping distance between himself and Kitty. Then he drinks. The motions are familiar and clunky, like trying to use his bo-staff after weeks of a broken arm. He swallows it all down and she looks at him.

“Would you like to use my shower? We look the same size, so I could lend you some clothes.”

He flinches a little at the idea and curls up tight.

“Or not. No pressure you know. No problem!”

She's so… cheery. So so cheery for some one stuck in this place. He notes that she is not wearing one of the metal bands. Is… she must be one of them. But… there is no grabbing and hurting. He stays calm with a breath. He swallows more water.

Hes not gonna get away with her here. Maybe he should take adventadge of nice things before being taken back to the monster. 

“Bath?”

He says and then coughs again. His throat is raw from crying and screaming.

“Sure! Let me grab some spare clothes from my closet.”

He stays seated and shivering as she glances at him every once in a while while flicking through hangers. 

“Oh this will like totally make your eyes pop.”

“Dont like my eyes.”

He mutters and she pauses. 

“But theyre so pretty?”

“Dangerous.”

He corrects while staring at the bottom of the glass in his hands. If it were not for his stupid eyes his family would not have had to deal with so many issues and hiding him. He sobs dryly as he thinks of his brother and starts shaking and crying.

“Hey, hey. Its okay. You're safe here! I promise. Its all okay! Lets get you that bath, huh? Come on. Getting warm and clean will help you feel better!!”

She wipes his face with a rag. He leans into the touch a little.

“Will you let me help you up?”

He nods, giving up a little. She helps him into the bathroom and then fills the tub with warm water. She points out where everything is and then leaves him alone with the bath and the fresh set of clothing. 

--

Remy shivers as he looks at the water that is coated with filth. He dries his hair and sits on the toilet. Exhaustion hits him and his eyes start to flutter closed. 

He shakes off the feeling and slips on the new clothes, including the oversized black sweater.

A knock comes from the door.

“You good?”

He shifts over to the door, shakily opening it.

“Whoa man! Im not sure you should be standing. Lets get you seated. Here.”

She tucks him into the bed and he shivers.

“Shh. You're okay. You're safe.”

“Want… want Henri.”

He hiccups and hides his face, so tired. She starts petting his wet hair. He passes out. 

He wakes up to the sound of a growl. Terror hits his heart.

“Creed! Stop! He's scared. We’re supposed to help mutants! Not kill them with fear!”

Kitty complains. Remy shifts backwards and presses his back into the wall.

“Get out of my way cub.”

Sabretooth snarls and-

He's gonna hurt her! No! She had been nice to him. Remy springs and tackles Sabretooth with a growl. 

“Non! Non!”

He bites and tears. Sabretooth flips and pins him. Remy pants and tears stain his face again.

“Don’t. Don't hurt.”

He begs.

“Not gonna hurt you cub.”

Sabretooth croons. Remy shakes his head.

“Dont hurt her. S'il te plaît.”

Remy pants, air not quite going down into his lungs and staying. Sabretooth pauses and then noses at his head.

“Shh. shhh. No one is getting hurt. You’re a shivering cub.”

Sabretooth scoops him up and holds him close to his chest. Remy shakes. A sandpaper tongue starts moving through his hair.

“Wait! Is this, you know, Gambit?”

Right. The only name he had given them. It seems like forever since he had heard his real name. Remy curls up tighter. 

“Yeah. this is my cub. Gambit.”

A nose presses into his nose and nussles into him. Remy hiccups and tears bubble out again. Fear and longing swirl out. Sabretooth croons and just. Keeps. Touching. Him!! He shakes. 

“Hey. Mr. Creed? I got an idea. To calm him down? I know you just got him back but, it looks like holding him is making him more scared. Lets get him back to is room and Ill explain.”

“We have to knock him out.”

A new voice comes and then ice enters Remy’s veins.

--

Remy finds his brain mushing as he tries to move. Oh. sedatives. He shivers and notes that there is a blanket around him, instead of the arms that he had been waking up to lately. He blinks slowly and tilts his head to the side. Huh. He is sitting in a mound on blankets, a new bracelet on his other arm. Cold emanates from it. Drugs. He sits up a little. He blinks slowly. He is surrounded by pillows and blankets, in some sort of nest. Sabretooth is curled up at his side. The killer looks like a cat curled up like that. Remy presses backwards into the wall. He wraps his arms around himself and simply sits there shaking. He wants to go home. He misses feeling safe. He misses being able to think clearly.

“Hey. Cub.”

Sabretooth looks at him through his half closed eyes. Remy whimpers.

“Wanna go home.”

Sabretooth sighs, and rearranges the pillows, pushing more towards Remy. Remy flinches and Sabretooth pauses.

“Cub… you are home.”

“You- I! Non! I want home! I want my papa!! I want my Henri! I want my home!”

Remy warbles out and sees Sabretooth flinch. Remy presses his arms tighter to his chest.

“Gambit…”

“If you say you are my papa, why did my brother Henri have to save me from the streets? If you are my papa, why were you never there? If you were my papa, why do you let them hurt me? My papa would never let anyone hurt me. Papa always kept me safe when I made things more dangerous for him. My papa actually loves me! You dont!!”

He sobs, fisting his hands in the borrowed jacket. He turns his head away. Sabretooth lets out a soft chirp and then Remy feels a blanket tucked around him. He opens his eyes as Sabretooth shifts back. The man sits and crosses his legs. He stares at Remy with such heartbreaking longing. 

“I looked for you. I've been looking for you, cub. For so so long. I did everything I could to find you. 

I went on one mission when you were so small. Oh. you used to fit in the crook of my elbow, so tiny and fragile. You were such a small pup. But she always assured me that you were not too tiny, despite all my fears. I had such fears, but such hope. You were so fierce when you gripped my fingers and laughed at my fangs. 

I left for my job. Just to get enough money to be able to stay home and not have to leave for a long time. To be able to provide for the two that I loved so much. But when I came home-!”

Sabretooth chokes. His hand stretches out and then falls, not touching Remy. 

“When I came home, everything was torn to shreds. The door broken, the walls blacked with fire and smoke, and my mate… bloody and dead. And my cub. You… My bright ruby eyed cub that was so small and had yet to take your first steps, you were gone!! I searched. I hunted! I looked!! I spent years trying to get you back!

I thought of you at sunset when the sky reflected the colors of your hair and the sun turned as red as your eyes. I thought of you when the wind blew through chimes and I heard the phantom echo of your laugh. I thought of you when I would try to sleep, hoping, dreaming, begging that you were alright. That I was just one step away from finding you.”

Remy twitches as he can feel the genuine sorrow swirling off the man that looks like he wants nothing more than to grab him and hold him close. But… this time Sabretooth is holding himself back.

“I dreamed of seeing you. To feel your heart beat against my ear, to see you smile and laugh. I missed so much. I missed first words and steps and all the lessons I could have taught you.

All Ive ever wanted- All Ive ever needed was to find you! Dont tell me that I dont love you. Gambit. I love you more than anything. Ive been searching. Searching. Searching for you. My red eyed kitten.”

Remy blinks at the love that slams into him and wraps tightly and warmly. Creed inches closer and presses his forehead to Remy’s knee.

“Im sorry for missing so much. For going out and losing you.”

“I-...”

Remy gasps against the huge emotions that coil around him and press into him. Then he hiccups.

“Sabre’ooth. I dont know you. How can I… How can you-”

Remy coughs and then looks to the ceiling.

“I dont know you. You cant be my father if I dont know you… Its… Ive never blamed anyone for how my life ended up. I had it rough for a while, but then I had a family. One that found me. Took care of me. That knew me and let me know them. How… How can there be love with no… time? No knowledge? How can you love this much? You dont know me.”

It confuses, scares and… the small part of him that had wondered… it has a flicker of betrayal, warming slightly at this display. It is different than simply being grabbed and held and toldthat he is someones son. This is an explanation. A reason. And the love is so much more clearly on display now. Remy swallows. Sabretooth breaths, staying where he is. 

“I knew you when you were so small. I know your scent like my own. I… I would fight storms for you. Steal the moon and stars for you. I would take on the world for you, die for you. Let me love you cub.”

Remy hesitates. He then gently touches Sabretooth’s head. Then man looks into his eyes and Remy finds tears dribbling from his eyes.

“I dont want storms to be fought, or for the stars and moon to be stolen. I dont want you to take on the world or to die. I want my family. I want my brother who held me during nightmares and showed me how not to be afraid of the sun. I want my papa who sung to me when cuts were stinging and burning and who showed me how to laugh without tensing for fear of harm. I want them back. I wanna go back.”

Remy is tired. And hurting. And just wants comfort. Sabretooth sits up slowly and then Remy falls into him. His empathy draws him to the one source of positive emotion in the room. Sabretooth and his love. His mind laps it up as he curls his arms around the man, hating himself for this weakness, this desperation for something other than despair.

“Oh… my little cub.”

And Remy falls asleep.

[drinkabletoxicdishsoap]

drop ur antony headcanons pls

Thank you for asking me anon!!! I love to share my headcanons about him he’s so silly!!

1. I feel like more than half of his closet is just graphic tees/t-shirts. That’s like the only kind of shirt he wears.

2. For his crush on Dejah, he acts like a stuttering and complete mess of front of her. Super awkward and everything. But she doesn’t mind! I think she finds it and him very sweet. I don’t know if you’ve ever watched my little pony friendship is magic, but they give me Shining Armor x Cadence vibes.

3. I’d like to think he played an instrument as a kid. He was probably a band kid.

4. Whenever he went to zoos as a kid or even now, he rushes to the reptile section. It’s most likely for him to look at iguanas since he’s in the iguana society. Though I feel like he loves every single kind of reptile.

5. He’s the Godzilla’s movies #1 fan. Bro RUNS to the theaters whenever a new movie drops. He always cheers on Godzilla for the Godzilla vs. literal any creature or just any Godzilla movie in general.

6. Amusement park enthusiast. He absolutely LOVES any and all kinds of amusement parks. He will ride absolutely anything!! Maybe not the VERY VERY high rollercoasters but he will ride anything and everything else. He’s still a kid at heart.

7. His favorite holiday is basically any where he can spend time with his family. Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Halloween are his top ones. He loves going trick or treating with Hazel and I feel like they always had matching Halloween costumes.

8. He played some sports as a kid. I have no idea which ones but I feel like he’d be a soccer kid (maybe I’m bias because I play soccer LMAO).

9. Secretly LOVES reality tv shows. He acts like he doesn’t, but whenever Angela has it on he sits next to her and watches it. They totally gossip about it together.

10. He will do ANYTHING and EVERYTHING for Hazel. He cares so much about her.

11. Whenever the Wells Family is on a trip, he’s the one to suggest excursions and everything like that.

12. Energy drinks are his LIFE. He doesn’t drink coffee but bro will absolutely DOWN any energy drink.

13. I feel like he helps build whatever ghost hunting or paranormal investigation invention Marcus wants. He probably even helped him build the the ghost one that we see in the show! He doesn’t really get his dad’s obsession with the paranormal but he will forever cheer his dad on!

14. Since he now knows about Cosmo, Peri, and Wanda, he will guard their secret with his life for Hazel. He helps when they have a few little slips. I feel like he would get along great with Cosmo and Wanda! He definitely appreciates what they’ve done for his little sister. He tries to get along with Peri but I feel like they don’t really get along at first. You know, younger brother vs older brother. Maybe they do get along but at first, absolutely not.

15. He’s a great cook! He helps cook meals for Hazel whenever his parents are out and about.

16. He has silly little karaoke nights with Hazel :3

That’s all the headcanons I have for him <33 if I do think of more I’ll either edit the post or make a new post about it! Thank you for the ask anon!! And thank you for reading! I hope you have a great day or night :3

[strxnged]

KAVEH: # close.

A flustering encounter in a moonlit university lab.

For the Teyvat University Fic Event by @kazuinvocation and @cosmic-expressions. Made with love and finals stress.

Word count. 2k. Genre. flirty/comedy/romance(?) (if you squint?)

Other tags. physical touch is somewhat forced, cussing and slang, gender neutral reader, slight suggestiveness, alhaitham mentioned once (1ce), me trying to be funny because I was having fun.

You looked over your shoulder, down the dark halls of the Architecture building. So far, there was no sign anyone could have spotted you. You were close, now, to the lab; you prayed the door would be unlocked.

The unrelenting life of a student might have not been so busy had you been a little more organized. Perhaps you relied too much upon all-nighters and overcaffeination—to the point where you either couldn’t keep your eyes open or couldn’t stay still in class. Then you’d forget things. Important things. Important things like your bridge modeling project you’d definitely forgotten to take with you at the end of class. It was now two in the morning, and your modifications were due at nine in the morning.

Your hand fell on the handle and you jiggled it. You shouldn’t have been surprised to find it impossible to budge. 

You were obviously screwed, even more than you had been five minutes ago. To get in, you’d have to contact the late night security crew (who were not the sort of people who liked being contacted about this sort of thing, you’d learned) or look for a key in the offices (which would be a very unlikely quest, since the offices would probably be locked too).

Pressing your face to the glass of the hall window, you could see your model in the dim, moonlit room sitting glumly on one of the tables. Further back, you could see another model. Someone else forgot theirs! At least you weren’t the only doofus in the class.

Then, with a jolt, you realized the window had a latch from both sides. You grabbed it, mentally crossing your fingers, and tugged. To your relief, it opened agreeably and swung towards you. You climbed over the sill and latched it shut again. Filled with glee, you walked to your model and picked it up. You would need glue, a pocket knife, and some extra material to make your modifications—some of which you realized you were short on. To head back without them would be as good as leaving it here. 

However, you were in the Creative Architecture lab. If any room in the entire school would have what you needed, it was this one! You headed towards the supplies closet, and it was only then that you heard the footsteps in the hall.

It would only take a glance through the windows for your short-lived victory to be utterly busted. You slipped into the rather narrow supply closet and shut the door as quietly as you could, listening. The footsteps drew closer to the lab… and stopped.

You could make out the door to the room handle jiggling. You were safe tucked away in the supply closet, as long as the person was not there to check the supply closet. Still, you held your breath.

The door handle went quiet. Then, you heard the window latch, and the sound of someone climbing into the room. The window latched loudly and you heard quick steps to the back of the class.

“Oh, thank god,” someone sighed. Someone with an unmistakable cadence of speech.

You flung open the supply closet door and said, “Kaveh?”

Kaveh, classmate, friend, and star of your department, had nearly fallen over from shock, having stumbled several steps back and raised his arms to protect himself from a presumed predator. You did not hold back your laughter.

“Jeez! What the hell? Y/N? Why were you— what? What?”

“Oh my— Kaveh, you forgot your model too?”

He looked down at the model he was unwittingly wielding as a shield. “Yeah—you forgot your model?”

You stepped closer and showed it to him. “I’m too overwhelmed to be expected to remember things when I leave the room.”

“Tell me about it. But it’s more that I completely missed the part where the prof said we had to take them home and modify them. Someone asked me if I’d done it yet, and I was like… what are you talking about?”

“I think that’s worse. Weren’t you paying attention in the lab?”

“I—” Kaveh cut himself off. In the moonlight, you could just see his eyes avert and cheeks flood with pink. “Of course I was!”

“Hey, no need to feel embarrassed,” you said. Then, with a burst of something you weren’t quite willing to identify, you added: “It happens to the best of us, clearly.”

At this, Kaveh’s signature smile, toothy and charming, bloomed on his face. Even in the dim classroom you swore it lit up the room by just a touch. “Well, when you put it like that…” he said. “No, you’re right. I was a bit… distracted… at the end of class. But, you see, it’s all going to work out, since I managed to get in. I just have to get the final modifications done, and…”

“Unlocked window saved the day, huh?”

“Yeah. I always check the windows if the door is unlocked.”

“... Huh?”

Kaveh covered his mouth with his free hand. “Oh. First time?”

Before you could respond, you heard—again—footsteps. This time, there were more of them. You grabbed Kaveh’s arm and tugged him into the storage closet without a second thought. It was only as you pulled the door shut that you recalled how compact the closet was even when it was just you, and now there were two bodies pressed against the shelves and the door.

“I didn’t realize—” you whispered, not quite sure how to continue.

“You’re good, I’d rather not have this on my record,” he said.

You didn’t reply, listening. You didn’t want this on your record either, and so you were happy to wait with your back pressed against Kaveh if it meant you didn’t get expelled. You told yourself that this was the only reason you were happy to wait in this position, not entirely believing it.

The muted sound of steps grew louder, and—to your horror—stopped somewhere that must have been just outside the room. You heard the hums of indistinguishable conversation.

“Sorry,” said Kaveh at a whisper that tickled your neck, “is it okay with you if I move my arm? I’m getting sore.”

You gulped. “Sure.”

He hesitated, still unmoving. “That wasn’t very convincing.”

“Shut up and do what you gotta do, Blondie.”

You felt his arms snake past your waist and grab ahold of shelves on either side of you. You heard the gentle noise of a small wood model being set down and shuffled around a bit on the shelf. Your own arms were resting on higher shelves at a rather uncomfortable but inevitable position. It didn’t help that your mind was high on whatever cologne Kaveh was wearing a smidge of. Who wears cologne at 2 AM, anyways? 

Outside, the conversation continued at the same rate. 

“Titanic posing with Kaveh in a storage closet is not how I thought my night would go,” you whispered. There was no way those in the hall would be able to hear you two if you whispered. You just had to listen for the sound of the door opening.

Kaveh laughed silently. “If I put my hands on your waist, it’ll be more accurate.”

“We gotta commit to the bit,” you said, mentally praising all the gods above that he would not see the flustered expression on your face.

You felt him move, and his hands settled on your waist. Why were his hands so warm? It was sort of—nice. And since there seemed to be talking still in the hall—what could people possibly be doing to be chatting in the architecture hallway at two in the morning?—you wet your lips and asked, “Kaveh… is there someone who wouldn’t like that you were… in here with me?”

“No,” he whispered. “Nobody.”

His response was quick enough to elicit suspicion. “You’re not actually enjoying this, are you, pal?” He squirmed a little. “Oh, you are.” Damn, it was so fun to tease him. Maybe you were enjoying this too.

“I don’t think,” he whispered, moving his hands back to the shelves and leaning slightly more into you, “that you want to know the answer to that.”

His voice, soft and tantalizing in your ear, nearly melted your cognitive ability. Nearly. Ignoring your soaring heart that was clearly indicative of a health problem, you shot back, “Hey, if you’re hating every second of this, I wouldn’t hold it against you. It’s a matter of taste.”

“I’m an art student,” he replied with impressive vanity. “I have the best taste of anybody.”

“Yeah? Rubbing it in?”

You swore you could hear him thinking of what to say next with how close you were standing. You could feel his heartbeat on your back—at least, what you thought was a heartbeat. Maybe he was hosting a woodpecker in his chest. 

“You know, I hate to be a pain, but I’m a terrible liar,” Kaveh whispered after a minute of listening to the ongoing murmuring in the hall. 

“Yeah?” You weren’t sure what to expect. “You need to readjust again? Or do I smell like B.O.?”

“What kinda dichotomy is that? No, I… You know how I said I was distracted in class?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I was sort of wondering how I could get you alone. Today. Or, yesterday. That’s why I wasn’t paying attention.” He laughed a bit. “Sorry, that sounds creepy. You know how it is when everybody’s friends but nobody’s close, right? I was thinking about that.”

You pursed your lips.

“And now I… have you alone,” said Kaveh, gently. 

You tried to regulate your tone as you asked, “What does that entail?”

You heard the door of the lab open as Kaveh began to reply. You processed none of his words, because you were busy thrusting your elbow very sharply into his ribcage. “Shh!” you managed, and then held your breath.

“Ow!” he cried. Oh, you were so busted.

“Bastard. We’re screwed,” you whispered.

The door to the closet swung open, and a security officer with a blinding flashlight and heavy eyelids looked you up and down. “Gross.”

“We weren’t—” “I’m sorry—” The blurts from you and Kaveh blurred together, and you couldn’t tell who said what.

“Just get going, alright? I’m too tired to lecture you.”

You both slunk out into the hall and the security officer followed you, locking up. Another officer stood waiting with his arms crossed. “Y/N and Kaveh! A likely pair.”

The first officer checked the windows, and locked those as well. “Hurry up, tods.”

“And don’t think you’re not getting written up,” the second added.

Kaveh rolled his head back as you both sauntered down the dark hall. “I’m actually going to get expelled,” he said. “And it’s your fault.”

“It’s not my fault you’re a pussy.” You patted his shoulder. “You’ll be okay. You’re a great student, I’m sure they don’t want to get rid of you that quickly.”

Kaveh froze. “Wait. Our models.”

“Shit.”

You both looked over your shoulders. The security officers were following you at a distance. One waved a hand to shoo you onward.

“I don’t think we’re getting those back,” you said.

“I’m gonna have to restart,” Kaveh moaned. “This blows. The teacher is so unforgiving with this kind of thing, I bet she won’t even care that we pulled all nighters to redo the project.”

“‘We’?” you repeated.

“Aren’t you gonna redo it?”

“I can’t, I don’t have any material left.”

“I have lots. You can come over, and I’ll make hot cocoa, and we will conquer this project. I’m sure my roommate won’t mind.”

You recalled his roommate being a stoic history student with a certain obstinacy towards Kaveh. You ignored this. At least he was willing to brave his roommate’s frustration for whatever this was. You replied, “Smooth, Blondie, real smooth.”

“I’m not—no, I really do just want to work on the project.”

“Lighten up.”

He, in response, exploded into yet another bright smile. You wonder how many times you’d missed out on seeing that during those seven minutes in that supply closet.

Note. surprisingly, this is my first explicitly romantic kaveh fic. i love that fellow he is so guy of all time he is constantly rotating in my brain like he's being microwaved

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