#first one i love the lighting SO MUCH i was like i have to draw that NOW!!!!!!!!

[littlest-bugz]

The Collective You

[one system's brief advice about accepting the idea of the collective you]

One of the best pieces of system advice started from a tumblr post and was elaborated by my DID specialist. I can't find the original tumblr post that started it, so I'm making a little post of my own <3 Share the knowledge. and also hope that someone can link the original post lol.

When I was REALLY going through it™ with my first diagnosis w/ DID, and a lack of integration, all of my alters felt like separate individuals, some of us feeling as distanced as a coworker or a stranger altogether. We were just getting a grasp on internal communication between all of our subsystems, and it was rough. We felt so entirely differentiated that we were our own people trapped in one body. While I don't really care about what language you use, all alters in CDDs are a part of one person [there's only one body and brain]- the collective you.

So obvs, I'm scrolling tumblr like the chronically online doomscroller that I am, and I see this post that goes along the line of not knowing who you are, but knowing you are 'you', regardless of who you are [referring to alters]. And it said something like "we're all me enough to pick up our meds"- something like that. iirc it was a half light hearted, half advice post, but that was really good advice for me. I kind of internalized it after I processed it in therapy. It's actually why I have started to love parts language lately tbh.

After further processing this idea in therapy, Identity Confusion stopped mattering in the grand scheme of things. I focused less on worrying about who I was, and just focused on the fact that I'm me. Just like the post I saw- We are all me. The example of all being me enough to pick up my medications just applied, like, everywhere. Even when it came down to the smallest things- with coping with other symptoms too.

Oh? I don't like coffee right now? I guess I should switch to something else. [differentiated alters]

Oh? I have barely any drawing skills right now? Okay, really sucks but I can work on something else and come back to it later. [skill variance between alters]

Oh? I have to go to a doctor's appointment? I know I'll forget that- Gotta write a list, and put it up on the board so I remember. [day to day amnesia]

You know what happened? My dissociation got better! Not immediately or entirely, obviously, and my memory [re amnesia] still sucks, but that's part of the disorder- plus other disorders that I have. This idea of the collective you is something that I think is really beneficial to all CDD systems, especially during the mid to later stages of recovery.

I, admittedly, credit most of my healing to conversations I have had with my DID specialist. Especially since, without her, I wouldn't have been able to process this idea of the collective me further, but the conversation wouldn't have been started if I hadn't seen that post on tumblr. This was a budding concept with us due to the separation we had. It helped with integration. GRANTED... Not every alter got the memo, obviously, but It's something that I'm still working on. Of course, being me comes with the prerequisite that I am a person with DID, and that I am made up of multiple parts.

Now for the piece of advice I got from my therapist- Though it requires a certain level of knowledge of your own system, such as a list of alters and some identifying info [fav drinks, fav colors, those type of things]. Look at the list of your alters wherever it may be. Just whatever you use for logging your system members. Look for the commonalities between alters. There will be at least some commonalities.

For example; A good 45% of us like bunnies, 45% like cats, and 10% have a liking for other kinds of animals. Using this information, I can pretty much deduce that 1. the collective me loves animals and 2. the collective me likes cats and bunnies especially.

Another example; I looked through our simplyplural, which has a favorite color thing [in ours at least]. By looking through the list, I figured out 1. wow I like literally all colors- my fav color is rainbows and 2. I especially like pink and light blue.

More examples; the list.. THE LIST... I looked through it and saw that a good 90% of us like MONSTER ENERGY DRINKS- of varying flavors, but the common denominator was Ultra Strawberry Dreams, but all of us like [or tolerate] water as a preferred drink. From there I can come to the conclusion that I prefer water over anything else and that I have a problem with monster [being light hearted but I genuinely do].

I hope you get the idea I'm going for. I used this process for nearly every aspect of our collective identity, though some had to genuinely be voted on, such as our LGBTQIA+ labels [offline, we just call ourself queer, but that's.. aside the point LMAO].

Obviously, there are going to be outliers- Having DID comes with the fun [/s] aspect of alters being differentiated from each other in some capacity. Example for the monster energy one- We have a handful of alters that HATE energy drinks- even just fizzy drinks in general. There's one guy who will only drink Black Coffee and water- nothing else. He's the guy who is always hiding away our monsters in the way back of the fridge, but guess what!! He's me!! The part of me that doesn't want me to ruin my health over energy drinks. The part of me that knows I deserve better than my unhealthy habits.

Getting to know the collective you is just like learning about your system! It is not inherently different than figuring out what an alters dislikes or likes are. The idea of The Collective You shouldn't feel scary or anxiety inducing- if it is, you may want to confront those feelings with a therapist if you have access to one. Every CDD system is the collective [or, well, system] of one fragmented individual- That is a studied and objective fact. I wanted to give advice from one recovering system to another.

No, this will not work for everyone, every system is different, but I'm hoping this post finds the right audience in knowing that it's worth a shot to try this!

[googleitlol]

This oneshot is more the length I thought the other one would be, a little under 2500 words. Hope it packs just as much emotion in it, enjoy!

TW: Dead Dove, severe burns

Dove Masterlist:

Samadhi

How on earth did things end up like this?

“Hey.” Sun Wukong, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, looks down to his left to see his engaged. His beloved Dove gives him a worried look as she puts a hand on his shoulder. She looks stunning, she always does. “Something is on your mind, Peaches.”

The two of them stand on his somersault cloud, Wukong’s arm is wrapped around Dove’s waist to keep her close so they can both fit on the soft platform. It moves slowly to their destination where others wait for their arrival. He could make the cloud go faster, but he doesn’t want to. He can’t help how fear grips his heart in anticipation for what they are about to attempt. “It’s nothing.”

“Over a decade we’ve been on this journey together, and you think you can still lie to me?” She frowns, her expression more annoyed than anything else. It shifts back to worry as her hand shifts up to hold the side of his face. “We’re supposed to confide in each other, My Love.”

Sun Wukong hums with a small smile, though he can’t hold the facade when she gives him that concerned look. Amidst these last twelve years, she’s become one of the few people that can read him like a book. “I just want this to work. I can’t stand seeing you like this.” His free hand reaches out to her outstretched arm that holds his face. He’s gentle as he encloses his fingers over the wraps that envelop her arms, his thumb brushing back and forth over the material. Wukong has seen the bandaging over her abdomen, the burns that scar her hands. Despite it all, the mortal he’s promised his life to smiles.

“How could it not? I know you three can do this.” Dove reassures him, the fire in her eyes bright as he leans into her touch.

He just has to tell himself this is it. It’ll be over after this. “How is it healing?”

Her hand retracts, and Wukong lets go of her arm so she can inspect it herself. “I’ve taken care of enough burns to know what I’m doing.” She laughs a little, maybe to make light of the injuries. When she looks up to see his furrowed brows, she sighs. “Maybe in a few days, after Iron Fan and your brother have a few days with their boy, we can visit them for dinner. It’ll be nice to hold Red Son without the fear of him bursting into flame, hah.”

“Red-Brat is more like it.” The sage mumbles under his breath, earning him a light slap on his armoured chest.

“Wukong!” Dove scolds with a sharp glare, and he lets out a chuckle.

That baby could burn her a thousand times, and she’d still defend him with her life. “I know, I know, he’s just a kid.” He can’t help the smile that finds its way onto his face, he loves seeing her jump to his nephew’s defence like that. Gods, never would he think someone could hold compassion for another that does them harm. Wukong will always love her for that compassion.

Despite her wounds, his engaged has held a soft spot for the boy since the moment he was born. With how destructive Red Son’s fire is, Dove’s ability to soothe the infant quickly became a crutch that pained him to see used. Wukong still doesn’t understand her patience, not when the baby nearly kills her as an everyday occurance. Still, she showers Red Son with love. He only wishes she had been that forgiving when they first met. It would have spared him a massive headache.

“Look at me.” Dove’s voice draws him back to the present, the determined look in her eyes captivating his attention. “It’s going to work.”

Even with the soothing presence of her gift, he doesn’t need it to ease his worries. Not when the confidence in her voice puts his troubles to rest. “I know it will.” As he speaks, she leans up to place a kiss over his forehead. “I can’t worry when I have you with me.”

Her smile is warm when she looks up at him. “I love you, Peaches.”

“I love you, Dove.” Wukong pulls her closer to his side, and his beloved rests her head on his shoulders.

Dove breathes a content sigh, her eyes focused on the sky ahead. “Maybe after this, we can ask Sanzang for a little break? We could visit Flower Fruit, spend some alone time together.”

Wukong hums with a small laugh. “Alone time sounds nice… y’know, with all the other monkeys crowding around us to get a look at their soon-to-be Monkey Queen.”

“Hah! I can’t wait to meet them properly.” She smiles, and Wukong looks down to take in what he can of her features. He can’t wait for when they retrieve those scriptures and they can go home, to stay. When this journey started, all he wanted was to be free from the burden of helping the monk and his cranky companion, but she changed that. Now, all he wants is to wake up each morning with Dove by his side, so he can take in those features in dawn’s light in their home.

“It’s settled, then.” He sighs before turning his attention back to the route ahead. “We’ll visit the little guys tonight. Master should be fine for one night without us.”

“With our luck, don’t jinx it.” That gets him to laugh. He supposes Dove is right, he shouldn’t say anything to risk their chances of a battle-free night. When she lets out a soft exhale, Wukong can feel himself relax just a bit more. “I can’t wait to get a proper tour of my new home with you.”

~~~~

It was supposed to be simple. Split the fire and find someplace to hide his own ring. Easy as that.

DBK won't have to deal with his home burning down every other day and call Dove to calm down his hot-tempered son. Sun Wukong admits, the kid is cute when he isn’t burning everything to the ground. Dove is so fond of him, how can he not like the little guy? Still, he hates every time she’s asked to help him. Dove has been burnt in her efforts to tame his flame, and relying solely on her to ensure a little kid doesn’t destroy the world isn’t a viable option anymore. Nor is it one he’s comfortable with.

The air is heavy among all who stand with the sage. Sun Wukong stands in a circle with his master, the Demon Bull King, and the Third Lotus Prince, Nezha, with the baby Red Son engulfed in flames in the centre of them all. The Monkey King’s brothers, Wujing, Ao Lie and Bajie all stand behind their master, and Dove stands a few paces behind to her Peaches’ right. She has to be on standby in case the separation fails, but it won’t. Like Dove said, this is going to work.

His master steps forward and taps his staff against the drawn out circle on the ground. “For the Samadhi Fire to be split into three, you must harmonise your energies.” He instructs, and the three chosen all look to one another with a nod.

The circle lights up, illuminating with life as it begins. The glow from the markings on the ground encapsulates Wukong’s vision, blinding his peripherals so that all he can focus on is the ring that begins taking form in front of his hands.

It’s a little surprising, how it feels at first. Wukong isn’t sure what he was expecting, but he thought there’d be more… pain involved? Maybe it’s because he can only feel a third of the fire feeding into the ring that takes shape in front of him, but it’s a little underwhelming. He’s taken the brunt of the Samadhi Fire before, he knows it can hurt, but this? Sure, he can feel the heat of the flames pretty strongly, but it's nothing he can't handle. It’s no wonder he was chosen as one of three that could withstand it. Maybe Nezha is having more trouble than him, the lotus prince has always been a bit of a baby compared to the other immortals he knows.

There’s a few flames that lash out more than the others, but it’s easy enough to keep them under control. “You know, this is kind of easier than I thought it would be.” He laughs a little, and that’s when his focus slips. That’s when it all goes wrong.

A flame lashes out as the baby in the centre shouts, and fire shoots out towards the three rings. The sheer force knocks Wukong onto his knees. The other two ring-bearers in the circle shout out at the sage, too late to stop a wave of fire that spews out in every direction. His dragon brother, Ao Lie, is quick to respond to flames that hurtle towards their master and takes a hit head-on. The Monkey King is quick enough to jump back to his feet and take this next hit easily.

But then he hears her scream.

Wukong freezes, Dove’s voice shooting ice through his veins. His eyes shoot wide at the sound of his worst fears coming to life. “Dove!” He hears Wujing call out to his love before heavy steps rush to her location just out of his view.

He moves to turn his head before she shouts. “NO! Don’t– haa… Don’t look, don’t let him…” She shouts out, her voice twisting in anguish, “Don’t stop, Peaches! The ring is almos–” She can’t even finish the sentence before letting out another shrill scream.

Every bone in his body is pleading for him to turn around, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to. His heart is thundering in his chest, fear claws at his skin as he begs himself to focus on the rings. She won’t stop screaming, she won’t stop screaming–

“Dove?! Dove!!” She can’t answer him, can she even hear him?! Gods, he can’t see her! His eyes shut tight, and he fights every fibre of his being not to abandon the ritual and run to her side as Bajie and Wujing shout from behind.

“It won’t go out!”

“It can’t go out!”

Wukong shakes his head, their voices pushing him to the brink of madness. “Dove, please– hang on!” Help her, he needs to help her, shit, he has to move, she needs help! Help her, help her!!! She’s screaming, she isn’t stopping she won’t stop– she’s screaming! Even when she stops, he can still hear her screaming. Her voice rings in his ears.

When the rings fully form, Sun Wukong’s drops to the ground. He turns to run to his love, only to choke back a gasp when he sees her. The fire that had been burning its way up her body whisps away with the rings now complete. Left in their wake and in the arms of Wujing is a limp body.

The sight of her alone is nearly enough to send him falling back. Her entire lower half and right side of her body is covered in fourth degree burns. Her clothes are singed and melted into her skin, into her arms and torso. There’s muscle tissue visible in the meat of her hands and along her legs from where the fire had its fill. All over her body are contrasting amalgamations between charcoaled skin and raw pinks of every shade, even the white of bone pokes out from her right shoulder and knuckles.

“Dove!” He doesn’t waste another moment rushing to her side. Despite her injuries, the woman still breathes. Each inhale is laboured, every exhale pain from her burning lungs. Her voice barely carries to shout when he moves her from Wujing’s arms to his own. “No, no… no, no no no! Somebody help!”

His head whips around to those that now surround them, Demon Bull King hiding away his son’s face from them while Tripitaka rushes to their side. He gasps at the sight of his friend, his staff dropping with an echoing clang. “Master, please!” Wukong begs, his voice never before sounding so desperate.

His master crouches down slowly, his eyes never leaving her, his first companion on his journey. “They’re… they’re too severe.”

“The hell do you mean, too severe?!” Wukong snaps, but the monk can’t even move to flinch. “She’s dying! We have to do something!”

He looks back to Nezha, his brothers, anyone! “Please! There has to be something– we can’t–”

“Peaches…” He barely hears Dove, her voice holds only a shell of the life it did a mere hour ago. He looks down at his love, only now can he realise how blurred his vision is when he can barely make out her features. There’s tears streaming down her face, her eyes are open but unfocused.

Her breathing is ragged as Wukong holds her hand in his. “Shh, shh… it’s okay, Dove.” His voice cracks, he needs to comfort her. “Don’t try to say anything, we’re gonna help you. We–”

His head whips back up to the friends that have gathered around them. “We have to do something, now! Master, there has to be a way! Nezha, there must be something, I won’t let her die! Please!”

“Brother…” Bajie rests a hand on the sage’s shoulder, and Wukong snaps his head up to him. But his brother isn’t looking at him. His gaze is focused on Dove and–

He can’t feel her. That calming presence he’s so used to walking with every day. It’s gone. She isn’t breathing.

“…Dove?” Wukong checks for a pulse, but he finds nothing. His heart sinks. “Dove? Dove, please– Dove?! We said everything would be okay after this.” His voice feels strained, it’s throbbing, there's somethings choking him.

“Dove, don’t do this to me– please! Please!”

“Dove! Dove!”

The king throws his head back in outcry, his queen limp in his arms. His voice is bloodcurdling, his scream so visceral it shreds into every soul present. Wukong pulls the shell of his love into his chest and sobs, burying his head into her shoulder. Her body is warm, but it isn’t her warmth.

He can’t feel her. Why can’t he feel her in his arms anymore?! This isn’t what was supposed to happen, how could this happen? How on earth could things end up like this?! He was supposed to stop her from getting hurt! “Please, Dove… we’re visiting home tonight, remember?”

“…We’re going home tonight.”

[sweptawayghost]

Light My Fire PT.1

PAIRING: Joel Miller X Reader

DUEL POV

Word count 6.8K 

CHAPTER WARNING: male masturbation, mentions of alcohol, age gap, mention of guns, slow burn, pov,flirting, friends to lovers, mentions of choking, angst, fluff

Series summary: Joel Miller is down bad for the first time in a long time. After him and Ellie arrive and settle into life in Jackson, Joel is itching to get out. He becomes your patrol partner but he could be so much more if you give him the chance. 

This will be a slow burn 

Anything written in italic indicates someone talking to themselves

Hello anyone who cares enough to read this!

So I had previously written two parts of a series I was planning titled “In Dreams” . Since then I have decided I want to change how I write this and have decided that a good old fashioned POV would be more enjoyable to write. So this will be the main series but I will leave my previous works up. if you have already red my first part of In Dreams you don't really need to read this one but i have changed a few things

Thank you for reading and as always your feedback is appreciated!!!!!

///

Joel Miller was down bad. 

He found himself wondering how far too many times. He was sure he'd sworn off love and romance but then there you were. With your toothy grins and your warm palms. Eyes that made him feel safe and seen. 

Your laugh filled his ears and swelled his heart. He would do anything to be in the same room as you, he would move where you move, he would go where you go, He could listen to you talk about anything and nothing as long as you kept looking at him and laughing at his stupid jokes. 

He wishes he could tell you right now how badly he wanted you. He wishes he could let you know how important you were to him, how he would move mountains if it would make you smile. 

He hoped you would see how much Ellie loved you.

Joel saw the spark return to her eyes thanks to you. He loved that you cared about her so much, as if she was the most precious and fragile thing in the world. 

How you fed her, brushed her hair for her. You happily opened your home to her when you knew Joel would be gone for a night or just to make sure she wouldn't be alone. 

There were just certain things that Joel couldn't provide for Ellie. But He knew you could. He wanted you to be in her life regardless of how he felt for you and how you felt for him. How do you feel about me? 

///

JOEL

I draw my eyes down to the half drunk glass of whisky that rests lazily in the palm of my hand. 

The late afternoon light comes flooding in through the doors as a young man runs into the bison and jumps behind the bar and through to the kitchen. The chill of the fall air sweeping in alongside the light. 

I've always liked fall. I loved the feeling of the warm sun pouring down on me in the mornings and the burning numbness in my fingertips when the sun begins to set and the chill of night starts breathing down my neck. I loved the way the leaves changed and morphed into shades of a fire, I liked how delicate they seemed, ready to be swept away at the slightest gust of wind. I loved the way the earth smelt, especially when it rained. 

I loved the way the earth started to soften and sink, It made it easy to track. Rain brings water and water is a lifeline. 

It was also nice to see the town prepare for the cold months that were about to come. People up on the roofs of their homes, cleaning gutters, fixing shutters and patching broken windows, salting meat and tanning hides, pickling and preserving anything they could. Preparing the green houses, people dragging bags of soil and horse shit to the doors, weeding, turning soil. People worked steadily but they never seemed rushed, as if there wasn't a sense of urgency or an immediate threat looming over their heads everyday. Sometimes it just seemed like a normal, sleepy, small town. In a normal world. On a normal day. 

I move my eyes to my brother sitting across from me, even though he's right in front of me I feel a million miles away from him. It makes me a little sick to see how unfair the years have been to him. It might also just be because I just never envisioned him this old before. I always saw him how he was when he was twenty. So full of life, happy, electric, even when he shouldn't have been, it probably would have saved him from getting into a few scraps back in the day and it would have saved me from a bloodied nose when I had to step in and help him. 

Now he looks… sad

Distant, cold and old. His eyes that once lit up with fire now sunken and barely an ember burning in the night. I wish he was fatter as well. It would probably make me feel better for not being there for him, for letting him endure all that he has without my help. Maybe I shouldn't blame myself. Afterall, he was the one who left. 

I still wouldn't trade him for the world. 

“So your patrol partner…” Tommy's voice pulled me back into the moment. The door swings shut with a soft thud and suddenly the sound of patrons and chatter fills my ears again.

A million miles away

“You’ll like her but…” he trails off looking down into his own glass, the lights in the bison were low and warm, it felt like a hug, it felt warm it also made everyone seem warmer and more alive, more vibrant. 

Tommy let the corners of his mouth turn upward, almost smiling “ She’s shy, she's real weary of new people so no offence intended” he stated, pulling his glass up to his lips and sipping its content. 

No offence intended?

“Is that your subtle way of tellin’ me she a bitch?” I raised an eyebrow at my brother and let my eyes roam over to the door again as it swung open, letting in more fresh air that settled on my forehead that I didn't realise was burning until now. 

“Some would say” is the only reply he was offered

Some would say. 

But Tommy wouldn't. 

Now Tommy may not be the sharpest tool in the shed but I trust him when it comes to people. He seems to have an inapt ability to tell when someones genuine and when someones about to fuck you over.  I trust him with this one. I wouldn't trust him to set a trap, or to wake up when he was told to. I wouldn't trust him to drive a tractor in a straight line and I wouldn't trust him to borrow and return my tools no matter how many times I remind him. But this I can trust him with. 

“She's good quality” He continues “if she asks you some out of pocket shit it means she likes ya” another smile threatens to bleed across his face “ And if she treats you like you're stupid then she really likes ya” He throws the rest of his drink down his throat before dropping his glass back down to the table. 

I let the side of my mouth curl up with his words, knowing exactly what he means before I pull back the rest of my drink.

///

As I walked home that afternoon I thought about how surreal everything felt. It sometimes felt like I was watching a movie or tv show and not actually living this life. 

Tomorrow I’ll be going out on patrol with a new partner. Tommy had taken me out a few times teaching me the ropes, not that it was necessarily complicated work and while I knew after a while I would be placed with a new partner I was worried. It was easy with Tommy, we would communicate so much with only the nod of a head, we knew each other's limits, no need for small talk or to fill the air with unnecessary chatter because some people can't sit with silence. 

Tommy knew exactly what button to push when it came to me. This was a blessing and a curse, especially given that I knew exactly how to push back. 

I’m not scared of new people… but I am scared of stupid people, im scared that this person will crumble under pressure and fuck up. What if they make a stupid move that costs me my life, what if they leave me for dead, what if they don't know how to turn the safety off their gun because they've never had to point it at anything. 

 I filled my time in between patrol shifts with Tommy by completing handyman duties, fixing things made me feel useful, like I wasn't so much of a burden and I was earning my keep at least. Not like there was a shortage of jobs around here, it seemed like there was always something to do, patch up a fence, sweep out a barn, fix a hinge on a door, one of the women even asked me to come over and clean her pipes, I told her I wasn't qualified for that kind of work, the sexual innuendo not lost on me, just didn't wanna give it up for a woman who thinks that a cheesy line like that would work on me. 

I just kept on moving from one thing to the next, I couldn't slow down. I didn't want to slow down because that would have given me time to think. 

A small group of five or six kids runs past me in the street grabbing my attention and pulling me out of the mental nightmare I was about to fall into.

Sometimes it's hard to believe that we are here, that the threats of the outside seem like a distant memory and that we don't have to fight tooth and nail to make it to the next day. 

This notion also made me feel uneasy. I feared what this would do to me over time, letting myself relax and letting my guard down. When we arrived, Tommy asked that I surrender my pistol, only temporarily until I “acclimated”. Tommy and big words aren't a usual mixture, it's kind of like putting hot sauce on vanilla ice cream. Without my gun I felt naked, like I have no means of defence, even now as I walk down the street I feel the absence of its weight on my hip. 

I wasn't used to people smiling at me as I walked past them, I wasn't used to women smiling at me when they walked past my house,sometimes 3 times a day. I wasn't used to finding ‘ready to cook meals’ at my doorstep when I came home and I wasn't used to small tokens and gifts left on the front doormat, books, notepads, pens, paper clips and rubber bands, thumb tacks, shoe laces, toilet paper. Almost insignificant things, but now seem like so much more. 

///

I Woke up with that feeling in my chest… again. like a high calibre bullet has blasted through me for only a moment. For a moment, I'm back in the basement. I'm on the freezing concrete floor laying on top of a barely there mattress and my back is so sore I feel like I'll never be able to get up. For a moment, there's a pain in the left side of my abdomen and it hurts worse than the feeling in my chest and the pounding feeling in my head. For a moment… 

I open my eyes letting the blue hues of the morning sky flood my vision as it spills in from between my curtains and paints itself on my walls and ceiling. I try not to let my mind go there. I try to keep those memories packed away. I try to save them in case…  Well, I don't know right now, but I know that thinking about it isn't going to change it.

 I pull myself up and hang my feet off the side of the mattress, rubbing small circles into my chest to try alleviate the pain that's decided to set up camp there. 

I let reality wash over me again. 

I'm safe. I'm okay.

As if those words should make me feel better, as if I deserve to feel that way after everything I've done. 

In the time since Ellie and I have arrived I've set up a routine for myself. I need to keep busy and I need to keep moving. Get up. Get dressed. Get to it. Coffee has entered my life again and like a toxic lover I just have to keep going back for more. I don't know how I ever lived without her, she's the devil in disguise, she's dark and deep, while the instant stuff was nothing compared to the real shit, but i couldn't love it any less. 

In the weeks that Ellie and I spent getting settled into the house, I quickly learnt all the creaks and cracks the house made as you moved through it. On really windy days it was almost like it was breathing with the way it groaned against the wind.

I pulled open the front door, pushing my shoulder into the wood as I pulled it back so the swollen wood wouldn't make too much noise when I pulled it away from the door frame.  It's funny how every sound seems like it's amplified when the suns not out. I whirl my head around to look up the staircase, I can see Ellie’s bedroom door from where I stand, the blue light casting the whole house in a dream-like shade of blue. In a few hours she'll (hopefully) be up and well on her way to school. 

I know it's definitely not her favourite thing and trust me I think school for the most part is a waste of time but I have seen her hand writing and i've seen her try to stitch up a wound and I doubt that she could point out which berries are safe to eat and which ones will turn your insides to gravy. 

Unlike the QZ, this school would actually be helpful to her. Besides all that… she needs friends, she needs connection, she needs to feel safe and not just with me. 

Stepping onto the front porch with socked feet I let the steam of the coffee swirl around my face and inhaled the chilled morning air. The streetlights glow softly on Jackson's main street, a few blocks aways from the place I now call my home. I hear the soft murmuring of people start to make their way into the mess hall for breakfast before starting their daily assignments. It reminded me of before. 

When Ellie and I arrived back in Jackson for good we didn't have much more than the clothes on our backs, we both smelt to high heaven and my feet felt like they were going to fall off, my face hurt from squinting my eyes and my lips were cracked and bloody. When I looked at Ellie I felt my heartbreak, as much as I was hurting I knew she was hurting ten fold. She looked so defeated. 

The community had put together something of a welcome basket for us. The house was stocked with towels and sheets, the wardrobe had some clothes in it, t-shirts and a winter jacket as well as some thick socks, the ones I wear now. A pair of jeans, underwear and even some shorts… I will never trust a grown man who willinging wears shorts.

Ellie got more or less the same items, even a few dresses which remain discarded in the back of her wardrobe, finally she got a new pair of shoes and not those shitty canvas ones that would leave her feet soaked to the bone. 

Soaps, toothbrushes and toothpaste, lip balms, conditioner and shampoo, razors, a hair brush and a comb. All such simple items which now seem like they are worth their weight in gold.  The bars of soap were imperfect and misshapen, the toothpaste came in a powdered form in an old glass container that looked like it once housed a candle or some kind of ointment. So many of the clothes had holes that had been patched over and mended in some way, same with the sheets and towels. 

The items and all their imperfections made them even more special. Handmade and hand mended. Someone cared enough to see the potential in salvaged items that were otherwise discarded and left behind. 

I remember that first shower I had. 

I wanted to cry

Maybe I did cry, it's hard to tell. 

I remember how it felt. Human, warm, like I was wanted, like someone was holding me and stroking my skin with a thousand fingertips. I wasn't just having a shower, I was washing away all the blood that had dried in the cracks of my skin, I was washing away all the grime that clung to me like a stubborn headache, the sweat, the guilt, the tightness in my chest that I knew would be there tomorrow when I wake up but in the moment it felt like it was gone forever.  

I felt guilty taking so much when I had taken away so much already. You have to stop thinking that. 

I can almost imagine the last twenty years were just a really bad and vivid nightmare as I stand in the crisp air of the morning. The neighbourhood starts to stir and begins to breathe to life before the sun makes its way over the hills. I close my eyes and drag in a breath and release it as I drop my chin to my chest. The sound of gravel crunching under foot, muted conversations and the sound of my neighbour walking around the upper level of their home. All familiar sounds, now alien. 

I crane my neck from side to side to relieve some pressure from the ache that lives there.

When I look down at the woolly socks that cling to my feet I notice a growing hole in the right foot, where my big toe lives, the pad on the heel also beginning to thin out, ready to throw in the towel any day now. Shame, I thought to myself, I really liked these socks. 

///

I make my way down to the gates of Jackson. I remember Tommys words from yesterday “If she treats you like shit she really likes you” 

I'm not one to shy away from a challenge, I like straight forward people but you have to be careful it doesn't fall from being blunt to being an asshole, I like to think I've perfected that. If this new partner of mine wants to believe that she's better than me because, what? She’s been here longer? She knows the routes better? that’s fine but if she fucks up and makes a fool of herself I’d be very happy to give her the reality check she needs. 

I pass a few friendly faces as I walk down the street, offering a wave because that's the neighbourly thing to do. Neightbourly. The concept seems odd when you've seen the things we have. 

Arriving at the gates I never expected to see you. 

In fact you were probably the last thing I would have expected to see on patrol at all, you looked so… young. Like the world hadn't gotten its claws into you yet. 

your face held no expression as you looked straight ahead at me, actually it was more like you were looking through me.

 Your face looked fresh and warm, your lips looked so soft, your cheeks all rosy from the chilled air. The sweater you wore swallowed you and a few strands of hair fell into your face as you moved towards me. 

You looked serious but when I looked into your eyes I could tell you were soft. 

You were a hell of a lot younger than me that's for sure and I began to imagine how you Were before all this.

What are you like now?

Would you leave him bleeding out in the woods?

Would you be one of those chatter boxes that would rather spew bullshit than shut it? 

Have you ever killed someone?

Have you ever killed infected?

What do you sound like?

Oh shit her mouth is moving she's talking to me.

“I'm sorry what?” I say, I must look stupid, was I staring at her? You're holding out a leather strap to me and for a second I thought you were holding a hand out for me to shake, the reins dumbass, take the reins from her hand. Feeling like I've just woken up from a fever dream, I now see that you're holding the reins of two horses as well as two rifles slung onto one shoulder and your backpack on the other. 

“Your horse” you say to me lifting your brows with a weak smile, your arm still outstretched with the reins in your clutch. 

I take the worn reins, feeling how the leathers have been softened by the warmth of your hand. 

You slide one of the rifles off your should as well, handing it over to me 

“You a decent shot?” my voice came out in a low whisper, still thick with sleep. 

You let out a small huff as you readjusted your backpack and rifle before climbing onto your horse. Without saying a word you gave him a look that said hurry the fuck up and lets go. 

///

Tommy was right, you were shy.

You didn't say much, not even offering me your name. 

You seemed capable, you took the lead on the trail, you checked out the weapons, you saddled the horses, god you even packed extra food incase I forgot to bring some. 

You were prepared. 

Oh god I hope she doesn’t think I'm some useless trigger happy lug head.

You had taken the lead on everything. Normally I'm the one to prepare, I'm the stoic one, I'm the one taking the lead. God, is Jackson making me soft. 

I felt my every move was under a microscope. Like you were watching and waiting for me to fuck up. 

Every so often I could get a glimpse of your face, your soft expression, your eyes that dart back to find me, eventually you slowed your pace and walked your horse next to mine. Neither of us make an attempt at small talk. Good, can you think of anything worse than “how the weather?”, “who did you have to kill to be here?”, “ouch you lost your parents, yeah so did 80% of the people who live in jackson” bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

Periodically I would see you looking at me but you never met my gaze, always turning away as if I didn't see. You made me feel… sweaty, nervous like I want you to like me.

“I want you to like me” seriously grow up Miller what are you fourteen. You've working together not in an arranged marriage. You didn't even tell me your name until we were several hours into the shift and communication became necessary. 

“Im Joel by the way”  you responded with a look that said yeah I know dumb ass.

For years I've been the quiet one, I've been the muscle, I've been the protector, I've been the lead. Now here you stand in front of me with your arms folded over your chest, cocking a brow looking extremely unamused at me. I towered over you, somehow I've never felt smaller. I felt like a side salad to a steak. I was the supporting act after years of being the main attraction. 

Patrol was uneventful, I tried to stay out of your way and when you told me to jump I asked how high. You held my gaze for a bit longer now and an odd feeling stirred in my stomach when you did. I started to notice small details on you, cuts, scares, bruises, broken finger nails, small patches on your jumper where you had mended it time and time again refusing to leave it behind. The way you adjust your backpack periodically cracking your back as you did so. I liked the way you smelt when you walked close to me or when the wind changed direction. Jasmine.

Small things. Insignificant thing that told me a lot about you.

I wonder what you noticed about me. 

///

I wanted to look at you more. Almost like I want to press pause and study you uninterrupted. That's not creepy joel.

You still held a stony expression when we approached the gates, while I felt relieved to get out of your presence I also liked the way I felt around you. 

You held your hand out to me and for the second time today i find myself zoning out and getting lost in your eyes, your expression doesn't change and oh shit she's talking again 

“Say that again” 

“The horse, Joel” 

God my name never sounded so good coming from someone's mouth.

I look down and see your hand stretched out towards me. 

“Unless you wanna hold my hand” a small smile pulls at the corner of your lips 

Oh god she smiled at me, that's so cute.

I drop the leather strap into your hand, a lazy half smile sits on my face because you smiled at me. She's starting to walk away, say something back, think of something. Anything. 

“Do you need help getting back or do you think you've got it under control?” you ask, turning over your shoulder slightly as you start towards the stables. 

“Im good” my voice cracked slightly from the lack of talking. I could be embarrassed but I'm not, the flutter of your lashes as you looked up at him, the hushed toe of your voice, the plumpness of your cheeks, I don't care how I sounded. 

As I stood watching your walk away I thought about Tommys words again.  “If she treats you like shit she really likes you” 

God, I've never wanted to be treated like shit so bad.

///

“How was it?” Tommy had asked me as he honed in on the bowl of stew, he held it close to his chest as if someone would swipe it from him if he didnt. 

“It was fine” yeah fine in the way that she doesn't even need me there and she gives me a weird feeling in my stomach. 

Tommy raised his eyes from his meal, he rested the bowl on the table with one hand cupping the warm porcelain and the other reaching out for his beer. “Really? Just fine” I've known my brother long enough to know when he's leading me. “Nothing interesting happen that you wanna tell me about?” what the fuck is he getting at?

“Yeah Tommy we had so much fun, we sang songs and picked flowers and braided each other's hair” I spat out “what are you getting at? Nothing happened” Tommys expression didn’t change at my words, the lopsided grin still smeared on his face. 

“It's just that you haven't wiped that smirk off your face since you walked in” 

“Fuck off, tommy” 

///

The next morning came and I didn’t feel as tired as I normally do, my back didn't hurt as bad as I expected it to and the ache in my head reduced to a light fog. My mind felt quiet, almost like all the shouts and screams were happening a mile down the block and not right in front of me. 

I chalk it up to patrol, having something that occupied my mind, something to keep me sharp and it definitely didn't have anything to do with you. 

Get up. Get dressed. Get to it. 

Once I made my coffee and slung the door open as quietly as I could , I returned to my spot on the porch. Once again I closed my eyes and hung my head. Absorbing the noise around me. I opened my eyes for a moment, noting the sharp bit of cold on my big toe, that holes gotten bigger. I close my eyes again. 

Music, the crunch of stone under foot, the shower running from inside the house, the neighbour walking around the second floor next door. I wonder what I'll do today, probably preparing for winter like everyone else. I should go get some food, make a nice dinner for Ellie, and I should try talking to her, make sure she's okay.

“Morning Miller” like I'm being woken from a dream, I open my eyes.

“You busy today?” how the fuck do you know where live? 

///

When you told me you were taking me out of the walls I expected it to be more or less the same as yesterday, like we were filling in a shift for someone else. Instead you walked me to the opposite end of Jackson’s gates and through some poorly secured sheet metal in the fence. I should probably report this to Tommy, this isn't a disaster waiting to happen or anything.

You handed me a pistol and not just any pistol, my pistol. the one I carried halfway across the country with and the one I reached for more times then I can count. The same one I killed with. The one that Tommy had taken from me when I arrived. Was he setting it aside for me? Did he know about your “unofficial patrol” runs? The trails look almost overgrown, like it doesn't get walked often, branches cover parts of the track and the leaves hang low from the trees overhead. Fire

I can feel the sun beaming down on my back leaving a sweat patch right between my shoulder blades and beads of sweat form along my hairline. You walk alongside me, a long sleeve shirt hangs loosely from your form, your hair pushed back behind your ears, although some pieces fall into your face. 

Today felt lighter, the cold air filled my lungs, the sun poured down on me, my pack felt lighter, the weight of the pistol on my hip felt right and the throbbing in my knees felt like no more than a tickle.   

I like the way you smell, even though you said you stank. I liked the way you looked at me, it didn't matter if you were smiling or not.  

“Why did you invite me out today?” I turned to look at you to find your eyes already on me. “Given how talkative you were yesterday” I continued “and does Tommy know we’re out here?”

I hear a laugh escape your lips and when I look over at you you're smiling at me again. The way the sunlight lights up your eyes and makes you look like you're glowing is overwhelming. You look back down at the trail. You adjust your backpack and crack your back, the same way you did yesterday. 

“You seem good, Joel” I fix my eyes back onto the track ahead of me stepping over rocks and fallen branches. “I'm sorry if I came off rude” you continue “In a world where women like me are beaten down, stolen away, used and left for dead…” you stop, eyes firmly fixed on the toe of your boot. You seem so small when the next words come out. 

“I want people to see me as a threat before they see me as anything else" 

///

“Will you walk me home?” you asked me as we approached the gates of Jackson. The possibility of spending more time with you made my heart thump in my chest, even with the ache in my back returning along with the throbbing feeling in my knee, I would walk you anywhere you wanted. Although if I get the chance another time I will make fun of you for asking. The mean little girl wants someone to walk her home. So cute. 

Our unofficial patrol ended when we found an old wood shed about a mile and a half from home. One infected. Taken out by you. We checked a trap out in the woods behind the structure that turned out to be empty. As you waltzed into the wood shed I scanned over the shelves that lined it, books scattered, pens and notepads, a pile of blankets thrown in the corner along with some clothing items, a large black drum sat next to the door, a hose running from the lid of the barrel to the roof. There was an old couch pushed up in the back corner of the shed as well. In the other shelves sat large containers, ‘STOCK’ scrawled across the front of a few of them.

Looking around the structure I soon realised that we didn't ‘find' the place, you were just coming back to it. “What the fuck is this pace?” I asked as you rummaged around in one of the boxes marked “STOCK” 

“Some of the kids call it the love shack” You looked over at me, amusement in your voice “but it's kind of like a supply station” you pull something out of the container and jam it into your bag before i can make out what it is “and yes Tommy knows all about this place” 

What's that tone? Mischief playing in your voice. Is she only saying that so I don’t tell Tommy? She's not that stupid. 

I followed you up your porch stairs taking in the exterior of your home. It's small, the front steps bow when you step on them from years or use. The paint on the weatherboards peeling and faded with time. The elements havent been kind to a lot of the homes in Jackson and I have spent a lot of time looking around thinking of all the things I would do if I had the resources. It didn't stop at my house either. Soon I was imagining renovating half the town.

Your front wire door looked like it was hanging on by a thread and one of the gutters and pipes that ran down the side of your house was all but rusted out. 

I stopped when I reached the top step, you shoved your front door open with your shoulder and knee, a practised move that I'm sure you've done hundreds of times before, knowing just the right angle to hit it at. 

Once the door swung open you shrugged off your bag and toed off your boots.

“Wait here a sec, okay?” and you disappeared into the house “I’ve got something for you” I hear you shout from somewhere inside.

I approached the front door but did not step over the threshold. Looking into your home felt like reading someone's diary or eavesdropping on a secret or walking in on someone changing. 

Books lay spread out on the ground next to the fireplace and on what he assumes is your dining table. Blankets draped over the couch and spilt out of a basket near the front door.

She told me to wait.

A day bed sits in the corner of your lounge room. A basket of yarn spilling out onto the floor along with a few half finished projects along with a tin full of sewing needles, pins, measuring tapes, scissors and a few different colours of thread. 

she didn't tell me not to come in but she also didn't invite me in.

The whole room was lit up in a soft orange glow from the afternoon sunlight pouring in from your kitchen window. It looked warm. It looked like a home. 

Why do I feel so dirty for looking. It's just her living room.

The image of you sitting here on this sofa popped into my head, a blanket wrapped up around your shoulders. Half asleep with a book in your hand while it rained.

I'm not doing anything wrong, I'm just looking.

Or layed out by the fire. The dancing flames lighting up your eyes and warming your soft skin making you glow in the otherwise dark house. 

“What are you smiling about?” you asked looking up at where I stood, a hand propped up on the door jam.

“Just lookin” my palms feel sweaty. You were just checking out her house, not her ass. Calm down Miller. 

I look down at the item you extend to me. It's a bottle, the label worn and water damaged. The seal on the top has been broken and the lid has dents and scratches, it looks like it's been pasted through a few other hands before it found its way into yours. Take the bottle you moron.

“Thank you, its real nice of ya” 

The bottle was filled with an amber liquid and as soon as I opened the lid and inhaled I could tell that this bottle of, what I can only assume is homebrewed bourbon didn't come cheap and didn't come around often.

Now, I didn't know it at the time but this would be the first of many gifts that you would bestow upon Ellie and I. 

The next thing you did for me was mend my clothes, including my favourite pair of socks that I was wearing that first day we met. 

After that I would be coming over and borrowing tools because my dumb ass brother never returned mine and then you would make a joke about needing a screw or asking how big my hammer was. Then you would teach Ellie to sew ‘a skill everyone should know’ you told her.

I would come over in the next few days and clean out the gutters before the storms started to roll in. I would rip out the rotting floorboards from your front porch and replace rusty nails. You would bring me homemade meals or fresh bread to which I would invite you in and you would never decline. 

I loved how you seemed to fit into the house that was meant to be mine, but you felt like a part of you was here even after you left. You would kick off your boots leaving them alongside mine and you would throw your jacket on the hook next to mine or throw it on the back of the couch. 

I didn't know it now but soon I would be teaching you chords on the guitar and swapping books with you. 

I would happily follow you out on more unofficial patrols, sometimes we would be gone for a few days at a time trying to find supplies in dilapidated barns and old properties that had fallen victim to time and the elements. Tommy did know about these little excursions, although he didn't know about the makeshift hole in the fence. I'm sure you got a slap on the wrist for that one.   

I would be coming over to your house to drag Ellie home when she was avoiding chores or trying to dodge school.

I just didn't know yet. 

“You need me to help you get home?” a bashful smile laced your face. I couldn't tell if you were just flushed from the warmth of your home or if you were blushing. 

You pushed past me in the doorway raising an arm and pointing a finger past my shoulder down the street. 

I let my eyes follow the outstretched arm. Seven houses. Seven houses and across the street was all that separated us. Fuck

“See ya neighbour” 

As I walked home I could feel the goofy smile that hung from my lips. 

I slowed my pace, observing the bottle as I went. Chatter in the streets picked up, people started to return from assignment to rejoin their families, others turning straight to the bison in favour of a drink. I listened to the distant sound of children laughing and playing in the streets. The sounds of a neighbourhood. 

///

That was the first night I dreamt about you, it was the first night you pulled me out of a bad dream. It was the first night that I went to sleep with your face at the front of my mind. When I woke up in the middle of the night you were the first thing I thought of. When I closed my eyes and pulled my cock out of my boxers I saw you and when I started jerking myself off I saw you. Fuck i feel dirty. I couldn't stop myself even if I tried. I saw your smile and the strands of hair that stuck to your face. I pictured you laid out by your fireplace, bathed in an orange glow with my hand around your throat as you moaned my name.  

Just once, get it out of your system. She’s attractive, I'm only human. It's fine. 

I let myself imagine all the things I would do to you. Because in the morning i wouldn't think about it again

Just once

I let myself imagine your tight pussy swallowing me up. I could almost feel your hot breath on my neck. I let myself imagine you on all fours and I let myself imagine you riding me on the couch in your living room.

Just once

I let myself imagine how your pussy would taste as I ate you out and I let myself imagine how you could sound as you came on my face, on my cock, on my fingers.

“Just once” I whispered to myself before I spilled onto my hand and sheets.

[boundinparchment]

Autumnal Delights

Modern AU-esque. In which you and Sunday visit an apple orchard and create something delicious. Sunday/GN Reader, established relationship. Written for @owlespresso's Autumn Festival collab! On AO3 here.

The air was crisp and fresh, a reprieve from the oppressive summer heat that carried the slightest sweetness.  Dirt crunched under foot as you stepped off the line of people, two paid bags in your hand.  Sunday hung back from the clusters of people, instead taking a picture of the orchard map and stepping away to research the variations listed on it.

The first attempt at this had gone rather poorly.  That day, it was muddy and the harvest wasn’t that good.  Most of the remaining selections were picked clean and he’d torn a sleeve reaching to prevent you from falling.  He couldn’t fathom why people willingly picked their own fruit when it meant such an ordeal.

And so you planned better.  Made sure the weather was ideal.  You arrived as early as you could.  He was still a little uneasy but prepared.  More rugged but still stylish shoes joined a light modern jacket and while he still wore slacks, they were more durable than his suit pants.  You could tell by his wings that he felt at ease, and when he cast a warm smile as you approached, you saw a fraction of a flutter skin his cheeks.

“We’re all set,” you said, holding up the plastic bags.  “We can pick as many as we can fit.  Where should we start?”

Sunday assessed the map again, this time marking up the photo, drawing a loop around certain patches that ended at the entrance.  He showed you the result.

“This allows us to hit every grove that has the types you need—Granny Smith, Golden Delicious, and Honeycrisp—while also providing the most variety and enjoying the entire area,” he explained.

He pointed to particular groves along the way.

“I, for one, would love to try this…Keepsake variety,” Sunday said, making a note.  “It is apparently sweet and aromatic.”

You stifled a laugh as you looked over the grove listings.  “Sounds a bit Ludacrisp if you ask me.”

Your companion shook his head and shot you an enigmatic smile before you began to head towards a particular grove.  Sunday extended his arm and you took it, nestling your hand in the crook of his elbow as you surveyed the orchard, the trees absorbing much of the surrounding chatter.  The sky was clear and vibrant, a sharp contrast against the greenery.  Grass rustled as you walked and when you came to the grove with Granny Smiths, both of you began assessing the best options.

“Was there ever anything like this on Penacony?” you asked.  “Not apple picking, necessarily, but…did any dreamscape ever have its own seasons, ever emulate certain qualities from other planets?  The Charmony Festival is once in an Amber Era but…”

You plucked one apple, and then another, dropping them into one of the bags.  Sunday reached up above you and, after examination, pulled it from its perch with a snap, leaves shivering from the vibration.  It joined the others with a hiss of friction against the plastic.

“The Moments of Oasis and Scorchsand both have certain qualities that would allow for it, but considering they are still parts of a dream and one is asleep…it makes for a poor substitute compared to the feeling of the sun pouring down and the tickle of leaves or hearing genuine laughter and excitement,” he said.

Sunday’s words sat with you for a moment as you watched his eyes skim the tree, looking for a suitable candidate.  The morning sun glinted off of his halo and made his silver hair sparkle.  He was clearly trying to be present and cognizant of the moment, focused not only on being efficient but enjoying the day.

You moved on to the next section, looking for Golden Delicious next, every once in a while pausing and taking in a particular view or scent or sensation.  Along the way, you came across trees with irregular shaped apples, red coloration over yellow skin.  Sunday checked the map and paused, careful in his section.

“So these are Keepsakes…” he murmured.  “Quite vibrant.”

You held out the other bag, still empty, wordlessly offering your assistance.  Two bags made it easier to keep the apples you needed for baking separate from what you considered the edible options.

He picked three but paused with the third.  His hand hovered over the bag before it pulled it back, wings folding in careful consideration before he let the apple join the others.  

“I don’t know if I’ll enjoy them.  It seems quite wasteful to take up space if there’s another type you would like.” 

“The whole point is to try something new, not just get what we need for baking, Sunday.  Pick what you think you might want to eat,” you replied, adjusting the bag to lay a reassuring hand on his upper arm.  “Don’t hold back all because of a possible what-if that might not be the end result.”

Sunday leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.  You felt his words of gratitude against your skin more than you heard them as his wings grazed your cheeks.  You continued on until both bags were bursting; the smile on his face during the drive home was worth every aching bone in your feet.

The next day, you tied an apron around your waist and assessed the haul closely, ingredients laid out and recipe card nearby.  It was an old thing, a copy of a copy passed down over the years, boxed at the corners with a coffee ring marring an edge.  You knew it by heart by now.  But you wanted Sunday to have the full experience.

He was already neatly folding up his sleeves and pulling them up so they stayed without constant checking.  Much like yesterday, he was wearing clothes that wouldn’t need dry cleaning and could handle the inevitable mess.  You couldn’t help tracing the lines of his hands up into his forearms, shaped from his time adventuring on the Express.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sunday caught you watching him and his wings fluttered as pink crossed his cheeks.  You smiled and mouthed an apology, only for him to step behind you, hands on your waist as he nestled into your neck, feathers tickling.

“I am always flattered by your admiration, my beloved, but you shouldn’t allow yourself to be so easily distracted.”

With a peck to the curve of your neck, Sunday pulled away and plucked his own apron from the nearby rack, ready to start.

You washed the apples together before you began to peel them.  At first, you expected to have to show Sunday how to hold the small knife and angle it just below the surface; he surprised you, picking up both with practiced ease.  The skin came free in long, curling ribbons that were pushed aside to be baked separately.

“It wasn’t often but I used to do this for my sister,” Sunday said when he caught the curious tilt of your head.  “Peeled and cored, with the skin left to be given to the visiting birds and other creatures in the gardens.”

There was more to the simple tale, you sensed, but you remained quiet and waited until he finished an apple before pressing a clean hand to the space between his shoulder blades.  Chances were, like all things, he stopped not because he didn’t want to, but because of his growing duties as Family Head.  

He said nothing else but cast you a soft smile before you stepped away to take care of the dough.

Butter, flour, baking powder, salt, were whisked together as Sunday continued peeling, humming as he went.  You added ice-cold water to the dry mixture, mixing with a fork before you reached over and pre-heated the oven, the soft pop of the ignition barely audible underneath Sunday’s melody.  Often, he wasn’t aware he was doing it but had said that it was a reflex when he was content, relaxed enough to focus his thoughts elsewhere.  

You didn’t recognize the tune but swayed softly as you sprinkled flour across the counter and began to roll out the dough.  Your heart skipped as he continued, his humming only broken by the snick of the apple corer and slices dropping into the ceramic bowl nearby.  

With the dough tucked into the pie dish and pricked with a fork, you turned your attention back to Sunday, who was finishing the last apple.  All of them were uniform and perfectly peeled, the air smelling tangy and sweet.  Baking took a specific exactitude that seemed to fit him like a glove and he measured each ingredient out precisely as needed.  You, in turn, stirred the apples to coat them, pausing only so Sunday could add a liquid after each thorough mixing.  Lemon juice, and then water, and then flour for good measure.

“Wouldn’t that upset the flavor balance?” Sunday asked.

“It’ll keep the filling from being too runny,” you replied.  “Otherwise it can ruin the crust, too.  Can you pour this into the pie dish?  I have to start on the dough for the top latticing.”

You made quick work of the second batch of dough, and rolled and cut strips, showing Sunday how to weave them between one another.  Here, too, you watched his precision at work as he kept the strips equidistant, spacing them perfectly.  Even after the edge of the dish was finished, both of you were left with a sizable amount of dough.

“We could decorate it a bit,” you offered.  “There’s enough here for a braid around the edge, maybe?”

After a beat, Sunday said, “I have an idea.  If you’d permit me?”

As soon as you nodded, he was undoing the ties of your apron, shooing you from the kitchen.  Your face must have carried a look of concern, eyes darting to the oven, because Sunday only chuckled and wiped a stray dusting of flour from your cheek, smile steady.

 “The recipe is very exact about the rest of the baking process, don’t fret.  I’ll come get you when it’s finished.”

With no other choice, you retreated from the kitchen, the smell of cinnamon and cloves and apples and butter wafting through the entire living space.  The timer went off roughly an hour later and Sunday retrieved you after you heard the oven open and close, the corners of his lips quirked upwards, proud in his triumph.

He covered your hands with his eyes and led you back out into the kitchen, chuckling softly when you mentioned how thick the scent was.

“That was your handiwork, you picked the arrangement.  I merely measured,” Sunday said, the tip of his nose nuzzling the back of your head.  “Okay, you can look now.”

His warm hands pulled away and you gasped at the golden perfection.  The edge of the pie had a vine-like pattern and small flowers dotted the cross-sections.  Tiny leaves were placed along the edge, carefully shaped to look like some of the leaves you picked up and pressed earlier in the season, the first leaves to fall this year.

You turned around, beaming.  “It’s so pretty I don’t want to eat it!  You have to have the first bite when it’s cool, I insist.”

Sunday, instinctively, was about to protest and defer to you as he always did, thinking of the joy of others; he paused when you shook your head and his wings relaxed, his face turning pink again.  It brought him delight to see others partaking, you well knew, but why deprive himself of the same?  He, too, deserved to feel the excitement and joy of his hard work every once in a while, not just witness that of others.

A compromise was reached—a shared first piece—and you swore you knew no greater joy than his expression, eyes closed as he ruminated on every flavor, wings fluttering with exuberance.  Warmth spread through you as you took a bite, sugary spice running along your tongue with buttery crispness from the crust.

Next time, you reminded yourself silently, he had to try it with ice cream.

[chiropteracupola]

The love of the Wanderer is to wanderers.

[lavender-temult]

why do baby otohan’s colors look like fuckign TOOTHPASTE in this version 😭😭😭

[wormthing]

Proč nás nenávidíte? Why do you hate us?

R.U.R. scene redraws (referenced from Flat Earth Theatre's 2009 production)

[reblog-house]

Just taking a stroll on the cliffside with poppies around, not a care in the world.

[drawnecromancy]

Sometimes my dad's friends are kind to me and it beats up the imposter syndrome in my brain a little bit

[slightlytoastedbagel]

the two moods of making stuff for polysquad week (as I have found):

"This is horrible. I can't draw people why did I think this was a good idea? Do they look ok? They're just going to be lying down for all of these aren't they?"

"Hehe. Yuka Shiraishi <3."

[byakuyasdarling]

I hate randomly blocking people that follow me for no reason other than “what they draw makes me uncomfortable” because it illustrates a fundamental misunderstanding of MY SCRIMBLO (/lh). I understand it’s simply conjecture, but people who highlight that part of his light novel (a part that was revealed to be a dream and not close to canonicity) bother me a lot.

[the-halfling-prince]

Dumb joke. Sorry. (I just wanted to put my idea down real quick before I started the actual drawing else I might've forgotten the idea by the time I drew the person to put it on.) But anyway here's a wip.

[arolesbianism]

Some more concept designs for my newest iterator ocs! In order we have Endless Grains of Sand (she/her), Deep Coated Mist (she/her), Purity Preserved (he/they), and Twisted Orbit (he/they/she). This is also in order from oldest to youngest, Sand and Mist are both Very old

(Synchronized Light is also a part of the group, they’re the very youngest)

[tonycries]

Hope They Catch Us - G.S.

Synopsis. When you’re on-screen, it’s always a rivalry to see who’s best - you just never thought that it would be the same struggle in bed.

Pairing. Actor! Gojo Satoru x Co-Star! Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, rivals-to-lovers, co-stars to lovers, unprotected, oral (fem receiving) slight exhíbitionism (stuff with cameras), marking, praise, Satoru is actually down BAD, cúmplay, tabloids, lowkey fluffy at the end, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.5k

A/N. YA GIRL IS BACKKKK ;D Also happy belated three months to this blog hehehe.

Lights, Camera, Drama: Gojo Satoru and Leading Lady’s Off-Screen Feud to SINK Box Office Darling?

“They’ll Kill Each Other!” Insider Source Spills All on the Royal Rivalry Between Hollywood’s Hottest Bachelor and Bachelorette.

Enemies of The Century or Publicity Stunt? Recent Cast Outings Sets Fans Speculating!

---

You hated him. Oh, how you hated him. All because of a red-hot rivalry that had sparked ever since the two of you took the industry by storm. And everyone from Hollywood’s bigshots to your adoring fans knew that no matter where Gojo Satoru goes, you were sure to never be within a ten-mile radius. 

Well, usually. 

“I…shit- I’m in love with you.” 

Because avoiding Gojo like a plague really isn’t saying much when said plague was currently sitting right next to you. Eyes boring into yours, signature smirk plastered on his face while he rattles off a disgustingly sweet confession - all on the set of your latest movie. 

Somehow, in a cruel twist of fate, your co-star. 

And to add insult to injury, this wasn’t just any movie - it was only set to be the biggest romance film of the summer. So not only did you hate to tolerate Gojo, you had to pretend to be in love with him. 

Perfect. Great. Wonderful. If only the check wasn’t as tempting as it was, you think he would’ve successfully driven you to an aneurysm already. Especially considering that the scene tomorrow was-

“CUT!” 

That snaps you out of your little reverie, bringing you back to the still very ongoing film shooting. You risk a glance at the disgruntled director, cheeks aching from the sappy fake smile you had to hold for this scene.

“Something wrong?” you bat your lashes deceivingly innocently. You knew exactly what was wrong. And one look at Gojo - dressed to the nines and huffing sulkily at being interrupted in the middle of his monologue - told you that he did as well.

“It just doesn’t feel real.” The director shuffles his script, voice dropping to a sigh at your confused gazes. “The spark, it doesn't feel real.”

“What?” you silently thank your years of acting for keeping your voice steady. You squirm in your seat the longer the silence stretches. This cozy little café they rented out too tight, Gojo’s fingers intertwined with yours too hot. Too soft. 

“C’mon. You are in the perfect romantic set-up.” the other man gestures wearily at the café, at the dim-lighting and the proximity of your seats. “So why do you two look like you want to just- strangle each other?”

“Ooo kinky~”

It’s the first time Gojo’s spoken up since the scene was ended early and honestly that was enough to have you fulfilling the director’s suspicions. 

“That.” you give him a pointed stare. “That is probably why.”

And that just draws out such an infuriatingly light chuckle from Gojo, as he sprawls all over his chair with the audacity of someone that owned this entire set. “Lighten up. You’ve told us, n’ in the next take I’ll fix it. Easy peasy.”

If only it was that “easy peasy”. The director was anything but satisfied, running a hand through his hair frustratedly. “It’s not just me, even the public is worried whether your ‘feud’ will get in the way of such intimate scenes. You-” he jabs a finger your way. “-better pretend like you want to kiss him senseless and you-” whirling now to Gojo. “-better act like you’ve wanted nothing more for years- Not to mention tomorrow’s sex scene-”

Ah, right. The sex scene. 

How could you forget? It might not be a walk in the park to giggle and make heart-eyes at Gojo, but to actually pretend to have sex with him? All on camera? Curse whoever wrote this damn script. You could’ve almost laughed at the universe’s absolutely awful sense of humor if it hadn’t been for your paycheck - and the next words that tumble out of Gojo’s pretty mouth. 

“We’ll ace it, you just watch.” 

You hurriedly snap your eyes to meet Gojo’s, sending him a look that says “behave”, in a way that very much makes him not want to. Twinkling with such dangerous mischief that makes your stomach flip as he hums, “Or- I’ll ace it.”

God, was it a battle to remain professional. The only thing stopping you from snapping back being the way he squeezes your hand mockingly reassuringly - to which you send him a death grip back, of course. 

“Oh? Care to elaborate, Mr. Gojo?” the director asks, eyes flitting between the two of you. And you can’t even laugh at the rest of the staff for almost toppling out of their seats in an attempt to hear his answer - because you are, too. Mind whirling as you lean closer, wondering just what nonsense would come out of Gojo’s mouth. 

“Well, you could say…” he trails off suspensefully, like the smug bastard he is. Looking right in your eyes as he flashes an unfairly pretty smile your way. “I’m irresistible like that.”

Exactly the type of nonsense that would come out of Gojo Satoru, of course. And one glance at the director told you he was thinking the same thing. He was going to be the death of you. You can’t help but breathe out shrilly, “You fucking-”

“My apologies, director, but our leads have a scheduled interview soon. Rest assured, we will be early on set for filming tomorrow.”

You were definitely giving Nanami a raise after this. 

Because if looks could kill then Gojo would be six feet under and you’d be dancing on his grace already - and you let him know. A little over twenty times, actually, as the both of you are hastily escorted away from the set for an “emergency interview”. 

It was a flimsy excuse, you both knew, but Nanami hadn’t exactly felt like cleaning up a crime scene today. Instead, settling for a swift escape, the director calling out after you two to “Look like you’re gonna rip the clothes off each other tomorrow.”

Rip the clothes off each other, huh?

With the way things were going, you couldn’t be surprised if you ripped him a new-

“C’mon, sweetheart~” Gojo gets out through giggles, that familiar cackle echoing in the narrow hallway leading to your trailer. “Y’know I was just having a little fun with that ol’ man.”

He saunters unhurriedly behind your brisk pace, easily blocking the way you swing the door shut in his face. Letting it shut with such infuriatingly smooth nonchalance. 

“Fun?” you scoff, jabbing an accusing finger right in the middle of his sculpted chest.“Do you even realize the mess you could’ve made?”

“Easy there, m’not insured for these pecs just yet.” Gojo clasps your hands together. Some strange little part of your skin burning at the touch in- anger? Something else? But you don’t think too hard about it, because he’s plowing on, “Besides, a little teasing never hurt anyone.”

Such a shame he was so pretty with the stupidest mouth.

“A little teasing? You practically declared to everyone in that room that we’re gonna fuck this up.” you move to pull him down by the collar instead, clearly unimpressed.

But oh you shouldn’t have done that - because he’s so close now. Too close. Hot breath fanning your face, looking so smug as he murmurs unrepentantly, “Do you?” Chuckling lightly at your little head tilt, “Do you think we’ll fuck it up?”

You clench your jaw, trying to keep it all together. “...No.”

“Exactly. We’re good then.” he winks. 

“No. We’re not fucking ‘good’.” you grit out. Wondering exactly how difficult it might be to bother the director into completely recasting the male lead for the movie. Looking up at that million dollar smile and- yeah, it would be very difficult. “You’re so insufferable. I don’t know why they cast you.” 

“My good looks? My charisma? The way I’m the-” he trails off with a sigh at your glare. “Well, you’re not exactly a ray of sunshine, sweetheart.”

“At least I can act and-.”

He whines dramatically, cutting off your rant. “Me too!” 

This conversation was so ridiculous - but, hey, the great Gojo Satoru always did bring out the worst parts of you. 

“Nuh uh.” 

“Yuh uh.” 

“Then why are you so stiff when acting like you’re in love with me?”

Somehow, that makes Gojo shut up. Mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water - gasping out a strangled little, “B-because- well-” And if you didn’t know any better you’d say that was a light blush dusting his ears.

Only for a split-second, though, because he’s grabbing you gently by your shoulders, more seriously than you’d ever seen him. “Fine. Listen, we both want the same thing right? To have pretend-sex and ace this film to win like five Oscars?”

And maybe at the heat of his newfound proximity, maybe at the way he was looking at you so goddamn intensely - you feel something hot and prickly pooling in your stomach. Swallowing thickly, you manage to get out, “I’ll be the one winning the Oscars...but yes.”

Gojo’s gaze roams all over you - from the quirk of your eyebrow to the dress hugging you so sinfully tight. “Then we’ll do it. Ace the scene.”

Traitorously, a shiver runs down your spine. And because the universe loves to play jokes on you, Gojo notices - of course, he does. Eyes lighting up with amusement and something you really didn’t want to decipher as you blink up questioningly, “How?”

“Method acting, silly.” he rolls his eyes, as if he wasn’t implying something that wasn’t seen in even the cheesiest of romcoms. “Think of it as running lines.”

If there was ever a moment where your life flashed behind your eyes then this just might be it. 

“You-” you gulp, so hot all over. “You better shut the fuck up and pray your face is insured because-”

At this, Gojo throws his head back and laughs - loud and boisterous. And usually you’d have a thing or two to say about keeping his voice down so as not to let anyone outside hear, but shit you were mesmerized. Damn, a weird little part of you kind of understood why directors loved him onscreen. 

“Feisty,” he muses. “But how can I shut the fuck up when they’re second-guessing the two best actors in the game?” 

“The best? Me, maybe.” you lean in closer, mouth as bitchy as ever - even when you’re so obviously crumbling bit by bit under his gaze. And he knew that. “But not you.”

“Well, only way to find out is with tomorrow’s scene, right, sweetheart?” 

He drove you mad - everything from his heady cologne, to the way that overpriced button-up clung to him like second skin. But, don’t pull away - how could you? Not when he inches closer ever-so-slightly. Not when he lets those overpriced glasses slide down his nose, eyes locked so heavily on you.

Fighting to keep your words steady, “There’s nothing special about that scene, just fake moan in front of the camera, right? We don’t need any…‘method acting’.”

Gojo only raises a brow in amusement, lips curling into a grin that really makes you too aware of his little dimple by the corner. “Then why…” His eyes flicker down from his hands, searing on your shoulders, to yours - still grabbing his collar, just grazing the soft skin of his neck. Not pulling away. “...can’t you let go of me, sweetheart?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you, you really don’t give a fuck. The only thing running through your mind being that shit this was Gojo bane-of-your-existence Satoru, and he tasted so…sweet. Like those cheap lollipops he often snuck on-set. Strawberry, you think.

But you don’t get to confirm, because suddenly he’s pulling away mere millimeters. Whispering hotly, absolutely dripping with something dangerous, “Sooo, is that a ‘yes’ to running lines?”

“Ugh, shut up.” your lips ghost his. “And just fucking kiss me.”

And, well, Gojo doesn’t have to be asked twice. Because it only takes a split second for his lips to find yours again. 

Yeah, definitely strawberry lollipops.

You hadn’t filmed any of the kissing scenes just yet, but damn you didn’t expect him to be so hot and messy - like he was drunk off of you. Licking at the seam of your candied lips, groaning softly like he wanted more more more-

“Sh-shit, Goj-” 

“Call me ‘Satoru’ when we’re fucking.” he cuts you off. “Or, my bad. When we’re ‘running lines’.” 

Shameless. Though, you guess you weren’t any better - not as you press yourself closer running your hands all over his sinfully thin shirt, feeling every bump and curve of his abs. “You talk too much, Toru.” you hiss, muffled against his lips. 

Oh that cute lil’ nickname had all the blood rushing to Satoru’s cock, you were so unfair. 

“You little minx.” Like a little punishment, he’s biting down on your bottom lip, tugging lightly at your surprised squeal. “You’re gonna regret that.”

“Hmm, I doubt it.”

And then your back is hitting the couch before you can react, bouncing lightly at the sheer force. And you’re so swept up in him - the way he hovers over you, arms looping around your waist, his knee wedging between your legs - that it almost hurts for you to pull away.

“Patience.” you huff out a laugh at Satoru’s disappointed whine, eyeing those pretty pink lips mere inches away from you. You just wanted them on yours. So badly. But no, there was something more important you had to do right now. “Jus’ thought we should record our little rehearsal, whaddaya think?”

“Record it?”

“Record it.”

“Record it, hmmm?” he’s whispering, more to himself than you. Fumbling with the zipper of your dress. “So you’re sayin’ we tape it, let the camera see how pretty you look all fallin’ apart f’me.” Kissing down your neck, letting the flimsy fabric fall down, “N’ then we improve for the pretend sex. Shut all those snobby directors up by giving them the best fucking sex scene they’ve ever seen.”

“Y-yes?” you mutter, as he starts tweaking your hardened nipples through your bra, clearly having way too much fun with this. “Unless-”

“Fine by me.”

The fabric hits the floor before you even realize what’s happening. Head spinning too much from the idea of being fucked on camera - by Satoru of all people, it takes you a second to realize that this bastard fucking ripped your dress off. 

“You probably broke-” 

“I’ll buy you a new one.” muffled, as he kisses down your navel, blindly fumbling with his phone. 

“It was expensive.”

With an impatient sigh, Satoru sets the camera up on the coffee table beside the couch. “Five new ones.” Angling it just right to perfectly capture you - in all your disheveled, horny glory, and Satoru, smugly seating himself between your thighs. 

“Ready?” he asks, finger hovering over that damn red button.

Well, it’s just for rehearsal, right? Right? 

“Do it.” you manage to get out, voice getting stuck in your throat at the faint ding! that rings throughout the heady room. “For my Oscars?”

“For my Oscars. N’the camera’s gonna know.”

And whatever retort on the tip of your tongue dies when he rocks his hip against yours, grinding his cock against your soaked panties. Rock-hard and so damp with precum already - so big that any and all rational thinking flies out the window.

Which is probably why you’re letting out such a pretty gasp, ‘S-Satoru, I want-“

“What?” And Satoru only flashes you a devilish grin, hands spreading your legs as far as they’d go on the couch. “This?”

He licks a long, long stripe up your inner thigh, all the way till he just meets the hem of your drenched panties. Teasing. So hot and depraved in the way he breathes in your scent. 

“Oh fuck, sweetheart.” Satoru grunts, looking down in awe at the damp fabric, so flimsy and see-through with your sweet juices. You slick beading through so sloppily, just a hint of the state you were in. “You don’t know how you drive me mad.”

Rip! 

He’s so fucking starved that he’s just tearing your poor panties clean off. Throwing them behind him to God-knows-where before spreading your swollen folds with his thumb, showing off just how wet you were for him. 

“You’re a tease.”

“And you’re fucking addictive. Look how fuckin’ wet you are. For who, huh?” he slurs, breath hot against your cunt. Circling your entrance just barely with his fingertip, teasing you like he was addicted to those frustrated moans coming out of your pretty lips. 

“S’for you-” you whine, “All for you, Satoru.”

“Exactly what I wanted to hear.”

And that’s all that needs to be said before he’s burying himself nose-deep. Drunk off your pussy as he licks long, languid movements. And it wasn’t enough - never might be, actually, because only one taste and Satoru was like a man possessed. 

Bullying his tongue between your folds, just dipping into your sloppy hole in a way that had your slick smearing all over his pretty face. Letting out such deep groans that had you clenching around his hot tongue. 

Shit, if you knew that this was the way to shut up the great Gojo Satoru then you would’ve done it a lot sooner. Because for one in his life, Satoru’s too entranced with something else to run his mouth, so fucking satisfied between your thighs. 

“Fuck- hah- think I like you better w-when hngh- you’re like this, Toru.” you purr, breath hitching as he bullies his tongue between your folds. 

Maybe you were an idiot - maybe you were a genius, because that only sets him off more. 

And suddenly Satoru’s pulling your body closer onto his hot mouth, like you were weighless. Pushing himself so impossibly closer while he makes out deeper with your wet cunt. 

“Ah! Hngh- Satoru-” you keen, tugging at his soft locks. As delirious as Satoru was pussydrunk. Drinking in all your cute lil’ whines of his name, angling your hips to lick all over like he couldn’t decide between fucking your sloppy hole or toying with your poor, ravaged clit. 

“Mhm?” he murmurs, the vibrations making you squeal.  Eyes rolling to the back of his head as lets your sweet juices slide down his throat. “Ya like this?” Stretching you out on his tongue, thrusting in and out of your sloppy hole. Over and over- “Like when I tonguefuck your pretty pussy?”

“Ngh- love it- s’good. Ah fillin’ me up s’good.” you squeal, bucking your hips desperately into his pretty face, broken little whimpers leaving you at each rough push of Satoru’s tongue. 

And oh Satoru thinks he wouldn’t mind being on his knees every day if it meant he got to taste you like this. “Tell the camera too, sweetheart. Practice how you’ll come around my tongue.”

Those words send a jolt up your spine - or maybe it was the way Satoru was sucking harshly on your clit. “F-fuck off.”

“Mhmmm, n’ this is why I’m the better actor..”

Ugh, this fucker. And with that you fight to turn your head - looking right in the camera. Feeling so fucking lewd as you let out such pornographic moans.

“Yeah- feel s’good.” you whimper, “Wanted this for so long, ever since I first saw- ngh- you-”

And shit were you so fucking evil - at least warn a guy! Because that has Satoru’s heart lurching, almost jumping up from between your legs before it hits him with a pang - ah, right, you were just quoting your character’s lines. Of course.

Well, two can play that game.

“Yeah?” he mutters into your folds. Two fingers plunging knuckle-deep in your pussy, massaging your plushy walls. Roaming around for that one spot he knows will have you falling apart so deliciously. “Can’t believe I waited s’fucking long. Y’know how hard it was to hold back? With you wearing all those slutty skirts f’me?”

Your body is jerking violently, both at his - practiced - words, and the way he was devouring you like you were his favorite meal. His favorite taste.

So eager and in-character with the way he was setting such a dizzying pace on your poor cunt. Slick trailing down from his fingers, all the way to his wrist. So sloppy and- Pressing down. Hard. “Found it.”

And you can only sit there and take it, such cute little whines of Satoru’s name leaving you as he leaves no mercy. Jaw grinding deeper and deeper, maddening. Aching as he rolls and swirls his tongue against your clit over and over. And you were so-

“Close?” Satoru’s grunting and smacking his lips against your own. Truthfully, he didn’t even have to ask - if the way you were trembling and squeezing so fucking tightly around him was anything to go by. “Go on darling. scream my name. Show off f’the camera like you do best.”

“Sh-shit. Toru- fuck yes-” you’ve got an iron-tight grip on his hair now, pulling and angling him as you pleased for more. Barely able to let out those strained lil’ moans, definitely not with the way he’s dragging your sloppy pussy all over his face. Fingers cramping up from how rough he was going - but still not stopping. 

“Go on. Cum f’me.”

And then you are. Letting out such a teary, strangled moan of Satoru’s name as you cum all over his face. 

And it’s not just for the camera either - because this orgasm is probably the best one you’ve had in a while. So hard that you don’t even realize you’re arching and rocking your hips into Satoru, white-hot pleasure behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. Using him. 

And he doesn’t stop you. Why would he? You were so pretty falling apart all because of him. He wishes he could see this more often…

“S-Satoru.” you mewl, overstimulated. Jolting with each flick of his tongue, trying to close your legs but you can’t - he won’t let you. Greedily lapping up all your sweet juices, everything that you give him. 

“Nope.” he drawls, finally pulling away, delicate strings of your slick snapping as he does. Looking so fucking drunk off of you that it makes your cunt quiver exhaustedly. “C’mon now, sweetheart, you were s’pposed to say my character’s name. S’how the scene goes.”

Oh. Shit, you got too caught up. But one look at Satoru - eyes half-lidded, hair disheveled, your juices glistening all over the bottom half of his face so prettily - tells you he was much the same. 

“Well…” you huff, voice shot. “According to the script you were supposed to stuff that-” pointedly eyeing the achingly hard cock straining his pants, “-in my mouth first before eating me out. So here we are.”

With a chuckle, he rises slowly. “Touché.” Looking you straight in the eyes - and probably into your very soul - as he pops his fingers into his mouth. One by one. Groaning at the taste of your sweet sweet juices while he sucks them clean. “But I don’t think I’d last one second with those pretty lips wrapped around my cock.”

And it almost makes you want to tease him for it - one of Hollywood’s biggest It Boys but you can’t handle a lil’ blowjob? But all of that gets stuck in your throat as Satoru starts peeling off his shirt ever-so-slowly. 

Shit, you think. All mouthwatering curves and dips, all the way from his toned, milky shoulders down, down, down to those neat tufts of white peeking out from the hem of his underwear. Sculpted like he was handcrafted so meticulously - a fucking masterpiece, you had to admit. 

One that made you wish you took a longer look at all those shirtless magazine covers instead of throwing them out. One that had your thighs squeezing in such anticipation.

And Satoru seemed to be admiring you just the same, eyes locked on your pussy, the way it glistens and clenches around nothing - so ready for him. Distinctly aware of how pathetically needy you were being in front of the blinking camera, you crane your head to glance at it. Was it really capturing-

“Now now, first rule is to never look at the camera during this scene.” Only for Satoru to squish your cheeks together, forcing you into an embarrassing little pout as he turns you back to face him. “Look at me.”

And oh you can’t not look at him. 

Especially when he tugs his pants down, just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, so fucking long and pretty. Smearing glossy precum all over his abs, flushed your favorite shade of pink, rock-hard and so so angry. Shit, he was so hard it looked like it hurt. 

“Satoru…” you breathe, legs wrapping around his slutty waist to pull him closer. Only needier despite that little nagging voice wondering how the fuck you’d take his sheer size.

“Sweetheart?”

“I remember he didn’t do a lot of waiting in the script.”

And God were you right - but Satoru doesn’t think he could’ve kept this act of restraint up any longer even if you weren’t. Too impatient, too starved, his sanity dancing away from him with each second his fat cock wasn’t stuffed inside your pretty cunt. 

“Mhm.” he purrs, one hand reaching down to drag his fat head up and down your slit. Heavy balls squeezing painfully at the way your lip wobbles in frustration. Up and down up and up and- “You’re right.”

And then it’s like something snaps.

Because it only takes a split-second for Satoru to start splitting you apart on his massive cock. Big fat tears pricking at your eyes at the feeling that he was pushing all the way into your lungs. 

“Sh-shit, s’fuckin’ tight-” he lets out a low grunt at the slight resistance, taking everything in him to not just fuck into your snug pussy and use you like his little plaything. “You gotta hah- relax, pretty girl.”

You needed to relax more - to breathe maybe, just something. You weren’t even in the right state to wonder whether that little nickname was in the script - and God was Satoru thankful for that. Because all you can think of is how you never imagined what the bane of your existence would look with his cock stuffed in your dripping cunt - but now that you’ve seen it, you think you’ll imagine it for many lonely nights to come. 

“Hey, now. Don’t get camera-shy just yet.” Satoru gives your ass a playful smack. “After all, this is only the best- part-”

Each word is punctuated with shallow, mindless little thrust to fit himself inside your dripping pussy. Such cute lil’ whines leaving your swollen lips that he really can’t help but tease you a bit. Leering down at your fucked-out face with a smirk, “Or- my bad. Forgot such a scene would be hard for a rookie.”

Oh, did he know how to press your buttons just right. 

Because immediately, you’re blinking away the delirious haze in your eyes, voice so adorably shaky - but determined - as you grit out, “Bring it on, you B-list wonder.”

That’s all that has to be said before he’s finally bottoming out inside you, mercilessly. Inch by fucking inch. You gasp as his twitching balls smack your ass so lewdly, feeling his veins beat in such a slutty lil’ thump! thump! thump! against your heavenly walls. 

“T-Toru- big- ngh- too fuckin’ big. M’gonna break mpf-” his lips claim yours. Partially because it’s been way too long since he’s kissed your pretty lips, and partially because Satoru might just cum right then and there if he let you run your mouth. 

So he lets his hips do the talking instead. 

Cooing into your mouth at each little ah! ah! ah! every time he stuffed you full of his dick, quick, experimental thrusts to try and find that one spot he knows will have you falling apart so prettily.

“Sounds so beautiful, sweetheart.” rocking his hips faster into yours. So hard you were sure he’d leave marks. “No camera in the world can pick up how fuckin’ perfect ya are. Can’t ngh- pick up those cockdrunk lil’ heart eyes.” Angling your chin just so that your sinful expression is caught on camera, “Shit do ya even know you’re doing those? Might just make me lose it for real tomorrow. Might just make me sneak you off to the dressing rooms n’-” Manicured fingers digging into your hips while he fucks you in jagged, purposeful strokes. Hitting that one spot. Hard. “Fuck you all over again.”

You flinch as he uses you like some object. Dangerously liking it more and more as he smugly hits that magical spot over and over- 

And it was so sloppy - so filthy with the way Satoru still had remnants of your slick all over his lips, matching the way you were soaking his cock. Fingers moving down to draw erratic little patterns on your clit, making it even messier. 

Close - too close. 

So, so desperate and debauched.

“C’mon. Show the camera. Tell the camera how much you love it.” 

“Ngh- f-fuck you.”

“Oh? Who’s fucking who now?” he’s laughing at your absolutely wrecked state. You can feel Satoru twitch inside you as you mumble out such delirious little praises to the camera - were they coherent sentences? You’ll never know, because the next words that fall from his lips have your mind reeling. 

“God, m’addicted to you, my girl.”

“That’s not- ah- in the script, Toru.” you hiss. Close. 

“I know. And neither is that.” he leaves such uncharacteristically gentle kisses down your neck. Miles away from the relentless place on your poor, abused pussy, fucking you deeper and rougher every time despite already bottoming out. “Does it have to be?”

“Th-that doesn’t ngh- make sense.” you gasp into his open mouth. 

“Doesn’t have to.”

Maybe it’s the way Satoru’s panting those words against your lips. Or maybe it’s the way he’s looking right in your eyes while he says them - like it would kill him to pull away. Maybe even that fleeting little kiss he leaves against your lips. 

Because before you know it, you’re cumming and cumming so hard that you wonder whether you’d make it out alive. The only thing you can do is throw your head back and take it, thighs quivering, Satoru’s names spilling from your lips in such broken little whines while he thrusts so sloppy. Once. Twice. 

“Ah- this is gonna have me fallin’, huh?” And then he’s letting out such a low, muffled moan of your name, filling you up with rope after rope of his cum. 

What? 

It’s so messy - his cum overfilling your poor pussy, spilling out and coating his twitching balls. Shit, you can’t even worry about whether it would stain that overpriced couch below you. Not when Satoru’s whispering out sweet- lines from the script?

“Fuckin’ beautiful underneath me. Always was.” Hips still fucking into you - not even thinking at this point. “Always will be. Such a vision onscreen, sweetheart.” So thick and hot, and dribbling all the way down your legs with every movement.

And then Satoru’s lips are finding yours again, tasting so unfairly sweet while he drinks in all your cute breathless gasps. “Such a vision f’me.”

Those weren’t from the script either.

Something soft. Something scary. Something that has you looping your legs tighter around his waist, letting him collapse onto you. Pulling him closer, in fact, because now that you know the weight of his body on yours, it just felt so right.

It takes a moment of silence for you two to catch your breaths, the still rolling camera being the last thing on your minds. Neither willing to speak first, because shit Satoru might’ve gone to countless red carpets and film sets but this - you are what strips him away from all the glamor and fame. Until he was just, well, embarrassingly Satoru.

The Satoru that was now shifting shyly in your arms, trying to get up. “Uh- Hell of a way to run lines, huh? Better check the camera n’ see where to impro-”

He might be one of the biggest actors in modern Hollywood, but Satoru didn’t fool you - not one bit. So without a word, you’re tugging him back to rest against you. Heart lurching just a little bit as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. Like a little hideaway - from the camera, from the world, hell, maybe even from you.

“Y’know,” he flinches ever-so-slightly at your teasing tone, giving you a playful bite. “I have one area of suggestion and it might just be that you’re too good at ‘running lines’.”

“...Good enough to win those five Oscars?”

“No.”

“Then guess I better prove it to ya, huh? Is the camera still on, sweetheart?”

Just then, some weird little part of you thinks that, hell, maybe you don’t hate Gojo Satoru after all.

Not anymore, at least. 

---

The Enemies-To-Lovers Trope of The Century?! Hollywood’s Biggest Rivals Sport Matching Hickeys (And Smiles) On-Set of Upcoming Film.

Oops! Gojo Satoru's Phone Wallpaper Accidentally Exposed: Surprise, Surprise It’s His Leading Lady! More on Page 6.

“No Comment. Though, I Have Moved Trailers. Twice.” Anonymous Manager Speaks on Latest Movie Rumors.

Director Is All Smiles As He Raves About Upcoming Romance Movie. “Hell, If I Didn’t Know Any Better I’d Say They Were Really-”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

[syluss-littlecrow]

size training with sylus

<slyus x fem!reader>

where you’re size training on Sylus’s dick. ❤️

genre/warnings: smut, pwp, big dick!sylus, size training, size kink, dear god sylus and his fat cock, breeding kink, unprotected sex, pet names, dacryphilia, it’s just sylus brain rot ❤️

w/c: 2K

a/n: I’m on Love & Deepspace fic tumblr! 😮 hope I’ll be welcomed nicely here haha. As a peace offering, this is my present to everyone (and especially the Sylus girlies)!

You shift your body slightly, trying to make yourself comfortable, on top of taking slow breaths, your heart fluttering at Sylus's soft voice coaxing you. 

"That's it. Take it slowly, kitten", his voice slow and deep in your ears. But you don't see the way he's shutting his eyes and biting his inner cheek every time you squeeze around him. He's trying to pace his breathing as well, but it feels so fucking good.

You whine softly against his bare chest, his heat radiating off you, his slender fingers stroking your hair slowly, and his other hand drawing soothing circles on your thighs. 

You don’t remember how it started, but your thoughts start to drift, recalling the times your mind would float whenever Sylus had his lips on yours with you straddling on his thick thighs. He would devour you, painfully slowly because he knows that’s what riles you up, and he definitely enjoys listening to your whimpers, your non-verbal pleas for him to do more to you. He’d make sure your lips are wet and messy once he’s done with you, his touches teasing and light against your skin. Sylus secretly wants you to beg for it, because he knows that he’d give in to you in a heartbeat. His fingers would cup yours that were on his chest, and the look he would give you reset all the butterflies in your stomach. You would feel his thick erection, hidden under the thin silk black bathrobe he’d always wear against your clothed pussy, and dear god, he’s so fucking big. But before you could ask, Sylus would trail his fingers to tease your wet clit and pussy, soaking in your adorable reactions he swears is enough to get him off, erasing the question of wanting him to fuck you off your brain when the pleasure from his fingers tingles through your body. 

Sylus doesn’t pride himself as a generous being, but he thinks he’s always generous enough for you. He realises he enjoys having his face in between your legs, making you squirm, listening to you sob when he overstimulates you with his tongue, making sure his tongue presses and grazes fully on your clit while he listens to you fall apart, his crimson eyes locked onto you while he holds you down to take whatever he’s giving you. 

He’s good at distracting you like that whenever you want to bring up the question of fucking. 

This time though? Through your wet lashes from the overstimulation and hazy thoughts, all you were craving for was just to be fucked stupid by Sylus. Your hand reached out and pushed against his head. Sylus pulled back slightly, confused for a moment. 

“What is it, sweetie?” He paused, his hands trailing up and down your thighs. 

Your mind slowly clears, but your pussy is still pulsing from him tongue fucking you.

“Need you to fuck me, Sylus. Please. I don’t think I can take it any longer.”

Sylus is momentarily taken aback by your demand, but he realises he can’t keep holding it off, mostly because there’s only so much longer he’s able to hold back, especially when you’re begging for him like that. 

“I don’t think-“

“I can take it”, you muttered stubbornly, yanking your partner towards you. You shift yourself above him, straddling his thighs, just shy of his appendage. 

As much as your determination is endearing, Sylus knows your comfort should come first. And he knows very well that his cock isn’t gonna fit into you in one go, so he decides to let you gauge it for yourself—putting your hands into the string of his robe, gesturing you to loosen it. 

And you do, your gaze flickering from his cool expression to his silk robe sliding off his body when you untie the string. 

You swallow hard when his cock comes into view—thick, long and heavy, the tip red with a wet sheen of precum. Yeah, that’s definitely not gonna fit in you in one go. You and him solely being just wet enough wasn’t going to cut it. 

Nonetheless, you’re still determined. Your eyes meet his gaze and an idea pops into his head. 

He intertwines his fingers with yours.

“Tell you what, sweetie. I’ll fit into you slowly. Doesn’t matter how much you can take, I just want to make sure you’re comfortable when you’re doing so.”

“But-“

He presses his lips on the back of your hand. 

“I’ll be fine. You trust me, right?”

You nod, watching the way his eyes soften before you. 

So there you are, lying on your side, facing Sylus, your cunt trying to adjust to his cock as he stretches you open. It’s been a couple of days since you’ve been size training with your partner. It started off with getting his cockhead in, and that was already making you hitch your breath. Then inch by inch he sinks into you from then. He’d let you cock warm him like that and it never failed to leave you so full one session after the next. 

It’d been seven days, and you barely pushed through three-quarters of his girth. Initially, Sylus still could tease you while you tried to take his cock, but as he sunk deeper into you after each session, it started getting harder for him to maintain his composure—every twitch, every squeeze—had him digging his fingers into his palm, clenching against his silk pillow and breathing a little harder. 

He huffs once more when he feels you clench around his cock. 

“If you’re gonna keep clenching around me like that, Kitten, I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it.”

You glance up, watching the way Sylus’s platinum hair becoming a tousled mess against the pillow. His crimson eyes cast to meet yours, his lips pulled into a slight frown. 

“I can’t help it”, you reply, suddenly feeling self-conscious. 

You hear Sylus hiss slightly once more when he twitches inside you. 

“Do you think you could fit another inch in?” It almost comes off as a beg. 

You inhale shakily, shifting yourself further downwards, taking another inch of his cock. The both of you gasp at the sensation. 

You freeze at the thickness. How far down are you already?

“You’re almost all the way in, Kitten”, Sylus whispers, almost as if he heard your thoughts. His breathing is growing heavier by the second, and he’s forcing himself to hold back from just thrusting the remainder of his cock in. It’s dangling over him like his favourite prey. 

His thumb strokes against yours, trying to distract you from the pressure on top of pressing your forehead with kisses, singing you soft praises.

Your mind is gradually turning more hazy with Sylus’s cock taking up the majority of your thoughts, on top of his body soap that’s been creeping into your olfactory senses. The more Sylus inches his cock into you, the more he’s pressing onto your g-spot, and the more it’s starting to make you see stars whenever you blink. You’re growing so sensitive that you’re feeling every throb Sylus’s cock is giving you. 

Your hand is on his arm, trying to ground yourself from the slight soreness. Another strained whimper when Sylus pushes him deeper into your pussy. Slick leaks from your pussy and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Sylus. 

Another kiss to your temple, another circle drawing session on your thigh.

“Do you want me to go all the way in?” 

Your toes curl.

“I can take it.”

So Sylus inches his cock right to the hilt, knocking the wind out of you. 

Tears are prickling at the corner of your eyes, but oh god you do feel so good. 

“How are you feeling, sweetie?”

You hiccup softly. “So full.”

He chuckles. “Such a good girl.” The vibrations of his light laughter only press his tip further onto your g-spot, and it’s making your thighs shake from the impending orgasm. 

“D-don’t move so much, Sylus. You’re gonna make me—“ you try to bury your head into his chest but he stops you with his fingers in your chin. 

“Make you what?” 

He intentionally shifts, and his cockhead hits your sensitive spots again, sending fireworks into your eyelids, and a strained moan. Sylus seems to enjoy your reactions, because then he flips you to your back, his large frame looming over you, forcing you to look up at him with your legs folded, and still with his cock in you. 

Oh no. 

Sylus looks down at you with the faintest glint of softness in his eyes before it completely disappears, now just hunger seeping through the red. 

“Sylus!-“ you gasp, his fullness penetrating into you again, this time easily, considering the wet and sopping mess you’ve made around his cock. 

He only hums in reply, then pulling out slightly before he pushes into you again. He’s found your sweet spots, and he’s not letting it go that easily. 

The knot in your stomach pulls tight, and it’s making you tear up in sheer pleasure. You’re barely able to meet Sylus’s eyes, not when he’s fucking into you and has your head thrown back while you’re fighting to keep your eyelids open. 

It builds and builds. Sylus probably realises it from how much you’re just pulsing on his cock. His thumb rests at the corner of your lips and you let him slip in, your glazed out eyes meeting his. It makes his heart flutter when you’re completely undone like this for him, but he’ll never admit it, at least, not yet. 

“Gonna cum. Fuck, it’s so much, Sylus-“ you whimper before your mind completely melts away. 

“Release all you want on me, sweetie. That’s my good girl.”

That’s enough to send you over the edge—your orgasm hitting you like waves, tingling through your body like electricity, the pleasure eating you up over and over again. Sylus watches affectionately while you fall apart on his cock—the way you’re writhing and squirming, the way his name leaves your lips after every moan, the way your pussy creams so much on his cock. He thinks he’s doomed because he never gonna get enough. 

“Looks like a little kitten made a mess”, Sylus teases. He watches the way cream pools at the base of his cock when he pulls out slightly, only to thrust back into you again. His eyes flutter shut at the tight warmth eating him up, groans replacing his words. 

“Now, can I make a mess in you?” 

Your watery eyes meet his, and he’s equally about to lose all composure. You cup his cheeks, taking him by surprise, before giving him a quick peck on the corner of his lips, and then you nod. Said corner of his lips lift in satisfaction at your approval.

He’s just ready to ruin you. 

His strokes become more heavy, the overstimulation shutting your brain off. Nothing but pleasure is surging through your nerves now. You’re even holding up your legs so Sylus can fuck you deeper. 

“Now be a good girl and take all of it”, he mutters huskily, burying his face against the crook of your neck, his eyes snapped shut and his eyebrows furrowed. 

Despite the fact that you don’t get to see the way Sylus’s face contorts in pleasure when his orgasm hits him, his groans right in your ears serve you satisfied for now while thick white spurts into your abused pussy, filling you up all the way, some seeping past your plugged hole. 

You don’t realise how much you’ve clawed down Sylus’s back while he was emptying himself into you. 

Well, he doesn’t need to know anyway. 

Sylus stays above you for a moment, the both of you catching your breaths. He still has the energy to plant more bites on your neck while you stroke his hair. 

He pulls back to look at your face properly, and all you can think of is how fucking good he looks post-fuck—messy, sweaty, and so fucking delicious-looking. His fingers brush away your strands of hair, and his thumb caresses your bottom lip. 

“You’re truly gonna be the death of me, sweetie.”

[ervotica]

hot rod — a.donaldson & p.zweig

pairings; art donaldson x fem!reader, patrick zweig x fem!reader, art donaldson x patrick zweig

summary; patrick comes to visit you and art at college. he finds college life is a lot more adventurous than once anticipated

warnings; mdni, 18+ only, SMUT, threesome, overstim, oral (m receiving), sub leaning!reader and art, more dom leaning!patrick, established throuple, polyamory

a/n; i’m not so sure how i feel about this tbh. i love the dynamic though so i pushed through even when it got away from me a little🥲 there will be another drabble for older!art and his pretty girl soon!!

you and art fuck until you’re brain dead and passed out from exhaustion. always have. neither of you possess an off switch, and when patrick’s not there to rein the pair of you in, things get a little… messy.

his cum is dried in your hair, the sticky substance smeared across your cheek, his knuckles still wet with slick.

patrick walks in, full belly laughs and peels you from art’s sweat soaked form, gives your cheek a pinch when you stir and whine.

he doesn’t clean you up because he likes to leave you naked whenever he has the opportunity — which is more often than not. seriously, you two need close supervision.

he just carries you with him to that shitty little armchair in art’s dorm, the room still stinking of sex and the humid summer air clinging to your skin; art shines with perspiration where he’s face down on the bed.

pat makes do with the lack of room, hooking a bare leg over the backs of your thighs until you’re squeezed snugly against his torso, face smushed to his chest. you’re snoring, and it makes patrick smile, slumping down in his chair to rest his lips against your cheekbone.

you wake slowly, eyes sticky and crusted over with exhaustion. your face is almost nestled beneath patrick’s armpit where you’ve been writhing in slumber and you grumble at the scent of sweat, layered with cheap aftershave. his hard-on presses to the center of your stomach and you can feel everything— the curve it makes now it’s hard and weeping, the feel of the spongy head, the vein that runs through the middle.

“you smell, pat,” you grumble, reaching up blindly to snatch the cigarette from between his teeth and take a long pull from the stick.

“yeah, well you’re not so hot yourself, babe. the whole room reeks.” he reaches down to tug on a loose strand of hair at the crown of your head. “there’s cum in your hair.”

“not my fault.” you stretch upward like a cat, curling into patrick’s chest. “where’s art gone?”

“still sleeping, baby.” he lights another cigarette, sacrificing the first one to you - still resting between your lips - and the clicking of the lighter draws your head upward to gaze through heavy lashes at him.

“come to bed,” you murmur, kissing his knuckles. your free hand coasts a long line across his jaw and you dig your thumb beneath his ear, giggling when he scrunches his features and relents, and pushes you to stand with a swat to your naked backside.

art curls into you instinctively when you roll onto the mattress, your hand threading through the curls atop his head. you scrub sweeping circles across his bare back and he hums a pleased sound, smearing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. patrick splays himself over the pair of you, all long limbs that sit askew to cover as much of your naked frames as possible.

art squints through the yellow light that illuminates the room, bright and artificial on his sensitive eyes. your movements against him don’t halt, a slow, rhythmic, loving sweep of your hands that he’s come to look forward to in moments like this. his jaw tilts upward as he mouths at your neck like a starved man, like you haven’t just gone five rounds and collapsed from overstimulation.

“you two need supervision,” patrick snorts. you quirk a bemused brow. “i’m serious, look at what you’ve done to each other! you look like you’ve been mauled.”

“jealous, much?” art mumbles sleepily, the sound muffled through your skin. you’re laughing and it splits your expression in two, eyes crinkled with amusement as the strawberry blonde boy snipes at patrick.

“should’a come to college with us, pretty boy,” you giggle. “could’a had this twenty four seven.” you dip your head until your brow presses to art’s. “poor pat, with no one to stick his dick in. how will he ever cope?”

“you could help me out, sweets,” he deadpans, the nickname saccharine and sour on his tongue all at once. art watches you through heavy lids. you huff, biting playfully at art’s lip before you tilt your head to face patrick,

“okay,” you chirrup. art’s quick to sit up, separating from your warmth in favour of nuzzling against patrick. patrick tips his chin down, slanting his lips against the blonde boy’s.

meanwhile, you’re working his cock through his shorts, palming the muscle until it chubs up beneath your hand, drooling a wet patch through the fabric. patrick groans, hips rolling up into your touch when you hook your fingers beneath his waistband and tug his cock free.

he moans into art’s mouth and your mouth goes dry at the sight. you’ve always loved to watch them like this, the way they get lost in each other, the way they start fervently pushing into one another’s space until patrick inevitably makes the first move and sticks his tongue down art’s throat.

patrick turns to putty beneath art’s roaming touch, huge paws that squeeze and grope and push at every inch of skin they come into contact with, not stopping even as you press your face to the seam of patrick’s balls, inhaling the sweat-soaked musk that creeps up your nostrils.

art’s hand snakes downward, flicking over pert nipples and ridges of muscle before he’s flicking a thumb over the weeping slit of his cock. patrick’s back bows into an arch as you lave your tongue over his sack, humming into the sensitive skin, full and heavy and begging for release. his hips rock upward into you as you seal your lips over him, eyes heavy with lust as art comes down to meet your mouth over his mushroom head.

it’s filthy and messy, downright pornographic as art licks over patrick’s cock, tongue pressing flat against the corner of your mouth and letting his spit pool there. you’re moaning - unable to help yourself - pressing your face forward to slant your lips over art’s fully. it’s all spit and drool as you lick into art’s mouth, the heady taste of the brunette boy still on your tongue, and then patrick’s bracing a hand against each of your heads and easing his cock through the seam where your spit slick mouths mesh.

you gasp and your damp lashes flutter, heavy with tears, and art’s tugging you frantically by your waist, pressing your bare chest to his own as patrick throws his head back and groans, shallow thrusts deepening. his breath stutters out in short, sharp bursts, chest heaving when your face slides down, down, down, all the way to the base of him until your pretty plump lips are wrapped around his sack.

you suck it into your mouth just as art takes patrick down his throat, the head of his cock bulging through the hollow of art’s throat as spit stretches and bows from the corners of his lips and lands in globs across your face.

you’re too drunk on the pleasure to care, the vibrations of your little sounds shooting right through patrick until you feel his balls tighten; he groans, long and loud, pushing closer to the pair of you as his cock pulses rhythmically and he releases down art’s throat.

you push your way through until your mouth is on art’s again, tongue licking into his mouth to taste patrick, wanting to be marked, claimed by both of them. his lips part, nose pressing to your cheek, and then he’s lifting you into his lap, his cock an angry red and pressed to the seam of your thigh.

patrick groans. there’s no fucking way he’s hard again.

“no more, you horndogs!”