#i hope you all enjoy :3c

[goodsmellerart]

ponytober day 1- Princess 👑🦄✨

this is my headcanon design for Princess Twilight when she's all growned up..... her mane develops magical properties alike to Celestia/Luna's. and she's very tall. friendship makes her grow

[14dayswithyou]

💖 EVEN MORE DAY 4 SNEAK PEEKS! 💖

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

Arc of a Bird - Joshua Whitmore/Reader

Warnings: Gender-neutral reader, no use of Y/N, unspoken mutual crushes to lovers, slow burn, fluff, domestic bliss, bit of arguing, angst, hurt/comfort, brief canon-related mentions of suicide, lots of baths, kissing, making out, grinding, soft smut, happy ending.

Wordcount: 15447

Summary: It's been two weeks since Joshua moved in with you, and while making sure he learns how to take care of himself turns more into you learning how to taking care of him, you'd do it all again as long as it keeps him from disappearing.

Notes: This is the extra long sequel to Breaking the Code~ I've been headcanoning more in dastmalcord with my friends and those sessions led to how this one went, meaning there's a lot more hurt, a LOT more comfort, and a bunch of baths ;w; I nearly made them cry with this one and it nearly made me cry as I was writing it so be ready for a whole ton of cuteness and pain 😊💗💗💗 I've also decided that this is going to be my only world for Joshua if I write more, so any new requests or headcanons or drabbles will take place in this world unless specified otherwise~

It’s been a month since Joshua Whitmore was admitted to the hospital a couple blocks from your duplex, and two weeks since he pulled another disappearing act, his miracle broadcast all over the news as he once again went missing. You’re standing in your kitchen/dining/living room as the smell of coffee fills the open area, food cooking on the stove and mixing in with it as the sound of footsteps on the stairs makes you look from the TV to the source. The man on the screen stares unemotionally at you between his gallery promo photo, his long hair slicked neatly back and a dark suit replacing his oversized shirts and hoodie, and something candid from when he started to become a recluse. When you look up you still see that same man, only 7 years older and a lot more lively, stretching as he reaches the final steps, his old shirt lifting to reveal the way his baggy pants were sliding over his hips.

It was a sight you still weren’t used to, your cheeks brightening despite the early hours as he cracks his neck and groans about needing a cigarette, but he already knows you won’t let him have one; his month off of them has him grouchy at least once pretty much everyday since you never let him pick the habit back up once he started staying with you, but still he smiles when he sees your face before he hears what’s playing nearby.

You reach for the remote but he stops you, wanting to hear what they were saying, apparently they’d managed to bribe someone on the hospital staff successfully but only enough to reveal that he was there but wasn’t any longer, the hunt on for him as an actual reward flashed on screen for any information. ‘It’s like I’m a criminal,’ he wonders, but he says it in a way like he finds it humourous, the reporter talking to him directly as she asks to be the first to get an interview while his artwork shows beside her as a montage.

‘Breaking and entering does make you a criminal,’ you remind him as you set down a couple plates on the table, and he tries to wave that fact away.

‘They don’t know that,’ he starts to say right as the reporter starts talking about how he was found breaking and entering an abandoned house where he’d been staying, footage of everything he’d painted while he was there filling the screen, and it’s timed so perfectly you can’t help but laugh. By now you knew everything, it’d taken him another week but he’d opened up to you one night about what had taken place, and as he looks at his work you come up behind him. You look up at his ear as the reporter talks about how he was held at gunpoint and tried to force his attacker to shoot him, the information still making something in your chest hurt as you wrap your arms around him.

‘I’m so sorry that happened to you,’ you murmur into his back just like you had that night, and his hand rests on yours a moment before he pulls you off of him just enough to spin in your arms, your face mere inches from his chest instead. He still isn’t used to this kind of thing, but he allows you this much as the woman keeps talking behind him.

‘I was so ready for him to end it,’ he confesses, something he hadn’t said that night, and you rest your cheek against his chest, right over his heart to hear it beat as the reporter talks about the young delinquent attempting to rob him, the camera showing the blood from his ear on the ground as well as the bullet hole in the wall from where it’d grazed him. ‘After the night before, with Cass’ father, and then those kids taking so much of what I’d done over the years and trying to sell it, to make my life nothing but a price tag again, I didn't wanna do it anymore.’

‘I’m so glad he missed,’ you tell him, and he hesitates before his arms wrap around your back to complete the hug as one more plea goes out for anyone with information on him to please come forward.

‘I’m glad too.’

It’s hard to get him to readjust to a life off the streets, for it’s all he knows now, and that becomes apparent the more time he spends in your home. You didn’t notice it much at first since he was still a bit reclusive, but as the first week stretched into two you started to notice things about him that weren’t obvious when he was at the hospital; for instance, he really didn’t eat that much, still used to the few things he could pack away when he was on the road. He ate when you cooked for him, but he never made anything for himself, or asked for anything, he barely even remembered that he could grab a glass and pour himself some water whenever he was thirsty, preferring to stick to the old plastic bottle he kept by his side while he worked.

For another, while he was very dutiful about brushing his teeth since a toothbrush and toothpaste was easy to pack, he kept forgetting to shower, probably used to not being able to get one anywhere outside of public use places. You didn’t want to make a big deal of it, but since he didn’t notice you found yourself reminding him more and more when he’d keep putting it off, like he was still expecting to not have access to the full bathroom upstairs attached to your room, not just the half-bath on the ground floor where he usually worked. He agreed to continue sleeping in your bed easily enough but still avoided your personal bathroom with all the things it held you eventually discovered when you caught him trying to wash his hair in the downstairs bathroom’s sink one night; you were half awake and in a blind panic to make sure the garbage was ready to go out in the morning, and the sound of the water drew your attention to the room as you stumbled around in the dark, finding him trying to hide it from you in the dead of night since he knew you were always up early.

‘What are you doing?’ you ask as he jumps and hits his head on the tap, knocking over his nearly empty shampoo bottle you’d retrieved along with the rest of his stuff weeks ago, and you rush over to make sure he’s okay as he drips water all over the fake tile floor.

‘Didn’t wanna wake you,’ he groans as he grabs a towel, and you can tell that he must’ve been doing this since he left the hospital, no staff to make sure he used the attached bathroom during the hours you were at work and not visiting him.

‘You know you can shower when I’m gone, I don’t mind you using my bathroom,’ you tell him as carefully as you can, you don’t want to embarrass him, but getting caught is enough to make him shy away from you and him making this mess is only adding to it.

‘I know I know, it’s unbearable, isn’t it?’ he mutters as he tries to close in on himself, and you wonder how many people called him out on this kind of thing to get such a reaction.

‘What? No, it isn’t, I just want to make sure you’re taking care of yourself, you don’t have to act like you’re intruding here,’ you say, but he doesn’t look convinced.

‘But I am, aren’t I? I know you want me to stay, and I know you keep giving me excuses so I don’t have to sleep on the couch, but I’m taking up space in your world, eating your food, borrowing your soap, stealing your heat and your light and your air, and I figured… this might be enough until I find someplace else, so I’m not the one taking from you… so I’m not a burden.’

The sound of dripping water fills the room as you look up at him, his shirt is soaked and the towel is hanging limply over his head, doing little to soak up the water, and you suck in a deep breath before grabbing him by the wrist, thinking better of it, and instead going behind him to herd him upstairs. He looks uncomfortable as he trails water through your bedroom, the blankets a mess on your bed since he never makes it when he wakes up, and you take him straight to the bathroom and turn on the light. You take the towel off his head and toss it onto the counter before telling him to just please have a shower, not because you had a problem with him, but because you needed him to know he was welcome.

‘You said it yourself, I want you to stay,’ you say as you look down, and he looks at the jacuzzi bath/shower combo against the wall, it honestly the selling point of the place when you first checked it out, but doesn’t move to get in, like he doesn’t think he deserves such a luxury anymore.

‘Fine, just- I don’t need you to babysit me,’ he gives in, and you leave the room as he starts to undress. Since his arrival you’ve been shopping for him a few times, getting things in his size along with stuff for yourself so his items don’t stand out too much on their own, and you grab some of the pajamas you’d bought that week to leave on the dresser nearby. When you hear the shower start you make the bed for him, but honestly everything could go for a wash as well, and you hurry to your closet to grab the spares for guests to quickly change everything out.

It’s the middle of the night now, and you’re way too tired to get up at your alarm, and you’re just about to slide on the new fitted sheet when he walks out, his shower having lasted five minutes or less, his old clothes back on again. ‘...Nope,’ you simply say as you ditch the sheet entirely, and you grab the new clothes and turn him back around, already tugging at his shirt as he tries to fight you off.

‘I did what you said!’ he almost stutters as you relent, the mirror not even fogged from how fast he was in and out, and you just run a hand through your hair as you let out a sigh.

‘I’m not gunna give you a time limit here,’ you tell him, and he tries to argue when you continue. ‘Tell me the truth, when was the last time you actually took care of yourself?’

‘I take care-’

‘Joshua, please,’ you beg tiredly, and he thinks about it a while before looking up at you from his place on the tub’s rim.

‘2008, I think? Back when I still had a bit of money from odd jobs to get motel rooms,’ he admits like he’s ashamed, but you just brush his wet bangs out of his eyes, your hand resting on his cheek.

‘As long as you’re here with me, please don’t think of yourself as a burden, okay? I… I asked you to stay with me for a reason, and I want this to feel like home to you, not just another place to stay in while you wait for me to kick you out, I’d never do that.’ You purse your lips as he looks up at you, water running over his forehead and down his face, shirt still soaked and making him shiver in the chill of it. ‘I really… I really want you to stay with me, okay?’

He takes in your words, really mulls them over before nodding slightly, just enough for you to feel him shift under your hand, and you want to kiss him but don’t as you pull away.

‘Thank you, now, take care of yourself for me, please?’ you ask lightly, and he nods again before taking his shirt back off; you take it and toss it into the hamper to be washed, your face reddening as he then undoes and takes off his paint-stained jeans, those too added to the pile, and when he’s fully nude behind you you stiffen and wait for him to reenter the shower. The curtain is pulled shut, and the sound of rushing water fills the room again, and you don’t leave until you see his blurred form get under the stream with a content sigh, like he was so used to quick cold showers stolen from public pools and other such areas that he hadn’t even bothered to turn up the heat earlier.

When the mirror starts to fog you leave again, going back to the bed as he takes his time, and when the bed is freshly made and the old blankets, pillowcases, and his clothes are waiting in the laundry room downstairs, you return to your room to wish him goodnight when you hear him swear under his breath. ‘Joshua?’ you ask worriedly as you knock, and when he doesn’t answer you open the door and just see red; he’d been a little too rough and had disturbed his stitches, his eyes scrunched up in pain as the shampoo he missed seeps into the wound, and you sit him back down to clean him up.

He smells like your soap now, just wearing his new pajama pants as he holds a towel up to his ear, and you take over for him and see that it’s actually not that bad, but the water had made it spread and seem worse than it actually was, nothing you can’t fix without needing to sneak back into the hospital. You part his hair so there’s less on his left side, brushing it out of the way so you can work, your towel now stained red but it doesn’t matter as the wound is cleaned again, most of it healed by now save this disturbed nic.

‘Sorry for ruining your stuff,’ he mumbles softly, and this time you do kiss him as you press your lips to his forehead, a shiver going down your spine when he sucks in a small breath at the feeling.

‘I can always buy more, you’re more important than an old towel,’ you reassure him, and then toss it where the hamper used to be, it downstairs and waiting for the load to start. He stares at it and smiles, your faces still incredibly close before you pull back. ‘I uh, need to get some sleep, alarm goes off at 6 and all,’ you remind yourself more than him, and he gestures to the bed behind you.

‘I can sleep on the couch tonight,’ he offers, but you won’t have it, he’ll be way too cramped on it after spending so long in an actual bed, plus you don’t want him to hurt his ear again, those are definitely the only reasons why.

‘It’s a big bed,’ you just say softly, and you take his hand and lead him to your room, his hand hitting the wall and turning off the light as you climb backwards onto the clean comforter, his body following yours as you lay down in the dark.

He becomes more aware of taking care of himself after that, but you still have to work on the eating when you come home and find him in your spare room, it now his makeshift studio. It used to be filled with all the random things you didn’t have a place for, and together you’d cleaned and sorted everything, moving a bunch to the garage, a few things to your closets where they’d fit, and when the room had been emptied he’d moved all his things inside so he had a place to paint again. You come home at 6PM as you always do, tired from the walk and just wanting to collapse onto the couch and eat something, and while you are hungry you’re also hoping that maybe he ate up all the leftovers you placed in plain sight for him in the fridge.

You head inside, kick off your shoes, set down your messenger bag, and find the food still in its place, along with everything else you’d left behind that morning. You sigh and take out the tupperware, transferring the contents onto a plate and heating it up before going to him, the sounds of him working on the other side of the door. You knock and he makes a noise of surprise, and when he opens the door he seems surprised to see you.

‘It’s 6, yeah,’ you confirm as you hold out the plate, and he looks at it before shaking his head.

‘That’s yours,’ he just says, and you push the plate into his hands, which are covered in mostly blue among other colours.

‘Did you eat today?’ you ask, and his stomach growls as if on cue. ‘If you don’t want this I can make something else, or order something, what would you like?’

‘You don’t have to,’ he quickly says, his default response when he doesn’t want to put you out, and you sigh again and take him into the living room. He hates TV for the most part but you quickly pop in the DVD he recommended last week, knowing he’d be unable to resist as you sift through your collection of takeout menus. ‘I’m fine with this,’ he insists, now ready to take the offering, but you steal it back and start eating as he’s forced to choose something he wants. He settles on a few things from the Chinese restaurant 20 minutes away, and you set down your food and call, ordering your own favourites as well since you already knew he was underordering on purpose. You sit back down next to him after the menus are put back away, eating your leftovers since you really are hungry, and when the food arrives he ducks out of sight while you answer the door.

As soon as it’s safe and the food is spread out over the table, you scoop a bunch onto your emptying plate and sit back down, watching him silently as he does as you expected and takes only a little for himself. ‘I ordered all that for you, just take what you want.’

‘I didn’t ask you to.’

‘You did, actually, when you told me what you wanted.’ Your plate is set down again, the movie paused as he keeps fighting you.

‘Only because you won’t let it go,’ he insists, his plate set down next to yours, ‘jesus, I’m not a fucking child, you don’t have to keep doing this for me.’

‘I only do it because you keep forgetting to eat and I don’t want you to get sick!’ you yell, your voice instantly lowering again when he cowers. ‘Sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just- it was a long day, and that’s no excuse, but-’ You look him over, your anger melting away to worry. ‘You’re getting thin again.’

‘I am thin.’

‘You know what I mean.’ You stand and walk over to him, he’s been trying to back away to his studio again, and you don’t want tonight to end on an argument. ‘How bad was it before that you don’t even realize what you’re doing to yourself?’

‘Doing what…?’ He truly doesn’t even know, and you gently grab his hand and lead him back to the table, making sure to grab his plate as soon as he’s there. You hand it back to him, pleading with him with your eyes, and he fills up every last inch of the flat surface, wordlessly asking you if that was okay. You just smile at him, and he smiles weakly back, and you go back to the couch to finish the movie together. You pretend not to notice as he eats his fill, clearly starving as well, and when he’s done and he moves to go back to work you stop him; he just looks at you as you pulls him down beside you, his head in your lap as you run your fingers through his hair, and he melts into you as the stiffness from painting for hours without stopping finally catches up to him.

‘I don’t mean to keep doing this,’ you whisper, his head shifting slightly as he looks up at you, ‘it’s just that… you really mean a lot to me, Joshua.’ He doesn’t say anything, your hand trembling as you brush some errant strands away from his ear. ‘You do, and… I just want to know that you’ll be okay.’

He sits up again, one arm reaching past you and resting on the arm of the couch while the other finds a place on the back behind you, his eyes sad but also so full of adoration for you that you can’t look away from him. He leans in, looks down at your lips again, and you close your eyes and wait for him to make the first move, silently letting him know how you feel in that moment, and when it doesn’t happen you open them again to see that he’s only a breath away. His hand leaves the couch to caress your cheek, delicately like he’s painting the shadows over your soft skin with his fingers, and when you close your eyes again you feel a tear roll down and wet the blue until he’s really painting you.

‘Why do you care so much about me?’ he asks, voice so low you can barely hear it even though he’s so close.

‘I don’t know,’ you answer honestly, your head tilting slightly as you lean in but don’t make contact, ‘but… I know that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you from the moment I saw you, and I never want to stop, so… please don’t do anything to make me stop, okay?’

His hand moves from your cheek to the back of your head, slightly damp paint trailing across your jaw to mix in with your hair, and he whispers an okay against your lips before he crosses that final gap, your hands tangling in his shirt and his hair as you kiss him back.

You finally get through to him after that, the air in your duplex different now that you’ve both taken that step to actually start your relationship, everything unspoken and insinuated up until now. It hadn’t gone any further, no matter how ready you were you knew that he needed more time, but when your alarm goes off and you wake up to find his arm around your waist you can’t help but smile so lovingly at him as he sleeps soundly next to you. You carefully move his hand and get up for the day, trying to be as quiet as possible since you kind of skipped your nightly shower to crawl into bed with him and continue kissing, your cheeks heating as you grab some clean clothes and shut the bathroom door.

You wish you at least had a small shower downstairs as the water turns on and you fear it’ll wake him, but he hadn’t stirred at your alarm, which was objectively more loud and annoying in its mission to wake you on time, so as time goes on you start to relax. You’re in the middle of washing the shampoo out of your hair when you hear the knock, and you call out that you’re in there, which is obvious considering the shower and all, silence answering you before you hear the hinges creak.

‘Can I come in?’ he asks, and you gape at the question before pulling back the curtain and taking a peek. His hair is standing up in every direction, his eyes tired as he blinks in the bright mirror lights, and you’re about to remind him that there’s a second bathroom downstairs before you get it.

‘Yeah, just lemme-’ You duck your head under the stream and finish rinsing before you blinded yourself with the suds, your heart racing as you grab your towel hanging nearby and wipe your eyes so you can see again. ‘Do you want to…?’

It’s hard for the both of you to talk as he steps inside the room, his hand going to his ear as he looks at you in the reflection. ‘I’ve been kinda avoiding this, didn’t wanna open the stitches again,’ he admits, and you just swallow and nod before ducking back behind the curtain. You plug the tub and let it start to fill, Joshua still waiting as you peek back out again.

‘Uh, a bath might be better, since you’re taller,’ you mumble nervously, and he catches on to how you’re feeling and tries to backtrack.

‘You don’t ha-’

‘No, no I want to,’ you interrupt, and you grab your towel and wrap it around yourself to cover your indecency; you pull back the curtain and step out, the mat catching the waterfall cascading down your legs, and you wordlessly ask if he wants you to wait outside before he shakes his head and undoes the drawstring on his pants.

You look to your left, trying not to stare, but as soon as you realize you’re doing exactly that at his reflection you turn to the right instead, your towel clutched in your desperate grip to keep it from unraveling as he strips fully, and you stand aside as he approaches the tub behind you. He gets in, the water sloshing around as it continues to flow, and you let out a quick breath before turning to face him; thanks to it being so big, he’s able to spread out but chooses not to as he sits there, his hands covering himself under the water, and you again try not to stare as you lean over the turn off the tap. 

‘I guess you should face that way, so I can watch out for your ear,’ you force yourself to say as you readjust your towel one final time, and he turns as you grab his newly bought brand of shampoo, the bottle now resting next to your own on the shelves along with the body wash, which you bring down so he can reach it when he’s ready, along with the detachable shower head. You turn the water back on and start wetting his hair, making sure not to make too much of a mess or get it in his eyes, the world around you completely forgotten as the nervousness fades away to concentration. He leans back and relaxes as you comb your fingers through his hair, gently removing the tangles as you continue wetting everything, and when that’s done you pour a decent amount of shampoo onto your palm.

He lets out a soft moan as you start massaging the lather in, the bubbles spreading and running down his shoulders and back as he leans completely into your touch, and there’s nothing sexual about it in the least as you carefully avoid his ear and start threading your fingers again. The only sounds in the room are of the water as he adjusts, and the sudsy bubbles multiplying and popping as you massage and thread and take care of him, and you guide his head back as you turn the nozzle back on to rinse.

His body moves forward so you’re not shooting water over the rim, everything exposed to you as he trusts you entirely, and there’s no fear of looking as you wash out the bubbles until there’s nothing left, rivers of white flowing down him and spreading across the surface of the water until there’s only his black hair left, shining in the overhead lights. You check his ear to make sure it’s okay and sure enough it is, and he floats there as he opens his eyes and looks up at you, your lips parting as you stare at him like he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

You can’t help but kiss him again like that, his head pressed into your chest as you lean over the side of the tub, and you almost end up late because you can’t pull away from him.

The media is still looking for him even though it’s been a month and a half, and you hear him come up when you’re at work. Instantly you perk up, your interest in him coming off as wanting to hear the gossip rather than genuinely wanting to talk about him, which you can’t, as you need to pretend like he isn’t currently in your spare room painting the day away. You get called over by the water cooler to join in when your interest is spotted, a few other employees taking their sweet time drinking from their small, paper cups as they speak in hushed voices.

‘They still haven’t found him? Are you sure he’s even still in town?’ one of them is asking, another shaking his head.

‘No way, he bailed weeks ago, why would he stick around when everyone’s looking for him?’ he states plainly, another taking a sip before leaning in close.

‘I heard he attacked that kid, the one who tried to rob him,’ she says lowly, your brows furrowing on instinct as your eyes lock directly on her. ‘Yeah, I know someone who lives in that neighbourhood, she was there when he got picked up by the ambulance, there were cops all over, and the kid was claiming that he went after him with a knife or something when he missed.’

‘That’s not true.’ It comes out before you can stop it, your voice even but just barely restrained, and everyone turns to you as they question your knowledge.

‘Really? Were you there when it happened?’ she asks, her own gossip in question thanks to you, and you can only say no as she smirks. ‘Exactly, now, my friend says that when they brought him out he looked homeless, which I guess he was considering he was squatting, and she was able to hear that he was sent to-’

‘He isn’t homeless.’ You bite the inside of your cheek as again they look at you, everyone turning to face you completely as your outbursts garner more interest than your co-worker. ‘I-I mean, you saw the news, right? He’s some big artist from New York, what would he honestly be doing down here, squatting in some random house? It has to be some other guy, it doesn’t make sense otherwise.’

‘True, but they found a bunch of his art painted all over the walls in there, they showed it in the segment I saw, and a lot of the pieces were similar to what he used to do before he disappeared,’ your other co-worker says, the first nodding in agreement as the third scowls at the attention being drawn away from her.

‘Could be a copycat? Or maybe their styles are just similar?’

‘You seem to have a lot of interest in convincing us it isn’t him,’ the third speculates, but you wave her off immediately.

‘I don’t, I’m just-’

‘Don’t you live by a hospital? You went home early that day, didn’t you? Something about messing up an account and needing some time off?’ She’s staring directly at you, and you go to drink your water and when you see your cup is empty.

‘What, you think I know the guy? That’s even more impossible than his painting holding miracles or something, c’mon,’ you say with a laugh, and the others agree with you with laughs of their own.

‘Yeah, for all we know, the guy ran off to hide somewhere else once the news caught on, that interview reward’s going unclaimed,’ the second says, and then your boss is noticed from across the room before more can be said and you all scatter, your heart still racing as you go back to your desk.

The conversation by the water cooler has you honestly pretty paranoid for the next few days, Joshua painting away in blissful ignorance as you wait for someone to show up at your door and shove cameras into his face and take him away from you, but as one day turns to two, then three, you calm down and accept that they must’ve bought it. He remains completely unaware of your fear as you sit together and watch another old favourite of his while he rambles on about how technology is taking over everyone, completely talking over the movie and making you want to turn it up a second time.

‘I use a laptop for work,’ you chime in as he tells you all about the people he used to know back in New York, how they were always sporting the latest tech the moment it came out, how addicted they’d become to the internet as it became faster, reached further, isolated him from them when he refused to join in.

‘You can always use paper, print it out and write, there’s nothing wrong with still doing that, it’s more genuine, more human; instead you’re focusing too much on what’s automated, letting the machine do the thinking for you, soon you’ll forget everything you learned in school that isn’t readily available at your fingertips, it’s making you dumber,’ he’s saying, his head in your lap as he reaches for the popcorn, the large bowl resting against the top of his head.

‘You’re insufferable sometimes, you know that?’ you tell him as you hold the bowl within his reach, and he grabs a handful of the buttery treat, dropping quite a few onto the floor.

‘That’s what they used to say, too,’ he says, but there’s no bitterness in it, he’s just stating a fact, and you lean down to kiss his forehead as you grab some popcorn for yourself. You’ve been spending most of the movie so far just listening to him, so you have no idea what’s actually going on, but you don’t mind as he starts up again, that just means you could always watch it again in the future. Your fingers move from his hair to his cheek as you think about the future then, and he reaches up to bring your hand to his lips before holding it in the crook of his neck against his shoulder.

You don’t know how you ever lived without him here, it’s still only been less than a month but he’s filled every empty space in your house until it became a home, the smell of dust and cleaning supplies replaced with paint, your neat bed always unmade because he was so used to just getting up and going on with his day, old movies you’d never seen before decorating your shelves, the scent of his shampoo or body wash following you throughout your day when you grabbed his on accident. Your spare room is full of colour, the walls covered in thick paper and canvases so he can draw freely without encouraging the wrath of your landlord, your couch has never felt more comfy now that he’s next to you on it, and to get to enjoy the fruits of your labour through cooking with him has you in a perpetual state of happiness, sans the three days of worrying when it would be over.

You can’t imagine going back to that emptiness, that loneliness you didn’t even know you were feeling, and as he presses another kiss to your hand just because he can you know that he doesn’t want that either, no more cold nights trying to hide from the wind, no more breaking into places no one would think to look, no more people hurting him because he wasn’t like them, or taking from him because they couldn’t be him.

The movie is completely ignored as you look down at him, and he doesn’t notice until he reaches for more popcorn and has to look up to find it. His eyes meet yours, and you must have some kind of look on your face because he’s letting go of your hand and sitting up a bit, still leaning against you, just on his stomach instead of his side. ‘Are you okay?’ he asks, and you can’t stop it from coming out as you feel all the air leave your lungs.

‘I love you.’ It comes out so easily, and he’s surprised by it, it’s the first time you’ve said it out loud, your body shifting more towards him as he pushes himself up onto his hands. ‘I love you,’ you say again, your heart pounding in your chest, and the popcorn bowl falls to the floor as he shifts enough for you to move your legs underneath him. He’s breathing heavily as he climbs on top of you, there’s no rush here, you’re not pulling off shirts and tugging at belts because of your confession, the two of you just needing to be closer as he hovers above you, your body sliding down until your head rests on the arm of the couch. 

‘I…’ he tries to say, but it’s okay, you know this is still the one thing he isn’t used to yet, and you pull him down for a kiss as he lowers against you, his body hot under too many layers, he always wears too many damn layers. He sighs into your mouth as your hands rest on his lower back, fingers pulling the bottom of his shirts up so your nails can gently scrape across bare skin, his hips moving in turn and making your breath hitch.

‘You don’t need to say it back, not yet,’ you murmur into his ear as he starts to set a slow pace against you, your legs parting so you could feel him better, ‘just don’t stop, please…’

‘I- I…’ he tries again, his mouth pressing against your jaw as he kisses you, tastes you, his hips grinding down a little harder; in all the time you’ve spent together now you’ve never done this much, you never talked about his needs in this way, so many nights you’d wondered if it was just another thing he learned to live without when more important things had to be seen to, like finding something to eat or somewhere safe to sleep for the night.

‘It’s okay,’ you tell him but he shakes his head, moans again right into your ear, the sound sending shivers from your head all the way down to your toes.

‘I don’t… think I know what love is, anymore,’ he confesses to you, and you turn to look at him, his hair hanging over his eye as he stares at you with desperate eyes, his pupils blown so wide, cheeks flushed, lips wet from when he’d kissed you. You place a hand on the back of his head and guide him back to your mouth, kiss him tenderly, and you feel a drop of wet heat land on your face the longer the kiss goes on.

‘Don’t worry,’ you whisper as you part to breathe, the credits rolling on the screen as you hold his hand against your chest, ‘I’ll share all of mine until you know again.’

The morning of his first month with you, you wake up to not your alarm but the sound of birds outside your windows, his warmth pressed tightly to your side as you find yourself tangled up in him. It’s Sunday, you don’t have anywhere to go today, and you smile and rest your head on his chest as he snores above you; his chest is bare, he’s taken to just wearing his pajama pants at night thanks to your bed being so warm and cozy, and you trace shapes into his skin until he stirs.

‘What’re you doing?’ he sleepily asks, words slurring as he watches you.

‘Drawing,’ you say simply, and he laughs as he stops you by holding your hand.

‘Would you wanna paint with me today?’

You look up at him, he’s never asked this before, and you just nod as a large grin tugs at the corners of your mouth. ‘I’d love that,’ you answer, and he kisses your forehead before going to get up. ‘You don’t wanna sleep in?’ you can’t help but ask, and he stops on his way to the bathroom with a nervous smile.

‘I’ll never get up if I don’t do it now,’ he admits, and while you hate to agree, you know that you’d be equally as trapped if you got him back under the covers. ‘Besides… I think it’s a pretty good morning for a bath, don’t you?’

Your face heats as you instantly get up, your body moving on autopilot as you both file into the bathroom, his mouth finding yours as he undresses, and when the tub is full he climbs in and offers his hand out for you to take. You stare before stripping it all away, and he turns away from you as you climb in after him, everything once again within reach as you turn on the shower and start to wet his hair. You rest against the side as you work, still careful of his ear even though you haven’t had any more scares since the last time, and he relaxes into you and the hot water as you rub the shampoo into his hair. 

You can easily picture yourself still doing this for him a year from now, ten years even, just the two of you hiding from the world as you take care of him, and when you’re done and it’s time for him to wash himself you have to face the other way as you do your own hair so he can’t see what the sentimentality of it is doing to you. You’re almost done rinsing when you realize you’ve used his shampoo again, and it almost makes you choke up at the thought of getting to do this again, and again, and again, whenever you want, not just by accident.

You slowly turn back when you hear everything go quiet, and you see him just watching you, his finger drawing lines in the steam on the tile wall, and you turn fully to see that it’s you, it’s messy and dripping down but you can still see that it’s you. ‘Sorry,’ he says as he stops, the water running down and ruining it even more, ‘you just looked so beautiful, I couldn't help myself.’

You push off from the side and glide the short distance over to him so you can kiss him without thinking, needing to close that gap, but as your knees sink back down to the bottom and his legs push in on either side of you you realize what you’ve done, your face just as red as his is as you brace yourself on his chest. ‘Uh…’ is all you can say, the both of you unsure where to go from here, apart from all the kissing and a few fully clothed makeout sessions as he gets more used to your affections and his own desire to initiate things, this is the first actual time you’ve been this close in such a state, and you’re completely unsure if you want to go any further or wait until the time felt right. 

‘Pretty uncomfortable, to fuck in a bathtub,’ he blurts out then, and you just start laughing as he does too, your nervousness melting away as you mutually decide that it wasn’t the time or place just yet, but that was fine. You back up and give him a bit of privacy as he gets out first to dry off, your heart still racing as you get out next, the tub loudly draining as you get dressed for the day, happily nervous smiles following you as you head for the kitchen to make breakfast. He’s gotten better at cooking for himself by now, and you appreciate the help and getting to bond with him like this as you decide on pancakes, blueberries in his, chocolate chips in yours, whipped cream and lots of syrup on both. 

You’ve been ditching the table more often to sit together on the couch, his desire to be near you getting stronger with each movie you watch together, and this time you lean on him as you share one of your favourites with him and dig in to your sugary food. When you’re both done your plates find a spot on the coffee table so he can put his arm around you, and for once he doesn’t ramble as you’re the one telling him all about the movie, from little trivia you learned, to memories of watching it with your family and friends. He takes it all in, paying more attention to you than to the movie just like you do with him, and right as you tell him this is your favourite part he kisses you, silencing you for the remaining runtime as you curl up against his chest.

When it’s over and the dishes are done he leads you into his studio, and you stare in awe at all he’s done so far; you never go in here, preferring to give him his privacy since it meant so much to him, and it feels like you’re at a proper art gallery as you spin in the center of the room, taking in every last piece. On the table in the middle there’s something he’s still working on, the rough workings of a bird flying over the city apparent even in this stage, and when he sees you looking at it he walks over to explain. ‘It’s not an original, I’ve already painted this a few times,’ he tells you, which is hard to believe because it looks so raw, so new. ‘It’s what I was working on when I left New York, I tried so hard to make it turn out the way I saw it in my head, but every attempt fell flat until I knew I couldn’t stay any longer, it was my last piece as Joshua Whitmore.’

‘You still are Joshua Whitmore,’ you say and he purses his lips, shakes his head.

‘No, it was my last as that Joshua Whitmore, the one they turned me into,’ he explains, the paint dry under his finger as he traces the wing of the bird. ‘I kept trying to make it while I was traveling, but no matter what it kept turning out wrong, made me feel like a part of me was still missing.’

‘How does this one make you feel?’

He looks at you before looking back at the paper, thinking long about it before slightly shrugging. ‘I don’t know yet, every time I get close to finishing it I find some reason to start again, but this time- I’ve been working on it ever since you gave me this room, and when I work on it I think of you, so… I guess it makes me feel free, like I'm no longer free falling, but I'm learning to fly, instead.’ You stare up at him in wonder, the lights coming through the blinds making him almost glow again as he looks back at you. ‘Does that make sense?’

‘You never make sense,’ you say bluntly, and when he looks disappointed you take his hand in your own and move a little closer. ‘This time, though, you make perfect sense.’

He smiles warmly at that, the two of you standing there before he remembers he asked you to paint with him, so he opens up the windows just a bit to air the room out and starts gathering up supplies, two fresh canvases pulled out as his painting is moved to a free spot by the window so you can both share the table. ‘There’s something I’ve been wanting to work on, so I’ll be doing that, but you can do whatever you want,’ he tells you as he sends you off to refill his glass and clean his brushes, a fond smile on your face as you let him boss you around. You dump out the dirty water and start rinsing his brushes for him as he continues setting up, the paint already staining your fingers when a knock comes to the door, and you make sure he has the door closed before walking over to see who was visiting all of a sudden.

Your smile falls from your face when you see who’s on the other side, a camera pointed right at you as the reporter who did his story a couple weeks ago wishes you a good morning. Your entire body freezes as you will yourself to not look back, not make any indication that you weren’t alone, his brushes thankfully out of sight in the sink and his hoodie hanging up where the camera couldn’t see on the wall to your left. You swallow, your mouth completely dry as you fake a smile and try to say something but nothing comes out, the reporter sensing your incorrect camera shyness and holding up her mic.

‘Hello, this is Jorie Chastain from Channel 4, you’ve probably heard by now of my reward for any information on Joshua Whitmore’s wearabouts?’ she dives right in, the mic in your face as she waits for you to answer, but all you can do is gape. ‘We received a tip that he might be staying here, if you can confirm this then we’d love to get an interview with the both of you, or maybe see something new he’s been working on? I’ve read so much about his work, it would be an honour to witness one of his miracle paintings.’

Your face instantly hardens, all of the fear at being caught shoved very roughly aside as you stare her and her crew down. ‘He isn’t here, I live alone,’ you insist seriously, but she’s still trying to look past you, and when she gets a tap on the shoulder by the man behind her she looks at your hand and squints. You glance over and see the paint on your fingers, your expression still hard even as you try to hide it. ‘You caught me in the middle of something, I’m trying to do some deep cleaning on my day off.’

‘Please, if he’s here, just allow us ten- no, five minutes of his time, my loyal viewers and I are dying to know what happened to him-’

‘He isn’t here,’ you repeat a little more firmly this time, only for her radio to crackle to life. She holds it up as someone in the near distance says that they found him, Joshua crying out in surprise as several loud thuds come from his studio. You can’t help but turn then, the concern on your face giving it all away as Ms. Chastain pushes past you with her cameraman in tow, the boom guy holding the mic up to the door as she hurries for it. You take off in a desperate sprint, throwing yourself in front of the door to block them from entering, but there’s four of them altogether and you don’t stand a chance as the door is flung open and the camera is pointed inside.

Joshua had slammed all the windows shut, their apparent fifth member having spotted him through the open gaps at the bottoms so the room could be aired, Ms. Chastain gawking as she pointed at everything to be filmed, Joshua miserably pleading for them to please leave only to be ignored until it was his turn. He tries to hide his face as she asks him where he’s been, if he can confirm the rumours about his faked death and if he really did attack the kid who robbed him, that part left out entirely as she insinuated that it was his gun and that he was shot in self-defense.

Your blood boils as you watch her pick up his painting and explain that it was exactly like the one he left behind, and when he tries to take it back from her it rips right down the center, his half falling from his hand in shock. You race over and throw yourself in between them, trying to shield him from them even though he was taller, Ms. Chastain trying to question you on what your relationship was and why he chose to stay with you when you snap.

‘Get out! Get the fuck out before I call the cops!’ you scream in her face, and when the camera tries to peer past you to capture his absolute misery you slam your hand into it as hard as you can. You successfully knock it from the man’s hands as he lets out a curse, the lens cracking and a couple pieces popping off against the hardwood, and you’re about to kick it when you’re held back by the other members of the crew in a desperate attempt to save their very expensive equipment.

‘Jesus, I’d have thought the reward would’ve been incentive enough, you should be thanking me for bringing you back into the spotlight,’ she gripes as the camera is picked up and looked over, everyone so crowded around that a couple jars of paint get knocked over onto your awaiting canvas, Joshua letting out such a sad noise at the sight that it only makes you angrier. You know you can’t lay a hand on them but you reach for the camera again to get them to run, the fifth member of their team quickly asking you to sign an NDA and to get permission to air your face on the segment, and you slam the door in his face and lock it, trapping the held out papers in between the door and the frame.

You don’t realize you’re crying until you collapse against the wood, it all too much to bear, it was so much worse than you thought, and you quickly wipe your tears before hurrying back to him; he was slowly cleaning the room back up, paper towels dabbing at all the paint mixing and spreading across the table, your canvas ruined, his painting torn, a few empty spaces on the wall telling you that more work had been stolen in the chaos. You walk up to him and try to help but he doesn’t want it, he just wants to be alone, and you’re torn between staying anyway and going just like he asked.

‘Joshua, I…’

‘Please, just get out,’ he begs, and when you still don’t leave he grabs the almost empty jar and throws it across the room, splattering blue paint across everything he’d done as it shatters over a canvas, the sharp glass tearing right through it. You sniff and nod, shutting the door behind you as you hear him tear the room apart on the other side, your entire body numb as you go back upstairs and climb into the empty tub, your hands gripping your arms tight as you try to block out the sounds of his pain.

It doesn’t take long for the segment to air, your face blurred but his in full view as Ms. Chastain thanks your co-worker for her tip, and the next day your doorbell rings again as a bunch of people in suits gather on your doorstep. He hasn’t left his studio since it happened, and you haven’t gone back to work, and you figure you must look just as terrible as he surely does as you weakly tell them to please leave, no venom left in you to scare them off.

‘Hello, my name is Bryant Eldred, I represented Joshua Whitmore 7 years ago in New York,’ one of the men tells you, but you don’t care, you just want him gone. ‘Since he’s been found and he technically never finished his contract with us, I do require access to the premises to speak to him and see his work, lest I get the authorities involved, and I’m sure you don’t want that after your little spat on the television recently.’

‘Why can’t you just leave him alone?’ you ask miserably, and he looks between the other people behind him before straightening his tie.

‘He still has business with us, once it’s complete he can go galavanting across the globe for all I care, but for now, he still owes us several years of partnership, not to mention the 7 he spent, hmm, finding himself.’ You can only stand aside as the man shoos you away, the business parade strolling through your home and scoffing at everything until they reach the studio, and when Mr. Eldred knocks and announces himself, the door opens just a sliver, Joshua’s small voice on the other side. ‘Come now, gather everything still sellable up, we need to get you back to New York, there’s someone from Chicago waiting to speak to you back at the office,’ he announces as the door is forced open, the men going in and packing everything away into bags to keep it safe, and you’re just frozen there the entire time as they file out one by one, Joshua and Mr. Eldred bringing up the rear.

You look to him, pleading with him to stay as your eyes meet, but he just looks away and follows him out the door, your legs moving as you shakily run for the procession of cars he’s being led to. ‘Wait- Joshua, wait!’ you yell, and he gives you one final glance before he’s getting into the car, the tinted window hiding him from you as the car takes off down the street, onlookers already gathered to catch a glimpse until they’re gone and they’re free to go back to their lives, show’s over. You just stand there staring down the empty street, your face wet with tears as you sink to your knees in the grass of your small yard. ‘You weren’t supposed to disappear…’

It takes you a week before you’re able to go back to work, everyone torn between wanting to crowd around you after seeing you on TV and wanting to give you a wide berth, the co-worker who sold him out thankfully giving you the most space, because if you saw her you were sure you would hit her harder than you hit the camera. You expect to be chewed out for missing so much time, but the moment your boss sees your face he just clears his throat and warns you about falling too far behind, and you nod and get back to your desk. You didn’t pack a lunch, there was nothing to eat at home, and even when your stomach growls you can’t bring yourself to get up and find the nearest vending machine.

You know the irony of it all as you immerse yourself in your work, choosing it over taking care of yourself, but what does it matter when he’s gone, there’s no one to take care of you now.

You catch up on everything fast when you’re at home, there’s nothing to do outside of it, no movies to enjoy, no delicious food to make, no baths to soak in, no warm arms to hold you against an even warmer chest, and you have to stop typing as the misery hits you so hard it hurts. This place has never felt so empty, and you once again stare at the door leading to your spare room; you haven’t been in it since he left, and you can’t stop yourself from approaching the door, your palm resting on the handle before you give up and walk away. You’re heading back for the table when you look up, see his hoodie still on the hook where he left it, and you don’t know how you haven’t noticed it yet, maybe because your eyes have mostly been on the floor all week.You walk up to it, the fabric soft under your fingers, and you take it off the hook and hold it up to your nose.

It smells like him.

Your fists bunch it up as your shoulders shake, and you stumble back until you hit the stairs, the wood pressed uncomfortably into your back as you sob loudly into the collar.

It’s another week before you finally go into that room, the mess he left behind now gathering dust. He really trashed the place, but it looks like he had started to clean it a bit too judging by the one corner where things were still neat. You wish he would walk back in so you could handle this together again, and it’s almost too much when you see the ripped pieces of his painting, the only thing left behind. It looks like he had ripped it up more in his frustration, but had also started to tape it back together, and you finish the job for him before bringing it out into the living room, where you pin it directly to the wall next to your grandfather’s painting.

By the third week, his hoodie is starting to smell like you from how often you fall asleep holding it. His bottle of shampoo is empty, and you can’t bring yourself to buy more knowing that he won’t be there to use it when you get home. Cooking is no longer fun, there’s no one to share it with, and you’d unplugged your TV days ago. Whenever you go shopping, which isn’t often anymore, you avoid the fruits so you don’t have to pass by the apples and think of him, but just thinking about avoiding the apples makes you think of him anyway.

People have stopped whispering about you when they see you, your outburst now old news now that he’s gone, and you feel invisible as you walk the streets to go to and from work. You don’t know when you stopped listening to your iPod during your walks, his voice in your head as you feel it in your pocket and he tells you that talking with someone when you’re out in public is so much better than shutting yourself off from the world, just another distraction and desperate attempt to avoid human interaction.

‘You’re so insufferable,’ you tell the empty space beside you. You get no reply back.

He’s been gone an entire month when you see him again on the break room TV. You’re only in there to grab some water because you can’t take it anymore, and as soon as you feel the tap on your shoulder you look up and drop the glass back into the sink with a loud crash. You turn up the volume as the reporter announces his return, the picture of him definitely recent, you’d recognize him anywhere, but his hair is slicked back again and he’s been crammed into another dark suit.

He told you once about those days, how the more recognition he got and more gallery shows he had to do, the better he had to dress, how they didn’t like the idea of someone making so much money when he looked the way he did. He’d tried to tame his hair and dress nicely by his own standards once, but he’d been torn apart by the media the next day, scathing remarks directed at him amongst praise for his work, and after that he’d just let them dress him, another part of him stolen to please the masses.

He looks like that again as the footage from a month ago plays next to his photo, as well as new footage of him arriving in New York, and the reporter promises an amazing experience at the showcase of all his new work as well the dates of every following show and auction, and you just shake your head at the screen at them already taking everything they could now that he was back there.

‘They can’t do this to him again,’ you say without realizing, your hands shaking as his photo disappears and a story about something else takes over, and already you miss him as you fight to keep it all in.

‘Well, if you really think that, why don’t you go do something about it?’ You spin as the betrayer stands in the doorway along with a few others, your sadness turning to anger as soon as you see her. ‘Wait! I didn’t know, okay? I didn’t know he meant so much to you, or that he’d leave you,’ she quickly explains, but it’s not good enough as you fight back a sob. ‘Look, his showing is this weekend, right? Why don’t you just go and talk to him?’

You stumble slightly until you find support against the wrap-around counter, it was something you’d been wanting to do ever since he left but you couldn’t, he’d made his decision, he’d left you, there was nothing you could do about it now.

‘You really think any of us believe that after we saw you tell Jorie Chastain herself to fuck off?’

You hadn’t realized you’d said it out loud, and normally you’d be some kind of embarrassed, but you’re mostly just tired. ‘I can’t, what if I go all the way over there to see him and he doesn’t even want to see me? I can’t- I can’t go through that again…’

‘Then he’s a dumbass who doesn't know what he’s missing, cause we think you’re pretty badass, honestly,’ someone else says, and you instantly jump to his defense by saying he wasn’t a dumbass.

‘See? You’re obviously crazy about this guy for some reason, crazy enough to hide him in your house like some kinda fugitive and take on an entire camera crew for him, but you’re not gunna risk seeing him again on the chance he might say no? Where did that fighting spirit go?’ You look at your betrayer, no, your co-worker, and she reaches into her pocket to pull out a check signed by the news station, a sheepish look on her face. ‘I never cashed it when I saw what they did, use it to get yourself a ticket to the show, use the rest to take him to dinner or something, even though apparently he can afford it despite the whole homeless look he has going on.’

You’re about to say he wasn’t homeless again but you don’t, just taking the check and folding it into your pocket as you thank her, a few others chiming in to say they’d cover for you while you were gone this time, and you thank all of them before rushing back to your desk. You gather up all your stuff and rush back home, almost running the entire way there as pure adrenaline fuels you, and you call the gallery in New York to buy yourself a ticket as you pack the moment you get home.

You’re miraculously able to book a last minute flight once your ticket is secured, and luck is with you the entire way to New York, even down to being able to grab a recently freed room at a hotel very close to the gallery. You dress up as nice as you can just so you can fit in, and you’re practically vibrating the entire way to the show; there’s people lined up outside the door to see his work, only the ones who already had their tickets handy allowed to get in, and once again you’re bribed with way too much money as you approach the large double doors.

Fuck that, you’re here to see Joshua, no one was getting in your way again.

The place is overly large and very sterile white, splashes of colour of what you assume is art decorating the walls, and you really don’t get it as you follow the crowd to where his viewing was. You start to push past people when you see glimpses of familiar things in the distance, all those rich pricks glaring daggers at you but you don’t care, you were the only one there for him, and you eagerly hand over your ticket and hurry inside the second you approach the gates. 

You see so much of what decorated your spare room only a month ago, all of it spaced out between all the new things they had probably forced him to do to fill the space, and you can almost feel how empty it is compared to what he’d done when he was with you. On a few you even see the splatter of when he’d thrown the jar, and your lip quivers as you reach out to touch it, a security guard there to get you to back up before you could. You glare your own daggers at him before continuing to look around, and when you see a large crowd you go to it, hoping maybe he’d be in the center.

Instead you see the painting that was still back at home, and you look closely and realize this was the original, the last thing he drew before he disappeared, and you can feel the loneliness radiating off of it, so different from the one tacked to your wall. You push past the crowd and stand at the very edge of the barricade, ignoring the sounds of everyone whispering about how it was the last original, so many of them already putting a price on it. You want to climb over the rails and tear it from its display, stop them from looking at it, looking at all of it, and you start to actually climb over when the same guard from before grabs you and starts to lead you away.

‘Wait, I can’t go!’ you panic as he drags you to the door, your eyes scanning the room for any sign of him, another crowd gathering in the far distance as the man from your doorstep taps a microphone and speaks to everyone.

‘Thank you all for coming, I’m sure everyone is excited for the auction, but that won’t be happening until 7PM tomorrow, so be sure to keep your checkbooks handy for a brand new, original Whitmore until then,’ he says loudly, his voice booming over the room as everyone excitedly talks about it, your eyes glazing over in pure, unadulterated rage as your feet stop working. You trip and stumble into the guard enough to make him stop and hold you up, Mr. Eldred standing aside as the lights start to dim over the small stage. ‘Now, if you’d all like to join me in welcoming back my dear friend after 7 long years, the Miracle Painter himself, Mr. Joshua Whitmore!’

The room explodes in applause as a man who most certainly is not Joshua Whitmore walks out on stage, your heart pounding painfully as you slip your arm free from your fancy jacket and take off running towards him, the guard now the one to panic as he calls for backup. You weave your way through the crowd, desperate to just get to him before you’re caught, even more security guards heading your way as you start to garner attention. Joshua’s eyes are only on Mr. Eldred as he smiles and stands there like a showpony, his eyes so cold and empty as he’s thrust back into the world he so desperately tried to escape, and you’re almost there when you feel an arm wrap around your waist, a hand gripping your arm tightly as you’re surrounded.

The crowd murmurs and gossips about your capture as Joshua doesn’t even look up, and you have to wonder if maybe he’s hoping it’s another attempt at his life as he just stands there and waits. You struggle against their grips as you start to move back again, the guards ensuring that everything was fine as you fought them, and as Mr. Eldred sees you he narrows his eyes and holds the mic back up to his mouth.

‘Sorry about the disruption, looks like someone’s a big fan,’ he tries to joke, Joshua starting to turn away as he seeks refuge away from it all, and you summon up every ounce of strength in your body as you suck in a deep breath and scream.

‘JOSHUA!’

He stops, he heard you, and you just smile in desperate relief as he turns back and finds you immediately, Mr. Eldred already trying to keep him on stage as he rushes for you. The crowd parts as people take pictures of him now that he’s so close, the guards only stopping when he tells them to, he knew you, he knows you, and as soon as their hands are off of you you’re throwing yourself into his arms. He smells like overly strong cologne and some expensive shampoo, his face is covered in makeup to hide the bags under his eyes and everything else you loved about him, and there's a fresh bandage over his ear even though it’s been healed for a month, another thing to hide from the cameras so he can be presented as their perfect sellable art machine, and you reach up and yank it off before you can stop yourself.

‘Shit,’ he curses as the force makes his ear bleed a little, everyone gasping at your rough treatment of this poor, angelic artist, and you use the bandage to dab at it before throwing it to the floor.

‘You fucking left me,’ you remind him as he reaches up to touch the injury, and he looks away from you in shame.

‘They were already starting to take everything else,’ he says as everyone leans in to listen, and you wish you could make them all disappear as they film his vulnerability like it’s some sort of sideshow. ‘I didn’t want them to take you, too…’

‘So you let them take you? Do you- do you have any idea what I’ve been through this month without you? You fucking asshole, do you know what it’s been like to go home when you’re not there, how much I’ve missed you… Fuck- you are so fucking insufferable-!’

He just lets you yell at him in front of everyone, the gossip already starting, but he never lets you go, his neatly styled hair starting to fall free over his face as he looks down at you. ‘It hasn’t been easy for me, either,’ he mutters, and you choke out a laugh as you look around at everything he’s done in your absence.

‘I know, I know,’ you say, and the anger is gone as you cling to him a little harder, wrinkling his very expensive suit. ‘I’m so sorry you had to go through all this again.’

His forehead meets yours as the whispering escalates, Mr. Eldred trying to get things back on track back on stage as he tries to call Joshua up to him, and he just turns his head slightly, looking over at him before pulling you closer. ‘Hey, is everyone excited for the auction tomorrow?’ he suddenly asks, this getting everyone excited as his question is met with enthusiasm. ‘I’m sure you are, I mean, what’s better than throwing away thousands of dollars on some pretentious bullshit, isn’t that right?’ This comment gets less enthusiasm, and you rest your head on his shoulder as he starts to breathe heavily, his eyes shining again. ‘Everything in here, every single thing, do you people even know what it takes to make something like this? You don’t, of course you don’t, you’re too busy engrossing yourself in the thrill of it all, the need to buy and sell and have and collect and hoard, what even is all this to you? What am I?

‘You come here looking for miracles in my work, you tear it all apart and put it back together again the way you see fit, but that’s no miracle, no, that’s fucking humanity at its worst, the absolute dredges of the earth clawing at anything that shines, you almost got me 7 years ago but not again, nev- never again.’ He looks down at you, and you feel so proud of him as he kisses you in front of everyone, cameras flashing and people saving this to add to yet another collection, but they can’t have this piece of him, they can’t have you, he won’t let them. ‘You know what, here’s a miracle; see something you like? Take it home, fuck it, you can have it all, one last original Joshua Whitmore for the road, I quit.’

The room explodes into absolute chaos as everyone races to grab something, Mr. Eldred yelling for security to stop them as the two of you smile and walk out of the room together, everyone outside rushing in when they hear about his generous offer, no one paying any attention to you at all as you head out the doors, hail a cab, and head for your motel so no one could follow you, and as soon as you’re out of sight you mess his hair up again and take off his tie before kissing him.

The news has a field day as word of his outburst reaches far and wide, the TV constantly on as you hole up and relax until everything dies down and it’s safe to leave, and he leaves all his things behind again as you sneak to the airport a couple days later and head back to Detroit. There’s people waiting for you as you walk up to your doorstep together, and you tell them all to kiss your ass as you pull him inside; everyone knew where he was now, and you were not going to let them steal him away again. 

He ditches the rest of his suit as soon as he can, the tie and jacket having already disappeared over the weekend, and you feel yourself get emotional at the sight of him stretched out over your couch once more, like he’d never left. You kneel beside the couch and rest on the edge of the cushions as you stare at him, and he rolls over to look back at you when he notices his painting on the wall, his eyes wide as he gets up and walks over to it.

‘You kept it,’ he wonders aloud, and you walk up behind him, your arms wrapping around his waist as extra reassurance that he wouldn’t disappear again.

‘How could I ever throw out an origin-’ He shushes you before you can finish, and you laugh against the finger pressed up against your lips. ‘I couldn’t throw it out, even after… I really missed you, you know. The whole time we were together I tried not to think about how it might feel to not have you around, but I never thought… I could hardly stand it, being here without you.’

His hand rests over your own before he’s turning to face you, and he brings it up to his lips as he presses gentle kisses against your palm before he’s holding it to his cheek, his eyes closing. ‘They had everything I owned before put in storage, and while I was there I was painting in some cold studio they rented out so I could get as much done as possible, they even brought in a couch so I didn’t have to leave, and the entire time I was there I just thought of you.’ He leans into your touch even as he’s the one holding your hand in place, and you reach up with your other to rest on the back of his neck. ‘I wanted to draw you so badly but I couldn’t, I didn’t want them to sell you like some meaningless muse to anyone just wanting another piece of me.’

You start to walk back towards the couch but he stops you, this isn’t where he wants to be, and together you head for your bathroom, your clothes stepped out of and tossed onto the bed without a word. The tap turns on and the water pours out as you lean against the sink, his body pressing against yours, and it’s intimate as every part of you touches but there’s no lustful desire behind it, you just need to be as close as possible until the tub is full and you can get in. You grab the shower head and sit down, preparing to start when he takes it from you, and you look at him before spinning so your back is to him instead.

He eases you back as he runs the water over your scalp, fingertips gliding through your hair and over your head as he mirrors what you’ve done to him, and it feels so nice you can’t help but let out a sigh. You hold the nozzle as he starts to massage in the shampoo next, and you’re almost upset you never got more of his brand as he has to use yours. It’s fine though, you can always get more, he’ll be here to use it when you get back, because he’s back, he’s back, he’s back.

You sniffle and try to keep it together but it’s so hard to as he gently shushes you and pulls you back even further, his legs on either side of you as he keeps working, the suds running over your shoulders and down your chest and back thanks to the angle. When your hair is good and lathered you hand the nozzle back, and he takes just as much care rinsing it all out again, your hair pushed away from your eyes as he caresses your face so gently it’s enough to almost tug another sob from your chest. The water goes back off but he doesn’t let you sit up, pulling you back even further until you're resting against his chest, your legs floating out as he leans against the back of the tub. He just holds you like this for what feels like forever, and you hope it actually is even as your tears calm and your heart slows, your body getting used to him being there with you again.

‘I love you,’ you tell him again, and again he’s silent, and you’re about to think that it’s still okay when he easily spins you around until you’re facing him, your legs curling in to touch the bottom as you stay afloat.

‘I love you too,’ he says as you brace yourself on his chest, and he looks almost unsure of it before he looks into your eyes, and when he says it again it’s without any doubt. ‘I love you, too.’

You lean in to kiss him then, your bodies slotting together so easily in the water, and there’s still no rush as he deepens it, pulls you onto his lap. You wordlessly ask if he wants this, if he’s ready, and he nods before kissing you again, and you reach down until you touch warm skin, Joshua gasping into your mouth as you readjust your positions. It’s easier thanks to the water, the lesser gravity allowing you to sink down onto him as he grabs onto the rim to stabilize himself with one hand, the other on your waist as you start to move. 

The sound of the disturbed water from your movements and your heaving breaths fills the room as you roll your hips onto him, your face pressed into his shoulder as his head falls back. You almost have to work twice as hard thanks to the water but you don’t mind, you’d wanted this for so long and now nothing was going to take him away from you again. Your name falls from his lips in a chorus of sounds, and you chime in with his own as he moves up against you a little faster, the two of you clinging to each other like you might drown if you let go for even a second.

His noises start to sound more choked as he gets closer, and you look up from his shoulder to see his eyes are shut tight, tears rolling down his cheeks as he pants, and you think he might be the most beautiful work of art on earth as you tense around him and pull out the most beautiful sounds yet.

You let the water float you as you breathe into his shoulder, loose kisses pressed wherever you can reach before you lean up and kiss the tears from his cheeks, your own threatening to fall from how much you love him as he lets go of the tub to hold you, his body instantly sinking down and almost submerging him as you help him stay afloat. The moment is ruined just a little as he stares at you in shock, and then you’re laughing, the water cold and your fingers wrinkly as you separate and try to stand. You’re both wobbly but you support each other as you get back out of the tub, and you dry each other off before draining the water and heading straight for bed. The covers are warm and the mattress is soft as you both lay on your sides, facing each other, his ear pink and irritated still from where you scratched him, his hair almost completely dry still as your pillow becomes way too damp to sleep on.

‘We still haven’t used the jacuzzi,’ you think out loud with a playful raise of your eyebrows as your hand finds his between your chests.

‘There’s always tomorrow,’ he suggests, but the mention of Monday only makes you remember that you couldn’t stay in bed with him forever.

‘I don’t want to go back to work tomorrow,’ you mutter as you brush his bangs out of his eyes, and he lets out a soft chuckle as he links your fingers together and holds the back of your hand against his lips.

‘I need to find a job, I just lost out on a lot of money,’ he whispers like it’s a scandal to even talk about it, and you fake hitting him ever so gently.

‘Could’ve bought a new house with all that,’ you add, and he nods, ‘you could’ve been able to draw all over the walls for real.’

‘Guess we’ll have to start saving,’ he figures just as softly, promising you the future you’ve been wanting to have but could never ask for.

‘What else are you good at, Miracle Painter?’

‘Physical labour, mostly, did a lot of odd jobs when I was in college.’

‘I cannot imagine you doing physical labour.’

He rolls onto his back and pulls you onto his chest, the move surprising you as you let out a small, ‘Oof!’ ‘You’ll have to help me write up a resume, haven’t had to do one in over a decade, y’know.’

‘I can help you type a resume, it’s more professional that way,’ you say, and he scoffs before you kiss him quiet. ‘Or you could come work with me, I’m sure there’s something we can find for you.’

‘I’m not using a computer, I refuse to be like you,’ he bargains, and already you start racking your brain for any jobs where he can get away with that.

‘Deal.’

Your alarm wakes you up at 6AM on the dot, and you groan and reach for it blindly until the weight on you stops you from flailing any further. Joshua is tangled up with you again, your naked bodies reminding you of how the night before went, and you bite your lip as you blush from your cheeks to your shoulders. You want to stay with him but you know you can’t, so you shift until you can reach your phone and turn off that blasted alarm, you really do need to find a better tune than this one. You’re about to attempt freeing yourself when you notice you have a text, and you click on it to see that it’s your co-worker telling you that she had you covered, to enjoy your day off, one last apology for the trouble she’s caused you. You type out a thanks and put your phone back on your bedside table, ready to fall back asleep for a while as Joshua snores beside you.

You don’t wake up again until closer to noon, and when you yawn and stretch he finally stirs as well, the bags under his eyes looking a little less intense after such a long sleep without you waking him up for breakfast by dawn. You whisper good mornings to each other despite the time, and after a couple quick showers separately, because you know what another bath will get you right now, you get dressed and head downstairs to find something to eat. You’re a little low on food thanks to your breakup depression, but that’s nothing a little trip to the store can’t fix. You’re getting your shoes on as he sits on the couch and prepares to wait when you get his attention, his hoodie tossed his way as soon as he looks.

‘No more hiding, I want you to go with me,’ you tell him, and he smiles as he hurries to pull on the extra pair of boots you’d gotten him before he’d left.

Everyone stares at you as you shop but neither of you care, and no one dares approach when they see the look you give them when he’s focused on other things, and when you finally get back home with a bunch of groceries and new art supplies it feels like you’d won the lottery instead of ran errands. You unpack the food while he takes his supplies to his studio, and when he opens the door and sees the mess still inside he swears under his breath, he’d forgotten it was this bad. You come up behind him and promise that you can clean it together, but if he does it again he’s cleaning it alone, and he takes the deal as he sets the bags and canvases onto the table before helping you.

With everything put away you start on a proper lunch, and he chooses homemade pizza simply because it’s something you can make together, the two of you cutting the toppings and fighting over how even your halves were as you spilt shredded cheese all over the floor. When it’s ready and tossed into the oven, you sneakily plug your TV back in and ask what he wants to watch, but he just wants to watch another favourite of yours. You blush and grab something you haven’t shared with him yet, the movie starting as the pizza finishes up, and you cuddle up next to him as he stares at his painting.

‘Did I ever tell you what that one was named?’ he asks as the opening credits roll, and you think about it before shaking your head no. ‘“Arc of a Bird,” I never could think of anything different, that was just what always came to mind whenever I tried,’ he explains, and you can see it, but he isn’t done. ‘But, after I tried again, after I met you, whenever I think of that name it feels wrong to me now, like even though it’s the same idea it felt so different when I worked more on it compared to all the other times, and with how it makes me feel now, with you on my mind… I think I’ll name it after you this time.’

You pray he doesn’t see the way your lip quivers as he looks back at you, and when his eyes settle on your mouth you wonder if he might kiss you, but the oven going off disrupts anything from happening as you hop to your feet to grab the pizza. He stands nearby as you slice it up, his side definitely bigger than yours, but you don’t mind as you grab your food and sit back down. Your bodies fit so easily together as you rewind back to the start and steal a bite from his slice, Joshua doing the same to you as you laugh and turn up the volume to drown out the sound of the birds singing outside your wide open window.

[daughterthethird]

can i get my girl as a cat? /nf :3

*places her gently in your hands*

Warrior-fication under the cut:

Olive is a kittypet who sometime gets into scuffles with the neighboring cats, resulting in her scars. She’s fascinated by whats beyond the forest edge, and she would often trek through the forest, yknow, just to hunt a mice or two. This would then obviously result into chaos once border patrols caught sight of her. They chased her away—but not before she manage to get acquainted with one of the clan cats (Edric!!!). They then went on to have a few secret meetings here and there and the rest is history 🫶

[local-soda-can]

it’s not completely finished but i’ve got most of it done! so without further ado…

Sprollows Ponyo Au! :DDD

a bit of background under the cut:

one of my lovely partners has two ocs; Bean Sprout and Icarus Hollows

they’ve posted a few things about them(mostly bean since they are her main oc) on their blog go check them out :D -> @chillibeanos

in the lore of these wonderful ocs, they are married :D

…..and they are also doomed by the narrative in a way-

now, i am completely normal about these two silly guys and i am also very absolutely normal about the ghibli movie ponyo

so i have decided to make a little au between ponyo and sprollows :3c

i haven’t really done a thing like this so i really hope that it’s good enough or at least somewhat decent

if you come across this please let me know what i can improve on and give just general feedback •w•b

now, if you do read this and you don’t know about bean lore and this doesn’t really make sense to you, that’s alright! both me and chilli are free to gush about bean lore! (i would mostly suggest going to ask chilli since they are the creator of bean and icarus and whatnot)

(small note: in the story, bean uses she/her. however, reg!bean uses they/them. i am using she/her in this story since they are a child in this au and therefore still use she/her. i am putting this so that you don’t get too confused when you go to my partner’s blog and see them refer to bean with they/them)

now i did change a bit of the story, mostly at the “end” where i stopped writing, since i wanted it to sort of fit with bean’s lore

ANYWHO with all that YAPPING out of the way, i hope you enjoy this silly au :3

and for my amazing beautiful wonderful adorable pretty cute precious sweet darling hot wife, i hope you enjoy this mini digital anniversary gift :3c

you’ll get your actual gift soon :D

[perpetualexistence]

Are you okay with/want me to tag you in posts about the alecody au

Oh absolutely!! Please do tag me, I want to know all about the alecody AU and how it develops!

Also just for people in general, I'm completely fine if you guys tag me in things! I encourage it even!

...Though I will say that if it's one of those mention games that I most likely won't actually participate because I end up saying 'oh of course I'll reply and tag others!' and then I forget and/or lose the urge. But I always appreciate it regardless!

[jeoseungsaja]

María Isabela Castro Guerra | Hunger Games Verse ( @mythvoiced )

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PRECIOUS LENA!!!!

[sysig]

Your Weekly TV Guide

On Tuesday you can expect:

2:30 PM: Birthday! 🎉

And Wednesday:

2:30 PM: Mother 3 - Duster

Thursday:

2:30 PM: AGE - Yves

Friday:

2:30 PM: Star Control II

Saturday:

2:30 PM: Sona daily goings-on

Sunday:

2:30 PM: Deltarune

Thanks for tuning in! (Patreon)

[sneggley]

Sometimes, I vividly remember the time my brother's dad ripped ass in front of me.

(this is all to be comedic)

Even though I'm a diet atheist, (Thanks for that term @cece-seesaw) I thank Jesus Christ, and all of heavens angels, that even if I did happen to inhale his airborne rectal juices, my noses olfactory sensory neurons didn't detect them; I didn't get a whiff of the inside of his rancid, alcoholic dad-bod. (in the not sexy way)

The thing is, I was shocked because I did not have a good enough relationship with this "man" for him to have farting privileges, not because I wouldn't expect it from him.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊

Me and my brother were making tea, and the nut bearer was making a sandwich, and with no warning, sighed out of his asshole. No, anally moaned into my poor leftmost ear, and I had to stand there and try not to react, try not to look at him, and try not to breath. All he said in response was, and I quote, "Sorry." And that was it. He said nothing else to me that entire day, even before that.

I didn't say anything. I only glanced at him, and he showed no remorse, and stone-faced, continued putting together this amalgam of bread and embarrassment only to curse his well, now ex-wife, with far worse. I'm perfectly capable of not laughing, but when I hold it in a tend to cry, and I swear I felt the underneath of my cheeks start to get wet after wiping moistness from my eyes.

It was a horrible experience; every experience with him was hysterical. But this one was the worst 💀

[crescentfool]

the tags you leave on art are always so kind and insightful!

anon!! i've gotten messages like this in the past before and it always makes me smile, so thank you! 🥺💗 i simply have... much love and appreciation for artists that i can't help but write stuff for them...! so it makes me happy that the people who follow me enjoy seeing it too even if i sometimes repeat myself a lot 😂

i hope you have a great day anon! and that you continue to enjoy my tags, but also other wonderful things in ur life!! (sends good vibes to u!! ✨)

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

FIREFLIES NEVER CAME ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; your seat is close to the heater. that’s the only reason gojo comes there to warm up.

word count; 4.2k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, teen!satoru, set in a canon au, mutual pining, fluff, a little bittersweet (melancholic winter vibes <3), introvert/extrovert, reader is antisocial and dense as a brick (black cat vibes :3), also kind of self-deprecating, satoru is very shoujo manga coded, just lots of puppy love!! feat. wingman!suguru <3

a/n; this wasn’t meant to be a fic …… it was gonna be really short and sweet ……… (T_T) anyway i am very fond of this reader/character dynamic so i hope you enjoy reading abt my emotionally stunted kids 🫶 biggest mwah in the world dedicated to professor logan (@staryukis) for teaching me about physics so i could find a loophole in satoru’s infinity :3c all for the sake of lore-accurate (kinda) fluff <3

”what are you listening to?”

your seat is close to the heater. 

it was nothing but a lucky draw, really. yaga-sensei was organizing the desks when you transferred, and so he gave you the first choice; one you had no trouble making, latching on to the chair in the very back, right by the window, right by the sole heater of the room. vital for surviving your chilly winter classes. 

so there you sit. a warmth sneaks through your fuzzy socks, tends to your restless legs. your feet tap and tap, on the cold floorboards, in rhythm with your never-ending thoughts, spinning like a planet in orbit.

through the fogged-up, frosted glass of the window to your left, you observe the world. headphones covering your ears, safe and snug, muffling all noise. you watch as snow falls, wholly entranced, eyes stuck on the icy snowflakes descending from the wool-gray sky — blanketing the frostbitten landscape of the courtyard. it’s pretty, all those skeletal trees, glittering and gleaming like they have something to say. sometimes they look like stars.

”… hey. did you hear me?”

gojo is being particularly chatty, today.

out of the corner of your eye, you see him wave his hand right in front of your face. you’re almost certain he doesn’t realize that it’s rude; he must be used to all eyes being on him, from the moment he speaks.

with a flutter of your lashes, you lift your weary head. meeting his gaze, the blurry shine of your own visage, reflected in his circle-frame glasses. a soft tilt of his head, and then his lips are twitching upwards, just barely, snowy strands gliding across his forehead and falling over his face. like an excited puppy.

”what are you listening to?”

you read the words off his lips, all sound muffled by your headphones. quick to lift one of your hands, pulling one of the heavy ear cushions away — letting all white noise in the room flood your senses. the snarls of the wind outside, ieiri’s laughter, the scribbling of geto’s pen against paper. 

it’s overwhelming, but a small price to pay. his voice is softer than usual, during moments like these; there’s a pleasant lull to it.

gojo tips his head to the right, still awaiting your response. all you can do is stare, watching your own reflection, fingers gripping onto the edge of your desk. as if seeking to ground yourself.

with a spoonful of hesitance, you part your lips.

”… do you like music?”

the words seep out into the air, a softly exhaled breath. gojo watches you, silently, for just a moment.

then he gives you a shrug.

”i guess?” he hums, shifting his weight from one foot to another — hand slipping into the pocket of his uniform. ”that’s more suguru’s thing.”

ah.

your mouth forms around the syllable, as if responding, but not making any sound. gaze fleeing from his glasses, crumbling under their weight, straying towards the frosted window to your left. safe, familiar, rotting trees and twitching branches. snow just as pure as the boy in front of you.

silence overtakes you both, once more. 

”... not gonna answer?” he asks, with another tilt of his head, absently rocking side to side as he lets out an exhale. ”is it a secret, or something?”

(it is, you think. but you can’t say it out loud.)

before you can part your lips again, the classroom door slides open — and you know it’s yaga-sensei just by the way his feet hit the floorboards, the decisive weight behind every step. you know even before he’s telling you to get back to your seats. 

on cue, gojo stands up straighter, shooting you another glance. bright-eyed, easy-going, every star in the sky leaping out from the glimpse you get of his eyes when he angles his body. two blue pools, flecked with white, like frozen puddles in the street. 

and then he’s strolling away.

gojo leaves, and you take off your headphones; stretching your legs underneath the desk. reaching for your ballpoint pencil, flipping open your textbook, and indulging in sleepy blinks, as yaga begins to drone on and on. you stifle a yawn with the sleeve of your blazer, resting your jaw on the heel of your palm. eyes inevitably straying towards a head of white hair.

but your name is called before you can get lost in your daydreams. 

”page 27, from the top.”

your chair scrapes against the floorboards, as you sluggishly stand up. holding onto your textbook, flipping the pages until you land on the correct passage. with shaky hands, not enough to notice, you read out loud; voice controlled, almost monotone. all you can think is that you feel his frost-clad eyes on you, from the row straight ahead.

but you continue to speak. you speak until you reach the end of the page, until you’re allowed to take your seat again, happy to feel the warmth of the heater radiate against your legs. it’s this warmth that’s important, the most important thing of all.

without it, gojo wouldn’t bother to stop by your desk.

nearly every recess, as soon as yaga leaves the classroom, he’s waltzing over — leaning against the wall, stretching his arms out, purring contentedly as heat spreads throughout his body. you think he must run cold. chatting with you, just to pass the time, just until your teacher comes back. just to warm up.

then he’s leaving, again.

that’s all it is. a cold boy, and a heater by your desk — a conversation that otherwise wouldn’t have occured. even the strongest is vulnerable to changes in temperature, you suppose.

though if warmth is all that binds him to you, it’s bound to dwindle away.

(you’re sure he’ll stop as soon as spring comes.)

the next day, gojo is nowhere to be seen. you saw yaga-sensei drag him out of the classroom this morning; something about a clan meeting, something you weren’t paying attention to.

but now you wish you had.

(it’s quiet, without him around. eerily so.)

with nothing to lose, and nothing else to do — you push your chair away from your desk, and walk up to your classmate, a question on your mind.

”… music? are you looking for recommendations?”

you nod. 

geto blinks. caught off guard, you’re sure, surprised that you’d approach him without any prior coaxing. he’s usually the one striking up a conversation with you, like a responsible class president, making sure the weird kid doesn’t feel left out. you’re almost certain he doesn’t realize that it’s patronizing.

”hmm... well, that depends.” he gives you a smile, soft around the edges. it never feels as genuine as gojo’s, but it’s calming. ”what kind of music do you usually listen to?”

…

you glance down at the floor. bundling up the cuffs of your uniform, fingers clawing softly at the fabric, bottom lip trapped between two sets of teeth.

”… what kind of music does gojo like?”

silence. your words are barely spoken, just above a whisper, just like always, but geto picks up on them anyway. you can tell he does, can feel the weight of his keen eyes on your face. analytical.

then he parts his lips.

”… ohhh.” a low hum, ripe with meaning, buzzing at the bottom of his throat. the corners of his lips quirk up into a knowing smile. ”i see.”

heat rushes to your cheeks, blossoms under your skin. if he notices, he’s even more composed than you thought he was, because he doesn’t mention it. only continues to speak, in that soothing voice, crossing his arms in silent thought.

”hmm…” you follow his gaze, out towards the window, the same webs of frost as always. it’s not snowing, but you still can’t see the blue of the sky. ”i’ve never seen him listen to music before, so i wouldn’t know.”

you can’t help but deflate, at that.

geto only smiles. exhaling, through his nose, mildly humoured — though he’s good at hiding his amusement. ”… what do you think that means?”

a blink. your lashes flutter, as you gaze up at him. 

”… huh?”

”satoru doesn’t listen to music, but he wants to know what you’re listening to.” he says the words almost coachingly, like he’s listing off a string of numbers. you realize he must have been listening in on your conversation, but it doesn’t bother you nearly as much as his tone. ”what do you think that means?”

…

(you haven’t got a clue.)

geto lets out a chuckle, laced with mirth, no longer trying to hide it. paired with a soft shake of his head, a crinkle to the corners of his eyes. ”why do you want to know about his taste in music, then?”

(… that’s a good question.)

he seems to notice your hesitance, your apprehension, the way your teeth seek to trap your bottom lip; always the victim of your muddled mind. you know the answer, of course you do — but it isn’t something you want others knowing. 

thankfully, geto breaks the silence for you.

”i don’t think you need to try so hard, when it comes to him.” his voice is soft, almost sincere, something warmer than usual. glancing away when you meet his eyes. ”… he isn’t worth the effort, anyway.”

but that’s where he’s wrong.

satoru gojo is a special case. a special person. in the orbit of your life, there’s no star you’d rather keep — no one quite as ripe with colour. 

geto couldn’t possibly understand, because gojo is always with him — always orbiting around him. he always will, until you graduate, probably even beyond that. geto has him. they’re the strongest, a pair, always matching their steps to one another. but you only have these quiet days, these chilly classes in between never-ending missions — and that’s all.

when the frost outside the window thaws, gojo will surely stop visiting your desk. your lonely little world. 

that’s exactly why — you need to find a song. if you just teach him about something wonderful enough, if you can give him something other than warmth…

(… maybe he’ll stay with you even after spring comes.)

”next time, why don’t you say what’s on your mind?” 

geto’s suggestion breaks you out of your thoughts. when you raise your head, to meet the warm pools of amber in his eyes, he gives you a smile. there’s nothing patronizing about the way he’s looking at you now — if anything, you think it may even be slightly fond, but you can never tell what he’s actually feeling. he’s frightening, like that, always a mirror to his circumstances. a chameleon, tilting his head at you.

… though you can’t help but fall victim to the kindness in his eyes. the velveteen purr of his voice.

”i’m sure he’ll appreciate that.”

a nervous pit opens up in your chest, an empty space that gnaws incessantly at your heart. will he?, you want to ask, but it feels like the words are made out of lead. you can’t get them out of your throat.

”… okay,” is all you end up whispering, a soft lull of your tongue. ”i’ll try… thank you.”

geto rewards you with a full smile.

”don’t mention it.”

spring is closer than you thought.

it’s all you can think, when you step onto the pavement, when you feel the morning air gnaw at your frostbitten cheeks. it’s freezing, it’s winter, but the signs of changing seasons are still there — a lonesome snowdrop, the crackle of an icy puddle beneath your feet. the frost is beginning to thaw. 

in a month or so, spring will be here — there’s no stopping it.

”did you bring your card?”

your headphones rest around your neck, allowing you to listen in on your classmates' conversation. all four of you are together, for once, all first-years, walking towards the nearest konbini — at gojo’s insistence. 

it’s been a week since you had that talk with geto, but you still haven’t made any progress with him.

”huh? was i supposed to?”

”… are you kidding me?”

you glance up at the pair. always walking just a little bit ahead, their tall statures obscuring the view in front of you; shoko lags behind, with lazy steps, a trail of tobacco drifting out into the crispy air. all while snowflakes fall from the sky, gently, landing in your hair, on your shoulders, melting on the inside of your palm when you hold it out to catch them. watching as they turn into droplets of water, slip through the gaps between your fingers. 

someone taps your shoulder.

geto has snowflakes stuck in his hair. they’re melting, in the strands of ink-black framing his face, matching the colour of the thick polo jacket he’s wearing. a bright red scarf is tied around his throat, and there’s a weighty look in his eyes — something telling.

a silent cue.

he falls back, slowly but surely, into ieiri’s lazy pace. not before murmuring something unintelligible to gojo, and shooting you a wink — one that makes you frown, confused, a low heat blooming at the base of your spine and crawling up your neck.

and then you realize what he’s done.

gojo is looking right at you, through the black glass of his specs. only wearing a baseball jacket, no gloves or scarves to keep him warm, despite the harsh bite of the open air. for a guy who runs cold, he must not put much thought into his clothing. 

more importantly…

it’s just the two of you, now.

you blink at him, silent as a mouse. it only takes a moment for him to start moving, for you to follow, taking your place beside him while staring right ahead. if he’s bothered by geto slinking away, he doesn’t show it — only continues to walk.

”… that’s so unfair.”

gojo’s voice breaks the silence. you turn your head to gaze at him, the way his lips wrap around the vowels, haphazardly hanging onto every word he speaks.

”just ’cause i have clan money,” he kicks at a pebble on the side of the road, wisps of white hair swaying with a shake of his head, ”suguru thinks i should pay for our snacks. isn’t that unfair?”

you hesitate. then you nod along, absently.

he seems to take that as a yes, because it makes him brighten — as if gleaming with your approval, standing a little straighter, puffing out his chest with an exhale that turns into white smoke.

”right? they only give it to me because they want me to come back to kyoto, anyway…” he trails off, holding the tip of his tongue between his lips. ”… not that it matters. anyway, i just think he’s oppressive.”

”… mm.”

from this angle, you can see a sliver of his eyes. can see the way he steals a glance at you, without even turning his head — hands slipping into his pockets. there’s a moment of silence, until he’s parting his lips again. 

”… i can buy some for you, though.” 

(you barely pick up on the words, spoken almost in a whisper — as if an afterthought.)

he clears his throat.

”… if you don’t have the money, i mean.”

you can’t help but blink, at that — lashes fluttering in rapid succession, wondering if you heard him correctly. he doesn’t seem keen on elaborating, though. walking on, ignoring all snowflakes descending from the sky, eager to nuzzle in between his locks. his infinity keeps them out. 

”… why?”

it’s all you can say. all you can verbalize.

(in a story like this, why would the brightest star of all orbit around someone like you?)

gojo gives you another glance. his iris cuts into your skin, observes you on what you’re sure must be a molecular level. he lets silence linger, for a moment, tipping his head back to look up at the sky.

gray, and more gray. flecks of white. you’d see the same thing he does. 

”hmm…” he lets out a breath, head falling forward again, snowy strands ghosting against the skin of his forehead. ”let’s call it a trade.”

another series of blinks. 

gojo turns towards you, then — a fresh grin blooming on his lips. white teeth, pink gums. it makes him look boyish, innocent, just another city boy with too much time on his hands.

”i buy you snacks — and you tell me what music you’re always listening to.” he bends his body forward, tilts his head at the same time, all lanky and charming, like a big cat. ”deal?”

you stay silent.

he’s looking at your headphones, still left neglected around your neck. your gaze falls down to the icy concrete, the thin layer of frost, waiting to be melted by the first sunrays of spring. whenever that will be. 

geto and shoko are still behind you — you can hear their low, muffled chatter, smell the remnants of tobacco in the air. and you swear you can practically hear geto’s words, echoing through your head.

(why do you think that is?)

gojo is still looking at you. expectantly, lips curled up into a lazy smile. he’s waiting, you know he is, and you also know he isn’t very good at that. you know a lot of things — what you don’t know is what to say. you don’t know if you can believe in whatever geto was insinuating, don’t know if you can grapple with your own longing to do so. 

(next time, why don’t you say what’s on your mind?)

geto doesn’t get it. he doesn’t know what your feelings towards gojo truly look like. doesn’t know that what’s on your mind when he’s around is always something horrifically embarrassing. something like, i want to know more about you, or maybe i wish i could tell you more about me. something awfully cheesy, like — i’m jealous of how bright you shine, but i can’t help but like you anyway. 

if i become your friend, would it be okay to say i understand your loneliness? that i notice it, even just by a fraction?

would that be okay with you?

(words that should be left unspoken.)

”… well, it’s not like you have to.” gojo exhales, again, the words a heavy weight seeping past his throat. his shoulders slump, as he turns forward, fingers trailing up to scratch at the back of his neck. 

all you can think is that he’s getting ready to leave. that nothing will change, at this rate, that spring will wash winter away. that geto should be more direct with his advice, and that if it’s not the music itself that gojo is interested in knowing more about, then surely —

” — i don’t listen to anything.”

gojo stills. the words have flown past your lips before you can reach out and grasp them, slicing through the open air.

he spins around, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose at the sudden motion, exposing his widened eyes. those white lashes, fluttering softly, like a pair of doves eager to get above ground. you grip onto the insides of your pockets, warm and cozy against your freezing hands — it grounds you, keeps you tethered down to earth, down to him. 

”music,” you continue, sputtering slightly, as if your lungs don’t quite know how to work under pressure. winter air seeps into your windpipe, cuts the skin there. ”i don’t listen to music.”

you lift your hands, fingers curling around the soft earmuffs wrapped around your neck, hesitantly meeting gojo’s gaze — an overlapping sequence, blanketing his view. then you’re gazing down. 

”it’s just… comforting,” you try to explain, speaking softly. ”to wear them. white noise.. tires me out, so…”

the sentence trails off, unfinished. you feel silly. silly for saying anything at all, for building it up so much. silly for being the way that you are.

but when you look up at gojo, he’s brightened like a star.

white teeth, pink gums, that breathtakingly boyish grin. his blue eyes gleam with colour, almost spilling over the corners, like watercolour paint on a too-small canvas. he tilts his head, looking at you carefully, as if truly seeing you for the first time; absently swaying side to side. 

if he had a tail, you’re sure it’d be wagging.  

”i see!”

a silent breath spills into the air. your lips part, but no sound comes out, only vapour; heart pumping blood through your writhing veins, warming you up from the inside, a co-conspirator to the heat blooming in your cheeks. gojo continues to speak.

”i guess that counts,” he nods, crossing his arms with a satisfied hum. ”alright. i’ll get you any snacks you want! you can be greedy, it’s okay.”

a murmur of thanks escapes you, although you’d like to tell him there’s no need. something tells you denying him this would be like taking another step backwards, in this budding connection between you.

(… if you can even call it that.)

geto and ieiri catch up to your unmoving figures, finally, and only then does gojo spin on his heel and pick up his previous pace. calling back to you over his shoulder, a smile you can’t see but still hear.

”just don’t give any of it to those two, yeah?”

”cheapskate,” ieiri calls back, lone cigarette hanging between her lips. geto lets out something like a chuckle, his shoulder brushing up against yours.

you watch gojo’s back as he moves forward. unbothered, untethered. you think of him a snowflake in the breeze.

spring is almost here, now. it’s a bittersweet feeling, to know your conversations during recess will surely dwindle out — but at least you’ll have had this. one normal conversation, the knowledge that he was curious about you, even if you may just be the classmate by the heater in his eyes.

you’re too cold to keep him warm all on your own, so there’s no helping it. you’re willing to accept that some stars only show from the surface during winter. 

you’re willing to accept this. it aches, a little, but you’ll be okay. 

”i’ll take it things went well, then?”

geto is wearing his signature smile, when you look up at him. an expression of carefully concealed composure, lips curled up, but a knowing look in his eyes — something that borders on teasing.

you give him a nod, a bow of your head, to silently convey your appreciation. chameleon or not, you don’t really mind his ways. it’s hard to fake the warmth in his voice, when he speaks.

”i’m glad.”

the two of you watch gojo’s back, like birds gazing out at a body of water. silence lingers.

”won’t that moron get cold?”

ieiri’s voice cuts through the mold of your mind, low and gravelly, right beside you. she’s pointing towards gojo — the flimsy jacket he’s wearing. 

you’re wondering the same thing.

geto casts her a glance over your head, before gazing down at you, seemingly noticing your curiosity. he lets out a low hum; reaching a hand out to brush away the snowflakes on his shoulders. 

”temperature,” he begins, slipping his hands into his pockets; that familiar coaching tone to his voice, purposefully slow. ”is just a measure of atoms in rapid motion.”

you tilt your head, in tandem with ieiri — looking to your classmate for further elaboration. he seems to enjoy your confusion, lips curling up just a bit. gojo calls out to you, in the distance, waving both his hands, and geto returns it with a wave of his own.

an amber eye flicks towards you, an explanation on his tongue. ”his infinity can regulate that motion.”

… another tilt of your head.

geto lets out an amused breath. it scatters out into the air, a cloud of smoke, almost a chuckle.

”basically…” he sighs. ”he does just fine, in the cold. don’t worry about it. he’ll keep himself warm.”

ieiri mutters something, beneath her breath, something like you could have just said no, but you don’t really hear it. you think your heart must have climbed up, somehow; got caught in your windpipe. 

ah.

gojo can keep himself warm.

the thought spins inside your mind, over and over, a realization that makes your inner palms feel clammy. stupid, silly, this pitter-patter of your heartbeat. but what else could it mean? if the cold doesn’t bother him, if he doesn’t run cold, then…

(he wouldn’t need it. he wouldn’t need it here, wouldn’t need it during recess, within the chilly walls of your classroom. he wouldn’t need it to stay warm.

gojo isn’t after your heater. if that’s true, then…)

…

you bury your nose in the soft wool of your scarf. breathing in the fading scent, vanilla and cinnamon, grounding you to earth, lingering in your nostrils. distracting you from the rush of warmth, that blooms in the frostbitten apples of your cheeks. 

as if sensing your thoughts, or maybe just noticing your embarrassed expression, geto laughs — soft and breathy, shoulders shaking to your left. you hear it, only nuzzling deeper into the comfort of your scarf. feeling your heartbeat spin out of orbit.

in the distance, gojo continues to wave, yelling out something unintelligible. you could mistake him for a star.

spring is almost here, now. in just a month or so, it’ll be at your doorstep — waltzing right in. 

(but you aren’t worried.)

[faleve]

I don't have any wols that are currently developed but I guess I can say a few things about my OCs oops. :3c

Falco is strong for his age and can lift and break lots of things! He also wakes up at 5 in the morning to train as well. He also drives a motorcycle in speeds you shouldn't be driving at.

Jeanne on the other hand is a rich girl that wears Lolita Fashion in the classic substyle. Currently she loves her friends enough to give them rather expensive gifts, but before that she was seen as rather snobby and rather naive.

When they first met they didn't get along and their were arguments from here and there, but overtime they got to get along. Now they are close friends! :3c

feeling real real bad rn so uh hey if you read this pls share some facts about your wol (or any oc really!) with me, anything and everything, their favourite colour, their deepest trauma, do they pour the cereal or the milk into the bowl first, whatever you wanna talk about i want to hear it pretty please

[kitten4sannie]

middle of the night

pairing: boyfriend! san x fem! reader

genre: pure smut

summary: these days, san can never seem to get a good night’s rest, that is, until he’s able to completely unload himself inside his pretty little girlfriend. good thing you‘re laying right next to him.

w.c: 2.1k

warnings: mean dom! san, subby painslut! reader, both of these mfs are nymphos, somno that turns into full blown sex (they have an established agreement and there is strict consent involved), san’s got a big curved cock as per usual, pet names/name calling, praise/degradation, manhandling, tit play, spit, finger sucking, pussy slapping, marking, possessiveness, spanking, vaginal/anal sex also known as the two for one special <3 (psa: never switch from ass to pussy irl btw), rough altered missionary/doggy/back to missionary, san puts reader in a headlock (muahahahah), creampies, squirting, breeding kink, bulge kink, dumbification, brief oral, san eats his own cum out of reader, this is really filthy btw i should be locked up :3c

a/n: i literally can’t stop writing bc of the horneee that is constantly brought upon me against my will 😞 it’s all san’s fault </3 also i realized i’ve only written one fic about somno like two thousand years ago even tho it’s in my top ten kinks so i gotta fix that <3 *screams* i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed coming up with it~

song recs: angel by massive attack - beware by deftones (GRRRRRRRR BARK BARK)

San couldn’t seem to stop tossing and turning in bed, forcing his eyes shut and waiting for one side of his pillow to grow far too hot for comfort, before letting out a frustrated groan and rolling onto his other side, his cheek squished against the feathered pillow. Squinting at the glowing analog clock on the bedside table across from him, San blinked a few times, his eyes getting used to the darkness inside the room. It was already nearing dawn and he still hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. There had to be some kind of solution.

It was then that you shifted besides him, emitting a soft moan and rolling onto your back, your loose tank top lowered just enough so that one of your tits had popped out of it, creating another obstacle for San to overcome, one that wouldn’t let him fall asleep until he confronted it.

“Fuck,” San whispered to himself, pushing the covers down far enough to confirm his growing problem. With half-closed, tired eyes, your boyfriend watched his cock repeatedly throb upwards against his loose black sweatpants, as if it was begging him to do something, and quick.

Hs thought back to a conversation you had earlier that week, one you brought up after he had just got done fucking you all over the house in every position imaginable. Like many of your sex marathons, it was initiated because of something simple — you being bent over the washing machine to fill it up with a load of detergent, which, of course, led to San filling you up with his own load in every possible area of your house, including the back patio when you tried to water your poor succulents.

“Sannie, you might as well fuck me when I’m asleep too, at this point,” you giggled, running your fingers through San’s soaked hair, admiring the way he looked in between your legs, with his mouth and tongue exploring your leaking, cum-filled cunt.

“You mean that, angel? My dumb slut wants me to fuck her even dumber in her sleep?” he asked in between licks, humming softly as he continued to languidly clean you up after the destruction he caused to your used hole. It was his favorite pastime, besides rearranging your insides and painting them white with his seed, of course.

Moaning at his mean words, you tugged on his hair, rubbing your soaked pussy in his face like you always did. “Yes, I mean it, baby. Now, shut up and clean up your mess.”

Before San knew it, he was hovering over you, your thighs wide open and resting against his own, your loose, nonexistent sleep shorts tossed to the side so that he could eagerly rub his slick cock along your plush folds, his thick, calloused fingers exploring every inch of your heated skin, groping at your soft thighs, your hips and waist, eventually getting distracted by your tits, rolling your tank top up over them until they spilled out into his greedy hands. He squeezed and rolled them around, bringing his drooling mouth down to your chest to drag his hot tongue up and over your tits until they shined with his spit, pinching your puffy nipples in between his teeth until you whined out in your sleep, feeling your arousal leak out onto his pulsing cock when he finally pushed inside.

“Mmn, my angel is such a good little cocksleeve, so fucking wet for me even in her sleep,” San sighed lovingly to himself, sucking one of your tits into his mouth, spitting on it for good measure, before exchanging it for the other, moaning around your soft flesh, his eyes never leaving your pretty flushed face, even though you weren’t even awake to look down at him.

Unable to hold himself back, he began to buck his hips wildly into you like he always ended up doing when your tight, warm cunt sucked him in the way it did, the headboard beginning to bang loudly against the wall behind it. Grunting, San licked up from your spit-laced chest to your neck, sucking and biting into it, leaving his mark on you. “My baby, my sweet girl, you’re mine, all mine, even when you’re dreaming,” he whispered against your slick skin, slowly pulling back when he heard the breathy gasps you were letting out turn into full-blown moans.

“S-sannieee, I’m so full,” you voiced in a sleepy tone, reaching up to rub your tired eyes, studying your boyfriend’s rosy cheeks and lips, the way his drenched hair stuck to his forehead, a few drops of sweat landing on your face, unable to look away from his intensely dark, lust-filled gaze. “Is my pussy making Sannie go crazy?”

A low growl erupted from San’s throat, a vein starting to grow taut against his skin, now that he was pounding into you with abandon, reaching up underneath your thighs to forcibly fold you in half like you were nothing but a doll for him to use. “Your slutty cunt always drives me crazy, princess, so be good and take responsibility, hm?”

Barely able to breath now that you were akin to origami, your brain grew delightfully fuzzy from the lack of oxygen, encouraging the hazy, half-asleep state you were still in and the oversized cock that was being driven relentlessly into your cervix to work in tandem until pleasure overtook your body to the point of orgasm. “Fuck, Sannie, baby, fffuuck, I’m cumming…!”

“Oh, my dirty girl, creaming yourself so soon?” San mused with his lips quirked into a shit-eating grin, his dimples and canine teeth on display. Just as your eyes begin to disappear underneath your fluttering eyelids, San suddenly grabbed you by the chin, reaching down in between your sweaty bodies to smack his hand down roughly against your spasming cunt. “Look at me when you’re squirting on my cock, baby. You know better.”

“S-sannie, it’s so, oh my god–” you cried out, opening your mouth to moan and instead feeling his thumb slide over your tongue, your lips closing around it. You continued to suck on his thumb as he fucked you through your first mind melting orgasm of the night, biting into it when he smacked your cunt again with his free hand.

“Owww, bad girl.” San watched you lick and suck on his thumb with a lecherous smile plastered on his red, sweaty face, rubbing his other thumb roughly into your puffy clit, rolling it in circles until he felt your thighs trembling nonstop against his moving body, suddenly stopping his movements to sheath himself fully inside you, groaning heavily as he flooded your pulsing cunt with his hot load. “Mm, you feel that, princess? I’m pumping all my cum into this slutty womb of yours, so I can get you nice and knocked up for me…You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Just as he pulled his thumb out of your drooling mouth, you clasped your hands onto his cheeks, looking up at him hearts in your teary eyes, and begging, “Yes, Sannie, I like it, love it so much. Can I have more?”

And there it was. You might’ve been the love of his life and his beautiful angel of a girlfriend, but you were still his personal breeding bitch at the end of the day — and in the middle of this hazy, sleepless night.

“Oh, yeah?” San hummed, slowly pulling out of you and running his fingers through his wet hair, just for it to fall back into his half-lidded eyes, watching as his cum began to flood out of your gaped, fluttering hole. He wanted nothing more than to eat it out of you, his mouth watering at the thought of tasting the warm saltiness mixed with your sweet squirt on his lips, but he still had to pursue his mission of pleasing his baby. “My little slut still hasn’t had enough?”

“No, Sannieee, I need your cock in my other breeding hole. Please?” you whined softly, pouting up at him, hoping you’d get your way now that you were fired up and desperate for him to fill and own as many of your holes as he could before the both of you fell victim to drowsiness.

San closed his eyes to ground himself for a second, not even fully prepared for the filth that you exuded, despite being quite the pervert himself. When he opened his eyes back up, he looked down, his curved cock now painfully stiff and twitching upwards into his heaving abdomen, somewhat winded from how hard he had been fucking you just a moment ago. “Head down, ass up, little slut. Don’t make me ask twice.”

And just like that, you were lying with your head pressed into bed, drooling heavily from both ends, getting saliva onto the arousal stained mattress, your sopping wet cunt pushing out all of San’s load and causing it to drip down your inner thighs, your weak, bruised knees wobbling beneath you, your ass being relentlessly pounded into by your ravenous boyfriend. “Gonna cum, gonna cum–”

Your warning was cut off by a sharp gasp, just as San’s hand collided with the side of your reddened ass, his fingers grabbing into the soft, sensitive flesh until you whimpered pathetically. “You’re such a filthy slut, aren’t you?” he growled between gritted teeth, smacking the other side of your ass and making you cry out before you could answer him properly. He suddenly pulled out of your ass and forced himself back into your cunt, stuffing you completely full, hunching over you so that he could put you in a headlock, loose enough so that you remained conscious, but tight enough so that you could feel deliciously dizzy. “You’re my filthy slut. All mine to fuck raw, to ruin, to breed. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whispered hoarsely, opening your mouth up to accept his tongue inside when he closed in on you, feeling breathless once he manipulated your body until you were back underneath him, your legs near your head, his cock so deep inside your cunt that the tip of it created a prominent bulge inside your stomach, one that San was already palming as he began to shudder, his lips, teeth and tongue attacking your neck again to leave more marks, darker ones that you would have to put concealer over before you went to work the following morning. “That’s it, that’s it, cum inside me, San, please, make me yours!”

“You’ve been mine since the beginning, angel, but I’ll make you mine again, and again, and again,” San exhaled onto your lips, wrapping his arms protectively around you, his cock completely sheathed inside you, his tip just about kissing the entrance of your cervix, your bodies so entangled together, neither of you knew where the other began. You gazed into each other’s hazy eyes, moaning into each other’s open mouths, as another seemingly endless flood of thick, hot cum claimed your womb. “I love you so fucking much, it hurts.”

“I love you too, San,” you sighed back, caressing his heated face, your fingers slipping into his hair just as he began to lower himself down, shuddering at the sensation of his lips and teeth making their mark on your chest, abdomen, hips, then gasping when he made his way to your center, his hot tongue slipping inside your pulsing cunt.

Like every time before, San ate his warm load out of you like a starved man, his nose nudging your sensitive clit as he moved his head in an up and down motion, coaxing more of the saltiness onto his tongue, reaching up to rapidly rub your clit just because he could, pleased with the way you began to cry and shake, your warm squirt pouring down his throat. He swallowed it all down with a low, pleased groan, dragging his tongue up and over your used, puffy cunt to collect the last few drops of nectar, before he finally felt tired enough to collapse down onto the bed next to you.

With the last ounce of his strength, he pulled you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then to your lips, letting you taste your combined essence. “Bedtime?” San whispered, cradling and rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs, looking at you with a fondness that bordered obsession. He chuckled softly, giving you a dimpled smile. “I promise I won’t wake you up again.”

“You won’t wake me up, but you still might fuck me in my sleep? Huh, nympho?” you teased jokingly, cradling his face back, so close that you breathed in the same air, your eyes never leaving his, despite how heavy your eyelids began to feel. “I need my sleep, you know.”

San was in a similar state, starting to drift off, his hands leaving your face so that he could wrap them protectively around you. “Sorry, baby. I’ll try to be quieter next time,” he murmured, letting out a soft giggle, pressing a kiss to your lips just as his eyes began to close. “Just don’t be mad at me when you wake up with my cock still inside you…”

Leaving a kiss on his nose, your eyes started to close as well, completely relaxing into your boyfriend’s warm embrace. “I’ll be mad if it’s not still inside me.”

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© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[coquexari]

Because a thousand of you managed to break into my room in the clouds, I decided to treat you all with an actual Athena design! :3

Her cape changes color depending on the time of day :>

Here are doodles of how her cape/wings work, actually! When they rest, they have the ability to lay flat as fabric, the feathers reaching the floor and covered by the clouds that often follow her, which disappear when she opens her wings, and reappears when she rests them [AND her helmet fluff thing works as both head and tail feathers! silly lil birb :3 it trails behind her when she walks]

Not to mention! There are also snakes on her!

Her belt, and her right arm [which is often hidden behind her back, or at least always under her cape.] To represent a more cunning, deceptive side to strategy >:3c teehee, hope yall enjoy! :D

[sleepyseals]

[Image Description: A watercolor painting of a landscape at night. The horizon and foreground are solid black. The sky is dark gray and cloudy and fades to be lighter near the horizon. A greenish beam of light cuts across the clouds diagonally from the right side of the horizon to the upper left. End Image Description.]

a painting based on a searchlight I sometimes see in the distance on the way home from campus

[shalomniscient]

who are the top ten pussy eaters from ptn, hsr and genshin all together in your opinion? :3c not really a request but it would be nice if you wrote something dedicated to the first and the second places in the ranking *wink-wink*

well i already know who's in first place........ this one's for you @sinful-lanterns 🫡🫡🫡

VORACITY || multifandom x reader [NSFT][MDNI]

cw. cunnilingus, overstimulation, dacryphilia, squirting, edging, bondage

notes. the little 'excerpts' aren't very long, sorry anon 😭😭😭 alas i am not creative enough to come up with that many different ways to describe eating pussy 😔😔😔 hope u will enjoy <33

1ST PLACE: CABERNET FRANC

Do I even need to elaborate. This woman uses her tongue for a living, she'll be good at using it at the dinner table and between your legs (not that there's much of a difference to her).

She's tasted a lot of good things in her life. Meals made by the finest chefs in the world, and when her Sinner abilities awakened, she tasted souls themselves. But even then, nothing can compare to the taste of your slick on her tongue as she laps it up right from the source.

Cabernet's got her hands on your thighs, her grip hard enough to bruise, keeping them spread open for her to put her entire mouth on your twitching cunt. She alternates between sucking on your clit and plunging her tongue into your hole with ridiculous speed, and she doesn't stop until you're halfway passed out and oversensitive to even the slightest sensation.

You writhe on the bed as Cabernet brings you to your nth orgasm of the night, with nothing but her tongue. Your brain is foggy with pleasure, and you're sure most of it has melted and dripped out of your pussy as cum at this point, but you retain the slightest bit of coherent thought to wonder if Cabernet's knees hurt. Surely they must—she's been at this for hours.

But they do, Cabernet gives no indication, or she simply does not care. Her fiery red hair is a mess from you tangling your fingers in them, spilling like fire across your trembling thighs as Cabernet keeps her mouth firmly on your cunt. Her tongue ruthlessly plunges in and out of your dripping hole, a wet patch having formed on the bed from the times she's made you cum.

"P-please," you slur out hoarsely, hips twitching with each lick. "'S too much, 's too much, can't anymore—"

Cabernet only hums, the vibrations traveling right to your clit and making you sob. She pointedly ignores your whimpers and continues what she's doing, determined to wring yet another orgasm from you.

And fuck, she just might.

The coil in your belly is winding impossibly tight, and you squirm in her iron grip, tears spilling from your eyes now as your entire body feels like a live fucking wire. "C-Cabernet, wait, 'm gonna make a mess—"

"Go ahead," Cabernet croons against your cunt, warm breath fanning over your overstimulated nerves. "Give it all to me."

Her lips find your clit and suck hard, and you cum with a wail and an arch of your back, squirt spilling from your cunt and into her waiting, hungry mouth. Some of it splashes onto her neck and chest, and Cabernet's eyes go half-lidded with desire before she pulls back and you fall back onto the bed, gasping for air as Cabernet climbs over you, licking her lips.

"Simply delectable, my dear."

2ND PLACE: RAIDEN EI & NAVIA CASPAR

NOW BEFORE YOU YELL AT ME FOR PUTTING A TIE, HEAR ME OUT !!

These two are both fiends for sweet things. Absolute little devils for a sugar rush. And you know what they find the sweetest in the entire god damn world? Your pretty pussy of course.

They simply go a little feral between your legs, nosing into you and trying to prod their tongue into your cunt to coax more of your sweetness into their mouth. By the time you push their heads away from your overstimulated pussy, their entire lower face is shiny with slick, some of it even dripping down their neck.

"B-Babe, wait—"

Your words are cut off as she throws your legs over her shoulders, one hand on your thigh, and the other slung across your pelvis to forcibly hold you down. She pushes her face against your cunt, kissing and sucking at your clit, the wet sounds echoing throughout the room.

You arch your back, fingers digging into the sheets as she devours you. You're vaguely aware of her hips rutting against the bed too, her own core burning with need as she eats you out like a woman starved. You release the sheets and tangle a hand in her hair, fingers winding tight enough to tug at her scalp and she moans.

When she looks up at you, her eyes are glazed over, utterly drunk on your pussy. Her lower face is a mess, but she doesn't seem to mind, not as she dives right back in to prod her tongue into your needy hole and you shudder at the sensation, pleasure dancing up your spine like a lightning bolt.

You aren't walking away from this bed for the next few hours, that's for sure.

3RD PLACE: KAFKA

We all knew Kafka would be making this list.

Kafka is a little different from the other two rankings because while she has impeccable technique she doesn't get particularly pussydrunk like Cabernet, Ei or Navia.

So she'll edge you for hours with nothing but her lips and tongue, until you feel like even her just blowing on your clit would have you cumming with a cry.

Kafka is so mean.

You knew this when getting into bed with her, but it didn't really sink in until now, where she's had you tied up for the better half of an hour, your ankles anchored to each corner of the bedpost by maroon ropes, and your wrists bound above your head—all while she laps and kitten licks at your pussy, purposefully avoiding giving you too much stimulation.

Just enough to drive you crazy, but not enough to get you off.

You look down at her between your legs with a whine, need pulsing like a second heart throughout your body as you look into her eyes, dark with desire. She maintains that brutal eye contact with you as she licks a long, slow stripe up your cunt, from your hole to your clit, and you whimper.

The sound makes Kafka grin, and she brings a finger to her lips, wiping your slick off. She rubs her two fingers together, then spreads them in a v-shape, and marvels at the sticky, gossamer string connecting them.

"So pretty, doll," Kafka says, her voice a low, dangerous croon. Her hand rests on your thigh, and you tremble as she leans down and breathes ever so softly on your wetness.

"But you can hold out a little longer, right?"

HONORABLE MENTIONS

Shenhe, Mantis, Stelle and Rahu are all eager, but can be a little sloppy. It's okay though, with enough guidance they'll have you seeing stars soon enough.

Raven runs her mouth a lot, so naturally she'll be good at using it for other purposes too.

Angell gives me incredible cat vibes, and since cats have very dexterous tongues... well, you see where I'm going with this.