#i just had the urge to share this old art of them they make me a bit emotional

[truth-01001001-liar]

I am hip deep in the bg3 hyper fixation swamp… which is only an issue cause im still thinking about TES. I don’t have time or energy to be in both swamps at once so I have no artwork done or started for either. Even though I would love to draw about it. Alas.

[smokbeast]

"When we met alone, Did you make disease? And the Diamond blue? Or did it make you, and destroy you too."

[gutsby]

Abstaining Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: The only thing worse than an anti-sex retreat is an anti-sex retreat with your former fuckbuddy and dad’s best friend. Especially when sharing one cabin.

Warnings: 18+. IF HE AIN’T GRAYIN’ I AIN’T STAYIN’ 🗣️ [Age gap]. Unprotected p-in-v. Forced proximity. Joel making you fuck just his middle finger when he’s mad. Daddy kink. Overstimulation. First-time squirting. Angst.

Translations: ‘Don’t piss down my back & tell me it’s raining’ is a fun Southern phrase for, ‘Cut the bullshit’ or ‘Don’t lie.’

Word count: 8.6k

Read on AO3

Sequel to Waiting Game & Hating Game (last rhyme I swear)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

October 26, 2024

Dear Joel,

Roses are red,

We’re a couple of sluts,

Abstinence camp is awful,

I miss you rearranging my guts.

You were just about to put your pen back down to paper and add the finishing touch, signing an equally lascivious farewell, when the letter was snatched out of your hands. A tyrant in khaki capris and an artichoke-colored polo eyed over your words with a pointed look and frowned.

“Letters to the boyfriend have to be G-rated,” Marlene said, crumpling the thing in her fist before chucking it.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you returned shortly. Then, “That was actually meant for my dad’s friend.”

You sat tight a moment as the dots came to connect in the woman’s parochial and prudish mind—waiting for the wince of disgust to twitch at the corners of her eyes when she put two and two together. Once it did, you grinned. Even when she plucked the pen out of your hand and told you to sit outside, if you can’t participate in this one simple activity, you smiled bigger and strolled at a comfortable pace out the canteen door.

Anti-sex ‘summer camp’ wasn’t bad at all when you didn’t give a fuck what your counselors told you to do.

It was ridiculous, really. Absurd. Tommy Miller catching you sucking his brother’s dick under the table at your father’s birthday dinner, losing his shit with you both, then threatening to tell your dad everything if you didn’t agree to this stupid retreat and stop seeing each other. You’d barely been trapped in the shithole for twenty-four hours, and you already knew this angle wouldn’t work.

What many of your fellow campers affectionately called the ‘Firefly Fuck-Free Zone’ or the ‘Federal Dickriding Response Agency’ (F.E.D.R.A.) was in fact a secluded enclave south of Austin where khaki-clad monsters forced you to reckon with your sexual urges like one might treat a mutated strain of the Cordyceps fungus. You weren’t meant to keep them for long, and if you did, someone like Marlene would surely shame you for it.

Frankly, Tommy was dumb as shit if he thought this anti-boinking boot camp would have an effect on either one of you—Joel wouldn’t ever bang you again after what happened that night, but it wouldn’t be because of some arts and crafts bullshit he did out on a FEDRA ranch.

He just didn’t want your dad to find out and kill him.

That was a fair concern to have. You didn’t blame him.

Presently, you kicked your feet up on the porch outside the cafeteria, where the rest of the group was finishing up letters to their loved ones—this latest activity was meant to be ‘making amends’ to the people in your life—and you tipped your head back to survey the landscape.

Nothing but sweetgrass and gently rolling hills as far as the eye could see. Somewhere across the plains there was another cluster of cabins, though you couldn’t quite see it, and someplace within that minuscule cluster, you knew there was a middle-aged man. Dark grey eyebrows furrowed in concentration and chest heaving gently. Likely hunched over an old oak desk about five sizes too small for his frame as he gripped a pen and scribbled:

Dear Tommy,

Fuck you, you fucking fuck.

Sincerely,

Joel

You grinned again just thinking about it.

If anyone had a reason to be ticked off and terrified, it was Joel. And you, you guessed. You still hadn’t gotten your period—but that wasn’t due for another few days.

For now, you’d settled on worrying yourself over what would happen after the retreat had ended; what would you and Joel do once you went back to school? What would become of his life back in Austin with a supremely pissed off brother and a best friend who didn’t know his kid had been fooling around with a man twice her age?

Silently, you thanked your lucky stars Joel’s part of the camp was kept separate from yours, because you didn’t think you’d be able to keep a straight face if you saw him.

The whole thing was sickening, if not slightly funny.

You slipped Joel’s old pack of American Spirits out of your boot and fished in your back pocket for a lighter.

Then you crammed both back when you heard a boom:

“LAKESIDE GUIDED MEDITATION STARTS IN FIVE.”

The tinny intercom rang a deafening pitch in your ears. You clamped a palm over the left side of your head and winced, having forgotten this exercise in mindfulness was supposed to be the last event to wrap up your day. You just wanted to slink back up to your cabin and sleep. Or eat. Or slip your fingers between your aching legs and indulge in some much-needed Joel Miller reminiscing.

Then you recalled how masturbation was also off limits to all would-be sexaholic campers—if there was any time to sneak off and get busy by yourself while your counselors were otherwise occupied, now would be it.

Just as you cast a glance over your shoulder to see if a stealthy exit was even possible, a voice trilled overhead.

“On your feet, skank.”

You looked back fast, and damn did Tess look smug.

Your bunkmate crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorframe, seeming to feel your thoughts before they’d even been fully processed.

“If you skip meditation, I think Marlene’s gonna take you behind the rec and shoot you in the head,” she added.

“How kind.”

“Yeah? Certain death?”

“Better than the dick deprivation,” you grumbled, only half-kidding as you dragged yourself back to your feet.

Theresa Servopoulos was no avid fan of penis herself—she much preferred women when she had her pick of it—but she grinned all the same and clapped a comforting hand over your shoulder before the two of you started walking down the mess hall’s front steps. Then she only laughed a little bit when you almost ate shit treading down the winding rocky trail to the lake and cursed your present lack of intercourse for causing your clumsiness.

“You realize it’s only been, like…a day, right?” she said.

“Might as well be a million,” you muttered, “I feel like I’m never getting laid again.”

“Oh?”

Tess gripped your elbow when a root protruding from the path nearly sent you flying again. She tried not to smile.

“Well…my fake brother’s mad at me for going behind his back and fucking his brother,” you explained, coolly.

Stupidly.

“Wait—you fucked your brother?!”

That stopped Tess in her tracks. The two of you were approaching the cusp of a clearing, just feet away from where the forest gave way to the shoreline of the lake. Folks were already congregating at the water’s edge.

“Any day now, ladies,” Marlene called through cupped hands. Tess was still regarding you with eyes the size of saucers as you traipsed across the way to that voice.

“Not my brother,” you hissed.

“You said your brother’s brother. That makes this guy your brother, too,” Tess whispered—still far too loud.

“Not my actual brother, he’s just— fuck—”

Suddenly, two scraps of red fabric were catapulted in your direction. Tess caught one. You caught the other.

“Tie ‘em over your eyes.” Marlene ordered.

“The fuck?” you mumbled, but ventured nothing more as you were ushered to join the group sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of you. Everyone else was tying bandanas around their eyes like all of this was normal.

“Another trust exercise,” Tess’s voice was low as you dropped your asses one after the other on the sand. Speaking like a seasoned veteran of the anti-sex retreat, she helped you get yours on and shot you one last ‘You-better-not-have-actually-fucked-your-sibling’ look before letting you help her secure her blindfold, too.

Just as Marlene began describing in great detail what this blind, guided meditation in self-love and elemental trust was meant to look like, your friend opted to give voice to her concerns the second the opportunity arose.

Still seated side-by-side, still blind, Tess leaned over.

“Please tell me you’re not here for bangin’ your brother.”

You had to stifle a laugh.

“I am not.”

“Then explain, Cersei!”

Just then, a throat cleared behind you. Evidently another camp counselor at your rear was telling you, wordlessly, to shut the fuck up and listen to the instructions. You and Tess just scooted closer and lowered your voices.

“So this guy, Tommy…he’s been like a big brother to me for years. Worked with my dad and always had my back for the wild shit I did back in high school,” you began.

“Uh-huh.”

“His big brother, Joel, is like…old as shit, but wildly hot.”

“Dangerous combo.”

“And Joel’s my dad’s best friend. Drove me back from college over fall break when he was visiting Boston, we took a little motel detour on the road trip home, and bam—” You snapped your fingers for effect, “We fuck, right?”

“Right.”

“—imagine you’re standing at the edge of a waterfall—”

Marlene couldn’t be serious with this hippy dippy shit. You tuned out the rest of what she said and continued:

“It’s incredible. But the condom busts open at the end—”

“Oh shit.”

“—deep breath in…and release…and again, we—”

“Freak the fuck out, right? I’m poppin’ Plan B like candy.”

“As you should.”

“—hold that breath in right there—”

“A week later, me and Joel hook up at my dad’s birthday party. Only we fuck up, ‘cause Tommy catches us, and—”

This time, the counselor who’d cleared their throat to shut you up took to nudging you both in the back with the toe of their shoe. You straightened up, tilted your head back, and scowled at them through your blindfold.

“Do you mind?” you said, turning in place but unable to see anything behind you. You imagined whoever had just butted in on your conversation was probably frowning. They said nothing in return, just huffed like a child.

“Anyway.” You pivoted back to Tess, “Tommy flips his lid, tells us he’s gonna snitch on us to my dad if we keep fucking around like that, and then he…sends us here.”

You heard your friend fight back a chuckle beside you.

“And abstinence camp is supposed to cure you of this awful disease? Wanting to fuck daddy’s best friend?”

Oddly, you wanted to giggle too. You weren’t sure what was so funny, or why Tess’s tone made you want to say something equally out of pocket and lewd, but then you were leaning over before you could even think twice:

“That old man’s dick is like a fuckin’ drug, dude.”

You wished you could’ve seen her face when you said it. But you didn’t need to catch a single glimpse to know she was grinning big and dumb when she whispered,

“Prehistoric cock must’ve been pretty nice, huh?”

You choked. She snorted. You returned, next, shortly,

“Best senior citizen schlong I’ve had in my life.”

You weren’t sure which one of you burst out laughing first. Maybe Tess. Probably you. Either way, both of your sides were splitting in seconds, as the ridiculous and just marginally offensive descriptors for Joel’s dick trembled at the tips of your tongues. You felt like a teenager again, telling your friend your filthiest desires for the DILF-next-door—except this time, you’d actually fucked him. Small perks to seeking out middle-aged men in your twenties. You had to clamp your hand over your mouth to rein in the peals of laughter as Tess wheezed quietly beside you.

Then you felt hands.

Two palms under your armpits, yanking you up.

You stumbled back, graceless and still staving off half a laugh as your back struck the counselor’s chest.

“Just…take her back up.” You heard a female’s voice to your left, low and not sounding particularly amused.

Take you where? Was this the part where Marlene dragged you behind the rec and shot you in the head?

About damn time.

Whoever had grabbed you grunted in acknowledgment. You swayed in their arms, trying to regain better footing, but the grip tightened up in a second and thrust you sideways. You staggered, cursing your captor.

“Fucker,” you hissed.

Fucker said nothing.

Their hands slipped from your pits to one of your wrists, leading you away from the lake in long strides. You were moving so fast you scarcely had the chance to pull the blindfold back, so you just kept walking. Marching.

“Can you slow the fuck down, please?”

You imagined the face of the person leading you forward might’ve twisted in a scowl. Their lips didn’t stir, though.

In a matter of minutes, your feet were crunching on the flat, gravelly terrain you knew to lay under the cabins. This person was leading you back. Likely to throw you off to your room in the next several moments—but not before ripping you a new one for disrupting the peace back down at the lake. You weren’t stoked to hear it.

“Alright, just—” You tripped as you were led up the rickety steps, cursing again, “—just leave me right here.”

A set of knuckles at your spine thrust you forward.

“No? Okay. Fine. Whatever.”

You shook your head as you entered the cabin and heard footsteps follow you in. It occurred to you then that now was probably a good time to take off the blindfold.

Before you could, though, it was ripped off for you.

“Pack your shit.”

Dude.

You spun on your heels.

“DUDE!”

Your eyes moved up the very khaki shorts you despised, the puke-colored polo, the neatly embroidered camp logo, and a nametag strangely labeled ‘Lucien Flores.’ Everything in the ensemble screamed ‘camp counselor.’ But the face above it—it wasn’t one of their own at all.

It was far too lax. Fresh with an easy, shit-eating grin.

“Sweetheart—”

He started to speak, only to get the wind knocked out of his chest when you threw your arms around him.

The barrage of kisses came without you ever really intending to place them at all. You were just so stunned, practically overcome with joy to see Joel Miller in all his ruggedly handsome glory, then confused. What was he doing here, and why was he dressed head-to-toe as a counselor? And why were you so into that on him?

You doubted you could even ask the questions, and he was barely more able to answer the longer you stayed latched to his neck, kissing him everywhere your mouth could get to. You’d just stood on tip-toes to press your lips to his when you realized he wasn’t reaching back.

His hands hung limply at his sides. Still, he smiled.

“Abstinence camp ain’t taught ya much, has it?”

You parted your lips to drag your teeth along the grey-spattered scruff on his cheek—biting but not quite. Begging him to kiss you back, grab your ass, anything to quell this anguish twisting low in your stomach at the lack of contact. Joel didn’t seem keen on answering to it.

“I’ve learned plenty, Miller,” you panted against his jaw, before moving below it to sink into the skin of his neck, “Lemme show you all the stuff FEDRA told us not to do.”

Yes, you sounded desperate. No, you didn’t really care. You were much too busy fiddling with the front of Joel’s shorts to concern yourself with anything but his cock. It made it all the more gut-wrenchingly horrific and disconcerting when you felt his hands push yours away.

“No,” Joel said, simply. Then, nodding to your luggage at the foot of your bunk, “Pack your stuff, sweets. C’mon.”

He was seriously trying to break you out?

You admired the cojones on the man, but you wanted to fuck real quick to get it out of your system. Needed it.

“Joel, I—” You swallowed thickly, shaking your head.

What your mouth couldn’t finish, your eyes said clear as day: I want you to take me right here. Quick and dirty. But, again, Joel seemed completely impervious to your pleas. Almost callous in the face of such a desperate request made from your eyes to his. He moved over toward your suitcase when you didn’t want to budge.

Luckily for you, you’d never unpacked. All that was left were the clothes on your back and a water bottle on the nightstand. Joel grabbed the latter and turned around to snag the suitcase on his way to the door, when he was met with you. Obstructing his path and frowning a little.

“Joel?” You raised a brow.

“Mm?”

The man in front of you straightened up, rolling a nonexistent kink from his neck before regarding you.

His gaze was alarmingly sedate.

“Y’know, you’ve got quite the knack for makin’ shit difficult—”

“Just a quickie, Miller—”

“I ain’t fuckin’ you here!”

The sudden boom of his voice should’ve startled you. But then a broad, warm palm came to rest on your shoulder, and Joel’s expression dropped immediately. There was still a tightness to it, somewhere deep within, and you couldn’t quite work out why he seemed so…off.

Then you caught sight of something steely in his gaze.

It just might’ve clicked if Joel didn’t reach for your face and elucidate things for you himself, eyes narrowing.

“I know my old man dick is like a fuckin’ drug and all…”

Shit.

Cheeks squished between his two big hands, you had only to stare. And blink. And silently regret being so loud when you were talking to Tess before. It didn’t look good.

“Joel—”

“No, no, my senile brain must be mistaken—it was actually that prehistoric cock that did it for ya.”

Your face heated with shame. You blinked again.

But just as you tried to shake your head between Joel’s hands, he pressed his palms tighter and drew you closer.

“Senior. citizen. schlong?” he intoned, painfully slow.

“Joel, I just—”

“Need to fuck someone your own age, it sounds like.”

The man in front of you released your face just as fast as he’d grabbed it, and when he stepped back, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of desperation. That wasn’t what you’d meant! It sounded so puerile and cruel coming out of his lips like this, but you had to tell him it was a joke.

“It was a joke.”

No time to mince words now.

“Real fuckin’ comedic genius,” Joel snorted.

He rolled his eyes and tried to sidestep you, but you mirrored the movement. When your hands flew to his chest to keep him from moving, please, just listen to me, Joel, he pretended not to hear it, or feel it, against him.

“Alright. Enough,” he muttered, “‘S’time to go home.”

“No!”

“No?”

“No.”

For the first time, you saw Joel’s nostrils flare. You pressed into his sternum again, hoping to hold him in place so you could explain yourself, but it seemed he wasn’t planning on staying stationary. Joel dropped to your bunk—or Tess’s, technically—and situated himself comfortably on the bed before shooting you a look. You barely had had a moment’s time to contemplate your next move when he yanked you onto the cot with him.

Joel didn’t try to kiss you. He didn’t attempt to remove one article of clothing from your body or his. He just sat there, staring, while you straddled his hips staring back.

“If you wanna fuck me so bad, go right ahead,” he said, motioning indistinctly in front of him, “Be my guest.”

When you stilled, he added, “That is all y’want, right?”

With your palms laying flat on his chest and a head full of conflicting thoughts—you did want to bang him, obviously, but not before you’d gotten a chance to set things straight, not when he was looking at you like this—you chewed your bottom lip. Certainly you couldn’t continue while Joel still believed you were embarrassed by his age, his lips downturned and humorless as ever.

“C’mon,” he tried again, a touch more venom laced in his words as he spoke, “Show me how much ya want it.”

You needed time to think.

“Why are you…dressed like this?” you said, stalling.

But Joel wouldn’t be kind enough to give you that time.

“Stole the uniform so I could sneak out and over here and get you out. Are we gonna fuck now or what?”

His hands moved over your own to guide them to his lower half, just above where your clothed core was touching his. Your fingers moved mechanically, almost reluctantly, to undo the button and zip of his shorts.

Was that a flash of hurt you saw in his eyes?

You’d never been good at this communication bullshit. Neither had Joel. The two of you would probably just have sex now to hash out your feelings, as was par for the course for a pair of emotionally stunted individuals. It still pained you to see him look at you like that, though.

“Tess and me were just kidding, baby.”

You palmed the bulge in his boxers and heard him grunt. When you nudged his cock out of the fabric to stroke him, his eyes fluttered shut and he sucked in a breath.

“I would never say those things to hurt you,” you added.

“Didn’t hurt me none,” Joel returned instantly. Then, feeling you flick the pad of your thumb over the head of his cock, he exhaled and held his face firm in place. Like he didn’t want you to see the effect you had on him.

You let go of his cock to take off your socks and shoes. Then your top. Then your shorts. Then you slid down his body a little, unsure if this was the time to be trying something new. Or even doing this kind of stuff at all.

At first, you just sort of lowered yourself to Joel’s groin, his dick resting comfortably between your tits. Then you started to move, and your hands were cupping either side of your breasts to push inward on his member. Before you even fully knew what you were doing, you were squeezing Joel’s dick with the soft, supple flesh and stroking him gently. Gaze glued to him all the while.

His eyes cracked open to catch you watching him. Evidently, Joel couldn’t contain all of his reactions, because he audibly groaned when you got going.

Sliding your tits up and down his shaft, feeling him pulse between them. Sensing a warmth pool in your own lower half but being too focused, and slightly ashamed, to act. You just wanted to make Joel feel good, even if your words weren’t able to do the trick with apologizing.

“Come here,” you beckoned him with just one finger as you slid off the bed, to the floor. Joel sat up, and you kneeled obediently between his legs. The two of you shared a tense, sexless look for a second before you lowered yourself back down and resumed the position.

This time, Joel could—and did—stir his hips to create some friction between your tits. His brow pinched inward with a muted concentration, and you wanted to say it looked handsome on him, that you were sorry for saying those stupid things to Tess and making him doubt your affection for him, but you kept your mouth shut. You had to remind yourself that emotions had no place between two needy, unfeeling people who just wanted to fuck.

Maybe that was how it should’ve been from the start.

But watching Joel’s face twist and contort in pleasure nearly wiped the thought clean out of your brain forever.

You felt many things for him, whether you liked it or not.

You really wished you hadn’t said the things you’d said.

Joel braced his hands at the edge of the bed on either side of him, hips working a steady pace to fuck your tits. He was staring mostly at the spot where the head of his cock was poking up through your cleavage with each thrust, entranced by the sight, and in a second, a full-throated moan was fighting its way out of his chest. He spit in his hand and paused to smear the stuff on his shaft, on your tits. Spit again and rubbed even harder.

Seeing him so cold and detached, you wanted to apologize again. Maybe beg him to say something kind.

Instead, you mumbled, “I love it when you fuck my tits.”

Joel scarcely acknowledged the remark, just letting you work yourself over him, meet his shallow thrusts, look sweet and wait patiently for him to cum all over you. When it seemed he might be ready to do it, though, Joel withdrew from you the next second and moved back on the bed. He pulled you into his lap, straddling again, but this time situated over the side of the bed—him sitting up, you perched on the flat, sturdy expanse of his thighs facing him. In the space between your bodies, Joel slid a quiet and almost careless hand to your heat, flicking the sheer fabric of your panties to the side in one go.

The moment his fingers made contact, you flinched.

It wasn’t that you were opposed to his touch, you just felt unfairly balanced in this situation. Joel appeared so stoic; you, a complete and utter wreck. Fighting fifteen different emotions at once and feeling unusually vulnerable spread open to him now, you almost didn’t register what he was doing—or what his hand might find.

Joel’s groan brought you back, though. When he rubbed his knuckles over the seam of your cunt and practically choked out twice his lung’s capacity, you had to look.

Aloof as he tried to be, the man’s desire was painted all over his expression. And his crotch. And his hand.

Well, actually, that last bit of arousal was yours.

“Fuckin’ soakin’ me, sweetie,” Joel breathed.

You perked up at the term of endearment. Watching one glistening fist of his make its way back and forth against your body, smearing sticky wet pleasure all over your mound and your folds, you found yourself gnawing your lip once more, this time for entirely different reasons.

Joel seemed to soften—even if only for a glaring carnal need, you didn’t care. You sank into this gentler touch.

“Khakis kinda suit you, Miller,” you said, off-handed.

Really, Joel looked almost as comical as he was sexy in that camp counselor getup: tan shorts stretched tight over even tanner legs, polyester top sitting pretty on wide, hulking shoulders, that silly stitched logo for the camp emblazoned over his left pec, and, of course, the nametag that didn’t belong to him but to Lucien. The whole thing was so alien to his lumberjack-chic demeanor that he nearly seemed boyish. Endearing. Some spearmint-scented hottie you might’ve had a crush on at camp years ago. You couldn’t help but smile.

Joel tried not to hold your gaze for too long.

“Don’t go pissin’ down my back and tell me it’s rainin’.”

When he slid one finger to your entrance, you tensed again, but smiled just the same and let out a breath. You felt him prod at the warm, wet skin and thumb at your clit, and something told you that he’d wanted to grin too.

“I’m serious,” you said, “Scout’s hon—ohfuckfuckfuck.”

Joel pushed one finger inside you. In spite of the ease with which he slipped between your walls, that gentle sensation made it wonderfully snug. He gripped your hip and started moving his single digit in and out, and in spite of yourself, you squirmed a bit. Joel never failed to call you out for doing that; today would be no different.

“Easy, sweet pea,” he hummed when you jumped again.

But you couldn’t help it. Your hands quickly anchored themselves to Joel’s shoulders, your legs spread wider, and your hips started stirring—bucking, really—against each teasing touch. It was still just one thick finger of his.

You glanced down and saw that it was his middle finger, in particular. The double meaning wasn’t lost on you.

“Another,” you pleaded.

“Nuh-uh.”

“You’re a mean ol— mean man.” You tried to correct course when you felt a mention of ‘old’ slip back into your vernacular, and inwardly, you cringed at your words.

Joel had already heard it. He cocked one eyebrow.

“Mean ol’ man?” he scoffed, still fingerfucking you softly. When you bucked against it, he nodded as if to say ‘fair enough.’

Then, before you could chime in, he nodded some more.

His expression was hard.

“Fuck my hand,” he said.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

You weren’t quite sure what he meant for you to do. When he nodded a third time, the gesture was accompanied by a quick dart of his eyes to the place where your cunt was being penetrated by his one finger. He curled the finger inward, and when you twitched at the hot throb of pleasure that followed, he grunted.

Fuck my hand.

Nails still searing tiny half-moons into his shoulders, you acted more out of impulse than by command. The look from Joel sure didn’t hurt, though. The second you started rolling your hips, he nodded again. Holding onto his praises for now and simply showing approbation.

“Like that,” he murmured.

All you were doing was rocking back and forth over his finger, whimpers percolating quietly in your chest, but the act alone made you feel desperate. And Joel smug.

It was like he wanted to see you getting off to this one, comparatively smaller part of him without being filled. Bucking plaintively to find that fullness and coming back empty every time. Your whimpers turned into whines.

“Need more,” you keened.

“Yeah?” Joel replied gently.

“Yeah.”

A beat, then:

“Tough shit.”

But he said it so goddamn sweet you had to do a double take to make sure you’d heard him correctly. When you met Joel’s eyes, you saw a hint of amusement lingering behind them. Then he squeezed your hip again and started helping you move into his hand, up and down.

“Only givin’ more fingers to good girls, y’hear?” he said.

“What about your cock?” You couldn’t help it.

Joel just breathed out through his nose. In a second, he went from camp counselor to disapproving father figure.

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?”

That was all he needed to say, but the firm plunge of his middle finger certainly put a finer point on it. He curled the digit again and, upon grazing that spongy surface inside you, saw another desperate plea in your eyes.

And pleasure.

The pleasure ran almost as intense as the desperation.

Your head fell back when Joel got to making those ‘come hither’ motions again and again, thumb circling your clit, eyes trained on your figure with a marked concern. Like the prospect of not drawing an orgasm out of you in the next two minutes might very well ruin the man’s night.

“‘S’alright, honey,” Joel said quietly.

Then, finding your gaze when your head tilted back,

“Be a good girl and let go for me. Let go for daddy, hm?”

Fortunately for him, that one low hum and another flick of his middle finger and thumb were all you needed to find your release. You came on his hand with a sharp, pitiful cry and a ‘Fuckthatfeelssogooddaddyplease,’ hips working feverishly against his hand as you rode out your high. The sight of you bouncing up and down on his open palm and the way your eyes rolled back, begging him to fuck you full of his cock next, felt wildly obscene.

Joel loved obscene. Needed obscene. Hot. Febrile. Raw.

He nodded again.

Before you’d even descended fully from those staggering heights, his finger was moving too—joined by two more. Joel stuffed his index and ring fingers inside your still-pulsing hole and pretended not to hear your soft cry.

After all, you’d asked for more before. Joel was just sating your desire; your overwrought body would be fine.

“Joel,” you hissed, seizing his wrist.

“Too much?” he returned.

You tried to verbalize some answer but were cut short by a punishing stretch—all three fingers plunging in and out of your sensitive, drooling cunt and making it full of him.

“Too soon?” he tried again.

“I—”

“Too fast?”

“N—”

“Too…old?” Joel pressed after a beat.

There was an air of feigned condescension in his tone as he took on a faster pace gliding his thick, calloused fingers between your walls. You might’ve screamed if you hadn’t found your forehead pressed to his and the warmth of his irises boring into yours while he did it all. At this distance, you could discern a trace of hurt again. Something needing to be soothed inside Joel Miller.

You rutted your hips and shook your head, skull still stuck to his as you did so. Whimpers coming low.

“I didn’t…mean it,” you managed at length.

“What? That I’m ‘old as shit but wildly hot’?”

Joel wedged his fingers straight down to the knuckle and nearly tore a shriek out of your body. His eyes were surprisingly soft. Making sure your pleasure was all there.

“Hyperbole,” you choked, voice hoarse.

Then your jaw grew lax when a hand cupped your chin. All you wanted to do was melt into Joel, but you sensed something brewing again behind those honeyed eyes. Blinking was all you could do to keep your composure.

“You’re right, darlin’,” Joel said, “I am too old for you.”

Right after a clench in your tummy, a hurried word leapt up to your tongue, ‘NO!’ and you had to swallow a moan to keep from succumbing to the pleasure Joel was bringing with his fingers. Sandwiched between two orgasms was no time for a serious argument to take place, but there you were, fighting against it anyway.

“N-No,” you stammered. Stupid.

“I am.” His voice came softer somehow, more resigned.

When outright rejection of the claim seemed futile, you tried to pivot. Climax still closing in as fast as ever.

“I don’t care about that,” you hissed, exhaling hard when the first ripples of bliss crept up toward your stomach.

Joel watched you with careful eyes.

“Yeah? And Tess?”

“Joel—”

“Or Tommy.”

“I don’t—”

“Everyone else?”

Almost against your will, those minuscule ripples turned to waves of full-blown euphoria, and then you were clenching again on Joel’s hand and crying out in climax. You willed your gaze not to stray from his, but it was tough. Especially when the eyes beneath your own seemed so fucking morose and removed from you.

Don’t do this to me, Miller. Don’t do it, don’t do it.

In the wake of what should’ve been consummate satisfaction, you found yourself retreating to a place more akin to starvation—suddenly eager to get your mouth over his and start kissing, tonguing, and scraping your teeth like you’d missed out on a full week’s worth of meals. Feeling selfish but also uncertain how else to proceed—was Joel Miller breaking up with you here?

You couldn’t be sure, because he kissed you back. Joel kissed you and cupped your cheeks, then chased your frame all the way down to the coarse, scratchy sheets of the bed, where he was quick to climb on top of you.

Hell, it seemed breathing was too tough to accomplish with your frenzied pace and the continuous stream of open-mouthed kisses placed anywhere and everywhere. A groan from Joel trembled between your lips as you helped him get his shorts and boxers the rest of the way down his legs—all but dragging them with your heels—and he tightened a fist in your hair when they were off.

“I shouldn’t’a come here,” he mumbled.

“But you did,” you panted.

Both of you got lost in another onslaught of kisses, and you tried not to sigh. Joel was still battling something.

Even as he peeled your panties off and lined himself up with your entrance, he seemed resolved to stay quiet. Holding your gaze and not saying what had to be said.

He was a lot like you in that way.

You kept kissing him anyway.

The events that followed seemed to you little more than fleeting, happy scenes from a film you’d always wanted to see—an eager Joel, a caring Joel, an I-don’t-think-I’m-physically-capable-of-holding-you-any-closer Joel. The weight of his cock a welcome friend and the kisses somehow far too intimate to be considered friendly at all. You’d almost forgotten you were at a camp designed to prevent this very thing from happening between two stupid, impulsive people like you, and you didn’t care.

All you knew was a yawning stretch—that aching, empty void filled to perfection by Joel’s member—and the shockwaves of pleasure that vibrated in bands all the way down to the balls of your feet. You felt safe and secure caged between two muscular arms, and you reveled in a warmth that spanned every inch of your body touching his. The weight suffocating and somehow not oppressive; Joel cradled your head to make sure of it.

“Ain’t…hurtin’ ya, am I?” he said when you winced.

You shook your head against his sweaty palms to say that he wasn’t; you were just adjusting. He scanned your face for any trace of insincerity but found nothing.

In this tender position, your brain was ready to burst—whether from guilt, shame, ruthless self-loathing, or a sobering sense of closeness, you weren’t sure. All four seemed to form the impetus for the words that came next, which were soft, repeated apologies against Joel’s mouth. He swallowed each one without a second thought.

“Quit sayin’ it,” he rasped, low.

“I’m sorry, Joel, I’m sorr—”

Soft lips again. ‘S’okay, honey.’

You weren’t sure why, but your face felt extra hot.

Joel pressed his thumbs on either side of it while he kissed you and went deeper. Then he squeezed even more, and your breath hitched quietly in your throat.

Aw, shit, he could probably feel your heart running amok in your chest and thrumming like crazy right now.

“Ain’t nothin’—” Joel paused to send one measured thrust along your cervix, “—to be sorry for. Nothin’.”

Your legs tightened at his sides when his hips started to snap in quick, stuttered motions, desperate for more friction and depth. He got both, and he groaned feeling you tighten around him as he filled your cunt to the brim. The silky warmth of your walls drawing him in was almost too much, and every now and then he’d have to slow to mutter some, ‘’S’fuckin’ chokin’ me, honey, ya feel that?’ or ‘This pussy’s just made to take me, huh?’

Joel asked like he actually needed the reassurance. As if the slick, dripping arousal coating his length and the sounds of your whimpers mixed in with those wet slaps weren’t enough—as if he had to have deeper consolation.

He was splitting you open and looked guilty as he did it.

Still shaking with each thrust, you helped him slide his shirt over his head and bring him bare, chest-to-chest with you. You couldn’t ignore the tension any longer.

“Joel, I fuckin’ love— I need you inside,” you managed.

“You do?”

“Uh-huh.”

His face softened.

“‘S’mine, isn’t it?”

He said it so fast you couldn’t make out if it were really a question or a simple statement of fact. His balls routinely smacking your ass, eyes searching yours, always gentle.

“Say that you’re mine.”

No, Joel—don’t do that, don’t say it like that.

Your visceral reaction was to recoil. You couldn’t because he had you pinned, but damn did you want to—not him, not this, not now, Joel, why would you fucking say that?

The look in his eyes now surpassed the hurt from before. It was open and aching, even as he drilled your body in two at a near-ruthless pace. Asking you so sincerely.

The obstinacy inside you was almost laughable. Damn near sent your head spinning in a fit of hysterics at how much you wanted to say but wouldn’t; how much you sensed lay waiting to fly off Joel’s tongue but couldn’t. If you were any more emotionally pent-up you might’ve ruptured a blood vessel and lost all ability to think.

It didn’t help that you were both about to cum.

Or that Joel’s right hand was fumbling for your clit.

His expression was steady as ever when you jumped, made a whining noise below him, and grabbed his wrist. You looked down to where your bodies were joined and got a dizzying glimpse of that sight: cunt swallowing Joel’s cock repeatedly, pleasure pooling between your two bodies, then a digit at that little bundle of nerves.

He kissed your hairline and hummed.

“C’mon, pretty girl. Whose pussy is this?”

His thrusts sped up, along with his thumb.

“Don’t.” Not an answer but a warning: tread lightly, Joel.

He kissed your forehead again. And again. For a second you thought he might stay that way until you both came, but then his lips were finding yours, mumbling softly,

“Say no one’s gonna fuck you but me.”

“But—”

“None of those pencil-dick douchebag Delta Sigma whatever-the-fuck ya call ‘ems—” Joel continued, unfazed, “—not your lab partner, not your hallmate—”

His cock was gliding in and out of you at a punishing pace now. Wonderfully slick with sounds obscenely piercing to your ears. You could feel Joel digging in the depths of your tight, throbbing cunt, could see his expression contort with much the same pleasure you were experiencing yourself, and could very well smell the faint aroma of American Spirits still staining his breath. Joel Miller was a sick fuck for what he was doing to you, and he knew it. You nipped at his lower lip in between tender kisses and quietly-spoken words, and whimpered.

“—not your TAs, not your professors—” he pressed on.

You opened your mouth to let a lewd moan escape when Joel lifted his hand to shove a thumb inside. Instinctively, you sucked the whole thing straight down to the knuckle.

“Nobody but me, y’hear that?” Afforded better leverage with his finger wedged between your teeth, he shook your head a little as he fucked you. Watched you bob and nod a wordless ‘yes’ in doe-eyed complaisance while his cock drove shockwaves of pleasure straight through you.

He rubbed his thumb back and forth, and you let him.

You drooled all over that man’s finger like it might’ve been supplying oxygen to your lungs, and when Joel leaned in and said, ‘Ya like that, sweet pea?’, you answered in the affirmative. Or at least as close as you could get while Joel was filling up his two favorite holes.

Your orgasm was maybe two strokes away from shattering bones, it seemed. Now was his chance.

Swiftly, Joel retracted his touch just far enough to drag a string of saliva out of your mouth—then deliver a taut but gentle slap to your cheek. The soft thwack, combined with the sounds your bodies were making down below, served only to elevate the pornographic pitch of your moan:

“Joel!”

“That’s right.”

Joel’s mouth hovered an inch over yours, half-smirking, as if waiting to suck the words clean off of your lips. You whined when his thrusts got quicker and the mouth that was grinning got to kissing your own again. Talking dirty, too.

“Show me who this cunt belongs to. Say it,” he grunted.

You clenched, kissed him back, were just barely aware of the words you were trying to form when you stuttered some unintelligible, ‘Y-Y—ohfuckdaddyjustlikethatoh—’

Oh.

Your eyes widened to Joel’s, and before you could even begin to process what was happening to your body, his name just snapped off your tongue like a shot. A shriek. Some blissfully half-strangled moan that Joel captured between his teeth as he fucked you into the mattress and held your body tight to his own. His palm was wet.

Your legs were wet.

The soft, heaving juncture between your bodies was wet.

You were only dimly aware of the sensation as you dug your heels in Joel’s back and let out a series of cries and moans, but then that fluttering feeling inside made you flinch. A pulsing between your thighs and a…warmth.

You were still blinking through a post-euphoric haze when you felt a soft heat simmer and sink within you.

Did Joel just…cum inside you? Again?

“You dumb motherfucker,” you hissed without hesitation.

You’d just managed to shove him away—not far, but away—when you scrambled into a sitting position and slapped a hand over your stomach. Expecting to feel a churning and an awful pinch as you came to make out some vague sensation of Joel’s seed painting your insides, you were surprised when you didn’t get it at all.

In point of fact, Joel had just sprayed a full Jackson Pollock onto your stomach and was blinking, still fisting his cock as you quickly made your way back to your feet.

Where was that wetness coming from?

You stood and stared down at your stomach. Your legs. The translucent, trickling something that had paved a clear path between your thighs and all over Joel’s front. It didn’t make sense, unless—

“You fuckin’ squirted!” Joel cheered.

Your first instinct was to make a face.

That shit only happened in poorly produced pornos and movies based on books by Colleen Hoover, not real-life human beings. What the hell was this man on about?

“Be fucking serious,” you scowled, reaching for a stray shirt on the floor. Before realizing it was even yours, you hastily swiped several big globs of Joel’s cum with it. Your face grew even more enflamed, and yourself, oddly…ashamed. You couldn’t quite make sense of why Joel was grinning so big, or why you felt so embarrassed by what appeared to be a natural bodily function, but you suspected it probably had something to do with the state of sex education in Texas. Those fuckers definitely skipped squirting in favor of abstinence-only rhetoric.

Still weird. Still gross. You wished Joel would stop smiling.

“Lose the look or I’ll slap that fuckin’ grey off your head.”

Admittedly, neither aftercare nor communication was your métier. You started throwing on clothes, annoyed.

Meanwhile, Joel was swiping moisture off his abdomen three thick fingers at a time and wiggling the residue up for you to see—‘All it is is a sign of good lovin’, sweets, ain’t nothin’a be ashamed of!’—and you gave him just one finger in return. You were sliding your shorts up your legs and attempting to scrap the jizz off your FEDRA top when Joel started shrugging on his stolen clothes, too.

Your back was turned to him, eyes scanning the almost too-calm outdoors through the window a minute later, when you felt an arm snake close around your waist.

“Tastes a little like honey,” Joel crooned in your ear, doubtlessly smirking as he swayed you, “Only sweeter.”

You rolled your eyes. No cunt tasted like a honeycomb.

And you tried to say as much when he stroked over the strip of exposed skin between your shorts and the hem of your shirt, squeezing you tighter, but Joel was too good. He spidered a teasing touch over your tummy and yanked you back into his chest when you squealed and tried to break free. Then your sides, your ribcage, your shoulder blades—anyplace Joel could tickle, he tried to—and most spots, you were squeamish as hell. You clamped a hand over your half-open, giggling mouth, and when you felt him flip you around, you didn’t protest.

Suddenly, Joel’s hands were on either side of your face. He wasn’t smiling quite so big anymore but nevertheless maintained a kind glint behind his eyes. They were soft.

“‘M’sorry,” he said.

Then, pausing as if to consider his words, he said,

“You did great.”

He stopped again to press a kiss on the tip of your nose.

“So good.”

When he saw another smile twitch at the corners of your lips, as though asking him for more, he kissed those too.

“If that was your first time with…that…I’m, uh…”

“What?”

Another beat. Another stupid, stubbled grin.

“The luckiest…senior citizen sonovabitch, I guess.”

At the tail end of that, and once Joel had punctuated his sentence with another tender peck, you met his gaze again. Somehow, it had only gotten softer. His thumbs were searing the gentlest of imprints in the apples of your cheeks, his breaths were even and warm, and if you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve thought the man was contemplating saying something else to you then.

He didn’t.

The bridge to an old Billy Joel song made sure of that.

“And when she’s walkin’, she’s lookin’ so f-i-i-i-ine.”

You heard gravel crunch outside the cabin.

“And when she’s talkin’, she’ll say that she’s m-i-i-i-ine.”

Footsteps bounding up the half-rotted, cedar steps.

“She’ll say I’m not so tough just because I’m in love wi—SHIT.”

Tess’s face went blank the second the door swung open.

Thankfully, both of you were clothed. You and Joel leapt apart like she’d just caught you in doggy, though. And Tess looked like she might’ve seen an asscheek or two with the way she was staring at you both, letting the screen door slam shut, and a wordless ‘what-the-fuck’ caught somewhere in the tepid air between you three.

You stared at Tess, and Tess stared at you. Joel peered over her shoulder for the arrival of any more onlookers or folks just wanting to sing ‘Uptown Girl’ in your general vicinity. Fortunately, no one else appeared behind her.

But Tess looked awestruck enough for fifty people. She blinked and visibly swallowed as her gaze shifted to Joel.

“So FEDRA does dick appointments now?” she hissed.

“No!”

“I’m not—”

“He’s from the other camp.”

“You’re shitting me. Absolutely shitting me right now.”

You brought both hands to your face in a stifling, quiet desperation, unsure what to do. Joel just blinked back.

“I’m—we’re—” he started.

“Fucking!” Tess bit back, “You are so fucking. Raw.”

She wasn’t wrong. Her sixth sense for knowing who was having clandestine sex in her bed was kind of insane.

But, where you expected a look of horror to crawl into those taut, too-smart-for-her-own-good features, you found your bunkmate starting to raise her eyebrows.

Then laugh.

Tess threw her head back and laughed because she thought you were boinking a FEDRA camp counselor.

Joel shared a similar look of surprise but didn’t laugh.

“Yeah, I’m uh…J—” Again, he made as if to speak, to introduce himself, but Tess cut him off. About to wheeze.

“Lucien Flores, you dirty dog!” she cackled.

Joel glanced down at his nametag, started to shake his head, and probably didn’t anticipate Tess smacking him on the shoulder in a semi-congratulatory sort of way. Given a little more muscle to the playful punch, she just might’ve knocked him over. Joel was then trying to pry the pin off his polo just as you stepped closer to her.

“Tess, he’s…” You considered spilling the beans en masse but quickly decided against it. You’d have to stick to the barest of bones if you had any hope of escaping this place. So, resuming, you squeezed her arm and just said:

“Flores is gonna bust us out. Get your shit and we’ll go.”

Theresa Servopoulos didn’t need to be told twice.

And when she scrambled over to her sex-stricken bunk, inquired with a hurried but patently grossed out expression about who the fuck had wet the bed while she was gone, Joel didn’t hesitate—he said it was him.

“FEDRA man with a piss kink. I like you already, Lucien.”

[confused-pyramid]

Breaking Point

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: You and Art were hitting partners (and a bit more) in college, so when you run into him a decade later at the U.S. Open, old sparks reignite...

word count: 3.4k

warnings: SMUT, p in v, oral (fem!receiving), slight marking, drinking

a/n: I watched Challengers last night and then wrote this whole thing in one sitting. Nothing in this is really canon other than Art being a major simp lol so no spoilers for the movie! I usually make playlists (or at least find a few songs that get me in the zone) when writing, so I thought I'd start sharing them here too if people are interested!

You should've known he'd be here. You've been following his career for the last decade since you graduated, and ever since he won Wimbledon last year, he's been tennis royalty, but a small part of you still thought you wouldn't run into him here. At the fucking U.S. Open.

Stanford was a lifetime ago, and you haven't kept in touch with anyone from the college team, but there was always something about Art Donaldson that stuck with you. Ten years later, that hasn't changed.

"It's been so long," he calls out when he spots you from across the practice courts. "I didn't think I'd see you."

You didn't either, and you still haven't decided how you feel about it yet, but when he jogs over to your side, you just shrug. "Guess it's your lucky day."

He smiles, and his teeth glimmer in the bright sunlight. "It certainly is."

The loud thwacks of tennis balls hitting rackets echo around you, but you can't seem to focus on anything but the man standing in front of you. He looks good.

He was beautiful in college too, whether he was training across the net or slipping into your bed, but it feels different now, with so much time apart. He looks like a man now.

"Anyway," Art says, jerking you back to reality. "We should get a drink sometime. To catch up."

He adds the last part almost as an afterthought, but it doesn't escape your notice how his eyes have been trailing up and down your body since he walked over.

A drink could mean almost anything with Art Donaldson, but you're too curious to refuse. "Sure. This weekend, after the semi-finals."

He nods, his eyes glinting with amusement, and you grab your bag from the bench beside you before looping the strap over your shoulder.

You walk off the practice courts after one last glance over your shoulder, and you feel his eyes following along until the doors swing shut behind you.

***

He should've expected this. You were a firecracker in college, and you kept him on his toes every single day you were together, so he really should have known what he was getting into when he met you for drinks that weekend.

Instead, he's one too many beers in, and his buzz is only enhancing the glow of your beauty in the hazy bar light. Your dress isn't even that low cut, but something about the shadows glancing over your strong shoulders reminds him of late nights in the Stanford dorms after a hard practice when there was only one thing he wanted more than sleep.

"You played really well this morning," he says genuinely as he sets his beer back onto the table. "After that first set, Mueller didn't stand a chance."

You flash him a dazzling smile as you shrug, resting your chin on your palm. "I had her after the third game, but thanks. It was a quick match."

Art hasn't taken his eyes off of you since you sat down, and while prolonged eye contact usually makes you nervous, you find that you're actually enjoying the attention quite a bit. Attentiveness was never an issue with him, and you would normally give in to your urges, but there's just too much history with him, and you can't afford to lose focus. Not when the title is so close you can taste it.

"I hear the networks are eyeing you for a commentator post," you say, trying to change the subject.

You trace your finger around the rim of your nearly empty margarita, before lifting it to take a final sip, and you don't miss how his throat bobs as you lick the salt off your lips.

"Uh, yeah," he mumbles, clearing his throat. "It was just some chatter, but I'm not looking to retire anytime soon."

You frown. "Is that right?" He's playing better than ever, but he definitely hasn't been himself out on the court in years.

He glances down, clearly trying to avoid the scrutiny, and when his eyes land on your empty glass, he changes the subject again. "You want another drink?"

You shake your head, knowing that another will lead to a less than fun morning, but he isn't done yet.

"You sure?" His eyes find yours again, and this time the eye contact feels primal. "It doesn't have to be here."

Your eyebrows lift and you tilt your head with a knowing smile. "Where were you thinking?"

"I don't know," he shrugs, before his lips curve up into a cheeky grin. "My room's nice."

You saw it coming from a mile away, but it still pulls a laugh out of you. "Oh, I'm sure it is, but this isn't college anymore, Art. You should get some sleep...focus on your match in the morning."

You push your glass forward and stand up, nodding at him as you turn to leave, but then you see him stand too out of the corner of your eye.

"I'll walk you to your car."

He looks at you with a hint of amusement in his expression, and you can't help but want to play along, even though Art Donaldson was nothing but trouble for you.

You don't respond, instead just stepping out from around the table and walking out the front doors of the bar. You don't have to turn back to know he's right behind you, and when you reach your car, parked in the center of the nearly empty parking lot, you spin around.

He doesn't stop walking until he has you practically boxed in by your driver's side door, his face less than a foot from yours as he tucks his hands into his pockets.

He had pushed his sleeves back at some point in the night, from the humid summer heat of the bar, and you can see the veins on his forearms now, under the dim light of the street lamps.

"This is me," you say jokingly, tipping your chin at your car as he looks at you with an expression you can't distinguish. "I'm good from here."

He doesn't move.

It's not that you expected him to give up so easily; you had just forgotten how persistent he could be.

Art's mouth stretches into a slanted smile. "Do you remember the Davis Invitational? Junior year."

Speaking of his persistence...he had been pursuing you for months, not in any tangible way, but you always knew what he was thinking.

After the invitational, where you and Art had been the respective men's and women's champions, you had gone back to his dorm to celebrate. Three hours and just as many vodka shooters later, he had finally gotten you in his bed. Not that you were complaining.

Art knew his way around your body, and even that first night, he had managed to get you off more times than you can remember.

"What about it?" you shoot back, your eyebrows raising at the insinuation.

"Nothing," he says with a shrug, but you don't miss the humor glinting in his eyes. "You just used to be a lot more fun to celebrate with."

"Fuck you," you spit out, shoving his shoulder harder than you mean to. He barely budges, instead grabbing your hand and tugging you a few inches closer, and suddenly a wave of lust washes over you, making your breath hitch.

You press your thighs together under your dress, hoping he can't feel the heat spreading across your skin, but then his smile turns to a smirk and you know you're done for.

"What do you think?" he whispers, leaning in so close that his lips brush over your earlobe. "Want to celebrate?"

Molten lava pools in your gut and you are only peripherally aware of his hand sliding down your hips to the flowy edge of your dress. His fingers glide over your skin as his hand goes under the loose fabric, before rising up to grab your ass, drawing your hips flush with his.

Your arousal is already starting to soak through your panties, but the feeling of his hard bulge pressed up against you sends you flying back to reality.

You lift your hands to his chest and push him back so that he's a few steps away from you. It's not far enough, but at least you can't feel him from there. "I'm not fucking you, Art."

He shrugs, his smirk only slightly shaken. "Who said anything about fucking? I just wanted to talk."

You huff out a laugh. "You're funny. Besides, I'm too tired for this. I need to rest up before my match."

"What about tomorrow night then?" His lip is still curved up in a smirk, but there's an earnestness in his gaze that surprises you.

"What makes you think you'll still be here tomorrow?"

His mouth spreads into a wide smile. "I always win."

You snort. "Fine. Win your match and we can talk."

You don't miss the grin on his face as you climb into your car and leave.

***

You win your next match in straight sets again, so by the time you're out of the locker room, Art's match is still in play. Driven by a mixture of curiosity and intrigue, you head over to his court and find a seat halfway up the stands.

He has won two of three sets, and he's leading the fourth, so with the prospect of the match ending soon, you use the time to observe him from a different angle.

His form is much better than it was in college, and you've seen him play countless times on TV, but you haven't really let yourself see how good he looks out there. The sinewy muscles rippling in his arms as he lifts them to serve. The rugged sturdiness of his legs as he races back and forth across the court.

You wish you could be down there with him, running your hands over the smooth lines of his abdomen, tasting the drops of sweat as they roll down his body-

The crowd erupts in cheers, and you are thrust back into reality as Art throws his arms into the air with a loud whoop. The scoreboard confirms his victory, and you clap along with the audience as he shakes his opponent's hand and heads over to his chair.

People around you stand up to leave, but you stay in your seat, watching as he grabs his bag and stuffs his rackets inside. When he wipes a towel over his face, his head turns up and his eyes immediately go to you, like he knew you were here the whole time.

Your stomach does an involuntary flip and he flashes his eyebrows at you as you bit the inside of your lip, trying to hold back a smile.

When he ducks back down to grab his things, you stand up quickly to avoid letting him see your blush and follow the rest of the crowd off of the stands.

***

You hear it late that night. Three little raps on your hotel room door, just before midnight.

You're in the finals, and you don't have any friends here to celebrate with, so you were sipping a beer and watching old match recordings when you heard the knock.

There's no one else who would come to see you this late, so you're not surprised when you open the door to find Art, dressed in a tee shirt and comfy-looking pajama pants.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, even though you already know the answer.

Art just looks at you, his pupils already massive. "You said if I win, we could talk." He shrugs. "I won."

"Okay," you concede, opening the door wider to let him in. "Just talking then."

He nods, before following you inside and shutting the door.

"You want anything to drink?" you ask as he trails behind you.

He shakes his head. "I'm good."

You grab your beer bottle from the side table and sit down on the floor, crossing your legs beneath you.

Art sits across from you, his feet in front of him and his elbows on his knees. You were assigned to a modestly sized room, but for someone as tall as him, the space must feel cramped.

"How did the match feel?" you ask, taking a swig of beer.

He thinks for a moment. "It was close at first, but once I shook my legs out, it became a breeze."

"Your legs were never the problem," you say, leveling him with a serious look. "It was always your attitude. Or your confidence."

He frowns, his eyebrows scrunching slightly. "I'm plenty confident."

"You are now," you tell him as you swirl the bottle around in your hand. "You won Wimbledon, you have a reason to be confident."

That makes him smile. "So you're saying my legs are fine."

"Yeah," you say before you can process what you're saying. "You looked good out there."

His smile turns to a smirk so fast it nearly gives you whiplash. "You think I look good?"

You let out an exasperated scoff. "At tennis."

His grin doesn't falter so you roll your eyes at him before lifting the bottle to your lips to take another swig. When you tilt the bottle back down to swallow, his hand reaches forward to take it from you. Your grip on the beer doesn't loosen, so the motion sends you pitching forward.

Your mouth parts with a small yelp as his arm wraps around you, tugging you closer, and before you can process what's happening, his lips are on yours.

If you let yourself think too hard, you would realize that there is way too much shared history and way too much baggage here for this to be a good idea...so that's why you don't.

Instead, you let him pull your body flush against his and when his tongue slides over the seam of your lips, you grant him access immediately. Your shirts come off in quick succession and you gasp as his hands run up and down your body, his strong, calloused fingers grasping at every inch of purchase they can find. Yours reach up to tangle in his messy hair, and when his lips move down your neck, your grip tightens, making him moan quietly against your skin.

Something about being on the floor takes you back to your college days, when you'd both be so worked up after practice that you couldn't even make it to the bed, but that feels too real right now.

"Art," you whisper as he runs his lips and teeth over your neck, before replacing it with his tongue to soothe the quickly blossoming marks. "Art, the bed. Now."

It takes him a second to process your words, but when he does, he loops an arm around your waist and lifts you up and onto the bed in one motion, before pushing you back onto the covers.

By the time your head hits the bed, he's already pulling your shorts and panties down, exposing you to the cool air. His lips follow the path of his hands as they trace up your legs, making you squirm under the hot touch of his rough fingers. He presses wet kisses to the insides of your thighs before spreading them apart and dropping to his knees on the floor in front of you.

"So wet for me," he whispers, almost to himself, before he dives in, his mouth making lewd noises as he licks a thick stripe up your core. "You taste so good."

He lifts your legs over his shoulders to give himself some leverage as he makes a mess between your thighs, licking and sucking your clit into his mouth before fucking you with his tongue.

His grip on your thighs is the only thing keeping you pinned to the bed as you writhe beneath him, trying to not squeeze your legs together from the heat spreading up your core.

His mouth feels amazing and it takes only minutes before you're already nearing the edge. You don't want to come until he is inside of you, though, so you yank his hair, pulling him up and off of you.

He looks up at you through his lashes, and he looks ethereal with his disheveled hair and his chin wet with your slick.

You, on the other hand, look like heaven itself with your eyes half-hooded from pleasure, and he can't help the grin that crosses his face as he licks his lips and climbs over you onto the bed. He lets you taste yourself as he kisses you again, and he lets out a low groan when you bite his lip just hard enough to sting.

"Fuck me," you gasp, your voice too breathy to be actually authoritative. "Fuck me the way I like."

Art grins at your desperate tone and the wild lust in your eyes, committing this image to memory for a later time when you're much further away.

He kicks his pants off as he lifts you both further up the bed, and after covering himself with a condom from his back pocket, he lines himself up and slowly pushes forward.

He gives you a few moments to adjust to his size before slowly pulling out nearly all the way and then thrusting in again.

The slight pain turns to pleasure almost immediately, but he keeps his pace steady so as not to hurt you. You need more right now, so you wrap your legs around him for leverage and flip him over so that you're straddling him.

He groans as his head hits the pillow, and when he tries to sit up, you press your hands to his chest, pushing him down as you ride him. This position gives you a lot more control, and you use it to your advantage as you bounce yourself on his cock, feeling the way he fills you up so fully from this higher angle.

His fingers dig into your hips as he helps lift you up and down, and his eyes are practically feral as he watches the spot where his cock disappears inside of you.

He's the perfect size to fill you up completely, and with each swivel of your hips, you get closer and closer to your climax, which is approaching so fast you can taste it.

You cry out when he hits exactly the right spot deep inside of you, and his eyes fly to yours as your movements start to stutter from your impending release.

Needing to see the look on your face when you come, he pushes your lower back forward so you fall against his chest, before lifting himself up to meet you halfway. With one arm locked around you, he brings his other hand down between the two of you to rub quick circles over your clit. The new angle lets him thrust up into you, and the increased pace of his movements mixed with the speed of his fingers sends you flying over the edge.

Your mouth falls open with a loud cry, and you squeeze him so tightly he's practically seeing stars. You look so beautiful when you come, like a goddess sent down here just for him, and when your eyes meet his, he finds his own climax.

His body jerks forward with the force of his release, and you let him thrust a few more times as he finally finishes inside of you.

After pulling out, he tugs you down to lay next to him, and at first you let him, but the emotions warring inside of you don't stay quiet for long.

You know that whatever this was isn't going to go anywhere. You didn't work in college, and you won't work now, and you don't want anyone to get hurt again, so you have to make a choice. Now.

"I need to get some rest," you say quietly, a tiny part of you hoping he doesn't hear you. "Before the next match."

"Yeah," he sighs after a beat. "Me too."

You let him hold you for a moment longer, before he unwraps himself from your body and sits up, tugging his shirt and pants back on. You tug the sheet back and wrap it around your torso as he stands up and walks to the door.

You're not sure what you're expecting as he goes to leave, but what you get is a silent nod as the door swings shut behind him.

[sojumamii]

˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧always a brat ˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧

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summary: no matter how hard he tries,megumi is always gonna be a spoiled brat that hates to share, especially when it's you he's sharing.

tags: megumi x fem/afab! reader, childhood friends to lovers, slight slight angst mostly cute fluff, flustered pining megumi, jealousy (cute), dad gojo, nanami is so cool (derogatory) this is me wanting cute megumi content bc i miss him too much. Honestly I gave a huge backstory about you and megumi's childhood LMAO enjoy

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It wasn't so long ago that a neurotic white haired lanky man showed up at your doorstep, alongside a bored, odd-haired child to explain curses, and the art of jujutsu sorcery.Yadayada some bad people were looking for you because you have a powerful gift yadayada Gojo can help nurture your talents and keep you from being caught by those bad people because he's a big strong guy who supposedly ruined the world (idk the freak kept yapping for so long) yadayada you may or may not die but you'll be helping people, and not have to be around mean family members who think you're weird for seeing scary monsters they don't believe are real. (showed them)

The whole time this child-highjacker was talking you couldn't help but stare at the young boy about your age hiding behind him, not really out of fear but of disinterest, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.

Gojo catching on concluded his speech and gestured towards Megumi,"Ah! This little handsome punk right here is Megumi Fushiguro another cute stray i've taken under my wing! You're probably about the same age, first grader? Sooo! I'm sure you're gonna be best friends in no time!" he yelled animatedly, smile wide and mischievous.

Megumi scoffed in response, turning and walking away to a nearby car. You gasped at how so blatantly rude he was to your face, your face painted with obvious irritation. At your reaction Gojo chuckled and reached down to ruffle your (h/c) hair presenting you with a thumbs up.

"Don't mind him, I've come learn he's naturally moody, like is that kid really six years old,..but i'm sure he'll come around...I mean he really has no choice as you two will be a team from now on. Anyways! Let's get you two something to eat..y'like kikufuku?!" Shiny blue eyes peaked from round black sunglasses, you simply shrugged and walked with him to the car with your silly little backpack and your new future.

Growing up with Megumi was a slightly mixed bag, but instead of growing irritated of him, he fascinated you. Despite his more shadowy personality, you were rather fond of him right away,finding his hot temperament and need to be serious rather endearing and cute much to his open and endless dismay.

You wondered how this could be someone your age, as Megumi was much more composed than the supposed adult now taking care of you. He was indifferent to both you and Gojo, only ever interacting with his elder step-sister Tsumiki, who urged him to be kinder and more approachable especially since you two were in the same predicament. Megumi would scoff and tell her to leave him alone and that he didn't wanna make friends just because they're stuck together. You never took offense but it would annoy you that you had the decency to be kind but he wasn't discreet with his attitude.

"Right..like I know i'm the adult but it's kind shooting down my pride that this kid doesn't like me yet, i'm not above bribes..." Gojo had whispered to you after you secretly inquired about the other child, having a difficult time adjusting to your new living situation, the young boy's attitude towards you was not welcoming and though you did your best to leave him alone, you would still extend an arm out as gently as possible. Although, you were also not above checking Megumi's attitude which would result in some major clashes that would make Gojo fret over household repairs.

After walking you guys home from school Gojo would figure out what to feed you before training and homework, allowing you to snack as he stressfully lamented over what to feed the three of you. You're all seated at the table with your homework laid out, peckish from a long day of being an elementary aged child. Tsumiki sat primly in her chair sipping on a pink carton of strawberry milk, a staple in the gojo-fushiguro-(l/n) household. Excitedly you ask her if there were anymore boxes of the heavily worshipped beverages left.

She nodded sweetly, soft brown locks swaying,"Yeah (y/n) there's one more left with your name on it!"

You beam happily out of your seat, ready to grab your treat and announce to your guardian that more strawberry milk was to be added to the grocery list. Until...

.

.

You fall face first onto the firmness of the tatami mat and hear the rapid stomping of feet fleeing to the cabinet where your sacred treasure lay. Furious you look up at Megumi who was now indifferently drinking the last carton, that you had so openly claimed, a claim that was co-signed and notarized by Tsumiki. The absolute audacity of this bratty spoiled motherfu-

"Meg-" Tsumiki began to scold right before you exploded.

"You bitch!" you shrieked, you hear Tsumiki gasp at your profanity, but your anger was at boiling point with this broom haired kid. Megumi retained his look of indifference which furthered enraged you. Megumi expected you to get mad and yell at him but what he didn't expect was-

"OOF!" Megumi fell backwards roughly on the floor, as you tackled him, strawberry milk carton flying out of his hand, destination unknown. You're on him pulling as harshly as your tiny fists allow on his hair, he yells pushing you back but you're relentless!

"Calm down what's your deal you freak it's just strawberry milk!"

"You tripped me to get it you selfish brat! Even though you knew i wanted it!"

"You obviously didn't want it that bad! Should've been more alert!" he successfully gets you off of him, shoving you to the living room.

"Guys please!" You both ignore Tsumiki

"Ugh! You're such a whiny little bitch!" You lunge at him again with your fist ready,unbeknownst to you there's glowing flames of energy coursing through it,he narrowly evades it by moving his head. Making impact with the sofa, it splits in half, wooden floor below absolutely destroyed.

Megumi grunts in anger, his fist glowing as well ready to make impact with you, quickly you push him off and he blows a hole through the television and the wall behind it. Stubbornly you both make way to each other with powered filled fist ready to collide.

"ENOUGH! What's the matter you two!" Gojo catches both of your fists,pulling you two off the floor, holding the both of you in each hand, he angrily looks back and forth between you and the destroyed living room. "How did this happen! Why are you two trying rip each others' heads off and why is the living room a-oh?"

A lightbulb flickers over him," Well I'll be damned! You two finally managed to produce cursed energy,how exciting!" The older man hugs you both tightly, crushing your lungs.

"Too bad it took you guys trying to kill each other...which reminds me we need to have a little lesson on teamwork, and household construction you absolute demon children!" He gives a preview of your 3 hour long lecture by throwing you two into the hole you just punched in the floor.

.

.

.

After that incident you understood how someone so deceptively calm like Megumi was to be a sorcerer, he was crazy, a an absolute psycho you'd say. Gojo's words from a previous time replay in your mind:

"You have to be a little crazy to handle being jujutsu sorcerer."

Through a lot of exposure therapy, Megumi eventually got used to your presence, and actually began to enjoy it, seeking it even. Once you were both a little older and still around each other, he figured he may as well get along with you. It's not that he didn't like you (anymore) or found you annoying (anymore) he realized he was just used to Tsumiki, and didn't care for any more than that and was surprising to himself very combative to any sort of change. But he was making the effort to fix that immature side of him and be more receptive and open to you and gojo.

Despite that, the more missions you two shadowed, the longer you lived together and went to school, the closer you became and the tighter your bond felt. You became an inseparable pair, hanging out outside of sorcery and schooling, in your rooms, sharing hobbies and tastes in music, constant laughter and smiles were consistently heard and shared between you two. Witnessed fondly by Tsumiki and Gojo who had their own little gossip circle over mochi and tea. Strawberry milk was no longer allowed in the household.

This unshakable bond was like concrete, no matter the circumstances, no matter how terrifying going out on missions became and the atrocities you experienced, you guys relied on each other, minds and hearts in perfect synergy the older you became. Getting to your first year of jujutsu tech was something you both couldn't believe finally came around, now almost 10 years later, and your relationship was still thriving! Yuji and Nobara blending in perfectly to your small shared circle!

But now one person has began to shake that bond and making Megumi's possessive bratty habits rear their ugly head.

It's making Megumi regret coming to this stupid sorcerer school with the stupid handsome suit wearing ex-salarymen sorcerers who have stupid sorcery knowledge and wisdom. Who are stupidly caring and kind with cute quirks like loving bread, fuckin loser (yet megumi hates red bell pepper)

This thought process was pissing him off, and so was the existence of a specific grade 1 sorcerer.

"Nanami is so strong! His ratio technique is so cool!"

"Nanami is helping me with my precision and aim! He's so kind!"

"Nanami is such a gentleman, he tucked me to sleep in the car on the way home from a mission! A sweet handsome guy like him must have no problem getting da-"

"Alright! I get it Nanami is so great and awesome! You know it's a little inappropriate to have a crush on your superiors!" Megumi grumbles as he slams his hand on the table,eyebrows raised at you. What's so great about a guy who wears a suit to exorcise curses? fuckin weirdo

Your eyes widen as a flush takes over your cheeks, "Gumi don't be mean! I don't have a crush on Nanami, I'm just saying how kind he is and how much i've learned from him!" your lips form a pout.

"Really? Then why is your face red? Why are your eyes sparkling when you talk about him?What's the point in calling him handsome if you're not crushing on him! You sound like a love sick school girl!" He bites back.

You raise your brows and cross your arms,"You know your bratty attitude wasn't cute when we were kids and it's definitely not cute now! So what if I admire my mentor or compliment his looks! Yuji's complimented my looks and I don't see you calling him a love sick school girl!"

Internally he's kicking himself, he doesn't understand why hearing about Nanami from you is making him react this way. It feels like someone else is piloting his brain right now (or maybe his six year old self) especially when he utters his next words,"Maybe you should start hanging out with Nanami since he's so cool and special!"

"'You like me or something huh? Can't stand me looking at someone else!"You stand up, fists on the table, you lean your body over to Megumi's side of the table, face to face your (e/c) eyes give him a heated glare.

Now it's Megumi's turn to flush red, breaking his neck to look away from your intimidatingly beautiful eyes, his heart snaps.

"Are you jealous Gumi? Is that it? You want me to look at you only?" You inch closer, calling him out on his bluff.

'WHAT! Oh god.. no no no, awe shit...god damn it what am I thinking, beautiful eyes? I mean she does have beautiful eyes, and she's beauti- oh my god? She asked if I like her? I think that's what this is...heart pumping? Am I jealous of Nanami? Idiot. Why did I have to run my mouth like that? Since when do I lose my cool this bad nowadays?!" Megumi's thoughts race 100 miles per hour, body running hot from the interrogation.

"J-Jel-Jealous? What the hell would I have to be jealous of Nanami for!" His delicately pretty face twisted in confusion and irritation.

"I don't know gumi, how about you enlighten me" You smirk, cornering him like he's a feral possum, he's not getting out of this one unscathed.

He never really got into the specifics of his feelings for you, of course he liked you, or else he wouldn't stick around. You guys were so close it was honestly concerning to others and himself, you were his most treasured person (sacred one would say) He has been through major life experiences, and struggles with you, you grew up together. You had a domestic routine, a result of living together for years, even in the same house you guys slept in each other's rooms (and still do even though the dorms prohibit it) watched tv together, read together, cooked for each other, studied...went on outings... had matching rings ... matching sweaters.. and oh god is he already dating you?

That's not all, his shikigami adored you, you were there when he summoned his first ones, the divine dogs that he appropriately named shiro and kuro, and boy you were so excited to see them, the dogs took an instant liking to your adoration, and eventually you bonded with them they look out for you on missions. As a child that cemented for Megumi that you were someone he held dear and was 100% certain you had truly kind and pure heart if his shikigami were so trusting of you.

Same thing happened with his other shikigami; Nue would nuzzle into you despite his ever growing body whether it was after a successful mission or as soon as it was summoned for training, excited rust colored wings and a happy screech flocked your way. Gama and rabbit escape jumping on your shoulders in greeting or to rest.

When he lost Shiro and Orochi, you made him a pretty silver charm necklace with a snake and pretty white wolf, letting him mourn his fallen companions in the comfort of his bed as he sobbed heart wrenchingly in your arms and expressed his deep appreciation that you allowed him have something of them to carry with him

That memory is specifically one he holds so dearly, he remembers how much you reassured him that it was okay to mourn his shikigami and Yuji and that it wasn't his fault they died, and that this situation shouldn't make him jaded in making bonds with others; reality was that you guys were all still so young so to see one of you die was heartbreaking no matter how normal it was in your world.

looking back he feels that's when he began realizing his feelings ran deeper than initially imagined. It was instinct for him to protect you, comfort you and even just care for you in any way possible. Always making sure you were fed and hydrated, well rested, not overstrained, comforting you when missions you went on without him went awry, carrying you to bed when you fell asleep in the common room at the dormitory, or in the car on the way home.

If it was cold he made sure you had a sweater on before just in case or disregard his coldness by taking off his sweater and tenderly putting it on you (whilst grumbling and nagging for you to bring one, though Megumi would never admit so brazenly he loved seeing you in his clothes, that's his secret to keep.)

From across the way, Yuji and Nobara watch the spectacle going on at your table, it was very rare for you and Megumi to fight, you guys bickered for sure, you all did, but Megumi never lost his cool with you in those instances like he did with them. Usually if you fought it was over very serious things, like injuries on missions, mahoraga... the drawbacks of your technique on your body.. but never a serious argument on something so...stupid? Plus it wasn't in either of your introverted natures to display such a spectacle.

"What are those two screaming at each other about? I could've sworn I heard Fushiguro saying Nanamin's name a few times?" Yuji glances back at Nobara, his brown eyes curious as to what his favorite mentor had to do with your squabble, he takes a handful of fries while Nobara looks directly at her phone to take a photo, oblivious to her lack of fries.

"I'm thinking Fushiguro is jealous that his sweet little (y/n) has her eyes on someone else for once, but for him to throw a tantrum over a harmless crush on a mentor is a level of pathetic I never expected him to be on." Kugisaki stifles her laughter, brushing her auburn hair back, not so subtly eavesdropping on the argument.(not like she could help it, she's nosy plus you guys are hard to ignore right now)

"I could see why someone would for fall for Nanamin! He's a really a gentleman! Strong too! I'd feel threatened too if I was him. But doesn't he know (y/n) really likes him? They're super close like that" The pink haired boy states like it's a simple answer as any. Nobara rolls her eyes, annoyed at the men in her class.

"Fushiguro is emotionally constipated, he may not really understand that he has feelings for her because they've always been close, but because (y/n) is girl she's smarter and knows better! She's trying to get it out of him, twenty bucks says she gets him to confess by the end of today?" Nobara sticks her hand out to Yuji, he smiles a look for determination on his face as he shakes her hand.

"You're on! Twenty bucks says she gets him to confess here and now!" They both nod to seal their deal.

"What are you guys betting on?" A voice in their booth asks. The students squeak as Gojo makes his presence known, his face inquisitive and sly.

"That (y/n) is gonna get Fushiguro to confess his feelings! It's bound to happen!" Itadori explains.

Gojo sniffles at the response, sighing dramatically while putting a hand over his heart,collapsing wordlessly into the booth end face planting on the table, Yuji softly pats his teachers back for comfort,while Kugisaki rolls her eyes at the ridiculous scenes in front of her, she turns back to your table and gasps, phone falling out of her grip.

Gojo and Yuji immediately look up, jaws dropping in shock at the scene in front of them.

Megumi and you were standing away from your table,his hand on your waist, the other holding the side of your face as both your lips were gently pressed together, you on your tippy toes and arms around his neck. They witness the gentleness of the moment, both your eyes full of fondness,and affection as your lips separate. A pretty blush overtakes the atmosphere.

"Oh my babies! They're growing up too fast! One day they're destroying the house and trying to kill each other over strawberry milk then before you know it they're getting married!" Gojo babbles through escalating sobs, accepting the tissues Yuji's offered him and cries into said student's shoulders.

Nobara and Yuji share a questioning look on the qualifications of gojo being a parent and the nature of your childhood, Yuji comforts his sensei again,"Fushiguro and (y/n) are always gonna be your babies gojo! Honestly I'm j-just s-so I'm so proud of Fushiguro being so honest about his feeheeeliiiings" the pinked haired boy chokes through tears, wiping his runny nose on his uniform

Kugisaki looks at the two emotional men in disgust, opting to watch the romantic soap opera in front of her as a live studio audience member, smiling softly to herself, as though she wouldn't be as foolish as her sensei and friend to openly admit it, she was full of pride for you too! You'd been pining over Megumi for forever even though you weren't aware of it and you always described how you used to feel lonely until you met him and no matter what you guys go through you're always there-

"Those two are finally together I can't believe it!! I'm so happy!" the hazel eyed girl joins the huddle of Yuji and Gojo, tears flowing out her eyes. All of this goes ignored and unbeknownst to you and Megumi.

You smile brightly at the black haired boy, playing with the hairs behind his neck,"See Gumi, was that so hard to admit?" You tease him, he grunts, eyes squeezed shut in embarrassed annoyance.

He softly flicks your forehead, an old habit from middle school," Shut up... I didn't really know that's what that was...but now that you're mine, that means no more Nanami talk right? Or anyone that's not me for that matter.." pretty red flush stains his fair skin.

You giggle and kiss his cheek,"Hmmm I don't know Okkutsu is a reaaaaal cutie.." you pretend to ponder tilting your head in thought.

Megumi groans and kisses you again, more confident and stern,"You're an absolute pain."

"Don't worry Gumi you're my only and favorite one. I've always been yours silly." You wink, a pink blush dusting the both of you again. Megumi presses a chaste kiss, holding your hand and grabbing both your bags to get ready to leave for training after your longer than intended lunch, you're interrupted by a deep,polite voice.

"(y/l/n),Fushiguro, my apologies for bothering you both, I just wanted to quickly speak to Miss (y/l/n), here this is research I found on techniques similar to your own and information about its users.. I hope the information is helpful to you in your journey as a sorcerer." Nanami hands you a few books with various note tabs sticking out of them. You stare at it wide eyed, stunned and excited to learn more about your technique... and how much time and effort it took a busy man like Nanami to do...Seriously, what a gentleman...

You bow in appreciation,blush reappearing, "Thank you Nanami, I'm sure this will be very insightful!" the man smiles back and nods,"Of course, be sure to let me know what else you may want to know.That being said I've taken enough of your guys' time, goodbye for now."

Megumi scoffs, irritation palpable at his senior,"Tch. Whatever womanizer."He tugs at your hand and drags you away quickly to the exit and as far away from the dashing gentleman of a sorcerer. Damn...he's good.

As you're walking you smack his shoulder in reprimand,"gumi that was rude! you're always gonna be brat who does whatever he wants!" you're scolding him but it's in between giggles and the most loving soft gaze he's used to seeing in your eyes, now that he knows what it is, it makes him shy. He kisses your face as a distraction to your lecture (fat chance.)

And what could Megumi say, you make him crazy, he's always gonna put his foot down for what's his. He silently kisses the back of your hand like a guilty puppy.

he'll apologize to nanami soon

.

.

.

Taken aback Nanami blinks in confusion,"Womanizer?" he repeats. Megumi's vengeful words replay in his mind, unable to figure out an explanation.

He looks back at Itadori's table when the sound of rambunctious laughter invades the dining hall, confused hazel eyes hidden behind his opaque lenses.

"Why are you laughing?"

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I hope you guys liked my first work on here!! This was written on a whim with no specific outline (explains the inconsequential lore dump as this is one shot or who knows!!) hope you guys love jealous and bratty Megumi. As calm and collected as he is I imagine when hes in love so many emotions come up he doesn't know how to define them or properly communicate them so he says the first thing his brain tells him even when he himself knows rationally its crazy to say or think.

[usagifuyusummer]

Family Dinner Night!

Congrats Peri(winkle) for finally getting the Godparenting license!!! 🥳🥳🥳 - from your loving parents and godbrother 💖💖💖

More concept art and as usual my insane ramblings below.

I NEED TO GET THE CREATIVE URGES OUT OF MY HEAD!!! It has been bothering with my motivation to finish my gazillions of homeworks lmao. I have so many ideas I need to let out!!! It's suffocating. I hope this will satisfy my creative urges for a while... Or not I will yap about my FOP AU on a separate post (when I'm able).

I can't stop being sad thinking about this family lol. Timmy 😭😭😭

I am not kidding when I say that my head is just filled with so many things that I want to contribute in the FOP fanworks lol. There's a lot I want to do, but so little time...

For now, I've decided to practice my take on the FOP artstyle. I wanted to do something simple as drawing and coloring practice. That's why the coloring this time is flat with no shadings. I think the show doesn't focus on shaded colors too much (except on scenes where there's a heavy implication of day/night, for shock value, etc.).

Just wanted to draw something cute because I haven't been feeling so swell lately. Nothing too poetic or detailed this time.

Other than that, two of the outfits this time is actually inspired by @suki-na-kumo for Peri and an image I found floating around in Twitter/X (sorry I don't remember who shared it) for Timmy's design. Suki-na-kumo's FOP family redesigns are so cool and adorable! I like that they always include flowy attributes in Peri's outfits lol. It makes him look like a pampered brat (which he kinda is seeing how his family coddles him), an otherworldly prince and also a Twink TM (that is unavoidable lol). I kinda want to draw their other FOP redesigns, but I'll just go with Peri's first.

I am not sure where that 18 year old Timmy design is from, but it kinda can be his design for those who theorise him on becoming a lawyer as an adult. There's a lot of instances where Timmy is wearing a suit in the show, but this design is one of my favs due to the hairstyle change. My adult Timmy designs in the future will be influenced from this piece of official art. I wonder if there are more Timmy designs in the wild wild west out there that I haven't seen... It is certainly an interesting find (Teen AJ is also there, and his design also looks cool to me).

Cosmo and Wanda's oufits are something that I cooked up. I don't think the coloring looks good... I just did this on a whim, and for about 13 hours. Damn, I am procrastinating on my work lmao.

Still, the context this time is, that they've had a family dinner to celebrate on Peri's achievement on finally obtaining his godparenting license!!! Good for him!!!

This is an AU if Timmy somehow was able to find a loophole in the "losing your memories of your fairy godparents after you become an adult" rule. Because of that, he continued his life as normal (as Timmy's chaotic life can be), but this time he is able to keep in contact with his fairy family even if they're not contractually obligated to stick together. Timmy does live with the Fairywinkle Cosma's around his college to early work years, but he eventually was able to move out and live on his own at where he works as a lawyer after a while in his adulthood. (His birth parents eventually went on a lifetime vacation without him or just went away for too long that Timmy just lives on his own a lot after he is 18 and above...)

Despite living on his own nowadays (In a New Wish context), Timmy does keep in contact with his fairy family and visits them when he's not busy with his job. Cosmo and Wanda still took a long vacation in this AU, first due to, yeah, Timmy is no easy feat as a godchild lol, and second, they actually want to take their time to raise BOTH of their children (even if Timmy is no longer a child/godchild) and guide them until they're stable adults. Timmy during college years actually only stays with the Fairywinkle Cosma's on holidays, so when Timmy's busy with college, that is when Cosmo and Wanda take their time relaxing lmao.

Sometimes when they really want to have some time alone or when Peri wants to see his bro, they will send Peri to Timmy's college for a day or more. Timmy babysits Peri so much during his college years lol. They both had fun though! With a lot of Peri newfound nuclear fairy power shenanigans at Timmy's college lmao. Studying law and taking the bar exam has never been more chaotic with babysitting a nuclear powered fairy child.

There's a lot more on this AU that I've been thinking, but I'll stop here for now. I need to gather my AU ideas in one post sometime later.

Also, Peri and Timmy are both adults here, Peri's around his 20's here and Timmy is on his early 30's I think. Cosmo, Wanda, and Peri are in their human disguises here, because they want to learn more about human culture (A New Wish context) while also having the desire to be more in Timmy's life.

I headcannon Timmy to be kinda short in his adulthood. This is also a nod to that episode when his fairy family used imperfect human disguises, even Poof/Peri was taller than Timmy in his human baby disguise lol. And also hey, wearing braces during his teen years paid off! (his big teeth are visible only when he opens his mouth lol)

As usual, here's some concept art and a png lineart pic if you want to use it to color it better than I did lmao. (that was a long yapping session... thanks for reading)

[legendary-69420]

Art, Arguments, and Absolute Mayhem

Chapter 14

(Racing Hearts : VOLUME 3 )

racing hearts

A/N : This is a pretty big chapter and It took me a LOT of time to write..share your thoughts in the comments

Mark sat at the kitchen counter, idly stirring his coffee, though he hadn’t taken a single sip. The soft clinking of dishes filled the quiet Monaco apartment as Signore Lazzaro moved around the kitchen with practiced ease.

The older man glanced over briefly before setting down a plate of toast in front of Mark. “You have been staring at that cup for an unreasonable amount of time, ragazzo.”

Mark blinked, then sighed. “I’m thinking.”

Lazzaro hummed as he poured himself a coffee. “Ah, a dangerous pastime.” He took a slow sip before continuing, his tone carrying a hint of amusement. “And what, may I ask, has occupied your thoughts so thoroughly this morning?”

Mark exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. “Charles kissed me.”

Lazzaro did not even look surprised. Instead, he calmly set his cup down, folding his hands neatly on the counter. “At last.”

Mark narrowed his eyes. “That’s it? At last?”

Lazzaro arched a brow. “Would you prefer I feign shock? Because I assure you, that would be dishonest.”

Mark groaned, slumping back in his chair. “No, but—I mean, he just walked up to me, kissed me, and then stormed off like I was the one who did something insane! And I still have no idea why he did it!”

Lazzaro sighed, shaking his head as though speaking to a particularly slow student. “Mark, you are an intelligent young man, but sometimes, you lack the ability to see what is directly in front of you.”

Mark scoffed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Lazzaro took another sip of his coffee before meeting Mark’s gaze. “It is quite simple. He was jealous.”

Mark frowned. “Jealous? Of what?”

Lazzaro set his cup down with measured patience. “Ragazzo, you are impossibly charming. You socialize with ease. People gravitate toward you. And Charles…” He tilted his head slightly. “Charles is not quite fond of you at that time in these matters.”

Mark folded his arms. “That doesn’t give him the right to just kiss me out of nowhere and act like nothing happened.”

Lazzaro exhaled slowly, as though suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. “And have you spoken to him about it?”

Mark hesitated. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” Mark exhaled, staring into his untouched coffee.

“Because I used to tell Charles everything. Every stupid problem, every random thought. But this—this is the one thing I can’t just talk to him about.”

Lazzaro regarded him for a moment before nodding. “I understand.” He stood up, beginning to clear the plates. “However, avoiding the matter will not make it disappear.”

Mark groaned, rubbing his temples. “I was hoping you would tell me what to do.”

Lazzaro smirked, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “Ah, so now you seek my wisdom?”

Mark scowled at him. “Yes, old man, that’s why I’m sitting here having an existential crisis over my coffee.”

Lazzaro chuckled, shaking his head. “Mark, you already know what must be done. You are simply reluctant to do it.”

Mark frowned. “And what exactly do I know?”

Lazzaro turned to face him fully, his expression patient yet firm. “You wish to speak to him.”

Mark stared at him, expression unreadable, but he did not argue.

Because he knew Lazzaro was right.

The day’s PR schedule promised to be simple: a series of fun, light-hearted activities to boost Ferrari’s image. But with Charles and Mark at the center of it, simple was never on the table. Cameras were set up, crew members were mic-ing them up, and the room was filled with the hum of quiet excitement. The first activity was a blindfolded driving challenge on a racing simulator. One of them would be blindfolded, and the other had to guide them through the track with only their voice as a tool.

Mark was the navigator first, and Charles sat in the driver’s seat with a black blindfold tied securely over his eyes. He adjusted his grip on the wheel and sighed deeply. "Don’t mess this up, Mark. I actually want to finish the track," he warned, his tone laced with suspicion.

Charles rolled his eyes but secured the blindfold around his head. "Don’t sabotage me, Spencer. I know you like to play dirty."

"Who, me?" Mark gasped, all faux innocence. "I would never do such a thing."

The second Charles’s vision was gone, Mark’s antics began.

"Alright, move forward. Slow, slow, slow—STOP!" Mark yelled, his voice full of panic for absolutely no reason.

Charles slammed the brakes. "What? What happened?!"

"Nothing, I just wanted to see if you'd listen," Mark cackled.

"You are insufferable," Charles grumbled, gripping the controller tightly. "Just tell me where to go!"

"Have a little faith in me, Leclerc," Mark grinned, standing behind him with his arms crossed. "I’ve got the vision of an eagle."

"Eagles are the ones that see, not speak," Charles shot back, gripping the wheel a little tighter.

"Details, details," Mark muttered with a wave of his hand. "Alright, let’s do this. Go straight."

Charles slowly pressed on the virtual accelerator, the simulated car rolling forward on the track. For a moment, it seemed like everything would go smoothly. But then Mark’s focus wavered.

"Oh, wait, wait, wait, left! Left, left! No, no—right!" Mark’s panicked voice echoed through the room as Charles jerked the wheel in confusion.

"WHICH IS IT, MARK?!" Charles shouted, his body leaning with the car as if that would help him turn it.

"Uh, straight! No—left! Crap, that’s a wall—NO!" Mark’s voice reached a pitch only dogs could hear as Charles’ car collided with the side of the track.

"MERDE!" Charles groaned, tossing his head back against the headrest. "Are you even looking at the screen?!"

"I’m looking! I’m looking!" Mark insisted, squinting at the screen like he’d never seen a racing game in his life. "I—oh, my hoodie string is uneven. Hang on." He began fiddling with the hoodie’s drawstrings, tugging them back and forth to make them even.

"MARK!" Charles’s voice was pure exasperation. "I CAN'T SEE THE SCREEN!"

"Right, right, sorry! Okay, gas, gas, gas—NO, BRAKE!" Mark’s hands flailed wildly as if that would somehow transfer the message faster. But it was too late. Charles’s car crashed head-on into the barrier, the in-game announcer declaring, “Race Over.”

Silence.

Charles pulled off the blindfold and slowly turned toward Mark, his eyes narrow and full of disbelief. "I’m never letting you guide me anywhere. Ever. Not on a track. Not on a sidewalk. Not even in a parking lot."

Mark cackled, slapping his knee. "Dude, that’s on you for trusting me."

The next round had them switch roles. This time, Charles had to blindfold Mark, and everything took a turn—for Charles' mind, at least.

He reached over, fingers brushing against Mark’s cheek as he adjusted the blindfold. The scent of Mark’s cologne, fresh like sea salt and citrus, hit him like a punch. His fingertips lingered just a second too long on Mark’s jawline. His throat went dry. Suddenly, he was hyper-aware of how close they were—his breath hitching as images flashed uninvited into his mind.

Mark leaned forward obediently. Charles reached around to tie the blindfold behind his head, fingers brushing lightly against Mark's jawline. Soft. His fingers lingered just a second too long on the curve of Mark’s neck.

Focus, Charles. It’s just a blindfold. But his mind didn’t listen. Instead, it betrayed him with flashes of Mark pulling him in by the collar and pressing him against the wall, their mouths connecting with a ferocity that left him breathless. His fingers pressed harder into Mark’s skin for a moment, his breath hitching.

What if I just pinned him down and then kissed him right here? His eyes darted to Mark's jawline and then his neck. Charles started seeing visions of him making out with Mark in the foggy room with dim lights. Mark softly groans as he is blindfolded and Charles is kissing him. Charles moves his hand over Mark's neck earning a small moan from Mark allowing him to enter Mark's mouth and passionately kiss him. Mark is now without any piece of clothing, Charles moves his hands over Mark's bare chest and abs. Mark soft moans turn on Charles even more. Then Charles' hands move down and-

“Charles?” Mark's voice broke through the fog. “You good, Lec?”

Charles snapped back to reality, pulling his hands away quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” He cleared his throat.

Get it together, man.

"Charles?" Mark tilted his head, the fabric of the blindfold wrinkling slightly. "You good? You’re taking forever."

"I’m fine!" Charles’s voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "Perfectly fine. Here, blindfold on. Done. Done!"

Mark raised a skeptical brow, but Charles had already turned his back, walking away like the ground was suddenly on fire.

“Alright, genius,” Charles said, gripping the mic. “I’m actually going to help you. Unlike some people.”

Mark tilted his head. “Don’t make me take this blindfold off and fight you.”

The two bickered the entire time, Charles’ instructions clear but filled with sarcastic quips. Unlike Mark, he didn’t let his attention wander—though his eyes may have wandered a bit too long on the sharp lines of Mark’s jawline as he focused.

Artistic Chaos

Their next PR stunt was an artistic endeavor — sketching portraits of each other. The challenge? The artist could request poses from their “model.”

"Okay, Charles, do a heroic pose. Fist on your hip. Chin up, eyes to the horizon," Mark instructed, holding his pencil like a sword.

Charles played along, holding the pose with exaggerated flair. "Like this?"

Mark snorted. "Yeah, if you were on the cover of Worst Superhero Ever magazine."

After a few minutes Mark tilted the sketchbook revealing a stupid ugly stickman with two spikey hair on his head and he titled it 'Charles'.

Charles was not surprised by the drawing whatsoever "Guessed so"

Mark smirked, "Oh sorry hold on lemme just flip the page" Mark flipped the page and revealed an almost photorealistic sketch of Charles with his prominent features more well defined.

Charles was dumbfounded but still not surprised as it was SO Mark to do such a thing. Of course he knows how to draw well.

"Drew you like one of my French girls- ahem guys" Mark cackled.

-

"Mark, take off your shirt," Charles said, crossing his arms.

Mark froze for half a second before shrugging. "Alright." He grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it, his toned abs and chest coming into view. Charles’s eyes went wide, his brain short-circuiting as he caught sight of the sharp V-line at Mark’s hips.

OH GOD. STOP. STOP LOOKING.

"NO! KEEP IT ON! KEEP IT ON!" Charles’s voice came out in a panicked shout, his hands waving in front of him like he was warding off a ghost.

Mark burst into laughter, letting his shirt drop. "You’re so weird, Leclerc."

"No, you’re weird," Charles mumbled, face red, eyes stubbornly fixed on his sketchpad.

Later, during an interview segment, they were asked to share nicknames for each other. Charles listed simple ones—"Spencer," "idiot," and "Mr. Distraction"—while Mark’s list was pure chaos: "Charlie Boy," "Princess of Monaco," "French Fry," and "Green Flag Leclerc." Charles shook his head, muttering, "Never calling me that."

“Alright,” Charles started. “For Mark, we have: Idiot, Stupid, Pain in the A—”

“Hey! Those are not pet names,” Mark shot back. “Alright, for Charles, we have: Legend, Leclec, Little Prince, Sharles, Charlie, Mr. Always P3—”

“Take that back!” Charles shouted, slapping Mark's arm.

“I WILL NOT!” Mark cackled.

The cameras flickered on, capturing the two Ferrari drivers seated side by side, their faces lit with that familiar mischievous glow. It was another PR interview, but for some reason, the energy today was pure chaos.

Mark’s Verbal Blunders

Mark leaned forward, squinting at the question card in front of him. “If I’m correctly being wrong here…” he started, his face full of confidence.

Charles turned to him slowly, his face contorting in exaggerated disbelief. “What?” he deadpanned, his eyebrows shooting up.

Mark blinked innocently. “What?”

Charles rubbed his face with both hands, letting out a groan. “What does that even mean, mon dieu (my god)? You’re either correct or you’re wrong, Mark! Pick a side!”

"Words are hard, Charles. You wouldn’t understand," Mark deadpanned.

"I understand you’re an idiot," Charles shot back.

Mark snickered, leaning his elbow on the table. He gave Charles a cheeky grin, not knowing what he’d done. The crew behind the cameras burst into laughter, and Charles dropped his head onto the table, tapping it lightly like he was begging for mercy.

---

Later, when asked to offer each other words of motivation, Mark turned to Charles, face full of fake sincerity.

“Charles, God gives his strongest battles to his hardest soldiers,” Mark said with all the gravitas of a prophet.

Silence.

Then Mark added, "And you’re really hard."

Charles’ jaw dropped and in a concerned voice he said "MARK. NO!" He shoved him off his chair, both of them howling with laughter.

---

Mark’s "Brilliant" Ideas

Later, during a behind-the-scenes clip, Mark could be seen inspecting the area for a spot to shoot a promo. He gestured toward a concrete wall with a slick, graffiti-like design. “Hey, guys, can we get a shot so we’re behind that cool-looking wall?”

Charles glanced up, squinting at Mark like he’d just heard the dumbest idea of the century. “You mean… in front of it?” he asked slowly, each word loaded with mock confusion.

Mark froze, eyes darting to the wall, back to Charles, and then to the wall again. “…Yes.”

The entire crew erupted in laughter, and Charles put his hands on his hips, shaking his head like a disappointed parent. “C’est incroyable (This is unbelievable),” he muttered, grinning despite himself.

The Wierd Dilemma

Back in another interview chair, Mark tilted his head, eyes squinting like he was unlocking the mysteries of the universe. “Mosquitoes can fly, right?”

Charles sighed, knowing something ridiculous was about to follow. “Yes, Mark. Mosquitoes can fly.”

“But a fly can’t mosquito,” Mark added with a slow, thoughtful nod. “Isn’t that… concerning?”

The pause that followed was deadly. Silence stretched as the crew collectively realized what he’d just said. Charles blinked once. Twice.

“WHAT?!” Charles finally shouted, half-screaming, half-laughing as he threw his head back. “Are you serious right now?” He shook his head, face buried in his hands, muttering to himself in French. “Je ne peux pas faire ça (I can’t do this).”

Mark shrugged, a grin spreading across his face. “I’m just saying. Something to think about.”

Cultural Reflections

During a break, Mark leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head, looking especially thoughtful. Out of nowhere, he declared, “Good thing I wasn’t born in China.”

Charles looked over at him, confused. “Pourquoi (why)?”

Mark didn’t miss a beat. “I can’t speak Chinese.”

There was silence. Charles blinked at him slowly, lips parting as he processed what had just been said. Then he burst out laughing so hard that he doubled over, clutching his stomach. The crew behind the camera was howling too, and even the cameraman’s lens shook from the vibration of laughter.

“Arrête, arrête (Stop, stop),” Charles wheezed, gasping for air. “How do you live like this?”

Multilingual Chaos

At another point in the day, the interviewer asked a simple question, but Mark’s brain was miles ahead — or perhaps miles behind. He casually started answering in French, his words flowing smoothly. Charles blinked, visibly impressed, until suddenly Mark shifted into Italian mid-sentence.

“Et c’est pourquoi je pense que la stratégie devrait être… e poi abbiamo bisogno di concentrarci sul ritmo del settore finale (And that’s why I think the strategy should be… and then we need to focus on the pace of the final sector),” Mark rambled, his hands gesturing as if this all made perfect sense.

Charles tilted his head, brow furrowing. “Wait, wait, wait. Did you just—”

Charles snorted. “Tu es un homme étrange, Mark (You’re a strange man, Mark).”

Roasting Gone Right

“Mark, do you know what would really help your driving?” Charles said casually during a Q&A session.

Mark, already on edge, raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m dying to hear this.”

“Maybe if you focused on the road instead of the crowd. I’ve seen you waving at fans like you’re at a parade.”

Mark’s jaw dropped as the crew howled in laughter. But he didn’t stay stunned for long. “Okay, but at least I have fans to wave at.”

The entire room gasped. Charles clutched his chest like he’d been fatally wounded, leaning away dramatically. “Oh! Oh! Il m'a eu (He got me)!” he cried, hands over his heart like he’d just been stabbed.

Flirting Disguised as Banter

The lighthearted roasting escalated into something else entirely. As they stood next to each other for a photo shoot, Charles eyed Mark up and down, lips quirking into a smirk. “You think you’re cute, huh?” he teased.

Mark flipped his hair in an exaggerated, slow-motion gesture. “I don’t think. I know.”

Charles clicked his tongue. “Arrogant.”

“Je suis magnifique, et tu le sais (I’m magnificent, and you know it),” Mark shot back, giving Charles a wink.

Charles chuckled, looking away like he was trying not to be affected. “I hate you.”

“Love you too-” Mark replied instantly, grinning then freezing, realizing what just came out of his mouth.

Good thing Charles didn't hear it.

Fans ate up every moment, filling the internet with clips, edits, and comments:

@ferrarifangirl_23: "THE WAY CHARLES YELLED 'KEEP THEM ON' OMGGGG I’M CRYING."

@chaosmarkstan: "THE BLINDFOLD MOMENT WAS NOT PG. CHARLES. WE SAW YOUR FACE. YOU ARE NOT SLICK."

@charlesforever: "They’re basically future husbands at this point. Just get married already."

@f1_chaos: “The sexual tension is unbearable.”

@markcharlesupdates: “Charles said ‘keep it on’ but his *eyes said otherwise.”

@chaotic_scuderia: “Mark out here speaking French, Italian, and the language of dangerous seduction.”

@leclercspencer_stan: “Mark: ‘If I’m correctly being wrong’ Charles: ‘tf does that mean?’ ME: 'tf does that mean?'”

@allf1all_chaos:"The way Charles paused while blindfolding Mark. HE WAS HAVING THOUGHTS."

The internet’s collective reaction could be summed up in two words: “I’m dead.”

[rosiebun28]

COSMIC HRT Month 1 (The Dream and First Encounter)

Hi, I'm Rosie and this is part of a story I've been wanting to share for a long time. Cosmic HRT started as a comic but I have ADHD really bad and I have struggled with consistently working on art. But as I continue in the community I want to try other mediums like writing to get my story out there. Hopefully one day I can work on turning it into a comic but I just want to at least get something out for my own sanity. This story was inspired by Dragon HRT by @ayviedoesthings and by Eldritch HRT by @dawning-mars The format was Inspired by Arynia's Hellhound HRT story over at @ariathelamia so Definitely go check all of them out if you haven't already! Also Special thank you to @dawning-mars for the Cameo!

Hello, my name is Rose but I like to go by Rosie. My Therapist suggested I should try Chronicling my journey as a way of reflecting on the crazy events that have been happening to me. I've always had problems interacting with other people so I figured I should share these journals online as a way of initiating interaction. (Sorry if that’s weird, I’m still working on my communication skills) I’m really bad at self expression so forgive me if I say something weird or mis-remember something.

Well the whole thing started a while back, I'm a 30 year old transgender woman and things had been getting worse where I lived for people like me. I heard about a new type of HRT that can actually turn people into animals! After doing A LOT of research into it and a lot of self reflection, I Felt this was something I needed but nothing I looked at felt right, felt like me. There were short periods of fancy where I got excited at the thought of being a bunny or a mouse or even a hybrid species, but the excitement always faded after a time. Nothing felt like the real me, I didn’t even know what the "Real Me" was supposed to feel like, just the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. I was stuck at an impasse, walking past and seeing others transitioning and becoming closer to their true selves every day. I liked to try and keep up to date on things so I started following some Therians online but while I was happy for them, I still felt just the tiniest bit of envy and wished I could figure out who I am.

However, that changed one day when I had a weird dream. It's a bit difficult to describe but there was a tall Being in a bright yellow robe with an expressionless mask and horns, we stood on an expansive black plane, the sky behind a stark white with what appeared to be black stars in the background. I couldn’t feel my arms or legs, I couldn’t move and could barely feel myself, I watched as the figure slowly moved towards me in a way I can only describe as smooth, not quite gliding, not quite shambling. Once it reached me it  whispered something I couldn't quite make out and I suddenly woke up with a chill. The next day I had an unexplainable urge to go for a walk through a part of town I'd never been through but it was like something was pulling me there, like I was being drawn in. 

I made my way down to what was locally being called the "Therian District" though some would call it "The Zoo" though I never liked that name personally. As I was walking past a doctor's office, I suddenly bumped into someone and fell to the ground. I felt a cold chill suddenly rush into me and down my throat but it was gone so fast I wasn't even sure if it even actually happened. As I looked up there was a tall, vague figure covered in shadow. When suddenly my vision doubled, one side blue and the other yellow, before recombining. The shadowy figure was gone, in its place before me stood the most beautiful person I'd ever seen. She was extremely tall and had skin that was a lustrous purple, she wore a simple black dress with a black bow and a large black hat. Her face stared at me for a few seconds with five deep, caring eyes that seemed to be full of anxiety, not sure how I could tell that to be honest. She quickly apologized for bumping into me and ran off. I was stuck there for a few seconds going over the image in my mind before someone came over and helped me up. They asked me if I’d been hurt by "That Monster" and I gave them a sharp glare that made them back off and walk away muttering "freak" under their breath. I don’t know why but I'd felt an anger wash over me from hearing them insult this person I’d never even met. It was so out of character for me that I didn’t know how to respond so I called them an asshole and walked away.

That night I had another dream about the Being in Yellow but this time they spoke only four words to me: "Open Your Eye Youngling" After which I heard a cracking sound followed by my vision splitting again into blue and yellow, but this time they didn't recombine, instead they split and my perspective shifted to viewing 3 different angles at once. One blue, one yellow, and one gray in between them looking at glowing blobs of energy, a blue one on the right and a yellow on on the left. They were connected to me by thin white fluctuating beams of light. They seemed to be where the other perspectives are coming from. 

I started to hear and feel one of myselves saying some but it was muffled and all I could make out was a vague feeling. Then the blue and yellow selves seemed to start having a conversation that I could not seem to process. It was like I was hearing words and vague wisps of intent but had no idea what was being said. After a while I woke up again, but something was different. I felt like I could see more, but I wasn't sure what it was I could see that I couldn't before. It felt like a heavy fog had lifted from my mind. Whatever it was, started to make me feel a lot more overstimulated than before. The trade-off being I suddenly didn't feel as lonely anymore for some reason.

I went to take my morning meds and noticed that something was different, my normal estrogen pills seemed to have changed from the little white circles I was used to. They were now a bit bigger and football shaped like my Progesterone but I couldn’t find any seams on them and they appeared to be filled with some kind of milky white pearlescent liquid. I tried to break one open but I couldn’t seem to penetrate the outer shell so I examined the bottle. There were a few things different about the label now too, The patient name was a strange Sigil I’d never seen before. The medication name now said "Dreamadonteride" and the Prescriber information was some kind of symbol I’d never seen before that looked like a dot surrounded by a circle with three squiggly lines radiating out from the center. I looked at the pill again and felt a mix of conflicted feelings and voices inside, but one feeling rang out louder than the others. A voice telling me that this mysterious new pill would help me finally find my true self, would help me finally be happy. So I ignored the other voices in my head telling me to stop as I popped the pill into my mouth and took a drink of water. The voices finally calmed and went quiet. I still don’t know if this was the right choice, but I made it and I was going to stick with it.

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

hi! i just reached crimson badlands in my current playthrough so how do you think sve bachelors, particularly the mages and adventurers, react to farmer (their s/o or spouse) asking them, "if i turned into a fallen adventurer, are you going to kill me?" it's like 'if i turned into a big, will u still love me?' but feel free to sprinkle some or make it angst btw!! i love ur works <33

OK, dear anon, got it 👍 Just a little pinch of angst, and- *accidentally dumped a whole bag of angst* Oops... Erm, to be fair, this headcanon would be sad either way you look at it, because no one can handle the corruption in Crimson Baldlans yet, and accordingly none of the adventurers have any answers on how to at least help the lost souls. So.... yeah, thanks for the ask! 💕

PS: I'm a bit confused about the "particularly mages and adventurers" thing, since available candidates from this category is Lance and Magnus. Or did you mean like future candidates too? I will leave available candidates this time, hope it's ok for you! 💖

_________________________________________

Victor:

"What...?"

Victor knows for the existence of magic in general, of adventurers and wizards that protect ordinary people like him from monsters or worse that lurk in the dark depths, of various wonders. Since Farmer had become his partner, his knowledge of these noble monster hunters and masters of the arcane arts had become even more extensive. Victor had understood perfectly well the risks of such work even before he and Farmer had officially started dating. Understood, feared for them, but always supported them in their urge to protect. However, the idea that his lover's job could be so dangerous, and the very possibility that they could meet an end worse than death... What could he, a simple guy with a passion for building bridges, do to an armed man? Especially a man close to him?

"There's always a solution, I'm sure." No, he's not sure of his words at all.

Magnus Rasmodius:

"...."

Magnus tore his gaze away from the gurgling cauldron to look his spouse in all seriousness in the eye. Ever since Camilla pointed them in the direction of the Crimson Baldlans, Farmer has travelled almost once a week on a perilous journey into the cursed lands where even the most hardened warriors can easily fall to the fangs and claws of the most fearsome of creatures. Each time they take a risk, in the name of protection, in the name of an idea, in the name of riches and glory, while Magnus stays in their shared farmhouse, praying to Yoba and the spirits that his spouse will return alive. Praying that the urgent message from Camilla would not be the very thing the old wizard feared most. Fearing that he would not have to face their body, scarred by black magic.

"That is my duty. If I have to, I will put an end to it." And that was a lie.

Lance:

*Sigh* "Do you really want to hear my honest answer?"

Castle Village has been home to Lance for most of his life, and as a local and adventurer, he knows full well what awaits anyone who dares to step foot in the sands that have been soaked in the blood of men and monsters for decades. Before the corruption of unknown origin, this place was already dangerous, and now instead of simple death, fallen warriors and wizards can become the living dead, cursed to wander forever knee-deep in these sands until a brave soul comes to the end of their suffering. These brave men were many.... And many have not returned, for to see your friend, parent or child as 'fallen', and you will involuntarily feel a hesitation, a shiver in your hands at the realisation that the one you lost is finally found. It is enough to make a living warrior join the ranks of the dead.

"I must. But... I don't think I can." Even he has weaknesses that will make him hesitate, and his lover as a fallen warrior.... is one of those.

[pagan-stitches]

Feeding Birds to Connect to the Land—Instead of Checking Off a List

So I’ve alluded to my recently diagnosed (but have had forever) ADHD causing disorganization (a kind way of saying mess, a big fat MESS). But another sometimes problem, sometimes source of happiness, is hyper focus.

One of the first things I remember having this intense obsession with is birds. It lead to hours of enjoyment, but also frustration. My one visit to Cape May (a famous birding location on the Atlantic in New Jersey) was when my sister’s husband was stationed at McGuire AFB—all I really remember about it was that the weather was too bad to see much and a frantic, not fun race from place to place to place to find a new bird for my life list.

This was a birding Mecca—I couldn’t possibly leave without a new bird.

Yeah, I didn’t get a new bird, just a bored and frustrated family who lived across the country from me. Little did I know that they would soon move again and that I would only see them every couple of years and I would never really have a relationship with my niece and nephew after that. What a waste.

Like many things I hyper focus on, after a chunk of time I slowly lost interest. I went from taking the ornithology class at my local university for fun, obsessively dragging my husband to wild life sanctuaries while logging information every day, to logging onto ebird on those rare occasions when I wasn’t looking for new birds anymore, but one would accidentally fall into my lap.

Case in point—yesterday I saw a brown headed nuthatch, a not uncommon bird, but infrequent in my area. I felt that old excited tingle. A new bird. Must list. I spent 20 minutes trying to hack into my ebird account which was under an old email. When I finally got in, I realized I hadn’t logged in in 8 years, when I had speculated that the blue bunting I was recording had been blown off course in the storms the night before.

Over the years, I’ve developed a healthier relationship with my bird friends. Other than the once in nearly a decade urge to record a new bird, I do other things than list. I embroider amulet bags for feathers I find. Taking days to think about THAT bird, to study art and folklore about it—instead of racing to the next bird.

I feed the birds. An offering to them is an offering to the space in which I reside, an acknowledgment that I share this space with other living things.

One of my bird friends is the local great blue heron. I sat and watched this one for half an hour one day and as it preened itself, the downy little feather in the picture to the left, falling into the water and slowly drifting right to me. I designed the little amulet bag from a Chinese folk pattern of a crane.

Another bird friend is the wren, who if you explore the tags on my tumblr, you will see I’ve been working with for years. The one pictured above, nested in the hanging plant on the front porch for several years. I found the feathers in the other picture on our sidewalk and based the design on the amulet bag on the folktale of the wren catching a ride nearly to the sun on the eagle’s back.

The primal screams of our red shouldered hawk pair (who I’ve named Freya and Freyr), always make me stop and be present in the moment.

Once or twice a winter we spot a gaggle of turkeys wandering out of the pines to the side of our property, only to wander back into the woods after we’ve all run to the window, the dogs barking and my camera clicking to commemorate the rare sighting.

One of the feathers that is common in pictures of my altar is this turkey feather (striped to the right of the icicles).

One of the birds that I feel the strongest connection to, but have never actually seen, is the Chuck Will’s Widow, a night jar, who I know by its song—which I’ve come to see as a herald of Hexennacht, and early summer, as we begin to hear it mid to late April.

Here is a video I recorded of a Kupala/Midsummer ritual in 2022 with it calling in the background.

So, now that I’ve been diagnosed and am starting to be more aware of my behaviors and how they can lead to a sense of frustration and unhappiness, I know I will continue to feed the birds—but IF I decide to use my reactivated ebird account, it’ll only be to record 5 minute observations at the feeder once or twice a week, or to record when I saw that gaggle last week—NOT to reignite obsessive behaviors.

Edit: a funny side note—my husband @ofleafstructure still remembers family names of different bird groups and how they are related to each other from quizzing me over and over with the index cards I made during the ornithology class (at the time this obsessive nerd had the highest grade ever on the lab practical). Something about birds will come up in conversation and he’ll start relating bird facts and I’ll be like . . . ummm . . that sounds kinda familiar? 🤪

[dragonagegayz]

Reflection Ruesday

@alystrin03 has tagged me and here am I!

What to do: Go through your writing, art, gifs, etc. that you started but never finished and find something you love. Brush it up a bit if you want and share it. Tag me and use the tag Reflection Ruesday (it'll grow on you, I promise) and I'll comment and reblog. Then tag some other folks you think might enjoy it.

Alright so I don’t have a whole lot of stuff that isn’t like 6 years old (we are NOT looking through high school Skunchs woefully writing) but! I have a whole lot of ideas wittten down for prompts I probably won’t touch again but I’ll share them here!

Skunch and Lucanis

after the gods are defeated and theyre still roaming around the lighthouse, a certain crow is like I want to bang again but rooks busy and I don’t want to bother him so cue him at the dining room table low key dry humping the table and rook comes in all “hey whats -oh, oh ok wouldn’t you rather use my leg?”

“What?”

“My leg, it’ll be much nicer than the table”

So he dry humps his leg, rook sneaks a finger down there and lucanis comes (with tears of course) and rook also comes and lucanis is like oh and rooks like oh then they laugh and kiss and promise to bang more frequently.

Rook and Lucanis deciede to take a night out, going to the Diamond for something other than work for once. The Crow’s know the Firdt Talon but they don’t make the connection that Rook is Rook and while Lucanis si away he comes back to the elf being flirted with and he/Spite steps in rather aggressively. They all fuck rather aggressively about it, one of the first times they have a more aggressive fuck and Rooks like holy shit we can so do that again. Spite is much more incolced, they work in tandem to fuck that warden.

Enzo and Emmrich

Emmrich having bad thoughts about Enzo’s tongue piercing

“How would it feel, to stick in fingers in the elf’s mouth, to hear siover against gold as Enzo lavishes his rings with attention with such a wickedly talented tongue

Jealous Emmrich whos spent all day admiring Enzo and they’ve been flirting expecting )not in a bad way) intimacy when they gett hoe however before they leave Minrathous they run into one of the elf’s ex’s who still has this palpable chemistry with Enzo our try as he might, Emmrich gets jealous and makes a show of their relationship by touching Enzo very purposefully. Before they can even get home Enzo corners him in the Crossroads and sex in the fade occurs.

Bas

Here’s an actual excerpt of a piece I started

“Your hair is long,”

Freeze in place, spoon of cold gruel close my mouth It plays on mt lips from how close it sits but I find my throat is tight with fear. I tilt my head to look at my Araavad, he looks calm, refined, yet there is something dangerous in the tint of his eyes. I try to swallow the fear away yet I can’t. I cannot speak so I say nothing and just stare, I feel a need to shift under this gaze, to squirm away from those dark eyes yet I have learned to never to such a thing. The welt on the backs of my hands still ache with the memory of punishment for the last time I had done such a thing.

His face scurnches up in displasure. My hearts beats hard in my chest as I feel this panic strat to settle in my stomach at the look.

I have no seen my hair since I was chained a year ago, last I knew it was a medium length, one just past my ears but when I had awoken after the magic showed itself to me and it was discovered by the Qun, my hair was jagged, near to my scalp. I have not seen myself since then and nor has my hair been cut so I am not even sure how long it has become. I know it sits nearly my shoulders as strands attempt to tickle the back of my neck on particularly windy days. It has come to give me comfort these days, a little soft touch in the world of cold, unrelently feelings. Iset my spoon down and fight the urge to reach back, to feeljust how long it has become.

“I don’t like it,” He says and I find my stomach clenches under the words. I swallow as best as I can with the tightness still squeezing in my throat. It is as if my anxiety is trying to choke me, to suffocate me under the gaze of the Araavad so that I may get punsied for whatever it is he wishes to punish me for. The length of my hair would be more than enoughto set him off I have learned. Anything not to his liking or standard was enough to get my meals reduced, increased time spent locked in my room, beatings or whippings waiting for my slip ups. I think he enjpoys them.

HE rises formthe table so suddenly, it is pushed into my stomach so harshly I must cough up the air trapped in my lungs though I try to stop it as I feel it pull on the thread on my lips. A year in and I still cannot get used to it’s presence tying my lips tightly together. I watch through the small holes of my mask as he

I’ll be back to tag when I get to my computer it’s too much on the app lol

[psalacanthea]

still organizing all my fic folders as I remove stuff from gdocs, found the old Cello fic prompts. I don't feel like putting this all on AO3, so I'll just post this here and if ppl seem interested maybe I'll dust off the rest some time.

This one I BELIEVE was the first post-fic prompt, chronologically.

It was a beautiful night, just a hint of summer in the air- a promise of things to come.

Ella had never been to the old Denerim Arlage estate, which had been converted to a museum. Sadly, not the interesting kind with dinosaurs, but the other kind. The kind without laser light shows. It had a garden, but she remembered the last time she'd ditched Solas to go hide in a garden, and didn't want to repeat the experience.

Not that she didn't appreciate art, but her frustration with this particular art museum crowd was almost as strong as Fenris'. And there wasn't anywhere to go and hide when you got sick of them. You couldn't really hide behind a painting and make out.

Well, you could, but people would see you.

“Why am I here.” Fenris' skill in asking questions that sounded like statements was unparalleled. Especially when combined with the dead-eyed stare and the slight sneer in his raspy voice. “You have a girlfriend now. Specifically so that I do not have to come to these sorts of events.”

“Is that why he got me? I thought it was because I'm witty and super smart and pretty.” She peered down into her wine glass. Empty. Damn. They only poured like a half inch into the bottom of it anyways. “I didn't realize it was to make your life easier.”

“I find you to be very charming and intelligent,” Solas informed her placidly, and then added on as she glanced up to him, “and you are very pretty.”

The embarrassment was instant, and so was the fidget, her fingers twisting tighter in his as they shared a look.

“You are very pretty too," she told him, not just because it flustered him a little, that little bit of a flush that made his freckles stand out a little more. Also because it was true, and because...

“Stop it,” Fenris demanded near-instantly, disgust evident in his tone. “I will lose my dinner if you do not stop that. Right. This instant.”

And because it would annoy Fenris.

Her smile turned a hint impish, and Solas gave her a silent look of reproof, lifting her hand for a brief kiss on the knuckles. Still, she was quite sure he was thinking about smiling just a little as he looked up and away.

“I asked that you attend to locate the donors I am expected to speak to, Fenris.” Solas finally said, after scanning the U-shaped gallery for the third time. “For now, however, we will enjoy the exhibit. Find us again in half an hour.”

"Understood."

Ella followed as Solas wandered away, letting her empty glass be taken by a passing server. That was nice. She made sure to smile and say thank you, even briefly, remembering that whole mess in Halamshiral. Bleh. The wrinkle of her nose drew Solas' attention as they paused in front of a painting, and he gave her a curious look.

“No, nothing. Just a bad memory,” she told him mildly, and then turned her gaze towards the painting. Pretty, but kind of...messy. She tilted her head slightly to the left and squinted. “Oh. Huh, I get it.”

“It is...vhenan, I do not believe this particular piece is meant to be 'gotten'.” He remarked, in what she was coming to recognize as his 'being tolerant of my weird girlfriend' voice. She liked that one.

“No, it sort of looks like a naked lady if you squint a little bit,” she insisted, and was gratified to finally see a genuine smile from him. She resisted the urge to kiss the corner of it. “It's okay. Like you said, two hours. We can survive two hours.”

“I cannot recall telling you of my reluctance to attend.” He led her on to the next painting, pausing to get her another glass of wine.

She accepted it with a smile, and was relieved to see his shoulders relaxing just a little. She'd get him to share his burdens a bit yet. Stubborn man, stuck inside his own head.

“I could tell,” she responded simply, fingers tightening a little in his, securely. “Why else do you think I'd be in heels?”

“I thought you were just trying to see the world from a new vantage point." His smile only in his low voice, staying off of his lips.

“Ah, yes, a short joke. Excellent, excellent.” She pulled on her most pompously affected voice, which of course happened to be Orlesian. Petty revenge being best revenge and all. “I would say zat joke was per'aps from what we now refer to as his 'I think I'd like to be single again' period. Also commonly known as ze 'blue balls' period.”

The clearing of his throat was so loud that there were suddenly about a dozen eyes on them, and she freed her hand from his to solicitously pat his back. All while hiding a smirk, and he tried to hide his red cheeks behind his hand, finger and thumb splayed over his mouth. She could feel the tension in his shoulders as he tried not to laugh, smug satisfaction settling in.

It took him a few moments to recover, and then a few more to settle himself. She thought he might at least give her a token chide, but instead he just cleared his throat again, quieter this time, and took her hand once more. Smiling to herself, she behaved as they wandered around to look at the rest of the paintings.

Solas seemed more relaxed, and that's really all she'd wanted.

Ellana was really starting to wish that Leliana had time to come to this. She knew she'd gotten an invitation, but there was some sort of silent auction going on somewhere that she was helping. A Chantry thing, she thought. A proper charity, not self-congratulatory assholes like some of the ones here. Being with Solas helped, it did, and she felt like she got a lot less second looks because of it.

Less, not none. And some of the first looks were bad enough, like when someone who passed by handed her their empty glass without even looking at her. She took it, because what else do you do when someone shoves a glass at you? And then she just sort of stared at it for a minute. Ellana shook her head as Solas immediately half-turned, grabbing his arm to stop him.

Not worth it. Just...not worth it.

“Ir abelas, vhenan.” He leaned over to plant a small kiss on top of her head. “Josephine should have been here to navigate such insults. It was simply bad luck that she took ill.”

“She does have a way of handling this crap.” She agreed, and then sighed, lifting the dirty glass. “What was she thinking with this shade of lipstick, anyways?”

“The world may never know. Where is Fenris?”

That...was a good question, actually.

Lips pursing together, she scanned the room, checking the corners, of course. Always check the corners for the hipster with his face in his cell phone. And...nope.

“I don't know, you should probably check if they're missing any bottles of wine. If so, probably the coat closet.” She glanced up and aside at Solas, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “And if so, I'm kind of thinking about joining him.”

“I would not blame you.”

“No, I'm serious. Not joking. I would completely hide in the coat closet with a bottle of wine. That would actually make my night about a hundred times better right now, especially if you were there, too. Pants basically optional at that point.”

For a long moment, he didn't say anything, scanning the gallery in silence, a thoughtfully distant look on his face. She was actually starting to worry she'd annoyed him. She had said she'd come, after all, maybe she wasn't being supportive enough. Maybe she wasn't cut out for this dumb, fancy sort of thing. Which would be a huge pain in the ass, because she knew he had to do this sort of thing, and it was part of his job and she did want to be a good girlfriend...

Solas gave a small tug to her hand, turning. "

Dumbfounded, she managed to contain the questions and sheer disbelief, following after him. It wasn't until he'd left her in the hall with a squeeze of her hand and ducked into the server's room that she snapped out of her surprised daze. And then started giggling.

“What?” he asked her as he wandered back out, bottle of wine in hand.

The sight only made her laugh all the more, cheeks pinked. Eventually it roused a smile from him as well, and he shook his head at her slowly.

“Did you actually steal that?” she asked him, letting him take her hand again and lead her off.

“I asked. They aren't paid to care what guests do, vhenan.”

He didn't turn back towards the gallery, but down a hallway they hadn't been down before, his fingers laced securely in hers. Curiously she watched the way ahead, glancing into darkened rooms as they passed them.

“I'm not used to people just giving me things when I ask,” she pointed out, laughter still coloring her words. “You just assume no one will say no to you, and then they don't. You bulldozer.”

"I find it makes my life less complicated. Come,” he pulled her around a turn, and she blinked in surprise at the darkness of the hall ahead. "There is something I would like to show you."

This wasn't the way back to the party.

Ellana wasn't opposed- if they got in trouble Solas would handle it. “Ooh, spooky. No coat closet, then? Are we going to go find the ghost of a long-dead arl?”

“No ghosts that I have personally met,” Solas replied, offering her the bottle of wine. She took it in her far hand, tucking herself more comfortably against his side. He smiled down at her, making her heart give one of those funny little flips she liked so much, a little flutter of happiness.

“I didn't say it properly before, but you look very handsome tonight.” She nudged her hip into his, and then added just to see if she could get him to blush, “though you always look handsome.”

Yep, that worked. Smiling to herself, she was too busy admiring the flush as it crept along his cheekbone, and then she got lost in the line of his jaw for a moment. And then, well, there was all the rest that needed staring at, and maybe if she just grabbed his tie she could get in a kiss...

“We've arrived,” he told her, and she blinked back into focus, turning her attention to the rest of the room.

It was big, and open, and for a moment she wondered what it had been once upon a time. Hard to tell now, but this one still had the old, sturdy stone exposed, not covered up with plaster. It made it feel timeless, even with the low electric lights set into the floor. Each one turned up to face a mosaic, probably even older than the estate itself.

Way older.

She felt him release her hand as she stepped forward, entranced, the extremely low lights giving her just enough to see the mosaics. They gleamed like metal, tiny tiles meticulously put together. She could see the cracks from the restoration, but it didn't take away from the beauty of the pieces.

Eerie beauty, though, stylized and spare, but flowing. Some of the tiles were so small that from a distance they looked like beading, giving them the strangest appearance of mosaic and tapestry all in one. It was the eyes that arrested her, though, gazing up into a face otherwise featureless, silvery eyes reflecting more light than the rest of the piece.

“It's like...looking at a statue of something that's been out in the desert for hundreds of years," she finally decided, low and awed. “Where it's just been blasted down so long it's almost just a lump, but you can still see the essence of what it was. I didn't...that's supposed to be Dirthamen, right?”

“Yes. They were excavated from a ruin in Orlais,” Solas told her, finally moving up to join her, an arm sliding around her waist. “I thought you might like to see; I was told the restoration was nearly complete.”

“Wow, I...yes.” She finally managed to speak, moving on to examine the next one, still rather cracked, one large corner missing, but still gorgeous in its own right. “Way better than the coat closet.”

“The evening is young yet.” He took the bottle from her, and she smiled impishly, flashing him a wink that made him laugh. “D not underestimate the utility of hiding in the coat closet. We still must properly face the terrible people out there, and it may be necessary.”

“Mmh, we've got it," she replied dismissively, eyes still captivated by the ancient murals. “I can handle you, I can handle anyone.”

“I know. I am a very lucky man.”

The tone of his voice made her flush, as she glanced up and aside to meet his eyes. They held for a moment, a familiar contact now but no less intense for it. Pleased warmth settled in her belly, making her breath catch audibly. And then he smiled, slow and intimate, which just made her heart turn over in her chest.

Luckily, him tying her tongue in knots now had a very easy solution. She didn't have to fumble to find the right thing to say, she could just kiss the hell out of him.

And so she did.

[ell-arts]

Out of curiosity, when/where did you first learn to animate? What inspires you to make your animations?

(I'm partly asking this because the urge to animate hit me like a truck once I really got into PMATGA, lmao. I've only ever made around 3-4 small ones over the span of several months)

Good question! Long answer! :'D

I've been dreaming of being an animator since I was young, because my elder sister studied animation and that's where I learned more about it. She gave me her copy of The Animator's Survival Kit from Richard Williams after she finished studying, and I've kept it with me ever since. Mind you, I never finished it, because distractions happened XD But I've read the first bunch of pages and started getting a fletchling idea of how animation worked. This was when I was around 10-14 years old. My favourite movies were almost exclusively Disney or Dreamworks classics, and my love for them grew as I grew older. I keenly observed their animations and analyzed what it was that them so appealing, long before I actually learned how to animate properly. Through observing what made those animations so appealing and life-like, I've built up references in my mind as a benchmark as to how animation is supposed to look. So when the time came to learn animation properly, I've already had a headstart thanks to observation, which sped up my learning quite a bit.

Now, let me tell you about a man named Aaron Blaise.

To say that Aaron Blaise is an animation legend would be an understatement.

He was the co-director of Brother Bear. He worked on various Disney movies that shaped our childhoods. He animated young Nala from The Lion King, Raja from Aladdin, and he also worked on Beauty and the Beast, Mulan, Pocahontas, and the Rescuers Down Under. He left Disney in 2007, but in 2012 he teamed up with a friend and decided to start CreatureArtTeacher, a website where he shares everything that he's learned, whether that be animation from his time at Disney or just art in general. He brings aboard many other professionals in the same field and beyond, where courses are offered at the most affordable prices. Often, he'll also offer lessons on various art subjects on his YouTube for free, and he livestreams frequently!

It's thanks to these lessons that I've learned more about animation. While I didn't practice often, I did start taking my first steps into doing animation, spurred on by inspiration from Aaron's videos. This was around age 16-18. Unfortunately, I can't track down my first ever animation I've made. But I did make this sometime before turning 20;

Yes, that's a BG shot from pmatga XD

So going into my twenties, I knew enough about animation to make small little snippets such as the one above, but I wasn't yet at the point where I'd consider myself an educated animator. And here's the thing; when I went to university, I studied Visual Communication & Design, which mostly focused on graphic design. In that course, we did do a little bit of animation, but it was nothing I've already known, and it was mostly cut-out animation where you control it like a puppet in After Effects. What I really wanted to do was dive deeper into traditional 2D cell animation, but we had to preferably work in 2D cut-out animation to save time. It was a cool learning experience, but also a bit frustrating because I prefer the traditional frame-by-frame method. Alas, that would take too long, and my uni projects ran on a 2-week basis (a new project every two weeks), so I couldn't push to improve my animation skills in the direction that I wanted to. I still learned quite a bit tho, and got valuable experience with different programs, so I guess the time I got a taste of animation education was around the age of 22.

But then came 2024, age 24, when I got hired as a storyboard artist at my current job. Thanks to the company's help in giving their workers the space to learn new things, I finally tackled animation in earnest. I brought out the good ol' The Animator's Survival Kit and Aaron Blaise's courses and taught myself as much as I could, along with the support and guidance of the studio. Needless to say, sometime afterwards I could make the Rubber Pac animation I did here.

So yeah! It was a combination of things. Both my sister's influence and the influence of animated movies from a young age, Aaron Blaise's courses, university, and real-time work experience are what taught me animation <3

As for what inspires my animations, it mostly comes down to music tbh. I can always conjure a scene in my head along with whatever music is playing. Other than that, it's the desire to give life to something in an intrinsically human way, especially as art. I've always felt closest to God as an artist 💙

Told ya it was a long answer xD But hey, twas a fun answer! >:D

[kiennilove]

ART TAG

thanks to @doshiart for tagging me! so excited <3

How did you start drawing? What year was it that you become more seriously and consciously interested in it?

i don’t really remember, but for some reason drawing was an activity that interested me the most?? i’m not counting playing with toys and imagining things, but it’s about creating something from scratch. one time i made paper dolls, wrote a short scenario (very poorly lol) and kinda made a theatrical play in my head with all of this??

spoiler: in 2021 i’ve made an actual play with my best friend, who’s also an artist, with great paper dolls and a great scenario! it was for a college exam, we got the highest score. :3

i started taking it all seriously in 2014, when i went to my first art school. it was small, literally one room, and there were lots of other classes in the same building, like singing, dancing (i did that too at some point), etc. then i moved to the bigger one, that was solely for arts, but i didn’t make it past the first year due to health reasons. so somewhere in the mid-10s.

When you felt the urge to share your art with other people? When did you start posting your drawings on social media?

when i saw other people around me doing it. it was 2014 when i first shared my art online (got a lot of hate because it looked bad lol), and then it was 2016 when i made my first tumblr acc and posted some anime art with some consistency. now i post here and on another platform, just duplicating the content lol

Your first/earliest drawing. What were your impressions of it back then and what are your feelings now?

i tried to find pictures of these first paper dolls but couldn’t, fuck, so here we have…

some OC i did in 2014, i don’t even remember the name anymore :/

i did this after i watched my first anime 😭😭😭 i made this picture back then too, at my iphone 4, don’t judge me

i was proud as fuck because look he has ✨cool hair✨ and it’s a ✨full body✨ but no hands ofc lol

i mean, it looked great for me back then, so i haven’t change my thoughts about it lol i also have no idea what i wrote in the upper corner, i used google translate 😭😭😭

Your first fanart ever

also couldn’t find it, it was jeff the killer fanart, also somewhere from 2014 😭 but! here i have my first digital fanart… 😭😭😭 i spend i think 6 hours to draw this, i didn’t know about layers or anything really so here it is lol

Your first gallavich fanart

holy shit, it’s from may 2022! old habits never die, 7x10 is always in my heart

When you had bad days and things didn't work out, what inspired you to keep trying?

nothing, actually. if i will try to find any inspiration, i will get angry and irritated as fuck because nothing’s working out SO i’ll relax and go play brawl stars 😎

Show your old piece that you strongly dislike and tell why.

this… spend too much time on it just to realize it wasn’t that good as i imagined, the dress look like it was made out of cardboard, i don’t know, it just… doesn’t work. i had worse, yeah, but i have a soft spot for them. this one should be somewhere from 2018

HONORABLE MENTIONS TO THIS PIECE OF SHIT. IT WAS FUCKING 2019, WHY THE FUCK DID I RANDOMLY START TO DRAW LIKE THIS??? just for comparison, picture underneath is from 2019 TOO.

Show your old piece that you very like and tell why. What's the difference with the previous?

let’s go with this, it was 2017 :3

soft, cute, an attempt to do a new art style. i don’t know, theis pictures seem cozy!

Show your old piece that you were very proud of back then.

ACE ATTORNEYYYY >:333

both are somewhere in 2020-2021

fuck, i love ace attorney

Do you do any practice sketches or warm-ups before you draw something big?

mmm not really, only a quick sketch with some guidelines so at the beginning my pictures look like this

(yes, this is ian filming mickey while mick is giving him a bj)

Sketch vs Final. Show your process.

damn should’ve kept mickey’s face lol

Your most recent drawing.

can’t show the most recent one, it’s for an event, but this one is the only finished one FOR NOW, but i also have this little piece here, idk if i will finish it (aaand i forgot mickey’s tattoos)

Give yourself some praise! Look at what improved in your art!

literally YOU GO GIRL!!! KEEP DRAWING NO MATTER WHAT!! i improved as fuck, went through a lot of shit and breakdowns but here i am, being confident and loved by other people and, most importantly, artist who have a much higher skill! i love that. i did great

Any advice you'd give to your earlier self?

just keep going. don’t be shy and don’t erase everything is one small thing is wrong. don’t start an arguments when somebody says “i’m better at art that you!!”. and, maybe, use a hard drive to save shit-

Set a goal for yourself for the coming year.

i want toooooo… i don’t know! i want to try line-less art style, get into more challenges, etc, everything i can :3 and maybe open commissions

aaand i’m tagging… come on, show us your secrets, don’t be shy 😈

@deathclassic @spookygingerr @gallapiech @heymrspatel

@deedala @burninface @vintagelacerosette

[gallapiech]

🖤 ART TAG 🖤

Thank you @doshiart for creating this tag game! & thank you @kiennilove for tagging me as well :)

How did you start drawing? What year was it that you become more seriously and consciously interested in it?

Skipping the childhood story as well (LOL) I'd say 5th grade? maybe 4th? I guess that's still childhood... ugh ok it was early ok!

When you felt the urge to share your art with other people? When did you start posting your drawings on social media?

I think right before I got my art tablet, so 2013-ish? I'd post my crappy anime drawings on a facebook roleplaying group. (you will erase this information from your mind.)

Your first/earliest drawing. What were your impressions of it back then and what are your feelings now?

Yea no way I can find my first traditional drawing, but here's a pretty early one my aunt sent me like a week ago! 🤣

Here's my first digital drawing though! It's so nothing. But I remember it taking me ages LOL

Your first fanart ever

Oh my god, I wouldn't know...

Your first gallavich fanart

skull emoji

From January I believe... This was mostly just me sketching trying to find out how to stylize them (Still haven't figured that out. lmao)

When you had bad days and things didn't work out, what inspired you to keep trying?

I'm in too deep. I have no other qualities.

Show your old piece that you strongly dislike and tell why.

omg... way too many to choose from. sorry. LOOOL

Show your old piece that you very like and tell why. What's the difference with the previous?

I was deep in the danganronpa trenches for years, and I feel like I was extra locked in when I drew fanart of oomf's oc hehe. [2019?]

Show your old piece that you were very proud of back then.

actually its still kinda fire tbh. [2017?]

Do you do any practice sketches or warm-ups before you draw something big?

not reallly? I sometimes do make thumbnails for bigger illustrations though!

Sketch vs Final. Show your process.

I have a habit of already showing my process a lot ehehe, dont think ive shown this one though!

Your most recent drawing.

my last like 5 drawings have been top secret 😭

Give yourself some praise! Look at what improved in your art!

uuuuhhh

Any advice you'd give to your earlier self?

Invest into bitcoin. Also stop being stubborn about using references I guess.

Set a goal for yourself for the coming year.

Keep experimenting and learning I guess! No pressure though!

Tagging @deathclassic @deedala @spookygingerr @lingy910y @heymrspatel !

[krchar]

Introducing: My Basiliadean headcanons I

I am so sorry, but I have a LOT of thoughts about this stuff. Why am I posting this???? Probably a wild nerdy urge to share my crap. Very not Basiliadean. I try to keep my HCs canon-conforming - that does not mean they are clearly truth or anything, only that they are mostly based on hints and gaps from the canon and that they are, to my mind, not denied by it. There is so much that I split it in two parts, because it looked so intimidating… especially the last one (in part II).. your thoughts are very welcome, people, if you have a similar brainrot.

So.. ehum.. my theories/headcanons.. so let's start with this:

1. Endarno might have entered Kandrakar before Himerish

In their shared backstory, it is clear that Endarno is considerably older than the apparently teenage Himerish - then the E. that we see in Kandrakar appears a little older, but not so much, so I think it is quite possible he went to Kandrakar for some reason not so long thereafter, and only later Himerish was invited, as well - maybe on Endarno's recommendation? ;) But he IS a little older, while Himerish did not grow very old in Basiliade, meaning he also left after not so long a time, so it is not clear. It might have been the other way around - or they also may have entered together as old bros :) I just used the former version in my fics..

(also i never noticed how funny Endarno's eyebrows are)

2. Basiliadeans live much longer than Earthlings This may be only a result of that classic timeline incoherence of the comics, but: Kandrakar is supposed to be ancient (of course, at the same time only as old as the Veil around Meridian, but that is another problem). While there were several Oracles, I always thought that Himerish was considerabely old himself. But apparently, when he returned home, his old boyfriend, I mean friend, was waiting there - older, but still alive. So, there are two options - either Himerish was actually relatively young (and forgot everything quickly - online friends suggested it was an influence of the position), or Basiliadeans live very long. (I chose a middle position for fics, where I let them live for several centuries.)

3. Himerish was actually not Yarr's master the way Luba was to Orube

Yarr calls Himerish master, and Ih-Shui refers to him as "your old master", when talking to Yarr. But I do not think that necessarily means they had the Orube - Luba relation. For one, I suppose you call any superior "master" in the Garden, as Yarr continued to do so even after the many years have passed. But my main reason for thinking this is Yarr's memory of their training combat - the thing is that they are both clearly adults of not so different age - although if you give Basiliadeans a longer life span, they can just age slowlier and the age gap could be greater than it seems to an Earthling like me - and they act, as if they did not actually know each other very well. We know that an individual training starts at an early age and we know that Luba trained Orube from her childhood and they had a close relationship. Yarr, on the other hand, is surprised that Himerish defeated him, while you would expect that at the point of knowing each other for maybe over 20 years, it would not have been so shocking. So, I think that they met only later in life, while Himerish had some unusually wise or what not stuff to teach him still, as an adult man (although, how old Yarr is, depends much on the art style.. I think he could be over 30 here, but in some frames he could be like, 25 or something..) Of course, this is quite fortunate for the ship, because you avoid the classic Obikin trouble of dating someone you raised from childhood hehe

4. Luba has been living between Kandrakar and Basiliade, training the "chosen ones"

This one is probably quite simple, but it makes sense, because what we know: 1) Luba trained Orube 2) Orube was trained in Basiliade at first (although she later moved to Kandrakar, but she specifically thinks of Luba in her memories of Basiliade) 3) After her very first appearance in the 3rd issue, Himerish mentions that Luba is thousands of years old. 4) I do not think that Orube would be that old tbh. -> so all this means Luba trained Orube in Basiliade, while she already has been working for Kandrakar for quite some time. She even might be wearing Kandrakarian suit in the picture there? At the same time, Orube is called a "chosen one" by a guard in Basiliade, after she tells them that she comes from Kandrakar - so, it is possible that Luba only came to Basiliade for very specific individuals to train them for the fortress.

Ok these were some of my ehum thoughts.. I'm going for part II, which is basically one very long essay, so long I had to make it shorter, cause even itself it transgressed tumblr limits.. but i cannot fight my urge