#i wish i had more finished pieces but whatever

[pinguboy]

posting Some of the ausmp art ive made from the past year before the finale. life has revolved around this server for the past 2 years so i have a Lot but heres my faves

[orcelito]

I think I cried harder today over my dad's jackets than I did at his deathbed. That was a miserable time of course, a memory that will likely be seared into my brain until I die, but I cried... I think a normal amount, all things considered. More than I ever usually do of course, but I typically don't cry At All. All this free crying is certainly surreal.

The jackets, though. I was put in charge of doing his laundry, because we don't want to pack up dirty clothes. I was expecting it to be unpleasant bc my dad's dirty clothes - gross. But really, it was much more unpleasant in that... those were his. It felt wrong to touch them. Felt wrong to treat his jackets as gross. Because they were just his jackets. They weren't even in the hamper. And then I was remembering him wearing them, and then I was crying. Again. And again. Weeping over these damn jackets.

Then I found a shirt on his bed that still smelled like him. It smelled like a Hug From Dad. And that set me off crying even harder.

In total, I think I cried like 6 times within 40 minutes. It took me that long to finish sorting the damn clothes bc I just. Was a wreck. Like, what are you supposed to do when you're living life like normal, vaguely hopeful bc you're taking steps to secure your own happiness, and then 4 days later you're sorting your dad's laundry because he fucking died. Suddenly. Without a goodbye.

And you have to worry about his lack of a will (even under an ideal situation, only 2 heirs and no conflicts between us, probate's a fucking Bitch), and arranging the funeral, and prepping his obituary, and picking out pictures, and writing a speech bc you want to talk at his funeral, of Course you want to talk at his funeral, but even just thinking about anecdotes you could share has you crying yet again.

I've cried more times in the past 3 days than likely the entirety of last YEAR. And that's WITH my cat, and uncle, and family friend dying. Those all hurt, my uncle most of all, & I was real fucked up over it. But this? This was my Dad. Likely the person I'd have named 2nd closest to me in my life, second only to my sister. He wasn't perfect, but he did so much for me throughout my entire life. All he wanted was to raise us to be happy and independent. And he accomplished it, we're getting by without him, but we still wanted several more decades with him. He was only 57. We should've gotten several more decades with him.

But here we are now. Playing investigators to his life, digging into all his shit, trying to find documents and take inventory of all his things, and learning Many things about him in the process. In his lockbox of sensitive documents, like his SSN and birth certificate and all that stuff, we found an old letter. About a decade old now, written in my hand. Right at the very top, we found that he'd kept the letter I wrote to him telling him frankly about my struggles and the things I wanted him to do better. He kept it. He tried to take it to heart. He looked at it again, sometime more recently than all the rest of the documents. That was on top.

His love for us is evident everywhere. The pictures he has hanging up all over the place, majority of them with us in them. The old fathers day cards placed on display in his bedroom bookshelf. The gifts we gave him, even stupid little knick knacks, placed around his apartment with pride. I wish we'd taken more videos of him. I don't want to forget the sound of his voice. I don't want to forget his smell either, the smell of a Hug From Dad, but I still tossed that shirt into the wash even though it felt like saying yet another goodbye.

It's the suddenness that hurts the most, I think. We were planning on having him help me finally get my license this year. My final words to him, the last thing he would've seen from me, were messages asking up on whether he'd called his car insurance company to make sure there wouldn't be problems. I should've called him more. I don't know if I'm going to learn from this.

I cut my 2 weeks off early to have time to grieve and to work on things for the funeral and settling the estate. The last thing I'd wanna do right now is selling fucking bubble tea in a job I already decided to leave. So here I am without a job, though with potentially two life insurance policy payouts to come. Inheriting half his 401k. Inheriting couches, knickknacks, keepsakes, paintings, art pieces, maybe even his guitar and other furniture if we can figure out what to do about space (I don't have room for this furniture, I don't know if I even have room for the couches, but God do I want to keep so much of this furniture). It has me even considering keeping one of his guns, just one. A tiny little revolver, it sits so comfortably in my hand. I don't even want to use it for anything. I just want to have it, keep it stored in a drawer with its ammo kept separate. I don't like guns, but this is a part of him. He loved collecting guns. He was about as responsible with them as someone can be, keeping them locked in a lockbox and impressing upon his children the importance of gun safety (I've known the basic gun safety rules ever since I was a little kid. Of course, of course, of course.) It reminds me of him. It's horrifically easy to have a gun in Indiana. I apparently don't even need a permit to carry anymore. (I have no intention to ever carry this in public.)

It's all a cycle. Business, grief, thoughts about my future. Round and round, like the most nauseating carousel in existence. I don't know how I'm still so functional. My skills with compartmentalization have been my lifesaver.

And im just thinking about the story my dad's best friend shared today. About a friend of theirs who lost her father. She reached out after hearing about my dad to share his words with her: "it's okay to grieve, but don't make his death your life".

He explicitly referenced himself in this, saying if he were to die suddenly that he wouldn't want us to define ourselves by it. Grief is expected, but he wants us to be able to move on. He's always wanted us to establish ourselves and make ourselves happy. He wouldn't want to be a weight holding us back from that.

So every time I start to feel guilty for thinking about having nicer furniture or using his life insurance payout to fund the rest of my college, I remind myself of that. Thinking about the material isn't a bad thing. I'm only human. And in the end, he'd Want me to be thinking about it. He never intended to die, certainly not without warning like this, so he would've only encouraged me being pragmatic about it all.

He only ever wanted us to be happy. So I need to do what I can to live up to that.

I love him. I miss him already.

[pepprs]

STILL wide awake! i did not put down my phone! and now im hungry. so i will not be sleeping tonight ♥️

[eowynstwin]

i’m drooling at ur older bf price (not much else to say except when/if u ever have more thots abt him please share 🙏)

previous

You curl in on yourself after sex, sometimes. It’s a pattern Price has noticed—you’ll finish, then he will, and in the humid moments after, the shutters in your eyes will close. You won’t meet his gaze.

He’s only asked once about it, and it had been so clear that the question disturbed you that he hadn’t pressed. You’d tell him, he reasoned, when you were ready—

(And he could nudge you in that direction in the meanwhile.)

The sink is put back together, cabinet door closed. Your sundress is wrapped and twisted around your midsection, naked breasts wet with his saliva and compressed against his chest as you lay panting on top of him. His shirt is in some far-off corner, thrown aside, and his jeans are around his knees.

“That was nice,” he murmurs in your ear, kissing your hair. He makes a home for his fingertips between your shoulder blades, walking the trail of your spine, up and down, slow as a tide.

“Mm-hm,” you say, out at sea. Far away.

He can’t deny that it disappoints him. But it isn’t about him, and he shouldn’t make it so. Even if it is about him, it isn’t actually about him—it’s about something else that has attached itself to him. Things are like that more often than not—deeper, older problems with hooks, the barbed kind that sink in and cling and won’t come out of their own accord.

So he keeps kissing your hair, and he keeps stroking your back. His softened cock hasn’t slipped from you yet, and he makes no move to dislodge it. You nestle closer to him; shift your body over his, a little, just for the feeling of it. He waits for the sigh—the long, steady breath you take after the act, after you’ve found yourself again in wherever it is you go after moments like this.

“This is probably weird to talk about after sex,” you say, and Price’s ears perk up.

“Nothing weird between us, dove,” he encourages. “What’s on your mind?”

You play with his chest hair a little, twirling it around with the manicured ends of your nails. (A manicure he happily paid for.)

“You’re the first man who’s ever given a damn about me,” you mumble into his neck.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says honestly. He kisses you again, because he wants to, and because he wants it to comfort you.

“You don’t make me feel stupid for not being able to do stuff on my own,” you continue. “My step—my mom’s husband. He used to make fun of me for, for getting confused about changing my car’s oil. Or he’d get annoyed at me. Or I’d need him to change my tires because I can’t do it on my own, and I’d call him for help, and he wouldn’t pick up the phone.”

“He sounds like a piece of work,” Price comments.

A younger version of himself would have offered to beat the shit out of the asshole. That self’s anger on your behalf sits radioactive in his chest even now—corrosive, roiling, righteous fury, ready to carve your name on whatever offal is left over after Price gets through with him.

But that would be for his own ego, not for you. That has no place here.

“Do you know—” and your voice breaks a little, “do you know how bad it feels when a man who’s supposed to look out for you treats you like you’re an idiot? Like you’re not smart enough to be worth helping?”

“Some,” he says. “It’s an awful feeling. I wish you didn’t know how it felt, dove. I’m sorry.”

He feels something warm and wet drip onto his chest, and your shoulders begin to shake.

It’s not the full-body, wracking cry of catharsis. Just an episode of something longer, something tired. A problem dealt with, over and over again—a wound that reopens sometimes, if it’s pulled the wrong way.

Price gathers you closer, wraps his arms around you tighter. He cups the back of your neck with one hand and murmurs “shhh” into your hair, soothing and quiet, squeezing you against him.

“I’m okay,” you say, a little watery. “Really, I am.”

“I know you are,” he says.

He tilts your face toward his, and kisses the center of your forehead. You meet his eyes with your own, wide and glistening with your tears.

“I’m always gonna help you, dove,” he promises, catching one that falls with the edge of his thumb. “And you can always ask.”

-

No I don’t have daddy issues why do you ask

[pearlispunk]

Never took you for a pervert, Miller.

pairing: dbf! joel miller x female reader summary: you borrow a jacket from joel, and it returns to him with a stain. he goes crazy over your scent, and he wants more. warnings / contents: 18+ (minors please dni!), big unspecified (but legal!) age gap, brief mentions of alcohol, smut, f masturbation, dbf! joel, perv! joel, dom! joel, spanking, choking, dd/lg dynamic (kinda), daddy kink, praise kink, light dacryphilia, pet names, unprotected piv (wrap it before you tap it please!), creampie, no outbreak, no sarah word count: 4k a/n: i recommend listening to every girl gets her wish by saint avengeline while reading this! it really sets up the whole vibe >< enjoy °༄ !

It all started with that damn jacket. 

“It’s so cold, Joel. Please.” You whined, skin shuddering from the breeze. “Told you to bring a coat or somethin’, y’never listen.” He huffs, shedding off the outermost layer of his clothes. He holds it over you, eyebrows raised combined with pursed lips. 

You smile at him, quickly grabbing hold of the jacket and putting it on. You waste no time, zipping up the front of the jacket and tugging the ends of it to try and fit your body. It felt huge wrapped around you– it extended past your torso, and you had to tug the sleeves up just to use your hands. 

You looked so cute like this, he thinks for a moment, staring at you blankly. His eyes raked over you, eyeing you from head to toe. “Anyone ever tell you it’s bad manners if you stare?” Your voice chimes in like a chirp of a bird, and he’s back to reality. 

He shakes his head, walking past you, “Shut up.” He mutters. And you smile. 

You were fully aware of what effect you had on him. Ever since moving across his house a few months back, you’ve made it your life’s mission to make him fuck you. 

It didn’t take long for him and your dad to form a friendship over football and beer. However, ever since meeting Joel, he was always just this stuck-up, grumpy– presumably lonely– middle-aged man to you. You were just determined to help him, what’s wrong with that? Every time your dad invited him over for dinners or outings, you made sure you wore something that caught his eye. 

Even if that means wearing something skimpy during a cold weather. 

“I’ll wash this up for you and bring it back tomorrow morning, promise!” You say, looking at him with a glint of mischief in your eyes. He nods, shaking his hand in the air, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” 

Is it wrong that he turns you on?

Is it wrong that you’re thinking about getting stuffed full of his dick? Of his cum? 

“Come on, girl.” He calls out to you, and you follow. 

For the evening, your dad had invited him to an outing. A fancy word your dad uses for just ordering take-out and eating it in the truck by the woods. They talked for a while, with pauses and laughs in between. 

“.. Anyway, I have to drive back to our old place tomorrow.” Your dad says, biting down on his food. You nod before tilting your head, “Why?” He finishes his food before wrapping the packaging and throwing it in a piece of plastic, “Forgot some of my boxes, kid.” He shrugs casually then turns to Joel, “Keep an eye on her, would ‘ya?”

When you get back home, you rush up to your room. You sigh in relief, welcoming the warm air while taking off his jacket. You lay down on your bed, holding the jacket close to you and taking a deep breath of his scent. It was so distinct, so unique, so.. him. Your fingers trace over the fabric, a mental image of him appearing in your head. Your breath hitches in your throat, and your other hand hooks your panties down. 

You take a pillow, placing the jacket above it. You straddle over it, forcing the pillow between your thighs. You lean down, burying your face in the jacket as you start grinding on it. Your pussy rubs over the cloth of his jacket, and you can’t help but whimper at just the thought of that. 

You were like a woman possessed, chasing your own high as you kept his jacket close. It didn’t take long– his scent drives you mad, almost crazy, and just a few moments later, you let yourself unravel.  Sweaty and tired, you collapsed on top of the jacket, coating it with your sweat and essence.

You woke up in a panic, your dad’s knocking alarming you. You sit up straight, tossing the jacket to the side and yanking your blanket over your legs. “Yeah, dad?” You clear your own throat, stretching out your limbs. “Joel’s here, and I’m going.” He says from the outside of the door. “Alright, drive safe!” You call out. 

You make out the thuds of his boots down the stairs. You then eventually hear the engine of his car. You look out your window, waving your hand as your dad honks the car before driving off completely. 

You get up, picking a pair of shorts from your drawer and putting them on. You grab the jacket from the side of your room, sighing to yourself before stepping out. You walk downstairs to the smell of a fresh coffee pot and some pancakes. 

“Figured you could eat somethin’.” Joel’s voice grounds you, his back facing you as he finishes cooking the last pancake. “Coffee’s there, if ‘ya want.” He points towards his right, the tone of his back muscles visible through his shirt. You nod, setting the jacket on one of the table chairs. You help yourself to a cup of coffee, taking a sip before sitting by the table. He turns around to face you before slipping the plate of pancakes in front of you. 

“I have to head out to the hardware store, d’ya wanna come?” He asks, sitting on the chair across from you. You nod, taking a fork and getting a bite out of one of the pancakes, “Mhm. Should let me change though.” Your voice is muffled, you haven’t finished the bite. “Now, sweetheart, I believe it’s bad manners to talk with your mouth full.” He grins at you, a smug look spreading across his face.

You roll your eyes, swallowing it before locking eyes with him. “Let me shower and change, Miller.” He chuckles, nodding as he takes a bite of a pancake. You finish your cup of coffee along with the pancake with a satisfied hum before standing up. 

Oh! You almost forgot his jacket. 

You reach over to the hunched cloth on the chair, grabbing it and sliding it in front of him. You’re off to the shower now, your footsteps echoing throughout the hallway.

He swears you’re trying to fuck him over. 

After your little banter, you slip him his jacket and you’re off on your feet. He shakes his head with a smile before his eyes glaze over his jacket.

Just as he was going to turn his gaze away, something caught his eye. A stain. A dried-up stain that left a darker patch on the hem of his jacket. It couldn’t be water, it would’ve dried up normally. He’s familiar with it. After fucking around with multiple women in a variety of compromising situations, he’s all too familiar with what it was. 

Dirty. Fucking. Girl. 

He takes a deep breath, the confines of his shorts tightening around his hardening erection. He looks down at it, shaking his head. 

This is fucked. He thinks, his hand going down to palm his cock through his shorts. He grabs the jacket, bringing the stain close to his nose to get a whiff of it. 

Fuck. You smelled amazing. Something sweet, something fresh. By now he’s rubbing his cock with his hand, hips bucking up into nothing. 

“Joel! Mind handing me a towel?” 

Your voice cuts through his heated session. A grunt caught in his throat, shaking his head and trying to shrug it off by clearing his throat. “Yeah, erm,” He lets go of the jacket, “Where?” He stands up quickly. “Should be one by my room.” You hum from the shower.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He mutters to himself, dragging his feet up the stairs and towards your room. He creaks open the door, scanning the room for your towel. He sighs, walking in and looking at every corner. Your scent is everywhere, making his head spin and cock harder. 

He finds your towel hooked on the back of your door, and relief washes over him. He grabs it hastily, pulling a top you discarded days ago with it. It drops down to his boots, and he stares at it. A white lacy tank top, one you wear at home only. He takes a deep breath, every fiber of his being screaming no. 

This isn't right, he's too old for you.

He was just going to put it back where it came from. What’s the harm in that? He was just going to put it back nicely, as if this never happened. He scoops it up, the soft feel of the fabric a contrast to his rugged hands. Then it hits him. Your scent. He can smell it all over the top. Didn’t even need to bring it close to his nose to be able to get a whiff of it.

He folds it neatly before tucking it in his pants. 

Oh, he was going to hell for this.

It took you days to notice that some pieces of your clothing went missing. First were the tank tops you wore at home, you always tucked them away by the first drawer of your cabinet. Second were the laced bras you bought from a city a long time ago, you mostly just use it when you’re out. Then finally, your favorite white lace thong. 

Joel started to come over more frequently, always by the front door with a pack of beer. Your dad was more than happy to let him in. It was strange, some pieces of your clothing came back during the days Joel was over. You thought nothing of it. 

Not until you saw him sneaking about the door of your room. He had just excused himself to go the the bathroom, a routine you picked up on ever since he came over more. It was like a tick in your brain– you just needed to know what he was truly doing in there. 

Instead, you catch him by your room, thong in hand, nose-deep, and cock hard. You were by the lower part of the stairs, enough to get a good view of what he was doing. Your eyes widen in shock, a grin tugging at the corners of your lips. 

You had him hooked.

Joel knew how fucked up it was. He was inviting your dad for drinks and a good time, only for his main objective to be to sneak into your room and snatch a few pieces of your garments. All for what? Jerking himself off late at night, when all of his pillows are covered in your scent, when all he can think about is the way your hips move, the way your tits bounce. 

He knew how fucked up it was, cumming on your garments, moaning your name, and imagining how sweet your pussy would feel wrapped around his cock. He knew how fucked up he was. 

But it was better than actually touching you, than actually crossing the line and fucking his friend’s daughter. He kept a safe distance, he kept boundaries, and he made sure he never stepped the line. So, surely, this was better, right? He’d slip into your room, grab a bra, a thong, or a top, and he’d be satisfied. And that was enough. 

It had to. 

But goddamn you were making it hard. You were making him really hard. 

You knew how to push his buttons, knew how to drive him to his limits. Every outfit you put on for him just got more and more enticing. And for tonight, his eyes are now shamelessly scanning every curve and dip of your body. 

The hour was late, your dad had excused himself to his room– his head was hurting. It was only you and him now, sitting on the couch, in front of the television. The past few moments were pure torture for him. Every skin-on-skin contact with you made him go crazy, and every time you walked past him, he could just inhale your scent.

He has one of the couch pillows set over his thighs, a weak attempt to cover up the hard-on he earned just by looking at you. Your eyes were glued to the screen, a knowing smile displaying itself on your lips. 

20 minutes pass, and so far, he wouldn’t budge off the couch or even get a new bottle of beer. “Would you like a new one?” You turn your head towards his direction. He hums, nodding, “Mhm, sure.” You walk over to the table, grabbing a new bottle of beer before walking back to him. You bend over a bit, handing it out to him.

His eyes lock in on your chest, the soft flesh of your boob peeking out through your low-cut top. And for a moment, he stays like that, mind completely distracted by the view in front of him. “Joel?” You ask innocently, beer bottle still in hand. He clears his throat, nodding his head before taking it out of your hand. 

He quickly takes a sip, trying to focus on what shows the television is playing. You smile to yourself, taking a seat beside him. You have a finger over your mouth– you feel the tension, and you scooch closer to him. “What’re ‘ya doin’, kid?” He asks, his voice low, eyes never leaving the screen. “It’s cold.” You shrug. 

He turns his back on you, his body facing the other way. Your eyes graze down on his back, admiring the way his muscles bulge through his shirt. Then, you catch a glimpse of your thong in his back pocket.

That was it.

“You know, it’s weird..” You start, looking at him. He looks over at you with his eyebrows raised, “Hm? What is?” You hook your finger on it, pulling it towards you in one swift motion. You dangle it in front of him, a smug look on your face. 

“Never took you for a pervert, Miller.” 

He looks at you, eyes wide with shock as his grip on the pillow tightens. “M’kay- fuck, I can explain–” He starts, standing up and letting the pillow fall to the ground. Your eyes lock with his boner, a smile forming on your lips. “Yeah?” You tilt your head to the direction of his boner. 

His eyes look down for a second, assessing himself. He sighs, running a hand over his face. “Been sneaking around and stealing my things when you could’ve just asked nicely.” You tut, standing up on your feet. “I know you want to fuck me, Joel.” You take a step closer to him. He looks at you, unsaid thoughts crossing over his eyes. He sighs before shaking his head. 

“Not here.” Is all he says before picking you up and placing you over his shoulder. You giggle quietly,  feet dangling in the air as he makes his way to your room. He fumbles with the door knob before clicking it open and setting you down on the bed. He locks the door behind him, turning around to face you properly.

You’re on your knees, fingers hiking up and glazing over your thighs. He eyes your movements, shaking his head. He walks closer to you until all you can see in front of you is just his tall frame. He grabs your chin, forcibly tilting your head to make you look at him. You don’t utter a word, your eyes scanning the entirety of his face. 

“Makin’ it so fuckin’ hard to control myself around you, angel.” He rubs his thumb by your bottom lip. You poke your tongue out, eventually taking his thumb in your mouth. “Just so happens you don’t have enough clothes to cover yourself with when ‘m around, is that it?” He looks at you with a dark gaze, his other hand reaching to unbuckle his belt. You nod, the sides of your lips curling into a smile. 

He takes his thumb out, tossing his belt to the side. He sits down on the edge of the bed before unbuttoning his pants. 

“Bend.” 

His voice drops an octave lower, his hand gesturing to his lap. You’re dumbfounded, lips parted with shock. “What are ‘ya, deaf?” He glares at you. You shake your head and do as you’re told, bending over his lap. He yanks your cotton shorts down, the cold air hitting your bare ass. “No panties?” He asks, his hand groping and getting a feel of your ass. You shake your head, squirming under his touch. 

You flinched as the sharp sound echoed throughout your room, a sting following– hot and immediate. 

“Words, baby. Let me hear ‘ya.” His gruff voice cooed from above you, his hand soothing over your flesh. “Deliberately wearin’ nothin’, hm? Is this for me, angel?” His fingers rub against your pooling hole. “Y-Yes.” You shook out the word, your hands pressing against his thighs. 

Another slap. “Yes what?” Oh, he sounds pissed. 

“Yes d-daddy-!” You whimper, your knees pressing together. He leans down on you until his lips are just by your ear, “Now you’re gonna have t’be quiet if you want me to fuck ‘ya properly, understood?” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. You nod your head, a tear slipping out of your eye. “Aw, poor baby.” His thumb brushes over your cheek, wiping your tear away, “Does it hurt?” He hums. “N-No daddy, promise!” You say earnestly, trying your best to be good for him.  

“Count for me, sweet girl.” He orders, his tone leaving no room for protest. 

His hand landed on the flesh of your ass, sharp and unyielding.

“O-One.” Your voice trembled under the contact. 

“Wearin’ nothin’ but short skirts and cropped tops, tryin’ to kill me.”

The next landed with no hesitation, your cheeks retracting at the contact.

“Two!” You bite your lip, muffling your whimpers. 

“Intentionally wearin’ nothin’ underneath those pretty white bottoms.” 

The next was harder than the last, more painful– the impact of it spreading heat through your skin.

“Three..!” By now you were crying, your pretty pink cheeks glistening with tears. He pulls your body against his, letting you lean against him. His hands were brushing against your ass, a tender touch– a contrast to his earlier actions. “Did so good for me, angel.” He kisses your cheek, his arms wrapping around your waist, “Makin’ me so proud.” 

You straddle on his lap, taking one of his legs between your thighs. You start moving, eager for the friction. “What’s this? Pretty baby beggin’ to get fucked?” He coos against your ear, the palm of his hand on the back of your head. “Y-Yes please, please.. been so g-good for you..” You whine, moving your hips faster. His hands travel back to your waist, holding you in place before flipping you over and letting you lay on your back.

He pulls away, tugging his pants along with his boxers. Your mouth waters at the sight of his cock, long and girthy, twitching and begging to get buried inside of you. Your legs unconsciously spread open, your pussy all on display for him. He smiles at you, leaning over you before kissing your forehead. 

“Keep quiet. Think you can do that f’me, baby?” He whispers, his hands on the back of your knees. You nod, your pussy pulsing against the tip of his cock. He leans down, pressing your thighs to your chest as he pushes his cock deep into you. Your knees touch your shoulders, and your hands find their way to his. 

Your pussy is stuffed, and you lightly tap him as a signal for him to give you a few seconds to adjust to his size. “Little girl taking me in so well.” He breathes, his hips staying in place. You bite down on your bottom lip, trying your hardest not to make a sound. 

Just when you thought he was all in, his hips pressed further against you, driving the extra inches of his cock inside you. “D-Daddy..” You hiccup, tears flowing from your eyes as your legs tremble in pleasure. “I know baby, I know.” He kisses the tips of your eyes, nodding, “Don’t worry. I’ll stretch you out real good, angel.” He whispers by the side of your ear. “Have you beggin’ for more in no time, you want that, yeah?” He lets out a low moan, burying his cock deeper. You try to relax your body, nodding at his words.

His grip on your legs tightens, his hips rocking into you. A moan slips out of your mouth, and he’s quick to cover it with his hand. You look up at him, beads of sweat forming around his forehead, some of his hair sticking on his skin. He looks down at you, his eyes gazing at your chest– your hardened nipples moving against the fabric of your top. He removes his hands from the back of your knees, relocating them to grope on your tits. 

He grabs the fabric, tearing it into two impatiently. You gasp at the contact, his hips snapping rapidly as he grunts by your ear. Your tits bounce, and this only fuels him further, “You’re so beautiful, angel,” He praises, peppering kisses on your hands, “Always so good for me.” Your legs hook around his waist, his other hand making its way to your neck. He puts pressure on your airflow, your hands wrapping around his arm.

The obscene sound of your squelching pussy and his invading cock fills the room, and you start to feel light-headed. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, your back arching against his towering body. You clench around his cock, your legs pulling him closer to you. “Need me buried deep in your pussy, yeah, angel?” He smirks, his other hand teasing your nipples. Your pussy pulses with his words, your head nodding frantically. “M-Mhm- mmfh..” 

“You needed this so badly, huh?” He asks, his fingers glazing over your clit. You buck your hips up, desperate for his touch. “So pretty for me.” He rubs your clit with a soft and teasing touch. “M-More.. pleasepleaseplease– hngh–” You gasp, “So close, daddy!” He nods, adding more pressure to your clit. 

He looked so perfect right between your thighs, his large frame towering over yours, his hands exploring your body. His hips staggered, “This pussy is mine, understand me?” He lets go of your neck, hands pushing the back of your thighs to your chest. You nod, biting your lip while tears threaten to spill from your eyes. “D-Da- haaah– yours, all y-yours..!” He speeds up the pace, his fingers working their way on your clit. 

Your hands fall to your sides, your mind solely focusing on your release. “Just needed t’be fucked stupid.” He whispers, pulling his cock out before slamming it back in. Your back arches, and you’re met with your release. His hands land on your hips, pulling you towards him as he thrusts his cock into you one last time. 

He holds you still, his hands kneading on your hips as he leans over you. You feel his cum seep into you, steady ropes of it shooting inside you. He keeps still, making sure that you got every last drop. You feel breathless, your hands finding their way to his chest. 

He brings one of your hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on your fingertips. “So good for me, sweetheart.” He pulls out, collapsing by your side. He snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. 

He scans your face, his hand cupping your face. He rubs his thumb over your cheek, leaning closer to kiss it. He was so tender, so sweet with you– like you were the most precious thing to him. His hand rests over the back of your head, cradling you to his chest. You sigh contently, your eyes fluttering as your breathing steadies itself. 

He kisses the top of your head, muttering sweet nothings and praises as you drift off to sleep in his arms.

Every girl gets her wish. 

white lace divider by @chilumitos , cupid divider by @ioveartfilm ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ !

a/n: my second work! tried to do something new DOMJOELAHA, please feel free to correct me about any mistakes i made! i hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it! reblogs, comments, likes, or any kind of interactions are deeply appreciated!! xo, pearl!

tags ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ @pedrostories @syd-djarin @knockk0ut @joelscowgirl @rav3n-pascal22 @joelsdagger @joelmillerpascal @joelmillerihardlyknowher @tokkiwrites @taeslarityy @tcmmysheiby @magpiepills @joelsrose @slowdivinqs @mssalo @il0ve-urm0m @ladybirdswritings @fuckyeahdindjarin @joeloverture @wannab-urs @amyispxnk @yxtkiwiyxt @littlcdarlin @joelscurls @goldenispunk @coquettepascal @hellishjoel @joelslastofus @punkshort @iamasaddie @almostempty @gutsby @arcanefox207 @sanarsi @pedrohub @katiexpunk @lover-of-books-and-tea @joyceyayo @loveryoushouldcomeoverr @anenay @ashleyfilm @inept-the-magnificent @skullieispunk @iknowisoundcrazyreads @callsignmedusa @pixelspunk @puduvallee

[ahqkas]

hey so how do you think the batboys would deal with a s/o who sleeps with a sheathed sharp weapons knife/taser/glock under their pillow whenever their boyfriend isn’t sleeping over at their place. S/o forgot to put it away when their boyfriend came over. Too Happy to see him. the boys find the knife/taser/glock under the pillow and s/o’s just like “I’m a woman living in bludhaven/gotham. I’m not waiting until it’s too late when someone breaks in”?

♯ STRONGER THAN ALL MY MEN ( your boyfriend finds a stashed weapon under your pillow ! )

— gn!reader, bruce, dick, jason, mention of reader’s hair

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

. . . BRUCE WAYNE !

BRUCE HAD ALWAYS BEEN A MAN OF SHARP OBSERVATION. it was second nature to him, etched so deeply that even in the comfort of your apartment, his eyes missed nothing. he’d come over late, after finishing up with wayne enterprises and a brief patrol, his strong body visibly relaxed for the first time all day. you had greeted him at the door with an embrace so warm and genuine it chased away the weight of gotham from his shoulders. he barely had time to remove his coat before you were pulling him toward your bed, eager to savor a rare, quiet night together.

as he eased into the bed, his movements were slow, deliberate, and unguarded—a state so rare for him, reserved only for these moments of quiet with you. he reached for one of the pillows, intending to fluff it into a more comfortable shape, but his hand stilled when it brushed against something sharp beneath the soft fabric. his brow furrowed, and his fingers instinctively slipped under the pillow. the faint rustle of fabric accompanied the retrieval of the object, and when he pulled it free, the dim light from your bedside lamp reflected off the gleaming surface of a sheathed knife.

bruce’s lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tightening as he studied the weapon with the intensity of someone accustomed to cataloging the smallest details. his thumb brushed over the hilt, testing its weight and balance. the blade wasn’t just functional—it was high-quality, the kind of thing someone purchased with intention, not on a whim. his blue eyes flicked between the knife and the pillow, the wheels in his mind turning as he silently pieced together the puzzle. whatever conclusions he was drawing, the slight tension in his shoulders suggested he didn’t like them.

you froze mid-laugh, the joy of the moment fading as your eyes landed on the blade in his hand. for a moment, he said nothing, his face unreadable in that maddening way he often was. then, finally, he spoke, his voice low and measured, carrying the weight of his concern.

“why is there a knife under your pillow?”

with a sigh, you sank onto the edge of the bed as your initial embarrassment gave way to resolve. “i forgot it was there,” you admitted. “i was just so happy to see you, i didn’t even think about it.”

his expression didn’t shift, but his eyes remained fixed on you, searching for an explanation. when you didn’t offer one immediately, he prompted gently, “and why was it there to begin with?”

you met his gaze, the unspoken judgment in his tone only strengthening your resolve. “because i live in gotham,” you said firmly, voice steady despite the slight tremor of vulnerability underneath. “i’m not waiting until it’s too late for when someone breaks in.”

bruce’s jaw tightened, the faint clench of his teeth betraying the storm of emotions inside his otherwise composed mind. slowly, he lowered the knife, resting it across his lap as though the weight of it mirrored the burden of your words. his fingers lingered on the hilt, tracing its edge absentmindedly, his mind clearly running through a thousand scenarios he wished he could control. you could see the conflict etched into his features—the subtle furrow of his brow, the tension in his shoulders that he hadn’t quite released.

part of him understood, maybe even agreed, his practical side recognizing the harsh reality of your reasoning. he knew the dangers of gotham better than anyone, knew that even the smallest act of preparation could mean the difference between survival and tragedy. and yet, another part of him, the deeply ingrained protector, the man who had spent his life shielding others from harm, bristled at the thought of you needing to live this way. the idea of you sleeping with a weapon so close, of facing the world with that level of vigilance, gnawed at him. it wasn’t just fear—it was frustration. frustration that the city he fought so hard to fix still made you feel unsafe, that even in your safe place, you couldn’t fully let your guard down.

his lips parted slightly, as though he wanted to say something, but he hesitated. the words seemed to catch in his throat, unspoken, as he tried to reconcile the truth of your actions with the deep ache it left in his heart.

“you know i would never let anything happen to you,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “if anyone so much as tried—”

“they wouldn’t get the chance,” you interrupted, your tone calm but resolute. “because i’d already have this,” you gestured to the knife, “or my taser, or my glock.”

the mention of a glock made bruce’s lips tighten further as the weight of your words sank in. his gaze flickered briefly to the bedside table, then back to you, as if he were reassessing the entire space around him. you could practically see the gears turning in his head, his mind running through a calculated mix of strategy, worry, and frustration. he wasn’t just imagining the scenarios that had led you to this decision—he was dissecting them, analyzing every possibility, every risk you might face, every outcome he wished he could prevent.

“it’s not that i don’t trust you to protect me, bruce,” you added softly. “i know you would. but you’re not always here. and i’ve seen too much, lived in this city too long, to be naive about what could happen. this isn’t paranoia—it’s survival.”

he sighed, setting the knife on the nightstand before turning to face you fully. his hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as his expression softened. “i get it,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “i do. but it doesn’t mean i like the thought of you having to live like this.”

you leaned into his touch, placing your hand over his. “it’s just how things are, love. i’m not afraid, not really. i’m just careful.”

his thumb stroked over your cheek, the calloused pad a warm contrast to the slight chill lingering in the room as his blue eyes softened while they searched yours, lingering on the subtle cracks in your carefully built walls.

“i’ll support you,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, as though each word had been meticulously chosen. there was no judgment in his tone, only a quiet acceptance that carried the weight of his trust. “if this makes you feel safe, i won’t argue.” bruce paused, his hand still cupping your cheek as his gaze flickered between your eyes, searching for a connection deeper than words. “but i need you to promise me something.”

“what’s that?”

“that if anything happens, anything at all, you call me,” he said firmly. “even if you think you can handle it. even if it’s something small. i want to be there for you.”

you smiled, the warmth of his concern wrapping around you like a soft blanket. his eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, held a rare tenderness that melted away any lingering tension. slowly, you leaned forward, your hand reaching up to rest gently against his jawline, fingers brushing the faint stubble that shadowed his skin. his breath hitched ever so slightly, his lips parting in anticipation as you closed the distance between you.

the kiss you shared was unhurried, delicate at first—a quiet reassurance, a way to say thank you without words. his lips were warm and soft, moving in perfect sync with yours as he cupped the back of your head, pulling you closer. the world seemed to still for a moment, the weight of gotham, of fears and weapons, fading into the background. all that mattered was this—his steady presence, his unyielding care, and the way he kissed you as if he was trying to protect you even in this simple, intimate gesture.

when you finally pulled back, your foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the soft silence of the room. “i promise,” you murmured again, your voice carrying a quiet certainty, as if the kiss had sealed it more than any words ever could.

. . . DICK GRAYSON !

DICK HAD BEEN AROUND WEAPONS MAJORITY OF HIS ENTIRE LIFE. from the tragedy and chaos in the circus, danger was practically woven into the fabric of his existence. but even so, when he slipped into your bed after a late-night patrol in blüdhaven and felt the cold, unmistakable edge of a knife under your pillow, he froze. his hand instinctively reached for the object, pulling it out with a mix of confusion and concern etched into his features.

“uh, sweetheart?” dick’s voice was filled with both amusement and concern as he pulled the sharp blade from under your pillow, his brow arched in a mix of confusion and curiosity. he turned the knife over in his hand, examining the cold steel for a moment before his eyes met yours. “care to explain why this was under your pillow?” the tone of his voice was playful but laced with genuine concern. “i mean, are you secretly a vigilante? because if so, i gotta say, i’m impressed by the commitment to your role. or, should i be worried that you’ve been planning my untimely demise while i wasn’t looking?” his lips curled into a teasing smile, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes—concern for you, his mind racing with questions. were you in danger?

you turned toward him, your face soft and warm with happiness from having him home, your usual alertness dulled by the comfort of his presence. but when your eyes landed on the knife in his hand, you let out a small, sheepish laugh, brushing your hair behind your ear. “oh, that,” you said casually, as if he had found nothing more concerning than a stray sock. “i forgot to put it away. i was too excited when you came over.”

your boyfriend blinked at you, facial expression torn between exasperation and amusement. “you forgot to put it away?” he repeated, incredulity lacing his tone. “like this is just a regular thing you keep in bed with you?”

sitting up, you hugged your knees to your chest and looked at him with the kind of calm defiance that made his heart ache with how strong you always tried to be. “dick, i’m living in blüdhaven. i’m not waiting until it’s too late when someone breaks in. this city doesn’t exactly have the best reputation for its welcoming committee.”

he sighed, running a hand through the black locks of his hair as he set the knife on the nightstand. “i get that, i really do. but i wish you didn’t feel like you had to sleep with a weapon under your pillow. that’s not exactly the kind of safety i want for you.”

you tilted your head, giving him a pointed look. “you’re a vigilante. you carry more weapons than i do on a daily basis, and you’re telling me you don’t get why i do this?”

dick groaned, leaning back against the headboard, his muscles tense as he processed what you’d said. he pulled you toward him, wrapping his arm around your shoulders until you were nestled against his warm body, your head tucked against his chest. his heartbeat was steady, a comforting rhythm beneath your ear as he held you close.

“okay, fair point,” he admitted with a sigh, brushing a lock of hair out of your face and pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. his lips lingered there for a moment, as if he could melt away your worries with the simple act of being present. “but i don’t like the idea of you feeling like you’re alone in this.” his words were more vulnerable now. “you shouldn’t have to carry that weight by yourself, no matter how tough you are.”

you relaxed against him, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “i don’t feel alone when you’re here,” you said softly, your voice muffled against his chest.

“i know blüdhaven isn’t exactly the safest place, but u’ll do everything i can to make sure you’re protected. and that doesn’t mean you have to keep a knife under your pillow.”

glancing up at him, a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “what are you going to do? install some wayne-tech security system in my apartment?”

he grinned, his blue eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and determination. “don’t tempt me. i could have this place locked down tighter than fort knox by tomorrow morning.”

. . . JASON TODD !

JASON STEPPED INTO YOUR APARTMENT WITH A TIRED BUT CONTENTED SIGH, the weight of the night’s patrol still lingering on his shoulders. he was used to the harsh realities of gotham—the crime, the chaos, and the constant vigilance it required from him and his family. still, when he came to you, everything slowed down. your presence was a breath of air that he didn’t realize he’d been holding. tonight, he was looking forward to winding down, to a few hours of peace away from the violence he so often lived in.

as he kicked off his large boots and walked through your living room, he noticed the familiar comforting clutter of your apartment. his eyes swept over the small space—a few scattered books, your favorite mug on the coffee table, and the soft flicker of a candle’s flame in the corner. you had always been someone who embraced the chaos of the city, but you also made it your home, finding calm in the cracks between the its dark heart.

you appeared from the hallway, grinning at him like a beacon of warmth along with a look of pure joy on your face. you always managed to light up the room the moment you walked in, and jason felt his tense muscles relax. he smiled back, his heart beating just a little faster from the simple sight of you.

he was whipped.

“hey, you,” you greeted him at the doorway, practically bouncing on your feet as you crossed the room to greet him. he didn’t even have time to respond before you were pulling him into a hug, your arms wrapping around him so tightly that it almost knocked the wind out of him.

“good to see you, too,” jason muttered against your hair, the weight of the world fading just a bit as he let you hold him. you were always so eager to see him, always so open and trusting. it made him want to protect you more than anything.

when you pulled back slightly, he caught sight of something on the bed—something slightly out of place. he frowned for a moment, his sharp eyes narrowing on the sight of the handle poking out from under your pillow. it looked like a gun.

his heart skipped, his training kicking in as his body automatically went on alert. it was instinctive, the way his hand almost reached out to pull the weapon from under the pillow. his mind raced through all the worst-case scenarios—who could have left it there? but then he saw you, beaming at him, unaware of what he was about to uncover. you hadn’t even noticed you’d forgotten to hide it.

“is that . . . ?” jason started, his voice trailing off as his gaze flickered from your face to the gun underneath your pillow.

your eyes followed his, and your expression shifted almost imperceptibly, the carefree smile fading into something a little more guarded. you hadn’t meant for him to find it, but you didn’t hide the truth from him either. you shrugged slightly, trying to make light of the situation.

“it’s nothing. just a little extra protection. you know how it is living here.”

jason’s frown deepened, and he gently pulled the gun from under the pillow, holding it with an experienced hand, inspecting it for a moment. it wasn’t just the glock that caught his attention—it was the knife sheathed near the bed and the taser within arm’s reach on the nightstand. a cold chill ran through him, and he turned to face you, his expression unreadable.

“you’re sleeping with this under your pillow?” he asked, the words barely above a whisper, gaze softening slightly but still filled with concern. his mind wasn’t on the weapon; it was on you. he had seen a lot in his life, but nothing had ever rattled him quite like this. he understood the need for protection in gotham—hell, he had lived that way his whole life—but seeing you so . . . prepared for something, it rattled him in a way he didn’t expect.

you met his gaze and let out a breath, looking at the weapon in his hands. the unease settled into your stomach, but you weren’t going to apologize for being cautious. gotham had taught you to trust your instincts, to never leave yourself vulnerable. you crossed your arms over your chest and leaned against the bed frame.

“i’m living in gotham, i’m not waiting until it’s too late when someone breaks in.”

his jaw clenched, a deep mix of emotions crossing his features. part of him understood the harsh reality of gotham, of living in a city where the line between life and death could be drawn in a heartbeat. but the other part of him—the part that had spent so much time seeing violence up close—couldn’t stand the idea of you being so weighed down by fear. he had never wanted you to feel like you had to live like this, constantly looking over your shoulder.

“baby,” jason said quietly, the term of endearment sounding strangely soft coming from his mouth, “i get it, okay? gotham . . . it’s dangerous. but you shouldn’t have to live like this, scared all the time. you don’t need to do this alone.”

he set the gun on the nightstand, his voice steady but his eyes filled with a rare tenderness. he stepped toward you, closing the distance between you both, and gently placed his hand on your cheek, tilting your face up to meet his. you could see the concern in his eyes, the way his jaw was tense, but also the warmth and care that was always there when he looked at you. he wasn’t angry—he was worried. jason’s expression softened, and he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a warm embrace. “let me take care of you.”

as he held you, he made a silent vow to himself that he would never let you feel like you had to live in fear again. he would do whatever it took to protect you—always.

[possum-tooth]

good morning gay people we made it home last night

[inkskinned]

hello. you left a neon pink post-it with pgs 194-359 due 9/12 in the book, by the way. it is now May 23rd and the library's printer is running out of ink. it jammed and tore my passport application. one of the librarians dutifully blacked out all my information (front and back!) before proceeding to use every unmarred inch as scrap paper.

i think maybe our (plural, inclusive) lives are connected. all of them. i have been thinking a lot about borrowing. about how people move through the world in waves, filling in the same spaces. i have probably stood on the same subway platform as you. we held the same book. all of us stand in the same line at the grocery, at the gas station. how many feet have stood washing dishes in my kitchen?

i hope you are doing well. the pen you used was a nice red, maybe a glitter pen? you have loopy, curling handwriting. i sometimes wonder if it is true that you can tell a personality by the shape of our letters. i'm borrowing my brother's car. he's got scrangly engineer handwriting (you know the one). it's a yellow-orange ford mustang boss. when i got out of the building, some kids were posing with it for a selfie. i felt a little bird grow in me and had to pause and pretend to be busy with my phone to give them more time for their laughing.

i have a habit of asking people what's the last good book you read? the librarian's handwriting on the back of my smeared-and-chewed passport application says the glass house in small undercase. i usually go for fantasy/sci fi, but she was glowing when she suggested it. i found your post-it on page 26, so i really hope you didn't have to read up to 359 in that particular book. i hope you're like me and just have a weird "random piece of trash" "bookmark" that somehow makes it through like, 58 books.

i wish the concept of soul mates was bigger. i wish it was about how my soul and your soul are reading the same work. how i actually put down that book at the same time you did - page 26 was like, all exposition. i wish we were soul mates with every person on the same train. how magical to exist and borrow the same space together. i like the idea that somewhere, someone is using the shirts i donated. i like the idea that every time i see a nice view and say oh gosh look at the view, you (plural, inclusive) said that too.

the kids hollered when i beeped the car. oh dude you set off the alarm, oh shit is she - dude that's her car!! one was extremely polite. "i like your car, Miss. i'm sorry we touched it." i said i wasn't busy, finish up the pictures. i folded your post-it into a paper crane while i waited. i thought about how my brother's a kind person but his handwriting looks angry. i thought about how for an entire year i drove someone to work every day - and i didn't even think to ask for gas money. my handwriting is straight capital letters.

i thought about how i can make a paper crane because i was taught by someone who was taught by someone else.

the kids asked me to rev the engine and you know i did. the way they reacted? you would have thought i brought the sun from the sky and poured it into a waterglass. i went home smiling about it. i later gave your post it-turned-bird to a tiny child on the bus. she put it in her mouth immediately.

how easy, standing in your shadow, casting my own. how our hands pass over each other in the same minor folds. i wonder how many of the same books you and i have read. i wonder how many people have the same favorite six songs or have been in the same restaurant or have attended the same movie premier. the other day i mentioned the Book Mill from a small town in western massachusetts - a lot of people knew of it. i wonder if i've ever passed you - and didn't even notice it.

i hope whatever i leave behind makes you happy. i hope my hands only leave gentle prints. i hope you and i get the same feeling when the sun comes out. soulmates across all of it.

[rafesbowbunny]

𝜗𝜚 soft!kook!reader has begged bf!rafe to slip it in while she's asleep, one day she wakes up to him fulfilling her wish.

loosely insp by this plink (not twt)

c!w; mdni !! consensual somnophilia, established relationship, dom!rafe, soft!kook!reader, 'unprotected' sex, p in v, kinda fluffy?, cum eating.

notes; kinda short but we always love a somno piece tehee

you'd told him he could do whatever he wanted to you whenever he wanted. especially if you were asleep, but he'd always brushed it off, saying something about him always needing to know if you were okay with it. it was sweet that he cared so much, but you just dreamt of waking up full from his cock.

until one day you did.

rafe had come home late at night from a bad day, investors being vague and properties having issues. you were already asleep when he got in, which was the icing on top of the steaming pile of a day he'd had. all he had wanted to do when he got home, was be all over you and at least sleep well.

but here he was, standing over his bed with you on your stomach, sleeping soundly in it. his jaw ticked at the sight of you, so peaceful and still in the night, an angel encased in linens. your bare legs gleamed in the dim light of his bedroom, he slowly tore the cover back, revealing more of your still body in nothing but a cami and your panty clad cunt.

a low groan rose in his throat and he ran a hand through his hair, darting his tongue between his lips before unbuttoning his dress-shirt and pants. he pulled his shirt from his body and tore his pants down, leaving him in only boxers as he shifted your legs apart.

he finally clambered over your small frame, taking a minute to lower his face to your ass, he licked a thick stripe over both your holes and slid two fingers through your folds slowly.

situating himself over you he tapped your weeping cunt before coating his cock in your juices, and sliding it into your unconscious body. rafe slowly rolled his hips, thrusting deeper into your pussy as he held himself above you, a possessive hand gripping your hip as his eyes rolled back at how tight your pussy was squeezing him.

he picked up his speed, thrusting into you at a faster pace, strangled groans escaped his lips, his mind dizzy. he slipped out slowly, now re-adjusting your body to have your knees nearly against your chest while he situated himself against your back.

rafe slipped his cock back into your throbbing pussy, eyes rolling back at the feeling as his jaw slacked, his pelvis slowly meeting your plump ass as he filled you to the hilt. he began picking up his pace, the feeling intoxicating as you lay there oblivious.

rafe's breath shook as the sticky sound of your sopping hole and his cock filled his bedroom with every thrust, "fuck princess, this pussy loves me even when you're dreaming." he whispered into the cool night air.

he shifted over you again, wanting a deeper angle, your pussy clenching him so tightly he thought he could cum any minute when your eyes finally fluttered open. you smiled when you realised what was happening, how wet you felt, how full you felt.

"hey baby..." rafe cooed leaning in to plant a sloppy pussy drunk kiss on your lips, you grinned into the kiss as the speed of his thrusts picked up. soon you were a moaning mess, your hips meeting rafe's as he relentlessly fucked you in missionary now.

you could feel his cock twitching inside you, causing your body to shudder, "you g'na cum rafey?" you whimpered, he was pounding into you, eyes rolling back as all he could respond with was a nod.

you watched his orgasm course through him and he pulled out, finishing on your lower tummy with a drawn out groan. his chest rose and fell rapidly as you swiped your fingers through the cum, licking it off your digits with a smile. "told you you'd like it. 'nd i loved feeling so so full when i woke up," you gushed as his hand ran through his hair.

"you were made f'me pretty girl" he rasped, planting a seering kiss on your lips, tasting himself on your tongue.

[deatheaterv]

FIRST TO SPEAK

pairing : fred weasley x fem!reader

genre : fluff

summary : it had started as a joke. one day, after an argument about who could keep their mouth shut longer, you had scribbled a note on a piece of parchment and slid it across the table to him.

“you’ll lose.”

fred had grinned, picked up a quill, and written back: “never. but enjoy the silence while it lasts.”

it became a thing. instead of talking, you started writing notes to each other. quick, witty exchanges scribbled on scraps of parchment, tucked into books, or slipped into pockets.

at first, it was playful.

“george is clearly the smarter twin. discuss.”

“you wish. george can’t even charm a spoon properly.”

but over time, the notes grew longer, more personal.

“what’s your favorite memory?”

“bill taking me flying for the first time. i crashed into a tree. yours?”

“the first time i got my own wand. it felt magical. like i finally belonged somewhere.”

fred didn’t reply to that one immediately. when he did, his handwriting was shakier than usual.

“you’ve always belonged, y/n.”

weeks passed, and the silence between you didn’t feel awkward anymore. it felt comfortable. the notes were enough.

you’d find one tucked into your bag before class.

“you’re rubbish at potions, but i believe in you. don’t blow up the cauldron.”

or hidden in your robes after quidditch practice.

“you looked ridiculous out there, but in an adorable way. 10/10.”

sometimes, the notes made you laugh so hard you had to clamp a hand over your mouth to avoid breaking the challenge. other times, they made your chest ache in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

you started keeping his notes in a little box by your bed.

one evening, you slipped into the common room to find fred waiting for you, parchment in hand. his eyes lit up when he saw you, and he slid the note across the table with a smirk.

“are you giving up yet? just say the word, love.”

you raised an eyebrow and scribbled back: “not a chance. you?”

fred hesitated, his grin faltering for the briefest moment. then, he shook his head and wrote:

“never. but hypothetically, if i did, what would you want me to say?”

your heart skipped a beat. you stared at the words, chewing on the inside of your cheek. finally, you wrote back.

“that you lost. nothing else.”

he read it, lips twitching, but he didn’t respond.

it happened three days later.

you were walking toward the great hall when fred appeared out of nowhere, cutting you off. you stopped, raising an eyebrow, waiting for him to write something. instead, he just stood there, looking… nervous.

“y/n,” he said, breaking the silence.

your eyes widened in shock.

he groaned, running a hand through his hair. “damn it. i lost.”

a grin spread across your face, but before you could mock him, he blurted out, “wait. let me finish.”

“i don’t care that i lost. because this.. whatever this is between us has been driving me mad.” he took a deep breath. “i like you. a lot. and i couldn’t keep quiet anymore.”

your heart felt like it might burst. for a moment, you just stared at him, and then, slowly, you pulled out a piece of parchment.

i like you too.

[cjlouwho]

“Tommy!” Eddie cheered, lifting his drink toward the sky as he spotted his friend walking toward him. “Whatcha doin' here, Man?”

“Figured I'd stop by and see how you were doing, Bud,” Tommy replied. He gave Eddie a pat on the back as he sat down in the empty seat next to him. “You come here alone?”

“Mhm. Needed ta get out. House's too quiet.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Too long,” the bartender interrupted as he walked by. “Was about to cut him off. I already took his keys.”

Eddie's eyebrows furrowed, looking around the bar counter. “Hey! You took my keys.”

“I got him,” Tommy said, giving the bartender a nod. “I gotta say, at least you're talking better than you're texting. I was worried.”

Eddie's face scrunched up in confusion. “Huh? I never did texted you.”

“Oh, I beg to differ.” Tommy fished his phone out of his jacket pocket and went to his messages. “'Buuuuuuuck, lezz drink, Buddy.' Then five minutes later, 'Bruck, why rn't you at bar? I waiting.' A good two minutes after that you sent me your location with an angry emoji. Then, and this is my personal favorite, 'Loser too busy kissy kissy with Tummy to be a friendship.'”

"Huh. Thought I was textin' Buck.”

“Yeah, I pieced that together.”

“So where's Buck if you're not kissy kissy?” Eddie asked, his final drink sloshing over his fingers as he attempted to bring it to his lips.

Tommy took the drink from Eddie and set it back on the counter. “Evan is watching Jee overnight so Howie and Maddie can have a night away. So, you wanna talk about whatever's bothering you? I mean, I could take a guess, but...”

“Nah. No, no, nope. I wanna,” Eddie pulled at the collar of his shirt. “Lessgo karaoke, Tomboy-”

“We're not calling me that.”

“I wanna sing to the rooftops,” Eddie continued, his words slurring more and more with each sentence. “I wanna. I wanna be, you know, be free, Tommy. I don't have a rea-,” he hiccuped, “reason to get back home.”

“Really? Seems like that's exactly where you need to be right now.”

Eddie's eyes widened, like he'd thought of the best idea in the entire world. “Let's go to Peeping Tom! That's your name!”

“Peeping Tom is a gay bar, Eddie.”

“I don judge.”

“A very kinky, fully nude gay bar,” Tommy clarified.

Eddie squinted, deep in thought. “No karaoke?”

“No karaoke.”

“Well, then were we go? Don't say home!”

“Home.”

“Ugh,” Eddie groaned, allowing Tommy to wrap an arm around his back and help him up. “You're like a no- no fun dad. Wish I'd texted fun dad.”

Tommy gripped onto Eddie tighter as he stumbled while taking a step. He sighed. “Maybe next time.”

*****

When Eddie woke up the next morning it was to a pounding headache and blinding sunlight coming through his window. He was nauseous and his mouth tasted like a mixture of gasoline and mouthwash.

He laid there for a few minutes, trying to figure out what happened that made him feel so unbelievably ill.

After a few failed attempts, he finally rolled out of bed and made his way into the kitchen to fix himself some coffee.

He froze when he walked through the door to see Tommy sitting there, reading the newspaper.

“Good... morning?” Eddie started, confused.

Tommy set the paper down. “Morning. Sleep well?”

“I- I think so, I guess. It's a little blurry.”

Tommy hummed. “Not surprising. Coffee just finished, if you want some. Your couch is not comfortable, by the way.”

“Buck's never complained.”

“Yeah, well, he's easier to please than I am.”

Eddie was too hungover for this. He had so many questions, but for some reason the first one out of his mouth was: “Where'd you put my shoes?”

“In your closet.”

He grabbed himself a cup for some coffee. “My keys?”

“We have to go pick them up at the bar today, along with your car, obviously.”

“You didn't close my curtains last night. Woke up thinking I was being interrogated by Ice T.”

Tommy sighed, leaning back in his seat. “'Thank you so much for getting me home safely, Tommy. Did it hurt your back having to drag me into the house while I belted out Bohemian Rhapsody at the top of my lungs?'” He stood, walking over to Eddie and taking the coffee out of his hand, drinking a big sip. “Thank you for asking, Eddie. I think my back will be okay, but my ears will never recover.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, turning to fix himself another cup. “Thank you for getting me home safely, Tommy. I appreciate it.”

“Mhm. No problem.” Tommy returned to his seat and Eddie joined him at the table. They sat in silence for a couple minutes, taking small sips of their drinks.

Eventually, Tommy set his cup down a little harder than normal, getting Eddie's attention with the clinking sound. “Wanna talk about it?”

“About what? How your coffee tastes like cigarette sludge?”

“I'll take that as a no then.” Tommy checked his watch. “The bar doesn't open until three. Want me to stop by and pick you up then?”

Eddie shook his head. “I can just get an Uber, Man, thanks though.”

“Of course. I'll, uh, let you recover.” Tommy stood and went to leave, checking his pocket for his keys and phone.

As he neared the door, Eddie spoke. “Wait,” he said. Tommy turned back to face him.

“Yeah?”

“Why'd you sleep on my couch?”

“You're my friend,” he answered simply. “You drank a lot. Wanted to make sure you were okay.” He took a step back toward the table. “Are you okay?”

Eddie cradled the mug in his hands, watching the steam rise from the cup. “You don't... How long has it been? Since you talked to your dad?”

Okay, so Tommy wasn't leaving then.

He came to the table and sat down, taking a moment to think about Eddie's question. “About six years, I think.”

“What did he do?” He looked over at Tommy. “To make you stop talking to him, I mean. Unless you don't wanna get into it. In fact, forget it, I shouldn't-”

“Eddie, it's fine,” Tommy assured him. “I don't mind.”

“Okay,” Eddie nodded, sitting up straighter. “So? What happened?”

“It wasn't just one thing,” Tommy explained. “It was a lifetime of things. He's... He's not a good man. I think the catalyst was about a year after I came out. I hadn't been home in awhile, so I decided to drive to his place one weekend. When he answered the door he said, 'What the hell are you doing here?' I told him I was coming to see him and he said, 'What's the damn point in that?' I thought about it for a second and realized that was a good question, so I turned around, got in my car, and left. Never looked back.” Eddie seemed to be contemplating his words, and Tommy could tell where this was going. “It's not the same thing, Eddie,” he said, beating Eddie to it.

“What if he doesn't come back? What I did, Tommy, it wasn't... It was bad.”

“You made a mistake.”

“I cheated on my girlfriend with a doppelganger of his mom, Tommy, and he caught me.”

“Granted, it was a big mistake,” Tommy deadpanned. “But, still a mistake. He'll come around. You gotta give him time.”

“People keep telling me that,” Eddie replied with an eye roll. “That he'll come around. But it's been months of nothing. And it seems like no matter what I do, it's not enough.”

“You're trying.”

Eddie huffed. “I'm not sure getting drunk alone at a bar is trying.”

“I think it shows you care, Eddie. And, yeah, that shouldn't become a habit, but you're allowed to be upset. You're allowed to hurt. You made a mistake, but you're a good dad and Christopher knows that. He will come around.”

“And if he doesn't?” Eddie asked, staring over at Tommy.

“Then you keep trying,” Tommy replied. “You never stop trying. Keep being there, keep sending him letters and getting him on Facetime. Go for a visit. Send him texts. I'm not saying you gotta smother him, but never let him forget that you're there. That's the biggest mistake you could ever make.”

“Yeah,” Eddie took a deep breath. “Yeah, you're right. I just... I gotta keep it up. Let him know I'm here, whenever he's ready.”

“Exactly.”

Eddie looked over at the clock on his stove, 11:32 staring back at him. He had no idea he'd slept so long. “Why don't you call Buck, see if he wants to come over and watch a game? Then you can drive me to my car.”

“Oh, you want me to call Evan? Don't you mean fun dad?” Tommy asked, eying Eddie.

It took him a minute, but the memory came back to him. “I did say that, didn't I?”

“You did,” Tommy confirmed. “Which I'm very offended by, by the way. I'm fun!”

Eddie sighed, his head drooping down. “I know you are.”

“I introduced you to karaoke trivia. I've flown you to Vegas.”

“I remember.”

“I never tried to seriously injure you in the name of love.”

“Which I'm very grateful for.”

“I don't have control issues when I have a clipboard in my hand.”

“Are you just gonna keep listing reasons why you're fun?”

“I once shoved three cupcakes in my mouth at once! Nearly choked to death, but Evan whacked me on the back and everything went down just fine.”

Eddie stood with his mug in hand, pointing toward the living room, “I'm gonna go to the couch. Get more comfortable.”

Tommy followed behind, pulling out his phone to call Buck. “I'll let Evan tell you who bowled a 230 last week. Hint: it was me!”

[eelnoise]

random sex headcanons! (nsfw)

had some thoughts during my workout today, so i figured i'd write them out as a break from the endless wips in my docs. :) zoro, sanji, usopp(!), and law x afab reader tagging: @bby-deerling @kaizokuniichan @throwmethroughawindow (hello soppers)

Zoro

Prefers a position where he can see your face.

He wants to watch you squirm under his touch, wants to see your expression twisting with ecstasy each time his cock slides against your walls.

Big on touch. His hands will glide along your body, squeezing at any flesh he can get his fingers around, but has a slight preference for grabbing your thighs - not only because he's a thigh guy, but because they're your thighs. Also helps him manhandle you into deeper positions.

Has two modes - rough and nasty, or gentle and loving. The first is more of a stress-reliever, or for a quickie in the training room before a meal, but its raw and real and even between his forceful strokes he's praising you, telling you how good you are, how good you feel, that you take him so well, or that you're made for his cock and his alone.

But if he's in his feels about you, he prefers it slow and steady. Missionary, lotus, cowgirl, whatever it is, Zoro finds great joy in watching you enjoy yourself. He'll hold your cheek in his palm and if you nuzzle into his touch you may be rewarded with a long, passionate series of kisses and words of love between each one. He tells you that you make him happy, that you're perfect and beautiful, how he's so lucky that you put up with him, and how much he loves you.

Sanji

Also a big face watcher, just the sight of you moaning and mewling for him is enough to make the coil of delirium unravel. 

Takes a while for him to stop finishing so quickly (he loves you!), but he gets that iron will eventually - and will use it to make you into a panting, tired, sweaty mess. 

Super switchy. Sanji will always lovingly top you, but loves being the bottom. Ride him, peg him, and gently tease him all you want - just treat him like the sweet prince that he is and be affectionate. Show him that you love him, take it into your own hands and watch him melt into you. 

Really likes seeing you dressed up, just to dress you down later. Kisses your neck and coos in your ear about how lovely you look while he unzips your dress before sliding it down your shoulders and into a heap of fabric on the floor. Undresses you with a fire in his veins, taking his time to caress every inch of flesh available to him, kissing down your body while taking off each piece of remaining clothing that lies his way. 

A pussy eating king. Sanji knows taste, and will bury his nose as deep into you as he can, licking and slurping up your juices like it's his last meal. He kisses it often, usually murmuring something in his native tongue against your folds and making you shiver from the timbre of his voice. 

Usopp

The sweet boy is so shy. Takes him a few tries before he can even look you in the eye (he’ll cum too quick :( !) during. So at first he takes you mostly from behind. 

His hands love digging into the plush of your ass, though. Gets really hypnotized by the way it bounces back onto his cock and tends to lose himself in the moment and - wanting to see it move faster - absent-mindedly picks up the pace to slam into you with harder and harder strokes. 

Once he opens up a bit, you find that he's really fun in bed. He makes love to you like you're the last thing he'll ever touch, but will switch it up on the fly and rail you until tears of overstimulation peck at your tear ducts. Folds you around as he wishes, trying every angle, every position that he can wiggle the both of you into - and every time you're happy to let him experiment. 

Call him Captain Usopp mid-sex and its over for you. Something emerges from him that makes him go feral. Grabs your hair or your arms and fucks you faster and harder than he can realize himself. Very dominant this way too - demands you say it again, or to keep calling him by the name. Assaults your neck and back with kisses and bites, hungrier than ever to mark you up as Captain Usopp's girl.

Always makes sure to show his feelings for you through touch and praise, but always says “I love you!” right as he cums. 

Law

Usually has no preference on positions. Law will fuck you in any way you want. Though is apt to end up telling you how he wants to take you regardless, urging you onto your hands and knees, pressing you against a wall, or bending you over his desk. 

Great with his fingers. Coaxes several orgasms from you before even considering putting his cock in you. Long, lithe digits scissor in and out of your entrance, spurring you magnificently over the edge over and over again. Loves to shove his fingers into your mouth afterward, and can barely keep his focus when you clean your slick from them. 

Absolutely gets pussy drunk. His cock twitches wildly in response to your walls clenching around him, making his head spin with want and desire. Leans back to watch himself disappear deep inside of you again and again, mesmerized by the way your pussy grips him and how wet and warm and tight you are. 

Plays into your sensitivities. If you have sensitive nipples or breasts, his mouth is on them, sucking and licking and nibbling in ways that have you crying out for more. Sensitive clit? Law is rubbing it in slow, agonizingly sweet circles as he thrusts into you, bringing you just to the edge of reality but not over it just yet. 

Very weak for affection, especially during intimacy. Hold his hand and hear him whine before grabbing you tighter and fucking you harder, but kiss him and watch his brain fray into blissful petals of pure devotion. Has been known to stop all together to just lock his lips to yours for a while. 

[gavisuntiedboot]

Centimeters

Gavi x physiotherapist! Reader

A/N: no one asked for this but lord have mercy the photos from today had me heavy breathing

“Gavi, remember to behave yourself.”

“But I haven’t even-“

Ansu put a finger to his lips, eradicating whatever the end of that sentence was going to be.

“We’re about to go in for medical exams and the doctor is your girlfriend. Now I know you’re still pumped full of all your raging teenage hormones-“

“Ansu!”

“-but please, hermano. There cameras literally everywhere. So I’m begging you: behave.”

Gavi crossed his arms over his bare chest, pouting slightly at being scolded in front of the other boys. It was no secret that he was madly in love with his physiotherapist/girlfriend, but it never deterred the boys from teasing him incessantly. His injury over the last year had made things tough. She was at training more than he was, coming home with stories about practice drills and player banter that made his chest pang. He shook the thoughts from his head as he was called in to have his measurements taken.

Gavi shuffled into the room, white socks gliding against the floor. He fiddled with the bandage on his arm from the blood draw. He wished for a second that he could be childish, pull he is girl away from all her responsibilities and have a hand to hold while someone stabbed him with a needle. But he knew that now, close to graduating from her program and becoming lead physio, his girl was running the entire operation. So he was happy to just stand there, wide eyed and slack jawed watching his perfect girlfriend concentrate on something flashed across a computer screen.

Eventually, she felt a searing gaze burn holes into the dip of her back, and turned around to see her shirtless boyfriend biting his lip and smiling like an idiot. She suppressed her own grin, grabbing his file and her clipboard.

“Mr. Gavira - ready to be examined?”

There was a playfulness in her voice that, when mixed with her raised eyebrow and overwhelming stare, made Pablo blush.

“Of course, doctora. And please, take your time. Absolutely no need to rush.”

There was a light giggle bouncing around the room before she sat Pablo down, blood pressure cuff tight on his arm. Her fingers grazed his bicep, lingering longer than would be appropriate for any other player.

“Those scrubs look great on you, doctora.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t pick them out for me this morning, Pablo. Uncross your feet so that I can get a proper reading of your blood pressure.”

He spread his legs in the chair, shorts riding up his muscular thighs. He sat back in the chair, getting lost in watching his favorite person in the world fiddle with a blood pressure cuff.

“Any other players give you complements on the scrubs?”

“No Pablo - there is no one on this team suicidal enough to flirt with me or pay me a compliment while you’re here. Poor Lamine was scared to take off his shirt. He kept looking around expecting you to walk in.”

You tapped him on the arm, instructing him to stand for his height and weight measurement. He stood on the mark, and as she adjusted the piece above his head, he couldn’t help himself from wrapping an arm around her waist. He pulled her into himself, planting a quick kiss to her temple before she should pull away.

“Gavi!”

“What?”

“We’re at work!”

“Come on - no one is going to scold me. I’m poor Gavi with the bad knee.” He finished his sentence with a pout, big puppy dog eyes making him look younger than his already mere 19 years.

“Yes yes, poor little Gavi and his busted knee. I, however, am not an asset to club or country. Hansi will scold me in three languages if we get caught making out in here.

“Wait,” he turned his head swiftly, arms back around her waist. “Making out is an option?? Why didn’t you tell me.” His laughter disguised the sound of her lightly smacking his chest. She grabbed her clipboard again, and placed the metal piece gently on his head.

“173 cm. Tsk tsk Pablo - still as small as last year.”

He smiled at his girl, amusement painting his every feature.

“I don’t remember size ever being an issue for you, doctora. I’m still taller than you.”

“By like 10 cm. That’s not a lot.”

She took down his weight, and then grabbed the tape measure to start assessing specific areas of his body.

“Of course you would say 10 cm is not a lot. Since you’re used to 15 cm daily.” He earned another smack to the chest.

“Pablo!”

“Or maybe it’s 20? Maybe we should find out since you already have the measuring tape ready.” He suggested while his fingers played with the waistband of his shorts. She grabbed his wrist in fear, terrified of what Gavi was willing to do in a close room.

He laughed loudly, bringing both hands to cup his girl’s face. He felt the warmth of her cheeks on his palms, and her flustered state gave him a squeezing feeling in his chest. He brought his forehead to hers, waiting until she met his eyes.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to whip it out here in the medical room. No matter how much you may want it.”

She laughed gladly, fears subsiding and chest feeling lighter after Gavi’s light touch. She grabbed the measuring tape and began. She started with his neck, saying her measurements out loud before jotting them down on the form.

“Chest is 94 cm. Bigger than last year.”

Her fingers traced downwards, leaving heat on Gavi’s skin as they got to his hips.

“Hips are 81.5. Same as last year.”

Next, she traced across his collar bone and down his arm, tapping to silently tell him to flex his bicep.

“Biceps are- holy.”

“That’s not a number, preciosa.”

“Biceps are 43 cm. Ehem, bigger than last year. By a lot.”

The doctor tried to stabilize her slight tremble as she wrote down the measurements. She tried to calm herself, but something about Gavi’s new, fuller physique was making professionalism almost impossible. Gavi, the little shit, flexed his biceps again, pleased with the reaction he could evoke.

“Lift up your shorts, Gavi.”

“Don’t you mean pull down?”

“Are you okay, Pablo? You’re hornier than usual today. Do I need to get a spray bottle?”

“Surgeon called me today and cleared me for more vigorous activities. Want to help me follow the doctor’s orders?”

She got on her knees, wrapping the tape measure around his thigh.

“Thighs are 61 cm. Smaller than last year. You’ll need to work on that.”

“I had my ACL repaired.”

“Pshh excuses excuses.”

She finished her measurements, taking other important vitals and making sure to ask him all the medical clearance questions.

“What time are you finished today, Pablo?”

“2 pm. They don’t want us out for too long in the heat. How many guys are left?”

“About 6. I’ll probably be done before you, so I can go home and make lunch.”

He grabbed her by the waist, pulling her into him.

“No no, wait for me. We’ll leave together and go get food. You’ve had a hard day, let me treat you.”

“Every day is a hard day at work.”

He kept one arm around your shoulders as you walked him to the door.

“Then I’ll treat you every day. See you later, princesa.”

He hugged you into his side, and scampered off to the practice field. Neither Gavi nor his lady noticed the social media intern in the hall, who was quick to snap a picture of your embrace. The image of Gavi hugging his physiotherapist into his side and smiling from ear to ear set the internet into a flurry of comments.

New post from fcbarcelona: strong bonds between our players and medical staff 🫶

~~~

Hey do you think this is a cute dynamic? Wish you could read more about gavi x physiotherapist? Well you’re in luck! I have a ten part series of their love story in my master list!

Guys I love him so much. Anyways, like, comment, reblog, and check out the fundraiser in my pinned!! Love yall <3

[yoru-exe]

PHAINON ࣪ ִֶָ ⋆ . promise in vain

back then, you didn't understand why seers should maintain a neutral position, absolutely avoid from directly contributing to battle planning, are forbiddened to form strong connects with their associates and use their gift for personal gain. how you wished you've taken your master's teaching more seriously as you gazed into the near future of the war's outcome. your heart crumbled like amphoreus destined to fall to ruin, helpless to the sight of the man who you've been war counseled to laying lifeless on the ground, the light in his eyes extinguished.

you broke all the rules a seer should abide to at any circumstances. now, it's time to pay the price.

phainon walked across the strategic meeting room, inspecting the last of the details before the battle begun. you stood silently by his side, watching in longingness your silhouettes that seemed to dance on the wall. no harm could come to them, at least before the light goes out.

"now that we have all the support that we requested for, we can ensure the safety of the people should the enemy decided to break in from the west wall. if this happen, then i trust you to-".

"can you not go?".

the question spilled out of your mouth before you could stop it. the silence that followed was deafening.

"i'm afraid i don't understand what you're trying to say".

when you spoke again, your glassy eyes met his, tear threatened to spill, "can you not go to the war?".

the two of you rarely had any physical contact for as long as you've been associated with each other. perhaps it was just the unspoken rules you set; i help you, you help me, nothing else. but the instant he saw your heartbroken face, a sight he's not used to, his body moved instinctly to hold you in his arm, as he caressed your cheeks, wiping the fallen tears away, "you know i have to. but we've planned for this. i'll be fine".

"but what if you don't survive this?"

a hint of doubt crossed his face, but it's gone as fast as it came, replaced with a determined expression that you know he practised a million times to lie to even himself, "i'll make sure i will and come home to you".

if your thoughts and emotion weren't in such a messy state, you would have been more appreciative towards his confession. instead, you burst with the fear that you could no longer surpress, "but i saw you-".

you didn't get to finish your sentence as phainon pressed his lips on yours, sealing away whatever fate of his that he's aware you're not supposed to reveal. it didn't matter.

it didn't matter that he live or not.

what mattered is he made sure you know he meant it when he said he'll come home to you.

he continued to hold you firmly in his embrace after he pulled away. his expression was one of sincerity and calmness, like a hero ready to sacrifise himself knowing that he know it was a sacrifice that worth making.

"just wait for me, okay?"

⊹₊ author's note ₊⊹

nameless faces left me in SHAMBLE i need to cope, therefore this piece was born yea i think phainon is up for one heck of a nasty fate you know how greek myths love giving their heroes brutal death or whatever. if the story ended up on a completely different route than what i thought it would, please dont at me sob

[lieutenantfloyd]

My Red Thread - Gambit x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: After being sent to the Void alongside your chaotic companions Deadpool and Logan, the very last thing on your mind is the rarity of a soulmate bond. That is, until yours snaps into place. (Soulmate! AU)

Warnings: Fluff, mutant! Reader (undefined powers), a bit of romantic tension, attempts at humor, Wade Wilson ruining The Moment™️

Authors Note: For some reason editing this took way longer than actually writing it did. I’m still getting a feel for the characters, so I apologize if anything is kinda ooc! :)

Read on AO3

Laying with your back against a mostly broken couch, you have a view of the full room, including a set of stairs that allow streams of sunlight to cascade in. Your eyes shift lazily between Logan—who's taking the opportunity to drink himself into oblivion— and Deadpool—who's closing out his second straight hour of snooping through drawers and cabinets.

When the three of you awoke in this new location hours ago, you almost instantly flew into a fit of arguing. First about how and why you were here, then about who would be the first to go up the stairs. After a much heated debate, the consensus became that an unknown person—agreed to be either the ghost of Johnny coming back to avenge himself or the vengeful, forgotten sister from earlier—brought you here for reasons that probably didn't end with any of you walking out of here alive.

Whoever it was most likely got the drop on you first, seeing as how you decided to try your luck at hitchhiking through the void instead of sitting around and watching your two companions tear each other, along with your only ride, to shreds. As for the situation with the stairs, a rare moment of agreement was shared when you decided to stand and fight whatever possible threat was lurking. Once that was decided you all assumed the positions you currently found yourselves in.

With each tick of the dusty clock on the wall, you were growing more and more impatient, You'd been fighting for your life, quite literally, from the moment Wade got you sent to the void. Now your adrenaline had all but crashed, leaving your body to scream in agony over being brought to the brink of death more times over the last twenty four hours than you’d ever care to count. It was at the point now that you honestly began to wish that whoever had brought you here would muster up the cajones and come finish you off for good.

As if on cue, you and Logan sat upright as you sensed movement outside. You rolled off the couch and joined Wade in the middle of the room, taking up fighting stances while Logan simply sat back in his chair and continued nursing the bottle of whiskey he found without a care in the world.

Prepping for yet another fight, you were left feeling as dumbfounded as Deadpool looked when Elektra descended into the room. Your hands stayed raised but your mind began to run with possibilities. Wade began a refreshed round of incessant rambling, not missing a beat as Blade followed Elektra into the room only seconds later.

Your eyes shoot over to Logan in an effort to ensure that someone a bit less prone to hallucinations than you and Deadpool were seeing this too. His eyes flash confirmingly to yours. You swallow hard, having a brief internal battle with the childhood version of you who apparently thinks that now is the best time to start fangirling.

Tuning out Wade's awkward banter, you try and piece together the situation unfolding in front of you together. You were well aware of how people got sent to the void, but you realized then that you never thought any deeper about who exactly you could run into during your stay.

With fatigue setting deeper into your bones, you lean your hip onto the dusty wood table beside you. You fall halfway out of your defensive stance and let Wade command the room as usual, tuning back into the conversation just in time to hear him make an oddly pointed quip about some man named Ben Affleck.

Picking up on more movement from above, your attention shifts across the room. Your eyes lock on the stairs as if glued there. You to watch on silently as a shimmery purple card floats into the room and a man follows closely behind. You barely have enough time to register the flashes of purple dancing away from his hands before a force you have never felt before—and have absolutely no interest in feeling again—slams so solidly into your chest that it sends you flying over the table you were leaning against.

"Fuck!" "Merde!"

You yell out in unison. Instinct has you pulling yourself up off the floor as soon as you hit it, albeit slowly, as you try to call the air back into your lungs. Using the table for support, you manage to raise up on shaking feet. The once busy room has now fallen deadly silent. Quiet in a way you hadn't experienced since joining up with Deadpool several months ago. You suck in a few intentional breaths before letting your head rise up from its hanging position.

"What the hell was tha-" you start, only to fall silent as you take notice of everyone's eyes flashing between you and a man who looks just as confused and winded as you do.

Time seems to slow as your eyes lock with his. A smaller blow hits you somewhere deep beneath your ribs, though this time you only stumble.

"Ho-ly shit!" Wade gasps, bringing his gloved hands up to his face and flicking his head back and forth dramatically between the both of you, no doubt starting to pick up on what's happening.

A second thrumming blooms in your chest then. It's equal parts similar and different from your own. Your mind nearly starts to panic, but it's silenced by something buried in your chemical makeup coming alive.

Wade drops his hands from his face, only to end up pointing at you like an old Spiderman meme.

"You two are-"

"Soulmates," you breathe out.

Absentmindedly, your hand rises to your chest. The feel of your soulmates' heart beating in time with yours is oddly comforting, in a way not unlike finally coming home after a long, difficult mission.

Soulmates were a rare but well documented phenomenon back in your reality. Most people would go their entire lives without meeting someone who was lucky enough to bond, let alone experience it themselves. You silently cursed all of those articles and accounts you read as a hopeful tween for failing to mention just how sudden and violently the bond snapped into place.

"Say something! Suck each other's faces off! Maybe even-"

"That's enough," Logan hisses, slapping a large hand down onto Deadpool's shoulder.

You laugh awkwardly at the absurdity of this entire situation. Unsure of what to say or how to go about any of this. Bonded or not, you and the upsettingly handsome man in front of you were still strangers.

"I've been lookin' for you a long time, mon amour." He drawls. And fuck if his sultry cajun drawl isn't something you'd be happy to hear for the rest of your lifetime.

'Well, It's good to finally meet you, um..." you stammer out, only to remember that you hadn't even learned his name yet.

"Remy!" Elektra whispers to you excitedly.

You repeat his name under your breath, somehow feeling like you miss it as the syllables roll off of your tongue.

"It's lovely to finally meet you, Remy," you try again.

Logan takes the opportunity to introduce you like Elektra did for Remy. He sends you a soft smile as he learns your name, though it shines so bright and warm that you can't decide if you want to fall back against the table or leap into his arms.

You step towards him, happy to feel both of your heartbeats pumping in your chest as you both move to close the distance between you. When you're only a mere inches away from each other, his hand rises into view, silently asking permission to caress your cheek. You wait with bated breath to feel his touch, only for it to fall short when a certain red and black clad anti-hero steps between you—acting as if your entire world wasn't just flipped on its axis.

"Sorry to interrupt this precious little love session you two have going on, but I feel that I must remind you of the very pressing matters still at hand," Wade says with a look that is anything but sorry.

You look to Remy, whose face says only that he's ready to explode Deadpool with his mind and reach around Wade to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. You smile up at Remy, and watch as an unmistakable look of complete adoration flashes across his eyes.

You use your powers to send the mercenary flying backward through the air, leaving him screaming as you finally close the gap between you and Remy.

He brings you into his arms without hesitation. A stray tear slips from your eye as you realize just how right his touch feels against your skin. His nimble fingers wipe away the tear that fell onto your cheek, already coming into tune with the thousands of different emotions flowing through you.

"Don't cry chéri, Gambit's gotcha."

His words bring a fresh new crop of tears to your eyes. You savor the contact for several long moments before reluctantly pulling away. You waste no time in reaching over to interlock your hands, pulling him back a few steps.

A chorus of stifled laughter sounds throughout the room as you spot Wade stumbling back onto his feet. You squeeze Remy's hand when you hear him mutter "couyon," disapprovingly, something that earns another round of poorly dampened laughter from the group.

"Wade,” You call over to him, "Are you done being an asshole for the time being?"

"Never!”

"Can you idiots focus for five seconds?" Logan asks from the corner while taking a swig of whiskey. The rebuttal you’d prepared for Wade does in your throat, but you still give him a disapproving eye roll. Deadpool, unable to have someone speak up before him, pushes his way past Logan.

"Yeah, like I know the writer needs to hit their word count and all, but we've still got a baldheaded bitch to kill."

Getting out of the void has always been your top priority, but with your newfound bond, it felt all the more pressing.

Stepping aside to let Wade through, he begins to command the room as always. Ideas intertwine with his usual self deprecating jokes. You and Remy stand next to each other on the sidelines, as tensions begin to lower.

As the night drug on, the conversation began to buzz with urgent anticipation. Everyone takes a shot at pitching an idea or strategy that plays to some of their strengths. Logan had retreated outside while Blade, Electra, and Wade stood and paced around the room, focused on the task at hand.

With guards lowered and tensions gone, you and Remy retreated to a nearby couch. You both gave out the occasional opinion or bit of intel, but your minds never strayed far from each other.

The conversation slows, and you felt Gambit's hand brush against yours. You reach out and intertwine your fingers with his before he can back away. His fingers tighten against yours gently before letting up. You mirror his squeeze instantly, a thousand words passing in the silence hanging between you. You lift your eyes and meet his gaze, giving him a soft, barely perceptible nod. You can the low kinetic current coursing through his touch. It serves as yet another reminder of how strong your bond already feels.

Your head drops onto his shoulder, earning a low hum. Just above a whisper, and with a smile playing on your lips, you both promise that no matter what lies ahead, you are ready to face it—simply because you now have each other.

[alicenpai]

my piece for the Hemisphere: a Witch Hat Atelier seasons themed zine! thank you for having me! they're having a leftovers sale until stock runs out 🖋🍀🌷🍁❄🌧 WIPs + inspiration board + symbolism under the cut! got some requests to put this on my inprnt! the site has sales very often & you can grab it as a small or big size print.

I had a pretty good idea of the composition from the get-go. I took inspiration from art nouveau (primarily Alphonse Mucha), German fairy tales, and some 1920s perfume ads. I wanted the girls to look like fairies, akin to The Root Children by Sibylle von Olfers.

Olly just didn't work out in this drawing due to time restraints. I do love him very much though.

I actually kinda stopped making illustrations like these (including the TGAA/DGS tarot card + TGAA/DGS zine pieces a while back) because they were starting to get very hard on my arm, as I had an RSI (repetitive strain injury) a few years back during school. (Not putting the onus on the zines at all ofc! I genuinely love working with zine projects! it's def a me thing WAHAHAHA. my style was getting too anime and too detailed for my liking and everything was just taking forever to finish ngl. but I didn't have time to experiment with a more simple style outside of all of my deadlines)

I think that realizing you need to stop is okay. It's something that Shirahama teaches us in her story and I want to learn to take it to heart.

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MILD SPOILERS AHEAD (for those who havent read the story I guess)

each character's symbolism:

- Coco - spring, clovers - Coco is the quintessential spring girl, and I wanted her to symbolize new beginnings, and oh boy did Coco bring a big one. The four leaf clover in particular symbolizes luck and good fortune - to some characters, Coco may have brought fortune, to others her presence brings misfortune, take that as you will.

- Tetia - summer, gladiolus - the name "gladiolus" comes from the Latin word "gladius", meaning "sword", based on the shape of the flower. you can interpret it as "you pierce my heart", perfect for a girl like Tetia, who has a contagious energy, with a romantic and grandiose nature.

- Agott - autumn, marigold - I read somewhere marigolds symbolize strength and power, perfect for our little magical powerhouse Agott. They can also symbolize jealousy (yellow flowers in particular have this association), which reflects on her rivalry with Coco in the beginning.

- Riche - winter, snowdrop - The white color of snowdrops has a strong connotation to innocence, which reflects on Riche's wish to stay a child forever. It can also symbolize rebirth and new beginnings (like Coco's clovers), as the snowdrop is the first flower to bloom in the spring, when the snow has not yet melted. I wanted the concept of "rebirth" to associate with Riche's friendship with Euini, and of his sort of "rebirth" into a new being.

- Qifrey - he does not have a flower per se, but as the caregiver and educator of the four girls, he represents the rainy season - precipitation being the one thing that binds all of these seasons together. (Note some areas of the world do not have a rainy season like where I live). I think somewhere along the line I wanted to put hydrangeas behind him, to really bring out the "rainy" theme, but the thought probably got lost somewhere in translation...

- bg flowers - honestly I just picked whatever. white lily, daffodil, hydrangea, zinnia, tulip