#may start it back up again in the new year

[stars-inthe-sky]

if there's solid ground below

It's been five years, but I wrote a whole fic this week thanks in no small part to the singular @iphyslitterator!

[Cross-posted to AO3]

“H—hey, Tommy?”

Tommy startles and bangs his head on the hood of his truck, recovering fast enough that none of the oil he was nearly done changing spilled but not so fast that it would have escaped Evan’s notice. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just surprised,” he says, grabbing for a spare rag to wipe his hands on. “Hi.”

“Got a sec?” Evan rocks onto the balls of his feet and back again, hands shoved deep in the pockets of a hoodie that, in southern California in May, it should really be too warm for. But he runs cold, and the layers always have the added bonus of making Tommy want to rip them off in some kind of Pavlovian response.

Had. Last summer, they’d had that effect. This summer was shaping up differently.

Evan tilts his head, a little quizzical, and Tommy realizes he’s been frozen in place for a few beats too long, dazedly dragging the rag between his fingers.

“Sorry, yeah, go ahead.” He glances down at the car, which hasn’t moved, then back at Evan, who’s still rocking but who looks, Tommy’s now realizing, noticeably lighter than he has in a while—certainly since the funeral, but maybe even more so than that night in the bar all those weeks ago. His smile is far too small, but it’s there. “Although if you need another helicopter, I’m gonna have to start charging you at some point.”

“That’s okay, I heard your fees are competitive,” he chirps, and if his grin isn’t yet lethal, it’s shifted to shit-eating. Which, for Tommy, is lethal anyway, and Evan knows it. “But no, I just…just wanted to talk this time. For real, for once.”

Oh. “Okay…?”

“You can keep doing whatever you were doing; I know you like to have something to do with your hands.”

“Uh, thanks.” He stuffs the rag in the back pocket of his jeans and fishes the oil canister out of his car’s innards. This might be easier without eye contact. “What’s up?”

“I’m taking a sabbatical from the LAFD,” Evan says. Tommy freezes again, more of a twitch than a full stop, and makes himself continue the actual task at hand. “Three months. Mostly thanks to an insane amount of unused PTO, because I realized I kinda haven’t taken a vacation that wasn’t just medical leave in like…ever. And I need a break, you know, after everything? Like, I spent a bunch of my twenties driving around, odd jobs and stuff, and the world is—is so much bigger than the firehouse, or this city, and…yeah.  I think I need that space for a bit. Just got it approved today. And then I came here.”

He pauses for breath, and Tommy stares unseeing at some perfectly intact wiring he could reconnect by touch alone if asked. “That’s great they’re letting you do that, Evan. I’m sure it’ll be good for you. How’d the others take it?”

There’s a little sigh. “I haven’t told them yet. Battalion chief said I’d always have a job to come back to, but they couldn’t hold my spot indefinitely. Depends on the new captain and how they want to staff up. Makes sense, obviously, so.” His sniffle is nearly inaudible, but Tommy’s never been able to tune out Evan’s frequency.

He gives up on the car, closing the hood with a quiet click and resuming with the rag, even though his hands aren’t especially dirty. “Never thought you’d voluntarily leave the 118.”

“I know, right?” Evan’s mouth twitches, and it’s not quite a smile now, but there’s something genuine growing back. “I mean, I guess I might not be, but. Things change, and it’s…time, maybe. I’m doing this, in any case. I—I—I just need to clear my head for a while. Go visit Minnesota, never been there, but then…I don’t know, maybe touch the Atlantic Ocean again. Camp out in some national parks. Go see the sky in Montana—it’s so big, Tommy, I’ve never seen anything like it, not since those years, and the last couple of months…it’s like the smog is just in everything right now, you know?”

Tommy nods. He can relate, despite how often he gets to soar above the chokehold of Los Angeles; smoke is smoke, and heat still rises. “I get it. So…this is goodbye, then?” He swallows, bites his lip, stares down at his fingers and the rag still entwined in them.

“No!” Evan leans forward for a breath, arm lifting, but he seems to stop himself, like he’s remembering they don’t know where they stand with each other, if he’s allowed to grab Tommy’s shoulder. “No, no, I’m coming back. LA is still home, my—my stuff’s going into a storage unit next week, my sister and my niece are here, and the new baby—the job—no, yeah, I’m coming back.”

“That’s good,” Tommy muses. “So…”

“So, I wanted to ask—I—I—I’m asking if you’d maybe be up for thinking about coming with me.”

Tommy freezes so suddenly, and so thoroughly, that the rag drops to the ground. “You—you’re going on a three-month road trip to get away from it all, and you want me to come with you?”

“Yeah, I do,” Evan says softly, surely, ducking his head in that bashful way he pretends not to know is so damn effective. “I need a break from everything, and everyone—but you, you’re not everyone. I meant what I said about being together, before. I still mean it.” Tommy feels both arms drop to his sides, heavy and limp like emptied hoses, and the air jerks out of his lungs as his throat closes tight.

Evan plows ahead. “I—if—if you don’t want to, or you can’t swing it with work, or whatever—I get it, that’s why I’m asking and not—not telling you what to do. I don’t—even if you don’t come, I’d wait. And, and text or call, maybe? If you wanted to? Even if it’s just as friends, my life is always better when you’re in it. Kinda hoping that goes both ways here.”

Tommy croaks, “And when you get tired of me before we hit Reno?”

“I won’t,” he says, no hesitation. Tommy’s slack face must do something, because he repeats, “Tommy, I won’t. I won’t. I just want time with you, more time, all the time. I want to try again, so, so bad. And if we fight, we can talk, and not just think the worst, and keep going, be—because I want to eat crappy gas station food with you and not think about the inside of a gym for weeks. I want to drive out somewhere where it feels like we’re the only people on the planet, and fuck in the back of your truck, and then figure out a map that’s older than either of us because there’s no cell service. Maybe rent a chopper in Montana so we can see that sky up close—there’s, there’s so many stars, and you’re the only person I’d want to see them with like that. I want to be locked in a moving vehicle with you all day, except for bathroom stops, and see your face when you realize it’s been 16 hours and we still have more to talk about, and we’ll just keep going, because I’m never gonna get tired of you.”

He pauses and swallows thickly, and Tommy can’t look away. For all that Evan Buckley wears his heart on his sleeve so easily for anyone to see, actually opening it up and offering to hand it over to someone else—that’s still work. “So—that’s what I came to say. That’s what I want. J—just think about it. No rush, I’m not—I’ll wait. If it’s what you want. You…you get to want things, too. So. Yeah.”

Evan nods to himself, rubs the back of his neck, and turns to walk back to his car, parked on the street. Tommy has to move, has to say something, but the soles of his boots are melting, fused to the cement of the driveway, his throat is still closed, and Evan—Evan is walking away.

Tommy wants things, too.

He forces a breath, in and out, on a four-count, licks his lips, and asks, “When do we leave?”

Evan radiates a warmth that scatters out, tangible and visible like a sunrise before he even turns around, beaming. “I was thinking a few weeks after the baby comes, but—but—yeah?”

“Yeah, I, uh, I could chase some stars over the Rockies. With you.” Tommy’s insides unknot, and the life rushes back into his limbs. “And the rest, too. I noticed it’s my truck in this scenario?”

Suddenly Evan is in front of him, closer than they’d managed even that morning after, pressed gently against him from chest to knees, arms winding around his waist. “Much more cargo space. Very practical. And I kinda thought you might be in the same boat, you know, with the unused vacation. Maybe enough seniority to hang onto your spot.”

“Probably, yeah, they generally…” He doesn’t even know how that sentence might have ended, has rarely thought about anything more than a long weekend away, but then Evan’s kissing him, deep and slow and sweet like they might already be the only people on the planet. His warmth flashes over through Tommy, nerve by nerve, until he’s lit up and burning, flammable in places he’d spent months trying to forget this man could expose.

When Evan pulls back, it’s with Tommy’s face between his hands, his relief and hope palpable. Like life might go on, like the world might really be bigger, could even be better, sometimes, than it had been.

“Let’s go,” he whispers, so close and so quiet that Tommy can feel each syllable rumble against his skin, tires steady on a gravel road away from this scene and toward the next.

[toriaaniin]

Something's Changed: Setting the Stage

If you've been in the Lukola fandom for a while, you don't just feel the shift — you've tracked it. We've tracked it.

We’ve followed the breadcrumbs. We’ve logged the morsels. We’ve seen how the tone changes when the lighting changes, when songs are posted to an IG story, when a ring is worn on a different hand. When an adjacent posts about a woman making pasta. Confusion isn’t new. Neither is frustration. We’re used to both.

But something about the last few months has felt different, hasn't it? it's felt heavier, more intentional, less playful. What started as subtle shifts has become something more… forceful. Almost like we’re being bludgeoned from both sides.

Maybe the real shift began back on January 30th, when Luke showed up at the BOSS event with Antonia — her first physical, public proximity since July 2024. The fandom had assumed she was gone, until that night. And then came the SAG Awards in February, when Luke and Nicola shared the kind of energy that reminded us why we were here in the first place.

For a moment, it felt like maybe we were back on track.

But after that? The narrative began to twist. Nicola with Jake. Weird papped photos. Antonia rising in the media. BAFTA chaos. A growing silence between the people we’ve believed in.

This isn’t a shift you can’t put your finger on. It’s one you’ve been hit by — over and over again.

So this post marks the beginning of a short series — a space to slow down, observe, and maybe open the lens just a little wider.

I’m not here to defend or accuse. I’m not here to pretend I know the whole truth. I’m here to interpret, to ask questions that might help bring clarity — or at least context. Because right now? Most of us are reacting without enough of either.

What’s to Come

In the next few posts, I’ll be exploring three specific areas that feel central to this moment:

Luke’s Rebrand What if the shift we’re seeing — in tone, mood, content — is intentional? What if Luke is evolving his public image to break out of the "soft lover boy" mold and reposition himself as a leading man? This isn’t about abandoning fans. It might be about expanding his future.

The “Shitty Boyfriend” Hypothesis If Luke and Antonia are truly together, the optics are damning. But what if this is all theatre? What if the relationship is performative, and the actions we’re judging aren’t his — they’re just part of the script?

Shared Camouflage What if Luke and Nicola are not at odds, but in alignment — working in quiet coordination to create the illusion of separation, keeping the focus on their respective “+1s” instead of themselves?

Part I: The Rebrand Begins

Let’s begin with what we can see.

In the past year, Luke’s Instagram has undergone a steady transformation. Personal posts have been archived. Aesthetic choices have shifted — think moody black-and-whites, designer fashion spreads, dramatic lighting. Even how his tags are being done suggest the hand of a social media/PR team. Moments once rooted in warmth or personality — Luke's personality — are now stylized, distanced and deliberate.

On May 9, 2025 — the morning after the Vogue x Netflix BAFTA Pre-Party — Luke posted a carousel of images. It included a black-and-white cheek kiss with Antonia buried mid-post, and a striking first image of Luke in the backseat of a car, drink in hand, gaze direct but distant — his expression detached and deliberate, not inviting intimacy.

That same day, older personal IG posts were quietly archived.

A coincidence? Unlikely.

That morning wasn’t just a cheek-kiss drop. It was a rebranding milestone — an intentional aesthetic move.

What if that photo wasn’t meant to show affection… but to establish distance?

In my next Tumblr post, I’ll take a deeper look at what rebranding actually means for a public figure like Luke — and why it often involves walking away from old narratives, even when those narratives are beloved.

Because maybe this shift isn’t about who he’s leaving behind. Maybe it’s about who he’s becoming.

Aaniin Xxx

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Touch of Sweetness 9

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Loki Laufeyson

Sister series to mob!Thor

Summary: you make a new friend, but that’s not all. (short reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your phone buzzes again. You’re starting to get annoyed. You’re trying to enjoy the day with Queenie and life just wants to bug you. 

The sunlight beams down around the gazebo as Queen lays on the bench. Through the arched window behind her, birds flit around and bugs buzz by. She looks terribly tired. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You ask as she yawns. 

“Oh, I’m fine,” she turns onto her side. “Just had... a long night.” 

“Huh, did you do something special?” You wonder. 

“No,” she shakes her head. “I just don’t sleep much. Oh well.” 

“Hm, did you try chamomile? Or a hot bath?” 

She shrugs. “It’s not your problem.” 

She rests her head on her bent arm and closes her eyes. The late morning is lazy. You’d like to bask in the stillness but your dang phone keeps going. 

“Sorry, I’ll be right back,” you hop up and slide your phone out of your pocket. She doesn’t react as you turn and flee down the steps. “Jada?” You answer after reading the display, “what’s wrong? Is it mom?” 

“Huh? What?” She sounds just as confused. “No, I’m just—I'm checking in. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” 

“Me?” 

“Yeah.” She quavers unevenly. 

“Why?” 

She sighs, “because... you’re my sister and I haven’t seen you. So... I’m checking on you. Like geez, I can do nice things. I’m doing one right now.” 

Her frustration breaks through the flimsy mask of compassion. You exhale and watch a white moth flutter by. You hum. 

“You never care about me.” 

“No, I do,” she insists. “Of course I do.” 

“What did you do?” You challenge. You think you get it now. When she knows she goes too far, she’s nice. It usually gets her out of trouble with your parents. 

“N-nothing,” she squeaks. “God. You’re such a—good sister, I just want to make sure--” 

“I’m fine, okay?” You reply as paranoia creeps up your neck. “And you don’t have to worry about me because you never do. I’m hanging out with my friends. Shouldn’t you be with yours?” 

She scoffs. She’s silent for a moment, no doubt plotting her worst retort. She grumbles. 

“Well, you have fun with those friends,” she makes her voice extra sweet. 

You frown. What the heck is going on? Wait? Is she jealous? After all these years of treating you like a loser, of you being the hanger-on, is she really jealous? You almost laugh. 

“Alright, I will,” you stick out your tongue even though she can’t see it. “Bye.” 

“Um, bye, but--” 

You hang up. You look at the phone and scrunch up your nose. Something’s off. Jada never calls. Sure, she’ll text you to demand something, or accuses you of stealing her favourite hair clip, but she doesn’t call you. She certainly doesn’t check in. 

You put your phone on silent and back in your pocket. You go back into the gazebo as Queenie sits up, leaning against a column as she gazes through the window. You drag your feet over and sit at the other end. 

“Everything alright?” She asks. 

“I think...” 

“Oh? What do you mean?” She turns to you. 

“It was my sister.” You huff. 

“Is she okay?” 

“She’s fine. She’s... annoying. You know, she doesn’t want anything to do with me, ever, and now I have a friend, a great friend like you, she’s bugging me.” 

“Really? I thought she was mean to you.” 

"She is. Most of the time. But she calls me up acting all worried,” you harrumph. “She just doesn’t make any sense.” 

Queenie hums and looks back out at the whimsical garden. It’s just like Jada to ruin your day without even being there. Now you’re all anxious trying to figure out her game. 

“Loki brought you here...” she says. 

You flinch and look at her, “yeah?” 

She shrugs and averts her eyes. She stares off thoughtfully. Her forehead stitches. 

“I didn’t ask him to.” 

Your heart thrums, “you didn’t?” 

She shakes her head. 

“Oh, but... I’m sorry if I crashed--” 

“No, I don’t mind. I’m happy you came. I’m just thinking.” 

“Right,” you nod. “Thinking about... what?” 

She shifts and turns her back to the birds and the bugs. She tilts her head and her cheeks dimple. She rubs her index against her thumb. 

“How did Loki find you? If you weren’t expecting him?” 

You blink. You don’t know. “Well, we ran into each other at the coffee place. I just thought maybe it was a coincidence.” 

“Uh huh,” she clicks her tongue. “Does he know about your sister?” 

“About?” 

“That she isn’t very nice?” Queenie sniffs. 

You shrug. “I guess I might have mentioned it. I don’t know.” 

She leans forward and hunches over her lap. She props up her head in her hands and she squints. When she sits up, she looks determined. 

“He likes you a lot.” 

“He’s nice.” 

“He’s not,” she insists. “He doesn’t even like his own brother.” 

“He doesn’t? But Thor is so nice.” 

She hesitates then waves off the thought. “Well, they are brothers. You know how siblings can be.” She pinches her lower lip as she thinks. “When did your sister start acting strange?” 

“Come on, it’s just Jada being Jada. She likes to mess with me,” you snort as you start to see her logic. 

“When?” She asks again. 

She’s your friend. You have to be honest. 

“I got home yesterday and she was all... weird. Acting all... nervous. She even cleaned the clothes she ruined with my berries. And cleaned my room.” You explain. 

“She did that?” Queenie gasps. 

You nod, “yeah, see. That’s how she is. Typically. She just does mean things to me but now...” 

Her eyes narrow. “You should leave. On your own. Call a cab.” 

“What? Did I upset you?” You’re taken aback by here suddenness. 

“No,” she stands and grabs you by your arm. “I’m not mad. I’m doing this for you.” 

“Why? I don’t understand--” 

“Look, maybe I’m wrong but I really don’t think I am. I know Thor and his brother. I know how they are. You’re too sweet to see it and you should keep it that way.” She drags you across the gazebo. “You need to go.” 

“But--” 

She stops you and makes you face her. “He did it. Loki. No one just has a moment of regret out of nowhere, especially when they’ve been getting away with it for years. I know that better than anyone. Loki left yesterday rather quickly, didn’t he?” 

“No, what do you think--” 

“Maybe he just threatened her or maybe he really did hurt her...” Queenie says. 

You gulp. You think of Jada and how she winced. You never saw her afraid like that but last night, was like someone threw water on a cat. You don’t want to believe it but there’s really no other reason you can come up with. Coincidences are nice but your mother always says they don’t happen. 

“No, he wouldn’t--” 

“Ladies,” Loki’s slither undercuts your protest. 

You and Queenie freeze, sharing a look of panic. You turn to watch him strut along the pathway. She lets you go and elbows you. You smile. 

“My brother sent me out. He had some lunch prepared.” 

“Of course,” Queenie slips her hand down to yours. “We were just saying how peckish we are.” 

[asordinaryppl]

A3! Homepage Lines - Citron's Birthday (2025)

graphics and proofreading by myuntachis! text version under the cut!

Spring Troupe

Sakuya: I found a picture book I think you’ll like, Citron-san! I’ll read it to you.

Masumi: I made a costume for Citron Junior. Why an alpaca? … It just kinda looks like him.

Tsuzuru: Happy b-day, Citron-san. I came up with a manzai routine themed around “birthdays” for today.

Itaru: Happy bappy, Citron~ I am always grateful for you. … This is lowkey taking me back to a certain April Fool’s.

Citron: I am very happy right now. I will sushi that with everyone as well. I’m starting the hug festival!♪

Chikage: This year’s wish is a dance, huh. I’m not sure it’ll live up to Citron’s expectations, but I’ll give it a try.

Summer Troupe

Tenma: I’d like to do a manzai themed play with Citron one day. I guess we’ll need Tsuzuru-san for it too?

Yuki: Citron, let me know when you need a new costume for your manzai. I’ll give you an even better one than what you have now.

Muku: Now, may I have this dance? One, two, three… Dancing the waltz with you is a lot of fun, Citron-sama.

Misumi: I’ll give Citron a triangle dance! I’m starting now, so keep your eyes peeled~

Kazunari: I’ve stocked up on RonRon’s fave sushi candy! I made sure there’s sweet shrimp too☆

Kumon: They’ll be making a movie adaptation of Yankee Star! Let’s go see it together, Citron-san!

Autumn Troupe

Banri: All your wishes sound like stuff high schoolers would ask for. Hahaha, well, it’s cool if that makes ya happy.

Juza: Citron-san told me he wants to do calligraphy with me. Seems he likes my handwriting.

Taichi: I’ve got a karaoke tambourine for you! I got us matching ones, so let’s use ‘em together!

Omi: You want me to record your manzai routine? Of course I don’t mind. You’re getting better and better, you know.

Sakyo: Happy birthday, Citron. You want a trip as your present? That’s fine… You’re goin’ now!? You’re rushin’ way too much.

Azami: Citron-san’s wish is written in this weird code again! It’s always a damn pain to decipher.

Winter Troupe

Tsumugi: Citron-kun, the bulbs you gave me sprouted today. Do you want to come look at them with me?

Tasuku: You wanna go for karaoke? … Citron, you’re better off asking someone who’s not me.

Hisoka: I tried dipping marshmallows in jasmine tea since it’s Citron’s birthday. … Looks yummy.

Homare: The plan for this year is for Citron-kun’s poetry to come together in harmony with my dancing. I shall dance ever so beautifully!

Azuma: I prepared this because I’d like to wear a hakama with you again, Prince. I hope you like it.

Guy: Happy birthday, Citronia. I’m late? … That is because I was waiting for the celebrations to end.

NOTES:

(1) not very obvious in the english translation, but itaru is imitating citron's speech!

[secondarysefikura]

Arranged marriage au

Cloud is reluctant to marry Sephiroth, to the point of disappearing after his mother's passing (I'm sorry, Ms.Claudia(⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)). Seven years later, Sephiroth finds him working at Tifa's bar. Watching from the darkest corner as Cloud is playfully flirting with Zack, much to his displeasure.

When the bar closes and Cloud exit the building, his blood runs cold when he sees Sephiroth standing across from him.

"So this is where my little bride has been hiding"

I saw this in the morning then got busy with cleaning and gardening, but I have been thinking about this all day, I kid you not.

Anyway, here are my (many) thoughts.

Cloud and Sephiroth are in an arranged marriage. Why? I am not sure. You can make up any reason you want why a random person from Nibelhiem is marrying Sephiroth.

For the sake of this, lets just say that Cloud is one of President Shinra's bastards. He gets all the joys of being forced into a political marriage without any of the perks of being a Shinra. Yay him.

Cloud is engaged to Sephiroth in order to give a sense of loyalty to the company (if he has a cute little wife to return home to, Sephiroth won't be tempted to desert or just disappear while on a mission)

Sephiroth is very enamored with Cloud as soon as Cloud moves in with him. Cloud is okay with marrying Sephiroth but not super excited about it.

One day Cloud gets a call and discovers that his mother has passed away. His mother's financial stability (she was receiving money from Shinra in exchange for Cloud entering the exchanged marriage) was the only reason Cloud was staying with Sephiroth.

With his mother gone, Cloud leaves when Sephiroth is at work. He takes almost nothing with him, not wanting to alert anyone that he is leaving.

Sephiroth comes home to discover Cloud gone. At first he thinks that Cloud has just gone out for a walk, but then hours pass with no sign of Cloud. Then a day. He asks around but no one knows where he went.

With time, Sephiroth grows obsessive about finding Cloud. Years pass and he can't accept that Cloud is gone.

One day, several years later, Zack shows Sephiroth a photo he took at a new bar he went to. Sephiroth recognizes Cloud in the background and asks who he is. Zack says that Cloud is a bartender.

Sephiroth begins to scope out the bar, observing Cloud from a distance. He starts following Cloud home too, trying to see if Cloud has gotten married or started a new relationship. He's delighted to see that Cloud is still single.

For the first couple weeks, everything is fine. But then Zack goes to the bar again and Sephiroth catches Cloud playfully flirting with Zack. Sephiroth feels hurt.

After the bar closes and Cloud leaves to go home, he comes face to face with Sephiroth, who refers to Cloud as "his bride."

Cloud tries to pretend he doesn't know what Sephiroth is talking about, but Sephiroth grabs him and starts trying to drag him 'back home.'

Cloud breaks away from Sephiroth's grasp and tries to make a break for it, but Sephiroth grabs him and drags him back to Shinra tower.

The two argue, with Sephiroth making it clear he has no desire to let Cloud go again, especially not if Cloud is going to flirt with Zack.

Worried that Sephiroth may hurt Zack in his anger, Cloud agrees to stay--just for a little while. Or so he hopes.

[dame-zoom-a-lot]

Prompt: Hate at First Sight | Word Count: 2319 | Rating: G | POV: Eddie | Relationships: Eddie / Steve | CW: N/A | Tags: internalized classism, angst, angst with a happy ending

This is an entry for @corrodedcoffinfest's May Mayhem Bingo.

I know nothing about cars. I can't even drive. But I had some feelings about Steve's s5 truck. Here's the second out of three fics I wrote about it.

ao3 link

The stars on any other car would shine as bright

It was a good practice. One of their best even. Eddie tries not to think about that and not about how they're going to get to their next gig. They might have to cancel. His van is in the shop and renting something that can take all of their instruments and themselves to the venue is going to put them straight in the red. His van is ailing again, probably due to age. Eddie tries not to think about how much it's gonna cost to replace whatever it is that's going to need replacing. Maybe it's time for the girl to go out to pasture. But it's not like he's got new van money either.

He feels a little bit like an abandoned puppy as he scans the street outside Gareth's garage for Steve. He said he was coming to pick him up. But Steve's maroon beemer is nowhere in sight. Eddie tries to swallow down the sudden rush of panic. It's not like Steve to be late, not for him. Something might have happened to the kids, or to Steve while he was on his way. He can't remember the last time he changed the batteries in the radio he carries around everywhere with him at Dustin's behest. Shit. What if his radio is out of battery and the kids are frantically calling him right now?! And he can't even get to them even if he knew—

"You're thinking so loud right now dude," Steve says as he appears out of nowhere.

If Eddie had a tail (now that's a thought), he'd be wagging it hard enough to break. "Where were you?" he whines, sexily.

"Uh, here, the entire time," Steve says sheepishly. He points to a big ugly blue truck right in front of them. "Sorry. I know it's a new car but I figured you'd see me inside. But you kinda stood out in front and zoned out."

"Where's the beemer?" Eddie asks, confused. This truck looks like something Wayne might insist on buying. Practical. Lumbering. Ugly as fuck. The inside looks cheap too. It's all grey plastic and fake suede, nothing like the elegant leather of Steve's beemer. "She sick too?"

"Erm," Steve clears his throat and looks away awkwardly. "I err… traded her."

"For what?" Eddie sputters, "not… not for that thing?! You traded your beemer for that thing?!"

Steve mumbles something to the ground and gently wraps long fingers around Eddie's forearm, trying to coax him into the ugly thing. Eddie stomps his feet like a fucking toddler then plants himself. What the fuck.

"You loved that car," Eddie insists, "what happened?! Who did this to you? Was it Nancy? Did she say something about you being too high maintenance or some shit? As if her station wagon is any—"

"It's just a car Eds," Steve says gently, "it just wasn't practical you know?"

"Not practical for what?" Eddie squawks, "and don't fucking lie to me. As if you didn't spend a few hours a week pampering the maroon lady."

"I just… you know, the kids are going to start moving away to college and I want to make sure I can help them move. Maybe Wayne needs help hauling shit."

"Wayne has a truck," Eddie says, eyes narrowing, "and the kids have at least a year or two until college, and they all have parents to drive them."

"So why the fuck would you trade your car in now?" Eddie continues, talking loudly over more protests and lies from Steve, "unless… It's to replace my van isn't it?" Eddie hisses, eyes narrowed.

"No!" Steve says. A deep flush spreads from his forehead down to his neck, probably all the way down to his toes. "I mean… a little bit. A tiny bit. I figured… you have a gig coming up. It'd be easier? Maybe? If you had a truck for your stuff…"

Eddie looks at Steve then at the car then back at Steve. Back in high school, Steve never seemed to wear the same polo twice. He walked around in expensive cologne, head held high, not a worry in the world. Even when he got knocked off his throne by Billy Hargrove and Jonathan Byers, he still maintained an era of untouchability.

Until Eddie came along.

Now Steve's standing in front of him in slacks he wore yesterday, exhausted after a day of dealing with customers on his feet all day. Broke. Chipping away parts of himself to hand over to him. If it weren't for him, he'd be shacking up with some other rich girl right now. He'd be hamming it up in a big house with an upgraded beemer parked behind a pristine white picket fence. He'd have a cushy job and infinite polos and beautiful men to fool around with in secret.

The Munson curse is spreading.

Eddie can't breathe.

He turns around and runs into Gareth's house.

-----

Wayne's probably an hour or two away from forcibly dragging Eddie out of bed. He'd done it before. When he was younger he used to just flip the mattress over. Eddie shifts and buries himself deeper into the cover, breathing carefully so he doesn't have to sniff his own stank. He knows Wayne is worried. He's heard him and Steve talk in low voices outside his bedroom before Steve left. The kids are probably worried to. He's been blowing off his band. Jeff is probably looking for a new guitarist already.

He's ruining everything.

Eddie buries himself deeper into the covers and yearns for the simpler days when all he had to worry about was how they were going to stave off the end of the world.

Someone throws his bedroom door open and marches in. Eddie fruitlessly clutches his covers around himself, burrowing into it like some sort of pathetic dung beetle.

"Get the fuck up Eddie," Chrissy demands.

"Go away," Eddie calls out.

"Ugh, it stinks in here. Get the fuck up," Chrissy says.

She doesn't wait for Eddie to ignore her again. Eddie squawks in protest as she unfurls her arms into multiple strands of strong vines. The vines grasp the edges of the Eddie's blanket shield and yanks. Eddie's left exposed, shivering.

"Eww why are you in your boxers?!" Chrissy squeals, averting her eyes.

"Why the fuck would you just yank my covers off?! What are you doing here anyway?" Eddie protests, throwing an am over his nipples to protect his modesty.

"I came over because if Robin were here, she'd kill you and I don't want my girlfriend to go to jail for killing my friend," Chrissy says, rolling her eyes, "now get up."

"To do what?" Eddie asks.

"To shower? To get your shit together? To apologize to Steve for running off on him?" Chrissy says, her voice getting higher and higher with each exhausting activity. "You know he's fucking devastated right?! And over a car?" She leans against Eddie's bedroom door and surveys him disapprovingly, eyes narrowed. "I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you weren't just dating Steve for his money. But what the fuck Eddie? What's your problem?!"

"Since when do you cuss this much?" Eddie mutters, trying to change the subject.

"Since I came back from the dead," Chrissy snaps, "I think I earned it."

Her face softens a bit. She sighs. "Eddie. Do you want to break up with Steve?"

"No," Eddie says. He hides behind a greasy handful of his curls.

"I figured," Chrissy says, nodding, "that's why you're hiding right?"

"I would dump me if I were Steve," Eddie says darkly, "he should dump me."

"Why?"

"Because I keep taking shit from him?!" Eddie says disbelievingly, "he loved that car Chrissy. And he gave that up for me."

Chrissy opens her mouth. Eddie barrels on before she can say something devastatingly correct or reasonable. "And it's not just the car!" Eddie says, standing up on his bed, "the car is a symbol of everything wrong with me. Steve's given up the chance to live a normal life, to get out of this town, to have those six kids in an RV, everything he cherished, it's all going away. Don't you see?! I'm a blight! I'm a blight upon his fate and future and everyone is just letting it happen!"

"Have you talked to Steve about this?" Chrissy says with a sigh.

"Yes! Exhaustively! All the time!"

"In those exact words? Did you call yourself a blight?"

"Well no, I have some dignity," Eddie says.

Chrissy gestures at his general state with a bitchy glare that reminds him (heart wrenchingly) of Steve.

"Is whatever hangup or dignity you have more important than Steve?" she asks quietly.

Eddie shakes his head silently.

"It's hard seeing you both like this," Chrissy says with a sigh.

"I'm sorry."

"Say that to Steve. Don't drag this out," Chrissy advises, "Steve's been hanging out at Lover's Lake most nights. You should go. Talk."

----

Steve's favorite cookies? Check. Weed? Check. Wildflower bouquet? (well, more like a corsage, flowers are harder to come by after the Upside Down tore the town apart) Check. Starlight gently shimmering over the lake surface? Check and double check.

All Eddie has left to do now is wait. Something he's really bad at in general. The worst part is that he's not even sure that Steve is going to show up. Chrissy said Steve hangs out at Lover's Lake most nights. Most. Not all. He kind of wants to radio Robin, to see if she knows if Steve's going to show up tonight. But based on what Chrissy said, and based on what he did, he'd be lucky if she doesn't figure out how to shoot a hole through his brain using radio waves.

He's such a fucking asshole.

Eddie chews his lips and stares out at the lake surface. It's a messed up thought, but he kind of misses the time before the defeated Vecna. Sure, it was terrifying and stressful. Sure, he was slowly losing his mind while guarding the Lover's Lake portal all by his lonesome. But it was… simpler. He had a purpose. Now it just feels like he's just dicking around doing fuck all besides hurting the people around him. He hopes, prays, that Steve choosing to mope at Lover's Lake means something. It's where they first confessed their feelings, where they had their first kiss. At least it means something to him.

"You're thinking real loud again," Steve says out of nowhere. Eddie jumps and nearly crushes the wildflower bundle.

Eddie kneels like the olden knights, holding out the bouquet like a… whatever knights offer their kings. He can't stop shaking.

"Thanks," Steve says quietly. He gently pries the flowers out of Eddie's clawed hands and sits down next to him. He leaves some space between them even though he cradles the flowers like they're something precious. Eddie hates how small he looks, how he's trying to scrunch himself into a little bundle.

"I'm sorry," Eddie says.

Steve grunts. Eddie fiddles with the grass as the silence stretches on. Starlight gleams off of Steve's new truck.

"That hurt. A lot. When you…" Steve starts then stops.

"I'm sorry," Eddie says again, feeling like a broken record.

"I just…" Steve sighs then picks up a stone. They watch it skip seven times before sinking. "I feel like I'm constantly disappointing you?"

"What?"

"Like, my job. My house. My clothes. And I guess my car now," Steve huffs sadly into the flowers, "you keep telling me that you love me. Then you get this look on your face sometimes. And it makes me feel…"

Steve trails off and looks away. Eddie can see the corner of his lips quivering. Can see the peach stones on his chin. Eddie scoots over, closing the distance, and puts his hand over Steve's. Steve doesn't protest when Eddie moves Steve's hand onto his laps. The forgiving, loving bastard.

"You're my favorite person," Eddie says earnestly. Steve scoffs. Eddie grabs his chin and forces eye contact. Steve's eyes are bright. His lashes are dark with tears.

Eddie Munson is a fucking asshole.

"Look. You're smart. You're funny. You look devastatingly beautiful at all hours of the day, even when you're hungover after throwing up on my favorite boots," Eddie lists out. He watches a subtle blush form and flow down Steve's neck. He wants to bite it. "I was being a fucking conservative sickwad alright? I'm the problem. I'm the one feeling like I'm holding you back from what you want."

"What do you think I want?" Steve whispers.

"Six kids. A nice big yard for your winnebago for when you're not traveling. Lots of time off. Long vacations…" Eddie trails off, "you know. The dream."

"That's not—" Steve huffs, "fuck man, I wish I'd never said that. That was the heat of the moment alright? Something stupid sentimental I said when I thought I was going to die, and that Nancy Wheeler and her arsenal might be my only option."

"Am I your dream then, Stevie? Little ol' me?" Eddie asks, batting his lashes. He leans in for a kiss.

"Yeah, you asshole," Steve says, gracing Eddie with a chaste little peck. "A little house together for you and me and Robin. A car big enough to help out however. Enough free time to build memories. This. You and me and everyone." Steve grips Eddie by the face and gives it a little shake. Eddie smiles and lets Steve move him around.

"Want to start building memories now?" Eddie asks, waggling his eyebrows. He points at the truck bed. Steve blushes and nods.

Eddie gets up and grabs Steve by the picnic blanket, relishing in the adorable yelp of surprise, ignoring the way the cookies, the flowers, and the other arrangements he'd made gets scattered to the ground. They've got a new truck to defile.

[magpiezs]

Natsu can be a ghost now? In Fairy Tail 100 year quest, was watching episode 11-12

And in it Natsu’s fighting Wraith, the ghost dragon slayer guy, and ends up becoming a thought projection. And here he is going through walls^ dope af.

Thinking about if only he keeps this random helpful skill. (Which they def won’t have him keep </3) but think of the shenanigans if this is just added to his skill set.

His resume will look so good.

He could spy on opponents gather intel, so easily.

But also more importantly (to him) he could use it to escape motion sickness perhaps.

Train? No problem just become ghost and chillax until train stops.

This gave me a funny thought on him doing this..

—

Like they’re taking a train somewhere and he gives his team no warning.

He’s like “hey guys guess what I figured out this spell, that may or may not save me from getting sick on this train”

Wendy’s like “show me pls 🙏”

But there’s no time for that now, he promises he will for next time.

They watch him as he sits down, meditates for a second, some magic is sensed from him and he just slumps over.

They are horrified.

Lucy’s like, did he just used an experimental spell or something and off himself???

They check his pulse, his breathing. And there’s nothing. He’s as cold as a corpse.

Grays torn between laughing at the absurdity that this is what brings the guy down, and sobbing, because what do you mean he had no pulse?

Erza is frozen in shock.

Wendy as the train starts is sick, and is so confused by what is going on, but is extremely worried.

Charla is just disappointed.

Happy who had experienced this earlier is like,

Guys I think he’s good he did this earlier and was fine.

When the train ride ends, Natsu pops back up and is like “phew that was nice, spent my time in ghost form on the train roof watching the view” blah blah blah.

And they’re all like “wtf never do that again you idiot”

Lucy’s like “it’s called thought projection not ghost form!” And she’s so relieved.

Lucy and Gray who just had Alvarez War flashbacks, want to punch him so bad. They take turns.

-

Anyways Erza strategizes this new skill

“Hey Natsu, be a ghost and go look over here”

Lucy takes a long sigh every time.

Soon Wendy can do it too. Charla gets years taken off of her life from stress.

[kinardnatural]

I try to look ahead, sometimes I look back instead part 2

PART 1

READ ON AO3

He lasted for about thirty minutes before he decided to leave the group. 

It had been going fine at first. Buck had even asked Cole some question and learned that he was working as a high-rise window cleaner. He also learned that he and Tommy had met through a mutual friend years ago and had reconnected, and before he got into details on how that had happened, Buck had asked him more about his job. 

“Isn't it scary? Getting up there, knowing that you can fall any moment?”

“Probably not as scary as firefighting. Or flying through a hurricane.” 

Buck threw Tommy a quick glance and ducked his head. “He, uh… told you about that, huh?” 

“More like prompted it out of him. I saw his medal-” 

The medal Buck knew was hanging inside Tommy's bedroom. He started to feel nauseous. 

“-and had to ask about it. That must have been something.” 

“Yeah. It… was an unforgettable experience,” Buck agreed. “That's when I first met Tommy, actually,” he felt the need to add. 

“Really? I thought you all worked at the same station?” 

“That was before Buckaroo’s time,” Chimney mentioned. 

“Evan was actually my replacement at the 118,” Tommy chimed in. “And it took us seven years to meet.” 

“Evan? I thought your name was Buck.” 

“Yeah, most people call me Buck.” He felt his face flush and took a huge gulp from his beer in hope to conceal it before anyone took notice. 

They continued to chat, and as much as Buck wanted to hate on Cole, he quickly found that he couldn't. He was nice. Very easy to engage in conversations with and indulged in every topic with great interest. 

Tommy had found a great guy, and it was killing him. 

He had finally had enough and called it a night. He said his goodbyes, uttered them a lot more coldly to Chim than the others, and left.

—

“I'm really sorry, Buck.”

“I heard you the first few times, Chim.” There was only so many times Buck could ignore his pleading brother-in-law their following shift. “It still doesn't change anything.” 

“I know you have every right to be mad at me–” 

Buck scoffed.

“I may not have thought the whole thing through–”

“You deliberately withheld vital information, Chim,” Hen interjected with a glance up at the pair from her phone. “How did you think this was gonna go?”

“Look, I thought… I wasn't lying about Tommy asking about you. He does that a lot. I figured that if I can get you two together for a gathering that it might ignite some old sparks.”

“You wanted to turn me into a homewrecker in the process? That makes it so much better, Chim.” 

“No! No, God no! That wasn't-”

“I don't care what you thought or what your intentions were. You knew I wasn’t over him and you knew he would bring his shiny new boyfriend. H-how would you have felt, if I did the same to you, with Maddie? How great would you feel?” 

A pause. 

“Not very great.” 

Buck scoffed again and shook his head.

“Now, I'm gonna be mad at you for a while, so let me be that. Just… no more meddling. Please.” 

“No more meddling! Crossing my heart.” 

If only Buck could believe that.

—

“He seemed nice.” 

Tommy looked up from his breakfast burrito and glanced at Cole, who seemed very interested in picking on his croissant. It was their typical brunch date, them sitting outside a cafeteria enjoying the lovely weather. 

“The barista?”

“No, silly. Buck.” 

He damn near choke on his burrito. 

“Uh-huh,” he managed, all too casually.

“He is so into you.” The tone was teasing and Tommy shifted on his seat. 

“What makes you say that?” 

“The way he looked at you? The way he blushed when you called him Even.” 

“Evan,” Tommy corrected. 

“Evan. Why do you call him that?”

“It's his name.” He swallowed. “I call Chimney by his name too.” 

Cole seemed to accept the answer. “Cool.” He leaned back and Tommy relaxed, thinking the conversation was over for a moment when silence hit. Unfortunately, that was not the case. 

“So have you thought about it?”

“Thought about what?” 

“Buck. And you. Hooking up?”

“Cole.” 

“What? I'm curious. He's hot. Like. Really hot. I wouldn't mind being squeezed in between the two of yo–”

“All right, Cole.” That was an image Tommy definitely didn't want imprinted inside his head. The thought of someone else touching Evan was more unwelcoming than not. 

“I'm just saying. It would be hot.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Am I not hot enough for you?” He smirked, switching gears. 

That seemed to do the trick. 

– 

[kngstrnz]

Sorry for the sudden reblog OP, especially because we aren't mutuals, but I couldn't help myself upong reading Anon.

Anon, I understand how you feel. I actually used to struggle with that sense of "paranoia". Funnily enough (and this might help ease some of your worries, maybe?), I had this feeling of not being enough for the fandom by writing in ENGLISH and not my first language which is Spanish.

I am a small writer. Always have been since I created my AO3 account and used to go by another username and wrote a bunch of misawa fics before deleting all my works and rebranding myself. But that's not so important here. Thing is, even if you were to write in English for that "wider reach", chances are you still won't be able to stand on the same pedestal as the "Big Writers" and you know something, anon? I think that is more than okay.

Anon, I apologize if this may come of as rude, but the reality is (and this applies to anything and EVERYONE, really) that not everyone will like what you write and that's okay! That's why there's a lot to choose from!! But, the most important thing here is to not give up. I was close to just... never writing again. But that's the thing for all of us writers, even when we don't want to, we always end up going back to writing.

I know it can be hard and even when you write in that "popular language", the spotlight might never shine on you. But don't be discourage, because when you feel like no one is looking that's when we feel the most free. Anon, I say this because it happened to me, but you WILL eventually find someone who loves your writing so much, they will let you know in every chapter and in every new story you make how amazing your performance is.

Don't look at that empty seats. Look at the one espectator that is seeing you for who you are and clapping and cheering for you. All you need is to be patient. And it may take years (I have been writing since 2011 and just last year, I found that someone and it wasn't until this year that we started talking in private). But you know what they say, you can't rush perfection!

Just because you aren't "big enough", doesn't mean your writing is bad. Though, if you want to try and translating your fics in english, I do encourage it if you want to!! It hasn't been long since I started translating my own fics in my native language and to tell you the truth anon, I have more fun writing in Spanish than English because I can add my own country's idioms amd phrases that make me laugh and that's all it matters at the end of the day. For your writing to be for one reader and one reader only: yourself.

I don't know if this is the right place to vent this, but since this is a writing/fandom blog, I'll give it a try. Apologies in advance if my message feels out of the place.

So... has anyone, like me, ever felt "unwanted" by their fandom?

Context: I write for a small fandom (1,500 works on AO3), and I write there from the beginning and foundation (4 years). The thing is: I don't write in English, I write and post in my first language, so my audience was always been very restricted, even if there were (and still are!) a couple of kind souls who translate with Google my stories and read it. I am the most prolific writer in this fandom. And that's a fact: counting the numbers of words published, I am the one who has written more in the whole section. Despite all of this, I have never gotten the chance to become a "fandom big" because of the language barrier. That's okay, I can survive, and I still write every day to update my ongoing longs. Anyway, since this fandom is very small, we are also thirsty for content. Every time an artist posts a single fan art on Tumblr (good or bad or mid) everyone flocks and reblog, putting nice tags and kind words of support. Every time I update a fic (I'm the only one writing regularly)... radio silence. I know they don't own me anything. And it's okay if they don't want to try to engage with my writing, but still... it breaks my heart. It's like I'm invisible. And what's worse... when people talk about our fandom stories on Tumblr they always refer to old fics, to authors who didn't update their stories in years... it's always like they are excluding me on purpose. And I don't know why. When I try to engage, to leave a nice comment on a fic or on a piece of art... they don't even acknowledge me. They always act super enthusiastic when an artist makes a new drawing... but when I put a new chapter, a new story... nothing.

And what's worst: when a "fandom king" makes a post about a headcanon or something... it's always something that goes against something I've written in one of my stories. As they're trying to say: "Don't read those stories. What the author is trying to say is just rubbish. Don't even acknowledge them. "

I don't even know if I'm just being paranoid because I have always been ostracized as a kid and even in my teen years... so it's like a curse I can't wash off myself, and I see people pushing me aside because I'm still suffering from this.

Sorry for the vent... I just would like to hear another voice about my situation. I don't have friends, and even when I try to make "fandom friends", well... I'm not so lucky, as you can see.

Thank you if you would like to read my message. I send a big hug to anyone who is suffering from this kind of issue.

anon, I fully believe this is a language barrier thing. you can’t expect people to engage with you when they can’t engage with something that’s, I assume, in language they don’t understand. and don’t get me wrong, there is absolutely nothing wrong with writing in other languages that aren’t English. but the thing is that you can’t expect people to engage with something that’s not in the language they know, it’s… just not possible. because even if they want to, they just don’t understand what the work even is about.

and Google translate is actually shit when it comes to actually translating. you only get what the text is about (and even then there’s still a 50/50 chance the translation will be off completely) but not the actual feeling, something that can only be translated by humans and not robots, that’s why most people don’t use google translate to help read fics or books in languages they don’t understand. I also know when most people search for a fic to read, they only search for their language and filter out fics that aren’t in their language altogether. so that’s why. I don’t think they’re trying to exclude you, I just think that it’s impossible for them to engage with your works. and I want to make it clear that I am in no way saying you should only write in English, all I’m saying is if your works are in languages that (some) people don’t speak, then they’re not gonna be able to read your works because google translate sucks at translating and if they don’t even have a glimpse of what the works are about, they’re not gonna bother trying to translate them in the first place.

again, this isn’t to say “oh you should write in English” or “works that are written in English are better” at all. write in the language you’re most comfortable with because at the end of the day you should be writing for you. just, you know, don’t get discouraged if people can’t engage with your works.

[souperluminal]

Artober 31: The Patreon poll to decide this illustration was a tie, so I drew both! Voidcaller and Pyrewolf

Happy Halloween!

[koyacyi-vode]

what if i.... got obsessed with Star Wars again??

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent-ish things ~

[blue-eli]

Thinking about Kairi & Sora but mainly Kairi and going insane. Girl you have so many issues

[wavernot4love]

oh buddy i am currently having a Moment because what do you Mean i see fall out boy again in ten days .... ten days ,,,, we are almost into single digits oh this has crept up on me SO soon

[johntorrington]

the mortifying ordeal of realizing you kind of enjoy having a position of authority

[hayatoseyepatch]

Ｄｅｓｃｒｉｐｔｉｏｎ: Assigning positions I think the Love & Deepspace men would fuck you in. With twitter links! Mostly Inspired by Juno — Sabrina Carpenter.

Ｃｈａｒａｃｔｅｒｓ: Zayne|Rafayel|Xavier|Caleb|Sylus

Ｗｏｒｄ Ｃｏｕｎｔ: 3.5 k

Ｃｏｎｔａｉｎｓ: Multiple Characters x Fem!Reader

Ｃｏｎｔｅｎｔ Ｗａｒｎｉｎｇｓ: NSFW visuals (videos) in the links, penetrative sex (duh), unprotected sex, praise, degradation, mentions of breeding, use of pet names, manhandling, somnophilia (Xavier’s), cock warming (Rafayel’s), spanking, choking, marking, semi-public sex (Zayne’s).

Ａｕｔｈｏｒ’ｓ Ｎｏｔｅ: Happy New Year everyone! (੭ˊᵕˋ)੭♡ I feel like it has been an absolute MINUTE since I’ve written anything, and even longer since I’ve done headcannons. But with this most recent quad I’m feeling inspired. My writer's block has been absolutely insane someone please save me. I’ve never done this type of post just wanted to test the waters with something different. We also have so little on Caleb so his may not stand the test of time, but we shall see LMAO. Let me know what you think and I hope you enjoy! (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ

Ｘａｖｉｅｒ － Ｓｐｏｏｎｉｎｇ

Xavier wasn’t sure how he slept at night before having you in his arms again. Rousing from sleep he couldn’t help but smile into the back of your neck, nose burying itself in the hair that rested at the base of your neck, taking a deep inhale of your scent. He never knew a smell could make him feel so at ease, but also stir up such heat in the pit of his stomach. His hands wandered your sleeping from, seeking out the warmth radiating from your skin. Nimble fingers slipping beneath the them of your sleep shirt, mind fuzzy and still glazed over with sleep. He was acting purely on instinct, and by the way you subtly arched your back into his touch as a large hand slipped beneath the swell of your breast — you were too.

The plush of your skin was so malleable beneath his fingers, thumb swiping the stiff peak of your hardened nipple as his lips kiss a trail up and down the side your neck. Swallowing a groan when his hips roll into the swell of your ass, not wanting to rouse you from your slumber just yet. His tongue slips past his lips to lick a fat stripe up the side of your neck before attaching his lips to the juncture where your shoulder met your neck. Desperation growing, the kiss was a mess of teeth and tongue, marking your skin as his hips continued to grind against you from behind. Xavier was so lost in the feel of you he nearly missed the groan that slipped from your lips and the way you began to grind back against him. Almost. Moving his lips to press against your ear, his voice is breathy and laced with yearning.

“Please bunny, need to be inside you, cant take it anymore.”

You were too groggy, still half asleep, so all you're able to muster is rolling your hips back on his own as your sign of approval. And that was all Xavier needed. Deft fingers pull your panties to the side, quick to also push down the waistband of his sleep pants, freeing his throbbing cock from their confines. He grips the base of himself with a shaky hand, using the head of his cock to part your folds. He allows himself a moment to swipe himself up your slit, collecting your wetness to use as lube. The head of his cock brushing your clit with every pass. Before long you finally felt the glorious stretch of him pushing past your entrance, sinking slowly inch by inch into your awaiting cunt. The both of you let out sighs of matched contentment as you take him to the base.

Xavier stays there for a moment, relishing the feel of your warmth engulfing him. However, his patience has its limits, and this yarning for you wins out as he begins to move. Xavier sets a steady pace from the start, using his grip on your breast and another on your hip as leverage to guide his thrusts, deep and shallow as his mouth continues it’s attention to the sensitive skin of your neck. Rocking his hips, angling them to hit that spot nestled deep inside you that has your vision blurring more with every pass. You knew neither of you would last long, not like this.

It seemed as if Xavier slept so much to simply replenish the energy needed to fuck you more. It was rare for you both to have a day off, and he didn’t intend on letting you leave this bed anytime soon. Not when your voice, airy and rasp from sleep, called his name so sweetly. Not when he could feel your walls spasming around him in an attempt to milk his cock for all he was worth. And especially not when you abruptly turn your head, lips slotting over his own in a desperate kiss, forcing him to swallow your moans as you came around his cock for the first of many times that day.

Ｚａｙｎｅ － Ｄｏｇｇｙ Ｓｔｙｌｅ

Zayne liked to consider himself a patient man, not one to lose his cool or one to give in when that patience is tested. But he is also a man, and everyone has their limits. Those limits being you coming into his place of work for your checkup lacking panties. He was suspicious from the moment you came in, wearing that smile that always alerted him to you being up to something. The small upward turn of your lips and poorly concealed anticipation lighting your features. He knew you better than anyone and always knew even the slightest change in you behavior. So as you sat on the examination table, he scrutinized you.

“What’s the matter? Is something wrong, doctor?”

That was his second inclination, the way you purred his profession title, as if the both of you did not share the same bed at night. With a lifted eyebrow he sanitizes his hands before sliding his gloves over deft fingers, scrutinizing eyes overlooking your frame. Taking this opportunity, you cross one leg over the under, the short length of your skirt revealing just whet you weren’t wearing underneath. Today had been a long day for Zayne, several surgeries and a booked schedule causing hm to miss his lunch. Hoping to get some reprieve with your presence he supposes at least it was thoughtful of you to bring him that lunch he missed out on.

 He wasted no time in locking the door to the examination room, coming to you in long strides before dropping to his knees. Strong, gloved, hands parting your thighs as he delves into your folds like a man starved. Zayne was usually a patient lover, taking his time to savor every part of you, making sure you’ve been thoroughly satisfied before indulging in his own pleasure. That was not the case today, eating your cunt until it was dripping with a combination of your arousal and his saliva, he stands to his feet. Not so much as bothering to remove his lab coat as he undoes his buckle. You only get a momentary glance of his cock before the world shifts. Using his strength to easily flip you over on the examination table. Bunching your skirt past your hips to expose your ass to his hungry gaze. A latex covered hand comes down on your ass in a harsh smack, fingers grasping the plump skin of your ass, using his grip to expose your dripping cunt to him. He sinks himself to the hilt with one harsh thrust. Leaning over to press his lips against your ear.

“You want to act like a slut, darling? Then I’ll fuck you like a slut.”

Zayne sets a steady pace from the start, relishing in the sounds he not only pulls from your lips but from your cunt as well. Loud squelching and the sounds of skin slapping against skin echo against the walls of the room. His fingers curling against the column of your throat, feeling your racing pulse beneath his fingers, as he uses his grip to aid in bouncing you back on his cock. He could feel the way your walls were fluttering around him, knowing the cut to your airflow with his earlier actions were sending you spiraling toward your release. Effortlessly he slides his free hand beneath you, fingers rubbing tight circles against your clit. Feeling you tighten around him coupled with hearing the begs and pleas that spill from your lips is all the encouragement Zayne needed. His hips lose the steady pace he had set opting instead to slap harshly and erratically against your own, chasing his high.

The sheer pleasure running through his veins is nearly overwhelming, spilling inside you with a groan. He was sure his sheer volume would be enough to rival your own, however he couldn't find it within himself to care too lost in the way you were making him feel. His hips continually rolling against yours even after he has spilled every last drop he had to offer deep within your walls, before the overstimulation he was giving himself becomes painful. He pulls from you, resting back on his heels, using a thumb to part you folds as he hungrily watches your cunt contract around nothing, his come starting to drip from your abused pussy, letting out a groan at the sight.

“How sweet of you to bring me lunch, darling. Now lets get you home for some rest, doctor’s orders.”

Ｓｙｌｕｓ － Ｍａｔｉｎｇ Ｐｒｅｓｓ

Sylus hated being away from you, between your job and Onychinus the both of you hadn’t been afforded the opportunity of spending too much time together as of late. Your opposing sleep schedules only aided in your recent separation, you coming home to him still asleep and just coming home as you opened your eyes. It was driving him mad. Pent-up frustration had his temper short and his trigger finger happy. So after an insistence from Luke and Kieran to return to your shared home early for the day, he would make no complaints. He hammed as he entered the home, seeing you just getting ready to tuck into bed. Eyes taking in the sight of you in nothing but one of his shirts, he was on you in an instant. Eyes rolling back at your scent, mixing with his own on your skin. Only to have you laid bare split open on his cock as quickly as he would allow himself to.

His hips don't falter, he keeps up his speed. Though each snap of his hips hitting deeper with each pass, angling his hips just right to find that sensitive spot deep inside your walls, grinning maliciously when he does so. His grip stays firm on the backs of your thighs keeping them pressed to your chest to reach the deepest parts of you. Loving the way your eyes roll back as you struggle to form even a coherent sentence from the way he used your body. His chuckle is deep, cruel, against your neck as you struggle to get out the syllables of his name. Coming broken between thrusts of his hips.

“Awh my poor little kitten, she’s getting her cunt fucked so good she can't even finish my name. Poor thing, here let daddy take care of you sweetie.”

He grins, reattaching his lips to your neck. Tongue, teeth, and lips marking the sensitive skin. He removes one hand from your knee. Eyes flickering with unbridled lust when our grip replaces his own, keeping your leg pressed where it was before he cold even obey you to do so. The thumb of his free hand slotting itself between your lips, eyes rolling back when your tongue circles the digit. Popping it from your mouth he used the coated wetness as lubrication to rub tight circles on your clit. Hips picking up pace in time with the kneading. His lips leave your throat capturing a sensitive nipple into his mouth, sucking on it harshly, aiming to overstimulate all of your sensitive spots in tandem. A loud cry falls from your lips, your unoccupied hand flying to your lips in an attempt to muffle the sound, lest Luke and Kieran hear your cries for their boss within their rooms. Noticing the hand you attempt to use to cover your mouth he grabs your wrist pinning it to the mattress next to your ear with the hand that was just overstimulating your clit.

“Sorry sweetie, I want to hear every cry, curse and whimper that falls from those lips, let me hear you kitten.”

He wastes no time returning the pace he had set, loud squelching and your moans filling the room like the sweetest symphony. The coil had been tight in his abdomen, but he would hold out, he wouldn’t allow himself to fall over the edge before you had. He picks up the pace once more, thrusts growing sloppy under the pleasure. His thumb quickens its pace pressing harder against the bundle of nerves. He groans loud and deep feeling your walls slam down on his cock eyes rolling back as whines and whimpers fall from his lips as your own release triggers his own. His body trembles violently as he topples over the edge painting your walls white. He slows his thrusts, body shaking as he overstimulates you both just a little bit before his hips are finally still. He releases your legs, quick to readjust your form wrapping you around him and pressing a long loving kiss to your lips.

Ｒａｆａｙｅｌ － Ｃｏｗｇｉｒｌ

You weren’t sure how long you had been sat here, when your boyfriend had asked if you wanted to sit with him while he finished his painting, you hadn’t envisioned that you would be doing that sat on his lap with his cock nestled deep inside you. Cock warming with Rafayel never ended in just that, his pleading excuse of “It helps me concentrate, cutie, please?” had you falling for it every time. Every shift in his seat, every time he reached over to dip his brush in the paint on his pallet, sent his cock deeper inside your drooling cunt. You were sure he knew it too, felt the way that even plugged with his cock, your arousal still leaked around you both. That he felt it dripping down his skin. You could only hope this was nearly as torturous for him as it was for you. By the sweat forming on his brow, and the way his paintbrush trembled in his grasp, you were sure it was.

And you would be correct.

It wasn’t long until the painting was long forgotten, Rafayel’s lips consuming your own, as if on a mission to lose himself in the embrace. Skilled hands removed your dress with ease, the lingering paint on his skin, staining your own as you hastily removed his shirt. His eyes zeroed in on the colors adorning your skin, a tangible reminder of his touch, he places a hand on your back to steady you, reaching over to coat his hand in the paint that was on his easel. He grips your wrist as he rolls his hips up into your waiting cunt, lips attaching themselves to the delicate skin of your collarbone, kissing a trail up to the shell of your ear. His hot breaths against the sensitive skin has a shiver raking up your spine in his grasp.

“Go on cutie, put your hand in the paint, want you to make a masterpiece on my skin, my muse.”

Grabbing your wrist, he dips your hand in the paint, just as he had done. A desperate whine slips past your lips when he thrusts sharply upward, hands gripping his shoulders, nails sinking into his skin in their grip. Using your hold on him as leverage to keep bouncing on his cock, the paint marking him, the sight of it on his skin makes your head fuzzy. Seeing the remnants of you on him has you touching him more, smearing the paint on his skin. You continue your movements, bouncing on his cock in time with his upward thrusts. Head dipping downward to capture a pebbled nipple between his lips, tongue laving over the bud as the sound of skin against skin fills the studio.

Your thighs tremble from the burn of exertion of your repeated movements. Sensing you were coming to your end, Rafayel comes to your aid. Hands gripping the plush of your hips as he fucks up into you, heels digging into the bar at the bottom of his stool to ground himself as he meets each one of your thrusts with one of his own. He knew your body like the back of his hand, every tremble, every quiver of your cunt, every desperate sound that fell from your lips he could identify as you nearing your end. His mouth switches to pay attention to your opposite nub teeth and tongue giving it the same treatment in time with the push of his hips. Pulling from you with a 'pop' to grit his teeth, baring down to keep his composure before you were able to release before him. He lets you pull him close hips snapping relentlessly thrusts growing sloppy as he feels your walls clamp down on his cock in your release. It sends him hurtling to his own release hips slapping violently against your own as he paints your insides with a loud scream of your name. His thrusts slow making sure he had filled you with every drop he had to offer. Heart racing, as his arms wrap around you and he pulls your trembling form to his chest pressing tender kisses everywhere his lips could reach.

“Such a good girl for me, cutie. Look at you, I think this might just be the most beautiful piece of art I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

Ｃａｌｅｂ － Ｍｉｓｓｉｏｎａｒｙ

Caleb had always thought himself lucky to have spent so much time with you. He had the privilege of watching you grow, being by your side through so many monumental moments in your life. Birthdays, graduations, holidays — he got to spend every last one of them by your side. But the more you both grew older the more he realized you hadn’t seen him the way he had seen you, at least he hadn’t thought so. The way you had always treated him had felt so platonic, with no hope for you to ever see the way he had felt for you For him it was never platonic, being in love with you for longer than he could remember. And now, even as you both hastily pulled your lips from each other only long enough to rid each other’s clothes from your trembling bodies, he couldn’t believe you were finally his.

Caleb had dreamed of this for years. Having you like this, being able to touch you like this, seeing the way your face contorted in pleasure as you trembled beneath him. For once seeing him differently, not the sweet boy from your childhood, but as a man. Could only imagine the delicious way his name would sound not in the way he had always heard it but practically purred when laced with lust-fueled ecstasy. He was basking in it. The way you felt beneath his fingers as you trembled from his touch. Had fisted his cock on lonely nights to the mere thought of ever having you like this. Had spilled into his palm as he finished with your name on his lips.

But now he had you, and he had no plans on letting you go any time soon. He lets out a groan into your neck as he sinks into you, inch by agonizing inch until he was buried balls deep in your awaiting cunt. His eyes roll back at the way you greedily pull him in deeper, the fluttering walls of your cunt urging him to begin to move. He starts with deep shallow thrusts, wanting to savor the feeling of your welcoming walls after so many years of yearning. Needing to feel your deepest parts and enjoy every moment of being connected with you. However, he had his limits and the sweet way you cooed his name as you urged him on has him picking up the pace. His hips setting a steadfast pace, going deeper with each pass, gripping your hips as you call out his name.

He can't help it, the feeling of your velvety walls surrounding him, sucking him in for all he was worth, he throws his head back with another loud groan as he slowly withdraws his hips, pulling back until just the mushroom tip of his cock remains inside. With a perfect snap of his hips, aided by the sheer amount of wetness that had gathered to this point he enters back in with ease before picking up the pace again. His gaze returned to you, only to see how your arm was thrown over your face shielding you from him and muffling the sweet sounds spilling from your lips. Grabbing your wrist, he pins it firmly against the mattress beneath you, striking eyes boring into your own.

“Look at me, pipsqueak. I want you to keep your eyes on me.”

Caleb's voice came out gruff, desperate, as the pads of his fingers sank into the plush of your cheeks — forcing your gaze to remain locked on his own. The nickname you had heard your whole life now took on a different edge, sounding almost foreign to our ears.

“Need to see the look in your eyes as you lose yourself on my cock baby.”

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