#so i had to get manager to tell them to fuck off

[damnibreathealot]

hi hiiii I love your writing, can't believe you just started🥹

I'm feeling a bit in a rut, was wondering if maybe you can write simon sucking tits in an attempt to cheer us up?

simon 'ghost' riley sucking on your tits in an attempt to cheer you up after an argument!

✎ | nipple play and cunnilingus! shitty proofread.

✎ | ooo, yall are freaky!! mhm, i like it, and also, i hope you don't mind me adding the argument + cunnilingus bit! ALSO YAPPED SO HARD, AND THIS IS KINDA SHITTTTT!!!

merry christmas/happy christmas eve!!

you and simon had an argument about an hour ago. it was some petty argument about simon not taking out the rubbish like you told him to before you went to work. just coming home and seeing him not doing the shit he was told to after a stressful day at work just ticked you off.

now, he was stuck with the silent treatment. he always manages a way to cheer you up after an argument, and depending on how serious the argument is, it would end with him getting you a gift and showering you with kisses or sex.

today, he decided to go with sex. he walked into your room, the way you were laying on your shared bed with a pissed look on your face, just scrolling through your phone, told him everything he needed to know.

you didn't even acknowledge that he came into the room, nothing but a slight squint of your eye and the neutral expression on your face dropping to a slight frown.

he plopped down next to you on the bed and wraps his arms around you waist. you didn't even pay attention to him, even after that. just still scrolling through your phone, texting your friends here and there, still not taking notice to him. like he's a ghost.

(hehe! get it? because his nickname is ghost and he... no? ok...)

that's when he decides to take action, pressing kisses against your neck and leave hickeys in his wake. his gaze follows back up to your face. you still haven't budged? that's alright. he'll break you soon.

he pushes up your shirt and notices how your hard expression falters a bit. he grins and stares at your tits. he presses firm kisses against your breasts, paying close attention to how your your eyes flutter slightly when his tongue rolls over your nipple.

he quite literally worships your tits. just enough to see you break. hickeys all over them, his lips wrapping around you nipple while using his finger to tease the other one with his finger. he sucks your tits sore. this is watch breaks you. he finally makes you break when he hears you softly mutter out his name.

he decides to tease you, his hand trailing doing to the waistband of your pyjama shorts. just tracing his fingers teasingly around your pelvis. he chuckles at your frustrated sigh,

"don't be a fucking bastard simon. you know what i want."

"no, quite frankly, i dont. have to tell me first."

"make your wife beg when she's pissed off at you??

"ya make good point." he shrugs. he can't deny that. he slips his hand underneath your shorts. he groaned when his hand came in contact with your soaked pussy. his finger thumbs at your clit, rubbing the poor nub. his other fingers slip down and sink into your tight hole. a shakey breath leaves his lips when your pussy deliciously claps around his fingers.

he knows you want this. been so stressed out lately. you don't even want it. you fucking need it.

he takes his hand out of shorts just when you're about to cum. you give him a sharp glare, and you were about to give him snarky comment, but you quickly close your mouth once you notice him shifting his position. he tugs down your shorts and knickers.

he doesn't hesitate to press his tongue flat against your swollen nub before swirling all around. the way it throbs against his tongue has him fucking hooked. his fingers return back into your pussy, nice and slow. he finger-fucks you. his fingers curl just into the right spot in your gummy walls. the place to make your toes curl and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

he keeps going until you're screaming his name, and your juices flood against his fingers and on his tongue. he fucks you through your orgasm and then pulls his fingers out of you – looking you in the eye as he licks his fingers clean.

"forgive me now?"

you glare at him – once again, "fuck off."

[augustheart]

dcu tumblr dash simulator

😽 evil--boy Follow

i've been basically living at this shitty bar down the street since my breakup. how cooked am i if i'm considering hooking up with captain cold.

🧜‍♂️ flashsolos Follow

we need to start killing opal transplants so they can't come here and make posts like this

😽 evil--boy Follow

i'm from coast city BITCH

🧜‍♂️ flashsolos Follow

70k notes

🐻 whispersindarknessbydianbelmont Follow

does anyone know what this is? saw outside my dorm room today lol, portsmouth OR if that helps. had to take the picture from suuuper far away.

🦇 identifying-superheroes-in-posts Follow

charlie the owl

🐦 identifying-birds-in-posts Follow

Stealing My Fucking Job

199 notes

💅 better-off-bethhunter Follow

ugh i'm so sick of people getting all hot and bothered about whether or not lois lane is hooking up with superman. WHO give a shit. she literally has a pulitzer.

👨🏼‍🦰 real-jimmy-olsen Follow

Showed this to her and she wanted me to tell you it was funny.

💅 better-off-bethhunter Follow

jimmy what if i killed myself. what then

22.3k notes

🏄🏾‍♂️ subdiego-surfer Follow

the first time i heard about dry december i got so scared. i can't even lie to you. i don't know why. i used to live on dry land

🏄🏾‍♂️ subdiego-surfer Follow

stop reblogging this it's embarrassing. what if aquagirl sees this

🐳 future-whale-whisperer Follow

you don't know she hasn't :)

🏄🏾‍♂️ subdiego-surfer Follow

Why Would you Fuckingn say that

871 notes

🦕 bitemejakeketchum Follow

does anybody else remember the absolute fever dream that was the clinton campaign's "titans go to the polls" ads. i kept getting jumpscared by beast boy on youtube

🦍 be4stboy Follow

I don't totally remember whose idea that was, but I think it was the campaign manager's, not the Titans'. I wasn't even on the team at the time and they had to fly me in. Crazy year!

🍀 beastboy Follow

you wish you had my url lol

🦍 be4stboy Follow

Dude. Come on.

99k notes

🎨 nathanieldusklovebot Follow

gorilla grodd could rip your arms off and a gothamite would find a way to pop out of a sewer and make it all about them and their shitty city

💉 punchlinezzz Follow

I'm sorry you can't feel any sympathy for people when they live in what is CONFIRMED the most dangerous city in America. Just say you can't handle the heat and get out of the kitchen.

🎨 nathanieldusklovebot Follow

like clockwork lmao what did i say

🎨 nathanieldusklovebot Follow

OH MY GODDDD THEY RUN A JOKER STAN ACCOUNT. YOU NEED TO LOG THE FUCK OFF

908k notes

[papurgaatika]

Keep A Leftover Light Burning

Pairing: joel miller x Ceramicist! reader

MINORS DNI WITH MY WORKS PLEASE !!

A/N: howdy howdy and welcome all now this is a very special fic for @burntheedges for the @pedrostories secret santa event!! I hope you like it and find it as fun as i did. I think this isnt a trope that we see very often, but after a healthy dose of tiktoks (and watching the scene from ghost again) this came into being. As always thank you to my beloveeeeeeed @carlynkurin for beta reading, and peace and love on the planet earth from me, xoxo Remember that TLOU is created by a zionist so please look at the resources at the end of this fic and in my bio on ways to donate and educate yourself!! tags: Ceramicist reader, smut, porn with plot, oral (f! receiving), publicish sex, strangers to lovers, lots of wet clay, joels arms require their own tag Word count: 3.4k Summary: Sarah forces joel to go take a day to himself, pushing him in the direction of your pottery studio. Despite calling yourself professional and priding yourself on your morals, you can’t help but… fantasize about the man in front of you. 

Joel needs to take time for himself. He’s always on, always ready to go at the flip of a switch,  never taking time to sit and breathe. Everyone knows how hard he works, and despite what he says, Sarah knows that he needs to do something calming. Something that doesn’t involve carving wood or going to the shooting range with Tommy on the off chance that both of them are free for long enough. So being the perfect daughter that she is, she enrolls him in a ceramics workshop that she had gone to once. It was a small studio, tucked away next to the Palace Theatre in downtown Georgetown, soft and quaint in the suburbs, away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Sarah managed to get a hold of you over the phone and explain the situation, a smile threatening to creep onto your cheeks at the sheer amount of care she had for her father. You tell her not to worry about the price and that you would stay open for an extra hour next weekend just to get him in, a squeal on the other side is all the confirmation you need as you pencil it into your schedule. 

Sunday rolls around and Joel… Well, he was being Joel. Stubborn and groaning as Sarah essentially pushes him out the door to make the drive up IH-35, complaining about “I build things for a living,” and “it’ll be a waste of time.” but Sarah is hearing none of it and one look from her has Joel slipping on his boots. In any other circumstance, he would have praised her for holding her ground, but right now he just sighs and gets into his truck realizing just how much of his stubbornness had rubbed off on her. 

He ends up at the studio just before 5, the sun starting to dip under the horizon, casting beautiful pinks and oranges around the sky. He’s still bitching and moaning as he makes his way to the building, taking a deep breath as he steps inside. You barely even hear the jingle of the little bell above your door, too busy fighting with your sink: now clogged with clay from your last class with 3 kids under ten who didn't understand that when you told them not to dump clay inside the sink. You had meant it. “Fucking thing!” you groan, poking a paintbrush into the drain, hoping to get enough clay out of it so that it would run again. 

Joel stares at you, half confused and half amused with the scene in front of him; your hair a mess, your apron covered in clay and paint, hacking into your sink in ways that he knows won't do you any good. He clears his throat after watching you struggle for about 30 seconds, stifling a smirk when you jump and look back at him. “Need some help? I’m s’possed to have a class now- my daughter-” he shakes his head at the idea of sharing the whole story again “Did I get the wrong time?” 

You look absolutely mortified, dropping the paintbrush in the basin and giving the man in front of you a weak smile “No! No, I just got a little... occupied… you’re on time” You wipe your hands on the front of your apron, not even bothering to attempt to fix your hair, before walking over to greet him. Properly this time. “You must be Joel. Your daughter was very persuasive on the phone.” 

Joel’s smirk shifts into a full-blown smile at the mention of Sarah, the pride he has for the girl shining through. “Yeah, she’s a good one.” he praises. Despite his reluctance to listen to her advice, he knows just how good her heart is, and how much she cares about him. I “Ain't sure what she told ya, and to be honest she hasn't told me what I'm s’possed to be doing here either”

You can't help but smile at his words, the pure adoration for his daughter combined with the slight nervousness in his voice was endearing in ways you weren’t sure how to describe. “No worries, I promise it isn’t anything scary.” You glance around the studio. Outside, the sky had begun to darken, the soft lighting of the different lamps inside the building casting the both of you in a warm glow. The glaze on the ceramics you had on display was a wide assortment of colors: intricately painted motifs, bright splashes of colors, silly cartoons, almost anything you could think of. You pick up a faded apron and hand it to him, watching him stretch as he puts it on. A brief flicker of guilt passes through you as you ogle him, but then you see the way his biceps strain against the fabric of his shirt and the guilt gives way to something primitive. 

He turns back around and you look away with a cough, a slight warmth creeping up your cheeks when he raises his brows at you. “Right um-” you stumble over your words, more unrefined than you would have liked to be “Sorry, sorry. We’ll start with choosing what you’ll want to make. I always recommend something easy, like a bowl or a spoon rest..” you pick up a pencil cup that had been painted to look like a pencil and a spoon rest that was a simple blue color, to show him “I already have the clay prepped so we can get started straight on th-” 

Joel cuts you off as he glances around the studio, pointing at a lidded cookie jar “That one.” His words leave no room for argument but certainly bring questions up to the surface. “I'm gonna do that one.” You had been making ceramics for years, starting with air-dry clay in school, continuing to use the wheel throughout university, and eventually quitting your day job to start the studio. You knew the skill level it took to make a jar, the precision and technique to keep it balanced, and it just wasn’t a beginner project. 

“I'm sorry, the cookie jar?” You try not to let your voice betray your disbelief. It wasn't that you lacked faith in the man in front of you, you made sure to be confident in all of your clients, it was simply an issue of skill. “I don't know if that’s the one for you to start out with, it’s a little advanced-” 

But Joel was having none of it. If he was going to be forced to sit here and make something to “calm him down” then damn it it was going to be something that takes skill and effort. Something that he could bring home to Sarah and brag about slightly. Was it a little strange that he wanted to one-up his daughter and prove that he didn't need to be here? Maybe a little bit, but he didn't dwell on it. “Yes ma'am.” His voice is set in the decision. “I'm sure it can't be that bad, let me at it.” 

Never one to truly tell people no, you simply nod and get the prepared clay out. It was soft and slippery, staining your hands a taupe color as you brought it to the wheel, plopping it down on the wheel, and pressing down on the sides to make sure it stuck. “Alright, so with the jar..” you gesture for him to take a seat in front of the wheel, moving to stand behind him “It’ll be a little bit more involved than something simple, but you're in good hands I promise.” Your words are soft, and frankly, you were excited. You didn't throw fun projects with clients as much as you’d like to anymore, focusing more on teaching the basics, so this was honestly a welcomed surprise. “We’ll just start with getting the basic shape of it, you’ll take your hands like this, and we’ll work it up.” 

You sit on your stool behind him, usually, you’d be able to reach around and help with hand placement but good god was he broad. You adjust and readjust your position a few times, finding it oddly difficult to find the right mix between comfort and functionality, eventually ending up with your legs spread a little bit past their comfort level, so that you could lean over his shoulder and help him with the shaping. You squeeze some water onto his hands, moving them to cup the base of the clay and pop the wheel to life. His hands were big under your smaller ones, the roughness contrasting both the soft clay and your skin. You can't help but feel a twinge of something stirring inside you as you help him bring the clay up and down, your hands guiding his. Joel’s brows were knit together in concentration, both endearing and attractive as you watched him focus on the clay. The movements of his hands under yours were careful, almost hesitant, his eyes peeking back at you every so often for assurance. 

Once the clay was at an appropriate size you moved your hands off of his, the wheel slowing to a stop. You swear that you see his hands twitch to stay under yours, but your mind might be playing tricks on you. “Now call me unartistic but this ain't really lookin’ like a cookie jar yet.” Joel raises his brows, a slight hint of teasing hidden in his southern drawl, and you can’t help but snort at the comment.

“I will not call you unartistic, it isn't supposed to look like a jar yet.” You hum and wipe your hands on your apron “We’ll do the lid to it later, but you have to actually make it into a bowl first.” your thumbs gently press down onto the center of the clay to form a soft dent. The wheel starts back up again slowly and you start to open the center up a little bit. “Right so now you just gotta take your thumbs like I did and- perfect!” Joel manages to press his fingers slowly against the clay, working it open, and god you wished that was you more than anything at that moment. You press on the sponge, the water dripping down his hand and onto the clay, almost sensually. Your eyes are locked on the way his thumb dips into the clay, the way the clay comes up onto his skin. Your mouth is dry, and you cough as you stand up, needing to take a deep breath and try to compose yourself. 

“Everythin’ alright?” Joel's voice rings out from behind you as you move to take a drink of water, and you swear if his voice was just a tinge deeper, you would have choked right then and there. In the rush of getting up, your brain had ceased to realize that moving off the pedal would stop the wheel from turning.

You feel like an idiot. A stupid, hormonal, completely unprofessional idiot. You take a moment to scold yourself mentally before turning around to face him again. “Yeah, yes. Sorry I just realized how thirsty I was, I just needed water.” You move back to your stool behind him, halfway composed, and move to start the next step. If you'd been in front of him for one more second, you would have seen the knowing smile on his face. There was no denying the attraction between the two of you. Pressed up against each other, hands touching, dim light surrounding you both, it was inevitable. You move your hand to show him the right finger position “so you’ll want to take your middle and ring finger-” You press the two of yours inside of the bowl to give him an example and you swear he laughs a little bit. 

“Oh, believe me, darlin” his voice rings out, big fingers expertly finding their way into the exact position. “I know all about this one.” You watch his fingers glide up and down the inside of the bowl, your hand on top of his, steadying his wrist. You bite at your lip, fingers shaking slightly on top of his. Your chest was pressed against his back and you could feel your nipples hardening. You were annoyingly turned on. This wasn’t normal for you, this wasn't something you do, get the hots for a client, but here you were. And with the way Joel's fingers were methodically moving over yours, you were begging that he felt the same way. “Wouldn’t mind showin’ ya all I know about it.” The want in his voice makes you clench subconsciously, your breath faltering for a second. 

You hold your breath for a moment as if trying to make sure you hadn’t imagined his words in a haze of horniness, only to be broken out of that haze when he shifts and pushes his stool back, and turns around to face you. Both of your hands were covered in wet clay and your aprons were messy, neither of which stopped you from pressing your lips against his. You sigh against his mouth as your hand's fist in the fabric of his shirt, staining the fabric with readily drying clay. “I don't usually do this,” you murmur when you pull away for air, your lips swollen and red. 

Joel just grins at your words “S’alright, honey,” his lips find their way to your jaw and move down to your neck, his nose nudging at the fabric of your shirt. “Don't gotta explain anything to me.” His voice is like molasses, smooth and syrupy, keeping you stuck on his every word. You let him move you around, the small wooden stools were less than ideal for either of you. In the mess of standing up and finding a table to bend over your shirt comes off and he groans at the sight of you, his hands grabbing at your waist, staining your skin with water. “Good god… sight for sore eyes…” You can't help but flush slightly at his comment, feeling more exposed while you stare at his fully clothed figure.

 Joel picks up on it, his hands moving from your waist to his shirt and apron, a frustrated noise leaving his mouth when the knotted strings keep him from taking it off. “Let me,” you whisper, reaching around to undo the strings, the fabric of the apron sagging and then getting tossed to some other corner of the room. You stare at him. You couldn't not stare at him. At the hair covering his chest leading down to his belt, the soft yet strong features of his body, at his hand undoing his belt. Your own shorts had been removed, your hands moving to reach into his jeans until he stopped you, a pout and protest forming on your lips. 

Joel just shakes his head at you, picking you up and setting you on a relatively clean table, his body wedged between your legs. “My momma raised me to be a gentleman,” he hums against your skin, kissing the tops of your breasts, nudging your nipples with his nose before giving each of them their own kisses “I didn't take ya to dinner, at least let me get my fill yeah?” Your back fully arched into his mouth as his lips wrapped around one of your nipples, hands gripping the edge of the table so hard your knuckles were white. The feeling of his tongue flicking against the hardened bud had you moaning out in ways you had never imagined you would, and you swear you could feel him smirk even as he licked a stripe down the soft skin of your tummy. 

His knees crack as he settles between your legs and the sight of him is so sinful you can't help but moan softly. He raises his brows at you, a warm chuckle leaving his mouth at the sound, his lips pressing against the inside of one of your thighs “Look that good?” His voice is laced with a gentle mocking as he presses another kiss, a hair's breadth away from your aching cunt “think I got the better view though.” You don't even have the time, nor the brainpower, to reply before his lips press against you, a groan vibrating against your skin as he tastes you. “Sweetest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had… could get damn addicted.” 

Your lips are parted as his tongue swirls around your clit, your whines and moans spurring him on even further. “F-fuck joel-” you manage at some point, his broad shoulders keeping your thighs spread apart, despite how much they’d like to clamp around him. He was good at this and he knows that, moaning at the sound of his name on your lips, the words giving him a newfound energy. You feel his warm palms against your thighs keeping you spread open for him, and you almost whine when his tongue leaves your clit, only to cry out in ecstasy when his tongue prods at your pulsing hole. His nose is pressed up against your clit, giving you just the right amount of friction as he gathers your slick on his tongue, cycling between fucking it into you and laying it flat over your cunt. “Joel- joel oh fuck-” Your moans are frantic as he continues to send you closer and closer to that edge, his motions only getting faster as your hand fists in his hair. “Oh my god- fuck fuck fuuuuck-” your legs shake around his head, his hands keeping them apart as he works you through your orgasm, not stopping until you were spent and hazy, laying back on the table with shuddering breaths. 

Your eyes were pressed shut, chest rising and falling rapidly in the aftermath of your orgasm, only to peek open when you hear the clink of his belt. His mouth was covered in the sheen of your orgasm, a hungry look in his eyes as he spits into his hand and pulls his cock out. “Tasted like a damn dream,” he groans while he strokes himself. “Gonna remember this forever…” Your eyes are locked on the motions of his wrist, the steady pace, the pearly precum that was leaking from his tip. “Fuckin’ perfect… makin’ me feel like a damn teenager again.” You wait with bated breath as he continues to stroke himself, wiggling your hips in order to entice him. 

 “Joel,” your voice is soft, but so heavily full of need it was almost painful “Please… I want you.” If you were being honest, you thought that it would take more convincing, that you would have to ask more, but Joel was desperate, maybe more so than you were and so when he sinks his cock into your dripping cunt it was ecstasy for both of you. Your eyes fall shut again at the feel of him, the stretch so much but so good. “Oh my god…” you whine, pushing yourself onto him further, your breathing stuttering when one of his hands palms at your breast, the other one gripping your hip with so much strength you think it would leave a mark. 

“That’s it…” he groans, slipping into you all the way. “Fuckin’ perfect pussy, like she was made for me.” His words are punctuated with shallow thrusts that fill you up again and again. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in closer to you. The feeling of his hips pressing against yours is something you would never be able to get out of your memory. 

You both lay there, bodies pressed against each other, his hips rocking into you slow and steadily, the dim lighting of the studio casting an ethereal glow over the scene. His hips move at a steady pace, keeping you full of him as the coarse hairs around him press against your clit with the right amount of friction. It doesn't take much time until he's panting on top of you, your lips pressed against each other's in a heated kiss as you feel him spill inside you. 

“That was…” you were breathless, his chest still against yours, the rhythm of your hearts syncing up. 

“Yeah…” He grins, pressing a kiss against your forehead gently. “I know I told ya I was a gentleman but, I really would like to see you again… of course no pressure if you don't want to or anything-” 

You cut him off with a small laugh before he can keep going, nudging your head against his. “I want to, Joel.” You smile gently at him “Plus, you didn't finish the jar.” You grin, looking in the direction of the unfinished work of art he had started. “And then I have to fire it, then glaze it, then fire it again, then… well you get the point, I think I’ll be seeing you quite a few more times, Joel.”

A/N: From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free

READ: This account stands with Palestine unequivocally, and so— I require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE;  HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. Silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.

DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist.

PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS. 

Thank you for reading, and free Palestine

[itsgivingmami]

Did someone say a fluff request? From me? From Poor Little Magpie?

Rhea and reader after their first time together, Rhea went to the bathroom to find a wash cloth and panics, contemplating wether if she was too rough or scared you off, you drag her back to bed and clean her off (with great endurance comes great sweat) After Rhea treating you so well, you treat her with hugs and kisses.

Or!

Sweet nothings and pillow talk turns into reminiscing and laughing about the beginnings of Rhea and yours relationship!

Or like, both tee hee 💗 Maggie

You got it gorgeous😘

Seraphic

Rhea Ripley x fem reader

Warnings: bruising, smut, minimal angst

     "Please,"  you moan with your head thrown back melting into the pillows behind you, fists gripping at your lovers sheets as you hips buck up trying to get closer to the hand literally inside you. The other one takes a firm hold on your chin and tips it down when she raises to hover over your flushed body.

The way you’re whimpering under her body is making her heart race and she wants nothing more than to keep you like this as long as possible. Wishing her hands were made for painting instead of fighting so she could capture you forever sprawled out for her.

You want to tell her everything, you love her, you need her, she looks beautiful and not to stop but Rhea doesn't give you the chance. Her lips are heavy on yours forcing your confessions and whimpers into her mouth, swallowing them hungrily. “I'm so close”

     You resort to grabbing at her as tight as you can manage without affecting the way she's controlling your body. You're becoming breathless as she kisses you until she catches your bottom lip between her teeth with a delicious sting you gasp and fall apart against her hand. Rhea tucks her face to your neck as your nails dig into her, it sends her body into erotic shivers. She reminds herself that this is your first time together, she's already coaxed two orgasms out of you and to allow you to come down.

    "So good, so gorgeous," she praises as she pulls as much pleasure as she can from your writhing body.  She removes herself from your neck to see your face, "I wish you could see how pretty you look right now,"

    She kisses down the length of your body as she removes herself fingers from your core, you let out a soft whine and she chuckles nibbling at the skin of your stomach in retort. She wipes her fingers on the inside on your thigh before coming back up to to cup your face gently. Your heavy lids are looking at her lazily, a soft smile on your face.

    "Hi," you whisper, you hands wrapping around her biceps as your body shakes for a moment and you take a deep breath.

    "Are you cold?" Rhea asks as she reaches for the duvet but you hold her arm steady and shake your head,

    "I'm not cold," you tell her quietly, embarrassed to explain your legs shaking despite the culprit being face to face. Rhea takes a second look at your thighs, she can see the place where she had held you gently blossoming a deep burgundy. "Rhea-"

   "Lemme go get a wash cloth," she says quickly as pulls herself off you gently, you sit up and she gently pulls the duvet towards you offering it if you want it. She doesn’t turn around to see you staring at her in a pool of her sheets.

    Rhea flicks the light in the en suite on and leans against the counter. The cold against her pelvis brings down her temperature and the bright light above her feels assaulting compared to the low light you two had been in.

She bruised you. Fuck. She had been mindful too tone down her dominance but little bits had slipped through the wall. You two had known going into this exactly who would play which role but for your first time together she had every intention of starting off right, showing you the love you deserved, the real love she had for you before she told you about the other ways she wanted to use your body. Not this soon, she found herself panicking about scaring you and in turn loosing you.

    "Babe," Rhea looks up from the counter to see you leaning on the door frame, your hairs a mess and your legs still have a slight wobble but as you stand in front of her you look nothing short of an angel. It makes her chest clench, maybe shes too dark for you after all, “Are you okay?"

    "Couldn't find a cloth," she tells you and you push off the wall towards her, the tile is cold on your feet as you take short steps. She watches you in case your knees buckle but you make it in front of her just fine. Looking down you pick up the grey cloth folded by the side of the sink inches from her.

    "Talk to me," you plead softly and her chest pangs, turning to face you again she gently tucks a lock of your tangled hair behind your ear.

    "I hurt you," she sighs as you stare at her confused until you see where her gaze had landed. Her strong fingers tips had left their path, you grinned as you saw them not realising they were there. What a second did she say hurt?

   "I actually thought you were being kinda gentle," you admit and her eyes widen at you, "I like them..." you brush over the quickly darkening marks and shiver again when a small flourish of pain blossomed.

     "I was being gentle," Rhea agrees and grins watching you, "I'm afraid of being too much and the last thing I want to do is hurt you,"

    "And if I like that too?" You challenge trying to tell her that you really didn't mind in fact you loved being able to have her marks on you for a few days, a sinful reminder of her. You giggle lightly as you tease her, but as you meet her eye you realize her gaze is still serious. Sighing gently you turn away from her towards the shower, the sound of water hitting the tile makes Rhea turn to look. Having assumed you’d decided to get dressed and leave she was shocked to see you still there. “Come shower,” Rhea watches you, looking for any sign of discomfort but as she doesn’t move you start to grow impatient. “Please? I need you,”

Her feet move before she can think about it hearing you ask for her so softly and you reach for her when she’s close enough. In her fear of hurting you she’d completely slipped on aftercare. She internally berated herself as she held her hand out to test the temperature of the water.

“What else do you need?” Rhea asks, you think for a moment before you step into her gate and wrap your arms around her waist. Your cheek lays just above her bare breasts and you press your bodies together, the only thing you can think to show her you’re not afraid.

“I need you to believe me,” you plead and place a soft kiss to the top of her breast, her inked arms come to wrap around you tightly and you let out a breath of relief. “And maybe round two?”

~

An hour and a half later your laying on top of fresh cool sheets in your girlfriend’s T-shirt and a pair of her boxers, your body feels warm and floaty, a combination of afterglow and post shower comfort.

“Baby girl,” your attention is drawn from the ceiling as Rhea comes back in the room with a glass of ice water, you sit up and she takes a seat in front of you. You lift the cup to your mouth and Rhea can’t help but stare at the way your throat moves, adorned in her marks, as you swallow. You drink half before trying to put it on the night stand, Rheas strong hand takes it from yours, sips it and places it. A firm hands rests on your thigh and you smile, she’s touching you more freely now and you couldn’t be happier.

Her shyness and concerns reminded you of the first time she wanted to hold your hand, but kept chickening out until you did it herself.

“Thank you,” you murmur leaning to her shoulder, placing a quick kiss on her skin. You’re thanking her for the water, for her care, for loving you.

“My sweet girl,” she tells you, although your three oragasms deep and covered in evidence of her passion she can’t help but see you glowing in light.

[honey-on-your-tongue]

Hey, I wanna a a request from you.. about the worst wolverine!Logan (or the one in th x-men series) × mutant!fem!reader.

Reader may have powers like Wanda Maximoff or Jean Grey, but she's stronger. Anyway, there's my main plot; enemies to lovers, a HUGE breeding kink, possibly pregnancy(the a result of the kink hehe) Wade is the person who introduced them, and Reader's Wade' bestfriend. They saved the eart 10005 and they celebrated this at Wade's (and Blind Al's) house. Logan may be a complete jerk to the reader at first, and he may have attacked the reader in the scene in the Honda Odyssey, but then things change and so on. Can you write somethin' like that? If you do, thanks already!!! See ya, bub, take care of yourself.

I’VE HAD THIS IN NY DRAFTS FOREVER WHAT

HAPPY HOLIDAYS

I hope you enjoy this, babes ❤️

Ever since Wade came looking for him and took him to earth 10005, Logan’s life has been easier. There’s less hate towards him (which is an understatement, really; he’s now adored and it never ceases to surprise him) and it feels like, maybe, he’s redeemed himself from what he did. Maybe, his luck has finally started looking up.

But then there’s you. You infuriate him. Every time he sees you, he just wants to put his claws through your ribs. Although he did that already, in the Void, in that stupid fucking Odyssey. But it wasn’t nearly enough. God, he can’t stand you. The way you talk, the way you walk, the way you handle yourself. Sharing an apartment with Wade and Blind Al doesn’t bother him, he even stands Mary Puppins and her hairlessness. But you? You who likes to walk around at night in an oversized shirt and sweatshirts, who leaves the apartment smelling of your perfumes and shampoo after you shower, who he can hear as you fuck yourself with your fingers night after night.

His room is next to yours, he’s heard the way you work yourself up, how you eventually manage to get your pussy soaked enough to stuff your fingers into yourself. It pisses him off. And what he hates most is that his body reacts to it. Having been so hated in his world means that the last time he had sex was…Well. It’s been a while.

So he uses that as an excuse. Of course he doesn’t want you, his body just needs the sex, that’s all. He wants the sex, the release. Nothing more.

Maybe that’s why he does what he does.

On one of those nights where Blind Al is probably too out of it with her cocaine and Wade is probably at Vanessa’s, he hears you. The sweet sounds of your little whimpers and your heavy breathing, the obscene, slick noises that leave your cunt as you fuck her with your fingers. And Logan can’t take it. He just cannot take it anymore.

He barges into your room and delights in the way you react. Your wide eyes, the way you scramble to pull your fingers out of yourself and cover your body with the bed sheets.

“Logan!” you yell, cheeks blushing furiously. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“What are you doing, bub? Touching yourself like you think I can’t hear, or like you hope I will.”

“You didn’t even fucking knock,” you continue, mortified.

He closes the door after himself, locks it just in case. “You’ve been at it for hours, bub. Hours. Is something wrong?”

Still flushed, you refuse to reply. You just clutch the bed sheets tighter.

“Can the poor little girl not come on her own?” Logan insists, smiling. When you fail to answer again, he insists, “Hm? Do you need help, girl?”

The look in your eyes tells him everything he needs to know. The scent of your arousal thickens and he’s lost.

He’s quick to crawl onto the bed, prowling over you. He leans down, lips nudging at your neck as he gently pushes the bed sheets aside. “Let me see you, baby,” he says lowly, his eyes hungrily taking you in.

You’re so beautiful, prettier than he ever thought you’d be.

His already hard cock twitches in his pants, demanding attention, but he ignores it. For now.

“So pretty,” he says, mouthing at your jaw as his hand slips between your thighs. He touches the slickness spread over your skin, how warm your pussy is. Your folds are swollen, your clit throbbing. You’re probably raw from how long you’ve been touching yourself, so he’ll make sure to not overdo it. He’d hate to hurt you.

He slips a finger into you, groaning as he finds little resistance. “God, you’ve got yourself all stretched out already. All open for me.”

He leans back onto his knees, pushing your legs up to your chest and spreading them apart. He eyes your cunt, all needy and spread wide.

Growling quietly, he reaches for his pants. He pushes them down to his thighs, his eyes on you. “Let me put my cock in you, bub,” he says, almost begging.

You’re so out of it, dazed with the need to come and the lust that’s overcome you, that you just nod in agreement. “Yeah, yes.”

He wastes no time. Slowly, he nudges into you and fills you to the brim, the breath leaving his lungs. “Fuck, Logan.”

“Yeah, I know.” He grins, pleased with himself. He starts out slow, thrusting into you with care as he tests the waters. When your pussy releases its grip on him some, he thrusts harder, deeper.

You squeal, hands gripping onto his forearms as they hold your legs to your chest, keeping you nice and spread for him. Your nails dig into his skin, your eyes squeeze shut. He’s fucking you too hard for you to even say much. You just whimper, gasp, mewl.

It helps that you’ve been touching yourself for so long. You come around him with so much force that your body falls limp against the bed, your pussy spasming around his cock.

And it’s not fair to him. He hasn’t had sex in so long, how is he even supposed to hold back.

“Oh, baby. Oh, baby. I’m gonna fill you up, bub. Gonna put my child in you.”

You gasp at the words, whining lowly.

“Yeah? You want me to make you a momma? You can make me a daddy, hm, bub? Yeah?”

Your body writhes underneath his, your eyes wide as they meet his. “P-please, yes. Please.”

That’s all he needs. Not only did you just give him permission, but you’re begging him for it.

“Baby. I’m gonna fill you up, ‘m gonna fill this pretty pussy with all my come and you’re gonna keep it in you. You’re gonna give me a child, maybe two if you behave, hon.”

And he does. When he comes, rope after rope of thick, sticky come spurt into you. He fills you up until it’s dripping out of you, until he’s spent and he can’t come anymore.

You two stay there a while, trying to regain your breaths and let the high wash away. He kisses your forehead softly and lays own next to you, knowing he’s gonna be ready to go soon.

For the next few weeks, it’s more of the same. He fucks you again and again, filling you with his cum to the brim every time.

That’s why it’s no surprise to you when you miss your period. No surprise at all. In fact, you have no doubt that Logan is going to be thrilled. Now there’s only the matter of telling him…

---

Blog masterlist

[keehendrixx]

You Talk Too Much

dom!Terry! Terry Richmond x Black!Female Reader

Warnings: MDNI! this story is 18+!, Smut, a hint of BDSM, breeding kink, creampie, dirty talk, degradation, oral (male receiving), P in V, solo masturbation, usage of b-word! Drug use, alcohol use.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You honestly didn’t expect your legs to be hooked over this man’s shoulders as he consistently dug into your depths. His eyes staring into your soul as whimpers came from your lips. Tonight was supposed to be a good night with laughter, drinks flowing, dancing, ect. So how did you exactly end up in this position? Well you’re mouth got you in it in the first place.

Earlier that night

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You and Terry went out with a couple friends you’ve known since moving into town. At least all of you guys were in relationships so why not make it a couples night. As you all made your way into the bar, the drinks began to pour. Your friends and you made it to the bar and began chatting.

“Girl how you manage to get Terry ass out the house?” Shay asked.

“No, for real because he doesn’t even come out like that!” Your other friend, Anissa, replied.

You chuckled.

“Y’all I honestly had to bribe him with some head to get him to come”

The two ladies looked at each other and snickered.

“Well I be damned bitch!” Shay laughed.

As y’all ordered another round of shots, you kept catching glances at Terry who was surrounded by his own homeboys. The cloud of smoke circling him as he took a puff from the blunt he was smoking. If you weren’t in a room full of people and in public, you would’ve sat your pussy on his face right then and there. He looked so sexy inhaling that smoke and letting it back out.

Your friends snapped you out of your hornified trance. Shay and Anissa asked you a very interesting question. “How is Terry in the bedroom” they both said. Your eyes went wide, but you quickly regained yourself. You smirked. “A fucking animal”, you replied back.

“Details bitch, we need details.” said Anissa

Knowing that Terry isn’t for his business being out and the open, even if it’s you telling your friends, you begin rambling on about how dominant and controlling he is.

As you went on and on, you didn’t even notice Terry creeping up on you three. He heard every single word came out of your mouth. As he came and stood behind you, Shay and Anissa’s facial expressions changed and you caught wind of that. You asked what was wrong and the only thing they could do was nudge their heads forward towards you, indicating someone was behind you. You slowly turned around only to be meet with a pair of hazel eyes.

Terry stood there with one of his eyebrows raised and him looked down at you. Your body instantly grew hot and your panties became moist.

“Baby, I thought you were with the-”

Terry cut you off mid sentence.

“Save that shit, what was said babygirl?” He came close, almost pressing his built body against yours.

“N-Nothing.”

“I heard every word you said, now I’ma need for you to go be a good girl and go wait by the car. We got some talking to do.”

Without hesitation, you grabbed your purse and sprinted to the car, you didn’t even say bye to your friends. Stay and Anissa looked at each other and muttered “Oooh”.

As you stood at the car, you seen Terry exiting the building. He unlocked the doors and you got in the front seat as he got in the driver’s seat. He started the car and drove off. He keep his gaze forward as he drove and occasionally gave you the side eye. After what seemed minutes of silence you started talking.

“Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was talk-”

“Did I say you could speak? You’ve done enough of that tonight, but I got something for that tho.”

If you could, you would’ve melted into the car seat.

“Matter fact, lift that dress up and slide them panties to the side and play with that puss.”

“Terry..”

“Now, I ain’t asking you, I’m telling you.” He gripped your inner thigh and pulled them apart.

You lifted from the seat a little allowing your dress to rise and you pulled your panties to where he wanted them. You took your thumb and begin rubbing your clit in slow circles, while your index and ring finger slipped inside of you.

“You better not moan or cum either, I’ma teach yo’ ass.”

Your juices flowed out of your hole like a waterfall as you bit your lip to keep from making a sound. Terry looked at you and back and the road, then at the mess you were creating.

“She wet as fuck, mama. That pussy wet for me?”

You didn’t answer.

“Answer me when I’m talking to you.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” Terry demanded.

“Yes, Daddy.”

You felt your orgasm coming and you began fingering your bundle of nerves faster, Terry noticed this and snatched your hand away.

“I said not to fucking cum!” He barked as you sighed.

Minutes later, he pulled into you two shared home. He cut the car and grabbed your face, turning it to him.

“You got 1 minute to be in the room, naked, and in the assumed position. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You scrambled out the car into the house damn near tripping up the stairs as you discarded your clothes. Terry walked in a little bit while after and came upstairs to the bedroom to find you on your knees.

“Such a pretty bitch and good girl for me.” He roughly grabbed your chin making you look up at him.

He rubbed your lips with his thumb as he began shredding his clothes. There he stood in all his glory, those ripped abs, strong arms with prominent veins popping out. Your eye’s traveled down further and they stopped at his thick, long dick.

He then tied your arms behind you.

“I want all mouth mamas, no fucking hands.”

“Gotta put this mouth you got to good use for a mouthy bitch like you. Open up.”

You opened your mouth and he leaned down to spit directly in yours. He tapped his dick on your tongue and he notches the broad head past your lips, groaning at the exquisite sensation of your tongue lapping at the sensitive underside. Slowly, inch by thick inch, Terry feeds more of his impressive length into the wet heat of your mouth, careful not to overwhelm you. You slightly gagged a little when you felt his tip touch the back of your throat.

“Nah, we ain’t doing that shit. Take it.” He gritted through his teeth.

Terry fucked your mouth as if you were a human fleshlight. You felt his saliva combing with yours and you took him deeper than you could possibly imagine. Spit pooled around your mouth and dripped onto your chest.

“Fuck, just like that.”, he praises breathlessly, his grip tightening slightly in your hair. “Take it deeper, gorgeous. Show me how well you can suck this big dick.” He grunted.

“Suck my fucking dick, just like that slut.”

“You such a nasty girl for Daddy and I love that.”

Terry felt is nut coming and held your head down as he released in your mouth.

“FUCKKKK!” He slipped out of your mouth.

“Swallow it.”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Now here you are, legs over his shoulders as he gave you long deep strokes of absolute pleasure.

“Mhmm, fuck Daddy I can’t. It’s too much.” You moaned as you tried to pry him away from you. He snatched your arms away and hooked them over your head.

“You don’t ever tell me what you can’t do. You take what the fuck I give you.”

You were so out of it at this point, the only thing you cared about was cumming. Terry didn’t slow down on his thrusts either. This man was literally bringing you to oblivion and back. He lets your legs down and spread them back with both of his big hands, to the point they were touching your cheeks. You could feel his tip poking at your cervix and he pushed his on your lower abdomen, causing you to scream out.

“Daddy, please! Let me cum! I’ll be a good girl and I won’t open my mouth anymore.” You barely got out as your voice was going horse.

“I know you won’t, not after I’m done breaking ya lil’ ass in.”

Terry focuses his attentions on your clit, circling the sensitive bud with his thumb as your legs quake and shake. He hums in satisfaction, the pleasure coursing through both of your veins.

“Look at her, she just drippin’ all on these sheets. Creamy pretty ass pussy.”

He grabbed your face and made you look down at the mess you were creating all over his shaft. A thick white ring of cream that coated him and leaked on the bed.

You could feel your orgasm coming and he knew it.

“You wanna cum for me, don’t you?”

“Yessss, Daddy can I please cum?” You begged him.

“Wet that fat dick up baby, it’s yours.”

Your body shook uncontrollably as you came. Terry’s thrust grew sloppier but he pulled out and flipped you on all fours. He rubbed his tip against your wet folds, teasing you with it by pushing it in but not all the way. He spanked your ass until it was red and you had tears in your eyes.

“Daddy fuck me!” You screamed.

“Greedy fucking bitch!” Without warning, Terry lines up his rehardened cock and slams forward, burying himself to the hilt inside your tight heat in one powerful thrust. A low groan tears from his throat at the exquisite sensation of your walls clenching around him. “FUUCKK!”

The obscene slap of skin on skin echoes through the room as Terry takes you hard and fast, his heavy balls slapping against your clit with each forceful thrust. One large hand snakes around to roughly palm your bouncing tits while the other grips your hip, holding you steady for his relentless assault.

“Ouu fuck me! Fuck me with that big dick baby!”

Terry snarls in feral approval at your shameless begging, doubling his efforts to pound into your sopping pussy with animalistic fervor. The headboard slams against the wall with each brutal thrust, the entire bed shaking from the force of his passion.

Releasing your hip, Terry brings his hand down in a stinging slap to your jiggling ass cheek before reaching around to furiously rub tight circles over your aching clit. The dual stimulation proves too much, sending shockwaves of ecstasy rippling through your core.

“Cum on this dick, now!”

Your orgasm ripples through you like a tsunami.

“I’m finna nut in this pretty puss. Knock yo’ ass up! Make you round with my baby.”

“Cum in me big daddy! Please, I want your babies! UGHHH!”

With a guttural moan, Terry hilts himself one final time, grinding against your cervix as his dick throbs and pulses inside you. He buries his face between your shoulder blades, panting heavily as he rides out the intense waves of his release.

“Shit, fuck... so fucking good.” He grunts, hips twitching with the aftershocks of his climax. Terry pulls out, his softening member slipping free with a gush of combined fluids. He strokes himself a few times, aiming his tip away from your body as the last spurts of cum paint your lower back and ass.

“Next time, don’t open your mouth so damn much.”

A/N: this was my first time writing so go easy on me yall 😭.

@dxddykenn @writingsbytee @beenathembo @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @jimmybutlrr @theogbadbitch @kaylaahisthebestest- @theblacklewinsky @vivaalenaa @theereina @peachbuttetfly @callme-lover @pocketsizedpanther @nayaesworld @kimuzostar @episodes-ff @hxneyclouds @planetblaque @lrryss-vghn @luuvprincess

[hazbinshusk]

It’s the holiday season, and I know most of you may be spending an extended period of time with family and friends. So, kind-hearted as I am, I thought I would take a moment to remind you that while you’re spending quality time with them...

Husk Edition

Not to think about Husk sitting next to you at the dinner table, listening along to whatever conversation is playing out around you. He’s working hard not to look so damn sullen – Charlie had managed to track down half the hotel’s actual families for the occasion, yours among them. The two of you might not be so into labels, might not be announcing any time soon what you have between you to the people sitting opposite you, but he still finds himself worrying that they won’t approve.

Don’t think about him sipping at glass of wine or whiskey as he listens to you try and justify whatever crap they’re judging you for now, his other hand making a slow, familiar journey up over your thigh.

You’re not to think about the way it starts out innocently enough – a calming reassurance against the scattered stress of the high holidays. But as the meal carries on into seconds and thirds and the both of you had had a little more than you should to drink, his hand wanders higher, his own anxieties soothed by the feel of your warm skin against his heart-shaped palm.

Don’t think about him kneading into the flesh of your thigh, the softest of purrs rumbling through his chest – barely audible over the dull roar of warring conversations. His claws digging lightly into your skin, ghosting up just under the hem of the dress you wore to make your mother happy. You can feel the soft breeze of his tail twitching back and forth by your ankle, notice the soft tilt of his lips as you glance at him out of the corner of your eye.

Don’t think of him retracting his claws to tease those long fingers delicately over your inner thigh, or the way that soft smirk twitches wider when you feel yourself part your legs instinctively to his touch. Husk will accept another drink with ease – for once not the bastard who has to serve the drinks – and you’ll have to force your voice not to catch as you tell Niffty that yes, you would like some pie. No, you’ll keep it steady even as you swallow back the whimper that threatens when Husk tugs your underwear to the side and runs a fingertip up against you.

Don’t think about how satisfied he’ll be to find you wet, how his ear will flick greedily towards you to catch that little hitch in your breath as he brushes a finger against your clit. He didn’t intend to do this… he’s not a total creep… but how can he resist when your lips part that way at his touch, your teeth grazing your bottom lip? At the scent of your growing excitement teases at his senses, overpowers the rich smells of the dinner spread across the table. All he can do is thank fuck that Niffty had dressed the table with a long, wide tablecloth that spills out over your laps, and hope you keep letting him get away with this.

Don’t think about the way Husk’s hand is going to feel between your legs; those slow, gentle touches that send those addictive little sparks swirling into the pit of your stomach. The way your hand will clench too tightly around your fork as you try to busy yourself with your food, try to appear like everything is normal even as you begin to desperately wish you could grab him by the arm and drag him off to the nearest private room so you can fuck him until you’ve forgotten all about the guests of honour.

Don’t think about Husk leaning across you as though to reach for the basket of bread rolls, just so that he can murmur in your ear how wet you are, how much he wishes he could bend you over the table right here and taste you. You’ll shudder – whether its because of his words or the way he slides a finger into you, who could tell? His nose just manages to brush against your cheek as he sits back again, and it’ll take everything you have not to turn your head to chase his lips for a kiss.

Don’t think about the way Husk will finger you slowly, steadily, pausing only when people’s eyes begin to linger on you for a moment too long. His thumb teasing against your clit and your face flushing with heat the more you try to keep yourself calm. Your breathing quickens and you’ll swear you can taste blood from where your teeth have been digging into your lip.

Don’t think about the way Husk’s own breathing will grow unsteady when you reach over to clutch at his thigh under the table, shifting your hips as subtly as you can against his hand. It’s amazing you don’t tear his pants with the way you’re gripping at his leg, and Husk’s tail curls around your calf, and he has to dampen his purr with another whiskey.

Don’t think about how badly he’ll wish he could fuck you. To kiss you even… to feel you moan against his tongue. He wants to taste you…  to suck your sweetness off his fingers or to better yet, bury his face btween your thighs and feel them squeeze around his ears as he assaults your clit with his tongue.

And whatever you do, don’t think about how goddamned pleased the bartender will look when you finally cum, your body jerking enough that you knock the table and the cutlery rattles against the wood. Just how quickly do you think you’d be able to make enough excuses so you can get the both of you away from the table and back to his room for round two?

[ray935sworld]

Christmas time and children's laughter

Rosquez dealing with the de-aged academy kids during the winter

24.12 winter writing - Merry christmas everyone

based on this AU

"PAAAAPAAAA!!!!"

Vale couldn't help but laugh when Pecco ran to him, his little face covered in snow. The neck of his jacket and the scarf around his neck was covered in white as well.

"Andrea threw the ball in my face!" he complained, his lip slightly shivering. The other boy audible cracking up in the background.

"Awe, poor bambino" he said, kneeling down and lifting him up. He hold him close and kissed his cheek. The skin was soft and cold on his lips.

When his face was next to Pecco's ear he whispered. "Okay, don't tell your dad but you need to stay low. Don't immediately jump back in the fight. Make a snow ball in secret. Then you call out for him and when he turns around you're going to throw it right in his face, understood?"

And with that the kids face lit up. He looked at Vale with a cheeky grin and nodded.

"But don't tell your dad!" he quickly added as he set him back down to which the small curly headed child just yelled "YEEEAAAAH!" as he ran off again.

"Good. Or else in spending christmas on the couch" he added silently to himself as he watched his kids play.

Migno, Franky and Pecco were busy doing a snowball fight. So far Pecco was definitely losing. Poor kid, getting tag teamed by the two. His face got completely washed.

After a few more minutes, Vale decided that if he didnt intervene Marc would give him the 'no fucking for a month' treatment. And he didn't want to risk that.

So he kneeled down, hearing his knees crack for a moment but uncaringly starting to scrape up a few snow balls.

As soon as he was ready, he throw the first one at his oldest sons back and giggled when he saw his confused expression as he turned around. Next was Migno.

"Come on!" he yelled with a smile "Or are you too afraid?" He throw one of the balls he had formed up, caught it and threw it up again. He grinned daringly.

It was when his 3 boys looked at each other with the same expression, a stern look they shared, before giving a small smile and a nod, that he knew he fucked up.

"GET HIM!" Migno screamed before they were running towards him, each a small bundle of snow in hand.

"Shi-" Was all he managed to say before the kids decided to shower him completely in snow. It was surprising how much impact the little bit of snow had that they managed to fit in their palm when they seemed to have a natural rotation system.

While the two 5 years old threw their snow rather uncoordinated, 7 year old Franky got some pretty good hits, right in the face. They also managed to silently work out a system in which one is always distracting Vale with new hits while the others starts scrambling snow together and then swap.

After a few minutes of that, while the adult barely manages to land a few good hits, he decided that this was not worth it.

"OKAY!" he screamed, lifting his hands up. "Okay! Okay! I surrender! Mercy! Mercy!" He was hit with another snowball right in the face.

Surprised he spit the snow out his mouth, looking at them with a faked angry expression when Franky screamed "Now we accept your surrender!" and his two brother started giggling.

He was glad to see them happy. It was a relief that they didn't understand the chaos that was the world around them. It was like the ranch was an invisible island for them to flee to, where none of them had to face any worries or consequences.

He remembered taking the boys on a little walk. Luca had been sitting on his shoulder, Cele on his hip and Pecco on his hand.

They were looking at the Christmas lights. It had been late evening. Marc and the rest of their little chaos gang were a little bit left behind since Bez and Franky had started a sword fight in the forest with sticks and refused to stop before one had won.

Andrea was cheering for them. Marc had stayed behind to make sure they didn't accidentally stabbed their own eyes out.

Luca was currently pointing at a particular house that was lighting up with lights in every color when they were approached by Isabella, an elderly woman.

"OH look at you, Vale!" she had laughed. "Being the caretaker of a few kids. Well, hello. Who are you, my little darling?" In that moment the older rider had felt a cold sweat run over his whole body.

If anyone else found out - He refused to think about it.

"Family" he had answered quickly. "They are part of mine and Marc's family-" which technically wasn't a lie but somehow they had managed to keep the fact that the whole academy had been de-aged a secret and he wouldn't break that now.

"OH how lovely..." she smiled but then tilted her haid. Her eyes were locked on Luca who - with the curiosity of a 4 year old - returned her gaze. "Yes, now that you mention it... He does look excatly like your brother when he was young. He looks like Luca, down to every detail. And he used to sit on your shoulders during your walks too"

"Must be a family trait" he said. "But I am-" The little one started so Vale quickly made a move to indicate that he had to head home. "And you know - eh - genetics. Sometimes kids look very much alike. I see you around. I don't want the little ones in the cold for that long"

Before she - or worst one of the kids - could make another comment, he quickly continued.

"Papa, why didn't you tell her that Luca is Luca?" Cele asked, leaning his small head against his chest. He was tired from their long walk and blinked with heavy eyelids. He looked like he was about to fall asleep.

"Or introduced us?" Pecco supplied.

"Yeah. Are we secret?" Luca asked and suddenly Vale felt very cornered. He wanted to say no but the answer was yes. He wanted to deny it and embrace them, prove them that he would never deny that they are his kids - even if there wasn't a biological connection.

"Of course not" he replied with a fake smile and guided them back home.

Home.

The ranch.

The place where it felt safe for them to just ran around and have fun like children were supposed to.

Franky was already riding. He had a small mini dirt bike. The first time he had seen it, he had screamed and jumped around like they had never seen before. He had jumped on Marc and Vale, hugged them, thanking them.

Watching his ride - even if it was barely more than 15km/h - nearly gave Vale a heart attack. He just wanted to run after him, holding him tight and safe to make sure he didn't fall and got hurt.

Marc looked more secure, but still had an anxious hint in his eyes. He had grabbed Vale's hand. "Don't worry" he whispered, kissing his cheeks. "He'll be safe"

He had squeezed his hand. Maybe as a reassurance. Maybe as a way to make sure that Vale wouldn't end up running after him.

After all Franky had already proven he had the talent to become a world champion and even a runner up for the motogp title.

Luca and Pecco were still on the mini bikes. It was slightly better to watch them drive their circles but still -

But now, they were just running around, in the snow, laughing and being happy. There was no danger around. They were safe. Safe and happy.

"Come on!" Vale decided and reached for his boys. "How about we go inside and check if we'll get you kids a hot chocolate. Does that sound good?" "YES!" they all screamed.

The older Italian couldn't help but smile as he watched them run over the large garden back towards the door. "I'll be first!" Migno screamed as they ran, but got quickly over taken by Franck who had the advantage of longer legs.

"WINNER!" he yelled with a triumphant smile. He wasn't far behind them so he quickly yelled "But im the only one with keys!"

He then unlocked the back down and watched as they put their shoes off - some more careful then others - and then moved on to the jackets.

Whiel Pecco and Franky hand them up, Andrea let his fall to the floor. He was already about to turn around when Vale gave him a scolding look.

"Andrea" he said. "What did you forgot?" "Eh..." helplessly he looked at Franco. Because - of course Franky would be able to help. And really, he leaned over and whispered "Hang our coats" "Hang ourself!" the other repeated louder and with a few more mistakes.

Vale stared at him for a split second. He didn't know if he should laugh out loud or not. He decided to smile and slowly point at his coat that had fallen of. "Hang our coats. If you're already repeating Franco, please do it correctly"

"Sorry" he muttered with a little eye roll. "Did you just roll your eyes at me?" Vale asked. "NO!" Migno screamed and started running, Pecco immediately close behind him. "Papa! We're baaaack!" he yelled. "Ey! Wait for me, I've got little legs"

Shaking his head, while Franco ran behind them and Vale followed his 3 boys in the direction of the kitchen.

He heard their mixed voiced before he even arrived and smiled.

He entered and a joyix feeling overcome him.

He saw Marc, standing with the back to him, working on something. Franky and Migno were standing next to him, touching his arm to show them how cold their hands had gotten.

Pecco had shuffled to the oven were a bunch of Christmas cookies were baking. He was holding his hands out, warming them, while Cele sat next to him. There was a little bit of flour left on the top of his nose and on his shirt.

Marco was sitting opposite of Marc. He wore a Christmas head. He looked like he was in deep concentration. His forehead was laying in deep folds and his tongue was sticking out at one side.

Luca was sitting next to him, almost as focused. His head was tilted to the side and his nose was scrunched up. He wore the antlers of a reindeer. Something told Vale that it had been Cele and Marco who forced Luca to wear them.

"Papa!" Bez exclaimed when he looked up. He had a big grin on his face. It looked excatly like the one big Bez always had. "LOOK!" he said and showed him a cookie he had been decorating.

It was Christmas tree colored in yellow with edible pearls all over it. "That's your tree! Cause it's yellow" "Wow, thank you, Marco" he replied with a smile. "It's very nice"

With a satisfied smile he continued his work. There was a whole bunch of colored cookies already he noticed as he approached them.

It felt familiar. Domestic. It felt like the most perfect moment of home.

And to completely the moment he sneaked up behind Marc, pulling him close. He pressed himself against him, putting his head on his shoulder. He hugged him, refusing to let him go.

"I love you" he whispered and felt Marc's hand coming up to feel over his cold cheek. "Love you too" he replied.

He turned around on his arms to face him. Vale still hold him close but now he was able to look him in tbe eyes. For a moment they just looked at each other. Both clearly happy and in awe about their new life and situation with the kids.

Even if the little ones sometimes almost bought them to insanity and they had crashed on the couch in exhaustion, more than once, they were happy. They wouldn't trade it for anything.

And they were in love. So Marc leaned in to kiss his lover. He felt his lips on his and just as he was about to deepen the kiss he heard in unisono a 6 voice strong "IIIIIIIGGGGGHHHHH!" that somehow made the moment perfect.

[noblehouseofgay]

Home Alone

Rosekiller microfic

Little Luna and implied pandalily

Home Alone au

Dedicated to these freaks that I am very emotionally attached to, Merry Xmas guys: @shouldhavebeenarockstar @allonsy-moony @maraudering-times @marauders-brain-rot @caiizawa @hexa-ro @drowninkystar @the1970sdeadgaywizard-regulus

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Quiet chatter filled the winter night air as Barty and Evan walked up to the door.

"No but it was funny because Regulus was-" Barty paused when he realized his key wouldn't go into the lock. "That's strange." He tried again as Evan used his phone light to check it.

"It looks- it looks sealed." Even stood back up. Their eyes widened as they looked at each other.

"Home Alone."

Last week, Pandora had invited everyone over for a movie night. They had watched Home Alone and even that night they could tell Luna had loved the movie.

Now, on a night they expected to be an easy babysitting night, they had been cast as the wet bandits and had to get into this booby trapped house.

Luna was a clever kid.

It wouldn't be easy.

Or safe.

Evan knocked on the door. "Lunes? It's us. Can we come in?"

Nothing.

Barty sighed. "I'll try the back door, you wait here." Evan nodded and Barty made his way around the back of the house.

"Looney Tunes? It's Uncle Bat." He grabbed the door knob and immediately yelped in pain. "Fuck! Luna!" The metal had been electric somehow and had completely zapped his hand. Barty shook his hand, trying to gain back feeling in it.

"Luna we have to come in eventually!" He shook his head, looking for his next option.

🥀

Meanwhile back out front, Evan had gotten a window open, he climbed inside carefully. He watched where his feet stepped, making sure to not step on the toy cars below him. He scoffed. "Those aren't even Luna's those are Harry's."

He managed to stand on solid ground unscathed, but he didn't think to look up until a bucket of freezing cold water came crashing down on his head. "Oh fuck-" Evan tried to dodge but it was no use. If he stepped wrong he'd slip, so he simply accepted his icy fate.

He groaned and rubbed his head. "Oh you are so grounded when I find you, kid."

💀

Barty had managed to pry the door open after ten minutes of trying. He slammed it open, looking around. He carefully stepped inside the cellar. As he went to take another step, his foot wouldn't move.

He looked down to find glue covering the steps. "Bloody hell." He ripped off his shoes, throwing them in various directions. With his next step, his socks were pulled off. When he finally he reached the door, he flung it open and skipped the last stair.

He stomped inside, finding Evan standing in the living room.

"You're wet."

"Your shoes are missing."

"Have you seen her yet?"

As if summoned, a small voice came from upstairs. "You boys done, or are you thirsty for more?"

Both of them looked up to see Luna sitting on the stairs with a nerf gun.

"Luna- we can talk about thi-" Her aim was perfect. She hit Barty right in the mouth, firing ten foam bullets at him and effectively shutting him up. Barty dove to the side, slamming into Evan and knocking them both to the ground.

Luna could be heard laughing and running away.

Evan sighed in frustration. "Really, Bee?"

"I didn't know she'd bloody shoot me!"

Evan sighed and shoved his boyfriend off him, standing up. "We have two options. We either give up since we're at least in the house now."

"Or?"

Evan smirked slightly. "Or we play into it and give her a little show."

Barty's eyes flickered with something dangerous, his smirk matching Evan's. "I bloody love your brain." Barty pulled his boyfriend in and kissed him.

He grimaced slightly. "I forgot you're wet."

"Did you also forget when you fell on top of me?"

Barty looked down at his wet shirt. "Oh. Yeah I did. Well I was busy with darts being shot down my throat."

"Have something else you'd prefer down your throat?"

"You know it, Rosie."

Evan hummed. "Later. Right now we've got a kid to entertain." He marched up the stairs, walking right over a trip wire.

Barty yelped behind him as a paint can came swinging towards him, only narrowly missing his head. "She's gonna bloody kill us!"

Evan shrugged. "Possibly. She is Pandora and Lily's kid afterall."

"A combination made in hell surely. She's too smart for 7 years old."

Evan snorted, walking further down the hall. They made their way to Luna's door, eyeing each other before slowly opening it.

The door opened and it was quiet. Silence. No movement.

"This cannot be a good thing."

They walked in carefully, Barty's eyes on the ground and Evan's eyes looking around them.

"Alright kid, time's up, we're here."

"Is that a fact?" Luna's small voice came from behind them. They turned to find her pushing a small button.

"Luna-"

Immediately ropes came around them, tying them up and knocking them on their asses.

Luna cackled and plopped down in front of Barty and Evan.

"Hello uncles." Her voice was so sweet. So deceiving.

"Luna."

She blinked innocently.

"I am so bloody proud of you! This was so well done!" Barty laughed.

Evan sighed. "We should be punishing her, Bee...but it was cool." A smile creeped onto his face as he looked at his niece. "But you do realize you have to clean this up before your mum comes right?"

Luna pouted. "I know. But it was fun."

"It was. Now untie us. I'm beat, kid."

Luna smiled and untied her uncles. Both of them stood up and hugged her.

Barty lifted her onto his shoulders. "Now next time, you include you got it? I know some old tricks that'd work on your Uncle Reggie."

Evan just laughed and shook his head as the three walked out of the room to clean up the absolute disaster that was the Lovegood Residence.

[azulsluver]

I have an idea for bully!au so imagine kailm having a dream or saw something of a couple with a pet play fetish and liked to the idea of the dog collar and decided to put one in reader

Like kailm getting reader a dog leash and collar on them and tells them to keep the dog collar on but he puts the leash on whenever he seems them

How do you think the others would feel see kailm practically say he owns them as his

tw/cw: humiliation, forced pet play, dehumanization.

It’s not particularly a fetish, to Kalim at least. He doesn’t take any sexual pleasure, you are treated like a dog and that’s that. Kalim knows you aren’t a dog, but he likes it when your by his side where he can run his hands on top of your head, the small jingle of your collar letting him know you’re alive under his care.

You don’t just get the collar because what not, you have to earn it! So then does he let you walk around with a collar of his initials. Anyone outside would think you’re some sort of pervert walking around with a blinged out dog collar, but that’s punishment if you’ve been snappy at him. Then yes, he would let you have it on until he tells you to take it off when it’s bath time. The collar is handmade to fit comfortably and stand out.

He’s not a exhibitionist, but he knows it bothers you when you wear the collar outside of his bedroom. Again, don’t be a brat and he won’t have to drag you around with a leash and have you bark for forgiveness, he gets upset if you cry during the process.

In fact Kalim has a collection of collars for you depending on the occasion or outfit he puts you in.

This is who you choose, if you choose Kalim then he’ll gladly call you his. Everything you have and own is his anyways, so thank him nicely by rolling over. I’ll pick out three interesting characters seeing this side of Kalim.

Jade would be so curious as to how Kalim has you so obedient. To him, it’s hilarious seeing you prance around with shiny collar, because you look so comfortable. Kalim has no issue having Jade circle around you like a shark as he cups his chin, he’s polite to keep his hands to himself but his eyes assault you entirely.

It’s rude to laugh in Kalim’s presence, so once he corners you alone he’s pressing his knuckles to his lips to hide his grin. Aren’t you embarrassed? You can’t even stand for yourself, but it was bound to see you being treated like a dog. A well taken care of dog at that, you learn to respect and appreciate. Don’t go crying to Kalim, he’s just messing with you, a little tug at your collar shouldn’t bruise, but Jade enjoys having his gloved hands scratch at the top of your head as if ears were actually there.

Kalim managed to do it before he could. Lilia is a little jealous he didn’t think of it sooner. You look so nice with a collar around your neck. Pray he isn’t around Kalim when you’re present, Kalim has an issue of letting his friends push you around for laughs. Whether Kalim knows of Lilia’s behavior towards you you’re royally fucked. It’s the same when being punished except Kalim doesn’t see it that way, so he smiles through when Lilia asks if you could play ball for a while. He doesn’t play fair by the way.

Lilia has you bark for him when he’s chatting idly with Kalim. You need something? Just whine and bat those lashes, then will be put whatever he was focused on down and place his elbows on his knees to give you his fullest attention. Lilia is obsessed with this dynamic that he uses it on you regularly but with a more aggressive approach.

So humiliating, he would never show his face anywhere ever again. Luckily, it’s you and not Idia. At first Idia had mixed feelings about it, of course Mr. Sunshine is a freak hiding behind bright smiles. Although, he is a bit envious he gets all of your attention, if you were with him he would have made you into a beastmen if you wanted to be a dog so bad. Idia’s intentions and view point on you being treated like a dog is way different than what Kalim had in mind. Who’s the freak now?

You know some people are into these sort of things? Forcing and treating a human being like a pet, (mind you Idia prefers felines so as a mutt breed it’s what you deserve) degraded as to nothing worth more than a responsibility. Idia could make some good money for this, not that he needs it but it’s priceless watching you beg him not to encourage Kalim to agree. He won’t, Kalim isn’t dumb, he’ll scold Idia with how unruly he’s treating his puppy. Idea definitely gained some new fetish.

[dark-elf-writes]

Write more biblically accurate Hawks you coward

“I’m going to regret asking this? But how?”

For his part Hawks didn’t so much as look up at the question, still sitting cross legged on his desk happily munching away from the bucket of fried chicken resting in his lap like he belonged there. It was almost enough for Vlad King to decide to try his luck at strangling the new Number Two hero… almost.

“How am I so handsome? Genetically lottery.”

Vlad sighed, long and soul deep. “How did 1-A convince you to cover yourself in googly eyes and serve as their high priest.”

That actually got a laugh out of Hawks. Bright and sharp. As sunning as his frequent displays of falling feathers and twice as deadly. “Convinced? Vladdy baby, I offered.”

A million questions jumped to his tongue. Why? What did Hawks get out of it? Why those kids? How the hell did Hawks have the time to humor them when he should be patrolling? Why the fucking eyes? The only thing that managed to trip its way over his clumsy tongue, however was, “Don’t call me that.”

A scoff around another bite of chicken, a dismissal of he had ever heard one, but Vlad stayed rooted to where he was. It was his desk that Hawks had taken over if nothing else. After a minute, and once the chicken bones had been picked clean and tossed in a perfect arc into the garbage can across the room, Hawks sighed.

“Look, I don’t expect someone like you to get it and honestly I don’t care enough to try to put it into words that you might actually understand, so let me tell you everything you need to know: those kids are different. Special even. That’s why I offered.”

Vlad blinked. “That’s it?”

“As far as you need to be concerned, yes. I think they’re interesting. They think the eyes are funny. Everyone except you wins in the end.”

“And you expect me to just accept that?”

All at once the air in the room changed. Hawks didn’t move. Didn’t rustle a single feather or set the bucket of fried chicken to the side. Still, Vald could feel the danger pouring off of him in waves. Could all but taste it on his tongue. He remembered then who Hawks was other than the odd little man that broke into UA every other week or covered himself in plastic eyes for the apparent delight of children he found “interesting”. He was Japan’s Number Two Hero hand picked and trained by the Commission themselves to be the ultimate idea of a hero. He took the missions no one ever heard about, taking care of all of the Commission’s dirty little secrets, then washed the blood from his hands and came out to pose for the cameras, the perfect irreverent pretty boy once again.

When Hawks smiled at him that time, it was nothing short of a threat. “It’s the answer you’re being given. I don’t care if you accept it or not.”

Vlad couldn’t say a word if he wanted to. Couldn’t drag his eyes away from the man, the predator, in front of him either.

Behind him, the door opened. Hawks didn’t look away from him when he spoke. “How’s it hanging, Eraser? Miss me?”

Great. Now Vlad was stuck between two eldritch abominations that wanted him dead. This was exactly how he wanted his afternoon to go.

Something sailed through the air, and Hawks caught it without looking, causing a merry jingle. When those eyes finally did leave Vlad’s face, slowly like they were savoring every second of his discomfort and wanted to draw it out just a bit longer, all of the tension left with it. Hawks was just a man again, sitting and enjoying lunch on a desk that wasn’t his.

Hawks snorted at the pack of little plastic eyes in his hand. “I thought I didn’t count as supervision, Eraser.”

“You don’t. Fuyumi will also be there.”

“Oh? The Princess?” Hawks’ smile went sharp in a completely different way.

Behind him, Eraserhead snorted. “She will eat you alive.”

Hawks laughed, bright and easy and so at odds from the animal stillness mere moments before. “As fun as that sounds, I’m gunning for her big brother and nothing pisses him off more than someone flirting with his sister.”

Vlad was out of the room before Eraser could respond again, wisely deciding that the desk was well and truly no longer his.

[cyberhughes]

— 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ jack hughes

chapter 7: drunk texting you

last chapter | next chapter

*:･✧* 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: jack hughes x fem!oc

*:･✧* 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: swearing, arguing, drunk texting, essentially every just gone to shit!

𝓐𝓾𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮: yes this chapter is based off of drunk texting by jhené aiko and chris brown….such a fucking banger i can’t even. first three lines of the song literally describe this scenario to a TEE!!!! this chapter is kinda shorter like literally nothing is resolved but WE ARE JUST SETTING UP FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER GUYS DW!! also holy shit chapter 6 lowkey is on fire thank you everyone for your support <3

series masterlist + character intros

pain surged through naomi’s body. everything felt like it was on fire. heart banging, mind racing and chest heaving as she ran away from the party to her house. she had ignored the calls of her friends, telling her to come back but she couldn’t look back. she couldn’t look back and face those eyes that had just burnt a hole into her heart with hatred.

she let the events replay in her mind over and over again, trying to figure out how it had escalated that quickly. how she hadn’t been able to get a word out before jack started with his accusations. it was as if their years of friendship and trust were reduced to ash. she’d also never forget how even through his harsh words, he still managed to confess his feelings, but it was too late now. those feelings were probably long gone the second he saw her locking lips with another. how the fuck did it get like this? “i thought you wanted me.” why wouldn’t her fight for her if he felt that way? what wouldn’t he let her explain before tearing her down.

she slammed her bedroom door upon arriving home, the sound echoing throughout the house but she didn’t care. she furiously wiped the tears from her eyes, the skin stinging from the constant rubbing. sitting onto her bed, she tucked her knees to her chest and tried to steady her breathing, fiddling with the charm on her bracelet that he had given her for her birthday. she traced around it as her mind swarmed with countless different thoughts.

her head shot up when she heard a soft knock at the door. her mother entered the room, wearing a house robe and hair slightly messy from being asleep. “baby, what’s wrong?” she stepped towards her daughter, sitting beside her and wrapping her arms around her. naomi could feel the tears coming back up and the lump in her throat growing.

“nothing…” she muttered but clearly that wasn’t the case. her mother would never believe that poor excuse of a life for a second. she pursed her lips, debating if she should ask the question. “did…did you and jack break up?” she looked into her daughter’s eyes searching for the reason for her sadness.

naomi laughed at her mom’s question, mentally face palming at the fact that she had lied about them dating. “we were never dating!” she threw her hands in the air, laughs growing stronger. “we lied about it!” she shook her head as the tears started to fall down. her mom’s face shifted to an expression of shock and worry. “mommy i messed it all up…i ruined everything.” her laughter shifted to sobs and her mom pulled her into a tight embrace, letting her get everything out. “shhh…you’re okay baby.” naomi felt the soothing hand of her mother stroking her hair. it was moments like this when she’d wish jack were by her side comforting her. now she was certain he’d never be able to again.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

“get in the fucking car.” quinn shoved his younger brother into the back of the car, “fucking idiot.” he slammed the door shut before jogging back to luke and their friends.

jack could hear the arguing that had ensued outside, everyone worried about where naomi had went. he could hear countless profanities from yasmin’s mouth aimed at him, and rightfully so he thought.

he slumped into the seat, running a hand over his face, still feeling like shit from the alcohol but feeling entirely worse by what he had done. the image of naomi’s red eyes and pouted lips would be forever burned into his brain. he’d never thought that in his whole life, he would be the one to do that to her, to break her heart and tear her down.

he felt both restless and helpless, he had essentially been put in a time out while naomi had run away. he bit his nails, debating in his mind if he should chase after her, or leave her alone. he knew she was a strong girl, and that she could handle herself. he however couldn’t handle the thought that he was the reason for her running the streets all alone. fed up, he opened the car door.

“HEY! where are you going?” yasmin stormed up to him. “m’ gonna find naomi.” he mumbled, still clearly drunk. yasmin harshly grabbed his arm to stop him from walking away, “i called her mom, she’s home.” jack felt a wave of relief wash over him knowing that she was safe, but the disgust of knowing what he did atill remained. “you’re not going to see her. you’re going to leave her the fuck alone, got it?” he furrowed his brows at her words, beginning to protest. “no, i need to tell her that i’m sorry.” yasmin’s body burned with anger and she resisted the urge to slap him across the face. “you’re sorry? you’re fucking sorry?” she began, gripping his arm tighter. cole approached, “yasmin calm down-“

“don’t tell me to fucking calm down,” she swatted him away, becoming increasingly angrier with everyone. “you didn’t give her a chance to speak before you started acting like a cunt. she never wanted james you idiot, she wanted you! are you seriously that dense to not have seen that?” jack could feel his stomach twisting as he listened to her words. “she talks about you all the time, it never stops. she isn’t joking when she’s with you, she’s just scared you’d toss her away, and you know what?” she glared into his eyes, “you fucking did.” she gritted before pushing him away. “she kissed james yeah okay, but she stopped it when she realized that it was you jack. it was always you.” tears formed in jack’s eyes as he stood there, taking in what yasmin was saying to him. “don’t fucking cry, you don’t deserve it.” she finished before storming off, ordering an uber on her phone.

the other guys stood there with mouths agape, not knowing what to say next or how to proceed. “let’s just go.” luke huffed and waked towards the car, purposely bumping into jack’s shoulder as he did so.

how was he going to fix this?

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

jack laid in his bed staring at the ceiling, both his brothers having just left after giving him a thirty minute lecture on how he fucked up.

he didn’t know what to do, did he leave naomi alone to prevent any further damage, or risk it and call her to let her know how he felt. he tossed back and forth in bed, similar to what his mind was currently doing as he weighed his options.

“fuck this,” he groaned and reached over to his night stand to grab his phone and call her. maybe he was being selfish, but he needed to get everything out.

his thumbs were going faster than his mind, he kept spilling out more and more, not once receiving a reply. had she turned her read receipts off? he’d stay awake the whole night waiting for her to respond, not wanting to miss it.

but she never did.

[oacest]

fic: kenet, dragon!liam, 3.6K words

When Liam was little and did something to annoy Noel, whether it be stealing his stuff, whining, chattering, following him around everywhere, or generally just existing in his space, he used to tell him they weren't really brothers.

(This was before Liam's fire came in, before his explosive tantrums were a threat to the structural integrity of the council house.)

Liam was bad at school – his head was in the clouds years before he ever managed to wing his way up there. If he'd paid any attention to his special classes, he would've known Noel was only having him on, that it was one of those genetic fuck-yous that riddled their family. They had a grand uncle in County Mayo like Liam; he was locally famous for having a few too many and terrorizing pilgrims off Croagh Patrick.

As it was, it didn't take much to convince Liam he was adopted; it wasn't like Noel or Paul occasionally had a tail, now did they.

You're lying, Liam would moan. As if he wasn't already tearing up.

I ain't. Da won you in a card game. Pair of sevens was all he needed to bring you home.

It didn't matter to little Liam that their family was dirt poor and kind of awful; the idea of not really belonging to it filled him with an instinctive terror. Noel never knew if that was because of his condition or just being the baby of the family.

Of course it always backfired, because Liam would go running to Mam, and then she'd twist his ear for telling his little brother he came from an egg like one of them turtles down by Cringle Brook.

Noel pretty much forgot about it by the time they left Tommy and got the new house. The old taunt got buried under years of other insults and lies, under a mountain of reluctant fondness and occasional wonderment, and then other things.

By the time they were in Oasis, the fact of their brotherhood was not only obvious to anyone who looked at them, it was also central to every facet of their waking lives. It was the first thing people knew about either of them, which is a bit fucking much when you considered Liam occasionally shifted into a winged, fire-breathing creature the size of a fucking tank.

Nevertheless: Noel Gallagher, big brother to Liam. Liam Gallagher, little brother to the entire fucking country it sometimes seemed. But first and foremost Noel's.

So yeah, Noel forgot what he used to say.

Liam never did, though.

–------

Most dragons? Proper ugly fuckers. Bullish heavy foreheads and beady eyes, ill-formed features like they got jumbled about after a lifetime of being rearranged all the time in the shift. It's just one of the many ways Liam was blessed at birth that he seems to be the exception.

In some lighting you wouldn't even notice the faint iridescence of scales just under Liam's skin where it gets thin: the underside of his wrists, the imprint of his spine. The bleach of his knuckles when his hand is in a fist.

He has a slight pebbling at the ridge of his eye socket, but somehow through the magic of his brother that gets turned around into something beautiful too. Beautiful and occasionally terrifying.

Between the two of them, Noel is the one who looks like he'd be the dragon. But he's never been jealous, except for a brief stretch of years when he dreamed nonstop about what he'd do if he could grow bigger: if he could smash Tommy into bits or breathe fire, transform his entire ugly world into cinders.

He got over that, though. And Liam went on to live his life in such a way as no one could feel jealous of it.

1994

“Is it true you're telepathic?” asked the girl from Em Tee Vee. They were in some hotel room, where half these interviews seemed to take place.

Truth was, they used the hotel rooms because their schedule was so crazy, and also because Marcus hoped Liam would behave better if he was in a space he felt he could own. What Marcus or anyone had yet to understand was that Liam felt he owned any and every space he happened to be in at the time. And that he was hardly more likely to behave if Noel was present.

“No,” said Noel.

“'Course it is,” said Liam. He waved a hand between them and then at himself. Wiped his nose; the fire made his sinuses tingle sometimes. “But not – not like this.”

“Not ever,” said Noel firmly. Liam couldn't communicate in his other form; he could barely communicate in this one.

“He's lying,” said Liam. He took a drink from his pint, looking sullen. “I remember, when I was little and could still like, perch on his shoulder—”

“So when you were two?” said Noel, shaking his head at the girl.

“You let me do it until I was at least five. Anyway, I could talk to him then. Hear 'im in me head too. 'Course I did, how is a kid supposed to get on if he can't talk to anyone and he's hungry or, or gets lost up a tree or summat? But he stopped talking back. Now he never listens neither.”

“None of that is true,” said Noel, and the world believed him because the alternative was insane.

2015

Noel.

Noel.

Noel, Noely G, Noel Gallagher. You fuckin prick, let us in. Noel, you awake? Noel, I know you're awake, the cousins always drag us out when we're in Dublin. Nole. Noel! NOELNOELNOELNOEL—

He groaned and finally pushed up from his marvelous big bed. There was the not-lately-familiar feeling of someone trying to tweeze out thoughts from his head with a pair of serrated chopsticks, and he half-hunched over in pain as he made his way over to the window of the rented flat.

He dragged aside the floor-length curtain and grimaced up into the glowing blue eyes of his brother, who had somehow wedged his elephantine body into the narrow space of the balcony. The wrought iron railing was battered and bent outwards, the grill and wicker chairs toppled over. This was going to do wonders for Noel's reputation for partying.

He rubbed his eyes and considered shutting the curtains again.

Liam, as if he could read his thoughts (he couldn't), huffed a massive breath that caused half the glass door to immediately fog over, and then thumped his head against it. Once, twice. He blinked his massive eyes down at him.

Let me in, cunt.

“Why are you here?” he demanded as he slid the balcony door open. Liam's head immediately pushed inside, followed by his long neck. “Aren't you supposed to be in New York for court? What the fuck, Liam?”

Liam shook his head like a dog and wiggled forward a few more steps. Out on the balcony, the railing groaned and shrieked as his heavy, razorback tail slid free of it.

He shifted as he walked, because even those massive balcony doors wouldn't fit his shoulders. In a minute he was standing naked in the middle of Noel's bedroom, looking around like he'd never seen one before.

“What the fuck?” said Noel again for good measure.

“In the morning,” he grumbled, rolling his neck and already stepping towards the bed like it was his. “Man, 'm completely knackered.”

“Long day being unemployed and a wanker?” But he was tired too and, while he had long since learned that the path of least resistance did nothing to actually ameliorate their relationship, he couldn't be bothered when it was four in the morning and he had a busy schedule the next day.

He got back into bed and Liam wasted no time cuddling up, like they still did this all the time. As always, his chest was like a reactor core. It was like trying to sleep on a bed of hot coals.

“You're sneaking out tomorrow morning,” said Noel, shoving a pillow in the nonexistent space between their bodies for some insulation. “I mean it. Tour's only starting, and if I have to spend it talking about you drunkenly winging across Ireland sky-writing tweets instead of promoting my album, I'll kill you. I really will.”

Liam ducked his head and chewed on the corner of the pillow. “Your album,” he muttered, muffled. “I used to have albums. Loads of 'em. A lovely, bright collection.”

Noel rolled his eyes. He said nothing and hoped for sleep to instantaneously claim them both.

“And fans,” continued Liam mournfully around the pillow corner, which was starting to get singed. “And music every day.”

His eyes slid up the length of Noel's body, faintly glowing again. If he tried shifting and broke the bed, Noel would find this flat's fire extinguisher and spray its contents down his throat.

“You could still have all those things,” he pointed out, exhaustion masquerading as patience. “If you got off your ass and put your name on the line. You know, you'd think you'd want that – your name over everything.”

“That was always the difference between me and you,” said Liam. “Didn't need my name over something to know it was mine.”

He slid his knee forward and up over Noel's legs. His dick was a hard burning line against his thigh.

Noel chewed on his lip and held his breath for a long moment of possibility. It had been years since they did that. Stopping was probably part of the reason things got so bad; generally speaking, dragons did not like being told no. But it was the only way.

Noel had worked too hard to start saying yes again on some random night in March on the eve of his second world tour.

“Go to sleep,” he said, and he rolled over so his back was to him.

2018

People were too fucking precious about it these days, the way they were about everything. Fucking snowflake millennials. Suddenly naming something for what it was or describing how it fucks with your day was simply not on, apparently.

Back in the nineties, people would meet Liam, spend maybe half an hour with him, and come away wincing sympathetically at Noel for what he had to deal with all the time. Twenty years on, neither of them have changed and yet now Noel's the bad guy for simply stating Liam is obsessed and jealous and thinks even now that Noel is part of his—

“Ooh,” says Donald from Radio 2, “I don't think we should use that word.”

It takes a moment for Noel to realize which one he means. “What, hoard?” he says incredulously.

A click signals the producer on the other side of the glass has hit a button. Cathy's voice pipes into the booth. “It's considered othering, Noel.”

“Then it's doing its job, because my brother is as other as it fucking gets.”

“That – may be,” says Donald bracingly, “but our listeners are not, and we wouldn't want to blindside them.”

Blindside, fucking christ. As if they were not talking about the man who once went on a three-day bender and passed out in broad daylight in Notting Hill on Michael Hutchence's jag, crushing it.

Noel sits back and crosses his leg, then his arms for good measure. “What word should I use, then?”

Donald looked back through the glass to Cathy for guidance. They waited while she considered the question or, more likely, googled it.

Another staticky click and she came through, clearly reading off her phone, “People avoid the H-word because it puts the compulsion at the center of the experience. This can be avoided through the use of people-first language—”

“People-first language,” repeats Noel. “Well, there's your problem right there. Liam's not a person.”

There's a beat of silence and then Donald gives a short, uncomfortable laugh.

–---

Any-fucking-way, here is a list of everything Liam considers part of his hoard:

When he was really little, Noddy toys; thereafter their childhood bedroom and everything in it; Noel's apartment in India House; Noel's first apartment in London; a series of very stupid hats; every fucking song Noel ever wrote for Oasis, including the ones Noel kept back to sing himself; every fuzzy layering garment he has ever clapped eyes on through a shop window; Noel's time; Noel's attention; and lastly but also firstly and everything in between: Noel himself.

1996

It was probably really fucking dangerous, flying while they set off fireworks below. But Liam was off and running before anyone guessed what he was doing, and then it was too late to even worry. It was always too late to worry about Liam.

Anyway, after a show like that, everyone kind of thought he was untouchable. He'd make the universe bend around him.

The massive crowd continued to cheer; music poured from the speakers. Noel leaned against the fence and sipped his beer, watching along with everyone else for glimpses of his brother through the explosions and smoke overhead.

His chest felt like it was bursting full of warmth and light. He might start floating any second. He wondered if this was how Liam felt all the time.

1985

C'mon, wheedled Liam.

“Not a chance.” It was the fourth time he said it, and it was growing harder with the repetition to say it casually. He tried smiling at Diane, who was sitting on the park bench drinking a lemonade and managing to look absolutely stunning as she did it. She smiled back, sorta.

Liam put his head down like an anteater and started trotting at him. It took Noel a baffled second to realize he thought he could scoop him up like that. It was really embarrassing, but it would've been even more embarrassing if he succeeded, so Noel evaded him by darting and jumping behind a tree.

So then he was hiding behind a tree from his kid brother while his potential girlfriend watched. He hated his life sometimes.

A furnace blast of air ruffled Noel's hair as Liam wound his head around the tree. Why not? He sounded plaintive in Noel's head.

People who saw them only could see the surface of things. They saw a little guy getting harassed by a massive blue-green dragon with a lazy eye. And then they looked the other way, because that's what everyone in the world did when things were happening to little guys.

“The last time we tried flying, I damn near broke me arm,” he said, pressing back again the bark like he could become one with the tree. “I said never again, and I meant it.”

I was ten. My balance is way better now. I been practicing.

“Practicing with who?” he scoffed.

Girls, mostly. But Polly Lynch let me take her guinea pig up once. I reckon if a guinea pig can manage it, so can you.

“Oh, that's just what Mam needs, you killing some poor girl and making us pariahs in the neighborhood.”

Liam nosed forward and chucked his chin with his snout. Not gonna kill nobody. Told you, I'm good at it.

“Answer's still no.”

Why not? I wanna show you things, like Black Chew Head and this one geezer's office in City Tower, you won't believe it, he's got a whole wall full of—

“You ain't supposed to be going into the city,” says Noel sharply. “How many times we gotta tell you that, you'll get in trouble. There's rules, Liam.”

Liam chucked his chin again, but more roughly this time. Noel could feel the sting of scraped skin along his neck and clapped a hand to it, grimacing and cursing.

His little brother stepped back, long tail shambling in a large circle over the park lawn as he turned his back on Noel.

Unease trickled in, too late. Noel started after him. “Liam!”

If you're not coming with, you don't get to tell me what to go.

And then he was taking off with a heavy, sulky beat of wings. Noel and Diane watched him go. He favored his right side, listing badly. Better balance his arse, thought Noel. He would've killed Noel for sure.

“What did he say?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing, I don't – I don't know. He can't talk when he's like that.”

“Oh.” She seemed surprised. “But I thought—”

“What?” he asked, real fast (too fast).

She looked at him in steady appraisal. Eventually, she shrugged and said, “Nothing. I just thought you could hear him, is all. Your mam made it sound like you could. Said you were the only one.”

Noel looked back at the sky, where Liam was only a small dot now. He was going too high.

“I'm a good guesser, is all,” he said.

2019

He didn't need the tell-tale shadow or the sound of beating wings overhead to know his brother had just left. It was obvious from the scorch marks spelling out CUNT in the lawn. The letters were large and crooked, somehow identical to his scrawl when he signed something for a fan. The T was still actively on fire in two spots.

It was just as well Sara and the kids weren't here yet and wouldn't be until the end of the week. The Hampshire house was still mostly empty. Noel was only out there to oversee the relocation of some of his more precious items (that is, his guitars).

He walked across the lawn, already hearing his wife's voice in his head: this has gone too far, we need to get a restraining order, he's dangerous, can't you see he's not well? How are we supposed to sleep like this? What about the boys, what if he takes the boys? After the things he's said and now he's over here proving he knows exactly where to find us?

The problem is, Liam will always know where to find him. There's nothing he can do about that, short of murder and/or suicide. He's only not done at least the former because the mere thought of the Cain and Abel references in all the headlines and book titles and documentaries made him disgusted.

Noel stamped out the two small fires and wiped his shoes on the grass to get the ash off. He took out his phone and made two calls standing there in the center of the lawn. The first was to his landscaper.

The second was to his mother.

2006

They had told Liam from the very beginning he needed to take special care with his voice, because of his condition; the fire was harsh on his larynx, made the cartilage more brittle. But Liam said fuck you, first just in his head, and then in Noel's, and then a few times aloud to anyone who dared tell him how to live his life over the years. And now that voice was gone: shredded and hoarse, you'd never guess what he used to be able to do with it.

“What do you mean, you're going on tour without me?” he said. They were in his local in Primrose Hill, in a corner booth. Noel had wanted to break the news somewhere familiar, so Liam wouldn't destroy the place if things went really poorly.

“It's not a tour,” he said, downplaying it like that has ever made a difference. “It's a few acoustic shows. I've always done those on the side.”

Liam shook his head. “But not like this, not as a tour.” He sat back, putting his arm over the back of the booth. His eyes traveled over the room, already seeing past Noel to the ranks of invisible enemies lying in wait.

Like a fool, Noel leaned forward to reason with him. “Look, it's to promote our album. You cannot possibly have a problem with this. I promote the album, you don't have to do nish, we both rake in the money.”

“Fuck the money,” said the man who's been a millionaire for a third of his life. “You're running off with my shoes, trying them on for size. Well, I think you'll find they're too big for you, little man.”

Noel tapped the table. “Right.” And then, to himself, “Why the fuck did I even bother.”

“Yeah, why did you?” he asked as Noel began sliding out of the booth. “I'll tell you why – you wanted to be able to say to people, I gave him fair warning. But I see through you. I got that third eyelid, brother, I'm always watching.”

He informed him, “I didn't have to tell you anything, actually. I don't need your permission to tour and, as I won't be dealing with your sulking on the road, your cooperation is also irrelevant. But I thought you deserved to hear it from me, that you might handle it like an adult and not a puffing little skink.”

For some reason, this is what cause Liam to flip his colours. His arm shot out and he grabbed Noel's wrist in his hot little hand.

He stood there looking down at it, for some reason not pulling away immediately.

“My voice is recovered from the spring, if that's what this is,” said Liam quietly. “I'm ready to go, Noel. Just name the date. I could do Knebworth tomorrow, man, you know I could.”

Despite a lifetime of proof that it wasn't any good, sometimes Noel caught himself wishing they could speak telepathically like this. Maybe it would be better, if it were these eyes he was looking into, this hand he was holding, when he lied and told him it wasn't about his voice.

[entriprises]

"none of the same interests?" he falls into a game of parroting, because his mind draws up a blank on any other sort of reply. each thing that she says to him shakes him blank like an etch-a-sketch in the making. just as soon as he thinks he has something in reply, she's shaking him again.

"i'm not the one not baring his soul-" he leans in closer to the table to look her dead on. "you drive me fucking crazy. you-" he means it better than it comes out. he sucks in a breath, eyes going up towards the ceiling for the momentary reprieve. his face burns, "i am in love with you." what's the point in saying anything but that? the weight off his chest isn't quantifiable, but it's not insignificant. shrugging, his chin lowers back down so he can actually look at her again.

"so, no i can't talk about whether we want to get, fucking cats or dogs on our checks or what colors we're going to paint the walls. you have no idea know how many times i have i tried to have this conversation with you-- or maybe you do!" there's a chuckle, but it's not one that says he's light hearted, or amused. it's resigned, and it's only some miracle that he manages to keep his voice somewhat quiet and even. "maybe you do, because you never miss a chance to remind me how utterly uninterested you are in me."

screw not making a scene, because the energy to yell finds him anew. he doesn't want to yell at her. well not entirely. it's his feelings that simply feel loud, and he thinks it's only right he matches them. it takes everything in him not to.

he raises his hands, palms up as he gestures with some restraint, "we talk, we don't talk. you spend the night, we're cooking together in the mornings. you call me up after a late night because you want to see me. you tell me at the hard deck that you've had too much of me." that one was hard to get over. "you're pissed at me for marrying you," he wants to point out that he doesn't remember that either, that she's not the only one who is reeling, "and now, you're talking about staying married. i don't know what you want. i don't know who i am to you, because we're not just fucking. let's at least be honest with each other. we haven't been just fucking since before we flew together." one hand runs through his hair. he feels the sweat running down his neck.

"if all of that hasn't been obvious, now you know: i love you, and i have to live with that, and it fucking kills me that no-" his head shakes and for the first time in all his words, a desperate breath, an empty silent sob, takes over when he wants to speak, "i don't want to stay married to you. i can't stay married to you. this isn't logistics and convenience for me." his voice pitches, and the tears return.

Bradley sputters, in a way that Nat finds completely predictable and even somewhat comforting. The coffee that inelegantly drips from his mouth is endearing, though gross, and it's instinct, habit, to hand him a few more napkins. The action is alarming, if only because Nat is only now, after they've so thoroughly screwed up their lives, realizing just how comfortably and easily they move around each other.

She has long ignored it, pushed her feelings and good sense away, but it's Bradley. It's Bradley - and she can't remember putting a ring on his finger. Their marriage is real in the worst way, signed names with little commitment behind it. Their marriage will end before ever getting a proper chance to begin, if they can't do this. If she can't do this, if she can't overcome her own inability to let herself entertain her feelings for the man sat in front of her.

Taking a deep breath, Nat nods. His questions are frustrating, mostly because her patience is thin from the alcohol fueled pounding in her head and the coffee, slow to spark more wakefulness. "Yes, if we were to stay married." Her tone, though, stays even, polite almost. Gone is the usual snap that bleeds through with Bradley, whether from outright annoyance or pure humor. It's a cheap imitation of their usual banter.

"I have questions, if we were to do this. For real. If we live together, in your place, what do we keep? Do we redecorate? What about savings? How do we handle all of the bank accounts and splitting costs?" Her eyes slide away from Bradley, fixing on some distant point. Nat takes another steading breath. "We've never talked about the future... what our lives might look like five years from now; what we want them to look like." Naturally, her thoughts turn to children; neither biology nor society have been kind, so while Nat's long known it'd be sometime till she was ready for them, she hasn't had the option of simply shrugging her shoulders and thinking it'll happen in some vague eventually.

Cheeks heating again, Nat knows fresh tears will spill if she isn't careful. "I can't say that until I know there's something worth saving, Bradley." Her face hardens. "I won't bare my soul to you if you have none of the same interests as I do."

[lemonwhorror]

carnival games should not be your standard for fishkeeping

[petricorah]

scenes i loved from Real Enough to Get Me Through by @marriedzukka <333 [ids in alt]