#still chucking and seeing what sticks

[my-insanity-is-an-artform]

Hour 15 and I am so tired and sore. Fucking pray for me dudes.

Time Loop au - Over the Edge And Over Again

Narinder can hardly believe what his former vessel turned usurper is saying yet…

It makes too much sense.

The way their battles against the Bishops were like child’s play to them. A dance they had performed and perfected over the course of countless cycles.

The way they knew avoid giving him the same thing over and over.

The way they barely glanced at the options he provided them and selected the most complimentary ones to best make the cult not only survive but thrive.

He’d thought it was talent rather than a cultivated skill.

He still fumed at the fact his crown had been stolen, but seeing his vessel near hysterics was such a violent upheaval in the way he viewed them along with the way he could still feel the vibrant devotion still pouring off them.

Honestly, even after he slit their throat and watched them resurrect with little issue, he still wanted his crown back but…

And yet…

…Thoughts for another time as he glared down at his vessel turned god.

“Get up. No matter the circumstance, you have taken my place as the God of Death. You have a cult to attend to rather than focus your attention upon one… follower.” He spat the last word out even as his former servant snapped their head up.

“I didn’t want this! Please! You have to believe me, my Div-“

Narinder cut them off. No god would survive calling and still worshipping another, let alone a mortal. “Silence! Go do your duty. Leave me to think about the revelation you have told me.”

Awkwardly, they got to their feet, dark eyes watery and pleading. They had only ever looked at him like that once, in the visit before the battle. Had they planned it for that long? How many cycles had they tried to usurper him for?

He turned away from them and he could almost feel the devastation radiate from them. The fool.

“There are robes in the chest for you. I hope the fit but they can be altered if needs be. The hut has running water and a private bathing area. I can bring you food later if you’d like or you can eat with the flock later. I’ll make sure you have your privacy for now.” They said quietly and left with a quiet thud of the door.

Narinder hadn’t expected plumbing. Nor clothing specifically for him.

He stalked over to the chest and flung it open. Thick white robes with beautifully dyed streak of red down the middle met him. Embroidered around the edges were symbols of loyalty, devotion and worship from the Old Faith. It thrummed with magicks of protection, warmth and comfort. It must’ve taken months at least to do the intricate embroidery and the material…

It was wool. Wool taken and carefully spun into such a soft yarn, it was likely no other ever had or would ever have something like this again.

Just what was the Lamb thinking? Why would they do such a thing and yet take his crown?

He ignored the idea that they had exhausted every other option. Because that would mean they had bowed to him every time and still been unable to break the cycle.

That only way out had been to take the Red Crown and yet they had still tried to find another way first.

Because devotion like that… was unparalleled.

[ducktracy]

that clampett post really opened my eyes, to the point I'm a touch teary at the moment. i love earnestness and love and sincerity and and the pig and duck.

(this post in question!)

I'M SO GLAD TO HEAR THIS!!! WAHH THAT'S GREAT 🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲 extremely happy it could be informative and touching!! FOR REAL THOUGHHH... i love many different shades of the pig and duck, and My pig and duck (the ones that live in my head and pull the levers that make me do and say things) borrow so many different things from so many different directors--who my favorite director is irt them is honestly really fruitless, because my view of them has just. amalgamated into its own. but i really do love the Clampett dynamic for how formative it is. i love when Porky is threatening horrible violence and i love when Daffy is being a petty dumbass.. but i love it because i can default back to the standard Clampett set when really enacting their characters, i can point back to that warm and friendly (if not a little Odd) dynamic of the early years and be like "but it balances out"

i also love seeing all the old production art/publicity art from that era too, where they're the face of the studio... i got locked in a live bidding war over this and almost bid an obscene amount of money over this with one other person 3,000 miles away, but let them have it because it was getting into 4 digits and i love the pig and duck. but not yet enough to drop that much money on them. i set a threshold for myself and immediately surpassed it and i’m actually glad i lost because my wallet would be screaming at me. BUT IT’S SO CUTE LOOK AT THEM

there’s just something so charming about seeing their dumb smiling mugs together… in a world where these characters are known for hating and killing each other, or if they are paired together smiling, it’s the most fake and corporately sanitized Thing possible.. there’s just such an earnest here. it really gets to me.

this one does not really have the same heartwarming earnest, because every time i see it my brain immediately registers it as "Stephen King's Carrie touched Daffy deeply" and i imagine an elaborate scenario that led up to this and then Porky killing him (metaphorically, but who knows) after and it makes me laugh a lot. still, blood paint aside, i like that they're bundled together in advertising

i don't know where the original photo is, but there's a photo of the 1941 WB animator's strike (that lasted for, what, 6 days? but it was effective, yay!) and i like that you can see them in the background

BUT YEAH!! I'M SO HAPPY TO HEAR THIS, i love when they're mean and stupid together (in the right way), but i really do have such a fondness for when they're buds early on.. it's what their entire dynamic was built on! and there's something sweet about seeing these characters and cartoons sort of grow up together. and, again, it's made so much more special given that this dynamic is exclusive only to Porky and Daffy. out of the entire franchise! Daffy literally wouldn't exist without Porky, in multiple senses! so it makes me so happy that they were made a Thing so early on, and with such great success.

i mean it just doesn't get better than this, folks

[waywardsalt]

tag rant but man i fuckin hate the new direction for loz

[drchucktingle]

this was a comment on one of my post from a recent live event. it was photos of joyful queer buckaroos celebrating together and proving love is real through creation, community, and a trot of love. most important I AM LITERALLY IN PHOTO AS A REAL FLESH AND BLOOD HUMAN

it got me thinking about how DEEP AND VICIOUS the irony poisoning of these early internet communities goes. the way buds like this cannot fathom someone just being a sincere person unrelated to their OWN old days of cynical posting. it is fascinating, and i will admit, sad too

despite a DECADE of work, countless live events, 350 tinglers written well before large language models were a thing, there are still people who cannot imagine someone like me could exist. it is a strange place to be. not just part of me, but my entire EXISTENCE is often gatekept

it is easy to say ‘well chuck your art IS strange’ but honestly i think it is more than that. magical realism is common. there are stories about dinosaurs and bigfeet and unicorns. this scoundrel reaction is about two unspoken things: my art is neurodivergent, and my art is queer

heres the thing: I WILL BE FINE. what concerns me is not an issue of MYSELF, it is a concern for the other young outsider buckaroos who see comments like this one and think ‘is that what they will say if i express MY unique way? will i be dehumanized like this at every turn?'

i will be honest, i cannot say that WONT happen, but i CAN say this: for as deep as this irony poisoning goes, it is slowly dying. the way i was treated at the start of my career is LIGHTYEARS DIFFERENT from the way i am treated now. there is a massive shift towards sincerity

BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY. to young artists trotting up, the things that i am harassed over and doubted for and made fun of for are NOT tangental to what has made me successful, THEY ARE LITERALLY THE SAME THINGS THAT HAVE MADE ME SUCCESSFUL. YES I AM STRANGE, WHAT OF IT?

the things that you tuck away for fear of a review that says ‘there is a PROBLEM with this art because it has always been done another way’ THOSE ARE YOUR SUPERPOWERS. the gatekeepers want you to tuck those parts of yourself away because THEY TUCKED AWAY THOSE PART OF THEMSELVES

never forget that your unique way is PURE UNFILTERED 100 PERCENT ROCKET FUEL. it will stick out (maybe, if you are lucky, scoundrels will even say that someone like you could never actually be real), but sticking out isnt so bad when you are waving the flag of love.

in fact, when youre waving the flag of love, sticking out is pretty dang cool. what are flags for, after all? LOVE IS REAL BUCKAROOS. thank you for reading, and if you enjoyed this long post then please consider preordering BURY YOUR GAYS.

LETS TROT

[soapcloth]

Filthy Dog

MMA au -> pro!Soap x PR team!reader

Series CW: 18+ MDNI, possessive behaviour, spitplay, oral oneshot - 2K words - dividers -> @/cafekitsune

“-I'LL HAVE YER’ HEAD ON A STICK!”

You heard him before you saw him- the blur of a man who was truly more bull than human, and the scraping of chairs. Another headache for you. 

You knew this was coming, you knew he wouldn't be happy with this sponsor. You tried to warn them.

“Johnny.” Soap’s manager, Mitch, tried to reason, eyes widening when the fighter’s massive wrapped hands flexed around his freshly-pressed white button down, untucking the bottom from his pants in the process. “-John.” he corrected, coughing awkwardly. When Soap snarled at him, Mitch looked to you with that ‘help clean this mess up’ look.

“No.” Soap bit, jamming a blunt finger into the man’s chest before you could respond to his plea. “This is yer’ problem.”

“We don’t have a problem.” Mitch assured. “Talk to me John, what's up?” 

Soap’s eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring. “Ye’ know damn well. Told you I'd sooner quit than work with Max Energy.”

Mitch’s lips pursed, You were unsure what he expected as the outcome of his greed- probably that he would be able to talk his way out of it. “I don’t remember you saying that." he scoffed. "Come on now, Max is great, don't blow this out of-”

Soap growled in frustration, his fist careening into the folding table beside him; a deadly weapon- a warning shot. 

“Tell me, Mitch- why was I-” he snatched the cloth hanging out the pocket of his sweatpants and pushed it into the wiry man’s chest. “-just handed shorts with Max Energy big and bold ‘cross my fucking bits?” 

he leaned in, jaw tense. “Ah’m a joke to ye’? I’ll quit right here, right now.” 

Mitch called your name like he was summoning a maid and you could only sigh in response. “Soap-” “You say one more word for him and ah’ll knock his fucking teeth in.” he warned, not even turning to look in your direction. Your mouth closed, locked tight. 

“John, you quit and all those paying fans out there waiting for you will make sure you never get another damn title again.” Mitch threatened. “They’re not here for some still wet-behind-the-ears openers. They’re sure as shit not here for Kozlov.” he laughed sardonically. “They’re here for you. Don’t ruin this.” ‘-for me’ he seemed to leave out.

You couldn’t help but wonder if Mitch was doing this on purpose, or if he was just flat out stupid.

A deep, rumbling noise echoed around the depths of Soap’s expansive chest, lips curling back like a dog. “I do this fight- then I’m done, Mitch.” Mitch beamed, seemingly only hearing the confirmation he’d be fighting tonight. “-Not for yer’ sorry ass and not for those Max Energy bastards either. For the fans.” Soap grit out.

You could see the gears inside the manager’s head turning as he processed the financial hit he would inevitably take if his golden boy were to leave. “John-” Mitch practically whined.

 “Not up for debate.” Soap snapped, shooting him a venomous look- and like a tornado on a storm path, he chucked the shorts in the bin and left, dipping back into his locker room.

Mitch sighed, rubbing at his temples before setting his eyes on you.

“Do something. You’re Personal Relations- go relate personally.” Mitch snapped at you as he began digging into the trash to retrieve the shorts.

“Public Relations.” you corrected, earning a frustrated hiss and a dismissive hand wave. 

“Don’t change the subject. Get in there.”

You grimaced. “He’ll kill me!” 

“Don't be dramatic and hurry up, he's on soon.” Mitch urged, shooing you off. You made a sour face, heaving yourself up off the padded bench before Mitch could find something else to complain about. “-Wait.” Mitch ordered, as if he was telling a dog to heel. “-Second thought," he hummed "scratch that, let him be pissed for the fight. It’ll do numbers.”

-

Loathe as you were to admit, Mitch was correct- all three rounds had been polished off like they were light meals. You were next, surely. Your knee bounced anxiously as you awaited the full oncoming force of Soap’s post-cage high. “Fantastic! MacTavish v Kozlov-” Mitch barked out a laugh. “What a joke Kozlov was, does his team think it's amateur hour?” 

“Mitch.” you interrupted, knee falling still. “This isn’t really time for celebrations, you're about to lose your current biggest fighter.” He mowed you down with an eye roll “John just needs time to come to his senses, Max Energy contracts like this are once in a lifetime.”

“He’s not-”

The Locker room door nearly flew off its hinges, a beast coated in sweat and blood emerging. “John!” Mitch grinned with outstretched arms that faltered as the big man stormed straight past him.

God. Good god. He was hurtling towards you. Avert your gaze downwards, you coached yourself, you wouldn’t sit well in the stomach of a dog like him. 

Bare feet stopped before you. “You.” he chuffed out around the rubber guard in his mouth, drawing your gaze upwards. “Let’s go.” You looked around, not fully processing the situation. Mitch regained his composure. “Y-yes! Go talk with John.” he urged, desperately latching on to any inch of leeway Soap would give. “Get the fuck out, Mitch.” Soap barked, voice distorted by the EVA covering his teeth.”’Fore I rip yer’ head clean off.”

“R-right! We’ll talk later.” he laughed out nervously and tucked tail as Soap stared you down through the eyes of a starving street dog; getting the hell out of dodge. He kept his eyes on Soap as he left- a survival instinct not to show your back to a hungry predator.

”I tried to warn them about the Max deal.” you pressed once alone, hoping to avoid an argument. “Ah’know, bonnie.” he hummed lowly, a sweaty, gloved hand coming to graze your cheek. His sudden, loose tenderness came as a shock to your system. “Yer’ not like those vultures- Ye’ don’t see me as an asset.” His empty blue eyes relaxed, pupils dilating as his other hand raised to cradle the other side of your face, both thumbs brushing the corners of your lashlines. “Aye, Yer’ the good one. So patient with a daft bastard like me.” Your eyelids trembled slightly, his gaze zeroing in on the movement. “You want me like I want you?” 

Your eyes darted to your lap, urging Soap to tap at your cheek. “Eyes up- On me.” 

“You give the word and ah’ll treat you better than any man ever could. Ah’ll set ye’ right.” his voice dropped to a low boom. “Yer’ the only good thing ‘round me, have been since the moment we met.” You could still remember why you were hired. Soap was on the come up, but couldn't seem to figure out why getting into random scuffs with strangers over little annoyances was a bad thing. Especially for a man with a body that was essentially a lethal dose of muscle and bulk he had been specially trained in how to throw around. Possible fatal outcomes aside, it wasn't making him a man to root for. Every fight needed tension, but Soap wasn't a man built for pyrrhic victories- he was an underdog, biting and gnashing his way through cage after cage; man after man. He was meant to enjoy his hard-earned glory, and because of your work- MMA fans absolutely adored him. 

Soap huffed out, head tilting. “Y-yeah- yes, okay.” you whispered, trying not to psych yourself out. Your lips creased, head nodding before you could chicken out. 

Pulled into an blurred vortex, it took you an embarrassing amount of time to realize you were hiked over his shoulder as he lumbered towards his private locker room for the fight, locking the door behind him. Setting you gently on the luxurious industrial sink counter was his last mercy as he ripped off his gloves and clawed at your bottoms and underwear, yanking them off your legs. A freshly-bare and clammy hand braced itself under each thigh as he jacked your legs up and over his broad shoulders, a pleased grunt passing his lips. 

He lowered down before cursing and pushing your legs back up against your chest. 

You made a small noise, worried you had somehow fucked something up for him which earned you a growl and a headshake as he grunted and spat his mouthguard onto your tummy, sticky saliva coating your skin as it found its resting place before he dove back in, not caring where the plastic ended up. 

He pressed open-mouthed kisses at the apex of your thighs, sucking and biting at the skin like he was underfed and hungry. You whined as his teeth kept digging into the sensitive flesh, earning satisfied hums from the man in response, stubble not helping your case. You flexed, legs caging in his head which had seemed to guide him towards your waiting cunt.

The noises he emitted as he lapped at your folds made you feel nauseated and lightheaded, a blushing mess.

A shoulder jerked upwards to support your leg so he could explore the messy folds with a newly-unoccupied hand, but didnt pull his mouth back to give himself the space needed to do so; leaving you reeling at the feeling of such a concentrated area of stimulation.

As if sensing your limits, he bullied his way deeper, growling into your pussy in a way that left black spots at the corner of your vision.

Brutish fingers began to dip into the spot they had been searching for and you could feel his body tense and flex as he practically humped into the space beneath the counter, hips desperately chasing contact it wasn't receiving. He cursed against your flesh, mouth covered in drool and slick as he rose upwards, reminding you of a hulking behemoth as you were forced to accommodate the new position. He gazed down with hazy eyes and a glistening jaw as he focused on jamming whatever he could of his finger into your cunt, twitching and thrusting the digit inside you. As if the stretch wasnt enough to satisfy that itch in the back of his skull, he stuffed in his ring finger next to it, pinky and index bracing his hand as he fucked the fingers into you, transfixed. 

You were going to pass out at this rate, his knuckles, malformed from years of improper training and injury- kissed at your inner walls, sending you out of body. 

His lids lowered, pace easing as a thought passed his mind. He paused, stretching open the hole as his throat bobbed a few times. Your head clumsily lolled to the side just in time to watch a fat wad of spit drip from his mouth, directly into your slicked pussy. He smiled, happy with himself and savoring the sight for a moment before continuing his ministrations- slower this time, deeper. He angled his hand, thumb massaging at your clit just to see the way you would react. 

You didn't disappoint him, the sight of you causing his mouth to part, drool still hanging from his chin. “Fuuuck.” he breathed, drawing the word out. "-What a sight ye' are." His eyes darted back to your cunt, thick brows quirking as he experimentally ground his thumb deeper into your nub, urging a cry to push its way out of your lungs. His teeth glinted as he huffed out a small laugh. “Yer’ being so good to me too, huh?” he rumbled happily, eyes coasting along your stretched folds and it took you a moment to realize he wasn't talking to you. He pulled his fingers out slowly, scooping the mixed fluids up and popping them into his mouth. “Mmh-” he groaned, diving back in to gather more, this time digging deep. the movement finally pushed you over the edge. “Tha’s it.” he praised, dipping his head low to lap his mess beneath your flexing thighs.  -

You spent the following half hour under a steaming waterfall shower head with a looming mass tucked against your back, cleaning you up and rutting against you in random incriments- his skin surely emitting steam at a higher rate than the water. He bowed his head into your neck, bunting against you and inhaling the smell of his favourite body wash on your skin. “-Got an offer from 141 Athletics a bit ago, they could take care of it all for us, y'know.” he mumbled, pausing and dragging his nose along your nape. “Yer' coming-" he breathed out. “You work for me, not Mitch- You're coming with me.” you could feel his lips drag up in a sneer against your skin when the man's name left his mouth. In an attempt to comfort him, you tried to turn and face him, but thick arms stopped you, curling under your arms and around your chest, sneaking a feel before pulling you into him, the fatty layer coating his pecs molding against your back like a dream.

You nodded.

“Good.” he sighed.

[notrobinsomethingworse]

Okay hear me out. Batfamily, ugly Christmas sweater addition.

Bruce Wayne:

No doubt in my mind his children forced him into it. As soon as Dick mentioned wearing ugly sweaters on Christmas Day he found this monstrosity sitting in his closet. He chucked it out. He forgot about it. The next week it was back. He threw it out again. Two days passed. It was back. He tried shredding it, burning it, burying it in the backyard. It reappeared each time. Needless to say, it was still there on Christmas and he reluctantly wore it to the delight of everybody.

Jason Todd:

He wanted absolutely nothing to do with what Dick had planned… at first. Then he realised it was a great opportunity to piss Bruce off. Funny enough, it didn’t work as he hoped as Bruce was just happy he was there.

Tim Drake:

Wanted nothing to do with it and still wants nothing to do with it. Chose the first thing on the rack. Would’ve given Young Justice the chance to chose he sweater but he doesn’t trust them to NOT get him something horrendous.

Dick Grayson:

Planned this whole thing just to wear this monstrosity he found while doom scrolling on Instagram reels (he has adhd and is a millennial, he sure as hell isn’t on TikTok BUT dopamine go brrr). His siblings hate him. He loves it.

Damian Wayne:

This boy FOUGHT like one of those cats being forced into a costume. He clawed and begged and weaponised crying. Dick cackled at him until he had it on. He stayed on Dicks shoulders for the rest of the night. They did not talk for a month after.

He will stab anyone who brings it up.

Stephanie Brown:

Okay picture this in hot pink. She immediately locks onto some sort of meme when Dick mentions ugly sweaters. She finds this ugly ass sweater and steals Bruce’s credit card to get it.

Cassandra Cain:

Stephanie immediately calls Cass with plans. She happily agrees. She helps Steph steal Bruce’s credit card and proudly pulls Steph around to show the whole family their matching sweaters. A photo of them recreating the meme with their matching sweaters spreads around the web for at least a week.

Barbra Gordon:

Along with this sweater, Barbs places a USB stick containing a compilation of epic patrol failures in each of the Bat’s Christmas stockings. She wants to keep them on their toes (and adequately afraid of her). It is effective.

Duke Thomas:

Same vain as Steph. Instantly clocked in on memes and found this bad boy. Shows up with yellow temporary dye on his hair and old-lady sunglasses from the dollar store. Whenever he faces the slightest inconvenience he asks to speak to the manager. It becomes a bit where the manager changes each time and becomes crazier than the last.

Alfred Pennyworth:

Motherfucker would not wear a ugly sweater no matter how much the children begged. And the children did beg (Damian had to pull out the puppy dog eyes for this one). Jason was actually the fucker who made him cave pulling out all the stops, “it’s my first Christmas with everyone since I… you know.”, “it would be nice to have something special to remember it you know?”, “I remember my first Christmas in the manor. I just want to feel that happy again.”

Jason comes prepared with the sweater and Alfred knows he’s lost (but he doesn’t really seem to mind when he sees all the smiling faces on Christmas Day).

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

The Gossip Chronicles

Word Count: 835

Pairing: lando Norris x reader

Summary: Lando and Y/n, both lovers of gossip, eagerly dissect the drama after the drivers dinner

________________________________________________________

The low hum of the air conditioning filled the room as Y/n lounged on the plush hotel bed, scrolling through her phone. The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminated her eager expression as she refreshed Twitter for the umpteenth time, hoping to catch a glimpse of what went down at the drivers’ dinner. She loved drama, and being with Lando Norris only fueled her insatiable thirst for F1 gossip.

She glanced at the clock. 10:45 PM. He’d been gone long enough.

When the door finally clicked open, Y/n practically leapt off the bed. Lando walked in, pulling the hood of his light blue hoodie down as he set his keycard on the dresser. The hoodie was slightly wrinkled, and the sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, giving him that effortlessly casual vibe that Y/n loved.

“Finally!” Y/n exclaimed, grabbing a pillow and chucking it lightly at him. “What took you so long? You know I’ve been dying to hear everything.”

Lando laughed, dodging the pillow with ease. “Nice to see you too, love.”

“Don’t ‘love’ me,” she said, crossing her arms and pouting. “Spill. Now.”

Lando tugged off his sneakers and flopped onto the bed beside her, the faint scent of cologne lingering as he did. “Alright, alright,” he said, adjusting his hoodie. “Where do I even start?”

“Max and George,” Y/n said immediately, her eyes lighting up. “I saw the clips from the press conference earlier, and you can’t tell me there wasn’t tension. What happened? Did they fight? Was it awkward?”

Lando chuckled, running a hand through his hair, making it stick up slightly under his hood. “Oh, it was so awkward. Max barely looked at George the entire dinner. He was polite enough to everyone else, but you could tell he was still pissed about the whole sprint race thing.”

“I knew it!” Y/n practically squealed, sitting up straighter. “Did George say anything to him?”

“Well,” Lando said, stretching his legs out, “George tried to be civil—like, he even made this joke about the weather or something—but Max just gave him that look. You know the one.”

Y/n nodded eagerly. “The ‘I’m about to crush you on the track’ look?”

“Exactly,” Lando confirmed, smirking. “It was so uncomfortable that even Carlos had to jump in and crack a joke to break the tension.”

“Of course Carlos did,” Y/n said, rolling her eyes fondly. “What about Lewis? Was he Switzerland as usual?”

Lando snorted. “Pretty much. He was sitting between Charles and George, though, so he didn’t really get involved. But I swear, Valtteri was eating it all up. You know how he loves watching chaos unfold without actually being in it?”

“That man is the definition of petty,” Y/n said, laughing. “What about Charles? Was he just… being pretty and clueless as usual?”

Lando burst out laughing. “Pretty much. He was just sitting there, sipping his wine, probably wondering how he got stuck in the middle of all this drama. Carlos kept nudging him like, ‘Just stay quiet.’”

Y/n leaned forward, her eyes wide with excitement. “Tell me more. Who else was doing what? Did Pierre and Yuki cause a scene? Did Oscar say anything?”

Lando laughed, pulling his hood back up for dramatic effect. “Yuki almost spilled his drink trying to get Pierre to stop flirting with the waitress. And Oscar… well, Oscar just looked like he was mentally filing for a restraining order from all of us.”

Y/n laughed so hard she had to clutch her stomach. “Poor Oscar. He didn’t sign up for this chaos.”

“No, but he’s learning quickly,” Lando said, chuckling.

“So,” Y/n said, leaning closer and dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “what’s your personal take on the Max and George drama? Whose side are you on?”

Lando gave her a playful side-eye, tugging on the drawstrings of his hoodie. “You trying to get me in trouble, love?”

“Always,” she said with a grin.

“Well,” Lando said, drawing out the word dramatically, “Max is definitely holding onto a grudge, but George isn’t exactly innocent either. I think they just need to have a proper shouting match and get it over with.”

Y/n nodded sagely. “Agreed. Maybe I should lock them in a room together during the next race weekend.”

“Or we could just sit back and enjoy the show,” Lando said, smirking. “You know there’s bound to be more fireworks soon.”

“True,” Y/n said, settling back against the pillows. “I swear, F1 is better than any reality TV show.”

Lando wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. “And you’re my favorite co-star.”

Y/n smiled, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “You’re just saying that because I let you gossip as much as I do.”

“Maybe,” Lando admitted, laughing. “But hey, it’s our thing.”

[itzpookiepooh]

Peel My Orange?

Orange peel theory

“Hey Rafayel?” You call out to him with an orange in your hand. He pauses his paint stroke before slowly turning to you. He blinks at you slowly his eyes trailing to the orange in your hand. He looks back at you still blinking slowly.

“What?” He says uneasily. What did he think you were going to do? Chuck it at him?

“Can you peel this orange for me?” You ask politely, you stick your hand out to hand it to him. He still eyes you suspiciously before putting his items down.

He takes it and peels it occasionally looking up at you as he does. When he finishes he hands it to you with narrowed eyes. You take the orange with a smile peeling off a piece to eat. You offer him one to which he just stares at you.

“Whats the catch?” You almost choke. “There’s no catch it’s a theory!” You say through your coughing fit.

“I thought you were plotting to poison me.” He admitted as he got back on his ladder to finish his canvas.

“What?!”

“Caleb can you peel this for me?” You thrust it in his direction. He stops building his figure to help you. No questions asked. When he’s done he takes a piece to eat before handing it back to you.

“Done!” He smiles before going back to what he was doing. You smile before walking out of the room. You knew he’d pass Caleb does what you say regardless of what it is.

“Zayne can you peel this orange for me?” He looks at you over his glasses stopping his fast paced typing. He does a stiff nod before peeling it.

“Do you have a paper cut? Is it too hot inside?” He asks but you just shake your head as you watch him peel it. He hands it back to you making you smile.

“Thank you!” You go to walk away feeling accomplished. He cleared his throat stopping you in your tracks. “You don’t have to reduce me to such theories I’ll help you regardless.”

“I know.” You smile before returning to the room to share the orange with him.

“Hey can you peel this for me, Sylus?” You ask staring up at him. He slowly grabs the orange but doesn’t peel it yet.

“You could ask me for anything and yet you ask me to peel an orange for you?” He smirks however you just shrug and nod.

He stares at you before peeling it. You shared it with him even though he didn’t really want it but since it was you he ate it. Afterwards you swiped your hands against one another and went to get up. He shakes his head letting you go on your way.

“Hey Xavier, can you peel this for me?” You ask as he blinks at you. He nods and peels it immediately. Instead of giving it to you he gets distracted and takes a bite. Your jaw drops immediately. Technically he passed he just ate it instead.

“Xavier!” He looks at you before blinking a few times. You stare at him waiting to see what he had to say.

“Sorry.” He mumbles before putting a slice in your mouth. You were shocked and even more shocked that he pulled you into his lap. You couldn’t be mad at him, it’s Xavier after all.

Ngl I was going to make this mean a little bit but they’re so sweet 🥺 (except when Rafayel wanna give me a big basket of sass) I can’t imagine them not doing it 😔

[thewickedjazzy]

Special Level: "DPーONE HOLE" for Kinktober.

♡PHASE 2: gojo & dazai x afab! reader. *nsfw audio⬇⬇*

Synopsis: sandwiched between dazai and gojo, you didn't see it coming when they proposed to share a single hole.

Warnings: ņsfw, mdni, smųt with plot, double penetration, size kink, mild degrading kink, voyeurism, reader has a female anatomy, orgasm control, oral sex, rough sex, praise kink, mild psychological manipulation, masturbation, ovulation, pet names used: angel, sweetheart...etc.

Word count & a/n: 3.9k, okay this took me 3 days to write no joke- a special thank you and a kiss to my sweet bbg rem @remlionheart for helping me out to finalise this part, i don't know what i would've done without her xx.

READ: PHASE 1: geto & chuuya x afab! reader.

“no way... it’s not gonna fit!” you exclaim, wide-eyed as you take in the two men standing before you, both packing unbelievably huge cocks.

“oh, we’ll make it fit,” the brunet purrs with a sick smirk curling into his lips. are they serious? you nearly passed out last time when it was with geto and chuuya—and that wasn’t even in the same hole.

you shift slightly, feeling a twinge of nervous excitement as they exchange a deranged knowing look. no way they're actually about to try this—double penetration in one hole?

you can’t help but wonder how you ended up in this situation. uh, well, you need to rewind a few hours…

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“you’re going to miss the after-party if you don’t hurry up!” suguru’s voice comes from the other side of the opulent hotel suite door. he stands there sighing and rolling his eyes as he adjusts his tailored dark grey suit that complements your dress perfectly.

“i know!” you bite back, desperately fumbling with the zipper on your dress. the more you pulled, the more it seemed determined to stick in place. well, you didn't expect less from a sleek, form-fitting black dress that falls to just above the knee with a deep v-neck and a backless design.

you huff in frustration feeling your face heat up. why was it always so much more complicated when it was your turn to shine? you could practically hear the chatter of geto and chuuya outside, and yet here you were, trapped in a battle with a stubborn zipper for the second time

the door cracks open, and geto pokes his head in with a pitiful smirk already forming. behind him stands chuuya, eyeing you with a raised eyebrow. given that he’s a good head shorter, he practically has to lean up to get a look around geto's shoulder.

“need help?” geto asks, not even trying to hide the amusement in his voice. classic.

“oh, totally fine! just a… minor uh..malfunction,” you lie, completely ignoring the way your hands are still locked in a losing tug-of-war with the dress. they don't need to know how close you were to waving a white flag.

geto tilts his head, obviously not convinced, but before he can offer again, a crewmember flags them down from the hallway, urgently needing both of them. geto sighs looking a bit hesitant as they’re called away, and you can hear chuuya muttering something about “never a damn break.”

“okay, but shout if you need someone to rescue you,” geto calls chucking over his shoulder as they head off.

you nod, giving an overly enthusiastic thumbs-up while praying the dress will cooperate. once they’re gone, you turn back to the mirror, wrestling with the zipper once more and muttering in frustration. just as you’re about to give up, a pair of warm hands appear on your back, gently tugging the zipper up with ease.

“thank god you’re here,” you sigh in relief, not even bothering to check who’s behind you, assuming it’s someone from wardrobe.

“i was just about to say the same thing,” comes a voice, too close, and way too amused.

you freeze...oh no, that voice!

“g-gojo!” you falter, finally twisting around to see his saccharine shitty grin.

“i... um... thanks? but i didn’t know i was getting a personal stylist??” you reply, pink hue colouring your already flustered face.

“well, I do charge by the hour.” he says, raising an eyebrow with that all-too-smug grin.

is he serious right now?

you roll your eyes but can’t hide your smile. “yeah? i’ll make sure you work for every cent.”

“here you go! all zipped up and ready to go.” he pats your shoulders gently.

as you check yourself in the mirror, you hear gojo muttering under his breath, “now, where the hell is my bag of bandages?”

needless to say that the suicidal freak is trying to negotiate his way onto the rooftop by slipping a hotel staff member a crisp 100 yen bill. “just let me through, and I won’t mention how you’re the staff's designated crack dealer, alright?”

with that, he strides confidently down the corridor, only to collide with chuuya, who’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed chatting with geto with a sceptical expression on his face.

“who the hell let you back here?” the redhead barks, glaring at dazai not bothering to hide his frustration.

“uh who the hell let you wear that outfit?” the brunet retorts, taking in chuuya's ensemble, a sharp tuxedo that is a true work of art, complete with a black satin lapel that gleams in the light. beneath it lies a deep crimson shirt, and of course, no look is complete without his stylish new fedora, adding the perfect finishing touches. “did you lose a bet? now, shut up, i’m looking for someone.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

once you’re finally ready, you and the four hotties head up to the hotel rooftop for the after-party. the view of the city skyline is breathtaking, with all the lights twinkling like stars against the night sky. needless to say that the vibe up there is so lively, you can practically feel the energy bustling around you. everyone's laughing, chatting, and the clinking of glasses fills your ears with the upbeat music that makes you want to dance.

you spot some of the cast, all dressed to the nines, mingling and celebrating the movie premiere like it was the best night of their lives. it’s hard not to feel a little caught up in the excitement yourself.

as the night goes on, you’re hanging back in a quieter corner of the rooftop, drink in hand, watching gojo and dazai do their usual routine, with the white-haired freak launching into his jujutsu tales about being the “strongest sorcerer in history” to anyone who’ll lend an ear. he’s practically flexing at this point, not that anyone asked about his sorcery skills—but that doesn’t seem to stop him.

as for dazai, well, he's in his own world of smooth-talking, tossing just the right lines to make every woman he chats with laugh like he's the funniest guy in the room, nodding along to gojo’s wild stories as if he’s actually been there, backing him up with just enough charm and sly touches on the arm or shoulder to keep his female audience wrapped around his finger.

it goes without saying, that geto and chuuya are just standing there, looking like they’re about five seconds from yanking them by the collars and dragging them away.

“keep them in check,” you hear the redhead mutter to suguru, who rolls his eyes in agreement.

“hey, do you wanna get a drink?” the brunet suddenly suggests, sidling up to you with a playful glint in his eyes, and as usual, gojo is right beside him, grinning like a cat who just caught a mouse.

“oh, i-i don’t think i should,” you hadn’t planned to drink tonight, especially since you were ovulating and wanted to stay clear-headed. but the glimmer of pleading in their eyes makes it hard to resist.

“oh, c’monnn! just one drink?” gojo pleads, leaning closer and brushing his fingertips on yours. “it’ll be fun.”

with a sigh, you relent, knowing they won’t let it go easily. “finnne, just one.”

oh, agreeing to this was a crucial mistake—not because you're getting drunk, but because you're literally a giggling mess, flirting right back with them more than usual. with the increase in estrogen, making your skin feel more sensitive, and you can’t help but notice how the fabric hugs your curves perfectly, leaving you feeling uncharacteristically sexy. every playful touch and cheeky comment from the two men sends your heart racing, as if it’s the first time anyone has ever admired you like this.

you finish your glass, you can feel the heat creeping up your cheeks, the effects of the alcohol hitting you faster than you expected. the two men's playful banter becomes way more extreme, you find their hands roaming your body in tandem, too shamelessly.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

the brunet brat chuckles lowly snapping you out of your thoughts as he leans in closer until his long slender fingers slide between your slick folds, parting them as he plunges two digits deep into your sweet soaked hole. “oh, see? pretty sure it will fit,” he coos, spreading his fingers inside you just enough to draw another desperate moan from your throat. “you’re already making it easier with how wet you are.”

your back arches againts your will as your head lolls back, mouth falling open in delight. and you can clearly hear your pulse racing in your chest as he keeps his fingers inside you, curling and spreading them while keeping his gaze fixed on your pouty face.

“just relax, yeah?” dazai whispers, pressing his palm against your chest to guide you back onto the soft, white blanket, relaxing your tensed body.

to the side, gojo leans back into the leather couch across the room, his own gaze heavy-lidded with arousal as he strokes his cock in long, slow, lewd motions, eyes completely locked on the way you writhe beneath dazai's touch. the six eyes man whore is absolutely shameless, letting every inch of his thick length slide through his hand as he watches you with a smug grin spreading across his face. “fuck yeah, look at you,” his voice drops an octave.“already fucked out, and we haven’t even fucked you yet.”

your gaze flickers to gojo, watching as he tightens his grip around his deliciously lengthy cock, hand moving in slow, teasing strokes, you bite back a whimper and tugging at the brunet's sleeve as some sort of a plea. as soon as the sorcerer catches your stare, he chuckles darkly picking up the pace and rubbing his seed-soaked tip with his thumb, little blue-tinted veins running up and down his cock, a shade dangerously close to his own hungry eyes.

you should be ashamed of how much your mouth starts to water, saliva pooling and connecting the roof of your mouth to the pad of your tongue.

“getting all wet just from my fingers?… how are you gonna handle both of us?” his fingers continue their sedulous rhythm as he stretches you open, a rushing river of slickness pooling with every teasing thrust of his digits. he pulls his fingers out only to plunge them back in again, spreading them inside you, relishing in the way your walls flutter and clench around him. “It’s like you were made for us”

“dazai,” gojo calls, from across the room, “go faster, yeah? look at how desperate they are.”

without hesitation, the brunet speeds up, curling his fingers deep inside your gummy walls, soft thumb rubbing your abused clit firmly, sending shockwaves of dopamine across your brain. you can feel it build rapidly, hips rocking salaciously against his fingers, feeling the sex loaded air pressing down on your chest, as he works you closer and closer to your release. but just as you’re about to tip over, the brat pulls his fingers out, leaving you trembling and on the brink. you mentally curse him, more tears filling your eyes as you look up at him, lips wet and pouty, parted in a desperate, wordless plea.

“oh? you want us to make you come?” gojo chuckles, voice almost mocking you pathetically as he stands up and strides over to loom over you with that infuriatingly smug grin. “then kiss me,” he leans down, face so close that you can feel his minty breath ghosting over your lips.

you know better than to listen to him, but desperation consumes you as you silently mourn the loss of your neglected release, you shift, reaching up to capture his lips, loud heartbeats drowning out your hearing. but just as you’re about to press your mouth to his, you hit an invisible barrier, his infinity keeping you just millimetres from him. he chuckles darkly, watching the frustration build up in your eyes as you let out an exasperated whimper, practically aching to close the gap.

“that’s not fair!” you cry in desperation as you press harder against the invisible barrier, lips hovering so close but unable to reach him.

gojo’s sick smirk only widens. “life’s not fair, sweetheart,” he drawls sultrily, “but maybe if you let us both fuck you…” he lets the sentence hang out in the sex charged air between you both, his glances over at dazai with an amused grin.

“oh, c’mon, angel. that look in your eyes is begging for more. you know you want us to fill you until you can’t take it anymore.” the burnet's hand tilt your chin slightly so that you're facing him, his other hand still on your thighs, fingers idly trace patterns on your sensitive skin, keeping you needy like a bitch in heat.

“please,” you whisper as you try to push again though his invisible barrier but to avail, fuck it! you need to taste him to feel his sweet lips on yours, “please, i need it—i need both of you.” your voice cracking, dignity slipping as you look from one to the other, unable to resist any more teasing.

the white-haired freak hums in satisfaction, and as soon as his infinity is turned off, you find both your lips pressed together, tasting your shared breath, and oh god the taste of him makes you melt drawing out sounds from you that you didn’t know you could make. his tongue sweeps against yours, coaxing you into a messy, open-mouthed kiss that leaves you dizzy.

just as you’re sinking into him, lost in his sweet taste, dazai's firm hand cups your jaw, tilting your face toward him with a look that leaves no room for patience. his mouth is on you before you can take a breath, teeth catching your bottom lip and tugging, then his tongue slides in, leaving a slick trail of spit that mixes with gojo’s. a needy groan rumbling from his throat as you part your legs even wider, inviting him to slip between your inner thighs.

dazai’s hands settle firmly on your waist, fingers digging in as he lifts you effortlessly, guiding you until you’re straddling him, pillowy thighs spread around his hips. he shifts, positioning himself so his achy tip is bumping your clit, until he reaches right between your inner folds, running the meat of his shaft along the length of your soaked pussy. you lean in to tast the faint salt of his skin, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. a shuddered breath escapes him as the soft warmth of your heated cunt welcomes his length, angry tip nudges into you, slipping past that tender threshold.

“oh fuck baby mngh..suck me in like that, fuck yeahh,” he growls as you sink down to drive his delicious cock into the deepest parts of your sex, inch by fucking inch, your cunt already fully lubed up with all your sweet juices. the world around you fades, leaving only the exquisite sensation of being filled by dazai’s meaty cock.

and just when you think that you're already too full of dazai, you feel gojo's strong arms wrap around your waist from behind, slowly pushing deep within you, his girth sliding alongside the brunet's and into your ruined hole, filling you to the brim in a luscious stretch.

“oh—fuhhh-ck ’toruuu, it’s too much—too much!” you gasp, voice breaking as your body struggles for a few seconds to take them both, a sweet ache blossoming within you as they thrust deeper, cunt instinctively clenching around both their cocks, as if trying to pull them in, to take them impossibly deeper.

“fuckk! you feel incredible. mmngh yeahh just a little more, sweetheart… you can take it.” the sorcerer groans against the shell of your ears while palming both of your breasts from behind, you never imagined taking one of them, leave alone both of them together, every inch of your now-stretched cunt is filled to the brink, and yet craving more, even as it borders on unbearable.

“shh, you’re doing so well,” dazai’s voice came through softly, lips brushing delicate kisses along your collarbone. “just breathe, angel… i’ve got you.” his words are meant to soothe you, but you’re too spent in that moment—utterly lost, trembling as their cocks drives you to the edge of your own universe.

obscene noises mingling together as gojo fists a hand in your hair, tugging your head back and exposing your throat for his hungry lips. his other hand presses firmly on your back, pushing you down until your belly meets the solid warmth of dazai beneath you. the brunet's arms circle your waist, holding you steady, each of them guiding your trembling body into a perfect arch, pushing you to take them fully. so that they can bottom out inside you.

“fuck shit- shit shit feels so good.” his words are slurring together, drunk off the way you feel around him.

“see? you're taking us so well haahh you should cut out the nonsense next time mghh” saturo lets out a throaty hybrid noise, a lewd mix between an amused laugh and a deep moan.

incoherent curses slipping past your wet lips as saturo prods and pinches the sensitive skin around your nipples. it's too much, the pleasure is too much, the pain is too much, the lewd squelch of your sexes as they slip in and out of you, feeling your orgasm build up again.

“mmuph yes please fuuuck don't stop ’m clos-e” your pleading whimpers betray you, just like your body does filled with hormonal lust pooling right into your core.

“fuck oh fu-ck keep squeezing me like that- ah” “hngh yes angel cum all over our cocks”

their voices blur together, indistinguishable as they both sound the same, each word flows into the next. and all you hear is the wet plap plap plap of their balls slapping against your sensitive skin.

you bounce back on their hardened lengths, finally riding out your sweet release. both men moan in unison at the sight of your lewd expression—eyes rolling back, tongue slipping from your mouth as drool and tears streak down your mascara-smudged cheeks, oh, such a beautiful sight to see, body flushed and trembling with sweat trickling down the valley of your breasts.

they’ve ruined you quite literally and turned you into thisーa wrecked mess, quivering each time their thick lengths press against every sensitive spot. with broken cries spilling from your bruised lips, they angle their hips just right, hitting your g-spot over and over.

as their hands glide down to press against the bulge in your lower belly, a wave of intense pleasure unfurls through you, stealing your breath and lighting up every nerve in a blinding crescendo. your vision blurs, flashes of light dancing behind your eyelids as if a galaxy has burst open within you, stars scattering and colliding in the depth of your being.

your juices gush against gojo's firm thighs and dazai's abdomen, soaking them in a glistening sheen under the low hotel lighting. both of them follow suit feeling how your walls flutter and tighten around them so perfectly, two loads of thick, hot cum paint your insides pearly white—the milky liquid reaching deep to your womb, though some of it inevitably leaks out, trickling down from your velvet walls.

once they pull out, they gently place you on the feathery pillows, but not before glancing one last time at your absolutely wrecked and dripping pussy, dripping with their mixed essence. they settle beside you, both of them relaxing into the plush bedding, they take deep breathes trying to calm down from their own high as they cast affectionate glances your way, ensuring you're comfortable and cared for after such an intense release.

“hey, are you okay, baby?” gojo is the first to ask, brushing a damp strand of hair away from your face, “did we go too far?”

then dazai leans closer, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “you did well, angel, but we want to make sure you’re feeling good. do you need some water or anything?”

“just... hold me for a bit.”

you never would have guessed they could be this gentle, let alone attentive. you’d always imagined this would be wild and chaotic, maybe even a bit reckless, but here they were, treating you like you're the most precious thing in the world.

“of course, angel,” dazai replies softly, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you closer to his heaving chest. “we’ve got you.”

gojo follows, chuckling softly as his fingers trace gentle patterns on your skin. “if you need anything else, baby, just say it. we’re here to take care of you.”

you close your eyes, nestled between them, you never thought that you'd feel this safe and cared for as they whisper sweet nothings, ensuring you know just how much you’re adored.

TAGS: @a-smol-bean @violetbutterflix @amanoava @falloutjuli @embersweapons @warriordemigosworld @cathias @v15aexe @vasarii @pe4rl-diver @sukidenks @dazaifavbandage @chuuminn @fyodorsprettynun @ace-0fspades69 @irasamu @trippyserval @alyszuha @bittysuguru @writingandmusing @corruptedwrathkitsune @thedamselzelda @fyodorssimp1 @vikkinakahara @laylabuurr @whiteelove @dottedhalfnotes @victoria1676 @ghostedwriting @a-trashbag @bakedpotato12 @ambervanth @sakui1 @iams0up @osamucide @lighthoonie @chuuyascumsock @vernasce-blogs @v1rtualdr3am5 @akyria-shyn @dazaistn @meowpmzai @ilikematcha

[timmydraker]

CW: use of R word

Tim who, as much as he doesn’t want it to be true, is a poster boy for typical Neurodivergence. He’s more logically thinking that emotionally and needs obvious signs of someone’s emotional state that he can put together to understand how he should respond to help them.

But that’s not what bothers him because that doesn’t bother his parents.

Instead it’s his passion, though not in technology and detective work as they quickly found use for that in their business, but for bugs.

Ever since he was a kid Tim has been enamoured by insects and arachnids and even fungi. He would only read books that talked about bugs or had one on the cover, but since it helped him learn to read at a steady pace his parents didn’t mind.

At least, not at first.

When Tim got into coding just so he could make his own little web-journal for all his bug finds, they were happy he was learning how to organise and structure at just six years old, but when he only did those things regarding bugs…

Tim had his first panic attack when he watched his father pick up his terrarium filled with Diapheromera Femorata (Stick bugs) and chucked it into the bin. The glass shattered as the corner his something hard and he was forced to watch his bugs struggle to navigate the glass and rubbish, most of them injured.

His mother had gagged when she saw them and demanded the whole bin be burnt with the bugs still inside.

Tim had been so heart broken, but mostly confused. His parents traveled the world to dig up dirt and old items that were mostly the same yet they didn’t like bugs?

When he asked one his Nanny’s she gave him an answer that he would never forget, “Well, you see… only those people like bugs, y’know? The… special ones, like re-“

Tim never even let himself think of the last word she spoke and from then only forced himself to only focus on his computer work. He still loved photography but now he took photos of skylines and trees, not the beautiful beehive a few yards behind his house or the spider webs that sat between branches like art works. He took photos of Batman and Robin and for a long time that was enough to make his longing bearable.

If he still followed several pages and articles about bugs either a secret email account, that didn’t matter.

His parents were happy with him even if they still made remarks about his ‘stupid little fixation’.

It’s when they are going over the paper work for Bruce to be Tim’s legal guardian while they weren’t home with Tim’s older brothers hanging around as moral support (bodyguards) that his parents mock him.

Janet is signing some paper with a stupidly expensive pen and chatting to no one in particular when she says, “You’re all lucky we killed this nasty little bugs of his so you don’t have to deal with them.”

Everyone else in the room freezes, beside Jack who huffs a laugh and adds, “Good thing we did, he’d probably be more of a retard otherwise- talking about ‘habitats’ and bloody spiders.”

All of the members of the Wayne family are dead quiet as Tim sits there with a clear look of disassociation coming into his eyes. Alfred has a calm look on his face that tells all who know him that he’s furious and Bruce is strikingly similar.

Jason looks ready to attack and Dick isn’t even moving to stop his brother or calm anyone down.

Damian is holding onto Titus’s collar like a lifeline but seems to give the hound some kind of silent order as the usually calm dog begins to growl low and dangerous.

Jack and Janet tense and stare at both dog and master, Jack ordering him to control his dog.

Bruce stands, letting Titus growl and taking the half signed papers and throwing them in the bin, “I changed my mind, I will be taking you to court for full custody of my son. Leave my house now so I may obtain a restraining order.”

Janet genuinely flounders for a moment and begins to shout about outrage and audacity but when Dick sees that Tim is starting to cry he stands up and reminds them that he is a cop before moving to pick up his second youngest brother and leaving the room.

Tim doesn’t hear much else, only muffled shouting and the sound of a door slamming.

He distantly realises he’s in the family room, not the one they use to have guest but the real one with beanbags and a snack draw, and is being cradled by his brothers. Even Damian is beside him, holding onto his hand tightly as they wait for Bruce and Alfred.

Tim sobs into Dicks chest for Alamos a whole hour before settling more, Bruce coming into the room and Jason and Dick reluctantly hand him over to he can be held by their father.

“Tim, chum, it’s alright. We’ve got you.”

The boy in question shakes his head, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I won’t talk about the bugs I promise-“

Bruce squeezes him tighter and kisses his head, “I don’t want that. What I want is to hear about your bugs.”

Stunned, Tim looks up at him with confusion and barely gets his mouth to move enough to ask what he means.

Dick coos from beside him on the next couch and runs a hand through his hair lovingly, “My sweet baby brother we love you, and you love bugs! So of course we want to hear about it. I’m so sorry we didn’t know how they had been treating you but it was wrong. There’s nothing wrong with you, I swear it.”

Tim sniffled, nodding absentmindedly. They gave him a moment for their words to sink in before Damian spoke up, “Timothy, I demand you tell me about your bugs.”

Jason makes a noise and elbows Damian as if to tell him to shut up, probably thinking the other was being rude, but Tim knows his brother well and just smiles. “I can do that, Dami. I… I don’t think you’ll be very interested though.”

Damian scoffs, “I will ignore that statement as it implies I would waste my time with something I don’t care for.”

Bruce smiles at his youngest and holds Tim’s hand, “I agree. Could you maybe tell us about why you like them? Or your favourites?”

It takes him a moment to respond, but when he looks at all their open expressions and gets an encouraging nod from Alfred, he stutters out a response before gradually gaining confidence as they ask genuine questions to his facts and descriptions.

They each make an effort to ask him about bugs, Jason asking a few times if he wants to check out some books that he knows use bugs as symbolism’s and Dick asking if he can tell him the difference between insects and arachnids several times. Damian and Bruce are both a bit more subtle with their support at first, but after a month Tim enters his room to find a giant terrarium with several different sections so he can have multiple bugs that might not get along with each other.

Bruce and Alfred don’t even make any comments or give disapproving looks when Dick and Jason reveal they each got a tattoo of the bug that Tim said he associates with them.

[writingoddess1125]

Window Visit

Masterlist <<

>> Kofi cause I'm Poor

Kurt Wagner x GN Reader

Fluffy Fluff Ass Fluff!

Soft snores filled your small one bedroom apartment, you having had a rather long day had been dead to the world- Drool staining your pillow as you were off in the land of fluffy clouds.

Tap Tap...

Why were the clouds making a tapping noise?

Tap Tap Tap..

The Fuc-

Tap Tap Tap Tap!

You wake up from your odd dream with a start, looking around confused as you hear the tapping sound once again. Looking to your window as you just saw- Darkness? Turning on your light quickly you almost give a soft shriek as you see Kurt, AKA The Amazing Nightcrawler and your dear friend on your window seal waving at you with a clearly busted face and cheeky smile.

"Oh my God Kurt!" You rush over falling from your bed and to the floor to the window and slide it open quickly, pulling the blue man inside as he holds his side and chuckles.

"Surprise!" He says far too cheerfully for your taste.

"Why didn't you just teleport inside!? Youre injured!" You hiss at him still a bit asleep as you look over him a bit frantically, luckily you saw only a few scraps and probably some bruising however nothing seemed to serious off first glance.

"Its Rude to just appear in someone's home Schatz" He said with a chuckle before wincing softly, You shaking your head at his antics.

"Think anything is broken or are you just bruised?" You ask, Kurt gives a soft shrug. "Bruised mostly, a few nice cuts. Nothing too bad"

You nod, leading him towards the bathroom.

"Best to get you washed up first, then I can get you bandaged up" You say, Kurt nodding as he followed you, watching you grab some stuff for him.

"Come on, Pop the top" You say as you wave your hand for his shirt, he chuckles and peels it off and hands it to you, being mindful of his injuries. You exchanging it for a fluffy towel, spare toothbrush and a wash cloth.

"Wanting to stare?" He teased as he gestured to his naked torso, You rolling your eyes and giving a fake purr at him.

"Of course Blue~ Now. Freshen Up, You smell" You say sticking your tongue out at him which made Kurt laugh and wave you away. You taking his top with you and close the bathroom door behind you, chucking his shirt in the wash as you hear some water running.

Kurt sighs as he looks around your space- Seeing the different products you kept and such before jumping in the shower to get cleaned up.

He spent a good 20 minutes in the shower, which allowed you time to grab some extra blankets and pillows to toss on your bed. Making sure to also lock the window. When the water shut off you walked back over and knocked, The door swinging open as Kurt stood with the towel around his waist brushing his teeth.

"Vo 'ou 'always ha'e 'xtra tuu'th 'rushes?" (Do you always have extra tooth brushes?) He asked taking time to get his fangs and spitting-

"Yes your suppose to get a new one ever 3 months blue-" His brows raised at this in surprise as he set the brush down.

"3 Monate?!" He exclaimed as you nod.

"Come on, sit on the throne, it will be easier to get you bandaged anyway" You say as you walk into your bathroom turning on the warm water and grab the med kit under the sink, Kurt chuckles as he takes a seat on the closed toilet while keeping the towel around his waist tighter to keep modest, you beginning to take a warm rag to any noticeable cuts, making the man hiss in pain.

"Big Baby- Now why aren't you at Xavier's were Doc Mccoy can give you some proper medical care" You question, cleaning a would would some rubbing alcohol as you placed a large bandage across it.

"Ah Meine bessere Hälfte, you make it sound like you don't want me vere" He said with a cheeky smile, You giving him a playful glare as you began to wrap his torso in a thick bandage.

"You know that's not what I meant Fuzzy-"

"Nein, I was on the way back and we flew near by your place. Decided to stop by and visit" He admitted, while you wanted to be mad at him for doing something like that you couldn't. Instead going and placing some bandages on his face after wiping the blood clean.

"Well- Next time just teleport in, Id hate for you to catch a cold trying to visit" You say, shooting him a smile as you wrap up his fingers last- seeing a few cuts on them most likely from the handle of his sword.

"And All done! There!" You beam a smile at him which he returns, wiggling his three fingers at you.

"Danke"

You slide the med kit back and clean up the bits of trash from the counter. Kurt rolling up with a sigh as he followed you out still in his towel as he saw you chuck his pants into the wash having grabbed them from the floor on your way out.

"Uhh Engel my-" He gestured to his clothes in the wash.

"Ill give you something to wear, besides its late anyway- Just spend the night" You call out from your room, the sound of shuffling going on as Kurt turned to your tiny apartment couch.

"Ah Do you want me on the Couc-"

He was cut off as a pair of your shorts hit his face, Him pulling it off with his tail as he glanced in your direction. Seeing you already climbing in bed as you pat the space next to you.

"Get in the Bed Fuzzy-"

You call out, Kurt seeming to freeze for a moment before smiling- Stepping just out of your view to slip into the shorts before teleporting himself next to your bed.

"Goodnight Engel" Kurt said softly, his tail wrapping around your waist as you yawn closing your eyes and letting sleep reclaim you, a smile now on your lips.

Kurt slowly sliding into your bed as he gave a loud groan- clearly his body exhausted from his mission and a soft bed was more then welcome, Pulling the blankets over both of you as you cuddle into the Blue man, he hesitates but only for a second as he wraps his arms around you with a content sigh.

"Goodnight Blue"

[luveline]

hi honey bun! i was just having a thought about someone coming home after a night out, a little drunk and sleepy, just crawling into bed with the reader? n maybe trying not to wake her w cuddling and such? 🥺 im so indecisive and couldn’t choose between peter or one/poly marauders, but please also feel free to disregard if it’s not the one for you! kisses xx

Sirius tries to tell them to be quiet, but James is so drunk he’s going to wake up amnesiac and Remus isn’t far behind him. Sirius has a kinder buzz, opening and then closing the door for his idiots begrudgingly. “Shush. You’ll wake her.” 

“She should be awake I miss her so much I’m gonna throw up,” James says, all in one breath. 

“That might be the Guinness,” Remus laughs. His cheeks have gone pink. Sirius thinks it’s the cutest Remus has ever looked, and he gives him an affectionate smile that’s returned tenfold. 

“Be quiet,” Sirius says. A yawn comes suddenly. “Go sit down and have some toast or something.” 

“I definitely will throw up then,” James groans, bending over in the middle of the hallway. 

Remus, despite being similarly belligerent, starts doting on him. “You okay?” he asks, bending down with a similar sigh of pain. “Come on. I’ll make you a– a glass of water.” 

Sirius has spent the night with them, so he loves them, but he misses you too much to stay. He chucks his shoes vaguely in the direction of the shelf and starts up stairs. The walls move under his hand and the bedroom door proves hard to open, but he sees you and forgets that he’s drunk. You’re laying on your side curled into a pillow, arm curled around, one leg sticking out of the quilt. 

Sirius pulls the blanket back gently, remembers he’s wearing jeans, changes out of the jeans, and slides into bed in front of you. He slowly, slowly, pulls the pillow from your arms, wrapping his arm under yours and behind your back, the other just shy of your face. Beautiful girl, he thinks, a little woozy from having suddenly changed directions. 

You mumble and hug him weakly, fingertips tickling his side. 

“For fuck’s sake!” James says somewhere downstairs. “What is this?” 

“Water, Jamie,” Remus says, quieter. “You can’t have anything else, don’t be–” A sound and a laugh. “No, kissing me won’t change my mind.” More laughing. 

Sirius tugs your hand up to smile into your palm. 

“Home?” you mumble. 

“Mm,” he hums, eyes closed and heavy but his arm awake behind your back, pulling you closer to his front. “I told them to be quiet… didn’t listen.”

“You…” you’re still stuck in the throes of sleep, and forget you’re talking. Sirius laughs a huff and you blink. “Okay?” 

“Yeah. Everything was okay. Next time I’ll stay home with you,” he promises, rubbing his nose into your cheek. 

“I liked being alone for a bit, but… missed you in the end.” 

Footsteps start up the stairs. “Sorry for waking you up,” Sirius says. 

“S’okay. Make them be nice to me.” 

That’s easy. As the door begins to open, Sirius pulls you right into his chest, as close as you can possibly be, and shushes you gently. Remus’ laughing swiftly ends, and James says, “Oh no, what’s wrong?” in his softest tone. 

James climbs over the bed still in his shoes. Remus grabs him before they can touch the sheets and takes them off, and then James crawls up behind you and hugs you, Sirius’ arms included. “Hi… my angel.” 

You ignore him with a disgruntled whine. 

“Sorry we were so loud.” 

You whine again. 

“Do you want Remus instead?” 

“No. I don’t not want Remus,” you clarify. “I’m not mad at you. Stay here.” 

Remus falls rather drunkenly in behind Sirius, forcing everyone to move over. You look for him in the tangle of arms and blankets, everyone Sirius loves rammed into one bed and exhausted. 

“Is anyone in the mood for a kiss?” James asks.

“Too tired,” you mumble. 

“Too far away. Make it up to you in the morning,” Remus says into Sirius's shoulder. Sirius is having a hard time following the conversation, distracted by the smell of your perfume and all the skin pressed to his. 

James sighs forlornly. “Fine.” A pause. “Sirius?” 

He snores. 

[wlwloverwrites]

thinking about jack abbot… and giving him a boobjob.

the man is def an ass man - im sorry but it’s true.

however, the thought of of him sitting at the edge of the bed, his thighs split, his prosthetic standing by the foot of the bed with his chest rising with a stuttering breath seems like the perfect opportunity to change some opinions. so you position a pillow on the floor and fall to your knees.

letting him get hard in your mouth, you’re filthy with it. slurping on his cock, lips stretching over - almost painfully - over his thick girth. jerking off what your mouth can’t reach with your hand, only after you spit onto your palm.

“fuck, that’s my girl.”

lewd sounds of you sucking his cock fill the room, along with the occasional groan of your name.

he tells you how pretty you are between his legs, how fucking good your mouth is.

with heavy eyelids, he looks down at you. he fights the urge to close his eyes when you pull away, a break he didn’t know he needed, otherwise the night would end too fast. he watches you, piling your shirt with his clothes on the floor.

opting out on a bra, he’s immediately met with your breasts that sit pretty on your chest.

jack’s an ass man, but he isn’t blind.

before he can even think, he’s leaning over to squeeze your breasts. with a smile you scoot closer and puff up your chest, giving him unlimited access.

“such pretty tits, sweetheart.”

the praise goes straight your pussy, the words make your throb and your heart races to hear more.

quietly pushing his grabby hands away, your only smile when he lets out a playful hiss.

scooting impossibly closer, his thighs twitch to hold you in place and you reach for his cock. positioning his glistening cock between your breasts. hands that were resting on his thighs, fall to your breasts.

eyes locked on his, you put on a pretty show, rolling your nipples between your fingers. sliding your nipple over the tip of his cock before your hands squeeze them together, all while his cock stands between them.

“oh fuck.”

eyebrows pinch in concentration as you bounce yourself on the back of your heels. sandwiching his girth between your tits, your eyes never leave his as your tongue drops. it isn’t long until a glob of spit drips between your breasts, then onto the tip of his cock that repeatedly peeks out from between your tits.

“just like that,” he groans, head falling back because he knows he can’t look at you a second longer.

his wet cock has no issue sliding inside the makeshift hole, leaking on your chest.

oblivious to the man trying his best to reach his orgasm, your rhythm is uncoordinated, too fast than too slow.

“wait- fuck, can i help?”

with tongue still sticking out, you nod your head.

jack leans forward, groaning when your thrusts quicken before they slow down again. the abnormal decrease in speed has him looking up at you, expecting to see apologetic eyes, he’s met with your knowing ones.

fuck, you’re doing it on purpose.

chucking to himself, he shoos your hands away, replacing them with his only after he painfully tugs at your nipples - a warning.

squeezing your tits together, his hips flex, fucking his cock between your tits. setting an alarmingly fast pace, it’s no surprises that his orgasm hits him fast.

“holy shit.”

his groans are loud as he spills onto your chest. ropes and ropes of come fall onto your chest, some even hits your chin, to which you’re quick to lick up.

jack abbot is an ass man, but with you… he can be both.

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part nineteen —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

The cool paste feels tingly on your skin as you rub it against your bruised stomach, wincing. Christ. Maybe Ghost was right to think he might break you. Beneath the mottled patchwork, another kind of pain stirs— your muscles are growing. Firm and tight. The only soft parts of you left are your breasts and your ass. Gently applying the paste to a nasty purple one on your left cheek, you curiously pinch the sore flesh between your fingers. Scratch that. Even your ass is firming up. 

Arnica has healing properties. Yesterday, you found a patch of it with Blue and created a salve with some water. You already applied some last night before bed. Whether or not it’s helping probably doesn't mean much when new ones are about to be added; still, the placebo effect brings some comfort.

You're still massaging your backside when the bathroom door groans beneath a heavy fist. 

"Hurry up. Grab your bow."

“Shit.” You startle, almost dropping the salve. "Uh, coming.”

Chucking on a clean shirt and your old pair of jeans, you pad out of the bathroom, ignoring the cry of your joints. Ghost is outside waiting for you. Wait— bow? Confusion delivers an uptick to your pulse; you never bring your bow to train.

“What’s going on?”

"The air," he replies in a flat tone.

The stale smell offers enough explanation. You cringe. "Should we split up?"

He shakes his head and nods towards the direction the gentle breeze is rolling in. "No need. It's coming from this way."

In the violet wash of morning, you trail beside him over tall grasses and scattered groundhog burrows as the air leads the way, luring you opposite the clearing where you train. There haven't been any Greys since the one you burned together. For the past few weeks, you'd almost forgotten about their existence— a pleasant naivety for once. 

Neither of you bothers with much small talk. He asks if you're sore, probably noticing how stiff you are, and you answer honestly. That's it.

You keep your attention strictly on the wood bow molded into your palm and the slight rustling of leaves all around you, scanning for signs of anything astray. You don't look at Ghost, even when you feel his eyes flicker to the side of your head. Staring at him for even a second longer than necessary rouses something in your gut that was once easy to label as fear; now you don't know what to call it.

He is wearing thicker clothes today, the intimidating vest stocked with ammo glued to his chest. You'd gotten used to his more casual wardrobe of gym shorts and hoodies. They make him look... softer, almost. A little less like a death omen. Though, you sincerely doubt there are any soft parts of Ghost left under all that gear, given the rigid planes you felt beneath your hands when you—

"There."

You snap your gaze in the direction Ghost is pointing at.

At first, you don't see anything.

Then, squinting, you make out a red color far too metallic to naturally sprout among the conifers. 

An arrow is urgently slotted on the bowstring as the two of you head towards it, your brows tightly knitted. You've been this way a few times and never saw a— is that a red car?— before. Closing in, your suspicions are confirmed when a stroke of sunlight bounces off the metal bumper. The patchy sedan is tucked within a bush, tail-end sticking out, with half-flat tires resting on corroded rims. Shadows of movement dance behind the tinted windows, too disjointed to be natural.

"What the fuck?" you mutter under your breath, boots scuffing over a long-faded gravel pathway that is now shrouded in weeds. The car must've been following it before winding up in the bush— the occupants no longer human enough to drive.

"They... they must have just turned while they were driving," you think aloud. "When did this even get here?"

"Maybe during the night," Ghost mutters.

He paces forward and swings open the passenger door. A string of moans is released as a Grey lurches within the confinements of the seatbelt, but he quickly silences it with a bullet to the forehead, causing it to flop sideways out of the car. Maybe just a day ago, it was a young man. His hair is fully intact and he's wearing a blue shirt with the Chelsea Football Club logo on the back.

"I wonder why they were driving this way to begin with," you say quietly, stomach rolling.

In the driver's seat is the slumped-over corpse of an older man, having died from so many bite wounds before the infection could take hold. The early stages of decomposition smell almost worse than the infection and you have to breathe through your mouth as you head for the back door. 

"There's another here I think."

You're ready to shoot and put whoever it once was out of their misery when you pry open the door, but the sight of a small body wriggling around makes you freeze. Curled up against the faded leather is an infected boy, no older than eight or nine. His eyes are all white except for the outer rim where a few vessels are still filled with red blood. Your fingertips dig fiercely into the frame of the door as you stare down at him; his soft brown hair, his small hands, his Minecraft shirt. He whimpers and tries to claw at you, mouth hung open in mindless hunger.

The feeling that washes over you is hot and cold at the same time. It's not the first or last time you've seen an infected child, so you don't know why the sight traps you for a few heartbeats.

A voice emerges beside you. "It's not a kid anymore."

You almost forgot Ghost was there. Your teeth clench. "Yeah, I know."

You feel his eyes burning into you. Your fingers tighten and untighten around the arrow's stem as you aim. 

"Hone it, Twix— the anger."

The tension in your jaw releases at the same time as your arrow snaps forward, cutting through the boy's skull and driving his limp body down to the car floor.

“You good?”

You forcefully swallow and look away, giving Ghost a short nod. "Guess that's all of them."

He slowly nods in agreement, studying you, but all he says is, "For now."

“Don’t you think it’s strange?”

“Seen stranger things over the years,” he says. “It seems like they were headed somewhere, maybe needed a new place to settle, and one of them got bit. Infected the others.”

You nod, thinking it over. “What about the car?"

"No fuel left, so it's pretty useless." Rifle still in his grip, he moves around to the hood and props it open. "Might have some parts I can use, though."

While he scavenges for gears that aren't rusted beyond functionality, you take a look at their belongings. There is an empty bottle of whiskey in the cupholder. In the boy's lap is a stuffed tiger that you assume was once white, but now it's a worn of grey. You carefully shift his corpse and take it.

"I have a friend who might be able to care of this for you."

In the trunk, at least, you find some tripwire. 

Dragging the two adult bodies back to the trench for burning is your 'strength' training for the day. Since they haven't decomposed much yet, they're heavy; you go back and forth, taking one at a time. Ghost carries the small one over his shoulder. After the flames snuff out the smell of rot, he relieves you, claiming he has other shit to take care of—more traps to set with the newfound tripwire.

"Hey. Would you like this?" you ask Blue when she's up, handing her the tiger. 

"I'm kinda too old for dolls, Twix." She must see the expression on your face because she shakes her head and disappears into her room for a minute before coming out with a teddy bear. "My mom gave me this one when I was a baby and it just sits on my bed by itself, but now it can have a friend."

You smile and nod. "Yeah, okay."

The day is spent playing board games with her. When she notices how sore you are, she offers an exclusive massage from Grim, who hops over your back and legs as you relax face-down on the couch. However, even with the honorary treatment, the aching lingers. 

"Auntie, I'm over here!"

In a violet-tinted field, you search for the voice.

It's barren and hazy, with no hard edges or places for a little boy to hide; so why is it so hard to find him? You call his name. You wander around, aimless, until you catch a familiar whiff of baked cinnamon and fresh laundry. This way. He's this way. You start running fervently. When a small hand tugs at yours, you whip around and try to grab him, but the soft touch dissolves through your fingers like ash. 

When you wake up, there's a hand on your back and blood on your tongue, evidence that you'd bitten through it during your sleep. The taste is quickly replaced with bile as you launch up, grabbing the sleeve of someone's shirt.

"Oh no, you don't."

The hand moves to your hair, wrapping it around in a fistful before forcing your head to tilt down. A bucket is tucked beneath your chin. You vomit into it, the cool metal rim hissing against your fingertips. Again and again. When it's all out, your throat feels like sandpaper. 

"Done?"

The dark room surrounds you; the perfect place to hide what you know must be a ghastly look on your face. Awareness creeps in, and you're not thrilled by the fact that you've thrown up in front of him twice now. Without looking up at the white skull you know is there, you nod.

Wordlessly, he takes out a cigarette and lighter. You hear a deep inhale. See the dull glow of the flame. Then, he passes it to you and leaves.

"You look like shit today."

You can't even be offended, fully aware of the purple painted beneath your eyes. One look at you quirks his brow up in that annoying mannerism of his.

You offer a tight-lipped simper, mumbling. "At least I can always count on you for brutal honesty."

"Good trait to look for in an ally." He throws the gauze at you and you begin wrapping up. "I don't suppose it has anything to do with the fact you nearly ruined another shirt of mine last night."

You tie off the gauze and glance up. "Look, I'm s—" you stop yourself, "I mean, I'm not sorry, because you wanted my box open so now it's open. You already knew the potential consequences."

"Try opening it without emptying your stomach next time."

You flash him a look. "I think I miss when you pretended I didn't exist."

"And I miss getting a full night of sleep."

"Can we just get started? I'm ready."

Ghost keeps his eyes on you as he motions a fisted hand. "As you wish."

When the familiar dance begins, and adrenaline ripples up your spine, you realize that you missed this yesterday. The rest felt good, but this— the thrill of seeing Ghost start to get as worked up as you, the sweat stains on his shirt matching your own... it is something you itch for these days. 

You get a few hits in that have your ego swelling. But then— the rough night catches up with you after half an hour of wordless sparring. Your breathing grows labored, while his is barely winded.

"Tired yet?" he asks.

"No," you say, but he calls you out immediately.

"You're a terrible liar," he reminds you. A few more swings have your lungs burning as you dodge until one finally catches up with you, and whatever healing your homemade salve has done is erased by a fresh layer of pain. 

As you clutch your side, he changes the subject. "Are you going to tell me what it was about then?"

"What what was about?"

"Whatever was making you whimper in your sleep."

Your face twists. "I wasn't 'whimpering'."

"Fine, then. Crying," he corrects plainly.

You sigh through your nose, averting your gaze only for a moment, then focusing back on him before he can strike you again. His words hang in the air, ignored, as you jab an elbow toward his ribs. He grabs you by the knob of it and pulls you unnecessarily close to his chest. When you try to wriggle free by placing a hand on his chest, he fists your hair, which has slipped out of a bun into a haphazard ponytail, and tugs hard enough to force your eyes up to his.

His gaze is demanding but his voice is light— a mere breath over your forehead. "Tell me why someone who has seen plenty of infected kids by now seemed so bothered by the one she saw yesterday. He reminded you of someone, didn't he?"

The mention of it makes you snap. "Stop."

"Stop what?"

"Trying to act like you know anything about me."

"I know enough. You are easy to read."

So that feeling you get when he looks at you isn't just in your head; he truly can see through. Your nails dig into your palm. "There's no need to read me. We're not friends. We're just... allies, or whatever."

"Or whatever," he repeats thoughtfully, tasting the words. "You talk like a teenager."

"Compared to you I might as well be," you retort.

"Jesus." He chuffs out an exhale, eyes flickering down for a moment before returning up to yours, narrowing. "Let's not change the subject here." 

"Fine. Take this stupid Halloween mask off," you lift the hand on his chest up to the hem of his balaclava, feeling how weighted the fabric is with sweat. "And I will tell you all about it."

His jaw flexes before he gently guides your hand away. "Tempting offer, but I'll pass."

You refuse to acknowledge the tinge of embarrassment at his dismissal and inch back as far as the hand on your hair will allow. The close proximity, or harsh sun, is making it hard to breathe. "Well, it's not fair for you to ask me shit about my life when you don't even let me see your face."

"I never claimed to be fair." 

"I promise I won't vomit no matter how ugly you are. I've seen worse things out here."

His hand tightens. "I think I miss when you were scared of me. Less mouthy back then."

"Well, I'm not anymore."

"No?" He flips you around so your back is against him, one hand settling on the toned curve of your hip. His voice lowers to your ear. "Maybe I need to fix that."

An unwelcomed shiver courses through you. He lets go. A wristbone nudges against your spine, shoving you forward. Irritation simmers in your veins when his remark finally registers, and you whirl around, readying your stance. 

"If you even think about threatening me after I explicitly asked you not to, then I would suggest sleeping with a knife tonight."

"Who's threatening who, Twix?" He gives a low chuckle. "Relax. I'm sure I could handle you in my sleep, anyway."

He's egging you on; you know it. And yet, you stubbornly take the bait. His knee— the right one. That's where you got him last time that made him falter. Maybe an old injury. But when you swing a boot at it, he expects your attempt, knocking you away by the ankle. 

"Ah. Eager to get me beneath you again?"

Pink sears your cheeks as you wipe a trickle of sweat from your forehead. "I'm eager to humble you for once."

"Might need to keep your dinner down to do that."

You grit your teeth. So maybe he did allow it last time. The realization darts your eyes to his wide stance, searching for an idea. Without second-guessing yourself, you kick at the other knee. He must find your second attempt amusing because he easily predicts it, but before he can catch your leg, you snap it back and drop yourself to the ground.

The brief distraction allows the second of time needed to fit yourself between his legs. You're slim enough to push through, kicking at the inside of both knees once you're on the other side. His legs buckle, and you reach up to pull his arm, finishing the job.

Once he's down, you scramble to get on top, not caring if your boot kicks his face in the process. You grab both of his wrists and bring them above his head, but it's impossible to wrap your fingers all the way around them. Instead, you lace them through his fingers, breathing hard in his face as your breasts meld against the solid heat of him.

"Did you allow that?" 

His voice is rougher than you've ever heard it. "No."

Your lips furl. "Good."

A dark gleam passes through his dilated pupils that makes your head fuzzy. You let go of his hands. Immediately, they gravitate to your hips again, thumbs fiercely pressing into the sliver of skin exposed from where your shirt rides up. You don't move even an inch, frozen in place as you stare down at where he grips you against him. That feeling in your gut deepens and spreads. It is hard to pinpoint—so insane and foreign yet familiar at the same time—but one thing is certain: it begins and ends where his rough skin touches yours.

Before you can figure anything else out, a scream shatters the air, and Ghost rips you off of him in one swift movement. 

[aayakashii]

Okay so. The new Sho cards pushed me over the edge and I'll just publish this in multiple chapters because I can't contain it anymore and I kinda wanna know what people think to get some motivation skfhskdjhd

TW: sexual content, a bit of angst. Usage of the word senpai because I think it's kinda hot sorry. Sho is bad at feelings. MDNI

objects in the mirror are closer than they appear – ch. 1

Sometimes you could feel when things had to come to an end - a subtle shift in the atmosphere and then, suddenly, your gut knew of what you had to do, even before your mind could catch up to it. The realization settled uncomfortably in your lungs, like words begging to be said. It was interesting, even if a bit cruel: your body knew what you needed even if you tried, tirelessly, to turn your gaze away from the glaring truth. But you just couldn’t pretend not to see it anymore.

You were laying under the thin sheets of Sho's bed as you have done before time and time again, feeling the dried sweat stick to your skin uncomfortably. By your side, he was scrolling through social media on his phone, oblivious to the conflict brewing in your chest.

After a while, it all began feeling empty – that age-old dance of limbs, and lips and tongues. At least to you. You knew men could stick their dick into anything and they'd be plenty satisfied.

And for a little while, you thought you could be satisfied with only that too.

When he said he wasn't looking for a relationship, but couldn't deny the attraction you both felt for each other – when he asked you to be his friend with benefits, just pleasure and no strings attached – you thought you could do that too. You thought you'd be fine. You were grown, right? Life isn't a fairytale after all, you weren't granted a primce charming, much less to have your feelings reciprocated by the one person you liked.

Still, this wasn't even that bad. It was easy. Simple. No commitment. You could do easy. You could do that.

Right?

It wasn't your fault, really. You just weren't aware of how much you wanted any kind of connection with Sho to understand that a relationship as loose as that was the last thing you needed from him.

But neither was it his fault.

You were the one who had fallen for him, entering an agreement while already breaking the one rule you two had: no strings attached.

Your mind kept racing back and forth, anxiety wrenching your stomach, until it became too hard to keep the thoughts to yourself.

"Sho." you called, throat hurting with the swell of all the words that have spent way too long unsaid.

"Yeah?" he replied, staring at his phone.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

“You still don't plan on getting into a relationship, do you?” You murmured, fiddling with your bitten nails.

Sho blinked, stopping his doom scrolling to look at you.

“What?” He had chucked his bandana elsewhere at some point, too focused on what you two were doing to care much about the neatness of his hair. You hated how you still thought he looked gorgeous even when he was messy like that.

“You don't want a relationship. Right?” You raised your voice, even though it sounded weak to your own ears. “You still don't want one.”

He ran his fingers through his damp hair, sighing as if he was bracing for a conversation he didn't want to have.

“Yeah, no. I don't want a relationship right now. Why?”

You gave him a crooked smile and shook your head.

“Nothing. I was just thinking.” You picked up your discarded clothes from the floor. You didn't miss how his eyes raked over your body as you dressed up, but instead of feeling flattered, you could only pay attention to the deeply rooted bitterness in your core.

“Gonna go home.” You announced with a sniffle, grabbing your bag.

“Not gonna eat with me?” He asked with a small pout, sounding genuinely disappointed and it made you want to scream.

You just shook your head instead.

“No, I have some things I gotta do at my dorm.” You walked out, awkwardly evading his eyes as you did so. “Bye, Sho.”

“Oh… okay. Bye. I'll text you later.” You heard him say before you could close the door.

And when you got back to your dorm, right before entering the shower, you deleted his contact number.

You didn't harbor any type of hatred towards Sho – if anything, at least he never lied and made promises he would never fulfill. He was straightforward. He didn't want anything else from you that wasn't your friendship or your body.

But even if your rational, objective mind knew that, it didn't stop the hurt. You couldn't stand to see his face at all.

His messages were deleted as soon as they arrived on your phone (you couldn't just block him, you WERE the inspector after all) and you were doing a great job of avoiding him at any cost. You weren't ready to see him so soon after you decided to get over him. It was only fair.

And you still liked him. You missed him – his friendship, how easy it felt to be with him, his gentleness towards you, his hands on your body and his lips on your skin. But you couldn't just keep on torturing yourself with unrequited love.

Loving without getting anything back was tiring, taxing. The subconscious expectation of him finally falling for you after yet another fuck was always there, no matter how hard you tried to shoo it away. No matter how much the display of intimacy meant to you, it just wasn’t the same for him.

No one would come to swoop in and save you, nor did it seem like he planned to change his mind.

You had to save yourself, once and for all – and it all had to start with you cutting him off.

Maybe it was a bit harsh to just stop all contact all of a sudden, but as much as he didn't owe you his feelings, you didn't owe him excuses. It was easy – it was over. As smoothly as it had started.

And you hoped the healing would come as easily as well.

It had been, what? Almost a week? And Sho had yet to catch the littlest glimpse of you.

He wasn't one for dramatics, but he was pretty sure he was almost going insane. He went over all of your last interactions in his head, trying to find the culprit for your disappearance as he aggressively diced vegetables.

What happened? Did he say something? Did he do something? Why weren't you replying to any of his messages? Why weren't you visiting him at his work? Where the fuck were you, for fuck's sake?

“Careful. You're gonna cut a finger off.” Leo said in a sing-songy voice, right beside him. Sho gasped, the tight grip he had on his knife faltering and almost nicking his skin.

“What the fuck, Leo.” Sho barked the words harshly. He pushed himself away from the counter and ran a hand over his head. “I almost actually cut myself.”

Leo shrugged.

“Not my fault you're jumpy lately. What's going on, by the way? Did honor roll dump you?” his amber-like eyes glinted as he smirked, already eager to watch his reaction to his calculated nudges.

Sho only eyed him with a raised eyebrow.

“Dump me?” He grabbed a napkin, mindlessly wiping his hands as he began to feel restless at the mention of you. “We were never dating.”

At that, Leo widened his eyes, much to Sho's own confusion.

“You weren't dating? Fuck off.” he scoffed, in disbelief.

“No? We weren't dating. I said I didn't want a relationship. It was just some fun from time to time.” He murmured, the words feeling awfully bitter in his tongue. When he said it so plainly and out loud, it all felt so hollow. It felt cheap.

Leo's jaw dropped.

“Oh, so– Ohhh... Oh, damn. So you were just fucking them? Damn.” He whistled. “I kinda expected that from you, but not from them.” Leo giggled. “That's some humiliation kink if I've ever seen one.”

Sho furrowed his eyebrows.

“What do you mean?”

He rolled his eyes, explicitly aggravated by how dense Sho could be.

“I mean… To accept to be your fuck buddy just to be around you and get a little taste of you. That's pathetic, don't you think?”

Sho blinked, breath suddenly hitching in his throat.

“What– that's– no. We're just friends.”

Leo laughed humorlessly.

“Maybe you think like that, but they definitely want more. They're always looking at you with that stupid little lovesick look, like this "hi sho~ yes, oh fuck, yes, right there, don't stop sho~" Leo faked a loud moan, one hand moving up and down in a jerking motion, with his tongue out.

Sho pushed him without a second of hesitation, Leo's back hitting a shelf full of pots and pans that rattled loudly. He laughed, even though a grimace painted his features at the ear-splitting noise.

“Fucking stop. That.” Sho warned through gritted teeth, stabbing one finger on Leo's chest.

Leo swatted his hand away, rolling his eyes again.

“Not my fault you're slow and blind. But maybe it doesn't matter now.”

Sho's eye twitched, watching as Leo moved through the mess of his kitchen, making his way to the door.

“What do you mean by that?”

Leo sighed as the breeze of the outside air hit his face as soon as the truck's door was opened. He turned to face Sho.

“They haven't been around right? That's why you're so stressed. I guess they're probably trying to move on since you're doing the whole ‘dont wanna date’ thing”.

Sho is silent, indigo eyes stormy with poorly contained anger.

“I mean.” He shrugged, turning back to descend the dangerous stairs of the food truck. “You'd do better with someone hotter anyway. But find someone else soon so you'll stop being so hissy. It's pissing me off.”

Sho flinched as Leo slammed the door shut.

And alone, in the silence, Sho began to be haunted by his thoughts.

He wasn't stupid. He knew there was something there, brewing silently inside your chest, but he also chose to ignore it.

He saw it in the stolen glances and how you held his hands when he hovered over you. He saw it in the way you refused to kiss him; in the way you explained that you’d reserve your kisses for someone who actually loved you, not a fuck buddy.

He remembered quite well the pang he felt in his chest when you said that, reverberating through bones with the same grimness of a death knell.

And he ignored it as well. There was nothing good that could come out of making things more complicated. Why should he? Wasn’t everything already too hard, being a fucking ghoul, being his brother’s dog, being in Darkwick, being a business owner… Why should he add another layer of complexity into his days? Wasn’t it okay to keep things easy?

But if Leo was right, then maybe you breaking the agreement was for the best – you were merely following the rules you two had set, back when he proposed it to you: no strings attached, no feelings. You were being responsible with your emotions and his boundaries.

And even knowing all that, Sho already fucking missed you way too much.

'No, scratch that', he shook his head, thinking to himself. He wasn’t missing you, per se. He was missing your body: the way his fingers sunk in the plushness of your flesh; the arch of your back when he hit a good spot; your breathless moans when he set a pace that was too overwhelming for you – yes. That's what he was missing. He was just missing the sex – having abstinence symptoms.

Right? Right. Yes.

He just had to suck it up like a proper man. Jerk the edge off and move on with his days.

He wouldn’t deny himself, however, of at least properly breaking things off with you. He thought he deserved that, at least.

The next time Sho saw you, he had to corner you before you could spot him and run away, like you two were in some weird game of cat and mouse. You were leaving the bathroom, and he all but pounced right next to you, grabbing your arm firmly.

“Senpai. We need to talk.” he blurted out as you turned around on your heel, gasping.

“Sho! Holy shit! You almost gave me a heart attack!” you panted, placing a hand on your chest. He frowned.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to spook you, but you’ve been avoiding me so my only solution was cornering you.” he said sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.

You looked away, opening your mouth as if you were about to retort his words, but nothing came out. Instead, you just sighed.

“Look-”

“I know you want to break off the agreement.” Sho interrupted you, words stumbling on each other as if he was afraid you’d disappear in any given moment, despite how firmly he kept holding your arm. “I- I know you don’t wanna… keep doing all that. And I just wanted to say I respect your wishes.”

At that, you blinked, widening your eyes. He scowled, looking away.

“No need to look so surprised. I’m not some monster, you know.”

You chuckled for a moment, and Sho swallowed thickly, eyes locked onto your lips as he realized how much he had missed hearing your voice and your laugh.

“I know you’re not.”

He frowned, an unwanted bitterness blooming inside his chest and seeping through his words.

“Then why did you disappear?” He said, a bit more sharply than intended. “You’ve been ignoring all of my messages. You haven't stepped foot in Vagastrom in a week. You aren't even eating lunch at my truck. We could have just talked in person, instead of you straight up ghosting me.”

You slowly pulled your arm from his grasp and he let go, albeit hesitant.

“I just…” you stared at him, gaze boring into his eyes. Sho noticed the pain in your expression and it made him suppress a shudder. Maybe Leo wasn’t wrong.

“I just realized we have different goals, I guess? I… I actually want one. A relationship, I mean. And you don’t. So I guess- I guess it’s just not gonna work anymore. Our agreement.”

He nodded slowly.

“Okay… but still, we could have talked. I thought we were friends.”

You laughed humorlessly, shaking your head. The pit inside his stomach grew with each second.

“Sho, I– Um.” you licked your lips, looking away “I don’t know if that’s gonna be possible for a while. Us being friends.”

His breath hitched on his throat.

“Why?”

“Because I have– I have feelings for you...?” you tilted your head, as if you were searching for the proper words, then nodded. He felt his heart stop at your words, but you just continued your spiel, none the wiser.

“Yeah, I guess I could put it this way. I entered the agreement already being in–" you cleared your throat, cutting your words off, but Sho knew all too well what you kept yourself from saying.

"I entered the agreement already having those feelings. I did it all just to be close to you. But it began hurting me, the ‘no strings attached’ thing. It was my fault, really. I knew nothing would come out of it. You made your boundaries very clear, but I kept on pushing. I just can’t push it anymore.”

The ground seemed to have disappeared from under his feet. He felt like his body was floating – unmoored, helpless, aimless – drifting through the space that surrounded you two. His thoughts were like cotton in his head as your words reached his ears.

You were doing what was right – you were respecting both of your boundaries. Things were askew from the beginning. Snipping the sickness in the bud was the right thing for you and for him.

Yet he couldn't shake the feeling that he was losing a lot more than he bargained for.

“To heal, I need to get over you. I can’t be your friend right now. I can't spend time with you, I can't see you otherwise all of this–” you gestured to your chest, smiling sadly. “–will never go away. Sorry. Maybe when I’m over it, we can be friends again. Right now… I’d like to ask you to only talk to me in case of emergencies, please.”

When he just kept staring at you, silent, you sighed. You squeezed one of his arms and muttered a goodbye under your breath, quickly walking away and into a classroom, before he could grab you again.

Before he knew, Sho was alone and you were nowhere in sight. For good, this time.

Hi please comment or rb with tags letting me know what you think and if you like this idea, I really need the motivation to write again because the block has been AWWWWWFUL

Also yes, this little snippet here is supposed to be from this fic! Something that will happen later on :3

Thanks for reading and again: please interact with me (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

[revelboo]

If You did a Vehicon Crack fic you would absolutely make my day! I love the Vehicons they have so much personality and its adorable!

Just one request: more fluff than smut <3 I’m a sucker for some sweetness (You dont have to its just a personal preference that I’d enjoy) TY! Happy writing! X3

Sure! Poor guys really got the short end of the stick in TFP (and TF One.)

Coin-Operated Boy

Vehicons x Reader

• Breath catching, you go still at the sink and the wet plate in your hands slips from your fingers to shatter on the floor. Staring as the thing dragging itself across your yard goes out of sight. What the heck did you just see? And it didn’t just crawl in your open garage, did it? Not really sure, you pick up the half finished glass of wine on the counter and tip it into the sink with the soapy water. You know better. That this is exactly how those idiots in the horror movies die as you grab a broom and head toward the door that leads down into the garage. Turning the knob and cracking the door, you can hear something moving around down there. Common sense screaming at you to run instead of leaning in to look.

• Dragging himself further into the shelter he found, he finally touches his side and feels the wet, warm energon he’s bleeding. He’s had close calls before, though. Always comes through. Knows the other Vehicons have a running joke about how many times he should have offlined by now. Like when Megatron had chucked him off the Nemesis. He’d survived that, he can survive anything. Sure. Head lifting as something breaks, he growls a low warning when he spots the little organic standing at the top of the stairs with its pitiful weapon.

• It’s a robot. A big, weird looking alien robot bleeding glowing stuff on the concrete. And a childish part of yourself is absolutely delighted, remembering The Iron Giant and Short Circuit, while the rest of you is trying to remember what the Terminator theme sounds like. Because this giant is as likely to crush you as be friendly. And its flickering visor stares at you before its head swings toward the road. Starts trying to drag itself deeper into your garage and you tear your eyes from it to the road, seeing a big semi truck idling slowly along. Is it in trouble? Hiding?

• “Don’t,” he snarls when you start down the stairs and you set the weapon aside, holding up your empty hands. You’re either deaf, fearless, or dumb. Not that he trusts you at all, engine grumbling as loudly as he dares with the Autobot so close. And you flatten yourself against the wall to scoot past him, keeping just out of reach. Tensing as you get to the opening, he waits for you to bolt. Knows it’ll get the Prime’s attention. That his luck has finally ran out.

• Biting your lip and hoping you’re not making a terrible mistake, you hit the button to close the garage door. Aware of the thing staring at you, still growling. And it scoots itself, a leg dragging and you freeze. Because now you can’t squeeze by without getting within grabbing range. Its head tips, visor still flickering and you lift a hand. “Hi,” you say, realizing you’re trapped. Now you remember the Terminator theme.

• Had you just protected him? Why? Moving slowly, he lifts his own hand to mimic your greeting and you bare your little teeth at him. Are you smiling? Painfully shifting to get his back against the wall, he lays his head back. Watching you edge closer to him. You’re no threat, too little to hurt him. Gritting his denta behind his mask, he vents softly.

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