#things i haven't touched on that are going to be in this thread :

[cuddlytogas]

yesterday some friends and i went to the special ancient egyptian pharoahs exhibit at the ngv, and i got so utterly entranced by a linen funeral shroud, i think i saw god and/or went completely insane for about fifteen minutes

the fibres were so fine. and not just fine, they were uniform. it was from the roman period, so only (only!) 2,000 years old, but the fibres were still so fine and uniform

i'm not good at identifying weft and warp on a piece of fabric - i think i got it wrong while i was looking at it - and obviously it's very hard to know what's inherent to the fabric and what's the product of degradation over time or mishandling, but there was this long, thin tear right down the middle, and i thought it was maybe a seam that had come apart, but the painting alignment didn't quite fit that, and there were a few threads crossing through it that i could see, so i wonder if maybe one or two weft threads had degraded or torn or been pulled loose. but the tear was so straight and exact, and held together at one end by the other fibres, it was so incredible to see

and there were a couple of places where i thought there were slightly chunkier threads - it happens all the time in modern linens - but when i looked closer, i could see that actually it was two threads in the same part of the weave (warp threads, i think?)

and again, okay, could be a product of the degradation, or damage - but also... it could so easily have been a slight fault in the manufacturing, and i don't know the first thing about ancient egyptian weaving techniques, or what kind of loom they did or didn't use, or any of that - but still, it was so easy to imagine these two warp threads being set slightly too close together on a loom, and being caught together by the weft, and leaving this slightest bulge, this perfect imperfection in the cloth

it was beautifully, intricately, colourfully painted, too, yes - but underneath that, i can only imagine that lovely dun, beige colour was unbleached and undyed; and yet again, yes, of course it would've darkened with age and use - it was a funeral shroud, there was a corpse under it once - but to look at this linen and see the colour of the flax two thousand years ago, it's just - absolutely mind-boggling

the whole exhibit was deliberately structured around highlighting the craftsmanship behind the artefacts, as well as the power, social structures, and cultural significance they represented, which was fairly well done. I watched that video after seeing the exhibition, and in hindsight, yeah, I did notice that many of the labels highlighted the detail and excellence of the items, and they had things like jewellery moulds and scribe's tools, as well as the big impressive statues and murals. at least a couple of the room introduction wall texts made sure to mention craftspeople; and there were a few places dedicated to both the bureaucratic structures, and working people and villages, that created and kept up the temples and palaces.

but there was also definitely a slight lack of information, i felt, in regard to the crafts, especially if that was their goal. i might also just be underestimating the general public, but there were a few times where we were wondering what something in an image was, but found nothing in the label; and it would've been cool if they, perhaps, had images or recreations of craftspeople in the period showing how the items would have been made.

like, obviously i'm biased towards the fabric, because that's my craft - and to be clear, the shroud was part of the room on jewellery and adornment, with the label pointing out the jewellery worn by the painted figure, rather than the craft of the item itself. but it would've been cool to have, in this example, either a contemporary image or a recreated one of what tools would have been used for the spinning and weaving of this cloth, and by what groups.

there were many parts of the exhibit where you could see on the glass where people had pressed their hands or noses or foreheads to try and get close, to see the intricate work on tiny rings or murals or votive items, the engraving and carving and painting done with such incredible skill. and again, they had those scribe's tools, and jewellery moulds, a few weapons, and (iirc) both ritual and functional builder's tools. which i DID VERY MUCH appreciate!

but fibre arts are already often devalued in our culture, and with industrialisation, we've really lost sight of the work and skill that, for thousands of years, went into making fabric. i would've loved to have seen them highlight not just the image of jewellery on this shroud, but the shroud itself.

because, yeah: this linen was beautiful. and to see this cloth, with these fibres that are finer and more uniform than many modern fabrics... like, obviously it's very good linen - the label only said it was for a woman called Isetweret, not what her status was, but i think it's a safe bet she wasn't the proletariat - but still.

just. i really fucking love history, oh my god

[bellsplit]

` ❅ ||   cryopathiic &  fallesto   »   (  &  the  beast  said, ' come  &  see! '  )

there's  an  almighty  crash   when the side of the so—called ascension room is  caved  in  —  there's no way that  any  creature within this place hadn't heard that sound,  from demons to humans to the rats living in the cellar.     douma had always insisted on  quiet  to keep his flock from seeing things that they shouldn't,  but  like  hell  is he going to respect that wish now :    the polychrome priest has transgressed against him too severely this time.

taking  his  prey, his partner,  &  right  out  from  under  his  nose  to boot.

he'd wondered why kyojuro hadn't returned after saying he wouldn't be gone long.     he'd wondered & he'd waited & he'd paced to & fro across their shared room at the bathhouse until day had finally given way to night,  allowing him to follow his nose,  kyojuro's scent long memorized,  to this place,  this wretched & divine place ...

well.     it's about to become much more  wretched  & less  divine.

because  this  akaza isn't the same starving one that the frozen lotus had been able to toy so easily with during the early stages of his tenuous bond with rengoku kyojuro :    this  akaza  has  eaten  a  full  meal,   &  recently.     yes,  he's broken his promise  —  but it's  the  only  way  that either of them will escape this entire debacle  alive.

his gilded gaze is as sharp & wicked as the fangs bared in utter defiance of the hierarchy as he closes the distance between himself & the prophet in one leap,  inked fingers closing  tight  around that holy neck to  choke.     no,  it's  destructive  death  that's come to this place of worship,  not a coworker with needs to sate.

"  where  is  he?  "     upper three demands in a voice like thunder.     "  what  have  you  done  with  him?  "

[fortes-fortuna-iogurtum]

aaaa

[mangostarjam]

you've been touching him a lot since he got back.

itoshi sae doesn't do anything about it — doesn't dissuade you from tugging at his sleeve or sliding his jacket zipper back and forth while you talk. doesn't comment or bring your attention to it.

but he watches.

you've been around him a lot since his plane landed, making up for all the time he's spent abroad, as if your daily chat threads haven't been enough. most of the time it's just the two of you, the way it used to be. sometimes his brother is around, though thankfully it doesn't seem like you've gotten any closer to rin since sae left.

other times there's a group, mostly your friends, a mix of guys and girls who don't seem to know what to do with themselves around him. sae is used to this — fame brings strange things to light — but you treat him as you always have, except for the touching.

you don't touch anyone else.

it makes him think.

sae has his reasons. he's never let your relationship get past that line, drawn in the sand. he's a professional football player on the other side of the world, and you have a life here. you have friends (even though you still call him your best friend), you have a job (that you complain about all the time), you have family (that can't be bothered to ever congratulate you on anything).

it wouldn't be right — to make you leave. to take you away. not when he needs to focus on being the best in the world.

(he is the best in the world. all those years ago he showed the U-20 team in japan the difference between them, the way the most they could hope for was dating a gravure model. sae never cared about that aspect. he already had you.)

he lets you touch him, but he doesn't touch you back. he keeps you at arm's length — where you're safe.

and then you ask him to be your wingman.

someone else — touching you? kissing you? having you? unthinkable. sae steps out of the shower and barely dries off before pulling on his briefs and pants. steps into his room and there you are, sitting on his bed, looking good, if a little sad.

he considers telling you to get your passport updated and catches the way your eyes trail down his form. maybe this conversation would be easier if he's wearing a shirt — your gaze is too heated, too distracting. you probably think you're being sneaky, hiding your feelings as best as you can, but sae knows you.

and your casual touches are ocean waves washing that line in the sand away.

sae walks towards his closet when it happens again. your finger in his belt loop, stopping him in his tracks. "what?"

"you were ignoring me," you say. "i asked if my outfit is okay."

your outfit is more than okay. "i would have told you to change if it wasn't."

"if you're going to be my wingman, shouldn't you hype me up?" you huff.

sae feels his jaw clench at the reminder. "no," he says, and his tone comes out cold. you don't seem to notice, falling back on his bed and testing every bit of self control in his grasp. "this is a waste of time."

he goes to pull on a shirt before he does something drastic. you're saying something, but it hardly matters when his flight leaves if you'll be on the plane with him. you've covered your eyes with your forearm, so you miss the way he pauses at the foot of the bed, teal eyes drinking in your form splayed out so defenselessly.

sae climbs over you silently, knees nudging yours apart, hands planted on either side of your body. "this is a waste of time," he repeats, watching with amusement as you take in his position. a blush sweeps across your face, but you don't push him off. that's a good sign, at least.

"what, you think i'm not worth being a wingman for?" you ask. silly. you have no idea.

and then you reach for his belt loops again, as if that's a totally normal thing to do and not something that drives him a little nuts every time. sae prides himself on his control, though, so he doesn't lean down to kiss you just yet.

"tell me," sae says, "have you become this touchy with all your friends since i've been gone?"

"n-no?"

it's cute, how wide your eyes get. sae leans down a little closer. feels your breaths on his lips. still doesn't kiss you — yet. "then i won't be your wingman. you don't need one."

"why not?"

do you know how breathless you sound? sae considers his apartment in spain, how he'll need to make sure the bedroom doesn't share any walls with the neighbors. the way you sound is all for him and him alone.

"because you have a boyfriend, now."

(companion piece to this)

[pucksandpower]

Suck Him Dry

Day 3 → Oral Fixation 💋 Charles Leclerc

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

The room is dark, the kind of deep, enveloping darkness that sinks into your bones. The only light comes from a sliver of moonlight peeking through the heavy curtains, casting shadows that dance lazily across the ceiling. Charles is breathing softly beside you, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm that, on any other night, might lull you back to sleep.

But tonight is different. Your mind is restless, thoughts spinning in circles, too fast and too loud to let you sleep.

You stare up at the ceiling, your eyes tracing the shadows. You don’t know how long you’ve been awake — minutes, maybe hours. Time loses meaning when you're stuck inside your own head.

You feel like you’re trapped in a loop, a constant replay of every worry, every doubt, every little thing that could possibly go wrong. It’s exhausting, but there’s no way out. Not tonight, at least.

Beside you, Charles stirs. You freeze, holding your breath, hoping you haven't woken him up. But then you feel his hand slide over, warm and reassuring, finding yours in the darkness. He squeezes your hand gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“Can’t sleep?” His voice is soft, rough with sleep, but there’s a thread of concern woven through it.

You shake your head, even though you know he can’t see you. “No,” you whisper. “I’m just … stuck in my head again.”

Charles hums, a low sound that vibrates through the silence. He turns onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you. Even in the dark, you can feel the weight of his gaze, steady and unwavering.

“What’s going on in there?” He asks gently, tapping your temple with his finger.

You sigh, closing your eyes. “Everything. Nothing. I don’t know.”

“Hmm.” He’s quiet for a moment, just watching you. Then he shifts closer, his hand moving to rest on your hip, his thumb brushing back and forth in a soothing motion. “You need something to get you out of your head,” he says quietly.

You don’t respond. It’s not like you haven’t tried everything already — reading, counting sheep, focusing on your breathing. Nothing works.

Charles seems to understand. He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “I have an idea,” he murmurs. “But you have to trust me.”

You open your eyes, turning your head to look at him. There’s a glimmer of something in his eyes, something tender and a little mischievous. You nod slowly. “Okay. I trust you.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Good.” He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Come here,” he says, tugging you gently toward him.

You follow his lead, letting him guide you until your head is resting against his thigh. He strokes your hair gently, his touch soothing. “Just relax,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. Charles shifts, his hand moving to cup the back of your head, guiding you further down. You feel the warmth of him against your cheek, the soft fabric of his boxers brushing against your skin.

“Open your mouth,” he says softly.

You do as he says, parting your lips. He guides you with gentle pressure, and you take him into your mouth, the familiar taste and feel of him grounding you in a way that nothing else does. You close your eyes, letting out a slow breath through your nose as you begin to suck gently.

Charles lets out a low groan, his hand tightening in your hair. “That’s it, just like that,” he murmurs. “You’re doing so well, mon amour.”

You focus on the sound of his voice, the gentle praise in his tone, and the steady rise and fall of his chest. You feel yourself start to relax, the tension in your body slowly melting away. The constant buzzing in your head quiets, replaced by the rhythmic motion of your mouth and the soft, reassuring sounds Charles makes above you.

He strokes your hair, his thumb brushing over your temple in a slow, soothing rhythm. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispers. “So perfect. Just keep going, mon cœur.”

You hum softly around him, the vibration drawing a soft curse from his lips. He tugs lightly on your hair, guiding you a little deeper. You take him easily, your jaw relaxing as you find a steady rhythm, each motion smooth and deliberate.

Charles lets out a shaky breath, his hand tightening in your hair again. “God, you feel so good,” he murmurs. “So fucking good. You’re amazing, you know that?”

You don’t respond, but you don’t need to. He knows. He always knows. You focus on the feel of him in your mouth, the steady pressure against your tongue, the way he throbs gently with each pass of your lips. It’s comforting, in a way that’s hard to explain. It’s like everything else fades away, leaving just the two of you in this quiet, intimate moment.

He shifts slightly, his thigh muscles flexing under your cheek. “Are you okay?” He asks softly. “Do you need to stop?”

You shake your head slightly, your mouth still full. You don’t want to stop. Not yet. You need this — the steady, grounding presence of him, the way he makes everything else disappear.

He chuckles softly, his fingers threading through your hair again. “Okay,” he says quietly. “We’ll keep going as long as you need, mon ange.”

You don’t know how long you stay like that — minutes, maybe hours. Time loses meaning when you’re with him like this, when the only thing that matters is the steady rhythm of your mouth and the quiet sounds of his pleasure. You start to feel yourself getting drowsy, the tension in your body melting away completely.

Charles seems to notice. He strokes your hair gently, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “You’re getting tired, aren’t you?” He murmurs.

You hum softly in response, your eyes fluttering closed. He chuckles again, a soft, affectionate sound. “That’s okay,” he says quietly. “Just let yourself fall asleep, mon cœur. I’ve got you.”

You do as he says, letting your eyes close fully. You keep sucking softly, the motion slowing as you start to drift off. Charles hums a soft, soothing tune under his breath, his fingers still moving gently through your hair. You feel yourself slipping into sleep, the last thing you hear is the soft, steady sound of his breathing.

As you fall asleep, still sucking, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. For the first time in what feels like forever, your mind is quiet, your body relaxed. And you know, without a doubt, that as long as Charles is here, you’ll always have a way out of your own head.

***

You wake slowly, consciousness returning like a gentle tide washing over you. The world is soft and quiet, the room bathed in the faint blue light of early morning. For a moment, you’re disoriented, unsure of where you are or why you feel so warm and cocooned. Then you realize your mouth is still full, lips stretched around the familiar weight of Charles.

Your head is still resting on his thigh, and you can feel the solid muscle beneath your cheek. The sheets are warm and heavy around you, cocooning you in the lingering scent of Charles — clean and musky, with a hint of something uniquely him that you’ve come to love. His hand is still tangled in your hair, his fingers relaxed but still holding onto you, as if even in sleep, he doesn’t want to let you go.

Blinking your eyes open, you adjust to the dim light. Charles is still asleep, his chest rising and falling with each deep, even breath. You can feel his thigh move slightly under your cheek with each inhale, the slow rhythm of his breathing a comforting reminder that he’s here, right here with you. You don’t want to wake him, but you can’t help the way your tongue instinctively moves, brushing against the sensitive underside of him.

He stirs, letting out a soft sigh in his sleep, his grip on your hair tightening for just a moment before relaxing again. The sound sends a rush of heat through you, pooling low in your belly. You can feel him harden in your mouth, his body responding even in sleep. It’s intoxicating, the way you can affect him like this, the way he trusts you so completely, even when he’s not awake.

You shift slightly, adjusting your position under the sheets. Your lips tighten around him, your tongue pressing more firmly against the sensitive spot that makes him shiver. His breathing hitches, a soft groan escaping his lips. He’s still asleep, but his body knows you, recognizes your touch and responds to it.

Encouraged, you start to move more deliberately, sucking gently, your head bobbing in a slow, steady rhythm. The taste of him floods your mouth, salty and intoxicating, and you can’t help the way your body reacts. Heat blooms between your thighs, a low, insistent ache that makes you press your legs together, trying to find some relief.

But you don’t stop, don’t even slow down. If anything, you speed up, eager to taste more of him, to coax him awake with your mouth.

Charles groans again, louder this time, his hand tightening in your hair. “Merde,” he mutters, his voice rough with sleep. You feel him stir, his body shifting slightly as he wakes. “What …” His voice trails off into a low moan as you take him deeper, your lips stretching around him as you suck harder.

“Fuck, mon amour …” His voice is thick with sleep and something else — something deeper, more primal. You can hear the way his breathing changes, growing faster, more uneven. He’s fully awake now, and you can feel his body tense under yours, his muscles tightening as he tries to hold back.

You don’t let him. You move faster, sucking harder, your tongue working against him with a practiced ease that you know drives him crazy. He groans, his hips jerking up involuntarily, pushing himself deeper into your mouth. “God, you’re … you’re perfect,” he mutters, his voice barely more than a breathless whisper. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop …”

You hum around him, the sound vibrating through your throat and sending a shiver down his spine. His reaction spurs you on, and you take him deeper, your throat relaxing to accommodate him. He curses softly in French, his fingers tightening in your hair, guiding you with a gentle but insistent pressure.

“Just like that,” he breathes. “Mon dieu, just like that. You’re doing so good, so fucking good …”

You moan softly around him, the sound muffled by his length filling your mouth. The taste of him, the heat of his skin against your lips, the way he reacts to your every touch — it’s intoxicating, overwhelming. You feel yourself growing wetter, the ache between your thighs intensifying with every passing second.

Charles lets out a low groan, his hips bucking up slightly as he nears his release. “I’m close,” he warns, his voice strained. “Fuck, I’m so close …”

You don’t stop, don’t slow down. You want this — you want to taste him, to feel him lose control in your mouth. You suck harder, your tongue swirling around him with a renewed fervor. He lets out a strangled moan, his grip on your hair tightening almost painfully as he finally lets go.

He comes with a shuddering groan, his hips jerking up as he spills into your mouth. The taste of him floods your senses, warm and slightly salty, and you swallow eagerly, not wanting to waste a single drop. He groans again, softer this time, his body trembling with the force of his release.

But you don’t stop. Even as he starts to soften in your mouth, you keep going, your lips and tongue working with a steady, unrelenting rhythm. He lets out a surprised gasp, his hand tightening in your hair again.

“Mon amour, what are you …” His voice trails off into a moan as you suck harder, your tongue flicking against the sensitive underside of him. “Fuck, I-I can’t …”

You don’t listen. You don’t want to. You want to taste every last drop of him, to drain him of everything he has to offer. You feel a surge of satisfaction as he starts to harden again, his body responding to your insistent touch.

“Jesus, you’re insatiable,” he mutters, his voice thick with a mix of awe and arousal. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?”

You hum around him, your lips curving into a small, satisfied smile. You can feel him starting to tremble beneath you, his body on the edge of overstimulation. But you don’t stop. You can’t. You want more — need more.

Charles groans, his hips twitching as he tries to pull away. “I … I can’t, it’s too much …”

But you don’t let him. You wrap your arms around his hips, holding him in place as you suck harder, your tongue pressing against the sensitive spot that you know will drive him crazy. He lets out a choked moan, his body tensing under yours as he teeters on the edge of another release.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck …” He’s barely coherent now, his words slurred with pleasure and overstimulation. “Please, I … I can’t. I’m gonna …”

He comes again, harder this time, his body convulsing with the force of his release. You swallow every drop, your lips never leaving him, even as he starts to soften once more. He’s trembling now, his body twitching with aftershocks, but you don’t let up.

Charles gasps, his hand weakly pushing at your shoulder. “Mon amour, please … I can’t — it’s too much …”

But you don’t stop. You suck harder, your tongue working against him with a desperate, insistent rhythm. You’re close now, so close, the taste of him pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You can feel the tension building in your core, a tight coil that’s ready to snap.

He groans, his voice hoarse with pleasure and exhaustion. “Please, I … I need you to stop, I can’t take it …”

But you’re too far gone to listen. You’re on the edge, teetering on the brink of release, and you can’t stop, not now. You suck harder, your tongue pressing against him in a way that makes him shudder.

And then you’re there, the tension finally snapping as your orgasm crashes over you in a wave of pleasure. You moan around him, your body shaking with the force of it, your mouth never leaving him. You keep sucking, keep licking, riding out your orgasm as you drain him of everything he has to offer.

Charles gasps, his body going limp beneath you as he finally gives in, his head falling back against the pillow. “Merde …” he mutters, his voice barely more than a breathless whisper. “You’re … you’re incredible …”

You hum softly in response, your body still trembling with aftershocks. You finally pull away, your lips releasing him with a soft pop. You rest your head against his thigh, your eyes closed as you try to catch your breath.

He strokes your hair gently, his touch soothing. “Are you okay?” He asks softly. “Did I … did I hurt you?”

You shake your head, a small, contented smile spreading across your lips. “No,” you whisper. “I’m perfect.”

He chuckles softly, his fingers still moving through your hair. “That you are, mon ange. That you are.”

You let out a soft sigh, your body relaxing completely against him. You feel a deep sense of satisfaction, a contentment that you haven’t felt in a long time. For the first time in what feels like forever, your mind is quiet, your body at peace.

Charles hums softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I love you,” he murmurs. “So much.”

You smile, your eyes still closed. “I love you too,” you whisper. “More than anything.”

He chuckles again, a soft, affectionate sound. “Good,” he says quietly. “Because I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

[flowersforbucky]

diet pepsi

logan howlett x reader - 2.8k words

summary: old!logan x reader limousine sex. inspired by the song diet pepsi by addison rae

author's note: i recently rewatched logan and haven't been able to stop thinking about what it would be like to have him in the backseat of that limousine. then i heard this song a few days ago and knew exactly what i had to write.

warnings/tags: smut, porn with plot, unprotected p in v, oral (m&f receiving), pet names (princess, honey), reader has kinda longish hair (nothing too specific), a little angsty but mostly fluffy? happy ending, reader is afab, no use of of y/n, 18+ only mdni

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when we drive in your car, i'm your baby

losing all my innocence in the backseat

say you love, say you love, say you love me

losing all my innocence in the backseat

The cab of the limousine reeks of leather and smoke - both stale and fresh, from the cigars he has chain smoked over the last few days and two thousand miles - give or take a few.

It's a scent you've grown surprisingly fond of. You know that no matter how long this thing between the two of you lasts, you'll forever associate the smoky sweet aroma of tobacco with him.

You've been laying down across the backseat for the last few hours, trying and failing to get some sleep at Logan's request, as he drives from Reno back to Mexico. The two of you had left the familiar comfort of the abandoned smelting plant three days ago in search of a bulk supply of Charles’ medications - a search that led you to Nevada and yielded a six month supply of injections and pills.

You sit up in the middle of the seat, meeting Logan's gaze in the rearview mirror.

He's exhausted. He’d never admit it to you, but you know him better than he likely realizes. He's hanging on by a thread.

The digital clock on the dashboard reads it's just past noon. Another four hours and some change to go.

Asking him to pull over and rest for his own sake would be a fruitless waste of time, this much you know from the drive to Reno. What was supposed to be at least a seventeen hour drive turned into a fifteen hour drive as he sped the whole way and only stopped for the absolutely necessary food, bathroom, and gas breaks. Only after obtaining the crates of medicine did he allow himself the simple luxury of a few hours sleep.

“What's that look for, princess?” he asks as he breaks his stare, his eyes snapping back to the endless expanse of the blazing asphalt in front of you.

“I'm hungry,” you shrug with a sly grin. “And I need some coffee. And I miss you.”

He lets out a low laugh, a smirk forming across his features in the reflection of the glass. You don't miss the way his fingers grip the cracked leather of the steering wheel tighter at the words I miss you.

“We'll stop for something to eat soon, I promise.”

You hum in response, moving from your position on the further bench seat to the one that rests against the driver’s and front passenger’s seat, directly behind him. You lean your chest against the backrest, dangling one arm across the seat so that you can bring your hand to stroke the prominent stubble across his jaw.

“And what about the last thing?” you murmur, running your thumb along his bottom lip as you stare at him. He tenses beneath your touch but doesn't take his eyes off of the road before him.

“I'm right here, princess. Don't gotta miss me.”

“You know what I mean.”

He's barely touched you since you had first left Mexico three days ago - and you understand why, truly. He's been focused on getting to Reno, getting the medication, and getting the fuck back home before the last few days worth of Charles’ injections and pills are gone. Even when you stopped at a random motel for a few hours of shut eye, you were both too exhausted to do anything other than sleep.

In fact, it was the first time that you've slept in a bed together without him being between your legs. You didn't mind it all - the simplicity and the intimacy of just sleeping curled into each other was something you'd always cherish from this trip.

But you’d be lying if you tried to convince yourself that you weren’t aching to have him in all of the ways that you’re so used to having him.

“Oh, I know exactly what you mean,” he sighs, kissing the side of your thumb that still rests along his bottom lip. It's pathetic how the small act has you ready to crawl over the seat and straddle him. “We're almost home, though. Don't you want me to shower first?” he teases.

You know that both of you have to smell something foul - the motel you'd stayed in didn't even have a functioning shower, and the western United States heat is no joke this time of year. You both did the best you could with the bathroom sink and some baby wipes that you snagged from the gas station across the road, but whore's baths and deodorant just don't quite cut it in ninety-five degree weather.

“No, I don't,” you admit - you can't even bring yourself to care if it's pathetic. You bring your face closer to his, your nose nuzzling just under his ear. “I want you to pull over, get in the back of this car, and let me ride you until we both come.”

He hisses when your lips lock around the tender flesh of his earlobe, causing him to swerve and quickly correct back into the right lane.

“Fuckin hell,” he grunts, knuckles gripping the wheel so tight that they start to turn white. “Can't be saying that shit when I'm driving. Gonna make me wreck this thing.”

You laugh into the side of his neck, trailing wet kisses along his skin. “I'd suggest pulling over, then.”

He sighs again, all but melting into your touch now. You know you're getting your way when he flips on the turn signal and looks over his shoulder before merging right and then pulling off on the side of the desolate highway.

“You know that you've got me wrapped around your little finger, don't you?” He asks as he unbuckles his seatbelt and hops out of the limousine, slamming the driver's door behind him before you can respond. You move back to your original position on the back bench seat as he crawls in with you, pulling a spare key from his pocket to lock the still-running vehicle.

“Wrapped around my little finger is exactly where I intend to keep you.” He smiles - the first real smile you've seen from him in days and you melt a little inside. He kneels on the felt carpet before you, splaying his hands on your inner thighs and pushing them apart.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he murmurs into the flesh of your thighs, his facial hair tickling the bare skin. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of both your shorts and panties and you raise off the seat a few inches, giving him the clearance to tug them down past your ankles. You're left in nothing but a thin cotton tank top, your nipples pebbling from the way he's looking up at you.

“Cause that's exactly where I like to be.”

It's a rare occurrence that the two of you exchange such sweet sentiments - he usually only goes as far as whispering my girl in your ear as he sheaths himself inside you after late nights at work, when he comes home with lips that taste like single malt whiskey.

He loops his arms around the backs of your legs and tugs you forward on the seat, bringing your cunt directly to his mouth. Any sense of hesitation he initially had about hooking up on the side of the highway goes out the window as soon as his tongue licks a thick strip from your hole and up to your clit. You hiss, digging the fingernails of one hand into the old, weathered leather of the seat and bringing your other to lace your fingers through the salt and pepper colored locks of his hair.

As tired as he is from days of driving and very little sleep, you would never be able to tell with the fervency of his tongue lapping your folds. He always eats you like it’s the last time he ever will - and knowing Logan as well as you do, there’s always that chance that it very well could be.

So, you grab his hair and pull him as close to you as he can possibly be and revel in every lick, every kiss, every tug of his lips around your clit as he makes you believe that the two of you could have a lifetime of these moments together.

You can already feel that tell-tale warmth blooming in the pit of your abdomen when he brings a singular finger to your hole and plunges it inside you. Your walls constrict around the digit and he groans against your clit, the vibration spurring you closer to the edge of your climax. You grind yourself into his mouth as he sinks his tongue inside you, your back arching off of the seat and your eyes rolling into your head.

He pulls his tongue from inside you and moves his mouth up to your clit once more, locking his lips around the nub and pulling away with a wet pop that sends you over the edge. You ride out your orgasm on his face, writhing until he pulls his finger out of you. You’re still seeing rainbows of colors and stars when he brings the wet finger to your mouth and shoves it past your lips, swirling the sweet tang of your juices around in your mouth.

“You taste that?” he murmurs, pulling his finger out of your mouth and inserting it in his own. He takes his time, cleaning the last remnants of your slick from the digit. “That’s how you’ve got me so wrapped around your finger.” His words make your head spin, like you’ve had one too many shots of his favorite bourbon that he always keeps a steady supply of.

“Your turn.” Your words even sound slurred as you bring your fists to his chest, urging him backwards onto the seat opposite of you. You take his place on the floor of the limousine, crawling towards where he’s now lounging with his large thighs already spread wide for you.

You’re about to reach for the button of his jeans when he leans forward, grabbing the tail-end of your tank top and quickly tugging it over your head. You’re left bare before him and you’re hit with a wave of relief that these windows are tinted beyond what’s legal in the state of New Mexico.

His eyes travel from your thighs and up your stomach as he sweeps your hair over your shoulders, giving him an unhindered view of your breasts.

“My girl,” he hums, not taking his eyes off of you as he pops the button at the top of his pants and tugs down the zipper. “My pretty girl.”

“Yours,” you agree, butterflies mixing with arousal in your gut as you help him pull the restrictive fabric of his jeans and boxers down until they bunch around his ankles. His cock springs free, hard and leaking pre-cum down around the head.

You feel saliva pool in your mouth at the sight. As many times as you've had his impressive length inside you, you don't think it'll ever not make your mouth water.

You take the base of him in one hand, languidly pumping him as you lean forward, gathering all of the spit in your mouth and releasing it over the tip of his cock. You continue to stroke him, smearing the wetness down his length.

He groans, deep and guttural as he throws his head back against the seat. You can't see, but you know that his eyes have snapped shut at the pleasure.

When you've got him fully lubricated, you ease the tip of him into your mouth and swirl your tongue around his head. He brings a hand to the back of your head and pulls you forward, cramming more of himself into your mouth. You open wider to accommodate his length as it juts against the back of your throat.

“Fuck, honey,” he grunts when you pause to adjust to the stretch that you're feeling in your jaws. “You always take me so well. Never had anyone make me feel as good as you do.”

You moan around his dick at the praise, feeling your own arousal budding again in your lower belly. You pull back until only half of him is left inside your mouth, and then slowly begin to bob up and down, the tip of him repeatedly jabbing against the back of your throat. What little of his length that you can't take at one time, you continue to stroke in your hand. Your free hand comes to cup his balls, massaging them in rhythm with the thrusts of your mouth on his cock. You can feel tears begin to leak out of the corners of your eyes and down your cheeks from the lack of oxygen.

Right when you feel him begin to twitch against your tongue, he threads his fingers through your hair and yanks you off of him.

“You said you wanted to ride me until we both came, yeah?” He wraps his hands around the tops of your arms, pulling you upwards and onto his lap. You're too light headed to speak so you just nod quickly, adjusting your position across his lap. His cock is pressed against his lower stomach, lodged between the wet lips of your cunt and his happy trail.

“I want you to do just that.” He grabs you by the hips, pulling you forward along his shaft. You raise up on the balls of your feet as he takes himself in his fist, running his tip through your folds to lubricate himself with your juices before stopping at your hole. He juts his hips upwards at the same time that you sink down, causing the entirety of his length to be sheathed inside you at once.

“Oh my god,” you groan as you adjust to the sheer size of him. He always stretches you so painfully sweet. You steady yourself with your hands on his broad shoulders, realizing that he’s still in a two day old t-shirt. He reads your mind and yanks the fabric over his head. You take in the sight before you - all of the defined planes of his chest, his body hair that you love to run your fingers through when you’re riding him, that one vein that bulges on his bicep that you just want to trace with your tongue -

You raise up again, until he’s almost all the way out of you and only the head of his cock remains inside you before you sink back down all at once, earning an animalistic growl from him. You repeat the ministrations until you have acclimated to his size. You begin to increase your speed, the sound of your ass bouncing off of his thighs echoing around the limited space of the limosuine’s cab.

“So goddamn tight,” he spits through gritted teeth, one hand coming to plant a firm grasp on your asscheek. He digs his fingers into the meat with enough force to leave bruises but it only spurs on your movements. You liked it - the idea of being marked by him, even if it wasn’t something that anyone else would ever be able to see. “Always feel like you were made for me.”

You let out a pathetic whimper at his words, not knowing what to say or do to convey your emotions in that moment other than to lower your lips to his. He immediately opens his mouth to you, letting your tongue inside to merge with his. His taste was so comforting and familiar to you - tobacco and peppermint and something uniquely Logan. You didn’t think you’d find a flavor quite like it in anyone else, and you never wanted to test that theory.

“I was,” you whine breathlessly when you finally pull away. “Was made for you.”

He begins to meet your bounces with thrusts of his own, hitting the sweet spot of your cervix just right with each movement.

“Say it,” he grunts - you can tell he’s close by his movements growing erratic beneath you. “Wanna hear you say that you’re mine.”

You can feel your second orgasm building with every word that he says. He brings his free hand in between your bodies, finding your clit right away. He massages you with his thumb and you come around his cock with a cry of his name.

“I am,” you pant through your orgasm as he continues to thrust up into you. “I am yours, I’ve been yours, just yours.” Your admission sends him over the edge and he spills into you from below, both of his arms wrapping around your lower back and pulling your bare chest against his.

“You mean that?” he murmurs against the sweat-coated skin of your collarbone. You lean back enough to look down at him, cradling his jawline in the palm of your hand.

“I do,” you tell him, your voice barely above a whisper. “But only if you’re mine, too,” you add with a small, nervous laugh.

“I've been yours since the day we met, princess. Just had a hard time believing you could want me in the same way.”

You snort a laugh at the confession that sounds so ridiculous to you, and then bring your lips to his once more to show him just how badly you absolutely do want to be his.

thanks for reading! comments and reblogs are always very appreciated 💕

other logan works by me: straight to my head • claw kink drabble • dog tag drabble

[boydyke]

when people respond to trans women who have something to say about what they've experienced or witnessed as a trans woman with "haha what do any of these words mean. anyone in this thread smoke weed. none of these words are in the Bible. wow sometimes I stumble across a corner of the internet I never thought possible. op go touch grass" it is 100% coming from a position of privilege rather than whatever holier than thou high IQ normalperson stance they think it is. you haven't seen this shit before because you have the privilege to not be targeted by lolcow forums or called a paraphile for being into bdsm. trans women, women of color, autists & schizos etc--especially if many of these intersect--often don't have the luxury to be ignorant to transmisogyny and racism and ableism, or to not be targeted by neonazis for simply having a blog, their ""neet status"" is irrelevant to these things actually. this shit isn't exclusively online for them! many irl queer groups end up dominated by privileged white transmisogynists maybe because that's the status fucking quo. maybe be fucking nice for once and listen to things women have to say. the amount of meanspirited replies I've seen towards women talking about shit they've personally experienced recently is grating. it costs nothing to be nice and mind your own business. you don't have to act like underprivileged groups are hysterical psychotic freaks who care too much.

[x-brik-x]

I'm seeing a lot of people say that punk fashion is expensive and inaccessible, which is very wrong. here is a list of some ways you can make punk fashion easier, cheaper and more accessible for you, since that's... kinda the whole point.

others are encouraged to add onto this!! (just don't recommend corporations like amazon. not cool.)

1. patches!! you don't need to buy them. DIY patches are not ugly or boring. in fact, they are encouraged here!! DIY, in my opinion, is always the best thing to do when it is an option and is safe to do so.

2. speaking of DIY, spikes!! you can make them!!

cut the top and bottom off of an empty can. cut down the middle of the cylinder and flatten it, so it's just a flat rectangle of metal.

cut out a shape that is kind of a third of a circle, but around 3/4 of the curved edge is taken up by triangle shapes. (I'm not very good at describing, so here's a badly drawn picture)

roll it into a cone, leaving the 4 triangles sticking out at the bottom. this bit is optional, but you can fill it with hot glue to make it more sturdy, just be careful touching the hot metal. I tend to hold the cone by one of the triangles with a bit of fabric wrapped around my fingers for this bit. cut 4 small holes in your fabric in this kind of shape:

and put the spiky bits of triangle through the holes. fold the triangles in on themselves to secure the spike in place. boom. spike obtained. this is one I made and attached to a little piece of fabric to test this method out:

3. battle vests!! (like the base jackets). the best places to buy these are charity shops and second hand websites in my opinion, but if anyone else knows any better options, please reblog with those!!

a good trick I find works well on eBay is to filter search results to your country (or state? can you do that in the US? idk) so that a: fast delivery because local, and b: all the sellers of everything that shows up are in YOUR TIME ZONE.

why is this important? when people sell something for really cheap, it goes FAST. check eBay at like, 2am or something. all the scalpers in your area are asleep. grab the cheap stuff while they can't.

4. sewing!! want patches, but can't sew for whatever reason? I've heard of a lot of people with joint conditions like arthritis complain about the inaccessibility of patch stuff, and that does sound extremely annoying, however:

safety pins!! while they are still a little fiddly, they're much less work so you don't have to fiddle about for long. if you can, you could even ask a friend to help, since it doesn't take long at all I'm sure someone will be willing to help out!! (I know I would, but that's just me, and I love this kind of thing). safety pins on clothes are also widely considered to be a symbol of solidarity, so if anything, you're adding some extra love and meaning to your patch pants/battle jacket.

if that's still too fiddly, fabric glue is always an option. unfortunately this means you won't be able to remove/reposition patches, at least without leaving a massive patch of residue, but if you're ok with that then fabric glue is probably your best bet.

for people who prefer sewing: as for where to get the thread, I've heard a lot of people recommending dental floss, as it's apparently much cheaper and works just as well. I haven't tried this myself so can't confirm that, but I thought I'd share it regardless.

5. where to get fabric!! old clothes. rip em up. you don't need any kind of fancy fabric from the craft store. my patches are made of old jeans that I grew out of.

don't have any old clothes and you don't want to waste any good ones? I'm not sure about other countries, but in the UK, as long as you're not on private property (trespassing), dumpster diving is perfectly legal.

I definitely ;) do NOT encourage ;) trespassing rich people's land ;) to steal from their dumpsters ;)

or tbh it doesn't matter too much how rich the person is, since it's all going to landfill anyway. if it's in the bin, it's free game, but you didn't hear that from me. ;)

please add onto this where you can!! and if I missed something or got anything wrong, add that on too!!

[icypopz]

coming over when they're drunk ♡

↬ request from anon ; Hiiii, may I please request the LADS boys getting really drunk, and they decided to come to her house late at night (they either live together or just came to her apartment). It can be only Zayne, tho.

↬ notes ; caleb, rafayel, sylus, xavier, zayne x gn!reader

↬ from ice ; hihi!! it's been like 7000 years since i last wrote but caleb's announcement has resurrected me!! this prompt was so fun and silly... anyways i hope you enjoy this!

↬ warning(s) ; all LIs are drunk, caleb antis dni, mc is described as shorter than all of them, sylus + zayne's are p suggestive

please reblog ! it helps a lot :)

[ caleb ! ]

"caleb?" what are you doing here?" you gasp as you open the door and see his familiar figure leaning against the frame. he's so tall that he has to duck to enter your apartment, and he stumbles as he does, making you rush to support him. "y/n..." he mumbles, his voice deep and husky, and you feel your heartbeat speed up at the way he says your name, "missed you..." "tsk, you're so dumb," you scold, though your heated cheeks betray how flustered you really are, "going and getting drunk even though you know you can't handle alcohol?" "mmphhh..." he groans as you both somehow manage to land on the sofa, his head resting on your chest, "sorry." you roll your eyes affectionately, threading your hands through his hair, "it's fine, silly. you're going to be the one hungover tomorrow." he nuzzles further into your chest, making you squeak, "hey! caleb!" "just let me sleep here..." and just like that, he's out like a light, his head tucked perfectly in the crook of your neck even though he's so much taller than you. well, you've known him for so many years that being this close is fine, right? it's totally fine that your heart is racing at a million miles per hour from how your dear childhood friend is sleeping on you... right?

more content utc !

[ rafayel ! ]

"ugh, raf, get off!" you groan, trying (and failing) to shove the purple-haired artist off you. "you're too heavy!" "but miss bodyguard~" he whines, lifting his head from how he's draped all 183cm of himself onto you, arms wrapped tight around your shoulders as if daring you to leave. his cheeks are flushed red from the alcohol, crimson dusting his ears when he gazes at you, "you're so warm! and it's sooo cold! you don't want your precious rafayel to freeze, do you?" he pouts, jutting out his lower lip in a way that's deceivingly adorable, and it almost makes you fold. keyword: almost. "well, you don't want your precious miss hunter to get crushed, do you?" you retort, even though you press yourself further into his comforting embrace. "if it's with me, then it's fine," rafayel teases, "i'll take care of you even if you're a pancake." "you're so annoying," you huff, though there's no real anger in your tone as you tuck a strand of purple hair behind his ear. "i'll even get you the best maple syrup and everything!" "...go to sleep, rafayel."

[ sylus ! ]

"sylus?" the two of you are in his mansion in the n109 zone, and he's just returned from another protocore auction. you help him slip off his masquerade mask, though you know he doesn't need to conceal his identity in someplace like this where his name is fear-inducing enough. "are you okay?" your palm presses against his cheek and forehead, checking if he has a fever, "you seem a little flushed." his eyes flutter shut and he leans into your touch, exhaling slowly, "it's nothing... i might have drank too much earlier." his large hand envelops yours, and he opens his ruby eyes once more, fixing his intense gaze on your face, "you're making me want to do very bad things, kitten." "i haven't even done anything- ah!" you argue, but your sentence is cut off as he sweeps you into his arms, lifting you easily into a princess carry. "you talk too much," he teases as you half-heartedly punch his chest, "ugh, sylus!" "i can think of several better ways for you to use that mouth of yours," he smirks as he kicks open your bedroom door, "so let's put those pretty lips to good use, hm?"

[ xavier ! ]

it's two in the morning when you hear a thump on your balcony. arming yourself, you stalk forward slowly, only to see, "xavier?!" "ah. hello, y/n." he stands up shakily, only to lean sideways and fall into a chair. "i was trying to teleport back home... but i guess i ended up at your apartment instead." he looks at you with his irresistible puppy eyes, and you can already guess what he's going to say next. throwing your hands up in defeat, you sigh, "sure, you can stay over." but as he stands up once more, almost toppling over again, you raise an eyebrow, "xavier, are you drunk?" "...not really." he looks away, and you can see how his neck is flushed, "liar. come here, let me help you." as you help him balance with his arm around you and head back inside, xavier's familiar scent wraps around the two of you like a soothing hug. "do i get to share a bed with you?" his eyes light up when you push open the bedroom door, "yeah, i feel too bad making you sleep on the couch when you're like this." his other hand sneaks up underneath the back of your shirt, pressing against your bare skin and sending waves of heat through your body. a gasp slips past your lips, and when you look up at xavier, he merely smiles, "i guess it's a good thing that i ended up here tonight after all."

[ zayne ! ]

"hmm..." you pretend to look thoughtful, gaze roving over zayne's tall figure as he sits on your couch, "is the famous dr. zayne perhaps... drunk?!" your voice turns dramatic, "how scandalous!" zayne looks at you confusedly, dark eyes seeming even darker and rounder than usual like a pair of twin boba pearls, "...what?" "aw, zayne! you're so cute like this!" you gush, giggling and wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him into a hug. "my senses are not that impaired," he retorts, though his voice softens as he feels your familiar weight on his lap, "i am just... tipsy." "mhmm, whatever you say~" you tease, pressing a flurry of kisses along his neck. "d-don't do that..." he gasps, breath hitching as your lips drag over his pulse point, "i might not be able to hold myself back." "so don't." you lean back and tilt your head smugly, knowing that he's putty in your hands, "who said i wanted you to hold back anyway?" his eyes narrow behind his glasses, "don't say things you don't mean." "i mean it one hundred percent~" you smirk, leaning forward to steal his breath with another heated kiss. zayne's hands tighten their grip on your waist before he pins you underneath him, "whatever you say, y/n."

✧ thank you for reading ! if you have a request, feel free to send it in 🌠

© icypopz 2024. do not repost or modify in any way.

[he-calls-me-kitten]

Recently got busy and haven't had time to be around at all .. I just skimmed through whatever I have missed while I was away and I realized how badly I missed your writing style... It's just so ue2ge8eh27db❤️❤️⁉️⁉️ I can't really explain it.. its scrumptious, very very yummy... So I come with a little request... We know the obey men are quite and as a short girlie that's just like so fucking attractive like?????????? Sirrrr???? 😖😖

Imaginee... getting picked up by them and quite literally hanging off their cock as they just dangle you in the air, your feet not touching the ground as they just fuck yiu silly, watching your writhe and sob as their cock leaves a bulge on your stomach as you claw at their arms. They don't even gotta be trying, your just go dumb on their cock, crying how it's too big and having them bully themselves in you...

Basically that prompt with barbatos, Simeon and beel

I'm a very horny Tumblr user as you can tell LMAO

Love you though, take rests, eat, drink, stay healthy, darling. Mwah 💋

-M. 🪭🪷

Oh my god look who's back?!!! Hey M!!! Missed you loads, hopefully life eases up on you, busy little thing! Thank you for checking in, it means the world ❤️

And your ideas...just *chef's kiss*. Here's another treat for the short AFAB folks with size kink out there!!!

Little Body Big Heat

Afab! MC x Barbatos, Simeon, Beelzebub

Barbatos mock apologizes as you pant and plead him to stop. But he's barely even doing anything really. All he's doing is just standing there, carrying you in his arms, holding you so close.

You're the one struggling and twitching to take him in more or push him out. The way you are writhing - he genuinely cannot tell but he sure is enjoying the show.

"MC, use your words, won't you? I'm sorry I can't understand you when you're like this, my love." He coos, brushing hair away from your face.

"Mhhmm- B-Barb please.... please it's too much. Please ....just... help me move..." You struggled to string a sentence together.

And he finally the gracious butler takes pity on you. You're asking so nicely after all.

"Is this better?" He moves so painfully slow, you whine into his ears. "Oh? Would you like me to be... faster?" He kisses your neck, feeling the vibrations of your delightful complains, which soon would turn into delightful screams. And he wants everyone to hear them too.

Simeon's angelic side simply ceases to exist when it comes to his desire for you. Honestly what were you thinking falling asleep, sitting on his lap. Don't you know he already has a hard time behaving himself around you?

"Did you have a good sleep, MC?" He threads his fingers through your hair, pulling you closer for a kiss. "As you can see...I've run into quite the problem. I can't go home to Luke while I'm like this now, can I?"

You take some time to come to your senses. After all, it's not every day you wake up with Simeon's erection between your legs.

"Would you like to use me...to calm it down?" You gingerly try to hold him down there, it took both of your hands yet he was still much too big for you. He made a low groan at the contact.

"Really, you wouldn't mind?" He asks even as his fingers are already touching your waist, slowly pulling off your top.

"Your sense of duty is really admirable, MC." He chuckles as he pulls off your shorts, now undoing his own pants. "Now then, where would you like me?"

"You...can choose." You let him feast on you with his eyes and hands, enciting soft whimpers and moans. His fingers delight at the wetness pooled between your legs, toying with you before pressing his erection against your puffy clit.

He pushes into your hole, stretching you out but before you can't even let out a sound. His tongue is inside your mouth devouring your screams. You've taken him in so well. He can feel himself bulge out your stomach. "Does that feel good, my little lamb?"

You nod even tears collect at the corner of your eyes. "So good..so... full... It's toobiigg... you'resooo big S-Simeon... please..." Oh how he loves doing this to you.

Beelzebub's length is only the second most dangerous thing about him. The first is his stamina. You realise this now as you have been pressed against his lockers for what feels like hours. Your feet haven't touched the ground in so long.

"Beel...a-are you still.. not done..." You watched him pant, looking at you with a frenzied look in his eyes. When you told him you'd help him get his mind off food, this is not how he thought it would go.

"Beel! I-I know you're really famished ..but ...but you can't... keep...doing this...ahhhmn..mnhn Beel I'm about to...cum again...stop please..." He kept sucking your slick up, right through your orgasm. Talk about overstimulation.

He already tormented you with his tongue down there till you were leaking through your underwear. And now that he was too aroused to calm down, you simply had to let him fuck you. "Just...one last time, MC. I promise."

Yeah sure. He said that two rounds ago. Seriously you wondered how you had not passed out yet. But then again, everytime he moved - you swear he kept discovering a new pleasure point inside you.

"MC your face right now...you look so cute...I'm sorry I couldn't stop myself...and you feel so warm..." He plunged in and out of you again, bouncing you on his dick effortlessly. Of course he hasn't thought about food, he's been too busy devouring you.

[familyvideostevie]

day after tomorrow

joel miller x reader

summary: joel drops you off and picks you up from the airport. you are definitely falling in love with him. 

warnings: modern no outbreak au, game!joel or hbo!joel, fluff, really just a fluff fest honestly, new-ish relationship, falling in love, sweet enough to make your teeth ache | 2.7k

A/N: this is a christmas gift for my dear friend @strangerfreaks who makes my life better in every way possible. i love you! hope you enjoy this <3

part ii here.

___

He's leaning on the side of the truck when you hurry outside with your stuff. 

"Morning," you call. It's barely that, sky still dark and air still carrying the bite of the night's chill. 

Joel straightens up and gives you a tired smile. Most of his smiles are tired but they're always genuine when directed at you. He tugs the backpack from your shoulder and presses his lips to your cheek, beard scratching your skin gently. 

"Howdy," he says in your ear before pulling away.

The travel mug Joel pushes into your hands is warm to the touch. 

"Tea," he says before you can tell him it's too early for coffee. His voice is deeper than usual, still warming up from sleep. It's not a cup from the local shop -- they're not open yet -- so he must have made it at home. "No caffeine before flights." 

"You remembered?" 

He gives you an unimpressed look and grabs your bags. They go in the backseat of his truck and he jerks his chin at the passenger door. "Get in. S'chilly."

It's also early. So early you were not going to ask him to drive you to the airport but when you mentioned you had to go on a work trip he offered. Insisted, actually, once he found out what time you needed to get there.

"You ain't takin' a cab that early," he had said. "Hell, you ain't takin' a cab home, neither. I'll pick you up."

This thing between you isn't new anymore, not exactly, but it's not solid yet. It doesn't have a name. But it's been a few months and you know what his sheets smell like and the feel of him pressed against you in the middle of the night and how he laughs with his head thrown back, mouth wide and eyes creased at the corners. He likes to take you on long walks around the lake a few towns over and you know all about his daughters even if you haven't met them yet. Your life feels a little more solid with Joel in it and the swell of your heart in your chest when you talk to him, when you see him, when he looks at you, is a welcome feeling. It's nice to want and be wanted in return. 

The inside of his truck is warm, your seat heater already turned on. The radio is down to a low hum and there's a silver cup similar to your own in the holder between the seats. Joel gets back into the truck with a slight groan and glances at you to see if you've got your seatbelt on before he clicks his. 

"Ready?" he asks. You nod. He settles his hand on your headrest and looks out the back windshield as he reverses the truck out of the driveway. "Shouldn't hit much traffic," he says. 

You take a sip of your tea and watch him as he drives out of your neighborhood and towards the highway. Part of you wishes you would hit traffic so you could look at him longer. Even in the dark you know his face pretty well by now. His hair is getting a little long, the dark threaded through with some grey and falling over his perpetually lined forehead. The scar on the bridge of his nose that you love to run your finger across and the bruises under his eyes from too many nights up late working on site plans and employee schedules. You don't think you've met a man who works as hard as Joel, and yet here he is driving you to the airport when he could be sleeping. 

Maybe it's because he's tired or maybe it's because it's dark or maybe it's because you're leaving for a few days but Joel lets you look without teasing. His eyes catch yours for just a second and he smirks.

"Why don't you drink coffee before a flight?" He takes a sip of his own thermos. You watch his throat work as he swallows and look away this time. The sky is starting to look purple out your window, the trees and fields and occasional buildings flying by too fast for your eyes to settle on anything. Joel drinks coffee like it's water. You're still leaning things about each other -- most days you find yourself thinking that you want to be learning things about him for the rest of your life -- and this is a new topic of conversation. You haven't had to be on a plane since you met him.

"I don't really like flying," you say. "Makes me nervous. I figure caffeine will just make it worse."

"Don't like it much either." You look at him again and find see smirk turn to a frown as he merges onto the nearly empty highway. "You gonna be okay?"

He asks like it's within his power to make flying something enjoyable, to cancel your work trip, to squash everything in this world that makes you nervous. Mostly you're just glad he's not teasing you about it. Maybe someday you can take a trip and be grumpy about it together.

"I'll be fine, Joel."

"Hm."

He rests an elbow against the window and rakes his hand through his hair.

"What are you up to this week?" you ask. 

He sighs. "Not much," he says. "Lumber shipment but Tommy's handlin' it. Ellie says her shower head is actin' funny so I'll go to her place and look at that. Probably sit my ass on the couch and try to watch a damn football game or somethin'."

"So what I'm hearing is you're going to miss me." It's meant to be a tease but it comes out a bit more earnest than you'd like. 

He sends you that unamused look of his but the mirth in his eyes betrays him, tells you he sees through it. You're learning that he's good at that -- seeing what you really mean, what you really want, who you really are, all the way down to the core. "Course I will," he says. "What man wouldn't miss cold hands bein' stuck up his shirt when he gets in bed?"

You scoff and Joel snickers. You could remind him how he usually catches your hands in his before you make it to his hemline on the rare nights he does wear a shirt, how he cradles your fingers and blows on them softly while rubbing them with his perpetually warm palms. The memory makes your breath hitch just a bit. 

It's only three days. Some conference your boss wanted you to go to in his stead. It won't require much of you -- you just have to attend a few panels, a dinner or two, and schmooze a little bit. You'll be back before you know it. You tell yourself it's silly to feel this apprehension at the distance, the time apart. But you're used to Joel by now and damn if you won't miss him. Used to him taking up space in your kitchen, used to his arm around you on the couch, used to his short texts and heavy gaze. You know by now that it's only a matter of time before you love him.  

"I'll miss you, too," you say softly. Joel eyes you, smirk turned soft again and reaches for you. He settles his palm on your thigh and you cover your hand with his. 

When you get to the airport aren't many cars around and you're pretty sure the attendants won't yell at you for idling. Joel seems to think the same thing as he gets out of the truck to set your luggage on the ground. You leave your now-empty to-go mug in his car and throw your arms around him when he gets to the curb with your suitcase. His chest rumbles in amusement but he hugs you back, one palm rubbing between your shoulder blades until you pull away. 

"Thank you for --"

"Nope," he interrupts you. "No thanks allowed." He hands you your backpack and you shoulder it. "I'll pick you up on Wednesday," he says. 

You wave him off. "I get in way too late, don't worry about it --"

His hand cups your cheek and the words sputter out in your throat. "I'll be here," he says again. 

"I'll call you," you say. "When I get there." It sounds like a question.

His eyes crinkle at the corners. "Please do."

"Thanks for the tea --"

"Now, what did I just say?"

You wrinkle your nose at him and he rolls his eyes before leaning in to press his lips to yours. You sigh into the kiss just a little though it remains chaste, mouths closed as his thumb strokes your cheek once, twice, before he pulls away. It's the kind of kiss that feels fond, feels familiar. A kiss that becomes routine and for a second you imgaine the press of your mouths a thousand times over just like this. 

"Safe flight, sweetheart."

You smile at him and grab your suitcase before you stand here kissing him all day. "Bye, Joel." 

6:04 am: you make it to your gate okay?

You send him a picture of your breakfast sandwich and the sun rising through the window, painting the sky purple and orange. 

6:05 am: don't text and drive!

He replies with a photo of a full mug of coffee on his counter. It's a silly one, a dinosaur wearing a Santa hat. You think Sarah got it for him as a gag gift. 

6:05 am: home already. let me know when you land

6:06 am: will do. have a good day!

The flight is pretty okay. You spend the bumpy moments thinking about Joel's hand on your leg and get through it just fine. A shuttle takes you to your hotel and you have to hurry a bit to be ready for your first panel. 

You're busy all day. So tired by the time you get back to your room that you flop on the bed with a groan. 

"Ugh," you say, face smushed into the sheets. You're tired and hungry and...you miss Joel and feel a little silly about it.

That sense of puppy love, as most people would call it, hasn't faded. Your feelings for Joel are more than the crush they were when you first started seeing each other but they still linger in the realm of infatuation. You like to look at him, to feel the solid warmth of him beside you, above you, underneath you. You like being near him. But you're also starting to love things. You love the way his voice sounds when he wakes up, the way he says your name over the phone, the way he asks you what you want, how you are, how your day was. You love to see him on your couch, in your kitchen, in your bed. You've started to miss him when he's not around. 

And what you said to him in his truck is true. You do miss him. It's an ache that sits in the center of your chest, an ache that feels like the best kind of bruise -- because it comes from something good. And because you know it'll be soothed soon enough. 

But, because you're only human, you doubt that it's as serious for him. Joel keeps his cards close to his chest and while you feel like you know him pretty well by now you also have so much to learn. So, though you really want to, you don't pick up the phone and call him. Maybe the next time you're away. 

7:54 pm: day 1 done! ready to get in bed. why do men talk so much?

He texts back immediately. 

7:54 pm: god knows. don't forget to order room service on the company dime. sweet dreams.

You laugh and do as he says. 

The rest of the conference goes the same. By day three you're exhausted and your face hurts from smiling at so many people. Your shoes are no longer comfortable and as soon as the closing keynote ends you're out of there, changing into soft clothes and taking the shuttle to the airport. You text Joel a picture of your airport dinner and then your eye bags and he replies with a cute that has you giggling a little too loudly in public. 

You just want to get home to him. Your own bed is a bonus. 

But then your flight gets delayed. Twice. Joel tells you not to worry, he'll pick you up in the middle of the night if he has to. Once you board you get stuck on the tarmac for another half hour before finally taking off. It's a decidedly less relaxing experience because you're so anxious to be home but you make it. When you land it feels like you're sitting in your seat for ages. You're tired and feel gross and you want to go to bed. Your phone turns back on and you've got one text waiting for you.

10:34 pm: i'll be by baggage claim

That was 15 minutes ago. He must have been checking your flight in the air to get here at a reasonable time. God, you want to touch him. You want to stick your nose in his neck and inhale. 

You try very hard not to run through the terminal to the escalator that goes down to arrivals. It seems to move really fucking slowly once you're on it. As soon as it gets far enough for you to see the baggage claim level and everyone waiting there your eyes search for him. You see some families, a few tired children sleeping in arms that hold them tenderly. A group of girls with a sign that reads WELCOME HOME RACHEL!

And then there's Joel.

Once you spot him it's hard to keep a smile from your face. He's standing there with his hands in his pockets, eyes glued to the escalator. Jeans, jacket, boots, and a firm set to his jaw that might be intimidating to anyone else but to you it's familiar. It's him. Once he sees you he stands a little taller and you see his cheek twitch. If someone wasn't in front of you you'd be down the steps in seconds but you wait until you're at the bottom to race forward. 

It's probably a bit dramatic. You drop your suitcase and backpack at your feet in front of him.

"Hi," you say, and then you throw your arms around his shoulders. Joel laughs. 

"S'like you're comin' home from war, or somethin'," he says, though his hugs you back just as tightly. "Should'a made a sign."

"Feels like it." Your words are muffled by his shoulder. 

"That bad, huh?" His palm drags up and down your spine. "Let's get you home, then."

Neither of you pull away. "I missed you," you say softly. 

Joel breathes deep and pulls away, hand on the back of your head as he makes sure you're looking at him. 

"Missed you, too," he says gruffly. Then he kisses you. It's less chaste than your goodbye kiss but still perfectly acceptable for airport arrivals, you think. 

"You hungry?"

"I sent you a picture of my dinner!"

"Not what I asked." You shrug and tangle your fingers with his. His thumb strokes the back of your hand. "We'll get you somethin' on the way home."

"Do you want to stay over?" you ask in a rush, realizing too late he's got no reason to want to. It's late and tomorrow is a workday. "I'm just gonna shower and go to bed but I--"

Joel's nostrils flare. "If you want me to I will." Simple as that. 

"Okay," you say. He squeezes your hand.

You walk in easy silence for a few moments. Once you're in the car you'll ask how his week was, tell him about the gossip you learned at the conference. You'll look at him the entire drive to your place, drinking your fill of him after three days without. Yeah, you're going to love him. It's just a matter of time.

"Thank you for coming to get me," you say. 

Joel looks like he wants to argue but he allows it.

"Anytime," he says. It sounds like a promise. 

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[sugarwarachan]

title: better than most to say the least

pairing: dabi x reader (also on ao3)

wc: oops this is almost 3k

CWs: soulmate!au, fem!reader, slight angst if you squint, no condoms used (wrap it up in real life yall), Dabi's a little mean, reader's a little into it, the unbearable burden of being seen, i haven't written fic in years be gentle

Dabi doesn’t care about much. You can’t in the sort of world he inhabits. It’s much easier to scorch the earth behind you than to plan for good things to come. So he’s furious when he hears your voice, a real soft and low number, like a siren out in the fucking fog, say, “That’ll be ¥500.”

His brother laughed when the soul mark activated; even at the age of three, he’d known just how mundane the words were. Part of him had laughed as well; maybe you and he would laugh about it, too, when you met. The laughter died in his throat when he saw his father’s disapproving face.

He looks down at the packaged onigiri in something like disbelief. Your face is starting to express apprehension. He still hasn’t said anything, and it doesn’t even look like he’ll pay. He’s not surprised you’re weirded out, and fuck, something is pressing against his chest, like a buoy rising up, pulling him to the surface so he can finally suck down oxygen.

He feels fucking free, giddy with it. You’re real. He never once imagined you would be.

The grin that cracks his face must look a touch maniacal because your eyes widen, and he watches you press yourself against the counter as he says, “Well, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes, princess?”

He’s not all that pleasant to look at.

You know that’s not a nice thing to think, especially about your soul mate, but you can’t help that your first thought upon seeing the guy was holy fucking shit what happened to you?

A moment ago, he was glaring at you, and now he’s radiating a nervous energy that puts you on edge. It’s like he thinks you’ll disappear the moment he takes his eyes off you.

You’re no criminal, but you’re no hero, either. You’ve got a quirk that makes most people wary of you, so your nonsense detector is finely tuned, and fuck, your soul mate is definitely the kind of dude who ends up on the other side of those hero compilations your coworker streams on her lunch break.

“Not done talking to me, are you?” He pouts, pushing out his lips and pulling at the staples in his face. His voice is nice. It relaxes you somehow, even when every nerve in your body is shrieking in alarm.

“Where’s yours?”

This throws him. A part of you doesn’t like forcing his hand like this, but another part of you thinks this could be a really convenient trap.

“Your soul mark?” You tap the side of your wrist. “Mine’s along the radial bone.”

He reaches over the till to grab your arm, pulling you closer. You yelp in protest. His touch is hot, familiar. You’re grateful no one else is in the store right now. Explaining this to yourself is going to be enough of a hassle later on.

There’s a menace in his voice when he addresses you. “You think I’m a liar?”

You don’t, actually. Even without the soul mark you would take this man at his word.

“No. But you’ve been in here a whole lot, and I’m a naturally suspicious person. So, pony up and show me.”

You’ve gotta be smart about this. Heroes and villains alike would do a lot to get a person with your quirk on their side, and you’re not so naïve as to think that soul marks can’t be discovered and used against you.  

He grins, and you feel it like a twist to the gut. This guy might actually kill you; you don’t really know. But something—the little bond between the tug of you that threaded your lives together the moment he opened his mouth—is already tugging at your brain for answers, for knowledge, all to better assemble who your soulmate is.

“We’ve gotta go somewhere safe for me to do that, doll.” He leers at you, and you wonder if he’s trying to intimidate, trying to imprint on your brain that, yes, he is, in fact, dangerous. “You’re just gonna have to take my word for it.”

Fat fucking chance.

You don’t take him at his word. You call him every name he’s ever heard and then some, and then you close your eyes and hum, and a feeling like sugared caramel slides into his head. Fuck is he floating? he thinks before he crumples to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

When he comes to, his head is splitting. He’s sitting in what he assumes is the store’s backroom, judging by the shelves lined with cleaning products. You’re on a crate watching him with an annoyed expression, lips kicked out in a pout. It draws attention to the fullness of your lower lip. He tries not to notice.

“You could have just shown me,” you grouse.

“And miss out on the chance to have you hit me with your quirk? What kind of masochist would I be then?”

He doesn’t know what you’re doing as a cashier, but it’s safe to say you’re hiding. He has no idea what you did to him, but just before he’d knocked out, he remembered the first time he mastered the flames, that sticky-sweet feeling of hope in his chest. He has no idea how you managed to dig that out after all these years.

You shrug, ignoring him.

“Too good to fucking explain?” he snaps.

You saw something vulnerable, so personal that not even the league knows he has those thoughts, those memories. If he could scrub them from your brain, he would.

“I can make you dream,” you snap back. “When I was a kid, I used to spend a lot of time in my own head. It worried my parents. They got me tested because they thought I was quirkless. The doctor said I had a minor empathy quirk. Nothing to worry about. What kid wouldn’t want the advantage of knowing how others feel?”

You clench your hands.

“I didn’t know if I could implant a dream into someone’s head, but I spun that dream the night before, and my parents were never the wiser. Up until the day they died, they never knew I’d planned out that scenario already and made that man lie to them.”

He’s floored. He can’t believe you’re willingly offering up such valuable information to him. What would Shigaraki do with you, he wonders, before a violent pain follows the thought. No, Shigaraki isn’t getting his hands on you. He doesn’t exactly know what happens to the things that kid collects for his master.

“Not at the top of the list for hero candidates?”

Your lips pull back in a sneer before you realize. You’re bad at hiding your feelings, he realizes, something that makes him feel oddly protective. You’ll need to get better at that.

He turns his hands out, palms up. A thin blue flame erupts. You jump, but your eyes don’t leave his.

“We’re gonna need to move, sweets. Neither one of us is exactly hero material.”

He takes you to a sorry excuse for a safe house because it’s just some guy on vacation who was stupid enough to leave a spare key behind, but it works in a pinch. He can’t take you to the league just yet. He already barely knows you, and there he would have to split your time with everyone else.

You’re standing in the doorway like a spooked animal. That you agreed to come is shocking in itself, but then again, he would have followed you into a coffin if you asked it of him. Maybe there was something to those soul mate stories Toga pretended not to read after all. He thought the whole bond thing was exaggerated, but maybe not.

He clenches his jaw and grabs a beer from the fridge.

“I’m not gonna fucking hurt you. You can take the bedroom,” he says, even though he wants you to sit next to him, to look at him, to share something again the way you had in the storeroom. But you’re already shuffling away, and before he knows it, the door shuts with a click, and he’s alone in the dark.

Confirmed villain.

It took you all of two seconds to search the web for League of Villains and/or criminal activity across the country, and bam, there he is, menacing even in blurry camera footage.

You stare up at the ceiling and wonder if you should be horrified at yourself that this confirmation changes nothing. He’s just your soulmate, for better or for worse.

And you’re a coward for sitting in here rather than performing the simple task of sharing a drink with him.

The blue glow of the television lights up the living room. He’s moved to the couch, long legs spread open, arms resting along the back. Desire drops low in your stomach at the sight, an almost innate need flashing in your body to climb into his lap.

He catches your eye and smirks like he can read your thoughts. You blush furiously. “Did you realize hiding doesn’t solve shit?”

“Shut up,” you retort, like a child, which makes him laugh. It’s a nice laugh. A little subdued, you think, but warm, hard-won. You don’t imagine he laughs often.

When you settle down next to him, he seems to barely register, but something in you knows he’s pleased. You curl toward the feeling like a cat seeking a sunbeam.  

“Really, though. What made you come out?”

Looking him in the eye is a mistake. He has beautiful eyes, a cerulean blue that puts the sky to shame.

“I don’t like running from things,” you manage. You were wrong to think he wasn’t pretty. “What’s your name?”

He snorts. “You’ve gotta know it, doll, didn’t you spend ten minutes in there panic-searching for violent crime?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Call me old-fashioned, but I’d still like to be introduced.”

“It’s Dabi.”

You raise a brow. “That’s it?”

“For now. I’ll tell you the real one later, okay?”

“Fine.”

He’s watching compilation videos of pro heroes, the footage flickering on the walls around you.

“This is what you do in your spare time?”

He shrugs. “Just what was on.”

You don’t believe that for a second, but it’s fine, because you’re a liar, too. You’d do anything to avoid painful topics, like the possibility that your soulmate already has plans outside of you that you won’t be able to change.

“You know, your words used to get me in a lot of trouble,” you say, to get you back into familiar territory.

He smiles, like that pleases him. You bet it does.

“Oh yeah? What sort of trouble?”

“Just the usual. Your soulmate has a potty mouth, your soul mate’s probably a villain…”

His shoulder tenses against you. You don’t remember scooting closer, but the sheer fucking heat of him is searing into your skin.

You want him. If you’re being honest, you’ve probably wanted him since he first appeared in the store. The part of you that doesn’t exactly abide by societal standards saw a kindred flame in him.

“That sort of thing used to bother me when I was a kid, I guess. But the older I got, the more I realized how much I liked them.”

Your hands ache to touch him. His thigh tenses alongside yours.

“What do you like about them now?” he asks.

You have a whole slew of thoughts in your head about them, the characteristics you assumed based on one little question, but for now all you can say is, “That you finally said them.”

He doesn’t know who moves first.

You tumble into his lap inelegantly, but he doesn’t care; he wants you closer. He’s wanted you closer since he arrived at this shitty studio apartment, has been trying to rein in the overwhelming feeling of possession swarming under his skin, but he wants.

He's a villain, and he’s never been good at waiting for what he wants.

His hands press into the meat of your hips, and he savors the little gasp you make. He’s hard as iron already and all you’ve done is settle your clothed cunt on top of him.

“You’re already fucking scorching, baby, can feel you through your fucking jeans,” he hisses, dragging you along his thigh. You whimper. “I know, fuck, I know, you’re driving me crazy, too.”

Your hands are everywhere, sliding over his scarred skin like you were born to it, fingers exploring the cool metal of his staples. You’re gentle but also not, and it’s like nothing he’s ever felt in his entire life. You move to kiss him, your hips moving more and more, a desperate noise bubbling up in your throat.

“Please, Dabi, please.” You sound so fucked out, and he hasn’t even touched you all that much. “I wanna kiss you, don’t you wanna kiss me?”

He smirks. A little brat, begging for kisses.

He does want to kiss you, has been staring at the plushness of your lips for the better part of since he met you, but his mouth aches today.

“It’s okay if you don’t wanna kiss me now,” you’re saying, tongue licking and tasting and sucking at his neck. He bucks against you. “We can feel good in other ways.”

The whimper that comes out of him feels ripped from his soul. His arms cage you closer, one palm snaking up to cup your neck, the other under your shirt.

Neither of you talk as you make quick work of each other’s clothes, discarding them to the floor. He tries not to feel insecure as you take in his body. Over the years, his appearance is as much a part of him as his past. He can’t shed either, no matter how much he might want to.

“I’m sorry I didn’t think you were pretty at first.”

You look so devastated that he can’t help but laugh.

“I don’t fucking care,” he says, pulling you to him and kissing you despite how much his lips ache, because fuck, he has someone, finally, and he’s so glad it’s you. “Just want you.”

He punctuates this by cupping your bare pussy with his hand. Just from grinding on him earlier, you’re slippery and warm, and his fingers part your folds easily. You sigh into his mouth as he rubs the pad of his thumb around the sides of your clit, huffing a laugh when your hips buck for more.

“Getting desperate for it, huh?”

“Fuck you,” you grit out. “Just fucking touch me –" you roll your hips forward – “like you fucking mean it.”

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll have you dumb on my cock before long.”

“Big fucking talk for a man who hasn’t even – “

He cuts you off by stuffing your pussy with two of his fingers, the stretch of it making you whine. You can feel the cool metal in the staples at the heel of his hand as he strokes, in and out, a steady and rough rhythm that feels impossibly good for it to just be fucking fingering.

“No one ever made you feel this way?” You can hear the smirk in his voice without even seeing him. Splayed out on his lap like this, your tits bouncing as you shift your body closer to him, you bet you look like a fucking mess. But you don’t care, because he's right, no one has ever made you feel like this, and it’s important to you that he feels just as fucking good.

His cock curves along his stomach, weeping pre-cum and jerking up whenever your voice hitches. You think it’s so hot, how in tune he already is with you, how much he wants to please you, that you grab him in the palm of your hand and stroke, relishing the groan that rumbles in his throat.

“No one ever made you feel this way?” you taunt. His eyes flash, and before you know it, you’re both on the ground, his hips slotting in between your legs and his cock notching up at your entrance. He looks up at you, pupils blown, chest heaving.

“If you don’t fuck me right now I’ll fucking murder you –"

He cuts you off with one quick rock of his hips. You burn at the stretch. He’s big, and it’s been a while, but he’s already moving before you have time to process that little blip of pain before the pleasure is overwhelming you. You squeal when he lifts your hips up, but it’s just to slip a pillow under you before he’s manhandling your hips and fucking into you like a man possessed.

His breath is hot against your ear, whispering a litany of confessions while he drags his cock in and out. It’s so purposeful, you feel every stroke of him in your fucking skull. His pubic bone grinds against your clit with every thrust, and before you know it, you’re chanting praises, begging him to let you come.

He knows the neighbors will complain, that the safe house is absolutely busted, but he can’t fucking care, because your perfect little cunt is squeezing him like a vice, and your eyes are so blissful as you come that he feels, finally, at peace.

“That’s it, princess,” he says as your orgasm shatters through you. “Make a fucking mess, just for me, god yes –"

He comes so hard that his vision whites out. All he can feel and hear and see and think is you.

He collapses on top of you, nosing at the baby hairs damp with sweat along your neck. He smiles. Maybe later he’ll take you to a bed and tell you his real name.

[slytherinshua]

HOLD MY HEART, KEEP IT SAFE

genre. hurt/comfort. mafia au. this is a part 2 to my other jeno fic (your wounds wrapped with my love)!! warnings. death, blood, knives, guns, gas chambers, & jeno almost dying all mentioned. reader going through immense guilt and complicated emotions bcuz of killing someone for the first time, nightmares, crying... i think that's it? pairing. husband!jeno x fem!reader. wc. 1.4k. request. requested by @blue-jisungs unofficially but i took it as an official request bcuz she's my baby all the rest of you are losers. a/n. read part 1 here!! this fic can be read as a standalone, but it's still part of the same universe so i recommend reading pt 1 if you haven't already!!

You woke up heaving in short and painful gasps, tears pricking at your waterline. The nightmares were almost like routine, yet they still felt so real everytime that you could never get used to them. You hadn’t enjoyed a good night’s rest in weeks. You could only fall asleep wrapped tightly in your husband’s arms, and even then you would always wake up from the dreams. 

When you had first met Jeno, you knew that getting yourself involved with someone who worked with crime was a risky choice to take. You knew the dangers, but Jeno was worth it to you. You swore to never mess with the stuff firsthand, though. Jeno insisted that you train enough to defend yourself in an emergency, so you were no stranger to a gun’s mechanisms or the best technique to stab someone in the throat with a knife. But you never touched his guns or daggers unless it was for training, you never went along on missions, and you certainly never took a life with your own hands.

That was, until 2 weeks ago.

It was your first wedding anniversary with Jeno, but, of course, you couldn’t expect that you would be able to have a romantic day like other couples. Jeno’s biggest enemy had baited him with an opportunity that was too important to pass up. But the risk was extreme. You trusted your husband without a doubt, but you knew in your gut that something would go wrong. And you were right.

Jeno had smoothly been able to get in and take out almost all of the henchmen, but he hadn’t anticipated that they would lure him into a locked room with a highly advanced gas system installed. There were no windows, the door was barricaded and too heavy duty to break, and Jeno had no way to stop the gas. 

If you hadn’t trusted your instincts and followed him to the base, you wouldn’t have been able to stop the gas flow and disarm the enemy. Thanks to your training with knives, you were able to take him out before he could harm your husband anymore. If you hadn’t taken that risk, Jeno wouldn’t be alive to this day.

In the moment, your only concern was saving your husband’s life, but the lingering regret and guilt from having a death on your hands was eating you whole. You couldn’t get it out of your head— the power you felt driving the knife straight through the man’s stomach, the horror that followed once you heard his blood curdling screams, and then the deafening silence. You had no idea how Jeno did it for a living. 

You heard your husband stir beside you, probably sensing your distress or the slight noise of the sheets shuffling. He trained himself to be an incredibly light sleeper for his own safety. He would wake up to the sound of a pin dropping when he knew there was an active threat.

He knew that there was no threat right now. You had made sure of that 2 weeks ago. But Jeno still sat up, letting his tired eyes fall to your figure, his heart clenching in his chest at the sight. He knew exactly how you felt. He had experienced the same thing when he was still training under Johnny and Ten. The knowledge that someone had died at your hands was unlike any other. No matter how justified the death was, it still felt the same.

He reached out his hand, gently tracing a line on the top of your hand before he threaded his fingers with yours and squeezed. Slow rubs of his thumb over your knuckles was a small amount of comfort for how much you were feeling, but Jeno knew it was all that was needed to calm you down. Any conversation immediately about the nightmare would only lead to more tears. Once Jeno heard that your breathing had evened, he spoke up.

“I wouldn’t be here right now if you hadn’t killed him. I know it was hard.” He cupped your cheek and kissed your forehead, his lips soothing your hot skin. 

“Can you wash them again?” You asked, referencing your hands that Jeno still held. 

It had become obsessive ever since that day. The image of your hands soaked in blood never left your mind. You had already washed away any remnants of the red stains 2 weeks ago, but in your brain, they were still there. The constant scrubbing had caused damage to your skin. Jeno took over washing them for you, knowing that he would be gentler on your skin than you would in your current state. He was patient with you, obliging in anything that you asked for in hopes that it would help you feel better.

He led you to the sink of the bathroom and turned on the tap, finding the right temperature before he let your hands fall under the stream of water. He had bought soap that was extra gentle on the skin just for you. Squirting some into his palm, he massaged it into your hands as gently as possible. He was thorough yet soft with how he washed you, handling your hands as if they were the most precious thing. They were what had saved his life, after all.

He guided you back to bed, gathering the covers over your figure and sliding under them himself. He tucked himself next to you so that his head was mere inches from yours, lying on pillows side by side, you resting safely in his arms. You wanted to thank him a million times as your eyes wandered over his face gazing back at you with so much love. He had so much to worry about already just from the nature of his job. You hated to add to his burden in any way.

Truly, if it had been anyone else, Jeno would not have been able to be so patient and caring. His fellow assassins were well able to handle a few deaths. They were prepared for what a mission would look like and had time to separate whatever happened on the job from their everyday life. You weren’t prepared for that, and unable to make that switch in your brain. Everything that had happened that night lingered in your mind whether you wanted to think about it or not.

“I still feel sorry for ruining our anniversary night. I wanted to take you out on a nice date, show you how much I love you. When you feel better I’ll make it up to you, yeah? I’ll plan something 10 times as nice as I originally had in mind. Just for you.” He whispered, tucking your hair behind your ear, admiring your beauty. 

“The ruined anniversary is the last thing on my mind. You almost died, Jeno.” Tears welled in your eyes as you said it out loud. By the time you had killed the man and unlocked the door to the gas chamber, Jeno could barely stand on his own. Although you had stopped the gas flow beforehand, he had inhaled enough that it was hindering his breathing. Had you taken much longer, he would have already been dead by the time you got to him.

“I’ve almost died a million times. It’s not like it’s new.” He muttered.

“I haven’t seen you almost die before. Don’t say that it doesn’t matter. How am I supposed to live if you die?” You were crying again at this point. 

Jeno sighed. He wanted you to see it from his perspective, but it wasn’t worth a fight. Especially not right now. You were already distressed.

“I know, darling. I’m sorry.” He pulled you closer, head resting against his chest so you could hear his heartbeat. He was alive. That was all that mattered to you.

“Go back to sleep, Y/n. I’m right here.” He whispered, stroking your back to lull you into dreamland. 

Being in his arms felt warm and comforting. Others would say that he was a cold man, too dangerous to even approach. It was true that his job was uncertain and risky, illegal at many points, and only succeeded, in some cases, at the cost of others' lives. But his heart was warm. For you, he would risk everything. 

Despite what anyone else said, you knew that Jeno was a good man. He was not the first person to capture your heart, but he was the only one who you trusted enough to keep it safe. He could carry it with him wherever he went and bring it back to you unscathed. He would never need to give it back to you, though, nor did you ever want him to. You wanted him to keep it until the end of time, safe in his possession, and you, safe in his arms.

↳ nct dream taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @lexeees,, @nyukyusnz,, @lovesuhng,,

@planetkiimchi,, @ujisworld,, @heavenfilm,, @sobun1est,, @emmylksblog,,

@bananabubble,, @talkingsaxy,, @thesunsfullmoon,, @chenleszone,, @talking-saxy,,

@cupidslovearrows

[last-flight-of-fancy]

Started thinking about Riku-Kairi parallels and symbolism wrt the ending of kh2 so please hold while i get needlessly verbose about it-

specifically it started with this gif

and ofc adhd is as adhd does and started going down the rabbit hole of connecting the dots.

The act of reaching out a hand/hand holding is a recurring thing in kh, the vast majority of which is chock full of meaning and symbolism, and this is no exception. This is the culmination of The Hero's Journey part of Sora's tale, the return home, and the heartfelt reunion between long-seperated friends. fun fact the heroine's journey follows the hero's journey for the first third or so before continuing on. kinda like how kh continued on long after things seemed to be 'resolved'. weekly plug to look up Howler's Heroine's Journey essays if you haven't yet

The angle from which I am viewing this scene right now is in regards to ofc Riku, and his own iconic pose that we see the first time in the intro to kh1 (and many, many times since)

And this is where my riku-kairi-are-inverted-parallels-to-each-other brain starts barking like a dog because oughghghghggh same pose opposite side completely different body language- AHG.

And this matches their character arcs (as well as their respective combined arcs with sora) to a T as well. Riku's pose is the first we see, way back in kh1, and his hand is as much a taunt as it is an offer. Very befitting his relationship to sora in that game, which was coloured by a forged rivalry and intense jealousy (to quote the ultimania; Complicated Feelings) of/for sora.

(it is also notable that to date this gesture has yet to be resolved. the closest they've gotten is when sora grasped Riku's hand in kh2 on finding him- albeit in Ansem's visage.

Symbolically this is Sora attempting to accept the gesture, but this time it is Riku who fails to meet him halfway, too deep in guilt and regret to feel worthy of it. his hand is turned downwards, limp and unresisting.

And again in DDD when Riku grabs sora's hand/wrist in an attempt to wake him from his nightmares, but this time sora isn't capable of reciprocating. like two ships passing in the night, always reaching but never quite meeting)

(this one isn't quite as strong in the visual symbolism specific to the Riku Pose, but i did think it bore mentioning)

to return to the first gif however, for Kairi her posture is much less stiff, leaning forward with palpable releif at Sora's return. Honestly the fact that she holds out her left hand (which as far as i know is not her dominant hand) marks this as a very deliberate choice to parallel her as opposite to riku. and much like the rest of kh2's ending, it FEELS like a culmination, a completion of their arcs.... and most certainly isnt.

Which i mean to say, it's a mid-point. And the reason I say this is because of one little thing.

The seashell charm.

There's a sort of irony here in that the charm that was meant to reunite them in this moment is also symbolically like a wedge between them. A heartfelt and meaningful gesture, don't get me wrong! i love this scene and the genuine emotions within, but i do love chewing on the way this gains a slightly different meaning in the greater context of later story beats; specifically that of kh3.

With how pointed and direct the parallel is between kairi and riku in these scenes, it did make me pause for a moment thinking about kh3. i know we've all seen a thousand and one analysis' of the paopu scene at this point, but forgive me as i must do so again under this specific lens.

'how does the paopu scene relate to the hand extended gesture at all?' i hear you ask, and on the visual surface not much. it has more to do with sora and kairi's relationship arc through the games and, of course, the lingering loose thread that was the cave drawing.

The paopu scene is a touching recreation of that cave drawing, one enacted by a pair of kids who didn't know if they would live to see another sunset. It's also probably the most symbollically dense thing in all of kh and that is saying something so I'm going to try and keep my observations limited to just what is relevant to this post- and that would be the way that the paopu scene is a direct continuation of Kairi's 'you're home' gesture in kh2.

shooting stars are also a common recurring symbol in kh, and that's the symbol that ties these two scene's together. if kh1 is two disparate stars each trying to reach the other (the cave drawing, the seashell charm, the way their hands are seperated at the end of kh1), and the end of kh2 is that of the stars finally meeting (the single seashell star charm pressed between their palms), then the paopu scene is that of the stars passing each other by and beginning their own journey's anew (two stars held by crossed arms, each now holding a small piece of the other (bitten fruit) to show that their meeting may have been brief but it was meaningful)

it is in this way that kh3 quietly and tenderly closes out sora and kairi's combined arc, as two unlikely friends who then drift apart again, shining brightly for the shared experiance, Remind mostly serves to support that finality, tying up the last couple loose ends between them, and leaving the two far more comfortable with each other than they ever were while that arc was still ongoing (which i read as them no longer being uncertain as to what their relationship is; that of friends, and not whatever so many others around them had pushed and assumed)

(seriously look at how much more comfortable they are with each other the second the pressure to be something they're not is off. the awkwardness is completely gone i love it)

All of this is ofc still in parallel to Riku, who boasts no such star imagery (instead he has the iconic Heart of KH itself), and in fact while he symbollically continues to reach out to sora, physically he has completely refrained from doing so at all- in fact most examples of the Gesture in kh are deliberately invoked by other characters in order to bring riku to mind in some way (and often more for the players benifit than sora's)

axel in CoM,

(i have given up on tumblr gif search)

YMX in DDD,

which then immidiately cuts to riku in kh1 just to make it as blatant as possible that yes the reference is intentional (i guess CoM was too subtle somehow so they had to make sure this time)

and even Riku himself to Namine at the end of kh3, representing Repliku's final wishes in a funny sort of symbolism oroboros.)

and it's not a coincidence that the completion of that connection provides definitive closure to the arcs in question; that of namine to repliku, but also a little bit to riku himself. namine still has a role to play, but that role (i think) is more or less exclusive to her relationship with sora. namine and riku's relationship arc, background as it is, is complete, and now both are connected primarily through their incomplete arcs with sora.

(which makes the way that sora and kairi's example in kh2 is a complete outlier really interesting tbh. smth smth thinking your relationship is one thing and if it was that thing then yes that would have been the end, but it wasn't that thing and thus it wasn't the end smth smth comphet metaphor smth)

which brings us back to how riku himself hasn't really reached out to sora directly since kh1, the act that set off both of their journey's. The reasons for that are many- guilt, fear, a certainty that sora will not reach back and that he doesn't deserve it anyway- but despite that the Gesture is still subtly affirmed as being Riku's over and over again, never quite letting the audience forget it... because eventually this bit of symbolism so consistently portrayed throughout the series will reach its own conclusion, starting how it began with one deuteragonist reaching out to the other, and this time the other reaching back to complete the gesture.

[theoriginalkaminari]

Dabi with a healer S/O!

Reader has a healing quirk, anything you touch can start to heal instantly, but slowly

Warnings: Blood, sorta ooc Dabi?

"Hey, you." Dabi speaks, leaning against the doorframe. His deep turquoise eyes look at you up and down, a smirk remaining on his face.

Blood drips from the wounds on his waist and onto the floor. "Mind patching me up?" He says, not really asking. He walks over, sitting on the bed.

You turn to him with a look of confusion on your face that quickly turns to shock.

"Oh my god!" You quickly rush to him, examining his wounds. You grab the bandages, putting them to the side as you dab Dabi's wounds with rubbing alchohol.

Dabi doesnt wince or flinch as you tend to his wounds, not even protesting. He remains silent and motionless, allowing you to do what you need to do. As you work, you notice that his burn scars are extensive and that some of his stitches are coming loose.

You let out a small sigh, knowing you should probably fix those too. Turning away for a moment, you grab the needle and thread. When you turn back to him, you slowly begin to restich the burns.

You try to make it as painless as can be, occasionally glancing up at Dabi's face to see his expression.

Eventually, you finish. Looking up at him, you ask, "What happened?" In a soft and gentle tone.

Dabi is silent for a moment, clearly hesitant to answer. He glances at you, taking in your beauty and soft features. He feels a strange sensation in his chest, as if his heart is beating faster. "It's none of your business." He finally replies, his voice cold and harsh.

You begin to feel a bit frustrated. You just kept this idiot from dying, and he wasn't even going to tell you what happened? How annoying...

"I'm just trying to help." You retort, using your quirk to numb his pain and make the wound heal faster. After a few seconds of silence, you begins to speak again. "Dabi…please. Stop being so reckless." You say softly.

"Your important to the me and the rest of the league…not just because of your quirk." You murmur in a soft voice.

The more Dabi looks at you, the more he sees you as an angel. "I don't need your pity." He waves you off, not seeming to care about the things you say to him.

You give up trying to reach him, putting the remaining bandages away. "I'm done patching up your wounds." You say, turning you back to him as you put your supplies away.

You then look back at him, looking up at him. "Is there anything else that needs to be fixed?" You ask, your voice soft.

Dabi smirks at you, standing up and stepping closer, towering over you with his impressive height. He leans down to your level and speaks in a low voice. "Actually, there is something that needs to be fixed." He says, looking into your eyes.

Slightly unamused with Dabi's antics, you raise an eyebrow. You reach behind you, grabbing the bandages again. "Such as..?"

"You." Dabi says bluntly. "Your too soft and sweet for a villain." He adds, running his fingers through your hair. "I'm surprised you haven't been eaten alive yet.

You begin to feel very annoyed with this. You belong here just as much as anyone else in the league does. "Excuse me?" You respond, stepping back.

Dabi chuckles at your response and stands up straight, continueing to tower over you. "I'm just saying that you don't fit in with the rest of us villains." He says, his voice still low. "You're too kind and innocent for this life."

"I'm not a delicate flower that's in need of protection." You take his hand off your hair and glare at him. "And especially not YOUR protection." You retort. "And if theres nothing broken, I'll be going now." You say sternly, turning and ready to walk away.

Before you can, Dabi grabs your wrist and pulls you back towards him, his other hand sliding down to your waist.

"Oh, right, sure. You're definitely not in need of protection." He says sarcastically, pulling your body flush against his own. "I can see it in your eyes, you're not used to this kind of life. You're too gentle and kind to be a villain." He looks at you with a mischievous smile. "I can take care of you."

You narrow your eyes, and move your hand down to his waist. You pinch his fresh wounds, making him let go of you.

"I told you, I don't need your protection." You say, finally walking away.

Dabi watches you leave. He smirks to himself, knowing that you'll come chasing back to him again.

Its only a matter of time before he has you in his arms again.

[michaelscorneroftheinternet]

All right folks it's time to break it down for you!

We got a lot to go over so this will be quite a thread but let's go over everything I managed to notice after watching WOTFI 2024!

Let's-a Go!

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For starters we got the goop coming out the screens from Puzzles tantrum! Very similar to a certain demonic goop from IGBP arc! We also have sets of numbers on the screens below that as far as I can tell don't have any significance but if you guys wanna take a crack at it go right ahead! (0800) (2310) (1340)

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Not too long after that scene we get a little clip you could miss but I believe quite a few people have noted out already- 

Mario skeleton reflected in the Merry-go-round! Honestly quite a nice extra spooky touch for this God tier scene during Puzzles tantrum! Definitely is more confirmation of how much Puzzles hates Mario for sure.

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Another IGBP arc reference that everybody including me wish they leaned more into as it was the start of Puzzles and quite a heavy weight for our dear SMG4 to hold. 

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Now this next part though I haven't seen people note out yet but I couldn't help but note after Puzzles starts his song. After the lyric, “you'll never part!” We get a “tunnel looking” shot that I couldn't help but get a sneaking suspicion and after pausing frame by frame I found-

Guys this is the pit that swallowed Peaches Castle in IGBP. I've been in that map looking down into the jaws of that thing for too long not to notice such a detail!

Alright from here on these next few threads will be talking in depth about certain scenes and character actions within them. 

Everything from here on is based on my own bias so if you have another interpretation of the scene please feel free to share!!!