#//is the type to make jokes then be in pain about their own jokes lol

[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | two

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: will a complicated realisation drive you and joel apart, or drag you closer together? warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, some mildly gratuitous Classics chatter, some very gratuitous descriptions of joel's office, trope of being enamoured by your favourite teacher lol [and her fav isn't even joel, sorry guys], angst, a little manhandling, semi-public sex acts with a not-so-stranger, dirty talk, brief impact play, fingering, orgasm denial, oral [m!receiving], face fucking, facial, cum eating, sheeesh i think that's it okay i need a glass of cold water word count: 10.3k i'm not sorry series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: folks, this series has taken over my entire brain. i'm having the best time writing+outlining it, and i have been so delighted by how many people liked the first part. giving you all the biggest kiss through the screen right now. lmk what you think of part two! this is part two of ALP. you can read the previous part here: one.

Tuesday.

It’s as though a mirage resides in the periphery of your vision.

A wobbling, shimmering thing that offsets the centre of a picture and makes your eyes hurt until you want to close them. The type where you’re squinting and trying to see, trying to make out what’s happening, and people are turning to look at you and pointing and you realise that you aren’t wearing any pants, and it’s a dream, a dream, a nightmare, it’s not fucking real. Illusory. Fantasy.

It's a childish thought that you can’t help but be consumed by. The idea that this is all some cruel, fucked up delusion you’re about to wake up from. That it couldn’t be possible for the charming Texan you’d met four nights prior to be stood only a few metres in front of you, discussing your fucking syllabus. Reality becomes this twisting, writhing thing that is painful and awkward to comprehend, and everything slows to a liquid, dreamlike pace. His voice, his movement, the shifting of other students around you, all drifting by slowly, as if a year has passed in the span of ten seconds.

And yet when you pinch your arm—nails scraping across skin until raw red marks raise in jagged lines—and you don’t wake up, the mirage remains, your stomach rolls.

Joel looks so different here. What had been casual at the bar, a lob of messy hair above a cotton t-shirt, is now professional. Buttoned shirt tucked into pressed brown pants. Beard trimmed, and hair pushed back into soft, tidy waves that roll down to his neck. A set of glasses rest on the bridge of his nose. Square, with black frames that compliment his skin tone, and have your fingers gripping the edge of the desk, wondering why the hell he hadn’t been wearing them on Friday night when he sunk his mouth against your cunt. Dirty little thing.

You can still feel his hands on you, days later. Feel the rough scrape of calloused fingers on your thighs, between your legs. Remember how soft his hair was when you buried your fingers in it and held him against your aching core, whining his name. It had been like this all weekend; holding an image of his tan, handsome face in your mind, trying to emulate the feeling of his hand between your thighs with your own, only to fail over and over again.

And he’s talking. That low, honeyed drawl that tickles across your skin and drips into your ears, warming your insides. It’s a marvellous thing; the way he shifts easily from topic to topic, disarming the room with short, sharp—surprising—jokes sifted in between soft-spoken sentiments about classical academia and the university, and what he hopes you as individuals will gain from a postgraduate in this course, and it feels like it’s been both hours and seconds as you watch him breathlessly, waiting. Waiting for his eyes to skirt to your side of the room, to dance across your face and recognise you, remember you, just as he said he would. 

Joel is talking about The Aeneid when he finally notices you.  

“I want you to be thinking about language,” he’s saying. “And tone. Virgil and Homer’s writing differs in a lotta ways, but it does share that same character of irony. Don’t forget that Virgil wrote during the Golden Age of the Roman Empire – and he’s presenting us with a story about destiny, about fate. Our focus here isn’t so much about love, or reverence, as it is about tragedy – no one in The Aeneid is safe from what their own fate lays out for them. All of these calamities and heartbreaks are necessary for the empire to thrive.”

He pauses. “Take Dido in book four as a prime example. In the openin’ lines of her story, if we’re looking to the West translation; she is suffering from love’s deadly wound, feeding it with her blood and being consumed by its hidden fire. We know from the beginnin’, that her love for Aeneas will be her downfall; that her death is essential for him to leave Carthage. And on that same page, talkin’ about Aeneas, we get, oh how cruelly he has been hounded by the Fates. This is what you need to think about if you’re gonna get to the bottom of Virgil’s bigger plan with these books. Why is he using this language? These words? I want—” 

Joel inhales sharply, dark eyes frozen on your face, which grows steadily warmer beneath his scrutiny. His body doesn’t move, hands hovering in the air mid-gesticulation, lips parted as his next words rest there, caught on his tongue. You swallow thickly. Feel sweat form on your hairline. The silence stretches, dead air giving rise to confused murmurs across the room, and your eyes widen, willing him to look away and continue; to do anything except stand there and keep looking at you like that. But it’s like he’s in a trance. Tan face dimming to a sickly, pallid colour, shoulders shifting as he breaths deeply. Staring.

A few heads turn in your direction, but you can’t bring yourself to look back at them; to snatch yourself away from the feeling of being held in his gaze again. It’s intoxicating—almost euphoric—to have those dark eyes on your skin.

And then it’s over, the moment severed as Joel’s eyes snap away and he clears his throat, offering a pained smile to the rest of the room. And he’s apologising, Lost my train of thought for a moment there, using a playful tone of voice as he says, first day of the semester jitters, y’know?

He ignores you after that.

For the entirety of the two-hour lecture, he makes sure not to spare a single glance in your direction. And it stings, but you suppose you understand. Can see the tension held in his shoulders now; the strain in his voice as he works to talk with that same measured ease he’d had at the beginning.

You take notes carefully, and don’t bother raising your hand when he inspires participation from the other students. But by the end of the class, you can’t bring yourself to walk out – not without saying something, without finding some kind of understanding over what the fuck is happening. You’re practically glued to your seat as students rise, filing out of the theatre hall.

Joel stands by the desk, back hunched as he collects his things, fielding kind comments of thanks and that was great from people as they pass him on their way toward the exit.  Eventually you join the stream, wandering down the stairs on shaky legs until you find yourself at the edge of his desk, fiddling with the strap of your bag and watching his back. His shoulders hunch tighter when you pause there, shadow splaying across the desk. Though his face isn’t visible to you, his hands are almost a blur, scrambling to drag his things into a messy pile so that he can pack up faster. He slaps his laptop closed and you flinch at the sound.

After a few moments, you find the courage to speak.

“That was, uhh, that was really interesting,” you clear your throat awkwardly, watching other students shuffle past in your periphery. His hands move faster, stuffing loose notes into a leather satchel with little disregard for the paper creasing.

You lower your voice to a hoarse, careful whisper. “We need to talk about this.”  

Joel finally looks up, nostrils flaring as he meets your stare. He nods once, looping the bag over his shoulder. “Not here,” he says gruffly, tight eyes darting around the room. “Room’s booked for another lecture in five.”

He tilts his head towards the door, encouraging you to follow him as he paces out towards the hall. You shadow him quickly, clutching your bag and watching the muscles in his back shift beneath his shirt as he walks three paces ahead of you. You fight the urge to place your hand in the dip between his shoulder blades; to feel the heat of his skin, the rolling tension beneath it, and dig your fingernails into him. Joel doesn’t look back to check if you’re following – he knows you are.

He leads you up a flight of stairs and down another hall, makes a left, and then another left, until finally he’s pausing and dragging a key from his pocket, pressing it into the lock of a heavy wooden door and nudging it open. There’s a plaque on the wood that reads J MILLER, PhD. You swallow. And then follow him inside and let the door fall shut behind you.

Joel stalks into the room, feet heavy against the dark carpet. He tosses his satchel to the floor and then stands by the desk, wild eyes trained on where you hover silently by the door. He looks on edge, to say the least. Frazzled fingers race through his hair, mussing the curls until they look reminiscent of the past Friday. Foot tapping against the ground in a quick, jerky rhythm.

And you know that you need to talk, need to clear the air, need to say anything, but you can’t help it when your eyes wander around the room because—

His office is sort of beautiful.

A larger space than you expected it to be, with a north-facing window that allows a natural yellowed morning light to fill the space, and a vast bookshelf stretching across the wall behind a large desk. You can’t make out the titles from where you stand by the door, but texts fill every crack and crevice of the shelfing unit, not organised by any noticeable colour scheme or structure. The space is messy – personal. In fact, everywhere you look seems to expose something private, something intimate.

A jacket hangs from a hook on the back of the door, made of a worn duck brown waxed material that looks soft to the touch. In the corner opposite the desk, a velvet green armchair sits beside a low table that houses a record player and a potted plant. Sleeves of records are tucked beneath the table, stacked upon each other haphazardly, without a hint of dust on them. Clearly touched and rifled through more often than not.

The wide window is cracked just an inch, allowing a warm early-Fall breeze to slip in and rustle the starched curtains. A coffee mug is beside the record player. Two more sit abandoned on the outskirts of his desk. All empty and forgotten about, too busy to be refilled or moved or cleaned. And there are books everywhere; strewn across his desk, forgotten beneath the cushion of his armchair, piled against the wall beneath the window. Worn, well-read books, with frayed covers and broken spines. You almost drool, tempted to ignore him completely and venture towards them; to run your fingers over the covers and find out exactly what kind of writing this enigma of a man spends so much time devouring.

After what feels like an hour of simply looking—but could only have been a minute—Joel breaks the silence.

“Did you know?”

His voice is quiet. Detached. The backs of his thighs perch on the edge of the desk, hands tangled in his lap. Large fingers pluck at each other as he stares at you from across the room, in an almost anxious fiddling movement.

“What?” you ask.

“Did you know who I was?” he clarifies, voice hardening. Those dark eyebrows tighten in the middle of his forehead, features pinching together into a sharp frown. “When you saw me.”

“Joel,” you scoff, taken aback. “How the hell would I know who you were?”

“Your classes were organised,” his voice raises slightly—just a little. “You knew the names of your profess—”

“J Miller,” you interrupt. “Everything says J Miller, that’s it. I didn’t fucking know, Joel.”

His frown softens at that, eyes dropping to the carpet as he nods once, clearly still unsure. You shuffle awkwardly on your feet, shoulders tense. There’s only a metre or so between the pair of you, and yet you can feel it. That static, burning energy, the same as four nights before. Something inside of you that rages and claws at your skin from the inside, begging to get closer to him. You ignore it.

“Why didn’t I meet you when I interviewed for the program?” you ask. You remember the day you came in, six months ago. Sitting with an older man—the Classics department head—and a soft, round woman with light hair. No Joel. You would’ve remembered him. 

His eyes flash, hands tightening in his lap. “I was on vacation,” he grinds out. It’s like it physically pains him to talk to you—to even look at you. One of his hands drops, palm flexing by his side. He’s taking deep breaths, clearly trying to calm the quell of panic that has been swirling inside him for the past two hours. You keep your distance.

After a moment, he speaks again.

“Greece, huh?” It comes out in a low scoff. His eyebrows are raised expectantly, frustration laced through the lines in his face. “Said you were there for a month.”

“Mhm,” you hum. “I was involved in a text translation study based in Athens.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he exhales, digging the palms of his hands over his eyes. “This can’t be happenin’.”

“Joel—”

“Y’need to transfer out of my class,” he interrupts, eyes blazing. “They run it online, you can—”

“What?” you blink. You feel your blood pressure rise, anger spiking as you comprehend what he is suggesting. “Be serious – I am not doing the class online because of this. It’ll jeopardise my entire semester.”

“I don’t care,” he glowers, rising from the desk.

“Jesus, stop acting like this was all my doing,” you snap. “If memory serves, you’re just as to blame as I am—you wanted me just as much as I wanted you.”

“Stop,” he growls. It’s a rough, unforgettable sound that fills your stomach with heat. An oddly familiar thing that raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Silly little slut. The memory licks at your throat, the skin of your chest, leaving a hot heady feeling in its wake. You wonder if he’s noticed the hickey on your neck that hasn’t entirely faded yet. A persistent, lingering reminder of his mouth on your skin. Of the sharp scrape of his teeth.

You take a step forward and Joel’s entire body goes rigid, right hand jutting out in front of him, fingers splayed open.

“Stay over there,” he says quickly, voice a low warning.

You scowl but don’t move, feet planted in the soft carpet. The breeze rushes in through the window and causes a paper on his desk to flap upward, and your eyes drift toward the movement. Gaze shifting over the items on his desk, the mess of papers, the half-full mugs, and then… a picture frame. You squint, unable to make it out from where you are. Take a step forward, and then another, and realise it’s Joel’s shape in the image, standing with a tall woman tucked against his side. It’s too far for you to see clearly, but you can tell his arm is wrapped around her shoulder, holding her against his chest, and you know he’s grinning from the splash of white across his face.

“What’re you—” Joel’s words turn to silence as he tilts his head and realises what you’re looking at. A broad hand darts out, gripping the frame and knocking it face down on his desk.  You flinch, eyes widening in incredulity as you turn to him.

“What?” A sardonic laugh escapes your mouth. “Are you fucking married or something? Jesus, Joel.”

You reach for the frame, fingers skirting across it with every intention of seeing, of understanding, of knowing just what it is that he’s so desperate to hide. But then he’s there, strong fingers looping around your wrist, halting your movement. The speed of it sends you stumbling toward the desk, and Joel’s body follows you forward, chest flush against your back as your lower stomach collides with the dark wood. Caught between a rock and a hard place, quite literally. You stiffen, sorely aware of how close he is. How much of his body is touching yours, and how similar it is to before.

“I’m not married,” he bites, and you can feel his breath against your ear. Hot, harsh exhales that send whisps of your hair fluttering forward. A shiver runs down your spine. His grip is firm around your wrist; not hard enough to hurt, but enough to hold you in place with your hand frozen in the air, fingers still outstretched towards the frame.

“Then who’s in the picture?” you grunt.

“None of your fuckin’ business,” he snaps quickly. You can feel his stubble graze the edge of your jaw, and something fizzes in your stomach. Your resolve softens at the frustration in his voice; the truth that bleeds out through his words. It is none of your business. Your body relaxes a little, arm going limp in his hold, and yet he doesn’t let go. It takes a moment for you to realise why.  

Joel’s hips are pressed tightly into you, trapping you against the desk, and he’s hard. You can practically feel him throb against the small of your back, the full length of his cock only separated from you by two layers of clothing. Saliva pools in your mouth, eyes pinching closed as you remember the feeling of him; the delicious burn of his heavy cock dragging through you. Using your free hand, you twist your arm behind you and slide it down his front. A whispered oh fuck escapes your lips as your fingers drag across the front of his pants, and he grunts in your ear, grasp tightening around your wrist. Painful this time, but only for a second, until he’s tearing his hand off you and placing it on your lower back, pushing you down so that your chest is flush with his desk.

You gasp, lips parting to speak, but no words are coming out and Joel’s hands are on the waistband of your jeans, on the button. He’s undoing it, fingers steadfast in their movement, and then he yanks the material down roughly over your ass.

“Joel,” you whimper urgently as he grips your panties, dragging them to your knees as well. He keeps you bent against the desk, so you twist your neck to stare at him over your shoulder, legs tensing when you see the expression on his face. His eyes are dark, pupils blown behind his glasses as he looks down to where his covered cock grinds against the swell of your ass.

“God dammit,” he exhales, and you clench around nothing, warmth pooling between your thighs. This is so different from at the bar. There the door was locked, place full of people who didn’t know either of you. Here, in his office, anyone could walk in. A member of faculty, a student, anyone. And the thought has you fucking aching for him.

Thick fingers streak between your thighs from behind, spreading your slick folds apart. You gasp as cool air hits your throbbing clit, but the sound cuts into a low moan as his fingers expertly roll over the sizzling nerve endings there. He ousts a low grunt of surprise at how wet you are, hips still grinding against you as his fingers drift to your entrance, rubbing and collecting your slick on his fingers until you’re whimpering into your own palm, pressing your hips back and begging him for more. All at once, one of his palms slaps across your ass while two thick fingers press inside you. The sting has your eyes rolling back. Your teeth sink into the palm of your hand to muffle the noise you make, and he’s curling his fingers inside you, rubbing against your g-spot, and your legs are trembling with the effort of staying standing. Your mind is a blur. You feel almost lightheaded at how suddenly this is all happening – and at how relieved you are to feel his hands on you again.

“S’this what you wanted?” Joel pants, scissoring his fingers inside you, stretching you out. “Knew if you followed me in here, I’d end up fuckin’ this pretty pussy again? Huh?”

“Fuck,” you choke out, eyelids fluttering as he adds a third finger. Heat sizzles beneath the tightening muscles in your stomach, and you can feel yourself clenching around him over and over again, your high already approaching. It’s almost pitiful, the affect he has on you; how easily your body yields to the simplest of touches from his hands.

“Huh?” he prompts for a response. You can feel the cool zipper of his pants cutting across the bare skin of your ass, scratching you as his hips rut forward.

“Please,” you say, voice quiet as you can muster. “I’m so close, Joel, please.”

He grunts, increasing the speed of his fingers. Soft squelching sounds are audible now, slick smearing against your inner thighs, his wrist, and your face goes warm at the sound of it. Your fingers claw at his desk, nails catching on paper as your hand lands against a book and grips it tight. Your abdomen burns, that soft thrumming heat licking at your skin, the muscles of your thighs, scorching in its might as your orgasm builds and builds, hanging dangerously close to the precipice.  

“Gonna come all over my fingers?” Joel asks, voice haggard and breathless. “C’mon, give it t’me.”

You’re nodding before he even finishes speaking, forehead knocking roughly against wood, eyebrows pinching together. So close, so close, so fucking clo—

A light knock sounds against his office door.

Joel freezes. Your eyes widen, hips shifting against his hand as you murmur no, no, no, please Joel. But he ignores you, gripping your hip to keep you still and dragging his fingers from your dripping cunt to press them over your mouth. Your pulse thunders in your ears, heart trashing wildly in your chest as you catch your breath, devasted.

“Joel?” a soft voice calls from the hall. A woman. “You in there?”

“Just on the phone,” he says loudly, voice surprisingly steady. You can taste yourself on his fingers. Feel it smear across your lips. “What d’ya need?”

“I’m headed to the café,” the woman calls. “You want anything?”

Joel responds with a sharp, resounding no.  

There’s a beat of silence where you can almost feel him holding his breath, waiting for her to inevitably open the unlocked door and discover the scene in his office. But the silence stretches on, and then you can hear soft footfalls fade down the corridor, and you know that you’re alone again.

Joel rips his hand from your mouth. Grips your underwear and drags it up over your hips, then your jeans, before he’s stumbling away and dropping into the armchair across the room. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, eyes wide as he gazes at the floor. When you push off the desk and turn to stare at him, a firm tent is visible in his pants. You button your jeans slowly, watching him. He doesn’t look at you.

“Joel—” you start softly.

“Don’t,” he interrupts. “Just… just get out.”

You open your mouth to speak—to argue—but once again, nothing comes out. No words to defend yourself, or what the two of you just did. You stare at him for almost a minute, but Joel’s eyes stay trained on the carpet, fists clenched against his thighs.

You leave his office silently and try not to look back. Make two rights and head down the stairs, outside and across the green to where your car is parked. The whole thing feels so dirty, so debauched, and yet you want so much more from him. Want it so badly that you drive home in silence, mind too busy with thoughts of Joel Joel Joel to remember to turn on the radio. 

And behind it all, is a low, itching thought at the base of your skull, something that makes you smile as you drive – the knowledge that he wants you just as badly as you want him.

Wednesday.

You decide very quickly that you like Rachel.

Maybe it was because you were having a good day. The sun had been shining when you woke up; strong beams that teased their way through the window in your bedroom and rested warm upon the bare skin of your back. By the time you rose, the coffee was already done brewing, and Trin met you in the hall with a large mug of it and a soft hey, man, how’d you sleep? And when you went to get dressed for the day you remembered you did the washing two nights before, and found your favourite pair of jeans—the ones that squeezed your ass just right—were neatly folded in a drawer, waiting for you. Yes; maybe all of that had something to do with it. Or maybe, it because Rachel was just great.  

You like her tenacity, her words; the idolatry with which she discusses her work. And she is charming; an intellectual through and through. The soft roundness of her face and the kind slant to her eyes offset by a razor-sharp wit. And there’s this peculiar quirkiness to her that catches your attention in seconds – a rough snort whenever she laughs, the bright orange shade of the toenails sticking out of her sandals.

Her teaching is direct, no-bullshit, and yet she has this smile. This soft, thin-lipped genuine smile that says, I know something you don’t know, and I can’t wait to share it with you.

During her first lecture, you feel rooted to the spot, unable to draw your eyes away from her for two-hours as she waxes poetic about heroines and tragic love stories, about the importance of myth, of gore.

Listening to her reminds you of what you’d always loved about classics – the filth of it, the horror. It feels like reaching your hands into a puddle of mud, flexing your fingers and letting the dirt and grime slide beneath your nails, coating every inch of your skin. The squeamishness of it, the rot, the tragedy – you love it all, and Rachel does too.

“When we talk about the juxtaposition between heroines across different texts,” she says. “We want to look at the values being portrayed; the meaning behind what’s happening to these women. Let’s appreciate the context here, guys! To understand the rage of Medea, or, say, the sacrifice of Iphigenia, we have to get to the root of their roles in society. Priestess, mistress, virgin, mother – we want to understand the perspectives being shown to us. What drives these women? What fire lives within them, pushing them to make their decisions—or to have their decisions made for them?”

She points to a student and nods, “Go on.”

“Do you think Medea holds much bearing here?” someone to your left asks. A man. “If we’re focusing on heroines, I mean.”

“Do you?” she challenges. A hint of a smile—that smile—drifts across her lips, hands clasped to her stomach as she awaits his response.

“Not particularly,” he says, voice less sure now. “I know you can view any text through most perspectives, but I’d never thought of her so much as a heroine in a feminist text.”  

“I see,” Rachel nods. “Well, the short answer is that I’d encourage you to read it again.” She laughs, a soft tinkering sound. “The long answer is that her character is complex. Let’s not beat around the bush; Medea is a woman scorned. Banished by Creon, forgotten by Jason. As the reader, we are able to comprehend the most brutal pain through her – a woman trapped in a world where men have decided everything for her, and she is furious. Even describes herself as a woman born to sorrow. Now, as the reader, it is your right to believe that she is bad, or an anti-heroine, but you cannot deny that she is made bad by circumstances out of her own control.” She pauses, thick eyebrows jutting upward as she looks around the quiet theatre. “I’d say that’s pretty feminist of Euripides.”

You approach her afterwards, fingers an awkward tangle in front of your chest.

“I just have to say,” you smile bashfully. “That was wonderful. You’re so engaging, I was… god, I don’t even know what to say, but thank you. I’m really looking forward to learning from you this semester.”

Rachel’s eyes light up at your words.

Up close you notice a pair of thick, ceramic earrings dangling from her lobes. They look hand painted; thick brushstrokes of dandelion yellow smeared across crimson red ovals.

“Oh, how lovely,” her eyes assess you quickly, mouth splitting into a crooked, fond smile. “I’m very glad to have you here…?”

You tell your name in a mumbled rush, and she nods once, eyes scanning the list of students on her sheet.

“Oh of course,” she says knowingly. “You emailed yesterday, no? Some trouble with accessing the readings online?”

You stiffen. Blink at her, smile dimming somewhat. “Yeah,” you exhale. “Yes, that’s actually—I was having trouble with the link for another class, and I hoped you might be able to help.”

“I see,” she frowns then. “Well, unfortunately if it’s not for this class I won’t be of much help; my access code only gets me so far in that damn portal. Which professor assigned the reading?”

“It’s, uhh,” you speak slowly, the words stiff as they stumble out of your mouth. “It’s Joel Miller.”

“Oh, Joel?” she smiles. “Well, he’ll be happy to help, I’m sure. He’s usually in his office around this time – do you need me to show you the way?”

Your mouth is dry. Yeah, you think. I’m sure he’ll be over the moon to see me.

“That’s okay,” you reply with a tight smile. “I’ll find it.”

She nods, bids you a warm goodbye, and her eyes have already drifted back to the papers in front of her when you turn to leave the room.

Your bag weighs heavy on your shoulder, straps of canvas material digging into the muscle there as you retrace your footsteps from yesterday. Up the creaking set of stairs, taking a left, and then another left, and your mind is a blur, static wobbling in your veins as you rehearse what you’re going to say, how you’re going to say it.

It’s been less than twenty-four hours since you’d last seen him, and from the second you left, an image of what happened in his office played on a loop in your brain. Like the spool on a VHS has been stuck together, wound into a circle, and the tape repeats over and over again, the same images, sounds, smells, soaking your mind until all else is white noise. And it’s twisted, and wrong, and you’re vaguely aware of that, somewhere in the part of your brain where you stash knowledge that you’d prefer to forget. Because it’s easier to forget the hard part, the ugly part, and far nicer to remember the scrape of his stubble against your skin. The smell of him filling your nostrils as he crowds you against his desk. The scratch on your ass from his zipper. Remember how your name sounds when he moans it, and forget the feeling that comes when he refuses to look at you after the fact.  

And you wonder if this is what the entire semester will be like; spending each day reminiscing on your last interaction with Joel, hoping for another touch, taste, another chance, another something, anything, from him. The weight of it sits heavy on your chest, like a wall of freshly cemented bricks left to solidify in the sun. And beneath that, beneath the clay and sand and limestone, excitement buzzes. Indisputable, persistent, anticipation. A vibrating that hums in your bones and has you shivering from the tips of your toes to the top of your skull as you knock on his office door. 

J MILLER PhD. The words glare at you from the bronze plaque for the second time in two days.

You hear his voice call pleasantly from behind the door. Light, relaxed. You swallow down the lump in your throat and step inside.

The window is wide open today, pale curtains drawn back to allow the bright midday sun to shine through and warm the carpet. Joel’s head tilts upward and within seconds the soft, easy smile on his face dissolves into something unreadable. He’s perched behind his desk, broad frame bent over a mess of papers, pen tucked neatly between coiled fingers. A clear tension simmers in the lines on his forehead; a tangible rigidity that clouds his expression when he sees that it’s you. He clicks the top of his pen once, twice, three times, and says your name in a clipped greeting.

“Hi,” you say, hand raising in a quick wave. “Sorry to barge in like this, I, uhh, I was wondering if you could help me with something.” 

“My office hours are between one and four,” he says tersely, eyes lowering back to his book. “Schedule an appointment over email.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, face warming as embarrassment swells in your chest. All of the excitement—the longing—that had churned inside you since yesterday seems to dissipate, replaced by a looming sense of dread as you register how distant and apathetic he seems. How hard he tries to not even look in your direction. Those words from yesterday ring in your ears. Just get out.

“Seriously?” you mutter, nonetheless, trying to contain the hurt that threatens to spill across your face. “It’ll take five seco—”

“Seriously,” he repeats firmly.

Your jaw clenches, annoyance tightening the already stiff muscles in your shoulders as you march over to his desk, dropping your bag onto the edge of it. The exact same spot from yesterday, where’d pressed you down against the wood and— Joel’s shoulders hunch. The sleeves of his shirt are pushed up to just below his elbows, thin white material stressing around cords of muscle. You gaze at the bare skin for a moment, tongue heavy in your mouth, before looking to what he was doing before you came in. A book in front of him is filled with scribbles and annotations, harsh black marks scrawled beneath thin lines of text. You only get a second to look at it before his hands are snapping it shut, revealing the cover. Robert Fagles’ translation of The Odyssey. The picture frame from yesterday is nowhere to be seen.

“Working on something for a lecture?” you try. If it’s about class, he can’t be mad. If it’s about class, he can’t push you away.

“What do you need?” he asks impatiently, ignoring your words entirely.

A hand lifts to rub the skin above his eyebrow. The tip of his middle finger massages the tan skin there in soft circles, and you watch the movement for a second, transfixed. No ring. I’m not married. His other hand reaches for the mug on his desk, and he takes a long, drawn-out sip of black coffee. Steam billows from the dark liquid, fogging the lenses of his glasses. The sight makes you want to laugh, but you swallow it down, acutely aware that Joel would be less than impressed by the reaction.

“I can’t access one of the readings for next week,” you explain distractedly, dragging the laptop from your bag.

You round his desk in a few short steps and Joel sighs, cringing as you place it down in front of him, opening the screen for him to see. He shifts his chair just slightly to the right, away from you. That persistent feeling of doubt coils in your gut, sharp teeth that twist and nip at your insides, taunting you, telling you that he doesn’t want you. And it’s not why you’re here—not at all—but you can’t bring yourself believe it. Don’t want to believe it. So you bite back – turn your back to his desk and pitch your thighs atop the edge of it, feet dangling an inch off the ground. You jeans are tight, and the fabric cuts into the skin of your hips where they bend.

“Get down,” he warns sharply, dismissing you with a taut shake of his head. “You can ask IT for help with that.”

“I’m asking you,” you persist stubbornly. “You’re my professor, Joel—"

“Yes, I am your professor,” Joel bites in agreement, glowering up at you. You stiffen warily at the heat in his gaze. At the anger you can see stirring in those dark brown orbs, brimming and ready to boil over. “And I don’t think we should be alone together,” he adds. “It’s not… this is bad for us, okay? I can’t… fuck, you can’t just come in here. I don’t want you comin’ in here anymore.”

And the memory plays once more. That thing, that something twisted, something wrong, something familiar, curls in your stomach. Snaps and bares its teeth at your uncertainty, sends it scattering into the distance, and replaces it with want.

“I didn’t even plan to come here,” your voice hardens, hackles rising as the feeling rises within you. “You’re not the first person I asked, alright? I just need some fucking help—”

“Don’t swear at me,” he interrupts through gritted teeth.

A beat of stunned silence hangs between you. A shocked laugh tumbles from your mouth, eyes widening as you take in the grave expression on his face.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you stare at him incredulously. “Joel, you had your fingers inside of me against this desk yesterday. I think swearing is the least of our worries.”

“Jesus,” he spits, pushing his chair further from the desk. His elbows fall against his knees, head resting in his palms as he breaths, not looking at you. “You’re fuckin’ filthy, y’know that? Can you not just behave?”

Don’t swear, you want to tease, but think better of it.

Instead, you nod slowly, drop your hand onto the desk, fingers hovering over his book. “Joel,” you implore, tone pleading. “I don’t… I don’t know how to act around you right now, okay? It’s not easy for me to just pretend nothing has happened between us. To just forget.”

“And you think it’s easy for me?” he gripes. His eyes are focused on your hand; on the way your fingers tense and untense over the bound cover, stroking the frayed paper his own fingers have clearly touched countless times. He doesn’t move a muscle. “To try and act like things are normal, act like I didn’t—” he cuts himself off, lips clamping shut. An anguished look crosses his features.

“We’re both adults,” you frown. “It’s not a crime that we fucked, Joel.”

A harsh laugh falls from his mouth, stern eyes blazing. “Ain’t about that and you know it. It’s against professional ethics,” Joel snaps, tone firm. “Against university policy – if anybody finds out it could put us both in jeopardy.”

You’re silent for a moment, watching him. His glasses have slid down a little, and they rest precariously on the tip of this nose. Dark eyes stare from over the top of black frames, and then his legs are crossing, one tucking tightly over the other, a thick forearm dropping to rest across his lap, and want burns in your throat. You struggle to remember why you came to his office in the first place.

“Nobody is going to find out,” you whisper.

A rasp of your name catches in his throat. Joel looks bemused, face as flat as he rolls his eyes. “Quit fuckin’ playin’ around. You know how serious this is.”

You contain the urge to scowl, lips tight as you say, “Yeah, I know. Just—look, you don’t have to worry. We can cut it off right now – I won’t say a word of it to anyone. Nothing else is going to happen.”

But you can see the way his eyes flicker down your body whenever you move. How his gaze rests heavily at the pinch of your waist, the spread of your thighs against his desk, your bare arms, before darting away. You wonder if he’s touched himself thinking about you, and a jagged heat tears through the top of your thighs as you picture what that would look like.

“But that's not what you want, is it?” you ask softly. Joel doesn’t speak. He’s so still you almost think he didn’t hear you. But his eyes glance to your thighs again, you know that he did.

“You want me,” you say then, voice low and sure.

The muscle in his jaw ticks. Lips purse around clenched teeth and a harsh breath escapes his nose before he’s saying your name again, a strained whisper. And God, you love the way he says it. Like the word was created just to spite him.

“You are walkin’ on some mighty thin ice right now,” he grits out, heated gaze scorching your skin.

You glance down to his lap, where a forearm still balances over his crotch, and arch an eyebrow.

“Show me,” you murmur.

You can hear him breathing. Slow, exaggerated puffs of breath, chest rising and falling at an increasing pace as he maintains eye contact. Large hands tighten into fists, fingers curling against palms, and he’s dragging his arm back from his lap, spreading his legs as far as they’ll go within the arms of his chair. You wet your lips, face heating as you stare. The firm line of his cock is evident beneath his pants, a solid ridge against his left thigh. When you look back to his face there’s a faint red hue colouring the skin of his neck, steadily rising toward the edge of his facial hair. He’s blushing.

“How long?” you ask, voice awed.

“Since you got on the desk,” Joel grumbles, tone almost begrudging.  

You hum softly, a low vibration in your throat, and then you’re slipping off his desk and taking a step towards him. And he doesn’t flinch away. He watches you close the distance between the pair of you and hover between his thighs, your legs almost brushing his.   

“Let me help,” you whisper, lowering onto the ground in front of him. The carpet is warm and rough against your jean-clad knees. Your eyes drift from his face to between his thighs, and then back up, slowly.

“We shouldn’t,” he croaks, lips chapped and dry. You want to kiss him senseless. Want to drag your tongue across his mouth until it’s soaking wet and then push your way inside.

“But do you want me to?”

An agonising beat of silence follows. But there’s no doubt there anymore. No more wondering, or uncertainty, because you can see it in his eyes. The same all-consuming, devastating desire that crawls its way up to rest at the base of your throat whenever you’re with him. 

And then thick fingers are at the waist of his pants, undoing his leather belt, his button, pushing the material open to reveal a pair of black briefs. He doesn’t take his pants off, just adjusts slightly in the chair before pressing his hand beneath the band of his underwear. Joel grips himself, the sight still obscured from your vision, and you find yourself mesmerised nonetheless, unable to drag your eyes away from the dark material. A low grunt escapes him, and then he shifts the band of his underwear down and pulls his cock out.

The head of him is swollen and leaking, tight skin so red that it’s almost a purple hue against the stark white of his shirt. Joel’s fingers tighten around his base, stroking himself once. Impatient, you lick you hand and let it drift forward to replace his, fingers slipping over the silky wet skin of his head and wrapping around him. Your hand is so much smaller in comparison, and your fingertips almost don’t meet as you flex your grip around girth.

Your underwear clings to the skin between your thighs, material warm and damp against you, a result of the simmering heat that rests in the base of your belly and flares every time Joel sighs. When you glance up to see his face, he’s already staring at you, pupils blown wide, lips sealed in a tight line. His length twitches in your palm, and you salivate.

You lean in and place a gentle kiss again his tip, smearing the pearl of precome there against your lips. You stroke the length of him in slow, firm pumps, guiding his head against your puckered lips, but not quite taking it inside yet. Joel’s fists are tight against his thighs, and you wish he would put them in your hair, on the back of your head, grip you, pull you down against him. But he doesn’t, not yet.

He’s got a salty, heady taste, and you swipe your tongue out to clean the hint of it from your mouth, swallowing with a satisfied purr. A harsh exhale shoots from his nose, eyebrows dragging further down as he watches you tease him.

A quick flick of your tongue against his slit has a sharp gasp rising from him, and in response you lathe wet, messy kisses to his head, puckering your lips around it and swirling your tongue, not caring what you look like, not caring that he probably wants you to go faster. It’s purely for your own enjoyment, and you’re moaning and sighing around the taste of him. You want to take Joel Miller a part, piece by piece, and feel him come undone beneath your mouth.

Unable to wait any longer, you let his head slip passed your open lips and sink into the wet heat of your mouth. And he’s so quiet, so composed, so you glide your tongue over his slit again before pressing forward, lips meeting the movement of your own hand as you take him deeper.

Your jaw strains, muscles smarting as you attempt to take the entirety of him. He’s so long, so thick, and the tip of him is nudging against the back of your throat in seconds, making your eyes water. And god it’s better than you could’ve imagined.

Tears cling to your eyelashes as you look up and find Joel with his bottom lip snagged between his teeth, pink skin turning white from pressure. The heavy weight of him crowds your senses, his taste on your tongue and scent in your nostrils, everywhere, and you can feel how hot your face is getting but you can’t look away from him. You don’t stop until his hand is landing on the nape of your neck, collecting your hair in his fist and dragging your mouth off him. You part with a wet gasp, a string of saliva dangling between his tip and your shiny lips.

“Breathe, goddammit,” Joel says, holding you still when you attempt to press forward and take him back into your mouth.

“You’re so big,” you say earnestly, head tilting backward to rest heavy in his hold. You blink through bleary eyes, smiling lazily. Drunk on him after only a little taste. “Couldn’t stop thinking about this, you know. How you’d taste… how it would feel to have you in my mouth.”

“Fuck, stop,” Joel says quickly, voice pained. “Y’can’t say shit like that.” His grip tightens at the base of your neck, and then he’s guiding your face forward so the head of his cock slips back into your mouth, effectively shutting you up.

You hum appreciatively and relax your jaw, taking him until he’s nudging at your throat again, and he’s still so fucking silent. Determined to get some kind of reaction from him, you pull off and lick a broad stripe from tip to base, hand stroking his length in unhurried, firm pulls as your mouth finds his heavy balls. Your tongue glides along the sensitive skin in slow, overwhelming movements, leaving no inch of him untouched. Wet sounds fill the air as the movement of your fist increases in pace, and your lips drag over him, sucking one of his balls into your mouth and then—finally—a long, drawn-out groan spills into the air, and he’s saying, “Shit, that’s it.”

Never pausing the movement of your hand, you pull back just a smidge and grin.

Joel’s hands are on you then, another deep sound sputtering from his lips. He’s brushing your hair off your face, mussing it as he rakes his fingers through it, short nails scraping against your scalp. He swears softly when you take him back into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he mutters breathlessly. “Is that what you want? Needy little thing wants a little praise, huh? Want me to tell you how good you are, how good your pretty mouth feels on my cock?”

You whimper, eyelids fluttering as you begin to move on him desperately. Your mouth tightens around him, and a tear squeezes from your eyes as his hips jolt forward, cock nudging suddenly into the back of your throat. Joel’s hand cups the back of your head, strokes the damp skin at the base of your neck as you gag around him.

“Jesus,” Joel groans at the sound. “There you go, s’perfect, s’fuckin’ perfect.”

The muscles in your thighs tighten, legs pressing together to try and soothe the pulsing ache there. Your head is moving up and down along his length and it’s wet and messy and depraved, saliva gliding down your chin to your neck, and you fucking love it. Joel’s gruff sounds of encouragement only serve to spur you on.

And then, as if by some stroke of divine intervention, it happens again.

A firm rap against the door of his office.

Joel goes silent. Your shoulders tense, and you pull back until his tip rests heavy on your bottom lip. Wide eyed, you gaze up at him, panic swelling in your chest. And then comes that voice; the same voice as yesterday.

“You in there Joel?”

You can feel your lungs squeezing inside your chest, grasping violently for air and finding zero reprieve as the reality of the moment begins to overwhelm you, because you know that voice.

“Fuck,” you whisper dazedly, slumping back to rest on your heels. “Fuck, fuck, fu—”

Joel shakes his head, strong hands gripping your shoulders to soothe you. “Shh,” he hushes quietly. “Stop, hey, stop. It’s fine.”

Another knock at the door. Nowhere for you to go, nowhere to hide.

“Just a sec, Rachel,” Joel calls, voice laced with frustration.

And then those hands are guiding you backwards. You move blindly, allowing him to encourage your body back, back, back, broad palm protecting your head as he nudges you underneath the desk. Further and further until you’re completely hidden, tucked away where only he can see you. And as you settle into the warm, sweaty space, watch Joel drag his chair forward and squeeze his long legs around your body, you feel the panic quell. Your pulse slows, the tremor in your hands settles, and cool relief comes in the form of a chill down your spine.

“Come in,” Joel calls. You can hear the door click open a second later, soft footsteps entering the room. You hold your breath as they begin to talk, heart stuttering, eyes trained on his where his spit-soaked cock rests against the underside of his desk.

“Sorry to be a bother,” Rachel’s soft voice chimes. “I was hoping to grab my copy of The Annals, I need it for the undergrad lecture I’m covering this afternoon.”

“Course,” he says sharply, and you can hear a drawer to your right open and close. A moment of silence. “All yours.”  

Your abdomen tenses at the sound of his haggard voice, and something tight pulls in your chest. A flare of jealousy, of possessiveness, at the fact that someone else is seeing him right now. That the flush on his cheeks, the sweat on his neck, is no longer yours alone. And it’s absurd, because she has no idea. But the desire to reclaim the moment for yourself, to assert that his sweat, his blush—his body—is yours is overwhelming, and you find your hand gripping his heavy cock, tongue gliding out of your mouth to swipe against his weeping tip. The dread from before flares in the back of your mind but you push it away, shove it down until it’s hazy, a faint ringing that fades into the sound of your blood rushing in your ears.

Joel’s thighs stiffen. He coughs, a sharp, surprised noise.

“Thanks for that,” Rachel says, voice slow. “Hey… are you doing okay? Looking pretty faint over there, Miller.”

You smile around him and rub your tongue in teasing strokes along the underside of his sensitive head. He clears his throat roughly, and then his hand is slipping underneath the desk to tangle in your hair. It’s rough and it stings, and you find yourself humming ever so slightly around him, indicating that you love it.

“Feelin’ a little under the weather,” he agrees faintly.

“Should try some of that tea I always tell you about,” she says, ever so friendly. “Works a treat when you’re sick.”

“Maybe I will,” Joel says, and his fingers are twisting in your messy locks, pulling your mouth away from his cock.

Although he can’t see you, you pout. Not wanting to push it, you settle for looping three fingers around him, index middle and thumb, gripping just beneath his head, and begin to rub him in slow, soundless movements. With every forward motion of your hand, the tip of his cock brushes against your lower lip, and his grip on your hair tightens.

“I could bring you some,” Rachel offers then. You can practically hear the smile in her voice, picture the kind slant to her eyes. “Maybe tomorrow, if you think you’ll be coming into wor—”

“I’ll be here tomorrow,” Joel snaps suddenly, voice almost harsh as he interrupts her. “Was that all you needed?”

“Oh,” she replies awkwardly. “Yeah, sorry.”

“No,” he says, audibly flustered. His cock is drooling over your lips, and the salty taste has your pussy aching, clenching painfully tight, begging to be filled. “m’sorry, got a fuckin’ headache, is all. Tea tomorrow?”  

“Tea tomorrow, sure,” Rachel confirms. “Sorry again, I… yeah, sorry, I hope you feel better, Joel.”

Whem the door closes a moment later Joel is shoving his chair backward again, hands wrenching you out from underneath his desk. You fall forward, flushed and breathless. His expression is thunderous, pitch-black eyes glaring down at you. On all fours, you crawl forward and splay your palms across his thighs, feel them twitch and tremble beneath your nimble fingers.

“You couldn’t fuckin’ wait?” he snaps, hand finding a home in your hair once more. He drags it into a ponytail and wraps it around his fist.

“Sorry,” you lie, teeth nipping at your swollen bottom lip. Joel’s eyes follow the movement and he grunts, unimpressed with the apology.

“She could’ve caught us,” he admonishes you.

“Better start locking the door then,” you clip, winking lazily. A short huff passes through his lips, and then his left hand is dropping to land on your chin, thumb rubbing against your lower lip, prying it from between your teeth.

“Open,” he orders.

His jaw is set with concentration, eyebrows drawn low as he cradles your jaw, holding it still while he pushes his cock back into your eager mouth. The salt of him rushes your senses again and you’re moaning around him, cheeks hollowed and eyes wet as he begins to rut into your mouth, the tip of his cock caressing the back of your throat with every thrust. It’s fast and hard, and the noises coming out of you are scandalous, but you can’t drag your eyes away from his face. Lips parted, eyes ablaze as he watches his cock push in and out of your mouth, over and over again. A tear streaks down your cheek and Joel groans, swiping at it with his fingers. Shallow curses and murmurs of your name spill from his lips in a tortured stream of consciousness.

“Always so fuckin’—impatient,” he mutters. His grip on your jaw is near bruising, cock throbbing against your tongue. You can sense how close he is. Feel it in the way his hips start to stutter, snapping thrusts losing their rhythm.  

The stretch has a dull ache searing through your jaw, but Joel is breathless, eyes dark and focused on yours, saying, “Look at you. So pretty takin’ my cock like this.” and you can’t bring yourself to care. Your eyelids flutter closed, and his fingers are tapping your cheek quickly—softly?

“Let me see you,” he says urgently. “Want those eyes on me, don’t close them.” You cast your eyes up to meet his gaze, and Joel hisses under his breath, expression taut.

His hips drag backward, and he’s replacing your mouth with his hand, fucking himself in quick, brutal strokes, and your mouth is open, slick tongue peaking between your lips before he can even say open your mouth.

“Fuck,” he exhales at the sight, tip bumping against your tongue with every wet pump of his fist. His thighs are trembling beneath your hands, and you dig your nails into the muscles there, encouraging him. “Fuck me.”

And then he’s coming, face going slack as hot ropes of his come paint your lips, your tongue, your chin. Unashamed rasps of your name fall from pink lips, washing over you in glorious waves as you sit there and take all of it. And for a moment, you think it’s over. But then Joel’s hand is still moving over his length, calloused thumb gliding against the ridge of his rounded tip, and there’s more.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck—yes.”

Salty strings of his spend gloss over your cheeks and slide down to paint your neck. And it’s like he’s coming a second time, torso jolting in short, jerky movements, and you wish you could see his body while he came; the way the muscles in his stomach would flex and pull taut, entire frame straining as he gives you his all.  

His shoulders slump forward as he stares down at you, hand falling away from his sensitive cock, and his face is ruined. Eyes blown wide, cheeks a dark red, looking at you like he’d enjoy nothing more than to devour you whole. Maintaining eye contact, you swallow down his spend, practically purring at the taste of him.

Joel’s thumb smears his come off your cheeks and into your swollen mouth, making sure you don’t miss a single drop.

“Good girl,” his voice is broken. “That’s it, yeah—yes, s’perfect.”

Perfect, perfect, perfect. The word rings in your ears. Your skin is on fire, and you can’t believe that you are both still fully clothed. You feel naked, bared to him in the truest sense of the word, despite being completely covered up.

He groans heartily when you suck his fingers between your lips, tongue swirling around them greedily, and swallow down the last of his spend. 

For a moment after, the two of you simply sit there, your knees chafed and aching against the carpet, his fingers hooked against your tongue, staring at each other. And you know. You both know – there’s no going back from this.

Joel drags his hand away and snatches a box of tissues from the top drawer of his desk. You stand, knees popping in relief, and lean against the desk to stabilise yourself. He takes a moment to clean himself, and when you’re sure he’s not looking you swipe a pen from his desk, scribble a set of numbers on a post it and press the sticky paper down against the cover of The Odyssey.

He offers you the box of tissues and you wipe your face carefully, make sure no trace of him is left on your skin. Joel watches your movements like a hawk, eyes fading from black to brown as he fixes his belt and tucks his shirt back into his pants.

“You good?” he asks after a moment. And it’s the same. The same thing he asked you that night in the bar after fucking your brains out. After calling you a slut, a dirty little thing. Maybe it’s his thing—you good? And it’s more than anyone else has ever said after you’ve had their cock in your mouth, so you smile at him. Nod. The duality of man, you think.

“Perfect,” you use his word, and cringe at how wrecked your voice is. The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches upward, something sly and conspiratorial in his gaze as he watches you tuck your computer into your bag, IT issue long forgotten.

Even as you wander toward the door of his office, tossing a casual see you tomorrow over your shoulder, you can see it in his face. In the lines by his eyes, the furrow of his brow; never satiated, never finished, never satisfied. More, more, more. This wasn’t enough for either of you. And this will not be the last time.

Hours later, when you’re tucked into bed with a glass of wine and a book perched in your lap, you get a text from an unknown number.

You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days.

And then another, twenty minutes later.

That can’t happen again.

You grin. Save his number under J MILLER, PhD, and don’t reply.

tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @sinfulrock @bbyanarchist @murc0cks4eva @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @daisies-yellow @mrsquill @sarap-77 @sunnywithachanceofjavi @alleyy-katt @zeida

thank you for reading! x

[sordidmusings]

mihawk strikes me as the type to hide any hickies that he got but admire them in private, shanks would shamelessly show them off in public, while robin is more casual and doesn't get embarrassed if someone points it out and says point blank that she made out with you and it was very nice (sanji is crying).

YOURE RIGHT AND YOU SHOULD SAY IT ��🏻👏🏻👏🏻

Also that ending is sENDING ME DJFJFJFJFFK if you’re afab then Sanji would definitely be stuck struggling if those were tears of joy for knowing it happened or tears of pain that he’ll never be a part of it. Probably more of the latter. If you’re amab then those are 100% grade A, bonafide Tears of Despair 💀

Mihawk, Shanks, and Robin Hickey Headcanons

Thinking about the Mihawk, you’d have to be Smart about where you put those hickies (thighs thighs thighs-) since he’s always Tits Out and Collar POPPED. I think if he showed up with a fully buttoned shirt or turtleneck it would be more suspicious than him saying the bruises were from training 💀 (I mean maybe it was true - you could’ve been training him to let you fully take charge for once 🤷🏼‍♀️). The thought of him admiring them is what really grabs me in this. I like to think the betrayal that Oda hints at in Mihawk’s background is related to a past love (many good daydreams from this lol) so him healing enough from that to take the time to admire a mark of intimacy?? Feel satisfaction looking at a physical reminder that you belong to each other?? Find comfort in being your partner and enjoying being wanted and owned by you??? Happy brain 🫠🫠🫠

Shanks being the resident manwhore is Gospel dude and I fuckin LOVE him for that 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻 here for the energy and the good times lol I imagine that he just showed them first cuz he didn’t care to hide them. Why would it matter?? It’s obvious he’s a man with a large appetite for debauchery both light and heavy and they’re all adults on the ship so there’s no problem. Then he found he enjoyed all the jokes, whether in his favor or at his expense, whenever his crew caught a peep of an exceptionally dark or large one or an excessive art project coloring his neck and chest. But once he got with you he enjoyed it even more. He was proud edging on smug whenever others saw the marks you’ve left on him. He got to have you and they didn’t. Better yet they also got to see just how much you enjoy him. Why would he ever hide that??

R O B I N 😩 I HAVE A NEED OKOK AND OML I WAS CACKLING AT THE “and it was very nice” HDHFHFJD SO HER AND SO FUNNY 💀💀💀 imagine that conversation being how the crew finds out you’re together. They just thought you were Close Friends. And I mean they’re not wrong, there’s just some extra activities. And maybe a new type of devotion to go along with the friend one. Whoopsies 🤷🏼‍♀️. Honestly maybe even extra points if it’s also the convo where you get together because the making out just kind of Happened and you’ve been agonizing over the “what does it mEAN???” and “how do I talk to her about this???” Then she’s just like “yeah we kissed and it was great :)”. Oh so this isn’t a big secret?? She’s not ashamed?? It was great 👀 over the howls of Sanji you manage to ask her to meet with you after breakfast for a convo (and more time enjoying some “very nice” activities)

Complete side note on Robin - since sensation but not wounds seem to transfer from her copies and extra limbs/etc. that would be insanely convenient to go buck wild while also being able to be completely discrete. Of course you don’t get the same advantage 😔 which I’m sure she’d exploit to have fun watching you react to them being pointed out by the loud mouthed captain like every time (“Luffy I tOLD you already - we weren’t leaving you out of sparring!”) or maybe a nosy navigator heheheh

And on an angstier note, having gone so so so long without love, I bet physical reminders of any kind help her feel like it’s real and that’s she’s not just going to wake up and find out it was all a dream. There’s also a promise in visible proofs of love, sometimes even ones as ~scandalous~ as hickies, that you want that love and you’re proud of that love. I think Robin would find a lot of solace in anything that helps her know you’re happy and proud to love her.

Really enjoying these and may do some little vignettes of them! Undecided if I wanna throw some others in there 🤔 maybe if any Grabs Me while I think more about it haha or if anyone is possibly interested 🤷🏼‍♀️

Thank you for sending in your thoughts dear anon❣️I’ve had so much fun with them!!!! Sending love and hugs 🤍🤍🤍

Part of my little celebration!

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

Hc for Halsin, Astarion, Will, Gortash, (& maybe Damon and Raphael) caring for a loved one with chronic illness or like an illness that keeps them bedbound for an extended time

A/N: Oh Nonnie, do I feel this ask lol. Chronic fatigue sucks, mainly because so few people don’t understand it goes beyond being just ‘tired’. There’s brain fog, stomach issues, and body pains– so I tried to touch on each of these symptom types for each character response. However you’re doing, whether you’re in a flare or not, I want you to know your illness is not your fault. You didn't ask for this. Don’t feel guilty for having to take care of yourself. You’re worth it. I promise. 

Also, this is unrelated but it’s lowkey funny that the week after I got diagnosed with a weird anemia, I write an answer for an ask about chronic fatigue. lol

TW: Mention of Chronic Fatigue/Pain, Brief Mentions of Sex 

🤕 BG3 Men Caring for a Gender Neutral! Loved One With Chronic Illness 🤕

Astarion: 

Worries. Like A LOT.

Tells you not to be so dramatic about it but will literally sprint towards you if he even hears you sigh.

He asks Karlach to carry you. 

Steals somebody’s cart/chariot if she refuses and instead makes her and Shadowheart take turns pulling that. (Jokes on him, they do it because they’re your friend, not his lol.) 

Has you come on missions because he feels more secure knowing you’re right behind him, and he can keep looking after you. Astarion makes sure to always sneak ahead so you never walk unknowingly into any danger 

Will give you massages if you’re in pain frequently, especially shoulder rubs, as he loves the view it gives him of your pretty neck. 

Speaking of necks, feeding is a huge no-no. At least, until you start feeling a bit better. And then he’ll only allow himself a taste. Gods knows you need all your strength, and he would feel terribly guilty to take what little you have from you. 

Lowkey appreciates the bags under your eyes and the way you can look like death incarnate, because well, then he doesn’t stand out as much. He also finds it strangely alluring, how you can look so fragile yet be so strong. It inspires him to find that balance within himself if he’s being honest. 

If you have trouble ‘performing’ due to your illness, he’s not upset at all! (He’s actually quite relieved.) 

Loves finding other ways you can be intimate together, like going to a spa and sharing a bath. Or finding a highly-rated inn and cuddling under some luxurious silk sheets. 

Turns out that after a lifetime of being forced to do things, Astarions is more than happy to spend his time doing nothing with you. 

Wyll: 

Is so sweet and tender when he speaks to you.

He’s literally Prince Charming, which makes you his Sleeping Beauty. 

On your good days, he’ll have you stand on his feet as he twirls you around, finding this the best way to ‘dance’ with you, given your current stamina. 

Requests for you to stay back at camp and rest while he and a few of the others handle the more taxing and dangerous missions. Gifts you some books and journals of his to keep you occupied in the meantime.

When he comes back to camp, the first thing he does is check on you. If you’re awake, he’ll make sure your needs are met before tending to his own. Doesn’t matter if Wyll’s starving and covered in guts, if you need a drink or an extra blanket, just say the word and he will fetch it immediately.  

Will recite poetry to you on the bad pain nights when you cannot sleep because everything aches too much. He knows his voice won’t stop the pain, but he hopes it provides a soothing atmosphere to just rest in, even if sleep cannot find you.

Is always so tender and gentle in his lovemaking, that it’s rarely an issue for you. However, on the nights that it is, don’t feel bad at all. Wyll adores you for much more than your body. He loves your mind, your heart, and your soul. Just being near you, knowing you love him back is more than enough. 

Halsin: 

Is always prepared with some medicinal herbs or a healing spell. 

He’s a natural caretaker, and you are no exception. However, when it comes to you, Halsin does approach the act a little bit differently. 

It’s much more personal when he makes you health potions or casts spells to heal you, you can see it in his eyes. In a way, it’s as if your pain has become his pain, and he needs the relief just as much as you. 

As long as you give your consent, Halsin prefers to have you touching him. Be it laying on top of his chest, or seated on his lap, he always wants his skin against yours, as if his touch alone could shield you from your illness. You find it rather sweet of him.

He pleads for you to stay behind in camp, or the grove- somewhere that is not the center of the action. He wishes for you to remain out of the fray, fearful that in your condition, fighters with less honor than he would take advantage of your vulnerability. 

If you need to be in a house with a room, and not camped out in the woods, he understands, although it may frustrate him a bit. He believes nature is the perfect healing environment, but he also trusts that you know your illness better than anyone. After all, you’ve managed it all these years. So instead, he simply brings nature to you. 

Haslin decorates your bedroom with plants, trees, and succulents. If you’re allergic, he enchants them to reduce their pollen production. 

Halsin understands he is rather large in the ‘down there’ department. If you cannot have traditional sex with him, it’s not a surprise to him. He knows more than one way to please his partner. He’s very giving and seems to get off on your pleasure more than his own at times. 

Halsin thinks you are one of the most beautiful gifts of nature. Your illness is just another part of you, and because it’s a part of you, he thinks it’s beautiful as well. You may resent it, but Halsin could never separate that part from you and hate it. He simply loves the whole of you too much to do that. 

Dammon:

Oh my god, he’s such a sweetheart.

But also a low-key tease. 

He has no issues getting or reaching things for you, but he does have a mischievous side, so be prepared for him to hold your things hostage, in exchange for a kiss or two. 

Has a habit of finding you curled up in bed on your worst pain/fatigue days and peppering you with kisses, and won’t stop until you laugh. 

Forges special mobility aids! Do you need help walking? Pfft. Not a problem. Dammon’s an incredible blacksmith, and he can make you armor that helps stabilize you. You know those really cool joint support braces you can get on Etsy and stuff? Yeah, he makes you DOZENS of them, all in different metals and designs, to match your mood/outfit for the day. 

While on the road, or in the grove, he always ensures you’re armed with some sort of easily gripped knife or sword, just in case anyone attacks. He does his best to keep you close, never walking too far ahead or behind, but you having that extra layer of protection makes him feel all the more reassured. 

He's not a fighter, but years of working in the forge have made his arms and back strong. He swears he will do everything he can to protect you, that no harm will come to you so long as you stay close. 

Is so relieved when you make it to the city at last. He’s so grateful that he can finally provide a real room and bed for you. He feels as if the entire journey has been worth it now that you’ll be able to rest and heal as you need, in the kind of safe and stable conditions you deserve.  

Comes in from a long, sweaty day of working in the forge, but immediately sets his sights on taking care of you. Draws a bath but insists you bathe first, as the water won’t be full of grime and ash after he bathes. 

Is always surprised and very flattered when you tug him in with you, still touched by your affection for him, as if you’ve just met for the first time. Dammon’s still a little shocked that out of everyone, you chose him. (Ironically, you feel the same. You’re a perfect match!) 

Insists on taking the lead during more intimate moments, and to make sure you just lay back and let him do all the work, introduces soft silk ties for your hands and ankles for whenever you feel like indulging in that kink with him. 

Gortash: 

Spoils you rotten. 

No, really.

Part of the highlight of being a Lord, soon-to-be Duke, is that he has the power to make all the other people do things for him. And no task is too costly or requires too much manpower so long as it means you’re taken care of. 

Buys the most lavish sheets and sleep sets for you. He wants you to be comfortable, the both of you deserve nothing but the best, after all. 

Assigns around-the-clock healers to you 24/7. They are always in your home, on-call, awaiting your request for relief. He wants every measure of treatment and remedy explored. If there’s a spell or herb that can reduce your pain, then you shall have it. 

Enjoys any downtime he has with you. Has his staff put a special chaise lounge in his office so you can visit him when he’s working. 

Gortash is so used to putting up fronts for everyone else, that it’s nice to let his guard down around you. You don’t judge him, or think less of him for his ambitions. Other people would run if they learned the truth, but not you. No, you’re so much more special than that. 

Of course, whenever you go out, you have your own guards and steel watch keeping you safe from anyone who’d wish to harm either you or him. All the other Lords and Ladies of Baldur’s Gate don’t dare say a mean word about you or your abilities, lest they wish to face the wrath of a peeved Gortash. 

As an inventor, Gortash invents the very first automatic, steampunk-esque wheelchair for you. It’s powered in the same way his Steel Watch is, and it is uniquely one-of-a-kind, tailor-made just for you. 

You know how in the game it’s hinted that Gortash basically stole and fucked his way into the high society of Baldur’s Gate? That many of the widowed Ladies gifted him lavish presents (like the deeds to their house?!) in response to whatever ‘relationship’ he had with them? Yeah. The man knows what he’s doing. And he does it well.

Your fitness level is no concern to him. The both of you will enjoy yourselves. He learns how to play the erogenous zones of your body perfectly, and in the event you’re too exhausted to play his, he has some, shall we say, special toys, he’s created just for himself. Course, should you ever ask, he’s more than willing to share them with you. ;)

Raphael: 

Switches between pampering you to badgering you about it.

When he’s feeling particularly generous, he makes a point to overindulge you, making sure you’re aware of how unselfish he’s being at the time. 

He’ll make sure you have not only whatever you need, but also, anything you should want. As a devil, he does have some magic up his sleeve, ready to take care of various aches and pains that you feel. 

Ensures no other beings in the House of Hope lay a finger on you. No, that’s a privilege for him and him alone. 

Of course, such benevolence from him comes at a price, so don’t expect the luxury to come freely, without strings attached. 

After he feels you’ve rested enough, he switches from being overly doting to being more curt, and even a bit cruel. 

You honestly don’t expect him to let you lounge all day, do you? Surely there’s a way you could make yourself useful to him. Your attention, your company, your body… there must be something of interest to him at the moment. Of course, Raphael won’t tell you outright what he wants, you have to figure it out for yourself each and every time. 

More than anything Raphael loves your adoration, your attention. Just sit with him in his office as he reads over the various contracts he has binding any number of sorry souls. Ask him questions, praise him. Tell him you think he’s brilliant… Darling just worship him. 

And after his ego’s been satisfied, he’ll go back to worshiping you. Relationships are all give and take after all. 

(And don’t worry if you’re too tired or in too much pain to perform well in bed. He’s certainly no good at it either lol.)

[writingwisterias]

Day 10: Sensory Play

Leon Kennedy x AFAB!Reader Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, Sensory Plays, Blindfolds, Headphones, Nipple Clamps, Vibrators, Overstimulation, Unprotected Sex, Restraints, Only Porn No Plot lol, Masterlist

The music blasted in your ears as you lay on the bed, your arms stretched above your head, a metal bar in between keeping them separate. The blindfold was wrapped snugly over your eyes.  However, you could feel where he was, his body weight causing the bed to dip on the right side. It didn’t move though, it was almost like he was just sitting there scanning over your naked form. Your thighs rubbed together at the thought, desperate for any form of simulation anywhere on your body. For all you know, he could be playing some form of sick joke and leave you there but that dip beside you proved otherwise. You wanted to talk, to speak to him but what's the point when all you can hear is the music? You were completely at his mercy. 

Leon’s cock throbbed in his boxers, the tip weeping at the sight of you so mercilessly laying there. He smirked at your thighs moving, not quite hitting the spot you needed - proved by the small whines that left your lips. He was sure you didn’t actually know how pathetic you sounded right now. To the side of Leon laid all the toys he wanted to use. Numerous types of dildos, bullet vibrators and other sex toys. He had always thought of doing this to someone, having them completely trusting him in their pleasure. 

You jolted when his hand made contact with your thigh. The calloused fingers running up the muscle towards where your breasts lay perked. Your breath faltered as his fingers began to tweak at your nipples tugging the sensitive buds. He smiled at the breathy moans that escaped your lips bringing his lips to circle one of the buds. Your hips rose off the bed, chasing a sensation that wasn’t down there, or trying to draw his attention to where you needed it most. To ease the consistent throbbing of your clit. You whimpered as he pulled away, his hands leaving your breasts, the chill cooling the circle of saliva he had made around your nipples. He smirked when he picked up the nipple clamps, testing them on the back of his hand in case he decided they would cause you too much harm. He looked over the list you made him of things you entrusted him with, making sure all the items he had collected for tonight you consented to. 

You whimpered a little bit as the clamp pinched at your nipples, he began to distract you from the pain offering small movements against your clit. The sensation of the two of them together confuses your body, flicking in this constant state of pain and pleasure as the cool metal bit into the sensitive buds. His fingers working slowly. Leon then reached for the bullet vibrator, the toy giving off a low hum against the mattress. He chuckled as you squirmed almost like you were excited about it, getting ready to chase the build-up of pleasure. He ran the cold tip from your collarbone down towards your pubic bone, holding it just above where you could feel the light buzz of the toy. “Please” You breathed out, you couldn't hear the tone, the pathetic whine that followed the words. Leon could. He struggled to hold back his cock twitching, the low growl that left his lips as he held himself back. 

Your hips jolted, your whole body tensed as he held the vibrator on your clit, circling it around the ball of nerves building up the pleasure in your lower stomach. Your moans were perfect as they left your lips. Your cheeks dusted with blush turning them such a pretty colour. His heart pounded as he watched you, watched you tug against the restraints that prevented you from holding him, grasping at his skin with your nails as you normally would. You could feel Leon move around the bed, his weight distributed between your legs. His knees hit underneath your thighs, hoisting them over his own. He increased the vibrations of the toy, tugging on the clamps that were still attached to your nipples. You whined again as the pleasure built up, the coil in your stomach tightening. 

It took so much restraint for Leon to be patient, his brow furrowing as he watched your body squirm desperate to coach the orgasm out of your body. He was tempted to take the earphones out and let your cheeks flush further at the sounds that grew louder as they left your lips. The waistband of his boxer didn’t sit flush against his skin anymore, the seam rubbing against his tip each you made it twitch. Eventually, he watched your body tighten, your thigh clamps together attempting to trap the bullet vibrator. Your walls clutched against nothing as your orgasm shattered through you. Your hands tugged against the restraints as you tried to claw against the vibrator getting it away from your pulsating clit as he continued to hold it there with a sickening grin. 

His other hand worked on his underwear, pulling them down underneath his balls exposing his length to the cold air. Leon continued to distract you as he moved his tip to your entrance, gently prodding it and gathering the slick that had begun to pool from your cunt. He swore, his voice gravelly from the silence. You practically growled as he entered, the length filling you up with what you needed. He moved slowly, removing the abuse on your clit the vibrator thudding on the bed beside you. Your nipples began to ache now the white pleasure had faded. It didn’t help occasionally he would tug on the string connecting them watching as your breast bounced as he let go. He groaned as his thrusts increased in pace. His ball tightened as he watched you cum around on his cock again, the juices spilling out. He wished you were always this vocal, the noises and pleas leaving your lips so effortlessly without embarrassment. He focused on burying himself deeper, his thighs lifting your hips creating the most perfect arch. He growled as you whined again, arms thrashing as you begged. He lost all control, finally giving you what you needed again and again. His load burst from him coating your walls, filling you with warmth. You smiled, feeling his cock twitch inside, softening as he breathed heavily above you. 

Leon freed your arms first, placing small kisses on your wrists where they had rubbed slightly. He smiled at your smile, trusting him completely as he tended to you whilst you lay there. Your blindfold was next, your eyes sore as they adjusted to the dim light of the bedroom but his smile was wonderful as you saw it. His eyes showed so much adoration and concern whilst he focused on you. The nipple clamps were taken off, he placed kisses where they bit into your skin soothing the red marks that appeared as a reminded.  His cock was soft inside you, slightly slipping out from all the movement allowing the cocktail of your cum to spill against the sheets. His fingers pulled the earphones away, the loud music filling the silence as he brought you into a kiss. “Was that everything you wanted?” He whispered against the shell of your ear. 

“It was perfect”

Taglist: @kasueli @luvrgreyy @michellekmsh @miss0giarra @cinnabunnysavvy @redollface @my-loved-figure-skates @luvlouiee @drawboo22 @moth-quasar @nyxxoxo

[court-jobi]

Hi there, I had silly idea of Bakugou × reader in established relationship where she one day compares him to arcanine from pokemon, I mean look at it, it looks like Bakugou 1:1 lol

Omg anon, I confess... I had to go back in the databanks to remember this Pokemon from my younger years- but boy am I glad I did! This was a joy to write, and made me giggle seeing this ask!

Be prepared for fluff and hilarity ahead, y'all. It's 11PM and I wrote this instead of washing dishes...

Uncanny Resemblance

Words: 1.5k

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Placing the ice cube tray back in the freezer, you grimace over the lack of coolant coming from the top exhaust fan in your fridge. 

“Ugh, this is gonna be a pain when that heatwave comes,” you sigh with preemptive regret, “Really don’t wanna lose all this chicken in here…”

“Who cares about dumb chicken,” Kaminari pipes up from behind you, “What about the ice pops??”

You scoff good naturedly- Bakugou’s brand of sarcasm occasionally comes out of your mouth instead of his, despite your goal to be the more palatable half of your partnership.

“Those are for when my blood sugar crashes, darling– it’s not your personal stash when you come over.” 

Trying not to let too much air out of the tepid freezer, you shut it in favor of adjusting the main fridge’s controls to not suck up too much power. When Bakugou comes back with the new filter and coolant, you’re sure things will chill back up to temp in no time. 

Doing so leaves you plenty of time to putz around the kitchen while Kirishima keeps his particularly talkative company from eating you out of house and home. He’s already two sodas in, and despite your endless hospitality, even poor Eij wants to try and bash some manners into his friend from taking advantage. 

“C'mon man, just pick your racer already,” Kiri chides Kaminari to place his attention more on his controller than his appetite.

It’s then that your phone vibrates on the coffee table, drawing Kirishima’s eye.  There lies a small, yellowish icon beside the chat name ‘Backpack’, which he snidely recognizes as your nickname for Bakugou. 

“Hey, uh, doll? Your man’s textin’ ya!”

Head back in your fridge drawer, you call out, “Oh, check it for me? He might be asking about the brand we need!”

Drawing the notification down, Kirishima nearly chokes on his own spit at what he finds.

Yes, Bakugou’s asking which of the two labels he’s holding is what you’re in the market for… but in the margins of your texting exchange is a hilarious sight:

Bakugou’s contact photo is none other than a Pokemon. 

It’s here that Kirishima remembers his training; much like in a game of cards, it’s best not to reveal all your tells too quickly when you come across a secret. Don’t get cocky, and move with stealth. 

In a move sneakier than he’d claim to be, he screenshots the full contact detail, and texts it to himself. 

“What’d he say, Kiri?”

Hearing your voice clearer, Kirishima turns back casually and repeats Bakugou’s question, 

“He’s asking if it’s the green or blue label one!” 

“Uhhh, I think it’s green. Let’s go with that.”

“.... He’s askin’ how sure you are.”

Testily, you balk at Kirishima’s relay, “Does he not trust me?! YES, tell him it’s green.”

“... He’s askin’ what percentage sure y~”

“OH MY GOD!!”

Snickering to himself, he finally hands you your phone to ultimately set him straight, blowing up Bakugou’s contact photo on his own cell for further inspection. A second too long looking at this furry, blonde fire type you’ve chosen to represent your sweetheart has Kiri screwing his eyes shut and huffing a little laugh through his nose. 

Kaminari knows a damn good joke when he sees one, and bugs Kirishima to let him in.

“What’s got you crackin’ up?”

Kirishima tilts the phone his friend’s way- who bends over in completely silent laughter just as Kiri had, only more chaotic. It makes Kirishima react all the more, wheezing mutely into his palm to keep himself from letting you know he’d been looking in places he likely shouldn’t.

Kaminari mouths a bad idea. ‘SHOW HIM!!’

‘NO’

‘YES’

‘She’s gonna know!!’

‘Bro. BRO CODE-’ Kaminari mimics thumbs flying across a keyboard, ‘you GOTTA tell him~ He’ll be pissed!’

‘Yeah! THAT’S BAD!’

‘BUT IT’S FUNNY!’

On one hand, the photo contact is too rich of a laugh not to share with Bakugou; but on the other hand, it will all but confirm he went snooping on your phone more than intended. He’d truly hate to violate your trust… but you had asked him to look at it. You gave express permission.

Kiri’s fateful, recurring mistake; he listens to Kaminari regardless of the consequences.

“Ok, y’all are too quiet,” you finally round the kitchen island, “Picking a circuit can’t be that hard– whaaat are you two doing.”

Wearing matching doe-eyed looks, shoulder to shoulder, you take stock of how these two fully-fledged Pro Heroes look like grown-up children on your couch. 

“Oh, Kiri’s just enlightening me to the grand secrets of the universe!” Kaminari chimes back.

Not buying a minute of it but also preserving blissful ignorance, you simply retrieve your phone and squish yourself in between the two boys on the couch for an ounce for control. 

Instead of prying, you merely check into your self-care app and select your daily rewards, a song of ‘don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask’ under your breath as you make yourself comfortable.

Under Kaminari’s goofy thumbs up, Kirishima sucks on the edge of his lip and sends a quick little message to Bakugou before settling in for a game. 

–Not five minutes later, you hear the keys all but clash against the door before it opens and shuts with a bang.

“OKAY, WHICH ONE OF YOU BASTARDS DID IT?!”

You three whirl around in a turn befitting a sitcom. Sandwiched between both boys’ shit eating grins, you look alarmed at Bakugou: wondering what you did to be lumped into his ire.

“-not you-” Bakugou pegs you with a placating look to settle your panic, “I mean the MORONS who TOOK YOUR PHONE and made me a FUCKIN’ ARCANINE??”

With the expected vitriol blasting from Bakugou’s equally spiky hair as the Pokemon held up in his phone, Kirishima and Kaminari doubled over laughing. 

Meanwhile, you held a frozen look somewhere between hysterical and nervous.

“H- eh- I’m sorry, what?” you feigned confusion– just for a little bit longer.

Bakugou tabled the plastic bag containing your freezer parts, then sulked over to you, shoving Kaminari’s skull aside roughly so he could lean over the back of the couch in his place and show you himself.

“They set me as a freaking POKEMON as my icon– why don’t you keep this thing locked, huh??”

Swallowing your own chuckle, you peeked back up at him with guilty brows.

“Did they do it?”

“WELL YEAH!” Bakugou charged back brusquely, staring down a howling Kirishima, “WHO ELSE woulda pulled a shitty character like that to be what comes up when I call you?!”

All too sweetly, you tried again,

“And you’re sure they’re the ones who did it?...”

For an exhausted moment, Bakugou isn’t following you– until he does. Your little smirk all but screams it. 

You bat your lashes for good measure while he puts it together: “I mean, the resemblance is uncann-”

“HOW LONG HAVE I BEEN A FREAKING CARTOON IN YOUR PHONE, WOMAN??!”

Playfully defensive, you giggle through your defense, 

“It’s cute! You look like one!”

“I DO NOT!”

“Well it’s not like I have an album of pictures with you actually smiling to put there!”

“FINE THEN-”

Bakugou swipes your phone straight out of your hand, reverts the camera to selfie mode, nearly puts you in a headlock, and waits for you to quit squirming already before giving you a deceptively gentle kiss on the cheek-

At the very moment you look back at the camera with adorable realization, he snaps the photo, then releases you entirely. His grumpy scowl is back in full force, as if he hadn’t just posed for the sweetest photo of your entire relationship.

Tip-tapping for just a few more menus, he places your phone firmly back into your hands. 

“There. And don’t you dare change it. NONE of you.”

You squawk in delight, finding his face has not only been set as your lock screen, but also your home screen and of course- his profile photo. The redhead on your left and blonde on your right both coo their ‘awws’ on either side of you seeing their Bakubro showing an ounce of emotion immortalized for all eternity.

Before you can even rally to soothe your likely embarrassed boyfriend, you follow the sight of said grumbling man as he’s taken the bag’s contents to the freezer. He’s handling it all a bit roughly, but is setting to work himself so you don’t have to fight with it again for the third time today.

It’s a sweet gesture, and makes you only adore your prickly Arcanine who had clearly chosen a protective stance once he came home– never once considering you’d have been the one who did the ill deed against him. The similarities are painfully obvious to everyone in the room… and perhaps that realization was hitting him a bit close to home, even in jest.

You’ll owe Bakugou a playful apology, which you’re sure an indulgent scratch along his back and through his hair will fix.

Never before have you been happier for Kirishima to have chosen you as the little sister to mess with~

[zomboivex]

Small morning ramble about Rui.

These are all basically opinions so feel free to disagree but tbh I don’t really wanna hear it

This dude is never breaking his curse.

Nothing in the game hints to that even being an option for him. He, himself, doesn’t really talk about breaking his curse. He seems to have accepted that this will always be his life (and if my thoughts are correct, boy will it be a long life).

The reason Rui is such a fascinating character to me is because he’s coping with the fact that he will always be this way. He’s always going to have this curse and he’s trying to accept and live with that.

In the recent chapter where we actually see his curse go into effect - his reaction isn’t like Lyca’s (who was devastated at the seemingly betrayal of acceptance) but he was very much defeated and numb. He’s seen this reaction before. He’s been treated as a monster before. He wasn’t shocked by the reaction he got for draining a life. He was numb to it. He stood there, seemingly unable to let go as he was called a monster.

But see what I love about Rui is that

He has so carefully crafted himself to be reliable to others. Listening? No problem, he’ll let you talk about all your problems and don’t worry for one second about any of his (serious) issues. Of course, he’ll complain about his captain or Moby. But- that’s normal stuff to complain about. He tries soooo hard to make himself seem like a normal guy by flirting, joking, complaining about normal things. Then he listens to others, will do endless tasks (like gardening, cleaning up the house, running a bar, trying to run a bed and breakfast type situation, taking care of the duties Ed doesn’t or straight up refuses to do), and generally he keeps his own emotions locked deep down.

Hell his fucking stigma is a benefit to others! Even if ‘temporary’. He can still take away your pain and exhaustion??? That’s- pretty fucking helpful. And it sums him up so well as a character.

He does everything for the comfort of others. Even if temporary. Because he knows anything he does will immediately be disregarded the moment someone sees his curse in action.

Despite this, Rui pretends to always be cheerful and positive. Even if deep down he’s hurting so bad. And there’s nothing anyone can really do about it. He wears the mask of someone who’s cheerful and reliable and steady. Because what else is he supposed to do in his situation?

God I seriously love him so much as a character. I’d write a more cohesive thing for him but I want a few more Rui crumbs before I fully commit to writing a character study on this tragic fuck.

Tbh I wish I still had access to my old tumblr but I forgot the email and password I used to set it up lol so I can’t pull my character study of Narancia from over there onto here but shhhh

Anyways!!!

I struggle with writing Rui as intimate with others not on account of his curse (because there are no-touch ways around that and I wish more people would focus on that aspect ahem me- I’m more people ) but because this guy would never allow himself the chance to be intimate with others on account for what he is. It’s not from fear of touching them (though that poses a problem for fucking sure) but because he doesn’t feel he deserves this.

Okay I’m gonna stop rambling because I have so much to say but also I’m feeling very unwell today LMFAO

[lichenes]

vincent renzi nsfw alphabet? :3

Thank you for the ask anon ;D

I figured this would be the best way to start writing nsfw soooo :3c

Giggling. kicking my feet literally. If you want me to elaborate on any particular letter feel free to lmk :]

I tried to make it as gn as possible :p

Vincent Renzi x gn!reader

CW: Less descript-y than my usual works, different format basically, kinda drifted from the nsfw-ness of it in a few of the subpoints lol, NSFW

wc: (excluding the template) 1,2k

_____✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿____

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

I feel like he would kiss you through your orgasm and after you've both come off your high he would get up lazily still basking in the afterglow... He would look so good doing it too, his tired eyes observing your still heaving chest. He would ask you if you need anything and provide it for you. A caring partner thats for sure.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also yours)

In this context- he likes his own fingers. You clearly like his hands and he confronted you about it jokingly a few times to tease you. The first time he uses them on you, oh mon dieu... His favourite part of you are your eyes. To look into them while you cum is like heaven to him. While he eats you out he likes to keep eye contact if possible...

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

I wouldn't say he's obsessed with you swallowing his cum. He is a tad bit opposed, being familiar with the risks it carries with it. He wouldn't be completely against it so if you feel like it, go for it.

D = Dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

He's a massive yearner. He'd never tell you that but he made a social media account solely to stalk you on it and not for work like he assured you. He would gaze lovingly at your pictures if you post any or just stare at the blank profile picture icon imagining what you were doing at the time.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Mostly, he was pretty vanilla for most his life so if you want to try anything kinkier you should research it together to give him the security of knowing. When it comes to the basic things, fingering, eating out, different positions, he passes with flying colours.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Whatever you're comfortable with and whichever ones he can see your face in. He's obsessed with your face contorting into expressions of pleasure or pain if youre into it.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He stays pretty serious for most of the time, teasing you if he feels bold that day. When he feels like you're in a bad mood he tries his best to cheer you up in... many ways. He doesn't crack jokes at random times while you have sex though.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He's a clean man that's all I can say. His carpet does indeed match the drapes. And most importantly he cares for your comfort which makes him trim himself quite often. When it comes to his facial hair he sometimes forgets to shave and his moustache comes in. He noticed that that's when you make love most passionately so he sometimes 'accidentally' forgets to shave, when he's feeling particularly needy.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Oh big romantic type, the first time you had sex he did the whole, rose petals on the floor, candles lit and all. Every time you have sex it's a special occasion and he feels obligated to make it seem so every time. During the moment he's very tender with you, kissing you and whispering sweet nothings into your ears...

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Remember that social media account I was talking about earlier? The first time the thought crossed his mind to masturbate to your pictures he got so flustered he had to go to the bathroom and splash cold water on his face to get rid of the thought. After he has aquired your photos though he does it with only a twinge of embarrassment.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He's big into undressing you if you, the act of stripping your clothes from your perfect body, lord, he couldn't imagine anything as arousing. He is a vanilla man up untill it comes to you riding him. When he's in that state you could convince him to do anything.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Your bed, your patio on the outdoor sofa. You tried to convince him to go at it in his office at the law firm he works at but he got too flustered just at the thought and thought that he'd die of a heart attack if you were to actualise your fantasy.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

As previously mentioned, undressing you. It's not like he's a complete maniac, taking your shirt off in front of him won't make him faint but he still will get a little flustered. Begging. That's it. He also loves seeing you relaxed. Whenever you're lounging on the sofa he gets the urge to make you just a bit more tense...

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I feel like he wouldn't degrade you unless you begged for it. He is also against impact play, but he's a covenantal man. Talk to him about it and you shall see.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Giving or recieving is fine. He's a master at eating pussy and if you aren't comfortable with oral he won't force you to do it. He will happily welcome it thought, giving you tips as you go.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Highly depends on his mood. If he's feeling particularly foul he won't have any qualms to pound you into the matress. If he's upset he'll go slow and sensual to relay to you how much you mean to him.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He prefers longer sessions to quickies. Fervency isn't what fuels him most so he prefers to go slow.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He likes experimenting, with certain limits of course. He prefers not to take risks, a calm and calculated man he is. When he warms up to you though, you could convince him to do it outside your bedroom (ex. the sofa on the patio).

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

When angry or self concious he can go for many rounds, his stamina knows no bounds when he's mad. Normally, he prefers 1-2 rounds a happy medium.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on you or themselves?)

He doesn't own any toys as he's too embarrassed to buy them, online or at brick-and-mortar. If you use any, he likes using them on you during your raptures to rile you up even more.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Oh this man adores teasing. Especially when he can see that you're too self-assured that day, he likes breaking down your barriers of faux confidence and making you melt in his grasp.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Aside from occasional grunts and moans he isn't very vocal. He loves listening to your sounds though. This man is generally lovestruck by you. With little sounds comes how quiet he is. Maybe that little office endeavour could happen then?

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

I think he would go feral if you were to wear lingere for your first time with him. He is definitely a flatterer but he would be talking and thinking about you on the bed just in those perfectly enveloping you bra and panties... MON DIEU.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He is on the lean side with his medium height statue perfectly complimenting his overall shape... What? Oh yeah his dick. That's what this subpoint is about. He's hung, not uncomfortably so that you couldn't take him all at once but enough to not be able to put it in without some prep first.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Once again he will do it as often as you like, it all depends on you. Although once he's desperate he won't hold back on you and go at it for hours...

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

After clean up, he falls asleep in your arms pretty quickly spent from all the lovemaking. Sometimes he stays still just to face your sleeping form and watch your peacefull demeanor, safe from all the evils of the world when in his embrace.

_____✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿____

masterlist

[meanbossart]

do you have any thoughts on cazador as a character? personally i really loved the parallels between him and astarion & the way that the master/spawn relationship is used as an allegory for cyclical abuse. the scene with cazador’s master’s skull where you find out that he was once victimized in the exact same way that he later victimized astarion was really a lightbulb moment for me re: what vampirism represents in this game.

BOY DO I, i don't think much of it hasn't already been said, though. He's a tragic character in his own right of course, not that that takes away from the awful man he is.

Me and my boyfriend make fun of him a lot, we call him "the best BG3 character" as a little inside joke between us and come up with ridiculous scenarios of things that might have occurred throughout those 200 miserable years the spawn had under his command lol. Maybe he had a month where he was really specific about the shoes everyone wore, maybe once every other decade he had a weird week where he tried to be "nice" only to become frustrated when his efforts weren't immediately met in kind by the rightfully-terrified spawn, maybe between all the torture and horrific-ness he just did some plain weird shit like making someone crouch by in his fainting couch and wait by open-handed for grapes that he dramatically chewed on and then spat right out since he can't actually eat them lmao

And that's hysterical but I think we also started doing that because when you meet Cazador, when you first hear his voice and see his demeanor in person your immediate reaction is probably somewhere along the lines of "THIS is the clown you were so scared of, Astarion?"

And the answer is, of course, yes. This embarrassing little man stuck in a cage of his making instills fear beyond comprehension in Astarion and all his siblings. This man who undoubtedly showed all these spawn, inadvertently, the strangest, most arguably "human" aspects of himself at some point or another during these two centuries they had together is also an absolute monster. And i really like that! I think its far more effective and fitting for his story than if he was, lets say, a Ketheric type.

(this got very long so, more under the cut)

Look at Ascended Astarion in the epilogue now, for example. Everyone agrees that he's an absolute fucking dork - and I think we all also agree that he will go on to destroy the lives of many people beyond repair, especially his own, until the day he is killed.

In the topic of vampirism as an allegory for abuse, I both agree and also don't, at least not exactly - i just think it's deeper than that. I've spoken about this in another post but i find it incredibly refreshing how, to me, it seems like Baldur's Gate 3 has no interest in painting vampirism as sexy or fun past a surface level. It's a curse that nobody asks for unless put in a situation where they feel as if they have no other way out, and it shapes and haunts you for the rest of your undead existence.

Even if you enjoy its benefits at first, that has a time limit. You will see your family and loved ones die, you will see culture evolve while you stay perpetually the same. You will experience so much hurt and pain because the only thing that makes life truly sweet is knowing that it is finite, and eventually it will wear down all of your humanity. And since you can't die unless you are scorched by the sun, staked, or dismembered, you must live with the knowledge that you will never have a peaceful death - and since you won't have a peaceful death, you better not die - and if you don't want to die, you better not be weak - and if you don't want to be weak, you must seek out power at all cost and slash things like love and friendship out of your life.

And what is funny, is that in his attempt to be more like a mortal - to eat, drink, walk the sun, such incredibly simple desires - Cazador (and Astarion, if he ascends) is accidentally only drawing further away from the person he supposedly once was, because that fear of weakness has already utterly corrupted his soul.

That's quite a grim way to look at it, of course. But I genuinely think that it is the natural conclusion of something like immortality.

That's why I quite like that, even after Astarion has found happiness, even after he finds his peace, he still doesn't exactly embrace being a vampire - because It's not something he should be expected to embrace. I think it's a very unique take on the trope.

I also want to leave here this message written by his character writer, which really got me thinking about him on a deeper level since i saw it months ago. It is specifically about the sexual aspect, but I think it branches beyond it too, when you think about it.

[razialart]

Long story short, I always had this idea of this AU but i wanted to draw all 3 first, but THEY WERE PAIN! ESPECIALLY MEGATRON!! (fucking show off).

I don't think the AU is that original but since it have my own headcannons and ill love to make you guys cringe i can proudly say its original lol.

Jokes aside, this well be just a side hobby project where ill just shit more headcannon and weird stuff going on in this AU.

i would love to write about them or make short comics about them but again they just my side project.

lets meet the main characters!

MEGATRON:

now..this BITCH of a leader won the war and took Optimus as his mate to show the autobots who is the real leader here.

i call him bitch because im glad to be done drawing him already-

jokes aside he rules cybertron with a fist of iron. the only people who gives a demn about is his mate and kid.

Optimus/Nemesis:

*try to not Simp challenge failed*

look, listen - he is beautiful way before I attempted to draw him. But aaaa i simp for what I did aaaaa. He has the right to break my heart and get away with it.

Which reminds me Megatron always drown Optimus with gifts and jewelries, hints the accessories on his body. I have more headcannons, but I'm too lazy to type them qwq.

The Prince:

megatron's first child. the first prince of crybertron and for some reason you guys kept calling him the baby XD (kaiba do read your text lol).

altho he look and act like Optimus more than Megatron his colors is closer to Megatron in a way.

thats all i have and im glad its DONE! IM FREEEEE.

now i can rest

[blushstories]

I’m back i know i know i bet you missed me djdkemem. I’ve just been thinking about Butcher and how he doesn’t seem like a cuddly type to me lol. So I was wondering if you’d please write something with how you think Billy shows affection physically?

HOLY MOLY YES. a compilation of physical affection from butcher coming right up. domestic to hurt comfort pipeline uknow -- sorry this took forever!!

The teaspoon clinks against the ceramic mug on the countertop, wayward drops of tea pooling around where metal meets granite as you put it down. Footsteps peel around the doorway and Butcher’s hand is pulled to one of two mugs as a moth to a flame.

Your own mug warms your chilled fingers, and you catch Butcher’s eye as he takes a sip from the unsweetened beverage, fingertips clamped around the rim. He winks, and with the knuckle of his index finger nudges underneath your chin. It’s quick, it slips past, but it says “thank you,” — or, more likely, “thanks, love.”

—

Your shoulders are hiked up to your ears, face inching closer to the screen of your laptop with every moment. You can't make sense of the encrypted files sweeping across the screen and time is running out. Butcher is watching his own screen across the table, head resting on his hand, fingers splayed over his mouth.

You place a foot in between his, squeezing his leg in-between yours. He's too far away to comfortably hold his hand, but he allows your legs to slot perfectly with each other; the comfort of his presence however, is not enough to keep at bay your panic.

His eyes flit to you when you exhale a bit too sharply. Chair legs screech across the ground and his hands warm your shoulders. Thumbs rub against your cool skin, pressing deeper as Butcher works towards the base of your neck. Bubbles of stress pop deep within your muscles, and whatever brief pain is evoked swiftly dissipates.

"You'll get it. Don't you worry," he says quietly.

_

The office – or more accurately, the Boys' hideout – is bustling. MM and Annie are leaning over his laptop, Hughie is peeling newspapers apart with a highlighter in hand, and Butcher is making coffees. You're stood in front of the whiteboard, making a plan for your next Vought operation. You're replaying every version of the plan you write, erasing and rewriting until the creases of your fingertips are filled with marker residue. You startle at fingers grazing your lower back. The corner of Butcher's mouth lifts, and you watch him place a mug on your desk.

"Whiteboard eraser lives over there, y'know." He gestures to the stand, where it does indeed rest next to the other pens. You roll your eyes playfully. "I prefer it this way. Helps me think better," You say. His hand returns to your lower back, fingertips slipping just under the hem of your shirt. "If you say so."

-

The surface of your skin glasses with ice as you begin to believe that heat is a myth. Your blood is speckled with shards of the stuff, and Butcher sits on the other side of the sofa. He doesn’t cuddle, you know that — he zips around who knows where all day and knows the sorts of sticky teasing that would seep into the minds of the Boys.

He uses the left armrest of the sofa to keep his head propped up, staring blankly at Vought News as they report another “incident” induced by one of their heroes.

A shiver runs up your spine, teeth knocking against each other as cold sets into your bones. "What does warmth feel like?" You joke, curling into yourself. "You're cold?" His eyes scan your shivering body. "Aren't you?"

Butcher shrugs. You scoff in disbelief, a vapour of your breath floating through the air immediately in front of you. "Unbelievable."

You turn back to the TV, only for your peripherals to alert you to movement from Butcher; he's lifted his arm up and opened his coat to you. Your jaw drops, "are you sure?" "Well, 'urry up, before I change my mind," he doesn't say it meanly. But you close the space between you in a blink and gently settle into his side. The excess of his coat wraps around you, and so does his body heat. His hand squeezes your shoulder and you feel a feather-light kiss to your head.

[howwnowbrowncoww]

Been working on this for a few months now but I finally got it done! I've seen a few Yakuza/Like a Dragon x Animal Crossing crossovers and really wanted to do one too, and I'm super happy with how it turned out:) Seeing all of the Dondoko Island comparisons to AC right before I finished this was HILARIOUS though😂 Gonna put some loose notes under a read more if you want behind the scenes stuff. Let me know who your favorite design is if you want:)

Adding what animal everyone is (just in case it's hard to tell and because I want to talk about why I made some of them certain animals)

Ichiban: Lion (he has a very loud personality and very loud hair)

Adachi: Bear (I will restrain myself from making any bear jokes but he does look like he'd give great bear hugs)

Nanba: Koala (okay, weird reason, but my sister used to have this webkinz koala named Snoozer (he was the mayor of our imaginary town but that's not important) and he was obvs always sleepy, and Nanba is the KING of convenient naps in battle)

Saeko: Deer (i really just thought she'd love to paint her hooves)

Joon-gi: Wolf (typical lone-wolf-type with white hair who is dragged into the found family). He also gets the bar bg because he never got his own karaoke song and he deserves to have fun:)

Zhao: Tiger (i specifically remember him having a tiger in his restaurant that kicked my ass, and I also wanted to base him off of one of his martial arts moves. Since Snake and Mantis aren't AC types, and Crane was already being used, I thought Tiger was fitting. Also his shirt was a pain to make!! I couldn't replicate the actual pattern, so I went with ginkgo leaves for something that was still gold and sort of ornate)

Eri: Crane (inspired by her move (called 'Flying Crane' or something like that; i'm too lazy to boot up the game and check lol) Plus I think birds would really enjoy the crackers her company sells:)

[luckynumber-8]

♡ ~ HOBBIT TRAUMAS (AND HOW YOU TAKE CARE OF THEM) ~ ♡ (4 Hobbits X Reader Preference)

a/n: No one would escape an adventure like the Fellowship had unscathed, especially not if you were an innocent, good-hearted, fun-loving hobbit.

My take on the traumas the 4 hobbits would have after the adventure, and how you, reader, help them deal with that.

P.S. -This is my first-ever writing post in Tumblr... and also my first-ever posted fanfic-type-thing! It's just a bunch of headcanons right now - maybe I'll take one of the ideas and turn it into a drabble or something later. Feedback is the best thing ever, and I would love to get any that anybody has!

P.P.S. - Shoutout to @wordbunch, who's LOTR writings I absolutely adore, and whose post formatting I basically used as a cheat sheet, because I'm a totally clueless newbie. So thank you! I hope that wasn't out of line for me to borrow 😕

Frodo

Sometimes he can still feel the crushing weight of the ring pulling on his neck or weighing on his chest, and you catch him absentmindedly rubbing one of these spots

So you, you special person, find some excuse to give him a neck rub or a back rub

Because you absolutely cannot stand seeing him trying to hide his discomfort like this

You know openly calling him out on it will just remind him of all that happened to him, so you have become a Master of Subtlety and Distraction

Whenever you catch him staring into the distance, you know it is Time to Remove Frodo From His Own Head

So

Distractions ensue 

Namely:

Surprise hugs

Randomly launching into stories or rants that you know he won't be able to help listening to 

(Because the sound of your voice is not-so-secretly one of his favorite things and he will listen forever)

Offering to read to him (we all know this is Book Boy, so what better than having his favorite tales read aloud by you?? His favorite narrator??)

You make him cups of tea as he writes his book

When he sees you smiling in the doorway with a mug in one hand and the scent of his favorite leafy brew drifting out of it, it just makes his day because…well, you.

You just think of him too much and he can't handle it lol

Sam

Never

Ever 

Ever

Try to put this poor boy around spiders

Ever

(yes I love this HC, idk who came up with it and I can’t remember where I saw it but it’s basically canon in my bran now)

He cannot stand them, not even in the garden anymore. You can see how he stiffens and twitches every time one of those ugly eight-leggers scuttles across his path and instantly know how much restraint he's using not to kill it on the spot.

Spider in the house? It's all you, Y/N

You know he would try to face it down for you and you alone

But you can't stand seeing him go all cold and shaky at a little garden spider 

So you often remove them before he can even notice because peace in the house is a nice thing to have

He also has alarming levels of self-doubt sometimes because of how he thinks he's misjudged things in the past

But luckily for him, he has you

You are there to support him and are always advocating that he is strong and makes solidly good choices

And you know what? You are his world, so he believes your every word. 

He drinks those affirmations up like there is no tomorrow

And you are happy to continue on as his supplier till the end of days

Merry

Personal HC that when his arm is burned after stabbing the Witch-King, he gets phantom pains not dissimilar to Frodo's

It's almost like nerve damage - he'll be fine one minute and drop whatever he was holding the next, or his hand will start twitching in weird and sometimes disturbing (to him) ways

This is Mr. "Nothing-Bothers-Me-And-I'm-Fine", so naturally, it bothers him quite a bit that one of his appendages refuses to follow orders on a regular basis

It's something that he tries to hide from you - pretends it's not there, BARELY jokes about it.

If Merry Brandybuck ain't joking about it, you aren't either.

Sometimes you hear villagers mentioning it in hushed whispers, and you (badass) shut them up before a single one makes it back to Merry

Because you know that's what he'd do for you, so you absolutely do it for him.

And you know he secretly appreciates that you don't fuss over it, because he doesn't want to feel different or incapable. It helps, for him, that you treat him like just the same person he was before (because he is duh) and nothing has changed and he doesn't want or need to be coddled.

Not saying you do, but you might sometimes give this particular arm a little extra love and affection. Massaging his hand, tracing circles on his wrist, and just letting him know how dead cool you think his scar is.

Because, really…how many people have changed the fate of Middle Earth and have something to prove it?

Your Merry does, that's who. And you'll never let him forget how amazing and brave he is.

Pippin

Pippin is constantly awake in the dead of night

Because he's haunted by wild nightmares 

And you're the first and probably one of the only people he would turn to for comfort

So guess what? You're up too, holding him close to you in the dead of night while he tries to calm down

Sometimes he tells you what the night mare was, sometimes he keeps silent and just wants to lay next to you. You know he'll tell you in his own time if it's right to.

This little hobbit is such an empath, he really took to heart EVERYTHING that happened on his journey

And he thinks that way too many things were exclusively his fault 

Gandalf's death? His fault.

Merry getting hurt (because he got them separated and wasn't there)? His fault.

Boromir's death (because he didn't know how to fight)? His fault.

Again, you know better than to push, but you know the content of a lot of his nightmares revolves around his contributions being insignificant, his actions causing people's injury (or death), and how badly things could have played out because of him. It worries you, how much brainspace he gives to these things.

So you keep him close to you. I mean that both literally and figuratively. He's not shy about taking the physical comfort he needs (honestly I don't think he's aware of the concept of personal space), but he gets tripped up trying to talk about his own feelings

So you just give him his space, all the time he needs, and bottomless snuggles 

Because contrary to what he thinks, a lot of things went right because of him, and you can't tell him enough how much he means to everyone (and you. most importantly, definitely you.)

Thank you for reading, if you made it down this far! I hope to post some actual writing soon, if I can find the time to sit down and put my Writer's Cap on. I am considering opening requests! At this point I don't know who will see this r how it's going to do, so we'll see how things work out :)

[soaps-mohawk]

that soapprice reblog omg... it literally inspired me to send an ask bc i was thinking about it and then saw it as a sign

this is random but what do you think are big things that the boys are into? even though it's super common i'm a total sucker for price being called daddy, and i remember the joke he made about it earlier in the series and i was 🤭🤭 the whole time, or also as mentioned in the fic i'm a big fan of soap and his hair being pulled

urgh soapprice soapprice soapprice!!! they're such an underrated pairing, and they're literally my favourite characters ☹️ (and graves but we don't talk about that)

anyways pook, how are you?? i hope all is well!!

- 🪐

Soapprice is such an underrated pairing. I feel like it was more popular in the fandom whith the OGs, but it definitely has been neglected with the reboots. They're all just so special to me though 🥺

Hmm are we talking like kinks here? That's what I'm going with.

I think Price does enjoy being called daddy, though I don't see him as being the type to ask you to say it. He's into it, but he wants you to say it first on your own. He's definitely more dominant, but I could see him giving over control every so often. Like if a mission goes wrong or something happens he doesn't want to be in control anymore for a while. I could also see him being into bondage/shibari. He likes the trust you have to have in each other and he also just likes seeing you tied up. Definitely a brat tamer. He'll bend you over his knee and spank you if you misbehave. Edges you if you're especially naughty.

Johnny likes having his hair pulled, that's a given. Please degrade him. Step on him, call him a naughty boy. He also has a huge praise kink. Giving, receiving, he loves it. He's definitely the most likely to experiment. You want to try something? He's down. He's not about to be out-kinked because that man is super competitive. He's definitely into role play. Dressing up, acting out scenes. All of it. He's definitely made you play hostage so he can "rescue" you and then get thanked for saving you 😉 I could also see him being an exhibitionist. If his partner is okay with it, he'll definitely let people watch him blow their back out. His neighbors hate him lol.

Kyle, my sweet baby boy Kyle. We all know he's a munch. Sit on his face and let him eat your pussy until you can't hold yourself up. He'll just lay you on your back and continue. Will wake you up with his head between your legs if you give him permission. Gets off by giving you pleasure. He also likely has a praise kink. Tell him how pretty he is and he'll be putty in your hands. He'll blindfold you and edge you. He loves the way your legs shake and you beg for release. He'd probably be into overstimulation, for both of you as well. Please, for the love of all things holy peg him. Will also bend you over his knee and spank you if you ask him. I feel like he'd be willing to try more extreme things if you want to, but I don't think he'd be quite as enthusiastic about it as Johnny. Aftercare king. That's self explanatory.

Simon, contrary to popular belief, I don't see being much into kinks. I think it takes so long for him to get to the point just to be naked with you, the last thing he'd want is to take any risks. He causes enough pain in his day to day life that he just wants to fall into your arms and be held. Is cuddling a kink? If so then that's his kink lol. He might get rough with you in bed if you ask him, once that trust has been established, but you're definitely going to have to reassure him for hours after that you're alright. I think if you're together with him long enough, and that trust has been well established, you might be able to convince him to try some softer things, but he's definitely checking in and making sure you're alright and you're comfortable constantly. Consent is his kink is the energy he gives off.

[schizoidcel]

OK OK SO.

requesting a jax x fem reader fluff and if you’re comfortable slight suggestive stuff alphabet!!

# JAX x READER ☆

Just wanted to say how Ik I got other reqs but I wanted to do this one first since alphabet shit is easy and fun to do. ANYWHOO Ik bestie said fem but again I only do gn stuff so it can be seen as both 🙈

Plus I decided to use a diff alphabet cus it's more fun that way

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

♡ FLUFF ALPHABET !!

Activities (What are their favorite things to do with you? How do you spend your free time?)

He loves messing around with you.

Whether it be messing around with people, the tent, the adventures IT DOSEN'T EVEN MATTER he just wants to wreak havoc with you

Boo! (How do they feel about surprises, giving and receiving?)

Jax is deffo all in for those ...

He loves scaring you with putting random shit you fear in your room or making you extremely happy by giving you some random thing you like out of nowhere

Cuddling (How do they like to cuddle?)

This guys limbs are LONG .

So whenever yall cuddle prepare to be wrapped up like you just got put in a straitjacket.

Date (What does their ideal date with you look like?)

Jax is up to do literally ANYTHING with you, as long as it's not completely boring.

"Boring" does NOT include lazing around together in bed or anywhere at times, he loves doing that

Emotions (How do they express emotion around you?)

He's definitely more vulnerable around you in private, obviously cs he trusts you.

And it's the same for you!

He still barely vents, if at all, he dosen't want to ruin your image of him

Future (What are their plans for the future? Do they see themselves getting married, having kids?)

He never really thought about it, he's more of a enjoy the present type of guy I feel like, though breaking up with you is something that would never really cross his mind.

Then again, I don't think having kids with you is something he ever thought about either

Holding Hands (When/How do they like to hold hands?)

He dosen't hold your hands that much

Rather, he either uses your head or shoulders as an armrest (cuck) or just likes to throw his arm/hand around your shoulder or body

Injury (How would they act if you got hurt?)

I imagine he'd get worried but not that much, he knows you don't crack easily, and he wouldn't lose his head over you getting like a scratch on your arm.

However, if you like, LOST said arm he'd definitely be confused.

He would also joke about how you managed to get hurt that badly, but once he realizes he's kinda stepping too far he stops, and instead "shows" you his more "worried side" instead

Will try to ease the pain (keyword: try LOL)

Jokes (Do they like to joke around with or prank you? how?)

God he bothers and plays with you so much its unbelieveable.

Mostly because again, he LIVES for your attention, but also because your reactions are the only ones that repeadetly make him laugh

If you ever tell him how he only mainly pranks you because he wants your attention he'll deny EVERYTHING

Kisses (How do they like to kiss you?)

Loves them.

Receiving or giving he dosen't care he LOVES how tingly they make him feel

But what he loves most is how weak you get in his hold once he starts kissing you repeadetly/intensly .

Love Languages (What are their love langauges?)

Jax has his own love language.

As I said, he likes to prank and joke on you or on the other members with you.

Though his other love languages would definitely include quality time and physical touch (We all know hes needy deep inside .)

Mornings (How are mornings spent with them?)

Sometimes, you two sleep together.

Whether that be because your room is too far away or because you're tired or literally just because

But once you both wake up, you either lie in silence for minutes to hours or talk about the most random shit ever.

Nightmare (What are their fears?)

His fear is simple: You or him abstracting before you both get out.

Yes, just that.

It terrifies him whenever he thinks of it 🌚

Oddity (What is one quirk they have?)

He's a rabbit.

What I'm implying is that you can see how Jax truly feels about a situation by looking VERY closely at his ears

He's been trying not to make them move whenever he feels literally anythin.

But if you look at them very intensly, you can definitely see how sometimes they perk up when he's alerted or lean back when he's relaxed

Pet Names (What do they like to call you?)

I just know he calls you anything that gets a reaction out of you .

Even if its corny or cringe or cheesy, he does not GIVE A SINGLE FUCK he just wants you to get flustered.

Though one pet name he likes to use alot is "darling"

Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He tries to remember what you like, dont like, what makes you happy, what makes you uncomfortable, etc. (Albeit he dosen't really do a great job at it... he tries LOL)

Mainly because he wouldn't want to step over a line while joking, but part of the reason is also because he wants to remember as much as he can about you incase you two get out

Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Appreciates the moments where you both just enjoy yourselves most.

Though, his favourite moment ever was the day he first pranked you.

Nothing will EVER beat the face you made

Security (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

He loves defending and protecting you, it makes him feel powerful (silly ass bitch).

Though, if you want to protect yourself, or want to protect him, he definitely won't complain (He'll find it hot in a way. deffo.)

Time (How long did it take you to get together?)

It took a LONG time.

Jax mostly was in denial about his feelings, and you were way too scared to confess 💀

There was this period of time where whenever you two were next to eachother you could feel a sense of awkwardness in the air, and the others found it way too funny to do anything about it.

Though, eventually, Jax got the courage to confess to you

He regret saying anything immediately after, in fear of what'll you'll say, even though he knows he would probably be like "Oh no it was just a dare" if you rejected him

But thank the GODS you liked him too

So now that he just pull his crush, his ego is thru the ROOF

He'll definitely act even cockier .

Unique (What’s an unusual thing about them that’s oddly charming?)

He sometimes rubs his chin on you subcounciously while sleeping ..

You don't know if this is actually charming or not.

Value (How important is the relationship to them?)

This relationship is really important to him, as he never let anyone be this close to him before

And if he did, obviously he dosen't remember anymore

So now that he's with you, he will definitely not plan on dropping you anytime soon, if at all

So you better not do the same either, he wouldn't know what to do whether you left him willingly or because you died/abstracted

Wild Card (Random headcanon)

He likes getting pet.

That's it.

That's the wild card.

(He'll also never tell you, you'll have to figure out yourself)

(Ok Ik Gooseworx said he'd prolly hate it but this is y we call it headcanon yall lets keep living in illusion)

X-Ray (How well are they able to read you?)

He can read you SO WELL like it dosen't even matter how your avatar looks he'll most of the time always have an idea of how you feel.

Yearn (How do they act when they miss you? Do they show it?)

He won't show it

He will NEVAR allow himself to show anyone how badly he misses you.

Though once the both of you are together again, you can obviously sense it by the way he holds you (he holds you tighter and closer, basically)

Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He sometimes sleeps with his eyes open and it's the biggest scare of your life when you wake up and see that bitch looking at you, eyes popped like looney tunes

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

ׂૢ་༘࿐ Thank you for reading! ♡

Can you tell I didn't know what to add for the ending LMFAAOAOOO though I genuinely believe he DOES sleep like that sometimes

Anyway this draft didn't save like . 7 times. I had to redo so much someone be glad I didn't bomb this country out of frustration cus GOD

[spicyllewyn]

Kinktober 5. - Pregnant / lactation.

Will Dempsey x F!Reader.

Tags & warnings. Pregnancy + lactation. (+18)

As you all know I hate Will for no real reason, this is my peace offering to a fictional character, lol.

Word count. 2K

Summary. You love babying him.

Kinktober masterlist.

Pregnancy was becoming unbearable at times; you felt heavy, your feet ached even after just a few steps around the house, and sleeping at night was turning into a daily battle. Fortunately, there was no doubt in your mind that you had chosen the right life partner.

The only thing keeping you sane right now was Will and how he went out of his way to make you happy and make this whole thing more bearable.

You always joked with him, saying that anyway, all of this was his fault, so the least he could do for you was to fulfill your cravings and massage your shoulders until you fell asleep.

Oh, and that pillow with a hole in the center that allowed you to lie face down.

"I miss my pillow," you murmured in a low tone as you remembered it. You closed the door behind you slowly.

Will's room was just as he had left it several years ago when he left home for college, where he met you. Nonetheless, you wandered around with curiosity, looking at his movie posters that perhaps only he had seen, and the occasional Lego figure that you doubted he would let his future child touch someday.

"I told you we could come up with some excuse."

"Every time you suggest we make up an excuse, it has to do with pretending that one of us died," you rolled your eyes. "Your parents are not believing it for more than two times in a row." When you had 4 walls around you for privacy, your hands went to the hem of your shirt, getting rid of it, clearly tired of wearing any type of clothing.

Will watched you from the bed, as if you were giving him a personal show. His eyes roaming over your bare skin, always lingering a few extra seconds on your breasts before looking up again and pretending that the lack of sex wasn't killing him.

You were both too introverted to simply ask at gynecologist appointments, “Hey, is it wise to have uncontrolled sex against some furniture at this point in pregnancy?” so you just assumed the answer was no.

“Did you do something to your hair?”

You frowned at his question.

"What?"

“I'm serious, I notice something different about you.”

One of his pillows landed right in his face, making him laugh. You already knew that joke too well.

“Yes, idiot, I'm pregnant.” The mattress squeaked as you lay down, only wearing your loose pants and the sports bra that had become your best friend a few days ago because it turns out that your normal bras decided they didn't want to close anymore eventually.

That was the only piece of fabric that kept your tits in place, tight and comfortable. It was also a headache for Will.

The changes that pregnancy had made in your body never ceased to amaze him even though he had analyzed each one for hours as the months passed. There was the obvious, that completely new sparkle in your eyes, your cheeks flushed 24/7 and your skin seemed to be glowing more than ever.

But on the other hand there were the things that made him fantasize about the nights he stayed on the couch fucking his own hand to try to control the impulses that attacked him more times than he would like lately. Your hips became wider, your thighs were softer but oh, his favorite part was definitely your breasts.

Round, full, hard, delicious.

You were complaining about pain recently and he didn't know if that was a sign that he should help you in some way or just not touch you and wait patiently for the pain to go away in a few weeks when the baby was born.

“Did you know…” He murmured, taking his eyes off his phone for a few seconds to look at you. You did the same.

Lying together to chat or just watch stupid videos on your phones had become routine when the pain in your back kept you from sleeping or when you took too many naps throughout the day and all your energy was reserved for the night.

Yes, Will stayed up with you each and every one of those times.

"Did I know what?"

“Did you know that there are freaks who like milk?”

You frowned.

“I like milk, what's so strange about it?”

He rolled his eyes with a small smile.

“Breast milk, I mean.”

“Oh…” Needless to say, you already knew that the father of your future baby was… peculiar. He had perfectly mastered the act of bringing up the strangest topics of conversation lately. You shrugged. “It doesn't seem that strange to me.”

"No?" If your gaze hadn't returned to your phone you would have noticed the mischievous glint on his eyes.

You had taken the bait.

“No, I mean.” There you went, to reason with the madman, always engrossed in his midnight talks. “You used to suck on my boobs all the time, do you mean you wouldn't do it anymore if there was milk involved? Not to mention that you are addicted to eating me out, it wouldn't be the first time you drink some liquid from my body.”

“Mhm.” He pretended to consider your response before nodding slowly, agreeing with you. The truth is that Will had considered the possibility since he had noticed the circular stains that suddenly began to appear on your shirts. “You have a point.”

"See?" You felt triumphant to think that you had changed his way of thinking. Your gaze returned to your phone and you took the topic for granted.

“Though I don't understand how anyone could be sexually attracted to that.”

You looked up again.

“Are you kidding?”

“Of course not, don't you think it's strange?”

You rolled your eyes, finally lowering your phone and placing it on the cabinet next to you so you could face him.

"Do you want to try?"

"What?" He played dumb and you fell into his trap again.

"Do you want to try? I will show you that there is nothing strange about it.”

He again pretended to consider your proposal and with his lower lip trapped between his teeth he nodded slowly.

"Good." He also put his phone aside, sitting up in bed as if considering which position was best to settle into. His pupils dilated when he saw you take off your top.

He had been trying for a long time not to stare at your completely naked breasts or else we wasn't going to be able to control himself anymore. Your nipples were always hard, occasionally with a drop or two of milk running through them, so sensitive and delicious.

You looked at him, clearing your throat to get his attention.

"Take off your shirt." Your voice sounded like an order.

He obediently did so. His tanned skin making your mouth water and making your cheeks blush even more than usual. You were a hormonal mess a long time ago.

“How should I…?”

“Just lay your head here.” You pointed to the hill where your pregnant belly began, just below your breasts.

“But, I don't want to hurt-”

“You're not going to hurt me, Will.” Your voice came out in frustration as you gave two small taps to the area you had pointed out before. He hesitated a little before taking his place there, the weight of his head and part of his body was not uncomfortable, on the contrary, his body heat felt stupidly good.

Skin to skin contact was something you wouldn't trade for a million dollars.

“You look so pretty like this.” You whispered in a low, loving voice. A dopey smile on your face when you had the chance to see him from a completely new angle.

His huge eyes were fixed on you, he had to look up so he could fix his gaze on you while you looked down. Your fingers gently ran through his hair, a while ago you had noticed that his curls became more noticeable when his hair was a little longer than usual.

“Go on.” You cooed while he licked his lips.

You didn't have to ask twice, Will settled into his spot and took part of your breast into his mouth, pressing his tongue against your hard, sensitive nipple.

A shiver ran down your spine, resulting in a wave of pleasure directly between your legs. A delicious heat pooling on your lower abdomen.

He for his part moaned against your skin. You tasted so sweet.

“T-That's it.” You encouraged him with blushing cheeks. “Just like that, baby.”

It didn't take him long to pick up the pace he wanted, you could hear him gulp and suck, over and over again while your trembling hands ran through his hair slowly, comforting him.

You knew how much he was enjoying it when you saw him close his eyes. A couple of drops running down the edge of his lips.

“You taste so fucking good.” It was the only thing he stammered before going back to his job. He rested the weight of his body on you a little more and you didn't complain, you missed having him on you so much, caging you against any surface that he found and his body.

He raised a hand, his fingers squeezing your breast as if he wanted to squeeze out every last drop. His cock twitched under his baggy pants and you at the same time squeezed your legs together, your slick already making your underwear wet and sticky.

“Do you like it, baby?” Your voice was breathy.

It was incredible how your bodies began to react as if you were a pair of desperate teenagers, seeking relief in any friction you might have with each other.

“Help me with t-the other one, yeah? Please?" You begged when you could finally feel some kind of relief on your tit, it was no longer hard and swollen. All this time you had only needed this? If you had known before.

He looked up with dilated pupils, licking his lips with heavy breathing.

"Please." You whispered once more, your fingers giving his hair a light tug that snapped him out of the spell you seemed to have placed on him with just a few gulps of warm milk.

You gave him a push with your hand and he obeyed, tracing exactly four circles around your right nipple before leaning down again and taking it into his mouth. Now that he was almost face down to reach the other side his hips began a slow rocking motion against the bed.

You, meanwhile, squeezed your legs together, your soft thighs giving you a bit of relief that made you whimper.

“Such a good boy.” You closed your eyes, your chest rising and falling rapidly, finding it impossible to calm the rhythm of your breathing. Eventually you understood that it wasn't just the sensitivity of your body, it was the situation.

Your sweet voice praising him, listening to the way he swallowed and the way he whimpered desperately just from the pleasure that sucking on your tit gave him.

You were no longer hiding the clumsy movements of your hips, nor was he the way he pretended to be fucking the mattress. His sensitive cock throbing every time he rubbed against his favorite blanket.

The friction was giving delicious warmth to his needy erection and your milk was doing the same to his entire body. Warm and delicious running through his throat.

Your thrusts were making the mattress creak under your bodies although you didn't last more than a couple of seconds longer. Abstinence was your best excuse to explain why something like this had led you to have one of the most delicious orgasms of your entire relationship.

It was definitely not what you had done per se, right?

When he pushed himself up so he could kiss you you could taste the milk and his saliva combined. You understood well why the taste had driven him crazy.

“See?” You whispered against his lips. “Not weird at all.”

Tag list. @ninebluehearts @shousha133 @unear7hly @onefinnedwonder-fm @automnepoet @lokisremainingsanity @uncle-eggy @just-a-nightdreamer @spktrgantenk @chinglewingledingledong @queerponcho @faretheeoscar @spideyman-peter

Remember to comment if you want to be on the kinktober tag list!! <3

[choicesficwriterscreations]

August MC of the Month: Dayin Axel Torres

Please welcome August 2024's MC of the Month: @oh-so-youre-a-nerd's Dayin Axel Torres

Each month, we highlight one MC or OC on our Meet My MC / OC List. They are selected randomly on the Wheel of Names, and eligibility requirements can be found here. We accept MC / OC profiles on an ongoing basis. Please feel free to send yours in!

Learn more about Dayin below

1- In your own words, tell us what you like most about your MC / OC.

I love their sense of humour, he doesn’t take much seriously, but he says his jokes with such a straight face. He’s fun but not bubbly, I think I described him earlier as “a warm sunny afternoon.” I also love how competent he is.

2- Do you feel your MC / OC is like you at all? How are you alike or different?

Honestly, not much. The only thing we share is a bit of whimsy, some similar music preferences, and a love of nerds. They’re more like the type of person I'd have a crush on haha He’s very calm, grounded, and quite smart and curious about things he enjoys. He’s a Wood Att, I'm pretty sure I'd be an Air Att, which is like opposite lol

3- What is most important to your MC / OC? What is their motivation in life?

Some things that are most important to him are not being vulnerable, and not being helpless lol. He hates showing anything other than positivity. His foster parents weren’t overtly shitty, but they never got him therapy (which, basically any adopted person deserves to have access to). His motivation in life is to not have any regrets. Regret makes him sick, it eats him up and feels like torture, he’s prefer physical pain to regret.

4- What are their biggest pet peeves/dislikes?

Tight schedules, pop music, bacon, when people don’t close the door when they leave his room, people who tease others for crying (he will rant at you for 30 minutes about why that’s fucked up), getting up early (unless it’s SPECIFICALLY to watch the sun rise)

5- If your MC / OC could change one thing - anything - what would it be?

Free higher education

6- What is your MC / OC’s favorite quote or song?

Song: Dark Chest of Wonders by Nightwish

Quote: “Music was my refuge. I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness.”

― Maya Angelou

7- Is there anything else you’d like to share about your MC / OC? 

Almost drowned at the beach during a field trip in 5th grade, and is absolutely terrified of the water and drowning/suffocating. That diamond scene where you learn Hydrobreath from Atlas was INCREDIBLY terrifying, and he still has nightmares about it. He was never able to do it, he just couldn’t relax enough. He still feels so much weaker than Atlas, since HE almost drowned too but he was able to teach himself in that life-or-death situation.