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2neaky · 1 month ago

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⋅ જ⁀➴ 𝙶𝚎𝚝 𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝙸𝚗 ๋࣭ ⭑

Inspired by this post & this post • ‘something quick & light’

Minors do not interact • Content Warning — p in v s*x, masturbation (m. receiving), dry h*mping, cum eating (minor), no protection, c*m shot, (failed) c*ck warming, detailed description of genitals, use of n-word (all characters & author are Black)

It’s a waking dream; low, warm light keeps such feeling present. Heavy eyelids and a tangle of heavier limbs sink the room’s only mattress in.

Another day has worn these bodies thin, robbed them of all of their energy. No time to play, life is all work—at least, that’s what it feels like.

The only respite is joining back at their shared space at the end of long day.

Clinging to his side, her hand rubs gentle, half-circles over the plane of his chest. Beneath her touch, his breathing’s slowed considerably since they first got in bed.

She’ll bet her life savings that his eyes are closed. So, it would be selfish of her to rouse him, right? But she misses his voice, she can’t help herself.

“‘Siah?”

The slow rise of his chest brings a slow smile to her face.

“Mh?”

His chest rumbles against her cheek with the low hum.

“How was your day?”

She’s quiet, her words a soft mumble. Before he can answer, she snuggles deeper into his side. His arm tightens around her for support.

“Was alright,” he slurs.

Her eyes do a slow dance around the room, noting the stillness of everything. “Tell me about it.”

Another inhale, this one stronger. Beneath her, he shifts if only to sit up better. “Well,” he begins, clearing his throat. “It really wasn’t no … different from the other days.”

She almost closes her eyes when the slow drawl of his southern accent hit her ears.

“Only had ‘bout … two clients.”

Like a sunflower to the sun, her head follows the sound of his voice. Her neck cranes just so that she may look at him through her lashes. It isn’t the best view, but it’s good enough for her.

“They was easy going folks, y’know.” His shoulders barely shrug. “Nothing t’really … phone home ‘bout—“

“Tell me what they looked like.”

His brows twitch as a faint line appears between them. “W-whatchu’ mean?”

“I mean—“ she giggles, pushing herself up higher so that her head rests more-so on his shoulder. “Tell me what they looked like. Describe them to me.”

“Well … why you wanna know what they look like?” He does a sort of half-chuckle, angling his head down to look at her.

Their eyes meet and her smile grows.

“I like hearing you talk,” she says softly. “So keep talking.”

He looks to their hamper of dirty laundry, a desperate attempt at trying to control his own smile.

“First one was a man … real old. Probably in his fifties.”

“Black or white?”

“White.”

“Was he shorter than you or taller?”

Quietly, he kisses his teeth. “Shorter, baby. Now is you gon’ lemme tell the story or not?”

There’s a warmth in his tone that makes it impossible for her to take offense to the question.

“Sorry, sorry,” she laughs. “Continue,” she goads, patting his chest.

“Right … he had these big ole’ glasses. Made his eyes look ‘bout—ten times bigger...”

As he goes on, her interest growing in this small conversation, her fatigue melts with each spoken word. More awake than she had been within the last hour, her hand moves with more vigor.

It sinks from his chest to his stomach, fingers rolling over the creased fabric of his ribbed undershirt. The dark cotton is soft and comforting.

“—was real skittish, too. First I thought it was ‘cause I was intimidating him, but I seen that he was like that with everybody. Even Carl.”

The low chuckle that leaves him wakes her further. Her hand on his stomach pauses as she stares blankly at where their leg press together.

“Carl can’t even scare a damn puppy.”

She licks her lips, taking a deep breath. “Mmh … and what about the other one—your client.”

“Oh, this one—she’s an older woman. Not as old as the man. I’m thinking maybe … in her forties.”

As he begins on this woman’s description, listing qualities about her in the same way he had about the previous client, her mind wanders. And—forgive her—she doesn’t mean to not listen. However, it just happens.

Focus slowly settles back into her gaze as it shuffles from staring blankly, to his lap. Just a few inches from her still hand. His voice is a muffled sound in her ears, background noise.

Her hand begins to move again.

As he gives his shoddy description of his female client, he notices the hand. He’d expected her to resume the pattern she had started with: up and down, up and down.

Up and down … down, down, down.

His voice trails off, eyes following that hand as it takes itself to his inner thigh. Right over his dick.

Not so subtle.

He blinks.

“Keep going.”

That soft wrinkle had returned to the space between his brows. “Whatchu’ doing?”

In his voice was no hint of urgency or shock. Just gentle curiosity.

Her only answer is a shrug. She doesn’t even look up at him as she usually does when she speaks. “But keep talking. Tell me about what they had you do.”

His mouth opens to say something, make a comment on this all. Except, he finds that only a breathy bit of laughter makes its way from his mouth.

“Alright, uhh … the man wanted me to get some interior shots of his property...”

His words thin out into background noise once again, making space for the rising thoughts in her brain. She listens to them without a trace of hesitance.

Her hand is a distinct weight on his inner thigh, one he can’t really ignore—even if he doesn’t address it.

Beneath her warm palm, and the fabric of his sweats, he stirs. And as she feels him grow against her, her hand pushes back against it.

“—and, I …” He swallows, blinking as he tries to keep his focus. “I wasn’t trying to … to take too long w-with this one.”

As he gets harder, the flat plane of her hand bends around his curvature.

“‘Cause … ‘c-cause I had to get to the other client in—in time.”

She squeezes down the entirety of his length as she completes each slow drag. She can see his thick outline through his pants. Her eyes, and hand, go straight to his head.

“B-but he had me—“ He kisses his teeth. “C’mon now, Jhené.”

His leg twitches as her fingers close around the tip to massage it.

“Continue.”

He huffs out, shifting in his spot. “I-I was a little … a little late to her—”

His words come to stop as her hand comes back up, only to slip under the waistband of his sweats.

“Keep going, Messiah.”

He clears his throat. “Sh-she—she was a lil’ … a lil’, um…”

She adores the way he throbs in her hand. The thin fabric of his boxers makes it too easy to feel every pulse, vein, and rush of blood. The heat he gives off almost makes her hand clammy.

His soft whimpers and the tremors in his voice, the way his throat bobs as he swallows—it makes her heart pound.

“A lil’ frus—frustrat—“

Past the leg of his boxes, his tip peaks out. She finds the fattened head with ease.

“Fuuck.”

The low whine comes as she presses her thumb into his tip, rubbing it in. It takes seconds for her to feel the slow dribble of wetness against her skin.

He’s panting when she pulls out her hand. The whiff of gentle musk she catches from him is non-offending. In fact, it makes her pussy flutter.

Though, the sight of his precum stuck to the pad of her thumb does a lot more for her. When she finally looks at him, he’s already staring back at her, lips parted.

With no second thought, she sits up and throws a leg over the other side of his lap.

“Oomph,” he grunts, as she plops down on him, ass over dick.

Stabilizing herself with the other hand, she presses it to his chest, fingers splayed out. The hand—thumb soiled with his fluid—is suspended in the air, inches from his face.

She stretches forward, and his eyes almost cross as he keeps his eyes focused on the milky white glob.

“Suck.”

His eyes flick up to hers, meeting her burning stare. It’s unwavering.

He looks back at her thumb, it’s gotten closer. He hesitates to open his mouth, and she thinks it’s cute. She almost giggles.

But then his mouth opens wider, and she stops thinking. Her other four fingers, curled in a loose fist, rest at his chin as her thumb enters the moist heat of his mouth.

Gently, it presses against the bed of his wide tongue. Almost mechanically, his lips close around the finger and his tongue laves at it, tasting himself on her.

“Talk.”

It’s hard to form words around a foreign object in his mouth. It’s not like they mattered much anyway.

Besides, his new lisp is cute.

His dick jumps beneath her as his tongue happens to curl around the finger with the utterance of another word.

His eyes are low, unfocused. And if she listens closely, she’ll hear that his sentences are incomplete. They don’t even really have a point anymore.

She leans back only slightly, her thumb still caressed by his tongue. It only takes the strength of her knees to begin a small, steady bounce.

Tiny pants puff out through her parted lips. His already low eyes fall closed and his tongue pauses around her thumb.

“Uuhh,” he moans softly.

Her mouth breaks into a smile.

Free hands climb up her thighs, squeezing the fat of them. She clenches in her panties, feeling the hard press of his dick against her clit despite the layers of clothes between them.

His hands claw their way to her hips, tightening their grip. They pull her down against him, keeping her there to drag her hips against him.

His words have melted into moans and grunts.

Her fingers unfurl to cradle his face as her thumb slips from his open mouth to rest against his shiny, full bottom lip. A glistening web of spit trails from his tongue to his chin as her hand falls further.

Their hips drag heavy against one another’s as they pull sounds of pleasure from each other. He’s melting under her, and she loves seeing him like this. It’s been too long, what with work taking up their time.

Neither of them can tell how long this goes on for. But, they can tell when they’ve had enough of being just close enough.

“Fuck, I want it,” she huffs against his lips as she had leaned in to kiss him.

“Take it. Take it, baby—”

The kiss is rough and heavy. Their tongues slip and slide each other. Funnily enough, the taste of his precum hadn’t lingered. And that makes her moan as she comes to the conclusion that he’s long-since swallowed the little bit that she fed him.

He’s got a hand attached to her throat, keeping her close. All the while, she blindly drags his pants and boxers down—he, of course, lifting his hips to assist.

When his erection pops out, eager to stand on its own, she pulls out of the kiss just to look down at it as she takes him in hand.

His skin is hot. Every throb it makes gets her wetter. Speaking of—

She pushes her underwear to the side, revealing the thin strings of slick attached to the crotch of her panties and her labia.

He moans before they even connect.

Adjusting herself right over him, she lowers her opening right to his tip. Teasing herself, she rubs his head through her slippery folds and against her clit, making him shine with her juices.

Quick to help, he aids in keeping her underwear to the side so that nothing could interrupt this.

That’s her ‘go-ahead.’

She begins her dissent onto him. They both moan out at the feeling of him stretching her out.

God, when was the last time they had sex?

He can’t remember, and right now he doesn’t care. Because all he wants to think about is how her body sucks him in, squeezing tight and bathing him in her wetness.

As she sinks lower and lower, his assisting hand moves just an inch to rub slow circles over her clit with his thumb.

“O-oh—‘Siah,” she whimpers, her pussy fluttering around him as she finally bottoms out.

A heavy breath leaves her lungs. Throwing her arms around him, she lays against his chest, allowing her body time to adjust around him.

The muscles in his thighs twitch periodically. His arms, tight around her, rub soothing paths up and down her back.

She’s panting, out of breath from carrying all of that dick within her walls. “Why’d you … stop talking?” Her voice is almost a whine as her eyes flutter, desperate to keep open.

“I’on wanna talk ‘bout work no more, Jhené,” he grunts. “Matter fact…”

His hands drag down her back to either of her thighs. They grip tightly, keeping her body pressed to his as he puts her on her back.

“I’on wanna talk at all.”

A ragged moan is all that she can do as he begins slow, smooth, and firm strokes. His hips slide back and forth, pulling slick wet sounds from her body.

As she lies there, taking him so deep, her fists are curled tights against his chest. Her hunched shoulders twitch with every intrusion of his dick.

Soft whimpers leave her parted, spit slicked lips. Her eyes aren’t quite open, though they’re not really closed either. Her hips stutter and her head rolls to the side.

He snatches a hand away from her thigh to grasp her chin, pulling her head straight. “Fuck, you gon’ take this.” His strokes get shorter and rougher as his hips slam into her. “You gon’ take this dick. You gon’—fuck... Take this. Fucking. Dick—“

The first sign is her eyes rolling back. Next, she goes rigid as her back arches, mouth falling open for a silent moan. With each stroke, her body inches up higher on the bed. He has to drag her back down on his dick.

“You running from it?” he pants. “You running?”

“Ooh—shit!”

She can feel it, how she splashes all over him. He feels it, too. Grabbing the crooks of her forearms, he uses that as leverage as he sends straight shots to her G-spot.

Her pussy massages his length through several squeezes, bringing on his orgasm earlier than normal.

He catches it just on time—cum shooting against her pussy lips just as he pulls out. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to jerk himself.

A low groan leaves him before he collapses over her body. Tucking his face into the crooks of her neck as he delivers a few more mellow strokes to ride out the sensation, sliding his length between her sticky, cum-covered lips.

Her legs go lax around his waist as he slows to a stop. It’s a couple of seconds before she reaches a hand up his back to toy with the little curls at the nape of his neck.

“Damn … this shit’a tire a nigga out.”

She hums in agreement, eyes already closed. A dazed laugh tumbles from her mouth.

“Now we gotta … clean up,” she mumbles.

And he agrees, although, it only took a couple of minutes for both of them to knock out, right then and there.

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Taglist | @wintrrxxo @vibewshyla @icanmakethedickstandup @toji-dabi-wife @genea-myers @whoareyouuuo @thegoatedaries @nova2kss @thecoochiefairy @plutobratz @levibabymama_ @bubblegum-lollipop @junitries @thevelvetwhispers @pussypinkdoll @venusincleo

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blindmagdalena · 1 year ago

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Guilty Pleasures

18+ 3.3k homelander x plus size f!reader. workplace harassment, stalking, voyeurism, masturbation, lite humiliation kink, sublander flavored. nebulously takes place post s1. part 1/4. AO3 link. | Chapter Directory

Homelander is on top of the world. He can say or do whatever the fuck he wants, and the sycophants around him will bend over backwards to make his word law, with few notable exceptions.

He never expected you to be one of them. When you put him in his place after a workplace incident, he becomes fixated on the promise of a firm hand alongside a soft body.

It’s Thursday, which means Homelander is currently bored to tears less than ten minutes into Vought’s weekly digital marketing meeting. These monotonous discussions of percentages and trending graphics gradually begin to feel like a drill pushing slowly into each of his ears, but they’re a necessary evil if he wants to have input when it comes to his image.

He taps his fingers impatiently on the armrest of his chair. The tapping pauses, however, at the appearance of a new presenter.

You.

You’re a far cry from the dime a dozen jackass in a suit that had been presenting before you. He’s sure he hasn’t seen you before, which means you’re new. His gaze drifts from your round face to the sensible cut of your blouse, the garment buttoned nearly to your throat. Anything less would be considered lewd given the size of your breasts. He wets his lips absently, adjusting himself to sit a little straighter.

He’s completely lost track of what you’re talking about in favor of watching the way your hips sway each time you walk from one end of the board to the other, tactfully engaging each observer. You have a resonant voice, commanding attention without sounding harsh. With a rack like that, you must have to fight to have a word you say heard by anyone with even a passing interest in a good pair of tits.

Not that the cheap fabric of your bra is doing them any favors. Silk would be better. He’s always liked the shine of it. Softer, too. It wouldn’t scrape against your shirt the way he can hear that cotton blend you’re wearing is doing.

Curious, he focuses his vision to peer through your blouse. Your undergarments are plain and sensible. Boring. Still, it elicits a distinct pang between his legs. His mouth waters slightly. Even from where he is, he can smell you, fresh and clean, slightly sweet smelling–like vanilla. Your clothes may be pedestrian but at least your perfume is nice.

Letting his gaze slide lower, he admires how the curves of your body flow into one another. He can tell just by looking at you how soft you would feel against him, under him. How good you would feel to grip and hold in place, sink into and lose himself in. Your voice has a soothing quality to it that lets him easily imagine you’re breathlessly singing his praises instead of rattling off bullet points in a presentation.

Fuck, he’s getting hard, his cock throbbing lightly against the cup of his suit. It’s the only thing that allows him to fantasize as freely as he does. The best part of it is that he’s fairly certain he can sense something warm and wet throbbing between your thick thighs.

He suspects he’s not the only one fantasizing.

The room is quiet for a second too long, and Homelander abruptly tunes back in to realize you’re staring directly at him, expectancy in your gaze. He pulls a blank, realizing he hasn’t processed anything you’ve said. “Say again?”

There’s a flicker of irritation in your eyes before you tightly school your expression back into polite professionalism. His lips slowly split into a devious smile that he consciously fine-tunes to be more neutral. How close you came to some sort of heated response was kind of… cute. It makes him want to give your proverbial pigtails another tug just to see what else he can evoke.

The thought of pulling your hair is good. The thought of you pulling his hair is better, though.

“I asked if you have any feedback for our campaign leading up to the premiere,” you say, though Homelander finds himself more interested in the flash of your tongue he gets as you run it along your teeth afterwards. Your temperature is up a notch, too. You must not be used to such direct attention from someone like him.

“Nope,” he says glibly, turning on one of his patented knock-out smiles. “Looks good to me.” At that, he pointedly looks you up and down, meeting your gaze with a quick wink.

Judging by the slight tic at the corner of your mouth, you aren’t charmed by his response. Still, he waits in preemptive satisfaction for you to appease him by returning his smile.

You don’t.

Instead, you say nothing more than a terse “Wonderful,” the singular word barely passing for civil, let alone professional. You move on, and Homelander finds himself taken aback. You don’t meet his eye for the remainder of the presentation, and while that gives him plenty of opportunity to ogle you, it bothers him.

Towards the end of your time, he clears his throat. Everyone looks at him.

Everyone but you.

“Thanks so much for your time,” you say to the committee, smiling, finishing your piece with a small incline of your head. You go sit, and there’s a slightly awkward pause before the next presenter takes center stage.

Homelander sits in stunned silence. The idea that you, some fresh faced nobody, think you’re in any position to blow him off is laughable at best. Who cares if he didn’t pay attention to your little presentation? That’s not his job. You’re lucky he’s even here, lucky that someone like him would think to give you time out of his day.

By the time the meeting concludes, you haven’t spared him so much as a glance. Indignation builds hotly in his chest. He’s had more than enough of being snubbed lately. He’s not going to tolerate it from the likes of you.

You should be on your hands and knees begging for his attention.

He watches a handful of your peers congratulate you on your first presentation, though plenty of others cast him wary glances and decide not to approach you. They know better. They know who’s really in charge around here. Naturally, they all skitter away like roaches when he strides towards you.

“Not bad for your first presentation,” he tells you, his smile toned down into a thin, lopsided smirk.

You look around yourself, no doubt taking note of how the other little insects around you have scattered. Maybe now you’ll realize your mistake.

“Thank you, sir,” you say, your body angled slightly away from him, as if you’re ready to bolt at any second.

“Got a lot on my mind, though, so I don’t think I absorbed as much as I could have,” he says, laying on that boyish charm a little thicker than usual. “Would really appreciate it if you could stick around and run that by me one more time.”

Your gaze flickers away from him–he wishes you would stop doing that–to the others who’re filtering out of the room, slowly leaving the two of you behind. “As I said during the presentation, all the documents will be available online,” you say, finally looking back at him. You actually have the audacity to look annoyed that he’s talking to you.

“I don’t have a computer,” he replies, his own voice beginning to flatten.

“I’m sure someone in IT can help you with that,” you say, undeterred by his attempts to corner you.

His smile tightens minutely. “Do you have some kind of problem with me?”

Your heart jumps. He finds satisfaction in that, at least.

“No, sir,” you say sharply, a barely discernible hitch in your voice. “What I have are deadlines. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to meet them.” With that, you manage to squeeze by him. Despite the steady confident tap of your shoes against the floor, your heart races rabbit-like in his ears.

He contemplates you as you go, momentarily stupefied by your flagrant disregard for him. You weren’t entirely unaffected by his presence, though. If you’d had less of an avenue for escape, would you have been so flippant? He continues to focus on the beat of your heart as your steps carry you further from him. It doesn’t slow. You’re still full of adrenaline, the scent of it lingering alongside your perfume. He inhales a slow, deep breath, the leather of his gloves creaking as he curls and uncurls his fist.

Homelander finds himself wondering what your agenda is, what makes you so desperate to break from the norm and catch his attention. It’s clear to him that’s what you want. Why else would you be so stubborn where anyone else would yield? He scoffs to himself.

God, it’s so obvious in hindsight.

He has no doubt that your brazen attitude would shatter if he pressed in closer, if you felt the heat of his breath on your lips. He could part your soft thighs and paint the face of God on the ceiling above you with his tongue inside you. You couldn’t dismiss him so easily then, could you?

You’re so determined to be noticed that it’s almost pathetic. He shouldn’t reward this kind of behavior, and yet he feels strangely inclined to commend it. What you’ve done is brave in a way. Insolence and sycophants he can’t abide, but a touch of bravery? Well… That can be rewarded.

Your heart thunders in your ears as you make a beeline for your office. You can feel a terrible burn crawling up your chest and into your cheeks, the reality of what just happened finally allowed to sink in. You had spent all morning preparing yourself for presenting your work in front of not only your new peers at Vought, but in front of the world’s most prolific superhero. You were solid, you were ready.

Until you felt the gravity of his gaze on you. The weight of it made you stutter where you shouldn’t have, lose your train of thought mid-sentence. Every time you dared to look at him, he was looking at you like he was going to swallow you whole. Never have you felt more acutely aware of yourself than you did beneath his stare, feeling the way he was picking you apart as keenly as you would feel his hands undressing you.

It left you as furious as you are flustered.

That arrogant bastard!

You close the door behind you with a rough breath, closing your eyes. You can’t even sit, you have to pace your office instead, shaking your hands out as you walk. You know you weren’t imagining it. He confirmed as much for you when it took a solid eight seconds of silence for him to tear his gaze up from your chest, smiling as wickedly as any devil and caught elbow-deep in the cookie jar.

You couldn’t look him in the eye after that. It was humiliating to be reduced so thoroughly and obviously in front of your peers. Worst of all, he seemed damn pleased by it.

Though that isn’t the only reason your heart is still racing. You’re not quite ready to address that yet. You’re fairly certain if you’d been forced to speak to him any more than you had, you would have said something that would cause you to lose your job. You just need space to breathe, to collect yourself, to–

There’s a brisk knock at your door. Great. What now?

“Just a m–” You’re stopped dead in your tracks by a familiar flash of red, white and blue as Homelander lets himself into your office, closing the door securely behind him.

“Howdy,” he greets. He looks cartoonishly wide and brightly colored against the neutral colors of your office, even more larger than life than he’d seemed in the conference room. He has a smile that looks like it belongs in the mouth of a shark about to take a bite of you. It sets you off kilter completely–not that you’d been much on it to begin with.

You gawk a moment before managing to close your mouth. “Homelander,” you say, your voice curt in your own ears. You have no idea how to address him, still frazzled from not only the presentation, but your interaction that followed it. You should ask him what he needs.

“What’re you doing here?” That came out ruder than you meant it to. Not that he doesn’t deserve it. Still, you’re trying to keep this job.

“Are you always this pleasant?” He asks, cocking his head slightly as he comes to a stop in front of you, his arms held behind his back beneath his swaying cape. “Or did I catch you on a bad day?”

Is he serious?

“Your conduct today was inappropriate,” you say flatly, settling your hands on your hips.

Homelander scoffs lightly. “Oh, relax. You gonna ‘#Metoo’ me over a wink? Christ, you’re done up tighter than that blouse of yours,” he says, his gaze dipping. A chill rolls up your spine as you watch his tongue roll along his teeth. He’s like an animal anticipating a meal.

Your jaw drops, cold shock settling in your gut alongside that blistering heat. Of all the things you had prepared yourself for before coming to Vought, Homelander being a misogynistic sex-pest hadn’t been on your list.

Well. Not the sex-pest part, anyways.

You point to your office door. “Get out.”

He blinks, zero comprehension in those deceptively charming baby blues. His smile turns incredulous. “I’m starting to think you don’t understand what’s happening here,” he says, his tone taking on a precarious edge. He lets out a breathy, mirthless laugh. “You know, most people in your position would be begging for my attention.”

There it is.

You suck a noise through your teeth, nodding slowly. "Oh, I understand exactly what’s happening here,” you say, shifting your weight like you’re winding up for a pitch. “I know you think you're special because you're famous, or a supe, or both. I know you think I should be grateful that you’d even look at someone like me, but you’re not special, and I’m not grateful. The reality of the matter is I can get dick whenever I want it–good dick–and I can get it without being humiliated at my job.”

The silence in the room is deafening. Homelander looks stupefied, but you decide that you’re not done.

“You're not blessing me by making entitled passes and crude remarks while I'm trying to work. You’re being a nuisance,” you say, your heart beating in your throat. “So please, would you kindly leave?” You ask, voice firm despite the friendlier nature of your phrasing.

Finally, Homelander is the one left gawking. He looks like a fish with the way his mouth keeps opening and closing, but it’s the dismissive, aborted little scoffs he makes in between that really sell his wounded bewilderment. You can see tension lurking just beneath the surface, an anger that skulks in the creak of his leather gloves.

Fear begins to creep up the back of your throat, burning like bile, but you hold steady as he seems to be deciding what he’s going to do with you. The longer the quiet stretches on, your focus entirely on the subtle spasms in his expression, the more sweat begins to prickle at the back of your neck. You refuse to fill the space, you refuse to back down.

For all his power, he’s still just a man.

Eventually, he swallows. “Okie-dokie,” he says, his tone unlike anything you expected. He sounds confused–a little dazed, even. He walks to the door, and after one hesitant look back at you, he leaves.

The door closes with a soft click that still makes you flinch, the sound of it loud in the silence of the room. You blink several times, the abruptness of his departure making the whole encounter feel like some sort of fever dream.

What the fuck just happened?

You’re not special.

The impact of those words struck Homelander’s ears like a loud, painful ringing that follows him as he walks out of your office. He feels off balance, each step leaning slightly to the right.

It’s a ludicrous statement. Objectively wrong. Who in the fucking world could be more special than him? He’s a literal god, and you’re no one. A faceless, nameless cog in Vought’s mechanism that hoists him to the top of it all. That’s your job. To elevate him. Worship him.

Instead you spoke to him as if he were nothing. He could have cut you down where you stood for that. He could have put your head through your office window, snapped your neck, held your skull and burned your eyes out of–

He shakes his head sharply, swaying. He all but stumbles into the bathroom, surprising one of the worker drones washing their hands. “Get out,” Homelander says gruffly.

“Uh, sir–”

“Get the fuck out!” He snaps, startling the man so badly he immediately rushes off, fumbling with the door on his way out. Homelander slams it shut and lets out a ragged breath, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, then his temples as he paces the bathroom. His reflection taunts him from his peripheral vision.

He hasn’t been able to look himself in the eye since he snapped his Doppelganger’s neck while he knelt before him.

That’s what he wants from you, isn’t it? Mindless desperate praise and worship. Why, then, does the thought od it make his stomach churn so violently he can taste the burn of bile? He tugs compulsively at his suit collar, the press of it against his skin uncharacteristically hot and itchy.

“I can get dick whenever I want it–good dick.”

He shamefully palms himself through his suit, confusingly hard amidst a swirling turbulence of contradicting thoughts and feelings. He could be good for you, too, if you’d fucking let him. He knows he could make you crumble, take apart that carefully constructed demeanor of professionalism and make you see him for what he is. He can prove himself to you. He will prove that you’re wrong about him, and then you’ll show him the love respect he deserves.

Hurriedly, he unzips his pants. His eyelashes flutter as he shoves his hand into them, roughly grabbing hold of his cock. He braces his forearm against the bathroom door and lets his head drop forward, watching his crimson glove pump the leaking head of his dick. His mind bounces between scenarios. He imagines himself in your place, fully on display for you to ogle. He imagines you’re watching him even now, staring him down with that unaffected look of indifference, of irritation, of disgust.

He bites back a whine, gritting his teeth. He wants so badly to imagine his face buried in your soft tits while he fucks the plush space between your thighs, but he knows you won’t let him. Not right away. You’d make him earn it, wouldn’t you? You’d make him watch you please yourself before he ever got so much as a taste.

The glassiness in his eyes begins to sizzle, the moisture burning away as crimson light flares up in them. Would you laugh if you could see him now, or would you scold him for touching himself without your permission?

Homelander comes hard, tipping his head back with a loud moan as he paints the bathroom door with ribbon after ribbon of come. He barely manages not to blow a hole through the ceiling, the light of his eyes flaring and softening in time with each euphoric wave of release. He pants through it, head falling forward and thunking lightly against the door, resting there while he catches his breath.

“Fuck,” he exhales eventually, sighing. He wipes his hand on the wall and then carefully tucks himself back into his pants, his mind swirling hazily on the best high he’s had since…

Clearing his throat, he puts himself back together before leaving the bathroom. Clearly, the thing that he’s been missing is a challenge.

Luckily for him, you’ve kindly volunteered yourself.

( chapter two )

#part two of this fic is mostly finished. i'll probably post it next week!#homelander x reader #homelander #homelander x you #my writing #homelander fanfiction #plus size reader #i've had this in my wips since early december and i just really wanted to get something posted

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bittertasteofhoney · 10 hours ago

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Good Day Sunshine | Ch. 7

Please Don’t Be Too Good to Be True

Summary: You and Joel settle into a rhythm, but town gossip creeps into your happy bubble.

|| smutty smut smut, jackson!joel, jackson!joel x f!reader, unprotected sex (please do not do this), p in v, age-gap, fingering, praise kink, creampie, shower sex, age gap (but legal!), reader is afab ||

Notes: I had to ruin something for the plot, so I am so sorry, but here’s a little smut to make it a little better. And no, I’m not okay after last night’s episode...

18+. Read at your own risk. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Minors DO NOT ENGAGE.

Previous Chapter.

And so the addiction began. Your life without Joel was fulfilled. You had plenty of friends and support, but never someone to turn to for physical comfort and affection. You never found yourself missing it much. Until Joel.

It was an unspoken thing between you, but after that first night, most evenings were punctuated by Joel knocking on your door, and most mornings were spent waking up in his arms.

The first night when your routine established itself, you were in your kitchen boiling water when a light tapping sounded at your back patio door. Confused, you padded over and lifted the gingham linen curtain to see Joel standing there looking embarrassed. You cracked it open with a smile on your face.

“Joel?” He looked up and smiled at you.

“Hey. I uh…I was wondering if you wanted to…hang out or something…” The man was actually blushing. You cocked your hip to the side and grinned at him.

“Are you asking to come over and chill Joel Miller?” God, his cheeks got even redder.

He stood there, staring at the ground and slid his boot over a crack in your porch. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

You smirked and reached out to grab his arm and pull him inside. He closed the door behind him and watched as you walked to your stove to turn the heat off. You didn’t realize, as you added honey to the water and dropped a bag of black tea, that Joel was cataloguing every move. He wanted to mesmerize everything that made you you.

The tea wasn’t the best quality, but you bolted whenever you saw it up for grabs after a supply run. There was nothing like a cup of tea at the end of the day. When you finally noticed the quiet, you turned to see him leaning on your kitchen table with the ghost of a smile on his face.

“You want tea?” Your question was answered with a grimace that caused you to giggle. “I’m sorry to say I don’t have any coffee so this is the closest thing.” He was still staring at you.

“You want some water? I also have some apples I think-” You leaned over your tea to check your fruit bowl and froze when you felt a pair of hands squeezing your hips.

“Not hungry.” His voice was considerably deeper, and you smirked before pushing your tea off to the side and twisting around to face him. He stood over you, his dark brown eyes focused on your neck.

“You sure about that Miller? You look like you want something.”

“I do.” He continued looking at your neck and shoulder.

“Anything in particular?” He lifted a hand to finger the strap of the tank top you wore to work.

“You wear this in the gardens today?” You watched him eye the flimsy strap of cotton and nodded your head. His eyes flitted down. “And these tiny little shorts?” Another nod.

“Well, darlin’. I would’ve come over earlier had I known you were walking around in this flimsy little outfit.” You blushed.

“Weren’t you on patrol?” He nodded, eyes still entranced by your shorts. “I don’t know if Tommy would’ve appreciated you skipping out on patrol just to see me.”

“What Tommy doesn’t know won’t hurt him. This is a much better use of my time.” He slowly lowered to his knees and looped his fingers into the shorts, pulling them down.

“You don’t mean that-”

“Oh, but I do.” Your shorts were now around your ankles. You delicately stepped out of them with Joel’s fingers slowly running up and down your legs. You were wearing the same red panties you had on when Joel surprised you on that first day on your porch. He swallowed loudly. “I’ve been dreaming about these.”

“Joel, I’m sweaty. I need to shower. I’m covered in dirt and-”

“So, let’s shower.”

You yelped as he wrapped his arms around your legs and threw you over his shoulder, beelining for your stairs and running up to the second floor. “JOEL!”

Within seconds, you were deposited back on the floor, this time in your bathroom and watching in shock as Joel smirked at you while stripping off his clothes. It didn’t take long until you were still standing in your undies and tank top, and he was fully nude. He took a slow step toward you and reached around you to turn on the shower, leaning in to test the water temperature as steam began to fill the room.

“Something you expecting to happen in there, Mr. Miller?”

He shrugged and closed the distance between you. “I got a few ideas. But we can just shower if that’s what you want.” You smirked and shook your head. You peeled off the tank that was beginning to stick to your skin from the steam and looked up as you slid the panties down your thighs.

“I’m hoping for a little more than that.” You kept his gaze as you stepped back carefully into the warm stream of water, watching nervously as he also filled the small space.

You giggled and whispered, “I’ve never had shower sex.”

He placed his hands on your side and slowly slid them up until they ghosted the outline of your breasts. “It’s not the most practical but I’ve always been a fan of how hot it gets.” You closed your eyes as he palmed them and gently tugged on your nipples. You gasped as he tweaked one a little harshly.

“You’ve done this a lot?” He chuckled as he slid his hands down, one diverting to your ass to give it a squeeze and the other to slip between your folds.

“I was a bit of a slut when I was younger.” A laugh escaped your lips, but it came out breathy as he slipped a finger in you.

You tried to instill confidence in your voice. “Alright then, teach. Tell me what to do.” He froze, and you looked up and saw his eyes darken.

His voice was impossibly deep as he croaked out, “Turn around.”

You swallowed nervously but obeyed and braced yourself on the slick tile in front of you. He held your hips firm as he nudged your legs further apart with his foot and slid a finger back inside you. You gasped and dug your nails into the tile for some sort of support as he pumped. It wasn’t long before he added a second finger. You whimpered at the stretch, and he whispered little encouragements in your ear. “You’re doing so good, darlin’.”

“You’re going to kill me, Joel Miller.” Another dark chuckle from behind you.

“I think you’re the killer here, Sunshine. I can barely focus on anything but how perfect you are.” Was it the steam or the insatiable man behind you making you blush?

As you grew closer and closer to your orgasm, you reached an arm behind you to find his hardening length. “I need you.”

That was all it took. His fingers were gone in an instant, and he lined himself up with his entrance before slipping in. You were so relaxed under the hot water that you were ass to hip instantly.

“Fast. Please. Don’t hold back.” He chuckled again.

“Baby, I wasn’t going to be able to hold back this time. Already know how good it feels.”

You gasped as he immediately began to pump his hips at a mind-numbing speed. He curled an arm around your waist, bringing it to your belly and pressing against it to make sure the two of you were as close as you could possibly be.

Your name came out of his mouth like a prayer in quick little bursts, and your orgasms approached unexpectedly fast. It only took a few minutes for the two of you to brace yourself against the shower wall as you came crashing down in tandem.

It would’ve been embarrassing if the two of you weren’t so wound tight for each other. And it wasn’t as if that was the only time he touched you that night. The two of you barely tumbled out of the shower before he was carrying you to your bed and fucking you deep and slow as you made out like teenagers.

When your rumbling stomachs indicated you should probably do something more than have sex, you made your way downstairs in his t-shirt and he in boxers. You made tomato sandwiches and the two of you ate in companionable silence, only broken by mutual questions about life before Jackson.

He learned about your collie dog named Maple, who died just a year before the outbreak. You listened with grinning cheeks as he recounted a story of Tommy calling him after taking shrooms for the first time in high school, freaking out because he thought the turquoise octagons were going to eat him.

You couldn’t wait to rib him about that later.

When you started swapping stories from past relationships, the space between you shrank. As you were telling him about your horrific first kiss experience, he pinned you against the counter and silenced you with a much-superior tangle of lips.

“I don’t want to hear about any other man touching you when I’ve got you right here.” You could only sigh into the kiss. The man definitely knew what to do with his tongue.

And so your days were mapped out: mornings and afternoons spent bent over in the rows of produce, and evenings sweating and panting with Joel Miller in some new location in your home.

The man seemed hell-bent on christening each corner of your house with you screaming his name. And he was pretty damn close.

You were blissfully sore each day and covered in hickey marks across your abdomen and inner thigh. He was determined to mark you, but only in a place he could admire. You couldn’t remember a time when you felt this satisfied and desired.

Most nights, Joel spent in your bed. He only ate dinner with you when Ellie was at Tommy’s and Maria’s or at Dina’s or Jesse’s, but he always knocked on your door before the midnight hour approached. And when the two of you were spent and slipping under the sheets, he always wrapped an arm around your waist and buried his face in your hair, claiming the smell of your homemade rose oil helped him sleep better.

It didn’t take long for people to begin to talk. You kept your and Joel’s “relationship” between the two of you, not wanting to jinx something that felt this good. You didn’t know whether to call him your boyfriend or lover, or friend and thought it best to keep that to yourself before having to explain to Roberta that it felt more than just sex. It felt like companionship and dare you say, something that could eventually turn into love?

You were miles from that day, but it felt good to imagine.

You were catching up on logging inventory in the greenhouse when you heard a few of the rotating helpers gossiping about some girl in town.

“I don’t think anyone has seen her outside of work or her house in weeks.”

“I mean, have you seen him? I would be at home waiting in bed the second I got off my shift.”

“I just feel a bit bad for her.”

You scrunched your eyebrows together in confusion, but decided to tune out their poor attempts at whispering as you counted what was in stock for the week.

When you were delivering potatoes and corn to the mess hall, you walked past the Tipsy Bison and overheard another conversation that made you pause.

“She looks like a fool and I hate it for her. He was a complete jerk to her but the second he made her feel desired, she just fell into his bed. You should’ve seen his face when he was talking to Tommy. Like the cat that got the cream.”

“Man, I don’t know what she sees in him. How did the resident ray of sunshine end up with such an ass?”

You felt all the blood leave your face. There was no doubt who they were talking about now. You looked over to try and spot who was speaking, but couldn’t pick out an obvious source in the crowd of people outside the general store.

As you walked away, your footsteps quickened as your desire to just finish the delivery took over. You walked the box of vegetables into the back kitchen, dropping them on the wooden counter with a thud before jumping at the crouched form kneeling in front of one of the stoves.

Tommy Miller. He looked over his shoulder at you, grinning as he heard your yelp. “Goddamnit girl, you about made me piss my pants.” He stood and wiped his greasy hands on his jeans. “You our delivery girl today?”

You nodded and looked at him, dazed. “I didn’t realize you were assigned to the mess hall today.”

He smiled and nodded. The moment turned awkward as neither of you said anything. He took a tentative step forward.

“Hey, I know you and my brother are-”

“Are people saying anything about me and Joel?”

You both spoke over each other and blushed at his obvious attempt to bridge the awkwardness, but he only frowned.

“No. Are people talkin’?” You only nodded at him, refusing to meet his eyes. “What are they sayin’?”

You blushed even more. “Just that…I look stupid for being with him after…everything.” He kept frowning. You met his eyes and saw that they looked angry. “Tommy, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said-”

“People in this town really need to learn to keep their mouths shut.” He closed the space between you and placed his hands on your shoulders, steadying you and looking you in the eye. “You hear anyone else runnin’ their mouth, you come to me. I’ll set ‘em straight before Joel gets word. Otherwise, we’ll have another Roddy incident on our hands.”

You cringed, and he rubbed your shoulder in response before dropping his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. My brother needs to learn to get his anger in check and Roddy had it comin’. Fucking tool is what he is. I’m just sorry you had to go through it.” You gave him a polite smile.

“Thank you, Tommy.” He returned your smile and bid you goodbye as you turned on your heel to walk back to the gardens.

It took everything in you not to overhear conversations as people noticed you walked past. All of them came to the same consensus. You were an easy opportunity for Joel. And he was just going to break your heart.

Tag List :) @silksepia @hello-nah817 @longlivetheloneliness @keseqna @millers-girl @treacherqus @lemonboi @spnfic85 @secretlettersfromyourlove

#bitter taste of honey #good day sunshine #joel miller #joel miller angst #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us #joel miller tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #tlou #Spotify

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aloesarchives · 1 year ago

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JJK Drabble #2

Tw/Warnings: Fem!Reader, Fluff, Fluff Brainrot, Domesticity, Family Man Toji, Usage of Wife and Mom, JJK Oc added

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Fem!Reader

Reader: Female, Usage of Wife and Mom

AU: Modern/"Toji Lives" Au

(A/N): I'm back! Well, kinda of. Long story short, dealt w/college stuff and had a health scare that kept me away from writing. Also had a mini burnout too. More is explained here!

Thinking about Toji taking up crocheting and knitting because he saw how expensive yet cheaply made certain items like blankets are made. So he buys a simple set to try it out, following Youtube tutorials and watching videos for ideas. Once he masters the basics, Toji is LOCKED IN once again. Making full on hand-made blankets, scarves, hats, mittens/gloves, stuffed animals, covers/cases, bags, scrunchies, even damn rugs. Anything you ask him for, he’ll make it. This ends up being very practical to Toji because he saves so much money by just making them at home himself. It has to be the premium, natural, good quality type. Organic cotton, wool, cashmere, alpaca/llamas, silk, linen, mohair, bamboo, hemp, all of that. Tell him about polyester or something and he tells you to put that shit back. He buys the premium yarn nearby, locally, or gets them imported internationally. Gets every and any colors because he never wants to be limited when making his projects.

There was a throw blanket you wanted for the couch but it was expensive and the size was a lot smaller than you hoped. The next day, you come home to see Toji making it for you. The same color but better quality and inexpensive, and it was the size you wanted too. You were happy and amazed that he made it within a day. Living off your praise and approval, Toji just makes everything. Since he can’t get carpal tunnel or arthritis, his hands and wrists never get tired from working. Though, his posture does get bad and his back aches from being hunched over. The blanket in your bedroom with Toji? He made that shit with fucking love and care. He actually made multiple ones depending on the weather and season.

Man has even made throw pillows, regular pillows, water bottle cases, table cloths, coasters, bags, cushions, and made your own curtains. I mentioned before that everything in your home was either made, customized, or renovated by Toji. This stays TRUE because almost all the pillows and blankets in the house are his creation. The blankets and pillows that cover Megumi and Tsumiki’s beds? All Toji. Both pillows and blankets match each other and are in respective colors for the two. Megumi has one at his dorm because it gets cold over there and he hates sleeping in the cold.

If you are a stuffed animal fiend, like me, you ask Toji to make you any stuffed animal you want. Definitely make squishmallow dupes for you if you asked him. In your personal room/office, there’s a pile of stuffed animals in the corner from Toji that you pluck one from the pile and hold it while relaxing or walking around the house. The ones he loves to make are bees, dragons, whales, dolphins and dogs. And they’re so soft and huggable, you squeeze them all the time. Toji just grins to himself knowing the things he makes brings you and the kids happiness.

Toji “Anything my wife wants, my wife gets. No questions asked” Fushiguro

It’s normal for you to come home to see Toji crocheting/knitting away at something. You either find him in three places at home: the engawa in front of the courtyard and garden, the family room with the shoji doors open, or in his personal room/office. Mostly, he sits outside sitting on the engawa working away at something. It makes him work better, or so he says. Makes his own needles and hooks because of his big hands. Megumi still has his crocheted stuffed puppy when he was younger, still going strong even though it’s been worn down from love. Tsumiki has all the Sanrio characters knitted/crocheted as gifts from Toji.

Tsumiki always wears her hair up in a ponytail, Toji makes her scrunchies in her favorite designs and colors. Her favorite cardigans and pullover sweaters that keep her warm during fall and winter were made by Toji because he wanted to try making outerwear. Luckily it worked in his favor. Tsumiki asked Toji if he could make her a tote bag because she needed a bag for outings. She comes home from school one day to see three of them in different sizes. She has those cute little flower keychains on her school bag and outing bags too because she asked Papa Toji for them. The massive white and blue circle rug in her room is from Toji.

Megumi’s winter scarf, earmuffs, and hat are made by Toji too. Megumi will never admit it out loud but he appreciates that Toji made it for him. They keep him and he doesn’t feel the wind chills nipping at his face. Megumi also appreciates his dad for making his stuffed animals. I’m projecting here but Toji made a set of plush stuffed animals after his shadows. His divine dogs, all of them. Megumi keeps them on his stuffed animal net in the top corner above his bed. Megumi wears a jacket and hoodie made by Toji all year round because of how versatile they are. In general, they’re Megumi’s favorite clothes to wear too.

Thinking about asking Toji to make a present for Nobara and Yuuji on their birthdays. You asked Nobara what her favorite color and style was while Yuuji said he wanted a new hoodie. Toji makes them pretty fast and the two are in love with their gifts. Nobara is wearing her bag EVERYWHERE, and I mean, EVERYWHERE she goes. Yuuji, like Megumi, ends up loving his hoodie that you always see him wear when he’s in casual clothes. Since Nanako and Mimiko grew up with Megumi and Tsumiki, one of Nanako’s cardigans and a pair of her socks are made by Toji while Mimiko only has a random plushie Toji made for her when she was younger because Suguru had to clean the other one.

Not me thinking about how Tsumiki, Megumi, and Mayumi(JJK OC) baby blankets are handmade by Toji himself with their own individual design and patterns. Megumi and Tsumiki’s are still in good condition even though they were lovingly used by the two throughout their whole life. Their baby hats, socks, and certain outfits were all made by him. He keeps them all in individual boxes to not lose them. Gets sentimental and nostalgic that you catch him staring as he holds the small clothes in his big hands. Reminiscing about Megumi and Tsumiki being babies and small children, now realizing that they are growing up before his eyes.

God, all of it is thoroughly well knitted and crocheted that people thought you bought it from a store. “No, actually my husband made it for me. Isn’t he skillful and amazing?” Your friends and co-workers lowkey ask you if Toji is willing to take commissions for them. They’ll pay for it obviously but they want good quality home-made items Toji makes which gives you an idea. You asked Toji if he considered making orders for other people besides his family. He did think about it but he said he would get overwhelmed when receiving orders and packing them up. You asked him if dealing with the orders and packaging them would help him change his mind. So you unintentionally set up a small business with Toji. His shop consists of blankets, bags and baskets of any kind, pot holders, rugs, coverings, and pillows. It runs where one week is for receiving orders, one month is for making them, and another month to send them out. Making a spreadsheet/list for Toji to show what he needs to make. Probably gets finished with all the orders in two weeks or something.

For some reason, Toji wears eye-glasses when he knits and crochets. You don’t know why but it makes him more handsome that your brain rots/short circuits every time you see him working away. He got you all flustered and down bad it’s insane(but absolutely valid). But you don’t understand why he would need them since he already has better vision and eye-sight than 99% of the population.

“Honey, since when do you need glasses?”

“I need it so I don’t strain my eyes when working on them?”

“Can you, like, squint? You already have 20/10 vision. You don’t need glasses when you have superhuman vision, Baby.”

“Doll, just because I have good eye-sight doesn’t mean my eyes aren’t as sensitive. My eyes are still bugged by light, shit hurts and gives me headaches. Anyway, can you pass me the blue yarn in front of ya?”

Megumi and Tsumiki always see you with their Toji. You’re chilling and minding your own business with their baby sister napping away while Toji is working away at a rug because he is bored. Even though he’s been doing this since they were young, the two still can’t get over how their dad can make a king-sized blanket(start to finish) in four hours. Or when they come home from school and see Toji finishing up on a big and long green dragon, turning to Megumi and Tsumiki asking them, “Do you two think your mom would like this?” Or they could be chilling then Toji asks them to try on the projects he finished to see how they look. Tsumiki and Megumi are his main critics, you are too but you aren’t bothered by certain details to criticize Toji’s projects so he leaves it to the kids.

Mayumi(JJK OC) is chilling by Toji as he’s working away, either sleeping away or playing with her stuffed animals close within sight. Being the three year old she is, she sometimes hides underneath the unfinished blankets and pops up from under to surprise Toji. Papa Toji gives his iconic DILF chuckle that has you GEEKING and GIGGLING like a damn school girl when you get the chance to hear it every time. He just pats her head, calling her a little rascal or princess, then resumes.

I’m projecting once again but you know those cute crochet dolls? Like the ones with the big black eyes, big head, small body, and no mouth? Toji made those of the entire family. There’s one of himself in his iconic black compression shirt, white sweatpants, and kung fu slippers. He added a little scar too where his mouth would be. Then there is your’s, all pretty and pristine with your iconic outfit. Toji getting your colors and features down to the bone. Next is Megumi and Tsumiki, literal carbon copies of their real versions. Toji said Megumi’s hair was the hardest part to make lol. Then Mayumi’s doll is later added once she’s born. The mini Fushiguro Doll set sits on the top shelf of a pristine black display case, next to the tv, in the family room.

He’s the type of guy you wouldn’t expect to be good at a skill like this then later found out he’s an absolute master and god among men. Toji doesn’t parade around craftsmanship because he knows how some guys have fragile egos. But he won’t shy away when people ask him about his work. Pulls out his phone to show people the things he made with two needles, one crochet hook, and a shit load of yarn.

Satoru, being the shitter he is, tries to tease and bully Toji about it. To which you reprimand and scold him for it. But Toji doesn’t care about dealing with his antics because it’s a practical skill and keeps him out of trouble. Then you remind Satoru that his winter scarf he always wears was made, the one you gifted him for his 18th birthday, was made by Toji at your request. Satoru never wore any scarf because he thought you made it for him. But for you to tell him Toji actually made it for him, Satoru shuts himself up and doesn’t shit on Toji anymore.

Toji loves it when his family uses/wears the things that he made. Usually wears a goofy smile or grin on his face to conceal his prideful yet satisfied self, knowing his creations are appreciated and loved by his family.

Tag List:

@luqueam @ploylulla @tqd4455 @wolywolymoley @captainbabybear @ravenswife

Tag List(@ w/ no links):

@szillx @g0th1xac1d @SleppyAnn @kneelarhmstrung

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just-some-random-blogger · 5 months ago

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Visenya | 1

Part 2

He snorts though his jaw tightens, "stupid little girl," he tilts his head and puts his hands in his pockets, "I wanted you before you were any of this."

Daemon Targaryen x Reader x Gwayne Hightower | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, modern au, stripper!reader, power imbalance, age gap, slow burn?, angst, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: this pairing was voted on but the plot was inspired by anora cuz damn it got me thinking about fics I've read that are better than that film. i said this was gonna be a mini series (i wanted it to have 3 parts) but it feels so much like a train wreck idk fam, so pls if you like this please leave a comment/reblog cuz 🧍‍♀️ what even is this. Edit: nah this slaps

You were no stranger to attention; you had no choice, as it sought you out with a vengeance. For a while, attention was your enemy, a flame you so badly tried to put out, it left your fingertips charred. Now, attention was your comrade, a match you purposely dropped in the woods, the wildfire that warmed your eternal winter.

Once upon a time, you felt your face burn in shame and embarrassment. Once upon a time, you pretended to be completely distracted by the design of your textbook and the music from your earphones, though it was not really the case. Now, you took up space and stared back to whomever did. Now, you made them uncomfortable by being more than a rumor, a reputation, a name.

And for every self-righteous woman in your college that had shit to say about your night job, for every man-child who made it a point to make cheap porno noises whenever you passed them by, you got yourself a new customer, eager to find out about the name on everyone's lips: Visenya.

"I clocked some guys come in for you, V," Mysaria says as she fixes her lipstick. She can't really; the dressing room lights are so dim and purple. It doesn't matter either, cause the entirety of Mockingbird is poorly lit and none of its patrons care for the quality of makeup when ass and tits begin to jiggle. It does matter to her; Mysaria has perfect lipstick every night.

You pull your jeans down, unashamed to change in front of the other dozen girls in the room, having been both so accustomed to both their company and being half-dressed, "oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," she turns to you, "all pretty with suits and ties."

You adjust your cotton underwear, which did you no favors, and slip on your tiny booty shorts. You put on your ulta-glittery, backless micro dress and upon adjusting it on your body, you remember you hadn't shaved your armpits. You check your pits in the mirror and quickly wave yourself off, "it's fine."

Another girl groans, "maybe I should stop shaving too."

You chortle at the sentiment.

"Maybe then the creeps with the big bucks will come to my stall after Visenya over here is done robbing them blind," she chirps, slapping your ass before walking out.

You, as well as the rest, giggle at the thought. You grab your bald cap and begin to fix your hair, calling out to the woman who just left, "I'll send you a creep if you think you can handle one, baby girl!"

You walk towards the mirror, squeezing in beside Mysaria. You continue your conversation, "is he rich?"

The dark haired woman watches you as you expertly put on your silver wig. Pride blossoms in her chest as, once upon a time, it was she who fitted fake hair onto your head as you sobbed over the difficulties of this job. She crosses her arms, tilting he head at you, "very. Sports car, penthouse, granddaddy's money rich."

You fix your lace front and grab the hairspray in your bag, "how you manage to tell all that from how they dress still manages to astound me."

Mysaria smiles as she watches you spray your wig down. You let it dry a bit before wrapping your hairline with your satin band. She watches you put on your makeup. You do it so quickly, it felt haphazard, though it was anything but. She taught you better than to do things like that.

You look at her after you put on your lip gloss. As you smack your lips, you find yourself knitting your brows at her smile, "what? Is it bad?"

Mysaria shakes her head, placing her hands on your shoulders, "no." She affectionately pushes your fake silver hair back, "I'm just so proud of you."

The thought makes you pout.

"I'm so," she clutches your cheeks, "so proud of you," her eyes water, "for persisting. For not taking shit from anyone. For busting your ass off," she takes your chin, "for you."

Your eyes begin to water, "Mysaria."

"You're gonna do what most girls here can't," her breath begins to shake, "I'm both so happy and so sad that you'll be leaving us soon."

You pull her into a tight hug as the rest of the girls in the room coo at your exchange. One of them groans and chucks her mascara on to the table, "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU BITCHES ARE GONNA MAKE ME CRY BEFORE MY SHIFT!"

You and Mysaria chuckle as you break away. Someone offers her a tissue and she grabs it, muttering a soft, "fuck you, V," to you before leaving the room.

You affectionately call out to her, and just then, Littlefinger walks in. Your boss claps his hands before shimmying over, "there she is."

You chuckle as takes you by the hand and spins you around.

"My Visenya, in all her glory" he looks you once over, "armpit hair and all."

You roll your eyes at his remark and pull your hand away mm, "I'm not shaving."

"No!" he shakes his head as he places his hands on his chest, "I would never ask you to do anything you don't want, my queen."

You turn to Mysaria, who promptly rolls her eyes.

"Especially not when you rake in as much money as you do," he grins.

Mysaria rolls her eyes one last time, giving you a final look before walking off. Littlefinger eyes her as she leaves, "go make me some money, baby girl."

"Don't tell me what to do, Petyr."

He chuckles as he turns back to you, "I love it when she calls my name."

You shoot him a look.

"Anyway," he claps his hands, "I have 3 rich assholes in VIP for you and Sandor on standby."

You strap on your thigh garters and heels.

"They're already half drunk and obnoxious, so make sure to make their life a living hell."

You grin, undoing the satin band on your wig, chucking it into your duffel, "with pleasure."

In truth, you don't know why you were so surprised to see the clientele in VIP. You should have known the moment Littlefinger said asshole, he meant your most generous regular: tall, blonde, and trust-fund.

"Konīr issa," a familiar baritone called, making his friends cheer, "Dāria Visenya," he raised a glass, "Tala Zaldrīzoti."

He wasn't an asshole per se, just a cocky rich guy that's very much full of himself and needs an attitude check. It's easier to just call him an asshole though.

You stalk over to the three men, eyes locked on the one with hair as fair as yours. You place your hands on your hips once you're in front of him. The man leans back and spreads his thighs, a stupid open mouthed half-grin on his face.

His friends holler like teenagers when you step your 6-inch heel on his lap. You lean forward, "you gonna translate that for me, honey?"

He gulps and grits his teeth, grin not wavering once.

"Woahhhh, Daemon," his friend yells, "you gonna let this hooker bitch talk to you like that?"

The same man yells again, only this time it's because you kick him back and dig your heel into his, making sure it hurts, "you wanna say that to my face, little boy?"

Daemon's eyes are on your leg. He so badly wants to touch you.

He yelps and tries to push your foot away, but you pull away before he can touch you.

You click your tongue, "someone clearly didn't listen to Sandor's briefing."

"Fuck you, you psycho-"

"And that's strike three," you raise a finger and turn to the door, "Sandor!"

Not a second later, a hulking man walks in, rolling his neck and shoulders back. His eyes are on you, and you merely point your finger to the man beside Daemon. Without a word, Sandor grabs him by the collar and forces him to his feet.

"W- get your fucking hands off me," he swats Sandor's hands off him.

Sandor glares, "you get three warnings from her and one big one from me. Get the fuck out of here."

He brushes his suit jacket off and combs through his hair, "I paid 500 to see this stripper shake her ass."

Sandor's face curls and so does yours. You raise your brows, "you paid for the Visenya Experience and your idiocy has led your experience to be getting thrown out by her Hound."

The man scoffs, "listen, sweet cheeks, I'm not fucking-"

Sandor shuts him up by punching him in the belly. The man lurches forward, not a morsel of fight left in him as he's dragged off. You grin and wave goodbye, "thank you, Sandor."

He nods, "you're welcome, V."

You turn back to Daemon and his remaining friend when the door closes. You cross your arms and walk over to the latter, "did that scare you, kitty?"

The man turns to Daemon but Daemon's eyes are locked on you, watching intently as you rest your knee on his friend's instead of his. He breathes heavily as when you turn to him.

"What's this one called?"

Daemon immediately answers, "Robb."

"Robb," you turn to the said man, reaching for his face. You see him anticipate your touch, which is why you pull away with a lopsided smile. You walk off to the poll in front of you, "I asked you a question, Robb."

Both men watch you as you walk around the poll.

Robb examines the shape of your legs, "...no."

Daemon counts the steps you take, as by now, he knows your routine by heart.

"Good," you stop in your tracks, "what about you, Daemon. You owe me a translation."

Daemon licks his lips. He wonders what punishment you'll have for him if he disobeys, but he'd rather not have you on your bad side today, not when this would be the last time he'd see you. He translates the words he spoke in High Valyrian, "there she is, Queen Visenya. Daughter of Dragons."

You tilt your head, "cute."

Robb gasps when you continue your routine. He'd seen pole dancing before, but what you just did was not something he'd ever seen before. You dip and spin and twirl so effortlessly; you've done this dance so many times you don't break a sweat. Daemon shifts in his seat and tilts his head in anticipation for his favorite move.

You climb up the poll and invert into an Eros position, slowly dropping down to your hands before doing a forward walk over.

Daemon huffs as you flip your hair back. He pulls out a thick fold of cash and looks at you expectantly. You smile and beckon him over.

He immediately drops to his knees and crawls towards you. His hands brush up and down your thigh until it's as warm as his palms, and then he takes his time hooking each bill into one of your thigh garters.

You turn to Robb and tilt your head, "my other thigh is cold, kitty cat."

Robb jumps off his seat and pulls out his wallet, garnering your other garter with all the cash he had at hand.

The two extended their session until Mockingbird's closing time, and when that came around, Sandor had to get involved because neither refused to leave.

Robb is now shirtless and drunk out of his mind; you have to hand him his dress shirt and suit jacket as he's pulled by the arm amidst his begging, "no wait, please— save me a dance tomorrow. You have to let me-"

"She doesn't owe you shit," Sandor grunts, shoving him out the room.

You smile and wave at him.

"B- wai- why does Daemon get to stay?!"

You turn to Daemon, who's lingering beside you. His jaw length hair is tousled, and the first four buttons of his shirt is undone. Though he had about as much to drink as Robb, you could tell from the focus of his lilac eyes, he wasn't drunk at all. You shrug and purse your lips, "yeah... why do you get to stay?"

Daemon eyes your body, "because my queen lets me."

Sandor manages to muscle Robb out, who huffs defeatedly outside VIP. The tall man then turns to you, asking plainly, "in or out, V?"

You smile at Daemon and turn to Sandor, "in. Give me 5."

With that, Sandor nods and closes the door.

Now that it's just you and him, the air is different. Your heart races when Daemon circles behind you and brushes your hair back. You feel your breathing as he leans close, so close that the tip of his nose brushes against the shell if your ear, "lift your hair for me."

You feel your skin prickle at his hot breath. You suck in a deep breath before doing what you're told. The air is completely different.

He brings his arms over and around you, and soon, you feel a brush of a cold metal on your burning skin.

"Happy graduation."

You drop your hair and look down at your décolletage. You brush your hands against the small, shimmering diamonds before turning around, "stalker."

Daemon drinks you in. He imagines what you would look like in a floor length dress under normal lights. He is pleased by how you inspect your reflection in the mirror, "it suits you."

You turn back to him, "how do you know about my graduation?"

"Mmm, a smart girl like you refusing to schedule more dances with me?" he clicks his tongue, "something clearly made you think you're too good for my money now."

You chuckle and cross your arms.

"Between you and me," he pulls out a bill, "the paper you get from me is better than the one you're gonna get from your kindergarten."

You roll your eyes at him but gladly take the money, "some of us don't want to live at the mercy of sleazy men's paper."

He snorts and puts his hands in his pockets, "we're all at the mercy of some sleazy man's paper, doll face."

"At least I don't have to walk around every night feeling like a piece of meat."

He does not reply. There's nothing he can say to that.

You stare at each other for a moment before moving to unclasp your necklace.

"No," he raises a hand, "it's a gift."

"You know I only take cash, Daemon."

"It's worth more than everything I've paid you tonight," he motions, "if you really don't want to keep it, go pawn it or something. Buy yourself a car or pay a few months of rent with it."

Just as you remove the necklace, he steps back and tilts his head at you.

You stare back at him, holding the necklace up.

"It spells out Visenya, you know," he points to each dangling stone, "V-i-s-e-n-y-a."

"Cute."

"I would have spelled it out after your real name, had I known it."

You shrug, "you should probably just go find a real Visenya then."

"Or, I can just make you another one once you tell me your-"

"Daemon-"

"It's your last night. When will I ever get to see you again?"

"Hopefully," you shake your arm for emphasis, "never."

He raises his brows, "please?"

"If you don't take this necklace, I'll never tell you."

"So... you'll keep it if I don't get your name?"

Your brows quirk.

You both stare at each other until the door flies open. Sandor cocks his head to the side, "come on, blondie. Time's up."

You turn to Sandor, but Daemon's eyes remain on you. When you look back at him, his hand is out for a handshake. For a split second, you think of shoving the necklace into his palm, but you decide against it.

His hand is as warm as it always is when you take it. Your breath hitches when he leans it and presses a kiss at the back of your hand. His eyes remain on you until he pulls away, "till we meet again, my queen."

Sandor gives him a twisted look as he walks away, but you, you watch him intently as he walks down the hall. The former scoffs, "fucking jackass."

So, no, you weren't a stranger to attention at all. It was exactly that, your ability to attract attention and manage it under your thumb that you found yourself where you were today, soaking in all the attention in this gala, only to shrug it off your shoulders.

You cared little for the attention offered in this place anyway. It's not like any of it was genuine.

"Sorry I took so long, my love."

You barely manage to turn before you feel a kiss on your lips. Your eyes widen at the lipstick stain left on his face as he pulls away, "Gwayne! I'm wearing red."

Gwayne places a hand in your waist, bringing you close to him, "mmm, yes. I'm not colorblind, my dear."

His pale blue eyes rove over the form of your red of your dress as you rub off the red lipstick on his mouth. You raise a brow, "I take that it went well."

He groans and leans into your neck, "must I talk about work with my wife as well?"

Wife. The word makes you smile, and you do, but you still push him away, "I'm not your wife, Mr. Hightower."

"Mmm," he takes your hand and rubs your knuckles with his thumb, completely focused on the feel of your skin rather than the large marquise-shaped emerald on your ring finger that he proposed to you with, "count your days. You will only be able to tease me with this for so long."

Your laugh is cut short by the feel of his lips on yours. You push him away again, and this time, the mark on his mouth is so big, you are concerned by how your own mouth looks, "Gwayne!"

He chases after your lips, stealing another kiss. When you push him away this time, you break away all together, quickly covering your mouth, knowing red was smeared all over. He does not flinch when you swat his arm, nor when you pull out the handkerchief from his breast pocket as you instruct him to wipe the mess off his face.

He does just that as he watches you run off to the ladies' room with a hand hovering your face. He cannot wait to marry you.

The moment you're in the bathroom, you make a beeline for a tissue dispenser and walk towards the mirror. You were glad he didn't do so much damage that you'd have to use makeup to fix it. You wipe red off the edges of your lips and on your chin, then inspect the rest of your body. After looking yourself once over, you chuck the used tissue into the bin and head out.

You stop in your tracks when you see Alicent and two of her friends at the door. Their conversation runs dry when they see you. You press your lips into a soft smile, rubbing your hands together as you walk past them.

The moment you do, they break into loud laughs, and you pointedly hear Alicent say, "no, I know, it's embarrassing."

You shake your head, telling yourself not to think about her as you go back to Gwayne. The only problem was, he was no longer where you had left him, and you quickly figured he was probably pulled by the collar into another conversation with some rich old man who wanted to absorb him into his company.

You decide to simply wait for him in the same spot, completely turned off by the idea of joining in a conversation with rich old men.

Suddenly, your ears ring at the name you hear. Of course, it wasn't your name, so you ignore it.

But there it is again: Visenya. You swear you even recognize the voice.

"V!"

The call was so loud, you had to look.

Your brows raise and your lips part. The man who had been so eager to run to you now grows laggardly, in disbelief it was actually you.

In truth, you had never seen him in proper light, but there was no mistaking his blonde hair or his violet eyes. He stops a few paces from you and he's unmistakable as he sighs. You take in his suit and the shorter cut of his hair. He takes in your floor length dress.

"You know," he chuckles softly, "I've only ever dreamed of seeing you like this."

You raise your brows and tilt your head, "sorry, do I know you?"

He laughs. Loud. He clutches his belly and steps forward, "her majesty forgets the face of her subjects too quickly."

You chortle and turn away, shaking your head at his ridiculousness.

Unlike you, he does not stifle his laughter. "Konīr issa, Dāria Visenya, Tala Zaldrīzoti."

You hum and cross your arms. You purse your lips, "you gonna translate that for me... old man?"

Oh, he's missed this. He chuckles, "I assure you," he takes another step, "I am just as capable, if not more, in my age now than years ago."

"Capable," you pull your head back, "of what?"

"Everything."

You chuckle dryly, "you haven't changed a bit, haven't you?"

"No, but you-" he reaches a hand out, "-clearly have."

You ignore his hand in lieu of rubbing your chest and pouting at him, "don't worry. It's never too late for some change. I mean," you point, "you managed to get a haircut."

He chuckles, brushing his hair back as he stares at your décolletage, "and you managed to lose my necklace."

"Ha... an odd response."

"Is it, when you bare neck is begging for my diamonds," he raises a finger, "V-i-s-e-n-y-a."

Your forehead curls, "baby's first-time spelling?"

"Baby?" he excitedly chuckles, "if we're talking about babies, I-"

"For gods' sake, Daemon."

You step back as Gwayne comes between you both.

"I turn around for one second, then the next you're here, sticking your nose into my business."

Daemon scowls, "this is literally none of your business, Hightower."

"Oh," he chuckles dryly, "I do beg to differ."

You can see his face begin to turn as red as his hair, "Gwayne-"

"No," Daemon laughs, "you work for him?"

Your lips curl at his words, "no." Gwayne looks between the two of you as you say, "I'm his partner."

"O h !" the blonde gasps exaggeratedly, raising his hands, "pardon me for the semantics."

"No, as in we're going to get married, Daemon," you blurt, showing him the back of your hand.

Daemon's entire expression drops at the sight of your ring.

This put Gwayne all the more on edge. He pulls a pinched expression as he asks you, "time out. You two know each other?"

"Unfortunately," you retort.

Daemon scoffs. He clenches his jaw and raises his brows, "why don't you ask her how we know each other, Gwayne."

You give Daemon a look.

"While you're at it, why don't you ask her about her old pal, Visenya."

"Visenya?" Gwayne repeats, turning to Daemon.

"Yes, Visenya," Daemon sneers at him, though his eyes remain on you, "go on, ask her!"

Your face twists at his expression.

"And what makes you think I wouldn't already know about her?" Gwayne snaps.

Daemon finally looks at Gwayne.

His shoulders are tense, and his face is hard, "or that I would ever be baited by someone as degenerate as you?"

"Alright," you grab Gwayne's arm, "that's enough."

"What do you know about Visenya?" Daemon asks, like a wronged child.

"I know that if you every try to hang this over her head, I will make sure you never be able to work in-"

"I said that's enough, Gwayne," you cut him off, pulling him away from Daemon.

Gwayne's nostrils flare as he turns to you. He clenches and unclenches his jaw as his chest heaves. You shake your head. He speaks out your name.

The sound of it makes Daemon tense and his belly churn.

You clutch Gwayne's cheeks and offer him a reassuring look. Without a word, the two of you walk off, intent on going home. Daemon does nothing, can do nothing but stand there, watching you as he tests the sound of your name in his mouth, over and over again under his breath.

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nothing0fnothing · 2 years ago

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hey I have some lived experience personal care advice I had to learn the hard way in my adulthood after growing up with abusive neglectful narcissistic parents. Maybe it will help someone else.

The most important room in your house to be clean is your kitchen. If you only have a few spoons and a whole house of mess, spend them on getting your kitchen clean, hygienic and tidy enough to be usable.

spending money on things that last longer or work better isn't a waste of money. You don't have to use the cheapest of everything because spending is bad work out what YOU think is worth splurging on.

Always buy the best shoes you can afford. Taking care of your feet is so important for your health. If you're afab the same goes for underwear, buying one pack of good quality, good fitting cotton breathable underwear will save you so much money on feminine care supplies if you get what I'm saying.

Get your feet measured in a shoe store. Especially if you're over 25 your feet will have grown since you were 18. I spent years thinking my body was wrong because my feet ALWAYS hurt. My girlfriend suggested we measure them and I realised I was in shoes two sizes too small. For years!! I didn't even know shoes were supposed to have space in them.

a cheap bottle of washing up liquid (dish soap) costs like £1 and can be used on basically every surface. Clean your counters, toilet, sinks, bathtub or shower, oven and hob with a scrub daddy and some cheap washing up liquid. It doesn't react with other chemicals and it cleans deeply and easily. I even use it on the inside of the shower glass where it collects that crusty water residue.

When bathing with an unscented bar soap everywhere first. Then wash a second time with your scented soap. The scented liquid soap isn't designed to clean you it's designed to make you smell beautiful.

Don't use scented soaps on your kitty. Don't use femfresh or other feminine washes on your kitty. Don't use feminine wipes on your kitty. You use your unscented bar soap you use on the rest of your bodh on your kitty once a day. That's all it needs.

You don't need sewing skills to mend things. A £5 sewing kit you keep somewhere in your house and maybe a 2 minute YouTube tutorial is all you need to fix holes in your clothes and make them last longer.

Cereal for breakfast is quick and convenient but aim to eat protein for your first meal. Things like eggs, meat, a protein shake, Greek yogurt. You'll feel fuller for longer and your body will appreciate it.

most things don't need to be ironed. For the things that need creases out a steamer is better for the fibres and easier to use. Simply hang up the item and hold the steamer against the creases.

#cptsd recovery #abuse recovery #trauma recovery #recovery #ptsd recovery #mental wellbeing #mental wellness #dysfunctional household #self care tips #self compassion #self healing #personal growth #self acceptance #mental health #emotional health #therapy

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cookierunoutofideas · 4 months ago

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The Bride (Pure Vanilla Cookie x fem!Reader) [Part 2]

And we're back! Still no beta. Also, I started writing this before I caught up to Beast Yeast Chapter 7, so if there's anything inaccurate with the current state of canon, that's why

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Opening his eyes is a daunting task, but he tackles it as he always did ever since his childhood. The farm needed tending before the sun even presented to make sure everything would run smoothly and his parents needed his help to complete those tasks, after all, so Pure Vanilla Cookie had long cultivated the habit of not taking too long to shake off sleep and start his day.

Still, he struggles to open his eyes and he isn’t sure why.

“I think you killed him.”

“Don’t be silly! My handsome husband wouldn’t die from so little!”

Whispered words reach his ears, finally giving him the push to open his eyes and blink them owlishly a few times as his mind processes what—or who stands in front of him. It is a cookie he has never seen before, one oddly beautiful, like the statues of pure white sugar one can find in old chapels and cathedrals. Beautiful, yes, yet morbid.

“Oh, you’re awake!” The beautiful cookie smiles at him, stepping closer. The light of the candle on the bedside table—whose bed and whose room is he in? Did she carry him here? Has he been kidnapped?—allowing him to take a better look at her.

She seems to be a bit taller than the average cookie and her dough has an odd quality to it. It looks not quite fresh and not quite stale, like it stopped in the middle of the process of losing vitality. Her eyes are void of all light, cold and unseeing in appearance. Her gown is a beautiful and elaborated piece, from the bodice encrusted with jewelry—delicate jewelry that imitate little flowers and stars so well he has a hard time believing they’re stones and metals—to the long layered skirt that hides her legs and feet, as if she is part cloud—more jewels and flowers that shine beautifully—and the puffy sleeves that protect her arms from the slight breeze entering from the windows. A long veil dangles from the elegant up-do of her hair, falling like a curtain of the silkiest cotton candy.

The picture perfect image of a breathtaking bride ready to walk down the aisle.

“I think you hit his head against too many roots,” he can’t see who speaks, however the voice strangely seems to come from the cookie.

“Shh, quiet you!” she hisses, knocking on her own head before returning to her smiling expression. “I’m glad you’re awake, husband. I was afraid for a second.”

Wait.

“Husband?” his voice comes a bit raspy. Sitting up, he finally looks at the room he currently finds himself in.

It is a big room, much bigger than one cookie needed, decorated richly with plants and vases and statuettes. The bed he rests on is big, big enough for three of him, the bedding, of a pastel yellow with blue and white flowers, soft and comfortable, of a quality one would only see in Golden Cheese Cookie’s castle. The furniture was definitely crafted lovingly by a talented hand, each star and flower carved to perfection. The mirror shows Pure Vanilla Cookie his own confused face and slight crooked bow tie-

Bow tie?!

“What?!”

Throwing the covers aside, he takes a good look at his garments. Long gone are his usual flowing tunic and cape, instead a perfectly fitted white tuxedo with gold lapels and accents greets him. A hand to his head confirms that his hat is nowhere to see. He also cannot find his trusty staff anywhere.

“Don’t worry, dear, I didn’t change you... That should be saved for our honeymoon, right?”

Looking back at the only other cookie in the room, Pure Vanilla finally notices how similar the hands cupping her cheeks are to the one that grabbed his wrist and pulled him. Dry and hardened, like a branch.

“H... honeymoon?” he stutters, looking around one last time in hopes of finding at least his staff. “I’m sorry, there must be a mistake...”

“There is no mistake, husband. The vows were said and the rings were exchanged, we’re now wife and husband!”

She giggles, showing off her left hand.

The promise ring he prepared for White Lily Cookie glints from her ring finger.

______________

Someone asked to be tagged, so here we go: @simpdevil66

#pure vanilla cookie #corpse bride cookie au #cookie run kingdom #pure vanilla cookie x reader

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venusandsaturnsrings · 1 year ago

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every time someone normal seeming likes one of my tame posts i feel the need to post something deranged… like firing off warning shots to keep rent down… anyways…

did he like getting rough in bed? yes, most definitely, but boothill had never delved into anything further than smacking you around, choking you, or getting a bit mean with his thrusts and words. anything more… serious, for lack of better words, hadn’t been on his plate before mainly due to him not previously having a real relationship and not being super into little flings; something insecure still nibbled at his body. yet he still wanted to try something new and exciting that would let him have real control over you in a way he hadn’t before so, he began scrolling through forums and sites with his phones volume silenced as he perused different kinks and ideas for something that would scratch that itch. then he found it, just the kind of thing he’d been looking for.

preparation was nothing more than a couple minutes of thinking and testing the scrappy motels stability before he sat himself on the edge of the bed, hat thrown on the table that was missing something that made it rattle obnoxiously. he waited, metal and silicone uncomfortably strained and needing your touch in his stupidly tight pants, for your arrival. when you walked in, boothill was immediately on his feet wrapping his iron arms around you while cooing something about a surprise that made your gut stir. he kissed you sweet and gentle before taking you further into the room where in a neat row atop the bed sat an array of weapons you didn’t think he’d even be able to carry. some you couldn’t even identify with the sharp edges and complex triggers seeming to contradict each other. yet stood behind you chattering about testing, ‘all these beauty’s out on my beauty,’ was boothill who somehow procured all twenty-two; you counted. with a thick swallow, you asked what exactly he’d be doing to which he smiled all sharp teeth and practically demanded you strip.

naked and admittedly nervous, you watched as he plucked a long and slender knife from his charcuterie of weaponry. the blade was at least six inches and when he dragged it across the poor quality cotton and something trashy sheets, it made a clean slice through. even boothill seemed surprised, whistling quickly before bringing the blade to sit firm against your throat. he seemed eager and giddy and he hadn’t hurt you before so you doubted he would now but then he slide it across and you felt the bite of metal split your skin. ruby beaded and slipped down your chest as your eyes stung and he pushed you back to lap up every drop that threatened to slip down and away from sight.

he brought the blade across your whole body, silver nipping at every place he deemed appropriate until you were shaking and hazy beneath him. boothill hummed to himself more than anything as he finally brought himself between your legs for his prize.

“ya’ trust me a bit too much, sugar, but don’t cha’ worry,” he slipped himself through your wetness admiring the crystalline tears travelling your lashes, “gon’ take good care of this lil hole now. once ya’ wake up, we’ll have a nice big talk ‘bout yer silly head bein too dumb to understand danger. then, maybe, have a go at this with my gun. not gon’ blow yer brains out, promise. my darlin’s too pretty to be splattered on the wall…”

#cw: gunplay #cw: bloodplay #cw: blood mention #cw: dubcon #cw: manipulation #smiles rubs my legs together #<- WHAT…#i think he’s cute when he gets turned on by blood and killing #rolling smthn in my brain abt ipc reader getting [REDACTED] by boothill <3 #boothill x reader #boothill x you #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut

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kakao-lovey · 3 months ago

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۶ৎ Haircare priority No. 1: preventing damage

Preventing damage to your scalp and hair follicles is unarguably the most essential part of haircare, and is often overlooked by the very same people that use endless expensive treatments. It does not matter how good your genes are, or how many products you use: if you damage your hair, it will look dull, straw-like, frizzy and discoloured. Note: unfortunately, some of us have bad hair genes, and it can predispose you to dryness, split-ends or oiliness that affects the look NO MATTER how good you take care of it. But, taking measures to protect your hair will almost always make it look much better in the long run, if not perfect. Note No. 2: I am as white as white gets. Wasabi is too spicy for me. My experienced is based on blonde 1b hair, and although these tips are backed by science, some might vary in applicability.

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What not to do

Heat-styling: lovies, if you heat-style your hair, PLEASE try out heatless curls (If you're curling) or AT LEAST use a high-quality heat protectant spray. Heat damage breaks down proteins in the cortex of your hair, which leads to easy breaking, splitting and stiffness. It can also separate the outer cuticle from your hair strand, and that's what makes heat-damaged hair so dry and dull.

Using the hot air to blow-dry: Same principle. Additionally, if you blow-dry until your hair is 100% dry, that means you are actually sucking the moisture out of it.

Air-drying: your hair can absorb up to 30% of it's weight in water, and the longer it has to hold in that water, the more damage there is to the cortex.

Excessive sun exposure: you can get a sunburn on your scalp, actually. Plus, the heat thing comes up again.

Sulphate shampoos: here's the deal. MOST people are OK with sulphate shampoos, and the supposed damage is widely exaggerated, IF you wash your hair as often as you should. If you have to wash every day (For whatever reason), opt for sulphate-free, and use a clarifying shampoo weekly. It is incredibly difficult to find a sulphate-free shampoo that actually works on oily hair, so if your regular one works, stick with it.

Washing too frequently: everyone's hair is different, but every one or two days is excessive. I have the oiliest hair on Earth, but I wash once or twice a week, and I'm fine because my scalp got used to not having to overcompensate for loss of normal sebum.

Scalp-picking: I am guilty as charged. I don't think I even need to explain why this is bad.

Sleeping with wet hair: put your food down, lovies, because your scalp can actually grow mould in those warm, wet conditions. On top of that, you're adding friction to the already sensitive hair strands that are drenched with water.

Friction: last one, I promise. Rubbing your hair harshly with your towel is about the worst thing you can do, and that hair turban thing they do at spas has to come second.

────୨ৎ──── What you should do

Blow-dry your hair with cool air: most hairdryers have this setting. The cooler, the better (Even though it takes longer).

Styling with heatless curls

Squeezing and patting your hair dry gently with a cotton towel (Or old shirt, works just as well)

Wearing a high-duty hair sunscreen or a hat when outside for long periods of time: better yet, choose a hat with a silk lining to minimise friction.

Non-sulphate, fragrance-free shampoos: hard to come by, but real gold for your hair.

Washing only a handful of times a week

Getting a fidget toy to keep your hands busy and away from your scalp: I recommend infinity cubes or stress balls.

Using a silk scarf under your religious hair covering, if you wear one

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If you take any of these tips to heart, please let me know by interacting with this post so I can make more haircare-related content. Between high-school and chronic illness, I don't have an overload of free time, but I always make it work!

#it girl #self improvement #wonyoungism #becoming that girl #glow up #self care #becoming her #manifestation #that girl #long hair #haircare #hairgoals #healthyhair #beautytips #glowing up

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mysteryshoptls · 1 year ago

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SR Jamil Viper - Luxe Couture Vignette

"If I let this opportunity pass me by"

[Fairest City – Crystal Galleria]

Jamil: So, this is the "world's most beautiful plaza", the luxury shopping arcade Crystal Galleria.

Jamil: It's no wonder that the passage is lined with high-brand shops.

Ace: Woah! I totally dig those clothes in that shop's window! I'ma check 'em out.

Jamil: Hey, Ace! Ah man, I'll go and bring him back.

[Grim, Vil, and Azul look exasperated]

Shop Staff A: Welcome～!

Ace: Woooah! There's a ton of cool-lookin' clothes and accessories! This's so awesome!

Jamil: Hey… Don't just run off on your own. Come on, we're heading back to Vil-senpai.

Ace: It's just a little peek～ I saw somethin' I liked. Like see, like this T-shirt…

Ace: …Urk, it costs 100,000 Madol [1,000 Thaumarks]! That's waaay too expensive for me!

Jamil: That price is fairly standard for a high-brand shop… Hm?

Jamil: This stitching… It's pretty shoddy. Looks like they're using pretty low-quality cotton, too.

Jamil: Strangely, this doesn't look like the sort of thing that would be sold at this price.

Ace: Huh? Aren't T-shirts all made of the same stuff?

Jamil: Sure. But high-brand T-shirts are generally made with high-quality cotton.

Jamil: Better quality cotton is soft and have a nice feel to it.

Jamil: Not only does it not wrinkle easily, but when the cotton is made into T-shirts, it keeps its shape for longer and makes for a nice silhouette.

Jamil: The design of these other shirts isn’t too terrible… But the fabric quality is just too low.

Jamil: There's no way a shop selling at this level can have a store in the Crystal Galleria.

Jamil: Which means… They must have lowered the quality of their material after opening. Did they run into some kind of business issues?

Ace: Hey! That jacket's so rough-lookin' and cool! Excuse me, I'd like to try this on!

Shop Staff B: Ohh my, I'm sorry. I'm afraid that jacket cannot be tried on here.

Jamil: …

Ace: Huh? Really?

Shop Staff B: That's right. That is a really pricey jacket. If it is somehow dirtied or damaged, it would be on the customer to compensate the loss, wouldn't you say?

Jamil: …So essentially, he has to decide to buy it or not without trying it on?

Shop Staff B: Well, I guess that's right.

Jamil: …Would I be allowed to try these slacks on?

Shop Staff A: Unfortunately, that won't be possible either. Sorry.

Jamil: Ah, right. Thought as much.

Ace: C'mon. Isn't that a stupid rule?

Middle-aged Man: Oh nice, this is a pretty nice shop. The prices seem pretty reasonable, too.

Shop Staff B: Oh, what an important looking customer! Welcome～! Is there something in particular you're looking for?

Middle-aged Man: I'm wanting a jacket, see… Think you have something that'll suit me?

Shop Staff A: Well, if that's the case, how about this one? It's one of our most popular designs.

Shop Staff B: I'm sure it will be perfect for you. Please, try it on!

Ace: Wha―!? But when I asked earlier, they said it wasn't allowed to be tried on!!

Shop Staff A: Students like you can't possibly buy something like that, so there's no reason for you to try it on, is there?

Shop Staff B: Please go home before you start to disturb our other customers. We don't have the free time to be dealing with you two.

Ace: Huh...!?

Jamil: …Not only are their products low-quality, but so are the staff's customer service.

Jamil: There's no reason to stick around in a shop like this. Let's go meet up with Vil-senpai and the others.

[Fairest City – Crystal Galleria]

Ace: Wha was that all about, treatin' us like dirt just 'cause we're students!? That was terrible service. That pissed me off so much!

Ace: First they shoo us out, then they play all buddy-buddy up to the rich-lookin' guy.

Jamil: I bet that since they've been rubbing elbows with the rich and famous while working at that high-brand store…

Jamil: They've completely started to think that they've improved their own social standing.

Jamil: Thinking about those sorts of folks and getting upset about it is a waste of time. Just shake it off.

Jamil: Only the best brands, in both name and reputation, will flourish here at the Crystal Galleria.

Jamil: I can't tell if they had a change in management since opening, or if they've suffered business losses…

Jamil: But from what I saw, I can't imagine that place continuing to be suitable for this passage.

Jamil: Even if we do nothing, I'm sure they'll have no choice but to close down eventually.

Ace: It could ruin a brand's rep if they got kicked out of the Crystal Galleria. That'd feel sooo good to see, though!

―The next day

Jamil: I really can't relax at all while at Vil-senpai's side. I'll have to relax as much as I can during my personal free time here.

Jamil: Maybe I'll check out the café at the far end of the Crystal Galleria.

Jamil: Hm? This shop looks… I guess I can check it out.

Clerk: Welcome! Please feel free to look around.

Jamil: …This place is completely different than the one yesterday. Now, where's that outfit I saw in the window…?

Jamil: Ah, here it is. I thought it looked like a pretty nice jacket from outside, but the pockets and lining give off a more casual feel.

Jamil: This isn't something I see often. The material is good and the sewing and embroidery is delicately done…

Clerk: Would you like to try it on? Come this way.

Jamil: Thank you.

Jamil: Yeah, the size is good and it fits well. I think this color also actually goes well with the clothes I brought with me, too…

Jamil: …How much is this jacket?

Clerk: That would be 50,000 Madol [500 Thaumarks].

Jamil: I see. Would you allow me to think on it?

Clerk: Of course! And please take your time to look at our other items.

Jamil: A 50,000 Madol jacket… That's a bit of a steep price for me… Hmm…

Jamil: The fabric's quality, the design, and the superb stitching make this very high quality…

Jamil: If I think of those factors, even 50,000 Madol is fairly cheap. Also…

Jamil: I've found this in the Crystal Galleria, of all places. If I let this opportunity pass me by, there won't be another chance to buy something like this.

Jamil: …Excuse me. Could I purchase the jacket I tried on earlier?

Clerk: Absolutely. I'll go fetch a new one for you. Please wait a moment.

Jamil: Sure.

Jamil: …I was able to buy a sensible jacket from a reasonable shop here in the Crystal Galleria.

Jamil: Yeah. I'm definitely satisfied with this. And I'm sure this'll be a great memory.

[Fairest City – Queen's Palace]

Shop Staff A: KYAAA! VIL-SAMAAA! YOU'RE SO BEAUTIFUL!!

Shop Staff B: SO BEAUTIFUL! I JUST HAVE TO GET A PICTURE OF THAT STUNNING FACE!

Jamil: Hm? I think I saw those two screaming fans over there yesterday...

Shop Staff A: Oh, look! Do you think those guys walking alongside Vil-sama are models too? Should we ask for an autograph?

Shop Staff B: EXCUSE ME!! PLEASE GIVE US YOUR AUTOGRAPH!!

Jamil: …Hahah! You sure you want my autograph?

Shop Staff B: Absolutely! …Wait, huh? I feel like I've seen him before…

Shop Staff A: Wait! Isn't he that customer that we turned away yesterday…!?

Jamil: I'm honored that a mere student like myself would stir your recollections.

Shop Staff A: Wh-Who would have thought he'd be so famous to walk the tapis rouge…? And he looks so good in that outfit!

Shop Staff B: If we had sold clothing to those boys yesterday, it might've been such good publicity!!

Shop Staff A: H-Hey! Once you're finished here, would you care to come visit our shop once more?

Shop Staff B: We have a collection of garments that would look fabulous on you! Please allow us to design your new look!

Jamil: I have to decline. Your shop does not have any article of clothing that would suit me.

Jamil: After all, just as you said yesterday, there is no need to try anything on.

Shop Staff A/B: U-Uhhh… So when we said that yesterday, uh…

Jamil: If that is all, perhaps you should head home now? Not only are you bothering others around you…

Jamil: But I also do not have the free time to be dealing with you, either.

Requested by @ordinaryanon.

#twisted wonderland #twst #jamil viper #ace trappola #twst jamil #twst ace #twst translation #twst tapis rouge #mention: vil

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moremaybank · 1 year ago

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HOME THIS CHRISTMAS — j.m

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader prompt: "i thought you were going home for christmas?" - "well, i couldn't leave you all alone." requested: here (ty @drewstarkeyslut) warnings: none naughty or nice ! ౨ৎ

When you first told JJ that you had to fly back home to visit your parents for the holidays, you could see the sorrow in his eyes. He tried his hardest not to let it show, throwing on the best smile he could and saying “That’s great, baby. I know you miss ‘em. I bet they’re thrilled.”

What he really wanted to do was get on his knees, loop his arms around your legs like a child and beg and plead for you not to leave him. He couldn’t help it. Most of the time growing up, he’d duck out of his house, not too eager to spend quality time with Luke. Quality time in which Luke would spend being wasted out of his mind and souring the mood. John B always had Big John to celebrate with, and now he has Sarah. Kie would stay with her parents and possibly do something at The Wreck to give back during the festive season, and Pope would spend it with his parents as well.

It’s not like they tried to leave JJ out. That’s just what ended up happening every year.

But now that the two of you were together, he hoped that he’d finally get to experience Christmas with someone he loved.

Too bad the odds just weren’t in his favour.

He moped, albeit internally (though you knew him far too well to believe that he was happy, or even simply okay). With the date of your departure rapidly approaching, he grew even more defeated. When you asked him about it, he knew he couldn’t lie to you. But he would just say that he was going to miss you. That he’d been excited to start new holiday traditions with you, but you won’t have the opportunity to do so. And while you argued that you could still do everything he’d planned out before and after you returned, you understood where he was coming from.

It wouldn’t be the same.

“It’s okay, baby. I don’t want you to worry about me. I get you all to myself for the majority of the year, you should be able to go visit your family without feeling guilty.”

Your hands rub a path up and down his brawny arms. “You know, no matter how many times you say not to worry, I still will.”

He smiles, leaning in to kiss the tip of your nose. “‘N I love you for that, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna let your guilt hold you back. You’re goin’.”

And that was that.

Or, at least, that’s what JJ thought.

When JJ woke up on the twenty-third of December, the bed was cold and empty. There was no one scratching his back, kissing up the length of his spine and playing with his hair. No one whispered how pretty he looked as he slept, how tan he was in contrast with the white cotton sheets embracing him.

His shower was even lonelier than the wake-up had been. Still, he forced himself to continue with his morning routine before begrudgingly getting himself to work. JJ never enjoyed work, but now that he couldn’t look forward to your daily visit…let’s just say he was no longer the ray of sunshine he always was in your company.

The day dragged on, possibly the slowest he’d ever experienced. He waited for a text or call from you to ensure that you’d reached your destination with all your precious limbs intact. But hours went by, and he hadn’t heard from you. Worry bubbled in his chest, but he just told himself that you were reuniting with everyone, and you couldn’t find a second to pull yourself away from them.

Meanwhile, you were running around ordering all of JJ’s favourite foods, buying matching pyjama sets and decorating your apartment. You hadn’t bothered to do so earlier since you were planning on being away, and truthfully, you didn’t want JJ to be surrounded by all the reminders of why you weren’t there.

In hindsight, maybe it would’ve been better to make it homey for him. Especially now that you were on a massive time crunch.

When you were done, you shot JJ a quick message.

Hi, baby. Miss you. There’s a surprise waiting for you when you get home. I hope you like it ♡︎

Though he would’ve loved to hear your voice, joy washed over him once he read your message. You were so good to him. You had a habit of acting like a madman every time you had to travel, and in between freaking out the way he knew you were, you took the time out of your busy schedule to brighten up his day.

The drive home felt far too long. He wished for nothing more than to shower, crack open a few beers and chill. Smoke so he could fall asleep without you.

On another note, his curiosity also ate away at him. He wondered what his crazy girl had left behind for him.

He stepped inside your shared place, noticing a cast of light coming from the next room. Shit, he thought, she’s gonna kill me if I left the lights on again. But when he reached the room, there you were, wearing red plaid pyjamas and fuzzy socks, standing next to a large pile of presents in front of your brand-new pine tree.

“What…What are you doin’ here? I thought you were goin’ home for Christmas?”

You crossed the room, looping your arms around his back and looking up at him. You watched his blue eyes sparkle in the light.

He’d never looked so delighted. Relieved.

“Well, I couldn’t leave you all alone.”

“But, what about your family? They’re expectin’ you,” he spoke, though he pulled you into him further. “What if they hate me for making you stay here?”

Your head tilted, and your heart melted. He was so disappointed by the thought of having to spend Christmas by himself again, but the first thing that popped into his mind at the sight of you was the idea of your family being upset with him.

He was too sweet for his own good.

“You didn’t make me do anything. I wanted to stay. It wouldn’t have been Christmas without you. As for my family — who do not hate you, by the way — they’re coming down in a few days. And they can’t wait to meet the boy who makes me happy.”

He didn’t even respond. Not verbally, anyway. He simply gave you a shining grin, cupped your face and kissed the life out of you.

Oh, yeah. Best decision ever.

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the-bofurin-digest · 1 year ago

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Hajime Umemiya Casual Headcanons

Casual Headcanons

> Loves the smell of just basic, fresh cotton. It's his favorite only after the smell of a freshly watered garden in the spring. > Cannot and also will not ride a bike. Has tried to learn but can't coordinate enough to pedal AND steer at the same time. > Would probably enjoy DnD once or twice for fun. Would enjoy to pretend being someone else for a few hours while having an adventure > Hates socks. > Secretly reads The Secret Garden weekly. > Highlight of his weekends is Karaoke with Kotoha, Hiragi (who was forced into this mess) and Tsubaki

Dating Headcanons

> Love language when receiving love: quality time. not only does he like spending time with his friends, he love spending it with his partner. Nothing makes him happier than the two of you just relaxing on a nice sunny day, him working on his garden and you laying in his hammock napping or reading one of his books and just being close to one another. > Love languages when giving love: Acts of service, a given. This man would do almost anything for you with or without you asking. It can get a bit annoying, actually. > Comes up with obnoxious nicknames/ "Ship name" for the two of you. INSISTS you guys are referred to as that early on in the relationship (Hiragi eventually convinces him to change his mind) > Is a sucker for moonlit slow dances on the school roof with you. Has compiled the perfect playlist for just the occasion but will even do it in public. If he hears your song over the market radio he will not hesitate to pull you in his arms for a quick little spin around the aisle while you blush and laugh > Blanket hog during covers. You better have two and even then he still might roll up in the second one. > When he's beat up or had gotten involved in something rough, he will shut down and not come to you until he is healed/in his right mind because he is afraid of scaring you away. One too many cuts, bruises, seeing him in a fight is what he thinks will end your relationship. It takes a lot for him to accept that you are in it for the long haul, despite his positive and happy demeanor the self worth of that side of him in relationships is hard.

#hajime umemiya #hajime umemiya headcanons #wind breaker (satoru nii)#wind breaker manga #satoru nii #umemiya hajime x reader #haruka sakura

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mediumgayitalian · 1 year ago

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“Will. Hey.” He reaches out when the medic doesn’t react, forcibly stilling his hands. Even then, he can feel the minute twitches, the fighting he’s doing with himself to keep still. “It can wait until tomorrow.”

“They leave tomorrow,” Will stresses, finally pulling his hands free. “The Romans are early risers, Nico, you know better than anyone, I need this done before they —”

He cuts himself off, too invested in the sprawl of paperwork completely covering the nurse’s station. Under his eyes is almost completely bruised black, not unlike the war paint he wore so long ago, and there’s a grey dullness to him. If he stays in one place too long, he sways on his feet.

“I’m fine,” he says, suddenly, as if remembering Nico is there. He pauses briefly to shoot him a small, strained smile, then returns to his frantic sorting. A red thumbprint bleeds onto the corner of the page of one of the files. He doesn’t seem to notice.

Without straying too far, Nico gathers the supplies he needs. He pulls out a tray to grab some antiseptic, swipes a Pac-Man bandaid off a box on the counter. Arms laden with his spoils, he nudges the half-door open with his hip, setting the supplies down when he’s inside the round desk-station.

“Will,” he says quietly, wrapping his hand around his elbow. He jumps.

“I’m — fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

He blinks, staring down at his hands; brows furrowing as he notices the several scattered paper cuts crossing almost every finger. Many of them are clotted, scabbed over; dried blood streaking between his freckles and swirling around stark white scars.

“Come here.”

Without protest, for once, he does. He sets down the pen clenched in his left thumb and turns to face Nico fully. In the minimal space between them, his hands shake.

“I didn’t notice,” he murmurs, flinching as Nico soaks a cotton pad and presses it to a cut on the inside of his thumb. Nico can’t quite read the expression on his face, although there’s a choked quality to his voice. “I need to — before they —”

“Not everything is your responsibility,” Nico interrupts. He meets Will’s gaze head on, his own gaze steady, heart breaking at the fragility in his ice blue eyes. “Not everything is your responsibility, Will,” he repeats, firmer this time.

Will’s face crumples. “I haven’t slept in five days.”

Nico closes his eyes. “Gods, Will.”

“I’m sorry.”

In moments like these, Nico hates working for his father.

He had left to relative chaos. Relative, meaning in comparison to what the rest of the eight billion people on the planet would consider calm, camp wasn’t it, but by demigod standards it wasn’t too bad. Several Romans, including Reyna and Hazel, were due to arrive the day after he was summoned by his father, which was a bummer, but he had assurance from both of them that they’d stay long enough to see him. And reassurance from his father that the errand wouldn’t be too perilous. And, lastly, a threat (warning out of love, he would say, but Nico knows a threat when he sees one) from Will to take it easy.

He got back to debris and blood and a flurry of stress — a weapons development disaster, he’d been quickly informed. No deaths, at least not yet, but several in critical condition that were quickly approaching it.

And Kayla and Austin, back at school, and Will in the infirmary by himself.

“Will,” he repeats for the third time, a little more urgently this time. He places a gently finger under his chin. “Look at me a second.”

He regrets asking, almost, when Will meets his eyes, although he immediately feels guilty for the thought. The son of Apollo is so rarely vulnerable, stubbornly intent on carrying the burdens he’s stuck with without half a hand of help. It wears on him, and the proof of the weariness hurts Nico somewhere, deep in his soul; he hates bearing witness to it.

Worse, though, is the knowledge that Will is struggling with it himself.

“Everybody critical has been stabilized,” he says firmly. When Will opens his mouth in protest, he adds, “I can feel it, Sunshine, do you trust me?”

“Yes,” he says, immediately. He snaps his jaw shut. “Yes.”

Nico’s own shoulders slump when Will exhales, long and exhausted. “Good. This —” he gestures to the paperwork — “this is secondary, Solace. I don’t care if they want to leave tomorrow. You need rest, and, hell, if they’re that pressed about it, I’ll make them do the fucking paperwork.”

“Please, don’t,” Will says, laughing feebly. He swiped quickly under his eyes, pulling away, and Nico lets him, if only because his small smile seems genuine, if not exhausted. “The idea of that actually makes me want to puke. I hate paperwork, but I hate anyone else doing it more.”

“Right, right.” Nico nudges his shoulder, something like teasing showing in his eyes. “Heaven forbid someone dot their i’s incorrectly.”

“Exactly.” Will looks so serious that Nico stills, trying to figure out just how anal, exactly, his friend is, before his face breaks out into a wide, genuine grin. Nico’s stomach flips. “I’m only teasing, Death Breath. I don’t actually care if people dot their i’s incorrectly. And I would appreciate the help.”

“I feel like it hurt you to say that,” Nico says, once he recovers from the staggering force of one million megawatts of smile power.

“It did.”

“Also, you implied that there genuinely is a wrong way to dot your i’s.”

“…Of course there is.” Will looks at him strangely. “Maybe I’m not the one who’s sleep deprived,” he muses, reminding Nico that oh yeah, dumbass, Will is actually genuinely sick with how little sleep he’s gotten, maybe fix that.

“Will you sleep, now?”

Will hesitates. “There was a girl with a — skull injury.”

Nico understands immediately. (He saw the mangled mess of Lee’s shroud.)

“Come sleep in my cabin,” he suggests, squeezing his wrist. “I’ll keep watch, and you’ll have some privacy.”

“Okay,” he says quietly. He allows himself to be tugged out of the infirmary, only looking back a couple times. “Thank you, Nico.”

“Anything for you,” Nico responds, just as quiet, and his heart races when Will beams.

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leafington · 5 months ago

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𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙧 .ᐟ - kei t. 📼 ; 009

With what time she's been given, she's spent all of it with Tsukishima. From going out on dates, to home dinners at one or the other's place, she's gotten to know more about him now that her free time has expanded.

He likes strawberry shortcake, he's been playing volleyball since highschool, he's known Yachi since that time too. He's always been this tall, his appetite isn't huge, though she'll force him to eat every now and then (just like how Hoshima would), sometimes he jams his fingers during practice because he forgets to stretch them out and lock them, often following up with a joke on how she could help him work them out (just like Yuki would). And other times, he sends a stupid little piece of media or random facts about dinosaurs before going to work and Y/n can never not making fun of him for it (just like Cyuti).

She hasn't been this deep in thought for a while, what's gotten her so trapped now? Tsukishima snaps her out of her headspace by rattling her head around lightly as he passed by. "Anybody home in there?" He jokingly knocks, leaning against the back of his couch. "Yeah, just thinkin'." She tilts her head back to meet his gaze. Y/n found herself staying over his place more than ever now, occasionally spending the night, just to have something to occupy herself with. "Nothing to worry about, so don't go giving me that 'Get out of your head.' crap, I'm okay." She eases his worries.

Quality time isn't the only reason she's around him a lot. He's keeping his promise too. To assist in getting her better, he tries to have an open ear for any concerns and issues she might have, even if it involves listening to her sniffle and snot over the phone during the middle of the night—he doesn't force her to speak on anything she's not comfortable with or obliated to say, allowing her to come forth with what she's ready to share with him. Even if he does get a little frustrated from her sporadic lack of communication.

"You working today?" Y/n follows his movements when he walks around to sit next to her. "Nope. I called out, thought I'd check in on the whole... therapy thing." He gestures with an open hand. "It's going pretty well actually, I go for another session on Monday." She smiles, pulling her legs close to her chest. It's easy to tell she's proud of the progress she's made. "You're home a lot more, you really just leave to go to work." Tsukishima shrugs, his eyes zoned in on her own, but his mind completely elsewhere. "It's my apartment. I can be here as much as I need to, if anything, you seem to be around more often. What's that about?"

The squeaking of his ceiling fan, slight running of the A.C., the air flowing out of the ventilation system, all those tiny sounds get louder in Y/n's ears. As for Tsukishima, it's dead silent, there's no sound ricocheting off the anatomy of his ear. Quiet.

Her hands come down to her ankles, fidgeting with the hem of her pant legs, thinking, pondering on how to bring this up without receiving his sympathy.

"I'm on a hiatus." Y/n looks back toward him, engaging his reaction and she can sense him wanting to say something . "Is it m—"

"It's not you, I swear. It was something the girls recommended, then I brought it up with my manager who was fine with it and when it got to the big guys they had some slick shit to say so now I'm restricted from group activities until I 'get better'." She air-quotes, clutching onto the cotton trousers. "It's stupid but I'm glad to be able to have some time away from all that." Y/n waves off, staring at him in return.

"Be happy! Now we don't have to worry about scheduling as much now, I can be with you as long as I want since you're more focused on work." She pokes his face, chuckling when he swats her hand away. "I am... that's good, great even. It's just... a shock, you didn't tell me you were on a break." He mumbles awkwardly, and Y/n's quick to groan and try to lighten up the mood. "I was going to! I just knew you were gonna be all sad about it so I kinda avoided it, but hey, I eventually said something." Her foot finds it's way to his side, now looking for a better reaction out of him.

Oh how childish she can be. "Okay.. as long as you're happy." Tsukishima swats that limb away too. "What did the higher-ups say? Out of curiosity." Y/n sucks her teeth, scratching the back of her neck out of embarrassment. "Nothing of importance, I'm just in a little trouble. BUT," She raises a hand in front of his face as if stopping his brain from coming up with a reply. "I'm getting it handled, and yes I'll come to you if something pops off, so don't worry your pretty little head about it." She reassures him, her hands coming up to squish and play with his face.

Y/n's not the only one learning from this relationship, he tries to take into account all the little things she does—like how physical she gets to teasing him with (mildly) raunchy texts out of boredom. And while she's lightly tugging on his cheeks, it dawns on Tsukishima that only he gets to see this part of her. Her fans may see certain aspects, but they don't know the Y/n he knows. He gets to see her throughout the week, he's her safe space for vulnerability, he's her motivation to better herself.

Him. And no one else.

Tsukishima gives in to her playfulness, relaxing his face and holding her wrists with his long fingers then caressing her them with his even larger hands. Next thing he knows he's resting his head on the valley of her chest just above her heartbeat that thump! thump! thumps! against his ear, trapping her underneath his stature. He's breathing her in, almost checking to see if this was all true and that she was actually his. His senses overtaken by her, seeing her, feeling her, hearing her, smelling her. All that's left is to—

"You're heavy." The noise of grimace coming from beneath him. "And you're comfortable." He comes back, going so far as to nuzzle into her. She groans in annoyance, trying to pry him off but it's no good, he's stuck there until he absolutely has to move. Y/n didn't take him for a cuddler, much less clingy, but even the toughest guys need comfort. She lets out a breath of air, finally accepting he wasn't moving any time soon and held onto him so he wouldn't fall (as if he would) and his entire body submits to her touch the minute her hand snakes under his shirt, albeit receiving goosebumps from the sudden skin-to-skin. Just how deep in is he?

ᐟᐟ☆ fun facts 🥂

₊ ⊹ that post is one of the most liked of the account ₊ ⊹ the picture tsukishima and yn took was actually taken earlier, he just waited because hes a private guy ₊ ⊹ yamaguchi has seen yn before (props to yachi) but has never actually met her, he's also went through her account a few times ₊ ⊹ i snuck more lyrics in the written portion 😛😛 ₊ ⊹ the previous messages from itsuki are old, she glances at them rather than opening it ₊ ⊹ yn is trending on twitter because of the sudden suspension of her account and speaking of suspension ₊ ⊹ because the company doesn't have access to the accounts and only monitors them, they had to mass report it in order for it to have been taken down ₊ ⊹ cliffhanger because i'm an asshole 🌝🌝

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play the next tape? ──── yes. / previous.

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