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temiizpalace · 5 days

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☆┊SHOPPING SPREE!

SUMMARY: finally having a day off and permission to leave the campus, you take your beloved boyfriend to the mall! where does he like to shop?

CHARACTERS: all dorms

GENRE: fluff

WARNINGS: none

NOTES: IM STILL WORKING ON EVEN REQUESTS I PROMISE! this is a brain kickstarter yk

reader is g/n, reader is yuu

SPORT STORES

as soon as you walked into the doors of the mall, his eyes dart towards the sporting goods store. he’ll go where you want to go, but give him like ten seconds pretty please? just a peek at the sportswear! in order to stay fit and look continuously good for you, this is a mandatory stop. and as expected, he looked at running shoes, windbreaker jackets, sports balls (don’t be immature) ((i am immature and did that on purpose)), water bottles, everything. he bought matching sports gear for the two of you so you can work out together! don’t worry, don’t worry, it won’t be too difficult. now, where did you want to go? holding your shopping bags adds to his workout so please don’t hold back. shop to your hearts content.

deuce, jack, epel, silver, sebek

CLOTHING STORES

knowing that you wanted to go to the mall opened a gateway of opportunity for him. what you may ask? well, malls have clothing stores. this means not only can he buy outfits for himself, he can also buy outfits for you! if you’re comfortable with that of course. if you are comfortable with that, he’s giddily going through clothing racks, presenting you an outfit that has a balanced mix of both your own and his style. Seeing you wear the outfit was just breathtaking, he could cry. if you didn’t feel comfortable with him picking your outfits, please pick his. he’ll wear whatever you buy! to him, it doesn’t matter. there was something just so intimate buying outfits for each other.. (along with other purchases, you guys bought cheesy matching couple shirts)

ace, cater, jade, kalim, rook, malleus

DESIGNER BRANDS

he immediately walked towards the expensive side of the store and almost gave you a heart attack. like ??? hello?? you forget he’s rich sometimes. he doesn’t mind paying for you, that’s actually the least of his worries. stop being shy and just take the damn card. he’ll cover everything so go enjoy yourself. he just so casually purchases expensive jewelry likes it’s nothing, baffling you to see how nonchalant he is about his money. he bought you such an extensive wardrobe. designer shirts, pants, shoes, you name it and he’s got it. he takes pride in the fact he can buy such expensive things for you because you get to rely on him. not in a controlling way, but in a way to let you know you’re not alone and he’s here to help. so anyways here’s a $80,000 thaumark sunglasses kit.

leona, azul (lowkey cried looking at his budget), kalim, vil, malleus

ALT/POP-CULTURE STORES* (??)

skips all the clothing stores and designer stores and walks straight into hot topic (or stores similar). look, this is his kinda store. judge all you want (please don’t) but he’s going inside to purchase whatever the flip he wants. oh my gosh, something even slightly tying to his interest? purchase. something slightly tying to your interest? yes he’ll take the entire stock. wanted to get you anything and everything. he bought tons of shirts and stuff for you guys to share and trade so spoiler alert but next sleepovers gonna be pretty crazy. he thinks it’s cool to see you talk about stuff you like, so taking you to a store that has pretty much everything you’ve ever watched? you’ll be rambling for hours! he’s all in! of course, he’ll get his own fair share in. thank god you don’t think he’s a weirdo tho.

cater, jade, idia, lilia, malleus

ANYWHERE YOU GO

he’s down for literally anything. take him anywhere and he’ll be happy. this gentlemen carries all of your bags for you and takes you wherever you wish to go. clothing store? you’ll look good in anything. let’s go. sports store? always good to stay active. let’s go. designer brands? you’ll look stunning. just overall he’s happy so long as your happy, the location won’t matter much to him. even if you offer for him to decide, he respectfully declines and encourages you to pick another spot. he just loves you!!

riddle, floyd, kalim, jamil, rook, ortho, lilia

STRAIGHT TO THE FOOD COURT

as soon as he smelt the aroma of food in the air, he’s gone. he made a straight beeline towards the food court and intends to stay the course. shopping can wait, he needs to eat. he must admit it’s not as good as the food at nrc, but it’s wayyy better than nothing. he must build energy, who knows how long he’ll be inside that mall! fast food can only be so good for so long, so now he’s slowly regretting not going into an actual restaurant but he already paid so he’ll suck it up. after he finishes eating tho, you’re free to go wherever you please. just give him a breather he ate too much.

trey, ruggie, azul, jade, epel, lilia

A/N: this is ASS

date published: 9/24/24

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delirious-donna · 6 months

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The Surprise [Higuruma Hiromi]

an: it’s 2am and here I am posting this smut-filled fic because I can’t sleep and I can’t stop thinking about this man. p.s. requests are open for Higuruma specifically so drop me an ask if you wanna give me some ideas for everyone’s favourite lawyer!

pairing: Higuruma Hiromi x female reader

warnings: lingerie, pussy drunk Hiromi (it’s canon don’t fight me), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (wrap it folks) and other goodies

Masterlist

“Will that be everything for you today?” The cheery assistant asked offering a genuine smile whilst they rang through your purchases and packed them carefully into a neat little box.

Your stomach fluttered with the thought of what might transpire this coming weekend, a long-planned weekend that couldn’t arrive quick enough. The delicate tissue paper wrapped around the items inside the box before the assistant closed it over, tied a ribbon securely and placed it in a paper bag.

“Yes, that’s it. Thank you for your help earlier, I appreciate it!”

With a bounce in your step and a sizeable dent in your bank balance, you exited the boutique store to daydream about your husband’s reaction to your little splurge. Neither of you were accustomed to dropping large sums of money so randomly, both believing that an air of caution and frugality would see you through any potential storms on the horizon, but you had walked past this store so many times and finally been tempted into their den of sinful delights.

Inclusive-sized mannequins displayed a range of differently styled lingerie, from demure bridal wear to raunchy strips of leather and wide mesh that would leave very little to the imagination. At first, you were convinced it would only be window shopping, however, when you spied an elegant-looking black bodysuit that seemed like it would hold all your bits in without compromising the sex appeal element, it was game over.

Once you were interested, the friendly young assistant swooped in and soon you were trying it on in the fancy dressing room. The lighting was complimenting rather than garishly fluorescent, and the lull of soft, sensual music added to the overall experience, one you were rather enjoying. The strapless bodysuit hugged your curves and accentuated your décolletage nicely. Clearly, it was designed by scientists to support your breasts without cumbersome straps, and you silently praised their ingenuity. Paired with crotchless fishnet tights that you could secure beneath the suit—a suggestion from your enthusiastic little helper—you knew that Hiromi would likely lose his mind and you couldn’t wait.

Your poor, overworked and perpetually exhausted husband had been burning the candle at both ends for the past nearly four months, neck deep in a case that if he were to win would be a monumental victory in his career. In support, you packed him off every morning with a full lunch consisting of his favourite foods, mostly to encourage him to actually eat instead of consuming mug after mug of rancid instant coffee. In your evenings, you helped him go over witness testimonies, read over his arguments for clarity, and did everything you could to lighten his load around the house. It wouldn’t be a permanent arrangement, you both knew that, and to say he appreciated your support was an understatement.

That’s why when he told you that it was all drawing to a conclusion and that he was cautiously optimistic it would end in his favour, you revelled in that knowledge. Whether it did come to fruition or not, his weekend would be free, and he promised to spend some real quality time with you without the cloud of looming work. There was nothing more he could do, no more past cases he could study and the thought of basking in his undivided attention warmed your heart and soul.

With two days remaining before your scheduled weekend plans to do absolutely nothing but relax and unwind in each other’s presence, you again peeked at the box you’d tucked into your side of the wardrobe, away from prying eyes. Maybe it was a bout of nerves, a moment of body consciousness, that made you pull your surprise out to examine the contents. Whatever it was, you worried your bottom lip once the intimate outfit was laid out on the bedspread.

“What was I thinking… this is too much,” you quietly scolded yourself.

Flopping beside the expensive scraps of fabric, you brushed a palm down your face and reminded yourself that you looked fucking divine in the changing room of the boutique, so why would it be any different now? More so, you knew deep in your heart that Hiromi adored you and thought you were a goddess, one he claimed he didn’t deserve.

A few moments later, you stood in front of the mirrored wardrobe to scrutinise your reflection. Your eyes narrowed as you tugged the sweetheart cups into place and felt the soft squish of your breast jiggle inside. Turning to the side, a hand ran the length of your torso with a grin unfurling at the tight hug of the sheer-panelled fabric. Damn, your backside looked real good from this angle. But maybe the fishnets were too much, you mused, turning this way and that.

You ran your fingers through your hair, wondering if you should try to style it, maybe give it some more volume and texture. It was at that moment, whilst making kissy faces at your reflection with your hands scrunching handfuls of your hair and up on your tippy toes to extend the length of your legs, that the bedroom door opened, and you froze like a deer in headlights.

Higuruma Hiromi was on cloud nine. Not only had he won a career-defining case against all the odds, but the judge had also taken less time to deliberate than anyone expected they would. After a hearty swig of celebratory champagne drank from crappy paper cups with his partner and their secretaries, he was on the first train home to truly celebrate with the only person that mattered—you.

What he didn’t expect to find when he entered the house as stealthily as he could manage was the vision of you standing in the middle of the bedroom looking like one of the pin-up models from the magazines he would hide under his mattress as a young man.

Like a slightly tipsy house cat, he tiptoed his way through the rooms, listening for signs of you and driving straight towards the bedroom to surprise you with his unannounced return. The door bounced open on its hinges and he stood, shell-shocked for a moment before it turned to white-hot appreciation.

You looked beautiful, stunning, breathtaking even. There weren’t enough colourful adjectives for how he felt about you at any given time, but right now, modelling a black bodysuit that hugged both your butt and your breasts, he was entirely dumbstruck. Hiromi didn’t know where to look, or whether you’d rather he look away given your strangled yelp of surprise at his sudden appearance. You made no effort to cover yourself or shove him out the door, no, you both faced one another as if neither of you knew what to do or say.

His eyes continued to betray him, slowly caressing the length of your figure and finding new things to appreciate; the sweetheart cups, the gauzy panels that allowed him glimpses of your skin beneath, and not to mention the fishnet tights. He hadn’t seen you wear anything like those since your dating years, and he had forgotten how much he missed them, or how many he had ruined by ripping through the gusset in his haste.

“What are you doing home?” You glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table and back to your husband, heat filling your face but something else followed on the tails of your embarrassment, something more pleasant.

Hiromi ran this thumb over his mouth, gaze pointedly fixed on your chest, and you cleared your throat with emphasis until he finally met your eye and the arch of your eyebrow. Already his neck looked red, like a rash had spread from below the collar of his shirt and travelled towards his jaw. If you could describe a person as having hearts for eyes, it would be one Higuruma Hiromi and you adored him for his open adoration.

“We… I won,” he managed weakly, smiling as if coming out of a daze and you blinked for a moment while processing the words.

“You won?”

He chuckled. “I won.”

A wealth of emotions passed over your face until you ended with ecstatic pride, tears near pricking your eyes as you launched yourself into his arms and peppered his cheeks and nose with enough kisses to make him blush more furiously. His hands settled on your hips, his touch more hesitant than you would expect given the circumstances and you pulled back to give him a questioning look.

“What’s wrong? I thought you’d be more excited than this.”

“Darling…” he started, skimming his fingertips up and down your sides before rounding to your full backside and squeezing as he spoke. “What’s this?”

In your joy, you had forgotten that Hiromi had walked in on you wearing the lingerie that was meant to be for this weekend and meant to be a surprise. You guessed it still had been, although not the one you planned. “Oh, just a little something to show my hardworking man that I love and adore him. Nothing much.”

“Nothing much…” he repeated in a disbelieving whisper. A finger ran the length of your spine, from the top of your backside to near the base of your skull, dragging it slowly and watching you shudder beneath his deliberate touch. Your shoulder blades shifted, pushing your chest out further and into his, which earned you a groan of appreciation.

“I wouldn’t call this nothing much. You look like a wet dream come to life.”

He walked you backwards, the scent of champagne hot on his breath and your stomach curled into a mass of twisted anticipation—heavy in the depths of your belly. Your thighs crashed into the edge of the bed and Hiromi used your moment of imbalance to shove you atop, quickly shucking out of his jacket and crawling over you.

“Hiromi,” you squeaked between peals of laughter. The man in question only hummed in response, his hooded eyes heavy with nothing that spoke of fatigue. The whisky colour of his eyes appeared blown almost completely black by the dilation of his pupils, and he licked over his lips in what looked like anticipation of a hearty meal.

That meal was you…

Any protest you might have offered died in your throat when he claimed your mouth like a man possessed. His tongue curled over your teeth, pushing the memory of champagne into the space he dominated and greedily swallowing your answering moan. His forearms bracketed your head, keeping you caged and unable to run from him, not that you had any desire to, not when you could feel the press of his cock thickening against your lower half.

Loosening the knot of his tie with one finger, you took the moment to grab fistfuls of the shirt at his back, tugging the tails out of his trousers and sliding your palms beneath the starched surface to scratch along his spine. Hiromi shuddered, the disconnect of your lips an audible pop that left a web of saliva between you, only breaking with a quick swipe of your pink tongue.

“I don’t even have my make-up or hair done, you beast!” The half-hearted protest fell on deaf ears, or so you thought when his mouth moved to your neck and down to your collarbone, sucking little blooming lovebites on his journey. When he reached the abundant swell of your breasts, he glanced up whilst his tongue pathed across the top of your left breast, dipping into the valley between and then resuming the path over the right.

“You think I need face paint or styled hair to love you more? Fuck, sweetheart… I nearly came in my briefs the minute I opened the door.” The length of his aquiline nose nudged between your breasts, nuzzling the soft mounds like a cat warming by the fire. Carding your fingers through his hair, you wriggled beneath him and let out a breathy sigh, the weight and conviction of his love settling over you in perfect comfort. There would be no more argument from you, and Hiromi won for the second time that day.

With methodical slowness he kissed his way down your body, stopping to lave the sheer panels at either side of your abdomen and forcing you to arch from the warm sensation of his eager tongue. You’d barely managed to get his shirt off his shoulders before he was exploring you like this was his first time with your body. The white button-up hung down his back, sleeves caught by his elbows, and he made no move to strip it off much to your annoyance.

He stopped abruptly when he reached your pelvic mound, chin resting there whilst his fingers trailed the arch of your foot, up the inside of your calf and tickled behind your knee. “Stop that, mister!” You scolded with laughter threatening to bubble out.

“Spread ‘em and I will,” he challenged with a smirk.

The space between your freshly parted thighs became his home, an arm wound around your hip pawing at the fat of your thigh and the line where it met your arse, eliciting shivers that rippled over your skin like a calm lake disturbed by a skimming stone. He fingered the two snaps that kept the bodysuit in place, stroking firmly over your clothed cunt and pushing the barrier deeper until it started to feel sticky from your arousal. Looking all too smug, he freed the snaps with a grunt of satisfaction, sure that his next step would be to rip through the gusset of your raunchy fishnets so he could taste you. That moment never came.

You felt the vibration shudder through your husband, his head falling forward to obscure what you could see of his face, and you rocked your hips back and forth in invitation. The cool air of the room contrasted by the hot fan of his breath on your slit made you clench around a disappointing nothing, frowning at his sudden pause.

For a long moment, there was only silence. When he looked up, his expression nearly stole your breath. Thick black eyebrows pinched together, visible strain around his drooped eyes and a throaty whine made your pussy flutter with need. This was the Hiromi that only came out to play every now and again. The one who would wring you like a wet dish towel for just one more orgasm, one more mouthful of your hot nectar.

“Crotchless, really?” he murmured, dragging a finger across your puffy folds where the thin membrane of the tights should have resided and you nearly jolted upwards to the ceiling, having forgotten that little fact in the heat of the moment.

Cupping his cheek in your palm, you gave a cheeky wink. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about all the pairs of tights you’ve ruined over the years. These were just a… precaution.” Hiromi groaned, thrusting his face into your pussy without warning. The flat of his tongue ran the length of you, making you perfectly slippery in mere seconds, only for the tip of the wet muscle to fuck into your entrance immediately.

“Oh, fuck… Hiro!”

You yanked great tufts of his hair to no avail; he was lost to eating you out like a man starved. The prominent slope of his nose slid back and forth across your bundle of nerves, and it lit up your insides like the continuous explosion of miniature firecrackers.

Whining from his sudden onslaught, you tried to run by easing up the bed, but your attempts were shot down in flames by sharp insistent tugs of your hips. Hiromi was enthusiastic at the best of times when it came to going down on you, but it was nothing compared to right now. The wet squelching sucks of his lips and tongue flooded the bedroom, only being accompanied by your decadent moans and panting breaths as you tried not to lose your sanity entirely.

Hiromi was lost in you; the scent of your favourite body wash, the taste of your arousal when it trickled from your core mixed with the slight salt of your skin, the plush silk of your thighs beneath his prodding fingertips and the unrestrained noises that caressed his ears.

He almost missed your orgasm so clouded was his mind in the quest to turn you into a puddle of liquid goo for only his consumption. The wave of it crested through the length of your body, vibrating every limb and twitching each nerve ending. Your spine arched from the unmade sheets, the hand coiled tight in Hiromi’s hair spasming and tugging without even meaning to and that’s when he noticed. Without missing a beat, he wrapped his lips around your pulsing clit and sucked it deeper into his mouth.

Stars winked into your vision at being thrust from one orgasm directly into another so violently. Your pussy fluttered ceaselessly, a craving deep in your gut to be filled at all costs, yet right now all you could do was hold on for dear life whilst you bucked and rutted against your husband’s face, wetting it thoroughly. He nosed at your quaking thigh, sharp incisors nipping your yielding flesh until you yelped and tried to close your legs without success.

You became aware of movement, the absence of shoulders beneath your thighs and you blinked to find a desperate predator stripping off his clothes whilst prowling back and forth at the foot of the bed. Hiromi grasped his cock, tugging it down to the base to spread the leaked precum that continued to dribble from his cockhead. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he had already cum, but he was always the excitable type who would leak and leak until you did something about it, usually opting to take him down your throat until he convulsed and spilt everything he had to offer.

Your hand trailed lower down your body, fingers playing in the spit-soaked mess he’d left behind in his hurry to stand and strip. Hiromi whined; head cocked to the side as he watched you play idly with your puffy lips flooded with the surge of blood and circling your pert little pearl. He fucked his fist harder, the other hand rolling his heavy balls until his stomach sucked in and your nostrils flared in warning.

“C’mere mister lawyer, I don’t want you wasting your orgasm when it could be filling me nicely.”

How quickly the tables could turn. One minute he was the predator, pawing and demanding, taking what he wanted without question, and the next he was the prey. Trapped on his back with cheeks a ruddy hue and eyes that begged for clemency. Your much small hand encased his dick, twisting your palm on each upward stroke while you straddled him and rocked yourself against the balls he’d just been palming.

His hands shook with restraint as they reached for your breasts, filling his broad palms and massaging them until you dipped low to claim his lips. You could taste yourself on his tongue, in his mouth and the sensation empowered you, fucking his throbbing cock through your folds until he twitched and whimpered some more.

“Please… fuck. Need to be inside. Might not last. God, you’re so fucking sexy. Don’t deserve you.” Hiromi babbled every syllable, sounding drunk when there was little to no alcohol left in his system.

His fingertips dipped inside the cups of your bodysuit, tweaking at your nipples and you indulged his silent request by allowing him to fold the cups down and let the spill of your tits fill his face. With renewed vigour and enthusiasm, he mouthed at you and ran his tongue in circles around your nipples one at a time.

You keened at the familiar sensation, swept away by a current of pure indulgence when he moved to suckle you. It was the perfect moment to strike, with Hiromi distracted in flicking his tongue over and over, round and round your swollen bud, you guided him to notch at your entrance and slowly sank onto his needy dick. He grunted; his grip tightening on your waist, but he refused to come up for air, continuing to nudge his nose into your breast, lips pulling the nipple taut until he finally released with a gasp.

“Fuck, I love you. I love you more than I can express.”

Hiromi worshipped you with his gaze, eyes full of devotion and unbridled passion whilst you rode him steadily. The sticky pap pap pap of your pelvis meeting his was the soundtrack to your lovemaking, because beneath the sexy lingerie and the ideas you had planned for the weekend, that’s what this was and always would be. You knew he didn’t need the extra faff to love you with his whole heart. You knew that he was aroused by you simply walking through the kitchen in a pair of his boxers.

You knew he loved you for you.

His dappled cheeks darkened further, the furrow of his brow telling of how he was trying to stave off his release, but you wanted him as undone as you had been, and you would not be denied. Leaning forward, your palms found purchase on his shoulders, breasts bouncing freely in time with your hips, and you squeezed around his shaft until the vein in his temple popped and he let out a guttural groan.

Hiromi grabbed around your middle, flipping you up and over so that he could thrust himself into overstimulation without hindrance. Pressing your thighs to your chest, you heard the telltale rip and knew that another pair of tights had fallen victim to Higuruma Hiromi despite your best efforts to keep them safe. His swollen cock pumped thick spurts of his milky cum against your cervix, filling you to the brim yet continuing to sloppily thrust in and out.

“-cum again… gotta—fuckkk. You’re so tight,” he bit through the words, fighting the steady burn of overstimulation to see you orgasm for the third time and you were close. A glob of spit landed against your clit, thick fingers shaking from exertion rubbing the frothy mess into you with insistent motions. He was a man possessed, falling apart for him was as easy as drawing breath and he caught you on your free fall.

You chanted his name in some semblance of a prayer, thrashing and clawing at anything you could reach until you milked him again and he lost the ability to hold himself up. Hiromi fell atop you, his face pressed into the juncture between your neck and shoulder, hot shuddering moans stifled by his mouth on your neck while he weakly tried to bear some of his weight onto an arm.

“Stop squirming, you’re not that heavy, Hiro,” you teased with a light slap against his back.

Once you could both speak without sounding winded, you combed your fingers through his sweat-dampened hair, moving the strands that stuck to his forehead away until you could trace his eyebrows, his jaw, and the bridge of his nose. “Y’know… you ripped my tights—again.”

Hiromi chuckled, rubbing his cheek against your chest. “I did, and I’d do it again. Maybe give them a miss if we do this again, hm?”

“You liked the surprise then?”

“I already told you that I did, not that I needed it. All I ever need is you.”

It was your turn to chuckle, booping the tip of his nose. “Maybe when I show you the receipt, you’ll change your tune.”

“… sweetheart. How much did it cost? Don’t roll away, missy! Answer my question. Hey. Hey! You have to answer the lawyer when they ask a question.”

#delirious writes #higuruma hiromi #higuruma x reader #higuruma smut #jjk higuruma #hiromi x reader #hiromi smut #higuruma hiromi x reader #higuruma hiromi smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader

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violet-butterflies · 1 year

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❥︎ yandere! CEO headcanons

❥︎ Warnings ! ☞︎︎︎ stalking, obsessiveness, lovesickness, overprotectiveness ( female yandere! oc x gn reader )

☞︎︎︎ yandere! CEO who is at the peak of her career! She's got money, the looks, and a thriving fashion brand but no lover :(

☞︎︎︎ yandere! CEO who hires you as her new secretary! Amazed at your amazing work ethics that never fails to disappoint her.

☞︎︎︎ yandere! CEO who realizes that you work too hard. Jeez, she just gave you that report assignment last night and you've already finished it?! And you even managed to perfectly schedule the next two months' worth of meetings and appointments? Do you even sleep?!

☞︎︎︎ yandere! CEO who slowly falls in love with you. You were simply so simple and cute that she can read you like a book! Not only that, it's always so cute to see you get flustered when she gets a tad bit too close to you!

☞︎︎︎ yandere! CEO who begins to ask you to personally model for the clothes she designs. Oh, that dress? Yea, It's made to your size because I want you to try it! That suit? No matter if you wear it and I'll see if it needs anything. Oh, that lingerie? PLEASE do wear it! For research purposes of course... takes a quick picture

☞︎︎︎ yandere! CEO who wants to keep you as her personal little model! She just simply doesn't get how everything she makes just fits you so well! You might as well keep all the clothes she makes and make sure you wear them all the time! Why wear any other brand when you practically have a personal fashion designer!

☞︎︎︎ yandere! CEO who can't help but feel mortified at how boring your life is. Do you really just go to work and home? She has never seen you go out to do any errands! Even your wardrobe only consists of old t-shirts for inside the house and work clothes! She feels bad taking some of your clothes since you don't have many to begin with...

☞︎︎︎ yandere! CEO who dedicates her whole life to making your life so much easier. Every month she'll make sure to always give you a hefty bonus. Any coworkers that made you sigh or are a minor inconvenience in your life? They all can say goodbye to their careers!

☞︎︎︎ yandere! CEO who just can't get enough of you even after she clocks out of work. When you two were off on a business trip, she hires a few people to put some hidden cameras everywhere around your tiny apartment. No, it's not stalking silly! She's only making sure that she can provide you with everything you'd need! If you need anything, she'll happen to give you that exact thing the next day!

☞︎︎︎ "y/n I just so happen to have a spare laptop that I don't need! Oh, your laptop broke yesterday? Wow, what a coincidence! You can use this one!"

#yandere blurb #yandere x y/n #yandere x oc #yandere x reader #yandere #tw: yandere #tw: stalking #female yandere #female yandere x reader #female yandere oc #lovesick #obsession #yandere ceo #yandere ceo x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere hcs

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paper-mario-wiki · 7 months

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I'm sending you an ask even though I'm not sure I should. I envy you, I think. You seem so happy and confident after transition and I really like to see it, but it also stirs a kind of grief in me that I don't really know how to handle. I'm six foot six and as wide across the shoulders as some people are tall and I have absolutely no hope of looking like anything other than a masculine linebacker. I'm trying to learn how to like it, going for a bear look, but some part of me sees a happiness in you that I don't think I can ever really have. none of this is your fault and though i know it's weird I hope you can still read this as a compliment because I do like seeing that even if it's not something I can do, sometimes people can end up happy with their gender. I think you're a beautiful person and I like seeing your online presence.

sorry for the big ramble wall I'm just going through it tonight. I guess I just wanted to say thanks for being visible.

i am 6 foot 1, and throughout my life people told me i'd make a good football player.

here are the lifestyle things i did (that dont really have anything to do with gender and were just healthy changes and experiments) that let me stumble into getting over this feeling easier:

eliminate soda entirely. no more soda at all. not with fast food, not out of a can from the fridge, none. drink water. its sooooooo fucking yummy.

walk around plenty every day. in circles if you have to. put on headphones, or a speaker if you're inside. listen to music or some books or talk to your dog or your plants or yourself or record a podcast or something, but just make sure you're walking around. the form this comes in for me is walking around outside with my dog for 40 minutes, 3 to 5 times a day depending on how shes feeling.

put on some eyeliner. you dont have to shave or put on a full face of makeup or nothin. just go to the supermarket's generic makeup aisle and get any old 8-dollar eyeliner. nobody's gonna see, you're just trying somethin out in the privacy of your bathroom.

learn to make your hair look nice. it's an often neglected but very important part of your overall silhouette.

pay attention to how you're dressing. are you putting on clothing that you actively enjoy wearing, or do you throw on comfortable pants and baggy tshirt with a design you like? an easy start for this is jackets. theres SO many dope vintage jackets on ebay and in thrift stores, that's how i started experimenting with making something i'd consider a "wardrobe" and not just "clothes".

give this some time and see how you feel. pay attention to how your body feels. if you feel lighter, or like walking around becomes less of a burden, try shaving your beard, and then try on the eyeliner again.

even a bear can become dainty, if they actively seek it out.

#anon

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sleepinthrumyalarms · 1 year

Text

— a study in demon

pairing: wednesday addams x fem!oni!reader

warnings: smut, lesbian sex, a/b/o dynamics in werewolves and demons, penetration, G!P!reader, it's demon girlcock OKAY, cockwarming, breeding kink, size kink, knotting, all characters are aged-up

summary: an unfortunate turn of events leaves wednesday with a very frustrated, very needy oni demon on her hands. what kind of girlfriend would she be if she didn't take care of her beloved?

word count: 4.5k

a/n: jesus christ, look at those warnings. this fic is a whole declaration of war. i went feral. i have nothing to say for myself. hope you enjoy

The first thing you feel when the annoying buzzing of the alarm pulls you out of your peaceful slumber is the immense heat of your body and the ache somewhere in your lower belly. A groan leaves your throat before you can even blink your eyes fully open, and you blindly reach for your phone to turn the screaming noise off.

You sit up on your bed and squint at the sunlight that streams through the tiny slit in the tightly shut curtains, opening a small calendar app that’s designed specifically for the creatures of your kind – and with a huff you realize your rut is coming in two days.

Damn it. You’ve completely forgotten about it. That certainly explains the aggressiveness and mood swings you’ve been having for the past week.

You open a new text message, sent from your girlfriend at 5:30 AM – not exactly an early riser, but definitely the type to pull an all-nighter on a school night – wishing you the most dreadful morning. You smile to yourself, and the smallest thought of her seems to be enough to motivate you to get out of bed and start the day despite the uncomfortable feeling stirring in your belly.

Thank all the gods almighty – Larissa Weems, especially – that it is still a non-uniform week at the Academy. Sitting in class with that tie wrapped around your throat like a noose would’ve killed you.

You rummage through your wardrobe, pulling out a tee and a pair of jeans, changing hastily, before your gaze falls on a particular item of clothing that definitely doesn’t belong in your closet.

It’s a black baggy zip hoodie, the one Wednesday constantly wears when out of class. It’s a surprise she has forgotten it at your place – your best guess is she must’ve left in one of your sweatshirts instead.

The fabric feels smooth in your grasp. Warm fleece lining. A bit abrasive on the outside.

Just like her.

You lift the hoodie to your face, burying your nose in the softness and inhaling.

Smells just like her, too.

Without a second thought you put it over your frame – though a bit more of a tight fit, it’s still slightly baggy on your shoulders – and zip it up, pulling the hood over your head to take another small whiff of the familiar scent.

That should get you through the day, you think.

And it does. For the first half of it, at least.

You take an extra suppressant pill during lunch, but skip the meal, opting to spend the free time in the quad to ventilate your head.

It feels better. Much, much better. Even though you don’t get to see Wednesday at the canteen.

You’re back inside for your last period – maths, and your mind gets too busy with the complicated equations and formulas to worry about the hormones running wild in your body.

You’re half-way through a very fucked-up problem with roots and sines before a strong aroma suddenly fills up your lungs – an omega’s pheromones, you realize, wide-eyed.

An omega who is in heat.

You lift your head up, giving the students around you a quick once-over – and your gaze meets a pair of golden orbs, a pretty girl with pink plump lips and fiery-red hair tied into a pony tail watches you with interest, her chin propped on her palm. As soon as you make eye-contact, she gives you a smile, revealing a small, adorable gap in the front row of her teeth.

You shake your head and smile back politely before turning back to your paper, but the rest of the class feels like you’re trapped in a suffocating cage of hot arousal that smells of yellow fruit and washed laundry.

As soon as the bell dismisses the students, you hastily pack your bag and bolt out of the door, desperate to lock yourself in your dorm room and just take care of this stupid predicament you’ve found yourself in. You’ve never been more grateful for the lack of a roommate.

“Hey, (Y/n).”

You stop and turn at the sound of your name being called, although the voice is quite unfamiliar – too melodic and gentle to be anyone you know.

“Hey, uh...”

It’s the redhead from maths. She watches you expectantly for a few moments before her face falls slightly, “It’s Dina! I was with the Black Cats last year. We met at the after party? The one Yoko hosted?” She sounds almost offended at the fact that you don’t remember her.

“Oh. Oh, right. Dina. Sorry. I’m really bad with names.” You smile apologetically.

“It’s fine. I’d be surprised if you remembered me, actually. This academy holds way too many ginger werewolves,” Dina chuckles, and falls in step with you to continue walking down the hall. “So, you up to anything right now?”

“No, not really. Just hoping to get back to the dorms and sleep my awful headache off. Been bugging me all day.”

It’s only a half-lie – your temples are still throbbing like crazy, and the pheromones you’ve smelled in class did nothing to help your case.

The werewolf tilts her head, pursing her plump lips, “Hmm... That’s too bad, because, actually...”

The smaller girl suddenly grabs your hips and pushes you – unprepared, you stumble to the side and right through the door of some random classroom. Barely able to catch your balance at Dina’s abrupt movement, your hands grasp at her forearms, desperately trying to steady the rest of your body.

“I was thinking I could help you relieve that pain of yours.”

She looks up at you, tilts her chin up slightly. The smell of citron and fresh linen suddenly fills your nose.

The same one you’ve felt in class.

The omega in heat.

Fuck.

The werewolf in front of you settles with pumping her pheromones at you wildly, her palms flitting from your hips down to your thighs, slowly closing in on your center – you do nothing to stop her, your own hands reaching behind you to grip the edge of the desk. Her eyes are glinting red now, slitted pupils never breaking eye contact with yours.

She presses her nose against your scent gland, and you feel her grin against your neck.

“I don’t smell an omega on you...” Shit. Of course Wednesday’s hoodie doesn’t smell like anything but her usual dark resins and woods scent. As much as it is alluring and recognizable to you, it’s not pheromones. “You haven’t mated with one yet? That’s just criminal... An alpha like you should spend all her ruts with a pretty omega impaled on her cock.”

You take a sharp inhale through your nose, feeling yourself throb treacherously at her words. Dina giggles softly, pressing her lips to your jaw, her mouth now inches away from yours.

“You know…” she starts sultry, voice heavy with unadulterated lust in a way that only an omega’s can sound to the ears of a rutting alpha, “I’ve never taken an oni’s knot before…”

You feel the werewolf squeeze your thighs, bare her claws in a sharp movement, “I wonder what it feels like.”

Your head is heavy, cloudy – you’re practically unable to resist, tusked mouth hanging open with small puffs of vapors fluttering out. The urge to bend the small werewolf over the desk and pound her into the wood feels even harder to resist, too.

An unpleasant feeling rattles through your chest, unbearable and disgusting. An image of dark-brown eyes and soft lips painted burgundy flashes through your mind.

You feel like you’re going to puke.

“No,” you rasp, pushing the werewolf away. “Get off me.”

Before the startled girl can retort, you stumble out of the classroom and slam the door closed, turning the key that has been left in the keyhole by some clumsy substitute.

You stumble for a moment, lifting a clawed palm to grasp at your head that has suddenly turned cloudy and heavy, and make your way towards the ladies’ restroom.

She must’ve felt the rut closing on you, and her own heat triggered it prematurely.

With shaky hands you pull out your phone, opening the messages app and texting the first person that comes to your clouded mind.

enid

bro you gotta ditch

it’s an emergency

i just stumbled into a girl

uhh dina?

she’s from ophelia hall

anyways i think she needs… help

from a fellow omega wolf

i think she hasn’t been taking her suppressants

for some fucking reason

and yk it’s not like me to live a lady in distress

but i really had to dip

i was doing her a favor by dipping actually

i locked her up on the 2nd floor

202

i really had to leave

Pressing your back against one of the bathroom stalls, you wait anxiously as three gray dots dance on the screen.

The device dingles in your hands.

oooohh

its okay

i gotchu

u should totes find weds tho

im sure she can help u out ;))

You hide your phone in your pocket and open the tap to splash your face with cold water. It eases the flush of your face, but doesn’t calm the raging beast inside.

Your fingers grasp onto the edges of the sink tightly, almost making the marble crack.

As you walk through the corridors and up the stairs of Ophelia Hall, the only thought that occupies your mind is Wednesday. Wednesday and her dark eyes and her lips and her touch and the beautiful curve of her slender hips and everything that is your mate.

You don’t bother knocking, urgently swinging the door open.

And there it is. Your (f/c) sweater, no doubt one of her monochrome striped shirts under it.

Your palms are sweating. Claws digging into your pant legs, tusks into your lip.

The small ravenette turns in her seat to look at you, her fingers stilling over the keys of her typewriter.

Her braided hair looks pristine and untouched, her posture unmatched, the image perfect even when out of public sight.

“Ma bête,” she addresses softly, brows slightly raised in question. “You’re back. And you look… a trifle uncomfortable.”

Does she not know? There’s no way she doesn’t. Such details could never slip Wednesday’s unhealthily constantly alerted mind.

“Is something wrong?”

Fuck. Of course. There it is, that cruel glint in her eyes. You should’ve known.

She wants you to say it.

You shift on your feet. The temperature is becoming almost unbearable.

“I’m…”

Wednesday watches you, tilts her head just a tiny bit forward — dark, haunted eyes deadpan, staring you down, her jaw tightening slightly and relaxing in a way that is barely noticeable but has your gaze flicking down to the enticing slant of her neck.

“I’m… in a rut.” You admit, finally.

Wednesday’s eyes widen slightly — her posture straightens even more, the glint in her eyes turning dangerous, “Oh.” Yes, oh, as if she wasn’t aware. “Why are the suppressants not working?”

Should you admit that the small encounter with the horny omega has sent your hormones spiraling?

Wednesday is by no means a normal human, yet her nose lacks the capability of sensing alpha pheromones. Nevertheless, she can read you like a book, and she probably was aware of your coming rut long before you were. She simply likes abusing the knowledge.

“It must be bad then, if it has you reduced to such a pathetic state,” the goth tuts, drumming her fingers against her desk. “Pure torture, isn’t it, bête? I wish I could help you…”

Wednesday turns back to her paper, shrugging noncommittally, “Unfortunately, it is my writing hour, and you know how much I would detest an intervention in my schedule.”

You whine as the drumming of her keys resumes – like a kicked puppy, you turn to reach for the doorknob, prepared to return back to the restroom and take care of yourself to the thought of your ever-so beautiful and unyielding girlfriend.

Wednesday’s fingers still on the typewriter.

“But I suppose… We can reach a consensus.”

The legs of her chair scrape against the hardwood floor, and you turn to find Wednesday standing next to the desk, palm resting on the back of the seat invitingly.

“Come here.”

You’re beside Wednesday before the whole command can escape her mouth, and she gives a small, amused huff that almost has you howling and gnawing at furniture, then gestures at the chair, “Sit. Unbutton your pants, underwear off.”

You reach to do as told, pulling at a pant-leg to finally discard the constricting garment before the ravenette slaps your hand, “Just the button and the zipper, (Y/n). Do not make me repeat myself.”

You gulp and take a seat at her desk, tugging the elastic of your boxers down to free the hard shaft.

The dark, intense gaze Wednesday is watching you with makes you blush and throb, excitement and arousal mixing with the slightest of embarrassments only her presence can induce.

“Good girl,” she hums, circling the chair like a hunting lioness. “I will allow you to be inside me, just this once. I will not allow you to touch me in any other way. If I feel any movement, internal or external, you will be punished. And by no means are you allowed to cum. Not without my permission. Are the instructions clear, beast? Nod your empty little head if affirmative.”

You nod with a small whimper at the derogatory words, though they do nothing to soothe the aching hardness between your legs.

“Good, good. Well, since the terms are settled, I shall get started.”

Before you can respond, Wednesday steps closer to the desk, slightly flipping her skirt with a quick movement of her hand and letting you catch the smallest of glimpses of her pretty pussy – the show is over before you can marvel though, and the seer sits on your lap, your length pressing against her lower back.

Like this, with no distance left between you, her scent is encompassing your whole being. No pheromones can compare to the way Wednesday smells, the rich, woodsy notes of a forest soaked in rainwater luring you in as you take a small inhale.

You bite back a growl, but a small noise of frustration still manages to reach the ravenette’s sharp hearing.

“Quiet, beast.” She scolds, her tone of voice far from playful, and reaches to straighten her skirt carefully, flicking the non-existing dust off the garment in a graceful movement of her palm.

Then, before you can downright keen with impatience, the same hand moves behind to wrap around your hard member, giving it a squeeze so light it is almost torturous – Wednesday lifts her hips and presses the head against the warmth of her entrance.

That first contact feels like electricity and fire in your belly, worsened when you feel your cock split her lips open, stretching her taut around it, and the smallest worry that you might just not fit passes through your rut-clouded mind.

Then again, Wednesday might not even be merciful enough to sheathe you fully inside her, but the thought of being too big to be properly seated in her cunt is tantalizing and excruciating at the same time.

A small, relieved sigh escapes Wednesday’s lips – the sensation of being filled up with you is like no other, and she can’t help but relish in it despite her aggravation. She takes her time, feeling every inch push deeper inside her and stretch her out, the thick shaft splitting her open, then her thighs press into yours and she stills completely.

If she had to, the goth would put all the time and work in to stretch herself out with your girth, to take all of you inside her like she was molded just for that single purpose. It’s not like Wednesday has something to prove to anyone – or maybe she has, to you, that no one else at Nevermore could take you so well and make all your resolve, might and dominance provided to you by nature, or by gods, or by whatever entity has created such a delectable beast as you crumble under her and make it natural for you to submit to the seer.

And oh does submissiveness look good on you, too – or at least it sounds good, if your heavy breathing mixed with quiet whines hitting her ear is anything to go by.

Wednesday is reminded of her goal suddenly when she feels your hips buck instinctually into her, and the ravenette has to hold back a sound of pleasure at the movement, because she can’t fight how incredible the pressure feels, making her velvet walls flutter. She’s still holding the reins when she tightens her pussy around your throbbing dick purposefully, a trace of a small smirk on her plush burgundy lips at the needy and wanton groan that escapes your mouth.

That was a good enough treat, she thinks. Now to the sticks.

Wednesday kicks you in the shin with the side of her loafer, pulling you out of your pleasure-induced trance and making you flinch.

“Move closer to the desk, beast. I need to be able to reach the keys in order to type.”

You grunt, shuffling the chair closer with your weight, nudging Wednesday’s body forward, and the slightest shift makes you hiss — she slides a few inches up your shaft before she’s at the base again, seated nice and snug, her thighs resting on yours. Your hands fall to grapple at them, and you receive another painful kick.

“No. Hands off. If you are unable to control yourself, I will shun you out.” Wednesday scolds, though has to hide the effect the feeling of your claws curling around her have, and fails. Her voice sounds more breathless than she has intended.

She has a hard time admitting to herself how torturous this is for her, too. The seer sneaks a glance down to where the thick shaft splits her open, so tight she can practically feel it throbbing against her clit. A small bead of precum runs down, skirting one of the throbbing veins.

Wednesday’s restraint is laudable.

“Messy creature,” she murmurs, her tone surprisingly soft, before the paper in front of her takes over her attention again. Straightening her back, the ravenette goes back to her writing as if she’s not full of demon cock right now.

You try to focus on the rapid clatter of the keys, on the way Wednesday’s elegant fingers dance over the typewriter, maybe try and catch a glance of the words the girl is printing on the paper. Anything to pull your mind away from the tight warmth hugging your aching cock, from weight of the small body pressed against you.

The demon inside of you is raging, howling, salivating between huge tusks. The monster is not as prejudiced as the fellow oni of your clan are – it doesn’t care if it’s another demon or a human you’re nestled inside. It demands the frail body pressed against your own is filled up and bred, demands the goth takes all of you, stretching around your swollen knot before it's barely able to slip inside.

Not just any body. Or some omega. Wednesday. Wednesday who isn’t even a part of that animalistic system, but the beast begs for more, wants all of her more, more with each passing second.

A growl mixed with a whimper escapes your mouth – you have no idea what to do with your hands, so you press them into the edge of the table on either side of Wednesday’s typewriter, claws digging into the dark wood. The involuntarily display of strength has the small female tightening around you with a gentle hitch of her breath, making you groan.

“Wednesday,” you rasp through clenched teeth. “I can’t. Please. I’m losing control.”

“O-oh, are you?” The goth inquires mockingly, hoping you don’t take notice of her slight stutter.

“Mhm,” you nod dumbly. “Wanna take you so bad. Wanna fuck you full of me.”

Wednesday can’t fight the way her pussy constricts around you again, though the determination not to lose control remains, strong as ever. She abandons the keys to reach a hand into your hair, grabbing a fistful of (h/c) locks to pull and make you meet her gaze, “Whose is it, (Y/n)?”

You furrow your brows in confusion, making Wednesday’s frown deepen – a hint for the right answer comes in the form of the seer’s hips lifting and rocking back down, the friction making you hiss.

“Answer me.”

“Yours.” You swallow. “Yours, Wednesday. Every- every inch is.”

“Good. Good girl.” She coos, easing her hold on you to rake her short nails down the back of your neck, making goosebumps litter your body. “Bed, beast. Now.”

A low growl rumbling in your chest and vibrating against her back is the only warning Wednesday gets before she’s lifted into the air sharply.

In a rough, barely controlled movement you stand up so fast you topple the chair over, flipping the girl with ease and walking a couple of steps to press her against the bed, the ravenette’s cunt still snug around your shaft. A clawed hand reaches for a pillow hastily to cushion Wednesday’s head, the last resemblance of caring gentleness in your actions before you pull out to the tip and buck back inside.

Wednesday’s head snaps back, mouth falling open in pleasure as you pin her down into the mattress, fucking hard into the welcoming, tight warmth of her pussy. Despite the dynamics of oni demons still being fairly alien to Wednesday – not as alien apparently, as she knows the frequency and signs of your rut better than you do and isn’t opposed to using it against you – she now seems to understand the appeal of being absolutely destroyed by an alpha that omegas in heat are so partial to.

As delectable as the thought is, it rekindles the spark of possessiveness that she thought has almost been extinguished. The goth wraps her arms around your shoulders, pulling your bodies flush together.

Hers. No one else’s.

Not some other depraved omega girl’s so desperate to get a taste of you.

“You foolish brute.” She pants as if it’s your fault you seem to be irresistible to other women, voice trembling slightly, her breath completely pushed out of her lungs with each of your thrusts. “You better make good on your promise and breed me like a good alpha should.”

The monster inside you roars at the proposition that is so obviously supposed to be taunting. Your palms slide down the girl’s waist, thumbs brushing against the protruding hipbones to dip into the supple flesh sitting low under her navel, holding her tightly, almost hard enough to bruise and match the brutal pace of your hips rutting into Wednesday, your cock splitting her open deliciously in a toe-curling sensation that has Wednesday’s head falling back against the dark pillows.

The sight under you has you growling savagely – your tongue lolls out to lick a thick stripe up the exposed skin of the ravenette’s neck before you bite down, huge tusks clasping around her throat and keeping Wednesday in place completely, her pulse wild against the rough surface of your muscle. Her pussy constricts around your cock, clamping down hard in an attempt to keep the thick shaft buried to the hilt every time you pull out and quivering when you slam back inside and fill her up enough for the tip to kiss the entrance of her womb, never letting the small female catch her breath.

The lustful fog of ardent fervor clouding Wednesday’s brain doesn’t numb her to the sensation of a swelling at the base of your shaft nudging against her opening every time your hips meet hers. It threatens to push in, catches deliciously on Wednesday’s clit with each thrust and she can feel herself getting painfully close.

But she will not. For the sake of the one thing she wants more than anything else, the goth will deprive herself.

“Knot me.” She rasps into your ear, her feet pushing into your lower back to urge you deeper inside. “Mia bestia, mia alfa. Dentro. Ven dentro di mi.”

You’d have no clue what she has just said on a normal day, and you have zero idea right now, buried eight inches deep inside of her, but the breathless, desperate pants of Italian have you turning feral. In one last brutal thrust the knot slips past Wednesday’s tight lips and inside, stretching and filling her so thoroughly and impossibly delicious it has her eyes rolling into the back of her head. A spill of wetness from her own release rushing forth as she clamps down on your cock lubes her aching walls, helping the bulging slide in firmly.

Your lips gravitate to hers, pulled to her like a magnet, and you growl into her mouth as your cum spills hotly, taking up any remaining space inside the small female and her walls ripple, begging for more. Wednesday's arms tighten around your shoulders and legs squeeze around your hips to keep you close.

You throb with sated completion, press lazy kisses to the seer’s brow and flushed cheeks, and watch as her eyes flutter open to meet yours, her chest heavy with steamy breaths.

“Too hot, huh?” You ask, jaw slack slightly.

Wednesday gives a weak nod, and you reach to tug the sweater off her shoulders, then unzip her skirt to slip it down her pale legs, leaving the girl in just her striped shirt. The newly exposed skin provides better contact for you to revel in – you purr in satisfaction and move to join the seer on the bed, careful not to crush her, and maneuver her small body in your palms to pull her on top of you.

Wednesday huffs but doesn’t resist, nudging at your neck with her nose and pressing a soft kiss to your jugular in an uncharacteristic display of affection.

“How did you find out?” You murmur, lifting your hands to start undoing one of the ravenette’s loosened braids leisurely.

“I have my ways.”

You hum at the vague reply, now certain that the disembodied hand following you around the whole day wasn’t just your imagination playing tricks, “I hope you know I had no intention to lie to you or anything. You just- you didn’t exactly give me a chance to speak.”

“Your explanation wasn’t necessary. I’m well aware of what happened.” The movement of the seer’s plush lips tickles your skin pleasantly, her voice now void of its previous detachment.

You smile softly, finished with unbraiding her hair, your fingers threading through the silky raven locks, careful not to give an accidental tug. Wednesday closes her eyes at your touch, and the tranquility of the moment has you feeling like a cat basking in warm sunlight, despite the object of your passions being a complete opposite to it.

“I’ll have to consult Enid on the topic of which herbs are the deadliest to werewolves.”

“Wednesday.”

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x reader smut #wednesday addams smut #wednesday x reader #wednesday x reader smut #wednesday smut #wednesday imagine #wednesday x female reader #wednesday #wednesday addams #wlw smut

3K notes · View notes

lennadanvers · 4 months

Text

Winter back home

Simon Riley x Reader

He has a problem.

He’s had problems all his life. He’s got a lot of experience in dealing with problems, really. The ones that can be solved with bullets, anyway.

This is not that kind of problem. Well, maybe a bullet could take care of this. But he promised himself he would never take that path. So, he suffers.

His problem is the dichotomy. His problem is Ghost, months of suffocating under a stale mask, the orders, the blood, the uniform. His problem is Simon, weeks of nothing, the silence, the civilian comfort, being a person.

He’s gone. Somewhere between base and “home”- a cold, dark flat in the outskirts of London-, he lost his soul. Now he isn’t here nor there. None of his names fit him.

He is just a being, two legs on top of two feet that can’t stand the feeling of dry, clean socks inside of simple sneakers. A head, a neck, on top of a pair of shoulders too wide to fit the door of normalcy. A back too tight to bear the weight of actual life. Hands too strong to hold reality without breaking it, skin so rough it tears instead of caressing. A pair of eyes that do not know where to look if not for threats.

He's a storm waiting to happen. Too dark to be a person, too broken to be a man. Too heavy for a ghost.

The flat feels wrong. Especially the first few days. He has to open the windows to let the fresh air in- more like freezing air. It’s okay, he’s used to dealing with the cold. It’s actually being comfortable what makes him uneasy. The fact that he has so much space for himself. He doesn’t have things. He doesn’t own more than a couple changes of clothes. His sofa looks new, even though he bought it years ago. His bed is soft, his bedside table is empty. He owns a table, two chairs and headphones. One bottle of water. Four glasses, a cheap six-piece cutlery set. Some plates he bought on sale. One rug he doesn’t step on. A broom. Shampoo, toothbrush and toothpaste are in the bag he brings from base. Even his bike just takes up half his designated parking space.

Other than that, he has nothing.

The other thing that bothers him is the silence. He should be able to sleep in the quiet- he’s fallen asleep in active bombing zones, for God’s sake. But the white noise of the cars, the soft humming of the refrigerator- all they do is keep him awake. It’s always too quiet, too… Too safe. He knows it’s a trap. It always is.

That’s why he checks the windows.

Like now, when he enters the apartment in silence. The lights stay off until he’s cleared every room. Then he turns them all on. His duffel bag goes into the wardrobe, still closed. The boots under the bed. He changes into civilian clothes, checks the pantry- empty, always empty- and starts his rounds.

He checks the three windows: the small one in the bathroom, the one in the bedroom that looks over the neighbor’s rooftop, and the one in the living room. Usually, the last one is his favorite. The view lets him keep an eye on the street, alert in case there’s something suspicious lurking down there.

This time, though, he can’t look down.

He’s stuck in the window in front of his. The apartment building across the street is nicer than the one he’s standing in. By his standards, anyway. That means it looks warm and worn down. Brick walls instead of grey cement, wood stairs instead of metal. It has pots with flowers and an old mirror in the entrance.

There’s only one apartment with the lights still on. It’s late, he reminds himself, for normal people. Most of them are asleep at two in the morning.

You’re not. Through your open curtains, he can see your tired face. You’re curled up on a desk chair, with messy hair and reading glasses on. Your pajama is cute, it looks soft and a little too big. It fits you perfectly. You’re holding a steaming cup and frowning at the pile of papers on top of your desk.

When you fix the -presumably hand-knitted- blanket on top of your shoulders, he frowns. Aren’t you cold? You should close the window.

And go to bed, while you’re at it. What are you doing up this late, anyway? Working? He hopes not. A cute little thing like you should have a quiet job, with stable working hours and low stress. But you look very stressed. Maybe you’re studying. That’s it, probably. You don’t look his age, but he’d bet you’re in your late twenties, maybe thirties.

He pictures you getting a degree. It’s easy, you look smart. Oh, you must have a degree already. Surely, he decides, you must have one. You’re getting a doctorate now, aren’t you?

It’s a silly question, of course. He knows nothing about you, except that you should be sleeping instead of munching at a cookie. But it’s a relief to pretend he does. To believe he can see life through your window. If he had to guess, that’s what living looks like: a woman in the room, plans for the future, eating homemade treats and knowing you’ll survive the upcoming test, even if you don’t pass.

For the first time since he bought this place, he’s actually there. As if taking a deep breath, Simon is suddenly aware of his body. The t-shirt he’s wearing is soft, a little too thin for the weather. The place smells like leather- must be the sofa. Was the ceiling always this high? Simon makes a mental note to buy air freshener and a blanket.

It takes him a couple of days of staring out the window to realize what happened.

It’s Friday, and he’s checked your closed blinds for the third time this afternoon. Simon hasn’t seen you today. He sighs and turns around. He goes to open one of the kitchen drawers when it hits him.

There are cookies in there. Two different kinds. And he’s wearing slippers- they were on sale at the supermarket, and he didn’t even think about it. But he’s thinking about it now. Simon looks around. One of his jackets is hanging by the door. There’s lint on the rug. The cushions on the sofa are out of their place. He left a mug on the counter.

He's living again.

It a crushing discovery. Once he saw it, it’s impossible to miss. He made plans. He has tickets to watch a movie next Tuesday. When was the last time he planned something other than a mission? And cookies? Simon hasn’t eaten cookies since he enlisted. Maybe longer. His clothes are comfortable. Actually comfortable, he doesn’t need to ignore the fabric irritating his skin. The windows are closed: he’s not cold. It’s quite nice, honestly. And the place smells like someone lives here. A mix of cologne, tea and leftovers from lunch.

The flat doesn’t feel empty. Simon doesn’t feel empty.

His muscles give out. It’s not a dramatic fall, more like an extreme relaxation. It hurts a little; like clenching your fist for hours and then letting your hand open. The blood starts flowing back with a tingle. The oxygen gets where it is supposed to go. There is a strange open space in the palm of your hand.

The relieved smile is a side effect.

He still wears it when he settles back down on the couch. Someone is playing music outside, and the plants on your building’s hall are blooming. What a weird time to bloom, in the middle of the cold.

Simon understands, though, when he sees you finally open your blinds.

Yes, he gets the desire to be alive now.

A/n: I sat down to write and four hours later I'm posting this. It is not proofread and I'm a little too tired to care. Maybe I'll fix it later. Also, my anxiety has been a bitch lately (that means I freeze instead of being able to reply to messages and asks- my poor friends have the patience of a thousand saints stacked on top of each other), so I won't reply to the asks today. Maybe tomorrow, we'll see. In any case, I hope you're all having a great weekend, full of flowers and treats <3

#fanfiction #cod #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #lennadanvers #lenna writes #fanfic #task force 141 #simon riley cod #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x y/n

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enigmatech1 · 2 years

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Best Custom Wardrobe Designs for Small Spaces: Maximizing Functionality and Style in Limited Spaces

If you live in a small apartment or a compact home, you know that storage space can be a precious commodity. While you may dream of having a walk-in closet, the reality is that you may only have a small nook or corner to work with. However, that doesn't mean you have to sacrifice style or function when it comes to your wardrobe. With the right design and customization, you can create a custom wardrobe that maximizes the limited space you have.

The Importance of Customization in Small Space Wardrobe Design

Customization is important when creating a wardrobe for a tiny area. Every square inch of space counts, and a tailored solution can help you maximize what you have. You can select the precise measurements, features, and materials for your custom wardrobe that will best meet your needs and fit your room.

There are various wardrobe manufacturers in Gurgaon that specialize in creating unique solutions for limited areas. Whether you need a wardrobe with more shelves, drawers, or hanging space, these manufacturers may work with you to make one that meets your needs.

Tips for Designing a Custom Wardrobe for a Small Space

Here are some tips to keep in mind when designing a custom wardrobe for a small space:

Measure your space: Before you start designing your wardrobe, measure the space where you plan to install it. Make note of any obstacles such as doors or windows that may impact the design. This will help you ensure that your custom wardrobe fits perfectly in the available space.

Think vertically: When space is limited, it's important to make the most of every inch. A custom wardrobe that goes all the way up to the ceiling can provide extra storage space without taking up too much floor space. You can also add shelving or hanging rods at different heights to maximize storage.

Use sliding doors: In a small space, swinging doors can take up valuable floor space. Sliding doors are a great alternative as they don't require any additional space to open and close. Plus, they can add a modern, streamlined look to your wardrobe.

Choose the right materials: When choosing materials for your custom wardrobe, consider durability, weight, and style. For example, if you want a sleek and modern look, you may want to consider using glass or metal. On the other hand, if you want a more traditional look, you may want to use wood.

Prioritize function: When designing a wardrobe for a small space, it's important to prioritize function over form. Make sure you have enough storage space for all of your clothing and accessories, and consider features like adjustable shelves and hanging rods to maximize storage.

Add lighting: Adding lighting to your custom wardrobe can make it easier to find what you're looking for and add an extra touch of luxury. Consider adding LED lights or under-cabinet lighting to brighten up your wardrobe.

Choosing the Right Wardrobe Manufacturer in Gurgaon

There are a number of things to take into account when looking for the best wardrobe manufacturer in Gurgaon. Choose a manufacturer that specializes in unique creations for compact areas and has practical knowledge of a range of materials and designs. Verify their reputation for excellent work and customer service by reading their evaluations and contacting their references.

Best Wardrobe Inside Design is a fantastic choice for bespoke wardrobe designs in Gurgaon. From materials and finishes to accessories and lighting, they provide a wide range of customizing options. They can assist you in maximizing the space you have because they have experience constructing wardrobes for compact places.

Conclusion

In conclusion, just because you have a small space doesn't mean you have to compromise on style and functionality when it comes to your wardrobe. By designing a custom wardrobe that fits your specific needs, you can maximize storage space and create a stylish and functional addition to your home. With the right materials, design, and customization, you can create a wardrobe that not only fits your space but also fits your personal style. With the right wardrobe manufacturer, you can build any kind of wardrobe inside design as per your expectation. So, if you are in the search for a manufacturer then choosing Wudley Modulars will be the right choice for you.

#Wardrobe Inside Design #Wardrobe Manufacturers In Gurgaon #Modular Wardrobe Manufacturers #Wardrobe Manufacturers In Noida

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gracie-bird · 9 months

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Edith Head's costume design for Grace Kelly as Frances Stevens in "To Catch a Thief" (1955).

#grace kelly #1955 #to catch a thief #edith head #1954 #costume #costume design #yellow dress #inside grace's wardrobe

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alpha-mag-media · 9 months

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Inside the lavish life of Molly-Mae’s Bambi Fury with 7 holidays in a year, first class flights & a designer wardrobe | 03Y5G06 | 2024-01-04 04:08:01 | January 04, 2024 at 05:08AM

Inside the lavish life of Molly-Mae’s Bambi Fury with 7 holidays in a year, first class flights & a designer wardrobe | 03Y5G06 | 2024-01-04 04:08:01 Read More … Check full articles at Source: ALPHA MAG

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#first class flights & a designer wardrobe | 03Y5G06 | 2024-01-04 04:08:01 #Inside the lavish life of Molly-Mae’s Bambi Fury with 7 holidays in a year #Politics #ShowBiz #Sport #Tech #UK #US #World

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freyaphoria · 13 days

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I see the request is back to open AAAAA!

lately I've been imagining if mingi is good at sewing and it's his soft side (because I saw the FIX ON stuffs and wondering if he produces the stuff by himself), so he had a crush with yn but he is to shy to say it. when he saw yn kissed by his best friend yunho he became so madly jealous and feel guilty because he can't blame his best friend and got mad to yn instead.

by the next day he saw yn and yn is smiling at mingi as if nothing happened.... he wonders if those pretty lips could smile only at him, by sewing yn's lips.

Broken Doll

tw: dark fic!!!! Yan!Mingi, kidnapping, stitches, fainting, blood, kissing, obsessive behaviors, mingi is sooo delulu loll, restriction with handcuffs (let me know if I missed something)

wc: 2.7k

taglist: @aim-blossom @bambisd0ll @oddracha @peqchplvto @hwxbibi (dm me if you want join the taglist)

Mingi stood in the dim light of his room, taking in the sight of his latest creation one final time. His fingers carefully traced the last knots and ties of the thread he had worked so diligently to secure. He let his eyes linger on the hoodie he had meticulously sewn just for you, its fabric soft and inviting, featuring his signature stitched phrase "fix on" that had become a signature of his work – it was the 47th item he had lovingly sewn with you in mind. With a careful motion, he folded the hoodie and placed it gently into the wardrobe he had designated exclusively for your clothes. Inside the closet, various dresses, t-shirts, skirts, coats, hoodies, and many other clothes were waiting, all sewn by him to fit your body and style perfectly. Mingi often daydreamed about the moment he would summon the courage to present these lovingly made items to you, to see you adorned in the clothes he had crafted with his own hands.

His eyes scanned the collection, trying to find which piece stood out as the most exquisite. If he were to gift you one tomorrow, which would be worthy of such an honor? Mingi's hand glided along the hangers, his fingertips brushing against the various fabrics. Despite the perfection he strived for in each garment, his eyes found minute imperfections in every piece. After careful consideration, he decided that the hoodie he had just completed would be the ideal first gift. It represented his most recent work, showcasing the refinement of his skills over time. The choice of your favorite color for the fabric and the elaborate embroidery of his "fix on" signature – a signature he had been incorporating into his creations for years – made it particularly special. The timing seemed perfect as well. With the weather turning cooler, gifting you the hoodie would allow him the pleasure of seeing you wear it. The thought of you wrapped in his handiwork sent a shiver of excitement through him.

This hoodie was not just a piece of clothing; it was a lasting impression of his feelings for you. He resolved that he wouldn’t postpone any longer; the next day would be the day he would finally tell you how he felt and present the hoodie to you. He had to stop his growing admiration for you from reaching a dangerous level, and the best way to do that was to tell you that he loved you.

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The following day, Mingi arrived on campus, his nerves frayed with anticipation. In his hands, he clutched the carefully wrapped gift, a physical manifestation of his affection. His body betrayed his anxiety – hands trembling, breath coming in short gasps, eyes heavy from a sleepless night spent rehearsing what he would say to you. As he scanned the familiar surroundings, he noticed something unusual: Yunho, his best friend and constant companion, was nowhere to be seen. This absence struck Mingi as odd. He and Yunho were practically inseparable, and it was unlike his friend not to check in with a simple "where are you?" message. As he walked, Mingi pulled out his phone and attempted to call Yunho, but there was no answer. His heart lowered slightly, as he could have used his friend's support and advice in this moment. Approaching the cafeteria, a familiar spot where they often met, he felt a surge of anticipation mixed with anxiety. He called Yunho again, hoping for a response, but what happened before him made his heart drop.

There, right in front of him, was Yunho, completely engrossed in a passionate kiss with you. You both looked so lost and passionate; Yunho’s hands were on your waist and your hands were tangled in Yunho’s hair. It took a moment, but when you caught sight of him standing there, your surprise registered on your face, and you instinctively pulled away from him; confusion clouded Yunho's face as he turned, suddenly locking gazes with his stunned friend.

In that moment, a whirlwind of emotions surged through Mingi – shock, betrayal, anger, and heartbreak collided within him. Despite the turmoil, Mingi didn't blame Yunho; after all, he had never told Yunho about his love for you. Yes, Yunho knew he was in love with someone, but Mingi had never said it was you. He didn't blame Yunho; if Yunho had known that Mingi was in love with you, he would never have done such a thing, Mingi was sure of that. All of Mingi's hurt and anger, therefore, became focused solely on you. Hadn't he made it clear before that he liked you? In his mind, he had made his feelings abundantly clear – the smiles, the shared class notes, the daily greetings. He believed his actions had spoken louder than words, making a formal confession almost unnecessary. But you, like a whore, had kissed his best friend, Yunho. Slut. How could you do this to Mingi? Despite all the clothes he had specially sewn for you, despite the masterpieces he had spent hours on, you had chosen his friend. Mingi could never forgive this.

You pulled away from Yunho's lips and smiled at Mingi. You fucking smiled. This had to be a joke, or Mingi must be having a terrible nightmare. Like a slut, you had cheated on him with his friend and then smiled to his face. That smile, which he had once found so endearing, now seemed to mock him. Mingi immediately left the cafeteria with growing anger and disappointment inside him and locked himself in the bathroom.

Of course, you and Yunho didn't understand what had happened. Mingi was just a friend to you, you had liked Yunho for weeks, and it was obvious that Yunho liked you too. Why had Mingi suddenly gotten angry and left? "Baby, let me check on Mingi." After Yunho kissed you one last time, you nodded, and with Yunho's leaving, you were left alone in the cafeteria.

Mingi's phone kept ringing with Yunho's missed calls, but Mingi didn't answer any of them. He wasn't angry at him; he just didn't know what to say to him. Mingi valued their friendship too much to risk saying something in the heat of the moment that he might later regret. You were the only one to blame here. You had gotten close to Yunho while Mingi was around, and on top of that, you had smiled at Mingi as if nothing had happened. A dark thought began to take root in his mind – you needed to be punished for the pain you had caused him.

Normally, Mingi wouldn't have kidnapped you; he had thought about it before and wanted you to fall in love with him on your own and live with him willingly, but after this, Mingi was going to kidnap you and punish you.

He stuffed the gift he had carefully prepared and wrapped for you into his bag and headed towards the parking lot, where the cameras had broken down long ago but no one had fixed it.

Yunho searched for Mingi everywhere in the college, called him countless times on the phone, but there was no sound from Mingi. When he realized that his class was about to start, he gave up and decided to stop by Mingi's house after class.

Mingi waited for your class to end, like a lion lying in ambush, beside your car, waiting for you without being seen by anyone. When he finally spotted you walking alone towards the parking lot, a momentary pang of guilt struck him. You looked so vulnerable, so unaware of the turmoil raging within him. But in his twisted logic, he pushed aside these feelings, convincing himself that his actions were justified.

Mingi's pent-up emotions exploded in a moment of brutal force as he ambushed you from behind. The sound of your head repeatedly hitting the car echoed in his ears, but he couldn't stop. He was hitting so fast that you were sure you would die there. Before you could even process what was happening, darkness engulfed you, and Mingi took your car key that had fallen from your hand, opened your car, seized the opportunity to bundle you into your own car. After making sure he hadn't left any traces behind, he got into the driver's seat. "I did this because you made me angry. You have to pay for what you've done." Mingi? This name flashed in your mind. The voice belonged to Mingi. But why would Mingi do this to you? Mingi's voice sounded very distant, as if you were in a glass jar and hearing the outside muffled. You tried to move your hands, but they were very heavy. When he started your car, you stopped resisting and closed your eyes.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

When your eyes fluttered open, a wave of numbness enveloped your entire body, leaving you disoriented and struggling to piece together your surroundings. You racked your brain for any memory of what had transpired, but found only a disconcerting void. There was an echo of a sound that faintly resonated in your ears, reminiscent of an engine's hum, yet softer and more persistent, like a background murmur that wouldn't fade away.

Your hands were tied firmly to something on either side, and as you tried to shift them, a feeling of helplessness washed over you. The bright white light that flooded your vision was blinding, making it nearly impossible to keep your eyes open for more than a fleeting moment. Attempts to speak or scream were futile; your mouth felt as if it were encased in a thick fog of numbness. You couldn't even muster the strength to part your lips or form the words that desperately wanted to escape.

As your vision slowly clears, you make out the silhouette of someone, a man hunched over a desk. And that annoying sound that was constantly piercing your brain was coming from there. You wanted to open your mouth and tell him to stop that, but both your mind was very tired, and your mouth was numb; you couldn't feel your lips, tongue, or teeth. The figure paused their work, momentarily silencing the continuous sound, and you watched as he picked up a pair of scissors from the cluttered desk, his movements deliberate yet mysterious. When he lifted his head, revealing a piece of fabric that lay in his hands, clarity began to creep in—you realized he was sewing something with a sewing machine. But confusion clouded your thoughts.

But why? Why were you here, and why was he sewing something here? Did you know him? Your mind was very foggy; you tried to come to your senses, but it was very difficult. A flicker of recognition stirred within you. You felt a sense of familiarity toward the person, although his name eluded you. Min... It started with an 'M.'

"So you're awake, doll," the figure spoke, getting up from the chair and making his way towards you. As he approached, a sense of dread settled in your stomach. "I didn't think you'd sleep for such a long time; I thought you were dead." He crouched down to meet your gaze, his expression a mix of surprise and something darker. "How do you feel?" he asked, his hand brushing softly against your head, yet the touch felt unsettling. You wanted to say you felt disgusting, but your lips didn't move. He got up from where he was crouching and sat next to you on the soft bed you were lying on. "It's silly of me to ask you questions and expect you to answer," you didn't understand what he was talking about. You were getting more and more silent, and the pain in your head had reached a noticeable level. You wanted to moved your arms, but cold metal handcuffs on both sides prevented you. Panic was progressively spreading through your veins, and your irregular breathing was the only sound filling the silent room.

He gazed at you for what felt like an eternity, allowing a heavy sigh to escape his lips. "You look very beautiful," he said, a statement that should have brought warmth but instead sent a chill down your spine. As he reached out toward you, an instinctual urge to pull back surged within you, but the energy to do so eluded you. His fingers brushed against what you thought were your lips, a gentle caress that you couldn’t feel, leaving you in an unsettling state of numbness. "First, let me remind you why you're here," he continued, his voice smooth yet sinister. "I've loved you for a long time, I admire you, but you, like a whore, went and kissed my best friend. That's why I kidnapped you."

Mingi.

The name jolted your memory back to fragmented moments; flashes of laughter, stolen glances, and the painful realization that he harbored feelings for you. Confusion wrestled with disbelief as he spoke, all while a smile danced on his lips, his fingers still trailing along your face. The smile was disarming, but it contrasted sharply with the surreal horror of the moment. You suddenly felt a wave of panic when his hands moved down to your clothes. You were even more confused when you noticed that your outfit had completely changed. The new clothes were made of a fabric you didn't recognize, and a deep sense of dread set in as you looked down at them in shock. As you were trying to look at yourself in surprise, Mingi spoke. "Ah, do you like your new clothes? I sewed them. I made them all carefully to fit your body perfectly." Due to the increasing panic, your head was starting to spin, and you were slowly regaining consciousness.

You wanted to shout at him, curse at him; you wanted to ask why you were here, tell him to let you go, but you couldn't open your mouth and speak, as if your mouth was numb like in a nightmare. "I also sewed something else; would you like to see it?" His question hung in the air, and you could only manage a slow shake of your head, a silent plea for him to stop. The handcuffs biting into your wrists were relentless, the tightness a stark reminder of your captivity, and a numbness was beginning to creep into your fingers.

Mingi excitedly stood up, walked a bit in the room, and took a large mirror in his hand and approached you again. As you were about to try to pull back in fear, you saw your own reflection in the mirror.

Was that thing you saw really you? It was as if you were seeing a film frame from a banned torture movie. What you saw was so foreign to you that you couldn't even react at first. Your lips were sewn together, meticulously stitched up like a doll, swollen and bloodied, thick threads crisscrossing in a grotesque pattern that held them shut, and gave a smiling expression.

This couldn’t be real. You felt the numbness in your lips, yet the sight before you defied all comprehension. Your mind raced; how could this be happening? Surely you would feel something if your lips were truly sewn shut. But right now you felt nothing.

"How is it? Do you like it?" Mingi's voice sliced through your panicked thoughts, his expression filled with a sickening delight. You tried to respond, to express the intense horror consuming you, but your voice betrayed you, silenced in this waking nightmare. "I sewed your lips because you smiled at someone other than me, because you talked to him, and because you kissed him. You belong to me, only me." A small sound escaped from your throat, a pathetic echo of your horror. Mingi’s smile broadened, but it was devoid of warmth, a chilling reminder of the depths of his obsession.

"Broken toys need to be repaired, don’t they? You were broken too, doll, very broken." He lowered the mirror, closing the distance between you, leaning in with an intensity that made your skin crawl. "So I repaired my most beautiful toy by sewing it.” You started to shake and felt like you couldn't breathe. “You can just smile at me." Just as Mingi was about to approach your lips and kiss you, he was interrupted by the familiar ringing of his doorbell.

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a/n: Hello! If you read this far, thank you, you were not bored lolll. I would be very happy if you could give me feedbacks!❤️❤️❤️

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mr-butter-face · 3 months

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I've already expressed my adoration of both designs of Telltale's Joker. But I just want to break down why they're so appealing to me.

In the game, John Doe goes through huge changes in his life that are expressed in his wardrobe. But the most dramatic change is at the last episode of the series. When he fully transforms into Joker.

Brian Matyas is a concept designer who had worked on both Batman Telltale games. He had posted some of his works on Artstation and Instagram.

[Brain Matyas Instagram Post]

https://www.instagram.com/p/BhucYx5lGCb/?img_index=1

(I suggest you read the entire post till the end.)

[John Doe]

As the game progresses in the story, players will probably take note of how John's wardrobe goes through the most changes compared to everyone else. But the key thing to note that stayed consistent in each episode was his half-fast way of buttoning/tucking-in his shirt and how progressively colorful his outfit was getting.

[Villain Joker]

There's a lot of things to break down about this outfit. First, Brian Matyas stated that Villain Joker was molded primarily by Bruce Wayne. Not Batman. Joker's business tie and fancy suit's purpose was to emulate Bruce's public persona of being a CEO (or, more simply, a person with power). Interestingly enough, Joker's gloves are basically the same kinds that Harley wears in game, as if it were to say now they're equals in their relationship (but obviously they're not). I've heard from others that gloves are symbolic of secrets, which describes how Joker has kept some information hidden from Harley.

The Villain Joker design is probably the most colorful one. His bright green hair, the 80 carpet patterns in his navy suit, the pop of hot pink, and the most disgusting looking dress-shirt I've ever seen. Jack Nicholas' influence isn't lost on me. This outfit screams bold and confident, and most importantly, free.

There are still elements of John Doe. The poorly done tucking and buttoning of Joker's shirt are there. But strangely enough, the strain of hair in front of his head is flipped. John’s was located on the right side while Joker purposely flipped it to the left. And that's not the only thing that's flipped. John's outfit consisted of a purple vest inside and a green/teal shirt outside. Now the pattern is switched with Joker, green shirt inside and dark navy suit outside. Subtle differences like this are led to believe that Joker wants Bruce Wayne to know that he's completely different from John Doe.

The last thing to talk about is his shaved eyebrow. I have no idea why he would do that. People have said it's because he wanted to express how much damage Bruce did to him. Personally, I thought it was like ‘girls making bad hair decisions after a breakup’ thing.

Although his design encompasses both Bruce Wayne and Harley Quinn's impact on his life. It's more leaning into Bruce.

[Vigilante Joker]

There's something about this design that always makes me feel so heartbroken. Not because it's a bad design but because of how much it reminds me how John had faith that if he lived up to Batman's standards that he would be able to maintain their friendship.

Brian Matyas said that he wanted the Vigilante Joker's silhouette to emulate Batman's. It's shown by how his hair and shoulders are curved to a point. Joker's makeup is a lot more gothic and is a lot more menacing than Villain's makeup. It also almost resembles the mask that typically Robin would wear.

Again, there are still elements of John Doe present here. But they are less noticeable than Villain's. Joker's left arm has stitches, (John has been seen wearing a vest that has a different color button then the rest) his shirt's collar isn't properly folded correctly, (John is practically never seen to maintain his dress-shirt collar properly) and he still keeps his vest unlike Villain route. (Although like Villain, there is a color swap with the green shirt and purple vest)

But one thing that jumps out to me is how dull in vibrate color he is compared to Villain Joker's or even John Doe's fourth episode outfit. I had to brighten up my screen in order to identify the smile patterns in his suit. Vigilante design is flashy, but it feels like he's being held back from fully expressing himself.

Joker never really understood Batman's moral code. For players to unlock the Vigilante route, they had to enable John's more violent tendencies. So his outfit only reflects the darker side of Bruce Wayne because that's what Joker believes to be what Batman wants from him.

Huge thanks to hemfbg. They were able to locate both Joker's concept art from Brian Matyas' Instagram.

[Hemfbg Telltale Community Post]

https://community.telltalegames.com/discussion/121009/concept-art-by-brian-matyas

#batman telltale #telltale batman #design analysis #Not really but who cares #sorry for any typos #wrote this at 2am

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cherryl4na · 3 months

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ `"lamborghini miura and date nights pt. 1"

abstract || you and lando enjoy life outside of all the chaos that comes with him being 'The Ace'

fem!reader || fluff. steamy. mafia au. lamborghini miura. will be a pt. 2. heavily inspired by the suit at a mclaren event and the outfit at cannes. 3.6k words

Lando Norris’ penthouse is the epitome of luxury and power, a sanctuary high above the city’s restless heartbeat. The expansive living space is a testament to modern elegance, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the skyline, the city lights twinkling like distant stars.

When stepping out of the private elevator, you’re greeted by a foyer with polished marble floors, leading into an open-concept living area. The décor is a blend of classic and contemporary, with rich, dark wood paneling and sleek, minimalist furniture. A grand piano sits in one corner, its black lacquer finish reflecting the soft glow of the overhead designer lighting.

The lounge area is dominated by a large, plush sofa that faces a state-of-the-art entertainment system, and a glass coffee table holds an array of high-end spirits and crystal decanters. Original artworks adorn the walls, and a collection of rare books fills the built-in shelves, revealing Lando’s taste for the finer things in life.

The dining area features a long, ebony dining table surrounded by leather-upholstered chairs, perfect for hosting intimate gatherings or conducting discreet business meetings. Adjacent to it is a gourmet kitchen, fitted with professional-grade appliances and a sleek breakfast bar.

The penthouse also boasts a private gym, a spa-like bathroom with a Jacuzzi and a rain shower, and a walk-in wardrobe that houses an impressive collection of designer suits and racing memorabilia.

Lando’s personal quarters are a sanctuary within a sanctuary. The master bedroom is spacious, with a king-sized bed taking center stage, draped in the finest silk linens. A private balcony extends from the bedroom, offering a secluded spot to take in the breathtaking views or simply enjoy a moment of solitude.

Every detail in Lando’s penthouse speaks of a man who commands respect and enjoys his success, yet values privacy and comfort above all else. It’s a space that’s both a showpiece and a retreat, reflecting the complex character of ‘The Ace’ himself.

As of now, the evening had settled over the city like a velvet shroud, the skyline a jagged silhouette against the twilight sky. Inside the luxurious penthouse, Lando Norris watched you with an intensity that belied his calm exterior.

You stood before the full-length mirror, the soft fabric of your Versace dress cascading down in waves of midnight blue, a stark contrast to the elegance of your skin. The room was filled with the quiet rustle of silk and the subtle scent of vanilla from your perfume. It was a rare occasion, this dance of preparation, and Lando found himself captivated by the ritual.

He leaned casually against the mahogany door frame, arms crossed over his chest covered with a white Nordstrom silk shirt that has been left unbuttoned just slightly to exude enough sensuality but keeping it decent, his two usual gold chains around his thick, tan neck as his eyes followed your every move. There was something about the way you moved, the confidence in your gestures, that drew him in. It was a dance he had seen many perform but none with such genuine disregard for the world’s expectations.

“You don’t have to impress anyone,” Lando finally spoke, his voice a low rumble in the opulent room.

You met his gaze in the mirror, a small smile playing on your lips. “I’m not trying to impress,” you replied, your voice steady. “I’m trying to remember who I am beyond all this,” you gestured vaguely, encompassing the grandeur of the room and, by extension, the life you had found yourself entwined in.

Lando pushed off from the doorframe, his steps silent on the plush carpet as he approached. “And who are you exactly, in this world?” he asked, stopping just a breath away from you.

You turned to face him, the intensity of his gaze compelling you to answer with truth. “Someone who still believes in a bit of normality, even in a world as cynical as ours.”

His chuckle was soft, a sound that warmed you more than any embrace. “Then perhaps this will serve as a reminder,” Lando said, producing a small, black velvet box from his pocket.

He opened it to reveal a delicate gold chain, from which hung a pendant crafted in the shape of a lotus, its petals open as if reaching for the last rays of the sun. “The lotus blooms in the mud,” he murmured, his fingers deft as he clasped the necklace around your neck.

The lotus flower, revered across cultures and spiritual traditions, embodies profound symbolism and meaning. Emerging from muddy waters yet remaining unstained, it symbolizes purity of heart, mind, and spirit. Its ability to bloom immaculately amidst adversity speaks to resilience and strength, teaching us to persevere and flourish despite life's challenges.

It serves as a timeless metaphor for the human experience — a reminder that through adversity, purity, and spiritual growth, we can rise above the murky waters of life and blossom into our fullest potential.

You reached up to touch the pendant, its cool metal a stark contrast to the warmth of his fingers still lingering on your skin. “It’s beautiful,” you whispered, gratitude lacing your words. Lando stepped back, his eyes never leaving yours. “As are you,” he said, not as a compliment, but as a simple statement of fact.

With a smile that matched the warmth of his words, you followed Lando out of his luxurious penthouse. The evening air greeted you with a gentle breeze as you made your way towards the private garage, where a sleek, vintage Lamborghini Miura awaited. Its navy paint gleamed under the soft glow of the penthouse's exterior lights, exuding elegance and power in equal measure.

"You're driving this?" you asked, your voice a mixture of surprise and excitement, a smile slowly inching its way on your face.

Lando nodded, a playful glint in his eyes as he held open the passenger door for you. "Well, how else did you think we’d travel? I figured we could take a little drive before our reservation. Trust me, it'll be an experience you won't forget."

As you move to settle into the plush leather seat, Lando places a hand on your head to make sure it’s protected from the roof of the car. Heading around the car, Lando enters the driver side, and effortlessly starts the engine, causing the powerful rumble to fill the air around you. The car eased out of the garage with grace, navigating the city streets with the familiarity of a seasoned driver. The night enveloped you both, the city lights painting a canvas of twinkling stars overhead.

With each turn and straight away, the Lamborghini carried you through the cityscape, the wind whispering secrets as it tousled your hair. In the midst of this exhilarating journey, Lando's presence beside you remained a constant source of comfort and excitement, his occasional glance your way a silent promise of more adventures to come.

As you ventured further into the night, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the hum of the engine and the shared moments between you and Lando. In the soft glow of passing street lamps, you realized that this impromptu drive wasn't just about the destination—it was about the connection forged in the quiet moments between heartbeats, where each glance and smile spoke volumes about the budding romance in the air.

And as the Lamborghini carried you both towards an unknown horizon, you couldn't help but feel that this night was just the beginning of a journey filled with endless possibilities, where every twist of fate was waiting to be explored together.

With each mile that passed beneath the Lamborghini's wheels, the cityscape transformed into a mesmerizing blur of lights and shadows. Lando navigated the streets with effortless precision, occasionally stealing glances at you, his expression a mix of anticipation and contentment.

As the vibrant pulse of the city gradually gave way to quieter, tree-lined avenues, the Lamborghini slowed to a stop in front of a stately building adorned with ivy-covered walls and softly glowing lanterns. You looked up, realizing you had arrived at a charming and exclusive restaurant known for its exquisite cuisine and intimate ambiance.

Lando turned off the engine, and the sudden silence enveloped you like a comforting embrace. He stepped out of the car, swiftly coming around to open your door with a gentlemanly flourish. As you emerged, the cool evening air wrapped around you, carrying with it the tantalizing aroma of fine dining and the promise of a memorable evening ahead.

The entrance of the restaurant welcomed you with a warm glow from within, casting a soft halo around Lando as he extended his hand, inviting you to walk with him towards the door. You accepted graciously, feeling a flutter of excitement mingled with a touch of nervousness. This evening had already surpassed any expectations you might have had, and yet, you couldn't help but wonder what surprises lay in store.

Inside, the ambiance was elegant yet inviting, with soft music playing in the background and flickering candlelight casting a soft glow over linen-covered tables. The maître d' greeted you warmly, confirming your reservation and guiding you both to a secluded corner table with a breathtaking view of the city skyline.

As you settled into your seats, Lando's gaze met yours across the table, his eyes sparkling with a quiet intensity that mirrored your own emotions. The evening stretched out before you like an uncharted path, each moment unfolding with a delicate grace that seemed to deepen the connection between you.

Conversation flowed effortlessly between bites of exquisitely prepared dishes and sips of fine wine, punctuated by shared laughter and stolen glances that spoke volumes. In the intimate setting of the restaurant, surrounded by the soft murmur of other diners and the gentle hum of city life beyond the windows, it felt as though time had slowed to a perfect cadence, allowing you both to savor every fleeting second together.

And as the night progressed, you found yourself caught in a whirlwind of emotions—excitement, attraction, and a growing sense of intimacy that seemed to bloom with each passing moment. Across the table, Lando's smile was a beacon of warmth, his presence a reassuring anchor in the sea of possibility that stretched out before you.

As dessert arrived, accompanied by a flourish of culinary artistry that mirrored the magic of the evening itself, you couldn't help but marvel at how a spontaneous drive in a Lamborghini had led to this moment of shared connection and undeniable chemistry between you and Lando.

The restaurant hummed with a subtle buzz of conversation and the clinking of glasses, yet your attention was solely on the man sitting across from you. Lando, with his easy charm and magnetic presence, had swept you off your feet from the moment you met. His laughter was infectious, his stories captivating, and as the evening progressed, you found yourself drawn deeper into his orbit.

The evening had been filled with unexpected turns—a scenic drive through desert landscapes that stretched endlessly under a starlit sky, conversations that ranged from lighthearted banter to deeper musings about life and dreams. Each moment seemed to unfold effortlessly, as if fate had orchestrated this encounter.

And now, as dessert was served—a masterpiece of flavors and presentation—you felt a surge of anticipation mingled with a hint of nervous excitement. Lando caught your gaze, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of mischief and admiration. Without a word, he reached across the table, his hand finding yours with a gentle yet confident touch.

"Care to dance?" he murmured, his voice low and filled with a magnetic charm that sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn't resist the invitation, nor did you want to. With a smile that matched his own, you nodded, allowing him to lead you onto the small, cleared space between tables where other diners watched with subtle curiosity.

As "Hola Senorita" by GIMS and Maluma began to play softly in the background, Lando pulled you close, his hand firm on your waist as he guided you in a slow, sensual sway to the seductive rhythm of the music. The heat of his body pressed against yours, sending a wave of electricity through every nerve ending.

In that intimate embrace, the world around you faded into a blur, leaving only the two of you moving together in perfect synchronization. His touch was both gentle and possessive, his gaze never leaving yours as if trying to convey a thousand unspoken words.

The sensual dance unfolded like a whispered promise of what could be—an unspoken acknowledgment of the undeniable chemistry that simmered beneath the surface. Each step, each turn spoke volumes of desire and connection, drawing you closer to Lando in ways words could never capture.

As the song neared its end, you found yourself breathless yet exhilarated, caught up in the intensity of the moment shared between you. Lando's lips curved into a tender smile as he guided you back to the table, where dessert awaited—a sweet ending to a night that had begun with a drive and culminated in a dance that resonated with the magic of newfound connection and possibility.

And deep down, beneath the surface of whispered promises and shared glances, you knew that this evening was only the beginning—a prelude to a story waiting to unfold, where each chapter would be written in the tender moments and stolen kisses that danced on the edge of tomorrow.

After settling the bill, not without a bit of banter over who pays, you both stepped out into the cool night air, the echoes of laughter and shared stories still resonating between you. The Lamborghini awaited, a sleek silhouette against the dimly lit street, its engine purring with restrained power.

"Where to now?" you asked, half in jest, half in earnest curiosity.

Lando grinned, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, "Anywhere but here."

With that, you slipped into the passenger seat with his help of course, the leather embracing you with its luxurious warmth. The engine roared to life, the city lights streaking past in a blur as you navigated the winding roads together. The night was young, and so were you, in this ephemeral moment where time seemed to slow down just for the two of you.

Conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving through dreams and aspirations, fears and triumphs, each revelation knitting your souls closer together. It was as if the universe conspired to create this perfect interlude, where nothing existed beyond the confines of the Lamborghini and the burgeoning connection between you.

As the city lights began to fade into the rearview mirror, you found yourselves on a quieter stretch of road, surrounded by a tapestry of stars overhead. The car slowed to a stop, and you both stepped out onto an overlook, the city sprawling below like a sea of twinkling lights.

Lando's eyes held yours, their intensity magnified by the intimacy of the moment. You could feel his heartbeat, steady and reassuring, echoing the rhythm of your own. The night draped around you like a velvet cloak, cocooning you in a world where only the two of you existed.

His hand found yours, fingers intertwining effortlessly as if they had always belonged together. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver of anticipation through you, a silent invitation to let go of any lingering doubts or hesitations.

Leaning closer, his breath mingled with yours, warm against your lips. The air crackled with unspoken words, each heartbeat resonating like a whispered promise of what could be. You could smell the subtle scent of his cologne, a comforting familiarity that grounded you in the present moment.

When his lips finally brushed against yours, it was like a symphony of emotions unfolding in slow motion. Soft yet insistent, his kiss spoke of desire tempered with tenderness, a delicate balance of passion and restraint. Time seemed to stretch and bend around you, the world narrowing down to the sensation of his lips moving against yours, tracing the contours of a connection that defied words.

His arms encircled you, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. The warmth of his embrace cocooned you in a sanctuary of shared vulnerability, where every touch and caress spoke volumes of unspoken longing and mutual understanding.

Under the canopy of stars, the Lamborghini Miura stood sentinel, bearing witness to a moment that transcended the mundane. The engine's purr became a backdrop to the symphony of your shared breaths, the quiet rustle of fabric as you leaned into each other, seeking solace and passion in equal measure.

As the kiss deepened, the world around you faded into insignificance. There was only the taste of him on your lips, the press of his body against yours, and the electric current that surged between you, binding your souls in a dance as ancient as time itself.

In that timeless embrace, you felt a surge of emotion swell within you—love in its purest form, unguarded and unfiltered. It was a declaration whispered in the language of touch and sensation, a silent vow that this connection was worth cherishing, nurturing, and exploring with every fiber of your being.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless and exhilarated, Lando's eyes held a glimmer of unspoken promises yet to be fulfilled. His thumb gently brushed against your cheek, a tender gesture that spoke of reverence and devotion.

In the quiet aftermath, as you stood entwined under the stars, you knew that this night had forever altered the course of your story together. Each heartbeat echoed the cadence of a new beginning, where the chapters ahead would be written in the shared moments of vulnerability, passion, and the unwavering bond forged in the embrace of that unforgettable night.

Feeling the cool metal of the Lamborghini Miura against your back, you smiled as Lando drew you close, his touch tender yet commanding. His fingers traced a delicate path along your jawline, sending a thrill through you that echoed in the warm summer night around you.

His lips met yours in a kiss that was both soft and consuming, a perfect blend of longing and urgency. You leaned into him, feeling the strength of his embrace against the smooth, cool surface of the car's hood beneath you. The night seemed to hold its breath as you lost yourself in the sensation of his lips moving against yours, the mingling of your breaths creating an intimate symphony.

His hands, strong yet gentle, explored your back with a reverence that made your heart race before finally reaching their destination. He grips the back of your plush thighs in a way that makes you feel weak all over. The hood of the car digs into you as he places you gently on it, moving to stand between your legs.

Making this moment as intimate as possible, his veiny hands move to grip your waist and pull you closer till there is absolutely no space between the two of you. Every touch, every caress deepened the connection between you, amplifying the heat that coursed through your veins. Time seemed to stand still as you savored each moment, each kiss a testament to the unspoken desire and passion that burned between you.

In that moment, surrounded by the soft night air and the distant murmur of the city, you were entwined in a dance of intimacy and yearning, where nothing else existed except the electricity of his soft lips against your own, his touch caressing you as if you’re made of glass.

As you both pull away from each other, the air between you thick with unspoken words and the promise of what the future might hold, Lando reaches out to gently stroke your cheek. His touch is warm against your skin, sending shivers down your spine that have nothing to do with the cool night air.

"Let's head back," he murmurs, his voice low and filled with emotion, lips plumped up and red. You nod in agreement, feeling a sense of contentment settling over you like a soft blanket. Together, you gather yourselves and step back towards the waiting Lamborghini Miura.

The drive back to Lando's penthouse is quiet, the purr of the engine providing a soothing soundtrack to your thoughts. You steal glances at each other from time to time, exchanging small smiles that speak volumes about the bond you've forged this evening.

Arriving at the penthouse, Lando parks the car with practiced ease. He takes your hand as you both exit the vehicle, his touch reassuring and grounding. The night feels alive with possibilities as you step into the elevator, riding it up to his luxurious apartment high above the city.

Inside, the penthouse is a sanctuary of modern elegance and comfort. Lando leads you to a balcony overlooking the glittering skyline, where the city lights twinkle like stars in the night sky. He wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you close as you lean against the railing together.

"This night," he begins softly, his voice carrying a hint of wonder, "it feels like everything has changed, but at the same time, hasn’t."

You turn in his arms to face him, your heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his eyes. "It has," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. "In the best possible way."

Lando smiles, a smile that reaches his eyes and fills you with warmth. "I'm glad," he says, leaning in to kiss you gently for the third time that night, as if sealing a promise made by the night itself.

And as you stand there, in each other's arms, the Lamborghini Miura waits below like a silent witness to the beginning of your love story — a story that started with a car, a journey, and two hearts finding their way to each other.

an || hey guys! i've had this in the works since early june and finally got around to semi finishing it. this will have a pt 2 and i apologize if it takes a while to come out. hope you enjoyed this and there will be more to come! and to my girls, you know who you are, i hope you loved this.

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