#all that to say i really don't know what i'm doing i just draw until i'm happy with it and that usually means it looks good

[hivemuthur]

hey!!!! i saw that your requests were open and decided to give it a shot.

Can you write a fluff modern AU! Viktor x reader where reader is in a depressive episode (the bed rotting stage) and rly needs somebody near. (i hope you understand what I'm talking about :C, just really need smth like that)

its okay if you're uncomfortable writing that!!!

берегите себя.

Dear lazysocksato, I wrote you a little thing and I hope it makes you feel a tiny bit less shitty. And if not, that is also okay.

I Sink Into Bliss

viktorxgn!reader general audiences, Modern AU (if you squint), depressed reader, hurt/comfort or angst/fluff (I don't really know how writing tags work, it's generally Viktor setting impossible standards for real-life men)

author’s note: features a poem by E.E. Cummings. I wanted to give this request a higher priority, as I understand what a lifetime struggle with depression feels like. The picture is by me, I took it when I was particularly sad. There is one more ask with depression in it and it also has a high priority.

word count: 1,2K

—

A creak of the door lets in a ray of light, its edges sharp, dust motes dancing in the glow. “Hey,” comes a quiet voice, and you curl up tighter. Keep it to yourself; don’t hurt him. You desire nothing, but you need, need, need for him to be steadfast, unmovable, until you are ready to want again. So you turn to face him, letting him do his regular check-up routine, and with the rust in your voice, you say, “Hi.”

Viktor smiles, a glass of water in his hand, a book tucked under his armpit. “Can I sit with you?” He looks angelic, his hair illuminated by the light pouring from the corridor, refracted in the glass. The question, asked with enough space for you to say no, hangs in front of you, waiting for you to swing it.

But you nod and extend your hand across the bed. He props his cane by the nightstand and sits, squeezing your palm before giving you the glass. And you feel yourself suddenly more bereft as the image of something that is no longer there lingers in the landscape—it happens when his fingers brush against yours.

Your eyes sting with dryness as you draw a rattling breath. Every joint feels stiff, each minuscule movement sending a sharp crack through even the smallest ones—your fingers, your toes. You clutch the pillow tighter, desperate to muffle the outside world until it disappears.

He looks at you with quiet understanding when he says, “I have to ask. How are you feeling?” His body shuffles closer to yours, so the space between you becomes tiny and private, comfortable enough for you to tell him that you feel like shit. You accept the invitation to rest your hand on his lap, grateful that you don’t have to look at his face.

“Like shit,” you chuckle stiffly, and Viktor sweeps your hair away from your neck and smooths it with his hand. He presses his fingers between your eyebrows and drags them all the way to your temple. His hand rests over your ear, fingertips pressing gently above, massaging your head.

You hum through an exhale and add, “A little bit less like shit now.”

“Good.” His voice is warm, and you can feel the faint pulse of his heart under your touch, your palm resting beneath his clothes on his chest. “Do you want to tell me about it?” he asks carefully.

“What’s to tell? It’s hard to describe,” you whisper as his hand slides down your back to rest on your ribcage, your heart adjusting its rhythm to his. “It’s very hollow. But I’m glad you’re here.”

He doesn’t ask why or when it will end, and you feel something close to gratitude for this version of you being accepted. His hand is heavy on you, forcing you to breathe slowly and deeply through your nose, and you allow your eyes to fall shut and water, just a bit.

“I will be here as long as you need me to,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing. He moves his other hand to comb through your hair and trace the features of your face, and suddenly you feel yourself deprived of a touch that is more.

You shift and wordlessly ask for permission to climb onto his lap, your arms hovering over his shoulders. He leans into your hands, draping them over himself, and props your legs to swing over his.

With your face pressed to the warm crook of his neck, you shudder and hear yourself saying, “I’m sorry.”

Immediately, his mouth begins to make soothing shushing sounds as he says, “There is no need for that, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

His scent fills your nose as you breathe him in, and you know he means it. I love you, you imagine yourself saying, the understanding of it absent but the knowledge present.

“I know, I just… I’m sorry you have to see me like this,” you say weakly, your words bouncing off his throat as he makes a quiet sound of veto.

“No, no,” he shakes his head. “None of that. I am glad to be here,” he murmurs into your hair and hugs you tighter. “Whatever you need, I am here.”

“Oh, you know,” you try your best to sound light, even though the request is unbidden as it pushes itself past your mouth. “Just some good old love, until this… passes,” you say in a small voice.

He pauses the glide of his hands on you and props your chin up to meet his eyes. “You always have it. It’s hard to describe.” You look at him pensively and see the sincerity of his smile, and your own mouth crooks into something smile-adjacent as you place a grateful palm on his cheek.

He picks up the tiny tome he brought with him and opens it to the bookmarked page.

“There are no words in me to tell you how loved you are. So let me read you something instead.” His whisper is confined; it’s yours, only yours. Even though no one can hear you—even if they stood with a glass pressed to the door—he keeps it a secret between the two of you.

You close your eyes and nod, your ear now pressed to his chest, arm wrapped around his waist. His hand holds you close, the book resting on his lap as he begins to read. His whisper is a husk, murmured against your skin, and the sound melts the icy bars around your ribcage.

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart) i am never without it (anywhere i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling)                                   i fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true) and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

Silence, for a moment, as you breathe and feel a single tear rolling down your cheek, and with its departure, some weight is lifted. “Thank you,” you sigh into him, not really knowing what you are thanking him for. And when he speaks again, it’s as if he is coaxing your soul to uncurl.

“I mean it.” He places his hand over your chest, and his voice carries a reverence akin to a vow. “I will carry it for you, as long as you need me to.”

[unpretty]

Do you have a favorite batman illustrator, official or otherwise?

the post about growing up in a comic book store and the asks about the costume got me wondering. Until you said the SAIH suit is all black I would have guessed Neal Adams since a lot of his art has that 'Batman-as-romance-hero' vibe.

じろう（jiro）on pixiv is great but only partly because of the dress picture. whoever did that one promo picture for tentacl back in the day would draw a great batman i bet. three people know what i'm talking about but if you know you know. you'd think i'd say stjepan sejic but i like his women better tbh. i see a lot of cute comics on tumblr where i probably like their batman/bruce better than anything canon.

for canon greg capullo is good. i have a soft spot for jim lee because of all the time i spent lusting after his gambit. dick giordano is like, yeah, that's what he's supposed to look like, toe to tip, that's a batman. bruce timm is iconic obviously. i'm not into too hyper-detailed a batman. you've got to have space in there for imagination. give me room to fill in the gaps with whatever i think is cool instead of making artists draw the treads on his fucking boots in a regular panel for god's sake. maybe that's why i like the tumblr art so much. stop drawing abs on his fucking suit. no one needs to be vacuum sealing that man. he'll keep.

i actually like the stylized blue and grey batmen. comics in general have to be stylized, i don't think it works to have really subtle color variations in print. so when i say all black you have to think, like. abstract painting no. 5 by ad reinhardt. it's all blacks. but it's different black. you look at one black and the other black looks grey. you look at another black and now the first one looks blue. and if you want to capture that he's not just a black blob in a drawing you're going to have to make it not all black, even when a real life version is all black.

[clarkeybabey]

❝ i wouldn't give these nobodies no sympathy ❞

# summary; somethings do really get under his skin

# playlist; luther - kendrick lamar (ft. sza)

# word count; 748

# note; ive seen some distasteful comments on our bf lately. leave my man alone, he's the chillest guy. #parasocial. lazy ending im so sorry

Arthur absolutely adores his job, who wouldn't just want to hang out with their mates all day or film themselves reacting to Reddit posts to pay their bills? None of this was on his life bingo card, but he didn't think he'd change a single thing about his current situation. That was until he started collaborating with larger YouTubers.

Their fans always found a way to make him out to be the butt of the joke 24/7. He's been on social media for a while now, and of course, he understood that being unreasonably disliked came with his job, he just wished that he could express his feelings without being seen as 'soft'. It's almost as if the more he tries to ignore it all, the more comments emerge.

Some of his friends who recently began to gain traction were nearly completely dodging the brutal comments and he couldn't figure out why. Not that he wants them to experience it, because it's awful, he wouldn't wish it upon his worst enemy, but what do they have that he doesn't?

When you return from grocery shopping, he's sat in his desk chair tapping a socked foot. You take immediate notice of the furrow in his brow he seems to be scrolling through something, "You okay, baby?" Arthur startles a bit, seemingly having not realized your presence, he hums wordlessly, not bothering to look up at you.

His lack of acknowledgment makes you frown slightly. You let your purse slide off your shoulder, landing with a thunk in a pile at the end of his desk. You place a hand on his knee, bringing his anxiety-riddled movements to a halt. Finally, he looks up at you just in time for you to speak again, "Tell me."

His reply comes out sounding almost offended, "Tell you what?" He's playing stupid, but it's not going to work, not even he's been convinced by his words. You've been to him before he even knew you were home.

Your head tilts to the side and you fold your arms over your chest and without another sound from you, he knows he lost, "Just people on the internet, that's all." He's bitter and hurt, which is very evident as he continues, "Don't think they realize I'm human too."

A glance at the glowing screen in his hands tells you what he's been doing since you left a half hour ago. You take the phone from him, setting it on top of his mousepad, taking a second to situate yourself in his lap, "Listen, I know you really wanna know how people feel about you." You pause momentarily to place a chaste kiss on either cheek, "We've talked about how bad it is for you."

"It's so difficult to pretend I don't care," He begins, stopping when he feels like his throat's going to close, uncontrollable tears dot his waterline, breaking your heart. "I wish I could understand more, but I just don't know what its like, 'm not sure if I ever will be."

Your index finger finds his stubbled jaw, stroking it as you do your best to console him, if only you could take everything he's feeling and place it onto yourself even if only for a day, he deserves a break. "Those people are nobodies, they're just jealous." He leans into your touch, "You'd think I'd be used to it all by now," he mumbles against your palm, pressing a kiss to it.

Shaking your head involuntarily as he pours out all of his thoughts, but when he says that it pisses you off, "Shouldn't have to be used to it, the internet's a joke. You're a wonderful, intelligent person with opinions and feelings that are allowed to be expressed," words tumble from your lips so fast you can't control them he just sits there, a hand on your side drawing shapes on the skin where your top had ridden up, taking in all you say.

"I'm a chronic people pleaser, but I think you have me beat," you say wagging your brows, playing with his hair, finally he cracks a smile. A sigh of relief escapes you at that, "Think we should lower your screen time."

"Yes, mum," he salutes you, and a loud laugh bubbles up through him making you giggle, he pokes your tummy, "or maybe we can just run away together," he suggests kissing the upturned corner of your mouth.

"Don't threaten me with a good time."

[theactualsunshinechild]

If Castorice is cursed to kill whoever she touches and Mydei is cursed to be immortal, do you think Mydei ever goes to Castorice on a really bad day and is like, hey can you put me down for a bit please? I'm having these phantom pains from fatal wounds and injuries that don't exist anymore and they're keeping me up, I want a nap.

And obviously at first Castorice is like "L-lord Mydei, please rethink this, death is not something to be trifled with! Even with your condition, I cannot guarantee your safe return..." and Mydei takes the time to reassure her that, no, he's sure about this, and yes he is willing to bear the risks, no he doesn't care if it will hurt, please euthanize him. It takes a bit of convincing but eventually she agrees to risk it, and, fear in her heart, gently places a hand on his shoulder.

Mydei wobbles and collapses dead on the spot. Castorice lets go and starts fretting internally, stepping back and circling around, frantically searching for any sign of life. How long does it usually take for Mydei to come back? Will he come back at all? Her own curse is clearly effective on him after all... To her relief, it only takes a few seconds for Mydei's eyes to flutter open again to find himself supine, with limbs bent at various awkward angles from the way he ragdolled.

It was a very peaceful few seconds, no pain, no blood, just an pleasant floating sensation as the familiar dark waves of the Styx rocked him side to side gently, before a bright guiding light forcibly pulled him right back. If not for the uncomfortable position he came to in, he'd even say the experience did some old aches a lot of good. The slight relieved smile that comes across her face as he explains this belies how many years of uncertainty and grief she's experienced over the many deaths she had enacted prior. She must have had no way of knowing for sure, until now, whether or not the deaths she delivered were as gentle as she hoped, Mydei realized.

It takes slightly less convincing to have Castorice try again. This time, they arrange more comfortably, Mydei sitting down against a wall, Castorice taking his offered hand in hers. As his hand goes limp in hers, his skin slowly cooling, she draws comforting circles on it with her thumb, more for herself than for his unfeeling body. After several minutes this time, each feeling longer than the last, she lets go and backs away once more, waiting with bated breath for the moment he shudders back to life, taking air back into empty lungs, eyes bright again, fierce, lively and visibly well-rested.

They agree to never exceed 15 minutes, Castorice explaining he would likely not enjoy coming back to the discomfort of gravity having caused all of his stilled blood to pool and settle inside of his body, let alone his body having cooled. Mydei agrees easily and assures her that he will keep his requests for deathly repose infrequent.

Castorice often passes the time Mydei spends dead trying to occupy her hands, the nerves never quite leaving her alone. Knowing logically that Mydei will come back and fearing that maybe he won't come back this time are two separate things after all. She tries many things, from bringing a scroll to read, to embroidery, shoulder pressed to his, trying to ignore how much bolder the red tattoos look against the pallor of a dead man. When Mydei wakes to Castorice's fingers pricked and bleeding for the third time, he frowns and offers for her to braid his hair next time if she wishes.

The next time, a month later, they arrange slightly differently, Castorice sitting on a bench, Mydei lowering his head into her lap, his hair an offering she wills herself to accept. Having assisted with many a funeral rite, Castorice is able to lose herself in the process of carefully weaving the messy soft locks into shape. The texture is strangely soothing, despite how unnaturally still Mydei remains, and Castorice imagines that this must be similar to what it feels like to pet a lion's fluffy mane. When the sand stops flowing, Castorice moves Mydei's head out of her lap to walk five places away once more. He comes to, gasping for breath as usual, and reaches up to feel at the new braids he sensed in his hair. A ghost of a smile graces his face when he finds them to be satisfactory, and he wears them for the rest of the day as a sign of appreciation. Castorice fiddling with his hair while he is dead quickly becomes the standard for their little meetings. Sometimes he wakes up with no new braids, but he doesn't question it so long as Castorice doesn't appear to be on any distress.

The first time Phainon spotted Mydei with his head in Castorice's lap, Castorice gently running her fingers through his hair as if he were a very large cat, Phainon almost passed them by with how peaceful they looked...

Then did a double take and panicked.

Anyway, that's my headcanon at least for how Castorice can say that the death she brings with her touch is peaceful. I think discovering that killing Mydei with her touch grants him what is essentially a banger nap from his perspective, probably helped her find an amount of peace in those early years. Truly putting the rest in "putting to rest"with this one.

Obviously she'd still prefer to be able to touch people and creatures without having them die, but at least she has learned that it isn't painful when she kills this way.

Additionally I like to imagine that while being killed by Castorice feels soothing, getting killed normal ways feels like shit, painful the whole way through, and then you get dunked violently into the Styx. And for Mydei specifically, it's more like he gets dunked into the Styx only to get yoinked right out, soul still sopping wet and cold, and forced back into a body that is fully repaired but it's happened so fast to him that his nerves have him feeling the aftershocks of the injuries that are already gone.

[sorinethemastermind]

Reunion

In which Harrow sees his sons again. [because @lunanightriderofthecove wanted a sequel to this one where Harrow sees his sons again and I thought that was a splendid idea. Happy Birdthday to the King of Katolis!]

Harrow cocked his head, glancing up at Opeli above him, adjusting his perch on her arm. He ruffled his feathers and let out a small coo, drawing her attention. She looked at him with an expression someplace between confusion and pi-

Oh, was that a bug?

Harrow lifted off from her arm, surroundings temporarily forgotten, and soared through the great double doors Soren had just opened to land on the red carpeted floor. He hurried forward, jabbing at the ground with his beak until he'd managed to skewer the cricket.

A loud thump came from behind him and he jumped, images of Viren and cage doors slamming flashing through his mind. He took to the skies again, except the sky had been replaced by a marble ceiling, cloudless and white. He squawked, panicking filling for a moment before-

"Dad?"

The voice snapped him back into his own mind again and he settled on a nearby table, turning to search for it's source. There was a throne at the end off the great hall, familiar though the wood was now scorched and blackened. And seated in it was...

He flew forward, wings flapping frantically. He looked so different, so much older. But Harrow would have known that face anywhere. It didn't matter how long he hadn't been himself, it was his son. He lighted on the arm of the throne, staring up into Ezran's big blue eyes as they filled with tears.

He was certainly older, and not just physically. Harrow could see the crown - silver in place of gold, but still just as heavy - sitting on his brow. The lines under his eyes that no child should have. Except he was no longer a child, was he? A teenager?

Harrow experienced the strange sensation of knowing that he was crying without the capacity to cry. The same feeling but none of the affects. He took a tentative step forward, talons hooking into the wood as he leaned as close as he could. He reached out, brushing his hand against Ezran's outstretched hand. He cooed, knowing his words didn't matter but wanting to say them anyway.

Except Ezran smiled through the tears, a small laugh forming in the back of his throat, "Yeah, I'm okay. I missed you, too."

Harrow stared up at him, then leapt forward into his lap, gazing up into his eyes as he began twittering again.

Ezran wrapping both hands gently around him, thumb gently stroking his feathers. But Harrow knew the touch for what it was. A hold, tight, but not constricting. As though he was afraid he'd slip through his fingers at any moment.

"Yes, he's okay, too." Ezran glanced across the room for a moment, "Soren, will you go and get Callum? And Rayla, too."

"You got it!"

Harrow turned to watch the Crownguard spin on his heel and hurry from the room, Opeli right on his heels. He had grown so much, too. But not just that, he had also changed. So much had changed. And he had missed all of it.

Harrow turned back to his son, cooing another question.

Ezran smiled, tears still spilling silently down his cheeks, "You'll like Rayla. She's Callum's girlfriend."

Harrow twittered and watched Ezran's face fall. He hopped closer, cocking his head to the side worriedly.

"Yeah I... I guess he did finally get over her. There's a lot to tell you, Dad. I don't really know where to start."

The beginning, Harrow prompted. He would have been happy to listen to Ezran talk about anything for hours, anything at all.

His son took a deep breath, but instead of answering his questions, he asked one of his own, "Did Lord Viren do this to you?"

Harrow's eyes narrowed and he dipped his head, squawking a frustrated confirmation. When he got his han- talons on that traitorous mage he would-

"He's dead," Ezran told him, gently.

Harrow stopped his squawking, staring up at him. A wave of emotion crashed over him, confusing and unexpected. Surely not... sadness. Not after everything Viren had done?

"I'll explain everything once Callum is here," Ezran assured him. Then he added; "I'm so glad you're back, Dad."

Harrow cooed in agreement, rubbing his head against Ezran's hand once again. Just then the doors flew open behind them and he turned to find Callum standing in the doorway, taller and wearing-

Wearing the robes of the High Mage's office, a white streak through his hair.

An image of Viren, not much older than his son must now be, standing in a similar outfit and a similar castle flashed before his eyes.

But then Callum took a hesitant step forward, gait breaking into a run, and the image was forgotten.

"Dad!" he cried, dropping to his knees before the throne to throw his arms around Harrow, who stepped forward into his son's embrace. He cooed softly, nuzzling Callum's cheek with his head.

"He says he's glad you're okay, and that he loves you very much," Ezran supplied.

Callum pulled away after a moment, staring down at him with wide eyes. "We're going to get you out of there," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I know a spell that will fix all of this."

Harrow stared up at him, once again the image of Viren flashing over his son's face. He looked away, gaze wandering over the room to land on-

The assassins. They had found him. Somehow they were here.

Harrow launched himself into the air, squawking furiously as he tried to draw Callum and Ezran's attention. The elf, who had previously been skulking in the doorway, flinched back. He saw Soren reach out towards her and for a moment felt reassured, but the Crownguard merely patted her on the shoulder before pushing her gently into the room. Of course. Why had he trusted Viren's son?

Except then Callum turned, eyes lighting up at the sight of her, and beckoned her forward as well. She walked hesitantly to his side and his son straightened up, tucking an arm around her waist. Harrow stopped cawing and lighted back on the arm of the throne, wings spread protectively before Ezran.

"Dad, this is Rayla. My girlfriend," Callum said. The elf gave a small wave.

"We're at peace now, with the elves," Ezran said from behind him and Harrow turned to look at him. "Didn't Soren tell you?"

An image of a green haired elf surfaced from his memory, hand outstretched and full of berries. Harrow lowered his wings, cooing softly with embarrassment. He remembered, now, Soren introducing him. And- and there had been another person there, too. Not one of Viren's children. Corvin? Corvus! He had been there as well, working alongside the elf with comfortable familiarity.

Harrow dipped his head beneath his wing. It was becoming harder and harder to connect the dots. To hold onto the pieces of himself that weren't as close to his heart. He could feel things slipping away from him, things he knew he should know and remember. But the image of his sons had always remained clear in his mind, an anchor holding him together at his center, keeping all the drifting pieces together. Or as together as they could be.

"It's okay," Ezran reached out and stroked his head, seeming to sense his worry. "Callum is going to get you back."

Harrow looked up at his sons, glancing between them. Ezran gave him a watery eyed smile and Callum knelt back down to reach out and hold him again. The three of them reunited at last.

Whatever had happened over the years he'd been gone, however much they had grown and changed, these were his sons. And so long as he held onto that knowledge, he knew nothing else mattered.

[impactrueno]

Do you have any advice for small artists who want to grow an audience on social media? If so, what's a good platform for it?

man, i really don't know how helpful i can be about this. i very rarely post with that much intent, i just do whatever i want and i'm stupid lucky that people happen to enjoy that. so there's that, and also the fact that i grew my audience organically years ago, before we entered the dark age of social media. so whatever i did then, might not work now. (plus i literally don't even know what i did)

if you're an artist, social media platforms all suck right now. period. so really, just spread out. be on all of them if you can until one of the algorithms picks you up because unfortunately this stuff is luck based at this point. ok well not entirely luck based, obviously each platform has its own tricks to working the algorithm to your favor, but THAT, i have no clue about, i'm sorry. i don't understand the algorithms so i just never bother, feels like it only gets worse with time.

what i do know is that finding your niche will help you a lot with growing an audience. i'm gonna review my own experience as an example and share some stuff i picked up on along the way.

fanart helps a lot, especially at the beginning. but make fanart of stuff you're actually passionate about, not stuff just for clout. from my experience, i noticed that people can always tell when something was done with love, and judging by the comments i get, that's a pretty big thing that draws people to my art. there's always someone telling me "i don't even know anything about (insert franchise i'm fixated on) but your art and enthusiasm is making me want to check it out" so it's not really like your audience has to be compromised of nothing but fans of the thing you're drawing! it probably will be at the beginning though, just keep at it.

once you have a small audience and you feel like branching out, you might want to consider what the bulk of your audience is into because this is how you're gonna find your niche. in my case for example: a lot of my following came from my simpsons fanart randomly blowing up on social media. people who enjoy the simpsons usually also enjoy other 90s cartoons, so when my focus shifted to hey arnold, people loved it and it drew in even more fans of 90s cartoons. so the large majority of my audience comes from those two fandoms. every now and then though, i make fanart of other stuff i really love but i don't have the audience for it, whatsoever. like whenever i draw persona/megaten or zelda or pokemon, despite these franchises being incredibly popular, it's always flop city for me. because there's not enough overlap between those and my 90s cartoon oriented following. it's just not what people expect from me, and it's not that they hate it, but that fanart is gonna have a really hard time reaching its target audience unless you get lucky. but you know what did blow up recently? my beetlejuice fanart! and the pattern is there once more: 90s cartoons and millennials reminiscing about the show or the movie. this is my niche. it's pretty much the same for every fanartist you'll see on social media.

so again, finding your niche is key if you want to grow an audience.

also participate in the community! i never actually do this, i'm a hermit lol, but i've seen it works great for others. do art challenges, memes or trends (if it's fun to you, because again, being genuine is important.) socialize with other artists, join discord servers, make friends. engage with your own audience. be fun to interact with! make funny stuff! but also don't force it, trust me, forcing humor just repels people. this isn't even artist advice anymore, it's a charisma lesson. and i hate that this is necessary but you'll probably notice that artists with large followings usually also have "personality." and when i say "personality" i mean this is literally what google defines me as. NOT ARTIST??? HELLO??? 😭

this kinda sucks (if you're an introvert like me) but it's the reality for a lot of artists on social media these days. you have to also be an influencer, and honestly, who the fuck even knows how to do that? the most random shit gets popular and you have very little control over the algorithm. even more so these days.

this is why i'm not sure if i can be of any help. being an artist on social media right now is hell. i genuinely have no clue how a small artist would even make it through all the slop we're being inundated with every day. it just didn't used to be like this. :(

but i hope me sharing my experience can offer a little insight into how to cultivate an audience!?1????! despite feeling like i'm clueless about this stuff. i feel like i should know more about this. but that's all i got lol

[hustlemeanokay]

Solavellan vs Dread Rook? When did it become a competition? Ship all the ships, I say.

So as much as people like Solavellan (or whatever they call it) - I don't get why people don't like Solas x Rook. It's all there. It's perfect. The tension, the range, the enemies to lovers trope or hell, just the potential for so much writing to be involved. Like, okay... so okay... I go into my personal opinions about what makes each of their relationships different (just a few opinions not like power point presentation style or anything).

When I first played Inquisition, when it first came out, I naturally picked an elf and unknowingly romanced the bald dude. And Solas' romance is a good one. But it's only good because he leaves Lavellan. It's the first time that's happened to a player character in either DA or ME games. A legit breakup. With, at the time, no real reason! It wasn't until after the game, of course, that we were like "OMG!!!" But on the whole, there really wasn't a lot to their romance if you remember what actually happened in the game. But you have to ignore all the fan fiction and fan art that has been done in the decade since then. Just counting the game itself? Not a lot going on there. A couple of kisses, a couple of talks, and that's about it really.

And the whole time, he wasn't being who he really was. He was playing a part. He was Solas version soft-core, so to speak. Because while he may not have started calling himself the 'Dread Wolf', he very much is that person. Solas is prideful. He is a bit of an asshole. He is cold and calculating. The Solas we see in the memories in Veilguard was already turning into that person so the Solas that meets Lavellan is 100% already there. He uses her. The fact that he falls in love with her has very little to do with him using her, he can compartmentalize like that. As Cole says, it changes everything but it can't. But, point being, Lavellan never really got to know him. He always had a mask on. Was always so careful about what he said and how he said it as to not raise suspicion.

But with Rook? Oh, he's pissed. Gone is his careful way of speaking. Gone is his gentle tone and light smile. Rook gets Solas unfiltered. Solas without a mask. Solas the Dread-fucking-Wolf. There's still parts of him that are recognizable. But on the whole, he's more real. Because he's not worried about pretending to be something he's not. Rook knows what he is. Rook knows he's going to betray them, knows he's going to turn on them, is expecting it. (And Solas' manipulations are painfully transparent, with the exception of Varric). What he's worried about with Rook is keeping their blood-magic link in tact and molding them into someone the prison will accept (still not sure how that worked but w/e). But as far as when he talks to them? Sees them? Rook gets under his skin and he slips up and lets it show. He nearly misspeaks almost immediately and he does misspeak later. Rook does that to him. Because he's not keeping himself at arms length with them, he can't.

So the idea of Solas x Rook? Much more... real, than Solavellan to me. Does that mean I have zero fics with Solas x Lavellan? Hell no. I have like at least half a dozen with different Lavellans x Solas. But! What it means is that the relationship between Rook and Solas is very intriguing and compelling and is definently fic-fuel. It means that I already have 2 separate fics WIP for them.

You don't have to stand on either side of this line, you can draw a big circle, stand inside of it and clutch both Solavellan and Dread Rook tightly to your chest with you. I'm not sure why there's this insistence that you have to pick one. You've never had to pick one. That's what having multiple OC's is all about. That's how that works.

[s0ur-cr3am]

I DIDNT KNOW YOU COULD DRAW COCOAGRAFTS COCOAGRAFTER SO FUCKING WELL HOLY SHIT show me your ways

step 1: make biograft oc step 2: get very attached to biograft oc step 3: blackout and wake up with a clip studio file full of doodles of biograft oc and 4 tabs of reference images open

step 4: accidentally (yes, accidentally) make cocoagraft oc step 5: apply knowledge of drawing biograft to drawing cocoagraft (s), and also examine ref images step 6: cocoa time

[tenwhiteandalusians]

and then no one said anything about the fact that if i watched ONE MORE episode tenax pulls a "i'm not angry i'm just disappointed i'm hurt" about scorpus signing with the white faction.

[keeps-ache]

i have Thoughts

[lyrefromthesea]

Male pillars x Reader - sitting on their lap

author's note: I'm strictly against any kind of sexual interactions with minors. That's why I will either exclude Muichiro from such fics of or portray a wholesome interaction instead.

pairing: Tengen x reader, Obanai x reader, Rengoku x reader, Sanemi x reader, Giyuu x reader, Muichiro x reader, Gyomei x reader

content warning: suggestive words and actions

Tengen:

"excuse me? I'm married!" he dramatically exclaimed, looking down at you. the man was already trying to refrain from smiling, watching you turn your head towards him.

"i'm sure Hinatsuru, Makio and Suma will forgive me." you answered, showing him your hand. he smirked at the all too familiar ring. he was glad he had married you.

"just playin', i could never disappoint the flamboyant person i married!" he laughed, clearly proud of himself. when you cocked your eyebrow at him, he let out a dramatic gasp, pulling you closer.

"are you trying to say i'm not the most perfect husband you could imagine?" he asked, displaying a huge amount of shock. you knew he was just making fun, especially when he pressed your back against his chest, bringing his lips to your ear.

"you were saying entirely different things yesterday." he said, watching you shudder at his words. you slapped his knee, scolding him for saying such things outside.

"come on, you know you love it!"

Obanai:

he freezes, his brain nearly malfunctioning. it's not like you've never sat on his lap before, but you usually gave him a warning first - asked for his approval.

"[name]? what's-" he asked, surprised when your arms wrapped around his neck, barely giving Kaburamaru time to slither away. words got stuck in his throat, feeling your lips against his mask - right above his own.

"nothing. i was just feeling affectionate." you answered, shifting to wrap your arms around his torso. he looked down at you, letting out a quiet yelp when your hips moved a bit too much on his lap.

"oh..?" you looked at him, a smile slowly forming on your lips. a blush made his way towards his cheeks, luckily covered by his mask. at least he felt lucky, you would've liked to see him blush.

"it looks like you're feeling affectionate too, Obanai." you chuckled, purposely drawing light circles with your hips. of course you had noticed the growing bulge in his pants, his hands now holding yours.

"don't tease me, [name].."

Rengoku:

"little flame! how was your day?" he enthusiastically asked, his arms wrapping around your torso. he pulled you closer, placing his chin on your shoulder.

"it was okay, i missed you." you answered, leaning against his chest. he smiled at you, enjoying the way your bodies were pressed together so gently.

"we can't have that, little flame! how about we go eat later?" he asked, holding you a bit closer. you chuckled at his words, he really loved taking you to new places - especially restaurants.

"i'd like that. let's go eat something later."

Sanemi:

"and what the hell are you doing?" Sanemi asked, feeling you make yourself comfortable on his lap.

he had cleaned his sword moments prior, hearing the door open - it was you. you moved towards him without warning, getting between him and his sword.

"getting your attention." you answered, moving even closer. don't think he didn't notice the way you purposely squished your chest against his own.

"yeah? didn't I give ya enough attention, sweetheart?" he teased, watching you pout in response. you had been alone for far too long, you finally wanted to spend time with him.

"you've been working on your sword for two hours now.." you complained. he placed it down, knowing that you were right. he just felt like the proper care could safe his ass one day, though a shiny sword probably wasn't that important.

"fine, ya win. this was getting uncomfortable anyways." he answered, almost making you question what he meant until he pressed his hips against yours more. oh, now you could feel it too.

"does that mean you want my attention as well-" you asked playfully, getting cut off by his lips pressing against yours before you could finished talking.

Giyuu:

"is everything alright?" his voice broke the silence, you've been sitting on his lap for almost 5 minutes now, not saying a single word. he was confused, not sure if you were fine or needed help.

"Giyuu, attention?" you asked, feeling him relax under you. he had been tense, thinking you could've been hurt somewhere. your words instantly calmed him down, his lips pressing against yours gently.

he didn't expect you to turn his soft kiss into something more passionate. his hands slowly came to hold your hips, tongues swishing against each other.

you broke the kiss, panting against his lips. he pressed his forehead against yours, pulling you a bit closer, only to have your hips start grinding slightly.

"l- love.. t- that's not.." he muttered, his cheeks visibly growing more red. hands squeezing your hips more, trying to create more friction. he could only moan when you finally started grinding against him properly.

"i.. i need to go on a mission later.." he panted against your lips, but he didn't object when you kissed him again, your hand wandering to his belt.

Muichiro:

"Muichiro! i finally caught up to you.." you heaved, letting yourself fall onto his lap. you had been running for nearly twenty minutes now, watching the boy leave his estate without food. being the good friend you were, you ran after him.

"[name]? what are you doing here..?" he asked, letting you lean against him. your cheeks were flushed from running. it would've been different if you also were a hashira, but you still had much to learn.

"you.. you forget your food, Mui.." you panted, reaching into your pocket. he looked rather surprised when he saw the small box of food he usually brought with him.

"thank you..! i've completely forgotten." he laughed, eventually coaxing a smile out of you. you gave him the box, seeing his eyes lit up at the promise of food.

he wanted to dive right in before he had a quiet growl come from your stomach, making your cheeks flush. "do you want some?" he asked, watching you shake your head.

"i brought my own!" you countered, grabbing into your back once more. silence filled the room when you noticed you had only brought his food.

his arm wrapped around your torso, forcing you to stay on his lap a while longer. "let's share." he said, offering you some of his food. you knew he wouldn't let you go until you have had a healthy portion.

Gyomei:

"welcome back." the giant said, feeling you plop onto his lap, nuzzling against his chest. you let out a tired hum, feeling a large hand soothingly rub over your arm.

"is there something wrong? you're more quiet than usual." he asked, gently bringing your head closer with his hand - allowing you to be closer to him. you could hear the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat.

your day had been stressful, but he somehow always managed to calm you down. his warmth. his voice. his actions. they put your mind at ease.

"i know it's ridiculous, but i've felt really stressed out lately. i just want a break.." you muttered, closing your eyes. you were trying to focus on his heartbeat and ignore everything else around you.

"it's not ridiculous, you deserve a break. perhaps a visit to the hot spring would help calm you down?" he offered, feeling you nod against his chest. you felt warm hands rub over your thighs, his head now closer to yours.

"and i could pamper you a bit more after that.." he muttered against your ear, your eyes opening again. the warmth pooling in your gut could probably rival the hot spring's temperature

[dilf-docs]

To The Devil I Know

bfd!joel miller x younger!reader

summary: your infamous girl's trip with your best friend sarah gets crashed by his overprotective dad.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., fingering, oral (m. and f. receiving), brat taming, it's pussy spanking time again bc i do in fact like it a lot, praise/daddy kink sprinkled somewhere, reader calls him mr. miller A LOT, exhibition kink (v nasty), degradation kink (he calls her little slut), pantie sniffing, dirty talk (they have a sentence awaiting in horny jail), y/n grinds on joel's nose bc yeah i too want that, this is contradicting but lwk sub!joel bc that man's touch starved as HELL, may do a part two idk pls give it love, dad!bod joel bc i say so (yummy), no angst (wtf dilf-docs? the angst gods are so pissed off rn)

word count: 7,195 words

side note: this request got me HOOKED the moment i opened it and since i'm currently on a pedro hyperfixiation rn, we need to put the mental illness to good use. also, this is lwk based on the song by suki waterhouse devil i know! :) i'm seeing that i have two joel fics with devil in the title btw something something abt nickels and not being a lot but weird it happened twice also WE HIT 300 FOLLOWERS??? (and its 1am and i have to wake up at 4am is anyone surprised atp...)

part: prev | masterlist | next

"Sarah!" you shout, "get your ass out here you looser!"

It's probably eight in the morning, and here you are, honking and shouting in the middle of the quiet calm suburbs.

When you spot her curly head running towards you in a rush, you know she's pissed.

"Stop screaming!" she shouts back, "my neighbours will hate me"

You've known Sarah since you were kids. When you first moved to Texas, she was the only one who spoke to you in school. You grew up with her among white picket fences and scrapped knees, mantaining the friendship even as you moved away, until your return for college.

"Why would I even care? I don't live here!" you joke from the driver's seat, hopping off and giving her a hug. "I'm sorry but I can't help it. I'm just so excited for this trip, we've been planning it for ages!"

You keep talking excitedly about your plans, not noticing how her face falls.

"Yeah, about that..."

"You girls ready?" a third voice enters the picture, definitely not belonging to a girl.

"Uh, Sarah" you breath in, "Why the fuck is your dad here?"

In all his glory: Joel Miller, a guy you haven't seen in forever, too busy living in the dorms, girl dates with Sarah often out of her house. You wanted to explore the world: you weren't ten anymore, and the suburbs lost all of it's appeal they had when you were the age of Barbies and drawing on chalk.

"Listen, y/n. I tried, I really tried. But as soon as I opened my mouth, he started to pack his bags"

"Isn't your dad always busy at work?" you inquire, another one of the reasons Joel's face isn't a fresh memory in your head.

"That's part of the problem. He took all of the pending vacations he had at once" she sighs, sounding as dissapointed as you are. "I understand if you don't want to go"

"Are you being serious right now?" you chuckle dryly. "No, absolutely not. I saved for this trip, packed my favorite outfits and aced all my classes so my parents would allow me. Nothing is going to ruin this for me: not you, not your dad. So we'll go and we'll have all the fun we planned, yeah?" you express firmly, holding her hands. "We will have our girl summer, no matter what. Even if we have to ignore the elephant in the room..."

"Did you just call me fat?"

You turn around, and there he is: the uninvited. Joel Miller's aged face stands before you, strong arms flexing under the pressure of a couple of suitcases.

"No" you reply back, "just a nuissance"

He chuckles at your response, amused. "If you thought I'd let my babygirl go alone with you to the beach and get shit-faced drunk, you're not as smart as I remember, y/n"

Your name would always be on his tongue to call you out. Y/n, don't do that. Y/n apologize to the neighbours. Y/n, slow down. Y/n, don't be so stubborn. You were always a troublemaker, and his lips would only know how to pronounce your name if to berate you. But now, as his mouth says your name with a newly learned tone, dripping with dare and amusement, you can't help but feel a fire ignite that burns your skin.

"Dad!" Sarah calls out, taking you out of your thoughts. She flushes in embarrasment, and you scoff at the idea of giving too much of your time to think about Mr. Miller of all people. "I'm not ten anymore, we'll be just fine"

"You're barely of legal age!" he counters back. "What if somethin' was to happen to you, huh? I'd never forgive myself"

You get annoyed at his over-the-top reactions. What did he think you were gonna do? The wildest thing you had in mind was getting drunk while sitting in the sand. Not even in the water! You may be a wild spirit, but stupid you're not.

"Look, Mr. Miller" he cocks his head to the side, daringly so, almost as if waiting for you to try. "I don't know what you're thinking, but this isn't Driveway Dolls" he looks at you confused, so you try again, "Or Thelma and Louise, whatever suits your fucking old ass. Alright? This is a girls trip, heard that? Just two bestfriends enjoying their youth and summer without boys around to ruin it for them"

"Boys?" he laughs. "Too bad, then, 'cause sweetheart, I'm a man"

Your breath hitches, but you're not going to let him win; you always need to have the last word.

"Well, man up and let your daughter be free for once!"

Sarah covers her face with her palms, clearly knowing her dad more. This is a lost battle.

"Stop, y/n. Please. Dad's impossible to bend"

"He's ruining our trip!" you protest, feeling like a child throwing a tantrum.

"Take it or leave it" he leans against his truck, crossing his arms. Your eyes dart to the strained fabric of his sleeves, and when he chuckles, you don't know if he noticed or it's because of his imminent victory.

"Fine!" you throw your hands in the air, dramatically so. "Welcome on board, intruder"

Joel Miller smiles, and maybe it's the rare sight, not even common back in the day, that makes your heart skip a beat.

"And we're taking my truck"

"Are you being serious right now?!" Was this man going to take away all your freedom?

He laughs, mockingly. Rage bubbles in your chest, along something darker you aren't going to admit just yet.

"There is no way my daughter is going on a fucking hatchback to the beach"

You try to distract yourself talking to Sarah in the backseat, but her dad's prying glances time to time from the rear view mirror have you shifting uncomfortably on your seat.

He's persistent, always has been. Joel Miller, just as Sarah said, wasn't a man who could be bent. You'd remember thinking he was a sort of superhero: unbreakable. Whenever Sarah needed help, a pair of strong arms would be there, ready to take the weight off of her shoulders. He was now older, as you have noticed: grey and wrinkles sprayed all over his face. And now, the worst part of it all:

Age had made him infuriatingly attractive.

Unfair, you think, that a man so bitter that only seemed to worry and nag, was blessed with the rare quality of aging like wine. You can deny it anymore: whatever Joel Miller has now that he didn't before is working on you like a lovesick spell.

You look again to the front, just in time to catch one of his subtle (not really) stares. You keep the eye contact, only he tears away his gaze first, something akin to regret and fear circling on his warm brown orbs. The fire from before cracks inside of your belly, and the anticipation begins.

If he was going to ruin your trip, you might as well return the favor.

"M' gonna stop for gas" he says after some minutes of silence, deviating towards a gas station.

You take the opportunity to get out of the truck to strech your legs. Sarah does so too, but then whispers into your ear:

"Tell my dad I need to go to the bathroom. Don't want him worrying"

As if you'll talk to him. Despite that, you nod and she leaves you alone with her annoying dad.

"Reckless too, huh?" Joel appears by your side, almost making you drop your phone. "You know you're not s'pposed to use the damn phone on a gas station? Good thing I ain't let my daughter go alone with you"

You put your phone down. "Reckless? I know what I'm doing" but you sound nervous, for some reason.

"You haven't changed at all, have you?" Joel says, his voice surprisingly soft.

You heart gets stuck in your throat at the sudden shift, "I suppose not"

"I get that you hate me" he confesses, done filling the tank, "but I couldn't let the two of you go alone"

Your cheeks turn pink at the accusation, "I don't hate you"

He laughs, and the sound has something stirring in the lower of your belly. Why is Joel Miller of all people provoking feelings in you no other boy has ever provoked? You're used to playing with boys as you please, and you come to realize that's where the difference lies: you don't know how to handle a man.

A man so strong, your eyes don't leave him as his arms flex while pumping the gas, the delicious peek his simple white shirt gives you not going unnoticed; droplets of sweat on his temple, sliding down his jawline then getting lost down the crook of his neck. You lick your lips on instinct, horrified when you realize what you've just thought and done.

"Damn right you don't"

You could say you've reached some kind of truce, but then Sarah comes back, and when you look at Joel again, he's reverted to that annoying apathic state of his, but instead of bothering you, it only makes you want more.

"Hey" he says to Sarah, "where you went?"

"I had to pee, dad. Relax" she dismisses, shooting at you a can-you-believe-it look.

He walks away, ready to jump in the driver's seat again, when he turns around to whisper to Sarah:

"Don't ever leave me again" tone stern, "not with her"

But you hear.

You arrived late, the sun hiding behind the large body of water that seemed infinite.

"I can't believe we missed the first sunset!" you whine. "It was going to look so good on my Instagram stories..."

"This generation and their problems" Joel scoffs, taking the suitcases to the house you've rented for the next two days.

The answer is right at the tip of your tongue, but you decide to be the bigger person and remain quiet. If he wants to play, you better play smart.

"Dad, please" Sarah calls him out, and you have to hide a laugh. "Don't fight with y/n"

"I ain't doing shit" he sneers, crossing his bulking arms.

Sarah walks past him, muttering against his childishness. That angers Joel, who tries to remain cool.

"I know you hate me" you suddenly appear by his side. Your vainilla scent gets up on his nose, invading his body of you. "I just think you should try, for Sarah"

"I don't hate you" he answers, and now it's your turn to laugh.

"Yeah? Doesn't seem like it, Mr. Miller" it comes out before you can stop it, and there's something dark lurking behind his brown eyes piercing through you.

"I don't" sounding more sure this time. Serious too.

"You'll have to prove that"

You enjoy the surprise on his face and the light pink sprinkled across his cheeks.

"Prove that?"

You nod, finding all of this suddenly funny.

"Hmh, you heard me. Prove it, Mr. Miller. That you don't hate me"

But before he can respond, your bestfriend is back.

"Y/n, come on! You need to check the house. It has a shared balcony!" Sarah beams giddy.

You let her excitement infect you, taking her hand as you go inside the house. Joel stays back, your words ringing on his ears.

On the other hand, Sarah and you check the room together.

"Look this" she points at one of the mirrors in the room: it has details that remind you of the sea. "Isn't it cute?"

"It is" you agree, "we should take a picture"

"Okay. But use your phone" she says, "mine died on the road"

You're about to pull it out when you feel your pockets empty.

"It's... not here"

"You might have left it in the car" she tries to help.

"Yeah" you try to remain level-headed, "I'll go search for it"

You return to the truck, pressing your head against the window. Just like your friend guessed, it's there, abandoned on the seat.

"Lost somethin'?"

You gasp, turning around. Joel Miller's face is centimeters away from yours, breathing heavily as his body cages your smaller frame against the truck's doors.

"My phone" you find your voice after what feels like eternity, "it's inside the car"

"Need help with that?" his voice sounds low, whisper easily to be confused with a growl.

You don't know how to answer, scared for the first time of where your mouth could take you. So your solution is to nod, and step aside for him to open the car.

"There you go" he's dropping it in your hands, fingers lightly brushing yours. There's a shiver down your spine despite the cool weather, and you know damn well it's all his fault. He may feel it too, by the way he takes a step back, putting some distance.

"Need anything else?" but it feels like a slap to the face, as if he's challenging you to speak what you've been thinking but are too coward to do when he stands before you.

"No" you mentally slap yourself for how pathetic you sound, "this is all I needed, Mr. Miller. Thanks"

You look back one last time, despite it all. And there it is: that same look he gave you in the car.

"Anytime" but it falls deaf to your ears, as you basically ran away from him.

Him and his imposing presence, enough to make your legs tremble and your mind to stop working. Him and his smell, that brings you back to simpler times and reminds you of a a secret place in the woods, musk getting under your skin. Him and his breath, hitching when you touch hands. Him and his beating heart, just as loud as yours.

"Took you long" Sarah comments when you return, "I was already falling asleep"

She doesn't know or suspect, you tell yourself, but that doesn't stop you from feeling sick.

That night, as Sarah lays by your side and you try to sleep, all you can think about is his big hands, the lingering feeling of a warm touch. And then Joel, stepping back―coming to his senses, as if something is holding him back.

Anytime.

You can't help but wonder what stopped him.

Days have blurred between drinks by the poolside, waves crashing, wet sand in your fingers and sun carressing skin.

Despite what happened, Joel remains in the shadows, letting you and Sarah enjoy your trip in peace. You may be spending time with your bestfriend, but his presence hangs in the air, impregnated with his strong pine and whisky smell, looming over you like a shadow; suffocating, like his scent is all you can breath. You hate how your mind keeps going back to him, because despite your inicial claims to ruin him, that wasn't the purpose of this vacation, yet Joel seems to have infected you with a need that corners your mind to think of him and him only. The greed you feel is unnatural, like a spell has been cast upon you. He may be far, just as you wanted, and you should enjoy that, but it's that very same distance that is driving you insane.

Today, you and Sarah decided to go diving and then play volleyball.

The day ends, the sun sets, and so does the tiredness. But as Sarah's snores fill your ears, you toss around the bed, trying to conceal sleep to no avail.

Staring at the ceiling, you kept drifting back to Joel, mind wondering and heart racing at thoughts of strong arms caging you, warmth in your body that the breeze creeping through flowing curtains fails to provide.

The sound of wood creaking jolts you awake. His silhoutte is hard to miss, and your eyes follow it cross your bedroom. You pretend to be asleep, his scent up your nose as he walks in careful measured steps, trying not to wake you up. He looks back at Sarah, and the moonlight betrays him when it shines over his eyes, revealing an adoration that gnaws your chest.

He keeps walking, until he reaches the shared balcony. It's then that you make a choice, heart pounding in your chest as you race yourself from bed, going his way.

You go outside, finding him resting his arms on the balcony, facing the beach in silence. Soft waves crash against the wet sand, but not even that can overpower the sound of your beating heart.

"What're you doin' here?" he's asking, even if you haven't moved from your spot. Seems like your friend wasn't joking about his heightened senses, despite his old age. "Thought y'were 'sleep"

"Well, Sarah is a fast sleeper" you answer, walking to his side.

"She sure is" and the faintest of a smile appears on his face.

Joel Miller is a mystery to you: the most closed off man you've ever met, hiding behind his apparent apathy that only seems to be gone whenever Sarah is around. She's the apple of his eye, and those soft traces of a more tamed character that come to light have truly picked your interest, begging for more crumbs that will help you puzzle who he really is: he, that is as handsome as a mystery. The worst is, you don't know what attracts you more.

But you won't let him win.

"Mr. Miller?"

"Yeah?"

"Were you married?"

He looks at you, dark eyes partly iluminated by the moonlight.

"Aren't you a bit too young to be bold?"

"And aren't you too hot to be all alone?" you reply in an instant, rendering him speechless.

He chuckles, but it sounds defeated rather than amused.

"Trust me, kid" he's back at facing the ocean. Goddamn coward. "This isn't what you want"

"Don't call me kid" you berate, almost repulsed at it. "I'm twenty one"

He scoffs. "Still hella young"

"But I know what I want" a wavering hand ready to trace over his pecs, but he's stopped you before it descends. Before it's too late.

"You don't" he assures, grip on your hand stronger, without knowing how much you're enjoying this. Or maybe he does. "See? That's the problem with you kids: you think you do, but you don't"

You loose your patience.

"Tell me then, Mr. Miller. Would a kid do this?"

Taking the distraction, the same hand flies now to grop his dick, and to your surprise, it's already hard.

"Seems I'm not the only one who doesn't know what they want"

"Stop" he warns, hissing when your eager fingers unbuckle his belt. It's huge, for some reason, and you can't help but feel an ardent throb at the thought of grinding on it.

When your eyes look at Joel, he swears he sees you devilishly smirk, almost as if you were mocking him.

"Stop?" you bite your lip, feigning innocence as doe eyes look where dark ones had done before. "If that's what you want, you aren't even trying"

You kneel down, and the position gives you the perfect side of his adam's apple bobbing in a nervous gulp. He grows insecure under your intense stare, breath hitching when the wind hits his now free member as you pull down his underwear, revealing it hard and leaking with precum. You laugh delighted, with victory, and he finds himself trapped between the moon and your games, drowning on a sea feet away.

"I think I know what you want"

"How? You don't even know what you want" barely fighting it.

Your fingers grace over his soft abdomen, tracing down his belly and happy trail. Your teeth nip at the skin scattered with soft rosy lines, peppering the skin with fluttering kisses to entertain your mouth until your digits touch his hard cock. Joel whines, squirming, and you're delighted with the receptiveness, needy sounds escaping his lips.

You haven't even started yet.

"You're right, I don't" you agree. "All I know is you piss me off and that you ruined our trip, so I'm gonna take my anger out on you one way... or another"

You take your first lick, savouring the dark red head. His hips buck, a shaky gasp robbed from his chapped lips.

"Fuck" he exhales weakly, lost against the sound of water.

"Don't worry, Mr. Miller. I'll take good care of you" admiring his girth. He looks down on you, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Joel can't lie and say he isn't fascinated with the way you look at him, not believing so much appetite can fit in such a small young body. Not even his partners before you, had looked at him like he was the best thing in the world, and now here you were: the loud-mouthed brat best friend of his daughter, sucking his cock while Sarah slept just a few meters away. Just yersteday he was bickering with you, not standing your spoiled attituted and juvenile spirit that can't be tamed and won't shut up. Hell, you had even disrespected him. But here he is, not being able to find the words or actions to stop you: because he doesn't want to.

It was all so fucked up.

But then you're closing your lips around his swollen head, and he knows there's no point in fighting it anymore, his whole body urging him to give in.

"Oh, fuck" he pants, getting all worked up as you take him deeper. "Keep goin'. You're doin' a great job, sweetheart"

The praise gets to you, even if not needed.

Your tongue swirls, running the muscle with wet slides, up and down, tip to base, some pressure applied. You proceed to take in his balls, feeling him tense up. You wanted to mock him badly, but your mouth was full of his dick, so that wasn’t happening.

"D-don't stop" he pleads, sounding more like a whine.

He's deep enough that it hits your throat. You've never been this greedy, but also, have never tried with a dick so big. You feel him in the roof of your mouth, your lips at the base of the tip, brushing against skin. Joel can't keep up: breath hitching, moans ragged and consumed, barely standing if it wasn't for your hands digging in his thighs for support.

You keep building pace, seeing Joel's face scrunch up.

"M' close" his voice comes out strained, his head tilting back, wild soft locks from before now plastered against his forehead, dripping with sweat. His muscles tense, you can feel it, and it's just about time before he's coming inside your mouth.

You want it. To taste more of him, who you claim to hate but feels oh so good. Strong, just as his presence.

"So good, fuck, you're so good" in a tone so needy and desperate. It falls out of his lips, followed by more unintelligible praises dripping from his tongue.

And then, in a shaky breath, lost to the wind:

"Y/n"

You gasp, and he feels it, the air ticklish on his sensitive skin.

Joel said your name.

Your name, in a way it had never been said before. Uttered like a prayer, submerged in devotion. Your name, melting into his moans, deep within him, the calling full of a primal desire. The experience is intoxicating, making you crave more.

Joel comes with a groan, head falling back. Your name dies on his lips as his hips thrust up with your lips closing in. Thick spurts of cum mix with saliva in the back of your throat. You pull out, a string of saliva still connecting you to his dick. He looks down on you, body shaking as much as yours. Without breaking eye contact, he wipes some of the mess drooling from your lips, his calloused thumbs carresing you with a softness you didn't think was possible. The contrast makes you falter a bit, and you know Joel notices.

"There you go" your voice comes out hoarse, avoiding his eyes, "now you know what you want"

He chuckles, giving you a hand to stand up. As you raise to your feet, his face is barely inches away from yours. You can see the lines time has marked across his face, the grays coloring hair you remember to be brown, and those eyes―piercing through you like they know you better than you know yourself.

"But do you?"

Joel Miller doesn't know what is regret.

He didn't feel it when Sarah arrived unexpectedly at the ripe age of twenty, forcing him out of college. He didn't feel it when Sarah's mother left him alone to raise his daughter all by himself, aware he had tried it all to make it work. He surely didn't feel it when you came back after leaving Texas, long gone the childlike wonder and features that made him see you as an extension of his daughter, his gaze lingering a bit too long on this familiar face in a beautiful blooming new body.

But this is different, and he isn't sure if, for the first time, he's finally known what is regret.

Joel Miller also doesn't know when to back out of a fight.

He remember his brother Tommy, practically begging to let go of some asshole that dared to pick up on him, knuckles bloody no matter if he was young then and old as stubborn now, the same red painted across his willfull hands.

But now those hands prickle and sweat, no matter how much he runs them over the fabric of his jeans. And now, as your dangerous stare pierces through him across the small table, Sarah oblivious to the game as she quietly munchs her cereal, Joel Miller backs down, his gaze the first to look away.

He realizes just now why he was so afraid to look up to the sky after you left. The same stars that stared back from the high of the dark night are akin to the ones dancing in your eyes.

"Mr. Miller" your voice breaks his train of thoughts.

"Where's Sarah?" he asks in a panicked voice, realizing you've been left alone.

"Brushing her teeth" you answer, slightly taken back by his tone. "We were going out today, remember?"

Ah, yes. A little tour to an island not to far away from there.

"M' not goin'. Sorry, kid" he's decided. Before you can speak, Sarah returns and asks the question herself.

"M' tired. That's all" but it sounds rather an excuse.

"Are you sure, dad?" Sarah presses, not sure why he had changed his mind at the last minute.

"Yeah" he insists, all while avoiding those eyes of yours, unsatisfied and searching for answers of questions qithout a voice. "You girls go and have fun"

So you do.

You go and feel like you're inside of Mamma Mia (your favorite movie; both of you learned ABBA's discography thanks to it, something that offended your parents), the sun reflecting in the water, the little island with its green and sun, and the flowers that dust their petals into the shore where your boat arrives.

But when the trip is over and soft waves rock your return, you think of Joel.

You think you should feel at least a little ashamed of becoming so obssesed with a man in barely two days, who, on top of it all, is your bestfriend's dad. But then you remember the taste of him inside your mouth, how his dick had rasped against your throat, his seed warm in the tip of your tongue. And then his eyes, promises meant to be broken locked away behind tides of fear, that do an excellent job of reminding you how easy is to drown; to fall for how in hazel flickers, Joel seems he'd give you the world.

"Let's get drunk" you deadpan once you're back at the shore.

Sarah laughs at your determination, then realizes you're serious.

"What?"

"Yeah, it's our last day here" you reason. "Besides, your dad isn't here. What's he going to say?"

If you sound between angry and dissapointed at his absence, Sarah remains quiet.

"We're running away" she tries one last time, but by the look in your eyes, you've made your choice.

"Are we? We're twenty-one, Sarah. We can do whatever the fuck we want" you feel rebellious all of a sudden, "what? Don't you wanna give this trip a grand finale?"

So you crash into the nearest bar and waste the night away, drinking and dancing. But you're ordering a drink you don't like, and in every glass of whiskey down your throat, his name hangs in the air like the memory of his smell, locked behind a vault as if it's too sacred to say. But when Sarah gets a boy to dance and lends his friend to you, you wish there was rough where soft meets your skin, and chapped when you kiss his lips. Your body burns ablaze with sweat, alcohol and regret, a dangerous combination that makes you pull Sarah out of the bar when you feel you're about to black out. She complains, but you're set on making it to the bed before your eyelids shut.

Maybe it's because you always had what you wanted, or maybe it was the forbidden, but whatever reason had pushed you in Joel's orbit, refused to let you go.

And maybe you're imagining his voice, scolding you like a kid. Maybe you're seven again, and in the shadows of the bed, you've gone back to your childhood days. Y/n, y/n, y/n. That sick berating tone of his, acting like you're stupid and small.

"Fucking brat" he spats, drops of his angry scowl landing on your cheek. You then realize he's hovering over you, and it's real, not a product of your foggy mind. So you stand up, sobering up a bit, when he charges back again. "Makin' my daughter pass out? What the fuck were you thinkin'? Could've ended in the middle of the street. You're s'pposed to go to the damn island and then come back!"

Your mouth tastes like sand, but even if you've passed out a couple hours ago, the fire doesn't die. So your tongue is back, finding it's voice to say:

"Well, if you hadn't left us alone, this wouldn't have happened"

He chuckles, darkly. Humorless. "I see"

"What?" you challenge, a shiver down your spine that looses itself somewhere else.

"You got my daughter drunk as revenge"

You're mortified at the accusation, the remnants of alcohol now long gone of your system.

"Do you think I'd risk me and my friends' safety for you? Out of all people, you?" not caring if you sound bitter.

The truth sticks to your skin as uncomfortably as the sweat.

"I dunno, sweetheart. That's why I'm asking you" the pet name rolls effortlessly, in a rough voice that creates a wet spot in your panties. He gets closer, and you can see the tremble of his lips as he lets out a shaky breath. "Be a good girl and answer"

"I won't tell you shit" you spit.

"You little minx, thinkin' you can run your tongue like it ain't been 'round my cock before" you look like a deer caught in headlights, and Joel's enjoying this more than he should. "That's right, what'd Sarah think knowing her friend's a little slut for'er daddy's cock?"

The electric current that crosses your body sparks the fire of the woods hiding behind his auburn storms.

Now you're feeling high on a forest fire. You want the flames to engulf you, even if ashes is all there'll be left.

"Tell me you want this" his forehead clashes against yours, and the whole world falls silent, except for your ringing ears.

"I want this" and he's just as surprised as you are by the unwavering conviction. "I need you, Mr. Miller"

You try to get up, but he pushes you with full force back into your bed. Then, the base creaks, and he's on top of you, his weight pressing you against the mattress.

"What are you-"

"You think I'd let you get away easily? Have things your way? Naive lil' girl" he tuts, "I'll punish you for that"

As on cue, drowned out snores are heard from your side.

"But, Sarah-" you try to protest, his body caging you under his mercy.

"That'll mean you're behavin', right?" he runs his thumb across your lips, gently pulling them down, as if the chase was thrilling as eating the prey. "I know you don't want to wake her up and see her slut of a friend bangin' her daddy"

You tense, remaining silent at the threat, even if your body reacts other ways.

"Good girl"

He’s quick to get rid you of your shorts.

"Fuckin' hell" he murmurs against your neck, the clothing discarded somewhere in the room. "Wearin' this little shitty bottoms to rail me up, knowin' damn well when to bent and get me hard. Been thinkin' of takin' them off ever since you wore 'em first"

The confession makes you whine, and Joel's delighted by the sound, and just how putty you are under his big rough hands.

"Let's see what we got here" his large hands caress your thighs as he settles between your legs. "Black lace, baby? Such a fuckin' tease. Wore 'em for me?"

You shake your head, but his calloused digits dig on the plush skin of your thighs, making you wince at the pain.

"Don't lie to me, sweetheart. You'd said you'll be a good girl, yeah?" you nod, soaking wet, painfully so.

"Yes, I'll be"

"Show me your manners, then" he presses light kisses on the insides of your thighs, close to where you need his graying beard to tickle, "and I'll show you mine"

"Just eat me, Joel" you demand breathlessly. "Fuck. Need you, Mr. Miller, so bad"

"And why should I reward you, impatient little slut? Eager to get daddy's filthy mouth between that pretty pussy" Joel bites the inside of your thigh, and it takes all of your strength to avoid becoming a moaning mess. "You've been bad, sweetheart. A brat"

You deny it, but his head dissappears between your legs, licking the wet spot on your panties. You squirm under the teasing of his tongue, legs shutting close on instinct. You drown a whimper in your palm as he yanks your panties away.

"Don't do anything I ain't tell you to" demanding, and if you weren't this horny and out of your mind, you'd probably be scared. "There'll be consequences"

You try to obey. But then his nose, that big nose you want covered in your slick as you grind off of it between your legs, sniffs your panties. He gives it one big sniff, and then two, fingers going white as he holds the piece of fabric with too much force, shoving it on his face.

"Ye'r too fuckin' sweet, I'll give you that" he mumbles in a drunken haze. "Need to taste that drippin' cunt of yours 'night"

The bed creaks again, or maybe it's the sound of his bones starting to give in to old age, but Joel is sucking your clit, tongue pushed inside of your puffy folds. You hide a moan against his lips, hands traveling to grip his hair.

"Joel" you breathe out. 

He parts your folds easily, and before you know it, a rugged finger circles your entrance. Your back arches, and then he leaves place for his mouth again, flicking your sensitive core with his tongue. A moan a little too loud escapes your lips, making his eyes darken when the bed next to you shifts, Sarah tossing in her sleep.

"You dumb fuckin' brat. What'd I say?" his hand slams against your pussy, a sting you've never felt before, both showered in pain and pleasure, spreading across your cunt. "Don't disobey me. Apologize, now"

He stops his minstrations, and you're so achingly close to your orgasm, that the answer falls easy and rushed from your lips.

"Sorry, Mr. Miller"

"Good girl" Joel praises as he pushes his finger in, next to his tongue on your clit.

But the orgasm is so deliciously close, and you can't wait for more. So now you're grinding in his face by reflex, rubbing against his big nose just like you'd imagined. You whine at the sensation, and Joel rests his tongue flat on your clit with surprise.

"Who gave you permission to do that?" but his voice sounds more amused than nagging. "That imagination of yours is somethin' else. Have you been thinkin' bout it all this time, hmh, greedy dirty slut?"

The orgasm looms closer, hitting when Joel pushes a second rough finger in, walls clenching against his digits. He pulls away, licking his fingers with his tongue.

"Such a perfect pussy you got there, sweetheart. As sweet as you when you ain't bein' a pain in the ass"

You laugh breathless, trying to recover.

"Wanna taste?"

So now he's kissing you for the first time, his lips rough against plush skin, nibbling with your lower lips between his teeth, his tongue still tasting like you roaming free inside your mouth, like he wants to mark every corner; imprint himself in you. You've never wanted anything, hell, anyone more. The kiss leaves you hanging, heart racing at the closeness of his face and the warmhearted feeling of his lips on yours, like pieces of a puzzle fitting together.

"There you go" he chuckles, enamoured at the sight of your puffy lips. "Now it's my turn"

He's quick to get rid of the jeans and belt (oh well, it'll be another day) until he's over you, just wearing his boxers.

You'd never seen Joel naked before, why would you? But there's a vague memory of hot summer days, trying to survive the heat in the town's pool, just as the rest. He was there, eye candy for the mothers and horny teens. You hadn't understand back then, when he was all muscle, but you do know, where the mighty strenght is still hidden there, somewhere between his sturdy arms and chest as soft as his belly, round as it pushes above the only piece of cloth that forbids you to see his dick. His chest is full of hair, and God, you feel so dirty wanting to bury your face in the sweat drenched patch.

"Stop lookin' at me like that" he teases, but there is a small voice of insecurity hiding its undertones beneath his smirk under your stare.

"You're so fucking hot, Joel" comes out before you can stop it, now mouth acting up on its own.

Fuck, he thinks, he's too far gone. There's no point of return.

Your eager fingers pull down the underwear, fingers grazing the softness of his length. You slowly grabs his dick as he comes closer, never seeing anything as big and provoking as it. That makes you tighten your grip on his dick, which stands proud and tall, leaking precum, and the muscles of his thighs strain against his skin. 

He positions himself between your legs again.

"Let's put this big bad boy to use, huh?"

He grunts at your words, large hands finding your thighs for support, as he caresses up and down the skin littered with marks and kisses.

Joel pushes in. Just his tip, yet your mouth falls open at how large he already feels, and you tighten your hold on his neck.

"Tell me if it hurts" all softness on his eyes, his forehead falling against yours, as if he hadn't been punishing you just minutes ago. Your heart races at the gesture, tender meeting the rough of his edges.

The real question isn't asked, but you're on the pill and you trust him. You just want to fill him inside of you, all of him.

"I will, Mr. Miller"

He slams all the way in. You let out a broken sound, quickly muffled by his palm as he stays buried deep inside of you, givimg you time to adjust to his size. It burns, but you enjoy the way the pain feels. He slowly pulls out, before pushing all the way in again. Your slick folds take him, and he grunts, supporting his aching body by the forehead against yours one more time.

"So tight, sweetheart. Ain't nobody ruinin' this pussy but me" his growl comes out possesive as Joel establishes a steady rhythm. You softly moan as he keeps moving, pounding into you, hitting a spot no one had before, making you see stars. It gets harder to stay quiet, but Joel caputres every little sound that comes out of you in a kiss, as if that way he could preserve them better and forever.

You wrap your legs tight around him, keeping him close as your walls clench around him, his thrusts harder yet slower as he keeps going, ramming into you.

"Look at you, coatin' my dick like a fuckin' meltin' ice cream" he gently pushes it again between your folds, rubbing his dick on your clit. "So fuckin' wet, for me"

His lips are slightly parted and his eyes looked all fogged up, lost in the fire, thrusts becoming sloppier as he too feels it coming.

"So fuckin' pretty" drips from his mouth, and there's the stars in your eyes and the light you insist he's always had, even if he'd prefere the darkness. "The prettiest girl in the world with the sweetest pussy, givin' it all to this ol' perverted fuck"

The words and his big dick inside of you makes your eyes flutter shut on instinct.

"Don't sleep on me, baby" he coos, a hand brushing damp hair from your face. You recognize the look: the same in the car, on the balcony and on the poarch of his house, after letting the years go by. Back then, you thought you had dreamed it, but now that the secret saccharine sweetness reveals herself as he slams into you, you know it was real.

This is real.

You meet his gaze again and try to hold it as he pounds you so gently yet so rough, trying to show him without words that whatever this wrong and sick feeling was, you felt the same.

"Such'a good girl, takin' me so well" Joel grunts, slamming to the hilt. "Fuck, sweetheart, I'm gonna-"

His dick twitches inside of you, walls spasming around his cock as your pussy takes it all, milking him dry.

"Take it all, like the good girl you are"

Both of you pant, and it takes him a while to realize the sun is raising again until its rays hurt his eyesight.

He's about to tell you how this shouldn't be, how he, at such an old age shouldn't be pinning for his daughter's friend: so young, sweet and loud-mouthed. No matter if you felt the same, or if your body was marked in and out by him, No, because wanting isn't enough, and no tide could wash away his sins from the shore.

"Listen, y/n-" your name like he has never said it before: no scold, no malice nor lust. Just a softness he hadn't felt in years, asleep under thick layers of cold.

But your soft snores fill the silence between the beats of his heart.

tags: @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrosgrogu thank you sm for reading! hope u enjoy it :)

[yuvany]

COUNTING SHEEP

𝐄𝐍𝐇𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐍 when you feel exhausted

OT7 enhypen x fem!reader . . . CONTENT / WARNING(S) : fluff + skinship + kisses + petnames + est relationship . . WORD COUNT : 848 . CHECK BOX !!

福 > LIKED THIS ? — " ENHYPEN BEING TIRED "

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚

You were so tired that you didn't even want to wait until you reached somewhere more comfortable to sleep rather than the cool floor. You didn't mind, but Heeseung did. He walks into the corridor and saw you curled up on the floor with your legs tucked to your chest. He has a questioned look on his face and hunches down. Heeseung figures that you won't wake up, and lifts you into his arms to carry you to the bedroom to get a proper sleep. You wake up mid-way and Heeseung asks, "Is my princess finally awake?" You don't respond, but only rubs your eyes. "I must say that you did look comfortable." He chuckles and you kiss him on the cheek.

( rest of the members under the cut ! )

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚

Nothing worries Jay more than seeing you knocked out from exhaustion. He had seen you step foot into the house and taken a seat on the couch not too long ago, and now, you were out like a light. Jay figured that he could help you out and runs over to your room to grab your blanket and returns quickly to throw it over your limp body, being extremely careful not to wake you up on accident. Then he walks into the kitchen and prepares tea leaves while the water is boiling. After a while, he returns with a hot cup of tea and places it on the coffee table for when you wake up. He leans over and whispers, "Sweet dreams, my love."

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡

Sees your head hovering over your desk with papers scattered everywhere. Jake curiously peeks from the bed and sees that you aren't writing anything and just exhales loudly. "Babe, what's up?" Jake asks, his voice seeming to smooth everything for a second. You groan and stretch your back. "I've been reading this over and over, but I can't seem to comprehend what it's saying." You complain. Jake jumps out of bed and rests his head on yoru shoulder as he looks at the paper. "How about we do it together, so you can sleep faster?" You nod at his idea and in return he kisses you on the cheek.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡

Raises an eyebrow at the sight of your tired state, you notice this and raise your own. "What happened to you, sweetie?" He asks, opening his arms for you to walk into. "Wow, thank you." You reply sarcastically. Not accepting his hug. "You know I didn't mean it like that. Talk to me, pretty girl." Sunghoon says, lightly wrapping his arms around your shoudlers. You hug him and sigh into his chest. "Been a rough day at work, love." You say, feeling his palm run up and down your spine. "Let's get you changed and you can tell me all about it." Sunghoon slowly guides you to the bathroom.

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗢𝗢

Sunoo woke up in the middle of the night, wanting to go get himself a glass of water, but when he stumbles into the kitchen he sees you sitting there in front of your open laptop. "Sweetheart? What are you doing up so late?" He asks, his voice sounding huskier than you recognise. "I just remembered I needed to finish this." You say and show him what's on your laptop screen. "It's late though, can't you do this tomorrow?" He asks, his fingers finding your scalp to massage. "But I really need to." You say, but he suts you off and says, "You also need sleep, and I'm in need of cuddles anyway." He pulls you out of your seat and you give in with a sigh.

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡

"I'm so tired, won.." you mumble into his chest, the movie not being in your interest any more. Jungwon draws circles on your shoulder and kisses your temples. "Then we can go to sleep, angel." You hum stubbornly and shake your head. "No need, I can go to bed while you finish this movie." You explain, rubbing your eyes. Jungwon in turn shakes his head too. "It's either both of us, or none, babe." You sigh, feeling bad for him in this situation since you knew how much he wanted to see this film. "I'm not that tired any more," you lied, and he senses this, so he pulls the blanket over the two of you, and snuggles close to you with a smile. "Now it's sorted!"

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜

You sat beside him while he was playing a video game, and throughout the time you spent together, your head would bump against his shoulder a couple of times due to the long day you already had and the dark setting illuminated by the soft lights of the television screen. Having your boyfriend beside you didn't change much of the fact either. At one point, you dozed off, and Riki hadn't realised it until you started to softly snore. He turned his head and was ready to say something until he saw your tired figure. He smiles to himself and helps you into a more comfortable position before turning off the game and cuddling close to you.

─── ꒰ 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘𝗦 𝗙𝗥𝗢𝗠 𝗬𝗨𝗩𝗔𝗡𝗬 ꒱

[ consider reblogging and liking this post if you enjoyed it !! I hope you liked this just as much as I did ^3^ ]

[hard-core-super-star]

losing focus [W.Maximoff + N.Romanoff]

pairing: dom!wanda maximoff x sub!reader x dom!natasha romanoff

summary: as unexpected as it is, you become a permanent part of wanda and natasha's relationship.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT -> porn with very little plot but many feelings; mommy + daddy kink; implied dom/sub dynamics; mentions of petplay; fingering [R receiving]; cunnilingus [R receiving]; overstimulation; nipple play; so many petnames; wanda and nat being competitive; badly proofread

wordcount: 3.7k

a/n: hi again! so, i was originally supposed to post a bishova fic today buuuut i got too attached and wrote a part two of "push me on the counter, call me princess" because i could. i hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

It's difficult to define what your relationship with the witch and her grumpy assassin girlfriend has turned into. 

You know you're not really a part of their relationship, at least not officially, but you're not a mere observer either. Your main connection is with Wanda, which Natasha doesn't seem to mind, but the three of you are well aware of the way you simply started...joining them...all the time.

It started with small things. With Wanda inviting you to sit on her lap during movie nights. With Natasha begrudgingly letting the witch tie you down on their shared bed. With both of them holding you close at night, each of them murmuring some excuse about why they needed the physical contact.

You didn't mind. What kind of fool would mind being sandwiched between two of the most fearsome and beautiful Avengers?

But it very quickly stopped being enough for you.

You didn't want to be greedy, you knew your connection with Wanda wasn't right in the first place. You should have never allowed her to enchant you to the point of weaseling your way into her relationship.

And yet here you are.

Tucked under Wanda's arm while you watch her favorite sitcom.

A part you of you wants to be unhappy. To act like you don't want to be part of this.

But the truth is you do.

You really like this.

"You're thinking too much, detka." There's no judgement in the witch's tone, just the soothing sound of her accent. "Do you want to talk about it?"

You shake your head, instantly feeling overwhelmed from the mere thought of sharing your worries with her. You're not even sure why you're worried. Why there's a part of you that can't seem to settle, despite how warm and comfortable the older woman's embrace is.

"I'm fine," you mumble.

Wanda hates it when you mumble, but you can't help it. You also can't help the way you turn toward her, your face finding refuge in the crook of her neck.

She allows it for it now. Clearly, she doesn't need to read your thoughts to know how much you're struggling with them.

You want to feel embarrassed about it, but it's hard to feel anything except her palm pressing into your side. Her fingers slip under the hem of your (well...Natasha's) shirt and she draws small circles against your skin.

The two of you stay like that for a while. Wanda watches her show and you catch glimpses of it whenever you gather the courage to peak your head up and out of the comfort of her neck.

You've practically settled into the comfort when the door opens and your bubble of safety is popped.

Your shoulders tense until you hear the telltale sound of Natasha's sigh. There's an edge of annoyance to the sound that you've grown to associate with her. "Wanda, if you wanted a pet, we could have just gotten a cat."

Her words make the witch chuckle despite herself. She knew, no matter how cold the other woman acted, she was simply pretending. It was always easier for her to put her walls back up when she was unsure of something instead of going with the flow.

"Hello to you too, sweetheart."

Wanda gives your side a small pinch, not to hurt you but to encourage you to say hi. You don't really want to, you're still not sure how to act around the older woman, but you do it anyway.

"Hi, Nat."

The redhead rolls her eyes, but the corners of her lips quirk up into the smallest of smiles. "Hello, kitten. Have you been behaving?"

It's a small thing but it's a start. A reminder that she doesn't actually dislike you and she's not mad at the way things have turned out.

That maybe...she's softer than she looks.

"Yes, Daddy," you reply, a soft blush coating your cheeks as you address Natasha by her title. "I listened to Mommy all day."

The small smile on the redhead's face grows at your words. As tough as she looks, she completely adores the way you instantly submit to her without any objections. The way it all seems so natural. So weirdly right.

"Without pouting?" She asks, raising her eyebrow in the way that makes you tremble.

The idea of lying crosses your mind but you know better than that. Plus, there's no use in lying when you're sitting next to a literal mind reader.

"Well...no. But it wasn't my fault!"

Natasha doesn't seem convinced, although she does seem amused. Her eyes drift to Wanda, who can't seem to wipe the proud grin off her face. "It wasn't?"

"It wasn't," the witch replies. "She just got pouty because I told her we had to wait for you before we could play."

"Oh, I see. So, you didn't get pouty, you got needy, is that right?"

You nod, her tone making your head swim in an all too familiar way.

Natasha crawls into bed and shifts herself until she's laying down between your spread legs. The flimsy material of your shorts does little to keep your arousal hidden away from the older woman.

"Come here, detka," Wanda murmurs as her hands grip your hips.

She effortlessly lifts you up until you're sitting between her legs, your back pressed firmly against her front. It's a subtle show of dominance, a reminder that despite Natasha's stubbornness, Wanda's the one in charge. The one you actually belong to.

But there's also a soft side to it. A reminder that she's right there in case things get too overwhelming. That you can back out at any moment and they won't be upset.

It's far too late for that, though. Far too late to act like you don't want them both. Like you don't need them.

Natasha's hands bring you back. Her fingers trail a teasing path up your thighs until they reach the waistband of your shorts.

There's a wordless question in her gaze. One that makes your heart skip a beat.

You nod in response and she wastes no time in getting rid of the garments in the way.

Her eyes take in every inch of exposed skin, the softness in her smile turning slightly predatory. It's a sight you're growing very used to seeing.

"Look at you," she coos, although her tone is far more teasing than sweet. "You're already so wet for us. Mommy's left you needy for too long, huh?"

"I'm not the bad guy here," Wanda says with a chuckle. "It wasn't my idea."

Natasha rolls her eyes but your attention is captured by the witch and her warm hands that slip under your shirt. Her fingers make their way up your torso, her nails dragging against your skin and making your back arch in response.

"Don't listen to her, detka, she's just jealous."

You nod along to the redhead's words even though they don't fully register in your mind. All you know is you're stuck between them as they engage in yet another unnecessary competition.

Wanda notices first, far too used to the subtle cues that give away your growing dependence on them. Your growing need to let go and let them take over.

"There you go, sweetheart, doesn't that feel nice?" Her voice is soft and sweet in your ear, a constant lullaby that allows you to sink deeper against her.

"Mhmm," you hum, your hands reaching out for Natasha as her lips join her fingers in exploring your skin.

The witch is quick to stop you before you get too carried away. Her hands wrap around your wrists and she holds them down, allowing her girlfriend to keep teasing you. "Just relax, baby, Nat knows what to do."

You don't doubt her words for a second, but you also don't doubt the teasing mood the redhead seems to be in. You would complain if you weren't so busy trying to keep yourself still.

It's easier said than done, though, and Natasha quickly tightens her grip on your thighs, keeping you exposed to her gaze and completely still. "Come on, detka, don't you want to show Mommy what a good girl you are?"

Her words make your hips buck, but instead of teasing you for it, she sives right into the main event. Her breath ghosts the most sensitive part of your body before her lips wrap around your swollen clit.

The sensation borders on far too much far too quickly and yet the pleasure seems to overwhelm your body before the sensitivity hits you. Your head falls back against Wanda's shoulder as your lips part in a long moan.

The witch takes advantage of your change in position and attaches her lips to your neck, switching back and forth between gentle kisses and harsh nips. "There you go, isn't that better? Don't think, darling, just let us take over."

The answer is more than obvious considering how far gone your mind is. All you can fully focus on is the soft fuziness feeling your head and the pleasure you're drowing under.

"Daddy," you whine under your breath, your hips shifting against Natasha's mouth.

The redhead simply hums, lapping at your arousal like a woman starved. She doesn't want to admit it but hearing you call her that does things to her that she can't explain. There's a certain type of satisfaction she's never felt with Wanda, even when her girlfriend is in a more submissive mood.

It's what draws her closer to you despite how hard she tries to pretend like she doesn't care. And maybe she doesn't care, but the way she commits herself to making you fall apart, completely overwhelmed by pleasure tells another story.

Wanda's quick to notice how fuzzy you are by now, how perfectly pliable you've become with just a few soft strokes of Natasha's tongue against your throbbing clit. She lets go of your hands, trusting you not to move, before her fingers slip under your shirt again, trailing up until she reaches your breasts.

"Such a good girl for us," she murmurs, as her fingers find your nipples. "Such a pretty little pet."

You're stuck between wanting to arch your back and buck your hips. Ultimately, you end up doing nothing which is exactly what they like. It allows them to please you and use you in whatever way they want.

It's a little surprising how devoted Natasha seems to be to just pleasuring you, but your head is far too fuzy for you to try and think about that. The implications themselves aren't lost on you, though, and they only add to the growing coil in settled in your stomach.

"Don't tell me you're getting ahead of yourself, kotenok." The redhead leans back just enough to look up at you, dark green eyes drinking in every inch of your face. "Good girls don't act like greedy sluts, do they?"

"No, Daddy."

Your instant response makes her smirk and she rewards you by sinking two fingers into your wet cunt.

A gasp slips out of your parted lips and Wanda takes the opportunity to pinch and pull at your hardened nipples. The stinging pain mixes perfectly with the sudden pleasure and you can't stop your body from trembling under their expert hands.

"Please," you whine. "Can I cum?"

"Already?" Wanda chuckles. "Did I leave you too needy earlier?"

"Mhmm, so needy." You don't fully know what you're saying, you just know you can't hold back anymore and the last thing you need is to earn yourself a punishment. "Please."

Your words only seem to spur Natasha on and, instead of giving you mercy like you're asking for, she starts thrusting her fingers in and out of you, groaning as she feels your walls clenching around the digits. "Fuck, such a messy pet."

"I think she's about to get even messier."

The way they talk about you like you're not even there only adds fuel to your desperate arousal. There's nothing more for you to do besides wait for Natasha to decide to give you the mercy you're begging for.

You half-expect her to not give it to you just so she can punish you for it later. It certainly wouldn't be the first time, and you're certain she's only gotten more obssesed with the idea since then.

"Yeah? Is Mommy right, detka? Are you going to make a mess for us?" You know Natsha's teasing you and yet you don't feel the usual flush of humilation. Instead, the warmth that floods you is exactly the same one you feel when Wanda uses her sweetly condescing tone on you.

They're such different tones, such different people, and yet you can't deny the way you feel about them. The way every part of you begs for them.

"Yes, please-" Natasha steals your words by curling her fingers inside your wet heat, your thighs shaking from the force of holding back your orgasm. "Wanna cum, please-"

Wanda shushes you, knowing exactly how to soothe you when you need it most. She doesn't give you the permission you need, though, and in your desperation, you miss the silent conversation the two lovers have.

The seconds seem to stretch into hours until finally, Natasha gives in. "Go ahead, detka, cum for us."

She dives back in, her tongue drawing circles on your sensitive cit as her fingers move in and out of your cunt. The pleasure builds and builds, spurred on by Wanda's fingers playing with your nipples.

All it takes is the witch pinching your hardened peaks once more for you to fall over the edge for them.

Your mouth falls open in a loud moan, your whole body shaking as the waves of pleasure overtake your senses. Even as you lose control of yourself, the two women don't relent or give you a second to catch your breath.

As much as you'd love to complain about it, you can't when all you can think about is the electric sensations coursing through your body.

You cry out as Natasha continues her assault on your oversensitive clit, your hips shaking as you try to move away from her. Instead of scolding you for moving so much, she groans against you, causing your walls to clench around her in response.

"Don't fight it, sweetheart," Wanda mumbles, her lips grazing your jaw. "Just let Daddy make you feel good. It's what you wanted, right? Now take it like a good girl."

"Uh-huh, fu-" Your attempts at words turn into needy sounds that spur the redhead on.

"One more, detka, do it for me, yeah?"

Despite your initial complaints, your body gives in to the pleasure almost instantly. It's not fully surprising but it's certainly overwhelming and it sends you deeper into the fuziness filling your mind.

Natasha does her best to hold you down even as your hips buck desperately into her face. She works a third finger inside you and it takes all your self-restraint to not fall apart at the feeling.

"Please!" You gasp. "Can I cum?"

This time, the witch takes over and gently guides you toward your orgasm. "Go ahead, angel, you've been so good for us, just let go."

So, you do.

You give up control and let go.

You're not sure what happens, all you know is your whole body tenses as the coil in your stomach snaps free. You're too far gone to realize what a mess you make of yourself and the sheets beneath you, but the satisfaction in Natasha's movements isn't lost on you.

She works you through the seemingly never-ending aftershocks, easing herself away from your clit and slowly pulling her fingers out of your cunt. "So fucking beautful..."

Your body finally goes limp and you practically melt against Wanda. Her arms wrap around your waist while she places soft kisses to every inch of your face she can reach. "Good girl. You did so well."

You hum in response, barely registering Natasha's movements as she does her best to clean you up.

The bed shifts when the redhead finishes and you instantly know she's moving away from both of you. You try to complain but the words don't seem to form.

"Shhh, just rest, kotenok, you need it."

You want to argue and assure her you feel fine, but you can't seem to find the strength to open your eyes. All you manage to do is whine, earning yourself a chuckle from Wanda.

"Don't pout, baby. You're my good girl, right?"

You wait for Natasha to correct her. To jump in and say you're their good girl.

But she doesn't.

And the longer the silence goes on, the more it hurts your feelings.

"Mommy..." You whisper.

She presses a soft kiss to your temple as her hands go back to caressing your sides. "I know. We'll figure it out later, just sleep for now."

There's little for you to do besides give in and let sleep overcome you.

* * *

When you wake up, you instantly notice the lack of warmth against you. Your head's still a little fuzzy but you feel slightly more in control now. You're also still pretty drowsy, though.

You attempt to blink the sleepiness out of your eyes as you lift your head, your eyes searching around the room for Wanda.

Instead of the witch, you find her girlfriend curled up in the reading chair in the corner of the room. There's a certain tension in her form that tells you far more than she'd like.

"Maria called," Natasha says, her voice colder than you've heard it in a while. "Wanda had to go. It sounded like she'll be gone for a few weeks."

Oh.

At least that explains why the redhead looks so...vulnerable and...lost.

Their relationship has always been a bit of a mystery to you. Despite the many nights you've listened to Wanda complain about the assassin's shitty coping mechanisms, you don't know many details about their connection.

You just know that somehow...they work. Despite their traumas and their pain, they understand each other.

And then there's you.

You're even less sure of where you fit in.

Of how Natasha feels about you.

"You can at least pretend to be happy to spend time with me," she says, effectively cutting off your thoughts.

"I am," you reply without skipping a beat. "I just...didn't think you'd be thrilled about it."

"Why? Because I'm the big bad girlfriend who has no feelings? Who doesn't give a shit about anyone?"

Despite her attempts to sound mad, her tone gives away how hurt she is. How terrified she is that you see her like that. That you think she's half as bad as the stories you've heard about her.

"No, I just...well, I know you and Wanda had that arrangement and everything but you didn't ask for this. I thought you just saw me as her annoying pet."

The corners of her mouth twitch a little as she tries to hold in her smile. "I did at first. It's nothing personal, hearing Wanda say she wanted you was...a little hard to deal with."

"Yeah, I figured." You sit up with your back against the headrest, your eyes absentmindedly admiring Natasha's features. Even with the distance between you, she looks stunning. "It wasn't easy for me either, y'know? I felt really guilty about it."

"That didn't stop you from sleeping with her the first time, though."

"Well, no but...in my defense, you can't exactly say no to Wanda when her mind is made up."

That earns you a quiet chuckle. "Yeah, you can say that again. Why do you think you're here? Wanda didn't want to let you go after the first time."

It's not necessarily news considering how things went down after the first time, but you can't act like your heart doesn't skip a beat at her words. The confirmation that the witch wanted you is one thing, but you're still not sure how Natasha feels. Something that's not surprising considering how closed off she is.

"And you?" You ask, hoping you sound less nervous than you feel.

It takes Natasha a few seconds to form her response. You can't exactly blame her but the silence makes your skin crawl. The fear that she doesn't want you, that she doesn't care, rises up within you the longer it drags on.

Finally, she eases your mind.

"Let's just say you've grown on me, kitten."

It's not much and yet it's more than enough for you. It reinforces the connection you've started feeling with her. The bond that demands to be nurtured despite how unusual it is.

Then again, wanting unsual things is kind of your thing at this point.

"You've grown on me too," you mutter, doing your best to ignore the warmth that spreads along your face.

"That doesn't mean you're not still our pet, though," she clarifies. "...if you want, that is. It can stay casual or we can turn it into more. We can train you. I can train you, if you want to be our submissive."

It takes a second for the words to fully sink in.

You nod before you even know what you're doing. You don't need to think about it, though, it's what you want. You want them. And all the little nuances that come with them.

Natasha watches you for a moment, her eyes studying you as if she's waiting for you to realize what you're doing and back out instantly. You can't exactly put your reasons into words to ease her mind. All you know is you've never wanted anything the way you want them.

Despite not being a mindreader like her girlfriend, the assasin is quick to move toward you once the thought of being fully theirs crosses your mind.

"You sure you've got what it takes, kitten?" She asks as she settles onto your lap. "I'm a lot to handle."

"I can take it," you reply, your hands landing on her waist without a second thought. "I want you."

Finally, your words are enough to break through her defenses. 

It doesn't feel like enough and yet it's exactly what she had wanted to hear. What she was afraid you wouldn't want.

"Then you have me," she says, her voice far softer than you've ever heard it.

There's so much you want to say, but words don't seem to be enough right now. So, instead, you lean forward and press your lips to hers.

You're not completely sure how you ended up here but you wouldn't trade it for the world.

[sincerlyus]

Reverse Falls!!

Soo this is my take on Reverse Falls!! I don't really know which are the original designs or which are the new personalities that each character adapts, so I made my own headcanons!! :3

It should be noted that there are characters who do not change personalities with anyone, but rather their personalities are more exaggerated or are opposite to the originals. Or (in the case of McGucket) their relationships are different so they change their way of being progressively.

EXPLANATION TIME:

This is quite long, I'm going to explain the personalities of each one and how they relate to various characters. Credits to: hours of daydreaming and Google Translate  (TW: child abuse, emotional and physical abuse, homophobia, classism. I don't know if there's anything else, just in case)

Pacifica Northwest: Outgoing and very expressive. She didn't know Gideon very well until her parents sent her to Reverse Falls. She likes to knit, draw, and has a lot of stuffed animals. She has a lot of hair, and likes to do different hairstyles every day ("to be innovative"), cries when she has to cut it. She is very affectionate with Gideon and tries to get him out of his shell. She is a little insecure, but likes to see the positive side of things. She gets along very well with Bud, although sometimes she feels he is a little weird. Symbol: Llama (on her sweater)

Gideon Gleefull: Insecure, has little self-confidence, very skittish and anxious. Has a habit of chewing when he is thinking, like OG!Dipper (chewing on pens, his shirt, etc.). He didn't really know how to talk to Paz at first since the first time they met they were very little, what was she going to say?, was a "Hello" enough?, a handshake?, a complicated handshake?, was she going to ignore him? Paz simply gave him a big hug when she got off the bus (+ gave him a sweater she made on the way). Symbol: Telepathy star (in his hat)

Bud Gleefull: Ultimate scammer. Very friendly and funny, although sometimes a little intimidating. Bye Hawaiian shirts. Very patient with Gideon. He is basically the “cool uncle/dad”. He put Paz to work the day she arrived, although he became attached very quickly and gave her family privileges (he does the same with Gideon).

Mason “Dipper” Pines: He is still very insecure but is able to feign confidence when standing on stage with his sister. He still has a lot of passion for science, he is not very affectionate, he holds back his emotions as he does not want to look vulnerable, especially in front of Stanford. He has a lot of respect for Ford (or rather, fear), being his apprentice he sees him more as a teacher, a superior figure than as an uncle; however he has very little respect for Stan, threatening him and making fun of him. He does not usually use his amulet much, only to practice tricks or in his shows. He has a very distant relationship with his sister, similar to that of the Stan twins. They have many disagreements, but they still have each other's back, especially when Ford is aggressive with one of them. The most sincere relationship he has is with F, although he still treats him like an employee, knowing that he was one of the brilliant minds behind the portal he respects him. Sometimes he discusses theories and shares discoveries with him (although he is embarrassed to think that his only "friend" is an employee of his uncle). Once he met Gideon and Paz, he was able to show his more fragile side and be himself, although he doesn't consider them completely friends (that changes post-weirdmageddon). Symbol: Pine tree (a small pin)

Mabel Pines: A spoiled brat, basically. She's very charming and friendly on stage and with guests at the Pines' many parties, but she's very whiny and selfish behind the scenes. She's not at all affectionate, to the point that she hates physical contact, especially if it's from townspeople. She resents her brother a lot for being Ford's "favorite" (he doesn't really have favorites, he's just less strict with Dipper because he's useful to him). She's Stan's spoiled child, giving her what she wants when she wants it (they have a nice relationship actually, Stan being one of the only ones who comforts her when she's sad). Instead of knitting, she likes to design her own dresses and accessories for shows and parties (her guilty pleasure is arts & crafts, since it's a very "childish" activity for a Pines). Obsessed with Paz, but learns to respect her limits throughout the story. Symbol: Shooting Star (a small pin)

Stanley Pines: He basically swaps personalities with Bud, runs the Telepathy Tent, is very friendly, and is scared of his brother and the twins. He never gets involved in Ford's experiments, having a very tense relationship with him. He loves the twins very much but knowing the power they have with those amulets he prefers to go along with them and not question too much what they ask (he knows when to be firm but the one who really has an impact on them and can make them see reason is Ford). Symbol: Oyster(?? (on a necklace)

Stanford F. Pines: Did you think OG! Ford was a jerk? Well now he's twice as much! He doesn't have an ounce of empathy in him, he's very narcissistic and only cares about his projects and his image. He doesn't care at all about the twins, only seeing them as a way to make money, demanding the most out of them, and he doesn't hesitate to use violence if any of them get out of line. He's very distant with Stanley, speaking to him very dryly (or rather, barely speaking to him at all). He's almost a hermit, living in his laboratory, not letting the townspeople get to know him; although unlike OG! Ford, he cares a lot about how he presents himself in front of the public, taking care of his image and clothing. He's very demanding with Mabel, as he feels she's nothing more than a spoiled child, the image of the Telepathy Tent along with her brother. He is a bit kinder to Dipper, as he realizes that he has a brilliant mind for his age (though not more so than his own), so he includes him in many of his experiments and research if he proves useful; but excluding that, he is just as insensitive as he is with his twin, mistreating him if he does not comply with what is due. His relationship with McGucket is kinda weird: although they were friends in college, the power that Bill/Will offered him completely consumed him, being abusive to F, forcing him to work long nights, keeping him awake by force. He only sees him for his use: his great skill with mechanics (which Ford does not have, although he hates to mention it). Although he was in love with F while he was at Backupsmore, he currently has no romantic feelings towards him, considering him an employee, his assistant, nothing more. He has internalized homophobia (a gift from Filbrick) and classism, so he hates to remember when his relationship with F was one of equals, friends. It disgusts him to think about when he would get so emotional around him. Symbol: Six Fingered Hand (the diaries)

Fiddleford H. McGucket: He is still the brilliant mind he was in his youth, but stress eats him alive. He started to age very quickly thanks to it. He invented the memory gun to try to forget all the horrible things he witnessed or that Ford made him suffer, but his boss doesn't allow him to use it too much since it can damage his mental health and erase knowledge, making him less efficient and useful. He doesn't have a very deep relationship with Stanley, since he practically lives in the lab where Ford forces him to work, but they are able to talk whenever F has a break (almost never). He can't stand the twins too much, not only because he feels that they are very annoying, but because the simple presence of children in his day to day life reminds him a lot of Tate, with whom he no longer has contact. Everyone knows about the abusive relationship he has with Stanford, they are not indifferent to it but they try not to mention it or get involved in his affairs (practically out of fear of Ford).  Throughout his stay with Stanford he started developing an emotional dependence on him: not only did he make him feel that he was useless without him, but he uses violence on him when he is not fulfilling his duty, causing F to blame himself when this happens (What did he do wrong? What can he do to improve?). This got to the point where he started to hurt himself when he did not do something right. Ex: hitting himself when he noticed that his leg was bouncing in front of his anxiety (something that bothers Ford a lot), pulling out clumps of hair in front of the stress of not being able to achieve something, biting his nails, scratching himself, hitting his head (imagine Dobby from HP). Such actions and the mixed feelings he had towards Ford, made him develop masochism, enjoying when he inflicts pain on himself and when he is the victim of Ford's physical and psychological abuse, he clearly hid this for a while since it would look very unprofessional on his part.  Eventually his boss found out and used this to his advantage, being quite sadist himself (he enjoys watching or inflicting pain and/or humiliation on others, in this case, he gets sexual pleasure). So every time Ford needs to let off some steam, vent his frustrations (or is just horny), he uses Fiddleford to fulfill his fantasies, making F's wishes come true as well. He basically uses him as a sex toy, and F doesn't complain, having suffered so much emotional manipulation, he even considers himself lucky that his boss wants to be with him like this, even if it's NOT healthy. Symbol: Spectacles

Bill Cipher: I don't like the idea of ​​changing his name, so Bill stays. He's still the same chaotic demon as in the original series, but this time he's been tricked by Ford into working for him and doing his bidding. He's also forced to do the twins' bidding. We already know that Bill can change his shape and color, so I think all of his shame and self-pity manifests itself in his appearance, turning blue over time (any strong emotion makes him change his appearance). He manipulates Gideon and Paz, making them feel sorry for him so they'll do his bidding (it doesn't work, clearly). The people he has the most contact with are Ford and Fiddleford, as they spend most of their time in the basement where he's locked up.

So that's it. I don't really know how this timeline would work, considering the portal and the journals, but I just wanted to have fun with the character designs and relationships (I feel like the weirdmageddon would happen sooner than in the original timeline). If you want me to go deeper into certain relationships or characters, let me know!!(≧▽≦) I'll see if I can go deeper into the relationship between Ford and Fiddleford that you guys liked so much (you guys really like toxic yaoi, huh??). I'm thinking of making a fanfic or smt to explain their day to day life in the lab and how Ford invited F to work with him (SPOILER: it didn't go well...).

That's it ig, LIKE AND SUSCRIBE!!!1!!1!Σ(°ロ°)

[rsepetals]

request 𐙚 ony x actress!reader and ony gets jealous and possessive that readers co-star has to do a make out scene w her. nsfw, ony’s kinda mean thank you for the request sweetface!

“you’re cute when you’re jealous ony-bear.”

those were the words that set him off, the words that now had you twisted in the nastiest position. white manicured feet dangling over broad shoulders, a tattooed hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing just enough to make you gasp. he knows it’s your career, acting. he knows you sometimes have to do make-out scenes, but god, does it make his blood boil knowing so. the jealousy and frustration simmer beneath the surface, and as his mind drifts, his thrusts becoming exponentially harder, toe-curling. you can feel the tension in his muscles, every movement filled with a mix of anger and desire. “ohhh my fuckinggg-shit ony!”

"what was that cute shit you were talkin’ bout?” the dark-skinned man's voice carries a tone of jealousy. a part of you finds it endearing, while another part is annoyed by his behavior. you don't even know where to begin with him, and when he slams into a bundle of nerves, your eyes flutter shut pathetically. "that’s what i thought.” it’s got his head rolling back as your pretty pink pussy sucks him, the soft gush of you making him twitch. he’s so deep, so thick, you swear you could feel every ridge of him. a loud sob escapes you, arms tightening around his neck, nails digging into his shoulder blade, drawing blood. ony’s pace is nothing short of unforgiving, and all you can do is take him as he feeds you inch by inch.

it’s almost painful as you orgasm again, and as much as you try to hide the way your body convulses and shivers, ony catches it. the sight silently spurring him on, aiding him in his own climax. in an instant, he’s pulling out with a whimper. a relentless chant of your name as he pumps his shaft, spurts of warm cum decorating your tummy. it’s quiet for a moment, tension palpable as your eyes watch ony clean you. “m’sorry," he whispers breaking the dreadful quietness, his voice suddenly tender. face now in the curve of your neck, his breath sending warmth across your skin. "i know," you reply softly, running your fingers through his locs, feeling the tension gradually fade away.

"no, really. i'm sorry. i'm an asshole."

a giggle erupts from your lips, "you are." you say, but the playfulness is still evident in your voice.

"let me make it up to you."

"and how do you plan on doing that?"

he doesn’t reply, only beginning to place sloppy wet kisses down your chest, then your pudgy stomach. all the way down until he’s face to face with your slick cunt. "m’gna apologize to her.”