#anyway i liked all of their looks a lot even if most will never return (they only existed for Fashion and testing. mostly fashion)

[gotta-winwin]

b(a)d chemistry | j.ww

⭐ starring: jeon wonwoo 💌 genre: fluff/crack | wc: 2.2k 💬 preview: he had brown eyes that looked up at you from behind black-rimmed frames and a voice that scolded your intelligence so infuriatingly right.

cw/tw: chem major! wonwoo x lit studies! reader, sassy man apocalypse, crack, a lot of swearing

🪽fic rating: pg 13 ☁️ masterlist & a/n: i’m writing this in the library with my brightness all the way down. no shame. (maybe just a little shame). the great gatsby x wonwoo agenda is going to haunt every narrative i ever write :)) thank you to @gyubakeries for betaing!

now playing: she by harry styles, the way i loved you by taylor swift, party 4 u by charli xcx

this is an addition to my 500 followers event: click here to read the masterlist!

If heaven was for real, you thought it must look something like him. 

He had brown eyes that looked up at you from behind black-rimmed frames and a voice that scolded your intelligence so infuriatingly right. His fingers emphasized each page flip and his lips pursed against the side of his pencil, eyebrows furrowed with intense concentration and deep seeded fury. 

Jeon Wonwoo was a beast in the classroom and it made your wandering mind wonder how that passion might translate in bed.

“That’s wrong.” He always said it so simply, as if your mistakes were simply unsurprising and a fact. “Change it.”

You roll your eyes. There was a reason Wonwoo was still single despite being one of the most revered guys in your university, and it was because no one had yet to stand their ground when facing his stupid superiority complex and lack of tact. 

“This is dumb.” You poke at your test papers with the butt of your pen, slumping further down your seat. “Why do I have to take chemistry anyways? We’re not even in the same department.” 

He raised an eyebrow at your complaints. “You’re the one who signed up for the week-long major switch experiment.” 

Right. You let out a louder groan than the last. “Boooo..”

Wonwoo laughs, and your lips quirk into a suppressed smile.

“You won’t be laughing when it’s your turn. You swapped with me, remember? I’m a lit major.” 

Wonwoo pales. “I forgot about that.” 

There’s a shared smile that passes between the two of you, as if you were trading some silent understanding of a joke. He’s awfully pretty when he smiles. 

Wonwoo slaps your test paper and it jolts you out of your bubble of bliss. “Back to work, rookie. Your values are still wrong.” 

Never mind. He’s definitely heinous and ugly on the inside.

You watch his glasses slip down his nose. He looks so awfully pretty asleep. 

Shaking your head, you reach over to remove it, placing it on the table in front of him and returning back to your workbooks. 

Five hours later and chemistry was still gibberish to your eyes. 

“Hey, Y/N.” Seokmin stops at your table on his way out of the library, arms ladened with his own workbooks. You vaguely remember that he had switched majors with Seungkwan, trading in his music major for environmental science. It had to be some sort of sheer luck that the two had been paired together, for you knew both boys would succeed at either major anyway. 

“Hi Seok.” You smile lazily his way, glancing at the sleeping Wonwoo next to you. He had not stirred. 

“How’s the swap going?” 

You snort. “I hate chem. And Wonwoo’s berating is not helping.” 

“He’s just trying to help in a way he knows how to.” Seokmin defends the classroom beast and you realize you’ve forgotten that they’re actually pretty good friends.

“I don’t know how you put up with him, Seok. I’ve only been alone with him for less than a day and I want to rip my eyeballs out. Or his eyeballs, I don’t know yet.”

Seokmin laughs. “You’re funny.” He starts walking towards the exit, looking back at you with a smile on his face. “Good luck! Maybe finally having someone smarter than you will do you some good.” 

You’re offended, but you know he jests. “He is not smarter than me!” You protest. “I’m smarter than him, the fuck?” 

You fail to notice Wonwoo’s eyebrows furrowing in his sleep, his lips parting to counter your remark before closing again. 

“Good.” You give your sleeping project partner one last glance before returning to the stupid chemistry question. “Still sleeping. I hope it stays that way.” You mumble the last part mostly to yourself, your eyes already glazing over from the word problem. “Why is Sally mixing so many fucking liquids, just drink water or something.” 

Wonwoo snorts in laughter but passes it off as a snore. He peeks an eye open. You look awfully pretty when you’re frustrated. 

Wonwoo swears he’s not looking at you in an obsessive way. He insists it’s a perfectly normal way to be looking at someone, ignoring how it definitely feels more like a stare than a look. 

You’re hunched over the latest book in your repertoire, pen scratching whatever thoughts down in the margins. 

“Quit it.” Mingyu bumps his shoulder to catch his attention. “You’ll scare her. Hell, you’re scaring me.” 

“Shut up.” He ignores his friend and continues to look. You’re too engrossed in the novel to register his stares anyways. “I bet it’s some stupid book about yearning for love and way too much making out.” 

Mingyu rolls his eyes. “It’s about some guy who throws parties every night hoping one girl might show up.” For a sports major, Mingyu knows a surprising amount about books. 

Wonwoo frowns at the idea. “That’s dumb.” 

“Yeah.” 

He forces himself to look away, staring down at the sandwich in his hands instead. 

“You’re kind of doing that though. Don’t pretend like you didn’t beg Professor Choi to partner the two of you together so you could speak to her. You hate literature.” Mingyu smirks. “You know I’m fucking right.” 

“Shut the fuck up, bro.” 

You see Wonwoo smile a real smile for the first time when you show him your chemistry test grades. 

“Holy shit.” He grabs the papers from you, pushing his glasses up as if it could change the score he was seeing. 

“It’s good, right?” 

He smiles, and it’s one that’s full of teeth and so unguarded. “Yes. You did so well. I can’t believe-” He shuts up the moment he realizes he’s rambling. 

You point a finger at his face, the brightest expression on your face. “You were happy for me. You’re happy for me. You fucking smiled.” It’s a bigger win for you than the actual test score. 

He grabs the hand still pointing in his face and gently pushes it down. “Shut up.”

“Admit it.” You pester on. “Admit you’re happy for me.” 

“I’m happy you didn’t fail miserably.” 

“Shut the fuck up, Jeon.” You laugh when he grimaces. “You–”

His heart lurches because– just for a second– he thinks you’re about to say you’re in love with me. And you’d be right. 

“--smiled.” 

His shoulders sink along with his heart. 

He looked so awfully pretty happy. And you looked so awfully pretty when you were annoying him. 

You look at Wonwoo and realize you can see a future with him. He no longer enrages you with just one glance. You see him and he looks awfully boyfriend shaped. 

You mime a gag at the thought and he turns to look at you. 

“You good?” 

You nod. “Yeah, fine.” 

He’s mindlessly playing with the pages of the book you had given him. “Do I really have to read this? You know I’m going to ace the exam either way.” 

You frown. “You don’t read for the exam, you read to read.” 

“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve said all day.” 

You know he means it as a joke, yet the words sting anyways. “That’s mean.” You tell him. 

“It’s true though. It’s just words.” He pushes the book back to you. “I’m not wasting time on this.” 

The future you saw shatters right before your eyes. You shove the book back towards him. “Why do I even bother?” 

He watches as you leave, your hair bouncing in the afternoon wind. He frowns. He’s always been the smartest in the room. He’s always known exactly what to say. Yet one look at you and he’s rendered as dumb as any other guy. 

He hears you talking about him to his friends the next day. Mingyu has his hand around your waist, and although he knows how close you are with his roommates, it still rubs him the wrong way. 

He figures it hurts him more than usual because he knows he has no right to be feeling any sort of ownership towards you. 

“He’s an idiot.” He hears you complain to Seokmin and Mingyu. 

They nod solemnly. “It’s been known.” 

He fights the urge to roll his eyes. He hated when you insulted his intelligence. 

“And we all know I could’ve aced that chem test without him.” 

Now you were just lying. Wonwoo frowned at your words. 

“You know he’s hopelessly in love with you.” Mingyu tells you, and Wonwoo lets out a low groan. 

You roll your eyes. “Right. And Professor Choi’s in love with Professor Yoon.” 

“Yeah, that actually happened.”

Wonwoo ignores your shocked expression, cranking up the music blasting in his ears. It drowns out whatever Seokmin was enthusiastically telling you, his arms waving passionately in the air. 

Wonwoo knows you’d never love him back. He’s not that much of an idiot. 

His resolve breaks on the third day. Wonwoo’s confronted with the fact that he misses your usual bickering and the way you’d glare at him from behind your computer screen. He misses the sound of your nails clacking on the keyboard, how they’d grow more furious the more frustrated you became with him. He missed riling you up. But most of all, he missed those rare moments where you’d put your rivalry aside and smile at him in a way that made him believe– for a split second– that you could love him. 

Wonwoo finishes the book you gave him in two days. It would have taken him half the time, if it hadn’t been for the time he had taken to read your handwriting in the margins. 

It was the book Mingyu had been talking about, the book he had watched you read in the school courtyard that one time. 

“Angry, and half in love with her, and tremendously sorry, I turned away.” 

He liked that line, and the things you had written in the margins on the side. There is beauty in conversing in a language only two can understand. To the world it looks like fighting, to them it feels like finally finding a worthy opponent. 

Wonwoo can’t help but feel as if the whole novel was one long love letter from you, to him. 

“Y/N!” 

You turn to face him. Your body reacts to his voice despite your brain telling you not to. “What do you want, Jeon?” 

He pushes a battered copy of The Great Gatsby into your hands. Your copy. 

“I finished.” He’s a little breathless as he speaks, looking at you for a reply. 

“I thought–” 

He doesn’t let you finish. “I’m sorry. I was crass. And rude. And I’ve always been a little pretentious.”

“Yes, you have.” You turn to walk past him, but he steps in front of you, blocking your path. 

“Let me finish.” His brown eyes plead with yours, and you relent. 

“I’ve always been those things, you know that. You’ve called me out for it since preschool. But it doesn’t change the fact that you’re the only person I can spar with word for word. You throw my shit back harder and witter and the only time I truly feel alive is when I’m with you. Yes, I’m mean. I’m rude. I make fun of you all too much. But I-” 

He pauses. He can’t say it. That he loves you. 

“Read the book.” He says instead. “Please.” 

He looks awfully pretty begging. 

things i wish i said

god, i have a lot of that

got a bad habit of shoving my foot in my mouth

when i’m around you

like my mind’s spinning far too fast 

i swear i’m not usually like that

i wish i had told you how much i cared 

in such a way that made me fear

wish i had taken a moment to explain to you my mind

that i really do love you despite what it might look like

– that’s what i tell everyone

wish whatever i had to say you already knew

if you could hear exactly how i meant it

see exactly how i see you

feel the jumble of whatever i feel

when i said that i hated you

there were other things i left out

like the fact that i hate you because there was nothing else i could’ve felt

that would’ve made us make more sense 

that i really didn’t hate you, and my words were too harsh

i hated you cause i love you a little bit too hard

i hated the ten foot drop i feel when i see you

not you

i could never really actually hate you

Wonwoo sees you smile a real smile for the first time when you meet him for coffee after his literature exam.

You have an irritatingly smug expression on your face as you greet him. “I heard you failed your exam.” 

“Shut up.” He had failed his exam. “Words are not my forte, alright?”

“Look at that, Jeon Wonwoo, finally admitting he’s not good at something.” 

He laughs, and the sound echoes somewhere deep in your chest. “I guess I’m learning.”

“Nice juxtaposition in the poem, by the way.” You smile at him from behind your coffee mug. 

He frowns. “A what now?” 

You laugh and it feels like the fucking sun shining on his face. 

“I love you too, Jeon. Even if it was a shitty ass poem.” 

He smiles. It’s unguarded and full of teeth. 

[jazeswhbhaven]

Back in the fandom again and I was looking for your blog everywhere 😿 You were probably the most memorable writer to me about WHB lol. I really adore your works 🥹...

Is it okay if I ask a request? Maybe for the kings and some nobles from Gehenna!!

How about an MC that gets easily annoyed especially if it's painfully hot outside and the sun is just literally GLARINGGG towards them.

Not annoyed as in full on screaming. But annoyed in a way it's so easy to rile them up and get their brows all furrowed up and they're like "what????"

It's more on the humorous side hehe, I think it's funny and I maybe want their reactions to lean more onto that side, but still keep their usual errr behavior or personality??

Thank you!!!

Ahh hi anon, I'm glad you were able to find my blog again!! This means a lot saying that you like my works ✨😌

I'll do all the nobles from Gehenna btw, just because ^^ I don't talk about them enough so I just feel like I should

It's the hottest day in Gehenna, so much that even finding shelter in the shade still has you sweating up a storm. Thankfully it's just for a few days out of the year, but MC is not having it at all. "God it's so hot....I'm literally melting..."

Sitri: He's quick on his feet thinking about how to cool off MC. He's aware that the shade will only bring some relief but it's never enough. Thankfully, he's brought along some freshly made iced tea, made with a special ingredient that keeps you cool and refreshed for hours! Other devils have tried to take some, but he refuses to share. This was made for MC, everyone else will have to find other ways to cool off.

Ppyong: Oh no! MC is uncomfortable and this red lump is far too small to provide shade or any source of relief. But he does know of a place where they can hang out for a while without being directly under the sun's rays. A cafe ran by most of his red lump fans and family, small but quaint! Refreshing drinks, the coolest AC they managed to make with small parts and debris collected from previous battles they had to clean up. He always wanted to take MC here, and boy do they appreciate it.

Leraye: He offers to shoot the sun down, he's pretty sure he can do it. There's no target he can't hit! But after MC talks him out of even trying so he doesn't burn his eyes out, they opt for returning back to the palace where Leraye knows of a specific secret area he usually sets up his sniping gear during battles that has the perfect amount of shade and where the breeze hits just right. Plus...he managed to get some of Sitri's iced tea to give MC anyway lol

Paimon: Oh he hates the heat as much as MC does. Sweat slows him down and melts his pretty eye makeup! But have no fear, he's always prepared when it comes to the hottest days of Geheena. Cute sun hats, portable bladeless fans from Tartaros, and a special human skin friendly sunscreen that makes it feel like there's no sun at all! He's so proud to show off these trendy objects he got from the mall and is even more happy that they work well. Not to mention he wants MC to try out his minty lip gloss, *wink*

Astaroth: This weather is actually perfect for his snake so he's not too bothered by it. Nice and warm. However, he's aware that MC's annoyance with the heat and sun can't be too healthy. To compromise for both parties, he does have this magic parasol for MC to use. If you say the right poem/mantra it will literally start snowing underneath it. MC finds this parasol odd, but at least it's working! Astaroth was also amused, saying he had gotten it from a witch because she told him it would always keep his snake warm even when it's cold. Turns out it was the opposite.

Zagan: The sun always looks flawless on this devil's sun kissed skin, so a few more rays and heat won't do a thing. However, he'd do anything make sure MC is comfortable, so he writes up a special talisman they can use that works like an all over body ice pack. He's even brought a whole stack of them just in case the one MC has on right now gets damaged. And so they don't feel left out, he wears one too. Now they can enjoy their morning walk together without much discomfort! A bonus is that Zagan tied his hair up for this occasion.

Satan: "You're pissed off? So am I...it's too damn hot!" Satan actually does not like the heat at all, especially when he has to move around and do things. It's not really the sweat, but it's more so the combination of sun rays AND the radiating heat from the ground. Plus he can't stand the jokes Mammon makes about how it shouldn't bother him since heat rises and he's further to the ground than he is 💀 So, to make it bearable for him and MC he just literally takes them around on his bike so the wind cools them off from how fast he's going. He also doesn't mind spending all day at his bike shop, the AC there is really nice.

Mammon: "Come closer to me, Master. I'll block the sun's rays for you." And no kidding does that actually help! MC is immediately shrouded in Mammon's shadow which provides quick relief from the glaring sun in Tartaros. And if that wasn't a plus already, his Ai bots fly around and spray a cool mist, similar to how you see the mist stations at Zoos during the summer. The sun is no bother for this big guy, all it does is glisten against his golden skin as he soaks it up. He could do this all day.

Beelzebub: "You know, I don't mind that you're all sweaty..." Beel ofcourse is a tease when MC is rather upset about how hot it is. Not to mention that Abyssos is mostly a concrete jungle, so the pavement is hot too. But, he's not gonna torture MC for long, offering solace by whisking them away to the grasslands of Abyssos. There's trees for miles, amazing shade, and a few lakes with water so cold you'd think it should be frozen. These are places he escapes too when he does return, and now MC knows he little hideouts. Just gotta make sure Bael doesn't know about this.

Leviathan: "If you're that uncomfortable at least do something about it." Leviathan considers MC's mild complaint about the heat slightly annoying, but they do have a point. Why is it so hot today in Hades when normally the sun doesn't shine much here? Levi opts to take MC back to the palace, where his room is the coldest compared to everywhere else. He doesn't even mind if they stay in there all day because he didn't want to be outside in the first place and he has paperwork to look over. Levi even goes so far that he's moved his desk temporarily so he can MC can be in the same room. But don't mention that...

Lucifer: "Ah, the greenhouse is normally not this warm. Here drink this." Similar to Sitri's iced tea recipe, Lucifer has his own brew that provides not only instant relief from the heat and sun, but prevents migraines, and heat exhaustion for at least 24 hours. He created this one time when Gamigin passed out from traveling the desserts of Tartaros to heal a devil. He also has changed a few things around to make sure MC doesn't ingest anything they're allergic to. But being the doctor he is, he sticks around MC just to make sure nothing happens at least until it's safe for them to be alone.

Belphegor: "Quit yer bellyachin', ain't nothin' but a little heat and sun." Well, at least for him anyway the heat has no affect on him. He could sleep through an entire damn fire if he must. But he's immediate solution to keep MC cool is to drag them to his room, turn on the AC to the lowest setting, and it's freezing cold now. The only source of heat in the room is his body and his bed. Could this have been his plan all along? Either way now MC doesn't have to be in the sun, and Belphie gets to sleep in a cold dark room. Everyone wins.

Asmodeus: "The sun highlights the best parts of you, my dear. Oh and how you look with sweat rolling off your body..." Asmo is definitely no help when the heat is unbearable in Abaddon. For some odd reason it is unusually hot though most areas in this country are shaded or cloudy. But also, MC's annoyance is a turn on for this devil in fact anything they do is, but it's not like he's going to let them suffer for too long. He knows a place, deep within the castle walls on the top floor. Nope, not his room, but another place he seldom tells others about. To MC's surprise it's filled with everything meant to cool you down during those hot summers on earth, including an indoor pool chilled to perfection. For now Asmo enjoys the amenities with MC no strings attached, but eventually...skinny dipping in said pool was gonna be on the agenda.

[melrosing]

ok so over the years I have had a LOT of asks about whether I really believe that Jaime's story is a redemption arc and I don't humour them as much as I used to bc apart from having made most of the pertinent points many times over, I do think it's just self-evident in the text, and indeed in GRRM's own statements in interview.

plus, it is an extensive and detailed arc - it's like being asked over and over again to explain why I think Arya's arc is about identity. there are any number of answers you can give, but just how long is an exhaustive answer, who has the time, and isn't it obvious anyway???

and the thing is that when ppl come to u asking you to contradict an 'anti-redemption' take, what they're generally asking u to argue with is like. a carefully curated twt thread of quotes that, sure, compiled like that can look like an argument.... but honestly, you can make any argument you like in that way. and such 'arguments' are exhausting to disagree with because you'd have to carefully re-contextualise each and every quote, which ofc, have been deliberately de-contextualised, and frame your argument around each. and I think that just brings me to the plainer point that these people are not writing real analysis of the text. they're running through a book with a highlighter pen, which is really only the prep for an actual analysis.

you cannot make a point about a character's arc by isolating lines to say 'quotes that show X being Y, therefore foreshadowing Z', or, for example, 'quotes that show Jaime thinking about Cersei, therefore foreshadowing that he will romantically return to her' or whatever. this doesn't work because what this style of 'analysis' completely fails to do is account for the structure of the story they're reckoning with.

I think a lot of ppl like to pretend with ASOIAF that structure does not work the same way here as it does in another narrative, because GRRM likes twists. and I disagree. for example, something people like to say about ASOIAF is that you can never consider your faves truly safe, but I think that's been vastly overstated. we know Arya isn't dying before she returns North, because fundamentally we know how stories work. we know Arya's story points back to Winterfell - that her story is about the long journey home. we know she's not dying in Braavos because: we just do. there's a reason that if you poll people on who is surviving this story, Arya will rank pretty highly, along with Sansa and Bran. people sense the structure behind the Stark kids' stories - they somehow know, without being told, that the story is not building to their deaths.

because all of us have grown up with stories, we have an innate sense of their rhythm, and how they're supposed to go. they can surprise us, but if we've learnt anything from Game of Thrones, I hope it's that the twist cannot come from nowhere. ASOIAF succeeds because GRRM pays close attention to these rhythms. even as he's making it up on the fly, he is clear about what beats go where. they may last longer than in a different story - in another book, Arya would probably be home by now - but we still understand what each beat plays in a broader arc.

and an arc is SUPPOSED to broadcast itself. sometimes it's subtle, other times it's not, but generally it is not something that you can only recognise has taken place at its very end point. even though Arya has not yet fully reclaimed her name, we know she will. likewise for Sansa. even though Bran has not come into his powers, we know he will. we DO actually understand that.

so when people say that Jaime is not redeemed yet and his prevarications in the Riverlands means he never will be, they're either 1) consciously or subconsciously denying the arc they can sense GRRM is writing, or 2) they're just not that media literate. it's there, it's obvious, it's broadcast clear as day. Jaime starts bad. we get to know him. he proves himself capable of better. he decides to pursue better. he is constrained in his pursuit of betterment. he breaks free of that constraint to pursue betterment properly. and yes, this probably is a tragedy where Jaime's best efforts will still cost him dearly, and there's a strong chance he does die! but your baby trebuchet quote collection is not accounting for the clear narrative beats of a redemption arc, which the baby trebuchet actually feeds into if u were paying attention! this arc has not been painstakingly set up for a rug pull. Arya is not being set up to go 'fuck it actually I'm no one and I'm staying in Braavos'. that is not satisfying. that is not what stories are for. that is not what GRRM is doing.

so when GRRM tells you that this is a story about redemption: believe him! he knows what he is writing! the struggles of some twt user who hates Jaime should not be concerning you! and as we've said 100 times: it IS up to you whether you forgive Jaime, same as it's up to you if you forgive Sandor, or Theon, or Zuko your spiritual king! that choice is yours! but your feelings do not change what trajectory this story is taking! so yes MY GOD it is a redemption arc now let me die

[yukkuo]

ROVER NATION IS STARVED AND WE ARE ON OUR KNEES FOR ANY SORT OF FOOD TO GET BY 😭😭😭 I loved your rover hcs post oh my goodness!! so I couldn't help but come by to drop some ingredients 💛💛

MRover whose resting face is just that damn puppy eyes like his (spiritual) tail is perpetually wagging...Reader cannot handle it with their cuteness aggression and ends up pinching the hell out of his cheeks!! Rover playfully fights back but you know, Lord Arbiter and Mighty Godkiller and all that he easily overpowers them without thinking...which ends in them mutually flustered 🤯🤯🤯

- RoverGlazer9000 💚

𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

Probably OOC, swearing, Rover being a cutie, misspelling,

HELLO SORRY THIS IS A BIT LATE I HAD STATE EXAMS BUT I'M FREE NOW‼️ Also this is so cute. I'M SORRY ROVERGLAZER9000 IF I GOT THIS WRONG OR IF IT'S NOT TO YOUR LIKING I TRIED MY BEST💔. Also real cause why is there no Rover things.

Travelling with Rover was certainly something. Adventurous for sure, caught up with a lot of drama and finding out who he was and what he did. Because what do you mean you're standing besides the founder of Jinzhou and the Black shores??

Anyways, it was difficult to believe such things. Especially when you as much as glance at him, a hard task to keep a straight face when serious situations happen. All because he was too..

Cute.

And it's not only because you had happen to like him, he was generally pleasing to the eye (in your opinion at least), but it was the way his resting face made you notice that he resembled a puppy, especially around you. Sometimes you even think he actually had a tail when you ask him for something, you have to blink a few times or subtly pinch yourself just to make sure you weren't going crazy. Most of the time, he would stare at nothing in particular while he was thinking, his face would relax and it would simply remind you of a puppy.

Maybe it was just your imagination.

So here you are, walking besides him while you stare at his face. He was staring ahead, yet he couldn't help but start to wonder why you were suddenly so fixated on him. Was there something on his face? Did you want him to start a conversation?

It wasn't until you got a hold of his arm, making him stop on his tracks while he turned his head towards you. Your blank face beginning to make him nervous, were you made at him?

"Whats wrong?" He asked as he maintaining his composure. And for a moment, for a split moment you swear you saw dog ears droop and the tail stop wagging.

"..." You only stared and stared, it was starting to get him more nervous than he already was.

"[Name]..?"

You let go of his arm, reaching up to his face with both hands before cupping his cheeks. His eyes widened, and right there and then the tail starting wagging fast as his ears perked up.

His puppy demeanor had enchanted you.

"You're so.." You inhaled, eyebrows furrowed. He was so cute. Why was he like this? It was like he had bewitched you so you could look at him and never tear your gaze away. Like it was intentional to have your attention and eyes on him at all times.

"Wha— ACK!" He flinched when you suddenly started pinching his cheeks. Stretching them and making them sting by the slightest, his hands coming up to your wrists and holding them. But he didn't tear them away, not yet at least.

"[Namesh]! T-that shtings!" He whined, he had absolutely no idea what had gotten into you. You started moving his head around gently, your eyebrows pressed together as your lips pressed into a thin line.

"You're too cute!! WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT TO BE SO CUTE??!" You began to shake him a bit, a difficult task to keep your emotions in check as you try not to make him fall.

You suddenly feel hands hold your cheeks, stretching them the same as you were to Rover. He managed to grab yours in return, now both of you pinching each others cheeks.

"Letsh go.."

"Yoh firsht.."

A battle amongst you both in who would release first. You? Or the all mighty God killer.

It didn't take long before you both started shaking each other, not enough to make you both stumble to the ground, but enough to show the gentle aggression held for one another.

It didn't take long before Rover was the one who managed to get control of the situation, coming out as the victory when you let go of his cheeks and held onto his wrists.

"Yeah doesn't feel so good now does it??" With a playful jest, it was his turn to shake you a bit. His cheeks still stung but he ignored it, a small price to pay.

"I'm shorrryy.." You whined, eyes shut as he tormented you cheeks while he chuckled.

It didn't take long before his cuteness aggression died down (not really) and he let go of your face. You held your face with a small whimper as it stung, consequences of your actions.

"Sorry sorry.. I didn't hurt you right?" He chuckled again.

"Other than pulling on my cheeks as if they were made out of rubber.. No, you did not" you sent a playful glare at his direction.

"A haha..." He cleared his throat, avoiding you gaze as his cheeks were coated in a red. Most likely from pinching them, you think.

"So.. You think I'm cute?" He asked.

"Huh?" You blinker once, twice. Then it hit.

Oh my God you called him cute without even thinking. You might as well as kill yourself on the spot got letting that slip out.

"Uhm.. I mean, y-yeah? Well you're cute in general— I'M NOT SAYING YOU'RE NOT TO ME!! I just meant it like— everyone finds you cute yeah!—"

"I'm glad."

"..?" You blinked, looking at him as his head was turned away from you. Yet you managed to spot the bright red color on his ears. Now it was your turn to be red, face and all, head to toes.

[wackywatchdotcom]

hiii !!! love ur art lots, so i've been wondering, what program/app and brushes you use? i love the paper effect you give to your drawings, makes me want to eat em /pos

thank you so much!!!! i appreciate that a lot :D!!!!

(accidentally rambled a lot abt this HAHA)

i use medibang!! ive been using it forrrr maybe like 7ish years now... ive been meaning to one day get clip studio or something but i havent had the chance to buy it and im also a little intimidated at the idea of having to readjust to a new program HAHA

i use a few different brushes!! it depends on what im drawing and what i feel like using at the time (i should probably plan them out more often, actually)

oil paint, g pen, fluffy watercolor, and round brush (wet) are all brushes that come with medibang!!! i know i made Another Marker myself, and im pretttttty sure i made the first marker one too? my favorites are round brush and g pen though!!! i tend to use fluffy watercolor more for colors rather than lineart

(i also keep correction at around 12, i would use it more since my hands arent the steadiest but i find high correction to be kinda confusing so i just keep it low)

the paper effect is smth i learned liiiike maybe two years ago ish? and i have simply KEPT doing it ever since HAHA i do wanna mess around with more textures cus i dont want to be too reliant on just one texture for my art but it IS very fun and i like it...

medibang has a feature that makes it REALLY easy to do!!

custom noise is my BEST friend. the sand, watercolor paper (specifically 2), and marker paper (specifically 2) are the ones i use most often!!!

i also will copy n paste color layers and lineart layer, add gaussian blur and do like 200 layer effects (i most often do this to lineart, then set it to hard light and somewhere between 30-60% opacity to mimic bleeding from ink!!). i DO often experiment w messing w colors wo layer effects cus its fun but sometimes its just more fun to use layer effects instead!!

medibang also has materials!!

i dont use them as often but i like this one :D ive used it on a handful of things

and just for fun!!! things look suuuper different without this stuff. like the thing i just posted used a LOT of this (to be honest its cus i really really didnt wanna do shading for it LOL but it still felt too flat and i feel like these effects are a nice middle ground- but i will still often use this stuff when i AM shading things)

sometimes i will also use similar custom noise textures but for different parts of the image!!! like in this one i had a waatercolor texture for the bg but a seperate one for the foreground

i DIIID a while back post a pic of kinger (its an older post on this acc- not old by most standards but it was during the first little while after i made this blog while i was still finding my footing w the characters) that used a bunch of different textures which i got from freestocktextures.com!! but i havent used them since. i keep thinking i should again

ANYWAY thats basically it!!!! i looove medibang theres a bunch of little things ive figured out abt using it over the yrs that im so fond of it. and THANK U again!!!!!! :']

[valiant-portabella-pirkko]

alright, time for some post-beta screens:

Inventor Irvyn - Engineer (Holosmith)

Glaucia Razetalon - Revenant (Renegade)

Postumus Skyslicer - Ranger (Soulbeast)

and a bonus dabbing Ruju that absolutely nobody asked for:

[mcmansionhell]

namesake mcmansion

Howdy folks! Today's McMansion is very special because a) we're returning to Maryland after a long time and b) because the street this McMansion is on is the same as my name. (It was not named after me.) Hence, it is my personal McMansion, which I guess is somewhat like when people used to by the name rights to stars even though it was pretty much a scam. (Shout out btw to my patron Andros who submitted this house to be roasted live on the McMansion Hell Patreon Livestream)

As far as namesake McMansions go, this one is pretty good in the sense that it is high up there on the ol' McMansion scale. Built in 2011, this psuedo-Georgian bad boy boasts 6 bedrooms and 9.5 baths, all totaling around 12,000 square feet. It'll run you 2.5 million which, safe to say, is exponentially larger than its namesake's net worth.

Now, 2011 was an anonymous year for home design, lingering in the dead period between the 2008 black hole and 2013 when the market started to actually, finally, steadily recover. As a result a lot of houses from this time basically look like 2000s McMansions but slightly less outrageous in order to quell recession-era shame.

I'm going to be so serious here and say that the crown molding in this room is a crime against architecture, a crime against what humankind is able to accomplish with mass produced millwork, and also a general affront to common sense. I hate it so much that the more I look at it the more angry I become and that's really not healthy for me so, moving on.

Actually, aside from the fake 2010s distressed polyester rug the rest of this room is literally, basically Windows 98 themed.

I feel like the era of massive, hefty sets of coordinated furniture are over. However, we're the one's actually missing out by not wanting this stuff because we will never see furniture made with real wood instead of various shades of MDF or particleboard ever again.

This is a top 10 on the scale of "least logical kitchen I've ever seen." It's as though the designers engineered this kitchen so that whoever's cooking has to take the most steps humanly possible.

Do you ever see a window configuration so obviously made up by window companies in the 1980s that you almost have to hand it to them? You're literally letting all that warmth from the fire just disappear. But whatever I guess it's fine since we basically just LARP fire now.

Feminism win because women's spaces are prioritized in a shared area or feminism loss because this is basically the bathroom vanity version of women be shopping? (It's the latter.)

I couldn't get to all of this house because there were literally over a hundred photos in the listing but there are so many spaces in here that are basically just half-empty voids, and if not that then actually, literally unfinished. It's giving recession. Anyway, now for the best part:

Not only is this the NBA Backrooms but it's also just a nonsensical basketball court. Tile floors? No lines? Just free balling in the void?

Oh, well I bet the rear exterior is totally normal.

Not to be all sincere about it but much like yours truly who has waited until the literal last second to post this McMansion, this house really is the epitome of hubris all around. Except the house's hubris is specific to this moment in time, a time when gas was like $2/gallon. It's climate hubris. It's a testimony to just how much energy the top 1% of income earners make compared to the rest of us. I have a single window unit. This house has four air conditioning condensers. That's before we get to the monoculture, pesticide-dependent lawn or the three car garage or the asphalt driveway or the roof that'll cost almost as much as the house to replace. We really did think it would all be endless. Oops.

If you like this post and want more like it, support McMansion Hell on Patreon for as little as $1/month for access to great bonus content including a discord server, extra posts, and livestreams.

Not into recurring payments? Try the tip jar! Student loans just started back up!

[mechsangel]

lucky charm , ft. bllck

what the blue lock boys' good luck charm is | itoshi sae, shidou ryusei, nagi seishiro, michael kaiser

itoshi sae

i can imagine you getting him some kind of bracelet that he wears 24/7. he won't do anything like kiss it before a game because he thinks it's embarrassing. he doesn't think he needs luck—he's got talent, after all—but he still won't take it off. when you gifted him the bracelet, he probably didn't look all that impressed with it. but when you told him “i'll return it if you don't like it” he just scoffed and never even answered you. trust me, that's sae's version of the no, it's mine forever now. and he literally never takes it off. like. he wears it to his games, in the shower, at interviews. he gives no fucks.

he never talks about it though. he doesn't even like when you bring it up. he's just embarrassed ,, he's just a silly little guy.

shidou ryusei

i'm not going to be nsfw here but trust me, i could be. he's my favourite little freak. <3 but alas ,

his good luck charm is a kiss from you. i'm not talking about a little brush of your lips, no. i'm talking about a full on kiss, tongue and everything, before every single one of his games. if you're willing, he'll make a show out of it too. he'll make out with you right in the stadium after threatening the coach to let you sit on the bench with the team as opposed to somewhere in the audience.

he'll come out of the locker room, run up to you and just pull you into a kiss. if he could, he'd do it after every single one of his goals too. (he's probably tried this and figured out pretty quickly that it doesn't work all that well in the middle of a game)

nagi seishiro

nagi is a low effort type of guy. he likes easy things and he doesn't want to over complicate literally anything. so for him, i imagine it'd be something simple and sweet: a hug. before one of his games, you'll give him a tight hug & kiss on the cheek to seal the deal.

“do your best, sei!” you'll say and he'll complain and whine that it's a hassle, but at the end of the day, he will try to do his best for you. and so far, it's worked pretty well.

sometimes though, he won't want to leave your embrace. he'll just keep holding onto you until you have to literally pull him off because he needs to get to the locker room to get changed for the game. bribe him with cuddles and a gaming session if he does well and he'll let go—but not without complaining and whining.

michael kaiser

he has a lot of tattoos. so before an important game, you'll get a sharpie and add a little drawing to them. other people rarely see it since he's got to keep his arms covered most of the time during games anyway, but he knows it's there and it makes him want to be even better—want to impress you even more.

the night before a game, you'll add a cute little sketch of a cat to his arm with a little heart and he literally will not shower until after the game, just to make sure it stays there. i don't think it's so much about luck for him, i think it's just a reminder that you're watching him and he needs to be the best on the field.

[strwberri-milk]

hii can i ask u to write hc about boys when they say something in conversation that will hurt mc, for example when they will mention her appearance like rafayel in ebb when he said 'its round like u'. hope u have great dayy<33

Zayne, being a doctor, has lots of opinions about some of your unhealthier habits. He doesn't share them all the time because he never wants to come off as nagging but you don't need him to say anything to know that he's staring at you judgmentally. He averts your gaze when you turn to him but it's already too late.

You feel yourself becoming demoralised, whatever you were doing totally abandoned as you decide to leave. Zayne knows exactly what happened, cursing himself for not keeping himself in check around you. He just can't help but worry, wanting to see you take care of yourself. The second you try to leave he grabs your wrist, apologising as he tells you it's just because he loves you.

He promises to use his words next time. You sniffle a little, deciding to act a little immature as you tell him that the issue is that he makes it very clear what he thinks. You'd rather him just tell you rather than look at you judgmentally, Zayne unaware just how it looked to you. Generally, he keeps his expression neutral but whenever it comes to you he wears his heart on his sleeve. Or he thinks he does - you've just become so attuned to him that you know what every slight quirk of his brow means.

Xavier also does micro expressions that seem a little judgemental, generally whenever you say something he finds a little odd. He isn't sure if it's just because he's missing some context but when he does it one too many times in a conversation you begin to mutter an apology for boring him.

He's tripping over himself to try and correct you, wanting to tell you that it's not that he's bored, he's just struggling to follow the conversation. You confront him by telling him that even when he's following the conversation just fine he still makes faces at you sometimes. He's now forced to admit that he thinks he makes faces the more tired he gets, body subconsciously trying to get the conversation to end so he can go flop onto the nearest fluffy surface.

However, since it hurts your feelings he does his best to monitor himself, trying to be more active in your conversations. You can see how tired he is though, taking pity on him and telling him to go take a nap. You'll be there to infodump on him when you wake up anyway.

Rafayel says things off handedly, especially when he's not feeling well. Normally you can take it well but today you just couldn't, his passive insult hitting you hard. He watches your face cloud over, brows furrowing as he tries to understand what this sudden shift in your mood is attributed to.

You make it clear it's because of what he said about you, the one statement being the straw that broke the camel's back. You ignore him, not wanting to even look at him as you walk away from him. You try to cool off, your mind spinning as his unintentional words play over and over again. It takes you a while before you can even speak to him normally and when you seek him out he looks like a scolded dog.

He immediately perks up when he sees you, apologising profusely when you come back to him. Despite being mad at him, you also know he provides the most comfort so you crawl into his lap and begin to scold him. He takes it in stride, knowing that he messed up and promising that he'll take better note of your mood to know when he should and shouldn't joke with you about things like that.

Sylus has a sharp tongue like Rafayel but he sounds slightly more "serious" when he says those things. His voice doesn't lend well to jokes unfortunately, meaning that if you're feeling a little more raw one day then you're going to take his words seriously, just like today.

He doesn't let you run from him though - grabbing you and asking you what the problem is. You normally can take his teasing, returning it to him twofold. When you don't quip at him he knows something is wrong, waiting for you to use your words and tell him. He's patient whenever it comes to you thankfully, letting you take your time. You struggle in his grip a little, not wanting to tell him right away but the warmth he provides is just too good so you bury yourself in his chest, telling him that he hurt your feelings.

He coos at you sweetly, telling you how adorable you are and apologising by peppering your face in kisses. He hates making you sad and even if he doesn't overtly say it, you know he regrets it by how he's careful not to insult you if you don't start it first, using how you speak to him as a gauge before returning with some of his usual playful nips at you.

[majinbangus]

happy birthday little simon

"You're inviting me to the lad's birthday?"

At this point in time, he kind of expects to get a knock on his door more times in a week than he ever did during the entire duration he's lived in this flat. Most weekdays- when you leave for work and drop off your lad at school- the boy likes to make a quick stop to say good morning. It's become somewhat of a routine. Sometimes it's a sleepy greeting, but little Simon is a cheerful child who has taken an odd liking to him, and vice versa.

"If you can make it."

Then there's you. The sunny child's mother. An easy presence to be in. Refreshing like the ocean breeze during a calm day. Something addictive he can't get enough of.

"When is it?"

This is new. You switched up the routine by coming a second time at midday after he returned from the gym, freshly showered. You faired better when he opened the door compared to that one time. Granted, he was fully dressed, but it was a little disappointing; however, you did have a reason for visiting.

He could tell by the tension surrounding your eyes. Focused like you were on a mission. He supposes you technically are on one. Inviting Simon to your boy's birthday.

"Saturday."

He furrows his brows. "This Saturday?"

"Yes."

"That's tomorrow."

"I know it's a bit last minute, but..." You sigh, running a frustrated hand over your face, frowning at the ground. "No one RSVP'd."

"No one?" Simon nearly growls, offended on the lad's behalf. "What about his friends? The little fuckers don't want to come?

You purse your lips, crossing your arms. "We sent out invites to all his classmates, but ever since we moved, Simon's been having trouble making friends."

"He has trouble?"

"It's not his fault!" You snap before grimacing, lowering your voice, "Sorry, it's just... Simon tries to make friends, but kids are mean, you know? They're young, but they already have their established friend groups and exclude him because he's new."

New. Different. Any reason along those lines. It doesn't matter to kids. Or it does, and that's why they're unjustly cruel to their peers. He understands. Simon grew up with many of his schoolmates avoiding him for being 'weird', not knowing his home life. Tommy had 'friends' but they weren't exactly a good crowd.

"So you want me to come?" Simon asks, and he's met with a tired expression he's never seen on you before—not even when you were sick and weak and needed to be looked after. You look as if you hold the weight of the world on your shoulders, about to collapse.

"He tries not to let it get him down, but if no one shows up..." You bite your lip, a flash of pain in your eyes at the thought of your son hurting. "Please? He likes you, and even if you're the only one who shows up, it'll mean a lot to him."

Simon looks at you. Really looks at you and takes in the desperation in your eyes. You look as if you'd do anything to convince him to come. Even fight him. Tie him up. Anything to drag him to your son's party. You'd probably do it, mother bear that you are.

But you don't need to do that. You won't ever have to fight another battle. Not if he can help it. Simon will fight your battles for you from now on.

"I'll come."

You have his devotion. You and your boy.

"Really?" You brighten up, the hopeless look in your eyes washing away.

He nods. "I'll bring a mate with some brats around your lad's age. They're friendly. They'll like him."

"Will they? Are you sure your friend will be okay with it?"

"They will, and the bastard owes me one, anyway."

No, he doesn't, but Johnny will pull through. Him and his seemingly endless amount of nieces and nephews, although he'll only need to bring a few.

A wide smile breaks out on your face, bright like the sun, and oh- that's where your boy got his grin. Without warning, you leap into his arms, forceful enough to make him grunt. You hug him, burying your face into his shoulder with Simon's hands hovering at your waist, fingers twitching.

It's rare to catch him off guard. So many new sensations fill his senses. Your warmth, surrounding him like a blanket; your scent, sweet and calming with a freshness to it that makes him want to bury his face into your neck and inhale. Or maybe he would bite into your soft skin to see if you taste as pleasant as you smell. If he wasn't so controlled, he probably would sate his curiosity right now.

You stiffen, your body tensing as if you're aware of what you've done, and move to back away, but Simon stops you, resting his hands on your hips. You gently melt your body against his again.

"Thank you, Simon," You softly murmur into his shoulder. It's a quiet sound, but he hears it and lets his arms wrap you in a full hug. You melt against his body, sighing. He doesn't think he's ever felt so warm before. "And just so you know... it means a lot to me, too, that you're coming."

-

Simon: > Johnny

Johnny: > Yeah, lt?

Simon: > You busy tomorrow?

Johnny: > Yes? > I have a date with that bonnie piano teacher I told you about > ... why

Simon: > Cancel it > Have something I need you to do

Johnny: > Work related?

Simon: > No

Johnny: > Then why can't you do it?

Simon: > I'm already on it > Cancel your date

Johnny: > Then why do you need me? > I'm not gonna cancel my date you dobber

-

"Cannae believe ye made us come all the way to fuckin' Manchester. Do y'know how many fuckin' hours ye made us drive, Ghost? The wee ones didnae like gettin' up so arse fuckin' early, either-"

"Shut up, Johnny. You owed me one."

"I didnae?!"

A giggle from Soap's bonnie piano teacher. "You're accent thickens when you're upset, John."

"Today was supposed to be our date!"

"It's not so bad. I still get to spend time with you."

"... Guess not, but I'll take you out proper tomorrow, promise."

"See, Johnny? Everyone wins."

"Awa’ an bile yer heid, Ghost."

-

Despite all his complaining, Johnny is a good guest and keeps the children entertained, playing the part of the fun uncle by letting the kids wrestle or play tag with him, not minding the grass stains as they roughhouse in the park. Currently, he's playing an informal football game with them—six vs. one. He's mostly blocking the ball from entering the goal, but it's still fun for all of them.

Little Simon is extra happy with his new friends. He's been smiling nonstop since they all introduced themselves, grin extra proud when he revealed his name.

("Like Uncle Simon's?"

"Yeah, he says it's a fine name!")

You also haven't stopped smiling ever since they arrived. Not quite as big as your boy's grin, but it still hasn't left. You and Soap's date get along swimmingly, too. He can already tell you'll be good friends with the teacher.

"Not gonna join them?"

Simon looks to see you standing next to him under the tree, watching the children as Soap 'misses' a shot from one of his nephews.

"Where's your friend?" He asks instead.

"Went looking for a bathroom." You gesture vaguely in the direction Soap's date disappeared off to. "So, not gonna play?"

He shakes his head. "Johnny's got it."

"Oh?" The suspiciously innocuous tone makes his eyes narrow. "Is it because he's the better footballer between you two?"

Simon slowly turns towards you, glaring with no real heat, but it still doesn't stop your panicked giggle when he takes a half step in your direction, making you back up against the tree. He gets closer and leans into your space, nearly brushing his front against yours. You audibly gulp, and Simon places a palm on the tree, hand right next to your head. He gets close to your face, watching your eyes widen then dart down to look at somewhere on the bottom half of his face before meeting his eyes again. You bite your lip.

"Repeat that for me, sweetheart." Simon growls softly, and you give a sharp, little inhale.

"U-um. I'd rather... not." Your voice comes out breathy, and you place a hand on his chest as if to stabilize yourself.

"I wasn't asking." He doesn't give you a chance to breathe, leaning in closer, and your fingers dig a little into his pec, making his muscles flex under your touch. "I'll say again: repeat that for me."

With nowhere to run, pinned to a tree, you tremble against his body, breathing heavily and barely able to meet his eyes, licking your lips. It takes you a moment to build up the nerve to speak with Simon surrounding your senses.

"I um... I um-"

"Simon, Uncle Johnny said to come play with us!"

Instantly, he backs away from you and turns around to see your boy running over. Behind him, he hears you exhale a quiet, little, "Fuck..."

Fuck, indeed.

He turns his attention to the lad once he comes to a stop in front of him. "Is that what he said?"

"Uh-huh! He said we're giving him trouble, and it'll make it more fair so he's not the only one guarding."

Simon looks over to where Johnny stands with the football held casually to the side between his arm and waist. The man smirks knowingly, glancing between you and Simon before giving a cheeky wave. He glares back. "I'll show him trouble."

"What did you say, Simon?"

He looks back at your boy. "Nothing. I'll come play."

The lad's eyes brighten with a celebratory cheer, grabbing his wrist and leading the way to the field. Simon looks back to see you better composed, if a little disheveled, but smiling nonetheless at the two like they're the only ones who matter.

-

After cake and presents, the children return to playing football with the new football that Soap gave as a present for little Simon, along with your boy wearing a jersey from the Scot's favorite team. A petty move from Soap, in Simon's opinion, but he'll let him have this one. He'll get your boy cheering for Man United soon enough.

The adults hang back in their own pairs. Soap and his date finally getting a moment to themselves, nibbling on cake and talking about whatever it is they talk about at the picnic table, and you and Simon are back under the tree, keeping a respectable distance between each other.

"Kid seems happy," Simon idly notes, watching your boy laugh and play with the younger MacTavish's. "You did good."

"Me?" You glance at him. "You were the one to bring a tiny tribe to Simon's birthday. Look at him. That smile is because of you."

"That smile is because you're a good mum," Simon states in a way that leaves no room for questions. "You were the one who made today happen. You gave your lad the birthday he deserved. He'll remember this."

Like how Simon remembers his mum doing her best to give him and Tommy the birthdays they deserved, no matter how small the celebration was.

You're looking at him as if you can't quite believe he's real, a cute, astonished look adorning your face. He's tempted to make a comment about it until you give a quiet, amazed laugh, reaching for his hand to give it a grateful squeeze. You don't pull away, and he doesn't let go.

"Even so, Simon had a great seventh birthday, and a lot of it is because of you. You did more than you had to- more than his father ever did! Bastard didn't even send a happy birthday text, son of a bitch." You exhale a heavy, calming breath. "But never mind that... What I'm trying to say is thank you. You didn't have to do what you did, and ever since we met, you've been really good to him."

You shoot him a teasing look. "What's your secret? Have a hidden family out there or something?"

A darker part of Simon is tempted to laugh. You're kind of right, in a messed up way, but he doesn't hold it against you. He hums, contemplating. "I had a nephew."

"Had?" The information takes another second to process. "Oh! I mean..."

"Don't have to say anything." Simon stares out to where the kids are playing. He imagines another boy running among them. Both younger and older than the children out in the field. Taken too young with no opportunity to grow. To live. He squeezes your hand. "He reminds me of him. Joseph. Would have been a couple years older than your lad by now, but I think they would have gotten along."

"Think so?" You send him a soft smile, stepping closer to hug his arm. "Tell me more about him?"

Simon looks at you, the warmth of your body pressed against him, and it suddenly feels like there's no one else in the world. There's just you and him under this tree, with your boy's laughter ringing like bells in the air, and that's when it hits.

Settle down... He's finally starting to get it, Tommy.

-

soap's piano teacher is something i want to write out, but idk if i'll get to it

[yanderenightmare]

Modern day soft (well, as soft as he gets lol) bf sukuna hcs PLEASEEEEEE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

Ryomen Sukuna

♡ TW: NSFW, underskirt peaking, ish innocent reader, not really hcs but anyway

♡ fem reader

He starts liking you by chance and entirely against his own will. Having a girlfriend is not something he had in mind.

He'd have girls then and there, don't get him wrong, easy one-night stands out on the town if and when he urged for it—even had a couple of sluts on demand he was familiar with—girls he knew would let him fuck them the way he wanted to, but they weren't any special.

And then there's you, who, by all means, shouldn't be any special either. But goddamn, you stick out like a sore thumb, how could he not notice you? The way you handle the back alley bar as if it's a cozy little day café with your fresh-out-of-college appeal, he can't help but think—what on earth is a sweet thing like you doing working here at the wrong side of town after hours?

Well, at least you can pour a drink. But still, what was the owner thinking hiring someone like you—a little lady in a skirt who can't even reach the top shelves without standing on a stool? It's almost to laugh at, and he would, but... sitting on his usual spot right at the counter, he's able to look straight up your skirt and see your pretty pink panties and that awfully teasing way it cups your cunt.

And it's absurd! Because he's seen and done so many depraved things in his life, seeing up a girl's skirt shouldn't be any different, but then that's exactly it—you were different. Not like any of the sluts he's had on his belt, you're... well... you're many things, but a slut isn't one of them. But he would love to make one out of you.

He gets a little drunker than usual nowadays—always requesting top-shelf stuff. You think he's a real big spender—completely unaware he's doing it all for a glimpse. Sitting there, twirling his bourbon, daydreaming what it would be like to have someone like you in his bed. He bet you would squeal a lot—you seem like the type who'd whimper his name and cling to him. You'd whine if he pulled your hair, cry if he slapped your ass, and be real shy if he made you cum on his tongue.

It's a nice thought. He might have jerked off to the image in favor of calling on one of his arrangements. But a thought was all it was. A girl like you would never do anything like that with a guy like him. After all, working at a shitty place doesn't warrant you need to stoop to the same standards. And you were still no closer to fitting in.

You'd been a little wary of him at first. Always by the counter right next to you—rough voice and a chronic harsh glare. His face tattoos didn't help either—looking like a seasoned gangster even though he couldn't have been all that much older than you.

No matter how much you pour him, he never seems to get very drunk. But it's not all the strange either, given the size of him—bulked and built like a bear. His muscles are so big you can see every cut of them through his tank—it's a surprise the fabric holds. He barely even fits through the door.

But he's a quiet guy. Studious. It seems he's always got something weighing down his mind, and given you're the bartender, and he's your best-paying and most regular customer, it might be high time you took it upon yourself to ask him about it.

"'Penny for your thoughts, big guy?" you ask, rubbing the residue from the bottom of a glass.

He doesn't seem like he's going to answer, and you feel regret for even having asked in the first place—like, geez, why would a rough and tough-looking guy like that share any of his thoughts with you? What were you thinking?

"Why do you work here?"

You stop to look at him, blinking. You didn't exactly expect a question in return. "Uhm," you hum in nonplus, unsure how to answer. But then again, the truth isn't so hard to relay. "I dropped out of college."

You have to giggle at the raised eyebrow he gives you.

"Don't look so shocked," you say, busying yourself with wiping down the dew rings left on the counter. "I just found out it wasn't for me. All those sheep walking the same path, eating the same grass, listening to the same boring shepherd... I thought I'd enjoy being a wolf more."

He scoffs softly, more so in acknowledgment than appraisal, you think, then looks down into his glass—his expression as dour as always, unreadable.

"You don't look like a wolf," he mutters at last, taking an indifferent swig.

Of course, you could have left at that. You knew most people would find your reasoning silly, but if you were to be a wolf, you'd have to flash your teeth, puff your chest, and prove it.

And so you do, "Well, that's 'cause I'm still in sheep's-clothing!" A smirk on your face as you fold your arms atop your chest with a raised chin. "But you better watch out! 'Cause one of these days, you'll walk in here, and I'll be even fiercer-lookin' than you."

That stunts him—even more so than your speech earlier. This time, he isn't even able to keep the surprise off his face. Who would have thought you'd be this brazen? Definitely not very sheep-like, even though you look it.

He scoffs again. Maybe he'll help you out...

"Oh yeah?" he grins—and it's the first time you've seen it. Almost a sneer, but way more charming than that—loud and unapologetic with a voice to match. "How 'bout you come to my parlor after your shift, and we get started on dirtying that pristine sheep fur of yours?"

And to his surprise, you don't even waver.

"It's a date."

That night, you get your first tattoo and your first time seeing stars, being folded flat like fresh laundry, and made to cum on a stranger's tongue piercing until screaming.

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[joelscurls]

I wanna show you off

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 4.1k

summary: The women who live in your building aren't subtle in their hatred for you — or their affection for your boyfriend, Joel. You decide to set them straight.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, porn with plot, no outbreak, established relationship, implied age gap, horrible neighbors, general cattiness, all the ladies want Joel, alcohol consumption, fluff, explicit smut, possessive!reader, exhibitionism, dirty talk, oral (m receiving), facefucking, unprotected piv, creampie, one (1) spank, use of pet names (baby, angel, darlin', etc.), I think that's all? lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: idk what happened. I saw one too many tiktok edits set to the song agora hills by doja cat and blacked out. anyway, enjoy!

If it weren’t for your rent-controlled apartment with a perfect view of the downtown skyline, you would’ve moved out of your building by now.

Your neighbors don’t like you. You’re certain of it. You can tell by the way the ladies stick their noses up at you in the elevator and whisper to each other the second they think you’re out of earshot.

It had started, you suspect, because of your age. You’re a lot younger than all of the other residents here, your apartment left to you by your grandmother after she passed away.

The building is prime real estate, situated in the heart of one of the city’s most desirable neighborhoods. Most of the people who live here have done so for ten, twenty, even thirty years. And it seems that time has festered a sort of social hierarchy: one which places you at the very bottom.

You shouldn’t care. And you hadn’t, for a while. But their eyes have started to feel like daggers, pointed directly at you at all times, and you feel as if you can’t even enter the building without judgment.

You’re not a bad neighbor. You’re not. You’d learned through living in a dormitory in college how thin shared walls can be, and, as a result, the proper volume at which to keep your music; how you should always be cautious to not let your door slam closed on the way in; that you should never vacuum after eight pm or before eight am.

You never leave trash in the hallway, and you park your car only in your allotted spot, despite the fact that it’s the farthest away from the building.

Even so, the lack of weathering in your face makes them look at you like you’re less, like you’re a greedy little thing who has taken something she isn’t worthy of.

It’s the same way they look at you when they see you with your boyfriend, Joel, for the first time.

They leer when you walk into the foyer, hand-in-hand with an older man. He’s handsome, rugged, something out of Nicholas Sparks novel. And you’re you.

Joel thinks you’re being paranoid at first, says they couldn’t possibly hate such a sweet, friendly girl. The girl he loves so damn much. But it doesn’t take long for him to notice it too: the glares, the scoffs, the misplaced judgment — never set in his direction, only ever yours.

One Sunday afternoon, as he sits on your couch watching the Cowboys game with a sweating bottle of beer in his hand, you step out to grab your mail. You’re close to tears when you return, flinging the door open, envelopes slipping from your trembling fingers. 

He leaps up as soon as he catches sight of your face. Your expression is stuck somewhere between sadness and rage, bottom lip tucked between your teeth so firmly he worries you’ll draw blood.

“I hate them,” you sob as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his broad chest. You’re wetting his shirt, the one he just bought the other day. But he won’t let you lift your head. If anything, he holds you tighter.

“Wanna tell me what happened, darlin?” he asks, leading you toward the couch. You sit down together, your body still wrapped in his, and you groan.

“It’s stupid.” Your voice is muffled by cotton. He loosens his grip on you only enough to let you turn your face. “I was getting my mail, and they were down in the lobby,” you sniff. “The woman who lives right next door – the one with the outdated perm, and the one across the hall with the yippy little dog.”

“Mhm,” Joel soothes, running his thumb gently along the tense line of your jaw. “Did they say somethin’ to you?”

You huff. “No, not to me. They didn’t see me there.”

Their hushed voices still ring in your head like a fire alarm in need of new batteries: relentless, infuriating.

Don’t know what in the world a handsome gentleman like that is doing with a little girl like her. You’re tellin’ me. What a shame. Such a young thing – she can’t possibly know how to handle a man like that. He needs a woman his own age!

“They said I’m not good for you,” you weep. “That I’m too young. That I — I c-can’t be what you need.”

“Darlin,” Joel drawls. He fishes the tv remote off of the coffee table and flicks the screen off. Drops it somewhere next to him on the cushion. The apartment is noticeably quiet now, apart from your shaky breaths and the dull drone of an idling truck engine from the street below.

“You know I love you, right?” 

You sniff again. Nod. 

“I don’t give a shit if people think you’re too young for me,” he huffs. “You’re a grown woman. You give me everything I could possibly need and then some.”

“Yeah?” you squeak. You know deep down that Joel wouldn’t stay with you if he had any reservations about any aspect of your relationship. But after months of no reprieve from stinging glares and brash insults, you feel as if you’ve been broken down, reduced to an anxious, overwrought version of yourself. 

Joel repositions himself, sprawling back on the couch and pulling you with him so that you’re laying against him. “Yeah,” he repeats, stroking your hair. He tucks a loose strand behind your ear, away from your glassy eyes. “Those ladies can get their asses in line.” 

You laugh, then — a real, genuine laugh — the kind that Joel can somehow always pull out of you, even in the most inopportune of times.

You’re so grateful for him, for his innate ability to calm you down when it feels like the world is crumbling below your feet. Grateful that he’s yours.

You lift your head. Prop yourself up by the elbow on Joel’s thigh. Wipe away the lingering wet on your cheeks with a deep, settling breath. 

“Does it stroke your ego, having a fan club of women who wanna fuck you?”

He smirks. Pulls you closer to him with a hand cradling your face. 

“Maybe a little,” he whispers, his lips ghosting yours. “Does it stroke your ego, bein’ the only one who gets to fuck me?” 

And in truth, it does. You’re the only one who knows where he likes to be kissed, how he likes his cock stroked, how to make him cum embarrassingly quick with just your mouth.

You’ve learned him intimately, every inch of him.  Ruined him for any other woman.

So in a fucked up kind of way — it does.

“Yeah,” you admit. You suck his bottom lip into your mouth, silently reveling in the way he immediately moans, the way he bends to you.

“These all mine?” You bring a finger to his lips, sputter on a shaky exhale when he unexpectedly parts them and sucks the digit into his mouth.

“Mhm,” he hums around you, takes your free hand in his and guides it down his body, across the expanse of his torso, the plush of his belly, pausing when you reach his crotch. 

Your pulse quickens, then, a dull throb forming at the base of your neck. You extricate your finger from his mouth with a gentle pop.

“This too,” he whispers, canting his hips up toward the flat of your palm.

He’s half-hard, his clothed bulge pleading for attention. But he pulls your hand away quickly, not letting himself get carried away at the feeling of your fingers grazing him through denim. 

Instead, he re-situates it against his chest so that you can feel his heartbeat where it hammers under skin, against flesh and bone. “This is all yours too,” he says, voice so low it reverberates in your skull. 

“All of it — all of me. Don’t gotta worry your pretty little head with anythin’ anyone else has to say about the matter. Got it?”

His words are spoken with so much conviction that you have no choice but to believe them, to let them stick in your brain like anchors in sand: deep and immovable.

Yours, yours, yours. 

And nobody else’s.

“Yeah,” you smile into the column of his neck, inhaling his scent: mostly him, but with notes of you. 

“Got it.”

It’s two weeks later when she makes a move on him: the woman with the perm. Joel is taken aback by her boldness, with you just a few feet away, digging your key into the lock of your mailbox. 

“You must work with your hands,” she purrs, grabbing one of his wrists and examining his calloused fingers with such little integrity, his mouth actually slips open at the unabashedness of it all. 

“Uh-”

“I’m Sheila,” she hums, raking her fingers through tight, blonde curls. “And you are?”

“Joel,” he grunts noncommittally. Wrenches his arm back. He doesn’t miss the way her eyebrows twitch in offense. 

But she’s insatiable, this woman. She bounces back like a rubber band, not-so-subtly pushing her breasts together, the zip of her sweatshirt slipping down an inch and her mouth curving into a salacious grin.

You just about stop dead in your tracks when you round the corner to the lobby, junk mail in hand, and see her, her body turned towards Joel’s, chest pushed out and hip popped. She has a bedazzled tote bag full of groceries slung over her shoulder, a head of leafy greens poking out the top.

“Hi neighbor!” she smiles mockingly at you, all lipstick-stained teeth, when you sidle up to Joel. “I was just telling your friend here what nice, strong arms he has.” She’s not looking at you, eyes locked firmly on Joel’s biceps, nearly drooling at the sight of him. 

Heat spools behind your ears, red-hot.

“Not her friend,” Joel corrects before you can. “‘M her boyfriend.”

“Oh,” she says. “Boyfriend.” Her lips wrap loosely around the word, like it’s some fanciful thing. “You’re too old to be someone’s boyfriend.” 

Joel takes a step away from her, closer to you, and splays a steadying hand across your back. “Man-friend, then.” 

You laugh, not because it’s funny, but because this entire conversation is fucking awkward. 

Sheila pays you no attention.

“Well,” she sighs, overtly staring at the exposed skin of Joel’s chest, where the top two buttons of his flannel are undone, “Joel, if you’re ever lookin’ for a good meal, I’m just next door.” She flits her eyes up to his and smirks. “Know a big man like you has gotta eat.”

Your vision blurs scarlet. 

Joel is equally as infuriated. The disrespect of this woman, to so openly flirt with him in front of you. His fists ball tightly at his sides. 

“Thanks, but no thanks,” he gruffs. “Anyway, nice to meet ya ma’am-“

“Sheila,” she reminds him. 

“Sheila,” he repeats, only to appease her. He turns to you, squeezing your waist affectionately. “We should probably get goin’, right sweetheart?”

You’re still fuming, barely able to register Joel’s voice next to you through the thick haze of pure fury clouding your mind, but you manage to nod, spit out a hurried yeah.

And with that, Joel is turning on his heels, pulling you with him toward the elevators. You don’t dare look back at her, but you can feel her eyes boring a hole in the back of your head. 

Her footfall fades into the mailroom and you breathe a minuscule sigh of relief. At least she’s out of your sight.

“Please just move in with me,” Joel begs when you’re finally behind closed metal doors, the inspection plaque situated above the buttons suddenly extremely interesting as you try to focus on not thinking about setting this woman’s apartment on fire.

You’ve talked about living together a few times. It’s just — you’ve never considered it so seriously until right now. 

“I can’t let them win,” you mutter, agitated. 

You hate how they’ve made you feel, like you’re some helpless animal tucked in the corner, hiding from them. Just waiting for the next ambush. 

With the passing of each floor, your anger simmers, bubbles into a silent rage in your stomach, one which threatens to boil over at the next underestimation of Joel’s devotion to you. You need to make it known, once and for all, that he’s yours. 

Words from your grandmother play on a loop in your head, ones she repeated to you often when you were a child: if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. 

And then you have a thought — a devious thought — maybe you don’t have to say anything to get your point across. Not to them, anyway.

Your mouth is on Joel the second you’re back inside the four walls of your own apartment, slotting against his pulse point and sucking a desperate bruise there.

He’s not expecting it — why would he be? You’ve just been seething the entire elevator ride up to your floor, the entire walk down the long, winding hallway to your unit. He’d practically been able to see the steam billowing from your ears. 

So the switch-up is more than a bit dizzying, to say the least.

“Whoa, darlin’,” he pants, his large hands draping over your shoulders. “What are you-”

“Joel.” Your voice is stern; it demands his attention. “Do you trust me?” 

Your hand trails down his body languidly, in a straight line to the waistband of his jeans. And fuck, of course he trusts you — more than anyone. But this is wrong, fucked up, for you to make him feel good when you’ve been made to feel so small these past few minutes. 

Still, his cock doesn’t get the memo, twitching in his jeans as you place another open-mouthed kiss on the underside of his jaw, your fingers beginning to fiddle with his belt buckle. 

You give him no choice with the way you’re touching him, the way you’re looking at him when you pull back, all pleading eyes and parted mouth, but to resign all protest. He’ll give you the world, and if right now you want to use his body to blow off some steam, who is he to complain about it?

“Yeah baby, of course,” he breathes. “What do you need?”

You smirk at him audaciously, tongue smoothing over your teeth. “Need you to be loud,” you purr. Your voice is so innocent in juxtaposition to the words you spew. It sends a chill down the column of his spine. “Let them know who makes you feel good.” 

He nearly cums in his pants untouched, grasps at the fabric of your shirt with clumsy hands and nods. “Fuck, okay.”

His belt falls to the floor with a clang.

He lets you take control, then. Lets you mark him with your tongue and your teeth, lets you back him to the door with deft fingers working his shirt buttons open before sinking to your knees in front of him, freeing his hardening cock from the confines of his jeans and boxers.

It’s already weeping for you when you pull it out, precum beading at the tip. He’s so big, growing heavier in your hand with each passing second, and you lose yourself for a moment, hypnotized by him.

“Always so eager to please me, aren’t you, pretty girl?” Joel’s voice pulls you back to earth, soft and adoring.

“Louder,” you remind him. Plant a kiss right over top of his leaking slit.

“Fuck,” he hisses through his teeth. One of his hands flies to the crown of your head, anchoring himself with fingers in your hair. “Dirty fucking girl.” 

His voice fills the entranceway, confident and filthy. 

“Mmm,” you hum approvingly.

“Yeah? You want me to tell ‘em? Tell ‘em you’re making my cock drool for you? That nobody — shit-” You enclose your lips around his tip, suckling on it as your fingers wrap around the base of his length and you begin to stroke him lazily. “-that nobody has ever made me feel this good?” 

Footsteps echo down the hallway and the sound makes you reflexively pause, your hand stiling on Joel’s cock. It’s followed by the jingling of metal, the click of a key in a lock, the opening and closing of a door — all close enough that you can pinpoint the source, can tell where exactly it’s coming from. 

Sheila is home. 

Perfect.

It’s probably worrying how excited it makes you, the prospect of her hearing, of her sitting alone in her apartment, at her empty dining table, and listening to Joel fall apart at your hands. Maybe they’ve driven you to and over the edge of sanity with their words, her most of all. Regardless, you can’t help the way it makes your cunt flutter around nothing. 

You lick a slow stripe up the underside of Joel’s cock, starting just above his balls and dragging the flat of your tongue up, up, up to his tip. His breath shudders, his grip on your hair tightening, and the subtle sting at the center of your scalp gives you another idea. 

“Do you wanna fuck my face, Joel?” 

“Do I wanna — fuck — you’re gonna kill me, angel.” 

“Go ahead,” you encourage, unhinging your jaw as wide as it can go, letting your tongue droop over your bottom lip. 

Saliva pools in your waiting mouth and Joel groans at the sight of you, so malleable for him, begging to be used. 

“You sure?” 

It’s not that he doesn’t think you can handle it. He knows you can. You’ve taken him down your throat more times than he can count. Always so fucking eager to please him, you are — just one of the many reasons he feels so goddamn lucky, so infuriated that anyone would think otherwise. 

But still, he can’t help but worry that he’ll hurt you. 

You nod, eyes locked on him, confirming beyond a shadow of a doubt that you want this. He nods back, beginning to feed his cock into your mouth, easing it in slowly and halting when his head hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag.

You don’t pull away, don’t show any indication of displeasure. In fact, you dig your fingers into the meat of his thighs, bearing down on him as you push forward. Mascara tears stain your cheeks as you choke on him, laser-focused on relaxing your throat so that you can accommodate more of his length. 

Joel pulls back, retreating entirely before pushing in again. He slowly increases his pace, your eyes hooded, so doelike and innocent, as his cockhead bruises your larynx. 

The sounds he’s pulling from your mouth are absurdly lewd: muffled gags and frantic inhales of breath. And then there’s him, moaning wildly, not sure if he’d be able to shut up even if he needed to be quiet. Your mouth is good, too fucking good and he’s going to — fuck, he’s going to cum if you don’t stop. 

He pulls out abruptly, a string of drool and precum tethering the tip of his cock to your swollen bottom lip. You’re panting, coughing, still bracing yourself against his legs when you fucking smile up at him. 

“Christ,” he says. “Fuckin’ angel, you are. Mouth feels like goddamn heaven.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. But I need to cum in that perfect little cunt,” he breathes, pulling a strangled moan from the back of your rawed throat. 

He helps you up, spins you around to face the door. You brace both hands on the wood, humming as he pulls your pants down to your knees. His breath is on the back of your neck, trailing up to the shell of your ear with one whisper just for you, because he can’t help it. 

“So fuckin’ beautiful, you know that?” 

You shiver, responding with a tilt of your head, inviting him in with a needy little mewl. He cradles your face in one of his large hands, the other rubbing over the curve of your ass as he kisses you passionately, tasting himself on your tongue.

The hand on your ass trails lower as he deepens the kiss, two fingers pressing against your clothed seam. You’ve all but soaked through the fabric, wet cotton molding to his knuckles as he caresses them along your pussy before pulling your panties down in one swift motion.

You whine into the kiss, desperate and dripping for him. “Please,” you breathe against his lips. “I’ll make you feel so good, I promise.”

“Know you will,” he coos, mouth parting from yours as he straightens out and lines himself up with your entrance. You arch your back, rocking onto the balls of your feet as he teases you with the tip.

His cock is so thick when it finally notches into you. It’s always so devastatingly thick, no matter how wet you are for him. The stretch stings, a jolt of warm pain coursing through your walls as he stills halfway in. 

“You okay?” he asks, one hand resting at the small of your back, the other on your hip, fingers gripping to you only tight enough to hold you in place.

“Yes, fuck — yes,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me, Joel.”

“I’m goin’ to baby, don’t worry,” 'he promises, pushing in another splitting inch. “Pussy’s so goddamn tight, ‘ts suckin’ me right in.”

It feels like hours pass with Joel’s cock motionless inside your aching cunt, his warm breath fanning across your back as he focuses on not cumming. You’re whimpering, begging under the weight of his body, to please just fucking move.

When he finally obliges you, pulling all the way out and then bottoming out in one deep thrust, it nearly punches the air out of your chest. You scrabble for purchase on the door, fingernails scraping against chipped paint. “F-uucckk,” you moan, eyes rolling back in your head as he sets a dizzying pace.

The sound of his balls slapping against the back of your thighs is enough to attract attention on its own, the loud smacksmacksmack going straight to your cunt. Joel growls behind you, driving into you even harder, the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot. 

“Oh, shit,” you cry. Your pussy inadvertently squeezes him and he curses at your back, low and deep. 

“Not going to last if you keep doin’ that,” he warns. “Cunt is too fuckin’ good. Best I’ve ever — uuuhh — had.”

He’s not just saying it for show. It’s true. You know it is, too. He’s told you before, both under the influence of your pussy and not. Waited too many goddamn years to feel like this, he’d said once.

“It’s — fuck, it’s fine Joel,” you mutter. “I’m close too, just keep going, right there.”

A door across the hall creaks open. A pair of footsteps patter across tile. 

Do you hear that?  Yeah; what is that noise?

Joel laughs darkly behind you, snaps his hips up, forcing a guttural moan out of you. 

“Think they caught us, darlin’,” he says. “Caught you takin’ my cock like you’re fuckin’ made to.”

Oh my word!

Joel is unrelenting, pounding into you despite the voices right outside your apartment, and you fear for a moment that you’ve created a monster. One of his hands leaves its place on your waist, cracks down on the center of your asscheek with a slap, the flesh recoiling under his palm and you gasp. 

The feeling travels between your legs, straight to your neglected clit. It pulsates under the hood with every pass of Joel’s cock over your g-spot, and you feel yourself hurtling toward the edge dangerously fast. 

If these people don’t leave, they’re going to hear you cum. Do you want them to hear you cum? Yeah, you think, clit jumping again at the thought, I think I fucking do.

“Joel, fuck-”

“You gonna cum?” he goads. “Yeah, can feel you squeezin’ me — you’re gonna cum, aren’t ya?”

This is vulgar!  We should file a noise complaint. C’mon.

His hand snakes around your front then, finds your throbbing bud, and with a few passes of his calloused fingertips, you’re gone, vision whiting out and all noise around you muted. 

Joel keeps you upright between him and the door, his grip on you tightening as your muscles slacken. He follows closely behind, cumming inside you with a carnal noise from the back of his throat, rope after rope of his spend filling your cunt. 

He pulls out with a grunt, immediately collapsing on the floor. Without his support, you topple over too, falling onto his lap with a satiated giggle. 

A banging comes from the other side of the wall then, shaking your kitchen cabinets a few feet away, the clanging of glassware jolting you.

Keep it down next time! I don’t need to hear that!

And then you’re laughing like teenagers, Joel pulling you in for a sloppy kiss, all tongues and teeth. 

“Think they’re really gonna make a noise complaint?” Joel asks when you finally come up for air. 

“I dunno,” you smile. “Does your offer still stand — for me to move in with you?” 

“Always,” he vows, forehead resting against yours.

end notes: ty for reading! pls consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed <3

[p-seduonym]

Switched at Birth (Part Two)

A/N: I swear I'll get into the yandere stuff (...eventually) I just trying a slow burn for now. Anyway please enjoy and credit goes to @luludeluluramblings for her Switched at Birth Concept.

Yandere!Batfam X Switched! Fem! Reader X Yandere! Wayne! OC

It didn’t take much for Melissa to slot herself into your daily routine. 

If anything, you encouraged it. 

Not at that very moment– no introducing her to her birth parents would have been dampened by your steely yet teary eyed look. So you both settled with Melissa giving you her phone number and contact information before she left. That night, after the sun had long past set, Melissa Wayne lingered just outside the fence. Between the mailbox and the well-loved swing set, she seemed to consider saying something, but decided not to at the last moment. You waved goodbye, only noticing after she was gone that she never touched her cup of tea. 

When your family returned, you kept quiet. It didn’t feel right to reveal something so monumental without her there. Instead, you idly picked at your dinner, nodding along to the usual chatter before excusing yourself to your childhood room.

There, surrounded by bits and bobbles of your past, you searched for Melissa Wayne.

She was hardly the most well-known member of the Wayne family. No dazzling athletic achievements like the ever-sociable Dick Grayson. No reputation for intellect like the prodigious Tim Drake. Nothing set her apart from the others—aside from her biological claim to Bruce Wayne. Even then, Damian seemed to command most of the media’s attention. She wasn’t the only daughter either—Cassandra Cain existed, thrived, and even had a legacy of her own. She didn’t even carry the infamy of a black sheep like Jason Todd.

Melissa Wayne, for all intents and purposes, was a ghost.

A presence overshadowed.

Leaning back in your desk chair, you considered her.

She never even said what tea she liked—maybe she didn’t like tea at all, just being polite. But why? Politeness only makes sense up to a point, then it’s just—what? Habit? A performance? Maybe she just didn’t like coffee. You’d get that, it’s an acquired taste. Or maybe she thought it was too late for coffee, but then, tea has caffeine too, so—what was the point?

You closed your various tabs and looked around.

What about her room? It must have been massive. You’ve only seen the Wayne manor in pictures, but even then all of it seemed a bit much. Did Melissa’s room have that amount of muchness? Maybe it did or maybe it didn’t– you’re not sure which you would prefer. A barren room, filled with nothing but hope and loneliness, or a clustered room filled with everything that had not been acknowledged?

Thinking of both simultaneously made you dizzy so you settled into bed. That is, not before sending a text to her, “12 o’clock, diner on mainstreet. I’ll be there.  Will you come?”

You woke up the next morning to the reply, “Yes, I will”

Melissa, seemingly, didn’t know how to dress casually.

Sitting in the tiny hole-in-the-wall diner, fondly dubbed "The Second Cup," you spotted her before she saw you. Her sharp, polished look—a polo tennis dress paired with a diamond bracelet—clashed awkwardly with the diner's cozy, unpretentious charm. Yet, despite the elegance of her attire, her expression was anything but composed. Simpering, demure—almost out of place. Then, her sad, puppy-dog eyes found you. She took a seat across from you. You wisely ordered only ice water for the table.

“You’re here” She started, carefully.

“Yes? I asked you to come, remember?”

“I know. I just thought–” She cut herself off, “Never mind.”

“Sorry about last night. I haven’t cried since I was five, y’know? But it’s not fair when I’m the one crying”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

“Still, you didn’t even get to meet them. M-Your family, I mean.”

“Mmhmm, I knew it wouldn’t be right away. It’s a lot to take in”

Humming, you stirred your drink with a straw.

“That’s no good, y’know?”

“What is?”

“Acting like that. It’s too stiff– like you gotta understand everything and everyone all the time”

“I don’t understand”

“Look, this is kinda messed up, right? You got a right to say that,”

“I…I know”

“If you know, then come on. Say what you feel. I can’t be the only one thinking this is crazy.”

Melissa’s balled hands clenched on her lap.

“No…it is crazy….awful really”

“Yeah?”

“It’s awful and I’m upset, but also…”

“What?”

“I’m relieved”

You leaned back in your chair.

“Yeah, that makes sense. I mean, who would want a family like that?”

Melissa looks up, and you think she might defend them for a moment. Instead, you saw a flicker of resentment.

“No one would”

At that moment you could only think a single thought.

‘How cute’

But it left you blinking confusedly at yourself. What an odd thought. Regardless, you reached over and took her tightly clenched fist in your hand. Gently unwinding her tense digits, you held her hand in yours.

“Hey, you don’t have to do this right away. And you're not alone. I promise, I’ll be here”

Melissa looked down at your hands.

“...Okay”

In the end, she didn’t tell her parents.

“I don’t want to shock them. It’s not the right time” She reasoned.

You didn’t argue with her. Rather you suggested she come to dinner that evening.

“You’ll get to know them and they’ll get to know you. I won’t tell them. But it’s your choice, alright?”

You sounded so sure, that it was hard to say no. So she said yes.

A/N: I tried to make Reader like Bruce with their habit of adopting people, but I'm not sure if that was too obvious or too subtle. Anyway, I update sporadically so sorry for not be consistent.

[bunni-v1]

Ohhh wait what if in the pv/smc/ oc relationship the beginnings of it form from pv’s existence as truthless recluse? Like curiosity on the partners part or maybe a bit of insecure jealousy because smc has a new toy. One that can understand him better than they ever could. Maybe doubt for the first time enters their heart, not about their own feelings. No no no, but doubting the sincerity of shadow milk cookies. For all his bluster about lies and deceit his actions towards them at this point would paint him as surprisingly sincere. But in the game even candy apple and black sapphire cookie saw how different smc was around pv/truthless recluse. I can see the partner seeking out truthless recluse because what’s so goddamn special about this cookie? (Am I not special enough?) but then meeting him and going oh Oh, he’s just like shadow milk cookie. Not the same, but similar, opposite. They seek them out and try to extend some kindness to him, initially out of pity maybe? Imagining that looking at pv is the same as seeing smc before his fall from grace. And smc probably wouldn’t be happy with this development, I wonder how he’d react. Thoughts?

So I know what I said about waiting for the poly hcs, but I’m a notorious liar when it comes to what I get done when sooooooo… hi pookie 🫶

Anyway there’s a lot to unpack here and I’m typing this on my phone, so please excuse any typos or weird formatting lol.

Starting off with SMC and Truthless Recluse, I can definitely see Shadow Milk unintentionally neglecting you for his new toy. Truthless isn’t a replacement, Shadow Milk wouldn’t dream of replacing his dearly beloved partner, but it certainly comes off that way.

It starts as a little nagging feeling, a biting sensation in the back of your neck that irritates you just a little. You brush it off easily, though, it’s not like you never see Shadow Milk anymore. He still dotes on you and cares for you like he always does, albeit it you see him less than you normally might. He doesn’t want you around Truthless for whatever reason, so whenever he is with the new cookie you are alone with your thoughts.

It’s not until you feel his glee and excitement that you suspect something. That godforsaken bite becomes a constant reminder of just how happy he is to have this special new cookie around. This cookie that is not you. It makes your chest ache, and everyone can see how your mood sours.

The puppets are sweeter to you, Candy Apple a little less disgruntled when she’s with you, and Black Sapphire looks at you with a pity that just makes you sick. Everyone knows, everyone cares, everyone but Shadow Milk it seems.

He seems to act like nothing is different, happy to return to you and have you. Though when he is with you, you see that his mind is elsewhere. And you know he’s aware of it, you know he can feel the way your heart aches, he just doesn’t seem to care.

You rationalize it in your head. It’s his souljam, his other half, of course he’s excited. You can’t be angry at him when this is all he’s been talking about, all he’s been working for this whole time.

The dam finally breaks when you see it with your own two eyes. The way he giggles and floats around the new cookie like an excited child. The poking and prodding and borderline flirting! Witches above, it’s too much for your heart to handle.

You can’t help but feel the burn of jealousy in your gut, the ugliness of betrayal crawling through your mind. What was so special about him? What was so amazing that Shadow Milk felt the need to neglect you for some… some… some wannabe god? The very cookie Shadow Milk claims to loathe is standing there basking in the attention that was meant to be yours! It was so unfair.

You curl up in a quiet part of the spire, one that most of the cookies there didn’t bother to visit. It was secluded and comforting, a place to cry your feelings away until you felt better. For once you couldn’t feel those eyes watching you.

You’re not sure how long you’re curled up there before someone finds you. Your surprised to see Truthless Recluse himself there, but he’s who you find. You wanted to scream and shout and take your anger out on him, but with him in front of you… you couldn’t muster it. His eyes held something in them that made it impossible to stay angry.

He sits next to you, surprising you yet again. He seemed like a loner, but when he casts his eyes on you again there’s a kindness in them. Perhaps… Pure Vanilla was still there… just hidden.

“Is there something you need,” You break the silence between you, “I’m sure Shadow Milk would be more than happy to accommodate you.”

He doesn’t answer you, shifting the conversation elsewhere, “It’s quiet here.”

You uncurl a little, sitting up with your back to the wall now, “It is. I like it, I can think clearly here.”

He hums, closing his eyes as if to take in the feeling himself. You take the time to gaze at him and realize he’s very pretty. His features are soft despite how tired he looks, and there is a wiseness about him that you hadn’t felt from another cookie in such a long time. The quiet contemplation only highlighted the insecurities burning in your dough.

No wonder Shadow Milk Cookie was so enamored with him, he was pleasant. He was warm and inviting, and the sweet scent of vanilla was comforting. He felt… he felt like home. Before you knew it you were crying again, surprising the cookie next to you.

“…Did I upset you…?” He asks almost unsure of himself.

“No,” you sniffle, “No, I’m just… hah… I’m just being silly is all.”

His gaze falls from you to the floor, then to the milky way sky, “Being silly isn’t something to cry over… it’s a good thing to be silly. Better than being nothing at all.”

You laugh, “I suppose you’re right… Say, I don’t think we’ve properly met, what’s your name strange cookie?”

That begins your tentative relationship with the Cookie. You don’t get too much time with him before Shadow Milk starts to get upset, but from what you see you come to understand a few things. Truthless— No, Pure Vanilla is a lot like Shadow Milk. He’s insecure and aching for connection, but greatly powerful and incredibly intelligent. You find yourself liking his company, reminded of your dearest when he lays his eyes on you.

Now, Shadow Milk Cookie watches the development happen from the sides. Initially he’s happy that you’re getting along with Truthless Recluse so well, positively tickled! You love him so much you can get along well with any incarnation of him, how very sweet! Then he notices you look at Truthless Recluse with… longing. Your gaze is too soft, too sweet, something that should only be reserved for him.

Of course he can’t help but get in the way. Regardless of Truthless’ progress toward deceit, he can’t have the cookie thinking you’re something free for the taking. He certainly can’t have you thinking you can just look at any other cookie with so much affection, either.

He gets clingy, worse than before Pure Vanilla showed up. He doesn’t like you leaving his side, and he especially doesn’t like you spending time alone with Truthless Recluse. No, no no no! You are his little dolly, no one else’s! If he has to remind you of that fact, he will! Since he’s just so sweet and considerate~

If you bring up the way he made you feel, he shakes his head and tuts at you. It was part of the plan, of course, your jealousy was made in a controlled environment by him. He needed you to use your silly little head and come to your senses on your own! He loves you, you know that, you just had to remember on your own.

Besides, as exciting as Truthless Recluse is, you’ll always be by his side. So as much as your heart ached (and boy did he feel that, it was difficult to ignore you calling for him through that bite), now you know to trust him.

[lexirosewrites]

Day 3: Love Confession

for @stmarchmm

When Eddie had initially confessed to his interest in Steve, Steve had appeared like he may faint or puke.

Or both.

Despite the obvious chemistry between them during the Upside-Down and their defeating Vecna together, Steve still hesitated.

Admittedly, that made Eddie panic a little bit too.

He’d been so sure that Steve returned his amorous feelings, but now it doesn’t feel quite so obvious.

“If I misread this completely, I can leave. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, Stevie,” Eddie chokes out, heart in his throat.

That seems to snap Steve out of it.

“No! No, you didn’t. You read it correctly, I just—”

And then he pauses. A very long pause.

One where Eddie could fit a lot of words if he wasn’t trying so hard to kick his own habit of filling awkward spaces by rambling endlessly.

“But?” he’d finally prompts Steve.

“I don’t know if I’m actually capable of doing that again.”

That’s where Steve loses him.

“Doing… what again?”

Steve avoids his eyes, arms wrapping around his middle like he needs some extra protection. From what exactly, Eddie is unsure.

“Loving someone.”

Eddie knows about Nancy.

Steve had gotten incredibly wasted one night and cried on his shoulder until he fell asleep, sobbing about how hurt he’d been by the painful rejection.

As Nancy’s friend, he’d wanted to take a neutral stance.

As an alpha falling in love with Steve, he’d been furious and wanted to tear the world apart with rage.

The sweetest omega alive had poured his heart out to his alpha girlfriend and she’d rejected him, broken his spirit with her carelessness.

She may not have meant to do it, but Nancy changed Steve fundamentally.

So, “I love you,” Eddie states plainly.

No frills, no goofy gestures, no silly voices.

Just the facts. What Steve needs to hear.

“Eddie, you really don’t have to do th—”

Steve looks like he’s going to cry. Eddie won’t allow that. Never again, if he can help it.

“I love you,” he says again, louder. “I love you and there isn’t a single thing you can say to change that, sweetheart.”

Steve stares at him then, mouth partially agape in what appears to be shock.

Eddie takes pride in the fact that he can still manage to surprise him at all. Steve’s so used to his antics that nothing seems to phase him anymore.

“You— you don’t really mean that,” he protests softly.

Except. Yes, Eddie truly does.

“I do though. I mean it more than I’ve ever meant anything else in my entire life. I love you, Steve. I love you, even if you never love me. If you decide that there’s no room in your heart for an alpha like me, I will keep loving you. I’ve made up my mind already.”

The tiniest crack of a smile. Barely there.

Did he do it? Did Eddie finally do something right in this life— so right that the most perfect omega of his dreams might actually take a chance on him?

A chance on them.

A chance for what Eddie believes is definitely the best idea he’s ever had.

“So even if I tell you that I’ll spend every day with you terrified of how this relationship could ruin me again?”

The words are serious, but he can see the clear look of amusement in Steve’s eyes.

He’s trying to play cool and unaffected. A game of testing boundaries and Eddie’s determination.

The good news is that Eddie doesn’t have healthy boundaries anyway.

If Steve needs him to wake each morning and say, “I love you,” stop every hour and declare, “I love you,” and go to bed with an, “I love you,” on his lips, Eddie will make it happen.

He’s crazy, but he’s crazy in love too.

“I’m not afraid of loving you, Steve Harrington. Whatever you need from me, it’s yours. Patience, reassurance, blind loyalty and devotion— they’re all yours, baby. You couldn’t pay me to go away, even if you wanted to!”

Steve’s beautiful, beaming smile isn’t hiding any longer.

God, he loves Steve.

[namism]

Zoro x reader, nsfw

Where Zoro notices reader zones out a lot, and when asked, reader says the most downbad stuff that has even him blushing.

Zoro: what's wrong with you?

Reader: Oh nothing, just wondering what it'd be like to be pressed through the mattress.

Zoro: 👁👁

Reader: oh....I said that out loud, didn't I?

pay attention | roronoa zoro (1)

➳ categories: canonverse, female reader from the heart pirates

➳ warnings: nsfw (top zoro, bottom reader, afab reader)

➳ word count: 3.6k

➳ summary: Zoro often catches you staring into nothingness the moment the Straw Hats allied with the Heart Pirates, but lately he realizes that you've been zoning out as you look at him. Eyes trained, dumbfounded. What could be the reason behind your constant staring, if not a silent request for something in particular?

➳ notes: you absolutely COOKED with this request. anyway, the exposition is rather long and the zoning out part was kinda exaggerated, but the good news is that i have plans on writing part 2. here's to my first full-length one piece nsfw fic 🥂

➳ cross-posted on ao3

"Oi. What are you looking at?"

A man's voice echoes from a distance, lower-pitched with a distinct timbre that sounds a bit familiar. He repeats the question, but it registers remotely in your brain as you keep your eyes trained on the dirt and moss on the ground.

"Strange," he mutters to himself as he watches you sit still on the forest floor, cross-legged and unresponsive to his question. Even as he stands in front of you, he can't seem to elicit a response.

"Zoro, you got lost again! Come back here!"

Zoro looks toward the direction where he came from. He grumbles to himself upon seeing Usopp running at top speed. "I did not get lost!"

"Explain why you ran into the— oh, is that (Y/N)?"

Usopp slows down in his tracks as he nears the both of you. With your head down on the ground, he suspects that something is wrong.

"Is she okay?"

Zoro shrugs. He tells Usopp that you've been sitting alone in the forest for the past 10 minutes, and that he just so happened to see you in the middle of a stroll. Usopp called bullshit, knowing damn well that Zoro wandered off on his own and got lost in the forest, but all jokes aside, he figured that they should lend you a hand and take you back to base, else your Captain gets mad at their discourtesy. Usopp snaps his fingers in front of you, waving a hand after the other to catch your attention, but you remain quiet.

When Zoro picks you up, however, that's when you respond in panic.

"Ahhh!" you scream as you're lifted into the air, Zoro's muscled arms supporting the back of your knees and neck as he holds your body. You stiffen in his arms, realizing the events that just unfolded. "What's happening?!"

"Idiot. You were sulking in the forest, long face and everything." Zoro clicks his tongue as he shakes his head in the process. You slap your cheeks with your two hands, mortified.

"Well, put me down!" You wiggle your feet in protest as the embarrassment sinks in. Zoro is alarmed by your antics, causing him to put you back on the ground. When you regain your balance, you run out of the forest and leave the man and his crewmate alone.

Usopp sighs at the turn of events and suggests that they return to the base where the alliance has gathered. As Zoro follows him from behind, he wonders to himself what you were doing, what trance you had just put yourself into, and why you decided to space out in the middle of a forest, out of all places.

The moment the Straw Hats met the rest of the Heart Pirates in Wano, Zoro realized that you zone out a lot for reasons that he couldn't (and still can't) explain. Always withdrawn from the crowd, seated at the back of gatherings unless you were needed, he noticed that you had a strange habit of spacing out regardless of where you were. He initially assumed you just had a lot in your mind, so he never bothered to find out what made you stare into nothingness as often as you did (since it wasn't even his business to begin with). However, he still questions it from time to time, therefore making him more observant of your peculiar behavior.

A few days later, Zoro can't believe his eyes when he encounters you zoning out for the nth time that month. You sit alone at the foot of a cottage, the outer garment of your kimono falling down the front steps gracefully. As you look into the distance, Zoro wonders why, out of all things you could stare at in this abandoned village that the alliance calls their base, you choose to gape at his laidback form under the awning of a rundown shed.

With narrowed eyes, he looks back at you with a firm stare, yet you show no sign of response or discomfort. That's his cue to think. You're spacing out again, and of that, he's certain, but Zoro still has no clue what's gotten into you and what exactly is running through that little brain of yours. Are you thinking of the alliance's plans? No, he saw you listening to Kin'emon's instructions earlier (and he's surprised that he knows that, because why did he bother observing you outside of your strange encounters?). Are you thinking of your crew? No, you couldn't be, because Captain Law is handling things on his own, and the situation is assumed to be under control. Are you thinking of your friends and their safety? Possibly, but Zoro can't imagine you looking this stupefied if you are concerned for your friends.

Your expression tells a lot but so little at the same time. Your tilted head, your wide eyes and blown irises, your mouth slightly agape, your fallen shoulders—Zoro can deduce a bountiful of scenarios that would draw out this expression from you, but each one doesn't seem so right. He can't put a finger on it. Every guess feels confident until it suddenly feels so wrong.

As he lays under the awning with his three swords to his right and his arms folded to support the back of his head, Zoro decides to maintain his staring, a way to evoke a reaction from you. Although you endure, your eyes not leaving his as his don't leave yours. At this point, he wants to find out the cause of your gawking because it's disturbing him more than he expected it to, especially since your subject of focus—or rather, the lack of it—is him.

As his brain runs dry of ideas, he decides to go up to you and ask. But even when he crosses the dirt path that traverses the shed and your cottage, you don't budge.

"Give it up. What's wrong with you, huh?" he asks once he's at the foot of the steps of your cottage, his hands coming to cross over his chest while he confronts you. No response. "Oi! You're worrying the guy. What's troubling you?"

Zoro is surprised when you slowly lift your head and meet his eyes with your blown ones. You mumble something under your breath, but he doesn't hear.

"Huh?" he asks.

"Nothing," you mumble again, but this time a little louder. "Just wondering how it feels to..."

Muttering follows.

"What?" he asks again, annoyed.

You, however, don't notice the annoyance on his face, instead noticing everything but it. Zoro has a handsome face that even annoyance, a disgusted expression, or the scar on his left eye can't erase his objectively good-looking features.

He has a muscular body, bulky, better than the ones you've seen on the different islands that your crew have been to, and you imagine them looking even better without his kimono obstructing the view. You can see a bit of his chest peeking through the garment, an evident scar running from his left shoulder to his right hip. His build surprises you, further sending you into a trance yet again as you focus on the side of his neck.

"Just... just wondering..." you mumble, hypnotized.

Zoro awaits your words.

"Wondering how... how it feels to be pinned down by you on a bed..."

He freezes up.

His face twists into different emotions, but most importantly, it erupts into flames.

"Wha— what the hell did you just say?!"

It's your turn to freeze up. At long last, you snap out of your thoughts and you return to reality. Zoro stands in front of you with raised shoulders and a harsh blush spreading across his cheeks. His eyebrows are downturned, his eyes are narrowed. He grits his teeth and holds back his tongue at your strange remark.

"Oh no..."

Irises quivering, you slowly look to the side, your very own cheeks hot upon realization.

"I... I said that out loud, didn't I?"

"You couldn't have been any quieter!" Zoro sarcastically replies, avoiding your gaze as well. "I can't believe it. Unbelievable. That's what you've been thinking the entire time you were staring at me?"

You cover your face with your hands. "It wasn't!"

"Tsk. Idiot. How about the many other times you weren't paying attention?" he asks. "Was I on your mind in that forest, too?"

"I was with Ikkaku!" you exclaim defensively as you face him. Zoro lifts an eyebrow, doubting the truthfulness of your answer. "We were hunting for ordeal beans to make medicine out of them— hey, what the hell is up with that face? I'm telling the truth!"

"Like I would believe that!" Zoro yells back. You whimper into your hands as he reads through you. Whether or not you were picking out medicinal plants in the forest with Ikkaku, he knows for a fact that you have been thinking of him. To think that you dodged his second question confirms it.

"I'm sorry!" you apologize breathlessly. Standing up, you rush inside the cottage where you hide yourself from Zoro in shame.

"Don't just leave!"

Zoro runs after you and enters the cottage. A one-room building, the space is enough to shelter two people. A dusty counter and a complementary sink take the space on one wall, while a used mattress is positioned across it on the ground. You face the corner wall where your mattress is located in a kneeled position, sobbing to yourself as you quiver in fright.

Zoro leans on the doorway, watching you shake silently.

He thinks to himself deeply.

After a few moments, he sighs and proceeds to remove his swords from the haramaki on his hip, leaving them by the wall next to the door.

"Lay down."

You stop shaking.

"What?" you ask.

Zoro grunts. "Well, if you were curious..."

You look over your shoulder. He stands by the foot of the mattress, his sandals discarded by the front door that is now closed. Is this reality or is this a figment of your imagination?

Your brain betrays you when you feel the aching need at the pit of your stomach. With the front door now closed, it's harder to see the interior, the remaining source of light coming from the setting sun that shines through the spaces of straw and bamboo of the cottage's walls. Even then, you can make out Zoro's figure, the outline of his muscled body coming closer.

You turn around on your knees and crawl toward the edge of the mattress, stopping when you feel the texture of the tatami mat on your fingertips. As you look up, you throb at the sight of the man in front of you.

Zoro clicks his tongue before diving into you, swiftly grabbing both your hands mid-air and trapping you against the mattress as he hovers over your frame. He holds your hands by the side of your head, and leans down closer to your face.

You gasp at the position you're in, your legs spread out under him as his legs hold up his weight on either side of you. Zoro is mere inches away from your face, perhaps trying to see a reaction to gauge whether or not he's doing things right, but all he could tell from your strained expression and glossed eyes is an ambiguous desire for... something else.

He comes even closer, and the need for something more travels from the pit of your stomach to your lower regions. Just a few more inches, and you can finally come close enough to—

"There. You got what you wanted."

Suddenly, Zoro retracts his head and lets go of your hands. He sits on the heels of his feet as he reaches for his sandals and prepares to leave like nothing happened.

Before he could do that, however, you quickly grab the material of his kimono and direct his face toward yours, kissing him.

Zoro freezes for a good second before he tries to kiss back to the best of his abilities. He lets you do whatever in his mouth as he supposes it would dissipate the need in your eyes and satisfy your unusual desires. Unskilled, he follows your lead in a confusingly hungry kiss, something new to him but enough to his liking.

You initiate the rush in your hunger to taste him. You play with the exposed skin on his chest, your hands feeling the muscles you always dreamed of touching. You swipe your hands underneath his kimono and touch him as far as you could reach until you undress his sleeves and let them fall to the side.

Crawling closer, you sit yourself on his thighs and hold yourself up by throwing an arm around his neck. You moan softly when Zoro tugs on your lips, but you push him away at the lack of air.

"Sorry," you mutter. "Too much?"

He shakes his head.

"Whatever."

It's him who initiates next. Zoro places his hands on your back and kisses you with the same intensity, if not more. As you feel the muscles of his chest, you decide to pry his other hand away from the small of your back and guide it to the front of your kimono.

You pull away momentarily.

"Feel me... right here."

You lead his hand to the small opening of your garment. Zoro slips his hand and feels your breasts. He runs his calloused fingers across them, feeling the curve of each one and pressing down on the mounds to fondle them better. You moan in his mouth when he swipes a finger across your nipple, followed by a sigh of relief as he tugs and plays on it between his fingers.

You soon untie the ribbon on your kimono and open the garment to reveal your body. Zoro groans at the stretch of exposed skin and allows his hands to wander around. Drawing away from his lips, you pull one side of his garment's knot and open his kimono to uncover the rest of his torso, as well as his hard-on further down.

Amid his hot touches on your tits, you push Zoro down on the mattress with forceful hands on his shoulders, to which he allows without resistance. Straddling him, you place yourself on his abdomen and subtly feel the tip of his hard dick from behind. You fall forward, kissing his lips again hungrily as you grow wetter by the second.

"I want you," you moan in his mouth, "fuck, I want to taste you. Can I?"

Zoro groans when you ask. While unexpected, he isn't opposed to it; if anything, he's glad that you brought it up. He pushes down on your shoulders as a wordless acceptance to your sinful request, and you follow in agreement. You crawl down his large body until you're resting on your heels and leaning forward, face-to-face with his dick.

You cuss at the sight. A guy like Zoro would of course be huge, a fact that isn't surprising to you anymore. You trace his dick with your finger, measuring him with your eyes and figuring out how you want to take him later on. You give into your thoughts eventually, taking his stiff cock in your hand and pressing your lips to his tip.

Feeling him in your mouth sends excitement in your pussy, so you take him in, inch by inch as you hollow your cheeks and do it slowly. Drool slides down the side of his cock the further down you go. When you hit the base of his dick, you rhythmically swirl your tongue back and forth on his underside, earning yourself a soft grunt from his parted lips.

You retract your head, pulling his cock out of your mouth seductively as you breathe out. You take in his tip again and suck on it several times as you look up at Zoro and discern the expression on his face. As he remains quiet, you go deeper on his dick and work your hand on his base, expertly moving up and down in a rhythm that has him moaning lowly. You continue your flow as you bob your head on his first few inches, oftentimes playing with his balls which he's seemingly pleased by, until he places a hand at the back of your head at his arriving release.

Zoro didn't mean to guide you on his dick, but the tightening knot in his gut and balls tells him to direct your head to where he wants you. So he does, his hand holding locks of your hair and maneuvering your head with his cock still inches deep in your mouth. He pulls your lips away from his dick and decides that he wants your tongue on his underside again, holding himself up with one hand and guiding your tongue to the spot with the other. Zoro grunts sharply as soon as you direct your ministrations on the bottom of his dick, where a large vein runs up from the base. Beads of cum spill from his tip until he's spilling entirely that has him groaning aloud, but your hand and tongue don't stop until he's fully done.

You run your lips across his dripping cock and moan at the taste of him, then you climb back up on his body and kiss him. Zoro doesn't mind the cum that glazes your lips, more concerned of feeling you up again as he misses the touch and feel of your tits. He gropes your chest like a man starved while you kiss him hotly.

"Mmm, I wanna ride you," you mutter in between kisses. You don't wait for Zoro's reply as you grip his cock from behind, in the process of stiffening yet again for you, and pump it a couple of times before raising yourself to your knees and sinking onto his dick. Zoro's hands fall to your waist as you do so, liking the wetness and warmth of your pussy on his tip.

"Put it in," he says, and that's your cue to do as told. You sink into him easily, wet slick coating him and slowly feeling the ridges of his cock in your pussy the more of him you take. You love his size, his girth so perfect for you as he gives you that stretch that you like best. Once you take all of him, you ride his cock slowly before finding a nice pace that you can maintain. "Fuck. That feels good."

You ride Zoro until he comes undone by the second, finding joy in hearing his vocal remarks with every bounce on his dick. Eventually you lean forward, your head thrown to the side of his neck as you lazily ride him, exhausted. Zoro takes the liberty of wrapping his arms around your waist before his hands slither down to your ass and play with them, squeezing and slapping like he just did with your tits.

When you tiredly slow down, his stamina fires up and he thrusts upward into your pussy so rapidly that he has you screaming. He continues the lead—your wet pussy so good that he slips out a couple of times, the leftover cum on his dick turning out to be unhelpful.

Once you're spent, Zoro takes the upper hand and flips you on your back. He now towers over you, his hands finding yours and pinning you again on the mattress like he did earlier. You shudder as he exits you, the absence of his dick inside your pussy leaving an empty miserable feeling—but Zoro doesn't plan on leaving you anytime soon as he comes back in quickly, this time with more energized thrusts pulled from his deep desire to fuck you and your pussy until you're completely done.

"Spread your legs wider," he orders hurriedly and you comply before he starts plunging into you deeply with every thrust of his hips. Legs pressed to your chest, he has better access to your little pussy now. He groans at your messy slick dripping on the mattress and at the white creamy cum on his dick that's pushed to his base every time he disappears inside you.

Zoro is turned on by the desperate way you moan his name. His stamina increases, but he grows tired of his pace and repositions himself on top of you eventually. Holding onto your tits, he rams faster into you than before, eliciting another pleasured scream from the back of your throat.

Your hands grip his strong ones that play with your chest. You want to cum, but you hold back a little longer as Zoro pushes himself deeper. You tap his hand with your finger and guide it to your clit, moaning in relief when he hits the right spot.

"Hah— like this? Fuck." He fiddles with your clit before he finds a nice rhythm with his thumb that you seem to enjoy. You nod your head rapidly.

"Yes," you moan, "yes, yes, yes— fuck! Oh my god, Zoro, keep it like that, keep it like that. Please keep it that way—"

Zoro listens to your pleas and maintains his pace on your clit. You snap a few moments later, coming undone with shaky legs as you cry out his name. Zoro keeps himself steady until he's cumming himself, pulling out and spilling on your belly with low delicious grunts.

As he calms down, he pumps himself slowly and watches you clean your painted stomach by eating much of his cum. His dick stirs at your act, but the cloud of lust eventually dissipates and he's looking away from you in shame.

He pulls himself together and reaches for his kimono. You follow, but you spontaneously decide to kiss him first before doing so.

"Thank you," you say softly. He looks at you, finding the right words to say.

"Just ask next time," he mumbles before dressing himself.