#big crown molding

[ubreblanca]

San Francisco Bathroom Example of a small eclectic yellow tile dark wood floor and brown floor powder room design with furniture-like cabinets, dark wood cabinets, a one-piece toilet, copper countertops, a vessel sink and yellow walls

[glitchgeek]

Has anyone ever made a picrew for like....... a room?

[irishbreakfst]

Saw 4 SEPARATE SPECIES OF BUG IN MY STUPID APARTMENT TODAY (none of them were bed bugs at least but they were some of the other bug species I loathe and fear the most) I know the fact that its really hot is probably the main reason they're being so active and getting in here, but God damn I'm already crawling through zillow to find my next apartment and I've still got 11 months in this lease. If I ever see a cave cricket in this house with my own two eyes I'm breaking the fuckin lease tho I can promise you that

[hellenhighwater]

I picked up these sconces for $10 from a pallet return ( looks like they were missing wirenuts, which I had anyway) and rewired them to plug into wall outlets. And I'm working on jury-rigging a picture rail system for this room using some chain and a curtain rod but I think I need to get significantly shorter mounting brackets than the ones that came with the rod. That or hang everything on two chains so it doesn't twist.

Still need to get to the crown molding and light fixture, but I'm in no hurry. This guest room gets little use, tbh. This was last week. Lighting makes a big difference!

[cinhomi]

𝑈𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑡𝑙𝑒𝑑

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Han Jisung x fem reader

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you and your soulmate in a random morning of May

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, smut

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: descriptions of sexual intercourse, unprotected sex, no dynamic specified, vanilla, talks of death and afterlife

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.9K

“Ji?”

It's warm. The Sun’s rays penetrate the cream colored curtains of his bedroom and dance on your naked skin. The tree outside paints stunning shadows that turn into shapes that move with the light, in a psychedelic motion that molds with your bodies. A pantone of warm colors reflects everywhere and it's as if they're about to spill in your heart, too.

“Yeah, baby?”

His voice is barely a whisper, his breath tickles your ear. You can feel his hand move from your side to go up, up, until it reaches your neck and his fingers delicately close round it. You feel his bottom lip first, then the upper one, as he starts to leave little pecks on your nape, your jawline. The presence of his other arm is persistent, under you, dragging you closer until your back is flat on his chest. The pendant of his necklace starts to leave a print between your shoulder blades.

“Do you think there's life after death?”

He halts his actions. Jisung leaves another kiss behind your ear and inhales, hoping to get drunk with your scent. His hand caresses your cheek, and then travels down to your arm, finding your wrist, taking it close to his pretty mouth to rest there, to let him kiss it. He presses your digits on his lips and gives attention to each of them. It takes him a while to reply, but you give him all the time he needs.

“I like to believe that there is, yes.” his eyes close for a moment, it's almost as if he wants to memorize your fingerprints. “Where does this question come from, baby?”

When you turn around to face him you find his faint smile, his adoring eyes that trail from your chest, to your lips, to your own irises. There's a rebelling tuft of curly hair that stands alone on his head, and the mole on his cheek moves whenever he swallows. You caress the one placed on his collarbone, before taking a deep breath. “I just… I was thinking- when we die… our body remains here, right?”

Jisung nods and hums, brows furrowing slightly, trying to predict the path your thoughts will take.

“And, wouldn't it be sad if it all ended… like that? Or maybe- or maybe that's the beauty of it? In the end we really always kind of leave a piece of us here. Being it bones or ashes…"

He hooks the necklace he gifted you the night prior, twistes it in his hand and watches it shine. “I always feel like we're too big to just end with death, you know? I don't know if we actually reincarnate or if something like Heaven or Hell exists, but I don't want to- no, I can't accept the idea of disappearing from the universe completely.” he explains, all while bringing you close to him again, your breasts now against his chest, your leg brushing his glutes as he takes it to rest on his hip. “Do you agree?”

“Yeah,” you pout, your hands open to feel his muscles tense under your touch, “we are immense. Don't you ever think that, sometimes, you have strong feelings about something because you were connected with it in your previous life?”

Jisung nods, he leaves a kiss on the crown of your head. “For example?” he chimes in, resting his head on your pillow.

“Well,” you start, a hint of a giggle already threatening your voice, “maybe you're scared of bugs because in a previous life one killed you!” and a light slap can be heard on your shoulder as he shakes his head trying to suppress a smile.

“I thought you were about to be all cute and reference us… tch.” he looks at the ceiling, faking being offended.

“What do you mean?” and at your question his farce crumbles immediately, enamored eyes staring down at you.

“Maybe we're together now because we were lovers in our past life, too. No?”

All words die in your throat. There's a block forming in the pit of your stomach and your waterline starts to tingle.

“From the first moment my eyes laid on you, I knew you were the one. Sometimes I think I've known you all my existence, sometimes I wonder if we come from the same star.”

“Ji…” before he can see your expression you bury your head in his chest, “this is disgustingly romantic…”

He giggles. You look at him again just to get a glimpse of his gummy smile, maybe searching for the crooked teeth he had once. You miss it sometimes.

Jisung gets up on his elbows and in moments like these he seems bigger. His shoulders are up straight, chest popped up, slim waist twisted making the faint lines of his abs become curves. You'd look at his thighs and at his cock too, but grey cotton sheets cover it all.

“But it's true! It's true… I refuse to believe otherwise. We're together in every universe, baby.” his gaze fixed on yours. “Is it childish to think so?”

You shake your head, blinking slowly. Sunlight is still a bit too strong, your eyes straining from it, but the way it reflects on him, it's mesmerizing. Jisung takes your face in his hands and kisses you, tenderly, totally opposed to how he did it the night prior. It's so sweet, it's overwhelmingly sweet and you can't help but melt as his index finger caresses the corner of your eye, as his thumb taps your bottom lip for him to take between his. There's still a slight ache between your legs but it's a lovely feeling. There's still the smell of your juices, your panties by the end of the bed, his shirt hanging on the corner of his TV.

“I'll find you in every universe,” he whispers between kisses, “I'll be by your side, even if we become different things, I'll- I'll find a way, angel, I'll find it.” more urgently, his cold rings roam on your back, lifting you up enough to have his arms around you. It makes you sigh, it makes you whimper.

“I- I want-” you gasp, his tongue is under your jaw and it keeps on traveling down every valley of your body. There are soft but obnoxious sounds now echoing in the room. There's also a dog barking in the distance, few cars passing by, someone opening their shutters. “I want everything I lost to- come back to me, Jisung…”

His head is now on your belly, he stays there with his eyes closed. Jisung sighs. He kisses your belly button and goes even lower, almost disappearing under the covers.

“It will…” he inhales your smell, you, groaning against your navel, “it's already here angel. You may not be seeing it, but you're already surrounded by it. You said that, we just leave our bodies-” he checks on your expression quickly. “You feel it, don't you?”

He sees your eyelashes flutter and your head moving up and down. Jisung kisses your clit, and then your labia, and his eyes roll back when your soft sounds reach him. When your leg lifts and your knee presses on his cheek, nudging him away, big round confused eyes run all over you once again.

“Inside…” even if the sentence floats between you too, Jisung understands. He comes up and the way the freshly clean cotton falls from his figure reminds you that time at the lake, when he came out from the water to make love to you under a willow. He's hard, you feel it against your thigh.

“Need me to stretch you?” he's whispering, he's kissing your left shoulder. As you shake your head, his tip is already catching in your entrance.

“It'll be okay baby. I know you miss them, but your heart is big,” his cock slowly slips inside you as he speaks, “your heart is big and I love you for this reason.” and then you find yourself full, of him, of his sweet words, full of light and sorrow and sadness and cheesecake. You feel so many things, it's only natural that some tears threaten to spill from your eyes, but Jisung kisses them all away, but Jisung hushes you and rolls his hips deeper into you, with the same rhythm of the tap of your kitchen sink, that broke two days ago. Later he’ll call someone to fix it.

When your palms glide on his back you feel bumps, formed as long streaks. You close your eyes, you touch them like a blind person reading braille, you try to read him. It's written “I love you” all over. He adores it when you hold him flush over you, when your nails cling to him as he thrusts into you, adores your delirant praise, hushed under your breath.

Jisung drags his voice in long moans, you feel them hot on your neck, they alternate with hisses while his eyes squeeze shut and fight to stay open, to witness how your own face moves. They reverberate in your chest and your heart is being caressed. What was warm light now is scorcingly hot directly against your bodies, a sheen of sweat making you sparkle. It's such a nice day, you should grab coffee together later. Take his sunglasses maybe. His hoodie. His soul. He doesn't mind.

“Baby…” it's hoarse now, it'll sound melodic again when he's calm, “baby you are my everything-” his hips pick up speed, they falter, his thighs burn. When you wrap your legs on his lower half, when your heels press on him they stutter and Jisung chokes on his own words. You feel the tell-tale throbs in his cock, you feel the way his hands grip the flesh of your hips, and your walls closing around him.

“Ji- baby, look at me, look me in the eyes-” it's afternoon already. He lifts properly, both hands on the sides of your head. Jisung looks you in the eyes. Jisung, he tells you that he loves you repeatedly as he feels his high so close he thinks he's going to pass out. Your pussy sucks him in whenever he retracts his cock, he hears the change in your voice. You'll go on a walk together tonight.

He does as you asked, never closes his eyelids. He's like a god falling apart, stilling into you, orgasm crashing over him like a tidal wave. It's him, it's his expression that makes you arch your back, it's him greedily covering every millimeter of skin he sees with his wet lips, it's his praise, his “baby”, his cum deep inside you. You exist. In that moment you're sure you exist because Jisung breathes life into you, because when you come for him he circles your clit and smiles. You die and then you're alive again.

Jisung stays there for a while, he keeps smiling, teeth grazing your chest and collar bones as you both start to giggle. You feel the ache again and it's comforting.

"I don't care about dying, angel. I mean, I don't want to, but… it's okay because I already knew happiness, you know?” he closes his eyes.

It's a hot day of May and few butterflies appear to do their dance in the air. It's a hot day of May and you discuss about life and death like it's nothing, like you talk about the weather. It's a hot day of May and it's easy to love, to exist, to accept the end of existence. It's just a day like the others, and that's beautiful.

“I know.” your reply comes before a sigh. You'll have to say goodbye to coffee and think about lunch. “You have to tell your mom I need her kimchi recipe, okay?”

a.n.

life is beautiful, please live it to its fullest and enjoy every moment, even if it brings pain, even if it seems dark, please cherish it. life is beautiful and you deserve to think so. I love you, take care of yourself.

[gremlingottoosilly]

The only thing you want to do is... [Price x fem!Reader]

Price broke his hand on the last mission. Fortunately for him, his caretaker is just as adorable as she is eager to help him in every way.

CW and tags: Legal age gap, power imbalance, daddy kink, pervert!Price, obsessive!Price, coercion into sex, handjob (m!receiving)

Word count: 3246

This work on AO3

You’re such a sunshine, it hurts. 

John Price never considered himself to be a good man. He did what he had to do to protect his country, to ensure that big bad terrorists are kept at bay, and foreign militaries are ending up where they belong – somewhere in the ditch, with reports stating KIA an anonymous bullet drugged out of their skulls. 

His job was just that – a job, something that had to be done because he knew that someone else, someone worse, would gladly take his place in case of retirement. The captain can be considered a fucking angel compared to some people he is working with – no one would ever dare call him evil when people like Graves still exist out there, hunting for innocents. 

But you’re so fucking sweet to him, he simply can’t handle it. 

When his arm got injured, and he was forced to get on leave for at least a month – he tried to argue for something less, but Lasswell silently pointed out that he hadn’t had a break in the past five years, and she would kick him out of his own Task Force if he’d continue to refuse – he got assigned a caretaker by Kate recommendation. 

John was fully expecting some old lady, probably a retired officer or field medic. Maybe some burly man with too much time on his hands and the ability to give really nice massages under flights of bullets. Perhaps, worst case scenario, he would be assigned an actual; nurse that wouldn’t buy any of his shit – that amount of whiskey he drinks is prescribed by his therapist, smoking cigars in the apartment is a nice form of relaxation, and he actually doesn’t need help and can go in service back again less than in two weeks. 

But, the Captain got wee ol’ you, all nice and warm, and adorable, and too fucking young to have anything to do with his apartment. 

You’re nice, warm, fresh out of college, where you got some recommendations about rehabilitating veterans back into normal lives. Probably was writing a Thesis about something as dumb as “Healing PTSD through flower crowns and little touches”. You chirp your way into his heart and refuse to go out – just like Kate promised to him, you really didn’t allow him to do anything on his own. 

God, it was infuriating – how much he wanted to simply grab your shoulders and kiss you. Or kick you out and find someone else to take care of him, someone boring, someone of appropriate age. Without dumb, bright eyes and cute smiles, without enthusiasm, that can only be seen in unpaid interns and college graduates who still believe that the world is fair and nice. 

You cook his dinners and clean up his apartment – as small as it is, never having a family or any other reason to make it even slightly bigger – and you do this with such a wide smile on your face it actually makes Price question basically everything he knows about young ladies doing charity work. You must be paid triple because you fold his underwear in neat little cubes and refuse to accept his help. Always chirped something about his hand like he can’t kill a man with his teeth only. 

— I can fold my own pants, love. 

He presses his body against the doorframe of the small bathroom – looks at your ass so shamelessly bent over the washing machine. You’re folding his dried clothes, and he can only pray that you aren’t slowly resenting him for being such a disgusting old man. He knew he looked good for his age, 37 years in this world molded him into something that many young women would consider hot – even though his beard is unkept and his hair grew a bit longer since he couldn’t be arsed to do anything about it, and his dominant hand is broken. 

— We don’t want to sprain your hand even more, right? — Everythin’ is alright with my bloody hand…

— Lady Lasswell said I shouldn’t listen to you like this, sir. Sorry. 

— Little minx. 

— Me or Lady Lasswell? 

John looks at you, so eager and cheerful, and he just wants to…he can’t, of course, he stops himself before he even forms the thought because it’s dirty and you don’t deserve this, and your shy smile as you laugh softly and push the last of the laundry in the neat pile on the washing machine. 

You look too eager to please, and he has an idea – the one he will never act upon. Maybe will entertain himself later, stroking himself in some abandoned base deep in the snowy tundra, trying to remember your warmth as if a sinner like him can even comprehend your light. 

God, you got him so bad, he starts thinking about good ol’ Jesus again. You really are a side to behold, aren’t ya. 

He looks at you again – you’re so easy to please. You cook for him, the smell of home cooking that he almost forgot, all the ingredients you invited yourself to buy when he left his card for you. You didn’t think it was weird, not a single mischievous bone in your body – if anything, he was casually prompting you to go and buy yourself something nice, something as compensation for all the trouble you endured for him. 

Instead, you went out of your way to cook for him, to make him tea like he wanted it – without sugar, but with a small amount of milk poured into a cup that is probably the most expensive thing in this whole place except for his weapons. 

The problem is – John Price doesn’t really like it when people are taking care of him. Not because he is shy or insecure, god forbid, but because he knows that if a pretty young thing like you is going to show him kindness, he will take a fucking mile and make you run from him as fast as you can. He has desires, he has needs, something that pretty good girls like you should know nothing about. 

You’re so eager to please that you’ll probably jerk him off if he were to whine about his arm being broken and his inability to get himself off because of it. Which, in turn, gives him an…idea. 

Price was never a good person – he isn’t the worst guy either. He sees your reactions, that adorable heat of your face when he brushes his knuckles over your cheek in an affectionate manner. How you are biting your lips every time you have to fold his underwear, when you cook for him, and he presses his body against yours, rocking his hips just gently enough to not make his arousal obvious. John knows you like him in more ways than just one – he doubts that such a lovegirl like you would ever agree to take care of a grumpy military man like him. 

He wonders where your father is – probably out of the picture if his precious daughter is almost crying from a desire to please a guy like him. He wonders if you have a boyfriend or if you’re seeing someone else – if you’re a virgin or you already had a series of disappointing sessions with blokes that have no idea how to behave with an angel like you. 

Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be taking care of a SAS captain – did your superiors forget to tell you just how girl-hungry men like him are? That he didn’t even bother to find a wife, and the loneliness of a single life will make him fucking explode if a girl as pretty as you were in the vicinity of that perverted old dog. You must be stupid – or so insanely naive, it’s not even funny. 

He licks his lips, staring at you again. He is certainly isn’t a good guy – not the worst either, but it’s up for debate. He wants to hold you close and say all of those pretty good things he knows you want to hear. He also wants to push you as close to him as possible and just fuck that pretty girl until you’re begging for him to make you his wife. He’d always laugh at the thought of other military commanders and higher rank soldiers having sugar babies – especially the mercs and their fucking inability to keep a girl who isn’t tied to their paychecks. But now…he might just pay for your adorable pout and eagerness. 

Might make a call to that one masked arsehole and ask how the hell he keeps his questionably young wife around without breaking her legs. Visibly, at least. 

— Sir? Planet calls for Captain Price. 

You giggle when you are waving your hand around him. Shit – looks like he zoned out for a hot minute, leaving you free to stare at his face, the fantom red spreading across his skin as if he is actually embarrassed to be caught like this. He isn’t, of course, he is stronger than some girl trying to get a rise out of him. He thinks he is stronger, at least. 

You wave your hand in front of his face again, and the insects are kicking in – captain grabs your hand, not even caring that his supposed helplessness stems from the fact his dominant hand is still broken. He has no problems keeping you in place with just his left hand – and you almost look scared when you understand that you literally can’t move. 

Your innocent smile turns into a pathetic whimper when he squeezes you even more. Bruises, no doubt, are starting to form already – well, it should be your fault. Good girls are usually smarter than teasing an old dog like him, even if you’re trying to play innocence. He knows what you are. 

His future special girl that is. A wife, if he plays his cards right…and the captain was always good at poker. 

— Shite, love. Sorry. 

His smile mirrors yours – an innocent display like he didn’t almost break your wrist in his hold. He is still squeezing your hand, but not he slowly presses his lips against your knuckles – thin, dry lips gently caressing your skin in a gesture that you should never accept from a guy who kills people as a job. Who saves people, too – but a good guy with a gun is barely an upgrade from a bad one. 

He kisses your fingers and finds heaven in the feeling of your soft skin against his lips. You are certainly embarrassed, and this is exactly what he wants – an old pervert trying to get in the pants of a cute girl who just wants to take care of him without any strings attached. He just has to make this whale thing complicated, isn’t he? 

— It’s okay, sir. Just thought I lost you for a second. 

— Not a chance. 

Your smile looks a tad bit mischievous – that is, or he is simply hallucinating from painkillers he is forced to drink every morning because you refuse to let him feel pain even though he is used to it. You are acting like he is a soft doll made out of pink ribbons and soft plushes, not a seasoned soldier with his own thoughts and ideas about what he can do about your desire to please him. He might just use your eagerness – his cock has been pitching for too long without female attention, and he usually doesn’t indulge in shitty one-night stands in some sketchy pubs, but he can make an exception for now. For you. 

You smile awkwardly, still trying to get your hand out of his grasp. Little minx, teasing him like he can’t just push you on this exact washing machine and fuck you like a slut you are. Poor girl, you probably don’t even know what kind of thoughts he has in his head – even though your eyes tell him something your lips cannot articulate. 

John acts on his instincts, and they usually don’t deceive him. 

— If you want to help so badly, I can think of another way. 

— Is that so, sir? You’re going to get him in so much shit with Lasswell, he doesn’t even know how he is going to get out of it after fucking her best little protege. Would have to marry you – like it’s not his end goal, like he doesn’t want to make your care for him a tad bit more permanent. He has done so many good things for humanity, why can’t he be a bit selfish and get himself a little something to make this place feel more like home? 

He thinks of a pretty thing like you, heavy with his kids, cooking something nice and hearty in his house – not this crappy apartment, of course, he’d buy you something in the countryside, away from terrorists and public squares, with good schools and greenery all around. 

You lick your lips and tilt your head to the side. He is daydreaming again. 

— If you want to make me relax so badly, love, there is something I need help with…

Beating around the bush like this isn’t in his character – but he knows that you’re a good girl, maybe way too good and proper. He can’t just shove his dick in your hand, it would be too unpolite. 

He has to prepare you, it’s a slow sniper mission where he needs to approach you as gently and quietly as possible – he still holds your hand in his, a phantom of his lips tucked away on the softness of your skin. 

Then he places his hand on his growing erection – as awkwardly as he can operate with only using his left arm as a helper. 

Price might not be the master of espionage, but he also didn’t get his rank for not being able to do cover missions under pressuring circumstances and lie in the faces of people who trust him. Not be the best person, of course, but he gives you a choice. You have all the power now – even with his weapons safely stashed in his bedroom, he knows he won’t ever try to force you. He won’t have to. 

— Help your captain, eh? 

You’re embarrassed, shy, scared even – your hands are trembling, fingers tracing the outline of his cock with morbid curiosity he never thought he’d find this adorable. You don’t stop and don’t try to fight him – like a little animal, nervous and terrified somewhat, you’re slowly indulging yourself in something that you actually shouldn’t. 

He lets go of your hand and allows you to continue on your own – like a good girl, you only nod and slowly duck your palm in his boxers. He’d say that the way he is rock-solid just from looking at your ass and pouting on your face is weak, but he can afford to be a bit pathetic after so many weeks without the ability to jerk off. With your watchful gaze, he just couldn’t find it in his heart – or the only remaining working hand – to do something to help with his raging crush on this adorable social worker who comes to help him. 

John is many things – a war hero, war criminal, the captain, and the butcher of many who may deem his actions irredeemable. He made peace with not being the poster good guy and often dirtying his hands just to keep the world clean – and he knows that, in the end, he deserves a pretty young thing to jerk him off while he kisses your hairline and whispers sweet nothing with that beautiful accent of his. 

— This is not very… appropriate, sir.

— Bullocks, love. You’re helpin’, that’s why you’re here. 

 You’re nervous when your hand, squeezing his shaft firmly, goes up and down on his cock. You’re trying to find the rhythm in his quiet grunts and little moans, not having too much experience with pleasuring men who you like this much. It’s fear of disappointing him that makes you go wild, that approving gaze of his every time you press your soft fingers against the head of his cock and squeeze a little. 

He is throbbing in your palm, pre-cum leaking on the small of your fingers – naturally, you lick it as slowly as possible, not breaking the eye contact. 

Price moans. 

— Bloody hell, luv…so good for daddy. 

The name makes your ears burn, the desire growing in your stomach – you fight the urge to drop on your knees and take him fully in your mouth. This isn’t what he wants, you think, so you just continue to squeeze him more, making sure he is satisfied with every little movement your hand makes. You lick your lips and continue, feeble attempts at containing the rhythm with shaky fingers. 

— I just wanted to help you with your life, not…this. 

He chuckles, unharmed hand presses on the small of your back to fix you in place. You lick your lips, understanding that he is not going to let you go this easily – you don’t want to behave like this, of course, it’s against the terms of your contract and your agreement to help him without feelings attached, but he moans so deeply for you, hips are buckling to fuck the firmness of your hand like he is ready to use your moist, prepared pussy. 

God, what are you even thinking about? 

You don’t know if you should be doing this, but the captain is not letting you go – and you can’t even do anything against his wishes, can you? 

— We really shouldn’t be doing this. 

— Quiet. I’ll help you out after my hand is healed, eh? — This isn’t what I’m talking about, sir. 

— Now, let’s not use that here. I’m sir in the field, not here. 

He is manipulating you as hard as he can – he can feel the tension in your eyes and the way you’re squeezing his cock, and he wants nothing more but to simply push you harder, make you fall apart in his hold like a precious porcelain vase. You’re sensitive and shy, just perfect for a bastard like him – his only regret is that the dumb cast on his right hand won’t really allow him to relax to have sex with you properly. 

He will pay you back later – on your back, on your knees, on your tummy, moaning his name as he plunges his seed deep into you. It was about time he’d settle down with a pretty wife of his own – he can afford you, certainly. 

— I can’t call you daddy, it’s embarrassing…

Your shy words are what send him over the edge. John Price was never a good guy to begin with, but your little pleas are enough to make him cum – and it’s certainly one of the biggest sins he has ever committed. Cute girl like you shouldn’t be so embarrassed about jerking him off, but here you are. 

Your hands are covered in cum as he continues to release his seed, only sad because he wasn’t able to breed you properly – that’s the agenda for the time when he finally is freed from this dumb cast. Might just ask Lasswell for extended leave. 

— You’ll just have to get used to this, love. Not letting you go after this. 

You can only whimper when he kisses you – possessive and tender at the same time. A silent promise of making you his dumb little wife. 

[getodrools]

𐙚 CHEATING BUT PASSING: CHOSO KAMO!

IN WHICH, virgin! choso is more than willing to do all of your assignments as long as he can keep his grimy — incel freak hands on you.

I 𝓲. I MDNI ୨୧ f! reader. college au. dry humping + panty fucking manipulation. he whimpers :(. premature ejaculation. cumshot. mentions of: gojo x reader. | WC –> 1.0k+ est ! !

NOTE. this is a repost from my old blog !! :p

CHOSO ALWAYS THINKS THIS is a win-win situation—of some sort. being able to clasp clammy hands to your sides and to rut shamelessly against you; as long as he did your jujutsu tech assessments, first. but even as he does work hard on your own homework, he still gets to hang out with a pretty, popular girl like you.

so, win-win.

“c–choso, wait! i-- slow down—hey! be careful.” you sigh heavily before blowing messy hair out from your face, trying to stay calm as the man behind you fumbled around with your skirt to pull over the globes of your perk ass.

feeling warm breath, “pretty… so pretty… ” choso lays all ten lithe fingers across your ass before squeezing at the jiggly flesh into a vice grip—dammned he would leave an outline of his print, jagged nails too, feeling them cut the shape of crescents into your soft skin. gross.

“i know, just… take it easy.” without having to see that cherry kissed face of his, you know he unconsciously nodded, frantically too.

you still felt him groping and molding your ass around in his hold regardless though. that hollow promise was quickly thrown out the window.

especially, when choso catches the view of your soiled, cute little panties; a damp, dark spot circling around your sopping slit, almost drooling down the thick of your thigh.

choso could feel his heart jump up his throat and bounce straight down to his cock, feeling himself beginning to swell then get harder – it hurt too at the sudden ache panging between his legs, but this pretty sight of you bent over and…

turned on..? by him? was certainly etching a core memory into his brain.

his slick tongue runs over dry lips, “are you—”

“i just got back from gojo’s. you're not special.” you wiggle your ass upwards in hopes he would just get on with it… and the distraction works, hearing him suck in a breath of air through gritted teeth at the remark but quick with his hands.

soft cloth from the crotch of his pants presses hard against your body. choso jerks his hips upwards – his cock practically beating through his brutal confines, almost bursting through the buckle as he jutted against you hopelessly, searching for a rhythm…

choso’s head cranes back, lolling off to the side as he held you close while bending his knees, almost buckling to get a better angle to press more firmly against your clothed cunt. wriggling his own hips to feel more of that warm wetness seeping through, but through thick clothes like his own was a restriction, a brutal one at that.

“can... can i take off my pants and—”

“cum on any of my clothes, i will kill you.” that's all he needed to hear, being quick with it too; clasping his buckle and letting his pants crinkle to the floor.

the sauntering man quickly curled long fingers around the base of his cock; gripping a firm grasp to stroke his length hard with a slight twist to his tip – watching how the uncut skin glides over and swipes away the pearls of drooling pre as he did.

and you sat there, impatiently tinkering with the charms on your phone – ‘till the hefty feel of a nudging cock prods at your panties.

the sensation of his bulbous crown kissing your clothed slit was new… to say the least as he felt on you, sliding the hardness of his warm pulsing cock up and down your panties. even between the globes of your ass, and squeezing them together to suffocate his shaft.

this was new—actually, feeling choso’s length caress against the folds of your cunt was altogether, new. it brought a new sort of imagery from him to come flooding; fuck, he's big… and a lot more than you expected—damn, something no one would expect.

pure chastity. his cock wasn't just thick in size, but overwhelmingly big, practically feeling the pulsing veins wrapping around his base beat at every feathery touch.

maybe… he was special…

scratch that, choso let out a soft… whimper?

total loser.

this is the closest he's been near pussy—ever. and it was so obvious the first time you brought up this deal with him; the shock on his face was almost paralyzing, practically stuttering even through heavy breaths of confusion. but luckily, choso—of course, bought it. and ever since, he's been a feen to even do extra credit work for you even when it's not needed – too hooked up on the thought of humping your body every time he gets you an a+…

the fabric softener you used helped his cock smooth easier across the cloth.

so soothing, he thinks, while frothing over your body that bounces along with his. watching how the curvature of your spine arches into a deep bow, and how your hips fill in nicely into his hands, even how your puffy lips pressed through your panties, practically kissing and sandwiching his cock every time he slid himself over was mouth-watering.

yet, this was still the same thing you've both been doing for a very long while now, just fewer clothes…

oh?

your eyes peel open wide, pretty head even spinning around like an owl at the foreign feel of choso pressing the crown of his cock harder against your clothed cunt; almost pressing your panties inside of you at the rough thrust forward.

“heh, are you trying to actually fuck me?” you want to giggle. the soft lewd expression drooling over his face was adorable. his mouth left hanging agape, eyes hooded and set low, even his nose crinkled up at the suctioning feel wrapping around his blushing tip.

“euuh, i--” he’s trying so hard to mutter out words, but only incoherent babbles spew out – all thoughts and focus were set on this new feeling. practically, fucking you with a condom—a heart-lacey condom of thin cloth…

“you wish.” you roll your eyes and make yourself more comfortable; settling your tummy on the desk in your dorm and wriggle your ass up more for him.

choso takes this chance to wisp the tips of his fingers to hook around your sides harder to help stable himself from buckling as he watched with greedy eyes; entranced how he's practically fucking you. choso was trying so hard to push himself deeper, but the restricting panties blanketing around him as he attempted, forces his hips back in a ache.

it tickled – for you, the fabric of your own soiled garments tease at your gummy walls at each frantic thrust choso barrels into you with. this new, almost fuck was intriguing… and pathetic how hard he was trying to feel more of you.

catching your bottom lip between your teeth, you hear his breathing become heavier. it was cracking into whines as he was losing it from this enticing reality.

choso’s hands grip hard around your sides – bruising too as he felt his balls tightening. his hips were beginning to stutter, legs almost buckling. he reached a certain limit to rut harder—desperately, feeling a sudden rush shoot up his spine.

he lets out another, final whimper.

“ah!-- what did i tell you!” the warmth of a puddle of creamy cum spurts right against your clothed slit, almost oozing through your panties and seeping between your folds from the hard press of his hips trying to shove himself as deep as he could.

it was a lot. warm too. choso popped his heavy knot of spunk right on you, and in no shame, his head rolls to his chest with squeezing eyes.

“get… gojo to buy you some new clothes then…”

<– BACK: PINNED ౨ৎ NEXT: MORE CHOSO –>

[myosotisa]

The trailer is dark, the park quiet as snow when you finally manage to drag yourself from the warmth of the blankets and the smell of Eddie that they encase you in. He'd slipped out of them 10 minutes earlier -- a kiss on the crown of your head and a sleepy mumble in your ear as he carefully extracted himself from your embrace. You'd been too close to sleep to hear what he'd told you in that low voice; you felt it in vibrations from where you were pressed to his chest more than you had heard it. So you went searching.

Padding down the hall in a pair of thick socks, boxers, and a sweatshirt (all belonging to Eddie), you navigate toward the soft, orange light diffusing across the linoleum beyond the wooden arch that cut off the bedroom and bathroom from the rest of the trailer. You could hear a slight scrape of plastic against metal and the baritone hum that came from your boyfriend, the sweetest siren's call that would guide you through even the darkest nights.

Eddie stands in the kitchen with his bare back to you. The light from above the stove, the only light in the entire place, filters out around him in a golden glow. His hair is down and messy from sleep, shoulders rising and falling in easy breaths, black sweatpants hung low on his hips, the feathery wings of black ink that span across his shoulder blades shifting as his arms adjust whatever he has on the burner.

He is always pretty, unfairly so, but there is something so absolutely striking about him like this. At night he's softer, calmer, warmer -- less sharp grins and more loving smiles, less restless adjusting and more relaxed lounging. His doe eyes are still big and brown as ever, but they blink slower, simmer deeper. And while you love both sides of Eddie, you treasure this one. The one only you get to see, the gentle side of him that rises with the moon and lives within the familiar walls of your home and within your arms. You so often find yourself thanking the universe for giving you this, giving you him. This is definitely one of those moments.

After taking several peaceful seconds to appreciate the view, you travel silently forward, unable to resist the urge to feel his skin on yours again. He jumps a bit in surprise when your cold fingers skate past his narrow waist, his body relaxing again by the time you wrap both arms around him and mold yourself to the planes of his back.

"What are you doing out of bed, sweet girl?" The softly spoken question comes out almost scolding, but the timber of his voice bleeds out warmth and comfort, a smile evident despite you being unable to see his face.

Lips pressed to his bare skin, eyes falling closed, you answer honestly and with a little bit of embarrassment. "Missed you, didn't know where you went."

His torso rumbles in a quiet laugh, his back widening against your chest as he intakes air. "I told you before I left."

"Didn't hear you, was too sleepy." He lets out an understanding hum as his non-dominant arm drapes across your own, his palm warm even through the thick fabric of your sweatshirt. "What're you making?"

"Had a craving for a grilled cheese. You want one?"

"Mmmmmmm, I do love cheese," you murmur, delighting as his skin erupts in goosebumps when you hum against him.

"And I do love you, sweet girl. So I think we might be able to work something out."

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Thanks to tasmanienerin for sending this dreamhouse of mine, a 1910 mansion in New York City. I'm surprised to see that the 6bd, 5ba home is actually original. (Did you notice the streets carved into the corner of the house?) $7.25M. I HOPE that the millionaire who buys it doesn't give a modern renovation and ruin it.

All the wood, including the floor, is original. It has a large nook with a round stained glass window, and built-in cabinets on each end. Love the gold-on-blue wallpaper.

The grand entrance hall is very large and has a beautiful chandelier. The hall is placed differently than other Victorians- it's sideways, so when you enter, the stairs are built facing "east/west," against the wall.

The owners chose to paint the reception room a sunny yellow and the corner room does get a lot of sun. It has a beautiful fireplace, gorgeous crown molding, wainscoting, and ceiling. It's such a large room, it fits 2 baby grand pianos with space to spare.

I think that this is the 2nd reception room, but they have it set up as a casual dining room. There's a fireplace and wainscoting, but the molding isn't as grand and the ceiling is plain. It does have a great chandelier, though.

This long room is the actual dining room. It has the high wainscoting and a grand fireplace. Look at the design in the ceiling.

I couldn't wait to see the kitchen, and it's basically intact. The stove is placed in the original cooking fireplace, there're no new cabinets except for a sink, but they do have a large commercial fridge. The table is huge. I love it. But, I would bet that someone's going to buy the house and completely gut it.

The home has 6 floors and this is a large landing. Notice the fancy stairs on the right, and across the way, behind a door, are the former staff stairs.

No doubt about it- there's a lot of climbing, b/c an elevator was never installed.

On this upper floor, there may be the staff rooms. It's unusual to see wainscoting on the upper levels.

Well, we can see that this bath is original. I hope someone doesn't come in and put up big tile showers and jetted soaking tubs.

I see that on the 3rd fl. there's a reading room.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1-W-123rd-St-New-York-NY-10027/2126331513_zpid

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Maybe a drabble in which our Lamb meets Chimaera Reader, the maker of all crowns? Like, he stumbles upon their lair, and sees all types of the crowns, big and small, black and white, one-eyed and two-eyed, etc.? Maybe even a little inter actions between the Reader and the Red Crown in which it recognises them as their maker?

Sorry for my English, it is not my native language-

Also sorry if this request repeats, tumblr May have doubled it-

I swear I'm gonna turn this into an OC one day because I LOVE the concept of a crown maker in the COTL universe

........

'Where am I now..?' Lamb pondered as they stepped into a cavern--one most unfamiliar to them.

It was strange, considering they've scoured nearly every corner of the Old Faith for resources, potential rival cult activity, and even martyrs for the Bishops.

But this area was entirely new to them.

With their weapon drawn, they cautiously ventured further inward, eventually arriving into a larger room that was almost entirely cloaked in darkness. They could barely see a thing even with the few torches scattered around lighting the way.

Then suddenly, they saw a bunch of eyes opening up on all sides of them, varying in shape, size, color, and number. And they just stared down at the little sheep.

While they were accustomed to having so many eyes on them, this was completely different.

These eyes certainly didn't belong to any follower of theirs.

What if this was a trap?

What if-?

"Welcome, little Lamb! Promised liberator of the Old Faith!"

Looking upwards, they could see you descending from the darkness. You looked like a tradition chimera: a lion, goat, dragon, and snake all mixed into one. Both of your heads smiled as you took a seat upon your throne, although you frowned a bit upon realizing how poor the lighting must have been.

"Oh forgive me, it is awful dim in here, isn't it? Hold on one moment." Your lion head breathed out a small blast of fire, aimed towards a nearby candle that lit up.

That set off a chain reaction which lit up dozens of other candles around your lair, and burned the torches bright enough for Lamb to see what all those eyes belonged to:

Crowns.

So many crowns.

Big and small, black and white, one-eyed and two-eyed..and even multi-eyed; some sported horns and some did not. Others had bare surfaces while others were decorated with jewels or marred with scars from time.

It was an astonishing sight, and when Lamb looked back up at you, they could see a crown on each of your heads--snake tail included.

Not to mention your seat was adorned with four familiar ones...

"So you..take crowns from fallen gods?"

"Do I take them?" You repeated, before laughing uproariously. "No, but I can see why you'd assume that. I'm [y/n], Maker of the Crowns."

They blinked. "You created the crowns?"

"I have since the first gods ruled over these lands." You chuckled, taking the Green Crown into your paw. "I mold them into a design of my liking, give them life, and then send them off into the world to find a worthy host. They're like my children, so I do get sentimental at times...but I know they'll do great things."

'Huh...Leshy did say the crown found him..' Lamb mused.

"Of all the ones I've created, though, I never thought to see the Bishops' crowns again. But they were in such terrible condition...falling apart, barely able to keep their eyes open....I couldn't believe it." Your gaze shifted down to the sheep. "You wouldn't happen to know why, would you?"

They tensed. "...well...um-"

"Haha! I only jest, Lamb. I know everything." You smiled reassuringly. "I've sensed strong spikes in their energy, and I'm well aware they've been used as aids for the bishops after Narinder's betrayal. Speaking of whom...."

Pausing, you outstretched your paws towards them. "I see the Red Crown has found a new master."

"It's a long story, but--hey!!" All of the sudden, the Red Crown slipped out of their hands, morphing back into its normal form as it began floating up to you. They were shocked and angered, feeling extremely vulnerable without it. "What are you doing?!"

"Nothing, little one. It came to me all on its own. Welcome home, my darling." With the crown nestled into your paw, your smile grew as its eye stared back up at you with happiness. You sighed and brought it closer to your cheek, allowing it to nuzzle up to you. "Oh how I've missed you, mighty crown of Death. I'm glad you have not forgotten me."

"Give it back!!" Lamb snarled, baring their sharp teeth as they tried storming up to your throne. But their little hooves kept slipping on the skull pile that served as its foundation, and they eventually tumbled downwards, landing on their rear. "I need it back right now!"

"...are they always like this?" You muttered to the Red Crown, who just rolled its pupil in response. "Huh, I thought so. Arrogant, entitled, paranoid....just like your first master-"

"Don't compare us." They scowled. "Narinder was worse than arrogant...he would have destroyed this entire world, along with you and all these crowns if I returned it to him! We are NOTHING alike."

"Hm, I see I've touched a nerve. My apologies. I just wanted to take care of this little chip in its horn." Smiling, you manifested some black ichor to seal the crack you discovered on the crown, before sharpening up its horns a little bit. "There. Much better."

"....thank you. Now may I have it back?" Lamb put their hand out, growing more anxious with each passing second they were separated from it. 'Why isn't it returning to me?"

"It doesn't see why it has to right at this very moment...and quite frankly, I don't either. It's not connected to your lifeforce. You're still standing without it-"

"Because I'm its new master! I gave it new purpose. I gave it freedom...and it should be obeying me unconditionally and I don't understand why it's being so stubborn. That crown wouldn't be anywhere NEAR as powerful if it weren't for-!!"

"Choose your next words carefully," you tutted, shaking your head as you gestured to the walls. "My children do not look it, but they too have ears."

Falling silent, they looked all around, noticing that the crowns were now glaring at them. They tensed up, a feeling of heavy discomfort and embarrassment washing over them as they slowly realized how childish they were acting.

And in front of the crown creator, of all people?

"Tell me..do you see the crown as nothing without you? Or perhaps you feel like you are nothing without the crown?"

"........"

"Your mistake, little lamb, is that you see crowns as simple tools to do your bidding. A conduit for your godhood. But do not forget, they are also living breathing creatures like you and I." You chastised. "As such, they deserve respect. I figured you would've been more grateful to meet their maker...such few have the privilege to enter my lair and receive such a warm welcome."

The Red Crown bobbed up and down in agreement, before it scowled down at Lamb, as though to say "you better listen to them and treat me better".

They just looked at the ground, unable to form words as shame creeped up their spine.

You sighed softly. "I understand your worries as a new god. The mere thought of separation from it drives you to rage, especially after what happened between you and Narinder. But I have no desire to take it from you. Not when you've fought so hard for it. All I wish is that you continue caring for it."

"....I'm sorry, Great Crown Maker.." Lamb muttered, finally letting themselves be humbled. "I don't mean to act like I did. It's just...he's been annoying me all day today, shouting about "divine right" and making my life a living hell. He still can't accept that it chose me over him.."

They felt the familiar and comforting weight of the Red Crown returning to the wool atop their head, but they only looked up at you with respect. "Thank you."

"Of course, young one." You nodded, smiling once more. "Narinder has possessed that crown since he was a wee little kit, so it's going to be quite a long time before he lets that grudge go. Perhaps in a hundred years, give or take."

"I understand...so.." Lamb looked around. "Do you have any wares?"

"Oh, plenty!" You clapped your paws together. "Feel free to take a gander! Since this is your first visit, you may have one of the tarot cards over there on the house. But just know that the crowns aren't for sale."

[saetoru]

LITTLE BY LITTLE — GOJO SATORU.

「 SYNOPSIS 」 ⋮ gojo + size kink - satoru has always been rather big with his presence—in more ways than one

♱ kinktober ⋮ find the masterlist here !!

♱ length ⋮ 1.1k words

♱ contents ⋮ nsfw and 18+ content, fem! reader, gojo is described as bigger + taller than reader, size kink, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, creampie, overstimulation, pet names (sweetheart + baby)

♱ notes ⋮ i finally got productive be proud of me

“t-toru, wait—”

“aw c’mon, you can take it, sweetheart,” gojo shushes you, lips curling into a knowing smile as you sniffle through a choked whimper. he stares down at his throbbing length—the one that’s barely halfway sheathed into your dripping cunt, and he chuckles at the way you gasp as he pushes in just a bit more.

you’re sensitive—cumming twice on his tongue already, and yet the burning stretch of his thick girth makes your eyes sting with tears as you stare up at him with quivering lips. he’s just so big, so thick and long and too much to take at once.

but he kisses away your tears, rubbing his thumb gently over your cheek as he smears the wetness across your skin.

“‘s so big, toru—too big,” you whine, “‘s not gonna fit.”

you do this every time, he almost sighs—crocodile tears and soft pouts, and yet every time, you end up drunk on the drag of his cock, legs wrapping around his waist and tugging him closer as you beg for more. he thinks by now, there’d be no dramatics, but you never can seem to help the sweet sniffles as he splits you open—and he never can seem to get enough of the pretty sight.

gojo has always been big—his presence is larger than life and his name is widespread, but he towers over you with long legs and his hands swallow yours in their grasp. he cradles you against his broad chest like you’re a jewel embellished on his crown—far tinier than he is, but invaluable in his hold. he stares down at you, equal parts in awe and equal parts amused.

“‘m big huh?” he laughs quietly, “you sure sweetheart? think i know this pussy better than you. know it well enough to know i fit right in,” he leans down and presses scattered kisses across your jaw, hovering over your lips and teasingly pulling away when you tilt your face up to close the gap.

and he’s mean, so he laughs once more when you whine at the distance he puts between you.

“c-can’t toru, jus’ can’t—”

“yeah you can, baby,” he hums, “fits every time, doesn’t it? ‘s my pussy—made just for me. always take me so well,” he soothes, and then, with a slow thrust of his hip, he inches into you, little by little pushing past your glistening folds until the blunt head of his cock nudges against the sensitive spot deep in your walls.

you mewl, arms wrapped right around his neck as your back arches, tits pressed against his chest and nipples grazing his own.

“f-fuck—so big, so full, toru,” you gasp, feeling him groan against your neck as you clench down on him while he waits for you to adjust. his teeth are grit, jaw clenched as he tries to fight the carnal urge to slam his hips into you, fighting every bone in his body from drilling his aching cock into the wet heat of your slick pussy. but you’re good—always are for him, so you cant your hips up, whimpering as the fat tip of his cock sinks in deeper against your spot, your clit bumping along his navel. 

“so tight baby—f-fuck, i can barely move,” he rasps, “quit squeezin’,” he growls. how can he last with the way your walls hug around his length? it lights up every nerve of his body as he feels the heated friction of his veins dragging along your cunt. and then he stares down at you, at the way your legs hook around his waist, trying desperately to latch onto his large frame. you’re so fragile—so easy to break in the palm of his hands, it makes him cup the back of your head and bring you to bury your face into the crook of his neck. “feel that?” he pants, “feel that sweetheart? ‘s like you were made for me huh? gonna mold this pussy so only i fit,” he groans. 

“fuck, toru—feels so good,” you sob, nails clawing at his shoulders, digging into his skin. the pain mixes with pleasure, making him choke on a soft whine as his head falls to your own neck, hips sloppily rutting into yours as he bullies his cock into your abused cunt. you’re writhing from overstimulation, thighs shaking and tears slipping from the corner of your eyes, but then his thumb latches onto your sensitive clit, rubbing harsh circles that make it hard to fight the orgasm threatening to wash over you.

gojo satoru is big—his cock is big as it nudges past your folds, his hands are big as they find purchase of your hips, and his ego is even bigger as he watches you fall apart all because of him. but something about you, just a small part woven into the universe of his grand schemes, makes him feel more human than he ever has. so he laces his long fingers with yours, the rough skin of his cracked palms soothing over your skin as he squeezes your hand. 

“c-cum,” he stutters, “‘m so close—gonna make me cum, sweetheart. cum with me, yeah? wanna feel you.” his thumb strokes over your clit once, then twice, and then you shriek his name like it’s the only thing you know how to say. 

“t-toru, toru—oh,” you’re repeating it over and over like a prayer you beg to grace with blessings upon you. 

you cum hard, spasming your walls around his length, making his hips slam into you desperately as he chases his own high. the clench of your pussy sends him hurdling to his own high, filling you up with every twitch of his cock and painting your walls white with his release. thick, hot ropes of cum drip down the sides of your thighs as he fucks his load into you, groaning your name through a strained, cracked voice as the force of his orgasm makes even the likes of gojo satoru, the strongest, shake in your arms as you pull him close. 

“fuck, baby,” he whines, “feels so good—always so good.”

his weight slumps over you, heavy and large over your body, but it’s a comforting weight all the same. it blankets you from the world, shielding you from the cruelties he endures so you don’t have to. because you’re fragile and small in his palms—and he’s gentle and soft with you under the ruse of his ego. 

“i love you,” he says quietly, voice lilted with a delicateness meant only for you to hear, human and raw in its tone. 

“i love you too, toru,” you whisper back, carrying his weight so he doesn’t have to be alone.

© hanmas do not plagiarize, repost, translate to other sites, or recommend on platforms outside tumblr such as tik tok

[cerise-angel]

steve is the best with you. always. he always makes sure that you feel comfortable around his big gang of friends, even though they all love you, sometimes is a little overwhelming. so you swiftly excuse yourself to steves room, lying on the bed with your shoes off. curling into a ball with his duvet. it smells like him, like it should. a soft hint of baby soap (the regulars are too harsh on his skin) and musky vanilla. you smile clutching the duvet. steve is downstairs laughing about something eddie said. you love when he is happy and careless, drinking beer and making you cute vodka cocktails. with a silly smile and entombed by his smell, you fall asleep. steve comes to check on you a while later, to see if you want something or company or nothing. when he spots you on his bed, steve melts. he gently puts a pillow under your head, with a small hum of protest from you. he takes his shoes off, his sweater and belt too, before molding his body against yours, pulling on another blanket for him. is automatic, the way you turn to face him, rubbing your cheeks on his chest, sighing softly. he kisses your forehead and you finish wrapping yourself on him. steve chuckles lightly, trying to tilt your chin so he can kiss you. frowning, you keep you head tucked against his chest, always a little stubborn. steve smiles and end up leaving a crown of kisses on your hair, before he too falls asleep with a silly smile and entombed by your arms.

[wttcsms]

repeat offender, hiromi higuruma.

pairing hiromi higuruma x f!reader  word count 1.9k  synopsis vignettes of hiromi higuruma's life, featuring his inevitable early-onset mid-life crisis, his disillusionment with the justice system, and how he can't seem to shake you off. content contains law partner's daughter!reader, no curses au, corporate/big law lawyer!hiromi, bratty, always trying to get a reaction out of him reader x just trying to survive the day hiromi, slight age gap (hiromi is 26, reader is 20), eventual smut in later parts, sfw but suggestiveauthor's notes something a bit different; just wanted to test out diff narrative formats lol (and also, this was the closest thing in my gdocs to being finished & i feel guilty for not giving y'all new content)

all the wrong dialogue options were chosen here

Despite the ceiling clearance being so high that it’s enough to make a man of his stature feel small and the fact that despite all the warm bodies in this banquet hall right now, it would still be more of a challenge to bump into someone rather than avoiding them; despite the fact that the air conditioning system must be working overtime since he hasn’t felt the need to shrug off his tuxedo jacket once, despite the fact that he’s free to leave at any time he wants since he’s already gone through the obligatory introductions and the empty pleasantries—

—despite it all, Hiromi Higuruma feels trapped. The walls are slowly closing in on him, and someone from across the massive room is laughing a bit too loudly, and the ceiling, with its intricate crown molding, feels like it’s going to collapse onto him at any second. 

That’s the problem when you decide to be someone you’re not. He’s constantly on his toes, always having to look behind him, always trying to make sure his mask isn’t going to slip. Fresh out of law school. Top marks, top of his class, actually. As expected, as always. 

Hiromi is used to setting the curve, so it doesn’t take him long to learn how these circles operate. Laugh at the right jokes, order the right drink, find the right people to praise, the right suit to wear — he’s good at figuring out the right answers to everything. 

“The party’s never going to end, so if you feel like leaving, you might as well just go now.” 

Hiromi turns to face the source of that sentence, only to have to glance downwards, taking in the sight of you. Glossy lips, long lashes, slinky gold gown clinging to the curves of your body. He swallows. Hard. 

You smile. Sweetly. 

“Before you go, though, you mind getting me a drink from the bar?” You point to the bar that’s across the room, the area Hiromi just left, one old-fashioned in his hand. 

The first wrong thing Hiromi says is, “It’s an open bar.” 

Your shining smile barely falters, but he catches the subtle curve of a frown almost taking shape. 

“Do you really think I could fight off that crowd?” You give him a faux pout, one that only emphasizes the pretty shape of your lips. 

Looking like that, he thinks you wouldn’t need to fight the crowd to get the bartender’s attention. Everyone would probably be clamoring for yours, actually. He doesn’t tell you this, though. Instead, he says, “Like you said, I might as well just go now.” 

Boo. This stranger is no fun. What a waste of good looks, you think to yourself. Taking in the way his body fills out his suit, the tall bridge of his nose, the sharpness of his features — maybe it’s for the best that he’s no fun. You’re not sure how you would be able to keep your cool if he actually was interesting. 

“Don’t just paraphrase. I remember saying that after telling you you should do that if you feel like leaving.” 

He wonders what you’re doing here, at one of the biggest charity galas sponsored by the big law firm he’s going to be joining shortly after his graduation. There’s no way you’re a law student; only a select few final year students were invited in the first place. He can’t fathom you being someone’s plus-one; looking like that, he certainly wouldn’t be able to let you out of his grasp. 

He doesn’t ask you anything, though. He doesn’t compliment you, or say anything that’s on his mind. Instead, he hands his half-empty glass to one of the catering employees walking by that’s collecting dirty glasses, and he tells you, “I’ll be heading out now. Good luck with the bar.” 

It certainly wasn’t the right thing to say, but being a genius comes with some pressure. He figures he’s allowed to give out a few incorrect answers every once in a while.

apex predator 

The click-clack of your four-inch heels making impact against the tiled floors of your father’s law firm serves as a signal to everyone that they need to seek immediate shelter (read: cower in the nearest coworker’s office) and try not to make direct eye contact with you. 

When the boss’s daughter comes to visit, everyone’s on edge. 

Everyone except the new hire. 

Hiromi Higuruma is by no means slow on the uptake, but he’s clocking in the most billable hours out of everyone. Very rarely does he get a chance to take a break, and he doesn’t plan on wasting what few precious minutes of a break he can get on hiding from some brat whose single defining characteristic is sharing the same last name that’s plastered on this skyscraper of a building.

When he passes you by in the hallway, you catch a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye. Broad shoulders, slim waist, and a familiar slope of a nose bridge you’ve seen before. You almost falter in your footsteps — almost. 

bucket list idea: fuck in an elevator

There’s something intimate about being in the same elevator as someone else.

When there’s a handful of people, it’s casual. Simple. Someone who forgot deodorant, someone who’s running late for work, someone who just burnt their tongue trying to drink their coffee too fast. All of it is mundane. 

Being in an elevator where it’s just you and him — you haven’t decided yet if it’s a gift or a punishment. 

“My father loves the work you’ve been doing,” You’re the first one to break the silence. You can only hope that he’ll be the first one to break the distance between you two: a respectful four feet apart. 

Hiromi clears his throat, straightens his tie. He’s staring straight ahead, right at the shiny silver of the stainless steel doors. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me. I’m not the one who said anything about your work.” 

The corners of his mouth almost turn up at that. He fights the urge to smile. 

“Then thanks for the honesty.” 

“Do you like that?” You ask him. 

“Like what?”

“Honesty?” You ask it innocently enough, but when you give him those eyes, and make your lips form that pout, everything comes out sounding sultry. He’s convinced you could be reading his most recent M&A deal out loud to him and make it sound like you’re reading an erotic romance. 

“Well, I’m a lawyer.” He finds that he has to bite back his smile when he’s around you. He stares at the slowly changing numbers on the screen. The two of you entered from the parking garage, and the elevator’s making its steady ascent to the thirtieth floor. 

“So that’s a no.” You muse.

Hiromi makes no comment.

whatever pays the bills, i guess

Hiromi Higuruma, unlike every other undergrad trying to get into law school, does not take… creative liberties when it comes to his personal statement on why he wants to become a lawyer. Potential medical school students lie and say they want to “save lives” because “living with six-figure student loan debt for the first decade out of school and then making crazy bank afterwards seems like a good trade-off” just doesn’t sound very awe-inspiring, does it? 

In another life, he thinks he’s probably a defense attorney. Representing the Little Guy. Keeping alive his desire to uphold the principles of justice and that the wrongfully accused receive fair representation. Even with the odds stacked against his client, he’s certain that he’s good enough to win their case.

However, the world is unfair. Doing the good thing rarely pays off. Being a good person doesn’t get you very far, either. One of his former classmates was such a bright, kind girl. Passionate statement of purpose, too. She applied to all the same law programs as Hiromi and got accepted to exactly zero of them. 

Hiromi got into every single one, and his statement of purpose was honest, straight to the point, and damn-near clinically cold.

I need a competitive environment that takes pride in its intellectual rigor, but I have no desire to pursue medical school just to spend a decade in college and residency. Law school seems most appropriate for my needs.

who hired the intern?

Hiromi doesn’t know what you do around the firm, just that you’re constantly here. 

Even when you’re not physically present, he still finds traces of you lingering everywhere. The scent of your perfume that sticks to the elevator’s walls, your now-empty medium sized iced matcha latte in the trashcan of the breakroom, whispers of your names when his colleagues are in the mood to gossip, the click-clack of your heels that he can hear from inside his office even though his door is closed.

He can’t tell if you’re just inescapable or if he’s constantly subconsciously seeking you out. He doesn’t want to know the answer.

What he does want to know the answer to is why you’re sitting on top of his desk at seven in the morning, your medium sized iced matcha latte in all its green glory (this is the first time he’s seen it full and not as an empty plastic cup in the trash). You’re wearing a fitted white button down with a gray wool skirt that will have the HR manager doing a wide-eyed double-take when you walk past her. Your legs are crossed, and Hiromi scolds himself for noticing. 

He focuses on your face instead, upset to see that you’re still doing that unfair move of yours — that pout, those eyes. 

“What are you doing in here?” Hiromi manages to get the words unstuck from his throat. He’s not even sure how you got the keys to his office, and then he remembers who your father is. 

You smile brightly. 

“My dad says I need some ‘resume-boosting’ activities, and how convenient is it that the firm is looking for an off-cycle intern?” 

How convenient, indeed.

“Still doesn’t explain why you’re sitting on top of my desk.” During your chirpy exclamation, Hiromi manages to pull himself together. He’s getting a few steps closer to you. He’s not going to sit behind his desk, not yet, but his approach only serves to bring you two into closer proximity. If you stretch your legs, the pointy tips of your stilettos will brush against the fabric of his trousers. 

“Well, every intern at the firm is apparently assigned a lawyer to work under. Y’know, to be a mentor.” 

He can’t decide if he likes or detests where this is going.

“And,” you continue. “Dad only wants the best for me. It’d be, like, kind of suspicious to be working directly alongside my father, though.” Yes, Hiromi muses. Because getting a law internship at one of the most prestigious firms during your undergrad is certainly not suspicious at all. “So, the next best thing would be the so-called prodigal lawyer that everyone can’t stop praising. How convenient is it that you’re able to watch over an intern for the semester?”

“Very convenient.” Hiromi raises an eyebrow. “Are you going to get off my desk now? I can’t imagine you’ll be able to learn much if your back is going to be facing me when I’m sitting at my desk.” 

“Whatever you say, sir.” You hop off the desk, gently tugging your skirt down in place. He keeps his eyes focused on your face the whole time.

[doe-prince]

Do you have any lore about the things with faces stuff you've been putting out? I adore all their designs (especially the siblings you posted most recently) and would love to know if you have anything going on w them

The things with faces is something I like to play with in-between all the comic making, something just for me. Of course I'm itching to make it into a comic but with the workload I have now, I don't think it's something I can do.

I've been drawing exclusively animal comics for years now, and sometimes I really would want to work with something that doesn't need to be so wholesome all the time. I wanna draw people.. . . holding hands... kissing.... I miss expressing the wonders of humanity in the way animals can't, but one BIG problem! Drawing humans! It takes so long, oftentimes I get no joy from it. Even putting faces on these things has me weeping three tears at minimum, but at least they can kiss now, and it makes sense for them to have fully human minds. I feel this is the furthest I can go before the joy sours.

I've been building a little world where the denizens are all sphinx-like things who are more animal-bodied humans than human-faced animals. Animal-faced creatures are feral, used as livestock and game. This universe has likely been formed by scraps from other universes merging, bringing weird magic, involved gods and humble humans together and molding them into something new. Humanity is sought after feature. Maybe they have a statue of it somewhere.

There's different kinds of sphinxes. Some can grow and morph their horns, some are born with hands (respected crafters and medics), wings (harpies, traditional sphinxes), third eyes (the most in tune with magic, can switch eyeballs with others), and more. These two are the horned kind, heirs to a throne. The horned kind is believed to be the best and most just leaders, were it just for their natural crown or some event proving it in the past.

I have a little story in mind for them, but like I said, I likely won't have the time and energy to juggle a third project by myself. And I don't wanna draw castles or play with 3D, human faces are hard too. 💔

[murdrdocs]

yk when you stand between a guys legs, and he wraps his arms around your waist/hips, and he rests his head in your belly and your hands go to play with his hair ? yeah that’s so ethan landry, steve harrington, and rafe cameron.

ethan when he’s had a rough day, there’s just so much swarming around in his head and the only consistent thought is you. your entire being is the only thing keeping him from drowning in a pit of overstimulation and he’s basically having phantom smells of your scent, like a cartoonish stream of vapor in the air leading from you to his nose as he walks through campus to get to you. “just been a long day,” he texts you when you ask him what’s wrong, why he’s so eager to see you all of a sudden. and when he’s there, he just sits, waits for you to come to him, and as soon as he has his arms around your waist and his head on your tummy, he lets out a big breath of air and things slowly start to feel okay again.

steve when he just remembers. late in the night, when you’re still in the bathroom finishing your routine, and the records have stopped and the tv is off and he’s just sitting in silence. which allows thoughts of his past resurface, the shit he’s seen just in the past few years. so when you come out of the bathroom, he’s kinda just sitting there. staring off into the distance. you call his name, asking him what’s wrong as your hands cup his face. and he’s so happy that you’re there and his hands slide around your hips and he pulls you closer just so he can burrow his head into your torso, the thoughts becoming more bearable and less fearful when you slide your fingers into his hair. “nothing, ‘m just glad you’re here.”

rafe when he’s inevitably apologizing. your features are set into a hard stare, not at him, but more so at the wall behind him, memorizing the crown molding that you’ve already memorized long ago. his hands reach for you, fingers just barely skimming your hips, and he moves closer to the edge of the bed so he can reach you. apologies spill from his lips, each one more and more cracked as the tears spill down his face. you finally look at him, the downward turn of your eyes making your own tears fall. “baby, please, ‘m so sorry.” his big hands are rough against your bare hips, sliding around to press into your lower back, pulling you to stand between his legs. your hands automatically fall to his shoulder to stabilize yourself, but you can’t help but tangle your fingers in his grown out haircut when his head rests against the tee shirt you wear, tears making the fabric cling to your stomach.

[spacedace]

Snippet/prolog thing from a DP x DC fic that lives almost entirely inside my head outside of this & a few other bits.

Please feel free to take this as an overly long prompt haha

If anyone wants context to this let me know and I'll be happy to info dump at you lol

-

The kid had been eleven the first time John Constantine met her.

A little ghost girl, too small for the crowns and dominions that were rightfully hers, wandering the world alone and unattended because to stay in one place would drive her mad - or worse. He didn’t think himself as having a particularly soft heart, but there was something about little Stella Phantom that grew on him - a bit like a mold, he liked to explain. Maybe it was the way she swore like a sailor and kicked a demon in the low hangers with a feral grin the first time he met her. Maybe it was just how lonely she looked, small and slight in the large world she was so obsessed with exploring.

She had a family. A Grave of her own that worried about her, but who couldn’t follow her on her constant travels no matter how much they wanted to. Proof that being some of the most powerful beings in existence wasn’t enough to prepare you for parenthood.

Somewhere along the lines she started following John around. Interested in what he was doing, where he was going, who he worked with. It hadn’t taken long to get her folded into JL Dark. Zantanna had blanched when he’d shown up with little Elle, pulling in the big wigs from JL Light to argue about the ethics of involving a child in their work. As if Supes and the Bat had legs to stand on with their own brood so often in the thick of danger. Elle was safer under his watch than she’d be under the loose oversight the Titans had or whatever fresh hell was going on with Young Justice but hell if anyone would listen to him on that front.

He lost the war when she met Superboy Jr. and Robin V.

She’d adored them from the start, delighted at having children her own age around to spend time with. They formed a little team, working together here and there, then more often as they got older. She still worked mostly with JL Dark, but she was growing up. Spreading her wings a bit.

Elle was seventeen when the Bonds first formed. The spider-silk thin threads finally winding themselves into the heavy binds that spilled out of her Core and reached out for anchoring in the boys. It was sickeningly sweet, in the way puppy love always was. She was too young for Core Bonds like that to settle, of course, in the way children were always too young when they fell in love the first time. It was normal though. Ghost children the Realms over made Bonds only for them to fade or change as they grew, almost never anchoring to anyone til they were full grown.

She’d blushed as red as Marvel’s suit when she realized John could see them, stuttering and embarrassed. He’d teased her about it for a long time, about how much she’d grown up, how much trouble she was going to cause, how he was going to have to fight the big bad Bat and his pet boy scout when she inevitably dishonored their poor, innocent sons. It was entertaining, endearing.

He waited for the Bonds to fade or shift. Weeks. Months. Years. As she turned nineteen, he started to wonder if they would stick around. If in another few years they might strengthen, begin the slow process of anchoring.

She was twenty-one when her boys - calling themselves Flamebird and Phoenix now - started dating each other.

The Bonds remained, steady and solid and painfully unanchored.

John stopped teasing her about them.

They hadn’t changed to accommodate platonic bonds, nor had they faded any. Their tendency to tangle around her like snare was another point of concern. Core Bonds weren’t meant to cause difficulty for the ghost they were born from, and they certainly weren’t meant to wrap around the ghost’s limbs and body in painful loops like that. They weren’t supposed to hurt.

When she was twenty three he started suggesting it might be time for intervention. The irony that he of all people would be trying to get someone to take steps to cut out the thing harming them was not lost on him. Nor was the way the fond feelings he had for the girl had skewed decisively paternal over the years in a way that his younger self would have mocked him for endlessly.

He felt better about broaching the subject knowing that her Grave had been suggesting the same thing. That he wasn’t overstepping the bounds of whatever odd partnership they’d developed over the years. John was, he had very reluctantly come to accept, the girl’s mentor if nothing else. His job was to teach her and guide her, not be her parent.

No matter what his old, battered heart might try and suggest.

Even still, he couldn’t help but be concerned.

She was twenty-five when they got temporarily launched into that broken, bleak world. When they met the Elle and Flamebird and Phoenix of that horrible dimension.

The three alternates’ bonds were anchored completely, tying the triad together in threads of silver and green. Not even Other-Elle’s complete, sickening deterioration into something cannibalistic and feral had been enough to break them. He can’t imagine how much it must have hurt to see that, for his girl to glimpse a world where something she’d longed for for so long happened, only for it to seemingly be at the expense of reality itself.

He helped cover for her, after their two groups had been mixed up and separated for the night - or what might be called night in a world that no longer had any light to make those kinds of distinctions in time. When she came back with the Flamebird and Phoenix of that world, after their little separation from the larger group he kept her two boys misdirected. Distracted Nightwing and Zantanna so they didn’t go asking too many questions he knew Elle wouldn’t want answered. The Bat John was helpless to do much about, but thankfully the big brooder seemed too intent on the desolate, lightless world itself to notice the way Elle’s gaze was going distant, bittersweet at the edges.

He didn’t know what, exactly had happened in the hours she was gone. He could guess, from the way the Other-Phoenix and Other-Flamebird looked at her, the way she avoided her boys. Loneliness and desperation made for an easy slide into bad decisions. John might just have to admit that Zantanna had been correct, all the times she’d said he was a bad influence on the girl. Not that there was any surprise there.

Elle’s Bonds were even more of a knotted mess than before. Offered something so close to anchoring only to find no purchase. They twisted about her throat like a noose now, ready to strangle the life out of her one day.

He signed off on her leave of absence when they finally made it back to their home dimension.

Anyone else would want details to write down. Would want to know the specifics of why and for how long and a whole mess of other details she either wouldn’t or couldn’t answer. He’d get his ass roasted over the fire for the mess the paperwork was in, but that was fine. He’d endured far worse for far less important reasons.

Personal leave, he’d written.

Duration of leave: indefinite.

Reason for leave: None of your fucking business, Bats.

They shared a cigarette on one of the high catwalks in the Watchtower watching dawn break on the world below. Grateful to see the sun and stars again after those two days in utter blackness. They didn’t talk about her Bonds. About what happened. About how she hadn’t talked to her Boys since coming back. Just stood and smoked. He pretended not to notice her tears. She pretended not to notice his. Neither of them had ever been any good at goodbyes.

When the time came she bumped his shoulder in thanks - for the cigarette, for the company, for the years of friendship and family - before turning and stepping through the bright purple door standing impossibly in the middle of the walkway.

He glimpsed the green of the Infinite Realms and the distant shape of her Lair beyond. A world of worlds, paradise to one that never stopped, always off to find something new, something never seen before. It was against all odds that she’d even stumbled upon this one in the first place. A small speck in the crushing infinite.

When the door closed it did so slowly, a painful whine and a soft, mournful click all that marked her leaving.

John watched it bleed out of existence, and wondered if he’d ever see her again.

Six months later, the stars started to disappear.