#but he fails to realize that it is only a dream

[possesseddesiress]

Skinfit

CONTENT WARNING: This story includes themes of transformation and body control with a suggestive approach. If this type of narrative is not to your liking or you do not meet the recommended age, we suggest you do not continue. All images used (if any) belong to their respective owners. I claim no authorship over them and they are only used for illustrative purposes.

If you decide to go ahead, welcome to Possessed Desires, where mind and body are never completely under your control.

Skinfit

My name is Tristan, I study economics in college. My dream since I was a teenager was to be part of a fraternity, to live with other guys, to form lifelong friendships, and even to be popular.

And of course, to see a lot of muscular guys, but those are other details that I discovered later. But my "average" looks and my almost null sports skills, left me completely out of the fraternities. So I could only hope for a shared room.

I was lucky to find Zachary, a very nice guy. I thought having a jock as a roommate would be chaotic, smelly and even dirty, but Zach wasn't like that.

He was pretty organized and clean, sometimes he would come in stinking of sweat and leave his clothes all over the room, but it was only when he came in tired from his workout, took a shower, picked everything up and it was like nothing had happened.

Besides, I don't complain about his scent at all... Intoxicating, penetrating, extremely masculine, and completely out of my league.

He was straight, never brought girls to the house but it was well known around campus how successful he was with girls. He was a good friend, but geez... how many times hadn't I had vivid dreams about him (that would never come true).

- Lately the light has been failing, a false contact in the bathroom light - I whispered as I took a sip from my coffee cup.

- Really? - he asked, wearing his purple compression shirt - I've hardly been home, sorry mate - he gave a sigh, though then seemed to have an idea - I know! You remember I took an electrical course, don't you? I could try to fix it, I don't think it would be that hard would it?

- Dude, really?

- Sure! I must have my tools forgotten somewhere in my room, but anything for you, buddy - he patted me on the back before going to get something from his room.

He returned shortly after. To which we both went into the bathroom.

- Are you sure you know what you're doing?

- Yes, I sometimes skipped classes in the course but I think I know the basics.

He set up a chair so he could repair the ceiling light, removed the bulb and began to move the electrical inlet carefully.

- Don't you want us to call a technician?

- Dude! Trust me, besides, we can save several dollars, trust me, look, I think I found the problem.

He placed the tip of his tool on the metal, moved it a little and at first nothing happened. Until it sparked.

The sound of electricity chilled my skin as Zach let out a choked scream, his body trembled violently without being able to break free. I swallowed nervously. I didn't know what to do, so I did the best thing I could think of: push him.

As soon as I touched it, electricity ran through my nerves as well, it was an intense pain from head to toe, but thanks to the momentum, I ended up knocking it down and cutting off the power.

Everything went dark for a second, and then I lost myself.

Soon after I opened my eyes, I felt my head hurting, my body numb and heavy. Things were blurry all around me, and everything was dark.

- Shit...

I mumbled, touching the floor, getting up with difficulty though staggering in the process. I placed my hands against the tile, feeling a strange force in my hands.

I stood up, moving darkly around the room.

- Zach? Are you...?

Before I finished the sentence, I realized something wasn't right.

My voice felt different, deep, more... masculine? My original voice wasn't high-pitched, but it wasn't this deep, I almost felt it echoed loudly every time I opened my lips.

I touched my throat, feeling a thick adam's apple. What was going on? For a moment I stopped thinking about Zach, staggered out of the room until I advanced to my own, then I saw the reflection.

- What... what the hell?

The reflection that greeted me was Zach's, mimicking my every move. For a moment I felt fear, almost panic, but then I looked at those fat pecs.

They were mine now.

I was full of muscle! I stroked my new muscles, how good my biceps felt wrapped in the tight purple fabric.

I flexed my muscles, widening my arms and enjoying how my pecs felt, even how the reliefs stuck against my T-shirt, making me let out a gasp.

Was Zach so sensitive to such an area?

It was like letting go of my senses all at once, I kneaded and squeezed my pecs hard, letting out a loud gasp. I went crazy for a while, stroking everywhere, every mound of muscle.

I reached down to my pants. Pulling the elastic to observe what was hiding inside.

- Not bad... - I smiled - I can see why you're such a hit with the ladies, dude. Just look at the size of this thing.

I sniffed with some force, which caused a wide, loud gasp that I'm sure was heard throughout the building.

I lifted my armpit to smell it, I loved the scent... And now it was mine! How many times had I dreamed of smelling it, and now it was within my complete reach! I stuck my nose again and again, filling my whole nose with sweat.

I gasped awkwardly, like a teenager with raging hormones.

I stopped touching myself for a moment to run out to Zach's room, I loved feeling my strong legs, how each footstep echoed with weight and force across the floor.

I opened the closet to start pulling out different clothes. Although there was a larger amount of t-shirts, lycra and other sportswear, so I decided to take off what was intruding between my eager hands and my dreamy body.

I weighed my fat pectorals, changed my shirt and put on a white one that was even tighter, and flexed my arms.

It was like feeling in the glory...

It had been at least five months after the change. And I couldn't be happier about it.

At first Zach, or now I should say Tristan, had a hard time getting used to the change, always complaining that he didn't want to be in that body, that he wanted to change back.

He tried again and again to recreate the accident to return us to our original bodies. But I wasn't at all interested in going back to who I was before.

I loved the way I looked now. How others were interested in me, the fact that getting anywhere, got everyone's attention. How good my body looked in tight sportswear.

And best of all: How I attracted the attention of the fraternities.

I don't understand why Zachary didn't join any of them as soon as he entered college, he was the perfect himbo to be a brother! Within mere weeks in his body, I ended up joining one of the most important and exclusive fraternities on campus.

And I loved it.

Almost every weekend there were parties, sweaty smells, and guys walking shirtless through the halls every day. It was like heaven. And best of all, no one knew that the new Zach was actually me.

Everyone was surprised for a while at how self-centered I turn out to be, how obsessed I was with my scent, or even the change from straight to gay.

Because what I loved most about this body was how guys drooled over me, I could have anyone in the palm of my hand even.

Barely five months in and I had already been with almost every guy in the frat (some "curious", some with their sexuality under wraps and some who just wanted to have a good time), I was living what as Tristan wouldn't have happened even on my best day.

Now it was Zach, full of muscles, tight clothes that left nothing to the imagination and with such an intoxicating aroma...

Anyway. I'd have a costume party in less than an hour, the good thing about being Zach now was that whatever I wore, it would look good on me.

And I could let my nerdy tastes out. All in all, I looked hot.

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I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you liked it, don't forget to follow it and share it so more people can discover it.

I'm always open to suggestions and ideas, so if you have any fantasy or scenario in mind, let me know in the comments or in messages. See you in the next story... Who knows what body you will occupy this time?

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[purploozi]

You're my Habit | Wen Jun Hui

Pairing: Jun x Reader

Genre: Ex!Lovers to Lovers. Non-idol AU.

Warning: A little angst but with a happy ending!

Summary: Jun is missing his relationship with you, and when he sees you across the hallway he can't help but run to you. W.Count: 435

Even if Jun was surrounded by people, laughing and chatting, it was all just an act…because he couldn't avoid thinking about you. Would you be laughing—really laughing—somewhere? He felt like a fool, looking around campus…trying to catch a glimpse of you. He was losing the battle in his mind, trying to push away the memories you shared was impossible. Would you be having a hard time like him? He would like it if you were—he wished you were thinking of him, even if it was just a little.

But then he saw you across the hallway, seemingly fine and happy, laughing and smiling…he wanted to act like that too, but he was failing. His lips went dry with the desire to call your name. Would you look at him like before if he did? Would you even hug him? He wanted to hug you—to call your name and make you look at him, to hear that beautiful laugh of yours.

He yearned to go back to you, he missed the habit of your company. He knew it, because even when he closed his eyes and fell asleep—you were there, in his dreams. Jun looked for you without realizing it, awake or asleep, but to everyone else…he would say he had already forgotten you. A lie that was starting to become an habit.

He didn't want that. He wanted to tell you how much he missed you—he wanted to go back to the habit of being with you. But he was just standing there, seeing your figure walk away once again…that couldn't become an habit. No, he loved you too much for that. He couldn't forget you.

Before he could even think, his legs were moving with quick steps to close the distance between you. Afraid you wouldn't turn to look at him, afraid that you wouldn't hear him—he called your name. The name feeling right on his lips, all the memories flooding his head and making you his only focus.

And when you turned to look at him, his whole world stopped. Because of you. Because you were his habit. He knew that what he was doing was the right thing—he couldn't just let you go.

“Please, give me another chance. To call your name every day. To hold you every night. To laugh together. Can we go back to what we had?”

With a soft smile and tears in your eyes…you nodded. Because you were also acting as if you were alright. Your smiles and laughs weren't complete—not without your habit. Not without Jun.

This was a lovely request from my dearest friend @wodwodlu 💜 I enjoyed a lot to write this~

[chipik-lilboy]

CLOUD TOWER | pizza tower au |

༄ ‧₊ This is an alternative universe of our favorite "pizza tower". I can tell you for sure, the personality traits of some characters have been changed(And some could change their character quite strongly), which I think is logical. The universe does not just change the appearance and environment of the characters, but also the situation, the relationships between the characters and so on. There is NO clear antagonist, the characters are not divided into "bad" and "good".

IMPORTANT DETAIL! No one is negative towards each other! Keep this in mind.

"The three friends consisting of Peppino, Gustavo and Mr. Stick find themselves in a cloud kingdom, or as it is commonly called, the «Dream Kingdom». This is a place where there is an eternally calm atmosphere, a pleasant, harmonious melody for the ear with notes stretching out as if light as a feather. Keyboard instruments, brass, strings. At night, stars shine over the island, resembling a gold bar. You can take them right in your hands, feeling the sharp edges and smooth surface, as if this is the very star that is hung on the Christmas tree. In this place, the spirit of magic, fairy tales about fantasy, simple children's stories, a lullaby that your mother reads to you reigns. Delicate pink and orange clouds blow on you from behind while you admire this view."

Cloudface, in a great desire to learn more about humans, decides to place three friends in his kingdom through a dream. However, none of the trio signed up for this, and most likely they will want to leave the suspicious place as soon as possible.

Getting more angled in the lore au, Peppino, Gustavo and Stick got here from the canonical reality, so they certainly remember their pals from the tower...

Like I said, Peppino, Gustavo and Stick only got here because Cloudface had a hand in it. They do not realize that this is a dream, and most likely they are quite confused. 

BRICK (her first name is Bubble) - She is one of Cloudhead's sheep who broke out of the flock of sheep after seeing an unusual silhouette in the distance, which would eventually turn out to be Gustavo. Brick will be quite interested in a person and although with initial apprehension, she will become his friend, in the end of which she will receive her new name.

Much larger than other sheep, which is why it is more hardy. 

STARMAN (Pepperman) - This is an artist in the kingdom, an awkward conversationalist and one of the confidants in the kingdom. He has moved to the Dream Kingdom since he was a child, for reasons that he is silent about, like his friend Cloudface, who respects his comrade's decisions. The guy has a bunch of drawings of himself, but despite this, attention is only paid to his works of other characters, which is why since the reign of Cloudface, he began to paint landscapes and paintings, just like his friend. 

Despite all the support, how his work is appreciated, the man clearly does not feel that people are so honest in their words. Paranoia and a feeling of envy of the skills of others devour him like wolves, which makes the guy ask more and more of himself to be on the same level as others. 

No matter how much attention was paid to him, he needed only one person and his time spent on Starman. (His nicknames that may appear in the posts: Uncle Star, Starlet, Stellar, yellow guy.)

VIGILANTE - is the kingdom's chief guard, and is an asteroid like many other guards. He is responsible for all the guards, gives them orders and keeps them in order. It is said that he served the kingdom even before Cloudface's reign, which is also true. 

Vigilante replaced Cloudface's parents, took care of the boy and protected him from trouble in every possible way, but by failing to keep track of the small cloud, he endangered his rulers. 

Vigilante is one of Cloudface's confidants, kind of strict, scowling, serious, but somewhat caring. 

(Nicknames: Pebble, Rockman)

Noise and Noisette - unlike the others, they do not live in Cloud's kingdom, but in their own. They are incarnations of the sun and moon, and they are opposites. Noise is closer to haus, Noisette to tranquility. Despite the fact that there are many different people in the Dream Kingdom, Noise is an unloved guest, as his dispersion of haus prevents the calm kingdom from functioning normally. Noisette, on the other hand, is a favorite guest, and for the most part, Cloudface's company prefers her as a conversation partner.

(nicknames: Sunny and Munny, obsessed.)

FAKE PEPPINO - A hallucination of Peppino that haunts him after a terrible sleep disorder. What's weird is that others can see him too, but this is a fantasy world so pffft.

Fake Peppino in truth may not only be Peppino, he is also able to take on the silhouettes of others. He's pretty stupid, somehow he managed to get into the company of friends, although... Most often, they ignore it, because they are afraid. Fake is trying to copy Peppino and get to know others, why is the second one too mad (after all, even hallucination is much better in communication, lol.) 

CLOUDHEAD (pizzahead)- He's a sheep herder who is also Cloudface's son. He's the first one to notice Peppino in the dream kingdom when he was fast asleep on one of his sheep. He's less annoying here, if that's what you could call him. A kind soul with a very calm personality, albeit an overly positive one.

The boy is very bad at communication, but even so, he always streams to help or get acquainted, even if his father is against his friendship with the inhabitants of the kingdom. But people are not from here, are they? So why not!

In fact, the boy is quite naïve and not aware of the world, due to his strong overprotectiveness, which is why he is often confused with a child, although he is rightfully of age. 

(Nicknames: Sunshine, Cloud Jr., Cloud 2.0)

PIZZAFACE — Cloudface or Cloud for short. The star of this au, I guess… Basically, he was the first one to be created, and others were created in his image. He is the king of this cloud island and also part-time the one who gives you pleasant gentle dreams at night. I mean, he rarely and little sleeps, which is why his head is spinning a little. An ardent character, mood swings. Despite all this, he is quite a caring and gentle person, friendly, although these traits of his character may not always hover on the surface.

(Nicknames: Cloudy, Keeper of Dreams, Pinkface)

ALSO, NO LESS IMPORTANT, IS CLOUD WITH A BODY.

My boy's emotions~

****

༄ ‧₊For those who have read this post before on a previous account, I WANT TO SAY THAT THERE IS NEW INFORMATION ABOUT THE CHARACTERS HERE. Yes yes!! So re-read, please!

Thank you all for watching 🥺🥺🥺

I will be glad to any responses to my AU! Draw your OC, come up with headcanons, draw fanart, I will definitely appreciate it! 

I also want to say that I'm open to questions about au, do not hesitate to ask what interests you! 

[heavenlymorals]

The Tragedy of Dutch Van Dir Linde

Warning: spoilers ahead for both Red Dead games.

Dutch Van Dir Linde is one of the finest characters I've ever come across and that I think about a lot because in many ways, he is represents the dreams that people have and the awful reality of it too.

Heytham, what the hell do you mean that this manic, selfish, delusional piece of shit is like you or me?

Here is an example. When you were a kid, did your parents tell you that your dreams will come true if you worked hard? And did you believe it? I know I did. I studied often, got a great SAT score, joined many extracurriculars, did volunteer work regularly, got a part time job, had all high grades in advanced level courses and in AP/honor programs and I had one goal. To get into my dream college.

I made my resume. I did everything right. I listen to what people better than me told me to do and I waited for that acceptance letter- so confident that I would get into the university. Never once did I imagine that I'd get rejected, but I did. For a 17 year old kid, it felt like the world was ending. I remember sobbing myself to sleep, waking up, and then just laying on my bed disappointed in the world and the lies it fed me. In a perfect world, I'd have gotten accepted. Worst people than me got accepted, why couldn't I?

But I moved on. Life continued and I was fine. I was bitter, sure, but I managed to get over it and work towards better paths and a better future.

But what if I didn't? What if I got hung up on that forever? What if I fought the rejection? What would I have done? What would I have not done?

This little experience, one that many people have gone through, is kind of a microcosm of the much bigger human truth that the world will never be an ideal place due to the human nature.

If I was like Dutch, I would have fought the rejection- I would stick so diligently to the ideal that I believed in so hard, even though that failure was more than likely a guarantee. I wouldn't find an alternative to be better and do better things. I'll get hung up on a dream and never move past it.

That's his dilemma. He believes in the ideal, like we all do, but he will fight tooth and nail to make that ideal real while we will sigh and realize that life will never be the way we want it to be.

Dutch feels betrayed by the world, or at least by his vision of the world- especially America.

America was a country built on the promise of all men being born equal under God and under the law. All men.

That was the dream, the hope, and the promise.

What happened instead? The continuing of the institute of slavery, the massacre of natives, the monopoly of magnates, and the constant discrimination of those not considered 'white'.

It was disgusting and awful and it should've never happened- but it did and people tried to remedy it in ways that were gradual but real. They found different paths and different dreams and though there is still much work to be done, people are finding a way.

Dutch couldn't do that though. He refused to do that. He wanted the ideal and he wanted it immediately, even though it was impossible. He killed for his ideal, he robbed for his ideal, and he led people to hell for his ideal.

But it didn't matter. His ideal will never exist and he couldn't accept that- which leads to his end.

He won't be caught. And he didn't get caught by commiting suicide- a final fight. He wouldn't surrender to John or the Pinkertons, because that would mean admitting that his entire life was a struggle for nothing because his vision will never be realized if people like Cornwall or Favours or the professor continue to exist. Life was hell because of those people and the American dream did not exist because of those people.

"What a beautiful dream. So poorly rendered," - Dutch to Arthur.

And Dutch is right! From the very beginning that this country was created, it relied on an ideal that turned out to be a lie.

And Dutch couldn't handle that and wanted a perfect world that can never be realized and he tried to get that perfect world by lying and stealing and cheating and killing. What a depressing dichotomy.

Now, of course, when it comes to the personal motivations of Dutch, whether pride, hubris, narcissism, or any of that, they can all by factors to Dutch's pointless battle, but his motivation has always been clear and it never changed-

"Yeah, I know it's tough. You like Dutch. He's a charming fellow. He makes sense. He's like one of those nature writers from back East. Only he takes things a tiny little step too far. Rather than just loving the flowers and the animals and the harmony between man and beast, he shoots people in the head for money. And disagreeing with him. Now, I'm not a great intellect, but the metaphysical leap from admiring a flower to shooting a man in the head because he doesn't like a flower, is a leap too far." Edgar Ross to John Marston.

Dutch lived and died to create an ideal that would never be real because he could never accept reality and that is one of the saddest fates a man could have.

[soniclozdplove]

Got more mermaid thoughts because of @skumhuu and their au. I guess you could consider thus a hasty continuation of my last one but it's really based on a fic I'm writing in my notes that will likely never see the light of day because I refuse to take credit for any writing I ever do

[hirokiyuu]

look at my alternate yuu concept boy

[usuallydyinginside]

"No One Mourns the Wicked" is about Glinda, not Elphaba

Okay, but hear me out. Wicked songs are so good at saying one thing and meaning something entirely different once you have more context. For instance, "I'm Not That Girl" is Elphaba singing about Glinda initially, then in Act 2 flips to Glinda singing about Elphaba. Because it turns out, Elphaba IS that girl and Glinda is not. When we meet the Wizard, he sings about how he always wanted to be a father. When you get to Act 2, you get the sad little reprise in the background music as he realizes that WHOOPS, he was one and he destroyed his only kid. "Defying Gravity" starts with "I hope you're happy" in the sarcastic sense and ends with them both using the same phrase to genuinely wish one another well.

"Thank Goodness" is set up as a cheerful engagement song where Glinda genuinely means "thank goodness for how great my life is" and ends in a place where she's insisting that she IS happy even as she realizes her engagement is a sham, her best friend is gone, and she's left with the Wizard and Madame M, who she doesn't even like.

You get the picture.

Basically, the whole musical is about subverting what you expect, starting with the base premise of "what if the Wicked Witch was the hero of the story" and digging in from there.

Honestly, I'd never paid much attention to the first song. It's a good opener, sets things up well, but it has some big competition with later songs. However, in the movie the staging and camera choices made me really notice it for the first time. Because you know what? Someone DID pay attention to that song, and you can really really tell.

For those who need a refresher, the lyrics to the chorus Glinda sings are: And Goodness knows The Wicked's lives are lonely Goodness knows The Wicked die alone It just shows when you're Wicked You're left only On your own I was always so busy noticing Glinda's grief over thinking Elphaba was genuinely dead that I failed to notice Glinda's grief over her OWN fate. The movie did such a good job with this because every time we get to the pink lines about being alone, Glinda IS alone. She is standing apart from the crowd who adores her. Standing above them. Standing at the center of a bunch of people yet still, isolated.

Because in the end, we know that Elphaba DIDN'T die alone. We know she wasn't on her own. We know her life WASN'T lonely ultimately. She had her flying monkey and animal friends. She had Fiyero.

And who does Glinda have?

Everyone, but realistically, no one. She is an ideal, not a person to most of Oz, just as much as Elphaba has become the token scapegoat. Where Elphaba is the "Wicked Witch," Glinda is "Glinda the Good Witch" - she is literally supposed to be the embodiment of goodness.

And what does Glinda have at the end of this whole thing (as of this song at least)? A disastrous end to her engagement, the death of her best friend, a sorceress who has hated her, demeaned her, and dismissed her from the start, and a con man who is also just a symbol more than a person.

I think it really hit me when Glinda throws the fire on the giant effigy of Elphaba. Ariana's acting was SO good there, because I'd expected us to see that private moment of horror or regret. What I didn't expect was the sort of determined and almost angry glare at the effigy.

But it makes sense. At this point, Glinda has realized that she lost everything and everyone she actually cared about.

As she so aptly puts it in "Thank Goodness"...

Though it is, I admit The tiniest bit Unlike I anticipated. But I couldn't be happier, Simply couldn't be happier, Well, not "simply" 'Cause getting your dreams It's strange, but it seems A little, well, complicated.

There's a kind of a sort of cost. There's a couple of things get lost. There are bridges you cross You didn't know you crossed Until you've crossed!

And if that joy, that thrill Doesn't thrill like you think it will Still-- With this perfect finale, The cheers and the ballyhoo! Who wouldn't be happier? So I couldn't be happier, Because happy is what happens When all your dreams come true.

Well, isn't it?

Happy is what happens when you're dreams come true.

It's not Elphaba's fault that Glinda has ended up this way. Glinda chose it every step of the way. Yet, if Glinda had never met Elphaba, (if she'd never known her, you could say), she might have stayed shallow and vain. She might never have been challenged to look deeper and realize how empty it all felt.

So as Glinda sings "No One Mourns the Wicked," she realizes that even if the Munchkins are singing about the "Wicked Witch," she's not.

She's singing about herself.

The one who traded her morals, friendship, and love for a taste of the admiration and power over those who don't really know her. The one who was so worried about being likable that she herself doesn't like who she's become.

Even after she makes things better for Oz and herself by sending the wizard away and getting rid of Madame M, it just leaves Glinda by herself as the leader and source of goodness in Oz. It leaves her on a pedestal she can never step off of.

It leaves her lonely.

Entirely alone.

[reiyaus]

imagine construction worker! toji being in the crew who’s helping you build your dream home.

visiting every week to almost everyday because it was your only way to see him, the thought of just asking him out never came to mind. you weren’t exactly as slick as you thought, however.

it’s when you only approached him everytime you had a question did he realize you had a thing for him. not that he minded, though. he liked how flustered you’d get when he’d flex his biceps or when he’d grunt extra loud if he sensed you getting near.

the way you took so much time to prepare talking to him was cute too. how your throat bobbed up and down before clearing your voice; gently poking his arm (intentionally) before muttering his name.

toji would pretend not to hear at first, and ask you to repeat until you were practically yelling- only because he liked the sound of his name with your voice.

if honest, he didn’t actually know the answers to half of your questions. like how you didn’t know what the stuff you were asking him about meant anyways. for both of you, it was just an excuse to hear each other’s voices a little longer, and to see each other before your house gets complete.

it’s so obvious to his boss and co-workers that you’re absolutely smitted, like he is with you. it frustrates them when the building process fails to meet the deadline, having to work overtime because of a little work romance.

it doesn’t bother you though. there was nothing wrong with staying at your grandma’s a little longer. and he had no problem ditching his friends to have lunch with you.

yet, when the house does get finished, you felt a sense of loneliness, failing to remember that you can still contact each other outside of work. he becomes gloomy too, but watching you walk around and surveil the interior made him proud to have taken part in making your life better.

you’re about to thank all of them when he pulls you aside and brings out a little flip phone, almost like a bread crumb in his hands. his lockscreen was a low-quality photo (fitting to his ‘old-man’ persona) but 3 figures were you able to make out: two furry friends and one young boy in between.

it takes you some time to realize that the picture isn’t him as a young boy, but rather this child. you glance at him, his face practically sweating bullets and a shaky grin on his lips.

“this probably isn’t the best time to say this but, do you want to go on a date… someday? an actual one this time- i mean. i’ll introduce you to my son, and hopefully we can take things further now.”

[readwritealldayallnight]

I would love a take on boyfriend Ghost coming home to surprise you, but he finds your bed empty and doesn't realize that you are in his room in his bed. Thanks.

The placebo effect, was what he kept trying to convince you it had to be, no matter how many times you rolled your eyes and told him he was wrong

How else could one explain your insistence that Simon’s bed smelled so much like him, becoming your safe space when he was away on long deployments, when he only ever slept with you in your bed most nights to begin with

Hard to believe it was nearly three years ago now that you’d told your friend since childhood, Johnny, about how your search for a new flat was going miserably. You remember how he’d perked up and recounted with a mischievous glint in his eye about how his Lieutenant was apparently searching for a flat mate at the moment, someone who’d be looking after the place while he was away for work

Unsure about living with a strange man you’d never met before, but trusting Johnny’s judgement (though the way he seemed just a bit too eager about this meeting did kind of throw you off-) you had reluctantly agreed to meet with him and at least give the flat a glance before you simply turned him down

It wasn’t until you were knocking at the door of the address Johnny had written down for you, that you’d realized he’d never even given you the man’s goddamn name, only ever referring to him at Lieutenant or LT

Johnny apparently also failed to mention the absolute SIZE of the guy, his huge frame blocking nearly all of the light from behind him as he had swung the door open and stood in the doorway before you

In a slight panic, thrown off by the massive man before you and the way the butterflies in your stomach suddenly began to flutter at the sight of him, you had greeted him for the first time with a squeaky, unsure voice saying ‘Um, hi, are you the Mr Lieutenant?’ (something he has never let you live down since)

He knew then and there that you would be the one

Not just his flatmate (though what a generous flatmate he was when he offered insisted on moving all your boxes out of your old place and into his that very same day), but the one, something he reluctantly had to give Soap credit for, seeing as he was the one who wouldn’t stop talking his ear off about you

You would be his other half, his better half

And all these years later, the two bedroom flat truly only acted as a one bedroom, considering that from the start Simon was always falling into your bed with you at the end of each night, limbs tangled together under the warmth of a lovers embrace a thousand times more comforting than an actual comforter

Still though, that first time Simon had to be gone for work longer than a few weeks, you found the lingering odor of him clinging to his bedsheets to be one of the few things keeping you sane in his absence, taking to sleeping in his room for the time being, imagining that the pillow you cling to your front was a strong muscular arm instead, littered in scars and tattoos you feel confident you could recognize from touch alone

And when his long awaited flight back home to you landed a few hours earlier than expected, tires touching down in the dark, stillness of late night hour, he decided he’d surprise you and come straight home, rather than calling you to meet him at the base like you’d insisted, not wanting to wake you

Barely able to contain himself, he decided the elevator ride up to the seventh floor would take too long, take away precious seconds that brought him closer to you, and so up the flight of stairs he went, taking them two or three at a time, rushing to see the face etched behind his eyelids every time he closed his eyes, to hear the voice that haunted his dreams each night

Quietly as a man his size could, he crept into the flat, snuck his way into your room, expecting to see your sweet, sleeping form cuddled up amongst the blankets and pillows. But his heart dropped when he noticed the bed was still perfectly made, not a thread out of place.

Trying to remain calm, though his mind was instantly swarming with every possible scenario that could have taken place, he knew he saw your shoes and jacket by the door, you couldn’t have gone far… but where were you?

He glanced into the living room, wondering if he missed you sleeping on the couch after a long day, he poked his head into the bathroom, even went so far as to check the small balcony, but finally there was only one door left to open.

And there you were, safe and sound, a tiny ball curled up into the center of his huge bed, clinging to one of his old masks and holding it close to your chest as though it were a security blanket (you’d been sleeping in his bed so much you needed something that still smelled strongly of him, you were getting desperate)

Stripping himself down to only his boxers, he tiptoed towards the side of the bed, his mind finally feeling more at peace than he ever had, gently pulling the sheets back just enough for him to slip in behind you, his strong arms wrapping around your middle and pulling you into his muscular chest

Though it should be alarming to suddenly feel a pair of hands roaming over your skin, a body holding you firmly against their own, it’s as though your body knows who it is before your mind does

Any tension you were still holding onto during his absence instantly melts away, your own hands coming to land over top of his, giving a slight squeeze of acknowledgment, not yet willing to fully leave your half asleep state, but needing to touch him, to confirm he really is here

“Hmm,” You hum, voice groggy with sleep and a smile slowly stretching across your lips, snuggling further into his embrace. “You’re home.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, breathing you in, wishing he could bottle up the scent of your shampoo and lotions and perfumes, if only to have something to hold onto while he’s away, understanding now why he found you in this bed rather than your own

“I am.” He whispers into your hair, sensing that you’re already drifting back into dream land, safe in his arms and his bed, knowing he’ll be there when you wake. He feels his chest tighten when he knows that you weren’t talking about the fact that he’s physically home, in the flat, but something more, something much more, because he means the same thing when he tells you, “You’re my home too, love.”

[cup-o-stars]

Relativity Falls!

Design Concepts (and my unnecessary thoughts):

Excuse the the colors, ig my apps are fighting.

I see Mabel finding success no matter what happens to her, but I really like the thought of her running an insane arts and crafts business in GF. Alternatively, if she fell in the portal, she'd come out acting confident as always, but she probably wouldn't realize how much the constant change and lack of family/stability wore her out until she settled back in. In either case, she's a bit cracked.

Dipper is investigative, but cracks easiest under stress and is not as inherently adventurous as Mabel or Ford- so the portal wouldn't treat him well. If he's not the one in the portal, he'd be into stargazing and real magic to share with people, while also warding tourists away from the dangerous stuff. In general, he'd be an unhappy adult if left to his own devices, lol.

Between Dipper and Mabel, I like Dipper being in the portal more. He's a great protagonist, but as a supporting cast member, he needs to be more insane to match the draw that is 'Mabel taking care of children,' ha. I also love the idea of there being no portal / some other looming threat for these two to struggle with (at least because Hirsche has made it clear that Dipper and Mabel are equally smart, and to me it seems like the portal would reopen way quicker with them), but I didn't plan on posting these and I don't know how my followers feel about me posting lore.

Stanford and Stanley:

Pretty much how they are in canon, but now they're in a setting where they can get over themselves, ha. They aren't quite as mature as Dipper and Mabel were at their age, but after coming to GF, they finally found other people to look out for them. Dipper could be a more emotionally available and level-headed role model (I think having people to take care of is calming for him in turn), and they'd both look up to Mabel as the peak of somebody who knows how to socialize.

Fiddleford:

He's a sweet, southern, farm-raised mechanical engineer just like in canon.

Idk why Fiddleford is in GF (visiting an unnamed grandparent?), but I really like his relationship with Ford in the journal. Following that thought, in this AU, he starts out more of Ford's friend than Stan's, and it's kind of a big deal. Unlike Dipper's arc on learning to be a kid, Stan and Ford clearly struggled a lot with interpersonal relationships / finding security outside of eachother, and that's what I think this AU could be about (it's great they realized they need each other in canon, but the part where they had no one else to turn to is also kinda crazy if you ask me).

Ford gets to meet another smart kid in a weird town, which helps him feel more normal. He has a better idea of what friendship is because of it, but also, since I can't imagine Dipper wanting an apprentice so young/vulnerable/impressionable or Mabel asking only one of the twins to stay- he'd have to come to terms with the fact that he can't live in his dream world forever. (Or maybe the apprenticeship comes from somewhere else, just because the conflict around going back to Glass Shard Beach at all, or sending Stan alone could be pretty good.)

On the flipside, I think Stan's initial jealousy of Ford and Fiddleford's friendship would force him to try finding his own friends / hobbies. I like the idea that he fails at first- and a lot- but Mabel notices his mounting frustration (which he is very keen on hiding), and her consistent and unorthodox support makes him realize he wasn't alone to begin with. He can be more open around her, which makes it easier to open up to others, and then he can make friends without having to pull any tricks. He probably starts with some animals, and then at least gets closer to Fiddleford anyways (I feel like they're both more practical than Ford and value human company more, so they'd bond easier once Stan gets over his personal hurdle).

Anyways- because that was way too much- Mabel's exes are a constant source of antagonists and Dipper is stressed about setting a good example.

(I was more of a Monster Falls fan back in the day, but I can't draw animals, lol)

[vxnuslogy]

━━━━━━ truth, dare, spin bottle.  ̊ ̟ ꒷꒦

☆    |     or in which you fall in love with the stereotypical school athlete, council secretary, and your class president on campus⠀    …

꒰ including ꒱ ⠀! ⠀phainon, anaxagoras & mydei.          ୨୧          ꒰ warnings ꒱ ⠀! ⠀modern!au, school!au, ooc, just very stereotypical school tropes, highschool awkwardness.

“      tags     ⟡     .    @mikashisus @https-sourlimes @powchakko @somjuie @gl4di0lus ; if you'd like to be tagged please don't be afraid to send in ask or fill out the forms on my pinned!

✶ : PHAINON 

 jersey no. 7 of amphoreus' football and basketball team—you'd be living under a rock if you don't know his name and the reputation that follows him. his matches are a sight for sore eyes. when he’s on the field, amphoreus is automatically getting that gold medal regardless of the opponent. you manage to watch one of his basketball matches during prep season for the school festival. it’s a friendly rematch against an old rival school and to no one’s surprise, phainon emerged as the mvp. in that match alone, you see why everyone is endeared by him—he reeks of sportsmanship that no student athlete in this school could ever dream of. he approaches every opponent with determination but never underestimates them, he always wants to play a fair game and even voluntarily forfeits if the game shows signs of rigging.

you don’t deny your fellow classmates who ask you if you think he’s cute because he is. he reminds you of an excited puppy during games and a loyal guard dog when it comes to his studies. he’s rather tall for his age–just a year below you but he’s far surpassed your height–and he has a good build, befitting for someone as sports orientated as him. phainon also has this magnetic pull to him that makes everyone want to befriend him, and you don’t mean it in a bad way. 

after classes, you usually go home without a fail, but this time around, you make a beeline towards the gym to watch another one of phainon’s matches. when your friends catch sight of you, they all give you playful looks that scream “you’re here for phainon right?” and you can only roll your eyes at them. but before you can take a seat at the spot they reserved for you, something collided with your head and your world is suddenly spinning.

“oh god, are you alright?!” 

someone shouts as you groan in pain. your vision spotting as you try to make out the messy blob of white and blue in front of you. someone takes your hand and you’re forcefully yanked up to your feet, making your headache worse with how quickly you stood up.

“i’m so, so, so, sorry. this is my fault i wasn’t paying attention. does your head hurt badly? do you want to go to the infirmary? someone get me ice packs—”

“will you calm down? you’re making my headache worse!” you don’t mean for your voice to sound so cold but it was nothing but the truth. you appreciate this mystery person’s concern, but god does he talk too much.

“right… right! sorry.”

you sigh and massage your temple. when your vision starts to clear up again, your mouth is left hanging as you realize who’s in front of you. that signature white hair and blue eyes combo is practically thrown at your face as phainon tilts his head in mild curiosity at your expression.

“i… need to go. sorry.” you quickly say, gathering your things from the floor and speed walking to the exit. you faintly hear the athlete heartthrob call out to you but you don’t pay him any mind. you were not getting into a cat fight with his fans with that cliche encounter.

that following night, your friends betray you by leaking your phone number to phainon. after a few heated and teasing messages in the group chat, you steady your breathing as you open his messages. you didn’t necessarily know what to expect on how phainon messages his friends or acquaintances, but you certainly find some childish endearment.

he sent a lot of messages—broken up into multiple sections explaining his worry and regret of hitting you instead of one single text box. phainon also used excessive amounts of exclamation marks, a lot of misspelled words, uppercases, and surprisingly enough, kaomojis. you let out an exasperated smile as you finally come to understand how cute this kid was.

you only planned to reply with a single message explaining your condition but that quickly spiralled into him chatting up a storm—a never ending stream of topics. you indulge him, using this as an excuse to find out even more on why so many people are so gravitated towards him. you surmise it’s because of his easy-going nature; he never leaves you hanging with his replies and speaking of replies, he sends messages at an ungodly quick speed. one thing turned to another before he ended the conversation with a message that read: “would you like to get a cup of coffee as an apology? it’ll be my treat ofc!!!!”

✶ : ANAXA (GORAS)

you see, if there was one person that made your blood boil like lava, it would be the student council secretary, anaxa. always so curt, blunt, and rude, he makes all of your accomplishments seem small when put side by side with his. it infuriates you to no end when the test scores for each year is posted on the bulletin and you spot him dead center of the crowd. you already feel a scowl forming on your face as you pass the bodies of other students and mentally prepare yourself for his berating voice.

you frown in dismay when you see his name on the number one spot with you a few spaces below him. your lip sews themselves shut when you hear him cough into his fist, quiet enough to not disturb the other students' excitement but loud enough for you to hear. as if wanting to rub more salt onto a fresh wound, anaxa peers into your line of vision with a smug smirk on his lips. with your pride hurt, you quickly turn away from him and begin walking away to save face. you didn’t need him to rub it in your face that he was leagues better than you.

anaxa won’t admit the swirling in his gut when he sees your figure get smaller and smaller. the oddest thing of it all, you don’t show your face to him at all since the test scores has been posted. he’d rather die than admit he missed your presence to anyone—your banters, nudging each other in quiet retaliation, and the time spent on the rooftop trying to study. anaxa would rather swallow a thousand needles than openly admit he felt jealous of his junior–the school athlete–and how you always seem to get coffee with him every morning. wasn’t that your thing with him?

 

“pray tell,” you flinch at the voice–failing to pack up your things quick enough to avoid anaxa who frequented the small cafe near campus. “why is it that you find the time to pick up coffee with our junior, but not me?”

if you were any other student, you’d think he sounds jealous—but that was a ridiculous thing to think. anaxa, jealous? you’re very sure the only emotion he’s ever felt in his life were spite and pride. as if to insinuate that you’ve actually replaced him with your usual routine, you ignore him. fight the twitch of your lips when anaxa visibly frowns at your silence. though a part of you—a tiny, tiny part—does feel a bit guilty. you weren’t one for the silent treatment, but anaxa deserved it. (you try to convince yourself at least).

“look if this is about the test scores, i’m…”

you walk past him but before you can fully exit the establishment, anaxa is running after you and catching your wrist with a firm grip. you turn to glare but the initial pettiness that fueled your heart quickly evaporates into thin air when you see his expression. lips pursed into a thin line, eye darting here and there–avoiding yours at all cost–and posture rigid but not in his usual secretary way; he looked almost vulnerable.

“i… apologize, for always belittling you whenever exam seasons are over. believe me, my intentions weren’t to bring you down. i just…” he trails off. a heavy frustrated sigh leaving his lips as his other hand comes to cover half of his face in shame. “wanted you to continue competing with me.”

by the following day, it was anaxa avoiding you like a plague. you still get coffee with phainon every morning, but today, you bought an extra cup—medium, iced, with only two teaspoons of sugar. the snowy-haired boy questioned you but you only replied with a cryptic “it’s a sorry gift.” he dropped the topic with a hum. you have a faint idea that phainon already knew who you were talking about.

the two of you separate on the second floor of campus—phainon heads straight to his classroom while you make a beeline to the council office. you rise up to the stairs in quiet contemplation on how to give anaxa his usual cup of coffee. with you being so lost in thought, you don’t realize that you’re now standing face to face with the classroom door. if you take a quick peek at the crack, you’d see anaxa with his head leaning back the chair he sat on with a book covering his face. you chuckle in amusement and as quietly as you could, tip-toe your way around the desk and place the coffee cup right by his notes. you graciously pull off a piece of sticky note and wrote down a short message before sticking it on the book on his face before leaving.

when the door finally closes shut, anaxa carefully removes the book obscuring his vision and takes the note you had written. ‘sorry for avoiding you! no matter what, you’re still my rival. remember to always take care of yourself, okay?’ anaxa snorts in amusement as he takes the cup of coffee in his hand, swirling the liquid before taking a sip. you still remember how he likes his coffee.

✶ : MYDEIMOS

if phainon was the cute junior that reminded you of a puppy and anaxa was the annoying bird that’s always perched on your shoulder, then mydei is that intimidating class president who quietly cares for his class. admittedly, you, among many others, had the wrong impression of him on your first meeting. initially, you assumed mydei was the type of student who always picked fights with other students and got into trouble with the student body. he does do those things—you see him butt heads with phainon during pe class and see aglaea scolding him during meetings every now and then. but nothing can prepare you when you first ask him for notes.

to say it’s a nerve wrecking situation would be an understatement—you were shaking in your shoes as your classmates cheered you on. with one final sigh, you find his contacts on your phone and repeatedly draft a message, delete it, then start over again and again until you grow frustrated and give up for the time being. you throw a defeated expression at your classmates and promise them to ask mydei for the notes later today. the school festival has been taking up so much of everyone’s time that you can’t find enough time to actually pay attention and write down notes in class. everyone was either sleeping or dozing off with exhaustion and you were no exception. you were sleeping during the first two periods of class and they each had their respective quiz some time this week.

you massage your temple in stress as you mumble about how you can ask mydei about his notes.

“what about my notes?”

you freeze on your spot. the hand massaging your temple rigidly drops back to your side as you awkwardly smile at the only person who can help your entire class pass manifests into thin air. 

“uh… well, you see…” you fumble with the words on your tongue and curse yourself inside your mind for appearing nervous. you just want to ask if he had taken notes during the first and second period, simple right? wrong!

you shift in your spot uncomfortably, eyes falling to the floor and to your shoes to avoid his burning gaze while your hand rubs at your arm—a nervous tick you developed over the years. you open your mouth to finally reply but the feeling of something soft hitting you in the head has you looking up and meeting his gaze by accident. you don’t miss the quiet amusement that courses through him as you stumble to grab the stack of papers he graciously put on your head.

“if you wanted to borrow notes, you could have just said so. it’s not like i’m going to bite your head off.” his voice is stern but if you listen closely, you’ll realize there’s an undercut of playfulness in them as you beam at him.

“thank you so much, mydei!” you express your gratitude as he shakes his head in disbelief.

“go share them with the class, i still need to catch up with the council on something.”

mydei turns to leave but you call out to him. he slightly turns his head to look at your almost flustered smile, “what is it?”

you hold his notes close to your chest as you grin at him, “thank you, really! you don’t understand how much everyone needs these right now.”

he huffs in response and waves you goodbye and you turn to run back to your classroom to spread the good news that no one will be failing this year.

when mydei enters the council meeting with the other class representatives, castorice greets with a curious tilt of his head—she questions the smile on his face as he sits down at his usual spot but he only shrugs it off. mydei plays it off as finding something funny on the internet, which was strange. mydei rarely finds anything funny, let alone if they came from the internet.

he takes tentative sips from the coffee agalaea had generously provided for everyone, and he doesn’t miss the way a pair of eyes follow his every movement. he catches phainon from one corner staring at him with furrowed brows as he twirls the pen in his fingers while the council secretary at the front scowls at him. you may not remember, but back in middle school, when no one wanted to share a table with the delinquent, you sat next to him without question and offered him a spare pen when you realized he didn’t have one. to this day, mydei still use that pen even if the ink had long run out—he just wants to show off the item with your name on it.

© vxnuslogy 2024. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my knowledge or consent in other platforms or websites.

[sunarc]

Geto’s tired of listening to you fail to get yourself off. It's another late night of your touching yourself but seemingly unable to bring yourself to an orgasm. He doesn’t think he can go another night listening to the frustrated sighs probably because your fingers don’t reach the spot you’re desperately craving them to touch. If you need help why don’t you just ask. He’s more than willing to give you what you need. 

He sat leaning against the wall listening to your whimpers. His hand moves in slow motions pumping himself to your voice. 

“Just let go baby it’s so easy” he whispers eyes closed listening to your harsh sighs.

His hand squeezes the base of his cock while his head lulls back. He knows you need him. He can have you cumming in seconds. His mind is running a mile per minute with thoughts of how pretty you probably look with your legs spread stretching yourself out with your fingers. His thoughts run rampant but they are cut short by a frustrated groan coming through the walls. Something takes over Geto because before he realizes his actions his knuckles knock softly against the wall. He hears you shuffling before you whisper softly.

“Yes?”

“Do you… need help?” he’s not sure what has possessed him. This can go one of two ways and he’s praying it goes how he's imagining it. 

You’re silent for a minutes presumably contemplating his question. The silence feels like it's clawing at his brain. He almost wants to take back what he said but it’s far too late for that. 

“I-” he’s cut off by your voice

“Yes” you whimper.

Geto’s heart feels like it might jump out of his chest. Did he hear that right? He scrambles to his feet realizing that he now has to act on his words. His feet carry him to your room and it feels like he might be floating. When he opens the door there you are spread out just as he imagined with a pout on your face. 

“Please help” you whimper. 

Geto is by your side within seconds eyeing the way slick drools down your cunt. “Fuck you look so good” he breathes. 

He moves your hand gently and replaces it with his own. His fingers feel so much better than your own. He reaches spots you can only dream of reaching. 

Geto’s eyes watch the way you arch into him feeling the way his fingers glide against your walls. A small smirk appears on his face as he watches you close your eyes feeling pure bliss. 

“Yeah? Does that feel good princess?” his voice is soft whispering the sweet words to you. 

You nod your head too focused on chasing after your orgasm to reply with words. 

“Look at you. You needed me didn’t you? Look at how your falling apart for my fingers. Wait until you get my cock baby.” He leans into you pressing kisses against your neck. His arm holds your body close to his while his fingers massage your core send sparks of pleasure through your body. 

“Come for me pretty, Let me see you make a mess” he groans in your ear. 

You body jolts from the orgasm. Your hands grip onto Geto shaking from the orgasm you were chasing. 

“That’s it, just like that, so good for me” he kisses your shaking form. 

You don't have enough time to come down from your before Geto is flipping you over and push you down into an arch. 

“Let me get a taste before I fuck you to sleep princess”

His hands spread your ass cheeks so he can see your slick cover cunt. His tongue glides between your folds. He licks and flicks your clit while his hand massages the fat of your ass. 

“Taste so good baby” he breathes 

His groans sound heavenly as he licks between your folds as i you’re his favorite meal. He’s in a land of pure bliss tasting you. He hums as his tongue dips in and out of your hole messily eating you. Geto has never felt himself losing control in this way. There’s something about you. Something that possesses him. He wants you, needs you in the most lewd way. Thoughts of you cumming on his cock plague his mind. His heart is beating in his chest harder than ever. This doesn’t even feel real. To have you in this way spread out with your ass in the air all for him has his cock achingly hard. 

“You ready for me Princess?” he groans pulling back taking a deep breath. Your slick pools down his chin. 

You nod your head desperately while your hand grip the sheet eager to feel him at your entrance. Geto places the tip of his cock at your entrance treasuring the way you whine for him to put it in. He loves how desperate you are for him. He lovees that you crave him the same way he crave you. 

“I’m gonna take my time with this” he whispers. 

His hand massages your hip as he inches his cock deep into you. He’s big and no amount of finger could have prepared you for him. You burn with pleasure feeling his cock stretch you out. 

“‘ S-so big” you whine.

Once he bottoms out he holds that position. He bites his lip while his fingers hold onto your hips.

“Fuck- you don’t understand how long I’ve wanted to do this” he lets out a heavy sigh as he closes his eyes. His pace start off slow. He wants you to feel every inch of his sliding inside of you. 

“You’re taking me so well baby” his voice soothes you as he fucks you. His thrusts are slow and long.

You look so pretty like this. Your back is arched, hands stretched outward taking all that he has to give you. Geto’s soaking in the moment. His heart feels like it might burst out of his chest. He finally has you and he’s taking advantage of every second. Your moans bounce off the walls echoing through the room. Your so loud taking his cock no wonder he could hear you through the walls fucking yourself. 

“This is what you needed isn’t it” he groans “You needed me, needed my cock. It’s okay I’m here now princess. All you have to worry about now is making a mess on my cock.”His thrust are filled with passion.   

His hands part your ass cheeks so he can get a view how how your cunt swallows his cock. 

“Look at how much this pussy loves me” he moans eyes low staring at where the two of you connect.       

He throws his head back groaning at the way you clench around him. 

“Fuck its so tight and warm” he can’t control himself. 

His picks up speed thrusting into you wildly chasing after an orgasm. 

“I need you so bad, Please fuck- please cum for me” he’s never known himself to lose control like this. 

His moans turn into whimpers as he continues fucking into you softly holding you. He can feel you’re close. Your face presses into the pillow muffling your moans. 

“Come on baby, Let me hear those pretty moans, don't hide them from me”his thrust are constant. 

He leans down to press kisses up your spine to your shoulder. His thrust are slow but they leave yo0u shaking on the brink of your orgasm. 

“Cum for me princess, I know how bad you need it” His voice is like silk whispering the words to you. 

His words send you over the edge. You completely lose yourself cumming around his cock. 

“That’s it, you're so good for me” he chuckles with a shaky voice. 

His thrust do not stop. He lets out a deep sigh before sitting up to fuck you faster. Your hand moves to push against his hips whining about how it’s too much. He chuckles and intertwines his fingers into yours. 

“Too much? We’re just getting started princess” a sly smirk grows across his face.

“I told you I was going to take my time. Let’s see how many times I can get you to cum tonight”

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

𝐬𝐨 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧' 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧・l.m

—there were two things in the world that challenged your intellectual ability one: AP US History and two: lee minho. what are you going to do when he catches you cheating, and grabs your thigh, forcing you to give him the answers too.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠・minho x reader // 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬・academic rivals to lovers, sexual tension // 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬・1.5k // 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬・thigh touching, squeezing, and kissing, very slight bruising, cheating on tests, slight language, he gets on his knees, this is lowkey freaky, no actually Minho gets on his knees and kisses your thigh.

𝐚/𝐧・guys i'm kinda shy about this bc it was not supposed to be this freaky, but I had this thought like four months ago and it just kind of...unraveled 🙈 idk how I feel about this I like the idea of it but I feel like it flows weird idk might just be a me problem plus I needed to get it out of my drafts so 😗

If you really think about it—it isn't your fault that the curriculum was impossible to learn, the school board was practically begging you to cheat.

Besides, the whole testing system was pointless anyway. You couldn’t accurately quantify knowledge with a few bubbled answers. And if your teacher hadn’t made this test 40% of your grade, you might’ve actually been able to understand. But no— the stress alone had made sure of that.

For a second, you naively convince yourself you actually have a chance. Then you read the first question—and realize you're royally fucked.

It isn’t just one thing; no, the universe spreads a thick layer of icing all over your 'I’m fucked' cake, because not only is the test 100 questions of pure agony, but you’re sitting next to none other than Lee Minho—Yale's wet dream and your life long rival.

He shifts beside you, bubbling in the answers with infuriating ease. It was enraging—how calm he was, how even though his eyes were trained on the paper in front of him, it still felt like he was making calculated moves against you.

You grind your teeth, reading and rereading the questions until you go cross-eyed. It just didn't make sense. Why were there so many dates? Who were all these people? Why couldn't you seem to remember anything? The ink on your thigh screams at you, itching to pull up your skirt and color all the correct answers.

It was stupid, completely idiotic to even consider giving in to the temptation, but you had no other choice. You couldn't fail this test. You steal a glance at Minho, making sure he’s still peacefully, obnoxiously distracted with being perfect, before sliding your skirt up to reveal the answer key you wrote last night. With a deep breath, you fill in the correct answers, stealing paranoid glances at the teacher every other question.

You're almost done. Just a few more. But then—a tingle runs down your spine.

You could practically taste the smirk on his face the minute his gaze lands on your thighs. You stiffen, holding your breath as if that might magically make you disappear. Unfortunately, your efforts are to no avail.

Minho must have been waiting for a moment like this for years—a classic got'ya moment. It was perfect, practically presented to him on a silver platter. You clench your eyelids and except the worst, for him to stand up and announce to the class your humiliating defeat, to strut up to the teacher and flush your entire life away.

And yet, the moment passes by. His gaze never wavers, instead it gets heavier—needier, fire licking up your spine. You can feel the heat of his breath fanning across your cheek as he leans in—so close, too close.

"Is that what I think it is?" That cocky little bend in his lips grows as he watches you fumble to yank the skirt back down, shooting him a nasty side-eye.

"No," you say steadily—almost convincing yourself.

"No?" His voice is low, laced with amusement, but there's something else there, something strained. "Then let me see."

"No." You scoff, pulling your leg away from him. He presses his tongue against his cheek, both frustrated and annoyed.

"So fuckin’ stubborn." His voice drops, and suddenly, the space between you vanishes. His fingers capture your thigh, prying them apart with a hot, deliberate pressure. Your breath hitches—the heat of his palm seeping into your flesh, spreading up, up, up.

You want to gasp, to smack his hand away, and scream bloody murder; but the other part of you, the other small microscopic part of you relishes in his touch—leaving you dizzy and breathless.

His hand never moves, even as he copies the answers down—his fingers a steady pressure against your soft flesh. You hate the way your pulse betrays you, hammering against your ribs like thunder.

You twitch—just enough for him to notice, just enough for him to squeeze hard. You fight not to gasp, your stomach twisting with something you don’t dare name. He doesn’t say another word. He doesn’t have to. You feel it.

Don’t you dare move.

You don't breathe—not until he's already finished the work, releasing your thigh and walking up to the teacher; sliding his test into the professor's hands with an infuriatingly perfect smile. The teacher returns his smile ten times brighter, both pleased and impressed, bowing politely to dismiss him back.

It takes five seconds before your brain catches up with your body, jaw dropping in utter disbelief—Minho was the first one to turn in his test, making him the first to get a perfect score, therefore putting him slightly above your soon-to-be perfect score—which means he beat you.

"What the hell was that?" you spit. Minho doesn’t spare you a glance as he slips back into his seat, swiveling around with a smirk on his face and his tongue in his cheek.

"What, 'that,' are we talking about? My undeniable victory, or how slow this class is?" Minho muses, throwing his feet onto the desk, and tipping his chair back as if the whole scheme was a piece of cake. You were ready to punch him square in his freakishly perfect jaw.

"You are unbelievable—" You don’t get to finish your scornful sentence before the bell rings. The class erupts from their seats, filing to the front. There was so much you wanted to do, but you couldn’t—your hands were tied, tight, painfully behind your back. So instead, you do the only thing you can: turn in that stupid test.

When you get back to your desk, you find Minho leaning against his, a cocky smirk still playing on his pretty pink lips.

"Oh, you're just loving this, aren't you?" you spit venomously, stuffing supplies back into your bag with a little extra vigor. Minho cocks his head, standing up a little straighter. "Loving beating you? Yeah, you could say that."

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "You couldn’t have done it without the answers I wrote on my thigh." At the mention of your thigh, Minho’s gaze tilts downward. His entire demeanor transforms—once cocky and proud, now washed away in an instant—something softer taking its place, something you couldn’t quite place.

Gently, disarmingly, Minho brings his palm to your waist, guiding you to sit on one of the desks behind you. "What—" you begin, but he beats you to it, asking, "Did I do this?" Confused, you look down at the mark in question—darkened fingerprints ghosting over your skin where his fingers had pressed a little too hard.

You swallow. "I didn't notice it."

"Does it hurt?" he frowns, gingerly brushing the bruise forming on your thigh. His voice is uncharacteristically soft, almost as if he's actually concerned about your well-being.

"Yeah, kind of," you wince, but you don't move from his soft touch. His lips press into a thin line, the slight furrow of his brows deepening with guilt.

"What, you wanna kiss it, make it feel better?" you joke, a weak attempt to ease the tension. He pauses for a moment, then, in one swift motion, drops to his knees before you.

You gasp, a quick, trembling breath that melts the words in your throat. His eyes stay locked on yours, the weight of his gaze heavy as he inches closer, mouth nearing your thigh. You hold your breath, heart hammering against your ribs. He takes his time—two agonizing seconds stretching into hours. His breath is hot against your skin, before his lips finally brush the bruise, leaving a gentle kiss in its wake.

"There, all better," he says, standing back up and slinging his backpack over his shoulder, nonchalantly. He doesn't say another word, simply waltzing out the door like he didn't just leave you a spaghetti noodle, all slippery thoughts and wobbly limbs.

You stand there, jaw in the center of the earth, gripping the edge of the desk so hard it threatened to crack. The class had filed out ages ago, leaving you to regather your thoughts in sweet silence.

You still feel his lips, hot and gentle, against the flesh of your thigh—reliving the moment over and over and over again. You couldn't bear to look at him, weeks into the future, still dizzy and disoriented, struggling to focus with him so close beside you. Minho knew, no matter how much you hated that thought. Minho knew, he saw how your grades started slipping, how slowly your comebacks started getting shorter, sweeter, a little bit more flirtatious.

That was his plan the entire time; because, even on his knees—Minho held all the pieces.

cookie owns this. thank you.

RAAAA its been a hot minute since I've posted something but I hope you liked this (if you did seriously consider reblogging with tags it helps my motivation and self-esteem so so soooo much.

[mggslover]

Through thin walls

In which Spencer finds solace in the sounds of his new neighbor.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader Genre: smut (18+) Content warnings: perv!spence, mutual masturbation Word count: 1,7k A/n: i wanted to write a smut with a more sensual, almost poetic approach?? let me know what you think of it bc i truly don’t know how to feel about it… also tell me if you'd be interested in a part two where they would meet!

Spencer wasn’t one to find much solace in sleep.

There was a time where it offered him comfort. A refuge where he could momentarily let go of his worries. But that was before his dreams started to haunt him. He was often praised for his eidetic memory, but what people failed to consider was that it also meant remembering your worst memories in precise, vivid detail. 

Of course Spencer was aware of how crucial sleep was, how sleep deprivation could wear a person down to the point of breaking them. But when sleep was the very thing that tore at him, what good was it? He did try to rest—clinging to the rare moments on the jet, where the hum of the engines and the presence of the team offered a shield against the nightmares that awaited him. But in the stillness of his own bed, the darkness pressed in, suffocating him until sleep became a burden he couldn’t bear.

When Spencer prepared for another attempt at sleep, he braced himself for the familiar routine: tossing and turning in tangled sheets, silently reciting The Parliament of Fowls in a desperate effort to reclaim the peace it once gave him—back when his mother would read it to him as a child. He’d pace to the kitchen for a warm glass of milk, anything to calm his restless mind, only for the alarm to blare the moment his head hit the pillow.

What he didn’t expect, though, was to hear a sound from the other side of the wall.

Soft at first, like it was testing the air—a breath, a hum, something faint but undeniably there. Spencer sat up against the headboard, his face turned toward the shared wall. The walls in his apartment were thin, but he hadn’t heard anything from next door in ages, not since his neighbor had moved out.

He waited patiently, listening, and then—there it was again. A faint gasp followed by a low moan. Spencer’s breath hitched as he made out that the sound came from a woman. He tensed, his mind immediately jumping to conclusions. Was she hurt? His pulse quickened at the thought. Then a deeper moan sounded, accompanied by a soft, shaky exhale. 

He pressed his ear closer to the wall, straining to make out the sounds. A faint shuffle of movement reached him next, then the sound of a distant buzzing. Was someone else with her? His thoughts raced as he waited, not sure whether to jump to action. 

The sounds didn’t stop. In fact, they seemed to intensify, morphing into a rhythmic string of moans, sounding almost…sensual. 

Spencer sat frozen as the realization hit him. His stomach fluttered, a flush creeping up his neck and across his face as he struggled to grasp what was happening. He should turn away, should stop listening, but the sounds—her sounds—kept pulling him in. Her soft whimpers seemed to draw out something deep inside of him, an unfamiliar curiosity. 

Another moan sounded, higher pitched, followed by a low, drawn-out whine that made Spencer flinch. His eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to stop the flood of thoughts from rushing in, but it felt like his body was magnetized to the sound. There was nothing but that—the rasp of her breath, the unmistakable signs of pleasure seeping through the thin wall.

The sound of buzzing grew louder, and when a curse left the lips of the women next door, Spencer couldn’t help but let a deep groan escape from his throat. He quickly bit down on his lower lip, heart pounding in his chest. The sounds from the other side of the wall abruptly stopped, and for a moment, the silence was deafening. He held his breath, muscles tensed, every nerve on edge, waiting for what might come next. It felt like an eternity before the buzzing started again—this time softer, but still unmistakable. Spencer let out a long, shaky exhale, the weight in his chest lifting slightly.

Spencer was a firm believer of the mind having control over the body. He’s seen enough cases where people’s minds compelled them to commit horrific acts they wouldn’t have otherwise. In Spencer’s case he’d learned to ignore the nudges of his body, quickly pushing his desires aside as a mere biological function he shouldn’t linger on for too long. Maybe it was his lack of sleep, or the desperation for a change of routine—because this time around his body was getting the best of him. 

The tightness in his pants grew simultaneously with the pretty sounds next door. His hand clenched around the fabric of his sheets, but it didn’t stop the tension building inside of him. 

He tried to shift his focus back to something logical. Distracting himself by thinking back on his chemistry thesis on Dipole-Dipole forces, how simple the alignment of the polar molecules sounded, but how complex it actually is—how the bond isn’t as intense as with ions, but something that builds steadily over time, almost imperceptibly at first, until it becomes undeniable. 

As his mind went on thinking about the invisible, magnetic pull between the opposing charges, he couldn’t help but notice the similarities with the situation he was in. She, like a molecule with her own electric field, creating a captivating attraction, slowly drawing him in with every sweet sound that escaped her lips. He could only wonder what would happen the moment they would meet—if their charged particles aligned—how it could release something greater than either of them could anticipate.

He imagined the woman next door. He pictured her as a shadow first—a soft silhouette just beyond his reach, blurred by the apartment wall. But in his thoughts, the edges of her figure sharpened.

He wondered if she was touching herself, if her hands were trailing along her body in the same way he traced her in his mind. He wondered what her skin would feel like under his fingertips. Would it be soft, the kind that invited touch? Or would the gentle curve of her shoulders be warmer, more textured and defined? 

His hand moved without permission, fingers tracing his own jaw, his eyes fluttering close. His fingers brushed against his neck, leaving a trace of goosebumps in its wake. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to touch her there, to feel the pulse beneath her skin. 

Another moan slipped through the wall, soft and pleading. Would she react the same way if I touched her? The thought sent a jolt of heat through him. Spencer’s hand twitched as he unbuttoned the buttons of his shirt, his hand gliding over his bare chest. 

Each breath, each noise from her, felt like a thread pulling him closer to the edge, closer to her. His body moved on his own accord. His hand slipped beneath the waistband of his pants, and he’s hit with the sensation of warmth and need. 

He wondered if she knew how beautiful she sounded. If she was even aware of how loud she was. Or maybe she simply didn’t care. Maybe she liked how much she affected him with her whimpers and gasps. 

He imagined the way her body would move, the soft rise and fall of her chest, the delicate arch of her back as she gave herself over to the sensation. He could almost feel it—like a phantom touch—her skin against his, the way she would shudder beneath him, lost in the same heat he was drowning in now.

His hand drifted lower, unable to stop. He pictured pressing her body into the sheets, hearing her moan against his ear as he would lean in and hide his face into the crook of her neck. He wondered whether she would surrender herself to the pleasure or try gaining more by wrapping her legs around him, pulling him closer. Whether she would like him to take it slow, savoring every touch, or if she would want him to be rough, to make her feel an ecstasy she hasn’t experienced before. 

Another sharp gasp came from the other side of the wall. Spencer stifled a groan as his hand moved more urgently, guided by his growing pleasure. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t focus. Fully consumed by the thought of her—so close, yet still so out of reach. 

Spencer wasn’t sure where his sounds began and where hers ended. He was swallowed by the overwhelming sensation, his mind too hazy to make out the border between reality and his imagination. His grip on himself tightened, spurred on by her sounds that seemed to match his own rhythm. 

She had slipped so deeply into his mind that he could feel her, in every breath, in every shiver of his skin. Spencer felt it in his chest, the way his breath quickened, the way the pressure built. She had become more than just the sounds next door, more than a figment of his imagination. She had become a need. And in this moment, he had no choice but to follow where it led.

Her moans became more frequent. Spencer’s body responded instantly. His hand moved faster, drawn by the pulse of her release, feeling the way it thrummed through him as though they were one. 

He could almost see her—her legs writhing, her eyes closed, her lips parted in that delicate, breathless moan. His mind painted the picture so clearly, it felt as though she were right in front of him. 

Her release ignited his, a wave of heat rolled through him, pulling him under. His breath caught, his body shaking as he followed her, their climaxes crashing together—separate, yet so intimately tied.

Spencer lay still. His once frantic heartbeat slowed down. Still, his mind buzzed with the aftershocks of what had just happened. He could still hear her lingering moans in his mind, like a melody he couldn’t shake.

The air in the room felt lighter, less suffocating, the weight of longing finally lifted from his chest.  The exhaustion that pressed down on him was different from the nights before. It wasn’t the weariness of a restless mind, of memories from the past gnawing at him. It was the deep, almost tender exhaustion that followed from his release. 

Tonight, there were no nightmares waiting at the edge of his consciousness. Just quiet. Just calm. Just her.

PART TWO

[oh-no-its-bird]

Sakumo being a super popular borderline sex symbol in his era will never stop being my favorite hc, I need to see more of it

All the people his age and younger had a crush on him. It was just a Thing(tm) where 9 times out of 10, a Konoha shinobi's first crush was probably Sakumo. Even other villages young shinobi hung up his bingo book picture above their bunk and dreamed of both killing him, being killed by him (in a hot way), having a battlefield fling with him, and more. There was blackmarket fanfiction. He was incredibly popular among civilians all over fire country. Some popular romance novels had love interests very blatantly based off him.

Even before they were on a team together, Obito and Rin both had a silly kid crush on Kakashi's dad (Obito more than Rin) and he was aware of it. This did not help make him like them any more. (By the time hearing smthn positive ab his dad would have made Kakashi softer, they'd both gotten better at hiding the crush, so to Kakashi it looked like they'd gotten over Sakumo.) Even Minato had a bit of a thing for him, not really but like— strong, popular, feard and very friendly ninja who is now paying him some attention (bc hes his kids teacher) he's not immune. Kushina understands, she is also not immune. (Kakashi is going to throw a fucking fit)

Even after his failed mission, when his reputation crashes and burns within the village, he still can't completely shake his admirers— they possibly just get more disrespectful ab the attraction when it mixes with the hate. (Which tbh could make for an interesting discussion all on its own)

Kakashi is haunted by his father's insane popularity for decades after his death. He does his very best to ignore the lingering evidence of people being insane ab his father.

One day he realizes one of his favorite romance novels has a romance interest based off Sakumo and has a break down ab it and can never read the series again.

When raiding an old abandoned enemy camp w Team Ro, he finds an old, autographed photo of his dad covered in lipstick marks in the communal bathroom. He chooses to ignore it but it's quickly spotted by his teammates, who do not know who Sakumk is, and v quickly begin to remark on the poster, who this mysterious Konoha nin is, and ahaha damn he is kinda good looking, huh? (Kakashi wants to DIE)

Shisui ends up taking the poster back to Konoha with them and hangs it up in the ANBU communal quarters where it is VERY quickly recognized. And also some of the people in that room recognize it so quick bc they also used to own a similar poster. (Kakashi wants to DIE someone PLEASE kill him now)

Its only when he's given team 7 that he finally thinks he's escaped the legacy of his father as Konoha's Most Sexiest Shinobi. Only for Naruto, when being trained by Jiriyah, to find his drafts for Icha Icha very clearly inspired by his dad. Which he can never publish for multiple reasons (lingering respect for Sakumo. Also for Kakashi, who is his biggest fan and would probably never look at him again.)

Naruto somehow accidentally brings this up with Kakashi who like. Has war flashbacks and immediatley stands up and walks away as Jiryah scrambles to try to explain himself and Tsunade looks on in scorn (she will approach him later to carefully ask for the drafts while trying to seem like she's not really asking for them bc she's too proud to admit it)

Naruto and Sakura discover Kakashi-sensei's dad was a sex symbol. I don't even know how they'd react but like. Oh my god. Oh my god you guys.

Funniest option would be they accidentally revive his popularity a little bit by being so loud ab it they like, remind people ab him. + introduce another generation to the idea of him

Kakashi is crouched on the floor with his face in his hands. When will he be freed from this hell.

Sasuke does not escape tho, he goes to sound and finds a picture of Sensei's dad in Orochimaru's office (???????)

This is such a shitty sketch but the vision:

Itachi, who learned who Sakumo was from that poster thing, goes on to find a photo of him in ""Madara's"" belongings and gets super weirded out but ultimately doesn't. Super care. But also. Like. What. What.

After Itachi finds the photo, which Obito genuinley forgot he fucking had and keeps in part just bc its like one of the only belongings that remained from his Konoha days, he shoves it somewhere in Kamui to forget about.

But then in the Obito vs Kakashi Kamui fight, it fucking flutters down in the middle of the fight and Obito fucking dies of humiliation as Kakashi realizes he will truly Never Escape and that this reality is his own personal hell

Uhh endgame Kakashi becomes Hokage and accidentally retreads his father's path in becoming the new Konoha Sexy Man. Which simultaneously crushes him (he will never escape) and fills him with delight (he will now be able to impart the pain of having your father figure be lusted after by all ur friends and acquaintances onto his students)

[n0rmal-cat]

Yandere Farmer x Thief reader- simple instructions

[yeah sorry for whatever is happening, let me know if there’s any trouble]

You wake up with a groan, dreading the morning light that floods your senses like a harsh reminder of your dreary existence—cold, dark, and uninviting. You’d gladly slip back into sleep, surrendering to the comforting embrace of oblivion. But as you turn over, expecting the familiar hardness of an abandoned building’s floor beneath you, you instead find yourself nestled on a soft pillow. Where are you?

You glance around the room, and the sunlight streaming through the window suggests it’s probably mid-day. "How did I end up here? Did I sleep with someone?" you wondered.

Rising from the bed, you stretch your limbs, stepping out of the bed feeling a softness beneath your feet. "Wow, carpeted floors, fancy... oh, and pyjamas damn." Just then, the door creaks open, must be the lucky-.

"Didn't I tell you to get up before seven?" His voice sends a shiver down your spine. "You!? I thought you were... it wasn't a dream?!" you yell in surprise. "I wouldn't call you stealing from me a dream, but I assure you, I'm entirely real." He removes his hat, revealing beads of sweat trickling down his face and a slight sunburn marking his arms—no, stop that!

"So what time is it, then? If you wanted me up, why didn't you just wake me?" you ask. "Half past eleven. Now tell me, if I woke you up, would you have learned?" His accent is thick as he steps closer, his presence closing in. "A dog needs to be trained, doesn't it?" He stops right in front of you, an imposing figure. "Now, back on the bed." Heat floods your cheeks, turning your face as red as a ripe tomato. "W-what?"

"What, you don't understand simple instructions?" He towers over you, commanding. Without a word, you find yourself sitting back on the bed, heat coursing through you. He kneels before you, grasping your ankle with one hand and sliding the soft fabric of your pyjama pant leg up while rummaging through his pocket with the other. You bite your lip you hadn’t anticipated things taking this turn, but if you’re honest with yourself, you aren’t complaining. You release a shaky breath and close your eyes in anticipation.

A soft click resonates in the silence, and you snap your eyes open, realization dawning as you look down. "What is..." You gaze at your foot, wide-eyed. "Did you put an ankle monitor on me?!" Staring up at him in disbelief, he dusts off his hands with a satisfied smirk.

"How else am I supposed to ensure you don’t run away before you repay your debt?" You’re left speechless, taking in the situation, words failing you. "I'll be downstairs. Get ready and come down quickly because you're already on thin ice, pest." With that, he strides out of the room, leaving you in stunned silence. You lift your foot, inspecting the monitor strapped to your ankle. Etched in golden lettering is the name "August."

"I don’t know if I should feel turned on or pissed off... I guess I’ll get dressed." You make your way to the closet, which is a chaotic jumble of clothes none in the same size or style, and most appear to be barely even cleaned. After some debating , you settle on a simple shirt paired with overalls, the only outfit that seems relatively clean.

After getting ready, you make your way downstairs, trying your hardest not to make a sound. Even though he already knows you’re in the house, it’s a habit you picked up over the years of breaking into people’s homes. As you reach the kitchen, the man you now suspect is ‘August’ is busy cooking something unidentifiable.

The air is thick with an odour that hits you like a freight train—reminiscent of rotten meat. You quickly cover your nose, suppressing a gag. "Do you normally make this much noise when you try to sneak up on someone?" he comments without turning around. "Well, it’s hard when whatever you’re cooking smells like shit..." He hums to himself, his demeanour unperturbed. "Should I gag you as well? You seem to run your mouth a lot. Your food is already on the table."

And so it was, a perfect picture of pancakes, bacon and eggs, but again with the smell of...whatever that was in your nose you couldn't bring yourself to eat anything.

"So what are you cooking then?" you move to try to see what was on the pan but he blocks you with his shoulder.

"my lunch, now eat" his tone firm.

"ah I don't think I can eat right now-" you started to protest, but he spun around, gripping both your shoulders "I had leniency on you in the morning, I made you a full plate for you, lord knows you haven't eaten in a while"

"you don't know that"

"I've watched you on my cameras steal my excitement and sell it off just to get a meal, I quite literally see my logo in the pawn shop every weekend I go back to buy my own stuff, did you not question why you kept taking the same plow every time?"

He seated you forcefully at the table, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of emotions, it felt nice to be here, I mean he was right, the last decent meal you had was well...

"ok fine ill eat the damn food, can you at least tame your 'lunch' to a different room?"

"I already ate" he crossed his arms, a bit of sauce dripped down his chin, you narrowed your eyes at him as you cut into your pancakes.

“So, what am I supposed to do to repay this debt?” you asked, chewing.

“You’ll be working for me, just as I said—feeding the animals, helping me carry food to the stalls,” he replied, leaning forward.

“You don’t really look like you need much help with that,” you mumbled through a mouthful of food.

He leaned over on the table with his hand "And I definitely don't, but I told you I would train you wouldn't I?"

"I guess..."

he took your chin with his rough hands "When you're done come out to the back, but I want that plate to be clean" You feel a knot in your stomach as you nod.

“Good job,” he praised, "I'm glad you can understand simple instructions" Your face travelled with his hand as he walked out through the back door.

You swallowed hard, the remnants of your meal suddenly feeling heavy in your throat. “Holy shit…”

[Please be patient with me I had a rough day, the art is 70% done I’m just not in the right mood.]