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accidentcache · 3 days ago

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tease.

feat: keigo takami. college au.

warnings / cache notes: SMUT. minors dni. language, oral (m receving, implied f recieving at the end), face fucking (that feels lewd to type LMAO), reader is a massive tease i wanna say. just torturing drunk keigo with some head and he snaps. 2.6k. i went overboard. whoops.

m.list

keigo is a touchy and clingy drunk. you've always known this. he also turns into a bigger brat than yourself— that's what pissed you off tonight. the entire walk home he was feeling you up, would not take his hand off your ass for a single second.

but how could you yell at him when he had those precious puppy dog eyes and those cute little curls that stuck to his sweaty little forehead? his cheeks were rosy from alcohol and his eyes were glazed over and he clung to you like you were his lifeline— but he kept touching and whispering flirty and borderline depraved things in your ear the entire walk home.

upon finally getting to his apartment, you set him up against the wall just inside while you close and lock the door. his fingers hover around your waist— never drifting too far.

you bend to kick your heels off and keigo takes advantage of the position to grind his hips into yours. an exasperated sigh leaves your lips— his actions are sloppy and messy and nowhere near as sexy as he was trying to be.

"keigo," your voice is tight, a hand clasping overtop of his in some attempt to ground him or at least sober him up somewhat. "let's get you to bed."

keigo whines. his fingers dig harder into your hips and his mouth finds your neck when you straighten up in front of him. his chest presses against your back and most of his weight leans onto you. "baby—"

"no," you cut him off. you peel his hands off of you and wrap a hand around his wrist, twirling yourself around to turn him around at the same time. you press your palm in the space between his shoulder blades and push. "you're going to bed. you're plastered."

keigo sighs dramatically but he complies. there's a cheeky smirk on his lips as he makes the way down the hall on uneven footsteps, and when he reaches his bedroom door he struggles to open it at first. if you weren't so irritated at his bratty behavior you would've chuckled at how he went face first into the wood before he managed to get it open.

by the time you've gotten things situated out in the main room, keigo is face down on the bed when you go to check on him. his wings are limp and spread out along the sheets, lazily twitching as he hums under his breath.

you make your way into the room and stand at the edge of the bed. "you are not sleeping in that," you say, motioning towards his clothes that are rumpled from a night of drinking and reek of alcohol and sweat.

keigo turns his head to peer up at you. when his hazy golden eyes lock onto your form, he smirks and the tips of his wings flap ever so slightly. "can't i?" his voice is still so slurred when he speaks. "i don't wanna take them off. too lazy."

you feel your eyes roll to the back of your head. clicking your tongue in disapproval, you motion with your finger towards his sprawled out form. "sit up."

keigo lets out a drunken giggle— full of mischief and nothing good ever comes out of that noise. he surprisingly obeys your command, however; even if it is with a half smirk and over dramatic movements. he manages to hoist himself up, propping himself back onto his hands on the edge of the bed.

"happy now?"

your patience is worn thin at this point. you can feel your lips curl into somewhat of a growl and your knees force his legs apart just a tad too roughly. keigo doesn't mind, obviously. he's far too drunk and if he's honest, he likes when you're a little rough with him.

your hands tug at the hem of his shirt and he lifts his arms so you can pull the fabric over his head. he catches your gaze when it lingers just a tad too long on his exposed chest and he smirks.

the smug little shit.

"now lift your hips," you order next, pointing a finger down to his hips. a short huff of air leaves your lips when he purrs at your tone, and he only grins at the way you roll your eyes. he knows you're only feigning annoyance— if you were truly annoyed with his antics you would've left him to fend for himself for the night. he's just wondering how far he can push you.

your fingers make quick work of the button and zipper of his jeans and the bulge and strain only make it more difficult.

keigo is also a horny drunk.

he leans back just a tad as his hips lift up as you tug the fabric down his hips and tights. the smirk on his lips turns just a tad more smug and crooked, his head tilting back as he watches you with eager eyes. "c'mon babe. you know you wanna," his words are still slurred, but have gained the weight of lust.

your eyebrow quirks upwards as you manage to get his pants down his knees. "what makes you think you deserve my touch right now?"

his lower lip juts into a pout that you fear is just a little too genuine. his eyes drop to that puppy dog gaze and he spreads his thighs ever so slightly, the muscles twitching with the light strain. "babe, don't be mean to me…"

you have to sigh in response. your tongue pokes at the inside of your cheek. "you like when i'm mean to you."

keigo's cheeks flush. "i do," he admits just a little too easily. he sits up in a rush and you can tell he immediately regrets the decision. his hand rises to press his fingers to his forehead as if to soothe the spinning that you know his brain is dealing with at the moment. "baby, please," he pleads.

you stare back at him with both eyebrows now raised. your arms cross over your chest and you adjust your stance in front of him. your eyebrow twitches, higher up in the form of a taunt and your head tilts. your lips curl into a smirk, "beg."

keigo scoffs in amusement. "excuse me?"

by now the alcohol has settled in his system— making him more stubborn and cocky. shortly he will realize this will be his downfall, but he's not paying attention that. he's clearly not used to you being so… forward. keigo calls the shots usually. it's how things usually flow in bed with the two of you.

and even though your attitude is arousing to him at the moment, his stubbornness outweighs it heavily. he makes it show as he leans back, throwing his arms behind his head with a smirk. "you're gonna have to ask me nicely, babe."

oh how his smirk drops when he sees you sink to your knees in front of him. there's no way you're giving in this quickly, so keigo can only assume you're up to something devious. you move inbetween his legs and his thighs clench almost involuntarily.

you don't touch him. you merely make bold eye contact with him over the obvious tent in his boxers and a shaky exhale leaves his lips. he swallows thickly— you see his adam's apple bob as he forces the lump down— and his voice shakes just the slightest bit when he speaks. "baby," he mumbles, his tongue feels heavy in his mouth. "don't tease me. not right now."

your lip juts out in a condescending pout almost immediately. your hand raises to trail the tip of your finger along the outline of his cock through his boxers and you watch with a satisfied gleam in your eyes as his cock twitches and jumps under your feather light touch. your eyes flick back up to his, an eyebrow still raised in a taunt.

keigo's face is flushed. his smirk has long faded and has been replaced by a wanton expression of need and desperation. "stop teasing," he growls, his entire body twitches as he restrains himself from grabbing a hold of you or just bucking up into your touch entirely.

now, you're pushing it. you lean in with a smug smirk, your mouth hovers overtop of his cock. the heat of your mouth just causes him to twitch and throb more. keigo lets out a strangled moan at the feeling and his breath gets caught in his throat.

your eyes don't leave his for a second. "make me."

"you little—" his arm moves, reaching toward you— but he stops himself. "stop fucking teasing."

"you're so twitchy," you mumble as your lips brush against him. the only part of you to make contact with him is the ghost of your lips and it drives keigo insane. "i haven't even touched you, baby…"

keigo's breathing is labored with the effort of holding himself back. he grits his teeth and his eyes shut briefly as he tries to compose himself but he swears he sees double when he looks back down at you. his voice— low and rough— has a hint of pleading underneath. "just touch me already, fuck."

keigo's heart rate picks up when he hears you chuckle. he groans, the noise pulled from deep in his chest when your nose nudges against his cock. it does nothing to help his situation when you purr a tiny little "oh, baby…" at him in response.

he can feel the heat growing at the base of his spine. it's getting increasingly harder for him to not just grab you and force you down on him. even drunk he's still respectful— but it's like you're deliberately pushing the limit.

your tongue rolls out and flattens against him and it causes such a whorish moan to fall out of his mouth. the fabric dampens under your tongue but you refuse to move, obsessed with the way his cock throbs and twitches under your tongue. your eyes flick up to his once again and keigo swears his vision spins when he sees the corners of your mouth lift in a smug little smirk.

he thinks he's getting a moment of reprieve when your fingers curl into the waistband of his boxers. but the moment his dick is freed you only coo and stare at it, practically drooling at the sight.

you still don't touch him. at least, not in the way he wants you to.

you're evil, he's thinking to himself. you're an evil woman, teasing him like this. he makes a last ditch effort to control himself and grips his sheets with white knuckles. "baby, please…"

another chuckle from your mouth. you don't know why you turn so sadistic when you're in a teasing mood, but seeing keigo in this form was just too good. your tongue flattens along the underside of his cock and you hum against him. "so needy…"

his head knocks back against the pillow. "if you don't take me into your fucking mouth i swear to god—"

"you'll what?" your tongue leaves in favor of torturing him some more. your eyebrow lifts in a challenge.

a strangled cry leaves keigo's lips and that's how you know he's snapped. his hands surge forward, diving into your hair as he tugs you forward. "you're gonna get your mouth on me right this motherfucking minute," he growls out before he finally forces his tip past your lips and into your mouth.

he almost cries out in pure ecstasy the moment he feels your mouth. your throat tightens around him as he forces you down, both hands in your hair to make sure you don't move away from him. he moans loud and unabashed, his head rolling back with his eyes squeezed shut. "fuck," he breathes out after a moment. his hips rut forward into his mouth, "that's it, angel. just like that."

a swift yank forces your glossy eyes to dart up to his own. his chest rises and falls with labored breathing and he revels in the silence for just a moment. you swallow and gag around him when he pushes himself deeper and he breathes out another loud and throaty moan.

"you've been driving me insane," he manages out in a rough tone. he takes in how your lash line waters and the corners of your mouth pool with drool and a warmth spreads in his chest. he guides you with his hand in your hair, making sure your head moves in tandem with the rhythm of his hips.

your eyes start to flutter shut and your hands grip onto his thighs for some sense of stability. your scalp stings when he tugs your hair once again, forcing your eyes up to his. "eyes on me, dove," he orders through a rough moan. "keep those pretty eyes on me."

he knows he's being just a tad too rough but god damn does your throat feel amazing. he doesn't even care that your eyes are fluttering every time his tip hits the back of your throat— the way you gag just makes him throb even more. you're taking every inch of him so well that he forgets he was even irritated with you in the first place.

your nose is flush with his pelvis with each thrust, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. the noises are obscene— from both keigo and your mouth, but the sight of you is even more divine. it's so lewd and filthy that keigo doesn't even care that you're drooling all over yourself. his thrusts into your mouth only get quicker as he tries to chase that white hot pleasure he's been chasing since you took his pants off.

"god— you feel so good," his head tilts back with a moan. his body is taut with tension, the veins in his arms show restraint as he grips your hair tighter. if you weren't going almost lightheaded from the lack of oxygen, you would've moaned at the sight of him.

his cock throbs on your tongue and you know he's about to cum. his movements get sloppier— rushed and uncoordinated. "fuck," he swears, one of his hands moving to the back of your head. he repeats the swear over and over as his hips move faster and rougher as he chases his orgasm using your mouth.

with a final push, he forces his cock the farthest it will go down your throat as he spills inside of you. his hand stays on the back of your head to keep you there. his mouth drops open as he pants and moans and drags your name out in several syllables.

he pulls you off of him and keens in delight at the line of drool mixed with his cum that connects your mouth to his cock. you pant heavily once you're granted access to oxygen again, letting his release sit on your tongue before you swallow. you take heavy gulps of air as his hand cups your cheek.

his gaze is suddenly more soft as his thumb swipes along your cheek. both of you are panting, chests heaving but keigo's touch is gentle and soothing as he pushes strands behind your ear. his tongue darts along his lip as he drags his thumb along yours. "are you okay?"

you nod, feeling like your throat might combust if you try to use it to speak. keigo's mouth lifts with a small grin and he curls a finger underneath your chin. he coaxes you upward, pulling you ever so softly up onto the bed with him where he then cages you underneath him.

"you were such a good girl," he mumbles, his fingers moving to the hem of your shorts. his breath is warm and still heavy with strained breaths against your stomach as he tugs the fabric down your hips. "let me repay you, hm?"

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ponyisle · 1 day ago

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I'm so curious, do you consider Daybreak a bad pony for all she has done? Does Daybreak consider herself a bad pony? To Wish, to Twi? How much has she been forgiven by others, how much has she forgiven herself? There's also themes of disability to all three of them. Day's stress-induced migraines from overwork. The blindness, vocal atrophy, wing atrophy, chronic illness and the mental toll that comes from a millenia of isolation. Twilight's wing deformities and migraines upon being forcibly turned. Obviously, sickness is not a moral trait (I write this as a disabled woman myself) but I can't help but untangle Day's responsibility in both of their conditions. Although she was not intentionally malicious in her actions, and although she must have grown, repeatedly she was selfish. Repeatedly, she irreparably changed the fate of someone who trusted her.

Just thoughts. I love this project!

i have SO many thoughts about Daybreak, shes one of my favorite ponies to write, and i know this is probably the most asked question about my AU. idk how to explain a lot of it without spoiling what i have planned.

from my perspective: i didn't write Daybreak to be a "bad person" or a villain(doesn't make what she's done right in any capacity mind you). She has been selfish, arrogant, and downright neglectful at times. She's a pony who, much like twilight, was given little to no choice in her life. and when she DID make her own choices with the limited knowledge she had, it always ended up hurting somepony she deeply cared for. She views herself as almost entirely irredeemable. Burdened with the responsibility of an entire species while feeling like she is doomed to fail them. She's put the ponies at the forefront of her concerns, which in earlier years meant neglecting the only other pony who could possibly understand her position(Wish). She does not think she's worthy of her sisters forgiveness despite all her attempts to make things right.

Wish ultimately forgives her sister after many years of silence and making up(this will be expanded upon in comics i don't wanna give away too much but its a lengthy process). She doesn't see Daybreak as a bad pony, and after Day actually starts listening to how Wish feels and opening up herself, they both start to actually understand each other.

While Day thought what she was giving to Twilight was a gift, after seeing her reaction to her transformation Day regresses in her progress Big Time. Daybreak cared for Twilight, but just like with Wish, she thought she knew what was best, thought she could "fix" things. Twilight and Day's relationship is never quite the same, they don't really "make up" the way she and Wish did. For the first few years Twi DESPISES Day, but she doesn't see her as a bad person per say. She definitely resents her for being just another pony that's taken away an incredibly important choice from her. Realizing she will live on as her friends pass away, outliving everyone around her, its horrifying to grapple with that newfound knowledge. Twi realizes that Day isn't the all knowing deity that everypony seemed to think she is. They have a professional relationship later on, and maybe as the story progresses I'll expand more on that, but for now they're on extremely rocky terms.

The central theme in cantergale is acceptance and forgiveness, that doesn't mean each character with receive both from everyone. The sisters are a reflection of my own relationship with my sibling(projection<3). Day has to come to terms with the fact that no amount of apologies and change can reverse what she's done. She has to learn to forgive herself and accept her actions. Everything else is out of her control.

Its hard for me to describe any character as strictly bad or good, its not smth i think about when writing, i try to leave it up for the viewer to decide for themselves. My main goal is to inspire some sort of emotion. You feel however the story makes you feel. As always i love these sort of comments, i enjoy seeing how everyone interprets the story.

#cantergale #crona rambles

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letters-for-sara · 19 hours ago

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This is all super, super great knowledge. I'd like to add on, for anyone who thinks polyester and acrylic isn't that bad, acrylic isn't even recyclable like polyester is to a degree- and some polyester is made out of RECYCLED PLASTIC BOTTLES. Yeah. You read that right. They take old plastic bottles, wash 'em in chemicals and other crap, shred 'em up real fine and then melt them down and push the melted plastic through teeny tiny spinnerets, and is then woven into threads and cloth, AND THEN carded through to make it soft to the touch. Don't get me wrong; Polyester gets a hard rep, but it's a marvel of ingenuity in repurposing used plastic, and it certainly has applications and uses- but NOT as wearable garments. That is a hill I will die on.

There are other synthetic fabrics that aren't QUITE as bad as polyester, as they were manufactured to serve a certain purpose; you have things like Spandex, also know as Elastaine or Lycra, which was wholly designed to make a body-conforming textile to be used in undergarments, stockings, waistbands, etc. Do you own a pair of comfy denim jeans that stretch just right? They probably have a percentage of spandex in 'em to help keep their shape and stretchability. Stretchiness can also be achieved by the type of weave- namely, a KNIT weave, but it doesn't hold up shape as well as spandex.

Then you have Nylon, which is similar to polyester but not quite as cheap to produce. (It's also typically stronger) You'll see it woven a lot to make cords, belts, ribbon, that kind of thing. I wouldn't recommend using it as a garment textile unless you're making something really specific, because it auffers the same breathability and irritation issues that polyester does.

Then, there's the semi-synthetics- textiles that are derived from a natural source but put through a chemical process. The main ones that come to mind are Acetate & Rayon, both durived from processed wood pulp and were created to be cheaper alternatives to silk, and Viscose, which is durived from various plant fibers for the same purpose. No real shade to these types of fabrics, but I personally don't care for the texture and the way they feel on my skin. Still a step-up from straight synthetics, though.

And one more good scrap of knowledge for anyone who made it to the end of my little rant- when out shopping for new of thrifted, don't be TOO turned off by material labels that list a percentage of synthetic fibers. For example, I own a lovely blue sweater that's mostly angora and lamb's wool, but there's about 20% nylon in it. Angora, for anyone who doesn't know, is luxurious but also very delicate, and it's not uncommon to see delicate fibers be woven in with a minor percentage of something like nylon, cotton, linen, or viscose in it to help add strength and longevity to the fibers. It's purely a preferential thing, and I personally would prefer a strengthener fiber of like- cotton or linen, but it's up to the buyer what they're willing to excuse in their clothes.

... That being said, avoid labels that have "other fibers" listed on them like the plague. "Other fibers" is to clothing what "fragrance" is to personal hygiene products.

The closest experience I've ever had to discovering "the vitamin" was buying a 100% wool outfit and wearing it in the winter.

Not only was I not freezing anymore, I was not sweating and overheating either. The horrible sensory nightmare of winter clothes disappeared.

In particular, I bought a pair of wool pants. They were a thrifted pair of fancy dress pants like you would wear at an important office job, and they were easily the most comfortable pair of winter-appropriate pants i'd ever worn. I wore them Every Single Day.

From that point on I realized a lot of my clothes were making me feel bad, and the common thread was polyester. Especially polyester blends.

It's a trap because the polyester clothes are the ones that always feel sooooo silky soft when they are in the store, whereas cotton, linen and wool can feel comparatively rough and scratchy. But when actually wearing them for hours throughout the day, it's the natural fibers that feel more comfortable.

Maybe the secret to sensory comfort is not about the presence of softness, but the absence of overloading sensations. Or maybe the sensory stress and agony is not triggered by texture of the fabric, but by how it breathes and regulates temperature.

Then there's the problem of clothing life span: polyester blends, no matter how soft they seem at first, become rough and scratchy and covered in hard, itchy pills after wearing them 10 or 20 times, whether or not they have been tumble-dried or even washed at all. (I tested it!) Linen and cotton become softer and more comfy the more you wear them, polyester but ESPECIALLY polyester blends become a constant stressor. Polyester blend t-shirts I used to love for their softness now feel bristly and irritating.

So now I'm trying to change my wardrobe to as many natural fibers as possible, and the more natural fiber clothes i have the more I realize that the plastic fibers stress me out. It's so easy to overheat or freeze in them and they're always degrading and becoming less comfortable and it sucks.

#sewing #fabric #textiles #natural #synthetic #polyester #acrylic #silk #wool #cotton #knitting #crocheting #learned all this when I got into vintage costuming #man is linen awesome

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donvampiro · 1 day ago

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Hi hope it’s not to late to request would it be ok if I request Luffy , Nami and Sanji with a reporter darling who tends to get in trouble a lot with the marines please 🙏 (if possible can the reader be female if not gn is fine ^^) hope your doing ok and drinking plenty of water ! ❤️

hey @ladydoe8 ! hope you're doing good :D don't worry, it's not too late! that's a cute and fun idea hehehe >:) thanks for your request. hope you'll like these hcs; stay hydrated as well! Love <3

***

'Newsflash'

Luffy, Nami & Sanji x (reporter) gn!reader

Monkey D. Luffy

Luffy considers your job great because the pictures you take (more than the information you add to them) seem like souvenirs to him. (he also hopes that you’ll take a picture of him and his crew when he becomes King of pirates). he’s not really into reading the papers but might start buying them just to see your articles, or even cut out the pictures you take if he or his crew are in them.

that being said, no matter what your job is, Luffy is quite protective of you. he’s more discreet than his crewmates about it though, in that he prefers to focus on the main fight to keep everyone safe, like any good captain would do. but he’ll always be there for you.

even if you’re the type to get into trouble, he won’t blame you. he’ll always arrive just in time to help you — because whatever happens, even hidden behind his nonchalance and innocent smile, Luffy always keeps an eye on you. and he sets very few (if any) limits when it comes to your safety.

he’ll never shame you for your clumsiness or whatever. the most important thing for him is that you’re safe, that you’re alive. he’ll probably never tell you about this, but Luffy never wants to lose people he cares about again. and for that, he’s willing to save you from any situation that exists.

‘Sorry, Luffy, i messed up again…’

— ‘Naahh, don’t worry, (y/n)! it’s always fun to beat up some bad guys!’

Nami

Nami LOVES that you’re a reporter and, depending on what newspaper you work for, wouldn’t mind you doing an article or two about her… ;) apart from that, she thinks it’s an impressive job and probably very enriching. she reads the newspaper you work for, but simply keeps the issues that she thinks highlight your work.

she brags a lot about what you accomplish at work, while often (deliberately) forgetting to mention the fact that, to get all this information… well, you don’t hesitate to put yourself in danger quite a lot.

Nami isn’t the type to stop you from going out into the field; still she couldn’t help but feel a kind of tension whenever she sees you leaving the team to go take photos or gather information, because she always has this (right) intuition that you’re going to get into trouble.

if you have a problem, she will always come to your rescue. no one has the right to hurt you >:( however, once you guys are back on the ship and safe, she would come and talk to you privately to remind you to stop putting yourself in such dangerous situations. Nami doesn’t mince her words and what she would say could sometimes come across as harsh reprimands, but she’s just worried about you.

‘it was stupid of you to go there! be more careful next time…’

Vinsmoke Sanji

he finds your job admirable and necessary — but above all because it’s you who does it. the most important thing for him is that you’re blooming in your job. Sanji religiously buys and reads the newspaper you work for, he might even cut out your articles and put them in a small album. he doesn’t hesitate to compliment you on your writing and would give you ideas when you’re lacking inspiration.

Sanji looks up to your work for the risk-taking and creativity it entails. these are concepts that resonate with him, to a lesser extent. however, he still feels a bit nervous from time to time because he knows that your job sometimes involves putting yourself in perilous situations — which is something that often happens to you quite… naturally.

far from being the type to scold you or whatever, Sanji would never miss an opportunity to save you like a knight flying to the aid of his partner in distress. he would do it in a somewhat dramatic manner so as not to worry you as well as to hide his own anguish (in the heat of the moment at least).

he’ll never blame or shame you. however, once you’re both together, in private, in a safe and quiet place, Sanji will share his concerns with you. please listen to him, he really needs to get things off his chest. but no matter what, be assured he’ll always protect you.

‘hey, (y/n)... about earlier…’

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece headcanons #one piece imagine #one piece imagines #monkey d. luffy #luffy x reader #op nami #one piece nami #nami x reader #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #op sanji #straw hat pirates #donvampiro

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dextivestudios · 1 day ago

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A great way to making your own spins from standard fantasy races is by drawing your interpretation of NORSE MYTHOLOGY, not Tolkien.

Dwarves? Elves? Giants? Many of these things come from norse mythology, except Tolkien made them boring and uncreative.

For instance: dwarves are not just little white people living in the mountains for the lolz. Dwarves in Norse mythology are black as coal and would turn to stone if touched by sunlight.

They live in caves because the sun is a death sentence to them. And

if you base it off that and do your own adaptation instead of playing telephone with Tolkien, you could get something leagues more interesting than "they are mountain-dwelling small white people with bushy beards because Tolkien said so."

Basing my version of the oompa loompas based off the first edition of the book (it got revised and used the movie for ideas because the original edition had literal African slavery) is exactly how I got mouse people who stowed themselves in a ship and generally help around with homes and businesses as a way to contribute to their new home, with leaving offerings (most often chocolate) being how people express their gratitude for the help the usually-unseen oompa loompas do. Wonka just has the best deal of offering them raw, unprocessed beans making the ones who did move to the factory completely voluntary. Plus, chocolate is not even their primary source of food. It's important to their culture, but their diet varies a lot more with fruits, nuts, and insects. Chocolate/cacao beans play a more similar role to significant desserts and are largely eaten during birthdays and holidays.

As long as they have access to their main source of nutrition, they can leave and move somewhere else at any time if whoever they're helping displeases them, especially since they don't participate in human economy.

And that is just an example of what someone can do with a fantasy race. If I shaped a version of the oompa loompas that already answered the question of "how can we make them less racist?" then all that really needs to be done is revising the "white savior" aspect and give them more agency in their own backstory, which is more or less what the recent Wonka movie has done for one individual!

So, imagine what you can come up with if you look at what elves were like in Norse Mythology itself and adapting a version with all conceived Tolkien notions of them that hit the mainstream thrown out the window.

Alternatively, if you can't not make a pop culture version, put in something random and entirely out of left field that would make them different.

My version of Loki is black because if I made a white Loki, I would just be drawing Tom Hiddleston. Which is...not helpful if you want to make Norse gods that are not Marvel superheroes.

The backstory for that Loki I have in mind is that he is from a different mythology and he stowed himself away on a ship when the Norse gods were exploring the godly realm, waiting until they make it back to Asgard and claiming some empty land that nobody was using as his own. Odin just shrugged because that land is useless to him. He regrets that decision, but it was already too late by the time Odin realized he made a mistake. (The land was likely bad for farming/development, although Loki is clever enough to find a way to make a thriving village there.)

Basically, turn elves into a steampunk society if all you can imagine for them is "stealthy twink archer hippies."

stolen from that social media site gay millennials and grumpy boomers use

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violetszn · 2 days ago

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one

summary ✩ when you’re tasked with finishing your final short film for the year, you find yourself needing some help. you ask a few friends, put up a few flyers. the one problem? you’ll need the help of ellie fucking williams.

warnings ✩ 4.3k ✩ mostly just swearing, ellie and reader are both clueless menaces <3

notes ✩ happy pride my lovessss <333

chapters ⇨

You tap your pen against the corner of your notebook, trying—and failing—to focus on the lecture.

Professor Anderson was halfway through some tangent about the importance of networking in the film industry, his voice a steady drone in the overheated room, but you barely heard a word of it. Your mind was already spiraling—thinking about your short film project, the half-finished script in your backpack, and the terrifyingly long list of things you still needed to do.

The deadline is months away, technically, but you weren’t naïve. If you waited until the last minute, you’d end up sleep-deprived, mainlining coffee, and crying over a broken tripod at three in the morning. Again.

You scribble a messy list in the margins of your notes:

Actors (3-4, maybe some background roles?) Props/Backdrops — find someone who knows how to build stuff??? need a backdrop for the main scenes + potential props Art (beg art dept???) Finalize script edits Stop procrastinating.

At least your camera situation was solid—your most prized possession, a second-hand DSLR you'd practically sold your soul to buy, was already charged and waiting for you to do something brilliant with it.

If only the "doing something brilliant" part came with instructions.

You sigh and lean back in your chair, letting your eyes drift to the front of the room. Professor Anderson is still rambling about upcoming campus events—club fairs, showcases, volunteer opportunities—and how they are "vital for building your network."

You tune the rest of it out. Right now, surviving the semester felt like a more realistic goal.

When the clock finally hits the hour, you pack your things quickly, slipping out the door before you can get roped into another round of "casual reminders" about how competitive the industry was.

You barely make it three steps into the hallway before disaster strikes.

You’re not even looking, too busy digging through your bag for your headphones, when you walk straight into someone.

A firm, stubborn shoulder catches yours. You stumble back a step, muttering a distracted, "Sorry," without even glancing up—only to hear an all-too-familiar voice.

"Watch where you're walking, Spielberg."

You freeze. Great.

You look up and sure enough, standing there with her arms crossed and an insufferable scowl tugging at her mouth, is Ellie fucking Williams.

In her usual beat-up Converse and that damn flannel she thinks makes her look good. It does. Which only makes it worse. Not that you'd ever say that to her.

"Oh great. What, do you lurk outside my classes now?" you mutter, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. "I guess I should start paying rent with how much I live in your head, huh?"

Ellie’s smirk twitches—like she wants to say something back but can’t find the words fast enough—before she recovers, shooting you an unimpressed look.

"Trust me," she says, voice dripping with sarcasm, "you couldn’t afford it."

You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. This is how she always is—fast, sharp, and somehow always three steps ahead in the endless game of being a pain in your ass.

Without waiting for her to get another jab in, you shove your headphones in your ears and stalk down the hall, pretending you can’t feel her gaze burning holes in your back.

You’re in the middle of convincing yourself Ellie is not worth risking your scholarship to throw a punch, when you spot Dina leaning against a pillar by the art building, phone in hand and thumb rapidly texting. Her eyes flick up as she notices you coming, and the playful grin that spreads across her face is already on cue.

"Dude, you look like you just fought a war," Dina teases, not missing a beat.

You sigh dramatically, letting your shoulders sag as you approach her. "I just ran into the bane of my existence," you mutter, clearly still fuming.

Dina's smirk deepens as she glances down at her phone. "I’m guessing you’re talking about your dear lover, Ellie?"

You let out an exaggerated groan. "I don't even know what her fucking problem with me is, Dina. Like, what is it? I don’t do anything to her! I could just be minding my business and there she is with that stupid smile, looking at me all judgmental with those ridiculous green eyes, and then she decides she has to make her hatred for me my problem by saying something all bitchy to me, so I have to reciprocate."

Her grin widens, clearly enjoying your misery. "You two are like a fucking rom-com, you know. No–one of those k-dramas we used to watch!"

You shoot her a look that could kill. "Yeah, sure, if it’s the kind where the leads end up offing each other. Brutally."

Dina snorts, clearly impressed with your dramatic flair. "That’s dark, but also kinda accurate. Your next film should be an enemies-to-lovers one. You play the lead and cast Ellie as the love interest—y’know, for authenticity."

“Fuck you, Dina.”

“Oh come on, it’d work!”

You roll your eyes and sigh again, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. You put on your best puppy eyes, the most pleading face you can muster. "Look, I need a favor."

Dina raises an eyebrow, already intrigued. "What’s up?"

You wince, bracing yourself. "I’m doing this big project for my class, and I need a few actors. You in?" You can’t keep the hope out of your voice as you ask her.

Without missing a beat, Dina smiles. "Ahh, of course I’ll play a part in your movie! Anything for my favorite filmmaker."

Relief floods through you. That’s at least one thing checked off your list. "Perfect, thank you," you say, feeling your shoulders relax. "Now I just need help with the set stuff. Anything to make it look less like a disaster."

Dina gives you a knowing look. "I can ask Jesse. He’s always down to help with putting shit together. He actually loves helping with props and set dressing. He’s been volunteering for stuff like that since high school."

“Okay, awesome. I’ll owe you big time for this,” you say, pulling her into a tight hug, grateful to have at least one thing going smoothly.

“Yeah, yeah, just make sure I get the best part," she teases, stepping back with a grin. “Now what else?”

You hesitate before saying, "Well, I still need a few more actors, which hopefully won’t be too bad. But after that... I need help with some backdrops and art for the movie. And honestly, I have no idea who to ask. I know Cat’s like the go-to among the people in my group but…"

“But you have an unspoken vendetta against her?”

“What–I don’t! We just… don’t talk. So I can’t exactly ask her for a favor,” you huff, fiddling with your sleeve.

“Right. No vendetta, you just don’t talk. And you give her an evil glare whenever she’s around. And you leave the room whenever she comes up. And the entire time she was dating Ellie you—”

“Dina.”

“I’m just saying! For Ellie to be your supposed nemesis, you clearly hate Cat even more than her,” Dina shrugs, and you just sigh, following her down the hall.

“The point is, I need to figure out who can help. It’s not like I have a ton of friends that are art or design majors. Know anybody?”

Dina’s eyes light up like she’s just had an idea, and you perk up. "You should try the art club. They’re always looking for something to add to their portfolio, and they’re good at making things look... cool."

You nod. "Yeah, that makes sense. I can totally do that."

Then, Dina’s smile falters just a little, and she bites her lip like she’s hesitating. You narrow your eyes at her, sensing a “but” coming. "What? What’s wrong?"

Dina looks you dead in the eye, her voice a little quieter now. "Well... you’ll have to ask the president of the art club before promoting anything to the club."

You shrug nonchalantly, tugging your bag back over your shoulder. "Yeah, I can do that. No big deal."

Dina hesitates again, but this time, it’s more obvious. She chews her lip, clearly torn about whether or not to spill the details.

"The president... is Ellie."

For a moment, you just stare at her, trying to process what she just said. It doesn’t quite hit you right away—but when it does, your eyes widen and your jaw slackens.

"Of course the president is Ellie," you groan, closing your eyes in disbelief. "It’s only right that the biggest annoyance of my life is now supposed to be my savior in all this."

Dina can’t suppress her grin. "I mean... you two have a history together, right?"

"Yeah, a history of me wanting to throw her off a cliff," you mutter, crossing your arms in exasperation. “But seriously? This is just un-fucking-believable.”

Dina laughs, completely unbothered by your frustration. "Well, you better suck it up, babe. Looks like Ellie’s about to become your best friend."

You bury your face in your hands for a second. "This is going to be a disaster. What if she says I can’t ask the club just because she hates me? Maybe I’ll get lucky, and she’ll just have some random people help, so I won’t even have to talk to her?"

But Dina’s already bouncing on her feet, clearly entertained by your misery. “Yeah, sure. It’ll be fine. Just... try not to kill each other in the process, yeah? It’ll be fun getting the whole crew together to work on your film.”

You sigh, throwing her one last look of pure annoyance. "Sure it will."

You’re still cursing the universe as you make your way back toward the courtyard, scanning the crowd until you spot her.

Ellie Williams. Backpack slung over one shoulder, hands stuffed in her pockets, head tilted as she talks to Professor Miller—your shared Art and Film History professor. Even from a distance, you can tell Ellie looks tense, almost frustrated, though she’s doing a decent job pretending otherwise.

You slow your steps, watching them. Maybe you should wait. Maybe you should just pretend you didn’t see her?

Then you catch the tail end of their conversation.

"I don’t care how much you ‘get it’ in theory, Ellie," Professor Miller says, stern but not unkind. "If you can't keep your grades up, you’re risking your scholarship. You need to prove you’re putting in the work."

"But, Maria—"

"Ellie."

Ellie rubs the back of her neck, her posture visibly stiffening. "Sorry. Professor Miller. Look, I know I need to prove it. I just—I’ve been distracted. I’ll figure it out. Get rid of whatever it is that's clogging up my head."

Professor Miller sighs. "Look, if you can get involved in any extra projects, I’ll count them toward bonus credits. But you need to start now. No waiting until the last minute."

Extra credit. You perk up.

This is it. This is your chance.

You square your shoulders, force your legs to move, and approach before you can talk yourself out of it. "Hey, Professor," you say, flashing an innocent smile, ignoring the way Ellie visibly stiffens at the sound of your voice. "Mind if I steal Ellie for a sec?"

Professor Miller gives you a small smile. "Go ahead. And Ellie?" she points at her. "Seriously. Get it together. When Joel asks how you're doing in my class, I don't want to have to tell him you're practically failing."

"Then don’t tell him?"

"Ellie."

"Alright, alright. I’ll get it together."

With that, Maria walks off, leaving you and Ellie standing alone. The tension immediately thickens, almost suffocating.

Ellie turns toward you, arms crossing tightly over her chest. "What do you want?" she mutters under her breath, eyes narrowing.

You plaster on your best fake-sweet smile. "Lucky for you, I’m about to offer you the opportunity of a lifetime."

She scoffs. "Pretty sure I’d rather be hit by a truck."

You refuse to let her get to you. "Professor Miller said you needed extra credit, right?"

Ellie’s eyes narrow further, guarded. "Maybe. Why? Wanna rub it in my face?"

You take a deep breath, gripping the strap of your bag to ground yourself. "I need help with my film project. Big help. I’m putting together a short film for my final and... it’s a lot. Sets, costumes, art direction. The works. But the art plays a big part in it so I need someone to help with that part."

Ellie frowns, suspicious. "And you want me to help you with that? After spending all year bitching about me to anyone who’ll listen?"

You smile even wider. "Aww, how cute. You actually think I talk about you to others. Or at all, for that matter."

Her mouth twitches, almost like she wants to laugh, but she quickly smothers it.

"Look," you say, trying to sound as diplomatic as possible, "you need extra credit. I need someone good with art stuff. This is mutually beneficial. I was just gonna ask you to ask your club about it, but it's better this way—we’re both getting something out of it."

Ellie opens her mouth to argue—you can see it—but before she can get a word out, Professor Miller calls over her shoulder: "Sounds perfect, Ellie! Help her out, and I’ll add it to your grade!"

Ellie visibly deflates, turning to glare at you like this is somehow your fault. "You’re evil."

You bat your eyelashes at her. "A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do."

Ellie groans, dragging a hand down her face like this is physically painful. "Fuck," she mutters. "Fine. But if this ends with me strangling you, it’s your own fault."

You grin. "Wouldn’t be the first time you wanted to get your hands on me."

Her face turns an alarming shade of red—so fast it makes you blink. She turns sharply, muttering something you can’t quite catch, but you definitely hear the words "fucking insufferable" somewhere in there.

You watch her storm off down the hall, an obnoxious amount of smug satisfaction bubbling up in your chest.

As unfortunate as the pairing may be, this just might work out. You’ve seen some of Ellie’s work at the art shows her professor practically begs her to participate in. She’s… good, to say the least. It’d be nice to have some solid quality behind your film.

You don’t waste any time.

After barely surviving your encounter with Ellie (seriously, one more minute, and you might’ve actually thrown hands), you book it to the library, determined to ride the small wave of momentum before it crashes.

The familiar fluorescent buzz of the library lights fills the quiet space, interrupted only by the occasional clack of keyboards and the muted shuffle of students trying to cram a semester’s worth of knowledge into their skulls. You weave your way past a group arguing over citation styles and make a beeline for the printer station, balancing your laptop against your hip.

The flyer is nothing fancy—just a quick design you threw together between classes. Bold letters at the top:

"Actors Needed for Student Film Project"

A few quick details about the short film, a promise of pizza once everything's all done (because let’s be honest, starving college students will do anything for free food), and your contact info at the bottom.

You hit print and watch as the printer sputters noisily, like it’s fighting for its life to produce your one lonely page.

You can’t help but grin a little when you pin it to the campus message board on your way out, right between a hand-drawn "Need a Math Tutor" ad and a long-forgotten "Lost Cat" poster that’s basically become a campus relic by now. You smooth the corners down, admiring your handiwork for a second.

Your phone buzzes before you can even step back.

jesse Dina said you needed help with props? Count me in. Got a couple buddies who owe me favors too I’ll rope 'em in for you.

You exhale through your nose, shoulders sagging in relief. Jesse is a lifesaver.

You type back quickly.

you thank you thank you thank you u just saved my life big time

One lead role? Check. Art support? (Reluctantly, but still technically) check. Props? Check.

All that’s left now is filling a few more parts and praying your half-baked script doesn’t crash and burn.

Feeling slightly less like you’re on the verge of a complete breakdown, you head toward your dorm. The afternoon sun has started to dip, painting the campus in that soft, golden light that makes everything look a little less miserable.

You pass a group of freshmen dragging skateboards behind them, deep in animated conversation about who can do a kickflip, and dodge a stray frisbee that sails a little too close for comfort.

Your phone buzzes again as you climb the stairs to your building.

dina sooooo? how'd begging the art club prez go? did u survive?

you guess who somehow convinced ellie to help me with the project?

dina SHUT UP this is PERFECT it's fate

you sure i’ll be lucky if i survive this project without committing murder

dina how cute

You snort out loud, earning a weird look from a girl passing by. Whatever. You’re way past caring at this point.

Your dorm room greets you with its usual mess—an open textbook face-down on your desk, your jacket half-draped over your chair, the window cracked just enough to let in the cool breeze but not enough to get rid of the slight smell of microwave popcorn still lingering in the air.

You toss your bag onto the chair with a thud, flop back onto your bed, and pull your laptop onto your stomach. You open the file labeled “Film Project (Don’t Fuck This Up)” and stare at the blinking cursor.

Still there. Still judging you.

Your half-assed outline isn’t cutting it anymore. A main concept, a few character names, and a vague idea about a setting—that’s about as far as you’ve gotten before your brain collectively decided to peace out.

You groan, dragging your hands down your face.

This is fine. Everything is fine.

It’s not like your entire grade and future career depends on this project or anything. Totally casual. Super chill.

Your mind wanders, half out of panic and half out of exhaustion. Maybe you could pivot the story into something simpler—a slice-of-life thing? Or something a little surreal? A dreamscape? A mystery? A story about two idiots falling in love in spite of themselves?

(...nope. Wonder why that idea popped up.)

You stare at the screen for another full minute before slamming the laptop shut. Nope. It’s time to work on something else—even if that means texting her.

You pull out your phone and thumb down to Ellie’s name in your contacts. Just seeing it there makes your stomach do something weird and unwarranted.

You hover for a second, debating. You could… wait. Pretend you’re too busy to message her tonight. You could put it off until tomorrow, when you’ll have your shit together.

Or you could be a grown-up for once in your life and just get it over with.

You sigh, then type out a quick message.

you hey since we’re apparently working together now want to meet up sometime to go over everything?

You hover your thumb over the send button again—this is getting ridiculous—before finally jabbing it and tossing the phone onto your bed like it’s on fire.

You immediately regret everything.

Was that too casual? Too formal? Should you have added a smiley face? No, you don’t want to look desperate or out of character.

Your phone buzzes before you can spiral any harder.

ellie yeah sure u free tomorrow after class?

Your heart does something stupid in your chest. You tell yourself it’s just relief — just normal project relief. Not anything else. Definitely not. You're over that.

You type back quickly

you tomorrow works. lmk where u wanna meet.

You stare at the ceiling for a second after sending it, feeling the anxiety settle somewhere between your ribs.

You’re stuck with Ellie. For the next few months. Stuck with her stupidly perfect hands and ridiculously annoying nice hair and aggravating talent and—

You groan again and bury your face in your pillow.

ellie Sure. What’s your schedule like tomorrow?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard. You’re actually coordinating with Ellie Williams. The same girl who once rolled her eyes so hard during your class presentation you’re surprised they didn’t get stuck that way.

Is she gonna take this seriously? Of course—she needs this almost as much as you do, right? She wouldn’t sabotage her chances at extra credit.

you i’m free after 2. got film theory until then. you?

She replies almost immediately.

ellie same. wanna meet in the library? or are you allergic to academic buildings unless there's a camera involved?

You let out a soft snort and type back.

you bold talk from someone whose GPA is hanging on by a thread

ellie wow. that’s crazy. i don’t remember asking.

you and yet i said it anyways <3

There’s a pause.

ellie whatever. library it is. 2:15. bring your genius vision, spielberg.

You roll your eyes but can’t stop the little grin tugging at your lips. Spielberg. God, you hate that.

you only if you bring your tragic little sketchbook.

ellie it’s not little. tragic maybe but not little.

You stifle a laugh as you stare at the screen. For someone who can’t stand you, Ellie’s got an impressive dedication to this bit.

you fine. tomorrow. 2:15. don’t be late.

ellie yeah

You hesitate for half a second before typing your final message.

you thanks for helping, btw

There’s a longer pause this time. You start to wonder if maybe you said too much—maybe it was too sincere, maybe she’ll turn it into a joke.

But then, finally:

ellie yeah no problem

It’s simple. Not a joke. Not a brush-off.

You close your laptop and sink back into your pillow, heart thumping a little too loudly for someone who just texted their academic nemesis.

Tomorrow, you’ll sit across from Ellie Williams and pretend you’re not at war. Or maybe you are still at war. But it’ll be collaborative. Like… co-op warfare.

You stare at the ceiling for a while, already picturing how she’s going to roll her eyes at your requests. Already bracing for her smart mouth and her sharp looks and annoying smile and that way she fidgets with her fingers whenever things get—fuck, why are you thinking so hard about this?

You close out of your messages with Ellie, toss your phone to the other side of the bed, and sigh—not with frustration, for once, but something lighter.

Relieved.

Productive.

Maybe even… excited?

You don’t want to think too hard about why that last part is true.

Instead, you let the momentum carry you. You tug your laptop back into your lap, open your script, and blink at the cursor that’s been blinking back at you for days. The empty white page feels a little less intimidating now. Maybe it’s because things are finally falling into place. Maybe it’s because you’ve got people in your corner. Dina. Jesse. Even… Ellie. You’re not sure if “in your corner” is the right term for her, but still. She said yes. That counts for something.

You exhale slowly, crack your knuckles, and start to type.

INT. BEDROOM – NIGHT The girl wakes up again. Same dream. Same woman. Soft eyes. A quiet smile. A voice that only exists in fragments. She reaches for her sketchbook before the details can fade. She captures the way her hair falls, the way her eyes glint in the light.

The words come easier now. You don’t second-guess every line. You just write. Fingers flying. Scene by scene, the story unfolds: a girl who dreams of someone she’s never met, sketches her like it’ll make the feeling last longer. Like drawing this woman is the only way to understand herself. Then, against all odds, she meets her. In the real world. And she’s nothing like the girl in the dreams.

Until she is.

You pause, reading the scene back to yourself. It’s not perfect—not yet—but it’s something. It has a pulse. A voice. And more than anything, it feels real.

You scroll up and highlight the scene you just wrote, then jot a quick note in the margin: Ask Ellie to sketch this part. Something soft. Intimate. Not too polished.

You chew the inside of your cheek. You're not sure how Ellie’s going to react to the dream sequence—to the woman with the guarded eyes and the gentle smile—but somehow, you can already imagine the way she’ll bring her to life. Maybe that’s what gives you the most hope of all. Art is the most important aspect of your film and having Ellie around to bring that part to life makes everything feel so real now.

You save your progress and sit back in your chair, the buzz of creative satisfaction still humming under your skin.

Tomorrow, you’ll deal with Ellie in the library. And you’ll put aside your… issues, for the sake of your project. You're just hoping she's willing to do so as well.

tags ✩ @vahnilla @yasmilks @chappellroankisser @eriiwaii @elliesngirl @avalovesmus1c @pryncess123

#ellie williams fluff #lesbian #wlw #tlou #ellie williams #ellie x reader #the last of us #tlou x reader #tlou part 2 #ellie willams x reader #───𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠.✩#𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭.✩

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thetrasha · 5 hours ago

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One Piece: Kaleidoscope Kisses

feat. ZORO, USOPP, SHANKS, BUGGY, MIHAWK

ZORO

Mood: FAMILIAR

Type: KISS ON THE LIPS

Zoro is a man who keeps most matters private. People don’t need to be all up in his business; he can decide for himself, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. He isn’t used to truly committed relationships since he’s intensely concentrated on becoming the world’s greatest swordsman – that’s his dream and he does everything in his power to chase that title. Naturally, since his training is so taxing and all-encompassing, he hasn’t had the time to focus on what he wants. He knows the in and outs of serious relationships solely due to social conditioning, but hasn’t reached past the age-old traditions yet. Zoro would never be embarrassed of you, anyone associated with him is a great source of pride for him – you’re certainly not an exception. He’s proud to call himself your partner. Still, he’s rather reserved. The Zoro you know to be intimate and open is a thing between you two. Deeply private, thoroughly perceptive and confident in his abilities – that is the Zoro you know.

A kiss on the lips shared between lovers – what a classic! He finds great comfort in emulating what generations of people have done long before you two were born. If their love has been persistent enough for him to worship its sacred nature, then he wishes that your relationship, by sealing every promise muttered to you in-between kisses with love, will, too, be remembered by generations to come.

USOPP

Mood: SHEEPISH

Type: KISS ON THE CHEEK

Usopp doesn’t mind showing that you and him belong to one another, in fact, he prefers it. It makes it so real and… palpable. Whenever others acknowledge that you and him are a couple, he puffs out his chest; it doesn’t make him feel small at all, if anything, it’s quite the opposite. You like him because of who he already is, not who he projects to be. You are interested in what he will be, instead of who he could be. That makes him feel very secure in your shared connection. Usopp just cannot help but blush whenever you kiss him – his skin is scorching hot all of the sudden and laughs weakly, absolutely smitten. He finds it hard to reciprocate, but doesn’t ever want to think that he doesn’t want your daily confirmations of your love for him, so he started kissing your cheek whenever you’re near.

It’s gentle, sweet and fleeting. He never lingers and often just does it to surprise you, to see a firework dancing in your eyes. It quickly turns playful and the adoration burning in his soul softly dimmers down into domestic bliss, grateful to have found you. He’s happy to express himself in ways that make him feel powerful, after all… you belong to him, just like how he belongs to you.

SHANKS

Mood: SENSUAL

Type: FRENCH KISS

Shanks has developed some unhealthy habits throughout the years… and they run deep. Incredibly, his drinking isn’t the main problem; no, instead, he has acquired the nasty habit to push the people he loves the most away from him. Shanks is someone who firmly believes that he has to shoulder the pain of the world, that he alone can help the helpless and the weak by internalising every bit of evil and piling it onto his peace-loving personality. He is by no means a bad man, but behind the image of the strongest, the most reckless, perhaps the happiest pirate on the planet lies a flower bed of missed opportunities and mistakes. Sometimes, he tries to pull his little stunt with you, trying to cope with a sudden bursts of regret due to melancholy. The only thing that helps is a firm kiss that you are his endgame.

And then, the Shanks who regrets mostly everything joins the Shanks who doesn’t regret anything – both are him, he is early sunshine and he is midnight… all by himself. And just like the tides of time, he consumes you whole. You get dizzy when this rare mood strikes him, because he is all-engulfing, and he wants to remind himself, every time, without fail, that pushing you away wouldn’t do anything but break him further.

Shanks, someone who appears to be larger than life, loves you for reminding him that he is only human after all.

BUGGY

Mood: VULNERABLE

Type: KISS ON THE NOSE

A man like him couldn’t ever be loved, he takes that assumption his self-loathing made up just for him as fact. Less so, now that he actually has a partner who loves him, but he cannot help but look in the mirror after a particularly difficult day. He’s taken his make-up off, his stubble is slowly growing into a beard, and the hair he cares for has become greasy from sweat and grime. When Buggy was a mere boy, you were someone he could only dream of being with; your kind and his kind usually don’t mingle. Meanwhile… he finds it hard to believe that you dreamt of someone like him when you were still little. Someone like him? Really? What… is there to love? Aside from being a liar on a grand scale, Buggy has accomplished nothing that would justify your interest. You were… everything. And he was nothing.

You see the change in his eyes and demeanour as soon as he leaves the bathroom again. He looks… so sad. Frighteningly sad. It breaks your heart to see him like that, but he’s slowly getting better at dealing with his own insecurities, bit by bit. It may never go away completely, but you want to make him see just how little you care for his everything, for he is your everything. A chaste kiss on his swollen nose stops him in his tracks, and genuine wonder replaces the sorrow in his gaze. And then, for the rest of time, you tell him you are proud to call him yours.

MIHAWK

Mood: INTIMATE

Type: KISS ON THE BACK OF THE HAND

Mihawk is accomplished, classy and has an acquired taste for the unconventional. A hardened life, marked by rigorous training, thrilling adventure and an unprecedented amount of power, makes quite lonely by nature. Solitude hasn’t evaded him just because he’s the best – quite the opposite, actually. It went after him directly, because he never noticed his own strength and the strange persona he managed to craft didn't help him in the realisation department. He's come to one conclusion, though… you don’t just believe that you’re the best all of the sudden, you notice it as soon as adversaries cannot keep up with your progress anymore. A lone wolf by nature, Mihawk’s immense pride couldn’t let him believe that it might become a problem. He’d rather feel thousands of years worth of pain than to admit defeat once.

You… always managed to disarm him, though. You aren’t as good as him, you’ll never be – both of you know that. Doesn’t mean that you aren’t allowed to try. Whenever you engage in the dance of battle with him, he can’t help but notice deadly amounts of admiration for you. Distractions like these are what get people killed out there.

He swiftly cuts you down with the back of his sword, handle digging into the back of your shoulder. He applied enough pressure to dominate the fight, but not enough to hurt you once. Dryly, he commented that he won. 281:0.

The two… he affectionately calls them “nit-wits” he housed and mentored watched in amusement, because they didn’t know who you were, but they certainly almost doubled over when Lord Dracule Mihawk helped you up before kneeling down and lowering his head, kissing your hand like it was normal.

#one piece #one piece x reader #op x reader #one piece fluff #zoro x reader #usopp x reader #shanks x reader #buggy x reader #mihawk x reader #x reader #thetrasha writes

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hauchiko · 9 hours ago

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ive been thinking about bridget from guilty gear and some of the (dumb) criticisms ive seen to her coming out as trans. and the main one that stuck with me that i couldnt put my finger on why, was the idea of "but she was forced to be a girl, so what, her abusive village was right in the end?" because like. yeah, unfortunately.

the reason it stuck with me is because i went through the same thing. and so did a lot of other trans women. not the village but. not being the most masculine. being forced into and bullied into essentially the role of girl compared to all the guys. fighting it so hard. because "no im not a girl". when youre told and forced into being one role quite often you fight SO hard to go against it. and i did. played rough sports, tried to force myself to like shooter games, tried to get my dads approval, of course i hate pink im not a girl.

but then i moved away. went to uni. had none of those ingrained expectation from the people who knew me. go to explore, got to reinvent and figure out why i was so uncomfortable. and it turns out, my bullies, in a cruel twist of fate, were right. i was a girl. and im happier now. and in typical guilty gear larger than life fashion, bridgets story mirrors my own, at least to an extent or matching the themes. forced or pressured or bullied into a gender. fight against it. move away, explore self. and come back and claim it as your own.

i dont think the creators of guilty gear had this story or structure in mind 20 years ago. the interviews of her reveal say that her story was always meant to be trans and that they didnt think the world was ready. but she is trans. and her story matching mine even though im not even the biggest fan of guilty gear is something that is so so deeply special. we are allowed to be queer, and messy and make mistakes and go back.

#trans #gay #trans girl #transgender #transfem #trans woman #trans pride #pride #pride month #bridget #guilty gear #bridget guilty gear

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whirligig-girl · 2 days ago

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Commission for @traintrainingmontage of their OC, Glennock the Tank Engine.

More info and timelapse below the cut:

Glennock is a 'fankid' of Rheneas and Stepney. Don't ask me how that works, that's a question for the client. So I had to come up with a design that was halfway between Rheneas or the real life Dolgoch, a narrow gauge 0-4-0 built by Fletcher-Jennings, and Stepney, a real life LB&SCR A1 Terrier 0-6-0 tank engine. The client originally asked for a side tank engine, but I talked her into a well tank since it'd be easier to make her look like Rheneas despite being standard gauge.

My initial thought was to just find a suitable engine and make that the basis. And honestly, that could have worked. My original choice was a Beattie well tank

Maybe modified a bit to look more like Rheneas and Stepney.

And while I did still take some inspiration on the mechanical side of things from the Beattie, as well as a Class G standard gauge 0-6-0 designed by Fletcher-Jennings, Glennock ended up being almost entirely a one-off design based on Dolgoch and Stepney.

Rheneas and his real world counterpart, the Talyllyn Railway's No.2 Dolgoch

Stepney in the Railway Series and Stepney in the real world.

The boiler is largely a scaled up Rheneas boiler, and below the frames it is more like a Class G. Stepney's contributions were largely visible, like the Stroudley cab, and a livery pattern based on Stepney's Improved Engine Green.

The livery was a real headscratcher because it had to incorporate pale blue as the main color, Stepney's orange-yellow color, and Rheneas' red. Took a long time to figure out something that looked halfway decent. It didn't end up with a ton of red (no more than most british steam engines) but to be fair the mechanical side is a lot more Rheneas than Stepney.

I was kind of imagining this engine was a one-off industrial engine built by Fletcher-Jennings, with the Stroudley style cab being a later addition. (Perhaps she was not originally built with one)

(Though I think the client probably had something more supernatural in mind--i'm sure they can clarify in the notes.)

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cheshireliam · 7 hours ago

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"Once Again, An Evil From Which You Cannot Return" Story Event: Liam END

Liam Evans & Harrison Gray

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

T/N: A word of caution before you proceed? You might want to prepare a box of tissues, especially those who have read Liam's main story route.

(I’ll try talking to Liam again.)

After several days of mulling it over, I decided to pay a visit to Liam’s room. However,—

His room was empty. Liam was nowhere in sight.

…

(He’s not in the dining hall or drawing room either. Did he head out somewhere…?)

That thought lingered in the back of my mind, but my heart was racing like it was urging me to hurry up and find him.

(Why does it… make me this anxious when I can’t find Liam?)

Just as I took another step forward, driven by the uneasiness, I was hit so hard by a dizzy spell that I nearly lost my balance.

(Ugh…)

An image of a tall tower flashed across my mind.

(— I… I know that place…)

…

I ran where my feet took me, and eventually arrived at what looked like an abandoned belfry.

(This is the place that appeared in my mind earlier…)

When I looked up at the top of the tower, I saw something that resembled a human figure…

(That’s—)

Kate: LIAM…!

…

I rushed toward the building and sprinted up the spiral staircase.

(... I… I’ve done this before…)

I struggled to catch my breath, my chest hurt and my legs wobbled.

(Climbing to the top of a tower while thinking of Liam all the while…—)

…

Kate: … LIAM!

The walls, crumbling due to age, formed a hole in the stone.

There stood Liam, silently, at the edge.

Liam: Kate!? What are you doing here?

Kate: S-stay where you are! Don’t move a single step! I’m coming over!

I carefully made my way across the unstable pathway that didn't even have a railing.

Kate: … Whoa—

Liam: Kate!

Right as the wind nearly caused me to lose my balance, Liam reached out and pulled me into his arms.

Wrapped in his warmth, my heart finally started to calm down.

I threw my arms around his back and hugged him tightly.

Kate: I’m so glad you’re safe, Liam…

Kate: Every step I took up those stairs, the same fear and anxiety from back then came rushing back… I was so, so terrified!

Liam: Back then…? Kate! You remembered?

Kate: … Yes. Back then, that was when I realised I loved you so much that I couldn't bear the thought of losing you forever.

Kate: I remember everything we’ve been through together, Liam. Everything.

Liam: …

At that moment, a flood of emotions washed over me.

From the warmth of his arms holding me tight, to the beating of his heart against mine, and his trembling breath against my cheek— I could feel everything he was feeling.

Kate: Liam… your hands… they’re shaking…

Seeing Liam hold onto me like a child clinging on for safety stirred a powerful urge to protect him.

Liam: Even after you lost your memories and forgotten everything, I’m still your lover.

Liam: So I thought, I had to stay by your side. … But when I was all alone, awful thoughts kept accumulating.

Liam: What if things remained this way? What did you never remember who I am?

Liam: What if, in the end, you fall in love with another man?

Kate: Another man?

Liam: I’ve always thought it’s a miracle that you fell in love with me in the first place.

Liam: All the things we went through were what brought us together, and those same things will never happen again.

Liam: This love won’t happen again.

Liam: I thought that you’d never fall in love with me for a second time if your memories remained missing… and that scared me.

Liam: But more than anything, I hated myself for not being able to believe in you.

Liam: —... I wasn’t going to jump.

Kate: Huh?

Liam: I came to this very spot where you once threw yourself off to save me and told me that you loved me… to make a promise.

Liam: Just like how you grabbed onto my hand that day and said you’d never let go…

Liam: This time, I’ll be the one to never let you go. I won’t ever… give up on us.

His voice, strained and trembling, bore the full weight of his emotions….

The tears welling up at the corners of his eyes felt so precious to me, and I gently pressed my lips to his.

Kate: You said it was a miracle that I fell in love with you, but I don't think so at all.

Liam: Huh?

Kate: No matter how many times I were to lose my memories, no matter what happens, I will always fall in love with you again.

Liam: How can you be so sure?

Kate: Because I believe that our love, that can last through all sorts of hardships… is fated.

Liam’s eyes glistened like dewdrops on rose petals, and then large beads of tears started to fall.

Liam: … ggh… *sniffle*

Kate: Liam…

Liam: … Sorry… I- I didn't mean to cry, but… I can't stop.

Liam: I’m just so happy, so relieved, and I love you so much that it physically hurts.

Liam: Because you're the only one who knows what exactly I need to hear, Kate…

With his trembling lips, Liam captured mine in an intense kiss.

(I’m here for you, and to love the version of you that so badly just wants to be loved.)

While returning the kiss that tasted like tears, I continued stroking his hair tenderly.

#ikemen villains #ikemen series #ikevil translations #liam evans #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #otome #ikevil story event

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tokidokitokyo · 1 day ago

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Starting a Conversation in Japanese

A podcast I really enjoy, ことのは日本語の会話のpodcast, recently posted an episode about starting a conversation in Japanese:

やまむ先生 and きび先生 are two Japanese language teachers who talk about a variety of topics on their podcast, and the back-and-forth between the two women is a good way to attune your ears to natural Japanese language conversation.

This episode in particular - 日本で使て！日本人に話しかけるフレーズ (Use in Japan! Phrases to start a conversation with Japanese people) - resonated with me because, although I've been studying Japanese for more than half my life (^^;;) I still vividly remember when I first arrived in Japan and felt like I could barely form a coherent sentence. Speaking with people was a daunting challenge, and if I hadn't had friendly people around me I think that I would have been awkward and terrified for a lot longer than I was. They also have set phrases which I wish I had someone to tell me before I went to Japan!

Feel free to listen to this episode and let me know if you have any additional tips or suggestions to the ones I list below. This episode is designed for N3-level speakers and above, but here are the things that they hit on that I thought were particularly important:

My Japanese Level is Too Low!

When I first arrived in Japan, and the ticket cashier switched immediately to English because I was struggling, I really felt like I could not do Japanese at all, and I was pretty intimidated. But! I used Japanese regularly, and I was able to eventually have enough confidence to speak to others.

The main point brought up in this podcast is that N5 level (beginning level) is enough to start a conversation!

Using formal です・ます forms is perfectly acceptable and actually this is how many Japanese people would address each other when speaking with someone for the first time or with someone they do not know well. You could start off casually, and count on the 外人パス (foreigner card) to get you through, but it is generally more comfortable for Japanese people if you approach them with formal, respectful language. You don't need to pull out N1-level grammar to introduce yourself (and it might even be more awkward if you do), so just go ahead with the basics.

Adjust your comments to the situation!

If you are in a restaurant, a work setting, a group setting, or a school setting, tailor your opening comment to the situation. In Japanese I have heard this called TPO (time, place, occasion), which means don't ask a coworker if she's been on any dates lately (seems like common sense?) and in front of a group of soccer players (I'm imagining my own days in the soccer circle) don't start drooling over BTS' Jin (at least not until you find the other Jin fans - when you first join the club it's way too early). The podcast gives you some good conversation starters that are harmless and can be used in multiple situations. After all, Japanese is all about reading the air (空気を読む).

Think about what you'll say next before you even speak!

I know, I know, you already spent 3.2 hours coming up with your opening line and another 45 minutes working up the courage to use it... but once you've initiated the conversation, the other person may not step up to carry on the conversation, leaving the onus on you. If you're interested in continuing the conversation, have some follow up comments or questions ready in your back pocket. As in any language, if you don't make the effort to continue the conversation, it might just fizzle out.

It's a conversation, not an interrogation!

Asking about the other person is a sure-fire way to keep them talking, but you also need to be mindful that they may not want an interrogation. As they say in the podcast, try to read their face colour (顔の色) and change your approach as needed. Since you are (most likely) from a different country, you could throw in some fun facts about your country that are related to the topic you picked to keep things going.

Safe things to talk about:

The weather

Your hometown/home country

Their plans for the weekend/upcoming holiday

Their hometown

Food

In Short

People are people, and even if your Japanese is not where you'd like it to be, most people will be willing to speak with you, and I've found that most Japanese people are flattered you are learning their language. Since practicing is the best way to improve, there's no better time than now to start speaking. Just remember TPO (time/place/occasion), don't interrogate the other person, and prepare some follow up comments to keep the conversation flowing as best you can.

Hope this is useful!

#日本語 #japanese #japanese language #japanese langblr #japanese studyblr #speaking in japanese #会話 #japanese listening #聴解 #podcast #Spotify

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obsydyenne · 1 day ago

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Yuhhhh film analysis go brr. You have much better syntax organization than I do and honestly this could use a read through but if I refine this whole thing I won't respond for another week.

Meaning the same thing happened to all the Irish passengers as what happened to the Black juke joint victims: they burned to death. See the issue with that is that a boat is inherently not a juke joint. I can believe Remmick stowed away on this Irish worker boat (considering that the Irish of his time would’ve been 100 years past), but it would make more sense especially with the later songs sung (with the KKK,,,,,,,, yeah) that he actually DID get their Fili. This would mean that Remmick actually had the hive mind connection with a Fili but something else would’ve happened to kill everyone on the boat cos how is Remmick so readily caught by sunlight???? (3 whole times in the movie I know the film is pre the proliferation of watches but clearly he’s been around long enough - maybe he was just lingering in Ireland until everyone he knew died and everyone knows that Ireland is only knowledgeable of the concept of a sun so maybe there’s that). I can’t imagine a group of turned vampires having enough agency to all k!ll th*mselves from how the movie presented this specific vampire lore.

So perhaps that is what led him to the native american -> Sammie pipeline. In no way am I advocating for the glorification of this character but I just think he represents something actually prevalent esp in a lot of…. Activism spaces,,, yeah that’s a good way to describe it.

Obviously “passing” is relevant to the plot of the movie but it's deeper than an octoroon or the asian couple that’s able to sell to both sides and still come to the cookout. It’s the belief that homogeneity is necessary. It’s that dual-sidedness that comes from having to be a community but also living in an intolerant and by all accounts deadly system for all involved. Is it because Smoke wanted to be a prolific black businessman, is it because Mary was so desperate to prove herself useful her main weapon became used against her? it's about hiding/showing your TRUE COLORS: I don’t believe it was Mary’s true colors to sell them out at the end. I can’t find the specific quote now but it’s like when you ask (nominally white) racism deniers would they rather be reborn as a black or white man in America. Now I obviously don’t think any of the characters (Mary even yells it) want to be white, but they all understand that proximity to whiteness and better yet perceived whiteness (I mean but one drop logic, tbh racial discussion is marred from the fact that race doesn’t exist yet is so relevant in - largely American - society) is the safest way to navigate through society. So knowing that the system that they try to just seamlessly slot themselves into (and would have worked if their target audience was actually fairly compensated for their work). Though “fair” and “compensation” really don’t mean much when talking about what’s due to the descendants of the horrors of the trans-atlantic slave trade. I’m going on a tangent but that’s really to the praise of the film. But I digress. I think that was more to show how that wanting to succeed in an unfair system would inherently require the need to share this much required safe space of sorts with groups that want to take advantage.

The thing about the vampire bites being hidden is also very relevant but I would wager it’s more cos Remmick has clearly been around the block about this before but won’t ignore how it could be a passing allegory. When I said they didn’t kill anyone I didn’t count the vampires as “dead” sorry I know they’re.. Soulfull? Husks? (hilarious cos they’re souls are bound,,, get it? I’ll stop.)

Remmick's preoccupied with finding magic-in-music that HE can use I do think this is the meat of it. We even see at some point in the film where Remmick would offer sparing everyone for Sammie. This shows his intent as just wanting Sammie’s talents so that he can experience his time again. I do think that community does offer something to the vampire (maybe also as a means of power collection; I haven't delved far into this level of film analysis) as we see them. In the songs presented in the film Remmick (for no damn reason) has way more performance zeal to preform “Rocky Road to Dublin” (which I think is why he wants people for his cause cos no one he bacteriophages, just to good a term sorry, has any real reason to sing that song) compared to his previous two songs sung it has more teeth to it, and an actual display of his true heritage. Pick poor robin clean and,,, the other one, (first viewing I joked not the ukulele people whipping out riptide lol) I believe were more songs shared amongst the black diaspora at the time. So he was probably relatively honest about fellowship but the group that had the “vessel” he wanted just happened to be Black. “Heaven on Earth” was said by Stack and probably more just a reference to his relative euphoria about being able to live without constant fear of racist threat + hive mind shenanigans. I don’t think idiot is a good word to describe Remmick, it’s clear he’s got some grisel to him to survive this long, single-minded though? Definitely.

even if he made a musician a vampire, they'd lose their magic cuz of the curse, and he'd ditch/kill them cuz they'd be USELESS to him--he'd leave to find another musician, and start the cycle all over again. That is a good point but I don’t think that’s the ticket, more like he’s trying to make other cultures sing and dance for him and show him the things he wants to see. You see in how all the Black people are just jigging to a song that obviously across the diaspora we can relate to but also is something that is relevant only really to Remmick. That’s where I think the source of discontent would be.

My point's about the fandom falling for Remmick's BS, taking what he said about community/fellowship seriously, when the whole jist of the film's that he's a Fake Ally, a liar, a master manipulator, and selfish AF. That can be true, tbh I don’t participate in Sinners fandom online I’m systematically convincing everyone I know to see it and forcing the dialogue in person so idk. Horrifically disappointed by the lack of Bo gifsets tho, ikik, but fine is fine. So I can understand why seeing so many people rally behind the obvious (and white) villain in a black film made to celebrate a time and uplift symbolism can cause infatuation. I can appreciate the discussion of Remmick as a villain but tbh he’s like,,, the 3rd (maybe 4th) most important plot point in the whole film. What I need a text post is how freaky the film is (6th most important) cos Coogler,,,,, like I know your girl pregnant but you need to unpack something????

Remmick is specifically targeting the storytellers/bards/musicians, and by doing so, is the very ANTITHESIS of community. It's the loss of the Elders that kills our community, the loss of the storytellers who KNOW what's up. We are LETTING the white devil kill our elders & destroy our communities. See this is super important to talk about but if I had enough time to unpack the interactions of Wakanda Forever and why I think Coogler felt the specific need to make this film, I wouldn’t have the means to.

Stay black (i think) and blessed <3 Keep your eyes open and your doors closed.

Imma need people to stop the BS propaganda that Remmick was looking for community or whatever. Sinners' soundtrack art comes with an in-universe newspaper article dated Aug 1, 1911, describing how Remmick came to America on The Celtic Hare, a ship that sailed from Ireland to Boston, only carrying Irish immigrants. The paper said loud music was heard from the ship the night before it pulled into harbor, like a big party was happening onboard, but once the ship docked a couple hours later, everyone else onboard had died, and the only 1 survivor (Remmick) ran off. So if Remmick was so desperate to "find community" he could riverdance with, he already had it in Ireland! He already had it on The Celtic Hare! He could've found it in every predominately-Irish town or city in America and the Caribbean. No. Instead he's prowling around killing the Choctaws and KKK and African Americans, why? Cuz it's not about "community," it's about CONNECTION to one's ANCESTORS. Remmick is a vampire, so he's cursed, just like Annie said; doomed to be forever stuck on Earth with no way to reconnect with the spirits of his ancestors. Since he's undead, his soul's permanently cut off from his ancestral bonds. He's totally lost his magical/spiritual power as a Fili who can use music to pierce the veil between time, life, and death. That's why Annie demanded that Smoke kill her, rather than let her be stuck as a vampire, haint, or any other of the damned undead. Remmick keeps roaming, keeps killing, because NO ONE and NOTHING can give him "the real" connection anymore; not the Irish that went with him to America, not the Choctaw, not the white racists, not any of his Black victims--and ultimately, not Sammie, either.

#can you tell I have adhd?#honestly it's not adhd that prevents me from making a good narrative flow it's that in order to prevent 20k word dissertations #gotta word vomit unfourtunatelyyy #cos I was about 4 5 seconds from citing sources like girl just hit send ain't no one reading all that #born to lead socractic seminars with a lovely assistant minding the time and keeping us on topic #forced to live in capitalism #what's the overlap?#good question

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bring-forth-his-sac · 1 day ago

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Stained: The Dinner Party

summary: you made Negan a promise and now it's time to deliver... if you can get some time alone with him

word count: 9.5k

tags: ! NSFW ! dad's best friend trope, pre-apocalypse, cheating, blowjob, face fucking, cum eating, facials, swearing & crude language, vaginal fingering, degrading names (slut, whore), semi-public kinda public secret sexual acts in front of others? Idk how to word that one but you get the gist

you can find part 1 here!!

“Hey everybody, welcome back to my channel! Here are my top tips for giving some gluck gluck before you fuck fuck!”.

You can’t believe you’ve reached this point and yet here you are. “Shit,” you mutter to yourself, turning down the volume on your phone. The last thing you need is for one of your parents to walk past and hear that introduction.

It’s been a month. One long month since you had your romp with Negan. You were supposed to see him sooner, your parents having arranged another dinner, but the Smith’s had to cancel due to Negan having Summer exams and assessments to get through.

“Ok, first tip for when you’re slobbering on some man meat. Just because your mouth is the main focus doesn’t mean you can’t use your hands too!”.

You let the video you found online play in the background as you try to tame your hair. You have one thing on your mind tonight. The last time you saw Negan, after he gave you a fucking of a lifetime, you made him a promise. The next one of your parent’s dinner parties that he attends, you’ll suck him off. And damn right you plan on keeping that promise.

Pulling out your clothes, you dump your options on to the bed. You have to be strategic about this. Slutty but not too slutty. Modest but in a sexy secretary way, not like a nun.

“Make eye contact! And no, I don’t mean with his third eye! Guys love it when you got their… y’know… haha! …God, I hope this doesn’t get demonized but y’know, their sausage in your mouth and you look up at them”.

You cringe at the fake laughing the video is filled with. The only reason you’re watching this is to make sure you give Negan the best blowjob of his life. Where, you’re not sure yet. Under the table sounds hot but isn’t practical. Dragging him to your bedroom is way too suspicious.

The video continues as you think.

“And don’t forget, be enthusiastic! Take charge! Just because he’s the one getting off doesn’t mean he needs to have complete control… although that can be fun too. Huh, maybe I should do a video on not gagging next”.

Your attention shifts to a long-sleeved top. It doesn’t show much cleavage but it’s snug enough to stir the imagination. Pairing it with a skirt is non-negotiable. You already know a skirt is a must, especially if you want to give Negan easy access.

With a sigh, you reach over and turn off the video. Useless. The advice wasn’t wrong but it wasn’t the almighty best blowjob of his life material you were hoping for.

You glance at the outfit laid out on the bed. You slip them on, smoothing the fabric over your hips as you turn towards the mirror.

Not bad.

You had planned to try a few other looks, maybe something a little more casual in case this one didn’t feel right. But before you can assemble the second outfit, a cacophony of voices creeps under your door.

They’re here.

You freeze for a second. The moment’s no longer theoretical. Negan’s in your house… and so is his wife. Your name rings out, your mother’s voice carrying it. “Come say hi” she calls, her voice already in host mode. You take one last look in the mirror, fix a stray hair and open the door.

The hallway is buzzing with life. Negan stands near the entryway, his presence commanding but relaxed in that way only he can pull off. He barely glances your way, offering a polite nod before turning his attention back to your dad, who’s already launching into something about cars.

Lucille, on the other hand, pulls you straight into a hug the second you’re within reach. “Look at you, gorgeous! All dolled up!” she says, bracelets clinking on her wrists. You manage a smile and hug her back, slightly overwhelmed.

Everyone starts moving deeper into the house, your dad talks Negan’s ear off and your mom is caught in a flurry of Lucille’s questions about what’s for dinner. Overlapping voices bounce off the walls. You try to hang back for a second but you’re forced to move along with the chaotic current.

And then you feel it. A hand brushes against your waist and gives a brief, deliberate squeeze. It’s fleeting but you know it’s him.

The second Negan saw you, he knew the night was going to be trouble. That outfit didn’t have him fooled. The way that top hugs you, the sway of your skirt. He barely let his eyes linger as you’re swept into the kitchen with the other ladies. Tonight, you’re a woman on a mission and damn if he didn’t respect the hell out of that.

“Honey,” your mom blindly shoves a fistful of cutlery in your direction, not bothering to look up from her work on the kitchen counter. Even with the whole day to prepare, she’s somehow behind schedule and only whipping up the batter for dessert now.

“Help set the table,” she politely orders. You know there’s no room for debate, taking the array of forks and blunt knives.

You don’t mind helping out, especially when you see Negan and your dad in the dining room already. Where Lucille has wandered to, you’re unsure. Maybe the bathroom, or maybe she entered the kitchen a few moments after you left, barely missing each other. It’s like there’s a constant rotation in and out of each room. As if to prove your point, when you enter the dining room, you almost bump into your dad as he leaves.

You don’t waste your opportunity, not knowing any many times you’ll get to be alone with Negan tonight. “Your sweatshirt is inside my bedroom, by the door, in a bag,” you keep your voice low as you set the table “I can get it if you’d like to put it in your truck”.

You figured he’d appreciate the gesture. Straight to helping sort this shit out. Not trying to get in his pants straight away or acting as if nothing happened. Simply being practical.

Negan gives a soft scoff but you can’t quite tell if it’s amusement or annoyance. “That’s all I get?” you almost melt as the smirk he gives you as he whispers “No hi, how are you? How’s your dick doing?”.

A mischievous smile plays at your lips. You shrug casually “Well, since you asked… how is it?”.

“Missing you” Negan answers, not missing a beat.

You try to ignore the flutter in your stomach. “I haven’t forgotten about my promise,” you mention, watching out of the corner of your eye as Negan rounds the table to you.

“Neither have I” he practically growls, crowding behind you. “The other morning, I woke up with my dick about to explode just thinking about it,” he nuzzles against you, pressing a light kiss to the side of your neck.

Despite needing to stay alert, your eyes slowly shut. You savor his scruff against your neck, making the sensitive skin tingle.

Negan isn't as aggressive as he was that night at the bar but he isn’t very soft either. It’s like he has a natural roughness to him, the way he kisses, the way he fucks. All of which you know a little too well.

Bringing your comfort to an end, you hear your mother laugh, probably at something Lucille is saying. Negan must know it too as his lips leave you.

“My sweatshirt is in your room?” He repeats.

You nod immediately “In a Target bag, yeah”.

Negan moves away from you, back to his casual position at the other side of the table as you hurriedly finish setting the cutlery. He goes to speak again but before Negan can get a word out, your mother is bustling into the room with a hot bowl of mashed potatoes.

“New recipe!” She announces to Lucille, who trails in after her. You try not to catch her eye.

“Instead of the usual spices, I tried being more adventurous with my potatoes” Your mother rambles.

Lucille simply nods along, her eyes studying you instead. You barely said hi to her when she first got here, despite how friendly she was to you. All Lucille got was a smile she can only describe as pitiful and now you won’t even look at her.

She goes to examine Negan’s body language next but when Lucille turns, she’s met with empty space. Like a ghost, he’s vanished.

“And I actually listened to the recipe this time and put honey in with the carrots!” Your mother prides herself on her skills “Carrots… oh shoot, the carrots!”. Much to your horror, your mother darts out of the room and back to the kitchen, leaving you and Lucille alone.

A beat of silence.

Another.

It’s only when the silence stretches a little too long do you finally lift your eyes to meet hers. She’s smiling.

“I like your skirt,” she says, her voice soft and strangely warm. “I used to wear things like that all the time when I was your age”.

You offer a small shrug “Thanks. Honestly, I kinda forgot I had it”.

She lets out a light laugh, as if you’ve both been part of some unspoken mischief. Well, maybe you both are but if Lucille found that out, you don’t think she’d be laughing.

“It’s a bold choice for daylight,” she says “I almost wore a dress that short today, but I came to my senses before stepping out the door”.

You're not sure whether to laugh with her or lob the nearest utensil across the table. Something about how she talks feels like both an invitation and insult.

“Negan liked it though,” she adds, her lips curling into a teasing smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

The comment lands too precisely. It’s enough to make you wonder if Lucille knows or if everything she says now feels like an interrogation thanks to your own guilty conscience. You force a smile, lips pressed into a thin line and you offer a silent ‘thank you’ to the universe when your mother’s voice floats in from the kitchen, calling your name.

Lucille’s smile lingers, soft and undisturbed, as you retreat. She doesn’t so much as blink. The image must remain untouched: the perfect wife with the perfect life, part of a marriage that still radiates that golden glow of first love. At least, that’s what she tells herself. Now, if only she could track down her damn husband to complete the illusion.

Lucille moves with practiced grace, her heels silent on the floor as she slips out of the dining room. She skirts the kitchen without a glance, already knowing if Negan were in there, she’d have heard his laugh by now, booming and obnoxious as always when he's trying to charm someone. Either you or your mother. The uncertainty around which one makes her queasy.

The bathroom door hangs open. No voices float down the hall. No telltale murmur of sports stats or banter with your dad. Her brow twitches. Where the hell did he go? As she passes the front window, something outside catches her eye. A flash of movement. Bingo.

Negan shuts the car door with a thud, leaving the bag with his sweatshirt on the back seat. Thankfully, he’s already decided to grab the opportunity to have a cigarette while outside, giving himself the perfect alibi as Lucille steps out the front door.

“Hey” she plainly says, walking down the porch steps.

“Hey yourself,” Negan mutters, flicking his lighter to life. The cigarette catches and he takes a long drag, eyes half-lidded as if this were the most peaceful moment he’d had all day.

Lucille doesn’t return the ease. “You already need a smoke break?”.

Negan lets out a dry laugh that doesn’t quite make it past his throat. “Nope. Just figured I’d come out here and take a shit on their lawn” he answers sarcastically.

Lucille doesn’t suppress any part of her reaction. The breath she exhales is sharp. Her arms fold across her chest, shoulders drawn tight. The eye roll is textbook. And none of it is subtle.

“Can you not for, like… the two hours we’ll be here? That’s all I ask” she snips back. She pauses for a moment, sniffs and then sighs “Now you’re going to stink”.

He shrugs, glancing toward the house with vague disinterest. “The place already smells like someone cremated a vegetable patch. I doubt my cigarette’s gonna make the top ten list of offences”.

Whatever fantasy Lucille has been holding onto, the white-picket fences and synchronized laughter, begins to waver and fray around the edges. Her lips press into a tight line.

“Just put it out and get back inside,” she says, already turning on her heels.

She doesn’t wait for his reply. If she stays out here any longer, she’ll lose whatever thread of control she has left. The door swings shut behind her.

Negan watches the smoke curl up from his cigarette, then exhales a slow stream of it through his nose. The evening has already been a pain in the ass. Now, it’s worse. If he had been thinking about dragging you somewhere quiet before, that thought’s locked in now.

Guilt doesn't hit as hard when all he gets from his wife are barbed jabs and a cold shoulder. Maybe he’s not innocent either. He knows his jokes have a way of biting back but hell, lately it feels like even breathing wrong is a crime.

They’re fucked, really. Negan knows it and deep down and he assumes Lucille does too. But how can either one of them back out of the marriage now when they’ve sunken so much into it? A mortgage, a house, loans, debts. Damn, Negan really needs your sweet mouth around him now. The perfect distraction from the hole he’s dug himself.

You try not to be obvious as you look for Negan. He’s not with your dad or in the dining room. You haven’t seen Lucille either which gives you an odd feeling of dread, knowing they’ve both disappeared. But before you have to worry for long, your mother calls for everyone to get seated for dinner.

You settle into your seat, subtly ensuring the chair next to you remains vacant. You're not confident (or stupid) enough to give a Negan a handy while everyone is having dinner but a little touching here and there shouldn’t hurt, right?

Even when your mother sits at one side of you, you still have some hope as Negan and Lucille enter. You don’t let it interfere with your plans, the empty space on your other side holding your hope. His eyes meet yours and you feel like a tween going through puberty as you instantly smile. But that’s when the free chair beside you scrapes against the floor.

Like a bewildered animal, your head snaps in that direction to see another smile. Lucille. Again.

… Great.

“This seat taken?” she asks, already sitting down.

Like some sick nightmare, Negan has to sit in front of the two women in his life: you and his wife. He tries not to be awkward about it, selfishly not meeting your eyes as Lucille badgers you with questions.

"Got a boyfriend yet? I’m sure there’s a line of them after you,” she compliments “When I was your age, it was boys, parties, always out with friends. Life never slowed down”.

She barely takes a breath before continuing.

“Have you thought about moving out? Getting your own place? I did it around your age, had a place with a few girlfriends. It was wild. Eventually it felt like home, like it was really mine. Maybe it’s time you tried that too. Not just yet, I guess, but hopefully soon, right?".

You spear a forkful of greens and chew with exaggerated focus, nodding along as if Lucille’s barrage of personal questions hasn’t just lit your cheeks on fire. Sure, because still living with your parents is something you want to be quizzed about!

Thankfully, or maybe unfortunately, Lucille moves the conversation on to your mother instead. “How would you feel about it? Think you would get empty nest syndrome?” she asks.

Negan tries not to wince as he eavesdrops, pretending to listen to your dad shittalking his co-workers. People say Negan’s the brash and direct one but goddamn, he knows Lucille can come straight out with it sometimes.

He sees it happen, so slow and subtle, and yet the most obvious thing in the room. Your posture, once open and lively, now folding in on itself like a page being creased. The spark behind your eyes has dulled, replaced by that quiet look people wear when they’re trying not to feel too much. You’re retreating and something about it twists in his chest in a way he didn’t expect.

Negan hates it. Hates that look on you. Hates that Lucille’s running her mouth without a clue, and that he’s just sitting here, watching it happen.

Without thinking, he shifts in his seat and slides his foot across the floor under the table. Just a small nudge. A silent gesture. He hopes it lands gently against your ankle, enough to catch your attention without making a scene.

His way of saying ‘I see you, baby’.

But the contact he makes isn’t with your foot.

Across from him, Lucille doesn’t say a word. Her smile doesn't change, and her tone stays light as she continues chatting with your mother. Negan feels the light pressure in return. A slow and smooth, gentle graze up the side of his calf. He exhales, just a little, the knot in his chest loosening.

In his mind, this is your way of answering him. A quiet ‘I’m okay’.

He doesn’t look at you directly. Just a small, sweeping glance. But what he sees only deepens that warmth: the way you're acting completely natural, your face still quiet but softer now, as if you feel it too.

Negan doesn’t realize that it’s not your foot gently stroking his leg under the table. Nor does he see the barely there smile playing at the corners of Lucille’s mouth as she continues her conversation, pretending nothing is happening. Her leg remains where it is, answering a call Negan isn’t actually posing her.

Remaining completely oblivious, you chew mundanely on your food. You pray you’ll get a chance alone with Negan, trying to come up with different excuses or scenarios that would allow it. Unable to help himself, Negan steals another glance your way. His gaze is gentle but full of something far too close to longing.

He doesn’t even realize the softness in his expression, the unguarded affection carved into his features. It’s the kind of look no one gives their wife after years of a marriage built more on duty than desire. It’s the look of a man who’s found something he thought was long gone. Hope. Lust. Yearning.

And Lucille sees it.

At first, she’s still convinced the foot under the table means what she wants it to mean. Her leg lingers against his, her smile patient and waiting for him to respond. Anything. A smirk or a quick look her way to confirm the game she thinks they’re playing. But when she follows the direction of his gaze and sees who it’s truly meant for, something shifts in her.

The realization comes slow. She watches the way Negan looks at you and her stomach turns. There’s no flirtation in his eyes when they land on you. No coyness. Just a quiet ache of something raw, real and undeniably not meant for her.

Her smile falters. It’s small, almost imperceptible but it’s there. The first crack in the polished exterior. She blinks, refocuses on her plate, and subtly draws her leg back under the table, leaving a space between her and Negan where, for a brief moment, she thought something still lived.

Negan still hasn’t noticed. His eyes going from you to the occasional nod and look in your father’s direction as he pretends to pay attention.

You only look up because the scrap of your fork against your plate feels too loud. The hum of overlapping conversations blurs into the background as your gaze lifts, landing on him. Negan. Goddamnit maybe dropping your fork and getting under the table wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

At this point, any apprehension you felt about sucking him off is long gone. Now you just want to unzip his pants and get it out.

The rest of dinner unfolds in a muted haze. Your mother and Lucille carry most of the conversation, chatting about mutual friends and upcoming functions, their voices a constant thread weaving through the meal.

Across the table, Negan and your father exchange low, obligatory small talk. Work, sports, something about the grill. You mostly keep to yourself, quietly eating while nodding politely whenever your mother or Lucille pulls you into the flow of conversation.

After the plates are clean of any food, the table begins to empty. Your father claps Negan on the back and steers him toward the living room, already launching into some half-hearted commentary about the game that’s on. Negan goes with him, disappearing into the living room as your dad shuts the door.

Your mother, ever the hostess, is already stacking plates, humming to herself as she bustles into the kitchen. You follow with a handful of glasses and Lucille trails behind, offering to help put things away. You nod along, moving through the motions of cleanup while the conversation floats around you.

But you’re not done yet. You still have a dick appointment you’re determined to get to. You catch a moment and begin to meander towards the hall when your mother notices your slow edging towards the door.

“Honey? Where are you off to?” she questions but thankfully doesn’t give you enough time to answer, already continuing the conversation on her own “Just leave the boys alone, ok? You know what they’re like when it comes to sport”.

She turns to Lucille, having already lost interest in you. “They act like they’re in their own personal conclave! And I don’t mind it, it gives us some peace and quiet but do they always have to hog the tv?”.

You slip out before Lucille replies to her. Unfortunately, you know your mother is right. Going into the men while they’re in sports mode won’t achieve anything. Actually, all that will do is make you more horny since you’ll be in his presence again. So instead, you haunt the hall, hovering so you’ll hear any movement. Maybe then you can coax him into your room.

In the living room, your father leans back into the couch with a low grunt, beer in hand, eyes on the muted game on the television. Negan sits beside him, feigning interest. His gaze drifts towards the door. Negan can feel himself getting antsy but he knows he has a role to play.

“Jesus, you see that throw?” he commentates on the game, chuckling “Kid’s got an arm like a rocket launcher but that defense makes me think he has shit for brains”.

Your dad laughs, and the two keep the steady rhythm of back-and-forth, Negan tossing in his usual sarcastic jabs and colourful commentary.

But every few minutes, his eyes stray toward the door again. Negan knows he needs to see you, to feel you. Being as casual as possible, he stands with a stretch.

“Alright,” Negan says “Think I’ll go see what the ladies are up to, ask how long ‘til dessert’s ready”. Your dad waves him off, paying more attention to the game than Negan slipping out.

When Negan goes out to the quiet hallway, he breathes a silent sigh of relief. He needs a moment to slip away, to ease the itch under his skin with a quick smoke and silence. Laughter can be heard behind the closed kitchen door. It’s the kind of sound that should feel warm but only makes him feel out of place.

He slides a hand into his pocket, fingertips brushing the worn edge of his lighter when he hears you.

“Hi,” is all you say, almost shyly.

That’s already enough to make Negan want to scoff. You’re a lot of things but as you displayed the last time he saw you, you ain’t shy.

“Tonight’s not really going how I expected” you admit.

Negan assesses you carefully. “So you weren’t expecting dinner and a headache?” he says, voice low and a little rough. He doesn’t have to glance toward the kitchen for you to catch his meaning. The nattering, the laughter, neither wife has let up.

You shrug, the slow curl of your shoulder borders on playful. “I mean, I was expecting a headache,” you murmur “just not from them”.

A faint ghost of a smirk graces his face. “Not exactly the easiest place for a… quiet moment,” he mutters.

You huff a soft laugh through your nose, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “A few minutes of privacy is all we’d need” you reply in a teasing tone.

That brings out his smirk unapologetically. “Just a few minutes? Someone’s confident in their abilities” Negan muses.

A few minutes. It doesn’t sound like a big ask but apparently it is. With your dad planted on the couch and the kitchen full of wine-soaked commentary and stories that won’t end, every chance keeps slipping through your fingers.

You glance over your shoulder, half-expecting someone to call your name. Instead, you notice something at the end of the hallway.

The bathroom door cracked open.

You look back at Negan, a spark lighting behind your eyes. “What about in there?” you ask, tilting your head towards it. Your voice is just above a whisper now, conspiratorial.

His eyes follow your line of sight, then return to yours. For the first time all evening, it feels like maybe the night isn’t a complete loss.

That glint in his eyes sharpens, like he’s been waiting for the green light that he didn’t think would actually come. “You serious?” he questions, already angling his body toward the door like gravity’s working in your favor now.

You don’t answer, the flash of a promiscuous look being enough. Turning on your heels, you hear Negan already moving behind you, both of you making a b-line for the bathroom.

A hand brushes against your lower back to urge you forward, or maybe to steady himself from the thrill of it. A burst of laughter echoing from the kitchen makes you almost break into a run. Negan must feel the pump of adrenaline too as he nudges you along.

You slide inside first, turning quickly to pull him in behind you. He catches the handle just before it clicks too loud, easing it shut with the care of someone defusing a bomb. Then the lock turns with a soft yet satisfying snap.

Your heart flutters and you try to convince yourself it’s the adrenaline and not the nerves of giving a bad blowjob. But you don’t let it deter you. This isn’t the time to get hesitant and coy.

Like that video said, be enthusiastic! Time to put your money where your mouth is… well, put his dick where your mouth is actually.

Negan took charge the last time and so you do what you can to set yourself up as the one controlling things this time. Getting down on your knees, your hands latch on to his belt as you look up at him.

“I’ve been waiting for my dessert,” you purr, slowly tracing a hand down to his bulge.

Negan sucks in through his teeth, back hitting off the wall. He can see you’re eager, that’s for sure. And so he keeps his hands by his side, letting you have your fun first.

He groans at the pressure of your hand giving his bulge a small squeeze. “Fuck me…” he whispers, trying to compose himself already. With a deep breath, he asks “You sure you wanna do this?”.

“I made a promise, didn’t I?” You reply with a smile, slowly unbuckling his belt.

“Fuck yeah you did,” he keeps his voice low, hands twitching to bury into your hair.

Popping open the button of his jeans, you tug down the zip. There’s a nervous excitement in your stomach as you unwrap your present, the tips from the horrendous video linger in the back of your mind.

Pushing his jeans and boxers down just enough, you free his stiffening cock. Negan can feel his lust dulling his inhibitions. All signs say to stop and yet he can’t help himself growling out a command to you.

“Suck”.

Slowly, you bring your mouth to the tip. You remember to use your hands, holding the base as you lick the smooth head. "Sweet Jesus..." he hisses through clenched teeth, watching as your tongue teases the sensitive tip.

"Baby," Negan groans, hips shifting forward slightly "Less teasing, more sucking. Time's a-tickin'.”

As much as he loves this, he knows your time together is limited. His hands can’t help themselves anymore, going to your hair as if there’s a magnetic pull.

You take the tip and just a bit more into your mouth. You suck gently, applying light pressure as you pull back, letting the head slip out of your mouth with an audible pop. You repeat this motion slowly, taking as much as you can into your mouth.

Negan watches as you try to take him deeper, your cheeks hollowing out as you suck. He's too big for you to deepthroat but he loves how your lips stretch around him.

When you tighten your grip, wrapping your hands around what you can’t get into your mouth as you bob your head up and down, Negan thinks you might suck whatever measly soul he has straight out of his dick.

His eyes roll back slightly, enjoying the sight of you working him. "That's it," he encourages, hips instinctively moving in sync with your mouth "just like that". He groans, his hand guiding your head gently. You gag, more of him having gone into you than you anticipated. With a slight splutter, you pull back and breathe.

“Sorry” you quickly wipe away some spit threatening to dribble out of your mouth. "Shh, it's okay," he whispers "but fuck sweetheart, I'm gonna cum in your mouth if you keep doing that”.

You give a smirk, regaining your breathing. Holding his cock, you lick up the underside, feeling Negan’s hands tighten in your hair.

“But you promised me a facial” you pretend to pout before focusing on sucking the tip again.

"Fuck I know..." He watches hungrily as you suck the head, his balls tightening. His grip in your hair starts to guide you faster as he yearns to cum and paint that pretty face of yours.

"Suck harder, I know you can… where’s the fuckin’ slut from before gone, eh?" Negan pants, that degrading man you met at the bar starting to come out.

You give a small moan, staring up at him. His cock goes further back your throat again but this time you try not to gag, concentrating on sucking him off.

You’re a walking contradiction and Negan loves it. Big innocent eyes looking up at him, but with the eager mouth of a whore that just got a hundred bucks.

"You look like you should be on your knees taking communion, not sucking dick,” his voice drops an octave, watching your lips stretch around him "Choke on it?".

You blink for a moment, tears almost running down your face as you take in his request. Going as far down as you can, his cock fills your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. You feel your throat convulse but you hold position.

A strangled noise leaves you but it only makes his dick throb. “Y’could be a world class slut, you know that?” With lust taking over, Negan’s hands pull your head down further.

Drool pools in your mouth, overflowing down your chin. Despite your brain hardly functioning, you gently cup his balls with your hands, trying to do as much as possible for him. Holding position for a few seconds, you pull back, spit following you as you catch your breath again.

"You’re killing me..." Negan groans as you pull back, letting you catch your breath before diving back in. His hands guide your head, setting a pace that's fast but shallow.

"Keep looking up at me like that,” he orders “wanna see you take it”.

As you concentrate not gagging, you can feel the wet warmth between your own legs building. Each shallow thrust of his hips, each taste of pre-cum, makes your core ache with desire. Your panties become damp as your arousal grows and you can't help but press your thighs together.

"Fucking beautiful," he says, his voice thick with lust. It’s like Negan can’t decide what he wants. One moment he’s pushing your head further down his dick but the next he’s pulling your head back so he can see your tear-streaked face better. You don’t mind though, trying to catch a breath whenever you can.

You don’t hear every word he says, the noises coming from your own mouth distracting you. " …pathetic slut..." you hear him say, before he corrects himself “... my pathetic slut“.

The words only encourage you. Your hands work in tandem with your mouth, knowing you can’t possibly have much more time with him alone. Surely someone will come looking for one of you soon. Or someone will need to use the bathroom.

He grabs a handful of your hair, forcing your head down harder onto his dick “Open your fucking mouth wider”. You try to do so but you gag around him.

"Take it, baby, I know you can" he growls, pushing your head down further despite your gagging. His hips start moving, fucking your mouth roughly. Each thrust resonates through your entire body. Thankfully, your gagging eases but you can still feel your reflex attempt to trigger with each thrust of his dick.

"Shit..." Negan sees the mess he’s making of you. The spit. The tears that naturally come with gagging so much. And he can only fantasize about the mess in your panties.

Pulling your head back sharply, his length slaps against your cheek. You give a small whine as he does, having little time to process what’s happening as you follow his orders.

"Open," He grunts, fisting his length tightly “Wanna see how much I get in”.

Your mouth stays open, tongue out and ready to catch his cum. You don’t have to wait long until you feel the ropes of warm cum landing, but not just on your tongue. Negan paints your face.

Cheeks. Nose. Chin. Lips.

“That’s it” He approves, giving a few final strokes before squeezing out the last drops onto your tongue.

You don’t need a mirror to know you look a mess and the laugh Negan let’s out seems to confirm your thoughts. "You look like a damn porno" he says.

Letting go of your hair, he brings a hand around to your face, spreading the cum by your mouth around your lips. You take the opportunity to suck his thumb, licking the cum off and swallowing all he had given you.

You let it go with a small pop, mimicking the same treatment his dick got. “Was it good?” You ask, your hoarse voice surprising you.

"Was it good?" He repeats, chuckling deeply as he stuffs his softening dick back into his pants. "You're fucking kidding me, right? Look at you. You're a goddamn mess” He gestures to your cum-covered face, a smug grin on his face.

You're unsure whether or not that answers your question, or if any of it is a good thing. Negan sees the cogs turning in your head. ”You took that like a pro, sweetheart" he assures you, gently helping you up onto your feet.

Not done teasing yet, you gather other spurts of cum from your cheeks and lick that off your fingers next.

“Thanks” you shrug, playing off how relieved you are.

Negan grins widely, impressed by your dedication. “You’re a fuckin’ keeper, you know that?” He drawls, reaching a hand out to ruffle your already messed up hair. It’s strange to feel such a platonic action after he’s just fucked your face but that’s who Negan is, you suppose.

One minute you’re being chastised for wearing provocative clothing. The next, Negan is tearing your dress off in a public bathroom. One minute you’re slut or whore, the next you’re ‘sweetheart’ again.

The only constant so far is bathrooms. That makes you pause for a moment before saying “We have to stop doing this by a toilet. It’s weird”.

He barks out a laugh at that, quickly covering his mouth. Negan waits a moment, waiting for someone to come see what’s going on. But when no one interrupts, he continues “You stay at, uh… what’s that friend of yours name again? The one you lied to your folks about being with the last time?”.

“Lydia,” you answer, turning on the sink tap. Catching a look of yourself, you’re surprised you don’t look half bad. Maybe stained looks good on you.

“Right, you sleep over at hers often?” He asks, taking his time as he buckles his belt.

You carefully splash some on your face “I guess, yeah… why?”.

“So if you told them you were staying at hers some night, they’d believe it?” Negan asks “No questions asked?”.

You nod, eyes meeting his and you try to manage your hair. The smirk says it all.

“Huh… all I’d need to do is feed Lucille some shit and we could have a night away somewhere, finally get you alone without sneaking around”.

Your body screams at the idea but you try not to show your excitement. “You’d have to pay for the hotel room though,” you say snarkily “I think that’s the least you could do”.

He laughs again, lower this time. “Careful baby,” he gives you ass a firm smack as he passes for the door. The sting makes you jolt, half from the hit but half from the way he’s already slipping away.

You always knew your time with him came in fleeting, stolen slices. But that doesn’t make it any less confusing. Or any easier.

“Wait,” you blurt out, the word catching before it’s fully formed. Negan freezes, one hand resting on the lock. Slowly, he turns his head back to you.

“What about me?” you ask, voice quieter now. He doesn’t answer straight away. Letting it linger for a moment, the anticipation builds.

Negan lets out a low whistle. “Oh, sweetcheeks,” he drawls, voice dripping with that infuriating charm “You know I wanna eat that pussy like it’s my last meal but…”. He clicks his tongue, mock sympathy curling in his tone. “Time just ain’t on our side, honey.”

And just like that, he slips out the door with maddening ease, leaving behind a whole lot of unfinished business. You let out a huff.

He called you a whore but at least they get paid. All you got for your efforts was a smack on the ass and a bare face, most of your make-up having washed away with his cum.

Negan knows your type, knows you’d probably jump him if he didn’t leave the bathroom. One taste of dick and you’ll be wet all day. The thought alone makes his dick throb again, already missing your mouth.

Going back into the sitting room, your dad is like a statue, in the same position as before. Negan gives a grimacing tight lipped smile, as if he got caught doing something he shouldn’t.

Sitting back down on his spot on the couch, Negan apologizes “Sorry if I smell like smoke”.

He’d rather your dad think he was having a cigarette outside rather than face fucking the man’s daughter. Your dad waves off Negan’s faux concern, mumbling the moments of the game he missed. Negan sinks into the couch comfortably, knowing that as long as you don’t make it obvious, you’ve both gotten away with another escapade.

Still in the bathroom, cool water runs over your wrists as you try to bring your heart rate back down. You smooth a hand down your top but thankfully everything looks fine. Small mercies there’s not drops of Negan splattered all over your outfit.

The click of the doorknob spins your stomach before your brain can catch up. The door swings open and your mother steps in, mid-sentence on about wine refills when he sees you.

“Jesus!” she yelps, hand flying to her chest “You scared me half to death!”.

You whip around, just as startled. “Sorry! I—sorry, I mustn’t have locked it” you blabber.

She narrows her gaze, scanning your face like she's the Terminator instead of your mother. Subtle, trained and looking for anything out of the ordinary.

“You okay?” she asks.

You nod quickly. “Yeah, I just needed a minute. I’m feeling a little weird” You gesture vaguely toward the sink as if it can be your alibi.

She frowns, but not suspiciously. You thank whatever higher power there is when her tone seems more concerned. “You feeling sick?” she presses.

“No, no. I’m fine,” You say too fast before shrugging, deciding that maybe you shouldn’t deny a good excuse “I mean, maybe, I just feel kinda strange y’know?”.

She studies you for a moment longer. You’re fully dressed, your hair’s in place, and nothing smells like guilt or sex. Just a hint of soap and whatever dignity you managed to salvage.

“Well,” she sighs, brushing past you to grab a hairpin from the vanity. “Don’t lurk in here too long. I was about to serve dessert if you’re up for it”.

You nod again, giving a sheepish smile you hope might look weak in a sickly way. “Yeah, I think I can muster up having some cake”.

She gives you one last glance and then steps out, leaving the door open this time. Giving yourself a quick look, you silently tell yourself to keep it together.

You’re glad to see how refreshed you look. Maybe slightly breathless. And looking sort of flustered. With your panties sticking to your pussy with how wet you are. But you’re still holding it together!

…Barely.

Squaring your shoulders, you walk out of the bathroom as if you’re going up to the frontlines of a war. Voices and clinking dishes subconsciously call for you from the dining room.

It feels a little weird to walk, your pussy practically dripping and making each step feel like another ride down the slip and slide between your legs. But you carry on nonetheless, ready to act as boring and normal as humanly possible.

The moment you round the corner, you spot an empty chair at the table and (more importantly) who’s beside it. Negan sits back in his seat, fingers curled loosely around a can of soda.

He’s laughing at something Lucille just said as she stands with a knife in hand. Whether he’s laughing because she’s actually funny or he’s fearing for his life, you can’t tell.

Even if Negan is a little affected by what happened five minutes ago, it doesn’t show. Not in the way his mouth curves lazily around the rim of his can, or how he only glances your way without missing a beat.

You slide into the seat next to him, carefully letting your leg brush his under the table. Lucille gives you a slight look but you can’t tell if it’s because you sat next to her husband or if you look more flushed than you initially thought. Well, if she wanted the seat, she should’ve moved faster instead of just standing there. You snooze, you lose.

Your mother bustles in from the kitchen, wearing oven mitts and holding a tray that sends waves of warm sugariness through the room.

“Hot out of the oven,” she announces proudly, placing the cake in the center of the table “Chocolate, just like old times”.

Lucille lights up as she passes the knife, letting your mother do the honors. Once she’s sat down across from you both, she starts to gush “God, remember when you used to make this every weekend? I’ve been dreaming about this!”.

Your mom beams, already cutting thick slices while steam curls up from the soft centre. Your father’s voice calls faintly from the other room, a low rumble over the TV. “Pass on dessert! Game’s getting good!”. Typical.

Your mom rolls her eyes affectionately. “He’s glued to that couch,” she mutters, placing a plate in front of you.

You thank her, then glance sidelong at Negan. He finally meets your eye. Just for a second. You get no smile. No words. Just that look. That quiet, smoldering acknowledgment of what no one else knows. You lower your gaze and pick up your fork.

The cake is warm and melts on Negan’s tongue. Still, it’s not the sweetest thing he’s wanted to taste tonight.

He chews like it‘s delicious, nods appreciatively at your mother’s proud smile as she tells them about how she found the recipe somewhere. Negan isn’t sure where though, he was too busy thinking about your pussy when your mom said that part of the story.

He doesn’t look at you much. Negan knows it’s ridiculous but he’s sure Lucille can smell it off of him. The lies. Deception. She’s like a goddamn cadaver dog when she picks up the scent of something being awry.

Every now and then, he risks a glance your way, just to see the way your lips part around the fork in a way he knows all too well. He clears his throat and takes another sip of his drink, hoping the fizz will ground him. It doesn’t.

As delusional as it sounds, Negan was hoping to fuck you again. Now he sees that was just a wet dream. You both had your moment in the sun, where you turned his world upside down and gagged around him like there’s no tomorrow.

He shifts in his seat, trying to play it off his own dirty thoughts. He adds a lazy comment to the conversation, a dry “Mmhmm,” and “Yeah, taste’s great”. Lucille nods along and Negan hopes he’s doing enough to convince her he’s listening.

But no matter how much he tries, his mind isn’t on the cake. It’s on the bathroom and on what he didn’t get enough of.

Lucille dabs the corner of her mouth and launches into a story from years ago. Negan nods at the right moments, even chuckles once or twice. But under the table, his hand edges across to your soft thigh.

His fingers splay out and spread across your thigh possessively. You shove a piece of cake into your mouth to stop yourself from smirking. You may have it bad for Negan, but it certainly feels like he can’t get enough of you either.

Trying to act natural, you slowly open your thighs under the table. It’s difficult to look bored above the table, while below you're trying to angle your body in such a position that gives Negan access to everything.

His thumb draws circles on your inner thigh, inching closer to what he really wants. He keeps his focus on your mom, conversing normally as his hand inches dangerously close to your panties.

Nodding your head, you add “Yeah, I remember hearing about that”. Although neither your mother or Lucille directly acknowledge your participation, already jumping to some other old memory.

Negan acknowledges you though, under the table. His middle finger nudges its way around your damp panties and smoothly slides down your folds. You eat your cake casually, lowering your head so neither woman will see the pleasure in your expression.

Like a man on a mission, the finger glides through your obvious wetness until it reaches your entrance. The finger teases your hole, pressing gently before slowly sliding inside. He enters you effortlessly, your wet pussy eagerly greeting him. His finger curls slightly, hitting that sweet spot deep inside of you.

Both of you look like the definition of calm, neither one of you letting on what’s happening. Negan keeps his arm low, making sure all the action occurs below the table cloth so that the others can’t tell his arm is angling towards you.

His finger moves with agonizing slowness, barely withdrawing before pushing back in deeper each time. He's not fingering you aggressively or quickly like he might if you were alone; instead, he's drawing out each stroke deliberately slow and shallow to torture you silently.

He snaps you out of your quiet tranquility with a compliment. "I have to say, this cake is fucking amazing,” he looks directly at your mother, a wide grin on his face as if he doesn’t have his finger in her daughter.

She waves away his compliments before Lucille steals her attention “You’ll have to give me the recipe”. It acts as the perfect distraction for Negan to add another finger inside you, stretching you out.

“Anyways, dinner has been great but we should really get going soon” Lucille glances Negan’s way before showing off her sympathetic smile to your mom.

But your mom doesn’t catch the smile. Instead, her eyes land on you. Breathless with your mouth slightly agape. And worst of all… hardly eating your slice of cake!

"Are you feeling okay?" she asks concernedly.

Negan’s movements stifle but just for a second as you come up with a reply “Yeah— I think I’m just feeling a little flushed”.

His finger suddenly shifts upwards, finding your swollen clit and applying pressure. You have to fight to keep your breathing steady as pleasure shoots through you. Your eyes flutter briefly closed before you regain composure, trying not to squirm visibly in your seat.

Your core tightens with impending release. With aching thighs, you do the one thing your body is begging you not to. You move your legs away from Negan and abruptly stand up, nearly knocking your chair back. The movement forces Negan’s hand to fall away, loosely dropping to his side. Your skirt whooshes slightly but it looks as though that’s been caused by your abrupt movement and not Negan’s hand.

“Actually, I think I might lay down for a while,” you announce, eyes darting to each person “I don’t feel so good”.

Your mom simply nods, taking your excuse at face value. “Ok, I can save you some cake for later” she assures. Her eyes follow you out, giving Negan the perfect opportunity to bring his hand up to the table.

His fingers are coated with your wetness but before the others can notice, he uses his hand to pick up his last piece of cake on his plate and pop it into his mouth. He deliberately licks each finger, letting out an exaggerated groan of approval as you leave.

That asshole. Surely he wasn’t trying to make you cum. He knew you’d pull away in the end. That you’d be the one to disrupt your own pleasure. As if you had a choice.

You’re only in your bedroom a few minutes when you hear the goodbyes begin.

“We’ll have to do this again soon!”.

“Next time, I’ll make brownies!”.

“Just make sure the next time it’s not on the same day as the game, ok?”.

You’re not called to say goodbye. After all, you’re too ‘sick’ or ‘faint‘ or whatever excuse is most believable to your mother. With a huff, you flop on to your bed. Your panties are still sticking to you but now all you have is yourself to fix that problem. Rolling over on to your side, you mutter “Fucking asshole…”.

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

Lucille doesn’t start talking until they’re nearly home. Negan doesn’t press her. He can feel the weight of whatever she’s building up to and figures it’s only a matter of time before she lets it out.

“She looks at you weird”.

Negan makes a low sound in his throat. It’s not quite agreement, more like he’s trying to figure out where she’s going with this. He silently hopes the next name she mentions is your mom but of course, it’s your name that leaves her lips.

“It’s like she just… watches. Everything. But especially you” Lucille explains “You haven’t noticed that?”.

Negan raises an eyebrow. “So she’s the one doing all the watching but somehow you’re catching every second of it? Sounds like you’re doing a fair bit of eyeballing yourself”. He gives a short laugh, hoping to deflect her unease with a joke. It doesn’t work. She responds with a scoff, all sharp edges.

“I’m being serious”.

“Yeah and I am too,” he lifts a shoulder in a casual shrug, eyes still on the road “so she’s not a chatterbox. Whatever”.

Lucille quietly stews for a few moments. Negan hopes he’s almost in the clear when he turns down onto their street, but peace is a fickle thing.

“I bet she’s got a thing for you.”

He rolls his eyes instinctively. “Nice to know you think I’ve still got universal appeal, honey,” he replies dryly as if it doesn’t stroke his ego.

He pulls into their driveway. Their little house, slightly run-down but comfortably familiar, greets him with its tilted porch steps and overgrown lawn. Never has crooked suburbia looked so inviting.

He tries to use Lucille’s next stewing period of silence to make his escape out of the car, swiftly turning off the engine and unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Do you know the last time I went to theirs, she came back from her friend's place wearing your sweatshirt,” Lucille watches his movements pause at that revelation. “Wouldn’t know how she got that, would you?” she questions.

Negan looks to her, tongue running along the backs of his teeth as he thinks.

“I gave it to her as a souvenir after I fucked her, is that what you want to hear?” he shoots back “Jesus fucking Christ, Lucille, is this going to be it now? Is she the next woman I must be fucking?”.

It’s shitty, he knows. But Negan also knows the best form of defense is attack. Or, at least it’s always worked out for him that way.

Lucille physically shudders at the idea of that, her voice raising as she argues back “Well, you were definitely eye-fucking her tonight at the table. Right in front of me!”.

Negan snorts. “Before or after you tried to embarrass her in front of everyone?” his tone is sharper now “Because what you call eye-fucking, I call trying to make sure she didn’t burst into tears in the mashed potatoes.”

Negan hopes none of the neighbors are passing by. Even with the two of them still in the car, he’s sure anyone passing by would be able to hear their raised voices.

“You really think I didn’t just toss her that sweatshirt the last time they came over here for dinner? Maybe when I was showing her shit in the garage? That ever cross your mind?” His voice tightens as he adds, “Or was I fucking her in the back of the car then too, Lucille? You tell me since you apparently know everything”.

“You're twisting my words!” She argues “All I’m saying is she obviously has the hots for you and you being friendly will give her the wrong idea”.

To Negan, this feels like a win. A messy, backhanded one but still a win nonetheless. Lucille has shifted from accusing him directly to blaming it all on you, like she’s just trying to warn him of your supposed crush.

“Fuck, it’s like I can’t even talk to you anymore,” Lucille mutters, rubbing a hand down her face, not caring whether it smears her makeup.

“Not without accusing me of fucking somebody” Negan jabs back.

That’s enough for Lucille, undoing her seatbelt carelessly and kicking open the car door.

Ding!

Negan feels his balls tighten when his phone dings with a message. But if his balls are telling him one thing, it’s to lean into the mess.

“Want to check that?” Negan pulls his phone out of his pocket, waggling it as Lucille gets out of the car “Could be her, maybe she’s sending me a nude”.

Lucille doesn’t dignify that with a response. Just slams the car door hard enough to rattle the windows and throws a middle finger over her shoulder as she storms towards the house.

Negan watches her go, expression flat. He knows he’s going to be in the shitter for the night but when he opens up the notification, he thinks it might be worth it. There to greet him is a text he assumes must be you.

“Got number from dad’s phone. Book that hotel room asap”.

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