#crappy paint job

[epicqtefail]

good grief not having time to draw messes me up. nothing feels real i dont know who i am im fading away (its been 2 weeks)

[ebony1442]

I was disappointed that the ratty old station wagon you drive, repair, and modify in "Pacific Drive" didn't come with at least one panel detailed with that ugly faux woodgrain that was the thing for station wagons. I will be doubly disappointed if it's not an available detailing before endgame.

[loraluna]

Felt like a bit of coloring character design, so have some custom mewtwos~ (Bases provided by the generous @pokemon-ash-aus )

Atropa: Named after Atropa Belladona (aka deadly nightshade). Their poison point ability makes it hard for them to get close to most people and mons.

Kai: The extremely rare ??? or unknown type. Their powers are in a constant state of flux, making them unpredictable in battle. Not always in a good way.

Mirai: A mewtwo with a mind specially developed to see into the future. The further ahead she looks the more difficult it becomes.

[eggnoodles0up]

ITS HALLOWEEn heres my mr spider pumpkin cus i dont rlly have time or energy to draw today lol

also i bedazzled my tape recorder with googly eyes teehee

[umbrarkzoo]

Made toy chica! That completes all of the animal animatronic chracters in fnaf 2! My next project will be the puppet

[the-biggestman]

Okay wait before I continue my shielding of the fnaf movie, here’s my pumpkin I did this year :D

And here’s my pumpkin from last year, I forgot to post it- I think, maybe I did oh well

[green5quirrel]

Why does it take a literal act of congress for me to change my name but hospitals are able to rebrand all the time?

I, too, have had a recent acquisition/merger. Gender has acquired me and I must rebrand to fit new ownership.

[moondirti]

blue collar simon x gn! reader. implied cnc.

Simon finds a journal on his lunch break.

It's inconspicuous. A5 black moleskin with an elastic holding it's contents together, bits of paper sticking out like nails on a poorly constructed house frame. He only notices it because his cooler slips off the bench when he blindly places it atop the fat book, sandwiches and packets of crisps now strewn across the dirty pedway.

The day's already been shit. A motley of blows, each made worse by the torrid sun overhead, sweat to cling to his grievances. An uptight site manager. A near loss of life after some tenderfoot got caught in between an excavation truck and the wall. Even his too-long hair, which curls around red ears – having not had a chance to buzz it off since being called in for this job. It's no wonder, then, that the tiny mishap stirs as severe of a reaction as it does; he chucks his hard hat across the road, satisfied only when it finds its fate mid-lane, an obstruction to inevitably fuck the tires on a white collar's new car.

When his rage settles as smouldering ash in his chest, he picks his food off the floor and cracks open the source of his animosity.

With no name or number, the first page holds just a chicken-scratch address. Interesting. Its owner hasn't made this easy on him, crafting it like one would a game. A skewing of traditional acquaintance. Granting nothing of their superficial identity, yet unrestricted access to their innermost thoughts. Thus he's forced to paint his own picture of the figure behind the words.

And what a picture indeed.

The first entry is brief.

13.02 – My therapist expects at least three pages a week. I'm not doing any of that, so don't get your hopes up.

It's evident that you don't stick to your guns. Though the next one is dated several months later, so he see's the attempt had been made. Written in a whole new hand, like you'd picked a dry pen off the floor and practiced your non-dominant grip:

08.05 – I broke my arm playing tennis. The umpire called a match-point in my opponent's favour and I threw the racket at his head.

I am no longer allowed to play tennis. What good is that resolution? My radius has a greenstick fracture. I'm already out of the game.

His laugh is abrasive and sudden, like it'd been pried from his chest by a pair of careless hands. Or as close to that analogy as it can get – your anger is intoxicating and only grows more potent across the pages. Inadvertently amusing. Simon chews through the tough crust of his torpedo roll as he reads, time wearing away under the stiff comb of your words.

There's hardly any variation in your cataloguing –

10.06 – The universe must need more bad people in it, because it tests my limits everyday. Can the fuck next door snore any louder? It's 2 am, goddammit. I wonder if it'd be overkill to ship nasal strips to his mailbox.

26.06 – Dad called today. Didn't pick up.

04.07 – I'm close to killing Kathleen. There's a reason the food in the fridge is labelled as MINE. GET YOUR GRUBBY PAWS OFF OF IT!

13.07 – The world is a shitty, stupid, crappy, icky, lousy, rotten, stinking, stinky, bad place. I hate my coworkers and friends and parents and landlord and etc etc. It's like everyone is out to get me.

– so it's like the honed curl of a hook. Whiplash-inducing, reeling his attention so quick that his neck strains in phantom pain. Simon stops everything, elbows settling onto his knees as he fixates on one entry in particular.

30.07 – I stand by what I said. The world is uniquely horrible. I think that's because I make it that way for myself. Whatever this exercise was meant to do for me, rage relief or introspection or whatever, it's clearly not working. I'm just as angry as I was before. Maybe burning these pages would help. I wish I could play tennis again. I don't know what to do with my hands anymore. I got fired last week. Need groceries. Eggs, spinach. Spinach always goes bad and I never make use of it. I keep buying it though. Dad keeps calling. I've got a migraine and I've run out of advil.

I just need someone to put me in my place.

And it ends there. No more entries after the fact, just a handful of blank pages before the journal wraps to a close.

He flips back over to the address at front. Looking at it a second time, he can tell the ink is still fresh.

Perhaps he misinterprets it. Perhaps it hits a little too close to home. It wouldn’t be the first time he looks for salvation in the empty lines someone leaves behind. Perhaps it’s just been a bad day, and he should go home before he does something he’ll regret. Perhaps it’s nothing at all.

Or–

Perhaps he sees it for what it is.

Here are all my colours. What you choose to do, or think, is no longer my concern.

[avocado-writing]

Hi dear! I would like to appreciate your works. I really enjoy everything you wrote, Wish you have a great day! 💗

Since you're taking requests, could you please write Wade with a polite, sweet and delicate partners. He's with a person who's the definition of "Too pure for this world and MUST be PROTECTED at all cost" His partner showers him with love and validation, and always love to listen to him! Thanks! 💓

possibly based on real life events.

Wade Wilson is so in love, it must be sickening to everyone around him. 

In fact he knows it is and he does not care. He’ll say “look at this meme the love of my life sent me!” and the person who he shows will roll their eyes, as if you don’t have incredible taste in cat pictures. He’ll monologue constantly about how cute you are and how much he loves that scrunchy thing you do with your nose. He’s recited committed-to-memory facts about you so many times that his friends can parrot them too. 

“Yes, I know what their favourite film is, I know you took them to a special viewing of it for their birthday. It’s cute, Wade,” says Laura, patting him on the arm condescendingly. Well, it’s not his fault you’re so wonderful! There isn’t a single thing about you that’s not perfect. He’s constantly bowled over about just how much affection he can fit in his body for you. The other night he was going on about something stupid - he can’t even remember what now, maybe it was about the new Taco Bell menu? - and then realised you hadn’t interrupted him once to shut him up like most people would.

You’d looked over the top of your magazine at him when he’d pointed this out, brow cocked.

“Why would I want you to shut up? I like listening to you talk, Wade.”

Marry you. He’s going to marry you. Every day, then divorce you every day too so he can marry you again. 

You are probably too good for him. Most of his social circle thinks so. You’re patient and kind, when you’re not at your job - where you work at a charity adopting out senior animals, as if you could be any more of a fucking angel - you like to spend your time in his shitty little kitchen, baking desserts for him to get home to. He’ll find you getting Al to taste test for you and his apartment full of laughter and joy. 

Man, he’s definitely put on like, six pounds since the two of you started dating. He needs to be stronger in the face of your cupcakes. 

They are really fucking good though. 

He walks in that night with a plushie under his arm. It’s a cow. He remembers you mentioning offhand how cute you thought cows were, so he decided to grab the biggest one the toy store one the way home had just because he knows it’ll make you smile. You don’t need any more stuffed toys; you sleep with them all in the bed and they’re pushing him off the side at this point because of their sheer number but, well, he likes seeing you happy. 

And then he hears sobbing. 

“Sweetheart?” he asks, immediately panicked. Are you injured? Has someone come to hurt you - has he painted a target on your back because of his job? Bile fills his throat as he stumbles forward…

…and there you are, sitting in front of the TV, PlayStation controller in your lap as tears run down your face while the end of the game plays out. Wade has never felt such relief in his life, laughing as the ache of it is taken from his chest. You turn to him with wide, watery eyes. 

“Don’t you laugh at me, Wade Wilson!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But babe… are you crying at the end of Kingdom Hearts?”

“No!” you lie, trying to mop your face off with your sleeve. Then the music hits its crescendo from the crappy speakers and you start wailing all over again. 

He loves you. He’d kill a million billion people for you. It would take a hell of a long time but hey, one word and he’d do it. If anyone even lifted a finger to hurt you he’d execute them so thoroughly that every generation of their family would be wiped out of existence too. 

To put it in terms you’d approve of, he’d do anything for you. But he also knows you’d never ask him to. You’re just that wonderful. 

“… would it help if I got us take-out and you started playing the second one?”

“Uh-huh,” you manage to confirm. 

“I could be in this fucking game, beat Donald Duck’s little feathery ass. Disney, make it happen.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry about it. Pizza or Chinese?”

Taglist: @falsewordz @malfoys-demigod @belilwen @mildly-salted @tvwebs @childeslegstrap @getmeoutofhell @s1eep-o @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @yrthr @momopad @sugarplumz100 @captainjinkx @madspads @acrosstheunivcrse @yeethaw13 @na-is-salty @florduarte @hunterispunk

[1-800-cheolie]

baby fever | bakugou headcanons

part 2 part 3

tags: suggestive themes, not proof read, heat in the moment writing, fem reader, mentions of pregnancy, established marriage, they’re pro heroes, crappy writing.

word count: 642

☆ bakugou katsuki. when people hear that name, they say he’s rough, brusque and edgy, a double sided sword. on the other hand, you find him sweet and loving, quite adorable even if he denies it.

☆ you often think a lot about how he would treat your kids in the near future and despite his tough exterior, he’s grown fond of kids.

☆ social media thinks that he's going to be the worst dad to exist if you have kids, you think they’re delusional.

☆ but the moment you realize you know he’s the one for your non-existent kids is when you’re both out on patrol and you find a lost kid. “leave him to me” katsuki grumbles. “go get yer injury healed”

☆ you do as told, conversing with one of the medics, and in the corner of your eye, you spot the child laughing with your husband.

☆ butterflies dance about in your stomach, fluttering vigorously. “he’s going to be a great dad, [hero name].“ the medic says. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, almost like you held the earth up for him.”

☆ you softly thank her with a smile, beaming with rays of sunshine as you approach your boyfriend. secretly watching him play with the young boy.

☆ “I see you’re both having a great time” you say. katsuki whips his head in surprise, coughing into his fist as if to hide his blush. “has dynamight been nice to you, sweetie?”

☆ the kid jumps up and down in glee, bobbing his head. “mister dynamight is the best! he even gave me a lollipop! but mommy can’t know or she might get upset”

☆ he sheers away in embarrassment. “thought it might cheer him up or somet’ing” you press your lips against his cheek, praising him for his work. the kid pretends to gag and you both chuckle, he’s an adorable little guy.

☆ “aoi!” a woman calls out and the boy goes running to his mother, “oh my god, I can’t thank you enough.” you smile at her and tell her it’s your job as heroes, waving back to aoi as they leave.

☆ “having a kid doesn’t sound so bad. I wouldn’t mind waking up to our baby in your arms. It’s adorable and sexy.”

☆ he pauses. freezing in place. did he hear you right? our baby. him being a dad? sexy? fuck. you were definitely going to be the death of him.

☆ “[hero name]!” he calls out. you wink at him, skipping off to the agency. “baby! you can’t just say that and leave me like this!” he groans. having a hard on in the middle of work was going to be difficult to explain.

☆ the next morning, you saw the media, snorting at the headline. PRO HERO DYNAMIGHT SEEN SMILING WITH A KID. COULD WE POSSIBLY BE SEEING POTENTIAL FATHER MATERIAL?

☆ you yelp in surprise, dropping your phone on the side of the bed at the sudden touch of your boyfriend. “c’mere” he rasps. “why the fuck are you up s’early? it’s only 8am, go back t’sleep”

☆ “wanted to check the time is all. do you need something?” you ask.

☆ he shakes his head and lays you atop of him, grinding against your ass as a grin paints his lips, canines showing. “only thing I need is to fill you up to the brim and pump you full of my cum.”

☆ “katsuki! It’s only 8am!” you repeat his words. they fall deaf on his ears.

☆ next thing you know, you’re holding a test in your hand, double lines are present as a smug katsuki smirks at you. what a little shit.

[poeticpascal]

I've Got You (Dbf!Joel Miller x Reader)

Masterlist | Request here!

Summary: When a date set up by your father goes wrong, your secret boyfriend and Dad's best friend races to protect you.

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: smut, 18+, MDNI, attempted sexual assault, abusive language, reader's date is a tory prick, soft!dom!Joel, blowjob, unprotected sex, use of pet names.

A/n: So... this is my first time writing smut. I am super proud of this one, so please let me know what you think! Requests are open so for more Joel/Pedro action, you know where to find me x

Dating your Dad’s best friend is hard. And stupid. Really, you have no clue why either of you thought this'd be a good idea. But you were so far down this path now, so entangled in late night meet-ups and whispered phone calls and unspoken thoughts that sounded a lot like ‘I love you’, that it was too late to turn around and steer the sinking ship of this utter mess back to shore.

More than anything, you hate not having any normalcy with him. You can’t fall straight into his arms after a hard day. You can’t cuddle into his side with a bowl of popcorn watching crappy weeknight telly. You can’t go to the store together, holding hands and making him laugh as you insist on buying a flavour of ice cream that you know he’d love. And it sucks.

Because everyone said Joel would never be one to settle down. He’s too wild, too rough to fit into a polished little box like that. And you’d thought the same. Until you fucked him, then fucked him again, and kept going back until you could see the pain in his eyes each time you left. You could practically feel the heaviness settle in his stomach as you left his bed to sneak back home. It hurts him as much as it does you, and if you weren’t so incredibly in love with him, that would’ve been enough to make you run.

Despite how long you’d kept this going now, a good 6 months at least, it never got any easier. Especially when your Dad started talking about dating. He was protective, but more than anything he wanted to see you happy. So when you suddenly became distant, hiding in your room more often and going out on dates much less, he was concerned. Nowhere near as concerned as he’d be if he found out why you were acting that way, you thought, but concerned all the same.

So when he came home one day, beaming and shouting for you to come downstairs, you thought nothing of it. When he explained there was a new apprentice at his work that he thinks you’d like, you weren’t surprised. And when he told you he’d set up a blind date with said boy, you felt sick.

Because you really couldn’t get out of it. You tried.

“Dad, I just don’t feel like dating right now.”

“Oh come on, you used to have a new date every few weeks. I’m just worried about you. Matthew's really nice, and he likes the same shitty music you do-”

“It’s good music.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I just…” he paused, his worry painted on his face, and there's no way you could’ve said no to him. “Honey, I want you to be happy. I don’t know what’s gotten into you recently” - your best friend, you thought - “but I just need to know you’re okay. So give this a go, for me, alright? And if you have an awful time, that’s it, I’ll never set you up again.”

You sighed. He was right; it’s just one night, one date. One box you have to tick to relieve the pressure that comes from having an affair with your next door neighbour, the one more than twice your age, the one your Dad would call a brother. And besides, your Dad would be working an overnight job, so you’d be spending the night at Joel’s anyway. Something to look forward to.

“Okay, yeah. I’ll go. For you.”

He pulled you in for a hug, tight, and you hugged him right back because you really do hate having to keep this from him. He pulled away, smiling - “great! It’s tonight at 7. He’ll pick you up.”

“You already arranged it?!” You near enough shrieked, but he’d already sauntered off to the kitchen, giggling as he went. 

Typical.

So that’s how you ended up here, at 6:55pm, waiting by the front door for Marcus - or Michael, or something like that - to pick you up. Your phone buzzes, Joel’s name flashing on the screen, that alone making you feel that much calmer.

You’d text him as soon as you talked to your Dad, letting him know about the date. He understood, and you loved that about him; he was mature, compassionate, and he was more than secure in the fact that no matter who you talked to, who flirted with you on nights out, who you were set up with… you’d always come back to him. 

Don’t worry about tonight, baby. It’ll go quickly. I’ll leave the door unlocked for when you get back. Text me if you need picking up. J x

You smile at his initial at the end - it’s such a Dad thing to do, but it makes you happy, especially when he adds a little kiss. He only does that for you.

The sudden sound of a car door closing snaps you out of your thoughts, Joel’s text left on read as what you assume to be your date heads up the driveway. You take a deep, nervous breath, smoothing out your dress and heading to the door just in time for his knock.

You open the door, take a good look at your date, and he’s… okay. Not unattractive, per se. Though you’d come to accept a little while ago that being with Joel had soured your perception of pretty much every other guy. His dusty blonde hair is slicked back with gel, his teeth are way too white, and he’s dripped in designer clothing that just screams, “I have a trust fund.”

“Oh, hi! I’m Matthew.” Right. Matthew. “You must be (Y/N).” He leans in to peck your cheek, and all you can think about is how smooth his skin is as it grazes yours. Nothing like Joel’s coarse stubble that you love so much - especially when it leaves red patches on your cheeks, and your neck, and if you’re really lucky -

Matthew leans back a little, confused, and you’re brought out of your daydream. “Sorry, yeah, that’s me. (Y/N).” 

Well, that was awkward.

You just need to get through these next few hours, you think to yourself, smiling at the boy and letting him lead you out of the house and into his car. You can’t help but glance towards Joel’s place across the street; it looks quiet tonight, though his truck is in the driveway, and as soon as you look up you’re sure you catch the living room blinds suddenly draw shut. You smirk.

──────

The date was going… okay. About as okay as a date you don’t want to be on, with someone you have no interest in, and another man constantly on your mind could go. You could see why your Dad liked him; smart enough, well-polished. His father was a partner in the company, you learned - oh, he’s a ‘Daddy’s credit card’ type you’d thought - and by all intents and purposes he was the sort of guy any parent would hope to see their daughter end up with.

It’s never that easy though, is it?

Because he isn’t rough around the edges like Joel. He doesn’t have his stature, or carry himself with the same brute certitude. You can’t imagine him fucking you up against the wall, working himself up until he’s almost animalistic, somehow using you and worshipping you at the same time. And you can’t see him wrapping you up so tightly afterwards, holding you close and whispering how good you were for me, how proud of you I am.

No, only Joel could do that, and that’s how you like it.

The bill comes, Matthew suggests you split it. You don’t mind. He takes out his credit card, flashing it in front of you. “This is my Dad’s. I can use it as much as I want.” He’s smirking like he’s got something to be proud of, and you really had to fight the urge to roll your eyes. Instead you just smile, before paying your share and making small talk as you head out the door and towards his car.

“So, I thought we could head back to my place.”

You freeze. Yeah, no, not gonna happen. He’s got this shit-eating grin on his face, one you knew all too well from past college boyfriends - that’s a boy who thinks he’s getting some tonight. You shudder, wrapping your arms around your waist and trying to sound sincere as you reply, “this has been lovely, but I’ve got an appointment early in the morning” - not really a lie, if staying in bed with a man over twice your age getting fucked or cuddled or both counts as an appointment - “so I’d rather just head home.”

You reach for the passenger side door, but it’s locked. You try again, pulling on the handle, but it doesn’t budge. You realise then that he’s stepped closer, too close, crowding your vision as you turn to face him while keeping one hand on the door’s handle. He leans an arm against the roof of the car, right beside your head, staring you down. 

“Oh, come on, (Y/N). I’ve got the house to myself tonight, it’ll just be us. I know that’s what you want, don’t be shy.”

His free hand pinches your chin, his touch aggressive where Joel’s is rough but careful, and he tries to close the already too-small gap between you.

You dodge him quickly, slipping out from under his arm and backing up, away from the car, away from him. Matthew just watches you, incredulous, before laughing to himself and taking a step forward. “Look, baby, I know you want this. What is it, are you scared your daddy’s gonna find out?”

“What? No, I-” you splutter, but he interrupts.

“Get in the car, (Y/N). You don’t have to worry about anyone finding out. I can see the way you look at me, I bet you’re dying to fu-”

A heavy sickness has flooded your stomach, your nerves shot from the sudden escalation of what was supposed to be a quiet, albeit tedious, night. But his words hit you, and before you can even think, you’re shouting back at him. 

“You seriously think I want to fuck you? You can’t even pay your half of the bill with your own money. Fuck that. I’ll make my own way home.”

The smug look on his face is quickly washed away with anger, and you continue to slowly step backwards as Matthew follows you. A lick of fear sets in now as the pale streetlights cast shadows on his darkened expression, and you scold yourself for opening your mouth.

“The fuck did you just say to me? Do you know who my Dad is?” - this really isn’t a good time to roll your eyes - “You think you’re too good for me, you bitch? I’ll show you.”

He stalks you, and your eyes frantically dart back to the restaurant you’d just left, though you’d backtracked far enough to be almost at the door again.

People are dining and laughing, some just sitting and watching the world go by. You’re well within their view, and you turn back to see that Matthew’s gaze has followed your own and he’s connected the dots. He can’t do anything in front of them. He locks eyes with you again, scoffing, heading back to his car and loudly shouting something that sounded a lot like “fuckin’ bitch.” Nice.

He drives away; you’re safe, out of the situation, and as the relief floods you the adrenaline does too and tears prick at your eyes. You sit on a small bench just outside the restaurant, dotted with shrubbery and stains from spilt drinks you assume, and take out your phone.

Your last chat with Joel is already open, and you breathe slowly in an attempt to still your shaking hands as you type quickly,

Please come and get me. He was trying to get me to go back with him. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’s gone now but I have no ride home.

The text is marked as ‘read’ almost as soon as you send it, though you receive no reply. You didn’t expect to; Joel wasn’t much of a texter. Like, at all. He was slowly getting used to it, what with it being one of the only ways you could really talk when slipping over to his place was too risky. 

In this particular instance, you already knew he’d have read the text, dropped his phone without a second thought and hurried to his truck while muttering to himself what he’s gonna do to the kid, how he won’t see what’s comin’ to him.

Just how badly Joel might react worries you. He’s protective, incredibly so when it comes to you, and that combined with his white hot temper was surely a recipe for some sort of disaster.

Secretly, though, you loved it. And so as you sat on that little bench, frosty air nipping at your skin, you couldn’t help but revel in the warmth that pooled in your core at the thought of what sort of beast Joel would become tonight.

──────

It only takes him around 10 minutes to reach you, and you know for a fact he must’ve ran a red light or two because normally it’s a 20 minute drive at least into town. You stand, walking over to his truck, but before you can hop in he’s already storming out and wrapping you up in his arms, shielding you, eyes darting across the street.

“Where the fuck is he?”

“Joel, I-”

“(Y/N) where the fuck is he? I’m gonna kill that little bastard. Fucking-”

His body is tense, far more so than usual, and anger pours from him in buckets. You pull away to look up at him, his eyes still searching for the boy long gone, and you sigh. “He’s gone, Joel. He left.”

He finally meets your eyes, a cold frown etched on his face, and he somehow looks even angrier than usual. “Did he touch you?” His hands roam your body, searching for you didn’t know what, but you let him do whatever he needed to relax. To know you were safe.

“No, Joely, he didn’t. I’m fine, I promise.”

It usually softens him right up, your little nickname for him. Joely. The first few times you used it, he’d just scoff or roll his eyes, but the small smirk that crept onto his face each time let you know he loved it. Quite how much he loved it was a different story; you hadn’t got together then, though the both of you wanted it, and as your relationship blossomed you became the only one he ever let call him anything other than Joel.

It doesn’t work this time, though, and he remains stern, finally letting you go and searching your eyes for even a hint of anxiety or fear. “What happened?”

“He tried it on, I said no. He tried again, I backed up and made sure there were people watching,” you nod towards the restaurant, still bustling with life. “And he left.”

Joel nods. “You tell him to fuck off?”

“‘Course i did.” 

It seems as if he finally lets up then, giving you a proper hug, one arm around your neck and the other around your waist. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, hard, and the tension leaves him. “That’s my girl.”

You squeeze him tight, burrowing into his shirt and inhaling the scent of him that you loved so much. With one arm around your shoulders, he guides you back to his truck, opening the door for you and helping you. He does it everytime, but it still makes you blush, and you’re sure his lips smirk slightly as your cheeks turn red. Worth it.

The ride back to home is quiet, only the sound of his radio and passing traffic echoing between you. He keeps a hand on your knee, always protective, and every now and then you rub your palm over it to let him know you appreciate it. To say thank you.

Joel was never good with words, and you’d learned over the last few months just how much he relies on touch to express himself. To show love. You’d picked up on his habits, his little signs, his way of telling you his deepest thoughts without having to speak a word.

And when you reciprocated, when you wrapped your hand around his, or brushed his side at the neighbours’ BBQ, or kissed his shoulder in the kitchen, you knew just what it meant to him.

Your driveway is empty as Joel turns onto your street - your Dad must have set off for work already. You sigh in relief; you didn’t have the energy to explain all this to him, and certainly not the energy to try and sneak into Joel’s without him seeing.

Joel steps out first, taking a quick look around to make sure no nosey neighbours were watching, a precaution you were both used to by now. He grabs the door for you again, holding your hand and helping you out, holding you close to his side as he unlocks the door and you both slip inside.

“What do you want to drink?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

He pauses, looking at you, concerned. ”No. You need somethin’ to drink. You need to- to lie down, or somethin’.”

You follow him into the kitchen as he stalks past you, not giving you time to answer and filling a glass with water and ice. “Drink,” he hands it to you.

You take it, thanking him and sipping as he watches. It’s sweet; he cares about you, so much, and when he looks at you like this you can’t help but feel butterflies swirl in your stomach.

“I’m sorry.” It’s almost a whisper, so quiet you wouldn’t have heard if it weren’t so still already in his house.

“Hm?” You look at him, confused.

“I’m sorry he did that to you. S’not - s’not right. I mean, shit, what if you couldn’t get away?” He was spiralling.

“Hey, hey. Joel, it’s okay. I’m okay.” You set down the glass and take him in your arms. He calms, instantly, holding you tightly against him and cupping the back of your head with his hand.

“You shouldn’t have had to go through that.”

“I know.”

He sighs. “I just wanna protect you, honey.”

“I know.”

He pulls back to look at you, framing your face with his hands and running his thumbs along the edge of your cheekbones.  You lean in, letting his lips capture yours in that sweet but desperate way that only Joel can, and moan into his mouth. He slips his tongue against yours, letting one arm fall to your waist as his hand lingers around the hem of your jeans.

The kiss becomes desperate and you reach for his belt, your arousal becoming unbearable as the memory of him so full of anger and protectiveness spins in your mind like a carousel. He breaks the kiss and you groan, chasing his swollen lips with yours.

“We don’t have to do this.” His southern drawl is slick with need, his eyes closed as he rests his forehead against yours. The moment is so sweet, so intimate, that any thoughts of what had happened today were long gone and your mind was full with sweepings of him.

“I want to.”

He grunts, pushing himself further into you so his nose brushes yours like a cat. So much so, you almost purr into him, and it makes you giggle. You curse yourself as he pulls back, cocking an eyebrow and giving you that stare you’d come to know all too well; you’re a pain in my ass, it says. But the corners of his lips turn upwards, and you step forward so you’re once again pressed right up against him, pressing gentle kisses to his jaw.

“You’ve had a big shock today, sweetheart,” he sighs.

You know he’s given up. You know he needs this as much as you do. But you humour him, and tip his head down so you can kiss his lips again. 

“So make me forget.”

It snaps something within him, and you shriek as Joel sweeps you up in his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist in instinct and your head burying itself in his neck. He laughs at the sound you make, something you’d always known to be so rare for him, but that he does far more often now he has you. 

He carries you upstairs, gripping your thighs with his large hands, and the way he holds you so easily just turns you on more. He kicks his bedroom door open, all but throwing you on the bed and watching as you bounced softly on the sheets, undoing his belt that was already half-opened by your shaky hands.

“On your back. Lay your head towards me.”

You did as he said immediately, though your movements were slow, languid. He let you take your time; a part of you thinks he likes to watch you move for him, the way you put on a show, keeping your eyes locked on his and your lips slightly parted and puffy from his kiss. 

You lie on your back, your head dangling off the edge, looking up at him upside down. The hard outline of his cock is just centimetres above you, swollen already, and your desperation to taste it must’ve shown on your face because Joel groans out a soft, strangled “fuck.”

“You need this cock, baby? Need your throat fucked?” You just nod rapidly, desperate for him to do something other than just stand there and watch you, your arousal becoming unbearable. Joel seems to break, too, pulling down his jeans and boxers and gripping his hard length in his hands. 

It’s big at the best of times, but from this angle, his balls level with your eyes and his cock the only thing you can see when you look up at him, it’s painful how bad you need him.

You’d only discovered this position recently, on a night you’d spent at his place while your Dad was away with work, not unlike tonight. Joel had been floored, consumed with pleasure as the stretch of your spine made it so easy for him to slide himself through your mouth and down your throat, the muscles tensing around him and drawing his release much sooner than he’d have liked. 

He slides the head of his cock over your lips, painting them in his precum. You whine, lapping at his taste, desperate but you know better than to lift your hands off the bed. No, you give him control, and he lavishes it.

“Open up, babygirl.”

You comply, parting your lips and moaning as Joel pushes inside, giving you no time to breathe. You try to control yourself, inhaling through your nose and letting your muscles relax before he bottoms out, his groin almost entirely covering your face and your throat full of his thickness. 

It’s filthy, degrading, resigns you to nothing but his to fuck and use as he wants. 

You love it.

“Such a good girl, baby. So good for me, ain’t ya?” You can hardly even nod as your tongue flicks along a particularly swollen vein. He begins to move, pulling out almost entirely before slamming his cock back into your mouth. You moan again, and it hurts, in that delectable way that’ll spend the next few days reminding you of this moment.

Joel’s got one hand on the wooden foot of the bed, keeping himself steady. The other finds its way to your neck, and he stalls as he feels his cock beneath your skin, rapidly pushing in and out. He moans your name, his hips rocking into you harder and harder, chasing a release you knew he wouldn’t let himself have just yet. 

You’re completely at his mercy now, too consumed by his scent and his touch to think, and you hardly register him reaching for your hand and taking it in his own. He starts to mumble, and you only catch a few words - “my good girl. My girl. So- so fuckin’ pretty for me.”

He swells, your tongue working faster against him, his hand squeezing yours and his legs faltering when he suddenly pulls out and stands back with a whimper. Your eyes are glazed over, your sore throat misses him, and your pink swollen lips are trying to say something but you’re not sure what. It feels like his name.

“Come on, pretty girl, come here.” He sits beside you on the edge of the bed, wrapping his big arms around your back and guiding you into his lap. 

His fingers dance over your entrance, collecting the slick that soaked your thighs before pushing a single finger inside, revelling in your arousal. He admires you as you squirm, rolling your hips against his hand, desperate for more and moaning against his lips. 

It’s almost embarrassing how easy you unravel for him, and if it weren’t for your utter infatuation for the man, you’d have hidden your pleasure and at least tried to hold onto some sense of dignity. But you were obsessed, addicted to him, and he knew it. Because god, was he addicted to you, too.

He kisses you, letting another finger slip inside and catching your hiss with his mouth. “So fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, opening his eyes to look at you, his cock twitching against your thigh. 

“Tell me what you need, angel.”

“Y- you, Joel. I need you. Please.” You hardly register yourself saying the words, but they do the trick, as Joel removes his fingers and instead lines the tip of his cock with your soaking wet entrance. 

“Please, please, fuck me. Fuck-” 

He snaps his hips upwards, driving his cock into your cunt and you gasp as he stretches you. You grip at his shoulders, sure to leave marks, but you know he loves it. 

He sets the pace, guiding you to bounce on his cock as his hips snap upwards again and again, fucking you so hard you can almost see stars. 

His head is buried in your neck, kissing and nipping at the delicate skin, and you try to regain some autonomy and roll your hips side to side making him mewl. 

“So - oh, fuck - so good baby, keep doin’ that.” He spurs you on as your breathless moans and the heavy slap of skin on skin fills the room, lewd but addictive.

The pace is brutal, unforgiving as your thighs tremble and you wonder if he’s feeling the burn of his movements. If he does, he doesn’t show it, just ramming into you and moaning your name against your ear. 

His hand falls from your waist and finds its way to your clit, making you gasp as he circles his thumb around the spot. The near pornographic moan that falls from his lips as you roll into his touch is nearly enough to make you cum right there, but you know better than to cum before he tells you to.

Instead he hoists you further up, giving him better control of your hips, and angles his cock so it hits that perfectly raw spot deep inside you that has tears in your eyes.

“I- I’m gonna-” 

“I know, baby. Just hold on for me. I’ve got you.” You cry at his denial, though it’s quickly forgotten as he flips you over onto your back, his head still tucked under the crook of your neck, his cock still buried inside you. He resumes his fast pace, reaching even deeper inside you with your legs locked around his waist, and you moan so loudly you worry someone’s going to hear you.

Joel doesn’t seem to care as he pulls back to look at you, marvelling at how utterly fucked-out you look for him. His pace starts to falter, each thrust more desperate than the last, and he frantically pushes his tongue into your mouth as you moan in unison.

“Cum for me baby, cum all over my cock, that’s it.” You release on command, crying out as waves of pleasure spread like fire through your body, and the uncontrollable spasms of your orgasm make Joel groan as he spills inside you, still rocking into you and carrying both of your highs.

He doesn’t let his cock slip out of you as he wraps an arm under your back and rolls onto his side, holding you close as he brushes the matted hair away from your forehead and replaces it with a soft kiss. You hum, snuggling into him and trying not to gasp at the feeling of his cock inside you while you were still so sensitive. He can see you flinch and smiles, though he just wants you to rest for now.

“You okay, babygirl?” You just hum again, but he taps your chin and you look up. 

“Answer me, angel.”

“I’m good. Tired.”

Joel nods, running his hand through your hair and agreeing, “me too.” 

You’re quiet for a moment, almost dozing off as the heat that radiates from him lulls you gently to seep, when he breaks the silence again. “What’s his name?”

“Hm?” You reply, too fucked-out to really understand what he was saying.

“That little asshole. What’s his name?”

He’s looking down at you, brows knitted together, and you just sigh. “It doesn’t matter, Joel. He doesn’t matter. I promise.”

“But-“

You cut him off with a kiss, and the tension that built in his shoulders is quickly dissipated. “No ‘but’s. Get some sleep.”

“Aright,” he resigns. “I love you.”

It slips out, sudden, and he freezes before he realises the joy that’s spread across your face from his words. It’s the first time either of you have said it, and the way your eyes light up are enough to let him die a happy man. You nuzzle his nose, your hand gently lay on his chest, your eyes falling shut again. “I love you too, Joel.” He wraps you up tighter, grinning, happy. In love.. “And no asking my Dad, either.”

He scoffs, “I wasn’t going to!” You just cock a brow, eyes still shut, and though you can’t see him you know he’s rolling his eyes. “Let me get you cleaned up, sweetheart.” 

He pulls out of you slowly, making you wince at the loss, and sits up on the bed. When you can still feel his weight beside you, you crack an eye open to see him quickly typing something on his phone, and you frown. “Joel?”

He startles and drops his phone, turning to you and kissing the top of your head. “Sorry, baby, I’m going - just gimme a sec to get you a warm cloth.”

As he leaves for the bathroom you snatch his phone, already knowing what he’d done. Your Dad’s name is at the top of the screen, the chat from just moments ago still open:

What’s the name of that kid (Y/N) went out with?

Matthew Wicks, he’s the new apprentice at work. Why?

Just wondered.

You’re weird, man.

Joel creeps out of the bathroom, frozen as he sees you lock his phone. He offers a small, guilty smile, quickly wiped away as you grab his pillow and playfully launch it at his chest. 

“JOEL!”

──────

Thank you so much for reading! As ever, comments and weblogs are so appreciated, and please let me know if you'd like to be tagged in my future fics!

[eastbubble]

set in the 2000’s ;)

young!09!simon always made sure you had everything you could ever ask for, he never wanted to show it to you how much he was struggling. he could be using his last two pounds up to buy you ice cream that day but he would still pull up in his beat-up car to pick you up from school, bad quality radio blasting as he reached over to the passenger side to open the door for you from inside.

his signature sunglasses that he had been using ever since he graduated from high school always covering his deep brown eyes, proud smile on his lips while wearing that pair of oakleys. they were a size too big on his head but you just giggled and told him he’ll grow into them or whatever.

simon was just one year older than you and he took every chance to flex that he wasn’t in school anymore. he told you every single time he saw you how he was a person who was working two jobs and was earning money for himself and you! but he never told you how he had to help pay the bills at home and that was why one job wasn’t enough. you didn’t have to know.

every friday afternoon he picked you up from school because that was his only free afternoon, and he took you somewhere beautiful. he was begging his friend whose father owned a gas station somewhere two cities away from london to lend him some more fuel and he promised he’ll pay it back as soon as he could. he went to cafes to order the cheapest, plainest tea they had and he sat at the table with the most magazines on it, reading through articles made for middle-aged women about pretty places in this area. he spent hours at a gardening store, staring at the photos on the bags of flower seeds so he could grow the prettest one out for you (because seeds were cheaper than getting an actual boquet..).

he just wanted to show you the beauties of the nature around you. he wanted to show you that everything was alright and he also wanted to show you that he cared. you were his everything, you were worth everything.

and after a long walk in some kind of forest far away, after hours spent staring at the long trees just to finally find and read some kind of faintly painted sign for tourists because you two got lost somewhere, the car seat was always the comfiest bed. it was so inviting, you just sat inside the car and laid your head back against the concrete-hard headrest.

“how ‘bout a shake at maccies on the way back home?” simon asked with a small little grin, but you could only shake your head tiredly, exhaustion running through your body. you tried to collect some of your remaining energy to climb across the center console, turning yourself around and placing one knee between his thighs while your other leg was still on the passenger side. you could already see his smile widening and his eyes shining with the most love you’ve ever seen come from a man. the way he looked at you was really something not even cheesy romance movies could nail to portray.

“wa-wait, sweetheart, hold on-“ he chuckled gently while grabbing you by your waist, making sure you landed safely, right into his lap. “what’s up, baby-“ was all he could utter out before you flashed him the sweetest smile he had ever seen before, and then pushing your lips against his right after that. he was so caught off guard that he even struggled to kiss you back for a few seconds, though he quickly realized what was going on and he began kissing you his favorite way — sucking on your tongue softly.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in close as you occasionally broke the kiss to take a few fluttering little breaths and sneak in a few gentle giggles against his sweet lips. in the meanwhile, his palms and fingers were obviously roaming all over your body, mapping it all up for himself like he had done many times before but he could never get bored of tracing and curves. at this point, he could draw your entire body from memory (not like he hadn’t done it before, there were crappy crayon drawings of your pretty frame hung up on his wall).

gentle and warm hands peeled your denim jacket off of you, tossing it aside to who knows where, it couldn’t disappear in this small car anyways. his smile against your lips was huge when his heart swelled with victory, unclasping your bra so easily through your t-shirt — what a talent to have, ladies and gentlemen!

your fingers worked on unbuttoning the buttons under the collar of his striped shirt? you ran your fingertips along the little man riding a horse right above his heart, ralph lauren my ass.. did he read this in some kind of style magazine at the cafe once again? this silly guy. a chuckle left your mouth once again when you realized how much he was actually doing for you, your fingers instinctively leaving the buttons alone and then quickly moving down to the zipper of his jeans, unzipping it while hitting him with a smile that made him feel all dizzy in the head!

setting you free from your shorts, he leaned away for a second, reaching into the glove compartment on the left side of the car, fishing out a box of condoms. he was relieved when he found them there, where else would they be anyways? soft laughs escaped the tight prison of his mouth when he took one out and held it between his index and middle finger, reading the date faintly printed on it — “it’s expired..” he chuckled.

“i don’t care-“

“hm?”

“i said i don’t care, idiot.” you giggled while pulling him in for another kiss, seeing him toss the entire box aside, probably catching him incredibly off guard with your little sentence but his muscles still reacted immediately.

and just one or two minutes later you were already bouncing on his hard cock, lips always connected, if not by tangled tongues then by a thick string of saliva. how nasty! when he realized your thighs were getting sore from moving up and down all the time, he helped you, grabbing your hand that was slipping down from his neck and interwining your fingers with his bigger ones. he bucked his hips up from under you, hoping that it felt good for you.

“fuuuck..” he mumbled under his breath, that cheeky grin never leaving his lips, no matter how much he was melting away at your touch. “so good f’ me-“

and you drank all of his praises up, feeling his veiny length twitch inside of you as he was probably using all of his willpower trying to keep himself from cumming right into you that instant. his head was hitting your cervix when you sat down right on his entire cock, gently moving and swirling your hips while still keeping himself fully inside of your sweet little cunt. you once read on some kind of forum that you should try spelling out ‘coconut’ like this and even though you never really thought it would work too much, you decided to give it a try, moving your body in the shape of the circle-like letters.

he was whining, whimpering even when you were only done with the first two letters of the word, making you giggle so much upon hearing the deep breaths he took and the powerful sighs he let out. “w-what are you doing baby, feels so- so.. good-“ he mumbled out somehow.

“shh.. coconut-“ you whispered, unable to conceal your cheeky little grin.

“what..?” he laughed gently between two moans, his hips bucking upwards desperately as he was probably so damn overstimulated already, the tip of his cock continously kissing your womb. it was too much for him, his brain going foggy and stupid when you resumed your primitive little bouncing on his thick dick, his hands stuttering and clawing at your tight little butt to take handfuls of your soft fat, trying to grab as much as he could. “f-fuck, baby, i think i’ll-“

“si..” you giggled softly. goofy sex every friday afternoon. forgetting about all that debt he had piled up, forgetting about your assignments due monday and forgetting about the windows so obviously fogging up.

it was routine every week until he enlisted.

[dira333]

Caught a kiss - Amajiki x Reader

for @missalienqueen - hope this was the vibe you were looking for - Follower Celebration Request

You are going to lose your job.

It’s as easy as that and just as painful to accept.

You have less than 24 hours to deliver your final draft; all you’ve got so far are the villain's design, the hero’s parents and best friend, and a rough draft of what you want to happen. Oh, and about twelve crappy drafts of the hero, every single one worse than the one before.

The hero with the strength quirk is just a cheap version of All Might and has been overdone for ages. The hero that looks dark and sinister but is actually a sweetheart reminds you too much of former Pro Hero Eraserhead and you don’t want anyone to accuse you of using your former teacher for your work. 

One should think that coming up with new ideas comes easier after three successful book deals, but the opposite is the problem. 

.

After more than six months of creative block, you cannot hide it any longer from the publisher or your writing partner, but you will be damned if you give up before your time has fully run out.

You get up with a heavy sigh, hoping against all odds that another cup of coffee will solve your problems. 

Just as you push yourself up, an explosion goes off outside, its force strong enough to leave the floor trembling. You stumble, but your balance is off and you knock heavily into your table. Your hip and thigh hurt from the impact but you try to get up, only to be knocked to the other side by the second blast, the explosion even closer this time. 

“Here.” Someone cushions your fall with their body. You look up into a pale face, almond-shaped eyes filled with worry as they take you in. Right. It’s the person who always sits ducked into the corner booth, fully engrossed in a book every time you come in to write. So far you’ve never seen more of him than the messy indigo hair that is not hidden behind his book. You can’t help yourself but take him in now that you’re this close. His mouth is a tight line and his ears… your heart lurches at the sight of their pointed tips. It makes him look like an elf.

“A-A-Are you okay?” The man stutters and you nod, blink yourself out of your stupor only to realize that you’re leaning way too heavily into him. All he did was keep you from falling over and you’re repaying the favor by putting all your weight onto him.

“Oh, oh, I’m sorry.”

“I-It’s o-okay.” His mouth pulls into an even firmer line and he looks past you. Whatever he sees has his eyes widening and you turn to see for yourself, only to be pulled down.

“Stay here.” He insists, voice suddenly firm. “Hide in the booth.”

Another explosion rings out, the sound deafening this time. When the ringing stops, he’s gone from your side. From your new hiding space, you can see him, walking upright to the door. 

He’s a dichotomy, soft indigo cardigan wrapped around his lanky figure as if trying to protect him from the harshness of the world, but his steps are firm and his posture speaks of determination. You can tell that he knows what he’s doing in the way he utters short commands to the other people in the coffee shop.

-

The next time you see him is half an hour later when the police are taking statements.

He’s standing a bit to the side and someone must have brought him his hero costume, but you’d recognize that indigo hair everywhere, even if it’s partially hidden by a white hood. 

“I didn’t see much.” You say, eyes never leaving the guy who, in your eyes, saved the day. “After he… I’m sorry, I don’t know his name, but the Hero in the white tunic… After he stepped out, I briefly saw a group of men with black suits and black face paint. And then, a few minutes later, one of them ran this way.” You point down the street. “But he was wearing something else. Something red on his head, like a wig, maybe?”

The police officer gives you a skeptical look. “Are you sure? You’re the only one who pointed that out.”

“I mean, I could be wrong, I’m not sure if it was a wig or not. Did no one else see someone running?”

“They did, but they all agree it was a civilian.”

“No, it was definitely not a civilian. I saw his face and while it didn’t have any facepaint on, it was clear that he wasn’t frightened. He looked pissed. No civilian would run around looking like that after such explosions and a bank robbery going on at the same time, don’t you think.”

“We’ll look into it.” The officer says, noncommittally and leaves you in favor of talking to someone else. 

Your eyes immediately wander back to the hero who saved you and your legs seem to take that as an order to get you over to where he stands.

“Hi.” You start, surprised to see that he blushes instantly, head pulling back into the safety of his hood. “I-I’m sorry.” You start to stutter, “I’m normally not that forward, but I-I just wanted to tell you how amazing I thought you were.”

“T-thank you.” He whispers back and you wait, hoping for something more for him, but if he does say something, it gets swallowed by the booming laughter of a much larger man.

Fatgum, you know him from TV, steps closer. One of his hands lands heavy on the first man’s back.

“Don’t mind Suneater here. He’s a great hero, just a little shy with words. I heard you’re the one who’s convinced she spotted someone fleeing from the scene?”

“Uh, yes.” You try to catch Suneater’s eye but he’s looking at the floor as if he suspects to find the secret to immortal life down there. “But I told the police everything. I’m just good with faces, I guess. I just… I just wanted to say thank you. To Suneater, I mean. Because he saved me, in the coffee shop before.”

“Oh, he did?” Fatgum seems to find that incredibly funny because he laughs again, pulling Suneater into his side to the point that he almost swallows him whole. 

“I think he’d gladly do it again. Nothing too much for my guy. Hope we did not keep you from anything important.”

“Oh, just my draft.” You sigh, before realizing that your drawing pad is still in the shop and you have even less time now to save your job. But, there’s an idea forming in your mind just now.

“Would it… would it be okay, to use you? I mean, your hero persona, or your… likeness, for a manga?”

Suneater freezes up, elbows locking tightly against his ribs. He looks like a wooden puppet, unable to move.

“It’s supposed to be a story about a boy overcoming all odds to be a hero and when he meets the evil villain, he realizes that what he’s learned makes him the most capable to deal with him. I’ve struggled to find a story to tell but if I could… draw a hero that’s a bit shy and didn’t like attention all that much, that could resonate with a lot of children, you know? We’d call him differently, of course, and I could change the looks, but I kinda.. well, I really like your costume, it’s very…” You clear your throat awkwardly, too aware of Fatgum’s growing grin and Suneater’s growing stiffness. “Aesthetically pleasing. Yes, hmm.. It’s the aesthetic.”

“That’s a big honor,” Fatgum speaks up on Suneater’s behalf when the latter seems unable to open his mouth. “As his boss, I give you the okay. But you should leave your card or something with us so that we can have a look at the product before it gets published.”

“Oh, absolutely.” You pull a card out of your blazer pocket and hold it out to Suneater who eyes it as if it might come alive and eat him any moment. So you offer it to Fatgum who takes it with a wide smile.

-

Your drawing pad is still where you left it. You grab a new cup of coffee from the jittery barista and insist on paying for it even though she offers one for free after today’s events. 

“I’ll feel better if I pay for it,” you insist, knowing that there will be enough people taking advantage of it as it is.  

The drink grows cold next to your pad as you draw, engrossed in the story you’ve got to tell now. It’s only the time crunch you’re in that keeps you from going overboard on your hero’s features. You want to stay on the page, take your time until you get his ears right or the exact shade of his hair. In some drafts, it turns out too messy, in others too neat and you wonder if you could ask him to stand model for you, just to get a hang of the way it falls. 

Then it’s the color of his eyes. You thought they’d been a deep purple when you looked up into them hours ago, but it had been but a brief moment and you long to see them again.

It’s way past closing time when the friendly barista is finally annoyed enough to throw you out. You stumble home, eat a sandwich from the vending machine on the way up to your apartment, and get back to drawing. 

Your alarm goes off right after you put down your pen.

Your draft is finished and you lay down for a quick nap that is filled with a now familiar face. 

x

If anyone knew he was here again, Tamaki would surely lose his hero license. 

There had to be some rule against stalker behaviour but he wasn’t going to go up to HR to ask about it. 

The barista nods when he comes in, accustomed to his presence by now.

Thankfully it isn’t the same one as yesterday and this guy doesn’t seem to know he had been involved in yesterday’s shenanigans. This is embarrassing enough without people recognizing him.

He grabs his lavender tea and takes his usual seat, burying himself in the book he brought along today. “Chivalrous Hero: Crimson Riot - How I came to be” isn’t exactly his top choice of literature but Kirishima had urged him to read it and he might as well.

Nine o’clock comes and goes without any sign of you. 

He has to leave around half past ten and he can feel himself grow more and more anxious the later it gets.

Maybe you are breaking your habit of coming here after yesterday’s events.

He certainly can’t blame you for that. 

Or you realized that he’d been here every time you went there too and connected the dots. 

Surely it has to be that. No one can blame it on sheer coincidence for this long.

He should have just bitten the bullet weeks ago when he noticed you and asked you out then and there or stopped visiting when he felt his interest grow. 

Like a man, his inner voice reprimands him, sounding vaguely like Kirishima.

At ten o’clock on the spot the bell over the door chimes. He turns to look on instinct and feels the book drop into his lap without being able to catch it.

You look tired, to the point he wonders if you’ve even slept at all. Even with makeup, it isn’t hard to tell that you’re going to keel over from exhaustion any second, but still, there is a smile on your face that can rival the sun.

Your eyes move through the coffee shop, shoulders relaxing at the tune that is coming from the speakers. 

Out of habit he moves to pull his book higher to cover his face but finds his hands empty. Before he can realize why that is, your eyes cut to his. 

One, two, three seconds he feels time freeze and his heart stops beating. 

Then, just like the sun rises, your smile changes… into something almost shy and private, something he’s never seen on you before.

You duck your head and walk over, making his heart skip from non-beating to beating too fast. His blood soars in his ears and he still can’t find the damn book to hide behind. And now it’s too late for that anyway because you’re standing in front of him, the shy smile curling around your lips in a way that makes his knees feel way too wobbly.

“Can I sit with you?” You ask and he nods before he can stop himself. 

Your knees knock against his as you slip into the booth.

He takes in a breath and regrets it immediately when he can smell your perfume again. 

“I was hoping I could meet you again.” You say, pulling something from your bag. “I wanted to show you what I draw… I was… so blocked, I couldn’t draw for months but when I saw you, something clicked and I…” You stop your movements, something like a tablet in your hands. You look down in what he recognizes as embarrassment. He’s too familiar with that feeling not to recognize it on sight.

“It’s okay.” He can hear himself say. He’s not sure what he’s even trying to say, but he can feel his lips move and that’s better than what he does most days. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I should say sorry anyway. I’ve been sitting here for weeks trying to talk to you and couldn’t get over myself.”

Wait, he thinks, panic bubbling in his stomach. Did he just… say that?

Your mouth is open, your eyes wide. You certainly look like you heard what he just thought out loud.

“You were trying to talk to me?” You ask. “Why didn’t you-” You seem to realize that he’s starting to sink into himself, that he’s actively trying to merge with the booth and stop speaking. 

That’s it, he thinks. He knew it would turn out this way, he should have gotten over himself sooner.

“Here.” Your voice cuts into his miserable thoughts again, pulling him away from trying to sneak out of the booth. “Look at this.”

You turn your pad to him. There he is, or at least, someone looking a lot like him.

It’s a rough sketch of him, mid-fight. He recognizes the tentacles coming from his hands immediately. When his hands meet the monitor, the page turns and there’s the villain, telling his story of origin. There’s no text, but his face makes it clear that it’s a sad story. 

But there he is again, Suneater saving the day, hugging the villain in the end to prove that even the bad guys can be friends if you treat them nicely.

“If you want,” you say, your voice low as if you’re letting him in on a secret. “I’d like to get to know you better. Not just for this project, but… like… on a date?”

You wave your hand in front of his face. “A-Are you okay? You’re not blinking?”

“Sorry,” he chokes out, digs his fingernails into his arm to pinch himself. Yeah, he’s not dreaming. “I’m…”

“I meant it.” You assure him, put your hand where he just drew blood. “If you want. No pressure though.”

He’s still looking for words when you pull back your pad, clearly trying to give him some space.

“I… have to leave in a few minutes.” He points out, glares at the tabletop to keep his nerves. “But do you want a coffee?”

--- one weeks later ---

You’re already there when he steps into the coffee shop. You’re at work, which he can tell by the fact that you don’t even look up when he slips into the booth and puts a fresh cup of coffee next to your pad.

“Hey.” He gently pats your thigh. A few days ago that wouldn’t have been possible, but you pointed out that it’s the safest way to get your attention without messing up your work and he’s actively trying to get over himself, so there…

“Oh, hey!” You smile up at him, lean back to stretch your back out and move to press a kiss to his cheek. 

His face bursts into flames. Not literally, but figuratively and you giggle against he hot skin before pressing another kiss on his other cheek.

“Missed you.” You say nonchalantly as if that doesn’t make his heart lose a few beats.

It takes him half an hour of passive cuddling to get his heart to calm down and his brain to unmelt before he remembers what he’s supposed to tell you.

“They caught the last member of the group.” He points out when you move to take a sip of your now cold coffee.

“What?”

“The guy you saw, the one wearing a red wig? They caught him. Detective Tsukauchi said your hunch was too good to ignore and they caught him. Turns out he was the head of the gang after all. So you’re the real hero of that day.”

“What? No. It was you. Or Detective Tsukume.”

“Tsukauchi.”

“Exactly. I just pointed out something obvious. Like that.” You press your thumb against the corner of his mouth. “You’ve got something caught there.”

“What is it?” He asks, already anxious as you lean in.

“A kiss.”

His mind goes blank way before your lips meet. 

But, he supposes he doesn’t need his brain for a few more minutes anyway.

My Kofi if you want to tip me

[imshii-kin]

Good Luck

Chapter # 3 Let Dead Men Tell Tales.

Platonic Yandere Dc x reincarnated Reader

I made this a bit ago so have mercy :,)

Wattpad

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3 (You are here), Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

Can't repeat the past?... Why of course you can! - Gatsby

TW - Smoking, Addiction

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

Jason tilts his head, confused by Y/n's response. "You don't remember me? Is this some kind of prank?" He frowned, crossing his arms. Y/n nervously shifts under the older man's gaze, "You can ask Bruce, he's the one who brought me here."

Frown deepening, Jason sighs. "Of course, the old man doesn't tell me shit." He grumbled. "So you don't remember me at all?" He asked, and Y/n shakes her head.

"Hm, maybe that's for the best," he muttered under his breath. He ruffles Y/n's hair before turning to leave. "I'm going to have a little talk with Bruce." He said ominously.

Well, that sounds fun.

Watching him leave, Y/n can't help but continue to wonder what her relationship with this family was. Jason and Tim seemed to be somewhat fond of her, and Damien, well he was hard to read but he seemed to know her.

Turning back to the shelves, Y/n realizes that Jason forgot to help her get the book.

"Aw, man..."

──●◎●──

It was late and Y/n (reluctantly) went to Jason's room. She was able to sleep some, waking up only a little bit earlier and not being able to fall back asleep.

"Miss Kent? Are you awake? Bruce wants me to escort you to his office." Alfred's voice drew Y/n out of the book she had snatched from the library. She was awake, she's been awake since 3:00. 

(Why may you ask? I don't know, why are you reading this at 2:00 am hm? Or are you bench-watching some show again?)

Putting the bookmark in, Y/n slides out of bed following Alfred to Bruce's office. Once again, she can't help but admire the beautiful architecture of the mansion. There was a good mix of old Victorian architecture and modernism. They blended well, creating a tasteful style. Paintings were far from few, some looking to be quite old.

"Here we are, Miss. Kent, Master Bruce, and Young Master Richard are waiting for you." Y/n nods, entering the room. Alfred softly shut the door behind her.

"So you can tell blue bird over here, but not me?"

"Jason, please, not right now."

Y/n could feel the tension immediately. In front of her stood Jason and Dick arguing with each other, Bruce was sitting behind a desk trying to calm the massive headache forming.

Dick was wearing a dark blue dress shirt that complimented his deep blue eyes, as well as some dress pants. He was the first to notice Y/n, "Oh! Y/n you're here!" He smiled, his previous frustration gone.

"Uh... yeah." She muttered plainly. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything." Dick shakes his head, walking over to you. "Nope, we just finished talking," his gaze sharpened, "right Jason?"

Jason's first clenched tightly, glaring at his older brother. "For now."

Dick smiles at Jason for a second before he goes back to looking at Y/n. "Hi Y/n, my name is Richard, but you can call me Dick." He gives you a little wave. "I've been informed you no longer remember anything." His expression dampened, "that must be terrifying for you." He gently patted her hair.

Bruce stands, clearing his throat to get everyone's attention. "I'm sorry for calling you all here so late, but I need you all to be informed about how we will be proceeding for the next month."

──●◎●──

Y/n returns to her room, a somber feeling accompanying her. This was it, wasn't it? She was really stuck in the DC universe. Her chest ached as she remembered her life, a life of a college student, just trying to make it to finals week.

Her friends, her colleagues in that crappy job she hated. Her mother and father who, despite their money situation, supported her dream and helped her get into college. 

Tears well up in Y/n eyes. "I want to go home," she whispered to no one. She wipes her eyes quickly, not wanting to cry, and slips out the book she was reading. 

'Reincarnation of the Soul'

──●◎●──

Dick falls onto his bed with a deep sigh, exhausted by today's travel. Starfire wasn't entirely happy with him up and leaving without much explanation, luckily she was understanding with him.

Y/n... he remembers her when she was just a little kid. He remembers babysitting her and Jon, and her tagging along whenever Jon came over for a sleepover with Damien. 

He remembers when Clark got seriously injured while Louis was away and having to take Y/n in for a few months. She was just the sweetest thing, and she came over so often it was like having another little sister.

Not that she remembers any of that now. Dick frowns, all those years, are just gone. How could something like this happen? It was just awful.

──●◎●──

Jason curses under his breath, that old shit had no right to keep something like this from him. And Dick, that was a prick move he pulled back there. 

Taking a deep break, Jason slips a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket. Opening it, he takes one out using his teeth, with a flick of his lighter, a tiny flame danced into existence. He brought the flame to the tip of the cigarette, inhaling deeply as the tobacco ignited with a soft hiss.

As the smoke filled his lungs, Jason closed his eyes, letting the tension of the day evaporate with each exhale. The bitter tang of nicotine lingered on his tongue, a familiar comfort.

He had promised Y/n to stop smoking before the incident. Jason still remembers the look on her face when she first saw him smoking, a small smile on his face as he remembers a seven-year-old Y/n scolding him.

"Master Jay, I'm surprised you're still here." Jason opens his eyes, looking over to the right where Alfred stood, wise as ever. "I suppose the meeting didn't go well?" Alfred inquired making Jason chortle, "What gave that away?"

Alfred shakes his head, "Well, as much as I enjoy your presence at the Manor, I do prefer if you'd not smoke," He points to the window above Jason's head, "Especially right outside a guest's window." Alfred smiled before turning and leaving.

With a resigned sigh, Jason takes the cigarette and drops it to the floor, crushing the butt beneath his heel, extinguishing the last remnants of his temporary sanctuary. 

──●◎●──

Chapter 4

[gender-trash]

(i am seriously late in posting about this due to The Problems BUT whatever! its here now!!)

somewhere around late november 2022, i asked my dad "hey are there any out of print technical books you'd like a reprint of for christmas?"

he linked me to a dubious black-and-white pdf of Foundations of Mechanical Accuracy. now, i wound up checking out a copy through link+, and the original edition is a really nicely put together book! the chapters are themed around various types of measurements (length, angle, etc), and they all have these cute little diagrams which the endpapers reuse in a lil repeating pattern... the image captions are done in this really lovely dark red that did not scan for SHIT... tons and tons of diagrams and illustrations and images (both color and b&w)... just, all around, a fucking nice book!! (see also @morrak's post about it here.)

and that made me feel kind of bad about the crappiness of the pdf, which is where the Problems began. i used my phone to take pictures of all the photos and color diagrams in the original and went about replacing them in the pdf, using what turned out to be the world's worst pdf editing software (i also got through replacing all the image captions in chapter 1 of 5 before my dad convinced me to give up). i did NOT finish the pdf editing before christmas 2022 (i was going somewhat off the deep end, because both my housemates were away visiting family and i had zero external structure in my life so it was just me and my cat and this stupid FUCKING pdf wrecking my sleep schedule together); i poked away at it for most of the rest of my time off and then got so goddamn sick of it i put the project away for months. "it'll be a birthday gift instead", i said optimistically (my dad's birthday is in april! it should have been enough time!)

gentle readers, i did not finish the pdf editing by april. mostly because it was such a miserable slog that i put it off until the last possible moment and then tried to make up for it with another death march.

hating both myself and the project again, i decided i was Not going to let myself typeset Anything Else before it was done, and then took a break to bind my immortal (using the renegade publishing typeset! i didn't do any typesetting!!). SURELY, i said, i can finish this in time for christmas 2023.

i'm sure you know where this is going.

in my defense i DID finish the pdf editing by christmas, despite first doing every other possible procrastination project (including a second edition of the little second century warlord book), because by this point my dad had managed to convince me to lower my standards. on the evening of the 22nd i kicked off the print job and said to myself "this will finish printing overnight and then tomorrow i can work on sewing the textblock!"

late on the 23rd, after lots of babysitting and using at least one cartridge of every color ink in my printer, the print job was finally done. (my sweet and lovely cat wants SO BADLY to hunt and stalk the printer while it is printing -- more specifically, the printed pages, i think because they tend to make noise and move and then STOP moving. for this reason, the printer is kept in the craft room, because the cat can be shut out of the craft room and thus prevented from chewing on the pages when i have an all-day book printing job going. unfortunately the craft room was also being pressed into service as a guest room at the time so 80% of the floor space was consumed by an air mattress which i had to repeatedly trip over in order to reach the printer and replace the ink cartridges.)

then i went to my parents' house on the 24th and 25th and apologized to my dad (again) for not having the book finished. but this worked out well because we finished putting together my awesome new book clamp:

(the feet still aren't done being painted so they're just dry-fit on for now but you can still clamp books in it and that's what matters!!)

i came home, sewed the textblock (french link stitch over four linen tapes, with sewn endbands made of variegated embroidery floss over linen cord, and kozo paper glued over the spine)

... and promptly realized i SHOULD HAVE PUT IN MORE OF A GUTTER because some of the text was getting reeeeeeal close to the spine. "it's fine!" i said. "i just have to make sure it lays flat!! what better time than to try out K118 binding, a technique i have literally never done before and which people on the bookbinding discord notoriously have a hard time pulling off first try! i even have tyvek tape for it!"

so it turns out that tyvek tape isn't actually tyvek with glue on it, it's tape FOR attaching pieces of tyvek TO EACH OTHER, which maybe i could have guessed if i'd done even the slightest amount of research or planning. at this point i think it was the 27th and i was still angling to get this thing done by new year's, so no time to order Actual Tyvek.

fortunately, i had ALSO received An Package in the mail with yarn for a totally unrelated knitting project... shipped in a tyvek envelope.

i peeled all the shipping labels and stickers off my tyvek envelope, cut that shit up, and glued it on there.

and THEN it was time for gluing on covers, which i thought was going to be easy because i had actually thought ahead and ordered materials (specifically acid-free museum board), except when i cracked open the box of museum board i decided i Didn't Like It because the surface was too soft and easily dented, so i glued onto it the too-thin board material i'd previously been using (so that the cardboard goes on the outside of the book). this worked super well (the cardboard stuff has a tendency to curl up from the glue moisture, but the museum board doesn't!) and i'll probably use it on other stuff in the future.

i thought the blue bookcloth i used was kind of boring but i showed my dad the available cloth options and he really liked it, so... what do you know? i cut the piece i used on the back cover very slightly too short but it wound up being covered by the leather, so you can barely tell.

and the leather... a scrap just baaaaarely big enough from my bag of leather scraps from discount fabrics... and this the first time i'd ever attempted to put leather on a book... AND YET the only complaint i have is that i didn't manage to put an even amount on the front and back. it's reasonably square and straight!! amazing!!

i am super super happy with how this project came out (especially given the number of problems i encountered) and oh my god check out how much the spine bends

AND, AS A NEW YEAR'S PRESENT, I FINALLY MANAGED TO GIVE IT TO MY DAD

[christinesficrecs]

Also, these gems are still on tumblr for your enjoyment. 🧡💙🧡 here, here, here, and especially this one. Oooh, this one too.

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