#fruits bar machine

[taxi-davis]

[cedarmoonzz]

between the bars •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

followed by: once more to see you and slow like honey

fandom: gravity falls

ship: ford pines x reader

warnings: brief mention of boners, making out, angst

summary:

being engaged to the world’s smartest idiot feels like navigating a storm while he’s engrossed in his portal research. you wonder if there’s anything you can do to help him.

Three months.

Ninety-one sleepless, tormented days. 

That’s how long you’ve watched Ford, once so full of life, become a shell of himself.

Each day seems to blend into the next, weighed down by the crushing demands of his portal. His bright eyes have lost their spark, replaced by a weary, distant look that suggests he is fighting a constant battle with exhaustion. He’s always buried in his research, disappearing into a maze of endless calculations and theories, only coming up to ask for coffee, food, or help with his measurements. Each interaction is a reminder of the distance that has grown between you, making you ache for the vibrant person he is beneath all the work. It allows you to realize something.

Stanford is an incredibly stubborn man.

You count your breaths, letting the full force of Ford’s distance fill you. Once a day, only in the evening, you allow yourself to feel abandoned, lost, and alone—but only here, only in the evening, before Stanford trudges upstairs for his third pot of coffee. Afterwards, you must set these feelings aside, for there is still so much work to be done, so much still at stake.

Stanford lets you handle all the paper calculations and complex math for the portal, trusting you with the intricate details crucial to his project. Yet, despite your role, he keeps you from seeing the fruits of your labor. You are barred from the basement, the place where the results of your hard work come to life. This exclusion only deepens your sense of isolation and frustration, as you toil endlessly without ever truly understanding the impact of your efforts. The distance between what you contribute and what you’re allowed to see only reinforces the feeling of being a cog in a machine, valued for your skills but denied any real connection to the end result.

Beyond the kitchen door, you can hear your lab mates arguing. The last light of day was leaking through the fissures of the window shutters, changing shape as they paced outside, their shadows stretching to where you sit, hidden, not yet prepared to face them. Though you could not make out their words, you could detect the urgency in their voices. You pressed your palms against your eyes and sighed, then rolled up the loose sleeves of Stanford’s (now your) sweater.

With a harsh, abrupt grunt, akin to the percussive crack of a twig beneath a boot, your fiancé wrenched the splintered door open, slamming it shut with a resounding thud. You were jolted from your thoughts, having been lost in your own reverie as the unexpected noise shattered your concentration. As he stood there, his face etched with a mixture of anger and exhaustion, you could see the deep lines of fatigue and frustration carved into his features. He muttered a stream of incoherent curses under his breath, his visible irritation and weariness painting a stark picture of his emotional state.

Softly, you encouraged him. “Ford, what is it?”

He didn’t answer; he only stood, looking at you as if he might scream.

“It’s Fiddleford!” Stanford growled. “He’s speaking nonsense! Trying to propose that only bad can come from the portal we spent months on! Your calculations, my handiwork and experience? All down the drain because McGucket is scared? It’s ridiculous! I should’ve never trusted him. It seems I can trust no one with my work these days!”

His words caught you between places: you stare down at the ring that graced your finger, the tea kettle whistling, trails of steam emitting behind you, leaving you in between your selves.

“No one?” you repeat, but did not elaborate further. You did not want to be cruel to him, but now that he had insulted you (now, of all times, when you were working so hard to understand him), it was difficult to resist lashing out at him.

Ford paused, words caught between his teeth as you stood in silence. “[Y/n]… my love.” Regret crept into his voice, daring to color his words with a warmth you were sure was genuine—but rather than comfort, it only wounded you. “Of course I can trust you. This portal… It wouldn’t be possible without your work.”

It broke you—or broke what feeble grip you had on yourself, the reserves of strength you used to keep your grief and despair in check all spent.

“My work,” you spat out, almost hissing the words through clenched teeth. You threw the kettle off the stove and pivoted to confront him, closing the distance between you with two broad, angry strides. Pointing a finger at him, you seethed, “Is that all the trust you have? Just your precious portal? Ford, when was the last time you actually talked to me? I can't deal with this anymore! I followed you all the way to Gravity Falls, to the middle of nowhere, and you barely let me see the full scope of my work. Always holed up in the basement.”

Your palm remains red from the heat of the kettle’s handle, but that does not burn as bad as the heat of your fiancé’s abandonment. And still, stupidly, in spite of it all, you wanted to trust Ford. To believe that there was a reason, an explanation for all the half-truths and deceptions. You want to protect him. You want your answers. You want to see him: not a passing nod of acknowledgment, or a pat on the back as you walk past him, or a fragment of him in a dream, but his skin in the flesh, and you loathe yourself for how badly you want it… but you turn that loathing outward, funneling it through the anger, and set the air around you crackling with fury.

As you glared at him, a profound sense of abandonment and worthlessness enveloped you like a shroud. It felt as though you had been reduced to nothing more than a glorified calculator in Ford’s eyes—a mere instrument, a cog in the vast machinery of his ambitions, used and discarded with no regard for your own significance. The weight of your perceived insignificance bore down on you, each moment in his shadow a reminder of how fleeting and unimportant your role had become. The very essence of your being seemed to diminish with every unacknowledged contribution, leaving you to wrestle with the crushing realization that your efforts and sacrifices had been eclipsed by his relentless pursuit, barely noted and even less appreciated.

Stanford’s eyes met yours, narrowing ever so slightly as he took in the gravity of the moment. He measured the tension between you, a flicker of regret crossing his features as he struggled to comprehend the full extent of your pain. The silence stretched on, thick with unspoken remorse, before he finally cleared his throat, his voice betraying a hint of sorrow for the hurt he had caused and the realization of how far he had let things go.

“I'm sorry, [Y/n].” Stanford reached out to hold your waist—and did you imagine it, or did you lean into that touch, pressing your body to the warmth of his open palms? You swallowed. Softly, he asked you, “Do you want me to go?”

You shook your head, more as an excuse to look away from him than anything—now that you had reprimanded him, you realized just how close he was, and your hair fell in front of your eyes, offering you a moment of reprieve. It was difficult having him so near; when your rage subsided, you were left with a profound sense of abandonment and a wounded heart. In a voice tinged with desperation and hurt, you asked, “Why can’t you just let me help you, Ford?”

As the words left your lips, you found yourself instinctively moving closer, your breath mingling with his. The proximity heightened the tension between you, the unspoken emotions crackling in the air. Your lips nearly brushed his as you whispered, the vulnerability in your voice blending with an undeniable, charged intimacy.

“[Y/n],” he begs, but he keeps his hands around your waist. “It’s dangerous…” But even as he speaks, his head is falling towards yours, his mouth ajar and questing, breath ragged.

You lift your hand from the collar of Stanford’s lab coat to hold his face, running your thumb tenderly over the stubble that graced his sharp jawline.

“I’m just as capable as Fiddleford,” you whisper, only inches between you now, so close that you can feel his breath on your neck as you speak the words. “Let me prove myself to you.”

Ford shudders. When his eyes meet yours again, they read something within them—perhaps some hidden fate or doom—and then, he remains. He holds you in his eyes like he is weighing you, or trying to carry a piece of you away with him. With a weary sigh, he lifts his hands to frame your face instead, tracing your cheek with his thumb. He leans forward—you dare not breathe—and presses his lips to your brow, just below the line of your hair. You can feel the soft warmth of his breath against the top of your head. Your eyes sting with tears; you will your body not to shake.

“I know you’re incredibly intelligent, but what Fiddleford saw in that portal… it ruined him. I don’t want the same fate for you.” He pleads, raising a hand of his own as if to pry yours from his face, but it trembles instead, then covers yours, holding the warmth of your palm to his cheek. “It is not that simple.”

“It can be,” you insist, as you lower your other hand to rest above his frantic, pounding heart. “It is.”

The space between the two of you is shrinking before you know whether you or Ford had moved first. Then your palm was carding through the tangled brown hair at the back of his head, drawing him closer as you kiss. When your mouths first met, Ford flinched, as though he might retreat… but he parted his lips for you, and your knees weaken at the taste of his tongue. You clutched his lab coat; his hands danced across your waist to the small of your back and held you against him. His heat rose against you; you could feel him through his slacks, insistent against your thigh—

“I’m sorry,” Stanford whispers, his lips brushing against yours before he pulls away. He turns abruptly and exits the room. Without another word, he heads straight for the basement, leaving you standing there, your heart aching with the weight of unsaid confessions and unfulfilled desires. The intensity of the moment lingers in the air, a palpable reminder of the emotional distance that remains between you.

The way he looked at you was too much; so much unspoken between the two of you, so much you wish to tell him, confess to him: how he always makes you feel safe. That this whole research project, the calculations and all, had only ever been bearable because he had let you be by his side. That his presence is more valuable to you than anything; that you had treasured every moment spent with him. That you’re worried for him.

That you felt like he was in danger, and you were running out of time.

[silent-stories]

𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐍𝐎𝐀𝐇

aka spending some time with a very sleepy noah at the airport

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

The fluorescent lights overhead cast a sterile, harsh glow over the airport terminal, reflecting off the polished floor you were sitting on and highlighting the exhaustion that hung in the air like a thick fog. It was the middle of the night, and the bad weather outside showed no signs of letting up.

The storm had rolled in faster than expected, grounding flights for hours and leaving the terminal packed with travelers who all seemed to be in the same state of weary frustration.

You glanced around, noting the rows of filled seats, people sprawled across chairs, bags tucked under their heads or against their chests, trying to catch any sleep they could. It was a sea of tired faces, everyone resigned to waiting out the storm.

A few rows over, Jolly, Folio, and Nicholas had spread out on the floor, each of them settling in for the long wait. Jolly leaned back against his backpack, scrolling through his phone while tapping his fingers rhythmically against his knee. Folio and Nicholas, crouched by a nearby vending machine, were peering through the glass, trying to decide between stale pretzels and some kind of fruit bar.

You shifted your gaze to Noah. He was standing a few feet away, staring blankly at the departure board, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

Even from where you sat, you could see the fatigue etched into every line of his body. The long tour had been relentless, every night spent pouring his heart out on stage, every day moving from one city to the next, barely catching any rest in between.

You knew how much he loved it—how much he lived for the music and the energy of the crowd—but it had taken a toll. Now, with the tour finally over and the promise of home so close, the flight delay was like the final straw.

Your phone buzzed in your hand, the notification you’d been expecting. You unlocked it to check the latest update from the airline. Another two-hour delay. The flight that was supposed to take you back home was now pushed even further into the early hours of the morning. You groaned softly, rubbing your eyes with the heel of your hand.

Noah caught the sound and turned to you, his brow furrowed.

“What’s the verdict?” he asked, his voice rough, like he was fighting to stay awake.

“Two more hours,” you replied, shaking your head. “Looks like we’re not going anywhere for a while.”

He exhaled sharply, the sound part sigh, part groan. He walked over to you, his steps slow, like he had to remind his legs to move. When he finally reached you, he dropped down beside you on the floor without hesitation, his back resting against the cold wall.

The seats were long gone to other passengers, so the floor was the only option. He slumped there for a moment, his head tilting back to rest against the wall. His eyes drifted shut, his face a mask of sheer exhaustion.

“I don’t even have the energy to be annoyed,” he mumbled, half to himself.

You smiled softly, scooting a little closer to him. “I don’t think anyone here does,” you said, gesturing toward the scattered crowd around you, many of them in similar states of defeat.

He chuckled weakly, but it was a tired sound.

For a few minutes, you both sat in silence, the noise of the airport around you reduced to background static. You watched as his head slowly tilted forward, his chin dropping toward his chest.

He jerked awake once or twice, the familiar battle to stay conscious playing out in the slight twitch of his shoulders, the brief widening of his eyes. It broke your heart a little to see him like this, running on fumes.

Without thinking, you reached out and took his hand in yours, threading your fingers together. His hand was warm, his skin rough from years of playing guitar, but the contact seemed to ground him. His grip tightened around your fingers for a second, as if he was reassuring himself you were there. He glanced at you, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice barely audible over the soft hum of the terminal.

You smiled back, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Hey.”

Noah sighed, and his shoulders slumped even more, like just holding your hand had taken the last of his strength. He let out a breath, long and slow, and shifted closer, leaning into you slightly. You didn’t mind, scooting a little more to give him space. The floor wasn’t the most comfortable place, but it didn’t matter—not when he needed you like this.

After a few moments, Noah let go of your hand, moving to rest his head on your lap. He hesitated for just a second, his eyes flickering up to meet yours, almost like he was checking if it was okay. You smiled down at him, brushing a strand of his dark hair back from his face.

“It’s fine, Noah. Just rest,” you whispered, gently stroking his hair, encouraging him to relax.

That was all the permission he needed. His body seemed to melt into the floor, and he shifted slightly to get comfortable. His breathing slowed almost instantly, and within minutes, his eyes were closed, his face peaceful as sleep finally claimed him.

You looked down at him, your fingers still gently threading through his hair. He was always so strong, so full of energy when he was on stage, commanding the attention of thousands of fans with just his voice. But here, in the quiet of the terminal, he looked so vulnerable, so tired.

It was rare to see him like this, to see the weight of everything he carried so clearly written in the softness of his features. His features seemed softer in sleep, his lips parted just slightly as he breathed deeply, his body completely still.

The chaos of the terminal faded into the background as you focused on him. You kept running your fingers through his hair, slow and gentle, careful not to wake him. He shifted occasionally, nuzzling deeper into your lap, his breath warm against your leg.

Every time he moved, you smiled, feeling the quiet contentment that came from knowing you could be there for him, that you could give him this moment of peace when he needed it most.

Time seemed to pass in a blur, the minutes stretching into what felt like hours as you sat there, cradling Noah’s head in your lap, your fingers continuing their steady rhythm through his hair.

The sounds of the airport—the distant overhead announcements, the murmur of conversations, the occasional clang of luggage wheels on tile—became a distant hum, lulling you into a sense of calm.

Despite the uncomfortable floor and the exhaustion gnawing at your own body, you didn’t move. You didn’t dare disturb the fragile peace of the moment.

Noah shifted again, this time turning his face slightly toward you, his breath brushing against your thigh. His expression was so relaxed, so open in sleep, and you found yourself smiling down at him, your heart swelling with affection. It was moments like this—small, quiet moments—that reminded you just how much you loved him, how much you cherished these fleeting instants of vulnerability when he let his guard down.

After what felt like an eternity, you heard the faint ding of an announcement over the loudspeaker. The gate attendant’s voice crackled through the terminal, announcing that the weather was clearing and flights would soon be boarding. You checked the time on your phone—it had been almost two hours, just like they said. The wait was almost over.

You glanced down at Noah, who was still fast asleep, his breathing deep and steady. You hated to wake him, but you knew you didn’t have much choice. Leaning down, you brushed your fingers gently over his cheek, your touch light as you whispered, “Noah… Hey, it’s almost time.”

He stirred at the sound of your voice, his eyes fluttering open slowly. For a moment, he looked dazed, like he didn’t quite remember where he was. Then his gaze met yours, and a small, sleepy smile spread across his face.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep as he shifted to sit up, rubbing at his eyes. “Did I fall asleep on you?”

“Yeah,” you said softly, “But it’s fine. You needed it.”

He smiled, his eyes half-lidded as he leaned into your touch for a moment longer before sitting up fully. He stretched, his joints popping as he groaned softly.

Then, without a word, he leaned in, his gaze flickering down to your lips just for a second before he closed the distance between you. His lips were soft, warm against yours, and the kiss was gentle, slow, like he was savoring the moment. His hand moved to cup your cheek, his touch tender as he pulled you just a little closer.

You kissed him back, the noise of the busy terminal fading away as the world shrank to just the two of you. There was no rush, no urgency, just the quiet, sweet feeling of being with him in that moment, connected after a long, exhausting journey.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, and he smiled, his voice barely a whisper. “Thank you."

You smiled. “Always.”

As the gate announcement continued, you both stood, gathering your things, reuniting with the rest of the band, and getting ready to finally board the plane.

Despite the long wait and the exhaustion still clinging to both of you, there was a sense of calm between you—a quiet understanding that no matter how chaotic things got, you would always be there for each other.

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion

[hyunsvngs]

𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲 - han jisung x gn!afab reader (side lee minho x gn!afab reader)

wc: 5.6k

rating: 18+. MDNI

cw: best friends fuckin, gender neutral pronouns used but reader is afab, jisung being stupid, minho being slay, smut warnings under the cut!

synopsis: after spending a night with the man of your dreams, your best friend won’t look you in the eyes or reply to your texts. what did you do wrong? nothing - he just wants you.

a/n: part two of the fratboy series!! i really hope you guys enjoy this one bc bratty ji means so much to me :D

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

sw: ji is a brat, reader is dom in this one, READER IS MEAN (JISUNG LOVES IT), face slapping, oral (reader rec), dirty talk, degradation (ji rec), pussy drunk!jisung, cum eating, slight edging (both)?

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You woke up the next morning feeling incredibly satiated, for once in your life. Minho had managed to fulfill a lot of kinks that you didn’t even know you had, realistically, and you praised yourself for being so dumb to announce that you wanted to be his sex slave last night. The dominant man had given you more than enough attention, and you knew you’d want to come back for more. 

Waking up in Minho’s bed didn't feel strange, weirdly enough. He’d headed out early, and left you a little plate consisting of a tall glass of water and a snack with a note saying that he had to leave for his shift at work, and that he was sorry. You grinned at the note. He was courteous enough to do that even after fucking your brains out the night before. You’d eaten the snack - a simple assortment of fruits - and downed the water, before heading home for the day. 

After a shower and a clean outfit a lot more casual than what you’d worn the night before, you felt fresh and ready. Well, as fresh and ready as you could be considering you’d tried to phone and text your best friend multiple times since leaving the frat house and he’d literally been ignoring you.

You blinked down at your phone, seeing another text sent by you to Jisung that had simply been left on read. You’d even tried to phone him, but he’d let it go straight to the answering machine. After the third ‘this is legendary rapper J.One, spit bars after the beep’, your patience had run thin. You were confused, obviously, because what the fuck had you done to bother him so much? He was fine with you sleeping with Minho last night, and he honestly had no right to be angry about it when him and Felix had been so fucking persistent about it. Speaking of, you wondered if the resident sunshine had any idea what you’d done to the other member of your triad. 

You quickly went onto the contacts app, clicking Felix’s name that was fortunately close to the top, given your late night group FaceTimes with Jisung. He answered almost immediately. 

“Hey, angel. What’s up?”

You blanched. You hadn’t gotten this far in your plan. “Hey, Lix. I was just wondering, um… have I done something to annoy Jisung? He’s like, completely leaving me on read when I text him and he’s refusing to answer any calls.”

Felix went silent at the end of the line. “Oh, right. Yeah.”

“... What does that mean?” 

“His room is next to Minho’s, you know, and he was in bed when you fucked Minho. He woke up not too long after you put him to bed,” his deep voice was anything but comforting. “He heard everything.”

“Oh. Okay. Why is this a problem?” You three knew everything and anything about each other, and you’d literally exposed your undying lust for his older frat brother the night before. What’s the big deal? Also, given the state Jisung was in last night, you were honestly shocked he remembered hearing anything, let alone actually waking up. You’d actually thought he’d be out for the count, sleeping all day and nursing a horrific hangover after too many of his Hanji Supremes.

“Well, you know Ji. He’s insanely horny. It turned him on and now he’s terrified to look into your eyes because he’s thinking about it.”

Oh. Oh. He was thinking about you and Minho? Was it Minho he was focused on, or you? You went silent on the line, and after a few times of Felix repeating your name to get your attention, you finally answered. 

“Right. Right, yeah. That makes sense. Thanks for clearing that up, Lix,” you replied, still quiet. You weren’t too sure how to address it. “What do I do?”

Felix’s deep chuckle resounded over your tinny phone speakers. “Apart from fucking him senseless, I don’t think anything else could help him here unfortunately.”

You raised your eyebrows. Had you thought about that before, fucking your best friend? Of course you had. You were no stranger to Jisung’s sexual preferences in bed, knowing that he liked to be a brat and be treated a little meanly by someone powerful. ‘A little’ being an understatement, actually. It was something you were no stranger to, and honestly, you knew that if you ever wanted no-strings-attached sex, it would be Jisung you’d go to. No thought needed on that one. You knew Felix was probably joking, but it was making you think on the topic. Could you do it? Could you fuck your best friend?

Yeah. Yeah, you could. It had you wondering if Minho would mind, but you quickly shook that thought out of your head. You’re not together. You can have a bit of no-strings-attached sex with your friend.

You hummed, nodding. “Okay. I can do that.”

“W-Wait, Y/N, I was-” You hung up the line, a determined set to your jaw. You were gonna go to that frat house and find out what the fuck had gotten up Jisung’s ass - if Felix was right, then he was going to have the time of his life. If he was wrong, then you had another situation to solve, which would be no problem. You had some weird feeling that Felix was right, though.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You arrived at the frat house, narrowing your eyes at the front door. Something about it seemed so offending to you. The fact that one of your two best friends was in there right now, wallowing in loathe and hatred for you just because he wanted you to be mean to him? You could do that. You knew that you could be a little mean. You also knew that you were making some vast assumptions. You swung open the door, not caring about knocking, and started to storm up the stairs to Jisung’s room.

“Damn, Y/N, back for more already-” You ignored Seungmin’s quip as you stormed up the stairs, and swung open Jisung’s bedroom door. It was messy, as usual, clothes strewn everywhere that were probably both dirty and clean. Random cans of pop were sitting on his desk and his skateboard was propped up against the wall, looking like it had seen better days. His bed wasn’t even made. You resisted the urge to chastise him on the mess and instead stared straight at his sitting figure, hunched over the desk staring at his laptop, his large over-ear headphones resting on his head. The music production major hadn’t even noticed you’d come in, head bobbing to the beat blasting through the headphones. He was in work mode. 

Fuck work mode. You stormed over, ripping the dark blue headphones off his head and throwing them onto the desk. He turned to you, round eyes immediately widening further and jaw dropping slightly. His cheeks had already begun to burn crimson. You felt a bit bad, sighing at his facial expression. You were becoming soft already. “Sungie, honey, what’s wrong? What did I do?”

“I-” Jisung stared at you. He was unable to form words, tugging at the sleeves of his oversized black hoodie. “Nothing. I didn’t expect- why- you’re here?”

You raised your eyebrows. You weren’t too convinced that Felix was right anymore, with Jisung being a ball of nerves and anxiety in front of your very eyes. You immediately started rambling, unable to stop yourself. “Yes, I’m here, because my best friend was leaving my texts on seen and wasn’t picking up my calls. Which you never do, you can’t ever shut the fuck up. You can’t blame me for thinking I’ve done something wrong here, Sungie. You didn’t seem to mind last night, and I’m sorry if I made it weird by sleeping with Minho, but-”

“N-No!” Jisung stammered out. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his joggers, before throwing his head in his hands and sighing. He looked about five seconds away from kicking out his feet and screaming. “Not done anything wrong. You haven’t, I mean. I have.”

You were no stranger to Jisung when he was like this, stumbling over words and not able to get his point across. You sat cross legged on the floor in front of him, just patiently waiting, speaking with a soft voice. “Just tell me, Sungie. Is it something we can fix?”

“Yeah. No. Yeah. Okay. Maybe. Like, so… you’re gonna think I’m a freak.”

“I always think you’re a freak, Jisung.”

Jisung scoffed, flicking your forehead. He spun on the computer chair to face you. “Shut up. Do you want to know or not?” You nodded eagerly, resting your hands on his knees. He looked at your hands as if they’d offended him, as if they’d framed him for murder or something. “I- I- Okay. Okay! Haha. Yeah. Okay, so basically, I heard you and Minho last night. Room’s next door, y’know?”

You pursed your lips. “Makes sense. Thin walls.”

“Thin walls,” Jisung agreed, nodding. He looked dazed, eyes fixating on the wall behind you. He ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the strands in hesitation. “It’s just- you know. Minho was mean.”

“Y-Yeah.” You tried to avoid thinking of last night with Minho as if it hadn’t plagued your dreams afterwards anyway. In reality, you were getting sick of this conversation. Surely he could give you a little more here? You weren’t a mind reader.

“Yeah. He was mean. I guess it… yeah, okay, it turned me on. I wanted to be… like that,” Jisung mumbled. He was still staring at the wall, but his eyes were narrower, as if he was really focusing on something. Probably the memory of what he’d heard. “Not like Minho. I wanted to be like you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You… wanted to be like me? With Minho? That’s okay, Jisung-”

“No!” He practically screamed, jolting up off the chair. He started to pace, running his hands through his hair even more, before shaking his head. He pointed at you with an incriminating stare. “Well, I wouldn’t be opposed. But I was thinking of you as Minho, and me as you. You get me?”

You almost gasped out loud. So, Felix was right. “Y-You want me to be… mean to you, Jisung?”

Jisung stopped pacing. He was almost vibrating with nerves and excitement. “I- Yeah. Yeah, I do. I know it’s weird, because you’re my best friend, but I-”

You found yourself speaking before you’d even planned on saying anything. “Did that get you all hot last night, Sungie? Did you jerk off hearing me and Minho, and wishing it was me being nasty to you?”

Jisung blinked. For a moment, you thought you’d gone too far, and his round eyes simply stared directly into your soul. You began to speak, to apologize, to say anything to diffuse the tension, but Jisung was shifting on his spot, jumping from foot to foot. He started pulling at his joggers, lithe fingers yanking the fabric every which way and- oh.

Oh. He was hard. Painfully so.

It hit you then, how much you wanted your best friend. You’d always been attracted to him, you weren’t blind, but you’d always strictly put each other in the friendzone. Maybe some friendly fun could be okay? It was convincing when he stood in front of you, all messy chestnut hair and pouty lips that begged to be kissed, maybe even bitten. He was pitching what looked like a very uncomfortable tent in his joggers, sweater paws pulling at the cotton uncomfortably. 

You let out a breath of air, staring at his bulge. If you squinted just right, you could probably see the definition of it. “… J-Ji, do you want to…?”

“God, Y/N, please.” With those words, you shot up from your seated position and pushed him up against the wall, his back hitting it with an almost silent thud. He gripped your shirt immediately, clenching his fingers tight around the cotton and looking as if he was going to burst out of his own skin at the anticipation. You slammed your lips together, teeth clacking and making the kiss not at all friendly but the whine Jisung let out was worth it. You could smell his cologne, something that smelled faintly of flowers but still so Jisung. 

He breathed heavily into the kiss as you pressed your tongue into his mouth, using one hand to reach up and pull on his hair softly. He whined again at this, hips just barely moving forward from the wall in an attempt to gain friction. Desperate, you mused, and the revelation didn’t shock you at all. You pressed your body further against his, pinning him against the wall covered in miscellaneous rap posters and hearing the paper crinkle behind him. You pulled away from the kiss, just letting your head stay close to his so that your wet lips were still brushing against his pouty ones to tease him. It worked - he looked like he was about to die if you didn’t kiss him again.

Tentatively, you took your hand from his hair and moved it downwards to wrap around his neck, squeezing the sides. You could feel his heartbeat, quick and heavy against your fingertips. His cheeks were flaming, bright crimson and his chest heaving underneath the thick fabric of his hoodie.

“P-Please. Please, I- Been good, I’ve not been bad, not been a bad boy-“ You huffed at his babbling, shoving your free hand down his joggers. When meeting the lack of boxers, you laughed internally. It was just so Jisung to work on music with no underwear on. It wouldn’t surprise you if he had nothing under his hoodie either. 

You tightened your fingers in a ring around the base of his length instantly, brushing past the smattering of dark hair on his pubic bone. He was thick, heavy in your hand and absolutely pulsing with need. He instantly let out a rather high pitched moan and writhed, trying to fuck into the tight ring you’d created around his cock. “You’ve not been bad, huh? Explain to me why such a good boy was jerking off to his best friends fucking last night then, Sungie.”

Jisung writhed, hands flying up to grip your shoulders. You started to jerk him off at a languid pace, taking your time and staring into his eyes. He looked like he was trying to answer, brain running a hundred miles per second but no words came out of his mouth, only incoherent babbles. You raised your eyebrows mockingly. “Good boys fucking answer when they’re asked a question.”

Jisung simply blinked at you, unabashed moans still tumbling out from his dropped jaw. His eyes were darting between your hand, still moving at a slow pace, and your eyes, soft but menacing. You tore your hand away, his fingers immediately digging into your shoulders in protest.

“N-No! No, didn’t- I didn’t mean to, was just- hnng.” He was struggling to get his words out, toes curling in his socks against the carpeted floor and his eyes watering with tears. “Please. ‘M so hard, Y/N, please. Fuckin’- make me cum, Jesus-”

“I know you’re fucking hard, obviously I can see that. It’s pathetic,” you scoffed. “Get on the bed. Don’t make me repeat myself again.”

The doe-eyed boy nodded frantically, throwing himself onto the bed. He sat down, gripping at the hem of his sweatpants. 

“Off. Take ‘em off,” he mumbled, staring up at you with a glint in his eye. Oh, he was doing this shit deliberately, wasn’t he? Why couldn’t he just take them off himself? “Please?”

“Fucking brat,” you muttered. You were in disbelief, in all honesty. Your best friend was a slut. It almost made you imagine what Felix was like in bed, if he’d be good for you or if he’d be an absolute brat like Jisung, or maybe he’d want you to be good for him like Minho did. You leaned forward, gripping his cheeks between your thumb and your index finger. His cheeks squished together comically, but he was still looking at you expectantly. You almost folded when you realized. “You want me to slap you?”

“Fucking- yes,” He groaned, trying to nod frantically, your fingers preventing him from doing so. You pulled your hand back, reaching back and delivering a slap to his round cheek. He immediately reeled with the sensation, bucking his hips up into thin air. “O-Oh. Yeah. Harder, harder, hit me harder-“

“You are so fucked up,” you said, in full shock. Your eyes were wide but you tried to hide it, shaking your head and sighing. You gave him another firm slap to his cheek, the same one, making him whine. “You are so fucked up, Jisung. You like being slapped in the face?”

He looked up at you, a stupid grin on his face. His cheek was smarting red from the abuse. “You’re even more fucked up. You like slapping me-“

You pushed him down by his shoulders, yanking his joggers off with one hand and keeping your other hand on his upper body to keep him still. He immediately yanked at the fabric of his hoodie, and you sighed, releasing your grip on him for him to pull that off too.

Immediately, planes of milky skin were exposed to you, the hinting of abs underneath his skin from gym nights with Changbin making you feel like you could drool. His cock laid hard against his tummy, hard and leaking amidst the hair adorning his pubic region. He was so fucking shameless. He was getting off from you hurting him, and being mean to him, and he didn’t give a fuck about it. 

Jisung smiled, revealing his pearly white teeth. He leaned up on his forearms. “Like what you see?”

“Oh my God, do you ever shut the fuck up?” Jisung shook his head at your words, still smiling. You rolled your eyes, pulling your t-shirt and sports bra off with ease and revealing your chest. His eyes immediately went down to the exposed skin, his smile dropping. It was your turn to smile. “Maybe if you’d have been good, I’d let you have them in your mouth. But no. You’re just fucking filthy, Jisung.”

Jisung looked up at you, chest heaving and flushed with a deep blush similar to the shocking color on his cheek. He’d started to shift around impatiently against his messy bedding. “Filthy. ‘M- Yeah. Yeah. I am. Sit on my cock now,” You narrowed your eyes at him writhing on the sheets. “Please?”

You scoffed. You wiggled your own joggers off, leaving your underwear covering your core. “You think it’s that easy? Not everyone gets as turned on as you so fucking fast. No, I’m gonna sit on your face and you’re gonna at least try to put those lips to good use. It’s the only thing that’ll make you shut the fuck up.”

Jisung let out a squeal as you crawled up onto the bed, shuffling on your knees until your clothed core was right above his lips. He immediately latched his lips onto your clit, soaking the fabric with his spit while he sucked hard. His hands went up to your ass, gripping tightly - you allowed him to have that small success.

He was a lot more precise than you’d expected, licking over and over again at the fabric until it was sodden and practically falling off of your core. Maybe it was due to his rapper tongue. You’d been trying not to let out noises all the way through, simply letting out some pleased sighs and gasps when his tongue flicked a certain way. The fabric was restricting though, not allowing you to feel his tongue properly. 

“There you go, that’s good enough. You can move it to the side now baby,” Jisung nodded between your legs, slender fingers coming to hook into the hem of your underwear and revealing your core. You were briefly shocked he’d even listened to you. It had, admittedly, become wet all from you making out and touching his cock a little earlier, but you’d never admit it if you were to keep up this persona that he so desperately craved. He whined at tasting you properly, wide licks cleaning up the mess between your folds and making your thighs twitch at the sensation. 

He was moaning into your core, shifting his hips up as if he was chasing your hole when it wasn’t even above his cock. You heard him mumbling something in between licks and you lifted off, allowing him to speak.

“Just- Just, please, sit on my cock. Please. Look’it,” Jisung’s lips were covered in a clear sheen from your pussy, his eyes wet with tears. He looked thoroughly broken. He hadn’t even made you cum yet, you mused, but in a moment of relent you lifted yourself off of his face and turned to look at his cock. It did look pathetic, actually, laying against his tummy in a pool of dribbling precum and steadily still leaking more. His hands went to grip the sheets, trying to avoid pumping his cock. You felt for him, just a bit, because you didn’t think you had ever seen a cock that wet in your life. 

“Oh, baby, look at that,” you falsely cooed, dragging your fingers down to pick up some of the precum on his soft skin. He whined, nodding at your words. You pressed a finger into your mouth, watching Jisung stare at you intently while you hummed at the taste. It didn’t taste of much, just with a bit of a salty aftertaste. “That’s pathetic. Look at all that going to waste, huh?”

“‘S not- Can’t help it,” Jisung mumbled. You’d officially broken him, you thought. Gone was his bratty behavior and it was replaced with watering, big brown eyes and a quivering pouty bottom lip. “Need your pussy. It’s so wet, I know you need it too, I-“

You pressed your finger into the pool of precum again, coating your index and middle finger and pressing it into Jisung’s mouth to effectively shut him up. He moaned around your fingers, tongue swirling around the pads as if he was sucking a cock. You laughed in disbelief, shaking your head.

“Now that’s fucking filthy. Do you like tasting your own cum? That’s pathetic, Sungie,” Jisung moaned at your words, vibrating around your fingers in his mouth. He started to try to babble around your digits, making you pull your hand away from his face.

He licked his lips, panting. “Not cum. Haven’t cummed. It’s just wet ‘cause I need you to sit on it, ‘kay?” You sighed, acting disappointed.

“Hmm, I guess I could have some mercy. You gotta make me cum though, Sungie, or you’re not cumming. Does that sound okay to you?” You shimmied off your underwear, dumping it on the floor next to his clothes.

“Yeah! Yeah! I can make you cum, yep! You just gotta- it’s- sit on it, I mean, will fill you up-“ You moved again, straddling his hips and resting your hands on the hints of his abs, soft skin beneath your palms. You lowered your now naked core over his length, solid and hot in between your folds. You started grinding along his dick, and Jisung looked fit to burst. “Are you- please! I can’t take it anymore, ugh!”

You shook your head. “Fucking brat. Beg.”

“Yeah, please, fuck please! Please, please need your pussy on my cock, please. I know I don’t deserve it, I know I’ve been bad,” Jisung spoke all in one breath, leaning up on his forearms to look at you. Your teasing had now caused fat tears to actually fall from his eyes, making you feel a bit bad. Maybe you had wound him up enough. “Shouldn’t have- shouldn’t have cum to you and Minho, I know, but you- could hear you moaning and I-“

You cut him off, raising a little to grip his length and sinking down onto it in one go. You shut your eyes, clenching them tightly while you adjusted to the size that was now pulsing against your walls. He was thick. The angle made sure that he was stretching out your hole perfectly, not too much to be uncomfortable. It made you let out a pleased sigh. You hadn’t had this privilege with Minho, just sitting there and letting yourself adjust, but then you’d loved it-

Before you could begin moving, Jisung flipped you over, beginning to thrust into you frantically. You jolted at the movement, letting out a loud moan. “Jesus- Jisung!”

“S-Sorry, sorry, no- I need to, fucking hell- gotta cum,” he was fucking into you at a quick pace, babbling about how good you felt around him. He’d grabbed your hips, pulling you up to meet his thrusts while he just used you as his fucktoy, eyes rolling back into his head.

“Y-You filthy fucking boy, look at you. Give you a bit of pussy and you get all fucking delirious, it’s p-pathetic,” You managed to get out. Jisung let out a loud moan at that, hips faltering. “Can’t even fuck me right, can you?” 

“Yeah! I can, I can, I’ve had loads of pussy,” Jisung mumbled, shifting his hips a little bit to try and get a better angle. He was working hard to please you, and in all honesty it did feel really good, but he was clearly getting off on being told otherwise. With an extra shift of the angle inside of you, he was pounding into your g-spot, making you falter and groan out loudly. “There. There! Told you, can make- oh fuck- can make it feel good- hnnnnng!”

You could feel the slick slide of his cock into your pussy, thrusting in and out and him moaning louder as he felt it get wetter with your arousal. It was dirty, extremely messy especially as you both worked together, thrusting against each other desperately for release. You gripped his biceps, fingers digging into the muscles as moans started to fall out of your mouth unabashedly.

“Oh God, baby, my baby, gonna cum-“

“Sungie, Sungie, wait, let me…” you reached down with two fingers and started to rub against your clit, thighs twitching with pleasure. You rubbed fast and quick, merciless as you tried to reach your orgasm with your best friend. His thrusts were staccato, uneven, but you rubbing your clit made up for any lost pleasure in the change of tempo. 

You quickly felt your high fast approaching, biting up your spine with the energy of a supernova. Domming Jisung like this had turned you on beyond belief, and finally having him put some effort into fucking you - well, you knew it wouldn’t take long. Your fingers were slipping as they rubbed across your bundle of nerves, but you pressed harder into the button and let the ecstasy overtake you.

Your toes curled as you finally let go. You bit into your lip to try not to moan out too loud, but small moans and whimpers still left your mouth at the intense feeling. Jisung had surprisingly hung on to the edge, watching you intently as you came and slowing his hips to a slow grind so that he didn’t cum inside you. You let your hand fall to the side as your orgasm finally subsided, chest heaving and bottom lip bitten raw. 

Jisung pulled out, pumping his cock erratically. His breath was heavy, whines falling out as he used your cum as lubricant to let himself orgasm. “Baby, where do I..?” 

You smiled. “Can do it on my tits if you want, Sungie.”

He moaned loudly at this, shuffling up to press his cockhead between your tits. It slid around messily with yours and his combined juices, but he quickly started grinding it down against your skin. It only took one, two, three thrusts before ropes of hot cum were flooding from his tip and even landing on your chin, making you stifle a giggle. He was loud, whining and sobbing through his orgasm as if you’d just given him the best thing he’s ever received in his life. You probably had.

He rubbed his thumb over his cockhead, finishing his orgasm before slumping to your side. 

“Fuckin’ wow. That was so good, oh my God. You’re totally such a good Dom, like what the fuck!”

You huffed. He really does never shut the fuck up, does he? “Ji, maybe stop talking and get me a towel?”

“Oh! Oh, right, yeah. Totally. I gotchu,” He shot you finger guns before hopping up off the bed, totally not bothered by being fully naked in front of you. He grabbed a small face towel from his drawer - it was surprisingly clean - and came over to you, wiping you delicately. You felt touched that he’d actually wiped you clean. It was Jisung, after all. It wouldn’t have shocked you if he’d licked it up. He stood up afterwards, wiping his now soft cock with a clean part of the towel.

You groaned as you heard your phone chime with a new text, leaning over to grab it from the pocket of your trousers on the floor. Your heart almost stopped beating.

It was Minho. Apparently, his shift had ended, and he’d texted you with a quick ‘come to my room when you’re done’. You gasped. Jisung quickly ushered around the bed with the de facto cum towel to read your phone over your shoulder.

“Oh shit. You totally got in trouble for fucking your best friend.”

You slapped him on the shoulder. “Shut up, Jisung!” You looked back to the text message, and typed a quick ‘sure’. You blushed, anxiety mounting in your stomach. “I hope he’s not mad.”

“Doubt he will be,” Jisung chirped, pulling a clean pair of boxers on. “Your high sex drive and thing for frat boys hasn’t gone unnoticed by any of us, Y/N. He knew what he was getting into by ruining that pussy-“

“Jisung, I hate you. Why did I fuck you again?”

“Because you wanted to see me cry.”

You huffed, pushing past him to put your clothes back on. Your hair was mussed up, and you knew you smelled of sex. Trying to push that thought aside, you quickly shoved your socks back on before going to make out the door. 

“Hey!” You turned around to face Jisung. He didn’t even look sheepish, standing there with his hands on his hips and tapping his foot. “Got anything to say to me?”

Rolling your eyes, you gave him a quick “love you, Ji” before leaving his room. You heard him sing-song an affirmation back to you, but you were already making your way into Minho’s room, not bothering to lock the door.

He was laying on his back, dressed more comfortably after work and with his laptop propped in his lap. You tried not to die just looking at him. Minho turned to you upon entry, raising an eyebrow. “Have fun?”

You hopped from foot to foot. “Y-You’re not…?”

“Mad? Why would I be?” Minho shoved his laptop off of his lap. He sat up, stretching nonchalantly before looking at you again. “You thought I’d be mad because you fucked Jisung? Very loudly, may I add?”

“W-Well, it was… this morning, it was-“

“Intimate? I’m aware,” He stood up, stalking towards you. “I think we should get one thing straight. I don’t care who you fuck. Hell, tick all my brothers off your list if it’s what makes you happy, but you better fucking remember that pussy belongs to me.”

“I-“

“Say it.”

“My p-pussy belongs to you, Minho,” You sigh, cheeks blazing, looking at him standing in front of you. He cocked his head to the side.

“Great, because I’m very aware that no one can ever make that pussy feel the way that I made it feel,” He returned to his sitting position on the bed, leaning back. “Fuck my frat brothers. I couldn’t care less. It’s me you’re coming home to at the end of the night - you did say you wanted to be my sex slave after all, right?” 

You nodded. “So, you really don’t mind?”

Minho shook his head, a cocky smile on his lips. “Like I said, babe. Tick them all off your list if you want to, but you better be sitting on my cock afterwards telling me all about it.”

Your jaw was officially dropped lower than it ever had been. Why did Minho have to be so fucking hot? You couldn’t cope. You couldn’t fucking breathe. You needed him biblically. Practically rushing towards him, you straddled his thighs easily and attached your lips to his in a desperate kiss. His hands went to your ass as if he’d been expecting it, because he probably had.

Tick them all of your list, though?

Now that sounded like fun.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

taglist: @moasworld @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @queenofthegardengnomes @boomfrogg @hoeinthehouse @msaddictions @sunnyhonie @hizliyuruyen @jyu037 @jouoy @drhsthl @seungincore @jellylver @veedoesntknaur @meloncremesoda @k-poplv @livieloo914 @fekixfmp @fawnpeaks @minnielvr @imastraykidsfan @hanjisung2023 @hoelynecujoh @kyrviu @sxgeofprohets @everydreams-penumbra @chaneomma @kkissreol @secretjj @phtogravi @princelingperfect @personawthai @dirah-h @straykids5star @luvhyux @chuuswifereal @stg110 @cookiesandmilfx @number1seungminstan @starsandrqindrops @poody1608

[garfieldblunt]

RIP VDL Gang y’all would have loved pt. 2

Dutch- GoFundMe, Cruises

Arthur- Ford F150s, art classes

Hosea- Podcasts, Audio Books

John- Monster Trucks, Pro wrestling

Javier- fruit flavored tequila, concerts

Abigail- Baby Monitors, AirTags

Jack- Pokémon Go, Minecraft

Uncle- Massage chairs at the mall

Micah- 4Chan, Rage Bait

Kieran- Starstabel online, webkins

Sadie- Rage Rooms

Josiah- monopoly, being an America's got Talent Judge

Swanson- Dry Bars, mocktails

Pearson- Iron Chef, Air Fryers

Grimshaw- Lint rollers, sewing Machines

Molly- Get Ready With Me tiktoks

Tilly- Crochet, Debate Club

Mary Beth- Character A.I.

Charles- animal shelters, animal documentaries

Bill- a small, white, little yappy dog, he named Bella

Lenny- doulingo or anything that could teach him a new language

Sean- wet tshirt contests

Karen- Improve Classes, Victoria Secret Perfumes

[little-cereal-draws]

Because we need more of this trio

Eurylochus: Hey, aren’t you Odysseus? Odysseus: You a cop? Eurylochus: No. Odysseus: Then yes, I am.

-

Odysseus: Eurylochus always accuses me of having a favorite but that’s not true. Odysseus: I love Polites and all the not-Polites equally.

-

Polites: If you could guess, how many brain cells do you have? Odysseus: Dorito’s cool ranch. Polites: Polites: I'm just gonna assume zero for now. Odysseus: I love that song.

-

*on the boat* Odysseus: Anything else? Eurylochus: Yeah. Stay away from me! Odysseus: Alright. See you in the room we share.

-

Odysseus: Polites told me that brown is just navy orange, and I have never been more disappointed with something I agree with.

-

Odysseus: I’m having salad for dinner! Polites: Odysseus: Well, fruit salad. Odysseus: Actually, it’s mostly grapes. Polites: Odysseus: Okay, it’s all grapes. Odysseus: Fermented grapes. Polites: Odysseus: Polites: Odysseus: It’s wine. Odysseus: I’m having wine for dinner.

-

Polites: I'm going to take a shower, I'll be right back. Odysseus: Why are you telling me this, I don't care. Odysseus, right after Polites leaves the room: I miss him already.

-

Odysseus: I’m the smartest, wisest person in this group. Eurylochus: Really? Then why is your hand stuck in a vending machine? Odysseus: I paid for my Mars Bar, I’m getting my Mars Bar.

-

Polites: I have a bad feeling about this, guys. Odysseus: Oh don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Eurylochus: Yeah, what’s the worst that could happen? Polites, being bailed out of jail the next morning: I hate you all.

-

Odysseus: Why does my arm shake and turn bright red when I’m eating dirt? Eurylochus: Eurylochus: Why are you eating dirt? Odysseus: Did I ask you if I should eat dirt? No, so answer my question.

-

Polites: I hope you have an explanation for this. Eurylochus: We have three, actually! Odysseus: Pick your favorite.

-

Now I'm an aroace Polites truther all the way but this was too funny

Eurylochus: Can you come out? Polites: Yeah gimme a minute… Polites: Eurylochus, I’m gay. Eurylochus: I know that. Come out to the car. Polites: Okay. Polites: Car, I’m gay.

[marsbutterfly]

Headcanons: The Five Senses Of The Human Body After Losing Hanji Zoe

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts since last year, since part 3 part 1 came out. I miss them. I miss them a lot :(

warnings: fem!reader, grief and mentions of hanji's death. NSFW once you get to touch: masturbation, dildo riding, praising, crying afterwards.

You see Hanji in the old books that collect dust in the old shelves in your room. The pages that never got the pleasure of being touched by their fingers, the words on the pages that never once got to see those whiskey brown eyes.

You see Hanji in the apron that hangs in the kitchen, still covered in flour from the cake they tried to bake not long ago. They kept saying they would wash it and get it clean before baking again but they never actually got the chance to do it.

You see Hanji in the box of extra sets of glasses that sits on top of the dresser. Actual frames and battle frames, broken glasses and brand new ones they never even got the chance to wear.

You see Hanji in the stack of paperwork they left behind. Unfinished drafts for new flying machines, titan experiments with Armin's Colossal Titan, a few half-written love letters dedicated towards you that you had never read until a few days ago.

You see Hanji in the dark corners of the bedroom, where their jacket hangs from the chair. A spot you haven't touched in weeks, if not a month. Not since before the rumbling even started because you know they were very particular about the places they kept their things.

You smell Hanji in the dirty bed sheets they left behind. The covers are still messy and thrown around, half hanging from the bed as you haven't had the courage or the strength to fix it. You can still clearly see the image of their body laying around naked, an arm over their face while their leg is on top of yours.

You smell Hanji in the half empty bottle of shampoo and conditioner in the bathroom. In the soap bar that has been broken in half because they couldn't find a replacement, so they tried their best to make it last.

You smell Hanji in the field of flowers right outside the city, a place where the two of you would go whenever they needed time away from the job as the commander. Sunflowers had always been their favorite.

You smell Hanji in the rain that pours outside your window. The memories of when they would go outside and allow themselves a few minutes of peace and quiet, just feeling the water against their clothes and their skin, moments that the two of you could share together.

You smell Hanji in the dirt, no matter where you go. Gardening had always been an activity the two of you shared, even if you were not the biggest fan of dirt and grass. But you could never deny them anything, not when it caused such a big smile to take over their face.

You taste Hanji in the leftovers you got from their favorite restaurant on the very last date the two of you went on together. A small place hidden behind all the buildings of the capital, where the waitresses knew you by heart and already knew your order.

You taste Hanji in the bottle of wine you had saved for the day the two of you got married. You never had the chance to savor it together so you take it to the area where you built a small gravestone for them and pour some on the empty ground, knowing that not even their body is down there.

You taste Hanji in the dragon fruits that Levi brought back for you. He knows those were their favorite and therefore he knows you, more than anyone, need to taste them again to feel connected to the person you had grown to love the most.

You taste Hanji in the food you accidentally made slightly too spice for you because you were so used to making it like that for them. You end up adding too much pepper and you are all too used to drinking lots of water during meals to make sure they are happy. But they aren't here anymore.

You taste Hanji in the tea bags that never got open, bags and exotic leaves that were confiscated from the military and the two of you stole from the Military Police, bag that you now have to try on your own because Levi is too busy traveling the world and rebuilding society and Hanji... Well, they aren't here anymore.

You hear Hanji in the old recordings Kiyomi Azumabito had saved from when all of you were having secret meetings away from Paradis. To be able to hear their voice again after witnessing their death, to be able to hear their laugh and the seriousness all combined into one recording. You could almost picture them next to you again.

You hear Hanji in the birds that sing outside. They would wake up as soon as the sun would rise and study the birds while sitting on the window ledge, a cup of tea in one hand while the other held a journal against their thigh, the pencil tightly gripped in between their fingers.

You hear Hanji in the way that you speak. After so many years as lovers and even more so as friends, you couldn't help but acquire some of their mannerisms. The jokingly pronounce T's at the end of your sentences, the loud burst of laugh when you first begin, the subtle roll of your tongue when you pronounce a few words.

You hear Hanji in the street music around the area that used to be surrounded by Wall Sina. Most of the performers know you by name, from times before the rumbling, when you and Hanji would walk together along these streets and slow dance to the sound of the instruments.

You hear Hanji in the moans you let out. Their name still falls from your lips and you can hear their voice, calling you a "good girl" and "what a wonderful job you are doing for me, Moonlight." Their praises still echo through the walls of your heart.

You touch Hanji every time you touch yourself. As soon as your eyes close, you lose the feeling that you are the one doing it to yourself as you begin to imagine their fingers inside of you once more, their thumb brushing against your clit.

You touch Hanji every time your fingers aren't enough and you have to resort to wrapping the strap they used to wear around a pillow. The way it slides inside of you and you cling to the pillowcase, imagining it's their shirt, you cry out their name and a few tears come out of your eyes against your will. You ride the strap until you are crying their name so loudly half the town can hear. You most likely cry afterwards.

You touch Hanji every time you run your fingers above your naked skin, trailing the hairs like a feather falling from a flying bird. You touch the areas of yourself you hate the most and you can almost listen to their words of love, about how beautiful you are and how they could never love anyone like they love you.

You touch Hanji every time the palm of your hand covers your nipples. Every time you squeeze your breasts at the exact same strength level they would and whimper at the feeling, lying to yourself that this is actually them, that they are still here and touching you in such an intimate manner.

You touch Hanji every time you close your eyes and you are finally able to dream about them. About a life in which they didn't have to sacrifice themselves, that you didn't have to see their body fall to the ground. You touch their face and see them smile once more, a sight you are so scared of forgetting, you smell their skin and you hear their voice in such a sweet tone you can almost taste it,

"I miss you."

[ssaeri]

we fall to ashes

☆ tags: alex x gn!reader, he finds something that he never expected to see on your farm, this was going to be angst with an angst ending, but then my sister begged me to not write a sad ending, so have this relieving happy ending instead, LOTS of alex spoilers! ☆

Alex stretches his arms over his head and breathes in deep. In the distance, he hears chickens screaming—a sure sign that he's getting closer to your farm. The walk from his house isn't short, but while his grandparents would complain about the distance, he finds it ideal for cooling down after his harder work-outs. And he gets to see you at the end? He'd say that's a winner winner chicken dinner situation...out of earshot from your coop, at least.

"Hey there! Evelyn's boy!" Pam calls from his right.

He slows to a stop and waves. She sits in the driver seat of her newly repaired bus, window fully open, and takes another swig from her Joja Cola. Immediately, her face scrunches.

"Mornin', Pam!" he yells back. "How's that alcohol detox going for you?"

"Awful." She smacks her lips and holds the can up to her eyes, searching the ingredients for what makes it so fucking nasty. You often joke that it's the bitter taste of capitalism. "I could go for something stronger in this heat. You think the farmer has an extra glass of pale ale?"

Alex's smile tightens. Ever since Pam and Penny's trailer turned into an actual house, Pam's been doing her best to break old habits and he's glad for it—he can finally walk by her without the reflexive gag and hurried steps. You telling me I stink? she used to ask, angry in her drunken stupor, until she remembered why he showed up on his grandparents' steps nearly two decades ago.

She must read it in his expression now because she waves him off with a roll of her eyes. "I'm kidding, kid. Tell 'em I said hi. They're the only one who takes this damn bus anyway. I might as well take a nap." She slides sunglasses onto her face and reclines her chair until he can't see her anymore. "If I'm still here by the time you go home, wake me up."

Classic Pam, he thinks as he continues to your farm. Your dog is already running from the front door to greet him, panting and barking and disturbing your horse's peace.

"Come on, buddy," he laughs, shooing your dog until he can push open the gate. "I was supposed to surprise them."

Alex scratches your horse's ear as he passes its stable. Grape vines twist and sag on the trellises you've set up for the season, the structures nearly bursting with fruit, and he makes a mental note to stop by tomorrow to help with the harvesting. Maybe it could substitute for a work-out. He's helped you ship boxes of produce before and wondered how ripped he'd be after a month of your lifestyle. Between the trellises, the melons are just starting to come in. He doesn't know how long it takes for them to ripen, only that they taste really good when you drop off a basket for his grandma.

He calls out your name. Not in the fields, not in the pasture. Your new greenhouse, maybe? You were muttering something about ancient fruit last night. Or the mushroom cave, something he still can't believe is a feature on your farm. If Demetrius could add that, maybe Alex could talk you into installing an outdoor lifting station.

He walks past your workbench and active machines...

...and walks backwards again, hoping that his eyes are deceiving him. Crystalariums reproducing diamonds to sell, charcoal kilns working double time for enough coal, bone mills churning out fertilizer, geode crushers crunching rocks into pebbles, furnaces roaring as they smelt ores into bars—and right on top of the furthest furnace sits a wrapped bundle he's only seen in his (second to) worst nightmares.

He hears your content humming now, somewhere in the main farmhouse. Under normal circumstances, he would've called it cute, but the sound rings mockingly in his ears as he approaches the darkened flowers. A wilted bouquet. Fuck.

.

.

"Oh, hey there!" Alex called out as you got closer. He tossed his ever-present gridball into the air. "You here to catch fish again? I think you can find salmon in the river this time of year. At least that's what I heard."

Once you came to a stop in front of him, you shook your head, hands still behind your back. "I'm not fishing today," you said. "I actually wanted to give you something."

"Yeah?" His lips quirked into a grin. Another toss into the air. "Wouldn't happen to be a Salmon Dinner with extra lemon, would it? Those are one of my favorites, but I can never catch any salmon myself. Another egg would be cool, too. I've been adding your weekly deliveries to my workout meals."

You only shifted from one foot to the other, unable to take your eyes off his shoes, and a part of him faltered. You weren't intimidated by him, were you? Ever since you found him crying on the beach, he had been a little more flirtatious than usual, layering on the teasing and showing off. Maybe he came on too strong. Haley always told him that subtlety wasn't his strong suit. The grip on his gridball changed as he tossed it higher.

"You okay there? Did I do something...wait, this is—ow!"

The ball bounced off his head and landed in the grass, but he couldn't care less. He pointed to the bouquet in your hands. Not a regular bouquet, but the Bouquet made to order by Pierre. In a place as small as Pelican Town, there was no need for Pierre to have it in constant stock, so when the signature blooms made the rare appearance, they attracted everyone's eyes.

"...you want to get more serious?" he asked, incredulous.

Something in your expression changed, and you drew the flowers back to your chest. "Oh, sorry, did you not?" You gave him a wide smile, already stepping away. "I must've read the signs wrong. My mistake."

"No! That's not—I mean, you read the signs correctly. I, uh, I feel the same way." He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his face flush. "So I guess we're together now? Should I be asking you out on a date or something? Or wait, are you asking me out on a date? How does this work?"

You laughed, a genuine sound this time. "We can continue the way we were before."

And so you did, but some things changed for sure. He could hold your hand now as you ran errands around the town, carrying half of the gifts you handed out to the townspeople. He could kiss you goodbye at his door in the evenings, though George cleared his throat loudly every time. Alex remembered making some snide comment about his grandpa, who yelled out a gruff I heard that! before being shushed by Evelyn. When It Howls in the Rain was being shown at the town theater, you bribed him to a screening with the promise of Stardrop Sorbet, but as much as he loved the treat, he would've gone anyway—it was one of his favorite movies with one of his favorite people. Good thing he'd seen it before because he spent most of the time staring at your side profile, wondering when he could finally go pro and have you stare at him on a screen.

.

.

Your dog nips at his fingers. He pets it absently. He thought everything was going fine between the two of you. Just yesterday, you came over and had dinner with him and his grandparents. You told them about your mining adventures in the Skull Caverns and, to his horror, showed off your old stitches from Harvey. (George chided your reckless behavior and gave old-timey advice that you nodded along to.) You talked about the new farm you're setting up at Ginger Island—Ancient Fruit wine all year! you told them excitedly. It's a farmer's heaven!—and the Beach Resort you're trying to restore. (Evelyn hummed at your energy, asking rapid-fire questions about the flora there.) You even promised to bring over a season's worth of eggs and leeks as soon as you got your hands on them. (Alex's mind flashed to the old mariner and the mermaid's pendant he could see hanging around your neck in the future.)

So why is a wilted bouquet sitting here, right on top of your furnaces?

No point in guessing when he can just find out the answer right from the source. He takes the flowers and goes to your door, knocking twice. It opens before he has time to second guess his choice.

"Alex! I didn't know you were coming over," you say, beaming at him. He wants to immortalize this version of you: face full of dirt smudges and t-shirt collar soaked through with sweat, yet glowing in your element. Until your eyes drop to his hands. "Oh, that's..."

He sets his jaw. "Can I come in and talk?"

Your expression falters further at his cold tone, but you step back and lead him to the living room. Your dog trots in and settles by the TV, head on its paws, watching with blank eyes. Alex sits in his usual spot and you yours, and suddenly he hates how familiar he is with your space.

It's still silent.

You clear your throat. "So," you start, wiping your palms on your jeans. A nervous tick he knows well. "What did you want to talk about?"

He puts the bouquet on the coffee table between you.

"Right." You pause, likely waiting for him to continue, but he doesn't say anything. "Alex, can you at least be less mean about this? I feel like you owe me that much after all this time together." He says nothing. "Like, tell me what's wrong instead of sitting here stone-faced. Things were okay. Why are you breaking up with me—"

"Why am I breaking up with you?" He barks a laugh. "Baby, I found this outside on your furnace! I'm not going to beg for you to stay, but what the hell is this?"

Your forehead furrows. "What? I wouldn't."

"If it's not yours and it's not mine, then whose is it?"

"I don't know! Alex, I wouldn't—I never even thought about breaking up," you insist. "Why would I lie about that?"

After scrutinizing your stricken expression, his relief comes in waves. He sinks into your couch, hands rubbing at his face.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, just—" He laughs again, the sound mostly air. "Yoba, that scared me. If someone left this here as a prank, I'm hunting them down tonight." He lifts his head to look at you and opens his arms. "Can you come over here?"

You wrinkle your nose. "I'm gross."

"You could be playing in mud with your pigs, and I'd still jump in."

With a roll of your eyes, you hop over to curl into his side and he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You stink, but so does he after a good workout. Now that he thinks about it, he's still in his gym clothes.

"You scared me, too," you tell him, gaze trained on the table. "Not the best thing to see on a Friday afternoon. But now I want to know whose this is. Did you check it for clues?"

"Didn't bother. Thought it was yours." His arm around your waist tightens as you lean forward. "Does it matter?"

But that doesn't stop you. You have the bouquet in your lap now, prying at the blackened ribbon and wrapping. "Look at this," you say, holding it between two fingers. "The ribbon isn't blue, and Pierre always uses blue. The wrap is pretty much disintegrated, but this corner—he always puts his store brand." You suck in a breath. "Oh, duh! Where did you say you found this?"

"The furnaces right outside by the workbench."

"Okay, so mystery solved. This is mine, but not in the way you think."

He raises an eyebrow. "Explain. Don't say you're breaking up with a secret partner because I don't think I can handle a second shock right now."

"I made a wildflower bouquet to put on Grandpa's grave a few days ago, but I totally forgot where I put it, so I made a second one. This one must've been the one I misplaced."

He blinks. "How the hell did you not notice it since?"

"I came back from Ginger Island yesterday and went to sleep right after dinner! The flowers must've wilted from the furnace heat."

"You," he says slowly, pinching your cheek and ignoring your squeak, "are the absolute worst. I can't believe you nearly broke my heart and it turned out to be a whoopsie."

[mcumorningstar]

His Muse

pairing: larry durrell x reader

warnings: 18+ minors dni, erotic letters, body worship, oral (f receiving)

summary: after your relatives forbid you from seeing larry durrell, a series of notes begin to appear.

a/n: yes i snuck in an atonement reference🤭

Having relatives on the Greek Island of Corfu lent itself to the most brilliant summers a girl could ask for.

Swimming in the crystal blue ocean, running through the cobbled streets of the town centre, picking fresh fruit at the market and riding donkeys along the beach.

A girl. Not a woman.

The summer of your 18th year you were worked until your bones were sore and your cheeks ached from the forced smiles.

For three consecutive summers, you worked at your auntie and uncle’s bar as a waitress. Men often flirted with you or asked to take you out. Unless you wanted to face the wrath of your uncle, you always refused.

That was until Larry Durrell sidled up to the bar, folding his sunglasses into the pocket of his shirt and placing his book on the bar top.

“Two of your finest whiskeys,” He ordered with a cheerful grin.

After an all-day shift, you simply nodded and retrieved his order, like a well-oiled machine.

“My name is Larry Durrell,” He announced to fill the silence, “I’m an author. Are you native to the island?”

“I moved here two months ago,” You smiled forcefully, too exhausted from the sun and workload for conversation.

“How wonderful! I can show you around if you’d like,” Larry leaned forward onto the bar, a striking smirk across his lips, “I have lived here for almost a year.”

“That won’t be necessary,” You replied, exchanging the drinks for his money.

“Are you sure? I know some excellent spots,” He sipped his drink and raised his eyebrows.

There was an air of confidence surrounding Larry and it was hard not to get sucked into his natural charm.

“What’s your book about?”

He faltered for a moment before sunshine burst from his features and he grinned giddily, “What isn’t it about! I can bring you a copy if you’d like?”

He lit up with hope and so you nodded politely, “Yes but you’ll have to bear with me, I work a lot.”

Larry shook his head, “I wouldn’t worry about that. More reason to visit you.”

Rolling your eyes at him, you couldn’t help but laugh with him.

Larry chanced a look outside where his brother Leslie was sat before reaching over to brush his fingers over yours, “Can I buy you a drink?”

Yes.

Swatting a dish cloth and yelling with a thick Greek accent and broken English (although it was miles better than your Greek), your uncle ran over, “No! She not interested! Go away!”

Larry backed away with a boyish laugh, grabbing his book and rushing across the cobbles with Leslie. Biting your lip, you fought back girlish giggles.

He flashed you a cheeky grin and a small wave before he disappeared around the corner. Your uncle grumbled to himself, wildly gesticulating with his hands.

“He is trouble! He is English! Stay away from him!” He jabbed a finger at you. Ordinarily, he was a lovely and generous man but you were under his care while you were in Corfu.

Nodding, you got back to work, hoping to see Larry Durrell again.

A few days later, a book appeared on the bar top while you were serving customers. There was no sign of Larry other than his name in bold print on the front cover of the novel.

It was hours later that you sat on the beach and thumbed through your new gift when a hand-written note slipped from the pages.

“She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that’s best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.”

The following stanzas were written and attributed to Lord Byron. You didn’t know what most of it meant but a girly giggle fell from your lips as you covered your mouth.

He sent you a love poem. What a gentleman.

After the first note, he began to visit you in the alley behind the bar, only able to steal a few minutes of your time.

More notes began to appear over the following few weeks, either handed to you directly or tucked away for you to find.

“Tell me, my darling. I want to know everything about you.”

“My beautiful, exquisite darling. Starry nights are reminiscent of your glittering eyes.”

“You are part of my existence, part of myself. You have been in every line I have ever read." — Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

Hand-written notes piled up in the box under your bed, and you reread them over and over. Larry was a writer, an artist, and you were seemingly his muse.

Three weeks after your initial meeting, you bumped into Larry in town with his brother.

“Good morning Durrells,” You smiled, offering your hand to Leslie and introducing yourself to him.

Larry smirked at you, “Are you working today? I was thinking about going swimming.”

You nodded disappointedly, “But I finish at 11 if you fancy a night swim.”

Leslie guffawed, “That’s very unsafe. Mother will crucify you!”

Larry sighed with frustration. Leslie grinned, amused by his brother’s obvious affections and embarrassment.

Another note appeared later that night, rolled and sticking to the rim of a beer glass.

“Meet with me. Prepare for a swim.”

Larry smoked a cigarette on the patio of his family home, overlooking the ocean. He smiled when he saw you and pointed towards the path to the beach.

“Hello,” He whispered as soon as you were close enough, “How was work?”

“Tiring but I’m glad to be here… with you,” You whispered back, only raising your voice when you were far enough from the house.

God forbid you wake his family. What a mortifying way to meet them.

“Well then, I will refrain from challenging you to a race to the water,” His shoulder bumped yours, his smile infectious.

“You will do no such thing,” You shoved him and raced off down the beach.

Piles of your belongings were strewn about the beach, as you ran along the stone pier and jumped into the ocean in your underwear.

Larry rose from the water, shaking droplets of water from his curls. Swimming back to shore, he broke the silence, “Don’t ogle me too much when we get out. It’s very cold so I’m not on top form down there.”

You were in a fit of laughter, echoing around the high walls of the cliff.

Wrapping you in his arms, your back to his chest, Larry carried you onto the shore. He laid his shirt out for you to sit on, wrapping an arm around your back.

Although the sky was dark, the warm air brushed against your wet skin pleasantly.

“I finished your book,” You leaned against his chest, staring out at the glistening black water. Larry’s eyes burned into your skull as he awaited your thoughts.

“It was good. Filthy but good.”

Larry’s chest bounced as he laughed, “Leslie thinks I’m obsessed with sex. He once stole the X from my typewriter to stop me writing about it.”

“A fruitless effort, it seems,” You teased.

“I’m not. I write about it, and think about it, and talk about it but I don’t actually do it all that much,” Larry pulled back to meet your eyes.

Nodding, you smiled, “Sounds a little obsessive.”

“Well yes maybe,” He conceded bashfully, returning to your lax position against one another.

“Did you bring a towel?” You were never going to dry off in the moonlight.

Larry clicked his tongue and shook his head, the realisation dawning on him.

Hand in hand, Larry crept into his family home and left you in his bedroom as he went to retrieve towels, dripping salt water onto the floor.

The house was silent and it was slightly eerie, but Larry’s room was lit with a few candles. The warm glow was comforting.

Pages of paper spread across his desk and spilled onto the floor. A fountain pen sat in an inkwell and his typewriter sat pristinely in the centre. Books of all colours and sizes littered the shelves and floor.

Despite your efforts, you couldn’t help but have a closer look. A page of typed words sat in the typewriter, half-finished. Probably for his next novel.

The books beside his bed were a mixture of novels, notebooks and an… erotic poetry book.

Your interest was piqued. His novel was quite filthy so this wasn’t a shock and yet you found yourself thumbing through the pages.

Clippings of notes were hidden between the pages, all hand-written in Larry’s familiar cursive.

“I long to see you. I fear worsening the situation if I pose as a customer at the bar but my skin itches to feel the heat of your skin on mine. I burn for you.”

“Pillowed upon my fair love’s ripening breast, To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,

Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,

Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever — or else swoon in death.” - Keats

“I want to kiss your cunt. Your sweet cunt.”

You failed to suppress a scandalised gasp. The door creaked open and you scrambled to put the notes back in the book.

Larry stared as you put the book back on his nightstand, avoiding his eyes.

There was no hiding your sudden shock. At least he had the decency to give you a sheepish smile.

“Did I mentioned Leslie thinks I’m obsessed with sex?” He attempts to joke, gesturing to the book with pink cheeks.

“I read your novel, Larry. I don’t know why I’m so… surprised.”

Silence stretched between you as you ran the towel over your sopping hair.

“I’ll walk you home.”

Something burned inside of you, igniting an unfamiliar but powerful flame. You reached for Larry’s forearm to halt him but refrained from touching him.

“Have you done that before?” You asked, forcing your eyes to stay on his, anxiously twisting your fingers.

Larry furrowed his eyebrows at you. Taking a breath, you searched through the poetry book and held open the page to show him the last note.

Silence hung in the air to taunt you, as he scanned the page.

“I have,” was Larry’s answer, closing the book and tossing it aside.

The space between you stretched for what felt like miles, and you desperately wanted to reach out to him.

Wordlessly, Larry stepped towards you and tossed your towel onto his desk chair before wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Call me a philandering bastard, a pervert, and this all stops,” He softly spoke, warm breath fanning across your face. Green eyes traced your features for any signs of uncertainty.

Rising onto your tiptoes, you pressed a soft kiss to Larry’s lips. He didn’t react at first, savouring your decision.

He was quick to press his lips firmer against yours, introducing his tongue against the seam of your mouth.

His movements were so slow and sensual, licking into your mouth and kneading the fat of your hips.

Stepping backwards, you pulled him by his shirt to follow, warm bodies pressed together.

“Thought about this, ever since that first day,” Larry whispered hotly against the skin of your neck, kissing along the column of your throat.

Large hands lowered to grab at your ass, as you let your hands wander across the covered planes of his chest and stomach.

“Me too,” You whispered despite your nerves. It was barely audible but Larry pulled back to meet your wanting gaze.

Silently, he watched your features morph into something he had never seen from you. A pout on your lips and your brows pulled together. Want.

Larry kissed you again, passion and heat, as he lowered you onto his bed. The metal bed frame creaked loudly, groaning out in agony, and Larry winced.

“Your family…” You pressed a hand to his chest as he joined you on top of the sheets, pulling you against him. Larry just shook his head.

Warmth emanated from him, as his body covered yours, lying between your spread legs. The soft pass of his fingers brushed your hair out of your face and he kissed you, any thoughts of anything but him escaping your mind.

Larry pulled his shirt off, revealing his surprisingly toned and tanned torso, before urging you to do the same.

Clothes piled on the floor by his bed until you were both in your underwear, caressing warm skin and kissing like you were drunk on each other.

Hovering above you, Larry lowered his mouth to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin with his teeth before lowering to your chest.

Soft gasps and moans tumbled from your lips at his attentive kisses, unhooking your bra and tossing it away.

His warm tongue circled your nipple, sucking and catching it between his teeth, before moving to the other. Large hands toyed with the seam of your panties, ignoring the desperate squirm of your hips.

Instinctively, you snaked a hand into his black curls and tugged at the strands softly. Larry pulled away with a soft ‘pop’ and gave you a wicked smirk.

His spit-soaked lips continued their descent down your stomach, littering your hipbones with red and soon-to-be purple marks.

“You’re ethereal… my goddess,” Larry stared in awe, resting his chin on the lowest point of your stomach to watch your chest heave, your skin flush and your eyes squeeze shut.

“Larry… please,” You whined, rutting your hips involuntarily and fisting your hand in his hair.

Kissing over the front of your panties, Larry pulled them down your legs and immediately lost them in the tangled bedsheets.

He positioned himself on his stomach between your legs, manhandling each leg over his shoulders.

His warm breath on your inner thighs made you shiver, combing your fingers through his hair.

Without warning, Larry pressed his mouth to your heated skin and licked a stripe from your weeping hole to your throbbing clit.

Plump lips closed around the bundle of nerves and sucked softly, laving his tongue wetly. A loud gasp escaped your lips and you quickly slapped a hand over your mouth, panting deeply.

Larry repeated his movements, gripping your writhing hips firmly to hold you in place as your heels dug into his shoulder blades.

Sweat beaded on your skin and a rush of moans were poorly repressed. A string of spit fell from Larry’s lips, mixing with your arousal, before he resumed his ministrations.

The coil deep and low in your stomach wound tighter and tighter. You struggled to stay quiet, moans and whimpers of his name bouncing off the walls of his bedroom, and Larry was too thrilled to silence you.

Fisting roughly at his hair, you pushed him further against your sex, eliciting deep groans from him that vibrated against you.

One of his hands snaked up your torso, palming your tits before hooking two fingers into your mouth to muffle your cries of pleasure. Lust-darkened eyes watched you fall into a pit of pleasure as he licked and sucked at you.

The band pulled taut until it eventually snapped, your back arching off the mattress.

A loud cry erupted from your chest, muffled slightly by Larry’s thick fingers in your mouth. Your leg straightened over his shoulder and your thighs caged his head at the intense wash of bliss.

With a heaving chest and sweaty skin, you slowly came down from your high. Limply you untangled your hand from his hair and let him pull your legs from his shoulders. You were boneless and pliant beneath him, smiling lazily at him.

Larry smirked, kissing up your body before kissing your lips softly. He lay beside you as you both panted with pleased grins.

His erection tented his boxers but he stared at the ceiling with as much satisfaction as you, wiping his slick-covered mouth with the back of his hand.

Aside from your heavy breathing, silence filled the room until Larry turned his head to face you and you mirrored him, erupting into giddy giggles.

The first man to eat you out and make you cum.

Larry wrapped a strong arm around your shoulders and pulled you against his chest.

He kissed your head softly and whispered, “Satisfied?”

“Very,” You kissed his chest, your breath slowly evening out and your eyelids fluttering shut at the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat.

Larry pulled your leg over his hips, getting into a comfy position cuddled up against the pillows.

Thoughts about leaving before his family discovered you escaped your mind as Larry smoothed a hand up and down your thigh, slowly drifting to sleep.

No matter how forbidden he was, you would be seeing Larry Durrell every chance you got.

[adachimoe]

2009 Persona Club P4 Profiles

I've posted Adachi and Yukiko's before, but this is a collection of all their "YHVH" (Yasogami High Visual H) social media profiles.

The protagonist doesn't have a profile due to him being the silent protagonist.

Yosuke

Nickname: Isn't "Prince Walking Disappointment" kinda mean?

Greeting: Yo!-Sup? This is Yo!-Su?-Ke's room (... I tried ...)

Favorite music: Something you can listen to and play. Guitar owns!

Favorite Food: Fruit flavored throat drops cause they're good for karaoke (Yosuke can give the protagonist a Fruity Fruity Throat Lozenge in dungeon chats; also in the evening hangouts during Golden)

Least Favorite Food: Tofu - sorry Rise!

Dislikes: Cockroaches they're black and rustle around and move so quickly ugh

Clubs: People who commute on bikes, Wanna go to Junes?, Delicious Homemade Food, Trial of the Dragon

Inbox: "DVD!!! DVD!!!" (from Chie)

Parting words: Saving up for a scooter (these profiles are before Golden came out)

Chie

Nickname: Kung Fu Girl

Greeting: Check this! Hyah!

Gender: Girl!!!

Favorite food: Meat

Favorite animals: Hamsters, bunnies, and other tiny animals

Dislikes: Math, insects - the enemy of all mankind

Favorite movies: Kung fu

Clubs: Trial of the Dragon, Burning Dragon, Fans of Animals w/Tiny Eyes, Meat Lovers

Inbox: "Return my world history notebook" (from Yukiko)

Yukiko

Nickname: Yukiko, the lady of the house... Sigh...

Greeting: Hello~ Chie invited me

Likes: Japanese food, dogs (you see, one fateful day on the Samegawa... [omitted]) (Talking about her and Chie meeting due to a dog from Chie's SLink and the Golden audio drama)

Dislikes: Nothing in particular, but I don't take well to sex jokes / dirty talk

Special skills: Kimono dressing and table / place setting

Clubs: Japanese clothing fans, the Go Home club (for people who aren't in clubs), Let's visit the dam, Fans of Showa Era music

Inbox: "Lemme bathe in the hot springs again" (from Yosuke)

Kanji

Nickname: If you call me bald, imma punch you in the face

Greeting: I'm Inaba's Runaway Train

Likes: Ototo (animal crackers), Homerun Bars (topsicles)

Hobbies: Sewing, knitting, peeling the wrappers off of Homerun Bars

Clubs: Let's Sew, Knitting Cafe, Delicious Shops in the Central Shopping District, Hawaiian Quilt Enjoyers

Ideal fight: One without rules

Inbox: "Hey, I got the rare submarine!" (from Yosuke; this was "rare penguin animal cracker" in English)

Rise

Nickname: Risechi / Risette, duh!

Greeting: Where a young maiden's secrets get revealed

Likes: Hagakure special from Hagakure Ramen

Hates: Japanese ginger and royal fern

Favorite people: Senpai / the protagonist, grandma

Least favorite people: Indecisive and unreliable people

Clubs: Cafes and Sweets of Okina city, Tofu Lovers, How about Kanami Mashita?, Fans of Animals w/Tiny Eyes

Inbox: "The best sweets around are..." (from Teddie)

Naoto

Nickname: The detective prince

Greeting: Hi there, my upperclassmen invited me

Gender: No comment (As in, Naoto wrote "no comment")

Favorite book genre: Detective novels due to work

Likes: Putting myself in danger (longer explanation of what it says in Japanese)

Dislikes: Women's clothing - especially anything revealing

Specialty: Working with machines, been doing it since I was young

Clubs: Linux Fans, DIY PC Builders, Fans of Mystery Novel Narrative Tricks, Beginners Fashion

Inbox: "Let's get a bucket ice cream parfait tomorrow" (from Rise)

Lastly, Nanako, Dojima, and Adachi don't have the high school social media profiles, but they still have regular profiles nonetheless.

Nanako

Likes: Dad, big brother, Risechi / Risette, everyone else in the Investigation Team, Junes

Dislikes: Fighting, shiokara (fermented fish guts; it seems that Dojima keeps these in the fridge in P4 lol. She uses some of them to make the Slime chocolate in Golden.)

Specialty: Singing the Junes theme

Dojima

Likes: Nanako, beer

Dislikes: Working, physical tasks that require attention to detail (I'm clumsy)

Specialty: Judo, reading one's character

Adachi

Likes: Sushi (especially uni), beef, cabbage dishes

Dislikes: Paperwork, cleaning his room

Specialty: Revolver maintenance

Here's the full post of Adachi's profile w/the fanart pages too

Teddie's is. Uh. An experience. I'll post his sometime else cause I think I'm not 100% sure how it should be handled. Like he fills out [gender/sex] (they're the same character in JP) as an emoji of a woman and the words "I live for love". Which I feel like is best interpreted as, "Sex: Yes please". But hmmmMMMmmm.

[ohtobeleah]

Iris sends Hangman (Deadman) sexy pictures when she knows he’s with Maverick.

ANON!! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS CONCEPT DID TO ME!? I DIED OF DEATH.

I.R.I.S Masterlist

***~***~****~****~***~***~***~****~****~****~***

Picture it with me guys. PICTURE IT. Jakes on his lunch break. He’s enjoying the nice sandwich he’d made himself because if he had to eat another protein bar from the vending machine because he snoozed his alarm for just a little too long, he’d have a mental breakdown. They sucked ass. 

“You coming to the Hard Deck after?” Phoenix was asking. She’d begun to grow a little suspicious of Jake and his sudden disinterest in the copious amount of badge bunnies that seemed to hurl themselves at him on any given night.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll be there—“ Jake replied with a massive mouthful of his sandwich. He obnoxiously overchewed just to annoy Natasha. 

“I think you’re beating yourself up about this a little too much Mav.” Bob smiled as he walked with Pete into the rec room. “These kids, they’re lethal weapons.” 

“Yeah, there’s literally guys in Fanboys advanced weapons systems lecture right now with callsigns like Mayhem and Chaos.” Rooster added. “So what if Iris got the drop on you old man? It was bound to happen.” It was the talk of Miramar, Y/n Iris Mitchell, only female TopGun student for this class, had gotten tone on her own dad, Captain Pete Maverick Mitchell in a basic Dogfighting maneuvers exercise.. “After all, she is the fruit of your loins.”

“Fruit of Mavs loins is still doing push-ups.” Payback chuckled as he looked out the window. “Can’t believe you have the only person that managed to get tone on your old ass doing push ups through her lunch.” 

Maverick just groaned as he sat beside Jake on the lounge across from Phoenix. 

“She won’t show off next time.” 

“Sore loser—“ Jake chuckled. 

“Don’t you have an ACM scheduled to teach after this? I wouldn’t speak so soon, Hangman—she might blow you out of the sky too.” 

“Imma pair her with P:E, she’ll be so busy watching his ass that she won’t be able to keep an eye on mine.” P.E. – Premature Ejection – pressed the ejection switch in an aircraft while it was still on the runway. How the hell that guy ended up in the top one percent Jake would never understand. “Plus, I’m a hell of a lot faster than you these days, pops.” Just as Jake is razzing on Maverick, his phone is buzzing on the armrest in the lounge. Unbeknownst to Jake, only seconds after Payback had said you were still doing push-ups on the tarmac, you’d been let go. You’d charmed Hondo into thinking you were actually a glutton for punishment and he got bored. 

Jake could’ve sworn he forgot how to breathe when he saw your name pop up on his lock screen, it was his fault really—he should have had the message previews turned on. But he didn’t. He walked right into your web. 

“Who’s texting you? All your friends are here?” Mav taunted as Jake shot him a look. 

“Do you even know how to text?” Jake snickered, swiping his thumb up the screen as his Face ID unlocked his phone. As Jake took another bite of his sandwich, he choked and coughed and splattered about in shock horror. “Fuck—“ Jake had never panicked so immediately before in his life. “Jesus Christ—“

There you were on full display, standing in front of your full length mirror, little emerald green set of lingerie on, obviously a pre taken, premeditated picture because you were just doing pushups out on the fucking tarmac. 

You were standing so close to the mirror that Jake could see your perfect nipples through the lace of the lingerie. You skin looked silky smooth and the hume of the dim lamp radiating behind you told Jake you took this last night when you decided on a night in. If he looked closely he could see the strategically placed vibrator on your bed and the not so inconspicuous H_NGM_N you’d written in the corner of your mirror. 

You were so hot it was a joke at this point.

“Here’s the deal, I get you on tone? you fuck me dumb, you get me on tone? I’ll do that thing with my thumb I know you like.” 

Jake locked his phone as quickly as he could, but he knew Mav had seen it over his shoulder. Holy shit. This was it wasn’t it? 

“What the hell's wrong with you?” Phoenix frowned as Jake coughed up his lunch, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine—“ Jakes in denial as he catches his breath. He’s red in the face and he feels like he’s got fire radiating in his lungs. “I’m good.” He’s not good, he’s got a raging hard on and anger rushing through his veins. 

“He just got sent nude.” Mav chuckled. “That’s what they’re called these days right?” Pete had for a split second seen the photo, until he averted his gaze. Not realising it was you, his own flesh and blood. “Or have I missed something?” He asked with a questioning tone.

“Nah nah, you got it Mav—“ Bradley bit his tongue, shooting Jake a glare. “You’re not missing anything, well done, good job on the lingo man, gold star.” 

There’s a ruckus coming from up the hall, Bob's curiosity gets the better of him when he sticks his head out into the corridor. 

“Looks like Rebound and Krod are at it again.” That was enough to get the attention off of Jake and on the two aviators blowing up in the hall. Mav was on his feet in seconds, Jake was unlocking his phone to text you back to meet him by B Hanger. 

“Your dad was literally sitting right fucking next to me!!” By your reply alone and the smirk that plastered itself across your face Jake knew you were out to get him in trouble. There was no way you weren’t doing this on purpose now. You enjoyed the rush too much. “He could’ve killed me then and there Iris!? The fuck are you trying to do here?”

“And somehow you’re still breathing?” 

“Don’t you ever pull that shit again? Do you hear me, Lieutenant Mitchell?” 

“Is that an order?” You asked, reaching down to cup Jake's raging erection through his flight suit. “Because there’s a lot more where that came from.” You whispered in Jake's ear as you stood on the tips of your work issued boots. “I would’ve taken some in my red set but I left the panties at your place.” 

“Shame, I really like you in red.” Jake's voice hitched in his throat as you palmed him ever so discreetly. “Like you a hell of a lot better in nothing at all though.” 

“So do you accept my proposal?” You asked softly, pulling back from Jake as you left him harder and throbbing. 

“Nope—“ Jake replied, grabbing you by the forearm as he spun you around, pressed you up against the side of the hanger and kicked your feet apart enough that he had inches on you. “I’m gonna fuck you dumb regardless of who gets tone on who.” Jake smiled, sucking a mark into the supple skin of your neck as he ducked down. “Because that’s what you want me to do don’t you? Daddies little girl, fucked dumb.” Your mother used to tell you something growing up as a kid when you’d ask why she never married Pete. Her response was always different and age appropriate, but the sentiment was always the same.

You fuck dumb, you don’t marry dumb.

Jake left a mark so dark and angry in his wake that it was very much noticeable when you returned for Jake’s theory assessment a little over twenty minutes later. 

“Lieutenant Mitchell?” Jake called you out as you sat writing down what he’d just said. “Is that some sort of bruise on your neck?” 

“Oh damn Iris where’d you get that?” Trash asked as he peeled your collar back, getting a better look at it. You just rolled your eyes, annoyed Jake would stoop so low. But then again, you deserved it. 

“Your mum gave it to me when I was busy fucking her last night, White.” You replied, to which the other pilots responded in an uproar. Jake just smirked to himself when you sent him a wink. Smiling back. 

Hangman felt his heart skip a beat as you did so. Feeling a warmth radiate in his chest he'd never felt before.

Fuck.

***~***~****~****~***~***~***~****~****~****~***

[a-chip-in-inosukes-nichirin]

The Hashira at the Gym

I just started going to the gym with a friend and now I have a brainworm about the Hashira and what they'd be like at the gym.

Tengen:

Tengen is a gym influencer. He's also the kind of guy who wears the tightest shirt possible every time he goes, and he spends just as much time working out as he does flexing in the mirror and taking selfies with other people. People don't mind though, because the amount of weight he can bench press is impressive. He's almost constantly on the ab machines and doing weights. This man lives off pre-workout and spends all his extra time at the gym. His girlfriends also workout, but mainly are into Pilates.

Rengoku:

This man wears muscle shirts but not because he wants to show off, just because they were on sale when he was getting gym clothes. He never skips leg day. Never. This man's thighs are sturdier than tree trunks. He could crush a watermelon between them without a second thought. Everyone loves him, even if he's a little loud. He drinks protein shakes every day, and will bring Senjuro to the gym sometimes.

Giyu:

He pretty much exclusively does treadmills and stair-steppers, but he also will use dumbbells. He only wears hoodies and basketball shorts. Headphones are in 100% of the time. Will stare at people until they are off the machine he's waiting for. Doesn't drink protein shakes, but will drink preworkout. The caffeine does not seem to affect him in the slightest.

Gyoumei:

He likes the treadmills for walking. They're meditative for him. He teaches yoga, but also does weightlifting. He can both bench-press and squat more than anyone in the gym. He has several of the same exact tracksuit for working out. Has never tried pre-workout and says he never will. He's a vegetarian and only drinks vegan protein shakes if he does drink them at all.

Shinobu:

She's into calisthenics and pilates, but mainly does a lot of running, especially on inclines. She can do the least amount of weights out of all the Hashira, but she makes up for it with endurance and speed. If she sees Giyu at the gym, she'll get on a machine next to him and make sure that she's on it longer than he is, on a harder setting. Giyu doesn't notice most of the time because he's wearing headphones, but occasionally he will and thinks that Shinobu is just being friendly and that she's trying to be his gym buddy. She is not. She's being passive aggressive.

Mitsuri:

Not an influencer, but she always wears cute matching sets in pink, green, black, or white and people assume she is. Everyone at the gym loves her. Mitsuri has a pink water bottle decorated with sakura stickers. She always has snacks on her; protein bars, protein mixes, fruit, and other goodies. She does pilates, yoga, and weightlifting (and gymnastics and ballet). Misturi surprises a lot of the new gym goers with her strength. She is regularly asked to crush watermelons between her thighs, and she loves doing it.

Obanai:

He goes to the gym only because his crush goes. He'll pick up dumbbells here and there, but mainly works out on the stair-steppers and bikes. His clothing of choice is a hoodie and joggers. Always wears a mask no matter the season or if he's sick. This man wipes down every machine and weight before and after he touches it. He has seen Misturi break open watermelons with her thighs no less than six times. He is smitten.

Sanemi:

This man works out at their weirdest hours and is never consistent with when he shows up but does appear almost every day. He does weights and calisthenics, and despite never touching pre-workout, he has incredible stamina. Sanemi wears tank tops to workout in, and half the time they're cut into v-necks because he "can't stand feeling like he's being suffocated". He's brought his brother a few times, but mostly works out alone. He has gotten in trouble for fighting a dude who was recording a girl doing squats without her knowledge.

Muichiro:

This boy does yoga and ellipticals, and not much else. He'll bike occasionally, but he only comes to the gym because his family has a gym pass and he likes to watch shows with his headphones in while he's walking or biking. Wears a t-shirt and basketball shorts, and sneakers with mismatched ankle socks. Doesn't take anything seriously, but enjoys how protein shakes taste.

[neil-gaiman]

I've read your works for years, but the story I keep coming back to is the one you wrote about your meeting with Lemmy Kilmeister. In the strange magical bar with the fruit machine, and while you said you would never look for it, did you ever stumble upon it once or is it still just a memory?

I just did a little searching online. It still exists, between 10 pm and 3 am, in Soho, although opinion seems divided as to whether it's still the same club/bar it was in the old days. But here's a photo of Lemmy at the fruit machine there in 1986, just as he was whenever I was there in the 80s...

[sweetkpopmusings]

bang chan coworker headcanons <3

a/n: i'm once again sorry it has been so long !! life is chaotic, so my writing time had been reduced dramatically :-( regardless i hope this (and the other posts i'm forcing myself to finish soon) will bring you joy ! i really really wish chan was my coworker :,-) pics not mine <3

content: fluff, nonidol!au | wc: 0.9k | warnings: none! | pairing: coworker!bangchan x gn!reader | requests: open

you met chan while staying late to finish up a huge report before the quarter was over

you stayed so late that the lights in the office automatically turned off, so, phone in hand as a flashlight, you walked through the dark office and hoped you could get this sorted before you completely lost all will to finish your work

unfortunately, your phone flashlight did not have a wide enough range to capture everything around you, which meant you were completely unaware of chan walking toward the same spot

you were made aware of his presence when you two bumped into each other and screamed

while you caught your breath, chan asked if you were okay

you replied, still unable to see much in the dark office, “who are you?” which made him laugh

“i’m chan, usually the only one who has to bump into things in order to find the override switch”

you laughed, and, once the lights came on, you realized you recognized chan from his frequent trips to the coffee machine

he recognized you by the fact you usually had headphones on at work, visibly enjoying whatever you were listening to that day

as you walked back to your respective desks, you made introductory small talk, feeling much calmer now that there was a very small chance of another jump scare

by the time you wrapped up, it was far too close to being the next day for your liking

chan, being as caring and responsible as he is, didn’t leave until he knew you were safely headed your way home

as a thank you, you decide to bring him a coffee the next morning

he was so focused on his work that you gave him a good jump scare when you said “hi,” which immediately sent both of you into a giggling fit

that solidified the chemistry between you two, and the rest was history

chan’s coffee habit benefited you, as he would buy a coffee for you on the mornings he stopped by a cafe

you always told him he didn’t need to, and he always said it would hurt his feelings if you didn’t have as much of a morning boost as he did every morning he saw you

his cheesiness aside, you were moved by the sweetness of the gesture

he’s also very much the "iced coffee is a meal" and "this is a latte so it counts as breakfast" kind of coworker i may or may not be that coworker so you put fruit or granola bars on his desk in the mornings

chan beams with joy every time he sees it, but he never lets go of believing coffee counts as breakfast

chan also makes several playlists for different moods at work 

he sends them to you whenever he has finished a new one, buzzing with excitement while he waits for your review

he'll send you an old one too if he knows you need to be uplifted, get in the zone, etc.

when you make him a playlist, he practically melts into a puddle on the floor

all of his friends have that playlist memorized because he plays it all. the. time.

and yes, all of his friends know just about everything about you because you are chan’s favorite part of the workday

chan invites you to little dinners or hangouts with his friends pretty regularly since they’re all dying to meet you

you are surprised by how much chan has told them, and fairly flustered by how much chan remembers about you from quick conversations 

he teases you for blushing, but his ears are bright red which seungmin points out immediately 

one of his other favorite things is when you can hang out after work just the two of you

sometimes, if you can get off early, he’ll insist on “going on an adventure” because you’ve been gifted with rare free time

the adventure often ends up being a trip to target or something casual, but you both have the time of your lives

your coworkers always know when you two are hanging out by the sound of laughter echoing through the office

chan’s dad jokes have gotten so much stronger since he met you because he finally has someone he can pester with them all day long

if you two can’t chat during the day because you’re swamped, or because your supervisors told you you needed to stop messing around so much, chan will message you a dad joke every hour and peek over his desk to watch you open the message

you two have to hold your hands over your mouths to keep from bursting into laughter

at this point, it’s so normal that your coworkers don’t get concerned when they see tears in your eyes

your coworkers also know when one of you is out sick or on vacation because you two are so different without the other in the office

lowkey they miss you two being together like you’re entertainment for the whole office

sometimes you end up staying late at the office together, but, instead of scaring each other while looking for the light switch, you listen to music while you work in peace

or you have deep conversations because you can’t handle looking at a document for another second

you’re both enchanted by each other’s minds, and it’s so easy to have life-changing revelations whenever you open up to each other

so, while working overtime isn’t ideal, you can’t complain because you get to do it together

chan would never tell you, but on the night you met, he had finished his work before you and  decided to stay so you didn’t have to be alone <33 

what he will tell you, over and over again, is that night was the best overtime he had ever worked because it brought you into his life <33333

[hotvintagepoll]

Okay, but now I must know your opinions on Putt-Putt games! (Gotta disagree with you. Putt-Putt Goes to the Moon is clearly the Best of them all)

i haven't played all the games (including Goes to the Moon, sadly), but here are my unfiltered reviews for all the ones I have played!

Putt-Putt Saves the Zoo: a classic. a slowburn. the same every time but that adds to its aura of stability, the old world, a pocket out of time undisturbed. also there are cheese puffs and you can have putt-putt eat them over and over if you don’t care much about saving the elephant

Putt-Putt Travels Through Time: more hectic, meandering, a loop in a loop: the clues ever spiraling outward, the chaos of time unlocked vying with old prospector stereotypes and a deeply inaccurate Middle Ages. a singing hourglass asks putt-putt to resolve reality and he responds “and my homework?” Notable for its wagon wheel fruit snacks (edible if you want to sacrifice the entire old west portion and shoot your gameplay in the foot) and the talking floating lipstick wearing car i had a crush on as a 4 year old.

Putt-Putt Enters the Race: a!!! banger!!!!! yes you get stuck in the vegetable garden too long. yes you wonder why Outback Al, a supposed zoologist, doesn’t know what a baby yak eats. but there’s a cat stuck in a tree and a dog with buried treasure and sometimes the shed is on fire! this is riveting domestic drama and the cherry on top is the number of milkshakes one can order. (a lot.)

Freddi Fish and the Stolen Conch Shell: the most perfect of the freddi games in my opinion for channeling noir coral reef aesthetics into a chiming, dark-hue’d mystery. shady characters galore (also a monkey). an intense climax with true stakes. a squid with a cabaret act. freddi peaks. (the seaweed looks soooo edible.)

Freddi Fish and the Hogfish Rustlers: ok this one kinda beefs it ngl. yes there’s an old timey bar yes you can order a root bear soda. but the vibes? the QUEST? the menace of the deep? lacking. there is one cool part where you can intentionally drown a ship, but otherwise the aesthetic is too brown to really go full High Noon.

Freddi Fish and the Case of the Creature of Coral Cove: the character design in this suuuuucks I couldn’t tell you why I just hate all of them. BUT there is a taffy machine and I love the finale of running around the house flipping open secret doors and bribing dogs, so I give it points for that.

Freddi Fish and Maze Madness: aptly named because this game has been driving me insane for years. I played it last week and I’m still stuck on level 31. what the fuck. humongous entertainment said let’s make a game for 8 year olds so we can really let those little suckers know they ain’t shit because this thing is impossible

[transxfiles]

if your go-to thing isn't up here im sorry thats just how road trip stops are sometimes. it sucks but you make do.

make sure to take your bathroom break now before we're back on the road for another 6 hours <3