#i hate this school and it's 'fix it yourself' vibe

[chaoswillcalmusdown]

finally marked all the 8th grade maths tests and like. i've only just met them this august but 1 of them has 0 correct answers. 0 points out of like 50. i have no fucking clue what is happening in there. i have no clue how he's gotten to the second to last year of compulsory education and he doesn't have a standing appointment with a special teacher

[baronessvonglitter]

Cherry, Cherry 🍒 Chapter 1 🍒

“Austin”

pre-outbreak! AU!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: 2K

Summary: new to the city, you befriend Sarah, and in a time of need you befriend her dad Joel

WARNINGS: this particular chapter is safe for everyone to read, but future chapters will contain smut; mild cursing, little bit of flirting; age gap (reader is 18, Joel is 35); reader is tomboyish but otherwise no race specified and will not be throughout the series; until otherwise specified, this story takes place in the summer of 2003 and is AU with no outbreak, no use of y/n.

Author's Note: this was the first fic I ever wrote, after months of lurking on AO3. It's one of my favorites to write and probably my most popular on AO3, so I'm bringing her to the party. In this particular chapter Joel fixes a sink, and I did minimal investigating into the world of plumbing, so obviously any mistakes are just gonna be there.

Series Masterlist

Austin is quiet. So much quieter than where you came from: Houston, the city on the bayou, where there's always something fun to do. Not that Austin is without its charm, it just kind of feels like living on the moon after the hustle and bustle of your hometown, the fourth largest city in the US. But the people are friendly, the vibes are mellow, and you soon begin to feel at home.

Soon you'll be starting college at the University of Texas, a school you've had your eye on since fifth grade. Your mom, overprotective but meaning well, allowed you to stay with your older cousin Sofia rather than living on campus. And you're excited about it because even with a roommate, this is your first time on your own, away from home, about to really live your life.

School starts in a couple months, so in the meantime you get a job at a new Starbucks in town, providing you with a little spending money. The first few days are a blur, making drinks, learning the register. But it keeps you busy, A few times a week a younger group of kids come in, ordering the cheapest things on the menu. One of them, a girl 13 or 14 years old, approaches the counter. She studies the overhead menu with an air of seriousness. "What's in a frappuccino?" she asks.

"Um, coffee, espresso, milk, ice, and syrup blended together, basically. Comes with whipped cream on top. I could give you one to try," you offer, as your manager is out that day.

"Sure," the girl answers eagerly.

You make the cold, frothy drink and hand it to her. "I'm still pretty new at this, so if you hate it, I'm sorry," you joke.

She smiles and walks back to her friends, sipping the frapp.

You work until evening and pick up some fast food on the way home, Getting out of the car with your food you lean back against the vehicle, stretching a little, trying to wake yourself up a bit. Then you hear the sound of a truck coming up the driveway next door and the engine shutting off. There are a couple of voices you hear as the people begin to exit the truck.

"Hey, she's the one who gave me the free coffee today," you hear, and though it likely isn't meant for you to hear, you glance over and see the young girl from earlier today, climbing out of the truck. From around the driver's side you see a man, mid-thirties, tall, well-built, a black t-shirt clinging to his torso. Dirtied jeans and work boots complete his attire. It takes a moment before you realize he's looking at you.

Immediately you glance back at the girl, obviously his daughter. "Hey," you smile and give a quick, awkward wave. She waves back politely and he gives a curt nod and quick wave. They make their way up the front porch and you hear his gruff voice: "You had coffee? Great, now you'll be bouncin' off the walls all evenin'," before the door closes behind them.

"Guess I met my neighbors," you mutter, making your way inside as well.

Over the next few days the girl, who you now know as Sarah Miller, comes to Starbucks, ordering the same frapp every time. "Don't tell your dad I'm giving you all this caffeine," you tell her, hiding a smirk.

Sometimes you give her a ride home from the cafe, though she claims to use the bus now and then. You come to see that Sarah is a lot more mature than you were at her age. You hang out from time to time, swim in your backyard pool, go to the mall, and every time you drop her off you catch a glimpse of her dad, always a figure in the background. You exchange a wave or polite smile and move on.

It's your day off, a Sunday. You intend to spend the day lounging, watching TV. Maybe Sarah will stop by. After making a quick breakfast for yourself you do the dishes. When you're finished, you realize the class ring you'd set on the counter is gone, likely washed down the sink. "Damn!" you exclaim, and text Sofia, who has just left for work.

Go next door and ask Mr. Miller if he can take a look and get it out. He's helped around the house before your cousin replies.

You sigh and put the phone down.

You're a little hesitant going to speak to him. His truck is in the driveway so you know he's home. You knock on the door, feeling self-conscious about your first interaction with him, and Mr. Miller opens the door.

"Good morning," you introduce yourself. "I'm Sarah's friend.. from next door."

"Nice to meet ya, I'm Joel Miller." He extends a calloused hand and you shake it. You've always assumed him to be a man who does hard work for a living, but in your first time seeing him up close you admire his tousled, dark brown hair, his deep brown eyes that seem serious. "What can I do for ya?" he asks in his gentle Texan drawl.

You smile. "Well, I was told you're pretty handy around the house, and I lost my ring in the sink just now." You chuckle at your mistake. "Would it be possible for you to come over and take a look?" You feel really shy about asking this of a man you barely know.

He takes a moment to think, clears his throat, raises his brow. "I suppose I could stop by." His tone is gruff but his manner seems warm enough. "I'll give it a shot. I'm no plumber, but I'll see what I can do." He shrugs.

You smile and sigh with relief. "Of course. I mean, even you just checking it out would be a big help.. whenever you can stop by I'll be here." You don't want to make demands on his time.

"All right.. I'm not doin' much right now, so I could swing 'round if you like. Just let me grab my toolbox."

Once inside, with minimal conversation Joel gets on the floor, under the sink, and gets to work. You wait nearby, trying not to hover, but also wanting to be available in case he needs anything. Plus he's good looking. You watch as he works. His shirt rides up, revealing his torso, and a hint of the waistband of his underwear. Your eyes wander lower until you force them away. To distract yourself you start putting things away in the cupboard.

"Sarah tells me you're new to Austin," he says as he works.

"Yeah, I'm actually from Houston. I'm starting UT in the fall, and staying with my cousin in the meantime. I take it you know Sofia?"

"I do. She's nice. I keep an eye on her place when she's away. Even when you're there."

You mean to say something in reply, maybe 'thank you' but you're thinking about him keeping a protective watch over your home while you're inside, unaware.

"So you're starting university? How old are ya?" he asks.

Something about his question makes you feel like a deer in headlights. "I'll be nineteen in September. On the twenty-sixth."

You can almost hear the smile in his voice. "No shit? That's my birthday. Except I'm far from nineteen. Small world, ain't it?"

"Yeah," you say, sneaking another glance at his torso.

"What're you studyin'?"

"English," you answer, excited to talk about it. "More specifically Literature. I want to write, and maybe one day work at a huge publishing house."

You hear Joel give a grunt. "What do you write?"

"Poetry sometimes, short stories, I have a few ideas for novels."

Another grunt. "You don't look like the type.. the writer type.. no offense."

"What type do I look like?" Your heart races as you realize he's categorized you already.

He peeks out from under the sink and his eyes fix on you in a way that makes you shiver. "I don't know yet. But you're young. Maybe you're the rebellious type." He goes back to work.

You sit on the floor, your back against the fridge opposite him. "How am I the rebellious type to you?"

He's quiet, and you see the gleam of his eyes from where he's under the sink. "Haven't quite figured it out yet.."

You can tell he's having fun with this, and there's a vibration in the air, a palpable chord struck, and you wonder if he feels it too.

"Anything I can do? Feeling kinda helpless over here," you chuckle.

"Just stay out of the way," his voice is more gruff than maybe he intends. Frowning, his eyes focus on an item lodged in the P-trap. He reaches in and pulls out your ring. It's covered in gunk and grime but you recognize it immediately.

"Oh shit! Thank you..." It's your class ring. 'Class of 2003' is engraved on the side, with a princess cut sapphire on top. You put it aside to clean it later.

Joel smirks. "No problem."

"I really owe you one."

"I dunno about that. Just don't go throwin' away your valuable stuff next time, okay?" He's teasing, almost playful.

You laugh "Okay.. hey I'm working at the cafe tomorrow. If you come by I could get you a free coffee." You put the offer out there, testing the waters though you aren't sure why.

"Free coffee? Careful, girl, between giving away free stuff to me and Sarah, you're gonna run Starbucks out of business," he grins. "But yeah, I might have to stop by."

You walk him out, even though Joel says it's not necessary, but you can tell he enjoys your company. "I guess I'll be seeing you around Joel.. Mr. Miller."

He stifles a chuckle. There's a touch of amusement in the way he speaks to you, but he hides it behind a warm, open expression. "Call me Joel. No need to be so formal around me."

"If my mom was here she'd say I was being disrespectful, calling you by your first name." You can't help a little blush.

"I won't complain about respect," he smiles again.

"She's pretty protective of me," you describe your living situation, your freedom that is being given in increments.

"Well your mom might've done you a favor there." Joel looks out past your front porch. "That's probably a wise decision, ya know? What about your dad? He ok with you living far from home?"

You shake your head. "He's not.. really in the picture. My parents divorced about five years ago. My dad went up north, Minnesota I think, and I haven't seen him since.." You feel a little vulnerable revealing this.

Joel's brow furrows and his expression darkens. You wonder if he's thinking about Sarah. You don't know much about her mother and haven't felt okay to ask. "I'm sorry to hear that. Are you all right?"

You shrug. "I guess so. I've managed this long without him.." You give a smile that doesn't reach your eyes. "I shouldn't be bothering you with all this.."

"No problem, I don't mind listenin'. Do me a favor," he says suddenly. "Be careful out there, okay?"

Something about this catches you off guard. "Of course I will."

He smiles. "Good. I'll see you at the cafe tomorrow," he phrases it like a hopeful question.

"Bright and early," you say, feeling a few butterflies in your stomach.

He laughs and nods. "Til then."

You watch him leave and though you cringe at how young, foolish, childish you must appear to him, you can't deny that you feel something, even for a brief moment. Maybe it's nothing. But something about him sticks with you, an odd feeling in your chest. But it's just a dumb, knee-jerk reaction. He has a family, he's twice your age. You're focused on school and your future. Joel Miller is the last person you should be thinking about...

...right?

next chapter ->

divider by @saradika-graphics 👑

[captain-hawks]

THE LINE BETWEEN LUST & CONTEMPT

♡ — kento nanami x f!reader

As you glance down at the skimpy, khaki skirt and blue shirt that’s missing far too many buttons on the top end, topped off with a silky, patterned yellow tie and heels that may actually kill you, you find yourself wondering again who in their right mind let Gojo pitch Secret Santa-style costumes for the Halloween party.

18+ ONLY

wc — 5.5k

content — enemies to lovers speed run, protective Nanami, soft dom!Nanami vibes, "fucking it out", gagged with a tie, oral fixation, spit kink, spitting in mouth, fingering, squirting, handjob, choking, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, creampie, washing machine sex, wall sex, praise kink, Nanami’s big dick

— AKA what if nobody went to Shibuya and everyone went to a Halloween party instead?

╰┈➤ kinktober masterlist

“You’re joking, right?”

There’s a familiar chuckle that rings out over the phone, one that often signifies nothing good is to come when you’re on the receiving end of it. 

“Does everything fit?” Gojo asks coyly, as if he’s incapable of hearing the thinly-veiled threat in your prior question. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

You glare at your phone where it’s perched atop your dresser before returning your gaze to the mirror in front of you, readjusting the blue button down shirt once again in an attempt to keep your chest at least modestly covered—it’s a lost cause. 

“Well, this shirt’s somehow missing half the buttons from the top,” you respond dryly, moving on to fix the silky, yellow tie with black spots that’s secured loosely around your neck. 

This is a disaster waiting to happen. 

“And?”

“And my ass is basically hanging out of this skirt,” you continue, roughly tugging the khaki-coloured material down in vain, as if that will persuade it to extend past its otherwise permanent resting place against your very upper thighs.

“I really don’t see what the problem is.”

Kicking at the precariously tall pair of heels sitting on the floor waiting to wreck your feet, you grumble, “I can’t even walk in heels.”

“Shoko’s house is small. You’ll be fine.”

You walk over to your bed, eyeing the gift bag that Gojo had left sitting on your desk at the school earlier this morning. Something still remains neatly placed at the bottom—a lacy, red lingerie set.

“Should I ask why you bought me lingerie, too? I don’t see how that’s part of the costume. Unless Nanami likes wearing thongs on his days off.”

There’s that fucking chuckle again.

“Nanami-kun loves the color red, don’t you know?”

An unwelcome flash of heat flares white-hot in your gut at the implication behind his words, and you’re mortified. “You’re aware we hate each other, right? Have you been living under a rock? He’ll probably turn around and leave as soon as he walks in and sees me wearing this.”

Gojo’s chuckle turns into an outright laugh, and you can practically hear him shoving his stupid blindfold up to wipe away the tears of amusement prickling at the corners of his ridiculously blue eyes.

“Hate? Yeah, sure. Alright.”

Asshole.

You hang up on him. 

–

You had the (dis)pleasure of becoming acquainted with Kento Nanami just over a year ago, shortly after Gojo roped him back into the world of jujutsu sorcery, despite his best efforts to avoid it during his stint as a salaryman. Given that Jujutsu High isn’t exactly brimming with a large roster of full-fledged sorcerers, the two of you have—naturally—been paired up on your fair share of cases.

To say that you don’t work well together is an understatement. 

Nanami’s straightforward and calculated way of operating in the field is a direct contrast to your fast and loose approach, one that relies heavily on acting on your feelings in the heat of the moment, rather than calculating precise, measured ratios that guarantee a critical hit.

You’re too reckless.

Too emotional.

Too spontaneous.

Too sentimental. 

You grate on him much in the way Gojo does, but whereas there are years of friendship that give Nanami the patience to put up with the strongest sorcerer’s antics, he has no reason to extend that same courtesy to you. 

Needless to say, he’d outright balked when Gojo happily announced that you were a grade 1 sorcerer as well, something that never fails to ruffle his feathers as he watches you flirt with dangerous situations time and time again just for the thrill of it, saving your finishing blow of cursed energy for the last possible moment.

“I can’t work with someone who’s actively trying to get themselves killed,” you’d overheard him snapping at Gojo after your second mission together. “She’s worse than you.”

“She always gets the job done, doesn’t she?”

“At the cost of my sanity, I can’t say it’s worth it.”

Admittedly, you may or may not exacerbate the issue on occasion, exaggerating the aforementioned behavior that you know gets on his nerves just to further get a rise out of him in your attempts to try and dislodge the perpetual stick that’s lodged up his ass. 

–

When Shoko opens the door to her apartment later that evening, the sounds of music and laughter spilling out onto her front step, she takes one look at your costume, eyes wide, and laughs, “Oh, Nanami is going to love this.”

You exhale dramatically through your nose, though the exasperated gesture is thrown off by the way you then proceed to shiver, your meager outfit doing little to protect you from the crisp October air. “Tell me again why we didn’t veto Gojo’s Secret Santa Halloween?”

She shrugs, stepping aside to let you in as she offers you a knowing glance. “I seem to remember you saying how fun it would be to surprise each other with costumes.”

“That was before he picked my name,” you lament, glancing down at the outfit that you’ve now begun to refer to as The Slutty Salaryman. 

“Guess I’m lucky you picked me, then,” she winks, waving a hand to show off the far more modest and fun rendition of Principal Yaga that you’d put together for her, complete with a faux cursed corpse seated on her shoulder with large googly eyes glued to its little bear face. “If it makes you feel any better, someone with a sense of humor clearly got Gojo.”

Careful not to trip and fall to your death in the heels as you head through the entryway to the party beyond, which is bustling with a mixture of familiar faces and strangers alike, you scan the room for a tall head of white hair. True to Shoko’s words, you’re not at all disappointed when you catch sight of Gojo dressed as Gakuganji, looking completely ridiculous with fake facial hair, crudely drawn makeup to add decades to his appearance, and loose-fitting pants that are amusingly unflattering on his lean frame. 

It’s not quite revenge, but it’ll do.

–

Two hours pass without a sign of the man you’re dressed as, and for a moment, you’re relieved at the thought that perhaps you’re off the hook. Every little smug, knowing grin Gojo’s been tossing your way will have been for naught. 

But perhaps just to spite you, the front door swings open the moment you take a celebratory swig from the glass of wine in your hands, leaving Shoko to pound on your back while you start choking on the liquid at the goddamn sight standing before you.

Nanami’s dressed as Gojo.

Sort of.

His blonde hair can’t quite disobey the laws of gravity like the other sorcerer’s stark white locks, so it hangs soft and loose over the white blindfold on his face, which is lifted just enough over one eye so he can actually see. Rather than don Gojo’s typical uniform, Nanami’s in an all-black suit (save for the tie he never goes anywhere without), the well-fitting material leaving little to the imagination as it snugly hugs his muscled arms and thick thighs. 

You’re too distracted to respond to the way Shoko’s snickering in your ear, and when Nanami turns around to talk to someone—thus offering you a view of the outfit from behind—you choke again. 

Naturally, you spend the next hour doing everything in your power to avoid Nanami for reasons you’re not quite ready to examine, utilizing an excessive amount of mental gymnastics to justify the way you keep dipping out of conversations every time you catch a flash of blonde hair out of the corner of your eye. The confusing mixture of feelings you’re experiencing has sent your fight-or-flight response into overdrive. 

Your concerted efforts take a nosedive when a far-too-observant Gojo manages to wrangle the two of you into a conversation before you can find an excuse to be somewhere else. It’s disastrous at best, Nanami offering a blunt, disinterested list of every poor decision he felt that you made when Gojo asks how your joint assignment the other day went. 

And just when you’re about to lay into Nanami about how difficult he made that mission, Shoko grabs you by the hip, resting her head on your shoulder with a smile as she turns to him and asks in a calculating tone, “Nanami-kun, doesn’t her costume look great?” 

He glances at you with a gaze full of disinterest before turning to Gojo with an unimpressed look. “I’d never wear such a cheap tie.”

Nanami walks away to get another drink before you can think of a good comeback, though admittedly, the tie is a terrible knock off.

—

“Shit, sorry!”

Cold beer splashes across your chest and soaks the front of your shirt as a man trips and stumbles in your direction, and you groan in annoyance at the feeling of the sticky liquid dripping down your skin. Despite the fact that you wave him off, heading toward the kitchen in search of paper towels, he follows you, spilling out a string of apologies as he himself scrambles for a pile of napkins. 

It’s an awkward shuffle of you trying to clean your chest off without flashing him and the man getting entirely too close as he awkwardly makes an attempt to dab your shirt dry. To your relief, he doesn’t make it that far, the fingers now wrapped around his wrist halting his arm midair. 

“She’s fine.”

Nanami.

The blindfold is long gone, leaving behind the rare sight of him with no glasses and soft, tousled hair. Internally, you scramble to rustle up the familiar feeling of annoyance that always weighs heavily in your gut at the sight of him. Instead, it’s all you can do to try and keep the hitch in your breath inaudible as you feel your stupid heart trip over itself. 

“I’m just—”

“Do you need his help?” Nanami interrupts the man’s slightly slurred words, directing his steely gaze to you. 

For all of the endless comebacks you can normally conjure up to hurl back at him between one breath and the next, you’re temporarily rendered speechless in confusion as to why he’s helping you. So instead, you just shake your head. 

“She doesn’t need your help,” he repeats, nothing friendly in the way he says it. 

The man apologizes again as he drops your arm and scurries from the kitchen, and you turn away from Nanami, leaning against the counter as you attempt to catch your breath and school your expression into something that doesn’t scream, “Why the fuck was that so hot?”

“Are you alright?” he asks carefully, the tinge of concern in his voice sinking into your bones. 

Hand coming up short from the now-empty paper towel roll, you let out a sound of frustration, though it’s moreso due to the infuriating way your body’s been reacting all night to a man you normally can’t even be in the same room with without arguing about something. 

“Like you said, I’m fine,” you tell him sarcastically, spinning around and pushing past him to grab napkins from the table instead. When all else fails, deflect. 

Unfortunately, spinning in heels is arguably one of your worst decisions of the evening, because you instantly lose your balance on the smooth tile floor. When you try to right yourself mid-step, the room tilts as the heel on one shoe cracks under the pressure. Your hands fly up to break your inevitable fall, but it never comes, a pair of arms wrapping firmly around your body and catching you.

Body momentarily on an angle as Nanami holds you against his warm, solid frame, you look up at him with a dumbfounded expression. If he did this in the field, you’d have jumped out of his hold with a snarky remark about not needing his help. 

But right now?

Right now, you don’t know what you want. 

He stares down at you, nonplussed. “You can’t walk in heels,” he observes.

You blink.

“I can’t walk in heels,” you concede, for once not brimming with the fire to argue. 

“And you’re still dripping wet.”

Nanami lifts you back into a standing position, napkins clutched in one hand as he stands on your side with the broken heel and wraps an arm around your waist, helping you to walk. You desperately try to ignore the way it feels to be tucked against him. 

You hate him. 

Right?

He has you facing the short hallway that you know leads to Shoko’s laundry room instead of the living room. “Should I ask where you’re taking me?”

He looks at you, sighing and shaking his head as he walks you toward another door, flicking on the light before he suddenly hoists you up without warning. You yelp at the feeling of something cold touching the backs of your thighs, short skirt and thin tights doing nothing to protect you from the metal surface you’re now sitting on. Glancing down, you realize he’s put you on top of the washer. 

“Here,” he unceremoniously drops the pile of napkins into your lap. “I thought you might want to clean yourself up somewhere more private, given that you seem to be missing most of the buttons on your shirt.”

Is that fucking sarcasm in his voice?

He waves his hand in the direction of the damp blue button down, as if it’s not meant to be an imitation of his trademark outfit. 

“And what are you going to d—”

You’re cut off by your own gasp at the feeling of Nanami’s hand wrapping around your ankle, the gentleness of the gesture a stark contrast to the way he’d nearly manhandled the stranger in the kitchen. He raises an eyebrow, holding up the broken-off heel in his other hand. 

“Can’t have you limping around Shoko’s house the rest of the night, can we? That’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

You can’t bring yourself to argue, too mesmerized by the way he drags a hand through his blonde hair to push it out of his face, the stubborn locks fighting their way back across his forehead as his brows furrow together in concentration.

You want to card your own hands through it, to see what kind of expression his face will morph into. 

No. 

“I think they’re a lost cause,” you sigh, leaning forward to take them off and admit defeat. You’re sure Shoko has a pair of slippers somewhere. 

You get a face full of Nanami’s hair instead as he beats you to the punch, his long, deft fingers making surprisingly quick work of the tiny buckles as you try not to make it too obvious that you’re now purposely inhaling the scent of his shampoo for whatever fucking reason has compelled your traitorous body to do so. 

This entire night is a write off at this point.

Head elsewhere, you belatedly realize that your legs are spread far too wide for the microscopic length of your skirt, which may be why Nanami’s gaze has remained dutifully trained on your feet, rather than the bright red thong you know is staring him in the face. You try not to make it too obvious as you inch your thighs back together. 

Putting your shoes on top of the dryer, Nanami goes to leave, turning his head to the side once he’s facing the door, “Do you want me to get Shoko?”

You should say yes. 

You should say yes and watch him go back out to the party, letting the door swing shut on this strange, baffling detour in your contemptuous, stormy relationship. 

You’ll go home and sleep off the tightening of your throat and the pressure in your chest, these hazy, confusing feelings sure to fade in the night, long gone after sunrise like the evaporation of morning dew.

But you’ve never been one to make things easy for yourself.   

“So that’s it?”

Nanami turns around fully, eyes meeting yours. “What do you mean?” he asks carefully.

“You’re just going to go back out to the party?” You’re not sure why you’re pushing him.

He takes two slow steps back toward you, hip brushing against your knee when he comes to a stop. “Are you incapable of getting off of the washer without hurting yourself, too?”

There’s an unfamiliar, teasing lilt to the way he says it, and you shift in place, blood prickling hot beneath your skin. What’s wrong with you tonight?

“You really have nothing to say about my costume?” The words are out of your mouth faster than you can take back the idle thought that’s been nagging you since he walked in the door. 

Since you caught him looking at you from across the room several times after his initial biting remark about the tie, his expression unreadable. 

Nanami scoffs quietly, the scent of his cologne licking its way up your nostrils as he leans one hand atop the washer, just beside your thigh. Veins bulge against his forearm, and you find yourself wondering when he rolled his sleeves up. 

Electricity shoots down your spine as a caress of hot breath tickles the shell of your ear. “What do you want me to say?”

You stare straight ahead, not turning to face him. “How much you hate it.” 

The air in the small room is thick with the tension that hangs heavily in the scant space between your bodies. Nanami’s quiet for a moment. 

“I do hate it.”

Why do you feel so disappointed by the response you knew you’d get?

Then, his dress shoes scuff against the floor, his right hand coming to rest on your other side as he slides over and cages you in entirely. 

“I hate how badly it makes me want to fuck you,” he breathes out. 

Suddenly, you feel far too hot and dizzy to be perched atop Shoko’s washer. “What?”

He chuckles darkly. “Don’t act stupid, princess.”

The air feels like it’s rattling in your chest as you inhale, your increased intake of oxygen doing nothing to clear your clouded brain. “You hate me,” you say dumbly.

His thumb twitches, brushing against the outside of your thigh where there’s a small run in your sheer stockings. The contact is so minimal, you barely feel it, but it leaves a burning hot brand echoing through your nervous system all the same.

Despite the fact that he has you caged atop the washing machine, he’s barely touching you, his body arched just enough to avoid the idle sway of your legs. His tie dangles in the space between your bodies, and you have to fight the urge to wrap your fingers around it and tug.

Nanami stares at you, an odd expression on his face. “I hate the way you make me feel,” he corrects you. 

Oh.

“But you—”

“You’re reckless.”

“I’m—”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Well—”

“You’re too fucking smart to be risking your life in jujutsu sorcery.”

“You’re one to tal—”

“Too talented—”

“Well that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever—”

“—you have no regard for your own life in the field.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“You infuriate me to no end—”

“Are you hitting on me or trying to hurt my feelings I really can’t te—”

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he rasps, chest heaving.

You stare at him, blinking slowly. “The feeling’s mutual.”

He runs his tongue over his lower lip. “I can’t stand it.”

You can hardly hear the sounds of the party anymore.

“Then do something about it.”

Nanami’s lips come crashing into yours, and every flickering ember in your body flares to life. 

There’s a dizzying precision to the way Nanami kisses, mouth claiming yours so thoroughly that a moan crawls its way up your throat before he’s even begun to skirt the seam of your lips with his tongue. Your lips part for him, and he deepens the kiss, one hand cupping the back of your head as his tongue slides over yours. 

He explores your mouth like he wants to devour you, and you let him, already dangerously addicted to the taste of his saliva mixing with your own, keening when he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and bites down. 

His hand drifts from your thigh to your shirt, and he grunts as he feels the still-damp material. Without hesitation, you begin to undo the few buttons Gojo hadn’t torn off before giving it to you, overcome with the need to feel the pressure of Nanami’s large, callused hands against your bare skin. He slips the loose tie over your head as you toss the soiled shirt aside, a groan escaping his mouth when he finally takes in the unhindered sight of your bright red bra.

While the straps are lace, the cups are thin and sheer, leaving your peaked nipples on display. You almost hadn’t worn it after realizing how little it left to the imagination.

But now, seeing the way Nanami’s jaw ticks as he stares down at you, fingers twitching where they’re resting against the tops of your thighs, you don’t regret it one bit. 

Your breasts feel heavy and tender under his rapt attention, and the coil nestled in your gut tightens. 

Nanami looks like he’s holding himself back, and you feel a surge of arousal drip between your legs as you watch him teeter at the knife’s edge of his restraint. 

“You don’t need to be gentle with me,” you tell him, overcome with the need to feel exactly what it is that he wants to do to you.  

He cradles the side of your face, fingers curling behind your ear as he slots his mouth against yours. The kiss is thorough but brief, and soon he’s dragging his lips along the curve of your jaw, mouth blazing a trail down the side of your neck, tongue exploring the dip of your collarbone.

While you know where he’s headed, your entire body still arches hard into him when he finally cups your breasts with both hands, leaning in to wetly mouth at one of them through the material of your bra. He licks and sucks, the sensation making you tremble, and you throw your head back and moan, one leg hooking around his waist to pull him in as you scoot closer to the edge of the washer. 

You’re about to take off your bra, but Nanami beats you to the punch, fingers easily flicking open the hooks and allowing your supple breasts to spill out before him. He dives back in, groaning as his lips close around your bare nipple, tongue dancing along the sensitive skin that surrounds the hard bud. His mouth is hot, and slick saliva coats your breasts as he goes back and forth between the two, kneading and sucking. 

With both of your legs now wrapped around his waist in the haze of your arousal, you inadvertently begin to rock into him, your short skirt hiked up around your hips and rendered useless. You moan at the feeling of the sizeable shaft that presses hard into the heat between your legs, his erection straining against the zipper of his slacks. Nanami groans as you start shamelessly dry humping him, and your panties dampen further at the feeling of the sound vibrating against your tits. He gazes one of your nipples with his teeth, teasing it a final time before he straightens, hand coming up to cup your cheek. 

Nanami stares at you intently, thumb brushing over your bottom lip, eyes tracking the way your pupils dilate in turn. He does it again, and your tongue darts out, grazing the tip. Tilting his head ever so slightly to the side, he presses the tip of his thumb just past the entrance of your lips, eyes darkening as he watches how easily you welcome the intrusion. He drags his thumb down the side of your chin, pulling down your lower lip with his pointer finger, and your lips part.

A small, eager thrum flares in your gut as you take his finger into your mouth, tongue wrapping around it as you coat it with saliva. Your panties are slick with arousal as you continue to chase the friction of his cock, moaning when he puts another finger in your mouth. You begin to bob your head on the digits, sucking on them so eagerly that you can’t bring yourself to care about the drool sliding from the corner of your mouth.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he groans, wiping off the stray saliva with his other thumb and licking his finger clean. 

He’s said the same thing time and time again before, but it’s far more preferable in this context. 

You whimper in relief when he finally slides that hand down your body, bringing it to rest at the apex of your thighs. The sound is muffled by the fingers still shoved in your mouth, and a sound of amusement rumbles in his chest as he watches you desperately keen and writhe for him. 

He drags a finger down the length of your wet pussy, though the contact is muted by your stockings. You begin to shift your hips, a plea for him to tear them off of you, but his impatience wins out as he outright tears them open to gain access to the plush, dripping warmth of your cunt. 

“More red,” he murmurs in approval, running his fingers over the matching sheer material that covers your mound, one digit sliding up to firmly tug at the thick, lace waistband that sits high against your hip bones.

“You like red?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

But he surprises you, still. “I like you in red.”

Nanami uses his thumb to push your thong aside, steadily dragging his finger down your soaking wet slit now exposed to him. The digit slides right through your sensitive folds, and he smirks before sliding one long digit knuckle-deep into your tight hole. 

You gasp, toes curling as you buck into his touch, already greedy for more. Greedy to be filled. 

“More,” you pant out as he slowly pumps the finger in and out of your cunt.

“Open for me,” he tells you, voice low and rough.

You don’t hesitate, lips falling open, and your body radiates with tremors of pleasure as Nanami spits directly into your mouth. Swallowing it down, you moan, drunk on the feeling of submission as he slides in another digit and continues fucking you on his fingers.

“Good girl,” he breathes out heavily. “So pretty like this.”

You shudder under the weight of his praise, something unlocking inside of you as you begin to realize maybe you’ve wanted this from him all along. Needed this from him all along. 

“Fuck me, Nanami. Please.”

“Kento,” he corrects you, hair tickling your neck as he leans in, licking and sucking at the junction between your shoulder and neck.

“Fuck me,” you moan, loosening his tie as your fingers trail their way down opening each button of his shirt. “Kento.”

He bites down hard at the sound of his first name on your lips, his gravelly voice like fire against your skin, “Come for me first.”

He picks up his pace, fingers squelching lewdly in your cunt. Your mouth falls open as you try to temper down the loud moans of pleasure you want to give him, aware that all that separates you from the partygoers is the closed door a few feet away. 

Kento roughly spits into your mouth again at the same moment that he brings his free hand between your legs to tease your clit, the fingers buried inside of you curling as he strokes your sensitive, spongey wall. A choked out sob leaves you when you come, and he swallows it down with a messy kiss, meeting your muffled cries of pleasure with his own rough moan as he feels you squirt all over him, clear liquid spraying his shirt and pants.

“Fuck,” he groans, the wavering loss of his composure now evident in his voice as you ride out the last waves of your orgasm on his hand. 

Overcome with the desire to feel the large erection tented painfully at the front of his pants, your fingers fumble with the button and zipper, a sigh of pleasure leaving you when you finally wrap your hands around his long, thick cock. Kento kisses you filthily, moaning into your mouth as you begin pumping his cock, thumb sliding over the precum dripping from the head. 

His large hands grasp your thighs, pulling you as close to the edge of the washer as possible. Kento wraps his own hand around his dick, firmly dragging the head down your creamy slit. You rock forward, chest heaving, muscles clenched tight with desire and need, only to be met with a sharp burst of pleasure as he slaps his cock heavily against your pussy. You whimper for him.

Placing a finger over your lips, which have been far from quiet throughout this ordeal, Kento goes to grab the tie left discarded beside you. However, after his fingers close around the material, he raises a brow and shakes his head, letting it drop to the floor as he begins to loosen his own tie instead.

You make no effort to hide the shameless need on your face as he smirks at you, shaking his head before wrapping the tie around your mouth and gagging you with it. 

“I like seeing you desperate,” he murmurs against your ear, before finally sheathing his thick cock inside of you.

His dick is so big, your tight pussy throbs from the stretch while he splits you open, flooding your body with an overwhelming wave of pleasure. Suit jacket already discarded somewhere along the way, your fingers tug off his unbuttoned dress shirt, leaving your hands free to explore the firm expanse of his abdomen.

The washing machine begins to shake loudly with each thrust, and Kento grunts, arms wrapping tightly around you as he lifts you, choosing to fuck you up against the wall instead. The continuous push and drag of his fat cock through your slick channel leaves your mind begging for more.

Your lewd moans are quiet and muffled against the gag, but he can still hear it when you beg, “Harder.”

He obliges, the shelf leaning against the wall beside you trembling ever so slightly when he begins to roughly thrust in and out of your cunt. His cock relentless plunges in to the hilt, your pussy greedily taking every long, thick inch as he fucks you deep. One of his hands runs down the side of your neck, and you find yourself leaning into the pressure, whimpering against the wet material blocking your mouth.

“Should have known you’d like this,” he rasps, hand sliding to the front of your throat as he tightens his grip and starts to choke you. “Now come on my cock.”

The pleasure that erupts inside of you swipes every remaining bit of air from your lungs, a choked out sob crawling its way up your throat as you tremble and shake in Kento’s steady grip, cunt squelching wetly around his dick. 

He looks down between your bodies, the sight of the creamy ring you’ve left around the base of his shaft drawing a rough, aroused noise of appreciation from him. 

Kento goes to pull out, but you shake your head, a small whine slipping past the tie, and he groans heavily, forehead falling against yours as he slams his cock back in to the hilt. It only takes a few strokes before he’s coming, too, shaft pulsing and throbbing within the tight grip of your slick cunt as he dumps rope after rope of hot cum inside of you, filling you to the brim. 

When you’re finished, Kento sets you down carefully, his fingers tender as he undoes the gag and leans in, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss, tongue swiping along your lower lip.

“Are you alright?” He asks, thumb stroking your neck.

You don’t answer him for a beat, and his mouth curls downward in concern, meeting your gaze only to find the deceivingly innocent pout of your lips.

“Don’t tell me you’re done already?” you say. 

You should be exhausted from how thoroughly he just fucked you, but instead, you’re already thinking about feeling the thick stretch of his cock inside of you again, and your cunt flutters and aches with a need that’s yet to be sated.

Kento laughs, the sound deep and rich, and you think you could get used to hearing it.

He pulls up your underwear, along with your now-ruined tights, lowering himself down on one knee before you as he presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your cunt while his thick, sticky cum begins to soak into your panties. You exhale shakily, already far too close to undone just from the sight before you alone, and he smirks, standing back up.

Kento takes your chin between his pointer finger and thumb, teasing your bottom lip. “We’re not done, we’re just going to go somewhere where I don’t need to cover your pretty lips next time.”

— likes, comments, &/or reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[haveyouanytime]

obsessed with ur rust domestic blurb we need more of that vibe

another blurb for old dog rust :3 | cw: implied age gap (reader 18+), smoking cigarettes, literally all about cigarettes, very short :( and not proofread ... living life on the edge

Rust hated that you smoked. It was a social habit you formed back in high school from sneaking out during lunch, wanting to be cool with the other kids that dreamed of leaving Alaska right out of graduation. However, once you got into a relationship with Rust, smoking became almost a constant thing. 

It started off with sharing cigarettes. You’d go out with him for dinner, finding yourself outside and leaning against the brick wall with the Louisiana air murkily settling over you. You’d look up at Rust as he lit his cigarette, watching with a doe-eyed look as if he had put the moon in the sky. He took a deep puff, exhaling with a quiet groan and pushing the plume of smoke out into the muggy air. 

“Can I have some?” You softly ask, your smaller hand reaching out for it. With a chuckle and a small shrug, he hands you the cigarette. 

You take a drag like how your friends taught you in high school, but the accidental tolerance break made the tickle of the strong nicotine too much to handle. You coughed out, your eyes scrunching shut with the unfamiliar tickle in the back of your throat. 

You hear Rust chuckle, his hand moving to rub a circle onto your back. “Not too much now, baby.” You cough, still holding the cigarette as your other hand moves to push at his chest to wordlessly tell him not to laugh. 

Then, you started smoking by yourself. Rust had forgotten his cigarettes at home during one of his shifts at the bar, and your curiosity got the best of you. You coughed again but slowly worked past it, thinking of seventeen-year-old you who could smoke two without even coughing. As it finished, a strange sense of accomplishment came over you, and you didn’t mind it too bad. 

He noticed you’d started to smoke more often, and he felt like he had corrupted you in some way. That guilt had always been a small manifestation deep within him, starting just as your older boyfriend in Alaska. Now he had taken you all the way to Louisiana and got you fixed on cigarettes. 

“You should quit.” He grunts one night, watching as you roll over in bed. The covers hid your exposed body as you grabbed your pack from your nightstand. 

“You first.” You answer, lighting the cigarette with his own that dangled between his own lips. He could admit he hated that he got you to start smoking, but nothing sparked fire in his loins like when you’d lean in, kissing the tips of your cigarettes together to light them. 

After your own budding addiction, Rust became notorious for stealing your cigarettes. The pack in your purse would disappear, and you’d see Rust with a new pack despite never taking the time to stop by the store. Even if you tied your ribbons around them or hid them in your nightstand drawer, you’d find them in the pockets of Rust’s jeans. 

What frustrated you the most, however, was the one’s he’d steal straight from your lips. 

You’d be lounging at home, slowly and carefully applying a bold red to your fingernails. You were taking drags with the cigarette that sat between your lips, the TV playing an old sitcom as background noise. Suddenly, long fingers would appear in your eyesight, snatching the cigarette from between your lips.

“Hey!” You whine, turning to look at him as he stands behind the couch. With a smirk, he looks down at you, taking a long drag of the cigarette he thieved from your own mouth. 

“That has my lipstick on it.” You pout, pointing at the ring of red on the cigarette where Rust’s lips pursed. 

“Baby, I’ve had your lipstick on more parts of me than I can tell.” He drawled back with a raise of his brow. He took a drag of the cigarette, chuckling as he caught the pillow you threw at him.

[tarotwithavi]

How do your classmates and teachers view you?

A general depiction of how your classmates and teachers see you and think of you.

Choose the picture that attracts you and you can choose two piles. Leave a note to support. And have a nice day!

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Take deep breaths and fix your posture.

Pile 1

Hello pile 1 ! You're classmates see you as someone who's competitive and likes winning. You give off the vibe of higher achiever. You might also see that your classmates also see you as a competition and might compare their grades with you. For some of you I'm getting that you might be very popular in school because of your intelligence and knowledge and this might attract some jealousy. Your classmates see you as someone who is always in their own world and does their own thing and very passionate about their studies. Someone who takes their academic life seriously. You're okay with enjoying with your friends and skipping classes but when it's time to study or when you feel like you should study, you became very serious and forget your surroundings.

On the other hand your teachers see you as someone who balances their studies with their hobbies and is a mixture of topper and disguised troublemaker. Your teachers see you as someone who is going to succeed in life. You know the type of student who the teachers believe is going to be great person or is going to get a lot of fame. Someone who doesn't compromise their education for a short time fun. Your teachers see that you can become a perfect judge because of your unbiased opinions and advices. Your teachers see you as a hardworker too. They also see you as someone who makes stupid compromises? Oh I get it they see you as someone who doesn't realize their worth and how capable you are. You tend to underestimate yourself.

Pile 2

Alright pile 2 ! Your classmates see you as the forever helpful and nice classmates. The one who is always ready to help and explain the topics again if someone asks them to. Probably the second teacher of the class Or the head of the class. I'm also getting that your classmates see you as their friend and the coolest classmate. I'm also getting that your classmates recognize you for your art or creativeness. Maybe you sketch, paint, draw or sing? They see you as the down to earth person. The one who is nice to everyone and has good relations with everyone. They also see you as the mother of the friend group or the person who can vibe with anyone ( are you guys for real? How do you do that? What's your secret? ) Anyways , I'm also getting that your classmates like you a lot. And some might be crushing on you.

Okay so for your teachers I'm getting that they see you as "My buddy" Or "save this student at all cost " Or something like that. Now take that how it resonates but I'm also getting that they might think that you lack confidence? They see you as someone who is good with everyone but likes to do their work alone. They type to do the group assignment all by themselves even though they got paired with their friends. Your teachers see you as the student who's ready nice but won't tolerate bullshit and hates to be told what to do and how to do certain things. Your teachers might think that you won't ask for help and is a little hesitant to talk to people sometimes. They see you as Someone assertive. And needs to gain confidence.

Pile 3

Welcome pile3! I'm getting that your classmates see you as the person who's working very hard and trying their best. The type of student who always has their nose buried in books and always talk about the next test and the subjects they are bad at. For some of you I'm getting that your classmates think that you're hiding something. I'm also getting that they see you as someone who has a whole different personality at school and changes into their different self the second they feet leave school. You give off the vibe of Peter Parker. For example how he is a super hero but no one knows that. Even at school people see him as the average student . You might skip school a lot too. I just heard " There's a lot about me that people don't know. And I would like to keep it that way" . They also see you as someone who tries very hard to be like everyone else.

Your teachers really be hyping you up. They want to see you succeed and see all your wishes come true. There's a male teachers who really has high hopes for you and wishes the best for you. For some of you I'm getting that there's a female teachers who's very strict and might be called rude, who Sees the potential in you. You might be being burdened by work from this teacher but in her mind she's doing the best for you. Your teachers see that you're tired and stuck. They think that you're going through something that you don't want to share. And they wish that you would be a little good to yourself. I heard " You're doing great sweetie" . Your teachers see you as someone who has had enough and just wants to rest. They see you as someone who needs to rest and recover and remain positive.

[jinkoh]

fixing fate's mistake

sangyeon x reader

part of my soulmate series

summary: why is it that the one who comes to save you is never your soulmate but his older brother instead?

tags: soulmate au (sharing bruises), smut - mdni, childhood friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, small age gap (Sang is 3yrs older), slightly possessive!sangyeon (but he is mostly a softie), car activities, oral (r!receiving), strength play(?), lots of consent, loosely implied virgin!reader; warnings: light injuries and mentions of blood, reader is being picked up/carried, no pronouns but reader has a vagina and wears a skirt

wc: 2.9k

a/n: this wasn't meant to include sexy times but then i felt like the vibes were there so here we are i guess i'm a smut writer now 🤷🏻‍♀️

series masterlist | tbz masterlist

As you were sitting in the cold, moist grass at the side of the road, the sun long disappeared behind the horizon, your knees bloody and your ankle twisted, you wished that there was a way to start over. It would be great if life worked like a video game, letting you return to a saving point if you messed up. Maybe you’d return back to this morning and make sure to charge your phone properly. Or maybe this afternoon so you could take the bus and leave your bike on campus. But even more likely, you would go all the way back to that one day in elementary school, when you’d been at the playground with the two boys living next door. 

Even now, roughly 12 years later, you remembered it very clearly. You’d been on the swing, laughing brightly as you told them to look how high you could go. Sangyeon, the older one, told you to be careful, but you didn’t listen because all that mattered was the wish to impress him. Maybe it was because he was three years older, but at the time he was the coolest person in the world to you. He was nice and strong and really good at catching bugs. His younger brother who was the same age as you wasn’t half as interesting, but that was fine because he wasn’t interested in you either. He focused on his sand castle instead. You only got his attention when you fell, busting your knees open in the rough sand. The pain made tears spring to your eyes. Sangyeon immediately came over, a worried frown on his face. He’d probably felt responsible as the oldest. His brother on the other hand just gave you a dirty look as he got up from where he was sitting in the sandbox, dusting off his knees.

“You’re so stupid,” he said. But you didn’t mind. Your tears and pain were forgotten too, because all you saw were the bruises on his knees. You were overjoyed. You had a soulmate! Sure, it wasn’t the person you would have wanted it to be, but you were convinced you could make it work. The important part was that you had a soulmate, something you’d been dreaming of your whole (admittedly young) life. 

He didn’t feel the same way. While you were happy about it all, excited whenever a bruise of either of you showed up on the other’s skin, he seemed to hate the idea of being your soulmate. He’d been cold to you before, but from the moment you found out, he made a point of being mean. Looking back, you should have just given up then. Maybe things would have been different if you’d given him room. Maybe he wouldn’t have come to hate you to this extent. And then maybe he would have come to help you now. But giving up hadn't been an option to you back then. You’d been a kid fueled by the idea that he’d fall for you if you just kept trying. After all, you were soulmates. 

When you were in 5th grade, you fell down the swings again and broke your arm. You were crying and miserable and all alone, but it didn’t take long for your mom and Sangyeon to show up, first-aid kit ready. Your mom scolded your for not being careful and for going all by yourself, and that it was only thanks to the bruises on your soulmate’s skin that they came so quickly. Of course, you’d thought to yourself, he saw them and got worried about it, so he told mom. And that sparked hope within you. You completely ignored that he didn’t even bother to show up himself and clung to the  hope that he actually cared. It also made you come to a very stupid conclusion: He would pay attention to you if you got hurt. So you fell and you stumbled and you bumped into things, all to get a little bit of his attention. It didn’t work. Of course it didn’t. It just made him despise you more and more, disgusted with your clingy behavior and the way you kept engraving all these marks into his skin, even if they weren't permanent. You regretted it now. If you could take it all back, undo every stupid bruise you’d bothered him with, you would. But there were no saving points in life that you could just go back to. Right now, there was only the moist grass and your scraped skin and the knowledge that no one would come to help you. Your soulmate must have seen the bruises by now and surely he was smart enough to connect the dots and realize that you had an accident on your way home. But he wouldn’t care. It wasn’t any of his business if you were hurt or not, aside from the fact that it stained his skin.

You wrapped your arms around your body, shivering from the cold seeping into your aching bones. You knew you had to get up and walk the rest of the way home. Maybe you could lean onto your bicycle to take some weight off the strained ankle. It seemed possible. But you just felt so miserable and alone, and your body was refusing to move. You buried your face behind your knees, letting yourself cry because there wasn’t anyone around to see. Except, you suddenly felt the headlights of a car on you, bright and white. The car was going slow, way too slow for a street like this, almost as if the driver was looking for something. The moment you saw the familiar license plate, you realized that something must be you. The car pulled over just a few meters away from you and Sangyeon got out, quickly jogging over. The second you saw his face, a new wave of tears welled up in your eyes. It seemed like he always knew when to show up to save you. He crouched down in front of you, cupping your face with a worried frown.

“Are you okay?”

You didn’t know how to meet his genuine gaze, so you looked away and gave him a small shrug.

“What happened?” His thumb gently brushed some of your tears away. 

“I fell,” you mumbled, suddenly feeling like a child again with the way he took care of you.

“Can you walk? Just to the car?”

Your gaze fell to your knees and your ankle. You probably could walk, despite the injuries, especially with help, but your muscles felt frozen in place. You didn’t say anything.

Sangyeon huffed a small laugh. “Fine, then.” He hooked one arm under your knees and wrapped the other around your back, before he slowly stood up, carrying you back to the car princess style. He sat you down on the passenger seat with your legs out, and then got the first-aid kit from the back. It stung when he cleaned the wounds on your knees, but it wasn’t like it would hurt less if you complained, so you just watched in silence as he carefully tended to your wounds. He bandaged your ankle too, saying something about how he could give you a ride to the doctor’s if it didn’t get better by itself. You barely paid attention though, distracted by the feeling of his warm hands on your skin.

“Are you listening?” He looked up at you from where he was crouching in front of your legs.

“How did you know?” You asked instead of replying.

Sangyeon hesitated for a moment before he replied. “I saw the bruises on his knees when I came home.”

You nodded slowly, lips pressed together in a tight smile. "Was it the same back then?"

"Huh?"

"When I broke my arm and you came with my mom—it was never him who told her right? It was you, because you happened to see his marks."

Sangyeon didn’t say anything and that in itself was said enough. Of course your soulmate didn’t actually tell him, or anyone. Of course not. You hadn’t expected anything else, but somehow it still hurt. It wasn’t even about him as a person. It wasn’t like you were in love with him, so maybe it was silly to expect him to care. But letting go of that dream of a fated love coming true hurt and it hurt that you were stuck with a soulmate like him, when clearly it should have been someone else. 

New Tears sprung to your eyes and you tried to blink them away, but to no avail.

“Y/n,” Sangyeon started, his voice soft. But he didn’t go on, because what was there even to say?

You sniffed. “I used to want a soulmate so badly, I didn’t even care who it was. But now I feel like I’d rather have none." You let out a bitter laugh. "I’m sure he for one has always felt that way.” 

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true.” You paused for a moment, knowing what you were going to say next was probably best kept to yourself, but you felt too exhausted to care. “It should have been you instead. Why can’t it be you?”

Sangyeon’s eyes widened in surprise before he huffed an awkward laugh and busied himself with packing up the first-aid kit. “You don’t mean that.”

“Why? Would it be that bad if I did?”

“No,” he replied, momentarily pausing his hands, “but it’d get my hopes up.”

You felt your heart skip a beat at his words, your mind unable to quite grasp the meaning of it. You wanted him to look at you, to see in his eyes that he was serious, but his gaze was still fixed on the kit. You lightly nudged his knee with your toes, trying to get his attention back and he finally raised his head.

“Get your hopes up, then,” you whispered and you saw him visibly swallow. He set aside the kit before standing up and leaning into your personal space, one hand propped against the frame of the car.

“Do you know what you’re saying?” His gaze was intense and you almost wanted to shy away, but you were scared he’d misinterpret it as rejection.

“Yes,” you said, your gaze briefly dropping to his lips, “I know perfectly. Fate made a mistake, so let’s fix it.”

“And you won’t change your mind?”

You shook your head. “I won’t.”

His hand came up to your cheek, smoothing over your skin before tilting your chin up. Your breathing hitched when he came closer, only inches keeping you apart. “Even if he came begging?”

“Even then.”

A satisfied smile spread on his face. “Good,” he mumbled, before letting his lips brush against yours, “because I don’t plan on handing you over after this.”

Maybe the back of his car at the side of a deserted road wasn’t the most romantic spot, but Sangyeon’s touch was so warm as he lowered you onto the seat that you didn’t mind. He kept a hand at the back of your head, making sure you didn’t bump it on the car door. And then he settled between your legs, careful about your bruises and injured ankle.

“All okay?” He whispered as his thumb gently brushed some hair out of your forehead.

“Yeah,” you whispered but your voice was trembling with nerves.

“Are you sure?”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss. “Very sure,” you whispered, and you meant it. Of course you were nervous, maybe even a little scared, but you knew you were safe with him. You'd always been safe with him.

“Okay,” Sangyeon smiled into your lips before kissing you once more. One of his hands settled on your hip while the other ran over the outside of your thigh, sneaking its way under your skirt. A small whine escaped from your lips when his fingers lightly tugged at the fabric of your panties, letting the elastic snap back against your skin.

“Cute,” he mumbled, making your face flush with heat. Embarrassed, you covered your mouth with your hand, but he immediately pulled it away.

“It’s just me,” he said, keeping your hand in his. “No one else will hear, so don’t hold back.”

His other hand was still under your skirt, moving to your inner thigh now. His thumb rubbed circles into your skin in a motion that was both comforting and arousing. Then it wandered further up, tugging at the thin fabric of your underwear once more.

“Still okay?”

You nodded, trying to part your legs a little more so he knew you meant it. Sangyeon sat up a little, slowly pulling your panties down your legs which served a little difficult in the cramped space of the car. Once he reached your knees he went one leg after the other, carefully lifting the fabric over the bandaged bruises to make sure not to touch them, and then he was just as careful again when he reached your injured ankle. The sweet treatment made your chest feel full and you almost wanted to cry again.

"You don't have to be so careful. I'm not made of glass," you whispered while he slipped your panties all the way off and stuffed them into the back pocket of his jeans.

"I know," he said, leaning in again and leaving a kiss at the corner of your mouth, "but can't I still be gentle with you?" A grin tugged on his lips, "Or do you prefer a rough treatment?"

You felt yourself blushing, quickly averting your eyes as you stuttered "Gentle is f-fine."

Sangyeon chuckled. "Thought so."

His hands moved to the back of your legs, pushing them up so he could kiss the inner side of your knees and thighs, sucking little bruises into the skin.

"Sang-"

"Hm?" He looked at you through his lashes, barely detaching his lips from you.

"Sang, he'll see if you leave marks."

Sangyeon lightly bit down on your skin making you gasp. "Would that really be so bad?" 

Maybe you should have stood your ground, but the possessive gleam in his eyes had you swooning, so you didn’t complain when his mouth left more bruises in its wake as he slowly made his way to your core. When his breath fanned over your sensitive parts you yelped, instinctively kicking out your legs and almost hitting your injured foot on the car’s backrest. Before that could happen though, Sangyeon caught your legs in his hands. 

"No moving, hm? You'll hurt yourself. Just stay still and let me take care of you." 

Before you had a chance to reply, he leaned in again and put his mouth to work on your clit, making you moan instead. You tried to keep still, even as his tongue ran through your folds and made your body spasm with pleasure. But even if you’d wanted to kick out your legs again, Sangyeon’s hold on you was strong, keeping you in place. The difference in strength and the way he could overpower you so easily somehow had you even more aroused, calling to desires you didn’t know you had in you. Sangyeon seemed to have noticed, because he experimentally tightened his grip a little more, chuckling when you gasped and pathetically clenched around nothing. “It seems you like the rough treatment after all.”

You shook your head, too ashamed to admit it, but the way you whined when his teeth grazed your skin seemed to prove otherwise.

“It’s okay, darling, no need to feel embarrassed,” he said, looking at you as he let his tongue run over you again, “It’s just me, remember?” 

He let go of one of your legs, pinning it down with his elbow instead to be able to rub his thumb over your clit at the same time as his tongue pushed into you. You almost screamed at the sudden change in pace, the pleasure of it all a little overwhelming and making your head feel fuzzy.

“Sang–” you gasped, clenching your hands and bucking your hips, “feels strange.”

“Strange?” He asked, lifting his head, but not stopping the movement of his hand, “Or good?”

“G-good,” you agreed, screwing your eyes shut when his tongue was back on you, “So good.”

It didn’t take much longer for your high to approach, rippling through you in waves of pleasure that made you buck your hips into him. He kept going a little longer, helping you ride out your orgasm until you were reduced to a twitching overstimulated mess. Sangyeon sat up and wiped his glistening lips with the back of his hand. You watched him through dazed eyes, the realization of what just happened between the two of you not quite sinking in. 

He ruffled his already tousled hair. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“No, I don’t know,” you answered, still unable to take your eyes off him. “Come here.”

He smiled, leaning down and letting you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him into a kiss.

“This is real, right?” you whispered against his lips.

“Funny,” he said before giving you another kiss, “I was about to ask the same thing.” 

series masterlist | tbz masterlist

[rosewaterandivy]

fightin' to get better

modern!eddie x f!reader

summary: eddie does his damndest to get us out of the study to take a frickin' break.

a/n: My blog is 18 +, minors DNI; purely self-indulgent smut and prosaic idolatry here, my usual brand of filth.

🎶 ooh, let you slide up your hand, uh oh, let go all of my plans 🎶

Grad school could suck a dick. A whole bag of ‘em as far as you were concerned. The entirety of your summer had been taken up by this final class— a subject you loved, but far too much reading and work assigned for the condensed semester.

Eddie thought so too.

The man was quick to chime in when you’d had a glass of wine or two and finally extricated yourself from the front room you’d claimed as an office. Couldn’t understand how you would be complaining one minute and then the second he adds his two cents, you’re defending the professor in question.

But then again, you’d always been tender-hearted.

Which more than explained your penchant for collecting strays, present company excluded, naturally.

“That’s it,” he says, fingers working to peel the damp label from the beer bottle. “First thing tomorrow, I’m gettin’ on the horn with this so-called professor.”

“Eddieeee,” you whine, lips falling into a pout. “Don’t do that.”

He leans into it really playing it up, an eye roll and scoff combo, head inclining to rest on your shoulder as he falls on you dramatically.

“Can’t have my best girl pulling all-nighters every other week.”

His voice was softer, not laced with his typical jocular tone. The bright images of the screen dance across your faces in the cool room. Eddie settles against you, warm breath fanning across your chest and neck.

He can see the subtle dark hues beneath your eyes, hates the evidence of your sleepless nights spent in front of the computer, nose buried in a book.

“I know,” you rasp after a beat or two. “I’ll get better baby, I promise. S’just a few more weeks and then I’m army-crawling to the finish line.”

He cracks a smile, unable to hide his elation at your accomplishment— at you.

Eddie Munson and his genius girlfriend, who would’ve thought?

—

So it really shouldn’t be a surprise a week or two later when Eddie wanders into the study to find you up at all hours of the night. Again.

“Babe—”

“Jesus Christ!” You jolt in your chair, startled by the sound, and slowly swivel toward him. A deep breath once you realize who it is, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room.

And, sure enough, your boyfriend is standing there wiping the sleep from his eyes, sporting his Suspiria sweats and looking entirely displeased.

“God Eds, make a noise! You’re like Ruth Gordon just standing there with a tannis root.”

He crosses his arms with a sign, ignoring your barb. Ruth Gordon, with her blue eye shadow and head scarf? Puh-leeze.

“You said you’d be ten minutes.”

You shudder at the timbre of his voice— raspy and low, hitting the sweet spot that sends heat rushing to your core.

“Shit, I’m sorry, babe.”

Glasses discarded and hair askew, you sigh catching the time and start to pack it in for the night.

Eddie is surprisingly quick for someone snatched from sleep and dreaming, he turns your chair away from the desk and fixes you with a look.

The penetrating kind, where he squints and tilts his head like he just can’t figure you out. And yeah, he’s never really understood academia or why the books you’ve had to buy are always so damn expensive. But he does his best to support you, reminds you to eat and sleep more than he’d like because you have the tendency of getting too caught up and distracted.

His gaze softens, “C’mere pretty girl.”

Eddie picks you up and throws you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, despite your protests. Smacks your ass for good measure.

“M’gonna fall!”

“No, you aren’t,” he tuts, “Such a drama queen.”

He barrels through the dark house only to deposit you in the dimly lit bathroom. A shaft of light eeks in from a partially opened closet door, candles flickering on countertops catching their reflections in the mirror.

Right side up again, you pause and take a look around. The bathtub is filling up, bubbles growing in soft peaks of foam, and a bath bomb fizzles away, painting the water in candy-colored hues.

There’s a glass of wine and another of ice water, sweating against the ledge of the tub. An iPad propped up in the corner, your favorite show cued up and ready to go.

“Baby,” you say, turning back to him, voice barely above a whisper. “What is all this?”

He takes a step toward you, the slightest inclination of his chin prompting your hands to rise above your head. Eddie’s nimble fingers find the hem of your shirt and tug it upwards, soft fabric brushing against your skin only to be kissed with damp heat.

“Jus’ wanna take care of you,” he says simply, quietly. As if he’d rather do nothing else.

“Oh.”

His fingers alight on the waist of your shorts, thumbs hooking in and pulling down.

“Hmm.” He says, kneeling in front of you, brow quirked and eyes seeking yours. “Feelin’ lucky today or—"

The heat rises in your chest and neck, hands flying to cover your face while he lazily peruses your bare form.

Not so much luck as it was sheer exhaustion that informed your sartorial choices and distinct lack of underwear today, but you’ll take what you can get.

His breath ghosts along your thighs, muscles tightening inadvertently, the coil in your stomach winding taut.

As you step out of the shorts, Eddie turns off the faucet and herds you back against the sink. A brief lift and you're sitting on the countertop, legs splayed, head falling against the cool mirror behind you.

Eddie buries his head between your legs, and smothers praises between your thighs.

Eddie's pretty sentimental with oral— kissing, kissing, kissing— can't stop his lips from meandering, can't stop his mouth from savoring. He noses against your slit, tongue darting out to taste. A low rumble ripped from his chest as the slick muscle works against your petaled heat, savoring the arousal gathered there.

He gets dizzy off it. Selfish for it. It all goes to his head— whimpers and moans falling from your candy-pink mouth, a prolonged whine of his name.

Left, then right, back over again. Drowsy roaming paths, curving and bending, pleased when you arch into his mouth, forever wanting more. Licks you for hours like you’re the last bit of sweetness in the world, savors it long and lazy and delicate.

"Sweetheart," he sighs, pulling away briefly. Lips ruddy and wet with your slick, smiling slow and dangerous, “You’re fucking delicious, baby.”

You moan on his clever tongue and the sloppy sounds he makes. He's always stunning— eager and devoted to the singular task of lapping at you like a starved man.

Two fingers twist inside before he turns them back and shoves them in his own mouth. He repeats this again and again, like pulling a secret from your body that only he’s allowed to enjoy.

“Yes,” he sighs, “Fuck yes. Fuck—mmm—"

It's as if you're on the precipice of a coming storm, pressure building, and rising, too, in your belly, as he works into your body, heavy-lidded and transfixed on your beautiful face. Deeper until you’re shaking, pulling your legs up over his shoulders, getting him closer, closer, closer.

Your toes curl.

"Eddie—"

You shatter like a splinter of lightning. It bursts across your skin—a bright, brief halo—before it’s gone, chased by the explosion of swollen clouds. He muffles a loud fuck! into the meat of your ass, while his fingers continue to corkscrew inside of you.

He's wet down to his wrist, coaxing vestiges of arousal from you, and rises to kiss your open, panting mouth, your exposed throat. Eddie's lips turned wicked and desperate when he asks, "Think you can gimme another one?"

Nodding dumbly, bath and freshly laundered sheets completely forgotten, you watch as he all but yanks you down further, ass now hanging off the countertop. Swings your legs over his shoulders and dives back in, your cunt now positively flooded due to his velvet tongue.

On the bright side, this all-nighter was exceedingly better than the one you had planned; you wouldn't have it any other way. Well played Eddie Munson.

Well played.

[recreationalfanfics]

Okay okay so a few years back when I was very much into the NATM fandom (almost embarrassingly so), I was obsessed with Al Capone.

Imagine Al Capone meeting the fish mafia and either loving their whole vibe (especially the lounge) or not trusting them one bit and just pulling Daley!Yuu (a.k.a his pseudo-child, much to Larry's annoyance) to the side like 'I'd be careful o' these fellas - they seem like trouble'

(Cut to Larry like - You and your gang tried to teach them tax evasion last week!)

No but he would meet Deuce and would it would be like instant respect because one gangster recognises another (even though Deuce is trying to reform)

Imagine if he and Vargas had shooting competitions

Valid, Jon Bernthal as Al Capone was too powerful, he is a beautiful man♡

- YEAH, NO, UNCLE AL SOMEHOW APPEARING IN RAMSHACKLE (maybe various NATM characters appear in your room, so like one day it's Rexy, the other its Teddy, and so on and so forth) and maybe Battle At the Smithsonian happened when you were pretty small and Al and his Crew had to hold you hostage but ended up adoring you instead.

- Essentially, Al and the boys are confused but SO HAPPY WHEN THEY SEE YOU AGAIN. You walk downstairs to Ramshackle and see them standing in your living room only to lighten up when they see you♡

- They attend the school as if they're your bodyguards, like Ace and Deuce getting scared when these random monochrome men grab them and demand who they are but once you tell them that they're your friends, they're letting them go and fixing up their uniforms.

- Right off the bat, Al prefers Deuce more than Ace. This is shown when he tells Ace: "See, if you were alive in my time, that obnoxious mouth of yours would be filled with lead." and then he moves onto Deuce and he's all: "But this kid here has a look to 'im. There might be a place for you-"/ "ALPHONSE, NO."/ "What's with the government name, kiddo? M'just saying!"

- While he does find some elements of Twisted Wonderland odd and different, he absolutely knows mafia when he sees it and he immediately clocks the Tweels. Like, he walks into class with you and he's all: "Oh, those two are definetly mafia or whatever they got here in Disneyville." and the Tweels instantly look at him which only seems to confirm what he said.

"Prefect~ Whose this? Another friend from your world?"

"Haha, hope he can swim, Shrimpy!~"

- Al isn't very intimidated by these two and once you explain who he is, or, well, who he represents, then the Tweels are much more calm. They're not gonna outright tell you they're mafia but you hate how well they get along with Al after you told him who he was.

- NOW, Al might play wingman here. If you've got your eyes set on someone, good! His boys will either intimidate or black mail them into asking you out or, if Al decides he doesn't want to scold them, he'll be nice and try to gently nudge them in your direction (aka, just tell them that you like them and to shoot their shot).

- If you DON'T have someone you like, he might push you in the direction of Deuce, Floyd, or Jade.

- Preferably Deuce. He's got a good heart and a fair amount of muscle to protect you and from what he's heard, and he seems to want to keep you safe. A nice kid whose got a good head on his shoulders.

- However the reason why he considers Jade/Floyd is only if YOU like one of them and make the mistake of telling him or he finds out. First of all, he teases you about it and is all: "Wanna follow in your old man's footsteps, eh?" and you roll your eyes and Larry doesn't know why but his dad sense is tingling.

- But seriously, he will most definetly support it since you're very capable of handling yourself, he's seen you grow up into the troublemaking teenager you are but he also knows you have a tendency to land yourself in danger so he'd feel at ease if someone like Jade or Floyd had your back.

- But also, watch him be all: "But just so you know, there might be mistresses in the picture. If they're decent guys, obviously they won't have any but just keep an eye out and keep that in mind-"

- Jade and Floyd just being offended when he puts that idea into your head and assuring you that none of that will be happening-

[pitchblackveins]

HOW TTPD COULD HAVE BEEN A PERFECT ALBUM

(my song breakdown no one asked for)

GREAT SONG NO NOTES

fortnight, so long london, bdilh,* who's afraid, loml, icdiwabh, smallest man, clara bow, the black dog, how did it end?, so high school, i look in peoples windows, cassandra, peter, the bolter, the manuscript

SONGS THAT ARE SO SO SO CLOSE

- ttpd:* write a second draft of the verses hon like cmon. or at least replace charlie puth with someone who is a) good b) not the 111th most listened to artist in the world

- mbobhft, down bad, and guilty as sin?* are all great but i feel like they could be doing more melodically

- florida!!! its so good but the lines about its a hell of a drug can i use you up are not doing it for me they take me out of the murderer in hiding narrative vibe

- i can fix him* is so good the second verse is just clunky

- the albatross SO CLOSE to perfect cut the fake news line babe

- i hate it here incredible song but i just feel like the lyrics are first draft and could have had another couple passes

- thanK you aIMee literally just cut it out with the caps. if it didnt say kim in the title this song would be great but its unlistenable instead. the bridge would slap SO HARD if you had actually changed her name and any real defining clues. why did you do this

- the prophecy: nearly flawless why is the word greige in there get that out

subsection: songs that i dont really have any bones to pick with but feel a little off

- the alchemy its good i like it but the added in football lyrics to disguise that this was originally a mh song really are a bit heavy handed just write a new song? idk its discordant to me

- CoSoSoM : i actually love this song but the feeling that shes maybe outing someone does take me out but i think thats a me thing bc she does really do a lot of work to hide the muse

- robin: nothing is wrong with this song i think it does a lot for people with kids? but just does not hit at all for me like i dont dislike it im just so neutral

POSSIBLY UNFIXABLE SONGS THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN CUT

fresh out the slammer:* the use of this phrase is so egregious that i almost want to condemn the song in its entirety but honestly the song has some really good bits so just uh rework the whole premise??

imgonnagetyouback: sorry this song isnt bad but the olivia rodrigo issue is too irredeemable its gotta get cut or entirely reworked with a new premise you cannot unreasonably sue a child to get credits on her songs and then do this. and its way worse than get him back so youre not doing yourself any favors. just cut it

** disclaimer that these songs suffer from being about matty healy but theres nothing to be done about that

[adviceformefromme]

im feeling ugly. i just cant get it out of my head. i keep remembering everytime someone commented on my boobs, my acne and i feel stupid (i dont even invest in stocks). and i feel poor (my job doesn't pay. and i hate my coworkers.). tommorow i'll clean my desk. also i cant just give up on the fyodor book. i hate myself. when will i change and when will i get a real job. i know consultants make a lot of money for doing nothing…i wish that was my job. idk what i'll do with my life. and everytime i look at my school classmates…they're richer than me. and evryone is pretty and happy. and everyone has experience in love, friendships, work and everything. why am i the only one who doesn't fit in? why am i soo different? i wnt to be happy. i cant even say anything to my sister she'll yell at me for doing all the things. im so ashamed of myself. idk

Hey sweetie, I feel you. I've been there. It's the hamster wheel of feeling shit and worthless. At some point, all that self-depreciating talk just digs you into a dark hole of feeling like absolute crap. There is no light, just misery and depression. So my question is, are you ready to leave this place? Are you ready to step into the light? To start choosing better thoughts? To loving yourself? Being kinder to yourself? It's not a quick fix, but it does require you to invest time and energy into loving yourself. Some suggestions:

Learn to meditate - download an app or do guided YouTube mediation

Start listening to Podcasts / YouTube for uplifting inspiration

PRAY - and set the intention you want to heal

Remove all negative streams of content, movies, the news, Netflix, music. Only high vibe, good feel media (chic flicks, feel good music, etc)

Write down 10 things you love about yourself daily for this whole month

Read The Secret, by Rhonda Byrne (there are free PDF downloads floating around the internet)

Make sure you are eating properly, drinking enough water. Learn about nutrition, cut sugar from your diet.

Make sure you are exercising every single day. If this is too much do at least 10k steps (you can listen to an inspiring podcast during walk)

Pause mid sentence if you feel you are putting yourself down or complaining about life.

Make sure you are clean / showering / brushing your teeth.

I hope these help sweetie, DMs are open if you need more support xoxo

[rebouks]

Hello! I'm that anon who once asked you about the lots you use in your gameplay and whether you built them all. I'm so impressed that you create most of them yourself! But ever since you replied to that question, I've been trying to envision a lot for one of my upcoming gameplays, but I'm struggling to fully see it in my mind, so I was wondering if you'd mind giving some tips on your process of building your lots. Building is my weakest skill in the game, but I want to give it a try!

hello again anon!! i'm very flattered u think it's impressive 🥺 i truly love creating spaces for these guys! i'll try my best to kinda go into my process but be warned.. like anything else i do it's pretty much just chaos/winging it dkjsdkj (it'd be much easier if i used floorplans or smth simple so i could be like, here do this! but alas...)

okay i'm prolly gonna ramble a lot here but i mostly base my builds off random visions/future scenes that pop into my head or straight up vibes.. which isn't very helpful ik but hopefully if i explain it'll make a bit more sense!

so with Oscar's house above i knew i wanted it to be BIG, but i didn't want it to feel like a mansion they couldn't afford so i added some other houses on the lot and just gave em the biggest plot! i also knew i wanted it to be symmetrical, but only from the outside cos i wanted it to feel slightly chaotic on the inside, also hence the random tower addition on the left and the sunroom on the right.. like it used to be a big grand symmetrical "mansion" (prolly at the time it was built) but over the years kinda ended up as a convoluted mess left to rot until someone rescued it (yay for Oscar's impulsivity 🤸‍♀️) AND IT NEEDED AN ATTIC!! u kno cos where else would Clementine live?? 👻

so really i had no inspo pics or house plan layouts to go off here, just a vibe and an idea, i started with a rough shape and worked out all the kinks from there, then added the other lots.. be prepared to hate your wip and start over tho cos ig it's all part of the fun!

here we have an actual wip to use as an example! so with this one i basically knew i wanted a wrap around style house around a "courtyard" but since mt. komo is shit and doesn't have any decent sized lots we'll have to go with an L-shaped design and a third floor ig 😩 i started with the ground floor and just pissed around with the others until i ended up with smth just right, like anything else i do, building is just ruminating on an idea until i'm like.. yeah that works sdkjskj.. also handy to place the bare minimum furniture items as u go to get a feel of how the space does or doesn't work so u can fix it n stuff!

also feel free to make shit look strange if it works, for example these window placements look weird as hell on the outside, but real life houses aren't always symmetrical or perfect on the outside and we spend most of our time on the inside where the windows make perfect sense so.. yeah! i'm big on views from the INSIDE of the house so i just make stuff work, also big fan of using ivy/wall decs n stuff to "fix" the way it might look on the outside if needs be too..

the school i made for Robin n' co. was entirely built around this pool (cos it's IMPORTANT) and the fact that it had to have a glass roof (it just HAD to ok idk why but we must kneel to the vision when it strikes 🧎‍♀️) i tried to make the rest of it make sense around it tho, like maybe it was added on afterward so the rest is a pretty standard shape with offices n shit near the entrances etc.. ALSO (wait i actually need to explain smth else before we get to this also BUT BEAR WITH ME!)

ask yourself some questions (if u want? or just dl a house idk dskjdk)

i treat building similarly to writing and that means asking yourself some questions.. like you might ask why a character is doing/saying something, what happened in the past to make them this way? what're they aiming for in the future to choose these paths etc etc.. WELL.. what's this building for, who is it for, who chose to live here, who got stuck here, why do they like it, why do they hate it, etc etc.

we either get stuck somewhere we hate and it doesn't suit us, or we're lucky enough to choose somewhere that we love, but why? Oscar's house is sprawling and chaotic because they kinda are, and it suits them! all the random cupboards leading nowhere and the quirky additions are just perfect for them, if they were real people looking for a real house they'd view it and LOVE it, but other characters definitely would NOT 😅 the wip is neat and practical cos the people who're gonna live there are! 👀 and the school (see we got to that ALSO eventually) has that huge "grand" courtyard at the front that's actually pretty useless because it's a shitty comprehensive school that wants to give the image that it's decent, but actually it's a bit shit and there's nothing going on in the back, nowhere for the kids to play outside and very limited resources/equipment for them either.. like everything is built the way it is for a reason, which is why i think i find it so impossible to use other ppls builds, cos they don't fit all these visions in my mind...

ok i'm gonna shut up now but i HOPE this rambling mess somewhat explains how i go about starting a build and why.. i'm not sure i can help with the vision part since your brain is your own but floorplan websites and things like pinterest or even just google images are great for giving you ideas if you're struggling!

[wipethetape]

love in progress

Lady Lesso x Reader

A/N: based on this post. self-indulgent au so reader has glasses and some ooc characters. reader has that small ravenna vibe

"Lady Lesso," you gritted through your teeth.

Lesso did the same thing when she slips your name from her lips. This is the third time you've seen her this week, unfortunately, going towards the School for Good.

"Students might mistake the Deans switching schools if you wish to continue visiting like this." You sneered.

She poses unfazed, maintaining her gaze on the hallway, yet her grip on her cane tightens.

"It is more of a threat that a queen makes the harmless citizens cower of their safety for almost lodging here on the basis of the frequency of their visits." She grins, glancing at you sideways. "Not so much of an Ever, hmm?"

Aware of her glance, you tried to have a stoic expression, failing miserably as your lips are forming a tiny smirk before responding.

"Well then, it is another win for the Good. Beating you even in your own expertise? The supposed 'villains' losing in their own game?" You mocked with a concerned tone, knowing that the Dean is a competitive woman who wants Evil to win again after centuries.

She slams her cane on the ground, halting to a stop as she hates that you have once again ridiculed her and because both of you finally reached your destination. The office of the Dean for School of Good.

You noticed and gently knocked on the door, hearing her audible disdain towards your action. The Dean inside opened the door with her magic, inviting you to help yourselves.

Clarissa gleefully greeted you, whereas she did the same with Lady Lesso but the glee was more toned down.

You smiled. "Busy on preparing yourself for the ball, princess?"

You can feel Lesso's glare piercing through you without actually looking at her. Clarissa was about to answer but Lesso was faster to comment about your question.

"She is the Dean of the School for Good. Does that suggest anything to you?" Lesso shrugs her shoulders after the remark.

Clarissa, seeing the two throwing daggers with eyes in front of her, stepped in and changed the topic.

"So, what brings the two of you here? I would love to hope it's not about work," Clarissa remarks, sighing as she decides to temporarily forget the paperworks and preparations for the ball.

You didn't know how to answer. You haven't had the courage to ask her out to the ball, even before as schoolmates. You happened to figure out that Lesso was inviting her today that you impulsively came here and visited.

Lesso saw your hesitation, but didn't point it out because she herself is a nervous wreck. She cannot believe that she would be doing the things she never considered during her tenure as a student in the school, particularly the dawdling of women to their princes or villains.

She pulled a box out of her coat, placed it on the Dean's table, and left without saying a word. You just stared at her departing, leaving the two of you alone. It was strange of the Dean of Evil to not take advantage of your freezing earlier, but you arrived at a decision to simply ask Clarissa personally and understand whatever her decision is.

You fixed your glasses as you loathed watching the two Deans' interaction on the ball. You shouldn't be here, yes, but you've decided to still attend because you knew Clarissa would feel bad that you didn't show up because she turned you down. You also knew that Lesso was turned down by the fairy godmother as well, but that doesn't console your disappointment because they still get to be with each other at the ball for their duties.

You strayed away from the crowd, but it is hardly helpful because you still catch the attention of the students, with some teachers (and even students) having the guts to ask if you will grace them with your presence tonight. You politely declined every single one and went to the table near the door so you could easily escape.

You drank another sip of alcohol from your hidden stash and walked outside of the hallway when everyone was already occupied, not wanting to further go through your bitterness. What you didn't know was that two pairs of eyes did not miss you leaving the ball, both are contemplating if they should follow you.

One did. She knew where you would attempt to go at this hour. And when she saw you observing the view from the bridge, her hunch was proven right.

You didn't know you were followed. You simply craved for a breath of fresh air after what felt like an eternity of suffering inside. It doesn't help that the confusion you felt days ago with Lesso's action is insistent on bothering you. You suddenly cannot think of your next move.

"Your Majesty."

You searched for the source of the voice, and there was the then Head of Magical History Department—currently the beautification professor—standing in the distance beside you.

"Professor Anemone," you greeted back, smiling. You didn't have the energy to socialize, but I guess a company wouldn't hurt now.

"Emma is fine, your Majesty."

"I suppose it would be fair that you can also refer to me with my name, Emma."

She nods, unsure if she can really call you that. You think it was the alcohol spike in your system that you thought she was acting like a shy girl asking someone out.

"Were you not enjoying the ball?" She carefully asks, aware of your possible answer but she doesn't want to conclude.

"I do. It's just that I don't believe I should be here when I am neither a student or staff here."

She listens as you listed another reason why you wanted to get out of the event and how you decided to ditch your attendance at the last minute. You were glad that she didn't follow a question related to what you just told her, and simply joined you in silence as you took in the surroundings.

Until a few minutes after, she gathered all the courage to drop the question she's been wanting to ask you.

"Will you dance with me, Your Majesty?"

You turned your head in her direction, subtly widened your eyes in shock and confusion with her question. She notices and clarifies her intention, not wanting you to get a hint that she fancies you.

"I mean, because you're already here, then why not gladly spend the rest of the night instead of gloating here?" She finishes, offering her hand towards you.

She stares at you expectantly with a glint of nervousness in her eyes, waiting for your answer. You were reluctant to accept because you don't want to lead her on and make her feel that you accepted because the person you desired refused to be your date.

You didn't take her hand. Instead, you stand beside her and offer your arm that she can lock with. She put her arm around yours with a smile then proceeded to walk with you back at the ball.

When you came back, the orchestra was already playing its last song, which happened to be a slow one. Perfect timing since you have a dance partner. You turned to Emma as she released her arms from the link and kindly asked her hand for the dance. She took it and you let your bodies sway into the rhythm of the music. You hope this night would let you momentarily forget your worries for the past few days.

On the other side of the room, Lesso and Clarissa were sitting, observing the students in the case that one decides to misbehave. Most teachers left the ball before the last song played, so the probability of students deciding to explore was higher. Clarissa watched Lesso when she saw Anemone coming back with you.

The fairy godmother was tired of seeing you dancing around each other so she had to take matters into her own hands, wholeheartedly believing that you were using her as the vessel and messenger of your love with one another (the last straw being that moment you and Lesso asked Clarissa in her office which she "confirmed" that you two were in love).

She knows it is terrible that she hinted to Anemone you were coming alone, fully aware of the woman's attraction towards you, but she needed it so Lesso would come to her senses.

She observed as Lesso's face contorts into one in jealousy as you close your distance with the beautification professor.

[maraschinomerry]

okay so, what about a lockwood and co x reader (platonic) where reader is quiet but if she does speak it’s always blunt or sarcastic or kinda rude because she doesn’t know how to express her feelings nicely but she shows her love in ways like act of service or protecting the others on a mission and like linking pinkies with them when walking to the archives and things and everyone is convinced she hates every other person but they know they’re the closest thing she’s ever had to a family even if she doesn’t say it

thanks so much bae i understand if you don’t want to write it no presssure <3333

Saving Your Friends 101

Pairings: Lockwood & Co & gn!reader (I know you used she/her in the ask but there aren't actually any pronouns in the fic)

Content: found family, struggling with expressing feelings, school bully, canon-typical violence fighting a ghost, Kipps being a jerk

A/N: I'm the least sarcastic person ever so I hope this all sounds okay 😅 also I just had to use that gif as the header, Lucy looking so done felt like the right vibes for reader in this

Word count: 2.7k

Taglist: @neewtmas @marinalor @ettadear @honey-with-tea (lmk if you want adding or removing!)

"Hey loser! I thought I told you to finish my maths homework!"

You were 8 years old, sitting making patterns in the dirt of your school playing field when your horrible classmate Jason stomped over with his group of equally unpleasant friends. He was a brute of a lad: what he lacked in height he made up for in muscle, his expression was almost permanently fixed in a scowl, and he had a small scar on his cheek that everyone thought was so cool and intimidating (but which you knew he got from falling off his bike when he was 5). Half the school, teachers included, were wrapped around his little finger in fear. But not you.

"Go away, Jason."

"Or what? You're not doing anything, nobody ever wants to play with you."

"I don't care," you shrugged. "I'm not going to waste my time so you can pretend you're not too stupid for times tables."

Jason stepped forward to tower over you, stocky frame casting your whole body in shadow, and a few of his cronies twitched with tempered aggression. "What did you say?"

You stood up on the spot, forcing him to lean back to normal as your face rose ever closer to his. You were a couple of inches shy of him, dungarees rolled several times at the ankles to stop you tripping over, but he wasn't exactly tall in comparison to his group. Being smaller didn't faze you; you squared up to him without hesitation. "I said you're stupid and wasting my precious minutes. Life is short… and so are you."

The cluster of boys burst out laughing - not at you, at him. Jason grew red in the face and puffed up like he could account for the missing height to fight you better, but you merely raised an eyebrow. One of the boys stepped out from the group and punched you encouragingly on the arm. Another much taller boy leaned on Jason's shoulder to emphasise the difference. Jason stormed off.

—

Ever since then, quick wit and sarcasm had been your shield as you carried yourself through the world. From holding up against your affectionless parents to commanding instant respect when you started training to be an agent, they served you so well that you near enough forgot how to be any other way. And that was fine. It worked, kept you detached and independent. That is, it worked until you joined Lockwood & Co.

You settled in quickly, discovering that the rest of the agency could be just as snappy as you. George especially had proved more than a match from the day you arrived.

"I'm here for a job," you announced when the curly-haired boy, dressed in orange plaid, opened the door of 35 Portland Row.

"As an agent?" he frowned. Lockwood hadn't put out another ad, as far as he knew.

"No, I just like accessorising with a rapier."

"Well, if it's as sharp as your tongue I shouldn't be in too much danger. Come in." Despite the insult you followed him with a grin. Finally, someone who might get you.

Unlike you, however, they knew how to switch it off. Your switch had rusted long ago, if not fallen off completely. Normally it wouldn't have bothered you, if it had kept you alive up to now it was worth it, but the longer you stayed the more you found yourself growing genuinely fond of your teammates and entirely unable to tell them as much. Nothing had to change, of course, that was what you told yourself - letting them in would only make you weak, it was better to keep to yourself. Say as little as possible to them. You tried to quiet the little voice in the back of your head which whispered that maybe the reason you kept your distance was that you were afraid of saying the wrong thing and scaring them off, of losing your first real friends.

—

"Everybody ready?" Lockwood asked as he dropped his kit bag onto the kitchen floor with a dull thud. You'd been ready nearly 10 minutes, still fairly new to working cases despite the months you'd been there and eager to respect the schedule that Lockwood had set out. Lucy had been the next after you to arrive, offering a quick 'hi' which you acknowledged with a nod. When George came down he immediately started chatting to Lucy. He didn't ask if you wanted to join the conversation. You never seemed to. He often wondered if you actually wanted to be there at all, but you hadn't left despite how little you'd tried to bond with them. There were plenty of other agencies to go to, yet still you stayed.

While Lockwood checked over the supplies once more, you leaned over to Lucy, who so far had been a reliable source on the boys and their actions.

"Is he always this picky with the gear?"

Lucy sighed as she adjusted her bootstrap. "No, just when the case involves families like this one. Brings out his protective 'save the world' side."

You'd heard by now about the young age at which he'd been orphaned, he was open enough about the circumstances if not the details, and you understood his pain but had never been taught how to address anything as serious as that. All you had to work with was your dry humour. "Save the world? He can barely even save his toast in the mornings," you muttered. Lucy snorted.

"If you're quite done mocking my culinary abilities…"

"Oh, I'm definitely not done, but it can wait," you smirked. Lockwood rolled his eyes, but didn't miss the way you wordlessly joined him in sorting through the bags.

The case itself went well, up until about the last 5 minutes. You all successfully secured one source, but it turned out the house had a second Visitor which you discovered when the four of you were ambushed by it in the dining room. It was a man, looked to be in his late 40s, with a thinning head of hair and an even thinner frame. The previous owner, then, Richard. Lockwood immediately stepped forward, rapier brandished, but with an ear-splitting screech Richard tossed him aside. The rest of you watched in horror as he flew across the table and crashed through a chair to land in a pile of splintered wood.

You levelled your own rapier, less aggressively. "George, Lucy, look for the source," you fought to keep your voice as steady as your blade, all your usual confidence gone without the safety net of your snide remarks which would only anger the ghost. "Cabinet behind us is our best bet, I think. I'll help Lockwood." The other two exchanged a glance before nodding and moving slowly towards the cabinet in question. You began to move in the other direction, around the side of the table and towards the spectral figure which was hovering worryingly close to the boy in the debris.

"Hey!" you called. Richard's gaze snapped to you. You faltered. No. Confidence. Wit. Use your ridiculous snarky brain to keep Lockwood alive. "He's not a fair fight any more, and you're better than that, aren't you? Come on, show me what you've got."

You almost heard Lockwood's protest - you saw his lips forming the words, sure, but the noise itself was drowned out by the shriek that burst from Richard's snarling mouth as he rushed towards you. You planted your feet and held your ground, just like you'd done that day in the school yard all those years ago, but at the last second you rolled out the way and sent your rapier slicing upwards. Richard howled, but it wasn't enough to dematerialise him and within seconds he rounded on you again.

"Aww, not bad for a first attempt," you jeered. "Do you want to try again?" The words had barely left your lips before he was upon you, and you swung hastily. The blade split him right down the middle, but he reformed behind you and you had to dance across the space to avoid him, smacking your ribs painfully against a sideboard as you did so. Your chest was heaving as you faced him once more.

"Are you even trying to hit me?"

A lance of air struck you in the centre of your chest, knocking all the air from your lungs as you collided with the wall. That answered that. You would have cried out if you'd had the breath to do so. Lockwood was right beside you, midway from climbing out of the broken chair but now frozen in the glare of the wrathful spirit which hung above you both. With the last of your energy you dragged your body between him and it.

"Got it!" Lucy yelled frantically in the distance, and in a wave the feeling returned to your limbs as Richard disappeared. Lockwood groaned, reaching out to help you up from where you'd slumped against him.

"So you know when you're taught not to taunt the Visitors, did you just skip that class, or…?" he scolded, but there was a touch of amusement in his voice, his way of showing he was grateful to have been saved.

You chuckled, wincing as the sound rattled your bruised ribs. "Scheduling conflict, not my fault. Clashed with 'Saving Your Friends 101'." You realised that was the first time you'd called them your friends out loud. They realised it too.

—

That case marked the beginning of a shift within the agency. Where the rest of them had been struggling to see any indication that you cared about being part of the group, suddenly they couldn't stop seeing them. Nothing had changed in the way you spoke (minimally, and heavily sarcastic when you did), but they learned to notice everything you said without words. How you always grabbed the first aid kit when someone came home injured from a case, and insisted on treating the wounds yourself. The way you clicked the release on the toaster every time Lockwood risked leaving it a little too long. The times George would fall asleep while researching with you in the library and wake up with the blanket from the back of your chair draped across him. The fact that none of them had bought any more of Lucy's favourite tea in nearly two months, and yet whenever she was close to running out the caddy would be full again the next day. As they began noticing the subtle ways you expressed your feelings, they began to find little gestures they could do in return to show they cared without pressuring you into talking, which only strengthened your commitment further. Lucy poured you juice in the morning before you asked and put your pyjamas in the dryer while you were in the bath; Lockwood made a big act of ruffling your hair and calling you 'kiddo' like an enthusiastic uncle when you did something particularly well; George learned your rankings of pizza toppings and Arif's doughnuts by heart so you'd always get the highest one available. All so uniquely them.

—

It was a bright June morning, with fine wisps of cotton candy clouds drifting lazily across the sky. An ice cream van sounded nearby, being pursued by a horde of excitable children. This was no time for ice cream for Lockwood & Co, though - there was an exceptionally big case to research, and it was all hands on deck as the four of you strode towards the British Archives. Lockwood was on the right, trenchcoat left at home and shirt sleeves rolled up to make the most of the glorious sun, rapier hanging from his belt. Lucy was on his left, arm linked through his. Her other hand had started in the pocket of her blue playsuit, which today she wore without tights, but now it held yours and swung casually back and forth. George completed the line on your left. You knew by now that he wasn't overly keen on physical interaction, which you completely understood, but you also could tell when he was willing to let it slide to join in with the group. This was one of those moments. Your hands had brushed as you walked along, and your pinky had twisted round his. This was almost a habit between the two of you by now, not quite as intense as holding hands but still providing a tether, a connection.

Inside was bliss, the comforting scent of old books accentuated by crisp conditioned air which provided relief from the blazing heat outside. You all spread out to gather resources from across the archives. Lucy returned with a stack of books so high she could barely see over the top, and you shifted your files into one arm so you could pull a chair out for her with your free hand. She smiled at you as the books cascaded onto the table.

Before long you were thoroughly engrossed in the research. It was one of your favourite activities within the agency, an opportunity to make a helpful contribution without the expectation of speaking to anyone. The only sounds were the rustle of turning pages, the scratch of your pen as you scribbled notes, and the occasional comment from one of the others when they found something unusual.

"My my," a voice that didn't belong to the group filtered through the barrier of concentration you'd built. You looked up to see Quill Kipps and his team sneering at your table. "It must be a big case to have you all working on it. Or do you just need help with the difficult words, Tony?"

There was a tic in Lockwood's jaw, but he forced an overly polite smile. "It is a big case, one that our client clearly thought we were better equipped to handle."

Kipps scoffed. "Probably just trying to save a bit of cash on a sub-par service instead of paying for the premium. Not to worry, Fittes will be more than happy to finish the job when you fail to."

You decided to follow Lockwood's lead, putting on the most innocent expression you could muster. "Hmm, what was I…" you feigned forgetfulness. "Oh, George, you'll know! What's that theory with the monkeys and the typewriters?" Kipps' team took the bait immediately, giggling amongst themselves at your scatterbrained question.

"Supposedly if you had infinite monkeys with typewriters or one monkey with a typewriter and infinite time, they would eventually type out the complete works of Shakespeare. It's not exactly true though."

Your smile turned wolfish. "That's the one, and remembered without a database too! I just thought of it because I was wondering whether, given long enough, Kipps would eventually say something intelligent. Don't think that's true either."

The other group fell into a stunned silence, giving everyone the opportunity to hear Lucy choking back a laugh. Kipps opened his mouth to respond, but then had just enough sense to realise that there was hardly anything he could say that wouldn't prove your point and promptly closed it again. Instead he shot you all one last glare and turned silently on his heel. The rest of his team scampered after his retreating figure.

Lucy's laughter erupted with enough force that she almost tipped backwards out of her chair. George grinned at you. "That was amazing!"

"Couldn't have done it without you, genius."

You suddenly glanced at Lockwood. His rivalry with Kipps was more intense than any you'd seen before, and you hated to think you might have overstepped or taken away his chance at gaining the upper hand. Relief washed over you when he gave you his signature smirk, eyes twinkling with mischief. "If that's something else you learnt in 'Saving Your Friends 101', I might have to sign up for classes."

"Lucky for you I'm very committed to my studies, I can just lend you my notes."

Lucy leaned over to watch your pen gliding across the notepad as you spoke. She frowned at the page. "Your current note is just a doodle of… is that a crying monkey in a Fittes uniform?"

You all glanced in the direction in which Kipps had retreated. Lockwood reached across and picked up the notebook. "I'll definitely need to borrow this, for educational purposes of course… and then it's going on the fridge." You beamed with pride.

[leviathans-watching]

mfil - 37

-` ♡ ´- m.list | no taglist | next | wc: .8k

-` ♡ ´- a/n: rlly niche but is anyone experienced in macroinvertebrates and sensitivity testing?

*NOT CLICKBAIT!!!* when asmo learns that you, the newest exchange student has a youtube account and following somewhat comparable to his own, he decided right then and there not to like you. however, after an unfortunate (and misleading) exchange goes viral, he has no choice but to fake date you in order to save face. will asmo crush you and put you into place like you deserve? or are those funny feelings in his stomach not hate, like he had thought? like, subscribe, and maybe fall in love (with this smau) to find out!!

it takes some time for everyone to get settled in the living room, but once you all finally are, you find yourself sandwiched between asmo and solomon. the latter closer to you than your own (fake) boyfriend. but thankfully, as he goes through the mural plan, he’s all business, and you find yourself being drawn into the project with ease.

“i think it’s a great project,” diavolo says after solomon’s laid it all out. “it fosters community, adds culture to our school, and is a great way to set the precedent for more exchange programs. it just sounds like we need an artist or two to really get us started.”

“can’t mc draw?” mammon asks, and you shake your head.

“oh, no way! i’m better at the crafty side of things. need a painter and i’m your person, but for something as technical as this we need someone with skill.”

“asmo, would you be willing to help design the mural?” lucifer asks, and you turn to him. you had had no idea he dabbled in art aside from makeup and nail art!

“it’s been a long time but i suppose i could dust off my pencils,” he says, faux-modestly. “i can come up with a couple of mock-ups once we decide what to include and then we can go from there.”

“great!” solomon leans over you, shoulder pressing into yours, to give asmo a high-five. “we can do that some other time. i don’t want to bog down this sleepover with too much work. i really just wanted to introduce the project and decide where to start, and we’ve done that.”

the conversation drifts then, and you just take it all in, adding your two cents when asked. you’re really just content to listen and grow comfortable with the dynamics between the groups, especially since you don’t know everyone that well. asmo seems not to notice, but solomon certainly does, fixing you with a smile.

“so, mc,” he says at a quieter volume, as if to make your exchange more of a side-conversation, “has asmo been a good parter? treating you well and everything?”

and, okay, that’s kind of a weird thing to ask, right? that’s really not something you’d ask someone you’d just met. but maybe he was really close to asmo? you had kind of gotten that vibe…

“he’s a wonderful boyfriend,” you reply, cheeks heating slightly as you involuntarily think about the kiss. get over it already, you think viciously. “i really couldn’t ask for anyone better.”

“really?” solomon asks, dubious. “you must have really done a number on him. the asmo i know never seemed to have room in his heart for someone else, focused on himself as he is. but if you’re saying the opposite… that’s almost hard to fathom!”

his assessment isn’t necessarily untrue and matches your general experience with asmo, but for some reason, protective instincts rise in your chest. “is that so?” you ask, blinking up at solomon. “asmo’s truly the perfect partner.”

“what about me?” asmo asks, catching your hand (and your attention).

“mc was just telling me about your relationship,” solomon answers. “all bad things, you know.”

“oh, i’m sure,” asmo says airily, and you chuckle.

“no, i was just telling him about how great you are,” you say sweetly. “and how  i truly couldn't ask for anything more in a partner.”

except for someone real, a traitorous part of you wishes longingly. and the worst thing is that you don’t want just anyone. what you really want is to make it real with him, but there’s no way he’d want that. after all, not only has he always claimed to hate you, but he literally ran away after you kissed him! who’d do that to the person they genuinely care for?

“well, i’m glad you think so highly of me,” asmo hums, squeezing your fingers. “but i’m the lucky one in this relationship.”

solomon looks between the two of you, eyebrows raised. “i can’t believe this is what you’ve been turned into,” he says wonderingly. “i don’t mean it as an insult; it’s just hard for me to wrap my mind around it.”

“what can i say?” asmo sighs. “love changes a man?”

“love?” you giggle. “it’s much too soon for that.”

his smile turns slightly in a way you don’t like. “ah, you’re right,” he says quickly. “but you have to remember, i’ve never felt like this before. you’ve changed me, mc. for the better.”

you know he’s just saying it, but why do his words sound so genuine? and why is he looking at you like that? and why oh why is your heart starting to race?

“you’ve changed me too,” you finally muster, giving him a weak smile, and thankfully, you’re interrupted by diavolo offering up dinner.

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

[jakesangel]

do you have any beauty tips? such as weight maintain tips or exercise tips? just want to hear it from your perspective since your vibe is the same as arin! i enjoyed your works too! love you ❣️

hi anon ᵎᵎ i do have some >< i love u more bby

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . weight management

it's sadly very easy to fall into yo-yo so i'd day first of all fix your metabolism,, it depends for each people's diet but if you been restricting hard lately, then binging, then restricting, you're gonna be alright you should eat more than usual n fix your binging issues. i use to struggle w that a lot, so i have schedule times where i eat w safe meals so i don't feel like binging. after a while my metabolism was fix n so my binging issues. i then re started to diet again but didn't take it full on restriction, but just a slight calorie deficit ᵎ that way even if one day i overeat, my weight doesn't go up as high as if i was heavily restricting.

get to know macros ᵎ it's really important specially if you want to get a certain type of physic. i personally want to tone down, meaning keeping/growing my muscles but losing fat. so i mostly eat lean protein n a bit less carbs ( there not evil you need them )

eating depending of your activities. i forgot what's it's called like but basically i eat low carbs on day i don't workout, lots of protein along w some carbs whne i lift weight, n a bit more carbs whne i do cardio ! that whay i cant lose muscles >< i also do fasted workouts ^^

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . exercice tips

finding your sport is very very important ᵎ i thoight lifting weights was the way to go but i hate it sooo munch ᵎ i tried pilates n find munhc more joy in it >< don't be afraid to try new workouts as well w different ytbersᵎᵎ

pretty workout clothes/items are also sooo important. don't go out n buy them already, i boigh my mat n my weight 6 months into working out tonne sure i was going to be into that for a long period of time. but it helped me to be consistent n also it feels easier ?ᩚ some mornings i feel so so so lazy, so i just tell myself ' let's jsut out on the clothes, i can do that' or ' let's just be on the mat n we will see' n then i just do it ᵎ

for cardio there is also tons of different so just do as u feel like doing ᵎ i personally always been loving dancing so w kpop i have endless dances to learn ><

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . beauty

i feel like we all know what to do, drink lots of water, sleep well, do your skincare everyday n i've always been doing that but i've never glow like i am rn because i've never truly understood what's focusing on yourself is like. i cant go deep into my personal stuff but last summer i needed to focus on myself n i came back to school looking prettier than ever, having more compliments than ever, n i truly felt so so good about myself. so the only advice that u can give you is to do something for you regardless of people opinion. to keep on holding yourself first, you'll never be selfish because of that. at the end of the day, you only have you, n should be proud of who you are n be good to your own self. it's a bit hard n s crazy but if i did in it in two month ( summer being my seasonal depression phase btw ᵎᵎ ) you can do it too bby <3

it might feels like a lot but they will become habits in the long terms ᵎ what's important is consistency n not perfection <3

[thetriumphantpanda]

hi charlie! 

to say the vibes have been off lately would be an understatement, wouldn’t it? because there has been a lot of negativity, too much for a place that is supposed to be about finding an outlet for your creativity and people to share your interests.

i know it has been difficult, draining to be around here and face all the discourse cankering the fandom. 

because of all this negativity, i believe it is important to try and balance it out with some kindness. so here i am, doing a little check-up on you <3

so first, how are you, really?

everything you feel regarding what is happening is valid and you deserve to feel happy and safe around here. so please, make sure you take the time you need from posting, from sharing fics, even just from being on the platform. i want you to know it’s okay and i support whatever you decide, for whatever reason.

i also want you to know that you have your place here, as much as the rest of us. you’re loved and wanted and i can assure you the fandom is a far better place with you in it.

i hope you’re taking care of yourself outside of tumblr as well. please remember to stay hydrated and to eat something 🫶🏼

now i would like you to sit back and enjoy the perfect, quiet night in with joel <3

do not hesitate to reach out if you need to talk, i’m here for you! sending you all my love and so many hugs 🫂

anna 💗

Ahhh Anna, this is so sweet of you - thank you for taking the time to try and combat so much of the negativity on here by spreading some love - it's so important!

I have had so many thoughts about what's been going on lately, some of which I'll share here, but I'll put under a read-more so if you're not wanting to read discourse, you don't have to!

I'm going to go and enjoy my quiet night in with Joel, because that would absolutely fix me right now and thank you for sharing that with me. He's making me a cup of tea right now and is going to bring it to me, we'll watch TV and I will continue crocheting a blanket for us to snuggle up under!

Take care of yourself Anna, and thank you for always being kind and wonderful on here!

If you've been around here a while, you'll know that I rarely, if ever, get involved and wade into the discourse that floats around often. It's not because I don't care, it's because this blog has, and always will be, my way to escape the pressure of my real life. I have enough personal drama to contend with outside of the internet, and I very rarely want to allow it to bleed into the one space I have where I can escape for some peace.

That being said, it has become harder and harder for me to ignore the absolute storm of shit that has been swirling these past weeks. My friends and mutuals having their works blatantly stolen and then receiving hate when calling this out. People I look up to and whose writing I enjoy being attacked for presenting certain kinks. The insane rise in anon hate being spouted not just here, but across other sites as well. It's all too much and it all has to stop.

The people on this site create fic because they enjoy it. They graciously and selflessly write thousands of words for your enjoyment, for free might I add, without asking for very much in return. They write often around full-time jobs, school work and through personal and health issues. They agonise over making sure their work is as good as they can make it. They don't owe you anything, we don't owe you anything. We do this because we enjoy it, but the current climate on this absolute hellsite is making the enjoyment really fucking hard to find these days.

Be kind to each other. Stop hiding behind the cloak of anonymity to spew hate and be mean. Stop stealing other people's work. If you come across a fic that has warnings or themes that aren't your cup of tea, stop reading and walk away. Take a step back and think about what will happen if writers are continuously driven off this site.