#im kind of late but if i may toss this into

[xoxosierralane]

| ᴏғғɪᴄᴇ ʜᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴʟʏ |

✎ from sierra: hello hi there, my first time posting a fic on tumblr let’s hope i did this good..! and i also hope you guys enjoy this little chapter and lmk if you would like another, im also open to any ideas and writing tips. also ty to @sierrale8ne @thaatdigitaldiary & @bueckersbitch for some tips when i asked they def helped, you guys are lovely also check them out 🌺

✎ synopsis: when an overworked pre-med student wakes up late for class, the last thing she expects—aside from the existential spiral mid-lecture—is to be roped into tutoring UConn’s star point guard, Paige Bueckers. Paige is charismatic, cocky, and somehow always talking. The reader is sleep-deprived, sarcastic, and trying desperately to avoid any and all distractions. But when tutoring sessions turn into unexpected walks home, avoiding Paige becomes impossible. She’s not just a classmate—she’s a slow, sneaky problem. And worse? She lives next door.

✎ warnings: language

There are few sounds in this world more horrifying than your alarm going off thirty-five minutes after your class already started.

The second my eyes fly open, I know something is wrong. It’s that eerie, sun-too-bright, birds-too-loud kind of wrong. That creeping, soul-leaving-my-body realization as I blink at my phone screen and see the time:

9:53 AM.

Class started at nine. I should be halfway through pretending to understand biochem pathways by now, not halfway to a heart attack in bed.

I launch out of my sheets like a woman possessed, nearly tripping over the half-folded pile of laundry on my floor and banging my shin on the corner of my desk. (Why do dorm room desks always have the sharpest edges known to man?)

“Okay, okay, it’s fine,” I mutter to myself, pulling on the first pair of jeans I can find and a hoodie that may or may not have toothpaste stains on it. “You’re only, like, an hour late. People have survived worse.”

My hair’s still in the braids I did last night, thank God, because if I had to fight edge control and lateness at the same time, I would’ve just dropped out on the spot. I grab my bag, shove in a half-closed notebook, and toss a granola bar in my pocket like it’s some kind of sacrificial offering.

By the time I get to the lecture hall, I’m fully out of breath and lightly sweating. Cute. Nothing says “serious STEM major” like showing up late and looking like you just ran a 5K.

I try to sneak in, pulling the door open as quietly as possible (which means it creaks like it hasn’t been used since the Civil War), and immediately feel a hundred pairs of eyes swing in my direction. My professor pauses mid-slide.

“Nice of you to join us,” he says dryly, not even bothering to hide his smile.

“Sorry,” I mumble, keeping my head down as I scurry to the only open seat in the second row, of course. Because the back row? The safety zone? Taken. God has favorites, and I’m clearly not one of them.

I sink into the seat and pretend I didn’t just make a grand entrance. The girl next to me—blonde, tall, looks suspiciously like someone who could dunk on me if given the chance—glances over with a raised brow and the tiniest smirk.

“Rough morning?” she asks, her voice warm, a little teasing. It’s got that slightly drawn-out edge to it, like she grew up saying “pop” instead of “soda.”

I shoot her a look. “Don’t.”

She puts her hands up in mock defense but doesn’t stop smiling. Great. A morning person with cheekbones. Just what I needed.

I turn back to the lecture, trying to catch up on whatever enzyme he’s ranting about. Paige—yes, Paige Bueckers, UConn’s golden girl, sitting next to me like this is her seat or something—keeps glancing over at me every few minutes, like I’m the entertainment for the day.

Which, fine. I probably am. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

The lecture drones on, a blur of chemical structures and way too many acronyms. My brain’s already in fight-or-flight mode, and I’m trying to copy notes from the slide like my future depends on it—which it kinda does, because if I bomb this class, there goes med school, and if I don’t go to med school, then what? Sell overpriced vitamins on TikTok? Start a podcast about burnout?

I sink lower in my seat, hoping to disappear entirely.

“Alright,” the professor says, tapping his remote like it owes him money. “Can anyone explain the mechanism here?”

Silence. Beautiful, holy silence. For a second, I think we might all get away with it.

Then—

“Maya?”

I freeze. My neck actually creaks when I turn my head up to look at him. “Sorry?”

He smiles like this is fun for him. “The mechanism. For the rate-limiting step of glycolysis.”

Of course it’s glycolysis. Of course it’s this unit. I glance down at my notes, which may as well be scribbled in a dead language, and I swear my soul briefly exits my body.

Okay. Think. You’ve studied this. You’ve done flashcards at 2 a.m. like a responsible, sleep-deprived adult. You can do this.

“…Hexokinase?” I offer, which I immediately realize is wrong because his eyebrow twitches.

“Not quite,” he says. “Anyone else?”

I want to melt into the floor. I want the Earth to crack open beneath me and swallow me whole like a Greek tragedy. Why would you call on someone who was just 50 minutes late and visibly unwell?

I drop my gaze to my notebook, which now has a sad little doodle of a frowning mitochondrion in the margin, and let myself mentally spiral.

Maybe this is a sign. Maybe the universe is trying to tell me to give up and open a dog café somewhere in Portland. Maybe academic success is a capitalist scam designed to break me emotionally, physically, and spiritually. Maybe—

“You were close,” a voice whispers next to me, low enough that only I can hear. “It’s phosphofructokinase.” I glance over. Paige’s lips are twitching like she’s trying not to laugh.

Oh. So she’s not only annoying and smug—she’s smart, too. Fantastic.

I give her a blank look, then scribble it in the margin like I knew it all along. I don’t thank her. I’m not that gracious yet.

The professor moves on. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and slouch back into my seat.

I don’t even know how Paige knows that answer. I swear she’s never said a single academic thing in class before—usually just nods like she’s vibing through the lecture, and now suddenly she’s a glycolysis expert?

I glance at her again. She’s leaned back in her chair like she doesn’t have a single worry in the world. Her hoodie sleeves are pulled over her hands and she’s tapping a pencil against her notebook, looking out the window like she’s half-listening, half daydreaming.

God, I hate her.

Not really. Just enough to feel mildly personally attacked by her existence.

By the time the professor finally wraps up, my brain feels like someone stuck it in a microwave on defrost. Half-melted, barely functioning, and emitting a faint hum of defeat.

I’m already halfway through mentally mapping my route to the dining hall—food, nap, forget this day ever happened—when I hear the worst possible words.

“Maya, could you stay back for a second?”

I freeze with my laptop halfway into my bag. No. No. Please no. My stomach drops, already bracing for the we’re concerned about your academic performance speech. Or maybe he’s just gonna roast me for being late. Publicly. Again.

Next to me, Paige doesn’t move. Which is weird because usually she’s the first one out the door, bouncing off to whatever practice or photoshoot or press interview she’s contractually obligated to pretend she enjoys.

“You too, Paige,” the professor adds casually.

Ah. So it’s a group scolding. Cute.

I glance at her. She shrugs, and somehow even her shrug is smug. Like she already knows what this is about and I’m the one being dragged into something against my will.

Once everyone else filters out, the room goes quiet in that awkward way classrooms do when it’s just you, your mistakes, and the person paid to evaluate them.

The professor folds his arms. “I’m going to get right to it,” he says, eyes flicking between us. “Paige has been… struggling a bit to keep up.”

I blink. Paige?

She doesn’t even flinch. Just shifts her weight to one leg and tilts her head like, yeah, and?

“She came to me earlier,” he continues, “asking for extra support. And I mentioned you, Maya.”

My brain short-circuits. “Me?”

“Yes.” He gestures vaguely, like this makes perfect sense. “You’ve got one of the top quiz averages in the class. And I know you don’t have a lot of free time, but I thought you might be willing to help.”

I open my mouth to respond, and nothing comes out except a confused squeak.

Paige, meanwhile, is suddenly all charm and dimples. “Only if it’s not too much trouble,” she says sweetly, looking at me like I’m the answer to her prayers instead of the barely-holding-it-together girl who almost cried during a glycolysis question.

I stare at her. Then the professor. Then back at her. This is a setup. Has to be.

“I mean,” I say slowly, “I guess I could… help out. A little.”

The professor claps his hands once, like this was the easiest part of his day. “Great. Work out whatever schedule makes sense. Maybe start after the next lecture?”

“Sounds perfect,” Paige says, and I swear there’s a glint in her eye. Mischievous. Knowing.

I nod numbly, the weight of this decision already settling on my shoulders like a second backpack full of regrets.

As I head for the door, I mutter under my breath, “This is going to end badly.”

“Sorry?” Paige pipes up behind me.

“Nothing,” I lie, faster than a reflex. “See you later.”

She grins, following me out with way too much pep for someone allegedly struggling. “Can’t wait.”

And I suddenly remember: this is the same girl who walked in late the first week, said “yo, do we need the textbook for this?” in front of the whole class, and then somehow got a laugh out of the professor.

God help me.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m standing in the library, clutching three textbooks and a syllabus I plan to set on fire. This day has already been long enough, now apparently, Paige “needs a little help” with some of the material. And apparently, I am just the student for the job.

I hate when people say “it’ll be good experience.” It always means work I don’t want to do for free.

The librarian waves at me as I step in—Ms. Marie, always with the peach-colored cardigans and peppermint candies. “Back again?”

“Like a bad habit,” I mumble, shooting her a smile. “Just grabbing some stuff for tutoring.”

“Ooh. Teaching now?”

“Trying not to cry in public,” I answer, and she laughs like I’ve said something adorable instead of tragic.

I spend way too long in the aisles, gathering books and stalling. Mostly thinking about how good I’m gonna sleep when I get back to my apartment. Seriously. The second my cheek hits the pillow? Instant peace. Probably coma-level sleep. I should be studied for science. Sleep is my love language. Sleep is the one thing in my life that hasn’t betrayed me.

I’m still mentally composing a love letter to my bed when I round a corner and see her—Paige, standing near the checkout desk, talking to one of the guys from the men’s team. He’s smiling like he thinks he has a chance. Good luck with that. Paige Bueckers is gay as fuck.

I snort before I can stop myself, just a short, soft laugh—but she hears it. Her head turns. Our eyes meet.

Oh.

She looks surprised. Not mad, not even curious, just… like she wasn’t expecting me.

And now I’ve made eye contact. Like a dumbass. I quickly duck back behind the shelf, gripping a biochem book like it’s a shield.

Great. Just great. Nothing says “competent tutor” like spying on your student and laughing at her across the library.

—

I give it a minute before circling around the long way and heading to the study room Hanes booked for us. Small, quiet, lots of windows. I stake out the seat closest to the door in case I need to make a dramatic escape.

Paige walks in a few minutes later, all long legs and blonde hair and that basketball-player stride—like she owns the space without trying to. She doesn’t say anything at first, just drops her bag and slides into the seat next to me.

I brace myself. Here we go.

She pulls out a notebook, then a pen. Then nothing. Just sits there.

I glance at her, waiting for her to do… something. Say something. Start. Breathe.

“Are you gonna, like… open the textbook, or…”

“I was letting you do your thing first,” she says, like I’m the one who showed up five minutes late and smelled like citrus gum and lavender hand cream. Her voice has that easy, confident rhythm to it—Minnesota smooth with a little edge, like she grew up chirping boys on the blacktop.

I give her a look. “My ‘thing’ is desperately trying not to cry while re-reading the same paragraph seven times.”

She smiles, wide and real. “Relatable.”

There’s a pause. Not awkward exactly, but quiet enough to make me weirdly self-aware of how close our chairs are. I pull out my laptop to have something to do with my hands.

“So,” I say, flipping to the study guide, “Professor Hanes said you’re struggling with the last few sections. You’ve looked at the review packet?”

Paige shrugs, leaning back in her chair a little too casually. “Kind of. I just—I don’t know. I get the gist, but some stuff doesn’t stick.”

“That’s usually how it works when you don’t study.”

She raises a brow at me like she wasn’t expecting me to have teeth. “I do study.”

I raise mine right back. “Instagram Reels don’t count.”

Her mouth twitches. It’s either amusement or offense. Could go either way with girls like her.

“You always this friendly?”

“No,” I deadpan. “Usually I’m meaner.”

That gets a laugh out of her—low and genuine, like it surprised her. She leans in slightly, chin propped on her hand.

“So why’d you agree to help me?”

“I didn’t,” I reply, flipping a page. “Hanes kind of voluntold me. Said it would be ‘good practice.’”

“Bet you were thrilled.”

“Overjoyed. I love giving up my one free evening to explain gen chem to someone who probably uses Gatorade as a chaser.”

Another smile from her. This one lasts a little longer.

“You always this funny?”

“I’m not trying to be funny,” I mutter, but my mouth won’t quite stop twitching.

We get into the material slowly—me talking through concepts, her asking questions here and there. She’s actually more focused than I expected. Still fidgety, still Paige Bueckers in all her tall, confident, knows-people-are-watching energy—but she’s trying. I can give her that.

Halfway through, she lets out a sigh and scrubs a hand over her face. “Okay, but why are there so many exceptions to every rule? Like, who made these up?”

“Science,” I reply. “Also colonialism.”

She tilts her head. “You’re not wrong.”

Another beat of silence. Then she asks, “What’s your major?”

“Pre-med. Bio track.”

She whistles, low. “Damn. That’s sick.”

I shrug. “It’s fine. If you enjoy stress-induced migraines and disappointing your family.”

Paige grins. “Bet your mom’s proud of you.”

“She is,” I admit, softer now. “But I also think she thinks I sleep more than I do.”

Paige’s voice is light when she says, “You don’t strike me as a slacker.”

“I’m not,” I say, yawning. “But if I had one wish? It would be to sleep for a solid twelve hours. Maybe fourteen. Maybe forever. I love sleep. Like, I would marry it. I’d elope with sleep to another country and never text anyone back.”

Paige chuckles. “That’s dramatic.”

“That’s survival,” I correct, grabbing a pen to tap against her notes. “Now stop stalling and write that formula down before I cry.”

She leans in again, not writing yet. Just watching me. “You kinda mean.”

“You’re kind of loud.”

“Touché.”

We keep working, but the space between us softens just a little. There’s something about the way she shifts a little closer when I’m showing her something, or how she asks questions like she actually wants to know the answer. She’s still full of herself, but in a way that makes me want to roll my eyes and pay attention.

And then there’s the eye contact. God. Paige Bueckers and her Olympic-level commitment to staring directly into my soul.

Like—I’m trying to explain the electron configuration of potassium, and she’s looking at me like I might be the answer to something she’s been trying to solve for years. Icy blue eyes, lashes curled to the heavens, a little swipe of mascara like she knew she’d be making people nervous today.

And by people, I mean me. Specifically me.

It’s honestly kind of rude. Intimidating. Possibly illegal. There should be a warning label or something: DO NOT MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH PAIGE BUECKERS UNLESS YOU ARE READY TO BE HYPER-ANALYZED AND POSSIBLY SEDUCED.

Because I swear—I swear—the way she looks at me? It’s not just eye contact. It’s eye-to-future-entanglement contact. Like she’s trying to hypnotize me out of my panties with just her stare and that stupid smirk she keeps trying to hide behind her hand.

Focus. I need to focus. This is chemistry. Not chemistry-chemistry. I’m not gonna be another gay kid that fails a class because I couldn’t stop thinking about some pretty basketball player with really good hair.

No offense to everyone else who’s fallen into that trap. (none taken)

“Okay,” I say, tapping my pen against my notebook and not looking at her eyes again, “that’s ionic bonding, which means we’re finally done with chapter four.”

Paige stretches her arms above her head with a small groan, the hem of her hoodie lifting just enough to flash a sliver of skin. I look away instantly, like a respectable person. Like someone not currently battling the urge to spiral into a gay panic over five seconds of midriff.

“Thank God,” she sighs dramatically, flopping back in her chair like she just ran drills for two hours. “You know, I think I actually learned something.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You say that like you’re surprised.”

“I am surprised,” she grins, tugging at the sleeve of her hoodie. “You’re kinda scary-smart.”

I blink. “Scary?”

“In a good way,” she adds quickly. “Like, in a ‘you could probably build a robot army and take over the world but choose not to’ kind of way.”

“…Thanks?”

She smiles like she means it. Like maybe that was a compliment in her language. And for some reason, it sticks with me.

I start gathering my things, stuffing pens and half-crumpled notes into my backpack like the burnt-out academic I am. “Well, we’re scheduled again next Thursday unless your Coach pulls you for something.”

Paige doesn’t move to leave. She leans back in her chair, arms folded behind her head, watching me with that same annoyingly intense gaze.

“You always study here?” she asks casually, like she didn’t just spend two hours fighting for her life over basic chem.

“Sometimes,” I reply, zipping up my bag. “It’s quiet. And the librarian doesn’t hate me.”

“That’s a plus.”

“You?”

She shrugs. “Ehh usually with the team. Or, like, wherever has food.”

I hum, trying to keep the conversation from stretching too long. I’m not great at lingering—especially not with people like her. The kind of person who walks into a room and owns it without even trying.

I sling my bag over my shoulder, already planning my post-study nap in vivid, loving detail, but before I can escape—

“You wanna walk out together?”

I pause, blinking at her.

Not because it’s weird. But because I hadn’t expected it. Most athletes don’t even remember the names of their TAs, much less offer to walk them out of the library like it’s some sort of… soft exit interview.

I glance at the clock. It’s getting late. But also, she’s looking at me like I’m someone worth lingering around.

“Sure,” I say. Casually. Like my heart isn’t already doing cartwheels.

She grins, standing to her full height (good holy 6ft..), and my only thought as we walk side by side toward the doors is God help me, I might be in trouble.

Because Paige Bueckers is something else.

And apparently, she’s not going anywhere.

—

The night air hits us as we step out of the library, and it’s just cold enough to make me regret not grabbing a hoodie. Of course, Paige doesn’t seem bothered at all. She walks like she’s immune to weather. Or like the wind parts just for her. Probably both.

For a moment, it’s quiet. Awkwardly so. My favorite kind.

Then, Paige starts talking.

And when I say talking, I mean talking. Like she hasn’t spoken to another human being all day and I just unlocked the floodgates.

“So, like, I’ve had the same pair of slides since I was fifteen, right?” she says, hands in the front pocket of her hoodie. “They’re disgusting. Like, actually offensive. I think they’ve developed their own bacteria strain at this point. But I can’t get rid of them. They’re like emotional support shoes. You ever have something like that?”

I blink. “Uh…”

She barrels right past my lack of response. “And then Aaliyah tried to throw them out once when we were on the road and I almost tackled her in the hotel hallway. She was like, ‘Paige, they smell like shit.’ But they don’t. They smell like loyalty.”

She grins at her own joke. I say nothing.

Not because I don’t want to. But mostly because what?

I nod along, mostly to be polite. Or maybe out of shock. I’m not really sure.

She keeps going. “Also, can I ask you a question? Why do all chemistry textbooks weigh as much as small toddlers? Like, what are they putting in there? Guilt? Disappointment?”

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it, which unfortunately only fuels her further.

She talks about basketball. Then her best friend’s dog. Then how she’s still mad Chipotle took her favorite salsa off the menu. She has opinions on everything from cafeteria chicken to the superiority of Apple Music over Spotify (she’s wrong, but I let her have it).

And the weirdest part?

It’s not annoying.

It should be. But it’s not.

I listen. Mostly because I’m stunned by how easily she fills the space between us, how her voice softens when she gets excited and how, even when she’s rambling, she makes it feel like you’re part of the story.

It’s… unsettling.

I don’t do people like her. I don’t get people like her.

And yet here she is. Walking next to me. Talking like we’ve done this a thousand times before.

And then, as if this night couldn’t get any weirder, she slows down in front of my building.

I stop too.

Paige pauses, looking at the entrance. Then looks at me. “Wait—you live here?”

“Yeah,” I say slowly, pointing to the left. “Top floor.”

She blinks. “Shut up.”

“I will not.”

She grins, pointing to the right. “That’s my building.”

I stare at her for a second. Then glance up. Then back at her.

This cannot be real life.

“You’re telling me we’ve lived next to each other this whole time and this is the first time I’m finding out?”

I sigh. “This is just great.”

“Great?” she echoes, clearly amused.

“Yeah. Fantastic. Love this for me.”

She’s still smiling like this is the best coincidence to ever happen. Like fate just personally delivered her a win.

I just shake my head, digging my keys out of my pocket. “Well. Thanks for the walk. And the verbal TED Talk.”

She bows slightly. “Anytime.”

I turn to head inside, pausing with my hand on the door.

“Hey,” she calls.

I look back.

“Same time Thursday right?”

I nod once. “Sure.”

She salutes me with two fingers, still grinning, then turns and jogs up the steps to her building.

I stand there for a moment, key still in hand, trying to process everything. The tutoring. The talking. The proximity.

This is going to be a nightmare.

I let myself into the building, already craving sleep and silence and maybe a three-day nap. But even as I make it upstairs and fall face-first onto my bed, one thought keeps bouncing around my head like it’s got a key to the place:

Paige Bueckers is going to be a problem.

[alwayscorvus]

( congratulations on no hiatus!! hope you have all the time in the world to do what you like and write more :D)

may i request yet another werewolf!yuanwu please,,,, i am. Starved and Famished™ for yuanwu content,,, n. need. blue husband content.

perhaps a domestic married life with werewolf!yuanwu? i am. interested and piqued to see what you might write. and i just need more yuanwu but furry and animalistic content ( no pressure, of course. take your time!)

Yuanwu as werewolf husband

malereader x werewolf!Yuanwu, fluff;

Ik that it's not a one long story, just a bunch of scenarios, but I wanted to use the style from my Blade posts and by doing so I could also include a lot more scenes/activities/habits. Maybe Yuanwu is a little bit too submissive in this and by that a lil out of character but... idk it just happened Dw your next request is going to be full a story!

And thank you for your wishes and for the req, im always happy to write for u!

When he gets back from work:

Late at night, while you are sitting on the couch watching some cliche tv show, you hear jiggling of the key. You quickly turn your head, aiming your gaze at the door where the noise is coming from. Without much thinking, you toss remote aside, get up and head towards hallway. Before you manage to reach your destination, you notice how wooden door begins to slowly swing open, revealing figure of a hunched Yuanwu. Tired after a full week of hard work, he laboriously slides inside. Shuffling his feet on the ground. Unaware of your presence, he slowly moves closer towards you. He slides off his shoes in a rush, and clumsily tosses his keys onto a small dresser. But they don't make it into a basket. They fall on the floor with a clash, like his bag for change of clothes.

You can hear quiet growls. Yuanwu stops at the distance of several inches from you. He furrows his eyebrows. Too exhausted to keep in touch with reality. Emptiness rings in his head. Dazed, he lets his instincts take over. The only things that fills his mind since leaving the gym are warm sheets and your comfy embrace. He struggles to understand why his path is blocked by someone else's legs.

Finally he lifts his head up. Surprised, he gently opens his mouth and focuses his attention on you. How you stand there, in a flawless state, leaning gently against the wall, with arms crossed over your chest and soft smile under your nose.

Yuanwu starts looking at you with sparkling eyes. As if you were some kind of god. His wasted state and awaiting gaze, full of hope. Like a silent plea for help. A search for care.

Oh, how much at times like this Yuanwu longs for you to take care of him. Take all the worries from his shoulders and start to pamper him. You are the only one who can do this. After all, outside the house he has to play tough. But he definitely isn't that strong.

He turns from a reserved and distinguished man to a pouty in your hands. Like a gently giant.

Before you can manage to fully open your arms in an inviting gesture, man throws himself into your embrace. Under the weight of such a big guy, you slightly lose your balance. At the last moment, you push yourself up with one leg to keep you both from falling on your back.

In your grasp, Yuanwu can finally breathe a sigh of relief. You are his home, through which he can rest. You are the one that makes him feel safe, not judged.

Man snuggles tighter into the crook of your neck, gently savoring your scent. Jasmine fragrance of shampoo starts to drug his senses. But not enough to keep him from feeling guilty. He bites his lower lip bitterly. How can you be so perfect. Well rested, freshly showered, dressed in new pajamas. He feels ashamed standing next to you like this. Worn down after a full day of work at the gym, drenched in sweat.

But you, as lovely as you are, don't care about this at all…

Scratching:

Your habit after every bad day at Yuanwu's job. When trained teenagers give him a hard time, or when, after an unexpected win, betting causes a stir among audience. You sit down on the edge of your worn-out couch, while Yuanwu lies down next to you, taking the remaining space. Wrapped in a blanket, he places his head on your thighs. Treating your lap as the best pillow.

You sink your hands into his slightly graying hair and with slow movements begin to massage his scalp. By doing so, you provoke a pleasant purrs from your man. Yuanwu can feel how tense veins on his forehead slowly begin to relax and throbbing gradualy fades away.

Man closes his eyes, completely uninterested with news that you've started to watch since you became married. He slowly drifts off into the land of sleep. But it doesn't really weaken his senses. As soon as he feels your movements begin to slacken, he immediately starts squirming and raising his head slightly in search of your touch. He doesn't stop growling till you return to work. He can't sleep without this lulling stroking.

When his transformation is incomplete:

Some full moons are more challenging than the others. Yuanwu doesn't always manage to get rid of all his accumulated emotions. His hormones run wild. And he is just too pent up.

And this has some side effects…

After full moons like these, it's difficult for him to fully transform back. To return to “normality”. Previous transformation leaves traces behind.

Whether in the form of a fluffy tail or pointy ears.

This sight always fascinates you.

It makes you laugh when his ears perk up and turn towards the side from which an interesting sound comes. A squirrel? Mailman? Or perhaps a threat? Yuanwu definitely needs to check it out…

He makes you go soft, when he starts to wag his tail at the sight of you, without ever knowing. Or when you say something nice to him. Compliment him. Praise him for doing well. He is so proud of himself at that time! And when you show him affection? Start stroking his back or scratching behind his ears? Besides the view, there is also a loud sound of bumping against the furniture. You almost begin to fear that he will bruise his tail…

You feel playful while touching his ears. Watching his reactions… At first he is surprised. His body flinches, as if an electric shock is passing through him. He looks at you. Slightly offended with betrayal. He wants to stop you. Scold you. Order you to never do such a thing again. However, before he manages to react, it's already too late. Yuanwu melts away, and you notice how he gazes at you aroused…

When he loses control:

Sometimes full moon leaves behind other side effects. Sometimes Yuanwu has his “moods.” He acts totally out of character. He turns from a true gentleman to… a beast. He starts talk back, looks for a fight. He feels like going for someone's throat.

He has some crumbs of common sense in him and knows that he is no longer a kid. Therefore he shouldn't behave like this. That's why on such days he stays at home and doesn't show himself to the public. But it doesn't change the fact that at home there is still you. Even if you spend half your time at work, eventually moment of confrontation needs to come.

Yuanwu starts to be sarcastic, adds snarky comments to each of your actions. Bored, you try to ingorge him until he gets tired. However, this rarely works. And ignored Yuanwu gets even more annoyed. Even if, he acts mean towards you his inner wolf still craves for your attention.

He starts nudging you, pulling at your sleeve, raising his voice. He whines for you to notice him. When he gets too loud and almost spills your tea, or starts accidentally destroying your papers, you can't stand it. You make a sudden move changing your positions. You pull his jaw down and expose his neck. In a confident motion, you sink your teeth into his neck. You don't let go until he calms down. Although you are not a wolf, you know that you need to assert your position. Show dominance. Even though you're aware that Yuawnu doesn't mean it, you can't let him behave this way.

That's why you don't let go even when he tries to break free from your grasp. It's only when he starts whimpering again. But this time not with pride, but rather in defeat. That's when you let him go. Checking the state of his skin in the meantime.

Yuanwu, like a startled puppy, curls up tighter and starts cuddling into you while whining softly. He tries to please you, to humor you, take you by the pity. He feels that you are the one with power, control. That you are the strong one here, that you are the one who can defend him. Therefore, he begins to seek out for your care and favor. And he knows it won't be easy after the way he just acted. How could he? Stupid Yuanwu. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You can't stand up to the alpha...

Wounds:

You're not the only one who can bite.

Yuanwu's fangs are made for that. And they can do quite a bit of harm even if they are not fully grown.

Sometimes when he is busy with something and you touch him by surprise, he bites. Without even realizing it. As in a defensive reaction. You don't mind it, but he blames himself a lot. He makes that sad puppy face, whimpers and slowly moves towards you. Yuanwu doesn't want to spook you. Even though you are not afraid of him at all, he still treats you like a wounded animal. Though in reality, his predatory side actually makes you melt. At times like this, he gives vibe of a hyperactive puppy who does something foolish while playing around and then tucks his tail, fearing his master.

He starts licking your wound vigorously. Collecting droplets of blood along the way. His sharp teeth always pierce your skin to the point of redness, which awfully annoys him. He didn't mean to hurt you. But he tries to fix it. He doesn't stop until he's fully proud of the work he's done, and until you repeat to him for the tenth time in a row that yes, really, nothing hurts you anymore.

Similar treatment also takes place in other circumstances. When you accidentally injure yourself and Yuanwu senses this, he immediately rushes to your side. He orders you to remove your shirt or expose your hand. After this words, you already know that you are about to feel that tickling sensation of his tongue. Yuanwu insists that his saliva has disinfecting and soothing effect and that he won't leave you in this state.

When he wants to be a perfect husband:

Yuanwu rarely gets back from work earlier than you, nor does he often take on time off. He refuses to goes on any unless you order him to do so.

However, when he does manage to come home earlier, he tries his best to play the role of ideal husband and prepares to pamper you. As a way of returning the favor. He wants to take care of you, just as you take care of him.

He refreshes himself, changes into something more comfortable and puts on an apron. Which is just a little bit too tight for him… He cleans up the living room, sets up a table, places new flowers in a vase and gets down to cooking. Yuanwu decides to make something simple, but with lots of healthy vegetables.

When you come back home he greets you at the entrance. Waits for you to place a brief kiss on his lips, and seats you down at the table.

Yuanwu places a steaming bowl in front of you. He is wondering if you will enjoy it. He hopes he didn't over-salt it. But at the same time, that his soup isn't too bland. With you he always becomes so clumsy. He gets worried that made some mistake.

He takes a spot next to you and watches as you eat. When you ask about his food Yuanwu assures you that he has eaten enough while preparing the meal.

You start telling him about your day. Complaining about some troublesome customer.

Yuanwu, with a face full of understanding, nods at you and gets up from his chair. He stands behind your back and then grabs your shoulders firmly. Yuanwu starts to massage you slowly, loosening every knots.

While you are groaning in satisfaction, he leans in and starts whispering tender words into your ears. Yuanwu appreciates your efforts. Says you've done a good job. Repeats what a great husband you are. How strong and brave you are.

Working out:

You are not a fan of solutions that require violence. You prefer to handle everything with talking. However, that doesn't mean you can't learn a few moves. Just in case. Especially when your husband owns the most respected gym in whole city.

Although it''s just an excuse... Truth be told, you like to watch your partner in action. How he stays in shape despite his age. How he can still move with lightning speed. How his punches don't lose their power and still leave a loud bang afterwards.

You love to wrestle with him on the mat floor. At the evenings. When no one else is around.

Love to feel his weight on you. To watch drops of sweat trickling down his neck. And enjoy his irritated growls whenever you take control.

Afterwards, you finish it all off with a massage.

Lie down on your stomach, let your husband straddle you. Close your eyes and indulge in pleasure while Yuanwu carefully tries to relax your muscles, afraid of tomorrow's soreness.

When he is jealous:

Sometimes even a calm man with such a long life experience gets carried away by his emotions. His inner wolf takes control. Instincts begin to run wild. And sight of someone else's cherry-colored fingernails on your arm makes him see red. Yuanwu's eyes get coated in a sudden glow. His irises take a predatory shapes and start to shine in intense yellow tones.

Yuanwu spares no time when it comes to reacting. After giving a brief apology to his company, he leaves them alone and confidently heads in your direction. While doing so he isn't hot-headed, he does it with grace and majesty.

He puts his arm around you and as if by accident throws off an unwanted hand. Yuanwu gives an amused smile, almost taken by pity towards your pursuer. He introduces himself with that over-sweetened, yet naturally warm voice of his. He pretends to be surprised and with faked curiosity questions who this new companion of his husband is.

However, when she starts to introduce herself slightly confused, Yuanwu focuses his attention only on his glass, that he holds in his other hand. Unfazed by woman's titles, as if deaf to her words, he slowly stirs his champagne in a circular motion. When your admirer finally finishes, Yuanwu puts his mask back on and smiles charmingly in woman's direction. Asking politely if she won't mind if he takes his husband to the dance floor.

Without waiting for an answer, he sips down rest of his drink and hands it to the confused woman. Before you can even say goodbye, you feel yourself being pulled in the opposite direction.

Yuanwu definitely needs to cover up that sickening smell left on your body. And show who you really belong to.

Nesting:

He likes to mark his territory. To leave his scent on you. He doesn't leave visible marks, he doesn't have that audacity. He's also too old for such a puppy play. But that something inside tells him to show others what belongs to him. So he chooses the least drastic way, just to satisfy his instinct.

Situation at home, however, is quite different. Here he wants to feel safe. And for that he needs the proximity of his pack.

He needs you. Your presence.

He has sensitive senses, feels all smells much more strongly. So he gets easily irritated by what's foreign.

He wants you. Only you.

So he surrounds himself with your clothes.

At first it seems that he is cleaning. In the end, he always takes over these duties at home. He collects your clothes scattered around the house. Some of them he throws into the laundry basket, some he begins to fold with great care. But at some point he makes a mistake. He takes a heavier breath and accidentally inhales your scent. Flushes appear on his face, and his head begins to spin. He slowly slides down on his bended knees.

A thought forms in his head. Everything else loses its importance.

He gathers a pile of clothes into his arms. As many as he can carry. He hurriedly heads to your bedroom. With force, throws his trophies onto a bed.

From your shirts, pants and sweatshirts he begins to compose a phenomenal collage. He pays great attention to each item, arranging the most comfortable bedding as possible.

After a good 20 minutes, he smiles proudly and lays down in the very middle. Covering himself with the nicest sweaters. Yuanwu closes his eyes and, inhaling the remains of your scent, tries to imagine that you are the one cuddling him.

Watching sports together:

When season of boxing fights begins, you always arrange movie nights together. You sit down in front of your crappy tv. While you keep an eye on a remote, Yuanwu prepares snacks for you. Although he is very organized on a daily basis and makes sure you both stay fit, this particular season is special. Healthy eating gets set aside, no time for it. You two focus only on games. Accompanied only by bowls of chips and mugs of steaming… Trine Tea.

You choose your favorites, analyze their fighting styles and bet about who will win. You argue over who is better. Bickering like some old married couple. Whoever succeeds in betting can brag about it for another week after season ends.

Despite the enthusiasm and adrenaline that accompanies you at every game, exhaustion eventually takes its toll. As midnight strikes a sleepy Yuanwu rests his head on your shoulder, gently squinting his eyes from time to time. When you sense him drifting off you scratch him behind the ear, at which he smiles dreamingly.

Previously: Bittberry Tea

[voids-colourful-creations]

Where am I supposed to find all the words I need to talk to you?

[souperbloom]

in through the out door. [A.I.]

title snatched from the led zeppelin album of the same name

🪴roommate!Ash x reader

cancelled plans and a Saturday night in with your roommate, Ashton, brings you to make some rash decisions. ones that you don’t necessarily regret.

a/n: i’ve been obsessed with the roommate trope since this has been sitting in my drafts. i’ve been working on this one for so long im absolutely in love with roomie ash he is my golden boy

heavy inspo from @badomensbaby (i’m obsessed with you)

the gif i put is exactly the ash i pictured for this but feel free to picture whatever era you’d like :3 cocktail chats!ash is vERY GORGEOUS TO ME!

this is a long one, brace yourself. thinking abt making roomie ash into a series— let me know!

CONTENT WARNINGS: fluff n’ smut!, brief mention of smoking, playful banter/pet names, oral (f/m!receiving), size kink (kinda), pnv/riding, praise kink.

WORDCOUNT: ~10.3k

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Stars glistened in the velvety pitch black sky while the pale moonlight trickled down to illuminate your apartment balcony. A perfect summer night, somewhat dictated by cancelled clubbing plans, had now left you stranded.

Okay, stranded may be a bit harsh. You suppose ‘unsatisfied’ was a slightly more fitting word to describe the scenario you had been left in.

The cancelled plans in question prompted a late night hang out and smoke session with your long time friend and roommate, Ashton. Also known as, the biggest pain in your fucking ass.

"Heads or tails?"

Ashton was a homebody. Occasionally stepping out of his comfort zone in order to entertain the people he loved, Ashton was no stranger to making quick celebrity appearances at social gatherings. But he was also no stranger to dodging plans and making excuses to stay home and rot.

So when your old friend Luke had texted the two of you in a group-chat saying that plans had gone awry, Ashton had no complaints.

"Why are you asking me that?" you chuckle towards your slightly dazed roommate, sitting crisscross in your wicker patio chair.

"Don’t ask. Just pick. Heads, or tails?"

You gnaw on the inside of your cheek for a moment, watching as Ashton tosses a quarter mindlessly in and out of his palm.

Watching the coin occasionally catch the lighting of your balcony made you wish it was some sort of disco ball or strobe light. But then again, there was no possibility of you changing the events that unfolded well over two hours ago, so it was in your best interest to just forget about it.

"Hm. Heads."

"Heads?" Ashton echoes, sitting up slightly in his chair to take a hit of the joint you were splitting.

"Yeah, heads. Don’t know why but— I just feel it."

With an eyebrow raised, he shrugs, before tossing the coin up into the air and catching it with his other hand. He slaps the quarter onto the inside of his wrist; but the up side remains covered by his palm.

"Heads, right?"

"Yeah. Heads. That's what I just said, dumbass."

His side glance to you indicated that your blunt insult had rolled right off of his shoulders. He took in an exaggerated deep breath before removing his palm from the coin.

"Tails."

"No shit. You’re lying. Show me."

Ashton chuckles and picks up the coin, showing you the tails side of the quarter; the side it had landed on.

"You had a 50/50 shot and you blew it. What are the fucking odds of that?"

Slightly annoyed by this stupid game of chance, you scoff. "Did you really just make a big show of that to make me feel stupid?"

"I wasn’t trying to make you feel stupid. Then again, it’s not my fault that you are—"

You cut him off by shooting him an icy glare. A watch your mouth kind of glare.

"—Sometimes. Not all the time."

"That’s what I thought… Now, pass it. You’re hoggin’ the shit."

Begrudgingly, Ashton does what you had asked of him. He ashes the joint into the ashtray before extending his arm across to you. You pluck the stick from between his fingers with a satisfied smile, before taking a pull yourself.

Ashton’s mannerisms, although mildly annoying, had become somewhat of a comforting thing to you. You appreciated the way he always did the things you asked him to; despite occasionally putting up a fight about them. He was also very kind when need be— a shoulder to cry on, an open ear to listen. You lucked out in the friend department, and you couldn’t have been any happier with the outcome of the game of chance you played when you asked him to be your roommate.

The second bedroom of that two bedroom apartment could’ve gone to anyone. But Ashton jumped at the chance.

Now that you thought about it; it was kind of like a coin flip. 50/50 odds of success.

"The sky is so fuckin’ clear tonight. I feel like I’m tripping or something."

You shake your head, briefly knocking you out of your Ash-induced space out, "Nah, I see it too. It’s like, so clear, that it feels like it shouldn’t be— y’know?"

Ashton turns to face you, biting back a teasing smile. You return the glance as well. "What? Why're you making that face?"

"Be honest with me. Do you think about the end of your sentences before you say them?"

"You’re such a dick!" You chuckle, knowing full and well that whatever you had just said indeed made zero sense, "I thought you were too blitzed to notice."

"I’ve got the tolerance of a 100 year old tortoise. Nothin’ gets me that blitzed anymore."

"That’s a you problem then. Personally, I could take one wrong hit and be knocked out for the rest of the night. Depends on the day, really."

These kinds of meaningless conversations were, sometimes, the best part of your day. With yours and Ashton’s lives being so seperate, despite living under the same roof, it was nice to have someone to talk about nothing with.

He was like a palette cleanse. The calm amidst the chaos.

Although, to describe Ashton Irwin as calm was quite a generous compliment.

"How ya' feeling right now? Since it depends on the day, according to you."

Taking his question with careful consideration, you stretch out your legs and arms, before rising to your feet. A blissful sigh falls past your lips while your limbs fall limp, the joint still dangling between your fingertips.

You glance over at him to catch his attention, but he had already been watching.

"I feel fucking fantastic."

"Good to hear," Ashton agrees, "Me too."

"Oh yeah?" you challenge, walking over to the balcony and leaning your elbows onto it to look off and speak into the distant sky, "What’s got you feeling so good?"

There’s a brief silence that falls over the balcony. One that’s unbroken; eerily quiet, with nothing else but the rhythmic summer sounds of crickets and cicadas.

Your brows furrow at this deafening pause, bringing you to look over your shoulder back at him.

He was still just staring at you.

With hooded eyelids and a passive smile, Ashton’s eyes traipse down your body, a glimmer within them that made a pit form in your stomach. A glimmer that you hadn’t really noticed until right now.

Maybe it was the lighting from the patio, or the mix of moonlight and a foggy head; but he looked— different.

The way his button-down hung loosely off of his shoulders, displaying his sharp collarbones and assortment of stacked necklaces. The way his arms tensed each time he reached up to fiddle with the necklaces in question. It was all putting you into a— compromising headspace.

His posture was relaxed, yet you sensed a bit of urgency in his eyes. You weren’t quite sure where to place it.

The reaction you were having to these small details of his demeanor were making you sick to your stomach; it felt right to break the silence.

"You gonna answer my question? Or are you just gonna stare at me?"

Ashton shakes his head and reverts himself back to eye contact. He blinks a few times, rolling his lips inward as he continues to tamper with his jewelry.

"What? What did you ask me? M’sorry— Maybe I am a bit higher than I thought."

You turn around completely so that your back is pressed against the railing of the balcony, giving him your full attention. "I asked what’s got you feeling so good… Guess I just answered my own question."

"Oh," Ashton mumbles, sinking deeper into the cushion he was resting on, "Yeah."

You quietly clear your throat at the awkwardness, due to how evident and absolutely mortifying it felt. Ashton’s gaze had long left yours and was now staring out into the sky, following the stars while he drummed his fingers mindlessly against the wicker.

Something inside of you was doing summersaults and whatever it was felt oddly new. It was awfully strange how you couldn’t seem to pull your eyes away from him, not even for a second.

You didn’t even want to attempt asking yourself why suddenly, out of the blue, your roommate and closest friend of 5 years was now looking like a meal ready to be devoured.

It’d be too complicated.

"What the hell are you looking at?"

Ashton interrupts your slight mental turmoil, his voice low and authoritative.

"Uh—"

"You were looking at me. Don't do that."

"Oh, so you can look at me, but I can't look at you?"

Your brow furrows, crossing your arms over your chest as you glance down the light hitting the pendant of his necklace.

"It's impolite to stare," Ashton taunts, "And now you're looking at my boobs. How dare you."

"Shut the fuck up! I was not 'looking at your boobs.' I was looking at your fuckin' necklace. God you're such a jackass."

"I hate to break this to you, but someone who wasn't staring at my tits wouldn't get so defensive about it... I don't mind, y'know. With a rack like this, it's hard not to stare."

Ashton pokes his tongue out through his teeth, cupping his pecs with his hands as if he was trying to show off his 'boobs'. You try your hardest not to laugh, suppressing it by chewing on your bottom lip and shaking your head.

"If it makes you feel better," Ashton starts again, sitting up and resting his elbows on his knees, "I stare at your ass all the time."

"You—" your breath catches in your throat, taken aback by his admission, "You what?"

"Okay, shit, don't look at me like that... Now I feel judged."

"I'm not judging you," you chuckle, "I just— didn't think my ass was worth staring at. Plus, I always thought you were more of a boobs kinda' guy."

The tension between you was heating up now, boiling and bubbling over like water on a stovetop.

"Oh, I am. Trust me. 'Stare at those too."

"Ashton!" you squeak, hiding your face in your hands as your cheeks warm pink.

"What?! We've lived together for how many years now? Can't fuckin’ blame me."

The game of ping-pong happening in your head was getting harder to ignore. It could've been the very small amount of weed you'd smoked, or the fact that you've been bored out of your mind since your plans had gotten cancelled, but Ashton was starting to look different.

Very different.

You weren't sure where to step with your next choice of words, but at this point, you really had nothing to lose.

"Is this you finally admitting that you're attracted to me?"

"Hm. Maybe," Ashton replies casually, a bit more casually than you'd anticipated.

"Maybe? Explain."

"Well, you are beautiful. I believe I've told you that before."

Your eyes widen at his compliment, feeling like you were shrinking by the second. "I thought you just said that to shut me up that one time..."

"I may have said it to shut you up but, I did mean it. I'm an honest boy... Notice how you remembered? That's gotta be good for something."

A chill runs down your spine, followed by a genuine, tried-and-true smile. You and Ashton had gone through so, so much together. Breakups, fights between friends, natural disasters; it was easy to let the little things slip past your mind.

But you'd never forget the time he called you beautiful.

"You know Ash, I've never noticed how attractive you are when you're not being a pain in my ass."

Ashton's lip twitches up into a smirk, as if his head had just travelled to where yours has been this entire time.

"I'm flattered. Being a pain in the ass is one of my major selling points."

"Consider me sold," you tease, rubbing your arm as the warm summer breeze flows through the balcony. You watch Ashton's eyes narrow, as he studies your body language with intent. There's a brief pause in time; and Ash seemingly shakes himself out of it with a puff of his chest.

"Ugh, I'm fucking bored," he grumbles, tossing himself back onto the throw pillows.

You nod in agreement, biting your tongue. The next thought to cross your mind was in territory you had vowed to never explore. But it was late, you were pining for something else to do other than stare at him while the tension only continued to grow thicker.

As you said, you had nothing left to lose.

"Me too... wanna fuck?"

Ashton's eyes widen as the world around you just— stops.

"What?"

Oh, shit.

"I— We don't... We don't have to. It— was just a suggestion."

Ashton licks his lips, his face morphing as if attempting to process the words that had just left your mouth. You could already feel the sweat rolling down your temples, beginning to regret having asked him at all.

"You’re fucking with me, aren’t you? Yeah, you’re fucking with me…"

You shake your head, having already dug yourself this deep… Why not go deeper?

"Mmmh, no. I’ve actually thought about it a few times. Honest."

"Oh my god," Ashton chuckles, momentarily ceasing your rapidly beating heart with its playful air, "you’re such a loser."

"Calling me a loser after I’d just asked if you wanted to have sex with me… Real’ charming."

Your cheeks were hot and your lip was now twitching with anticipation. In an attempt to ease your mind and regain some of your composure, you put the joint out in the ashtray.

It may or may not have also been an attempt to step closer to him.

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” he scrambles for recovery, “I didn’t mean it like that, I just— If you’ve thought about it before, why haven’t you said anything?"

"Oh god, can we talk about that another time? If I told you every instance in which I’d thought about having sex with you, we’d be out here all night."

You were feeling slightly more at ease now after reverting back to your playful energy, although the subject matter was still making you sweat.

Ashton’s eyes were wide and somewhat bloodshot, akin to how late it was, and now due to the information bomb that you had just dropped onto him. You felt bad for hitting him with it all at once but, if you’d kept it in any longer, you might’ve exploded.

"Would now be a good time to admit that I’ve thought about it too?"

You trill your fingers against your thigh, now with a pit in your stomach, "Yeah, probably. I guess it’s honesty hour."

"Awesome, awesome," Ashton hums, taking in a deep, shaky breath.

"…Well?" You couldn’t bear to leave the question hanging in the air for any longer.

"Well what?"

"Do you wanna fuck me or not? The offer might expire if you take any longer to answer."

In a hurry, Ashton stands up, wiping his palms on his jeans and adjusting his belt. He looks at you, frantically.

"I mean, shit— yeah… Yeah, I’m down. Fuck it. Why not?"

A small smile spreads across your cheeks as he steps closer to you, "Good, good… Now, don’t make me fuckin’ regret this.”

Without giving you any time to process what exactly had just happened, Ashton is barreling towards your legs. He wraps his biceps around your thighs before tossing you over his shoulder, leaving you to dangle with your face and arms hanging above the ground.

"Ash, what the fuck!" you squeal, whacking his back with your hands as he makes it a point to tear open the screen door and start running you through the apartment.

"You told me not to make you regret this!" he giggles, nearing towards, from what you could tell by looking at the floor, his bedroom.

"That didn’t mean to fuckin— oh whatever!" You huff, slightly out of breath, as Ashton fumbles with the doorknob. He kicks the door open, and you laugh at his eagerness.

"How’s that for a grand entrance?" says Ashton, as he lifts you again to lower you down sideways onto his bed.

"You scared the shit out of me!" you chuckle, regaining your vision as you had become somewhat dizzy.

"My bad. ‘Thought that move would boost my sex appeal."

The two of you laugh for a moment as Ashton gets situated on his bed. He sits with his back nestled against the headboard and you watch sitting at the foot of it, unsure of where to go next.

Once he’s all settled into place, he looks at you with a warm smile before patting the top of his thigh. "Have a seat."

"Don’t mind if I do."

With that same smile still plastered onto your face, you crawl over, and straddle yourself onto his lap. His hands remain stagnant at his sides, as do yours. There was an odd feeling swirling in your chest that came along with the closeness, but you couldn’t describe it.

"This is weird. I don’t think I’ve ever been this close to your face before," Ashton comments, his eyes wavering as they scan the features of your face.

"Yeah… To think that we’ve been roommates for 5 years and haven’t even kissed. Our self control is truly remarkable."

"Well, if it’s still honesty hour, I’d like to add that I’ve thought about that too."

Ashton swallows. You could feel his hand jittering around down by your calves as he moves the other up to cup your waist.

"Thought about what? Kissing me?"

"Mhm… It was that Fourth of July party with Luke and them down at the beach— a few years ago. I was drunk out of my fuckin’ mind… May or may not have rambled to Luke and Cal about how badly I wanted to kiss you on the pier."

"Drunk words are sober thoughts," you grin, feeling more comfortable with his weathered palms grazing your skin. "But that’s kinda’ sweet. I didn’t think you had it in you to be that sweet."

"I feel like if I did it with no buildup it would’ve been awkward as shit. But, I appreciate the compliment."

You scoff, finally feeling enough confidence built up within you to rest your hand on his neck. "Ash, after all the shit we’ve been through, I don’t think anything can be awkward between us."

"Well, I guess this can be added to the list of ‘shit we’ve been through’, yeah?"

The frantic, nervous energy around you had begun to settle, pooling onto Ashton’s plus grey comforter. You gaze around the room, taking in all of the details you would’ve never noticed if it weren’t for a moment like this.

"Nice place you’ve got here," you comment, your eyes darting around at the various band posters and random findings scattered around Ashton’s off white walls. Stolen street signs, pushpins serving as necklace holders, birthday cards from yourself and whoever else celebrates with him. It was all so unapologetically him, and it was making you feel a bit sick.

Ashton chuckles at your apprehension, beginning a slow rhythm of drumming his fingers against your hip. "Why’re you acting like you’ve never been in here before? Is someone nervous?"

"Nervous? Me? No, never. I’m as cool as a cucumber," your lip twitches, your hand traveling from his neck down to rest onto his bare chest. "Although I must say, your chest is fucking hairy."

"You sure you’re not nervous?"

"What makes you think I’m nervous?" You cannot seem to pull your eyes away from the necklace pendant sitting between his pecs.

"You like to say random shit when you’re nervous. I know you a lot better than you think, bubs."

You freeze at the nickname, the one Ashton had lovingly coined you with a few years back; it seemed different coming out of his mouth now, speaking on the fact that you were inches away from his face and straddling his lap.

A lot of things felt different now.

"You’re right, shit. I’m sorry… I swear I’m not usually like this I— I’m normally a lot sexier—"

"Is it different ‘cause it’s with me? Because we don’t have to do this if—"

"No—" you cut him off abruptly, shaking your head with a reassuring smile, "I want to. I wanna’ do this. With you. It— it was my idea after all. No backing out now."

The rhythmic tapping of his fingers on your hipbone had turned into a gentle, soothing rub. It was oddly relaxing, the way his fingertips felt brushing against you.

It had even distracted you enough not to notice how his resting hand had traveled up to your waist to match the other.

"So… do we just— go for it?" Your voice comes out a bit shakier than you’d planned.

Ashton’s lips weave into a straight line, a sardonic look in his eye, masked with obvious amusement. It was clear he was entranced by your awkward charm.

"I dunno’. I didn’t really think this far ahead."

That comment earns a smile out of you, you whack his chest gently which is proceeded by a soft ‘oww’ from Ashton.

"We should stop talking. Maybe that’ll help," you suggest.

Ashton nods, his eyes fixed on your lips as he pulls his own to the side, "I like that idea… Any idea to get you to stop talking is a great idea to me."

"Fuckin’ dick," you tut, watching that smile of his turn into something a bit more wicked, "Maybe if you stopped being an asshole, I would’ve kissed you by now."

"What’s with all the ‘maybe’s? Maybe this, maybe that… You’re all bark and no bite. That’s what it sounds like."

"Or…" You trail a seductive finger down to the first fastened button of his shirt, "…Maybe you’re nervous too, and you’re stalling."

Ashton shifts beneath you, adjusting his hips to meet yours and suddenly the feeling of his body is threatening to pull a soft whimper from your throat. He notices the subtle notch in your brow, and the way his touch affects you.

Oh, who are you kidding. Nothing about you goes unnoticed around him.

"Not stalling, no. Just wanna make sure your head doesn’t pop off your shoulders from how fuckin’ nervous you are."

You don’t respond to his comment. Instead, you just fiddle with his shirt collar, your mind already racing at the thought of the events threatening to unfold. Despite your timid manner, Ashton speaks again.

"Bubs, if you wanted me to take the lead, you should’ve just said so."

There was something swirling in the pit of your stomach now, that tension from before reclaiming its rightful place above your heads. You tilt your head to the side and admire his plump, rosy lips; the shades of fern and honey spilling into his irises and making them shimmer.

This newfound infatuation was becoming an issue.

Without another word, and no sense of anything else to do, you lean in slowly. You could feel as Ashton holds his breath the moment you start to tilt your head forward. But rather than closing the space between your lips and his, you place a quick kiss on his cheek.

You pull away. Ashton chuckles.

"That was cute."

"Shut up," you mutter, heat instantly rushing to the apples of your cheeks.

Ashton then leans in as well, that same, agonizingly slow speed in which you did, and pushes a gentle kiss onto your cheek.

"Are you making fun of me?"

"How would this be making fun of you? I’m just reciprocating what you’re comfortable with."

At this point you can’t seem to control the way your words are just falling from your mouth, "Well, I know I’ve kissed your cheek before, I think— it was probably a really long time ago. I thought it would be easier than to just go for it all at once. Because then if I did, I’d—"

Just as you’re rambling on and on about everything and nothing at the same time, Ashton places his index finger onto your lips, smushing them together and instantly shutting you up.

"Y/N. Please. Stop talking."

You pout, feeling him switch that index finger to a thumb, and use the rest to cup your chin. He drags that same thumb down your bottom lip, slightly parting your mouth and drawing a very, very quiet whimper out of you.

"Let me take the lead, alright? You trust me?" he asks, eyes earnest and longing.

"Mhm," you reply, melting like ice cream on a hot summer day.

"Good," he hums, satisfied, still holding your chin loosely, "Now c’mere."

It felt as though there was an entire galaxy of stars and planets behind your eyes and you pinch them shut, leaning in to finally bridge the gap between your lips and his. The first touch felt like a flame igniting in your chest— the taste of him a lot sweeter than you’d imagined.

And you’d imagined this a lot more than you’d ever admit.

He hums into you, that hand once stagnant on your hips now wandering up and down your sides. The kiss itself was slow, yet the fervor behind your wordless exchange was picking up pace. And fast.

You couldn’t even process how quickly the kiss began to deepen, his tongue now exploring and tangling with yours.

There was something deeply satisfying about kissing Ashton; like an itch you were just dying to scratch. You felt so comfortable in this satisfaction, enough to lace your hands around his neck and up into his cleanly cut curls.

Your hips were working on their own time, subtly grinding down into his crotch and creating friction that just felt like heaven. It was an indescribable feeling.

Ashton pulls away suddenly, leaving you to stammer slightly and a small sigh to slip past your throat.

"I’ve gotta get this off of you," he comments, tugging at the hem of your tee.

"Ditto," you smile, wordlessly beginning to undo each button of his shirt, as far as you could reach.

It was now a frenzy of undressing one another; soft giggles and glimmering smiles with each article of clothing removed until it was down to his boxers and the underwear you had blindly picked out of your drawer this morning. But despite the unfortunate pair of briefs, Ashton’s fond gaze remained.

"If I knew this was happening, I would’ve put more effort into picking out my shit this morning," you say, reclaiming your place on his lap.

"It doesn’t matter to me, bubs," he quips, taking his broad palms and cupping your ass above your underwear, "They won’t be on for much longer."

"You’ve got quite the mouth on you Fletch," you giggle, taking in how obscenely he was biting down on his bottom lip, "Might have to put it to good use tonight."

Before you could blink or even think of another word to say, Ashton is cracking down his palm onto your asscheek, echoing a loud, playful smack.

"Way ahead of you, smartass."

The kiss from before picks back up in a frenzy, like it was some competition of who could bite the shit out of each other’s lip faster. You loved the energy that he was exuding; his demeanor and playfulness still remaining the same while driving you absolutely up the walls in arousal all at once.

"My God, you kiss like an angel—"

The words tumble past Ashton’s lips and knock into yours, the compliment instantly reddening your cheeks.

"You’re just saying stuff. Stop being stupid," you whine, feeling your decorum slipping through your fingertips as they traced circles up and down his jaw.

"I’m not saying this all to humor you, you know. As I’ve said a million times, I’m an honest man."

"You’re really beating the shit out of that dead horse, Ash. How many times in a night are you gonna call yourself honest?" You can’t help but giggle, overwhelmed by the feeling of his skin.

"If you’re gonna call my bluff, then I’m gonna’ keep reinstating the fact that I’m honest. Humble brag."

You puff your lips, swatting him on the chest and letting his silver chain catch onto your finger, "Whatever."

Ashton pauses all movements for a moment, examining your face. You could see his pupils and how they doubled in size the moment they reached your collarbone.

"Wanna start pickin’ up the pace here. I’m getting quite frustrated."

"Sexually? Or are you frustrated with the fact that your roommate is super fucking hot?"

He scrunches his nose, a dimple poking out at the bridge of it, "You say I’ve got a mouth on me but— it seems like you learned from the best.

"The walls in this apartment are pretty thin," you admit sheepishly, half embarrassed, half aroused, "I hear everything."

"Is that right?" he quizzes, his hands slowly traveling down your waist to the tops of your thighs.

"Yup. I hear it all."

Although you had never pictured yourself and Ashton to be presented with a situation similar to the one you were in now, a flutter taps through your chest as you recall the many nights you’d spend with your head buried in your pillows. Attempting, and failing, to drown out the sounds of Ashton’s late-night callers.

"And how does that make you feel? Does it— bother you?"

As his question trails off, you feel his hands creeping closer to the inside of your thigh. The sensitive skin that hadn’t been paid any attention since the last time you’d landed yourself a hook-up, a few months ago.

"N-no. Doesn’t bother me. Not that much, at least."

"Well if the sound of my headboard smacking against the wall doesn’t bother you, it’s gotta make you feel something, no?"

You didn’t want to lay out all of your cards, or give him the opportunity to use this shared experience against you in a moment of weakness. If you were more honest with both Ashton and yourself, you’d tell him that the feeling you get when you hear those animalistic noises could only be described as curiosity. Fascination.

And a dash of jealousy.

"I’m indifferent," you shrug, ignoring that wandering hand of his, "I turn my music up louder when I know you have someone over."

"Ah, but you see. That’s not what I hear. You’re as quiet as a mouse when I’ve got company around. Seems to me like maybe you’re interested in what you’re hearing. Or maybe— you’re listening."

Your jaw falls agape at his brusqueness, "Am not! I would never that’s— that’s fucking weird!"

He seemed to be growing fond of how uncomfortable he was making you, but that feeling faded away when his face melted into a smile.

"I’m just messing with you. I couldn’t give a shit if you were listening. Although, the thought of it is creating commotion in my lower half— the more I think about it."

"You’re such a loser," you chuckle, "Put that lip you’re giving me to good use and just kiss me instead."

With no complaints or comebacks, Ashton obliged. You hated how redundant it felt to keep leaning back in for that same kiss over and over— but a part of you couldn’t help it. After thinking about what it would be like to kiss your best friend, and now getting to actually experience it:

You’ll never look back again.

In a daze, you dismantle Ashton’s lap. You aren’t sure what brings you to do this but it’s explained by how quickly he was able to aid you in slipping out of your underwear. The two of you giggle, you smile into the kiss, all of the endearing little things that made kissing him so worth it. You even managed to fully switch places without letting your lips disconnect.

Not even for a second.

"I really like kissing you." Ashton reads your thoughts, as he does quite frequently.

"Me too," you breathe, staring into those glittery sage eyes as they bore into you from above.

“We should just kiss for forever, maybe.”

“Oh my God,” a giggle slips past your lips, “I’ve bewitched you.”

The warmth of Ashton’s body on top of yours was compensating for all of the corny, seemingly lovesick nonsense the two of you were spewing. His laughter alone made tiny little goosebumps surface across your arms as you hooked them around his neck and let your fingers get lost in his curls.

“Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered,” Ashton begins to hum a familiar tune, his voice rich like dark chocolate and flying in through one ear and right out of the other. You can’t help but laugh, overcome with emotions that you haven’t felt in quite a long time.

“You know, I always forget that you can sing.”

He ends his brief song by burying his face into the crook of your neck, starting an eager trail of open mouth kisses down to the base of your throat. His body moves sultrily in tandem with the rhythm of his kisses, his head nearing towards the valley of your breasts.

“Can I kiss you here?”

His eyes perk up to meet yours, momentarily drawing you out of blissful sighs. He uses his index finger to point at your chest, awaiting your permission.

“Mhm. You can kiss me theeere….”

He follows orders. You decide to play along.

“And you can kiss me heeeere….” You move his index finger towards the top of your left breast, pointing at your nipple.

Ashton’s gaze flickers with a pinch of excitement, lips hovering over towards where you had directed him. Without breaking eye contact, he lowers his parted lips to engulf your nipple, and begins to suck on it gently.

That first wave of euphoria rips through your body as he works away at you, his tongue swirling around the bud with purpose. You knew he was a boobs guy but shit, you didn’t know the extent of it. His other hand finds the breast that he had left unattended, massaging it delicately as he teased you with his tongue.

"Jesus Christ, Ash—" your sentence is broken off by your breath getting caught in your throat as he grazes your nipple with his teeth.

A satisfied hum leaves his chest, and he briefly pulls away.

“Can I leave marks on you? Please, God that is so fuckin’ sexy.”

“Mhmm. Sure, do whatever you want, just—"

The moment your permission hits his ears, he’s biting down on the top of your breast and drawing harsh breath from your throat. Surely he’d leave a hickey or two in his trail.

Ashton continues his path of love bites, all of them turning a deep mauve the moment his lips leave the surface of your skin. You thrum in amusement, happy with the pretty douses of color and silently pleading for more of them.

“Fuck,” he mutters, taking a moment to admire his handiwork and trailing his thumb across a particular hickey left on your chest, “I did quite a number on you, didn’t I?”

“Everyone’s gonna make fun of me, I hope you know.”

“If they have anything to say about my artwork, they can take their questions up with the artist, m’kay?”

Ashton’s body was nearing dangerously close to where you were pulsing for him the most. You toss your head back into the pillows when Ashton leaves a few more kisses beside your navel, he was moving awfully meticulously and a part of you was growing impatient.

“Ashton—” you croak out, watching his lips meander down to the top of your thigh as he slots himself between your legs.

“I know, bubs. I know. Getting a bit needy now, aren’t we?”

“Oh Christ, Ash, don’t say it like that,” you attempt to hide your flushed cheeks behind your hands, “I’m not that selfish.”

Ashton doesn’t allow your expression to be hidden, so he takes it upon himself to reach up and pry your fingers away from it.

“Mmmm, greedy. Is that a better word?”

You scoff, “God no, that’s even worse.”

“Desperate?”

“Fuck no.”

“How about you give me an, ‘Ashton, I need you’?”

He smiles the moment his hands come in contact with the soft skin of your inner thigh. Maybe he thought distracting you with jokes and mockery would help put your mind at ease.

“Your impression of me is shitty.”

“I disagree— I think it’s spot on,” he defends, settling into his stomach, “Unless, you wanna prove me wrong.”

“And how would I do that?”

“Well, you’ve gotta say it. Duh.”

You roll your eyes, fighting the urge to grab ahold his taunting face as he hooks his arms around the backs of your thighs. He’s now face to face with your core and quite honestly, you don’t think you’d ever been this wet before. Not for anyone.

Hm.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a low groan, “—Excuse me for being vulgar but fuck, you’ve got such a pretty pussy.”

His words make you bite down on your lip, and your tongue; the chokehold he had on you in this given moment was beyond doubt. You couldn’t find any semblance of a thought to give him, so you just moaned in delight.

“Can I taste you? Please? I’ll make you feel so good— God, you’re just dripping for me, aren’t you?”

“Ashton—” you warn, not entirely sure if you were warning him, or yourself.

“Are you gonna say it?”

“For fuck’s sake,” you roll your eyes, sick of the pestering and condescending questions, “say what?!”

“I’ve been between your legs for less than a minute and you’ve already forgotten what I’d asked you to say! You are unbelievable.”

You could feel the warmth of his words with each breath he took radiating onto your skin, and the thought of him refusing to just indulge you was making you want to bitch and moan.

“God you are so annoying,” you whine, “can’t you just—”

“Just what? Eat you out ‘til you’re begging me for mercy? Is that what you want?”

“I’d prefer that instead of sitting here with your head between my thighs while you argue with me, yeah! This is kind of unfair!”

Ashton tuts softly at your whining, clicking his tongue with a shake of his head. His cheeks lift into a sinister smile as he drags his fingers along the tops of your thighs.

“Well, I hate to be the one to tell you this but, life isn’t fair. Not everybody gets what they want, y’know?…”

Ashton’s new game of hard to get, easy to slap was making you seethe. You didn’t think he’d take your typical, platonic bickering into the bedroom. Especially in such a high stakes situation.

But you figured out this mental game he was pulling fairly quickly, when he gazed sharply into your eyes and muttered these words:

“…And if you want it, you’ve gotta fuckin’ beg for it.”

His eyes flickered with challenge while yours continued to flutter at him with hopelessness. Desperation, at best. You never thought you’d be begging Ashton for anything more than something as mundane as washing the dishes—

But hey, life is strange.

“Ashton, please—” his words are getting to your head the more you think about what his felt like between your thighs, “I need you.”

“Say it like you meeeeaannn iiiit.”

His mocking, singsongy tone could’ve earned him a crack to the jaw on any normal day. But now, he was slowly creeping his hands towards the most sensitive portion of your inner thigh. Enough gentle touching from him could’ve sent you into orbit right then and there.

“Ashton, I want you. I— I need you.”

He cracks another menacing smile, fingertips digging into your flesh and leaving etchings in their place. That face of his was a tell all: this was the end of the beginning.

“Atta’ fuckin’ girl.”

Immediately, Ashton’s head tips down, his tongue dragging slowly across your folds in a motion that sends electricity bolting through your veins. You pant slightly, the sounds you were sure he was listening for trapped somewhere in your larynx.

He repeats this taunting act, eyes closed in bliss. So you take it upon yourself to bury your hands into his curls and pull a moan from his chest.

His skilled tongue was unrelenting, showing absolutely no mercy as he moved it around your clit. You became more confident in the sounds you were making, letting whimpers fly past your lips as you tugged at his curls

“Mmmhhh, fuck,” you groan, hoping your words would pull some sort of reaction out of him. On cue, Ashton’s head pops up slightly, and he makes it a point to replace that nimble tongue with his fingers.

“You like that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you reply breathlessly, twirling one of those curls around your finger as his makes circles around your clit.

“Mmm, yeah you fuckin’ do… Mind if I get a little rough with you, bubs?”

You blink slowly, watching him stare you down through hooded eyes that were complimented by sun kissed cheeks and freckles. There was no way you could say no to that face, especially since he’d asked so politely.

“O—okay, yeah. That— that’s fine.”

“You sure? Don’t want you to be uncomfortable. Jus’ say the word and I’ll slow down—”

“No— God, no. Please, don’t slow down.”

The words came out of your mouth faster than you could process them, sweat instantly beading across your forehead as Ashton’s face lifted into a smile. Something sinister was behind that damned smile and always had been.

You’d just never really picked up on it ‘till now.

That smile of his faded away between your thighs and the sounds of your heartbeat were quickly drowned out by moans and cries. Ashton dove back in to indulge in you, locking his biceps around your legs and pulling you tight.

“Holy shit Ashton— You— Fuck!”

Ashton does nothing but hum in delight. If only you could see his smug expression beneath the valley of your breasts, but you were glad his mouth was occupied by something other than being a sarcastic piece of shit.

You were thoroughly enjoying how knowledgeable he was of you already; he picked up on all of your signs right away. Obviously, he knew you like the reflection in the mirror and he knew just how much you enjoyed the gentle suckling at your clit and occasional nips on the insides of your thighs.

“Ash,” you pant out, weakened by his tongue, “I’m really fuckin’ close—”

“Hm? What?”

As your stomach bubbled over and made it feel like your insides were coming to a boil, he just fucking stops.

“Why’d you stop?!” your voice was rather whiny, “What the fuck?!”

“Oh my God,” Ashton chuckles at your desperate verbiage, watching your pussy twitch inches away from his face, “You are such a brat. I stopped for like, two seconds.”

“You fucker! I was so cl—”

Before you could even finish your thought, Ashton is dipping back into you roughly. He swiftly unhooks one of his arms from your shaky thigh and slips a finger inside of you, working it in tandem with his tongue to cross you over the finish line.

You yelp, his actions catching you by surprise. As punishment for letting you think he’d edged you, you reach down and dig your nails into his shoulders. Faint red lines start to appear across his tanned skin and his body tenses up, back muscles flaring angrily.

A smile spreads across your face while your eyes roll back into your head, Ashton working circles around your clit with his tongue while fucking into you with not one, but two fingers. He was determined to make you cum, even if your sharp, baby blue nails were leaving cat scratches across his shoulder blades.

“—Ashton, fuck!”

One last shout of his name for good measure had you hurling over the edge. Right as your orgasm is in full throttle, those dreamy jade eyes pop up to meet yours. You make it a point to stare back into them, giving him a show with your pouty, swollen lips and flushed cheeks.

“Oh my god, holy shit— what the fuck,” you sigh. Both Ashton’s fingers and tongue had come to a slowdown, riding you through your high like he was on your back with a saddle. You giggle at the blissful feeling, letting it be known that you were grateful for the attention he had paid to you with a pat to his now sweaty forehead.

“Where the hell did you learn how to do all of that?”

Ashton finally lifts his head up with a smile, still gently caressing your thigh with that calloused hand of his as his face drips with your arousal.

“A magazine.”

“I think that was the best orgasm I’ve ever had in my fucking life.”

As shameful as it was to admit such a thing, Ashton didn’t seem to mind the compliment. You watched in real time as his cheeks turned rosy, not long before he shook his head to brush you off.

“That means whoever you’re sleeping with must really fuckin’ suck,” he comments, shrugging as if it were nothing.

“Hey,” you defend, “it’s not my fault they suck.”

Although this conversation was bringing you back down to earth in some aspects, every other piece of it felt so damn domestic. Romantic. Comfortable. You were able to run your fingers through his hair and push the rogue curls out of his eyes without fear of judgment.

“It kind of is, bubs,” Ashton was now making his way out from between your legs to join you back at the top of the mattress, “You’ve picked some real winners.”

His tone oozes sarcasm but that post-orgasm headspace made anything that left his mouth attractive to you. You giggle softly, dismissing him with your hand as you watch him get comfortable and prop his head up on his arm.

“Oh my God, remember that one guy with the fucking digeredoo? I’m sure he was just— phenomenal in bed.”

“Okay well, playing an instrument takes a lot of skill. Plus, he was hot and bought me a milkshake after the bar. How could I say no?”

You and Ashton were now side by side once again, his eyes raking across your body and sneaking glances down at your wet lips as you spoke. “If that’s all it takes to win you over, maybe instead of laying here next to you I should be out waiting in line for a milkshake.”

“Fuck a milkshake,” you scoff, turning yourself to face him and mirroring his position, “I could lay here all night.”

“Really?” Ashton’s eyes light up. You didn’t think you’d find that endearing but then again, here you are, lying next to him after he’d just whipped you through space and time.

“Yeah. I mean, what else is there to do?”

“I could think of a few things,” he trails off, glancing you up and down, “Round one barely even started. Just sayin’.”

You bite your lip while gazing at him through hooded bedroom eyes. He now seemed to be mesmerized by the small bit of mascara that had begun running down the side of your cheek, stuck on the little black streaks before he took his thumb, licked it, and tried to wipe them off.

“Ash, ew,” you pull away, “Why’d you do that?”

“Oh please grow up, my head was just between your fuckin’ legs.”

“Fair point,” you puff, face still scrunched at him before you flop onto your back with a sigh.

There’s a brief pause between the two of you as you stare up at Ashton’s ceiling fan. He stayed still by your side, taking his index finger and tracing small shapes on your shoulder.

“Damn, was it really that good? Like, ‘stare at my ceiling fan and ponder your life’ good?”

You glance over at his big, needy eyes. His face still flushed with sweat but his gaze telling you more than he ever could. “What’s wrong with pondering life? You wanna go again?” you ask, knowing the answer already.

“Well, yeah. That sure as hell beats staring at the ceiling. But only if you’re up for it. ‘Wouldn’t wanna kick you while you’re already down, y’know?”

“Why are you treating us hooking up like a sporting event?” you chuckle, capturing his hand in yours and rubbing circles across his knuckles.

“It kind of is one except we’re like— playing on the same team… and we both win every game.”

He glances down at your hand with a smile and all you could do was laugh at him through your nose, “You’re fucking stupid.”

“Mmmm, I know.”

In no time, your lips are back on his and he’s pulling you into his chest. The cool metal of his necklace pendant brushes between your breasts and reminds you of what started this whole endeavor. His hands roam your body, every single dip and curve until the only thing he could reach for was something he was already familiar with. You smiled into his mouth, simply because you could.

“Your lips are like sugar,” Ashton grumbles, his words knocking into your teeth as he brushes a lock of your hair out of your face.

“Thanks. Cherry chapstick.”

Ashton’s lips are eager, the kiss is red hot; you’re so ready to experience him fully and that excitement is proven by the quickness of you knocking him onto his back and sliding over to mount his lap.

“I think I like you better from this angle,” Ashton coos, running his hands down the tops of your thighs while you’re straddling his hips.

“What, like I don’t look good from every angle?” you tease back, feeling more confident in your prowess and sexual nature.

“Something about you on top of me— holy shit. If I could take a picture of you right now all fucked out n’ messy…. I’d get it framed and hang it right above the fuckin’ mantle.”

“You’re not too bad yourself, Fletch,” you run your finger down his chest and make the conscious effort to grind your hips down into his groin, “Sex looks amazing on you.”

“You’re such a little minx,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes, “it’s almost painful to look at you right now.”

“Should I take that as a compliment?”

You couldn’t pull your eyes away from Ashton’s plump lips. God they were just so— inviting. If it were socially acceptable to skip the whole sex part and stare at him all night until the sun came up, you absolutely would.

Not that there were any methods to Ashton’s madness, but after hearing him speak so highly about how he performs in bed, you kind of wanted to find out more for yourself.

“Sure, why not. Y/N, you make my dick hurt. Take that how you will.”

“I’m honored, actually. Thank you Ashton.”

Your voice is sultry, pulling your words like soft taffy and making sure they sounded just as sweet. You wanted him to get a taste of this more demure side of you, and also make sure that he never forgets it.

Not many more words are exchanged before you’re dipping down to kiss the center of his chest. Right next to the necklaces that had you tongue tied out on the balcony. He groaned at the action, hands traversing up your thighs and towards your ass to give it a tight, reassuring squeeze.

A few more kisses down the line lead you to the top of his naval. You planted another feathery kiss right above it, for good luck, and shivered as his hands moved with you down his body.

“Oh, I know exactly where you’re headed, bubs. You think you’re slick,” Ashton tries to hide the pillowy shades of pink that fell against his cheeks when your teeth grazed the band of his boxers. But all you could do at that moment was smile.

“M’ not doing anything wrong, am I?” you ask, eyes wide and doe-like as you slip a finger beneath the fabric to tease at his happy trail.

“No no, nothing wrong…” His words trail off, getting lost somewhere in the room. He tosses his head back and you watch those caramel curls just flop against the pillow.

Truth be told, you were intimidated by Ashton. But only in the moment where he’d taken off his jeans and was left in his underwear. You stared down at the sizable bulge, eyes still wide, wondering what was hidden beneath that red and black checked plaid.

You take a moment to let him adjust to your new position, and run a gentle hand across where the fabric hilled. He was hard, really fucking hard. Almost twitching out of the slit in his boxers.

“Ahh, shit—” Ashton hisses at the contact.

“Sensitive?”

“You could say that, yeah.”

When you take his length out fully, you stare at it for a moment. Gazing down at its size and realizing now that all the sounds you’ve heard through the drywall of your neighboring rooms may not have been an exaggeration.

“Holy shit—” you catch your tongue, biting back a smile as you take him in a fistful.

“What?”

“You’re really fucking big.”

The corners of Ashton’s mouth tug up into a catty smile, his tongue jutting out to wet his bottom lip before letting out a satisfied sigh.

“Say that again for me, please—?”

“Don’t test your luck, Fletch.”

After taking a moment to find your confidence back, you slowly ease his leaky tip into your mouth. Ashton hums on contact, body tensing and muscles contorting beneath you as you start a slow rhythm of bobbing your head up and down.

“Fuck,” he whines, brushing the hair that had fallen rogue out of your face, “Look at me. Please— fuckin’ look at me.”

Your attention snaps to his desperate plea and you find his face through your messy hair. His lips were parted, forming a perfect, angelic expression that looked like he was floating on a cloud. When the eye contact meets, those O shaped lips melt into a smile.

“Yeah, just like that,” he praises, watching you take his cock fully down your throat and bat your eyelashes as if it were no big deal, “Keep goin’, keep goin’— God you are just perfect, aren’t you?”

Something about Ashton’s merciful compliments made your core throb even more so than when his head was nestled between your thighs. You loved the way those pretty praises sounded rolling off his tongue, and were now just as eager to hear what else he wanted to say.

“Can y’ take it all?” He asks, knowing damn well you were too occupied to reply.

The only sound you could muster was a weak ‘mmmhf’, before you’re ducking your head down completely to the point where the tip of his cock was knocking into the back of your throat. He moans, you moan; it’s a cadence of obscenities. “Oh my God, Y/N. Hooooly shit—”

You keep your head down for as long as you could take it, swirling your tongue around his length and drawing yourself back up to his tip.

“Ahhh, shit— I can’t— No. Come up here. Come up here right fuckin’ now.”

Ashton grabs your head, gently yet effectively pulling your mouth off of his cock. A trail of saliva follows your lips, your face now burning up as you wince at the lack of him filling your throat.

“I need to fuck you,” Ashton continues, his mind working faster than his body at pulling you up to be level with his face again and getting you straddled onto his waist.

“God, please do— I don’t think I could’ve waited much longer.” You admit, with not a single lick of shame, knocking your sweaty foreheads together as he blindly reaches over at his side into his nightstand.

“You like that, huh? You like it fast n’ rough? I knew it, I knew you did—”

“We’re a lot more alike than you think, Ash,” you breathe out, interrupting your own thought to press a rushed kiss onto his cheek, “You just gotta start paying more attention.”

Eventually, Ashton finds a condom in his drawer and slams it shut with his elbow. He holds the packet between your hurried faces, taking the corner of it to his teeth and ripping it open in one motion.

“I didn’t even have to ask,” you bellow, giggling softly as he hands the condom to you to do the honors, “What a gentleman.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” he rolls his eyes and watches you move down to place the condom where it needed to be, “I’m a gentleman regardless of circumstance.”

After successfully getting the condom onto him, Ashton was back on cloud nine. His face came to a pinch when you lent him a few warm up strokes and shifted back to line him up with your entrance.

“You are so goddamn sexy, Y/N,” he mumbles, gazing at you with hungry eyes.

“Really? Tell me again.”

As he opens his mouth to follow your instruction, you sink down onto his cock without warning. A gasp chokes at your larynx as the feeling of him filling you up fogs your senses.

“Ohhh, oh my—”

You’re grasping at straws to say something, slowly swiveling your hips and feeling his length twitch inside of you like the missing piece of a puzzle. Ashton’s hands fly to your hips and stay there, squeezing you tightly enough to leave bruises in the place of his fingertips.

Your motions start off slow, the two of you in momentary shock at the overwhelming sensation; but Ashton doesn’t stay still for very long. He wants to know what you look like when you ride him, how those tits he’s always catching himself staring at bounce as you sway to the rhythm that he claims.

He snaps his hips up into you for the first time, which makes you cry out, a bit louder than anticipated. On instinct, you cover your mouth with your hand to muffle the noise. But Ashton wasn’t having that either.

“Scream for me, baby. I know you want to,” he muses, through bated breaths as his snapping hips become relentless, “Scream my fucking name.”

Although Ashton referring to you as ‘baby’ caught you a little off guard, you could do nothing else but oblige to his request. You whine, you grunt, you moan, calling out and watching it echo and bounce across Ashton’s off white walls until the only sound left in the room was his name.

“Atta’ girl, yeah. You fuckin’ like that? Yeah you do. Look at’ ya’.”

“Ashton, oh my God. Fuck me— harder.”

Your command makes his grip on your hips tighten, “Harder?”

“For the love of God, yes. Fuck me harder!”

The sounds of slapping skin and Ashton’s shaky old headboard banging against the walls seemed to drown out any more of those obscene noises; but your senses were heightened enough to the point where you could hear them all loud and clear. You toss your head back, hair wild and unkempt as the two of you find the perfectly rough rhythm of your hips.

“Ashton, holy shit—”

“Yeah baby, yeah, that’s it— cum for me again. Fuckin’, shit—”

Ashton’s greedy hands fly right up to your chest. He takes your breasts in a handful as you ride him, allowing you to ride yourself all the way through your second and final orgasm of the evening.

An exasperated sigh leaves your lips as you watch his release, in almost perfect unison with yours. His cock twitches inside of you once more and leaves you feeling sensitive, a bit worn out. But you didn’t care about the fact that you’d felt like you’d just run a marathon.

All that mattered was that you felt closer to Ashton than ever.

“Jesus Christ, Ash,” you moan out, dropping your hands to his chest as you lift yourself off of his cock.

“Mmmf—” he winces at the loss of your pussy clenched around him, his next words a bit strained, “it’s a good thing we don’t have any more roommates. You’re like a fuckin’ tornado siren.”

And there was the Ashton you knew and loved; back with a witty comment to top off the evening of multiple orgasms and your new discovery of a praise kink.

“Charming, Ash. Real’ fuckin’ charming.”

Giggles and more banter filled the space around you as Ashton offered to get you cleaned up. He ran through the apartment, naked, collecting up the necessary ingredients for the perfect aftercare session and making sure you had everything you needed to feel comfortable in the aftermath.

“Think you’ll be able to walk right tomorrow?” Ashton chuckles, his knee dipping down into the mattress as he hands you a glass of water.

“I could ask you the same question.”

“Well, to answer that question, I’ll be fine. Someone’s gotta carry you around if your legs don’t work, right?”

You laugh at him, swatting his bare shoulder and taking a sip of that ice cold water.

The rest of the hour was pure, unadulterated bliss. You hadn’t even bothered to check the clock whilst Ashton cleaned you up with a warm washcloth and basically dressed you in your sleep shirt and pajama shorts. You were just happy to know that he was willing to take care of you, whether it be as a friend, or a hookup for the night.

The two of you laid side by side in bed, talking about life, in a philosophical and stupid sense; basically anything and everything before his head plopped down onto the pillows like it were made of bricks.

“Ugh, now I’m bored,” he whines, fighting a smile as he gazes into your wide eyes. Ashton was always one for a callback, but this one seemed oddly intentional.

You look back at him with challenge, running your fingers through his loose curls and dragging your index finger across his sharp cheekbone “You know what you should do?”

“What?”

“You should go get me that milkshake.”

⊹ ₊ ⟡ ⋆

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @iobsessoverfictionalmen, @lulusplaycorner, @psychokinetic-ectoplasm

warnings: swearing, inferred smut

AN: the things that get sent in a server im in with a few of the people I’ve tagged. And the way yall egg the ideas on. I finally got to it. Hope u all like it.

I sighed as I stretched, jacket already tossed over the chair in the corner of the room after a long day on set. I sat down on the bed to take my shoes off. A pleased hum made me look up. Mack was leaning in the doorway watching me appreciatively.

“what?” I laughed as I looked at him. Kicking my shoes off, I leaned back on the bed as Mack’s eyes roamed over me. “What are you looking at me like that for?”

“No reason really.” Mack said softly. “Just thinking about how well you did in that scene today. You really knocked it out of the park. Never seen someone give that kind of performance before.” The look is Mack’s eyes softened as he continued to look at me. I smiled at him before shrugging.

“someone had to.” I said, laughing slightly. “With the way Chaplin kept trying to steal the scene I didn’t think anyone else would get any screen time.” Mack raised his eyebrows as he looked away.

“you made sure you did. And Natalia. Nice work dragging her into the shot with you.” Mack congratulated. “But I wonder if you knew…” he looked back at me, lust and mischief dancing in his eyes.

“Knew what?” I asked as I started to undress. Mack continued watching me appreciatively.

“that the sun filtered through your costume. Your all white costume. I don’t think anyone else noticed but honey…” Mack whistled low as he took in my state of undress as I paused reaching for my sleep clothes. “I noticed every little thing.”

“Mack.” I admonished as I felt my cheeks heat up. “Now we’re going to have to reshoot it all.” Mack shrugged.

“we can edit it.” He said nonchalantly. “Promise. That’s just for my eyes only.” I rolled my eyes playfully as I sauntered over to him. Mack smiled at me as I ran my hands over his chest.

“exactly. Your eyes only.” I agreed as I leaned in to kiss him, pulling his tie out from under his vest before tugging it as I walked backwards into the bedroom. Mack let go of the doorframe as he followed me, kissing me deeply as I started working on getting his vest off. Mack hummed as I climbed back on the bed, kneeling as I pushed his vest off to the floor.

“I like where this is going.” Mack murmured, nose brushing against mine as we broke apart for a breath. “A private showing.” I smiled as I looked into his eyes. They held a warmth that was only reserved for me in the moments where it was just the two of us. I cupped his cheeks as I kissed him again, pressing as close to him as I could as his hands came up to rest on my hips. He made sure I kept my balance as I let him take control of the kiss, changing the urgency as my arms wrapped around his neck. Mack’s hands slid under my shirt as I shifted again. My hands slid down his chest and under his suspenders. A quiet moan left his throat as I slipping the suspenders off his shoulders.

“you’ve gotten a lot of private showings lately.” I whispered as Mack dipped his head to kiss my neck. “One may think you’re getting spoiled darling.”

“you’re my muse. And damn anyone who wants to take you away from me.” Mack’s breath was hot against my pulse point. My head fell back at his words as my fingers curled into his shirt. “What kind of artist would I be if I didn’t get a taste of my muse every once in a while? A fucking washed up no good one. That’s what.” Mack panted as I reached down to palm him through his pants.

“you’re muse.” I mused as I pulled back to look at him. “I like that.” Mack smiled at me.

“I knew you would.” He whispered as he rested his head against mine. “Now, inspire me.” I giggled as Mack laid me down on the bed and set to work.

[strangeholic]

CASUAL [W2S × MINIMINTER]

I don't want us to be casual anymore.

It’s so confusing. He thought that they had something going on, but was he being delusional? Was everything that they did just happen to be… casual?

Simon sighs as his eyes stare at the picture that Ethan had just sent at the Troops group chat. They were at what seemed to be a club, and the picture showed Harry sitting down with a girl next to him. They were both smiling and seemed to be having a lot of fun. 

Unlike Simon, currently. He’s going crazy.

Things started feeling different between him and Harry. It felt sort of… flirty, in a way. Simon thought it was going kind of smooth, thought that they were in a phase where they don’t really acknowledge the romantic slash couple-y things that they do.

He thought that one day, they would have their cuddly hang outs as usual and one of them would end up crossing a certain boundary. A boundary that may or may not contain touching each other’s lips, or even better, each other’s bodies.

“Ughhh.” Simon lightly tossed his phone to the side, thankfully not landing any further off the bed. It’s 3 A.M already, he shouldn’t have been awake to see that picture, which now has him in complete distress.

Maybe this whole time it really was just a complete friendship thing for Harry. Maybe he really was that stupid. Or maybe, he was just fooling around with Simon.

Well, “Fuck him.”

☆

Harry: free tonight?

Simon: nah, im streaming  

Harry: oh then can we call rn?

Simon: sorry cant rn

Harry: oh okay

☆

“Bog.”

“What?”

Ethan looked dead straight at Harry, who was sitting very comfortably at Ethan’s couch at Ethan’s house. “It’s late, go the fuck home.”

“But I’m so bored,” Harry paused and took a look at his phone for a second. “And… Simon is ignoring me.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow at the sentence, Harry now actively ignoring his eyes. “Oh, so it’s about that.” He immediately grinned and walked towards the pouting man. “Is he pissed?”

“I don’t fucking know! You’re the ass for sending that fucking picture!”

Ethan laughed as he took a big step back, avoiding the leg that was about to kick him flying to the wall. “I had to! To make him jealous!”

“Jesus, you’re so annoying. I shouldn’t have told you anything.”

Ethan finally calmed down from laughing and took a seat next to Harry, while also making sure that Harry doesn’t kick him off. “Look, dude. You lot have been hanging out at night, watching movies, falling asleep while cuddling, looking at each other all lovey dovey, and that fucking country trip. Oh my god, that country trip.”

“What about the country tri-”

“Oh, don’t piss me off, bog.” 

“Well, it’s all gone to shit now, anyways. He lied to me about having a stream tonight. He doesn’t want to talk to me anymore.” 

Ethan groaned and pushed Harry to the edge of the couch, quickly having a grab at Harry’s phone. “You’re such a pussy.”

“WAIT ETHAN,”

“Simon, can i come ov-”

“ETHAN PLEASE,”

“Okay, sent!” 

☆

Harry: simon, can i come over?

Simon: uhm what for?

Harry: need to tell you something

Simon: sure then

Harry: omw 

☆

Oh god, this can’t be happening. Simon was slumped up on his desk, playing COD and drinking beer when he got the sudden message from Harry. He wanted to come over to Simon’s place, and in 5 minutes he’s going to arrive while Simon looked and smelled like shit. 

Simon quickly cleaned up his bottles of beer, changed his shirt and fixed his hair. He then sat down at his living room couch, waiting for a knock on his door. 

He had a sudden realization of why on earth is he doing all this? Acting like this? For a man that he just cussed at all night because of a fucking picture. A picture where it was pretty obvious that the time they spent flirting, or what Simon thought was flirting, were all a waste of time. 

Who knows, maybe when there’s a knock on his door, he won’t answer it.

☆

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Harry’s inside his car, head down on his steering wheel.

He was right in front of Simon’s place, in which he doesn’t got a fucking idea on why he’s even there. To hang out? To cuddle? To confess? To hook up? Seriously, why did Ethan do this to him.

Well, Harry knows that he has feelings for Simon. He knows that he wants to be more than a friend. He wants to be more than someone to cuddle with and then act like nothing romantic is happening between them. 

But he’s so scared. He’s never felt this way before. 

What if he fucks up his confession? Simon might just not be into him at all, actually. And when he confesses, everything will get fucked. Will he even be able to face that and then having to still work with his crush who rejected him? Nothing good will ever come out of this whole ordeal.

Harry took a look outside of his window, the door is so close. All he needs to do is get out of his car and take a few steps. Or should he just start his car and drive away?

“Jesus,” Harry flinched when his phone started ringing, and surprise, it was Simon. Harry felt a cold sweat drip down as he picked up the phone and accepted the call. 

“Uhm, Hey.”

“Harry, are you actually coming over?”

“I’m still-”

“Look, I don’t know what it is that you wanted to talk about, but I’ll tell you this. I like you.”

Harry froze, he felt like time had just stopped.

“I really like you, Harry. All the time we’ve spent lately has been nice and I realized during that time, that I have a thing for you. Especially when we filmed that video in the countryside. We literally drove around on a scooter for 30 minutes while we listened to love songs. Maybe for you this whole thing has just been for fun and nothing serious. And to be honest, I want it to be more than that. So, if you were planning to come over to just do the same things and go home without addressing anything like usual, just don’t come.”

“Simon, open the door.”

“What?”

The door slowly opened, the wind immediately hitting cold on Simon, who was frozen at the sight of Harry in front of him. A few seconds passed of them staring into each other’s eyes, confused on what to do with themselves. 

Simon’s heart was about to explode, they must look like idiots just standing there in silence. He wished that Harry would say something, something about the very embarrassing confession that Simon had made over the phone. He wished that Harry would just do anything– 

“I like you too,” Harry clenched his fists. “A lot.”

As Simon was about to say something, the atmosphere had pushed Harry to lean forward and cup Simon’s face, for a kiss. Simon kissed back. It was a moment of relief.

The relief of finally getting what he wanted, what they both wanted. With the warmness that came when he grabbed a hold of Harry’s waist, pulling him inside the house. Is this what heaven feels like?

Harry pulled away, a smile started to grow on his face and slowly to a giggle. It just hit him how funny it was that he was just inside the car, contemplating on driving away from the love of his life whom he thought didn’t have feelings for him. 

“Oh, how stupid of me,” He mumbled, as his hands were still cupping Simon’s face. Their eyes sparkling like they’ve just experienced the happiest moment of their lives. “I shouldn’t have doubted my feelings.”

“You and me both, Haz.”

<3

[kaidee-koo]

BanBans Bedtime 🌙👹

Little: BanBan

Cg: player (the parent)

It was late at night in BanBans kindergarten, most of the other Characters had already gone to sleep and/or were busy doing their own activities.

BanBan however was pacing around in the medical sector looking for any medication to ease the constant unbearable pain he had to endure. He had his good days and bad days, usually he could handle the pain but today was not one of those days.

The parent had been told by Toadstar that BanBan was making a mess and tossing expired medication everywhere. The parent made their way to the medical sector seeing BanBan tossing all kinds of bandages and other medical equipment all over the room.

“Banban? Whats wrong?” The parent asked, looking up at the tall red creature with concern.

“I cant bare it anymore! It hurts too much!” BanBan shouted angrily throwing himself to the ground with his head in his hands. He began to transform into his demon form. His party hats soon turned into sharp red horns and he teeth became sharp and scary.

“BanBan, its okay. Take deep breaths alright?” the parent said kneeling down beside him and gently rubbing his back.

After a few slow breaths BanBan became more in control.

“There we go, I’m sure there’s something around here that can help.”

The parent reassured as they stood up and began to look for any medication that may ease his pain.

Luckily, they found a bottle of pain killers that weren’t expired yet. They walked back over to BanBan and gave him the required amount. BanBan swallowed the pills and almost instantly he felt better…

“Baby boy, we talked about this, if you’re hurting please dont go through it by yourself. You know Im always here for you.” The parent said sitting beside him.

The nickname made BanBan feel little, his eyes became doelike and his voice became soft and more high pitched.

“It hurt so bad.. I didnt know what to do.” He replied his eyes teary

“Aww baby I’m not mad, Im just worried about you and I don’t want you to hurt okay? Youve had a long day, lets get you to bed.” *The parent said standing up and holding out their hand for BanBan to take. BanBan took their hand and followed them to the naptime room.

The room was lit by a dim comforting lamp and had many comfy beds and blankets folded on a shelf. BanBan crawled into the bed he favors the most, the one with a fluffy red comforter and sesame street sheets.

“You’ve had a hard day huh baby? You must be so tired.” The parent said as they tucked him in “everything’s okay, you’re safe…” the parent said leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. BanBan yawned sleepily as he sunk into the cooshy bedding.. the dark cool atmosphere was soothing and calming. The night light projected stars and planets onto the ceiling giving the room a slightly blue tint.

The Parent gently popped his pacifier into his mouth and pulled up a chair to sit beside his bed. They gently caressed his head and whispered soothing words as he slowly drifted off to sleep..

[alicenpai]

art thoughts lately!! particularly about con prep ..

- i am getting tired of drawing chibis during con prep season 😔 like i mentioned before, i think im "good" at drawing them, but they are kind of uninteresting to draw. and i get bored after a while! i think that's why charms burn me out so fast. luckily my last "specialty" merch design was just submitted so . i can move on to prints and other designs now

- i still like designing charms but i think i might try portrait charms. which means that like . my charm catalogue will cover a less broad range of fandoms (?) bc portraits will take a lot more work + harder to draw characters i don't know well

- might also still do buttons bc i like the idea of having low cost options on my table (i.e. canadian con goers tend to have a lower purchasing power?) although i think i may have been under charging...... i might have to raise the price by a few cents, because again, they do take time to draw. i put unnecessary amounts of detailing in them . it sparks joy ok 😔 anything priced under like. $10 (?) will be a low cost merch option and i like the idea of still having my art be "accessible" and not just like. having $15-20 charms and prints

- i also want to lean more into like. stickers in the style of the baccano sheet i drew last year! i think it's a lot of fun to interpret a favourite series in this graphic design style. a lot of work and research but yeah

- i hate lineart again so it might be time to learn how to clean sketches again

- might also be time to crank out the chisel brushes again - whenever i see artists using the chisel brush it makes me miss my 2017-18 era art sm .... there's such a delicious flow in chisel brushes .. part of the reason i stopped using them is 1. i was getting tired of using the brush (though i think my 2019 art was a bit tame compared to the previous year), and 2. complications on my computer with photoshop and then having to move on to clip. i can't replicate the tilt sensitivity of my ps brushes (specifically the helen chen brushes) in clip ^__T so i had to learn to wield another set of favourite brushes. i know clip also has chisel brushes but this one was my favourite aughhgh. will have to dive into the brush settings window for like 2 hours again ..

- overall, im really looking forward to stickers and prints the most! esp prints! i have a greater vision of what i want to capture in my art, after doing the Halloween piece and the pandora hearts twin mirrors piece. i want to push my art in a more illustrative direction (thank you miss shirahama kamome of witch hat atelier you have changed my life), if it works out. ill definitely have to toss the old prints that don't suit my style anymore, though ill see about doing a "last call" to see if anyone wants em during anime north 🤔 if not they will be recycled hehe

[nighthaterfrfr]

take a deep breath for me

1st request from @jben073 , grace getting overstimulated and steph comforting!

im no stranger to being overstimulated, but im still not sure how to write it as someone who im pretty sure is neurotypical?

so fair warning if its inaccurate, i tried pulling from peoples experiences and a bit of my own for grace.

anywho, lets get to it! a nighthater tumblr preview ig

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If someone had told Stephanie Lauter, reluctant daughter and overall "girl-who-doesn't-give-a-shit" that she'd have to help someone like Grace Chasity with being overstimulated, she'd look at the them confused and laugh in their face.

So how the fuck did she get into a situation like this?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ever since she's been hanging out with Pete, Grace, and the rest of the school's so-called "Nerdiest Prudes," most of them have been safe. Well, because of her and Jägerman. Even then, some people still harass the students often. Especially Grace. Yet today was a little different.

It's a rare occasion when Max Jägerman misses school. The boy rarely got sick, and his father never cared enough to take him anywhere besides school and football games. So whenever he's gone, the rest of the school preys upon the prudes. Today was also a good day to go after Hatchetfield High's resident preacher.

Grace has had a relatively rough day already. Her father ended up dropping her off late for homeroom and she's been behind in completing all of her assignments. Her mind's a mess since the Waylon Place, and it has not been treating her good.

On her way to her AP Biology class, two of Max's football friends had decided to smack the notebook she had held and laughed at her while she picked it up. One of them taunted, "Aww, what's the matter? You gonna cry to Jesus about it?" Usually, Grace would easily refute back at them with the very repetitive, "You will all be going to hell!" speech, but today she just let them continue. One more thing to add onto a massive, unstopping headache that left her agitated.

When she got to AP Bio, some of the cheerleaders were waiting there. They immediately took the notebook again, and tossed it over to the two originally picking on Grace. She was mad, but it felt odd. It felt like it was all too much. The louder they laughed, the more that Grace felt like she needed to get out of there and scream. The loud insults, the sun getting in her eyes, the bell ringing? It was all too much for Grace "Chastity Belt" Chasity.

Somehow, Steph was also in Grace's AP Bio period. She may be a bit misguided, but she's certainly not that stupid. Sure, it's almost a failing grade, but hey, a 63% is all right with the mayor's daughter. As she was once again late to her classes, she saw that people were once again, picking on Grace. Steph knows better, and she knows that Grace Chasity always wards people like that easy. However, seeing her run off, tears rolling down her face and a face that looks like she'll kill someone was a different situation.

The group of people teasing and making fun of Steph quickly left, and Steph went after the crying girl right after they left. Look, she's not one to help comfort people, but seeing one of her closest friends cry is her limit. Following Grace, she ended up in a storage closet in the school. Steph decided not to go in right after Grace, as to give her some time to relax a little.

"Oh gosh darn it!" Grace had been breathing heavily and shaking for quite a bit. She's obviously upset, but for what? She has no idea what in the world is causing this, and it seriously sucks! To be honest, this kind of thing would happen frequently with her, especially when she was younger, but it was never like this. Never where Grace Chasity would have to skip a class to calm down.

The smell of the wood in the room was a familiar sense. Shop Class, from her junior year. She always did like Mr. Houston the best as a teacher. Looking around, Grace's breathing slowing down and her temper cooling, she hears a knock at the door. She quickly backed away and considered hiding, but she knew she'd been caught.

"Chasity? You... you doing better? It's um, Steph. I just wanna check on you, that's all." The voice of Stephanie Lauter soothed her a lot more. Yet, it also scared her. The fact that Steph was also skipping Bio just to see how she was doing? It was charming. And really thoughtful, too.

Grace stood up and walked towards the door, letting Steph in as her notebook dropped on the ground. Steph quickly went to go pick it up as the two of them sat on the floor right by the door. Sitting shoulder to shoulder, the room was silent. Steph had no idea what to do in this situation, so she didn't talk or engage in anything with Grace unless she did it first.

Breaking the silence, Grace had began to ramble, saying, "I'm sorry Stephie, I just kind of freak out sometimes like that. I don't even know why I do this! I mean, I've been doing this since I was young, but I guess I've been repressing like my parents sa-" Steph quickly saw that her breathing got quick and her face was about to cry, so she stopped her, holding out a palm with one of her rings on the inside.

"Just take a deep breath, ok? It's fine, Grace. You're just here in the shop storage room, and- and it's clear that a lot is getting to you."

Steph may haven't been the quietest person, but she's a damn good observer. So much so, she knows that Grace loves to play with a ring whenever she has one on. Steph also knows that Grace frequently taps her foot in a very syncopated rhythm when nervous. She also knows that Chasity repeats the phrase "cool beans" as a way of motivating or calming herself down. Along with biting her nails when nervous, shaking her hands and almost spinning when she gets excited, and biting her tongue when confused.

Steph had quietly noticed all of these traits. Thought it would be no big deal until now. After all, it's just her friend Grace Chasity and all the little things she does.

Grace grabbed the ring, sighing as she puts it on her finger and fidgets with it. "How did you know I liked to do this, Stephie?" Grace asked her, causing Steph to twiddle her thumbs and looking elsewhere. She replied, "Oh, y'know. Just noticed it during AP Calc, I guess." Grace smiled slightly as she put her hands down, mumbling to herself.

"Stephie, do you know what autism is?" Steph looked at her, a bit off guard with the question. "Yeah, I do. How come?" Grace looked a bit nervous, trying to keep eye contact with Steph. "So- uh, I'm on the spectrum? I mean, I was diagnosed when I was younger, but I have just kind of been ignoring. My mommy and daddy says to just pray to God and hope it goes away, y'know. I've prayed and prayed everyday, pleading that I won't be so overwhelmed."

"So why won't it go away?"

Steph looked at Grace, her face filled with concern and a hint of confusion on how to answer a question like this. "Because... it's just a part of you. You've been denying you've been so overstimulated for a while, haven't you?" Steph asked, Grace nodding yes. "Um, I'm not on the spectrum, so I have no idea how you're feeling, Grace. However, I know that, if needed, I'm here for you. If you want, of course." Grace faces Steph fully, her attention on her as she smiles.

"Thanks, Stephie." Grace said, getting her notebook back from the other girl. Standing up, Grace looked around the storage room. SHe didn't want to go to the class, but she also knew that both Steph and herself would be in trouble if caught skipping. Trying to think about the possibilities for trying to hide in the room, Grace walked around.

Weirdly enough, the rows of plywood in the room comforted Grace, letting her think more. Maybe it reminded her of her favorite class, or her favorite class, or her favorite kid to babysit. Nonetheless, she knew that she couldn't be here for long. Breathing in deeply, she walked back to the door, opening it. Steph stood up, peeking out once Grace opened it slightly.

Thankfully, there was never many students that would skip a class so early in Hatchetfield High, so there are rarely any hall monitors in the school. Because of this, Steph and Grace quickly snuck out of the big storage room and returned back to their Biology class in the same hallway they were in. Steph held onto Grace's hand to reassure her and to remind that she has someone to rely on when something like this happens again.

After all that, Steph was still trying to make sure that Grace wasn't too overwhelmed with any of the classes they had together. From giving her one of her airpods to take a break from all the noise and instead listening to Steph's very explicit (and very good) playlist to helping isolate herself during a group activity if it seemed like too much.

Grace was very appreciative of this, and got even closer to Steph. Every time she'd get overwhelmed at school, somehow, Steph was there.

Even then, what's that feeling that Grace gets whenever she's around Steph?

Whatever- she's gotta cool her beans.

Cool, cool beans.

[watatsumiis]

hey! ty for liking my tsaritsa so much!!! i'd love to hear more of your thoughts on her, if there are any!

omg of course, she's absolutely stunning, your art style does her so much justice (and honestly is just an awesome gorgeous style in general!!) and tbh your design is how I picture her in my head now !!

I have a lot of thoughts and ideas about the Tsaritsa, a lot of them are just kind of ~vibe~ based and hard to convey, but i'll toss them beneath the cut!

I really like the theory that her 'ideal' is love, like it's such a fun and interesting concept

like, to begin with i imagine she was a very kind deity, not in a familiar way, but in a general sort of .. benevolent to her subjects and open to those that sought an audience with her. Not exactly 'warm', but not entirely shutting them out either

though i imagine that sort of hollowed out as time wore on and she realised that even being an actual deity didn't give her the power she needed to be able to make any real tangible changes to things or help those who were doomed from the start (which is probably a big part of why shes so anti-celestia or whatever)

despite her despair and attitude towards romantic love sort of withering, she places a heavy emphasis on familial love (including found family) and on forming bonds that will stand the test of toil and time

she comes off very aloof, especially to those beneath her, and will actively try to avoid being around others if she can help it. She dislikes forming close attachments

this isnt to mean that she doesn't care. she just cares so much that the only way she can deal with it is by distancing herself, or else she's just setting herself up for repeated heartbreak when her loved ones inevitably die.

the exception to this ? pierro.

pierro is cursed with undeath, and even before that he was someone with a fiercely loyal (and stubborn) streak.

they both told themselves theyd never allow themselves to become attached to someone else after all the losses theyd been through, but in making this pact alongside one another they basically sealed their own fate

there are no simple words for the kind of intertwined, codependent, epic-spanning love-hate they have for one another.

their bond was one forged in the fires of loss and hardened by the ice of grief. despite what they both may say, they're in it for the long haul. Tsaritsa has slowly become accustomed to this idea. Pierro has not and will still vehemently deny it.

i guess to really shave it down id call it a queerplatonic relationship. something unholy and gorgeous. two flowers holding onto a cliffside by the tips of their roots and growing around one another.

the second 'exception' is columbina. i imagine she's like a weird nibling to the tsaritsa. she was picked to be amongst the harbingers because of her ability to light up any room she's in (i imagine tsaritsa secretly has a nickname for her that's somewhere along the lines of 'songbird' because of her voice ngl)

outside of this, the tsaritsa is cool and aloof and works very hard to maintain her composure, especially when under scrutiny. she is brilliant at keeping this facade in place.

until she's no longer in the public gaze, that is.

i like to think she's a tiny bit of a goofball, she has a soft spot for 'dad jokes' that make pierro roll his eyes and rub his temples, and she quite enjoys wine (im sorry but if she were a facebook mom her page would be minion memes and posts talking about how its wine o-clock)

she also rather enjoys slapstick humour - there are a few dottore clones running around who have perfected it enough so that she has to cover her mouth with a hand to stop her subjects from seeing the way her lips twitch upwards as she holds back her laughter

she's also really, really petty. not that she'd ever do anything about it, but more than once pierro has found himself in her chambers late at night, watching as she paces back and forth, her sixth glass of wine in hand, and complains about how that 'brick-brained geo archon just won't sign the damn contract! isn't that his entire shtick?!'

she also has a soft spot for kids, or people who have a youthful energy about them. it reminds her that maybe not all is bad in the world, and that she's going to change it for the better for their sake.

I like to think she's extremely good at various sports - i love the idea featured on the asker's blog about her having an elk instead of a horse. that's so cool and lives in my brain rent free and forever tbh. her and pierro on their steeds racing through a snowy forest on a rare free afternoon

i think she would've once been the type to enjoy prosey, flowery words, long poems, romantic tales of star-crossed lovers, that kind of thing. she read a lot and even wrote some. not any more though.

she has a very stern and strict air about her and won't hesitate to play into that if she feels like she needs to, but honestly she's got a good sense of humour on her. things that pierro scolds the other harbingers and such for are often things that she secretly finds really funny

though ALSO she's a stickler for good manners. i like to think that has extended to the snezhnayans , who are, when dealing with those outside of their immediate familial circles, are super duper polite (even if their tones may come off as abrupt). there's also a very heavily laid-on vibe of 'respect your elders' in snezhnaya.

she has such motherly vibes, but in a really standoffish way. she wont tell someone directly that she cares about them or what happens to them, but it'll be rerouted through like three other people like a game of telephone. like, yeah, that one person she caught shivering while on guard is gonna get a nice new pair of gloves but it will be from an anonymous donor (or just shoved into their hands by pierro with an annoyed grunt)

honestly now ive started im kind of finding it hard to stop but i just adore the tsaritsa so much and i love love love how you draw her so much, she's just so amazing and feels so like.. real, y'know? thank you so much for this ask, i really enjoyed rambling and thinking about the tsaritsa some more. i think your design and ideas should be canon actually

[saetiate]

the kaiser tags on the garter toss post reminded me of this older guy at my old college who was the president of my org (i was secretary). org meetings usually ended late so i would sometimes just walk home and he would walk with me and say its just bc he needs the exercise anyway (we were staying in the same neighborhood), and he used to do this thing where he would hold my nape and like guide me. he would say its bc im too clumsy and i was just like "oh ok i guess this is fine bc he says its fine??" bc i was like 16-18, but in retrospect that was weird right?? (i cant describe it but i feel like a lot of my male upperclassmen acted like, soft bllk guys core to me but i think it was just bc i was a very stereotypical "young shy freshmen who obediently follows orders and is too innocent to realize the dangers of the world".) anyway i think i realized that even tho i never had a crush on him i think he may have awoken smth in me bc a lot of his behaviors towards me sounds like the kind of stuff i get hot and bothered over fictional men doing 2 me now.

ohmygod wait that is so hot OHMYGOD??? yeah sorry i am like 70% sure he was flirting with you HELP HAHAHA THANK YOU FOR SHARING THIS W ME I LOVE THIS SM U HAVE NO IDEA you were living ur y/n reader life fr HAHA (playful)

[cyberdragoninfinity]

I'd love to know about some of the secret Pokemon characters running around not-Lawrence in your college AU!

I remember you mentioning Lysandre, Arven, and his parents, but are there any others?

YESSSS god there are. way more than you would think HJDFHGFG WE KEEP TOSSING THEM IN THE SOUP off the top of my head here's the full Secret Pokemon Guys in Not-Lawrence Role Call:

ok lysandre/team flare technically isnt In kansas but yeah i cant not mention Fleur-dis-Lis again, his insane conservative social media app syrus keeps morbidly curious tabs on. weird billionaire making vague posts about wanting to blow up the world. ooooookayyy!!!

YEAH arven and his folks are there, Sada and Turo arent divorced but theyre trying some kind of 'open marriage' arrangement which mostly just means Sada's been hooking up with Yoko Sakaki as of late (arven isnt happy about it. yuya isnt happy about it. nobody is happy about this but good for them #girl) Astral is also staying with Arven's family as part of his exchange program

Nemona is here!!! Cannt remember what we made her major but she's the president of NLSU's Smogon Club and is naturally very very excited about competitive pokemon :^) Rockin out in the lecture hall they use as a club meeting room with Jesse and Claus and Jeff and Shark and Zane sometimes if he graces the club with his presence

I can't remember where we put Penny but I know she's here somewhere. Compsci major probably. The Team Star discord has the most insane collective of custom emojis imaginable

We ported over most of Scarvio's Academy faculty over and made them professors at the college--fits em pretty well! Hassel is one of the faculty heads of the visual arts department and one of Jaden's main professors while he's still clinging to his Art major (he ends up switching to Undecided later on)...I think they have a good relationship, Hassel kind of helps Jaden come to grips with "you don't need to make art your career if that isn't going to make you happy," which is something that had been stressing him out A Lot.

BIANCA IS HERE she's chazz's coworker at the grocery store he works at. I know Cheren is here too but I don't remember what we assigned him. He has a pet snake.

this technically also isnt in kansas but hilda is from Not-Lawrence too (bianca and cheren's childhood bestie of course)--she's living in NYC with some weird but nice 6'10" ex-cult member guy who doesn't have a social security number crashing on her futon (N.) I GUESS THAT MEANS GHETSIS IS ALSO RUNNING AROUND SOMEWHERE. HE MAY HAVE GONE TO JAIL

im sure i'll remember others later but those are The Big Ones hehehe

[obsidiancreates]

Icewild (Part 2)

(There should be a Read More link but if it doesn't show up tell me because that's been happening lately and I don't know why.)

The arrival of the newcomers is... interruptive, but not halting. There's still the matters of making sure the ogres don't turn on the humans, of tending to wounds, of having a new day.

Of breakfast.

Barnabos keeps Kremy in the corner of his vision as he works on the monkey bread. The lizardfolk clearly knows his way around a kitchen as he pulls a chef's hat out of a bag of holding, and then a little pencil which he uses to add curls to the ends of his mustache. Then he pulls out a strange belt of some kind, fastening it around his waist.

"Alright Gid. Just light me a little fire here and then hang around in case I need ya."

"Sure thing man." Gideon lights the little fire below the pot and then steps back, crossing his arms and keeping his own eye on Barnabos.

"Not the trusting sort there, Mr. LeCroux?" Barnabos asks. "No need for a bodyguard, as long as ye don't strike first."

"Who said anythin' about a bodyguard? I just like havin' Gid around."

Barnabos sees Gideon puff up a little at that with a smug yet proud smile. Ahhh, well, that makes sense. Always better to have one's lover looking out for them, even when it might not be needed.

"I'll be servin' up a feast myself this morning," Barnabos says, tossing some pork into a pan and deeply inhaling the scent as it sizzles and pops. "All sorts o' fine foods, sweet an' savory alike."

"I'll be cookin' up some Agwe classics myself." Kremy pulls a small bag of flour from his belt, as well as a small glass jar of oil. He measures both out carefully and mixes them together in the pot. "Sausage and chicken gumbo, and maybe a tarte. We'll see, I dunno if I wanna risk a beezleberry infestation here."

"... Did you hit your head when you landed here, lad? I don' understand half the words yer saying."

"Oh. Right, well, a beezleberry is some kinda... horrible Feywild monstrosity. Tastes real fuckin' good! But kind of otherwise really horrible in every other way."

"I thin' I speak for everyone when I say you'd best leave that out."

"Yeah, probably."

"Is Agwe a Feywild city as well?"

"What? No, it's a fuckin' normal city."

"No need to get up in arms, Mr. LeCroux! Was just askin', I don't recognize the name is all."

"I guess it is pretty inland for someone like yourself to visit."

"It's where you wanna go if you're lookin' for a good time," Gideon says, pulling out a cigar and lighting it with his magic. "Gamblin', sleepin' around, scammin'-"

"Sounds like you should tell Mr. Stabbaskotch about it!" Barnabos declares with a grin. "He's the scammin' and gambling sort!"

"Not surprised." Kremy just keeps stirring his flour and oil mixture. "I could taste fiendish magic all around that little fella. Hope he got himself a good deal out of it."

"We may never know." Barnabos pops the bread into the oven. "He's got some sort o' beastie after 'im, but if you ask me he just needs to face it."

Gideon takes a drag from his cigar. "Sounds like he got a shitty fuckin' deal. Hey, how big is this fuckin' breakfast gonna be?"

"I'll be makin' a feast for the whole camp! It'll be plenty to fill up on, don't you worry."

"I'm making enough gumbo for seconds too, Gid." Kremy gestures back at Gideon. "His stomach's made of fire and stuff, he needs extra."

"Well I'm also keepin' up some fuckin' gains." Gideon flexes and grins.

"I'm not so scrawny myself, lads, I know what I'm doin'. ... Speakin' of, Mr. LeCroux, are you ever going to add any food to that there slurry?"

"The rue's barely there! It's only a light caramel, I'm looking for milk chocolate."

"Yer burnin' it on purpose?"

"Cookin' it. Keep your hands away though, this stuff is fuckin' Agwe Napalm."

"... And that's a common dish there? Something that they call napalm?"

"Can find it all over, none's as good as mine though."

"... Maybe don't tell Mr. Stabbaskotch where to find your city, on second thought."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The breakfast is a hit.

Kremy made enough gumbo just for his own family and their "hosts", so to speak, while Barnabos fed the rest of the entire camp. Not a single crumb or droplet was left behind of either of their meals, the gumbo being a highlight.

"Holy shit!" Skrimm literally bounces in his set a bit. "How have I never had that before?!"

Jornir places his bowl away. "It was... very good." He nods at Kremy.

"I'll admit, I 'ad my doubts watchin' the process, but it was well worth it." Barnabos sops up the last dregs of it with some bread. "I'll be tryin' to make my own take on it soon enough."

"Lookin' forward to tryin' it." Kremy leans over to Gideon and, less subtly than he thinks it is, whispers, "I saw him fuckin' drown everythin' in that Ancient Estuary shit Duncan had, I'm not fuckin' eatin' that so I'll just give it to you."

Gideon tries to laugh in quiet gleeful agreement. It's also louder than intended. Everyone graciously ignores this little conversation, for the sake of the ogres and their new holiday. Otherwise Barnabos and Skrimm might be rolling for initiative over the slight against Ancient Estuary.

"Oh! By the way, not to uhhhh impose," Gricko says, making a strange hand gesture, "But um, the big fella, there."

"I am called Jornir."

"Jor-nir-aye."

"... N-no."

"Anyway! Um, I noticed you've got a little funny shedding going on," Gricko says, lowering his voice and running his words together at the tail end of his sentence as he tilts his head. "And if I'm not mistaken, my friend Kremy here should have some nice bananyas leftover because he never used them in his pie, and I think it would make a nice, salve." he folds his hands and gives Jornir a funny little smile.

"Oh, yeah, I think you're right." Kremy reaches into his bag and pulls out Bananas.

Daisy gives Kremy and Gricko a look of perplexion and judgement so strong that it's a wonder they don't take psychic damage.

"They're fuckin' magic healin' bananas, alright?" Kremy tosses one at Jornir.

Jornir catches it, and examines it. "This is... infused with magic." He looks at Gricko. "I did not believe you when you said you were a druid."

"Oh, that's fair, I'm not the usual kind." Gricko pats Hootsie on the head as she, with an intelligence more humanoid than animal, pulls a plate of muffins closer and begins eating, picking out any chunks of fruit she finds like a picky child.

"Well... thank you. I will go use this." Jornir stands and leaves the table, and just as pointed out there's a fine dusting of fur on the seat as he leaves.

When he returns, there's sure to be... more visible damage.

But in the meantime, things settle a bit.

"Well," Taishen sighs, "Before all of this happened I'd told Myelin I'd check on an issue with the plumbing system, so I'll be going now. They gave me a wonderful outfit to do it in, too!" He holds up a pair of blue overalls and a fetching red cap.

"Oh, you guys got plumbin?!" Gideon leans in. "Why didn't anyone say so, we're fuckin' filthy!"

"Well, it's not working right now-"

"Oh, I'll get that workin'." Gideon stands up. His chains fall to the floor with a heavy clang! "Just fuckin' watch. Take me to the ogre sewers, dragon guy."

"Oh, company! Excellent news!"

"Go get 'em Gid." Kremy calls after them.

"Jackasses," Skrimm snorts.

Queenie glares. "They're fixin' your water, Skrimm."

"They're also working when they could be relaxing."

"But a hard day's work can be rewarding!" Twig bounces in her seat and holds up a hand. "You get to have things working right, you get to feel all nice after you get cleaned up, you get to lick frogs you find whole cleaning out the cupboards-"

"Lick frogs?" Skrimm's face scrunches.

"Didn't you try snake poison with the ghosts, Mr. Stabbaskotch?"

"Totally different."

"Yeah, snake poison tastes bad." Twig shrugs. "Anyway, I think it's gonna be better once they get the water running."

"Yes, I... am in desperate need of a bath. I'm still... messy, from Julia and Bobby's... acts."

Torbek makes a low sound of both disgust and intrigue. Frost wrinkles his nose and shakes his head.

"Well, I'm sure they'll be returning with good news for us," Barnabos says, leaning back in his chair and puffing on his pipe. "Oh, Mr. Jornir! Lookin' much better. What do you think about all this, sending the fire lads to fix the plumbing."

"I think that it will not work," Jornir says, sliding back into his chair and smelling of smushed bananyas. "And that we will need to have everyone move before we go to take the Armament from the Princess. ... And after the blood sacrifice."

All mouths at the table fall open.

"... Talk about a mood killer," Gricko mumbles.

There's a long silence.

And then Daisy raises her hand and signs, "I nominate Bacon for the sacrifice."

[writingsofwesteros]

alright believe it or not but im once again at work (saturday night shift) and imma try my hand at the secretary thing. first person POV bc we're experimenting.

Just when has my life become so lame? It's saturday night, I should be out, checking out that newly opened club with my girlfriends. Instead I'm at work. Yep! Me! Blood of the Lannisters! At work. I know.

Last chance to do something with your life, my father said, as he pulled the strings to land me this position. You might know him as Robert Baratheon, the founder of Storm Industries.

You better be choking on his dick by the end of this month or else we're all screwed, my mother helpfully instructed me as to the extent of my duties. You may know her as Cersei, the self-appointed Queen Bee of Upper East.

The Queen suffers no competition, which is how I ended up as a secretary for Mr Stark, a.k.a. the Ice Wolf - the C.E.O. of Storm Industries and the hottest DILF of Wall Street, fuck him very much. My mother hates his wife with passion and having me seduce him is her idea of revenge.

I mean, I've done worse things.

It is saturday night, but if he's still working then that means I'm still working too. From my vantage point behind my desk I can see him clearly, as he's strolling around his office and tossing papers around. His form fitting suit is slightly disheveled at this hour, the white collar popped open. H's wearing designer glasses - he says they prevent his eyes from tiring when he's working late and I have no idea what the glasses actually do but they make him look sexy as hell. I mean he is that. Sexy as hell. I've been staring at him for the past hour, all secretary work long forgotten.

Unfortunately none of my seduction tactics seem to work on him. Three entire months of sky-high heels, skirts that would barely cover my underwear if I had any, and cleveages that ends somewhere around my navel. Excellent dress code, I know. I aim to please. Guess what?

He hasn't even looked once.

But yesterday I think my mother has finally outdone herself. We've all been to dinner at the Arryns'. A rich old politician who is meant to help father with something, no idea what they're about, but that's beside the point. The Starks were there: the Ice Wolf, his wife the Ice Queen, as we call her, and their two hot sons.

And get this: mother had me give him a footsie under the table. In front of his wife and sons and my own father and everything. Yeah. I wish I was joking.

The second my foot touched his thigh under the table, his eyes immediately shot to me, but... he said nothing. He's done nothing. He only watched me, as I massaged his crotch with my foot. Maybe his ears went a little red, but otherwise - nothing, nada. Null. His gaze was intense, and it was kinda hot, not gonna lie. But I couldn't tell what he was thinking or if he was even enjoying it. I mean, I could tell he was hard but who wouldn't be? Eventually I had to stop because the Arryn guy wanted to show everyone his new private jet and we had to move from the table.

Thanks for nothing, mom.

I feared I made an idiot of myself and I was sure Mr Stark would fire me the second I crossed the doorstep of our office today, but... nothing of the sort. He was all cool politeness, and his DILFy sexiness, as always. And he made me stay overtime.

I actually think I might go mad with blue balls. Blue vag? Is that a thing?

Uh-oh. He wants something. He's rang the bell. Nobody's around this late and it makes me a little jittery, but I gather my courage, stand up, push my boobs forward and march into his corner office with all the dignity that's left to me.

"I want to show you something," he says and he points to a pile of papers on his desk. I see thay are some kind of screenshots, but the lights are dimmed and I can't read the details.

I lean down over the desk to have a closer lookand my heart freezes several times over. Suddenly it's hard to breathe. On his desk lay printed screenshots of my conversations with my mother. Conversations regarding him and how best to seduce him.

I panic and immediately start planning my evacuation, but suddenly I feel his strong hand on my back, pressing me to the desk.

"And you thought you were so smart," he says, standing behind me. On this lucky cursed night I'm actually wearing underwear, but it's all lace and so thin it's practically not there. I feel the broad knuckles of his other hand brush over my snatch. You know, because my skirt does nothing to cover my privates.

"Smart girls should always remember to log out," Mr Stark informs me.

I am not a smart girl. Never have been.

HOT HOT HOT

Oh i love how involved Cersei is in this; just adds another layer !!

[dcviated]

GET TO KNOW YOUR ADMIN !!

name — Bear/Will.

pronouns — he/him.

preferred comms — Checking in and quick chats over tumblr im are fine. But if we're going to get into plotting I'd much much much prefer to talk over discord. Because then I can refer back to the posts. Going through tumblr ims should be classified as a form of torture. Pour one out for all the stuff I've lost in there over the years.

name of muse — Which one?? I've got several. Some are 'mains' others are 'testing'. The big three as I see it are Wylan Rechtur- shitlord assassin. Raguna Glen- Farm sim protag. And Eira Kestrova- Bossy mom friend tsundere.

experience in RP — Coming up on 17 or 18 years I think? From starting out on forums to avatar games to MMOs, and now I'm primarily writing here on tumblr though there's a bit of forum and tiny amounts of discord tossed in. But the latter feels off to me. I always prefer more public venues with opportunities for sharing and prompting random questions and meeting new people.

best experiences — Here on tumblr, I'd say. I've met some great people and have come through with probably the best characterization some of these muses have ever seen. Won't get into anything too specific, but suffice to say I've kept some people around for yeeeeears for a reason!!

pet peeves / dealbreakers — I've got so many I'm worried for myself. But aside from the obvious lack of response or enthusiasm, unanswered memes and starters, it would be this: People that come to you for writing (repeatedly) while contributing nothing to the plotting or selection process. Anytime someone looks at you and waits for you to paint a picture of an interaction through a roster of muses and genres and then set it up while going "I dunno" to any question asked?

Guhhhh!!! Give me a break!!! RP is a two person activity. Especially when I barely know your characters. Try and sell something to me!

Another thing that's gotten to me in recent years is an over-use of meta commentary and referential humor. I do this sparingly with Wylan, but too much and you feel like you're on an episode of family guy instead of writing a scene or interaction.

muse preference ( fluff, angst, smut ) — I am... an adventure and action and banter kind of guy. Which doesn't really fall under any of these categories. However, the preference would be fluff. Feel good stuff or anything that makes you smile. Angst, I'm not great at, and I've realized I don't care for it when it's sad or angsty for the sake of being sad. Give it purpose, give it a resolution of some kind. I don't much care for bad ends.

As for smut... I'm mixed. I like writing it but after giving it a shot again have accepted I don't much care for things after foreplay if it's in a thread. Headcanons that are lewd? Yes. Answering lewd/nsfw asks? Yes. But the back and forth is kind of eh.

I deleted my sideblog for a reason. </3

plot or memes — I like adlibbing. And I like improv now and then. There's a pitfall depending on the writing partner with plotting- and it's that you just talk about the plot and the end instead of letting it develop and having things happen. There should be some room for surprises and twists that nobody was expecting. Laying out the whole timeline piece by piece can remove the enthusiasm to.... write it!

Memes are a great way to get started with everyone, especially the situation prompts since it's a little more flexible. I find myself less enthused with contextless sentence prompts lately. And I may start reblogging less of those and letting the more fun ones get a spotlight.

long or short replies — Mixed. I can't novella on command anymore, but depending on the interaction my fingers do get away from me on lengths and what have you. Overall I prefer something in the middle. 400ish words feels comfortable, and conveys enough information without conversations stacking on top of each other. The longer a post goes the more often that seems to happen. And you can get into temporal errors where situations change on past conversations that happened in the same post and.!??!?!? Yeah.

I also do enjoy the occasional banter of one liners and shitposting. But it'll never be the focus of this blog. And is almost guaranteed to get longer over time to the point that it becomes a multi-para thread.

best time to write — When I'm not busy at the office. Quiet space with less things to distract me. I can get into a good productive mindset really fast and knock out multiple drafts in an hour. Feels great. Otherwise I think it's early mornings where I do the best on days off. Evenings are times of distraction, so much distraction.

are you like your muse — I put a little bit of myself in all my muses, otherwise I probably wouldn't be able to relate and make a convincing portrayal or conflict. Wylan used to have a lot more of my traits in the past. But he is far and above his own problematic beast now and I'm glad I don't have as much in common anymore jfc.

Tagged by: @more-than-a-princess (thanks B) a chance for me to look scary) Tagging: whoever is inclined to do it :V

[chasing-the-persea]

Here's my rough draft of my pjo fic! It follows the story of Koralia Jackson, Percy and Annabeth's daughter, as she tries to find her place in a world where her parents are legendary heroes and everyone expects her to follow in their footsteps.

As this is a rough draft things get kind of confusing, the pacing is worse than a three-legged race, there's a few accidentally time-traveling tenses, and two narrator shifts (which i've marked). basically, good luck!

i do plan on posting the other four chapters ive drafted for this eventually but, in all honesty, it's going to take a bit to get them even somewhat readable and im only posting these because i lost the motivation to keep writing so like. it may be a month before i share chapter two.

also, there's very vaguely described/implied panicking, character deaths, and drowning.

GRIP OF FATE

CHAPTER 1

It's 1:48 in the morning and Koralia Jackson can't sleep. She's been tossing and turning for hours. Tomorrow is her last day of summer school. If she manages to survive it, she'll be a sixth grader.

If.

She's done her best to prepare: she spent all afternoon doing the last bit of homework her teachers assigned, double-checking it, then triple-checking just to be sure. Her clothes, carefully chosen to avoid being dress-coded, were laid out flat to prevent wrinkles. Her books were already in her backpack, as was her chapstick, extra pencils and pens, hair ties, bandages, and granola bars. Everything she could need was packed. So why was she still so nervous?

Maybe because of the mysterious phone call her parents received that evening.

It wasn't the fact that her parents got a call so late. They volunteered at an organization that helps kids in foster care, and a late call often meant a kid was needing an emergency placement for a night or two.

No, what was mysterious was that after the call, her parents barely said anything the rest of the night. The atmosphere in the house - normally warm, easy, and homely - turned cautious and cold. Her parents were distant; something obviously was bothering them, but when Koralia asked about it they assured her there was nothing wrong. You know how adults can be while talking about something they don't want you to overhear.

Tired of not getting answers, and maybe hoping the extra sleep helps tomorrow go better, Koralia had gone to bed early. Besides, if it was important her parents would have told her what the call was about, right?

Hours later, she wasn't so sure anymore. Hundreds of questions have run through her head and all it's done is get her nerves even more worked up. The only thing she is certain of is that if she lays down for another minute she's going to scream. So, wrapped in a blanket cloak, she tip-toes upstairs for some chamomile tea. She can't help noticing the front door is locked and their dog Mrs. O'Leary is on the porch and laying in front of it.

Mrs. O'Leary wouldn't hurt a fly, but you wouldn't believe it if you saw her. She's like their own Clifford, if Clifford was a mastiff with fur black as night. When she barks it echoes for miles across the empty farmland around them. Koralia's dad jokingly calls her a hellhound because of it. In reality, she's just a big sweetie—emphasis on big. Her dad only puts her outside to run off energy and scare away any unwanted strangers when kids are staying the night. Whatever reason she was outside tonight, it didn't help Koralia's nerves.

It also didn't help when a sobbing scream cut through the silent house like a knife. After nearly jumping a foot in the air she looked towards the two guest bedrooms for the source of the sound, but they were empty; no kids staying the night after all. The cry had come from another floor up. Her parents' room. One of them must be having a nightmare—an all too common occurrence in the Jackson household.

Desperate to overcome her nervous energy, Koralia sips her chamomile tea and looks outside. She realizes there's one thing she hasn't done, one thing that's sure to make everything better: star-gazing.

She tip-toes back downstairs for her glasses, then outside to her hammock. She knew she should be cautious, especially for whatever reason Mrs. O'Leary was outside. But to protect Koralia was why she was out there in the first place, no?

Besides, it was a perfect night.

The air was cool for summer but the dense cover of humidity leftover from the day took away any chill. A gentle breeze blew from the east, surrounding her with the warm scent of growing crops. Fireflies lazily danced in the air, glittering in the twilight. Bullfrogs croaked mournfully in a nearby pond. Whip-poor-wills and screech owls called to each other from trees lining fence rows. If someone listened close enough they could hear the chittering of bats flying around.

Then, of course, there was the reason for going outside in the first place: the stars. The sky was crystal clear. The moon was just beginning to rise, and being so far in the country meant minimal light pollution. Stars light up the night, their violent blazes becoming a soft twinkle in the distant heavens. It made no difference to them if an eleven-year-old girl was having trouble sleeping. Their performance had started millennia ago, before life itself, and would continue long after everyone was gone. Every night the same thing, over and over again, for eternity.

(Not the same every night, Koralia reminded herself. Everything was always moving, on a cosmic scale. She was just too impossibly irrelevant to see anything more than a minuscule change in her lifetime. Not that that thought comforted her any.)

Their consistency is why Koralia liked them so much; the stars were dependable. In a life where everything is constantly moving or changing, it was a comfort to know one could look up and always find their way.

As her eyes found the familiar constellations, she recalled stories her mom had for each one. Straight upwards was Hercules, the mighty hero. A little further down, and to the northwest was Draco, the dragon; Cygnus, the goose; The bears Ursa Major and Minor, with their Big and Little Dippers. Andromeda was nearing the horizon, chased by Cassiopeia, and Perseus had nearly disappeared. Koralia's personal favorite, The Huntress, was rising in the east.

With the soft, comforting words of her mom running through her head, Koralia was asleep before long. And her own nightmare began.

<narrator shift, first-person Koralia's POV>

It started the way it always did. My family and I are swimming in a nearby creek, something we’ve done hundreds of times before. I had even invited some friends I made in kindergarten that year to come with us. The creek itself is one of the smaller ones in the area; it disappears completely during dry spells. But that doesn’t mean there weren't any deep spots or areas with a fast current due to the shallows.

One of my friends is begging me to go to one of the deeper spots with her. She wants to talk about the crush she has on a boy in her class and doesn’t want my brother Evan to overhear. He’s four years old, two years younger than me. My parents don’t like me leaving him out of things, but there are only so many places you can go that he can follow.

As much as I hate to admit it, I was getting tired of him whining and clinging to me like a monkey. I tell him to stay near the shore where Mom and Dad are setting up lunch. It’s shallower there, and we can play his favorite game of seeing who could find the most crawdads when we get back. But he’s not listening. He keeps following us further and deeper.

“Evan, go see Mom and Dad. We’ll be back in a couple minutes, I promise!”

“But Kora, I wanna go with you!”

I don’t know how it happened. The nightmare always gets fuzzy at this point. I don't know what's real anymore and what my mind has made up trying to make sense of everything. Maybe he jumped onto my back as a last resort to stay above the surface. Maybe I tried to shove him off. I dimly remember something grabbing my waist and pulling me backward, then my head hitting something hard on the creek bed. Someone screams. Everything goes black.

It only lasts a couple of seconds, but they feel like a lifetime. Slowly it starts to get brighter. I hear a hissing-humming sound, like someone whispering. I open my eyes but there’s a murky-green darkness all around. I take a breath and water fills my nose instead. I panic.

Where-am-I, where-am-I, underwater. Underwater? Not good. Not-good-not-good-not-good. Don’t-breathe-head-hurts-need-help? Help. HELP!

I kick as hard as I can. I reach up–was the water always this deep?–and I don’t break the surface. I’m sinking? Something grabs my hand. Dad? In my head, I hear his reassuring voice.

"It’s okay, I’ve got you now. You’re safe."

Then Mom is standing over me. She’s looking away, one hand to her mouth, tears running down her face. She has her other arm around a friend, who’s hugging her tightly. I’m laying down somewhere. It’s hard and bumpy. The bank of the creek? I rub the back of my head. My hand comes back red and sticky. Very not good. I attempt to sit up and the world starts spinning. A wave of nausea overwhelms me and it takes all I have to stop it.

Now Dad is here, relief washing over his face. But it doesn't wash away his red eyes, that even now are flitting toward the creek.

People keep popping up, asking if I'm alright. I hear others call out, "Not over here, either. Mr. Hendrick is still searching his branch of the creek."

"What's going on?" I ask. No one meets my eyes. I remember the scream and think of all the faces I saw looking at me, and whose face I didn't.

"Where's Evan? Is he okay, is he alright?" Nobody talks. My chest is hollow.

"What happened? Where's Evan?!" Mom looks to Dad, seeing if he's going to say anything. Now that his relief had worn off, he almost looked numb. But his fists were clenched and shaking, and his eyes were so full of anger they could have set the creek on fire.

Mom bent down and gently took my hand. Tears were already falling on her cheeks. She took a deep, quivering breath and said, "There was an accident in the water. We don't know how it happened but you fell and hit your head...and Evan got caught in the deep current after following you. Both of you went under...you're the only one who came back up.

"Everyone's been searching downstream, the water patrol is on the way, but..." Mom broke down, no longer able to hold back her sobs. Dad tore his eyes away from the creek and grabbed Mom in a hug. He spoke for her, but his anger was still evident as he spits out, "Evan was taken by the current. All we can do now is pray he's found."

<narrator shift, reverting to the previous POV>

But Evan was never found, and five years later Koralia still blames herself for his death. As much as her parents tell her that it wasn't her fault, she will always believe deep down that it was. After that, Koralia refuses to go in water any deeper than her ankles for fear of drowning.

Tonight finally had mercy on her. She was woken from her nightmare by a ball of light shooting across the sky; the biggest meteorite Koralia's ever seen. The amazing sight brought a cheerful ease to her heavy heart, and she found herself smiling when Mrs. O'Leary ran in the direction it was falling, like she was chasing a giant tennis ball. Koralia nodded off once again, and this time no nightmares interrupted her rest.