#place for posing so that sounds ideal

[holygroundgone]

I'm interested in getting plushies of my favorite characters manufactured (making the designs and so on) (obviously this will have to wait until i actually have decent money) but i wonder if it's okay to get singular samples made even if i don't end up finding people who want them mass produced... the first ones i'd want to get made are mzs cwn and txj.. and i like 10cm dolls because they're the cutest

(*′☉.̫☉) i really love dolls and plushies too much, i just recently finished the purchase on nendoroid heads so i can make my own custom mzs cwn & txj nendos/ob11s, i'd really love to make custom larger bjds too

[satorena]

: ̗̀➛ TRAPPED WITH U !?

featuring. g. satoru x fem!reader

warnings. explicit content, foul language, intern!reader, businessman!gojo, satoru’s a bit of a pervert in this one, and also really fucking annoying but he’s just in love fr, oral, slight breath play, unprotected sex, breeding. they fuck in an elevator, and i use a lot of italics here, oops!

rena’s note. he’s so fucking insufferable i want him so bad. also this 4.3k words. i’m so sorry.

oh but of course, since the odds were always against your favour, had you found yourself stuck in this incredulous predicament.

it’d been a long day of enduring misogynistic, narcissistic higher ups and pricks, and you wanted nothing more than to hop in your car and drive off home, hop in bed and sleep.

sounded like an ideal and realistic plan, until the sole purpose of your life’s oppression waltzed in seconds before the elevator’s doors shut, pearly white teeth flashing through a smug grin and icy blues shimmering through dark shades that rested atop his nose bridge.

you huffed, almost at your wit’s end as the elevator’s door automatically reopened at the unwanted presence detected in its sensory, and the tall frame steps in with slow strides and a stupid fucking smile on his lips, hands in the pockets of his slacks, striding as if he stepped out of vogue’s magazine.

“see somethin’ you like, wifey?” satoru chuckled, stepping side to side by your posed frame. why he chose to stand beside in this very unoccupied elevator, you’d never understand but you did know you weren’t going to entertain his bullshit today.

you bit back the insult that rested at the tip of your tongue, “floor?” your index finger hovered over the panel, waiting for him to tell you.

“same as yours,” gojo shrugged, to which you decided on closing the doors instead.

“what business you got on the 2nd floor?” you muttered, suspicions growing at the fact that he coincidentally had shit to do on the same floor as yours.

the boyish smirk he flashed you sent chills down your spine, “whatever business you got on that floor.”

you sighed exasperatedly, soon piecing together that gojo was certainly not going to the second floor to pack his belongings to head home, seeing as he was one of the higher ups that spent longer hours in the office when the interns’ shifts would end.

you pinch the bridge of your nose; “gojo.” you say his name, tone clipped and full of fatigue.

“y/n.” he answers back with your name, a flashy grin baring on thirty two teeth.

you breathe in deeply, reminding yourself to count to ten before you lost your shit. you step near the control panel and press on the main lobby floor, the first, where you decide to send him off. chances were he was heading down there to do his daily flirting with the new secretary hired anyway.

“did ya change your mind?” his voice spawns from right at your ear, and you still in shock at his proximity, noting he’s much closer to you than earlier. “we goin’ to the first floor instead?”

“we are not going anywhere.” you tilt your head to the side, glaring at him through your falsies. he shifts his own head, still fucking smiling, feigning ignorance. “you are going to the first floor, and i’m going to the fifth.”

his smile drops, finally, but at what cost? “why would i do that?” he has the nerve to genuinely sound confused, as if you were the one not making any sense out of this situation.

“why wouldn’t you?” you counter back, lifting an index finger to place atop his forehead, before pushing his head back, “don’t you got better shit to do? like harass a newbie and disguise it as flirting or somethin’?”

“is that not what i’m doing right now?” he jokes, grabbing the finger that pushed him back. you scowl, a bit upset at the fact you walked right into that one.

“besides,” he speaks up, directing your finger towards the control panel once more. “what if i had business on the… seventh floor?”

you furrow your brows, your own eyes watching as he uses your nail to press on the seventh floor button. you try to ignore how warm and soft his hands feel against your, in contrast to the coolness of his rings.

“orrrr,” he drags out, tightening the hold on your hand once more and raising your hand higher on the panel. “what if i had business on the thirteenth floor? maybe the ninth too?”

“gojo.” you warn him, clicking your tongue when realizing what game he’s starting to play at. you definitely don’t feel goosebumps form at your skin hearing his chuckle resonate right in your ear.

“that german intern’s a babe, ain’t she?” he hums pensively, his thumb rubbing circles at the center of your palm. “i might wanna see her too.” he brings your hand to the eight floor and applies enough pressure to see it illuminate.

“are you fucking kidding me?” you get annoyed, attempting to rip your hand away from his hold but fail, when you feel him creep even closer in your bubble, your ass undoubtedly pressing into his crotch.

your eyes widen, half shock half disbelief, a sudden appearance of what seems to be gojo junior stirring awake poking at your short skirt. oh fuck.

“or,” he whispers, minty breath sending jolts of electricity up your back. he drags your hand messily over the panel, about three fourths of the floors illuminating and you know you’re fucked. “maybe i wanna stay stuck in here with you…”

you blink back to reality, dismissing whatever possible emotion you were beginning to feel emerge in your core. with a sharp tug, you manage to free yourself from his grasp and turned on your heel to face the tall bastard.

“i’m gonna need you to back off and instantly—you fuckin’ creep.” you snarl, pointer finger pointing at him accusingly, hoping it sets an exemplary distance between you both.

gojo breaks into laughter, the kind that has his shoulders shaking and has him doubling over as if you’d just told him the world’s greatest joke. you watch him dumbfoundedly, your left eye twitching as he continued to ridicule you.

“fine, fine. sorry princess, i was just teasing.” he pushes his frames up to his hairline, messy strands of hair pushed out the way as he wipes a fake tear from the corner of his eyes.

you roll your eyes, pushing past him to make your way back to where you’d been prior to these stupid events. if you were gonna be stuck on this elevator ride longer than necessary because of the pit stops, you’d simply ignore him and hope he catches the hint.

you stare straight ahead at the elevator door, feeling the ride descend from the twentieth floor downwards. fuck that tall, stupid and rich bastard for dragging this elevator ride past its needed time limit.

from your peripheral, you make out his form leaning forward to catch your straight gaze. you were ignoring him and he knew, “you mad at me?”

you remain quiet, silently praying that at one of these next stops another worker would step in and ease the situation more.

gojo frowns, eyebrows pinched to the center his forehead, “c’mon, i was joking! honest! i really am sorry.”

the silence, safe for the elevator music, answered him everything he needed to know. you were always such difficult nut to crack, but what you failed to acknowledge was the more you pushed him away the more he grew attracted to you.

he sighs, before slinging his arm over your shoulders, dropping most of his body weight onto you. he watches as you nearly stumble from the sudden imbalance, before looking up to him with that adorable pout of yours that he wants to fuck out of you.

oops.

“what now, gojo?” you ask him with so much attitude, your expression bored. “can’t leave me alone for a single fucking elevator ride? you that obsessed with bothering me?”

“you got it all wrong,” gojo shakes his head, snow white tresses shaking with him and his shades falling right back to place on his nose. “i’m not obsessed with bothering you— i’m obsessed with you period. been obsessed since that time you chucked piping hot coffee on my givenchy button down.”

you frown deeply at that, reflecting at how long ago that had been. you knew what kind of guy he was. after all, who hadn’t heard of gojo satoru in this forsaken company? he dipped his dick in anything with a pulse and moved onto the next big thing whenever he got bored—

or so you’ve heard.

you stare at him for a minute, processing his words. he shamelessly stares back at you, now looping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side.

“see something you like, wifey?” he repeats himself, his favorite nickname for you making another appearance. you ignore how his hands stroke your bare arms.

you stifle a laugh, snorting incredulously at him before breaking into a full blown laughter. maybe you now understood why gojo had done the same just a little while ago, because the look of offence on his face had made the situation funnier than it was initially.

“what’s funny?! i’m here professing my feelings for you and you’re laughing?!” gojo complains like the manchild he is, dragging syllables and all, rosy lips falling into a pout.

“fuck— i’m sorry, did you think i was gonna believe that?” your laughter dies down, sighing deeply in attempts to catch your breath. “no, seriously, do you take me for an idiot?”

“believe it or not, it’s the truth,” he mumbles, leaning his chin at the top of your skull. “even ask nanamin. been treating him as my walking diary since suguru left.”

you don’t want to think about if that holds any truth or not. you tilt your head up, enforcing eye contact with him, “i think you’re confused. it’s definitely not love, or anything in between. you’re just horny and want to fuck me.”

“well,” he looks down, mouth salivating at the point of view presented of your breast, sitting up in all their glory in your blouse. “i won’t lie and say that isn’t true. but why is it so hard to believe i have feelings for you? i literally am obsessed with you, why else would i deliberately wast time and sit through all twenty floors here with you?”

speaking of, you look at the indicator and notice you’re only at the seventeenth floor. how slow was this damn ride? there’s absolutely no way you’d only been through less three floors this whole time? was time still in this elevator or what?

wait—

“oh shit.” you hear the man cuss. you fear that’s all the confirmation you needed, as your eyes pan towards the control panel and notice all the buttons are illuminating on and off.

silence fills the air, and you’re just realizing the elevator music had stopped playing. your luck bites, you decide, as you reevaluate all you wanted to do; grab your shit from the second floor and go the fuck home.

you try not to freak out, the fear of being trapped in an elevator period catching up to you mixed with anger rising in your blood at the blue eyed freak who’s the sole cause for this unfortunate situation.

“don’t freak out, but like,” he begins to speak, corner of his lips tugging into a sympathetic smile, “we’re definitely stuck here.”

he deserves the punch to the guts he gets.

“you sit your ass on that end of the room,” you push him to one extremity of the elevator. he’s doubled over, groaning in agony at the blow he received. “and i’ll be sitting here. do not, and i cannot stress this enough, talk to me.”

time flies really fucking slowly, you notice as you check your dying phone every five minutes, waiting for the damn maintenance of this place to do their job and get you out of this elevator.

gojo had complied to your demand and hasn’t said a word to you in about twenty minutes. his long legs sprawled across the floor, one leg raised as he rested his arm atop his knee.

you didn’t want to admit it, but you were getting bored. and hungry. very hungry, and uncomfortably hot. did the air conditioning in here cut off too? most likely, damn your life.

you sat as gracefully as you could in your tight skirt and heels, tucking your legs into chest in hopes your shins were covering your inner thighs. though, you weren’t certain if you were doing a good job, judging by the way you could feel gojo’s stare at you behind the shades and the way he shifted in his seat.

he tilts his head to the side, index finger swiping over his nose and he sniffs, “figures you’re the lace type.”

you feel all the fight flee your body, all but exhausted as you bite into whatever he chews. you needs entertainment, even if it came in form of a 6’3 imbecile with an outfit the cost of your rent.

“figures you’ve been staring at my panties this whole time, when else are you ever this quiet?” you clap back, making no motion to switch positions. besides, he was manspreading with his whole boner poking through his slacks and he remained shameless. why couldn’t you?

he smirks, lifting his hand and leaning his cheek in his palm, “i’ve spent the last twenty minutes thinking about the things i’d do to you if you’d let me.”

gojo was so fucking shameless, you hated how it turned you on at times. you must’ve been truly out of it, lack of food in your system or something, because your answer flies out of you almost too naturally, “show me your worst then.”

in the blink of an eye, you both find yourselves back on your feet, your back pressed against the wall of the elevator as your lips mold feverishly with his. gojo kisses you like he’s been wanting to do so for years, his strong arms wrapping around your middle and pushing your body tighter against him.

you’re no better, hands flying to the back of his neck and your nails tugging at messy locks. he moans against your lips at a particular tug, one hand slipping past your waist and slides up your thigh. he lifts your leg and wraps it around his hip, applying pressure into the middle of your legs.

“fuck,” you moan softly against pink lips, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. he hums, your bottom lip tucked in his teeth as he pushes up into you once more.

“feel good?” he mumbles against your lips, sneaking a few kisses while awaiting for your response. his hold on your thigh is firm, wanting to hold you in place to keep grinding into you and drawing these pretty sounds out of you.

you nod your head before throwing it back against the wall, to which his lips leave yours to attack at your neck. he’s kissing and licking and nipping at your sensitive skin, leaving dark love bites.

“you fuckin’ teenager,” you complain, knowing he was intentionally marking you in visible areas, so you’d be the next talk of the week. “just had to be there, didn’t it?”

“couldn’t help it,” you feel his smirk against your jugular, to which you roll your eyes. “you smell so fucking good here, shit, i could eat you up— actually…”

you snort as he pulls away from the crook of your neck, and you eye how dishevelled he looks. even with messy hair, saliva streaking his cheeks and swollen lips, he still looked fucking hot.

you don’t have much time to reflect on his beauty because he’s soon kneeling down in front of you, hands creeping up in your skirt and tugging down at your lace undergarment. it slides off your legs with ease, and is soon in his possession, to which he stuffs in his pockets.

“i will.” he finally completes his sentence, lifting your leg over his shoulder.

he holds a firm grip on your thigh as your skirt hikes up, and he feasts. his lips latch onto your lower ones and slurps up your juices. his tongue swipes at your wet folds, moaning at the taste, which drives you to mush.

you throw your head back, hands coming in contact with his tresses, expressing the delight you feel through the tugs at his hair. whenever you’d pull hard at his hair, he’d moan into your cunt, which would result in making you moan louder and pull harder, and the cycle repeats.

“f-fuck, hah—gojo,” you whine when you feel a single digit prod into your pussy. he multitasks with fucking you open with his finger while sucking at your clit and lapping up your juices.

“shit, mhm, keep going,” you push his head deeper into your legs, momentarily forgetting you’re cutting out his breathing circulation.

you then realize he truly doesn’t mind, as his eyes roll to the back of his skull and moans even more sinfully into your dripping pussy.

it didn’t take much more than a few extra fingers to drive you over the edge, and you spray your essence in his mouth as he happily swallows every single drop you offer to him. your thighs quake and you feel yourself lose balance but he makes sure to hold you still.

you ride your high on his face, breathing heavily as you come down from your orgasm. he pulls away from in between your legs, breathing heavily with a smitten smile on his lips. “bon appétit,” he jokes, using the back of his hand to wipe himself clean.

you snort at his childishness, “shut up and gimme a moment to return you the favour.”

and just like that, you find yourself now kneeling and gojo hovered over you. he stretched his arm to hold himself up against the wall while simultaneously watching you swallow his cock whole.

now, all cocky shit aside, gojo was nowhere near small sized. he packed a big one, and the fact that you were so confidently gobbling him up, head bobbing up and down on his length, hands twisting and jerking whatever you failed to reach.

“fuckfuckfuck—shiiit, dammit y/n, your mouth feels fuckin’ amazing,” gojo whines pathetically, leaning his forehead against the cool wall.

it unintentionally forces his tip deeper in your throat and you gag around him, throat constricting around his dick and fuck if his knees hadn’t buckled.

you knew gojo was a spontaneous man, so him suddenly reaching the back of your head and pushing you deeper on his dick shouldn’t have surprised you. you were now deepthroating him as he praised you endlessly, telling you how perfect you were taking him, how warm and tight your mouth felt, how he was going to cum if you kept playing with his balls.

when he does nut, your nose reaches his pubic hairs, curly white hairs ticking you as you inhale his musk in attempt to force yourself to suppress your gag. he cums a riverbank down your throat and naturally you swallow it all, pulling off him when he finishes and seeing a string of cum and saliva connect his blushing pink tip to your lips.

“fuck,” he chuckles breathlessly, hand laying atop of your head and patting your hair gently before sliding down to your jaw. his thumb strokes your skin, “come up here, wanna kiss you again.”

“sap.” you tease but lift yourself, knees wobbly but you manage.

you’re back to standing, and your hands quickly find themselves back to his nape, threading your fingers gently through his hair. he kisses you much less rushed but instead takes his time, savours the taste of him on your tongue as you taste yourself on his.

the kiss is sensual and sloppy, drool pooling at the corner of your lips as he kisses you like his lifeline depends on it. his hands slip at your ass, grabbing the mounds with handfuls.

he pulls away just slightly, wording against your lips “jump.”

you comply, jumping and he catches you gracefully, showing no signs of struggle. you wrap your legs around his waist and proceed to kiss him again, your back coming in contact with the wall. you feel him grind his hardening dick against your bare pussy, and if you had half your regular mind, you’d have been embarrassed by how badly you were dripping over him.

“‘m gonna fuck you now,” gojo mumbles against your lips, lips peppering kisses at the corner of your saliva coated mouth. “that good with you, princess?”

you give him a flat look, fingers still carding through his soft locks. “use your thinking skills and guess.”

he smiles at you, almost too sincere and raw, and you feel your eyes shy away from his gaze, focusing instead at the beauty mark marked at the base of his neck. “hey, consent is sexy, meanie.”

“the sexiest,” you feed into his bite, giggling when you feel him nuzzle his nose in the crook of your neck. his crown of hair tickles at your skin. “now hurry up.”

you surely don’t have to tell him twice as he pulls out of your neck and grabs the base of his dick, placing his tip at your pulsating hole and pushes inside.

the synchronization of both your moans blend into each others, as your gaze on one another never breaks. he watches you intently, blue eyes narrowing into your facial reactions, wanting to memorize every twitch of muscles in case this was ever his last opportunity to.

“mmhm—yes, baby,” you claw at his back, eyes droopy and hazy as he thrusts into you at a slow yet intense pace. if gojo noticed the term of endearment you slipped up, he made no show in pointing it out, and you were thankful.

the stretch of his cock at your pussy sent a fiery feeling spreading towards all of your limbs. the squelching of your pussy tightening and clenching at his dick filling the room. he soon picked up his pace, railing into you with every fibre in his body, loving the way your body bounced up in reaction to his thrusts.

he fucked you into that wall, dug so deep into your cunt you were sure you felt him in your stomach. well no wonder why women were obsessed with him, he was definitely a pleaser. a stinging bitter feeling momentarily crawled up your throat before dissipating when you caught his eyes staring at you with something you’d usually refer to as admiration.

“god, this pussy is heaven fucking sent—never had anythin’ like it—oh shit baby, gotta have more of this— gotta have more of you, please y/n—need this all the fuckin’ time,” he praised you like it was the only thing he knew how to do.

he was a verbal man, you knew, but it amplified during sexual activities. you shamefully moaned at every praise he threw at you, pussy clenching at his dick, warmth oddly settling in your chest. you scratched at his back, he bit into your shoulders, nipped at your lips and rammed your core.

in little to no time, you felt that tide of pleasure washing over you, your cervix unable to take anymore of his tip bullying into it.

“gojo, fuckkk, ‘m so fucking close!” you mewl brokenly, as tears stream down your cheeks from the overriding pleasure.

“satoru,” he breathes out, his name falling straight within earshot. his hips never give up, but his request is asked based off raw emotions, “call me satoru—please,”

your mind is running miles a minute, the tightening of your gut on the brink of snapping and spraying your dam yet again all over him.

he whimpers with his nose pressed at your jugular, his grip on your thighs so tight your bound to have bruises form soon, and your back begins to ache from repeatedly being pushed up against an uncomfortable surface.

but fuck, you were so fucking close.

“hnng—satoru!” you cry as your orgasm washes over you, rakes through your body from head to toe, muscles spasming in his hold.

you leak like a faucet, and he follows suit, moaning your name all brokenly, whimpering and whining in your ear as he pumps your pussy full of his cum. for a split second you feel your bodies merge into one, the orgasm so intense you almost forgot just who and where this was happening.

eventually, you both ride down from your highs, and satoru places you down to your feet, though never pulling out of you. his dick is snug in your warm walls, and he’s tempted to stay like this for longer, until you decide to speak.

“c’mon big guy, pull out.” you tap at his chest gently, pulling him out of his daydream. “we have no idea when maintenance’ll show up.”

he blinks slowly, nodding as he acknowledges your words. it’s almost a damn miracle they hadn’t shown up while satoru was fucking you, but now that the lust had faded away, you almost felt ashamed of yourself.

“yeah just— gimme a second.” he breathes to himself, silently wishing he’d been able to bask in the aftercare with you a little longer. he guesses he should’ve known better than to expect such in an elevator of all places.

you remain quiet and he hates it. did you regret it already? is he back to square one with you?

you bite your lip, “goj— satoru.”

he perks his head up and you swear you see his ears wiggle as if he were a dog. his eyes shimmer with hope and you don’t think he’s ever looked this pretty before, “what’s up?”

“i’m gonna need my panties back, you know.” you nod your head towards his pocket where your lace undergarments were stuffed. “they were my favorite.”

“what a shame, guess you’ll have to grab it another day.” he sighs dramatically, feigning despair. giggling, you feel his fingers drum at your bare waist, “say, maybe friday night around 7pm at your place?”

“guess i have no other choice, do i?” you sigh just as dramatically, pulling him closer by the collar of his wrinkly white button down. he grins so widely your cheeks hurt for him, or maybe they hurt for yourself as you reflected his grin.

“i don’t make the rules baby.”

this was definitely rushed but leave me alone 🖐🏾.

[pileofmush]

you don't know what i deserve .·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·.

ft. okkotsu yuuta

it’s 1 a.m. on the fifteenth of February and there’s a corpse on your kitchen floor. still fresh: odorless and warm to the touch. you're on your own—just you and the dead body.

info : ̗̀➛ tags: gn!reader, neighbor au, strangers to lovers, yuuta & reader are a little strange, happy ending // cw: death, light angst, vulgar language, canon-typical violence...but pretty mild imo

thoughts : ̗̀➛ helllooo. back on my bullshit. let's call this a very belated birthday present to my beloved <3 // read this on ao3

wc : ̗̀➛ 5.1k

The human body contains a shit ton of blood. 

Which is not something you think about often, but now you are forced to confront this fact in real-time. People… have a lot of blood.

And it stains. No matter how many times you wash your hands. There are still flakes of blood wedged underneath your fingernails. Part of you thinks it'll never go away.

...And then there's Sailor Moon.

“I am the pretty guardian who fights for love and justice! I am Sailor Moon! And now, in the name of the moon, I’ll punish you!”  

Cue trumpets and flashy poses; the makings of a battle. Your comfort anime blares in the background of a morbid scene, the flickering TV casting a soft glow on a sight that will inevitably haunt your nightmares. 

Because it's 1 a.m. on the fifteenth of February and there’s a corpse on your kitchen floor. Still fresh: odorless and warm to the touch. You pace in your tiny living room, unsure of what to do, of how to proceed. The pretty Sailor Guardians won’t save you now. You’re on your own. Just you and the dead body.

How romantic.

The chill from outside has swept into your apartment thanks to that annoying fucking prick who left your window open. Honestly, people these days have no decency. The least he could’ve done was close your shutters after tumbling through your bedroom window like a deranged acrobat. Now you’re, like, moderately cold. 

“What a fucking mess,” you sigh.

Blood seeps into the earthy Persian rug that you got for half-price at a flea market a few months ago. It’s dark; puddling, like... like a knocked-over glass of chocolate milk, spilled all over the kitchen table. Or, maybe chocolate syrup would be more apt. It doesn’t matter, though. You can always get a new rug. You know, if you make it out of this situation of yours intact and not in a dingy prison cell for homicide.

Hmm. You might be sorta kinda screwed. 

The police, of course, are out of the question. No matter your side of the story, it wouldn’t hold up in trial. No, no, no. A foreigner murdering a Japanese citizen? Even if it was in self-defense, it wouldn’t matter. Forget prison—you’ll probably be hanged.

So, you could run… But you probably wouldn’t get far. Or, you could do what every naive murderer in the movie about karmic retribution does and try your darnedest to get away with it.

“Option two it is!” you quit pacing and announce to the room. Thankfully, the body doesn’t respond.

A weak knock at the door sounds off—a gunshot. Your heart stalls, your head snapping to the entrance of the apartment. Who the hell is at your door? The person at the door knocks a second time, a little bit more insistently, and you start to sweat. “Hello, is everything alright? I—I heard a scream.”

You step up to the peephole and squint. A mild-looking man shuffles his feet outside your door. It’s your next-door neighbor, bathed in the ugly yellow lighting of your apartment complex. He smiles like he knows that you can see him. 

This… isn’t ideal. You could choose to not answer him, but that probably wouldn’t work. What if he called the police? You take a breath. “Everything’s fine,” you call out.

The man’s smile freezes in place, somehow more eerie than a frown; his hands burrow deeper into his pockets. “Oh!” he says. “Are… Are you sure?”

You turn away from the peephole, a little unnerved. “Yeah, why?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to intrude, but I heard a lot more than a single scream.”

A slow, dreadful feeling starts to seep into your gut. “Pardon?” 

There’s a pause. You swallow.

“These walls are thin.” 

Fuck. He knows. Oh God, he knows. 

No—that’s impossible. You were the only one to scream. Yasuhiro… He didn’t get the chance to. So this is just a concerned neighbor checking in on you. Nothing more, nothing less. You can prove it, prove that you’re okay.

You open the door a smidge so that you can peek through, then step outside and shut the door behind you. Your neighbor, what’s his name again? Okkotsu, right? Okkotsu’s brows lift at the sight of you, then relax. He’s wearing a plain white tee and a pair of grey sweats that should probably be criminal in Japan. His eyes flicker up and down your frame. You suppress a shiver.

“Just a horror movie,” you broach, offering him a polite smile. “I’m an easy fright.”

Okkotsu pulls a hand out of his pocket to awkwardly rub the back of his neck. His gentle smile has dimmed. “I’m not sure I believe you,” he says in an apologetic tone.

You both notice the tremor that runs through your body. Nosy fucking neighbors and their lack of sense when it comes to minding their own business. You stare mulishly at the floor. His shoes are simple. Black; scuffed. His left foot taps once against the floor. Whatever. You don't have to answer to him. Gathering up your resolve, you start to speak. “Listen, Okkotsu-san,” you say but are cut off quickly.

“Is that blood?” 

That makes you freeze, eyes glued to the floor. A cold set of fingers dips under your chin and gently lifts it. Your gaze meets his: two pools of an endless, starless night. It flickers to a spot beside your ear knowingly and you reach for it. 

He’s right. Blood sticks to your fingers, not yet dry. Lurking in the crevice behind your ear. You missed a spot.

“Well spotted.” It’s fruitless to lie now. You know it, he knows it. Now it’s a matter of who’ll crack first. 

“Are you… Are you injured?”

Physically? No. Psychiatrically? Well, you just murdered a man, so.

“I’m unharmed.” 

Okkotsu blinks owlishly. “Is that so?” He murmurs curiously, tilting your head to the side to observe the blood staining your skin. 

You readjust your head and mimic him, blinking slowly. “Okkotsu—”

“Yuuta,” he interrupts. 

You blink again. For such a mild, polite-seeming boy, he really is quite rude. And confusing. And terrifying. And you kinda sort of want him to die. “Okkotsu-san” you repeat. “I think it’s best if you leave.”

Okkotsu Yuuta’s smile returns, and it’s dangerously innocuous. He breathes your name out like a question. Starless eyes wander to your front door, then go back to studying your own. “Can I come inside?” he asks, quietly. 

Everything stills, even your heart. You’re not quite certain you’re alive, when you ask, dubiously, “The apartment?” 

Okkotsu just smiles.

You let Okkotsu come inside.

Which is absolutely fucking insane, but you have a feeling that your neighbor’s worse off than you are, and that’s truly saying something. 

You hear him lock the door behind you before you start. Silently, you lead him past your living room, past Tsukino Usagi flying down the sidewalk on the way to school—the start of another episode, then—past your browning house plant hanging from the ceiling, into your quaint kitchen. 

It’s nothing special. A small green stove with two bunsen burners on top. A sink; limited counter space. A couple of peeling cabinets. Tied in together with a white backsplash, shifting colors with each flicker of the TV. To the side, a small table sits, with two mismatched chairs tucked into it. 

Oh, and there’s the dead body, too. Practically dribbling blood, painting your discounted rug muddy red and the surrounding blue tile purple. 

Okkotsu lets out a soft sigh. “What a mess.”

You consider him from the corner of your eye. “That’s what I said,” you frown.

He shrugs, still looking at poor, dead, Yasuhiro. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” 

Yeaaaah. It’s true.  

A giggle escapes you, the reality of the situation finally hitting you. “Fuck,” you whisper in between the giggles. “I’m fucked.” It’s true. Utterly and thoroughly—no condom used. 

“Not yet,” you barely hear him say over the fracturing of your composure. This is impossible. You killed a man tonight, then showed a stranger the corpse. You’re an idiot. You’re a freak. You can’t hide a dead body. You really might as well bend over and get it over with. Fuck.

Hands gripping your knees, you struggle to catch your breath. When did you lose it? Ah, who cares? Dead. You’re dead. The noose is looped around your hollowed throat, tightening by the second. Perhaps there’ll be two corpses on your kitchen floor by the time the sun is up. Perhaps you should’ve just let him kill—

“Breathe with me,” Okkotsu mutters, right in front of you, long hands gingerly clutching your shoulders. Which is strange. You had no idea he got so close. His thumbs swipe up and down, around and around, and you are flummoxed. But Okkotsu is patient, his chest compressing and expanding with each measured breath, and you are compelled to follow him. Slowly, you come down from your panicked high. You let out a shaky breath, eyes sliding back to the imposing guest in your apartment. The other imposing guest in your apartment.

The body in front of you lays eerily still, impervious to your mini breakdown. It’s not purple, or rotting, or excreting out the last remaining fluids left in its underwhelming husk. It’s just—laying there. Laying, not lying, because it is no longer a breathing thing that rests; now an object to be placed. Dehumanized, in every way. Then again, what is dehumanization if not just another word for murder? What is murder, if not just the taking away of a person’s autonomy? Dead bodies can’t rest. It will never lie again. 

The dead body lays.

And you wonder for how much longer you’ll keep your own autonomy.

When do the dead start to attract flies? Realistically, you know it can range from a day to a few days for a decomposing body to become…obscene, depending on the environmental conditions. It hasn’t even been a few hours. You doubt flies will start buzzing around any time soon. If you move to crouch down and touch it, it’ll probably still be warm.  

The swipe of a thumb over your shoulder brings your awareness back to your neighbor. 

“Why are you helping me?” You ask, wiping the tears that have beaded up in the corners of your eyes. Your breathing is steadier now, but you’re still trembling. That damn window is still open. 

The hands on your shoulders release, and you look up to gauge his thoughts. He’s frowning. His eyes cloud, then sharpen: lightning against a black sky. “You need to get rid of the body, don’t you?” It’s a rhetorical question, but you nod anyway. 

“Then we’ll figure it out. Don’t worry. I bet we’ll be done before dawn.”

He makes to walk away but you stay rooted to your spot, trying to figure out why this strange, strange neighbor of yours who makes friends with stray cats and tends to the apartment garden is willing to become an accomplice of murder for you. 

“Okkotsu, are… Are you in love with me or something?” 

Your neighbor stops, then snorts, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He turns back to face you. A soft pout lies on his lips as he skillfully evades your question with a request of his own. “Hey, if you’re gonna ask me something like that, why don’t you use my name next time?”  

You don’t ask again.

You have far bigger problems than interrogating Okkotsu Yuuta, so you push it aside and stalk toward the body. Okkotsu joins you, and the two of you peer at the deceased man before you. It’s… Still. The blood has stopped its puddling; a thin line stretches the column of its throat. His throat was slit neatly, gracefully, like an act of love. It wasn’t one, but, maybe you gave Yasuhiro what he wanted, in a terrible, twisted way. How magnanimous of you. 

Yasuhiro wasn’t an attractive man. Limp brown hair framing a slightly uglier-than-average face. At least he had the decency to close his eyes before his last, dying breath. They were blood-shot and wiry, the last time you saw them open. Bouncing haphazardly in its sockets like they couldn’t discern which corner of the room you stood in.  

Okkotsu perks up at the sound of your harrumph. “What?” he questions you, and you slide your eyes over to him. Okkotsu Yuuta is distinctly pale, a trait that you’ve always noticed and have always sort of admired on him. It suits the subdued, yet haunted look he’s got going on. Black lashes feather the whites of his eyes, as well as the endless void of his irises. Yeah, he’s almost doll-like, in that gentle, haunting way of his. 

“You’re creepier than the corpse,” you tell him instead and turn away, just barely hiding your smile. The laugh that rings out from him sounds like nails grating on a chalkboard. 

Just kidding. It actually sounds kind of sweet.

Okkotsu follows you to the bathroom, where you’ve grabbed pretty much all of your cleaning supplies. You stuff them in a bucket and he hauls it out of your arms, the two of you shuffling back to the kitchen. 

“So how should we go about this?” You muse, staring at the body. The movies you’ve seen are the only reference you have for the disposal of dead bodies, but those usually end with the killer getting caught, so you’re not so sure about mimicking their methods. 

“I’m not sure,” Okkotsu says, tilting his head in thought. “Severing his limbs without the proper tools would be difficult. I guess we could carry him and bury him somewhere unassuming—unless you have a car that we could use?” A quick glance at you confirms that you don’t. He rubs his chin, nodding to himself. “Right. A garden cart will do, then. We should check to see if he has any identifiers on him, first, though. Oh, and we can’t forget about the teeth. Do you have any pliers?” He turns to you casually, eyes widening at the sight of your awe. 

Thin black brows furrow in confusion. “What?” He asks.

You blink. “Have you…ever…?” Your voice dies in your throat.

Thankfully, he gets it. “Oh. No! No, I’ve never murdered a person,” he denies, dipping his head and tugging the neckline of his plain white tee. A curious look crosses his face. “But I could,” he tacks on cautiously.

You hug your arms and give a half-assed shrug. You can almost feel the weight of a kitchen knife in your dominant hand; the quick, fluid motion of ending a life. 

“Anyone could,” you acquiesce, dismissing the conversation. Okkotsu hums mournfully in return. 

According to his ID, Yasuhiro Souta is a twenty-seven-year-old male who lives in Chiba. What he was doing tumbling through your window in the middle of the night is anyone’s guess. Well, he did tell you, sort of shakily before he made to lunge at you, that you were supposedly his Valentine for the night. How sweet!

Snip. You met him for the first time a little over two months ago. He dropped his wallet on the train, so you picked it up and handed it to him in a silly attempt to be a decent person. It resulted in the man refusing to let go of your hand for a solid five minutes. Yes, yes, what an adorable meet-cute! Snip. When you managed to pry your clammy hands out of his vice-like grip, it was your stop, and, oh, how fortuitous, it was Yasuhiro’s as well! He followed you off the train into a random coffee shop, and it was only when you got the help of the employees that he backed off, the doorbell chiming as the glass door swung behind his back. Snip.

You thought that was the end of it, and proceeded about your day, running errands for a few hours until you retreated home. It shook you up for a little, yes, but it was nothing too crazy. You doubted you’d ever see him again. 

Snip.

You slice Yasuhiro’s ID with your scissors until it’s a pile of ashes. 

Okkotsu’s on his knees, holding a pair of pliers to the light. Wedged between the metal lies a crooked tooth. He hums to himself, plopping the tooth in a ziplock bag. He wears a pair of green garden gloves he grabbed from his apartment; you’re wearing a matching set. The rubber’s a little too big for you, but you’re making it work.

It's as Okkotsu calmly adjusts the head in his lap, preparing to yank another tooth that you stare at your strange partner, wondering how in the hell you got yourself into this situation. It’s been happening every so often: your acceptance of reality swinging in the opposite direction like the pendulum on a grandfather clock. 

You shouldn’t have killed him.

You don’t care for Yasuhiro Souta’s life. You don’t care for the man who intended to assault you. But there’s not a chance in hell that this won’t get traced back to you. 

You're fucked.

Why did it have to be like this? Why do bad things happen to good people?

That’s the way the cookie crumbles, darling.

And you crumble—crumbled—are crumbling when you turn to your neighbor. “Okkotsu-san,” you say, picking at your dirty nails.

“Yuuta,” the man insists. What a freak. He's a freak, and he's good, and you don't deserve it.

You take a deep breath, mulling over your doomed fate. It doesn’t have to be his, too. “You should get out of here. While you still can.”

There's an awkward pause. The strange man pulls out another tooth and plops it in the baggy. “There,” he says warmly, then draws to his full height. “Do you have a coffee maker?” You ball your fists around the plastic handle in your hands. Calm, calm, stay calm. “Did you hear what I just said?” You ask. 

“Oh, I did,” Okkotsu hums. “I chose to ignore it.”

Your hands begin to shake as you repeat his words. “Ch—Chose to—” 

Okkotsu says your name pityingly. “I thought we already had this conversation," he questions with pinched brows. “Why are we—”

“We?!” You interrupt, incensed. We. It's as if the curtains have been drawn open, allowing the rays of the illuminating, scorching sun to trickle through. It blinds you, and you have the urge to pull your eyes out and shove them down his throat. “You thought we? Who��are you? You don’t know a damn thing about me!”

“I think I know a few things about you,” Okkotsu smiles sweetly, gesturing to the dead body in your apartment.

“Do you, now?” You laugh and toss your hands up to the ceiling. “Great! I have an idea!" You glare, the metal edge of your scissors catching the light. "If you know what I’m capable of, then you should get the hell out." 

A pause. You pant, more worked up than have been all night and it's fucking ridiculous and you hate it. You want to choke—you want him to choke. On your blood-soaked fingers, preferably. He'd probably lick them clean. 

Unaware of your depraved thoughts, Okkotsu’s lips pull into a frown. He sighs, running a ghostly hand through his hair.

“I’m not scared of you,” he tells you, quietly.

You hold your breath. “Maybe you should be.”

Your insufferable neighbor takes a step forward, that stupid frown still on his stupid doll face. “What’s your plan?” He prompts. “Do you intend to confess? To go to prison?” You shake your head slowly and he softens. “You don’t deserve that,” he says, like he really means it.

Why did you let this man into your house? Why is he offering you hope? It’s too much. The scissors slide out of all your fingers save for one; your limbs sag with a weariness that’s settled deep in your bones. 

“You don’t know what I deserve.”

Okkotsu stops and considers you. Your chest heaves, your heart pounds, and you want out. You want out, and he can get out, and you don’t know… You don’t know why…

“If you want me to judge you, I won’t,” says Okkotsu. 

You shake your head at his dismissal, your eyes squeezed shut. “I can’t judge you,” he continues, and there goes his cold, calloused hand again, gingerly tilting your chin upwards. The pair of scissors in your clutches drops fruitlessly to the floor. When you look up, there’s something like pleading in his endless, starless eyes. “Trust me,” he begs. 

You shouldn’t. You know it with every fiber of your being that you should not trust Okkotsu Yuuta. The man who blinks like an owl and stares at you like you’re a mouse he can’t wait to swallow whole. Who blushes pink whenever you hold the elevator door for him. Who has cold fingers that cradle you so gingerly—who touches you like he knows you—who doesn’t cringe at the sight of dead bodies but gives a damn about a bit of blood staining the outside of your ear. 

You shouldn’t. Trust him. But you—you feel as if he’s reached inside your chest and plucked out your pulsing, blackened heart. 

“Do you love me?” You ask Okkotsu Yuuta again, heart throbbing in his hand.

His eyes don’t stray from yours. “Ask me again with my name,” he says quietly. 

…You don’t know if you want to. 

Releasing a breath, you push past him, snatch the ziplock bag from the floor, and stride towards the stove. “I’ll make coffee,” you say, already fiddling with the grinder.

Okkotsu lets you depart with a sigh.

“So what do you like to do when you’re not helping random people bury bodies?” You ask Okkotsu a couple of hours later. You stumble over a root in the dark, and Okkotsu’s quick to grab you by the waist and steady you. You continue, a bag full of your keys, water, pepper spray, freshly-bleached gloves, a burner phone that Okkotsu already had, for some reason, and two sets of clean clothes swinging against your back. You fidget with the shovel in your hands mindlessly, trying to get it to spin. A garden cart with a tarp draped over it creaks along the grass floor. The two of you have walked for who knows how long, but, according to him, you’re getting close. 

The man beside you hums, surprisingly chipper for the nefarious activities afoot. “When I’m not busy, I like to garden and crochet. I also like making food for my friends from time to time,” he says in a simple, humble manner. The last part doesn’t surprise you. He’s brought you helpings of food on the most random occasions, showing up at your doorstep with self-proclaimed “leftovers” and shoving full plates into your arms with a velvety smile. That does beg the question, though…

“Have you considered us friends this whole time?” You squint at him in the dark, only the moonlight carving out the contours of his subtle, delicate features. You’re kind of surprised. You two made decent neighbors but only ever talked in short bursts outside your rooms. Your conversations rarely ever broke past polite mumblings about the weather.  

Okkotsu pouts. “You mean, we’re not friends yet?” He asks, before breaking into a twinkling laugh. 

“Shut up,” you bite, but you laugh too, lightly shoving at his arm. Okkotsu, bless him, pretends to stumble. It takes you a moment to suppress the heat burning the tips of your ears, but you do get it under control, eventually. “I meant… Before?”

His expression smoothens out before he gives a soft shake of his head. “No, not quite. But, I wanted us to be."  

It’s quiet for a moment, nothing but the rustling under your feet and the ever-present, cacophonous sounds of nature. You spot a nest of sleeping birds tucked in between the branches of a tree and smile.

“Well,” you try to keep your cool, eyes sweeping over the forest's shadows, “Better late than never.”

It strikes you halfway to the burial grounds that Yasuhiro didn’t bring his phone with him to your apartment in his depraved, intoxicated state. He crawled up a tree, through your cracked-open bedroom window—conveniently avoiding cameras. So, once you’re done with this, you very may well be free.

It’s a terrifying notion, freedom.

“What about you?” Okkotsu asks you, something like ten minutes later. “What do you like to do for fun? Besides watch Sailor Moon, I mean.”

You bite your lip to keep from grinning. “Well,” you wonder aloud. “This is pretty fun, wouldn’t you say?” 

Okkotsu lets out a little breath before he softly admits his agreement. 

It rained earlier today, you forgot. The ground crumbles like clay when you swing the shovel into the ground. You and Okkotsu take turns making a grave, taking water breaks in between. There is hope alive in you, you realize, as the two of you work in tandem.

Yasuhiro Souta is lowered into the ground with all the dignity a dead man could possess. He lays atop a tarp and your old Persian rug. A stream rushes somewhere nearby, bubbling like blood, and you pray that the body will make good fertilizer. When your hand shakes, Yuuta grabs it. 

You bury your clothes on the way back, a mile out. The sun peaks over the horizon.

When you return to your room with Yuuta in tow, your emotions overwhelm you: you are terrified and gleeful and sorry for all you’ve done. 

It is mournfully quiet as you mop the purple tiles blue, bleach burning your nostrils and freshly scrubbed gloves. Yuuta’s left to clean the garden cart in the gardens. He returns shortly, though, offers you a small smile, and helps you scrub every inch of your apartment. 

You scrub, and scrub. 

And scrub.

“You’re beautiful,” Yuuta says to you when you’re in the middle of wiping your brow. You’re sitting cross-legged on your rugless kitchen floor, where a dead body once lay. Sweat clings to your skin in uncomfortable places and you reek of bleach. “Shut the fuck up and scrub, Yuuta,” you command. 

Yuuta’s serene smile is unparalleled to anything you’ve ever seen before.

You could probably fall in love with him, you contemplate as you watch your neighbor make fluffy pancakes in the comforts of his own kitchen. If you haven’t fallen in love with him, already, that is. You doubt you’ll ever have a connection with someone as profound as the bond you share with the soft-spoken man who helped you bury a dead body. 

Love, you marvel, in the span of a few hours.

It’s disquieting. 

After multiple showers, and after Yuuta’s stuffed you with more pancakes than you can chew, the pair of you are lounging on his tatami mat, a much-needed change in scenery. You have like, three hours before you need to go to work, which, Yuuta agrees, is crucial to maintaining a veneer of normalcy. Which means this impromptu nightmare date will have to come to an end—as all good things do.

“I should probably get to bed,” you say after a lull in conversation.

Yuuta nods, reasonably. “That makes sense, yeah.” 

“Got work in the morning and all that,” you continue in a nonchalant tone.

“Make sure your window’s locked.”

Fine. “Walk me out, will you?” You request. Okkotsu Yuuta, ever the gentleman, agrees, even though the front door is only a handful of feet away. He pushes himself off his knees and stands at full height, though his starless eyes are, as always, trained on you. You would probably find Yuuta’s full attention a little unsettling if you had not just slit a man’s throat that night. 

You avoid his gaze all the same—stopping at his doorstep with your hands twisting at your sides. Yuuta stops beside you and waits patiently for you to string your words together. 

You clear your throat. “Hey, um—”

“Hi,” Yuuta interrupts, and you smile, filled with the courage to go on. 

“So, the thing is… Well, I probably wouldn’t have made it anywhere far without you. I acted quite amateur back there, you’d think this was my first dead body I was trying to hide, or something, ha. Um, so yeah, thank you—from the most sincere and vulnerable depths of my heart. I guess I’ll see you around? Okay, bye.”

A hand wraps around your wrist before you can run home with your tail tucked between your legs. Yuuta murmurs your name in a soft, dulcet tone, and you’re not certain you’re prepared to hear whatever he has to say. You turn to face him anyway, because, well, you owe him that much.

“Yes?” 

“Don’t you have something to ask me?” He chides.

The pit in your stomach swoops. “Not that I recall,” you lie with a straight face.

“Try again,” Yuuta smiles sweetly, like a haunted little doll.

“It’s been a long day, you know—” 

“Cold, I’m afraid.”

“My brain isn’t functioning at its peak—” 

“Hmm, getting colder!”

“I don’t think I can.”

A pause. You avert your gaze and allow yourself to get analyzed by Yuuta’s doleful, starless eyes. “Hey,” he calls your name, asks you to look at him. 

You look at him.  

“Good," he hums.

You roll your eyes, loop an arm around his long neck, and drag him to you. 

Okkotsu Yuuta tastes like the earth. From dust to dust, you are at the end and beginning when you capture his lips between yours. He responds quickly, hands digging firmly into your waist as he knocks you into his door frame, and you quickly learn what it means to be savored. You intended the kiss to be a quick, rash, thing, but he slows you down, melds into you languidly like you have all the time in the world. When he sucks on your bottom lip, you both moan, breaking apart for air. Yuuta slips his hands underneath your shirt, and for once, his cold hands burn, lighting the fire for something you’re not certain you’ll be able to finish. 

“Go ahead and ask me already, love,” Yuuta murmurs into your ear. And, well, fuck. You melt. “Yuuta,” you whisper as he nips at your neck. “You love me, yes?” 

At that, he bites down at the hollow of your neck. You gasp, then sigh when he instantly cools the wound with his tongue. “Obviously,” he replies, quite simply, thumb swiping delicately at your stomach. 

“Great,” you gasp, and Yuuta looks at you and beams. 

And, there goes your heart again, pulsing in his cold, calloused hands. Cradle it gently, Yuuta, won’t you?

fin. if u made it this far, ily

[kuruna]

All my life, I've felt as though / I'm inside a beautiful memory / replaying / with the sound turned down low.

Pokemon XY week day 3: Legacy

(You can never return to the person you once were ... but did that person ever truly exist to begin with?)

Heehee... AZ's pose in the mosaic is reference to this Xanthos comic >:3c additionally, the flowers on the outer border are marigolds, which are Xan's theme flower. Marigolds represent both affection and jealousy, so they fit Xan perfectly.

I think for AZ, part of the struggle of being king was the way he was perceived. He was a king, a messiah, he made things better for everyone! They did not see him for who he truly was... which is a sad, lonely guy with anger issues.

Of course, it upset AZ when his own younger brother seemed to buy into this idealized image too ... But AZ didn't realize at the time that for Xan, such perceptions came from a place of low self esteem. "You're so much better than I could ever be."

I think even now, AZ struggles with the Idealized Version of himself vs. his reality, especially when it comes to how he is remembered in history. You can see the sort of different reactions to him as a historical figure in the ways he's treated by Lysandre and Sycamore ^.^

Anyways. I got a little carried away I really just wanted to talk about how this is secretly an AZ and Xan drawing 😭 but that's okay 🙏🏾

[princelylove]

Sometimes it just feels better to turn your brain off and let someone else do aaaallll of the thinking for you.

Dumbification comes in a few different forms. Dollification and bimbofication, mainly. What's the difference?

Wellll. Dollification could be a number of things. People like all different kinds of dolls. Porcelain ones that sit on the shelf and do nothing but collect dust all day, action figures that can be posed, sex dolls that you inflate like a balloon and have your way with, rag dolls that have been through the war, actual stuffed animals, the list goes on. A doll is anything their owner wants them to be that day. That's what playing pretend is all about!

I see quite a few of my yandere interpretations being into dollifcation for their darling. Unfortunately not many for themself, but it's alright.

I think it's obvious that Jotaro loves dolls. Porcelain dolls, those fabric dolls with frilly dresses... he thinks they're just oh-so-cute. It's a shame they break so easily. He usually would go for someone that's already a bit doll-like- maybe their skin resembles porcelain, or their fashion sense makes for an obvious comparison.

I've spoken a bit in the past about Jotaro's fascination with lolita fashion, but it really does make a little too much sense to me. It scratches an itch for him. You either get it or you don't. The 'sweeter' styles- classic lolita, sweet lolita, hime lolita, even gothic lolita, they're all appealing. It's not necessarily the colors, it's about the amount of frills and lace and layers. He probably has a thing for petticoats because of it.

Jotaro's ideal day with his favorite dolly is nothing special. He'd prefer his doll on a shelf, safe and sound from the elements. It's not that he's a collector, it's that his darling is his prized possession. Taking care of it makes sense. He just wishes you'd stop thinking so much.

Yukako thinks you're better when you're finally broken in. You're just so much cuter when you let her dress you up and take you out! It irks her that you're not talking, but she can get you a voice box! Communication cards? Something! Maybe you're just shy. Aha. Ahahahahahahahahahahha.

She thinks a darling with a modern, feminine fashion sense is the cutest. Girly, but fitting for her age. If that isn't what she initially wears, Yukako has no problem gifting her some pieces here and there until her closet is full of cute clothes! Or, just. You know. Kidnapping her and not giving her any say in the matter. Either works. Have fun taking lots of pictures with Yukako!

There's a lot of yandere interpretations of mine that enjoy 'total bombshells,' but what about an actual bimbo? For some yanderes, it's about taking an entirely normal person and making them a mindless slut, for others it's about trapping one out in the wild and taking it home. It's your own little barbie! Or a bratz doll, depending on their style, I guess. Who can really tell?

Pannacotta isn't the type to openly degrade someone, his insults take a second or two to really process. He loves the adorable look on your face while you're thinking about it. Really, he's fine with you dressing however you want to, he just wanted you to know that it's fine in the first place. You know, some people don't prefer their girlfriends to dress like that, but he doesn't mind at all.

He knows how to keep his darling in the mindset. I think I've spoken a bit about Pannacotta's inclination for mind games and conditioning, of course he's into the process of bimbofication. So rewarding to do it himself, even more rewarding to keep his darling in such a state. It's a slow process, but it's worth it. He's more patient than his interactions with Narancia would have you believe. You're not Narancia, are you? Gooood, no you're not. It's simple, really. Reward behaviors you want to repeat, punish behaviors you want to stop. The reward depends on the darling, but the punishment.... it's Pannacotta. You can guess.

His conditioning is very slow. It takes a while to break someone in, but it takes an even longer while to learn someone's exact niche. He starts off by 'helping' with simple things. Things you can absolutely do by yourself, but are currently having an issue with. He'll use a machine for you, like a coffee machine or a ticket machine. Can't think of a word? Tell him the definition, he'll help. Pannacotta's gentle and firm, and fine with taking the time to learn what makes his darling tick. He loves to study, anyway. He'll figure out what his darling appreciates, and harp on it. It's often infantilizing, but hey, Panna's just Like That. Oftentimes both Guido and Narancia will excuse his behavior for him, the guy's a bit of a control freak. Just let him have whatever he's worried about and the guy'll go away.

He likes to emphasize the syllables in 'big' words here and there for you. Slowly says them, even. It's im...pera...tive... that you don't forget to call him back later.

Jolyne has never felt comfortable embracing her girlier side, she appreciates people that are openly feminine and comfortable about it. She just has a sort of mental block when it comes to her own femininity- she used to love being called "Jojo," and God knows what other cutesy, girly names, but now cringes at the thought. To her, femininity is vulnerability, and she's just not ready to embrace her old self again. Pretending- no, really being- tough is her new way of life. A darling that's already feminine, and needs her.... it's hitting a niche she didn't think she'd like.

Honestly, the dumber they are, the better. The first time Jolyne ever heard her darling say "Huuuh?" it was love. She wouldn't consider herself to be above average when it comes to stuff like that, but she's smart enough, in her eyes. She loooves when her darling asks her questions- rely on her. Keep coming to her. No, she's got zero fuckin' idea how half of the shit you're asking about works, but she can read something and sum it up for you. Maybe read it to you, add in a few extra words she thinks you don't know... (Author's note: Jolyne actually does know some niche things, she pulls out a Mobius strip in canon. Her intelligence and creativity is negated by the fact that darling is probably asking if she knows if there's carbs in butter. No idea, sweetheart.... no idea. Let's go look.)

Jolyne isn't really one for mind games, so breaking in her darling isn't going to come naturally. She's more likely to fall for someone that's already like that, or shows signs of it. Jolyne's someone that struggles to use her words, but finds it easy to do things for someone she likes or bring them gifts. Girls like you like makeup, yeah? Here. She'll leave it where only you could find it- assuming you're both in jail, she'd put it in your bed, under the covers. Seriously prays you aren't all tuckered out after headcount and don't just drop your dead weight on this palette she had to fork over a benjamin for....

It's worth it when she gets to watch your lips as you talk. Perfect, glossy.... sooo much happier now that she's helping you express yourself... Huh? She heard you, yeah. Say it again though, but slower...

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Why you gotta tempt my trouble?

Of Oak and Ivy, Chapter 1

Series Masterlist           Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: In college, Matt Murdock had two best friends, Foggy Nelson and you. However, life had no intention of letting you graduate with him. When he reconnects with you in adulthood, he is troubled to see the hand God has dealt you and vows to use every tool at his disposal to save you from damnation.

warnings: swearing, sickly sweet fluff, get ready for some pining y'all.

a/n: Here's the first chapter of the college fic! The next one won't be posted until I've written a few more (which might be a while because I'm trying to make them longer and I'm only one chapter ahead at the moment.) Please let me know if you like it and want to see more or be added to the taglist!

w/c: 5.3k

Digging the heels of your hands into your eyes, you resisted the urge to bang your head on the counter you sat at in an attempt to reboot the organ. This passage made no damn sense and you had mere days to understand it and conform to its ideals in order to do well in the class that it was assigned to. Biting your lip, you flipped back a few pages to start the chapter over for the third time when the sound of someone clearing their throat nearly startled you out of your seat. 

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry, I didn’t see you!” Saving your place in the worn book, you looked up to find a young man standing before you. He was handsome, with fluffy, inky locks and a charming smile on his lips. 

“That’s alright, I, uh, can’t quite fault you there.” He smiled sideways at you, gesturing to the opaque rectangular frames on his nose. Your mouth formed an “O” shape before you tripped over your response. 

“I want to laugh but that feels wrong. Is it more rude to laugh or not laugh? Oh god, forget I said that, I—“ 

The boy in front of you chuckled. “It’s quite alright, and it was meant to be a joke.” 

“Right, well, sorry again. How can I help you?” You clasped your hands, tilting your head as you waited for his response. 

“I was wondering if you had braille copies of any of these textbooks?” As he posed the question, the handsome boy passed you a list of the textbooks he was looking for. 

Looking over the document, you pursed your lips. “That is a fantastic question that we will have to answer together. I wish I knew off the top of my head, but today's only my third day on the job.” You cringed, wishing your manager was here. 

“I imagine it’s not a common question, so I won’t hold it against you.” There was that charming smile again. Your insides felt like they were slowly melting under his grin. 

“That’s, um, very kind of you.” You stammered out, feeling heat flood your cheeks. 

“Matt.” He broke in. “Matt Murdock. And you are..?”

Offering your name, you dutifully turned back to the index, scanning the pages for any clue as to where braille copies would be stocked. 

“That’s a pretty name, it suits you.” Your fingers halted in their dance across the page, your eyes flitting back to the gorgeous customer. 

“As much as I appreciate that, turning up the charm won’t change the fact that it might take a minute for me to find these.” Your eyes narrowed as you became skeptical of his intentions. 

“Take your time. It’ll give me more time to get to know you.” The flirty grin never faltered on Matt’s face. 

“Oh you’re trouble.” You shook your head, thumbing through the pages of the file before you. “I’m starting to think I should search on my own.” 

Matt just laughed, leaning forward on his white cane and grinning at you. “Where should we start?”

“I have a couple ideas.” 

You and Matt searched far and wide for accessible copies of the textbooks he needed. While they—thankfully—did exist, they were scattered throughout the store haphazardly, not in either location the index had suggested. The lack of care and attention the volumes had gotten was making you progressively more irritated. There was absolutely no reason these books should’ve been treated with such disrespect, even if they weren’t commonly asked for. 

After finding all but one book on his list, it was barely past store closing. Locking the door with a huff, you clocked out before joining Matt where he was seated on the ground by the first shelf. 

“I hate to say this, but I think we might need to order you a new copy.” You remarked with a frown, scuffing your shoe along the faded carpet on the bookstore’s floor. 

Matt, whose pleasant personality hadn’t dimmed despite the lackluster findings, simply chuckled, knocking his shoulder into yours. 

“Well, we gave it the old college try, so to speak.” He waggled his eyebrows at you above his dark glasses. 

You groaned, but couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped your throat. Despite your intense introversion and social awkwardness, Matt put you at ease. 

“Sorry, my roommate is rubbing off on me.” He gave an exaggerated grimace. 

“Is he a law student too?” 

“Yep. Foggy Nelson. The three of us might actually have some classes together.” Matt’s face lit up with the idea. You’d confessed during your hunt that you had already purchased your own copies of many of the books on his list. Given that you were both first year law students, it made sense that you’d be in classes with one another, but you felt a weight lift off your chest nonetheless.

“Honestly, that makes me feel so much better. I’m incredibly nervous.” You confessed, focusing on a fraying patch of carpet underneath your sneaker. 

“I’m sure you’ll do great.” Matt leaned against you, focusing on you in a way that made your chest flutter. 

“See you say that not knowing how long it’s taking me to get through the first reading assignment for Legal Methods.” You dropped your head into your hands, remembering the cursed passage from earlier. 

“Foggy mentioned something about that book. It’s…outdated?” 

“That’s an understatement. The first chapter is about a famous eugenics case, Buck v Bell, and I might be reading it wrong but it seems like the author is suggesting that we don’t have ableism that resembles that of the case in current day? I was getting so frustrated reading it that I honestly couldn’t tell if it was confusing or just a stupid argument.” You explained. 

“It’s in the McKinnon book, right? If you want, we could read it together and try to figure it out? Unless you have somewhere else to get to…” Matt Murdock, the charming, unswayable man you’d met a few hours ago blushed at the question, making you grin. 

“I would love to hear your opinion on the text, Mr. Murdock. We can start an unofficial study group.” 

“I like the sound of that. Let’s crack open this shit show.” Matt let you pull him off the ground and over to your work station where he opened his own copy of the text and began to read. 

A few hours and more than a few boxes of takeout later, you and Matt were still working your way through the chapter, though you’d both decided with certainty that the text was more angering than confusing. 

“If the professor is as ableist as this author, I’ll never be able to pass this class.” You grumbled, shoving the hellish book away from you. “There’s no way I can pretend that eugenic ideals have disappeared, even for a better grade.”

“Seriously. I’m hoping it’s supposed to make us mad so we can argue about it? Though I seriously doubt everyone will be on our side, unfortunately.” Matt scowled. 

“Well, at least we have each other, right?” The man in front of you perked up with that comment, but you hurriedly corrected yourself. “And your roommate, of course.” 

Deflating slightly, Matt scratched the back of his neck. “Speaking of, I should probably get back so he doesn’t send out a search party. I’ll see you in class?” 

“See you then, trouble maker.” You murmured, smiling softly at him. 

“Have a good night, sweetheart. Get home safe.” 

“You too.” 

A few days later, your evening with the sweet law student had fallen to the back of your mind as nerves about your first semester of classes set in. Fidgeting with your outfit in the mirror, you inhaled a shaky breath. 

“Stop worrying, you’ll be fine!” The voice of your roommate, Jen, rang out across your shared loft making your brow furrow. 

“Easy for you to say! You’ve done this before.” You groused, still examining your reflection. Jen was an old friend of yours who had lived down the street from you growing up. The two of you had been practically inseparable since elementary school, despite the fact that she was two years older than you. 

“Jen’s right, you know.” Oscar, Jen’s long-term boyfriend and your unofficial second roommate, squeezed your shoulder on his way to the kitchen. “Everyone is going to be nervous, so they won’t have time to judge you.” 

“Yah, yah. I appreciate the votes of confidence but, unfortunately, my anxiety and I have to hit the road. I would rather not be late.” 

“Have fun!” Oscar called as you grabbed your bag.

“You’re gonna kill it!” Shouted Jen as you exited the apartment. 

You shook your head, hoping they were right, and set off for your first ever Columbia Law class. 

The trek across campus was pretty and the walk helped you calm your racing thoughts. The walkways were littered with other first year students who looked more clueless than you—including a blond boy with a kind face who was staring quizzically at a kiosk in front of him that was plastered with event flyers. 

He muttered to himself for a moment before reaching to the side of the kiosk obscured from your view and tugging on the arm of someone beside him. “Ok dude, according to this map we should be heading…” He paused, squinting at the paper he was reading before dramatically pointing left. “West!” 

“That’s East.” You chuckled, walking over to inspect the map for yourself. As you neared the misguided fellow, your eyes widened as you recognized his friend. “Matt?” 

Laughing brightly and greeting you, Matt tugged free of the other man’s grip and strode over to you. “Are you following me?” He narrowed his eyes at you but his tone remained playful. 

Shoving him, you scoffed. “You wish, Murdock. I was going to warn your friend here that the upperclassmen usually put up fake maps as a prank on the first day of classes.” 

“Thank god we have someone to warn us of their cruelty, or we’d be dead meat!” The blond spun around and bowed in front of you. “Franklin Nelson, at your service m’lady. You can call me Foggy” 

You giggled, introducing yourself. “It’s such a shitty prank. Thankfully, I have roommates who are in their third year and they showed me around weeks ago. Where are you headed?” 

“Greene Hall.” Matt informed you. 

“Oh, that’s where I’m headed too! Civil Procedure? With Professor McGuiness?”

“The very same! We’re damn lucky to have run into you.” Foggy sighed, shaking his head. 

“It’s this way, and we aren’t too far. We’ll probably get there early.” 

“That’s good because this one,” Foggy stuck a thumb at Matt, “Has this idea that we need to sit in the front if we don’t want to fail. I’d be perfectly fine sitting in the last row and never being called on once!” 

“Studies show that sitting in one of the first few rows increases retention!” Matt elbowed his roommate who just snorted. 

“Retention schmention. I say we sit by the cutest people in the class and have them tutor us when we inevitably fail.” Foggy winked at you and you laughed. 

Matt squeezed your arm, leaning closer to you. “I think that can be arranged regardless.” 

Heat rose in your cheeks as his flirtatious grin made a reappearance. “Oh shut up, trouble maker, or I’ll sit in the very last row just to spite you.” 

“We wouldn’t want that.” Matt held out an arm, “Mind walking me to class, sweetheart?”

Rolling your eyes, you turned to Foggy. “How do you put up with him? You’re a Saint, truly.” But you took Matt’s arm anyway, ensuring that you were keeping a steady pace and avoiding anything he might trip over. 

The walk to your first law class was, eventful, to say the least. Matt and Foggy were clearly soulmates of a sort, with their nonstop bantering and the way they balanced each other out. Foggy was a ray of sunshine, while Matt was more comfortable in the shadows, so to speak. The blond was all loud declarations and bright smiles, while Matt was more low toned flirting and quiet observations. They were both incredibly intelligent, overly sarcastic, and had a flair for the dramatic. You were ecstatic to have stumbled into their lives. 

Matt had successfully cajoled the both of you into sitting with him in the second row, a compromise which Foggy considered a huge win. As students filed in, you subconsciously fiddled with your shirt, suddenly feeling incredibly insecure about your presence in this classroom. A gentle hand grabbed your wrist, making you jump. 

“Relax,” Matt whispered. “You look fine, trust me.” 

“How do you know?” You murmured nervously. 

“Those boys a few rows behind us are staring.” Matt’s smile remained, but his voice held a tension you couldn’t quite place. “And the TA is trying very hard not to.” 

“How on earth can you tell that?” You raised an eyebrow at him, incredulous. 

“Matt is seriously like some sort of super powered being. He has the greatest intuition of anyone I’ve ever met. Best to trust him about these things.” Foggy nodded solemnly, clearly trying not to burst out laughing. 

You simply rolled your eyes, pulling your notebook from your bag. Opening it to the correct page, you stifled a giggle as Foggy leaned over Matt’s lap to whisper-yell at you. 

“Why do you already have notes written? Matt, why does she already have notes written?” 

“I like to come prepared. I took notes on the first few chapters of the book.”

“But we didn’t even have an assignment for this class!”

“Yah, but I was bored at work and I thought I’d get a head start.” You just shrugged but Foggy glared at you, shaking a finger in your face. 

“You’re gonna make the rest of us look like slackers! You, missy, have some apologizing to do.” 

“For doing my due diligence?” You laughed. 

“Yes! For being too proactive. I think you owe us a tutoring session or two.” Foggy crossed his arms with a huff. 

“You have no idea if I even know what I’m doing, these notes could be gibberish!” You chuckled, shaking your head. 

“Nope, it’s good material. I can tell. You owe us. Doesn’t she, Matt?” Foggy elbowed his roommate who smirked. 

“I think he might be right, sweetheart. What would you say to being the leader of our study group.” Matt tilted his head, focusing on you. 

“Do I have a choice?” You sighed. 

“No!” Foggy exclaimed at the same time Matt responded, “Not really.”

“Then I accept, but I want my objection noted.” 

“It’s all in the record, don’t worry.” Foggy waved a hand, turning his attention back to the front of the room as the Professor walked to the front. 

The rest of the week went similarly, as you had three of four classes at the same time as Matt and Foggy. They made great company, so you could hardly complain, but it was the first meeting of your “unofficial official study group” (as Foggy had dubbed it) and you were quite nervous. 

You were fairly confident that you knew what you were talking about, but the idea of being the backbone for two other grades besides your own was quite stressful. Not to mention the jittery feeling you got every time your brain reminded you that you’d been in Matt’s room with him for an extended period of time. You chided yourself, Matt—though he was incredibly flirty—was one of the best friends you’d ever had, and you’d be damned before you jeopardized that because you were touch-starved and more than a little thirsty. 

Taking a deep breath to keep your antsy libido in check, which was getting increasingly difficult given the fact that you were sitting atop Matt’s bed practically cuddled against him, you turned your focus to the space in front of you for a moment of redirection. 

The room was small, a standard dorm room with two long skinny bed frames that held stiff foam mattresses, two identical desks with chipped paint and lumpy rolling chairs, and a bolted-shut window. Although the room was dim and cramped, the view was gorgeous, overlooking a rectangular patch of grass framed with lush green trees and the distant Manhattan skyline, bright with yellow lights against the black of the atmosphere.  

Shifting your focus to the inside of the room, you smiled at the dichotomy on full display. While it was clear both boys had cleaned in preparation for your visit, Foggy’s side of the room was haphazardly straightened, with loose socks peeking out from underneath the bed and a handful of stray candy wrappers still visible atop his desk. Matt’s half of the space was meticulously organized, complete with braille labels. It was clear that everything had its place. 

A shoulder nudged yours and you choked on a breath in your haste to turn towards the presence beside you. Matt smirked, but a small crease was present between his brows. “You ok? You stopped reading…”

“Yup!” You squeaked, clearing your throat and trying again. “Yes, sorry. Got distracted by your view.” Which was mostly true... 

“Is it nice? Foggy’s never told me.” Matt grins sideways at you, furrow on his smooth skin fading. 

“It’s…stunning. There’s a lot of green up front, with the lawn and plants and whatnot, but the red brick buildings contrast beautifully. And behind campus you can see the rest of the city, like we’re in an urban valley almost. It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen.” 

“It sounds pretty. You should describe more sights for me, sweetheart. You’re good at it.” 

Heat ran up your face at the compliment, pulsing in your cheeks and the tips of your ears. Turning from the window, you found your chest settling calmly as you studied Matt’s face. You’d never been this close to him and it was startling how easily his innocuous expression stirred up emotions in you. 

He had the slightest shadow of stubble gracing his sharp jawline. As you ran your eyes along his face, you found yourself lingering on the beautiful hazel eyes, nearly blocked by his dark glasses. The blank, honey-bronze orbs held more emotion than you’d ever seen in someone’s expression. In the small time you’d known Matt, you found yourself constantly moved by his passion—for his city, for justice, for Foggy, even for you. 

“So can we get back to the precedent of Buck v. Bell or are you just gonna stare lovingly at Matt all night?” Foggy smiled sweetly at you but the glint in his eyes made it clear he was annoyed. 

“I wasn’t—I mean I—“ You sputtered, scootching farther away from Matt in an effort to conceal your obvious crush. 

“Whatever. It’s late and I’d like to finish soon. Precedent?” Foggy prompted, pointing to his textbook. 

“Well, the main point is that disabled and institutionalized individuals were no longer considered to have the same rights as other people.” Matt huffed, thumbing through his textured pages. 

“Right. And the opinion implies that losing rights through due process opens you up to losing rights in the future without another trial.” You added, squinting at a particular paragraph for clarity. 

“Which sucks, but checks out for 1927.” Foggy frowned. 

“If I’m interpreting the important parts correctly, this case is meant to highlight an important consequence of precedent, which is that one decision can impact the judicial system for decades, even over important things like due process.” You explained, turning to Matt. “Is that what you got from this?”

“That’s about what I interpreted, yah.” Matt nodded, giving Foggy a sly grin. “That enough of an explanation for ya, Nelson? Or do we need to break it down point by point.” 

“Shut up, Murdock.” Foggy grumbled. “I’d be better with this if I wasn’t dog-tired.” 

“You’re doing great, Foggy. Don’t listen to him. All we have left to do this week is read for Torts and then we are home free.” You smiled sympathetically. 

“Ugh!” Foggy flopped down onto his pillows, covering his face with his hands. 

“Not to be a pain, but I don’t have this text…” Matt shifted uncomfortably, biting his lip. 

“That’s alright, I can read mine aloud. If that’s ok with you, Foggy?” You looked to the half-asleep law student for confirmation who nodded tiredly. 

“If it allows me to close my eyes, I’d be more than happy to listen.” 

Matt chuckled, before tilting his head towards you. “Can I come closer? To make sure I don’t miss anything?” You could’ve sworn you saw Foggy roll his eyes, but you blinked and he remained still as a corpse against his pillows. 

“Of course, Matt. Here.” Shuffling closer to him, you lay the textbook across both of your laps, trying incredibly hard to not focus on how warm he was. “This ok?” 

Matt nodded, mouth parted slightly and your eyes followed his tongue as it darted out to wet his lips. For a moment, all you heard was static and the soft puffs of Matt’s breath. Coming back into your body, you shook your head to clear out the lovestruck cobwebs. 

“Ok, um, Introduction to American Civil Law: Chapter 1, Liability and Negligence…”

To tell the honest truth, Matt hadn’t taken in a word you’d spoken since you passed the introductory paragraph. Legal jargon washed over him like the water of a warm bath, spoken by a soothing dulcet voice and punctuated by the steady thump of your kind heart. Your thigh was resting against his and he could feel the tension in your neck as you desperately kept it mere inches from its desired landing place on his shoulder. Your soft t-shirt brushed over his arm with each expanse of your chest as you inhaled, rubbing more of your sweet lavender and vanilla scent over his skin. 

As you continued to be blissfully unaware of his lack of attention, or rather his abundance of attention, his body was fighting an internal battle to not sweep you into his arms and bury his face in your neck. 

Leaving St. Agnes had been a culture shock for the ages, but Matt was beginning to love it. The orphanage had been an overwhelmingly lonely place, which Matt attributed to his tendency to pick fights and his disability causing him to stand out. Meeting his new roommate had been nerve wracking, but Foggy was as easy to like as the first ray of sunshine in the spring, despite his grumpiness when he was exhausted. Sure he was messy and his snoring had kept Matt awake for hours, but he had a massive heart. Though he and Foggy had very different lifestyles, the other man fit perfectly into his life, as did you. Matt was more than aware of his tendency to form quick attachments, but his feelings toward you were an entirely different beast. 

The night he’d met you in the bookstore, an invitation to go on a date with him had been teetering on the edge of his tongue for hours. Flirting came naturally to him, one of the many reasons he didn’t get along with the other boys of Clinton Church, but given his less than standard childhood, he’d never had the opportunity to start a relationship. Every minute he spent with you made it more obvious that you deserved to be loved, not aimlessly thrown into a date or two, and Matt wasn’t sure he would be able to provide that. At least not now.

An ear-splitting snore sounded from the other side of the room, abruptly ending his daydream. Your arm left its place at his side as you stifled a laugh. “Guess I was more boring than I thought.” 

“Trust me, it’s not because of you. That man could fall asleep to the sound of a fire alarm if he tried hard enough.” Matt smirked, humor not quite reaching his eyes as his brain mourned the loss of your touch. Feeling you shift tensely next to him, he pondered for a moment. “If you’re worried about waking him, we could go somewhere else?”

“Where would we go at 2 in the morning on a Thursday?” You groaned, desperately aching to be done with school work for the week but simultaneously more than willing to spend all night with Matt. 

“I know a place. But we will probably want this blanket.” Matt grinned at you as your confusion peaked, but you threw the blanket over your shoulder and took his hand nonetheless. 

How your friend had discovered that the roof of Butler Library remained accessible after hours via a secluded maintenance stairwell, you’d never know—but you couldn’t help but thank the heavens for granting you this slice of paradise. 

The cement that compromised the roof was cold, a symptom of being deprived of the sun for hours now, but you and Matt lay huddled together on his bedspread, lounging in a pocket of warmth your closeness had created. You were practically snuggling, which was not helping soothe the part of your brain that was rabidly attracted to him, sharing your highs and lows from the week. 

As the two of you giggled about an incident with a pigeon that had decided to attend Civil Procedure, you found your eyes tracing over the moonlit form of the beautiful man before you, who seemed to notice your staring as his lips quirked up. “So, tell me, sweetheart, how’s a girl like you end up in a place like this?” 

With an exaggerated groan, you shoved him playfully. “You and your damn lines, Murdock.” 

With a chuckle, Matt’s expression turned from something entirely playful into one of genuine interest.  “Seriously, what brought you to Columbia?” Feeling your heart pound under his blank gaze, you blew out a breath. 

“That is a long, sad story that I’m sure you don’t really—“

“If you don’t want to tell me, I totally get it. But I’d like to know more about you.” Matt’s answer was honest and lacking his perpetually flirty edge that kept you at a safe distance, which sent a burst of heat to your stomach that you weren’t expecting. 

“Oh, well...” Sighing deeply, you considered your options. You’d had a hard time making friends in the past, and had a tendency to over share (or so you’d been told), but Matt had asked for the real answer. That meant he really wanted it, right?

Steeling yourself for the impending rejection, you confessed. “I’m originally from Connecticut. Small little town called Bridgewater, about an hour from New Haven. It’s just me and my mom, really. My dad lives in godknowswhere, Virginia with my two siblings and his girlfriend. He’s…kinda the worst, so we don’t talk much. My mom though, she’s amazing. I owe everything to her.” 

Matt smiled at you, nodding encouragingly when you hesitated. 

“Um, yah, so long story short, she was diagnosed with cancer when I was a kid. My dad has sort of always been a jackass but her prognosis…I don’t know, it was the last straw for him. I don’t remember much but they started arguing about money and then, he took everything. I didn’t realize it at the time, my mom is the nicest person on the planet and she would never blame my dad for her misfortune, but we lost our house, she lost her job, her assets, two of her kids—though they didn’t fight to stay like I did. The longer I lived, the more curious I became about everything and when I did some digging in high school, I found out my dad had claimed everything in the divorce. He and his attorney had argued that my mom was abusive and financially exploiting him and the judge gave him anything he asked for. I decided I wanted to be a lawyer so I could stop others from going through what my mom and I have.” 

The story poured out of you, relieving a pressure you’d been carrying for as long as you remembered. Matt simply listened intently, emotions passing over his face in small flashes as you described your past. Realizing all of the bullshit you’d just dumped on him, you cringed. 

“I’m sorry, that was a lot, I just…” Matt’s brow furrowed and his hand shot out to cup your elbow. 

“No! No, I’m just so sorry that happened. Your dad sounds like a piece of work.” He gave a disgusted grimace and you giggled. 

“He is. My mom still loves him though, bless her heart. We spend Christmas with him every year like he didn’t ruin her life.” The laugh that you have held no humor. “Anyway, that’s my backstory. What about you, trouble maker?” You leaned into the loose hold Matt kept on your arm, eager to learn more about him. 

“Well, I’m from New York. Hell’s Kitchen, born and raised just like Foggy. I, uh, I never knew my mom. Was close with my dad, though. He was a boxer, taught me a lot about fighting, persistence.” Matt’s face fell slightly as he paused. Intertwining your fingers with his, your smile softened. 

“He sounds like a good man.” 

Matt nodded. “Yah, he uh, he was. He died when I was 9.”

Eyes widening, a hasty apology spilled out of you. “Oh Matt, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—“ A squeeze of your hand stopped you in your tracks. 

“It’s ok. I do miss him, though. After he died, I was taken in by an orphanage, raised by nuns. This is, really the first time I’ve lived without feeling like I’m being watched.” Matt chuckled awkwardly, removing his fingers from yours to push up his glasses. “Law interested me for a reason similar to yours, I suppose. My dad, uh, he was murdered. Organized crime hit. I tried to get someone, anyone really, to bring the group to justice and I…failed. Made me realize the justice system needs more devoted participants, I guess.” Taking his hand back into yours, you ran a thumb over his knuckles, allowing him to collect his thoughts before continuing the conversation. 

“So you’re interested in criminal law then?” Your heart flipped happily as Matt’s starlit face lit up again. 

“Honestly, I’m interested in most of it. But the more I learn about the world, the more I realize how important criminal defense is. My dad’s murder inspired this journey, but what I do with the degree, it’ll be in his memory. I’m starting to think that defense would be the best way to honor him.” 

How on Earth did you manage to find the sweetest boy on campus? “That’s…beautiful Matt. Really. He must be so proud of you already.” 

Matt’s lips twitched but he seemed unsure. “Maybe he should wait to see if I actually get this degree. Torts is already shaking up to be a nightmare.” 

“Ugh, that’s for damn sure.” You laughed breathily, shivering as a breeze pierced your thin shirt. 

Face twisting with concern, Matt ran his hand over your arm. “Are you cold? Sorry, I didn’t think it would get this chilly out.” 

“Oh, it’s ok! I’m not that cold.” You assured him, relishing in the soft brushes of his calloused fingertips over your arm. 

Raising a brow at you, Matt pulled off the crew neck he was wearing, handing it to you. “Humor me.” 

Rolling your eyes at his demanding tone, you slipped the garment over your head. The worn gray sweatshirt was soft and comfortably warm with Matt’s body heat. It was such a pleasant relief from the frigid cement that you had to bite back a groan. Breathing in the earthy, clean scent that always followed Matt, you sighed in relief. 

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.” Matt grinned. 

The night didn’t go on for too much longer after you spilled your guts to your new friend. At his insistence, you called Oscar and Jen to come pick you up rather than walking home. 

You fell asleep easily that night and, while it would be easy to blame the late hour, the fabric of Matt’s sweatshirt wrapped around you may have had something to do with it. 

[itsthesinbin]

Worth (Megatron/Reader)

i gotta do everything MYSELF around here since NO ONE sent me any earthspark megatron requests!!!!!!

i wrote this very quick at almost 2 am so if its bad..... shut up

Warnings: Mentions of reader being injured (non-graphic), mentions of blood (non-graphic)

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

Megatron was a stubborn old bot. Sure, he’d given up on his more outwardly dangerous and volatile ideals. The internal ones, though… Those were a struggle to get rid of. Like the ones where he was sure he wasn’t fully worthy of some things. Pleasure and love being at the top of his list, after everyone he had harmed and betrayed. He appreciated the chances he was given and the friendships he had made, of course. But more than that… He knew he didn’t deserve such things.

You made that part of his ideals difficult.

You were a friend of the Terrans, after a bit of an incident that had taken place while out on a walk. You became a sort of babysitter, after you were able to be trusted. Megatron remembered the thrum in his spark the first time he met you- seeing you using your tiny hands to help Jawbreaker with a little painting project you had put together for everyone. The little twinkle in your eye if you asked if he wanted to join.

“I don’t really have a brush big enough though,” you had joked. “I could try and find a really soft broom?” A couple giggles sounded through the children, and even the cranky old mech couldn’t help but crack a smile. Of course, he was more than content to watch while he waited for you all to be finished so the Terrans could train. You had sat with him while they finished, working on your own piece while you became his silent company.

Megatron was surprised you had immediately trusted him enough to sit with him so easily.

You two saw each other often, after that. A Terran always brought you along, nearly as inseparable from you as they were from their human siblings. And every time, you found a way to have your talks with him when the children were busy. He couldn’t help but ask why, one day.

“You always looked lonely,” you answered with a smile. You didn’t elaborate further, simply falling back into the topic from before. That familiar thrum ran through him.

As time went on, the feeling in his spark began to scare him. He was fond of you, sure, but you deserved something… normal. You didn’t deserve an old warlord with blood and energon staining his hands.

Oh how he wished, though. To confess to you. To hold you. To learn those little human courtship quirks that are so different from his own. Every time he was with you, he had to bite his glossa to keep from asking you to come away with him so you could talk. He had even gotten through his writer’s block. Words flowing from his fingers as he poured his spark out onto the datapad in his next piece of you-centric poetry. He was so ashamed of himself that not even Optimus could get to such a file.

And then you were injured.

A rogue Decepticon on the run happened to take a human hostage. It was an unfortunately common occurrence, especially if the con posed as an Uber or something similar. Megatron was ready to just get it over with. Then he saw you dangling from the con’s hand, half unconscious.

Megatron saw red.

Normally, he tried to be civil first- especially when a hostage was involved. But all of his training- all of his teachings from Optimus- melted from his mind in an instant. He was back to before. A cold, unfeeling machine that only knew selfish need and vengeance. He was lucky Optimus and Elita were there to keep him from killing the mech. He didn’t even hear Elita’s question of “what the frag is going on, Megatron” as he scooped up your frail form. He ignored his comrades as he transformed and began the flight to Dorothy’s home.

He didn’t trust GHOST for shit.

Megatron loved you. He realized this as he agonized having to part with your bloodied little body to allow Dorothy and Alex to heal you. He realized this as he felt his frame tremble. He realized this as he overheard Twitch say she had never seen him this distraught over anything.

Megatron realized it as he watched your sleeping form through Dorothy’s window late into the night. She was kind enough to keep the blinds up and curtains open, so he had a clear view. His optics were locked onto the rise and fall of your chest. As long as that moved, you were fine. As long as you weren’t still, you’d talk to him again.

Everyone had long since left to rest, although a few tried to get him into the barn as well. He knew he wouldn’t be able to rest comfortably until your eyes opened. Until you smiled at him again. His spark ached.

He didn’t deserve you. You didn’t deserve an old, broken soul like him. He was stuck between two states of mind: wanting to tell you his feelings, and wanting to keep them to himself so it can’t be used against him. A con managed to harm you just by chance. He couldn’t imagine the target on your back if you were on the way to possibly becoming his Conjux.

You shifted in his sleep and his spark lept in his chest cavity. It dropped again when you simply fell back into an uneasy rest. He sighed shakily, placing his head in his hand. He could almost laugh.

The mighty Megatron, brought to his knees- quite literally- by a human. The very species he had sought to eradicate to take the Earth’s energy and use it as his own. The irony is not lost on him, even in his distress. He smiled slightly, lifting his gaze back to your frail little body.

“No matter what happens next, you’ll be safe with me,” he whispered to you, although he knew you couldn’t hear. Megatron simply spoke the promise to reassure himself. Maybe by doing this, he’d earn the right to be yours. If you’d have him.

Guess he’d have to wait to know if you would.

[thefaiao]

Hi, firstly I just wanted to say that I love your art, especially with the way you use dynamism and angles in character sketches. It's really beautiful and I always look forward to seeing more black and white pieces from you.

I just wanted to ask, as a beginner artist whose been drawing on and off from 2017 onwards and hasn't seen much improvement, are there any resources or books you would recommend for someone still trying to grasp form and shape? Especially in creating 3d forms with line? I'd love to be able to draw characters in a similar way that you do but my cubes and cones never seem to come out correctly and humanoid shapes are even tougher. Thanks again for sharing your art.

Hello! Thank you very much for the compliments. Up until somewhat recently the B&W pieces were my favorite things to draw, so I get you. I did fall in love with coloring eventually though.

Alright, there are lots of things that can be done. I have had some classical training, and done human figure studies live, but honestly not nearly as much as I probably should have. You definitely should still do figure study as much as possible, especially in person. I'm just prefacing to say it may not get you to draw the way I draw I suppose, as its only part of what I've done to improve my drawing ability.

There are a few good resources to start with, notably the Loomis method, which a lot of artists use as a base. That's how you should use it too, ideally. It's not about copying his work exactly, it's about understanding just how the human body is proportioned, and adapting it from there. It doesn't have to define your thinking, it's just a good guideline. It's possible to structure a body quite differently than Loomis (and there are many many books for that), but the truth, which is, the proportions of the human body, is still there in all mindsets. Once you understand that, you can understand the reason for each approach, and even forego them to express something more unique, abstract and visceral.

The biggest thing you should do though, is always be observing the world around you, both online and offline. Figure studies are nice but they remove one of the most important things, and that is context. I find that people who will use those large libraries from people who pose professionally with bows and swords and the like will often draw technically impressive images, but they still feel like a fake pose. It doesn't feel like the person is holding onto the weapon like their life depended on it, or like they have a relationship with the object, that they pose and move in a certain way that reflects their personality. Live study with strangers helps rectify this somewhat.

Online you should also be following lots and lots of different artists! Don't limit yourself, pay attention to how they construct their drawings, how they go about things. It's important you follow a lot of people, see how they evolve. They are not only a point in time, they are also learning and evolving just like you. It's especially good if you can have artists friends to draw and share stuff with. I have a deep-seated belief that we draw art for others, to express ourselves to them, so they need to see it.

It may sound weird for me to say if you want to draw like me try to draw unlike me, but I'm just saying what I've done. I follow a lot of people and draw from a lot of places. Ultimately the main appeal of my forms is their dynamism and volume as you've said, but it's good to be versatile so you can always explore new avenues!

Now, you've done all these things, you are practicing them constantly. Now is the most important part. Keep drawing!!! Just keep drawing no matter what, no matter how bad you think it looks. You have to believe you have something to say, to express, no matter what. You say you haven't improved, but I don't believe you! Maybe you are faster, maybe your technique is better, maybe you have better habits, maybe you are a little more patient. There are a million ways to improve which don't even appear in the image. You have to keep drawing, NO MATTER WHAT!!! You have to believe you were born to do this and you will do it well, don't worry about what others think.

I can only draw such dynamic forms because I have kept drawing and masticating and elaborating this idea that is called my style. When you are drawing you are developing your own little language, and only when you are fluent you can start writing good books with it. Being fluent will take many years, you must accept that. If you take breaks, take breaks so you can keep drawing later. Take care of your health so you can keep drawing. You will only get to see your drawings become beautiful if you live long. To live a long and healthy life is to keep drawing.

That is my ultimate advice really, let that frustration build up, but keep drawing anyway. You will force yourself to find solutions to release that frustration as you do so, and improve. Maybe it's simple, but it's the only thing that is true no matter what. Don't worry about AI or whatever, none of that matters. Just keep drawing!

[aclowntiny]

Seventeen’s Ideal First Date

Twas just running through my head 😁

S.Coups: We all know he is going to ✨impress✨. Takes you out to a super nice place for dinner and is all oh it’s no big deal ☺️ but it is to you! It makes him happy how truly grateful you are as well as how excitedly you share all the fine food with him! One of his first questions when you get there is if you have any allergies or anything first though 🥲

Jeonghan: He’s not a big goer-outer, but inviting you over for the first date seems too sus and you’re worth plenty of outings 😘 Jeonghan invites you to a wine and paint night. He totally teases you that you’re totally an amazing artist right? But he really can’t wait to see how you do and have something matching and that joy shows on his face 🥺

Joshua: Your date is a bit impromptu, a night walk Joshua realizes he just really wants to share with you, so he asks you to join him and suddenly you’re off for an adventure! You two probably traipse through a night market first before you end up walking along a bridge, stars shining above you as you watch side by side. And of course a little market memento Joshua insisted on buying you in hand too! ✨

Jun: Bro this man is so pure he’s said himself he would take his crush out for ice cream 🥲 once Jun asks you out, he grins and hopefully asks if you can meet for ice cream on friday afternoon, and how could you say no to those eyes? Buys you as many scoops as you want and gets so excited to swap flavors, please let him! Wipes any drips off your hand or cheeks with the gentlest touch, napkin just brushing over your skin as he smiles softly. 🥰

Hoshi: Hope you like ✨activity✨ because this man is NOT taking you on a restful first date! But don’t worry, he doesn’t want to go somewhere crowded, so you guys will likely go on a hike. Enjoy the way he get so excited at any sights of wildlife, pointing them out with a childlike smile and asking you questions as you walk. Attempts birdcalls that just sound so ridiculous you burst into wild laughter, especially when he does a matching pose. If you get tired or wear the wrong shoes, toward the end of your descent he’ll insist on carrying you just to show off that he can! 💪🏻

Wonwoo: His first move is to ask you to coffee, taking you to the prettiest café he knows of so you can take cute pictures of your drinks and the scenery. It’s a start to the day, too, so if you want to move on to a second location you guys have time to do that, and something in Wonwoo is hoping you will! The second location he has in mind being a really pretty garden to walk through with you- the amount of photos you’ll get on this date!!! He does his best to impress you with botany facts that he most definitely didn’t research the night before, no way…🪻

Woozi: He asks you out to lunch because it’s an easier time to schedule as well as a little less pressure! You guys can go somewhere nice but still casual and have fun over some quick bites-more time to really talk and get to know each other, which is what he wants to do! He will absolutely insist on paying, so don’t try to fight him! That date starts a running joke between you two because the appetizer you split was odd-numbered and you made a Lady and the Tramp joke to diffuse the tension…but he took it as the spaghetti part not the meatball lolol. It was embarrassing then, but cute and funny now. 🍝

DK: Asks you to the water park but, like, not in a misogynistic way. Legit just wants to play on giant slides and chat down the lazy river with you. Laughs if you splash him, but is too much of a sweetheart to splash you back very hard 💔 Insists on cheersing whatever little sodas or smoothies you two drink poolside. Also you guys will have a pose-off when you dive in to see who does the funniest or coolest one as they jump! Makes you laugh with his fish impression 😌

Mingyu: President of the ‘doing his best to impress’ club, Mingyu straight-up takes you out on a boat. He’s like ‘hey, wanna go on a boat ride?’ and you’re just like ‘a what?’ but that’s how you end up laughing in the sun sitting on the bench together, drinks in hand and cute boating shirts aka middle aged rich man chic on for some great photos Mingyu insists on taking 🥰 He hopes you’ll get startled in the choppier waters so he can hold onto you 😏

The8: Just for something lowkey you can enjoy together, he invites you to walk a gallery with him. He’s such a good gallery partner because he genuinely wants to hear your input, what pieces you like or don’t prefer, if something makes you feel a certain way. You also have a built-in photographer who takes some great pictures of you and may ask for a few in return 😉 If you connect any of the arts or their concepts to literature you’ll have Minghao swooning! 🖼️

Seungkwan: Asks you out to a walk on the beach. He loves being by the ocean, and that way you two have plenty of time to talk, which is the most important part of the date to Seungkwan. He absolutely loves seeing the seaside wind in your hair, running along the sand like a pair of giddy children, seeing who could find the prettiest seaglass. After that, you guys get lunch at one of those cute dockside restaurants overlooking the water! You won’t life a finger at that meal, Seungkwan will insist on taking care of you as much as he can 💕

Vernon: Out of both love for films and a desire to keep things low-pressure for you both, Vernon asks you to a movie! He’ll try to take your interests into account as much as he can and balance it with what he wants to see, too. After the movie, you guys can grab drinks or a bite to eat and discuss! Vernon absolutely loves how you two can see the same thing, yet from such a different pair of eyes that you notice things he missed or the experiences hit that much more home for you. This helps him feel more deeply connected. 🎞️

Dino: Such a classic date! Drinks and a night of dancing await you. Corny as it may be, Chan just can’t wait to see you twirl around and let loose with you. Even if you aren’t good, he’ll hype you up and tell you you’re cute and doing amazing, he can help you with anything you want to try. We always feel closer to someone after we dance, right? Well, that’s what he thinks, not to mention this date gives him an excuse to hold your hand lots and learn your favorite drink by heart! 🥂

[giggly-squiggily]

Take It All Back (Black Clover)

Okay so...I don't know how to explain this one kjarkjajkrjek I had a really bad case of Zorafin on my hands and needed to write it out! The ship has taken me by the jugular and I'm okay with that lols. I hope you like it!

CW: Swearing, Angst, Black Clover Ep. 87 spoilers!

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):

@duckymcdoorknob @rachi-roo @imjusthere07

Summary: Finral's having severe self doubts about himself and his place in the Black Bulls. He finds comfort and something more from an unlikely source.

Finral would call his self-confidence a work in progress.

There were days where he thrived, pulling out all the stops during a practice session with the Bulls or saving the day with his portal magic just when they needed it. There was a rare but special tug of pride in his chest when that happened.

Then there were days like today where that tug of pride felt more like an anchor in his chest, dragging him further and further down his high and reminding him of all his shortcomings. “You’re nothing more than a taxi.” “Who would ever want you? Your own parents didn’t even want you!” “You’re a waste of space in the Bulls. You’re nothing without them- a living breathing parasite-”

“Boo.” A finger jabbed his hip from behind, making him jump forward with a startled squeak. “Did I scare ya?”

“No- I just make that noise in my downtime.” Finral grumbled as he turned around, finding none other than Zora Ideale before him. Something about the masked redhead made his spine tingle, sending goosebumps along his skin beneath his long sleeves. “What do you want, anyway?”

“Oo, someone’s grumpy today.” Those damn eyebrows- he looked so smug! “What’s the matter? Captain got you delivering toilet paper to him again? You’re kinda like a delivery man.”

Nothing but a taxi.

He was wounded, and it must have shown on his face by the wide eyed surprise Zora wore. “Shit- sorry man. I didn’t mean to cut you.”

“No- no, it’s not-” Finral willed his face to neutral out, trying to force the stinging behind his eyes back. “You didn’t do anything wrong; I just…” Something hot ran down his face. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“Finral…” Zora looked alarmed, reaching out.

“I gotta go! Erm, important business; bye!” He whirled around and ran, opening a portal as he did. Zora’s cry for him to stop was the last thing he heard before the magic closed out all sound, including the weak sob he made.

~~~

Weak. Pathetic. What kind of senior bull member was he to suddenly start crying in front of the rookie?

Finral slumped in his bed, the sentiment pulsing through him like a wound as he glared into his wet pillow. He’s not usually so quick to tears- and when they did come, he learned to hide them well. What the hell happened out there? Why of all people did he have to start crying in front of Zora?

Was it too late to fade away in the walls? He supposed he could do a Gordon; become so quiet and soft spoken he’d be nothing but a ghost.

…He really shouldn’t view his teammate like that.

Before he could wallow in shame further, someone knocked. Slow and heavy; not like Vanessa’s quick and playful ones- nor were Magna’s aggressive banging. This was the kind of knock he wasn’t familiar with at all. “Hello?” He called out.

“Hey…it’s me.” Zora? Finral felt his heart drop into his stomach, a surge of anxiety hitting him so strongly he felt nauseous.

“H-Hang on!” He called, running to the bathroom with shaky legs. Splashing water on his face, he tried to wipe away his earlier tears, cringing at how red his eyes looked. Fixing his hair, he straightened up, smoothing out his shirt and taking a quick breath. It was what it was.

Opening the door, he put on his best smile, the one he used to charm the ladies in town. “Hello there, Zora. How can I help you?”

The second he met Zora’s eyes his confidence crumbled. Green irises took him in, from the wetted down hair to the fragile smile to the shaky pose. “Hey…can I come in?”

“Sure! Sure, have a seat!” Finral stepped back, trying to breathe. God, this was falling apart faster than he planned. “Your probably wondering why I ran away-”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s my line.” Finral blurted out, then froze, embarrassed. “Wait- huh?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that- the delivery man thing.” Zora ran a hand through his hair, the tops of his cheeks heating in shame as he looked away. “I hadn’t realized how it came out. I’m really sorry.”

“...I…” Finral gaped, looking for words. He was the one that was supposed to apologize- a senior Bull running away from his rookie over a dumb comment; how unprofessional of him. That’s what he figured Zora came by for; not this! “It’s okay, really. You don’t need to apologize-”

“I made you cry.” Zora looked angry, but not at Finral. “I hurt you.”

“...No, no you didn’t.” Finral sighed, gesturing for him to sit down. “It wasn’t you that made me cry, I’m just having a bad day.”

“My comment didn’t help.” Zora argued, no heat in his tone. Finral shrugged, a tired laugh escaping.

“No, it didn’t. But I forgive you.”

Zora nodded, something like relief passing over him. “Do you…erm, do you want to talk about it?” He seemed so awkward then, like it was new territory he was crossing. It was new for Finral too.

At first, he didn’t say much, just reiterated that he was having a bad day. But after a gentle push from Zora, he let it go. He found himself talking about his insecurity and how lately he felt as if he’d contributed nothing to the team. How he could easily be replaced by a speedy broom and a map, and how while he was making some progress in using his spacial magic for more than transportation, it wasn’t enough to justify his place in the team.

At some point, Zora had moved over so he was sitting beside him on the bed. Now he was supporting him, an arm rubbing soothing circles against Finral’s back as the other sniffled out the last of his pain, wiping at his tears. He didn’t push for details, nor did he give any commentary; he just sat there and listened.

Finally, when his tears came to an end and Finral could somewhat breathe again, Zora hummed in thought. “That…sounds like literal hell.”

Finral snorted, oddly comforted by Zora’s way of words. “It is. But it’s not the team’s fault. No one makes me feel this way, it’s just my own stupidity.”

“You’re not stupid. You're the farthest thing from stupid.” Zora cut in firmly, taking Finral by surprise. “Don’t call yourself that.”

“But it’s true. Why else would I feel the way I feel?” Finral shrugged, something bitter in his gesture. “I’m in a team surrounded by amazing people, and yet here I am wallowing in self pity. Surely that makes me seem pathetic, doesn't it.”

Zora stared at him, stunned. Then he glared, a look so ferocious Finral felt taken aback. “How dare you.”

“Huh?”

“You dare talk bad about the Finral of the Black Bulls in my presence?” Zora raised up some, eyes glistening with unreadable rage. “A man with such brilliance for strategy and a kindness you can’t find anywhere else- and you dare call him pathetic?”

“Zora, what the hell are you saying- whoa!” Finral yelped when he was pushed back into the bed, the redhead hovering over him. “Zora?”

“I’ll make you pay. Take it back right now.” Zora growled. The mask made him even scarier, yet Finral felt no true malice in his presence. Was he braver than he thought?

“I don’t know what you’re going on about.” Finral decided after a moment. “But as your senior Bull member, I will not acknowledge your threats. I ref-ehehehehehehehehehehehe!” He couldn’t finish his statement before fingers found his ribs, worming gently along the warm fabric of his tunic. “Zohoohohohora, whahahahhait!”

“I told you to take it back. You’re gonna apologize for saying such foul things about Finral or I’ll make you!” Zora was inches from his face, fingers carrying on their game as he walked them up and down the other man’s sides. This close, Finral could see the truth now. Zora was far from angry.

He was looking mighty mischievous.

“Noohohoohoho way! Thehehhehey’re true! I knohohohow- I ahahahham him!” Finral giggled out, gently swatting at Zora’s hands as they moved to his lowest rib set. “Thehehehehy’re faahahha-AHAHHACTUAL!”

“Impossible- you can’t be Finral! The Finral I know would never call himself those things. He’s not a parasite, he’s not a taxi, and he certainly isn’t a pathetic person! He’s great- he makes good coffee in the morning and listens to me ramble about stupid shit throughout the day- and he doesn’t care if I nap during practice!”

“I dohohoohoohohoho chahahahahhahre! Yohohohohou juhuhuuhuhust doohohohon’t lihihihihisten!”

“Hm…yeah, you got a point.” Zora mused, moving back to his highest ribs and making Finral squeal. “But mine still stands- you're a great guy. I’ll ask one more time before I go all out; take that bullshit back.”

“Eheh…ehehehehe….heheh…” Finral gasped for air when the tickles came to a pause, weighing his options. He knew where this was going; and he knew if he did as demanded, Zora would keep his word. He could be spared.

But…

“Nohohooho way! I mehahhahan it!” Finral raised his chin, firm in his decision. The look in Zora’s eyes did funny things to his stomach. Seems like they were on the same page now.

“Oh do you?” Zora raised a brow.. His smile was particularly dangerous as he pulled Finral’s arms up and over his head, pinning them in place with a single grip. “Shame.”

The next few minutes were a blur in Finral’s mind. The second those dastardly fingers touched his armpits it was all over. “AHEHAHAHAHHAHAHA! OOHOHOHOOKAY OHOOHOHHOKAY I TAHEHEHEKE IT BAHAHAHCK! I TAHAHHAHAHKE IT BACK PLEAHAHHAHAHSE!”

“Hmmmm….okay.” Zora decided just as Finral grabbed his collar; yanking him down and throwing him off balance. The redhead shot his arms out, stopping a full blown collision.

“PLehehehase!” Finral gasped, slowly coming too as the tickles faded. “Please….oh, hello there.” He felt himself flush for a new reason: Zora's face inches from his own.

“Hello to you too. Come here often?” His voice was a husky whisper, blue eyes like the deepest part of the ocean as they gazed down into Finral’s. He even had long lashes!

Finral always liked long lashes.

He felt his breath catch, eyes starting to droop as Zora reached up for the corner of his mask-

A bang on the door drew them both apart, Zora shooting up in a daze and leaving Finral feeling somewhat cold. “Finral- whatever your doing in there, hurry up. We got a mission.” Captain Yami’s voice boomed even through the thick wooden doors. Footsteps faded soon after, sobering the younger man.

“Shit- I’m so sorry! I don’t know what happened-”

“Nah, you're fine. I came here to comfort you and-”

“I dragged you onto me! What kind of guy am I-”

“No complaints here.”

That last part stopped Finral in his tracks. “What?” He blinked, staring at the redhead.

“No complaints. In fact-I wouldn’t mind if we picked this back up after your mission.” Zora waggled his brows, a gesture so cheesy Finral couldn’t help but laugh. “Interested, teleporter?”

It all felt like a blur, this whole thing. One minute he was wallowing in self-pity, the next he was being comforted AND tickled to death by the strange redheaded mage before him. And now…

“Are you…asking me out?” Finral tried not to sound so unsure. Zora only smiled at him.

“Would you say yes if I was?”

Finral considered. Then he raised his chin stubbornly. “Not like that. If you’re gonna ask me out, do it right. Like this.” He stood, standing tall before the older man and putting on his best smile. “Would you go out with me, Zora Ideale.”

“You stole my line.” Zora sounded almost breathless, shaking his head with an easy grin. “Sounds fun. Yes, I will.”

Thanks for reading!

[muspellssynir]

ADWD little snippet made for my kitty because. Well.

She gave me the material how could I not?

NSFW

You took the words not like an invitation but a recommendation. You did need to destress and hot springs sounded absolutely ideal.

He must have been around of course. People die all the time everywhere, and they do seen to enjoy hot water. You think he must know that too. Reapers have baths right?

If he doesn't he should.

That'd be...

The thought of his hair floating in the water, his pale skin almost glistening with droplets, his knees up because he's too tall for the tub, legs spread...

You gotta stop yourself. The heat is starting to rise up and you don't know if you'll be able to put it back down in time. There's only one train left today to take you there and you cannot miss it.

You pick something breezy, cute and beach like as an outfit. It feels almost like you're going on holiday even if it's just one afternoon. It's thrilling.

You're still using caspers software to communicate when he's away: he seems to refuse to just call You on the phone. Still he at least nerded out again and got you a phone app. You message him telling him you'll be going and hope he sees it. Maybe you could send him a Pic or two over there, get his own imagination going.

The thought of his blushy pout when he refuses to acknowledge he's been looking will never not be funny.

But there's nothing hotter than the way he looks at you when he does, confident and full of fire and aching to touch you.

You taunt him and tease him but he doesn't answer. You can't even tell if he's read the messages: he didn't allow that function for you. Silly little reaper keeps thinking you don't know he's always on top of everything you do.

Still an answer would be nice.

You turn up the music and the commute gets so short; the train stops barely a couple of blocks away from the place he mentioned. There are several hotels around there but the inn was more akin to an old Japanese castle: you almost feel like you have to bow when you get in.

However its people are immensely nice and inviting.

You get yourself some nice food and a room with a view to the open meadows behind; it is surprisingly cheaper than you expect. Not cheap per se but they offered so many accommodations for afixed price you didn't wanna leave before exploring every inch of the place.

After lunch and setting up it's finally time. You shoot him a last text before going. _this is all you're missing_ you write while posing very casually in you bathing suit. You cover it with a tiny sundress and get ready to go downstairs.

You're already chuckling at the idea of him losing his mind, convincing himself he does not want to touch and taste every bit of you and failing miserably at it when you open the door to the hot spring you reserved. These are individual separated pools by fences of reeds and stone. They're also meant to be enjoyed without a bathing suit.

But see. You don't expect him to be the one to tell you.

"You're a bit too dressed to be standing there,aren't you sunshine?"

Your heart shoots up to your throat and the entirely of your body to your cheeks. Well, almost.

He knows. Which must mean that under the water that goes up to his chest, slim shoulders and surprisingly toned arms learned on the Stones at the edge of the pool there was also only bare skin.

You swallow hard but there's still not much room for your voice to come out.

"When did you-"

"I invited you here didn't I?" He says ignoring the fact you paid for your own room but that seems to be such an unimportant detail in lieu of watching his silver strands floating like moonlight onto the water.

You try to be enticing, letting your sundress fall around you but your eyes can't stop staring.he smiles, or better yet, smirks, licking the edge of his teeth as if he was about to sink them into you. The blushy shy little boy had left to give room to this suave feral man that looked he could only be satisfied by every bit of you all at once.

You untie your top,let your bottoms falls and you can see him staring, exploring, swallowing hard. He doesn't even notice the groan coming out of him, the way his hand almost tried to reach. He needs to take a minute before finding that confident smugness and gets up to offer a hand to you.

It's. Impressive is saying so little. And that is not little. Your eyes trail down his abs, the v line of his hips, the way the water covers half his thighs and still isn't low enough to show him off.

You swallow hard again for different reasons. Your mouth suddenly water as you look at his crotch and hear him chuckle.

"What happened? Cat got your tongue?" He tries to tease you

"The reaper will get to, actually" you taunt back as you walk to him almost hypnotized, only one idea in your mind.

Is his cock as cold as the rest of his skin?

Will it taste as Pristine as he does?

There's only one way to find out

[dlartistanon]

that degenbrecher/viviana art you rb'd got me wondering what would happen if she tried to seduce margaret (since nearl seems irresistible to kazimierz women)

Degenbrecher isn't from Kazimierz, she's originally from Leithanien. So I don't think much would happen... but according to my DegeNearl Rivalmance, there is an inherent homoeroticism.

Degen has made it clear that she doesn't really like the kind of people Nearl is--

Nearl is one of the most idealistic characters to exist. Degen doesn't know what to do with ideals.

Mild spoilers: Degen also has a voiceline about Nearl. Here's a messy translation:

"I've met the Radiant Knight. No, there's no need to arrange a match with her for me. There's no point. To fight her at full strength, the time, place, and general situation must be right. At that moment, victory or defeat between us would mean life or death. But that moment doesn't belong to me."

Sounds kinda dramatic, doesn't it? It also sounds vaguely like praise. Degenbrecher is strong enough that the vast majority of fights to her are boring. They don't pose any challenge. She doesn't really have fun. To Degen, the only way for a fight with Nearl to have any meaning is for both of them to fight to death.

To me, it sounds like she's hyping it up/romanticizing this fight, for no real reason. That the "reality" of this hypothetical destined duel is far less intriguing than the picture in her head. Almost like a daydream or a fantasy. Someone asks her if she'd like to fight Nearl and Degen gives a long-winded response as to "no". To her, the stars have to be aligned.

[yorucean]

a conversation between the traveler and the bard

“Didn't they betray you? Why do you still love them?”

—about the Anemo Archon's love for his children, the people of Mondstadt.

Mondstadt has always been a peaceful place. For children just beginning to learn their alphabets, teenagers finding joy in the smallest things, young adults searching for the meaning of life, and weary souls who have weathered too many storms—be it locals, travelers, wandering merchants, or even the animals and creatures... The carefree breezes, carrying the scent of dandelions, will always find their way through your hair, breathing life and hope into you, wherever you go.

It is said that the gentle wind, the safe haven, and the freedom that seeps into the waters beneath the land were all gifts from the God of Freedom himself. Some call it a blessing—a manifestation of the love and affection that the Anemo Archon holds for his children.

He may not be the God of Love, as it is a title reserved for the Snezhnayan goddess, but his love for his children is enviable, and it is reflected in the way the people of Mondstadt reciprocated his love. Some say that the people's faith in their archons is the main source of their power—which then would mean that the Anemo Archon is exceptionally strong, given how much his people love and trust him. Not a single person in Mondstadt is irreligious, the popular phrase ‘may the Anemo Archon protect you’ that every Mondstadtian would sneak in every conversation and the grand statue specially sculpted for him in front of the Favonius Cathedral were clear giveaways to it.

Why?

Lord Barbatos' name was never associated with grand titles. In fact, little was known about him—especially to the outsiders—aside from being an absent archon ruling the City of Wine and Freedom. What were his goals? His ideals? How did he secure a seat among The Seven? Was he immensely powerful, like the Electro Archon who could cleave an entire island with a single strike? Or was he as influential as the renowned Rex Lapis during the Archon War?

No one ever truly knows.

Then why? A certain Traveler once pondered to themself.

What is so special about him, that his people's faith never shakes, even without his presence for such a long time?

The Anemo Archon was never one to talk about himself, nor would he answer if the Traveler ever asked. So, no matter how curious they were, these questions could only linger unanswered in their mind as they wandered through the nations.

At least, that was the case, until they found the answer on a random sunny afternoon.

“Didn't they betray your trust in the past? Why do you still love them, even after all the horrible things they did?”

The Traveler asked Venti as they sat beneath the great Windrise tree, watching the skies of Mondstadt gradually turn orange.

Venti simply smiled. A gentle breeze wove through the strands of his dark, aqua-tipped hair, as the warm sunlight cascaded over his skin. It was a sensitive question to anyone hearing, but there was no sign of displeasure on his face. Just like the wind, he was always calm, carefree and serene. Not a single person had ever seen the playfulness leaving his eyes, never, except in the presence of those who posed threat to his children.

“My dear Traveler,” Venti purred, his voice akin to the sounds of birds singing in the woods. “Children are bound to make mistakes. Stumbling across a rock, tripping over their feet, scraping their skin... It's all part of growing, isn't it?”

“It would be too cruel to deny them, mere humans who struggle to find their paths yet still find joy in the smallest things, the chance to learn and grow from their mistakes.”

There was a comforting silence as Venti's hand reached for a fallen leaf on the ground, turning it gently in his fingers. The leaf was vibrant green, still holding onto the life it once had when it was part of the tree.

“Look at this leaf,” he said, his voice gentle and thoughtful. “It once clung tightly to the branch, part of something greater. But now, it has fallen, carried by the wind to new places.”

He held the leaf up to the light, its delicate veins illuminated by the setting sun. “Just like this leaf, my children sometimes fall and drift away. They may lose their way, make mistakes, and face hardships. But even as they fall, they are never truly lost,” Venti said, a twinkle in his eyes. “Because the wind will be there to support the leaf, just like how I support my children. I lift them up and help them find their path again.”

He then released the leaf, watching as it floated away on the breeze. “Every leaf, every child, has its own story, its own purpose. And just as the wind carries the leaf to new places, so too does my love carry my children, helping them to grow and flourish, no matter where they land.”

The wind felt exceptionally warm that day, as they watched the leaf drift away, fading into the twilight.

Somehow, the Traveler understood the reason why the Anemo Archon was so loved.

After all, those titles were never necessary.

Venti may be absent, and most, if not all, of his children have never seen him in person, but no one ever doubts his presence. They feel his love in every whisper of the wind, every rustle of the leaves, and every joyful song sung by the bards. He is there, always watching over them, lending his hand to those in need of his blessing, while allowing them to find the meaning of life on their own.

Just like the wind, ever-present and unchanging.

“For in the heart of every gentle breeze lies the boundless love of a guardian watching over his children, guiding them toward their own destinies.”

***

in honor of venti's birthday. may (or may not) upload a longer version on ao3, work is still in progress.

i hope you enjoy it!

[squidflavoredsoup]

Let me get this straight.

You tell proship people not to interact, using the word 'proshit' too. Meanwhile, you have a 'ponysona' who is modeled after Homelander. 'The Boys' is a show that on multiple occasions, makes jokes out of rape. One character is raped by getting his gills fingered and while it is meant to be an intense scene, it's also meant to be satirical and funny. Someone also dies from being sounded. It's a hilarious show, but not one that, if you actually stuck to your 'proshit dni' ideals, would accommodate because the show makes jokes out of serious topics. Friend, you're literally telling YOURSELF to dni. If not that, you're saying, 'well, I can like this show because I'm not one of those other gross nasty weirdos', and are unable to understand why that is fallacious.

Anyways. You've also made at least one piece of art where another one of your OCs is chumming around Homelander. So let me get this straight. Homelander is a man who was groomed from birth to be a public entity and his moral are extremely effed up. He kills people without mercy, he doesn't really have much of a conscience. So if that's the case, why is your OC with him unless they've been written to be accepting of Homelander? Or if your OC is a self-insert, would that not mean YOU'RE accepting of Homelander? That would mean you're a bad person!

Within the context of the show, everyone in Homelander's circle is either in on the toxicity, or accepting of it, because that's how their whole business goes. They're in and endorsing everything, or you're out. So why is your OC with them? You're depicting them being friendly to homelander, that must mean you're endorsing supporting murderers and manipulators. Not to mention Homelander looks very annoyed with your OC touching them, implying the OC is somehow able to make Homelander, a generally unflappable and confident guy, annoyed in the first place.

I can't express enough how fucked up your hypocrisy is. Or how deep your self-loathing must be, that you just can't admit you like fucked up fictional scenarios, and instead have to yell 'proshit dni' from the rooftops. Maybe it's just to cover your ass? And you hope the very blatant hypocrisy on display won't actually get on other antis' radars? But spoiler, it definitely will at some point.

Frankly... This is incredibly sad.

lemme try to explain bc i can so see how u think that way

first off that’s not an oc or a self insert, it’s my sona (i think i tagged it as self insert cuz it’s me but idk yk tagging n interaction shi)

i chose the pose bc i thought it’d be funny to further push the point that i don’t take him seriously— i made him look annoyed/angry at me bc dude he would HATE me if he were real lawl ik im annoying— but then there’s also the “guess who’s getting their brains blown out today” as like a threat of sorts

bc he SUCKS

i’m not “accepting” him or anything it’s more like teasing (?? idk what other word to put it rn) like just being annoying

[omegaverse-daily]

Any headcanons about alphas submitting to omegas out of need not want. Like omegas who are so fear induced it causes anger and they become dangerous. How would that go? In what way do you think an alpha would submit, how could they make themselves small enough for an omega to calm down to allowing them near?

Hellloooo000000 beautiful peopleeeee

I like alphas submitting to omegas. Out of need or want or anything in between, I DONT CARE, I love it.

So alphas submitting to omegas headcanons, start!

This ask is centered more around the fear side of needing to submit ofc so I'll start there. I’ve thought a little about this myself so maybe I can try my best to answer even tho I’m sure others probs have better grasps on alpha behavior than me teehee.

-

So, let’s say an omega is in an extremely fearful mindset. A number of things could have happened to bring them there, and if an omega has trauma or was recently traumatized they could be dealing with a stress induced post trauma mindset started again by nightmares or triggered memories, it’s not so important aside from the fact they’re currently in a mindset that has them reacting at base instinct of aggression and lashing out in order to protect themselves or someone else, like another omega or a pup.

The omega is growling loudly, fat tears streaming down their cheeks because they’re so scared from whatever is making them feel this was, they’ve already caused some damage to other packmates who’ve been lucky to come away with injuries not deadly, but they’ve only just made the omegas mind state worse.

All packmates are good for situations like this usually, but sometimes in these heavily primal mindsets, they’ll need submission to show them that they’re in charge of this situation, so at least on a base level, especially if they’re out of their mind and again, just working on base fear instinct, they’ll know they’re no longer in danger. But perhaps, other omegas submitting hasn’t helped and betas trying too has also had no effect so the last and most unusual rung of the ladder to submit is an alpha. It’s not necessarily entirely uncommon for alphas to submit (to my verse ideas at least) but it is uncommon to do outside of an omega partner or very high ranking omega. It’s also difficult.

Alphas scents differ distinctly like omega scents and beta scents do. You’d be able to distinguish them at least most likely, so submitting to a dangerous omega as an alpha poses a bit of a threat on its own. Being an alpha, especially in a situation the omega is suffering because of an alpha, is not ideal in these situations. They’re used to being submitted to but not always submitting.

I think, the first thing to do for an alpha would be to get as small as they can if they aren’t already a small alpha. And if they were, make their presence small. (Alphas might not always have the physical size or exuberant presence that can be overwhelming, I think they too can be meek and smaller in many ways if that’s just how they look or how their personalities go, but being an alpha still means needing to adjust in situations like this to avoid danger.

So alpha makes themself smaller in anyway they need to at first. That put their presence in a much less threatening place to an omega who isn’t so aware of surroundings outside of their fear.

Next, an alpha needs to smell and sound submissive or placating. Some alphas would have a bit of shame for doing such a thing, some would even object entirely but an omega in this state requires the actions to be taken.

I think presenting themselves in a submitting way is the last thing they’d do. Barring their necks the last possible thing necessary because it’s the most dangerous of steps. Barring your neck at any aggressive wolf, be it fear aggressive or just down right so, is stupidly dangerous. That’s one of a persons most vital spots so it’s the last offered but often the most placating. An alpha submitting to an omega completely and fully can bring many omegas down from such a state. (If they can’t be brought down from this, they probably have to be taken down and sedated for their safety and others)

Ways to tell an omega is accepting the submission is a lessening in growls, defensive posture lowering and especially response to the sounds the alpha (or anyone in this case) is making. In their deepest headspace, when the alpha trying to calm them is in complete submission posture (even mindset teehee) the omega slowly scenting them is another great sign but never a sign of danger being gone. Not until they completely relax and show functioning cognition again, without that, trust can be broken and the cycle can be reverse.

This mindset can be solved simply with time but the dangers of it being left in such a raw state is not desired by packs especially if other packmates or pack puppies are involved due to possibility of accidental injury.

-

And ooog I just love alphas having to go submission brain for omegas. It makes my brain feel like mush.

Thanks guys :))))

-Puppy mod

[queenofdragons12]

𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝘼𝙍𝙀 𝙈𝙄𝙉𝙀! | obi-wan x reader

You truly cannot fathom the intricacies of how he managed to track you down, but one thing is crystal clear in your mind – he is irrevocably yours, and you are his.

The profound connection you share is unshakeable, a bond that you are fiercely determined never to relinquish, especially not to the clutches of that detested Jedi Order.

At this very moment, you are enveloping him within you, descending onto him as if gravity itself were pulling you closer. The walls of your vagina are tightly clutching the tip of his bare, leaking phallus, a testament to the passionate desire that flows through both of your beings.

He is nestled in the warm embrace of your abode, a cozy sanctuary that you've chosen for its exclusivity. Mustafar, a fiery planet of scorching temperatures and volcanic landscapes, is the ideal retreat for your unique species, a place where the blazing heat is the only environment that can sustain your existence.

It's a world that others dare not tread frequently, leaving you both with a sense of undisturbed privacy and intimacy. The luxurious plushness of the sofa beneath you enhances the sensation of his body against yours, his hardened member poised to penetrate deeper as he reclines, his head thrown back in ecstasy.

The intensity of your union is palpable, a dance of passion that resonates through the very air around you. His eyes are closed, savoring the sensation of your intimate embrace, as the anticipation builds to an exquisite crescendo. The force of your species' survival instincts and the undeniable heat between you two has led you to this secret haven, ensuring that your love can flourish uninhibited by the prying eyes of the galaxy.

With a gentle yet firm demeanor, he whispers, "Just like that, darling," as his eyes flutter closed, lost in the intensity of the moment. A soft chuckle escapes your lips at his unabashed display of vulnerability, and you feel a surge of power as you decide to push him further. Leaning down, you align your body with his, your lithe frame poised to deliver a series of exquisite thrusts. Your long, auburn tongue, a fiery snake of passion, slithers past the plush purple curve of his lips, taunting him as it glides along the contours of his mouth. He eagerly attempts to kiss you, but your masterful maneuvering leaves him only able to part his lips slightly, desperately seeking the warmth of your own.

You can feel the desperation in his breath as it hitches, and his pleas for relief become more fervent. "Please," he whispers, his voice thick with longing and the sweet agony of being so close to climax, "please, I beg of you." The sound of his need fills the room, a symphony of desire that you revel in, knowing you hold the key to his release.

With a smirk, you lean closer, your voice a low, amused purr as you ask, "And do Jedi truly beg?" His body tenses beneath you, the question a delightful tease that sends a shiver down his spine. You continue to move against him, the rhythm of your hips driving him closer to the edge with every passing second. The warm, velvety walls of your sex clench tightly around his shaft, as if echoing the question you've posed, challenging him to prove his worthiness of such a divine gift.

His breath comes in ragged gasps now, his chest heaving with the effort to maintain control. "It seems," you murmur, your voice a seductive purr in his ear, "that you have forgotten your place, my dear." You increase the pressure, the friction between your bodies building like the crescendo of a symphony, pushing him to the brink of ecstasy. "But," you continue, "perhaps you are not as noble as you claim."

You feel his body tighten, his cock pulsing within you as he fights the urge to spill his seed, to give in to the pleasure that threatens to overwhelm him. "Beg," you command, your voice a siren's song, low and seductive. "Beg a queen for the allowance to cum, my little boy."

The words hang in the air, a heady challenge that he cannot resist. With a groan, he surrenders, his voice a broken whisper. "I beg of you, my queen," he gasps, his eyes squeezed shut in submission. "Allow me to cum, please."

A smug smile graces your lips as you consider his plea, the power dynamic between you two a thrilling dance of dominance and submission. For a moment, you hold him there, suspended in the exquisite agony of anticipation, before finally granting his request with a single, sultry word. "You may."

And with that, his body arches, a silent scream of release echoing through the room as he succumbs to the pleasure that you have so graciously allowed him. His eyes fly open, meeting yours, and in that instant, you see the pure, unbridled ecstasy that only true power can bestow. The connection between you is electric, a current of desire that flows unimpeded as he empties himself into you, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his climax.

As the tension slowly ebbs away, you lean down to kiss him, your lips brushing against his in a gesture that is both tender and possessive. "Good boy," you murmur, the words a gentle praise that fills his soul with warmth. You pull back slightly, a satisfied smile playing on your lips as you watch the euphoria wash over his features, knowing that you are the one who has brought him to such heights of pleasure. And in that moment, you both revel in the delicious dance of power and passion that you have woven together.