#posting super rough art without caring how it looks

[em1i2a3]

Spanish Sahara

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolt!Fem!Reader

Summary: After a rough week at the Thunderbolts Compound, the team goes out for some drinks to wind down and enjoy themselves.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts because Bob and other characters from the movie are in here. Fluff, and Smut are the main warnings here, Bob and Reader have an established friendship.

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up y’all), Praise/Worship Kink, Breast Play, …Something involving a mirror, Very light choking, Oral Sex (f! And m! receiving), Fingering, Swallowing, Bob is a frickin softie as usual because that’s hot but he definitely has his moments in this, Overstimulation, Teasing, Aftercare to the max because being taken care of after hot sex is…Wheew lol. I don’t think I missed anything

Author’s Note: I saw a lot of people requesting more smut and I thought as a nice little break from the super long fics that I’m working on (that request box has a lot of them and I’m chipping away at it as much as possible!) I’d write a nice little one-shot for y’all to celebrate a random Friday in May 😂 enjoy!! (Side note, I also had a funny little ask about how I name my posts lol, I literally just picture the songs in what I’m writing, the title changes like three times by the time I post it lol)

Word Count: 13,796

The bar was loud, crowded, and hazy with cheap smoke and too many conversations happening at once–but Bob was only paying attention to you, and attempting to look normal in his surroundings, which was always a complicated feat for him.

You sat across from him in the booth, your body framed in golden lamplight and neon beer signs like some half-lit portrait in an art museum. You looked too good to be real–flushed with warmth from your second tequila pineapple of the night, bare-legs crossed just enough to make his brain short-circuit, lips glossed a cherry red like you’d done it just to ruin him.

And maybe, somewhere deep down, he thought you had.

The others were scattered across the bar like background noise–Ava and Yelena flanking the bar with their usual chaotic grace, Walker and Alexei pounding back shots and shouting about God-knows-what, and Bucky leaning over the pool table, unknowingly feeding lines to a group of women who didn’t care if he could shoot or not.

But Bob hadn’t looked away from you in nearly half an hour.

Not when you uncrossed and re-crossed your legs beneath the table, the movements slow and fluid, like you wanted to give him something to look at. Bob’s eyes had followed the motion instinctively–drawn to the soft slide of skin, to the way your thighs shifted beneath the hem of your black tailored shorts. They were high-waisted and fitted, hugging the dip of your waist and the curve of your hips, cinched with a single gold button that glinted every time you moved.

You’d paired them with that wicked bodysuit–the one that clung to your body like second skin, high-cut at the hips and daringly low in the front, just enough to frame the soft curve of your cleavage without giving away too much. It was backless, sleeveless, and made of some silky, matte fabric that shimmered faintly in the bar light. You wore it like armor, like a challenge.

Your legs were bare, golden under the dim glow, crossed at the knee with one foot tucked behind the other–long, lean, and deliberate in how they were presented. Every detail about your look tonight felt curated–not in a fake way, but in the kind of way that said I know exactly what I’m doing to you. And Bob? Poor Bob looked like he was under your spell.

He couldn’t stop looking.

Every time your drink got dangerously low and you leaned forward–elbows resting on the table, cleavage pressing softly together–you dragged the last sip from your straw with a slow, teasing pull that made something in him twist. He watched the way your lips curled around it, how a single droplet of condensation slid down the side of the glass and clung to your fingers. He was transfixed.

You laughed at something the waitress said–he didn’t even register what–and it echoed in his chest like a bell. That sound always got to him.

And tonight, he wasn’t hiding it. Not well, anyway.

His eyes kept drifting–over your mouth, the curve of your collarbone, the smooth stretch of your exposed shoulders, down to the shadowed dip between your breasts. Then he’d catch himself and flick his gaze up like he could undo what he just saw. Like he was trying to remind himself that he respected you too much to stare, even though he’d been staring for months.

He was trying so hard to be polite. His hands were clenched in his lap, fingers tangled and twitching like they were holding back something much stronger than impulse. His posture was rigid, like his own body was betraying him one muscle at a time.

He was always like that around you–reserved, yes. But it wasn’t just shyness. It was respect. Fear. Like every thought he had about you was too big to name out loud. Like if he touched you, he’d never forgive himself for crossing that line.

But he’d already crossed it, hadn’t he? Not physically–but emotionally, because Bob Reynolds had been in love with you for a long, long time.

And you knew it.

You saw it in the way he always noticed when you were tired after a mission, the way he made you tea without asking, or stayed behind in training sessions he wasn’t even involved in just so you’d have someone to spot you. You saw it in the way he flinched when someone else made you laugh, or how his voice went into a cracked whisper only when he said your name.

He was putty in your hands. And you loved it. Not because it gave you power–but because he let you have it. Because he trusted you with it.

And as much as the friendship meant to you–deeply, intimately–you’d stopped lying to yourself months ago. Your brain was always a few steps ahead, mapping the timeline of how you’d get from here–from this bar booth and his helpless eyes–to there. To a place where Bob Reynolds was no longer just your best friend, but something closer. Something that meant yours.

So you didn’t say anything. You just watched him.

Watched how his breath caught every time you shifted. How he wet his lips nervously when you leaned forward. How the pulse in his neck jumped like he could feel your eyes on him.

His fingers twitched again, folded too tight in his lap. You followed the motion, noted the way his knuckles went white.

There was a sheen of sweat on his temple now–barely noticeable unless you were looking for it, which you were.

And poor Bob didn’t even realize how obvious he was.

So you decided to make it worse for him.

You slipped off your shoe under the table and slowly–very slowly–ran your foot up the length of his shin. A gentle drag, barely a touch, but intentional. Controlled. The kind of touch that said I see you. And I want you flustered.

Bob jolted like you’d zapped him with a live wire.

His leg knocked the underside of the table with a hollow thunk, and his hand shot out, sloshing his Coke Zero just short of the edge. His knuckles were white around the glass. His jaw dropped slightly like he meant to say something but forgot what language was.

His cheeks–already pink from the warmth of the room and the low buzz that he was getting from just being around you–flushed deeply, the color spreading up his neck and painting his ears red. You swore even his throat blushed. He pushed his light brown hair out of his face nervously, like he was afraid it would cloud his vision of you.

You tilted your head, smirking. “Cold in here?”

He blinked like he’d just come out of a trance. His lashes fluttered rapidly over wide blue eyes–those eyes, impossibly pale and clear, glassy with surprise and something raw beneath it. Want, maybe. Or fear.

“Y-Yeah,” He stammered, voice cracking slightly. “A–A little drafty.”

“Mmm.” You stretched in your seat, arms rising lazily above your head, making sure the movement pulled the neckline of your bodysuit lower. The fabric shifted with you, stretching softly across your chest, exposing a bit more of the delicate skin he’d been trying so hard not to look at.

His gaze dropped like he didn’t even mean to let it.

And then he swallowed–hard–his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly in his throat.

But Bob didn’t respond. Couldn’t. His breathing had gone shallow, his tongue caught against the roof of his mouth like he’d forgotten how to form words. He looked like he was choking on air.

You didn’t let up.

Your foot moved again–slow, deliberate, and this time it brushed higher, just right on the inside of his thigh, where the heat of his body was more noticeable. Where he was trembling.

His breath hitched instantly, and a soft, involuntary sound escaped him–a sharp exhale, half-panic, half-arousal. His fingers dug into the wooden edge of the booth like he was bracing for impact.

You leaned forward again, closing some of the distance between you, letting your arms rest on the table and your chest push together ever so slightly in the low light. He couldn’t look away.

“You’ve been looking at me like that all night, Bob,” You said, your voice velvet-soft, the tone curling up his spine.

His head snapped up like you’d struck him–eyes wide and wild with guilt, pupils dilated in the low light. His brows pinched upward with alarm, his mouth parting in a panicked breath.

“I… I didn’t mean to–” He rushed out, but it came out broken.

You reached across the space between you, wrapping your hand around his wrist before gently cutting him off

“I want you to look.”

He froze.

His whole body went still, like he was afraid to breathe. His eyes–so ocean-bright and boyishly soft–flicked over your face with disbelief, feeling your thumb run over the exposed skin of his wrist.

You smiled at him again, slower this time. Not to tease. But to reassure.

“I like that it’s you,” You said, your voice dipping into something quiet and unshakably sincere.

He blinked, slow and stunned. His lashes cast little shadows under the low-hung light, and you saw the exact moment something cracked in his chest.

“You’re the only one,” You continued, “Who’s never looked at me like I’m a game to win. Or a body to take. You look at me like I’m something you’re afraid to break. Like I’m something you cherish.”

His lips parted again–slightly dry, slightly trembling.

And you saw it. The shimmer in his eyes. That wide, overwhelmed expression he wore when you said something that hit too close to the truth. He looked like he might cry. Or faint. Or bolt. But instead…He stayed.

Frozen, but present.

You reached for your drink again with your free hand and took the last sip, dragging the straw into your mouth with deliberate slowness, never breaking eye contact.

Bob’s eyes tracked every inch of the motion. You could see the subtle twitch in his jaw, the little hitch in his shoulders, like he was physically holding himself back.

Then you licked a drop from your bottom lip.

And that did him in.

His breath faltered again, and his eyes–so blue, so open, so obviously in love with you–looked at you like he’d forgotten where he was. Like the world had narrowed down to just your lips, your voice, your body framed in shadow and gold light.

You tilted your head, gaze gentle now. That look you always gave him when he was spiraling. When he needed to know he was safe. That he was wanted.

He looked like he didn’t deserve it.

But you knew better.

And finally, after a long, shaky breath–his lashes fluttering like he was about to pass out—he leaned forward.

His voice barely rose above the din of the bar, cracked and breathless and close enough to touch.

“I…I think about y–you.”

The words came out like a confession. Like a sin.

He didn’t stop.

“More than I should,” He said, gaze darting to the table, then back up again like it physically hurt him to hold your eyes. “More than…What’s okay.”

You didn’t move. You didn’t interrupt. You let him say it.

“I just…” His throat worked again. “If I ever got to touch you–I don’t think I’d want to stop.”

Your chest ached at how sincerely he meant it. Like it wasn’t just about sex. Like it was everything, like it meant everything.

Your hand on his wrist slid down so your palm was over his, feeling the warmth of him–the quiet trembling, the softness of his skin.

“Bob,” You said softly. “What would you do if I didn’t want you to stop?”

His lashes fluttered at you–confused, hopeful, scared–but he didn’t pull away, not like he would normally. If anything, he leaned in like you had said something that brought him closer.

Your hand stayed where it was, palm against palm, but your fingers began to move–softly tracing the lines in his hand like you were reading him. Like you were studying a map only you had permission to follow. You let your fingertip trail along the length of his lifeline, then up the curve of his thumb, dipping gently between the web of his fingers. He flinched–barely–but you felt it. Saw the way his breath shuddered quietly through his nose, the way his fingers twitched like they wanted so badly to close around yours but didn’t quite dare.

He was holding himself back.

Even now, even here.

Your gaze lifted, meeting his–they were wide and glossy, pupils blown wide now, eating away at the blue, and there was something deeply aching in the way he looked at you. Like he was trying to memorize every second of this moment in case it vanished.

“Don’t look at me like that,” You murmured, your thumb ghosting over the calloused edge of his ring finger. “Like you’re not allowed to want this.” Bob swallowed hard–again. It was the only thing he could do that didn’t give him away. His breath stuttered. His fingers twitched. His mouth opened like he might say something, but no words came.

He looked at you like you were everything he’d ever prayed for and was terrified to touch.

You watched the war inside him–want versus restraint. It played out in the flicker of his lashes, the shake in his hand, the tension braced through his shoulders like he was trying to keep himself from combusting.

So you let go of his hand, and moved your foot away from his inner thigh.

For a heartbeat, his face dropped–just a flicker of devastation in his expression.

Until you stood up, and moved around the table.

Bob’s head turned like he couldn’t believe you were really coming to him, like some part of him had convinced himself this was all a hallucination brought on by too many Coke Zeros–cause he couldn’t drink–and too many nights thinking about your hands, your mouth, and your voice in his ear. But then you slid into the booth beside him, your thigh pressing flush to his. He was still frozen, spine straight, hands in his lap like they might betray him if he moved them. Your perfume radiated off of you, the one that you always modestly sprayed on yourself, the one that he loved sneaking in your room to smell when you weren’t at the compound or out on a mission–the one that smelled like sugar, berries, and ripe oranges, like a succulent dessert…Made just for him.

You leaned in slowly, brushing your arm against him. You didn’t have to look at him, you didn’t have to…You knew he was already looking at you, or trying to look at you.

When he was finally able to feel your hot breath curl over his cheek he could immediately smell the pineapple juice on your tongue. It made him want to lean in right then and there just to get a taste, just to suck the essence off of it, to drink from you, but he needed to hold himself back, to stay in control of himself before he did something prematurely.

Then–with the grace of an angel–you reached up and touched him.

Your fingers found the side of his jaw, the pads of them smoothing against his freshly shaven cheek, tilting his face gently toward you. He followed the motion like a man possessed–like you had pulled him by a leash tied to his soul. He closed his eyes at the sensation, parting his lips slightly to take in a small breath–a quiet plea.

Slowly, you leaned in, your mouth resting just close enough to graze his ear, and you whispered–low, and sultry:

”Every time I touch myself, I imagine it’s you…” Bob shattered. A noise escaped him–broken and breathless. A half-gasp, half-whimper that he couldn’t contain if he tried. His body went tense beside you, his thigh flexing under yours, his fingers twitching like they were about to snap.

But you didn’t stop there.

“I imagine your fingers,” You murmured, your lips brushing his ear, “Big and clumsy and desperate, the way they always look when you’re nervous. I imagine them moving inside me while I ride your hand, while I beg you to kiss me like you mean it.” Bob exhaled–hard. His jaw clenched under your touch, his breath fogging hot against your forearm. You could feel how close he was to breaking–how close he was to falling apart in front of a whole bar full of people he couldn’t even look at in the eyes. Your fingertips moved slowly across his cheek, your nails didn’t scratch–they ghosted, mapped, and worshipped. You traced the slope of his cheekbone, then slid down to the soft dip beside his mouth, like you were learning his face the way others learn scripture.

Bob was unraveling. Every word from your mouth was gasoline on the fire he’d been trying to smother for months. His breath caught in his chest like a prayer that didn’t know how to end, and he stared at you—lips parted, lashes trembling–like he couldn’t tell if this was heaven or the moment before he burned.

And then your other hand came to rest on his shoulder, grounding him–and pushing him closer to the edge all at once.

He was breathing too hard now. Too fast. His chest rising in shallow, shaking swells. And all he could do was sit there, hands fisted in his lap, as you leaned in and whispered into his ear again–closer this time, like you were whispering to his soul.

“I think about tasting you,” You said softly. “So achingly slow, until you lose your mind.”

Bob’s knees went weak beneath the table. He didn’t even know how he was still upright. The only thing keeping him tethered to the earth was the press of your thigh against his, the weight of your palm on his shoulder and face, and the sound of your voice curling into his bloodstream like silk-wrapped sin.

He tried to speak–tried to gather some string of thought that could resemble language–but all he managed was a broken, desperate breath. “I–” He rasped, his voice shredded at the edges.

But you didn’t let him finish.

You shushed him. Gently. Sweetly. Your thumb swept across his cheek.

“Don’t,” You murmured, so close your lips touched his ear, “Don’t talk. Just feel it.”

And God, he felt it.

Every molecule of you.

The heat of your breath melting against his skin. The sweetness of your perfume, dizzying and intimate. The way your hands touched him like he was more than a body. Like he was a secret. A sacred thing you’d been aching to unwrap.

His fingers twitched at his sides, aching to move, to reach for you, but he didn’t dare–not unless you asked for it. He’d give you anything, everything, but he didn’t want to take a single thing you didn’t offer first.

Still, he couldn’t help it–his head tilted toward your touch, his eyes fluttering shut, mouth parted in something so tender it almost hurt to witness. His throat flexed as he swallowed another breath that wouldn’t steady.

You moved even closer–until your mouth nearly brushed his. Until the distance between you was a lie.

“I want to make you lose control,” You whispered. “I want to feel how much you’ve been holding back.”

That did it.

Bob’s whole body trembled under your hands–his restraint hanging by a thread, his jaw clenched like he was trying not to whimper. He turned his head slowly, just enough to look at you, and his eyes–those soft, wrecked, worshipful eyes–were completely undone.

“Y-You don’t know what you’re d-doing to me,” He breathed, but you smiled, soft and knowing.

“Then maybe we should go back to the compound so you could show me.” You whispered back, your thumb stroking the corner of his mouth like you’d been dying to touch him there. Bob’s breath hitched.

The corner of his mouth twitched beneath your thumb like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to shape it into a sentence. His brow knit–tight, anxious–as if he were on the edge of a precipice and could already feel the wind pulling at his shirt.

“I…” His voice cracked. He turned his head slightly, his cheek brushing your palm, but his eyes–those trembling, desperate eyes–held yours like you were the only thing anchoring him to the floor. “I don’t… know w-what happens if I lose control…I h-haven’t had s-sex since before the S-Sentry serum…”

Your chest softened at the vulnerability in his tone–raw, boyish, torn straight from the deepest part of him.

“I’ve felt it before. The…Shift. T-That moment before it gets too much.” His throat worked hard around the next words. “The Sentry, he–he comes through w-when I feel too much. When I want too much. A-And I want you so badly it terrifies me.”

Your thumb stroked over his jaw again, slow and reverent, like you were trying to soothe the trembling just beneath his skin. He didn’t pull away.

“Bob,” You whispered, voice like velvet heat, “I’m not scared of him.”

His breath caught, but you didn’t stop.

“I don’t care if the Sentry shows up. I don’t care if he tries to carry me off into the sky or crack the moon in half because I kissed you too hard.” You smiled gently, your nose brushing his. “Because it’s still you. All of it. The fear, the ache, the power–none of it changes the fact that it’s your heart underneath. And I want all of it. I want all of you.”

His eyes fluttered shut, lashes wet. His chest heaved like he’d just exhaled something he’d been holding in for years. Like you’d opened a dam inside him and now he couldn’t stop it–he didn’t want to anyways.

“Y-You don’t know w–what that means to me,” He whispered, voice trembling like glass on the verge of breaking. “To not be t-the golden boy in your eyes…To just b-be me.”

You leaned in then–so close he could taste your breath, taste the sweetness of pineapple and something far more sacred.

“You were never a monster,” You said, lips brushing his. “You’re the kindest thing I’ve ever touched.”

And that broke something open in him.

His shoulders sagged forward, like a weight had slid off them, and he pressed his forehead to yours, his hands finally–finally–lifting from his lap to ghost up your sides, hesitant and aching. You felt the way they trembled as they settled on your waist, as if touching you too firmly might shatter the moment.

But you didn’t shatter. You melted. Right into him.

“Take me home,” You whispered, your hand curling around the back of his neck. “And let me be yours.”

Bob let out a shaky breath–half-sob, half-surrender–and nodded.

“O–Okay…”

—————————————

The moment the two of you stepped out of the elevator and the doors slid shut behind you, the weight of what was about to happen descended over you like dusk spilling into a quiet room–slow and golden and thick with gravity. It wrapped around your shoulders, soaked into your skin. Each step down the quiet hallway felt amplified, padded in the hush of possibility. The compound, usually so full of voices and footfalls, now felt sacred. Empty in a way that invited something tender to unfold.

You glanced over at Bob beside you–his hands in his pockets, shoulders stiff beneath his shirt like he didn’t know how to hold his own body anymore. His eyes flicked toward you, then away again. You could see it in the twitch of his fingers, in the slow rise and fall of his breath: he was fighting the urge to run and the urge to fall into you all at once.

“Whose room?” You asked softly, your voice barely more than a breath as you stopped just shy of your doors, which were across from one another.

Bob turned to face you, and for a moment he just looked at you. Really looked. As if the question was too big to answer all at once. But then he shook his head and murmured, without hesitation, “Yours.”

Your brows lifted a fraction, surprised by the immediacy of it.

His voice came again, quieter now, barely able to hold its own weight: “I want to be surrounded by everything that’s you.”

And God, he meant it. You could see it all over his face–that quiet, overwhelmed awe. That whisper of longing woven into his breath. Like being near you wasn’t just about want–it was about safety.

You opened your door with a hush of hinges and warmth poured out–soft and golden like it had been waiting for you both. Bob hesitated on the threshold just for a moment, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to step into something so intimate. But you reached back and curled your fingers around his, pulling him through gently, and he followed without a sound.

Your room welcomed him like a heartbeat.

The lights were low, softened to a muted amber by the shade of your bedside lamp, and the shadows cast across the walls were familiar, worn-in. The kind of quiet you could only earn by living in a space long enough to leave parts of yourself tucked into the corners.

There were little signs of you everywhere.

A cardigan draped over the back of your chair, still shaped by your shoulders. A couple mismatched mugs on the windowsill, half-full of dried flowers and pens that had long since run out of ink. A battered paperback with your thumb pressed into the spine, abandoned on the edge of the bed. The faintest scent of that sugary sweet skin-warm perfume. He could taste it in the silence.

And then there was the window.

It stretched across nearly half the far wall, a wide mouth of glass looking out over the city, where the skyline pulsed like a living organism–silver and gold lights blinking in lazy succession, cars reflecting off the windows threading down the streets like blood through veins. Bob walked toward it like he was drawn by gravity itself, like it called to the aching part of him that had spent too long looking at the world from above and never this close.

His reflection caught in the tall mirror near the bed–a fractured echo of himself, backlit by the skyline, a man made of longing and light. If he laid down, he realized, he’d be able to see you both in that mirror. Your bodies. Your faces. The way you might look reaching for each other.

He swallowed hard.

Behind him, you closed the door.

The soft click of it sealing shut sent a shiver down his spine–final and quiet and full of promise. He turned toward you, and that’s when he saw you undoing your leather jacket, slow and unhurried. The matte black of it peeled away from your shoulders like a second skin, and the way you moved–fluid, unfazed, and sure–made the air around him feel charged, like static clinging to cotton.

You stood in front of him now, illuminated by citylight and the low lamplight behind you. The bodysuit clung to your frame, catching the warm glow across your collarbones, your throat, the tender curve of your chest. You shrugged the jacket the rest of the way off, and it hit the floor with the softest thud.

Bob was frozen in place. Watching you like a man watching lightning hit the ocean.

He looked around your room again, slower this time. You saw it in his eyes–how he drank in the soft mess of your sheets, the collection of little rings in a porcelain dish, the stack of notes taped to your wall with scribbled to-dos and song lyrics and scraps of thought. It was chaotic and real and you, and he loved every single thing about it.

You were standing so close now that he could feel the warmth radiating off of your skin. The glow of your room wrapped around the two of you like a whispered secret.

You tilted your head slightly and whispered, “You okay?”

And Bob–whose hands were clenched at his sides, whose chest was rising like a tide he couldn’t hold back–nodded, barely. His voice was a whisper scraped raw:

“I-I don’t think I’ve ever been t-this okay.”

Your smile broke like a sunrise, and you reached up for him, touching his face. Just your fingertips at first, featherlight against the edge of his jaw, your thumb brushing along the corner of his mouth like it was something precious to you. Bob’s breath stilled at the contact, lips parting slightly, his chest fluttering with anticipation. He leaned into your palm like a man starved for warmth, even though he was burning up as he stood in front of you.

You pulled him gently toward you.

It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t desperate. It was something softer—something built from all the times you’d brushed hands in passing, or caught him watching you when he thought you weren’t looking. It was built from every whispered laugh, every longing silence, every moment the world made you ache for one another without saying a thing.

And now it was here. Finally.

Bob bent to meet you, slow and hesitant, his breath brushing yours like a question. Your noses bumped slightly, awkward and tender, and he let out the smallest nervous laugh—one you swallowed as you tilted your chin and brought your lips to his.

The first kiss was a hum. A hush. A held breath.

His lips were soft, unsure at first, warm and slightly parted like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to kiss you back–until he did. Until he melted into it. You felt the exact moment the tension in his shoulders unraveled, when he stopped hovering on the edge and let himself fall. His arms came around your waist–slowly, carefully–as if he was still afraid to hold too tightly.

But he did hold you.

God, did he hold you.

One hand splayed wide against the small of your back, the other settling higher, thumb grazing the edge of your exposed skin where your bodysuit dipped low. His palm was hot. Too hot. Like he was burning just from touching you, and yet couldn’t bring himself to pull away. The feel of your skin against his fingertips made his knees go weak.

You kissed him deeper.

Not rushed, not rough–just more. More pressure. More presence. You tilted your head and sighed softly into him, and Bob exhaled like you’d opened a door in his chest he didn’t know had been locked. His mouth was gentle but eager, tasting you in little swells, lips moving with hesitant gentleness as if trying to memorize the shape of you. He breathed you in like you were air after drowning.

You pulled back slightly–not apart, just enough to rest your forehead to his. The two of you stood there in that golden hush, breathing each other’s breath. Bob’s chest rose and fell against yours, and you felt it–every tremble. Every ounce of his restraint.

He looked at you with eyes half-lidded and dazed, lips flushed and glistening from your kiss–and from the remnants of your lip glass–the faintest tremor in his breath like he couldn’t quite believe it had happened.

Your voice was soft, just above a whisper. “Still okay?”

He let out a broken laugh–full of wonder, full of you–and nodded.

You leaned in again–gentler this time, slower–not because you were unsure, but because you wanted to savor the way his breath hitched when your lips brushed his. You wanted to draw it out. To feel every shiver he tried and failed to suppress.

Bob met you halfway with a soft, aching sound–something between a sigh and a whisper of your name. His hands flexed slightly at your waist, his fingers pressing just a little deeper into the curve of you. You felt how he trembled. Not because he didn’t want this. But because he wanted it so much he was afraid he might burst.

You kissed him again–deeper, slower this time, mouth parting just enough to taste him. His lips were warm and sweet with nerves, and he kissed like someone who had thought about this a thousand times but never believed it would happen. There was a reverence to it, a hush in the way he moved his mouth against yours, like he was still halfway convinced he might wake up at any moment.

Your hands left his face, drifting down–slow, steady, and full of quiet intention. You traced the slope of his neck, feeling the rapid flutter of his pulse, then down the broad plane of his chest. You felt every breath he took, shallow and aching, beneath the soft cotton of his sweater.

Bob, always layered like he needed something between himself and the world, was wrapped in a slightly oversized charcoal crewneck, its fabric thinned from wear and faintly scented like detergent and something uniquely him. Beneath it, you could feel the ridges of another layer–a t-shirt, soft and well-worn, probably one he slept in or hid in on quiet mornings when the world was too loud.

You slid your hands beneath the hem of the sweater and pushed upward, your palms skimming the warm skin of his stomach as the fabric lifted. Bob made a quiet, broken sound into your kiss–like the feeling of your hands on his skin short-circuited something vital inside him. He froze for a moment, his breath catching like he wasn’t sure he could survive the sensation.

You pulled back just far enough to speak, your lips brushing his. “Can I?”

His nod was immediate. Frantic. “Y-Yeah. God, yeah.”

So you tugged the sweater up slowly, watching the way his arms lifted, watching the exposed inch of his abdomen rise with it–the pale skin dusted with soft little beauty marks, the gentle definition carved by years of holding tension. As the fabric cleared his chest, he flinched slightly, sucking in a breath like cold air had touched him, though your hands were warm.

He helped you the rest of the way, dragging the sweater and t-shirt off over his head with trembling fingers, slipping away like the last layer of armor. And then he was bare from the waist up, bathed in citylight and lamplight, all golden and blushing and unsure.

He stood there, chest bare and breathless, as if you’d peeled back the sky and found the sun trembling underneath.

Bob’s body wasn’t sculpted in the way of soldiers or statues. It was something softer, something more human. But there was strength in it, undeniable–earned. It was the kind of build that came from holding onto things that were out of his control. Broad shoulders that carried guilt and gentleness in equal measure. A solid chest dusted with faint hair and the occasional mark of time–tiny clusters of faded scars, blemishes, and bruises the world had forgotten but his skin remembered.

His collarbones were sharp under the golden lamplight, framed by muscle that swelled and dipped like lines in a poem you wanted to memorize. His arms, strong and thick, looked like they were made to hold someone through the storm–and right now, they twitched faintly at his sides like he didn’t know how to be held himself. There were scattered freckles on his biceps, a pale crescent scar on one rib that curved like the moon, and small, raised knots near the shoulder from training or trauma–you weren’t sure which. Maybe both.

He looked like a map of ache and effort and quiet resilience.

And you adored every inch of him.

You stepped forward slowly and pressed a kiss to the center of his chest–just over his sternum. His breath stuttered at the contact, sharp and startled, like he’d never been kissed there before. Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe no one had thought to.

You trailed your fingers down the plane of his stomach, the muscle there tense and trembling, then lower–toward the waistband of his pants. They were a pair of charcoal slacks, slightly loose around his waist, cinched just right at the hips, but soft and comfortable like he’d chosen them to blend in. Like he’d never expected to be undressed in them.

Your fingers hovered over the button, and you looked up at him. Bob nodded once–barely, but enough–and you slipped the button free. His breath hitched, and his hands flexed at his sides again like he didn’t know what to do with them.

You dragged the zipper down slowly, deliberately, your eyes never leaving his. He looked dazed–like he was being unwrapped for the very first time, and the air itself might sear him.

The fabric fell down his thighs with a soft whisper, pooling at his feet, before he moved out of them, kicking his shoes off in the process.

Bob stood in front of you in nothing but his black boxer-briefs, backlit by the shimmer of the skyline and the amber hum of your bedroom lamp. His chest rose and fell like the sea—steady, but stirred by undercurrent. His eyes hadn’t left you since you touched him. Not once.

And now, it was his turn.

He lifted his hands slowly, reverently, like he was reaching out to something holy. His palms hovered over your hips, not quite touching, until you gave him the smallest nod. That was all he needed.

His fingertips brushed the waistband of your shorts, undoing the golden button in the front of them.

You kicked off your shoes, one at a time, and let the silence stretch between you as he hooked his fingers through the belt loops–slow, hesitant, like he was afraid of doing too much too quickly. He eased them down your legs inch by inch, watching the fabric surrender to gravity. You stepped out of them delicately, and for a beat, he just stood there, looking at you like he didn’t know how to survive the sight of you standing in nothing but that black bodysuit and a pair of simple underwear.

He swallowed hard.

His hands returned to your sides, smoothing over the dip of your waist where the fabric clung tight. You watched his throat flex as his eyes flicked over you—your curves, your bare legs, the way your body caught the light like it had been painted for his gaze alone.

When he moved to the clasp of your bodysuit, his fingers trembled. You could feel it. The concentration in him. The hesitation. Like he was unhooking something precious, something secret.

You reached up and touched his jaw gently. “It’s okay,” You whispered.

And Bob, poor, wrecked Bob, nodded like he needed your permission to breathe.

The clasp gave with a soft snap. The bodysuit loosened instantly, slackening at your shoulders. His eyes met yours again, searching, silent, and then he helped ease the fabric down your arms, over your chest–slowly, like he was undressing a memory he wanted to savor for the rest of his life.

You stood there, bare from the waist up.

Bathed in citylight and lamplight. Breasts soft and exposed, skin flushed and dappled in gold. Your breath was steady, open, trusting.

And Bob… Bob stared like he’d never seen anything so sacred. His lips parted. His chest rose, shallow and quiet, as his eyes drifted over every inch of you—your collarbones, the curve of your sternum, the soft line of your stomach. His hands didn’t touch right away. He just looked. Like the act of looking was too intimate already.

But when he did touch you–finally, gently–his hands moved with such aching care. They rose to cradle your waist, thumbs brushing just below your ribs. You watched his pupils expand, the breath he tried to hold leaking out of him in slow, reverent exhales.

“You’re…” His voice cracked. He didn’t finish the sentence.

Because he didn’t have to.

You stepped into him again, bringing your bodies closer, the warmth of his skin against yours. Your breasts brushed his chest and he nearly gasped, his head dipping low, lips brushing your shoulder like he needed a place to put all this overwhelming wonder.

Bob’s lips were trembling against your skin before you even realized he’d moved. Gentle, searching–he kissed the place where your shoulder curved into your neck, just beneath your collarbone. His mouth was warm and wet, like each kiss was a vow he didn’t know how to speak aloud. He moved slowly, dragging his lips along your skin like he was painting devotion in brushstrokes–across the dip of your clavicle, up the slope of your throat, back to your jaw.

You let out the softest sigh. A sound full of breath and want. It made him shudder.

Your hand slid into his hair, curling at the nape of his neck, guiding him until his lips found yours again. This time the kiss felt hungrier–not in haste, but in depth. In need. Like the space between you could never be close enough. He kissed you with a kind of desperation laced in awe, like he still couldn’t believe this was real. And maybe you felt the same way, because your heart was stammering against your ribs, and the heat blooming between your thighs was dizzying.

You pulled back slowly, just enough to look into his eyes–flushed and wide and soft around the edges, pupils blown so far they nearly swallowed the blue whole.

“Come here,” You whispered, voice like silk unraveling in candlelight.

You took his hand and led him gently around the side of your bed, the sheets still rumpled from a day that no longer mattered. The mirror caught both of your reflections in passing–your bare back, his bare chest, the golden curve of lamplight gilding the two of you like you were something from a dream neither of you dared name.

“Lay down,” You said, and Bob obeyed without a word. He eased himself back across the mattress, exhaling like the air had been caught in his lungs for hours. The sheets crinkled beneath him, warm with your scent, his chest rising in uneven waves as he stared up at the ceiling like it held some sort of answer for how to survive this moment without coming apart entirely.

You climbed onto the mattress after him—slow, certain, fluid like breath moving into lungs. Bob turned his head just in time to see you crawl toward him, and God, the look on his face—pure wonder, trembling with reverence—made your heartbeat skip off rhythm.

You straddled him gently, knees bracketing his hips, your hands finding their way to his chest again, palms splayed flat over the warmth of him. You felt the stutter of his breath beneath your touch, the tight coil of tension building under your thighs.

He looked up at you like you were everything.

You bent down and kissed him again—deeper this time. Your lips claimed him slow and full, your mouth parting just enough to taste his sigh as it melted into yours. One of his hands slid up your thigh, barely daring to grip, while the other cupped your hip like he was anchoring himself.

And that’s when you felt it.

Hard and hot, nestled beneath you. The growing swell of him pressed against the soaked fabric of your underwear, separated from your heat only by the thin stretch of your panties and his boxers. He groaned softly into your mouth, the sound involuntary, and it made your whole body pulse with want.

You rolled your hips forward–just once, a slow grind–and Bob gasped. His head tipped back, throat arched, lips parted as his eyes fluttered shut. His fingers tightened on your waist as if bracing against the force of it.

You did it again–deliberately, letting your clothed center slide against the length of him. The friction was hot, barely enough, almost unbearable in its precision. You could feel the tremor in his thighs, the desperate way his breath stammered in his chest.

“O-Oh m-my,” He whispered, almost like a prayer. “You’re…Oh God–”

You smiled softly against his cheek, lips brushing the corner of his mouth. “You feel that?”

He nodded, barely, eyes dazed.

“I’m soaked,” You whispered, dragging your hips once more, pressing down just enough to make him bite his lip and squeeze his eyes shut, “And it’s all for you…” You kissed the line of his jaw And then you started to move down.

His hands twitched when you kissed his throat—soft, slow, trailing heat with your mouth as you shifted backward, kissing lower, following the pulse at his neck to the center of his chest. You paused there, pressed your lips to the spot where his heart beat fastest.

He stared down at you, dazed and helpless and holy.

You kept going.

Kissed his sternum. The soft dip beneath it. The slight rise of his stomach where the muscles tightened beneath your breath. Your mouth was tender, open, slow as silk. You licked a soft line down his abdomen and felt him shiver violently. His hands moved into your hair without thinking, not pulling–just holding.

Just needing something to hold.

You reached the waistband of his boxer-briefs, and looked up.

His lips were parted, his cheeks pink with heat, his pupils huge and swallowing. He nodded without needing to be asked, lifting his hips slightly as you hooked your fingers into the band and drew it down—inch by inch, like you were unwrapping a gift meant only for you.

Bob was flushed, hard, and trembling. His cock stood against the plane of his stomach, thick and aching and already leaking from the tip. You watched the way it twitched when the cool air touched it, watched how he tried to stifle a gasp and failed.

“O-Oh god,” He breathed, like it physically hurt. “I don’t–I don’t even k-know what to do with myself–”

“You don’t have to do anything,” You murmured, pressing a kiss to the sharp line of his hip. “Just let me take care of you.” His breath hitched–shallow and wild–and his hands gripped the sheets.

And then you bent your head.

And licked a slow, deliberate stripe up the length of him–base to tip.

Bob choked on a gasp, hips jolting before he stilled himself with sheer force of will. His hands flew to his forehead like he was trying to cover his eyes, but he couldn’t stop watching.

You flattened your tongue along the underside of him again slowly feeling the way he twitched under your touch, the way his breath hitched like it was caught in the delicate space between need and disbelief.

His hand found yours blindly–grasping, desperate for something to hold on to. You laced your fingers with his without hesitation, anchoring him as you opened your mouth and took him in.

The weight of him on your tongue was dizzying, intoxicating. He was warm and already leaking, the taste of him faintly salty as your lips sealed around him and began to move–slow, deliberate strokes of your mouth, your hand curled around the base of him in rhythm.

“Y-you’re…” His voice broke, breath catching, almost like a sob. “You’re really… Oh…”

The sound he made when you took him deeper went straight to your core. It was soft, wrecked–an overwhelmed whimper that made your thighs clench and heat spill low in your belly. You moaned around him, low and throaty, and he gasped your name like it physically stunned him.

You glanced up through your lashes and saw him–his head tipped back, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted in disbelief. His free hand was fisted in the sheets now, his chest rising and falling in frantic waves.

You hollowed your cheeks and twisted your wrist just slightly, dragging your mouth back and then sliding down again, slower this time. You could feel every tremor in his thighs, the way his hips flexed involuntarily and then stilled, fighting the instinct to thrust. He was trying so hard to be good for you. To be still. To savor.

You let your hand drift lower, stroking him in time with your mouth, the slick sounds of your lips meeting his flushed skin only driving you further into the heat building between your own legs. You could feel how wet you were through your panties—soaked from the way he whispered your name, from the way he whimpered when you gave him just a little more.

“Oh,” Bob whispered again, breathless. “You feel so good. I don’t… I didn’t... I…” You moaned softly again, taking him deeper, loving the way his voice cracked, the way his fingers squeezed yours like he was hanging on by a thread.

And you didn’t stop.

You licked and sucked and worshipped him, letting the tension build, letting him teeter right there on the edge. His legs were shaking now. His hips stuttered once, and then again.

“I—I think I’m gonna…” He gasped. “I don’t know if I can…P-Please don’t stop—please—please—”

You didn’t.

You kept going. Swirling your tongue around the tip, easing him deeper again, moaning softly just to feel the way it made his whole body jolt.

He came with a sound like he was breaking—high and soft and breathless. A shattered gasp of your name, followed by a long, trembling whine as he spilled into your mouth.

You swallowed it all. Every last drop.

And even then–you didn’t stop.

You licked him gently, slowly, carefully–savoring him through the aftershocks. His body twitched beneath you, overstimulated and undone, his voice going quiet and airy.

“I-it’s too much,” He breathed, eyes wide and wet with disbelief. “Oh God—it’s so much…”

You finally pulled back, lips glistening, your breath ragged. You kissed the inside of his thigh tenderly, then wiped the corner of your mouth with your fingers and gave him the softest smile.

Bob looked at you like you’d just handed him a piece of the universe he never thought he deserved.

You crawled back up the bed and laid beside him, resting your head lightly on his shoulder, letting your hand fall to the center of his chest. His heart was pounding beneath your palm, like it had forgotten how to slow down.

He turned to face you.

And then he kissed you–without thinking, without pause.

His mouth was hungry, lips moving against yours like he wanted to pour his gratitude and longing into every stroke of your tongue. You let out a soft hum into the kiss, and his hand found your waist, curling around you like he needed you against him. All of you. Bob kissed you like he still couldn’t believe you were real.

His hand tightened at your waist as he deepened the kiss, his mouth warm and earnest, his tongue slow against yours—like he was trying to memorize the taste of your breath and the taste of himself on your tongue. Then he shifted his weight just slightly, moving over you, and your body followed without hesitation.

He rolled smoothly, gently, so that your back met the mattress and his body hovered above yours. His thigh slid between yours, his chest flush to your own, and his face hovered just inches from yours–eyes wide and wild with something more than lust. Something closer to awe.

You let out a surprised giggle, breathless beneath him, one hand slipping up to brush back the messy strands of his light brown hair. It stuck up in every direction from your earlier touch, and now it framed his flushed face like a halo that couldn’t decide if it belonged to a saint or a sinner.

He gave a small, dazed laugh too, his lips curving in wonder as he looked down at you.

And then he murmured, soft as velvet:

“It’s your turn.”

His voice sent a shiver straight through you–because it wasn’t just desire in his tone. It was reverence. Like this was sacred. Like you were sacred.

He dipped his head and kissed your throat, slow and sweet, and you tilted your head to give him more. His hand slid up your side, warm and sure, until it cupped your breast. He paused there, looking at you–asking, even now. Even after everything.

You nodded, breath caught somewhere between your ribs.

And Bob leaned down to worship.

His mouth wrapped around the swell of your breast, lips so soft, tongue teasing the peak until it pulled a soft sound from the back of your throat. He groaned at the noise, like it physically did something to him. He kissed across your chest–open, adoring–then sucked gently at the other nipple, swirling his tongue in slow circles until your fingers curled in his hair. You felt his teeth graze the sensitive skin just around your nipple–just enough to make your breath hitch and your hips twitch slightly beneath him.

You gasped, soft and surprised, and his mouth pulled back with a small, wicked smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His breath was warm against your damp skin, and then he exhaled slowly–cool air brushing across the nipple he’d just teased, and your whole body shivered in response.

Bob chuckled under his breath–low and breathless. Not cocky. Amazed. Like your reactions lit up something inside him he never even knew he needed.

Then he kept going.

His lips traced a winding path down your body–each kiss like a benediction pressed into skin. The slope of your ribs. The softness of your belly. The place just beneath your navel where you felt everything coil tight with anticipation.

You shifted slightly, drawing your knees up, thighs falling open to make space for him as he reached the waistband of your underwear. The fabric was soaked with you–already clinging, already begging to be removed. Bob looked up once, eyes wide and full of silent question, fingers brushing your hips.

You nodded. Your breath was caught somewhere behind your teeth, but your legs were already parting further, your spine already arching to help him slide them down.

He pulled the underwear off slowly, taking his time with you, watching the way the fabric peeled away from your slick heat. Your body practically glistened in the amber light, folds swollen and flushed with need. He swallowed thickly, the sound audible even in the hush of your room, and let the underwear fall to the floor like a silk offering.

Bob settled between your thighs like he’d found the center of the universe.

His hands slid up the insides of your thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin as he leaned forward, mouth trailing open kisses along the tender flesh–first one thigh, then the other. You twitched at the contact, gasping as his lips dragged up the curve of your leg, warm and wet and wanting. He paused just at the crease where thigh met hip, and then–without warning–bit gently, sucking until the skin flushed pink and bloomed with a bruise.

Bob smiled into your skin. “S–Sorry,” He murmured, clearly not sorry at all, his voice thick with breath and worship. “N–Needed to leave s-something to remember me b-by.”

And then–finally–he kissed your core.

His tongue swiped through your folds in one long, slow motion, and your whole body jolted like he’d reached inside your chest and rung out your soul. You felt the flat press of his tongue against your clit, the deliberate drag upward, the way his lips wrapped around you and sucked–soft, rhythmic, maddening.

Your back arched off the bed.

Your hand flew down and found his wrist–one of the hands bracing you open–and you held onto it like a lifeline, anchoring yourself to the feeling. His other hand splayed across your stomach, warm and grounding, fingers spread wide over trembling muscles.

He licked you again–deeper now. More intentional. His tongue moved like he was mapping you, learning every reaction, every twitch, every soft cry like it was sacred text. He flicked the tip of his tongue in slow, focused circles, then flattened it again, pressure building just right, just there–

“Fuck—Bob,” ¥ou breathed, voice high and frayed. “Jesus Christ…”

He moaned against you, the sound vibrating through your body and sending another jolt through your spine.

And then you tilted your head back.

The mirror caught everything.

Your body sprawled across the bed–glowing, undone, your knees spread wide and your hair wild pointing every which way. Bob’s shoulders bracketed your thighs, his face buried between them, dark hair mussed and damp with sweat and your slick. You saw the way your stomach rose and fell beneath his hand, how your hips bucked slightly with each flick of his tongue.

And then–God–

You looked down at him.

And he was looking up at you.

Eyes glassy and wide, pupils blown with hunger. His mouth was still moving, still lapping at you with slow swirls–but his gaze stayed locked on yours like it anchored him. His brow was pinched in concentration, his cheeks flushed, his lips glistening.

It was intimate in a way that felt deeper than skin. Like he was beholding you, not just touching you. Like the act of pleasuring you was its own kind of worship–and he couldn’t look away from the way your body bloomed beneath him.

You whimpered, your hand tightening around his wrist.

He groaned softly, and the sound reverberated through you.

And then–without breaking eye contact–he slid two thick fingers inside you.

Your mouth dropped open in a silent gasp, spine arching. The stretch was slow, sweet, perfect. He curled them just right, finding that place inside you that made your breath stutter and your thighs twitch.

“Y-Yeah,” he rasped against your core, voice hoarse, lips brushing your clit between licks. “There. T-That’s it, I–I feel you…”

You clenched around them while his tongue kept moving—never stopping. His fingers pumped slow and deep, curling with every pass, and your legs started to shake.

The sight in the mirror was unholy–your head thrown back, his mouth buried between your legs, fingers working you open while your body writhed beneath him.

“Bob—Bob I’m gonna—”

“I–I know,” He whispered. “I’ve got you..Y-Y/N.”

With a sharp cry and a desperate buck of your hips, you came–shattering like glass under floodlight. Your walls clamped down around his fingers, your thighs trembling against his shoulders, your hand crushing his wrist as you pulsed around him.

Bob didn’t stop until you whined, breathless and broken, hips twitching from oversensitivity. Even then, he pulled back slowly, mouth flushed, chin slick with you. He pressed one last kiss to your thigh, and looked up at you again.

Completely wrecked.

Completely in awe.

You let out a laugh of disbelief–shaky, breathless, still caught in the afterglow of everything Bob had just pulled from you. Your body was humming, twitching with sensitivity, your thighs trembling around nothing now as he lifted his head from between them.

Bob looked like he had just witnessed a modern day miracle, a sheepish grin plastered on his face.

Then he started to move slowly, crawling back up your body on his elbows, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses into your skin as he went. The curve of your hip. Your stomach, still fluttering beneath the aftershocks of your orgasm. Each kiss was a brushstroke of heat and devotion, like he wanted to taste every inch of what he’d done to you.

When he reached your chest, he paused, nuzzled into the soft swell of your breast and pressed the gentlest kiss there too. Then higher–your collarbone, your throat, the corner of your jaw. You turned your head slightly and met him as his mouth finally reached yours again.

The kiss was warm, a little messy, but full of affection. Your taste was still on his lips, and he didn’t hide it–he kissed you like he wanted you to know he’d savor every drop.

“Y-You’re unreal,” He mumbled against your cheek. And then he gave a shy, breathless laugh. “I think I–I forgot how to breathe.”

You smiled, brushing your fingers through the soft mess of his hair, and he leaned into the touch like it grounded him.

“I’m already ready again,” He admitted sheepishly, pressing his forehead to yours. You felt it him hard and warm again between your thighs, flush against your soaked center. Your breath hitched.

But then Bob hesitated. You felt it in the shift of his weight, the tremor in his next breath.

“We could leave it at that for tonight,” He said softly. His voice was a whisper of restraint, even though his hips twitched against yours like his body was begging him not to stop. “If you don’t want to have sex—”

You didn’t let him finish.

You kissed him–deep and sure and full of heat.

When you pulled back, your voice was firm and breathless. “I want you.”

Bob’s eyes widened slightly, lips still parted in surprise. “S-Should I run and grab a condom?” You tilted your left arm back slightly, resting it behind your head on the mattress, and with your free hand, pointed to the small, barely visible scar just beneath the skin of your inner arm.

“Implant,” You said softly. “We’re good.” His breath caught audibly and his hand hovered near your arm for a second, then settled gently over it–thumb brushing once over your skin.

“Y-You’re sure?” He asked, voice low and rough, like he couldn’t bear to assume. Like he was terrified of doing the wrong thing when he finally had the chance to do this right. You nodded, soft but certain, caressing his cheek gently.

”I’m sure.” Bob exhaled like it physically knocked the air from his lungs. Then he kissed you again–and this time, it was different.

There was no hesitation. No soft buildup. Just need and wonder colliding all at once.

His mouth crushed against yours, urgent and hungry, and you met him just as fiercely. Tongues brushed and tangled in wet, open kisses, teeth grazing lips, breath caught between mouths like smoke. You could feel the way he breathed you in between every kiss–little shaky exhales pressed into your cheeks, your jaw, your mouth–as if you were the air keeping him alive.

“God, y-you taste like heaven,” He murmured hoarsely into your mouth, and then kissed you again, harder.

You moaned against his lips, your body arching into his, and he groaned right back–his hand sliding from your hip to the side of your neck, fingers splayed out over your pulse point like he needed to feel the rhythm of you.

The head of his cock brushed against your slick entrance–hot and heavy and trembling with anticipation–and he froze just a moment, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were blown wide, lips flushed, chest rising and falling like a wave cresting.

He lined himself up with a breathless stammer of your name, “J-Just tell me i-if I do anything wrong okay?” You nodded–soft, breathless, legs flinching around him slightly as he started to push in–inch by inch. Your mouth dropped open around a gasp.

”Oh–“ You breathed, hips twitching up towards him, “Bob…” He bit his bottom lip hard, trying to hold it together, closing his eyes at the sensation of you slowly taking him in.

“You’re s-so warm,” He choked out, “I can feel all of you, I–”

And then he bottomed out, hips flush to yours, both of you trembling.

You were wrapped around him, stretched and full and gasping through the intensity of it, and Bob just hovered there, buried deep, his forehead resting against yours like he needed the anchor. You cupped his cheek, kissed him once–soft, shaky–and whispered,

“I need you to move…” He nodded at your request, dragging his hips back only to press in again with a quiet groan that vibrated against your chest. His thrusts weren’t rough—but they had weight. Depth. Like he couldn’t help but want to be as far inside you as he could get.

Each time he rocked forward, your bodies met with a soft, slick sound, heat rising like steam between your tangled limbs. He kissed you through it, messy and desperate, lips parting and pressing and dragging over yours like he never wanted to come up for air. You kissed him just as hard–your tongue sliding against his, teeth nipping his bottom lip, your hands gripping his shoulders like you didn’t want him to go anywhere.

Your fingers tangled into the back of his hair, tugging gently–not to pull him closer, but to hold. To ground. The strands were damp with sweat and heat, and he gasped into your mouth when you did it, his hips stuttering in response.

Bob groaned low and soft, the sound caught between reverence and ache. Then his hand slid up, warm and sure, and cupped the side of your throat—not tight, just enough to feel the flutter of your pulse beneath his palm. His thumb tilted your chin up, guiding your gaze back to him.

“L-Look at me,” He breathed, voice ragged with want. “I…I need to see you.”

You did. Eyes wide, lips parted, cheeks flushed and heated. You were so open for him, so undone and radiant in the lamplight–and it broke something in him, seeing you like this, needing him like this.

Then he hooked his arms under your knees and lifted.

The change in angle dragged a gasp from your throat so sharp it bordered on a cry. He slid deeper—so deep it felt like he was in your chest, like he was part of the ache and the breath and the heartbeat of you. Your mouth dropped open around a broken moan, and your eyes went glassy.

“F-Fuck,” You choked, your head falling back. “Bob–oh my God–”

Bob whimpered softly, overwhelmed by the sound of his name on your lips, by the clench of your body around him. His breath was hot and frantic, his face flushed and slack with awe.

“You feel…” He started, then trailed off, swallowing hard. “You feel s-so good–so warm–you’re perfect, I–” He kissed your cheek once. Then again. Then again, softer each time, like he couldn’t stop. Like he didn’t know how else to worship you.

And then, he saw it.

The mirror.

The two of you–tangled together, sweat-slicked and flushed with heat, your body curled around him like it was built to fit. His eyes snapped to it–and for a moment, he just stared. Breathless. Dazed. He could see the way your hands gripped his shoulders, the way your breasts bounced softly with each deep thrust. The sight of it–the raw, real closeness–wrecked him.

Your gaze flicked over his and followed where he was looking and you caught the reflection too.

“I want to watch us,” You whispered, breath ragged and full of heat. “Please.”

Bob’s breath caught hard. His hips stilled, his eyes wide, his mouth parting with something like awe and disbelief.

“Y-Yeah?” he stammered.

You nodded.

That was all it took.

He pulled out slowly–deliberately, as if the act of leaving your body was a loss he needed to mourn–and helped guide you onto your stomach, careful even through the haze of want. You propped yourself up on your elbows, eyes fixed on your reflection, hair messy, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-bitten.

He moved behind you, one knee between yours, and dragged his hand down the length of your spine in one long, aching stroke, watching goosebumps rise on your flesh before peppering a few kisses along the bare skin of your back. Then he gripped your hips and lined himself up again.

The first thrust back in was brutal in its beauty.

You let out a ragged groan–half gasp, half cry–as he sank back into you. The angle was different now. Deeper. Fuller. It felt like he was rooted inside you, like he could reach the very center of you.

Bob’s groan was wrecked.

“Oh my god,” he gasped. “You’re so…This is…Y-You’re tight–so deep, I—”

He leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back, and you felt the press of his mouth against the side of your neck–just beneath your ear. Then his arm slid around your neck from behind, not choking, not tight—just holding. Anchoring. His breath spilled hot across your skin, and he kissed your jaw again, reverently, trembling against you.

Your eyes locked in the mirror.

You. Spread out. Eyes heavy, mouth open, skin flushed and glowing. Bob–bare and trembling behind you, lips parted, face slack with wonder, arm curled protectively around you like he was trying to keep you from slipping away.

The reflection made your breath catch.

He looked just as wrecked as you felt.

“I’ve n-never…” He choked out, hips still rolling slow and deep, “Never seen anything so beautiful—so fuckin’ real–“ Your breath stuttered, your chest dragging in air like your lungs were trying to keep up with the sheer intimacy of his voice in your ear, his body inside you, the way his eyes stayed locked to yours in the mirror.

And then you turned your head.

Just a little.

Enough to find his lips.

Your mouths met in a kiss that shattered the edges of everything soft and safe. It wasn’t delicate this time. It was molten. You sucked gently on his tongue when he pushed into your mouth, and the noise Bob made was nearly inhuman–a muffled, desperate moan swallowed by your kiss.

The arm around your neck tightened just slightly, his palm flattening against your shoulder to hold you a little closer. He kissed you like he needed your breath to survive, and with every stroke of his tongue against yours, he thrust a little deeper, a little harder, losing the last shred of distance between you.

The sounds filled the room now.

Slippery, wet, rhythmic. The soft slap of skin meeting skin. Your gasps–broken, high, open. His moans–low, breathy, whispered things like “fuck” and “please” and your name like it was a prayer he’d never been brave enough to say out loud until now. The creak of the mattress. The rustle of the sheets. The hum of the city just outside the window, as if the whole world had gone quiet to listen.

His hips were moving faster now, not pounding but full of momentum. Urgency laced with awe. You felt every inch of him with every push, your body keening beneath him, his cock dragging against that tender spot inside you again and again.

And still–his mouth kept finding yours.

Messy kisses. Tongue and teeth and hot breath shared like something sacred. You whimpered into him, and he swallowed it, moaning in return, his pace growing more erratic with each roll of his hips.

“G-God,” he gasped into your mouth. “You feel so–so perfect–I c-can’t–” He pressed his forehead against yours, sweat-slick and shivering, his voice unraveling into something raw. “I’m gonna–Y/N–I c-can’t hold back–please come with me–please–”

You nodded, frantic, the pleasure building low in your spine like a storm. Your thighs trembled, your mouth fell open, and you barely managed a whispered, “Yes–yes, I’m close, Bob, I’m right there–”

His arm tightened around you again, holding you together as he watched your reflection–watched your mouth fall open, your eyes flutter shut, your body writhing beneath him.

“I see you,” He whispered. “I see you, I’ve got you, just–just let go, I’m right here–”

You did.

Your orgasm hit you so fast it felt like your entire body was going to give out. It was brilliant, consuming, and it had every nerve ending singing with heat. Your body pulsed around him, clenching and fluttering in frantic waves, and the cry that tore from your throat was almost too much to bear.

Soon after Bob twitched deep inside you, thick and hot, and you felt him spill–pulse after pulse of heat filling you, his hips jerking in short, erratic thrusts as he buried himself as far as he could go. His moan was wrecked–raw and full–and it tumbled from him as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. It wasn’t loud. It was low. Shaky. The sound a man makes when he’s completely undone. A whimper edged with disbelief, like he was giving you the very last piece of himself.

And just then–like the world exhaled around you–you heard it.

A faint, hairline crack.

Barely a sound.

Your gaze flicked up, dazed and hazy through the aftermath, and there it was: a thin fracture running across the mirror. A small, pale lightning bolt etched in glass, splitting right where your bodies met in reflection.

You blinked.

And then you tightened your hold on him.

Your hand clutched at the arm that held you–his forearm still locked gently around your chest–and your other reached blindly to touch his shoulder. You turned your head just enough to feel the hot tremble of his breath against your skin, the way it stuttered and hitched through parted lips still struggling to return to earth.

His entire body was shaking against yours. Not violently–just overwhelmed. The way a dam trembles after it’s burst.

“Shh,” you whispered, kissing the edge of his cheek. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

He moaned again–quiet this time, muffled against your skin, and full of something so deep it almost hurt. His arm loosened slightly from around your neck and slid lower, wrapping fully around your torso as he exhaled one long, shivering breath. His body collapsed slowly over yours, his chest pressed against your back, both of you trembling, covered in sweat and each other.

He didn’t pull out.

He couldn’t–not yet.

You could still feel him twitching softly inside you, still half-hard, still pulsing faintly from the intensity of it all. His cum was already starting to leak back down between your thighs, warmth slicking your folds, but neither of you moved to clean it up. Not yet.

He kissed your shoulder.

Then your neck.

Then the curve of your spine.

Each one slow and breathless. A vow, a thank you, a grounding touch.

You tilted your head back toward him, catching his lips with your own. The kiss was soft now. Lingering. Your mouths moved lazily together, wet and tender and full of exhaustion.

“Jesus,” He whispered against your mouth. “I–I didn’t mean to… I think I…”

“I know,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over the damp nape of his neck. “I saw it.”

His breath caught. “I–I cracked the mirror, didn’t I?”

You nodded once, a small smile pulling at your lips. “Just a little.”

A silence stretched between you, warm and golden and full of breath.

Then he laughed–quiet and stunned–and buried his face into your shoulder again.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered. “I–I didn’t mean to lose control.” You let out a soft sigh.

”It’s okay Bob…You were overwhelmed and feeling good…Let’s just hope Sentry is the one that gets seven years bad luck.” You both laughed–low and loose and breathless, the sound catching in the honey-thick air between your bodies. Bob’s chest vibrated softly against your back as he let out another stifled chuckle, nuzzling his nose into the space just beneath your ear.

“Only you,” He murmured, his voice warm and worn down, “C–Can make light of me literally c-cracking your mirror mid-orgasm.” You tilted your head slightly, grinning despite the ache still thrumming between your thighs.

“I mean… If you’re gonna break something,” You said, glancing back at him with a playful glint in your eyes, “At least it wasn’t my pelvis.”

That made him snort and he buried his face deeper into your shoulder, completely wrecked by laughter now. You felt the full ripple of it through his chest, the way his arms tightened around you just a little as if he could keep this moment stitched to the skin.

You turned your head, kissed him again–slow and sweet. No rush. Just the warm slide of lips and breath. His hand came up to cradle your cheek, thumb stroking your skin as he kissed you back with the kind of quiet that said I never want to stop doing this.

After a moment, he pulled back slightly, his voice rough with affection. “I should, uh… I should pull out.”

You nodded softly. “Okay.”

He moved slowly, gently easing out of you with a quiet gasp at the sensitivity. You both hissed a little–his from overstimulation, yours from the sticky stretch of release leaving your body. He lingered there for a beat, fingers brushing your hip, as if he hated the idea of not being connected to you anymore.

He stayed close even after he pulled out, one hand resting lightly on your lower back, the other brushing your hip like he needed to reassure himself you were still there. The room was warm, quiet, the mirror fractured but the world around you whole.

“W–We should get cleaned up,” He murmured, his voice still dazed but laced with care. “D–Do you wanna…Maybe shower? With me?” His fingers twitched gently where they touched your side. “Only if you want to. I just—I don’t really wanna let you go yet…”

Your heart melted.

You turned slowly beneath him, shifting onto your back so you could face him fully. His hair was damp with sweat, curling slightly at the ends, cheeks still flushed, lips swollen. But it was his eyes that undid you. Wide and soft and full of affection. Still a little glassy. Still glowing slightly from the shock of Sentry.

“Of course,” You whispered, brushing your fingers through his hair, a soft blush rose to his cheeks, as you leaned up to kiss the tip of his nose, “I kinda wanna be held under hot water for like…An hour. Minimum.”

Bob gave you the softest grin. “I-I can do that. I’m good at holding.” His tone was still tentative, but there was pride there too. A glimmer of purpose. “You’ll be the cleanest, most held person in the entire compound.”

You sat up slowly, wincing slightly at the soreness blooming in your thighs and core. Bob immediately reached to steady you, his hands finding your waist, his brows pinched in concern.

“I’m okay,” You promised him with a soft smile, “Just a bit sore.”His ears turned red.

“S-Sorry.” He whispered.

“Don’t be,” You said gently, leaning in to press your forehead to his. “I liked being yours.”

His breath caught at that, his hands tightening gently on your sides. Then he kissed you–slow and soft and grateful. And when you pulled back, his hand brushed along your arm as he helped you out of bed.

You led the way to your en suite bathroom, flicking on the light that glowed soft and golden. The room was warm, fogged slightly from earlier use, and your spare towels were already folded neatly on the rack. You reached for two, tossed one onto the nearby counter for later, and handed Bob the other to keep nearby.

He looked at it like it was some sacred token.

You turned the water on and waited for it to warm while he stepped behind you, wrapping his arms gently around your waist and nuzzling the back of your neck.

“I could get used to this,” He whispered.

“What, showering?” You teased, smiling as you leaned back into his chest.

“No,” He said, shaking his head slightly. “Just…Being with you. Like this.”

You turned in his arms, heart thudding, and kissed him slow and sure. “Good,” you whispered. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

The water turned to steam.

You stepped in first, guiding him in with you. It was small, a bit cramped–but it didn’t matter. You made room for each other. Bob pressed close, arms winding gently around your back as the water poured down over you both. His mouth found your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your lips, peppering you with soft, adoring kisses as the heat melted the soreness from your limbs.

He helped you wash your entire body. His fingers in your hair, gentle and careful as they massaged your scalp with your favorite shampoo. His palms smoothing body wash over your skin like you were something precious and breakable, his lips brushing your shoulder every few seconds just to stay close.

You did the same for him, trailing your hands down his chest, watching the way he shivered beneath your touch even now. You cleaned him carefully, quietly, the lather sliding down both your bodies in pearled rivulets. Every time you looked up at him, he was already looking at you. Eyes soft. Lips parted. Like he couldn’t believe you were real.

At one point, you turned under the spray and leaned your back into his chest. Bob immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush to him beneath the stream of water. His chin came to rest atop your head, his breath steadying.

“I—I feel like I’m gonna cry,” He admitted quietly, after a long silence.

You tilted your head back just enough to look up at him. “Why?”

“Because…” He swallowed. “B-Because I’ve never felt this safe. And that’s… Not something I ever thought I’d get.”

You reached up, touched his jaw, and pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. “Then I’ll just have to keep giving it to you.”

His arms tightened around you, and he let out a long, trembling breath.

“Promise?” He whispered.

“Always,” You said. And meant it.

In the shower’s warmth, with your bodies tangled and your hearts steadying into one rhythm, nothing else in the world existed.

Just you and Bob. Soft skin. Steam. And the quiet knowledge that everything had changed.

[cow-legs]

Of course it does feel a little silly to make big update posts about how im burned out and am trying to take a break from drawing right in the middle of a time where im uploading new art more relatively consistently than i have in a very long time it feels like but i guess it was still important to make the distinction, between things that i enjoy drawing and can keep doing vs things i dont enjoy doing at all and need to stop immediately, just for my own sake.

Openly telling people "yuuup i'm not going to be drawing anything other than super basic shit from now on for a long time" means that whenever i think of drawing anything post-worthy i know i will feel silly for posting it after saying that, and from there if i still decide to go through with it anyway it was probably something i actually wanted to draw and enjoyed doing while if this thought made me self conscious enough to not go through with it then it was probably something i wanted to draw only due to impulsive obligation rather than something i wanted to spend time making just for the fun of doing it so the spell gets broken. So its a functional enough system, i guess.

&now that this distinction has been made in my brain i can spend more time doing shit i actually enjoy instead of letting it get beaten out by the things i "should" be working on every time

Putting my foot down and going "no, i am not going to keep forcing myself to do detailed clean lineart on even more detailed sketches when i get much more enjoyment out of just doing really rough and simple shit instead" after i have found myself independently coming to realizations about what kinds of art just suck the life out of me over and over again and then just disregarding these realizations every single time to go back to the shit that kills me because "well this is how you normally do it" or "this technically looks nicer, in some aspects" and finally just fucking forcing myself to stop doing that is probably overall more helpful to my mental health than just forcing myself to stop drawing altogether when thats a drastic move that may or may not be the actual solution. Now i am finding and re-learning ways to create things that don't make me feel like i am a walking corpse so i think i will take the feeling of thinking i look a little silly for seemingly disregarding my big life updates over never having found these things out for myself at all any day.

I don't really know why i feel like making update posts in the first place when to be honest i dont think it really matters, people arent paying me for any of this and i stopped feeling "sorry" for "not posting enough" or such things as that a long time ago so it's not like i feel any kind of legitimate need to tell people about what my status is creative-wise. But i guess a large part of it is just that i like talking and have a lot of things to say but for various personal reasons have no desire to post 99% of these thoughts publicly so it's the like rare chance i get to actually start saying shit on any of my art accounts that is actually relevant to the subject at hand without crossing my own boundaries and saying more than i am comfortable with

It is a little weird feeling writing update posts though because i dont really know how to word them in any way that doesnt come off as a fanfic authors note going "sorry its been a whole 20 minutes since the last update i got mugged and all my money was stolen and he broke my leg also but im trying my best to write more despite this" like girl focus on the mugging not this shit. When in reality i actually dont care very much about providing Content as much as the hypothetical fanfic author i just felt the need to say something because why not and didnt know how to word it in a way that makes me not come off like that. which is how you get this i guess. anyway i already forgot what the point of this post was i guess i just wanted to say some shit. which tracks i suppose.

The moral of the story or some shit i guess is that even if you are not doing art as a job it can still end up feeling like one and killing your creative spirit like one would and you need to be able to identify when this is happening and what things you dont actually want to create even though you feel like you "should" so you can kill these practices before they kill you

or something like that

I dont really care about having a point here i wrote this at 2 am

i just like talking

[ashisgreedy]

Fanfiction Writing Asks

(Link to post)

Do you daydream a lot before you write, or go for it as soon as the ideas strike? - Most of my ideas come from daydreams.

Where do you get your fic ideas? - Songs, art, c.ai, talking with friends.

Do you share your fic ideas, or do you keep them to yourself? - I usually share them with someone. But If its super niche, I just keep quiet and write it lol.

How do you choose which fics to write? - What ever is sparking the most joy at the moment or what ever is easiest for my brain to produce.

How many wips do you have? - About 8 and countless other random ideas/inspos for fics. I What fandoms/pairings are they for? - HL | Garreth | Jackdaw | Seb | Omi |

What’s the last line you wrote? - "Garreth gasped out of a dead sleep, his eyes shot open as he cluched his chest, panting. He sat up in bed and tore the covers off. Pulling the string to his bedside lamp, he sighed in relief."

Post a snippet from a wip. -Does that count ^

Post an out-of-context spoiler from a wip. - He gets to start over again, anew.

Does this word [chosen by asker] appear in your current wip? NA

Do you work on multiple wips or stick to one fic at a time? -Usually just work on whatever is calling me that day, but I do hop around if I am just not feeling something that day.

Do you write scenes in order, or do you jump around? -I try my hardest to write it in order, but most of the time I do write snips of the fic here and there as I outline it just to get the scene out of my system.

Do you outline your fics?  If yes, how detailed are your outlines?  How far do you stray from them? -Yes, about 99% of the time. It's very rough and just random dialogue I want to use, locations, phrases ect. I do stray from it. Sometimes the ideas coming as I write are better than the outline. What's the fun in always coloring in the lines? :D

Do you listen to music while you write?  If yes, what have you been listening to recently? -Yesss. Usually music without lyrics. Lyrics distract me. What I'm currently listening to as we speak.

What is your favorite location and position to write in? -My couch, criss cross apple sauce with the laptop on my popup coffee table.

What’s your favorite time to write? -Anytime really. Fav time is when the inspo is just too strong to ignore!

Do you write by hand, on your phone, or on your laptop? -HAND!? Good lord, no lmfao. I do use my phone when I'm at work (or in bed) and my laptop when not at work.

Do you have a writing routine? -Get horny, then write smut.

Do you enjoy research?  Which fic of yours required the most research? -Fuck no lol. I also didn't grow up with HP and I can't be fucked to look up what an auror is or if vampires exist in the world. (I have read some of the books and watched all the moves many times over. Just didn't grow up picking apart every HC and what not. sad face)

Do you enjoy creating OCs or do you prefer to stick solely to canon characters? -I have OC's in my head. One in particular is Cole. I wrote him into one fic, but most people dont like/dont care about OCs. So, I just have him in my back pocket for now. I prefer cannon chars I guess. Or just use MC/reader insert.

Do you prefer writing AUs or canon fics? -Most of my fics are outside of the cannon-ish to fit my narrative. So... 50/50?

Do you prefer writing chaptered fics or one-shots? -ONESHOTS!

Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process?  How do you come up with titles? -Usually before, or while writing the summary. The 5% of the time I can't think of a title I use song lyrics as inspo. Boom, title done.

Is writing the beginning, middle, or end of the story easiest? Hardest? -I would say writing the beginning is the easiest. I just wish the damn thing would write it self. I wanna read it! lol

How do you choose whose POV to write in? -Depending on the story line. I usually write povs from the perspective of the MC/reader, but I do have a wip where its from Gars prospective. I just don't like writing from the guys prospective cuz it seems less immersive? idk.

What’s your favorite part of the writing process (worldbuilding, brainstorming/outlining, writing, editing, etc)? -I like the outlining process and the finished product lol

What’s your least favorite part of the writing process? -Coming up with reasons WHY they are at a location or WHY they are doing a task. I just want to write smut :(

What area of writing do you feel strongest in? -Uh, Hm.... Maybe making things short and sweet and easy to read. This is mostly so my short attention span can edit the fic. Otherwise, I cant be fucked to care if its super wordy.

What area of writing do you want to improve in? -Showing not telling. "He was angry" vs. "He stomped out of the room and slammed the door." I just need to work on it.

What’s something about your writing that you’re proud of? -That I've ever finished anything lol. And, that I stick to writing what I want and not writing to please others. Its good because this way I don't experience burnout like I did in other fandoms.

How much do you edit your fics?  Do you edit as you write or wait until you finish the first draft? -I try not to edit as I write. It slows down the process so much! Then I am left with something half-assed and half finished. I usually edit after i've written what I want and add more/take away from the fic as I see fit. I then run it through grammarly software and then put it into a text to speech generator to have the fic read to me outloud to catch any strange wordings or errors that way. Words nicely.

Do you use a beta reader/editor? -Nah. I dont really care to have anyone edit it for me. I'll do it myself and not bother anyone lol. If i have someone edit something, ill be sure to pay them for their time.

Do you take fic requests?  Why or why not? -Yeah! but, it will most likely come out as a drabble and I will only do things that 'spark joy' so to speak.

Is there a specific word count that you hold yourself to/enjoy writing the most? -Nah, I do like to keep it under 5k because its harder to edit the longer the fic gets and, like I said, I have a short attention span for editing.

How much of your personal life/experience do you include in your fics? -I guess a good amount? Helps to have done most of the stuff I write about so I can accurately describe it.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve posted? -Garr's anal fic.

What fic are you proudest of? - atm Jackdaw smut cuz it made a lot of ppl start to simp for him and everyone was super nice about it. So pure D:

What fic has been the hardest for you to write? -Continuing my Professor Garreth Series that I started this blog with. I just lost interest from some feedback I was getting about it being too short and yea...

What is your most self-indulgent posted story? -Jackdaw smut

What’s your most self-indulgent wip? -Gar is a shifter in it 👀

What is your favorite world that you’ve created for a fic? NA

Who’s your favorite character you’ve written? - Garreth

What’s your favorite title that you’ve come up with? "I Like Men On Their Knees~"

Is there a trope or idea that you’d really like to write but haven’t yet? -Dub con, Mommy Kink, pegging, pain kink

What is your favorite genre to write? - SMUT! Romance

What genre/trope do you tend to write the most? -Smut, romance.

If you could only write one type of AU for the rest of your life, what would it be? -Modern Au

Is there a trope that you’ve written before but are now sick of? -Kinda hate writing fluff tbh. I like reading fluff about Gar but I don't like coming up with the fluff on my own. I just want to be railed.

Who is your favorite character to write for?  Has this changed since you’ve started writing for that fandom? -Garreth, and nope. Still Gar lol

What fic of yours would you say is the best introduction to you as a writer? NA

How would you describe your writing style? -Short, sweet, easy to read? (hopefully. at least for me it is.)

Does what you like to write differ from what you like to read? -Uh, no actually. Well, I want to read more intense shit about gar but the fandom is still kinda new so that will come eventually. lol

What’s the average word count of your fics? -UHHH 3-6k?

What is the most-used tag on your ao3? Garreth Weasley x MC

What’s the fandom/pairing distribution of your posted fics? I read this Q like 4 times and I still have no idea what its asking.

Have you noticed any patterns in your fics?  Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc? -Yea... orgasms, she's always "flying" like stfu Ash 😂

Are there any fics that you would change or rewrite if given the chance? -Yes, but I don't have the attention span for that. You get what ya got.

How conscious are you about including symbolism or foreshadowing in your fics? -I do it sometimes! If I think of it while writing haha.

Do you have a favorite piece of figurative language you’ve written? NA

Have you participated in any fic events/writing challenges?  If yes, what were they and did you enjoy them? - Yes! I've hosted events in the past in other fandoms. I will do it again for this one eventually. I like them/they are exhausting. Lost of fun! can lead me to burn out if I'm not careful.

In [insert fic], what inspired the idea for the plot? NA In [insert fic], what’s your favorite scene that you wrote? NA In [insert fic], is there a deleted scene/idea you wish you could have included?  Why did it get cut? NA What was the hardest part of writing [insert fic]? NA If you rewrote [insert fic] now, would you change anything? NA If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would happen in it? What’s a fun fact about [insert fic]? NA If a fic was titled [insert made up title], what would this story be about/how would you write it? NA

Are there any fics that influenced you to write the way you do? - Cuffmeinblack's writing and Blueraineshadows. I look up to both of them a lot. Their writing is so descriptive without being too wordy and its always fun to read!

What are your favorite fics at the moment? -I'm just happy anytime Garreth fics are posted tbh

Are you subscribed to any writers on AO3? -Yes! I try to sub to all my friends.

Do you spend more time reading or writing? - Writing. I get this weird readers-block??? I can only read things like one or two days a week and mayyyybe if something is super short, I'll give it a go. Otherwise, it goes into my TBR for when I have the capacity to read and comprehend.

What’s your favorite writing compliment you’ve gotten? -That the fic was 'hot' and that I caputred the intimate moment well! I was so happy to hear that. AND just all the comments of people liking my stuff I love yall sm.

What do you tend to get complimented on the most about your writing? -Just that they thought it was hot. Very nice of them.

Do you have a fic you wish got a bit more love? - Garreth fics. This fandom is mostly Seb and Omi stans. (Love seb and omi) but Garreth stuff gets ignored/overlooked a lot. NBD, I like writing and reading what gets put out.

Is there a particular fic that readers gravitated towards that you didn’t expect? -Jackdaw smut I REALLY thought people were going to ignore this one, but it blew up and I was so shocked.

How do you deal with writing pressure, whether internal or external? -I take time off from it.

Why do you enjoy writing fanfiction? -Its a great outlet! And I love creating content a lot. It's fun finding more like minded people to brainrot with.

What motivates you during the writing process? -....cock

Do you have any writing advice you want to share? -Use a program to read your fic to you out loud. like this one. It helps a lot to find errors, weird wording, and pacing issues. And, write what YOU want to write. Being popular is cool and all, but it sucks being popular and being unhappy|burnt out.

Free space - asker can come up with any writing or fic-related question they want!

[distant--shadow]

very much not a post about Cole, yes I brought up a question of theirs that got answered but that was in another post as an example of poor question selection and how it felt shitty in context of "hey I'm gonna give all of this attention to this last question" and getting that, which was lame (maybe I'm out of touch here, I'm not in any big servers or cliques, I'm not aware of the role the glasses play as a "lightning rod" still, as u say, or that it was still relevant. to me it has been made pretty clear (as Laura said) in campaign that she needs them but doesn't have them (I couldn't care less if people chose to make their own art with her wearing them, I'm aware of what making choices u enjoy for ur own fanart is), therefore my frustration on that getting asked. you have picked a post out of a few I made and q's I answered that would give this context (and how I'm more frustrated by the show as a whole as well as general fandom behaviour) . the most tasteless question by far was about gendering the future kids, that is what I'm annoyed at when I'm talking about needing your own headcanons confirmed, idk who made it and I didn't put much thought into paying attention to names behind them because at the end of the day I was just noting the overall quality of questions, I'm not gonna change my opinion on the question based on the person behind it. I also think it will always be valid to critique media you care about and also quesiton the behaviours of people that share space with you(as u are with me rn) (so yes I see u people saying "lol get over the term girlfailure, we got bigger issues going on in the world" then a moment later being like "omg cr fandom has so much casual misogyny" like yeah, you're partaking in casual misogny babe. yes I'm aware people disagree with this. this is my blog, I'm a person with opinions) I have since spoken to people who submitted questions, none of which got answered and people admit they sent both more in depth and lighthearted ones. yes from that I can conclude that the issue lies more with the curation, but it doesn't change the fact that I feel frustrated, and I had said that yes Laura is probably just picking out anything that looks like a quesiton in a quickly moving chat, u can see how she deflated when getting far enough through some of them.

once again, this whole post jumping into Cole defense is just showing that you're also agitated by something in the moment without the actual context you're "having to assume" and that's fair, but it's arguably just as reactionary as what you're saying I did. yes, I think the fandom behaviour needs to be different if it's going to have this much impact on the actual content of a show, that's the main thing here, I don't like the feeling of being catered or pandered to if this is what they think fans want to see, yes maybe a lot of this is me being reactive to that feeling. it's a blog. I'm sharing my opinions in the moment. I want others to see that despite the fact I make a fuck tonne of shipping art, I don't actually want that being lip-serviced like those are my needs during the sparse oppurtunities that we get for deeper character answers.

also, to end, to finish off this post with the tags "#the fires ya'll #kyle just lost his fucking house" like what???! OK????!!! do you feel righteous now? you don't think i 100% support them taking all the time off they need tor recover from this? that I'm not sympathetic? you really saying hey excuse you, don't be a bully, fires have happened? when the person I'm apparently targeting from your post is not cast or crew? (or in california, as far as I'm aware) like what? that's the "unkind" thing to say right there, I get that things are super rough and Laura is recovering from a lost voice because of everything going on. maybe they didn't need to rush it, maybe that doesn't change the fact they still recorded and chose the questions they did? I don't think many fans were thinking "oh i'll ask baby questions because there have been fires." I'm not gonna go into this any more but, super super lame behaviour.

I shouldn't be surprised by the fireside chat being the state it was, seeing as I don't follow any CR themed blogs myself or really go into the tags because I find it frustrating but still, the bleed over of fanon is depressing and a lot of you are showing your asses in terms of how you don't actually gaf about the characters or the story the players have chosen to tell.

I love my au's, I love my headcanons, I love my not quite canon ships, but they're for me and the people who chose to enjoy them if they want to. and what makes creating those things more fulfilling is trying to really be true to the character it's about, otherwise just go play with OCs

this will be my last salty post on the matter (guess we'll see) but man, the timing? all of this crazy shit is going on, it is well established that the audience is frustrated with how little downtime we've had with these characters and getting to see those long rest bonds we got to enjoy with previous campaigns, 4SD is over, and that's what you wanna ask about? it's selfish, honestly.

[reidsnose]

doodles

overview: reader doodles on her hands a lot and spencer has to give into the temptation of coloring it in

genre: flufffffff

a/n: sorry ive havent posted a fic in like a week, ive been in quite a slump but i had this idea well after midnight but i just had to write it so lmk what u guys think of this one :)

masterlist

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doodling on your hands: a once nervous habit that had seeped into your everyday life and now is just a regular habit. nearly everyday you would come to work with clean hands and get home with a mini art gallery on your non dominant one.

Spencer admired this from the moment he noticed it. at first he thought you had a tattoo but when you came back the next day with it completely gone, he was a tad confused, only to catch you doodling on that very same hand a couple hours later on the jet. he thought maybe it was an occasional thing, a habit you'd quit once you got better situated into the team, but after nearly a year you still left work almost everyday with some cutesy sketches drawn on your hand.

Spencer found himself looking forward to your doodles, imagining in his head what you might draw each day, and thinking of all the colors you would add if you had the time. being the great profiler that he is, he noticed a pattern: you subconsciously correlated your doodles with your mood.

after especially hard cases or just bad days you always drew roses.

when you were very happy you drew all sorts of fruits.

anxiousness bore little swampy creatures and lily pads.

tired days filled your hands with random, intricate designs that you didn't even have to try hard to make.

and content was anything else.

he was so impressed and absolutely adored your little coping mechanism. watching you concentrate on making those teeny pieces of art simply for your own pleasure was definitely a sight to see. the way your eyebrows furrowed and tongue poked out a bit was absolutely positively adorable. and soon he had noticed that he was looking forward less to the doodles and more to watching you draw them. and after that he began looking forward to just you.

you were sat on the jet with your back to the corner of the last seat on the plane, creating a pattern of roses on the back of your hand. Spencer plopped down in the seat next to you, growing tired of watching from so far away.

"that bad, huh?" he asked, noticing the type of flower you were gracing your hand with.

"hm?" you looked up, confused.

"you only doodle roses on bad days." he explained, pointing to your hand.

"what? no i don't!" you defended, " i just think roses are neat."

to be fair, you were having a bad day but he could've profiled that without the doodle. he cant be right, can he? there was no way you had a mood system for your doodles! unless there was.

"repetitive strokes are therapeutic, so roses being rough days make sense. the spiral in the middle followed by however many layered petals you want is a perfectly repetitive while still interesting enough to doodle."

"if i didn't know any better i'd say you've been spying on me, Dr. Reid," you teased, enjoying the slight rouge that appeared on his cheeks.

"what! no! i'm- i'm a profiler i notice patterns! i just- spying sounds creepy." he stammered.

"ok. how about admiring." you jabbed, turning a little red yourself.

"fine. but you know coloring helps too." he flipped back to the old topic of conversation.

"unfortunately i only have the standard blue, black and red ink."

"roses are red." he chuckled.

"interesting point," you bent down and reached into your bag, pulling out a red pen and handing it to him, "knock yourself out."

"what?" he looked at you slightly bewildered.

"coloring is therapeutic, you said it yourself. and you and i both know that you need something to relax you after a case like that. we all do." you explained, trying to be as nonchalant as you could knowing his skin would touch yours.

he grabbed the pen and clicked it open, coloring smoothly and slowly inside the lines you had already made in black, careful not to go over them and smudge the ink. you and him both tried your best to ignore the warmth shooting through your bodies from every place your hands touched. his fingertips lightly grazing your knuckles as he worked.you worked your way up your arm, giving you both space to work and by the time you landed, you had a half sleeve garden of surprisingly well colored (and somehow shaded) red roses.

you went home that night and bought a pack of colorful (washable) pens, hoping this little rose garden with him wasn't a one time thing. and even if it was, you would want to add your own pop of color to your doodles.

thankfully it wasn't.

you and Spencer found yourselves drawing and coloring on your hand a lot. he would catch you doing it and pop in over your shoulder just to add a touch of color where he thought it fit. and you began to feel sad washing off what the two of you had created that day, feeling nostalgic for time that has hardly passed.

and sometimes on the jet you would get tired of your own skin, so you would draw little doodles on his hand, often times leaving a little heart at the base of his thumb. these little hearts he avoided washing off for as long as he possibly could because they felt like a part of you was always with him. he started doing the same thing to your hand, a sort of signature the two of you shared.

most days, the doodles on your hands were pretty much fully colored in.

but now Spencer began to worry. what if you get ink poisoning because of his coloring? sure, the risk was statistically low, improbable even; but never zero. so one night after work he went out and bought a little sketchbook and on the front he scrawled,

"y/n's super duper special sketchbook"

upon receiving it, after giving him a hug he never wanted to let go of, you took a sharpie and started editing the title he had given it. so it now read:

"y/n and Spencer's super duper special sketchbook"

the two of you used up a whole page that day, front and back filled with all types of fruits. Spencer smiled to himself, knowing this had made you very happy. you took a second to take a step back and admire him doing the very thing he admired you for. and you understood why; he just looked so precious and you suddenly realized you craved the feeling of his hand touching yours. so you leaned over and drew a little black heart at the base of his thumb. he looked up at you, smiling widely before returning a red heart to the base of your thumb.

and you guys tore through that book, using a page a day and filling it cover to cover in no time. your own personal handmade coloring book. it turned out to be both of your most prized possessions, a pang of sadness filling your chests as you finished the last page.

you felt bad taking it home with you that night, wondering if maybe Spencer wanted to keep it. maybe you should keep it at work so you can both have it. thats the fair thing to do. you looked down, smiling sadly at the little red heart on your hand.

he did want to keep it. but he had a better idea in mind. he looked down, smiling excitedly at the little black heart on his hand.

the next day when you arrived to work all your worries were solved. on your desk laid a new sketch book entitled:

"y/n and Spencer's super duper special sketchbook: volume ii"

you laughed as you read a small lilac post it note that said, "i want to keep this one please" signed with a little red heart in the corner.

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ultra mega super cool taglist:

@mac99martin @imhreid @spencersmagic @hollydaisy23 @raelady1184 @a-broken-pact @padfootswife @hey-there-angels @star-stuff-in-the-cosmos @sonnydoesrandomshit @coffeereid-deactivated20210303 @averyhotchner @laurakirsten0502 @reidyoulikeabook @rem-ariiana @spencerreid9 @vampire-overlord @takeyourleap-of-faith @s1utformgg @violetspoetic

[littleoddwriter]

Kisses | Slasher x GenderNeutral!Reader | Headcanons | (Mild) N/SFW

After posting my Headcanons of the Sawyers kissing their S/O, I couldn’t stop thinking about doing this for some of the other Slashers I write for, so... there ya go! [I think you can tell who I’ve thought about kissing a lot.]

notes; Sloppy Make-Outs; Spit; Tongue Sucking; Lip Biting; (mild) Blood Kink; (mild) Sadism/Masochism; (mild) Body Worship; Bruising; Rough Handling; Disfigurement; Mask Kissing.

Characters: Asa Emory/The Collector; Billy Loomis; Stu Macher; The Sinclair Brothers; Jesse Cromeans/Chromeskull.

Asa Emory/The Collector

He’s a biter – he likes nibbling at your bottom lip and occasionally biting into it hard, making it hurt for you – maybe making you bleed as well, which he then licks up – it excites him a lot

His hands are all over your face, neck and in your hair; often caressing you gently and like a priced possession (which you are, in a way); sometimes he’ll be a little rough with you, leaving red marks and even bruises on your skin from an intense make-out session

You like it when he wears his mask and kisses you, because the rough texture feels really good to you and fits when he handles you more roughly, too

Still, the privilege of seeing him without a mask and being able to kiss him never ceases to amaze you; especially when you’re allowed to run your hands through his hair, gently brushing it with your fingers, and twirling the short strands of it

While you two make out, you love wrapping your arms around his waist or gripping his strong arms and running your hands over the muscles, occasionally squeezing them – he rather focuses on your head and neck as aforementioned

Billy Loomis

He likes slow, but deep kisses, thoroughly exploring your mouth with his tongue and nibbling at your lips

Billy also loves to touch you wherever he can while you two make out, he buries his hands in your hair, squeezes your arms, thighs, butt, waist, anything he can reach

When he gets too excited, he starts to be more uncoordinated, which leads to the kiss becoming more messy, teeth clanking against each other, lips catching between them by accident, saliva smeared on both your chins and cheeks

Stu Macher

Lots of tongue, super messy and wet – this guy is excited to make out with you and he sticks his tongue down your throat the moment he’s allowed to

Less sweet and short kisses, but more gentle, messy and long ones

He latches onto you with his entire body, so beware of having your limbs tangled with his as he clings onto you, bodies flush against each other

Stu laughs and giggles into the kisses a lot, which also makes you chuckle and turns the make-out session into an even more uncoordinated mess than it already is, but it’s fine

He’s less of a biter, but he loves sucking at your tongue and bottom lip

Bo Sinclair

A biter all the way through, nibbles at your lips and bites into your bottom lip to make it bleed

Licks into your mouth whenever he gets the chance, he likes dominating you in every way possible

Grips the back of your head or neck whenever you two make out, but also has a good hold of your waist or ass

Short, gentle kisses are rare to be initiated by him, but when you do it, he’ll go along with it

Lester Sinclair

Sloppy and uncoordinated, but gentle, loving and passionate

He is a little nervous because he is not very experienced, but he gets the hang of it quickly

Lester shows you just how much he loves you with his kisses every single time – he won’t let any opportunity pass by just like that, even if it’s just a peck on the lips, he’ll put his all in it

He holds onto you in every which way he can, but only ones that you’re comfortable with, so he checks in with you every time

Since he doesn’t get social cues very well at all and wants to make sure he isn’t messing things up, he’ll often break the kiss to ask if it’s okay or if he should change something – it’s super endearing and makes you feel very appreciated and important (which you are)

When you want him to, he can be rough, but you have to explicitly ask for it (he once got rough with you unexpectedly and unprompted and he was so scared he’s hurt you – he doesn’t want to cause you any pain)

Vincent Sinclair

In the beginning, kissing is something he’ll only allow through the mask, so you basically just make out with a wax mask a lot, which you don’t mind a lot

But the more time passes and the more he trusts you, he’ll let loose and actually takes off the mask eventually

Then you’re the one who is careful – you don’t want to upset or hurt him, so you let him guide the more passionate kisses

Soft little kisses are something neither of you are ever really concerned about then, so you’ll often just sneak one whenever – be that on his mask or under it, doesn’t matter

He doesn’t really use his tongue, nor does he bite you or anything else – if your kissing becomes more heated then it’s usually just a mess of spit-slick lips meeting each other

He likes it when you brush your fingers through his long hair and pull on it, it makes him feel good, because you’d never hurt him and he knows that

At the same time, he loves roaming his hands over your body and mapping out the expanses of it, memorising every detail – you’re a work of art and he wants to make sure he knows every individual characteristic about you that he can

Jesse Cromeans/Chromeskull

Kisses and cuddles go hand in hand with him – any chance he gets, his arms are around you and his lips on yours

He loves showering you in sweet little kisses, soft and gentle, but conveying great passion and love

Jesse will touch any part of you that he can, his fingers stroke softly over your skin, your cheeks, forehead, neck, through your hair – you name it

He squeezes whatever he can, holds onto you and makes sure you feel just how much he loves and worships you

He’s more than happy whenever you initiate kisses and when you want it to get more heated, he never forces himself on you and lets you take the lead in such situations, since he wants it to be really good (perfect) for you

A weakness for him is whenever you kiss him when he’s wearing the mask – it makes him feel dizzy and weak in the knees

After his face was disfigured, he doesn’t let you see it without a mask for a while and so you’ve gotten used to kissing just that and his head whenever he let you near him at all – he was just too ashamed

Eventually you’re able to wear him down and he takes the mask off, letting you take a look without hiding in the crook of his elbow or behind his hands – that’s when you shower him in kisses

You’re careful not to hurt him, some of his skin stayed raw and painful after all and you didn’t want to make it worse, so you press gentle kisses all over his face and whisper to him just how much you love him and how beautiful he is

Since he doesn’t really have lips anymore, you are kissing more of his skin above and his teeth, but you don’t mind it at all, as long as it is him nothing could scare you off

He can still use his tongue well enough after all, so instead you just latch onto his tongue when he lets you, which makes it a lot sloppier than it used to be, but it’s more than fine with you

[sheismadeofsunlight]

Hello, hunnies

I wanted to make a post on how to deep clean after having a hard time. Whether this is from a bad thing happening in your life, mental illness, or anything else, I hope this helps.

Start this out as soon as you wake up, eat something, brush your teeth and do whatever else you need to do. It’s okay to take a little bit of time doing everything - Rome wasn’t built in a day.

It’s okay to take a break/stop at any point for the day. You’ll be okay.

Start out by picking up garbage and throwing it away. I know it can be hard to get up and throw things away but you deserve to live in an environment without trash.

Take any dishes and put them in the sink or dishwasher. You don’t have to do them right now, just put them where they need to be.

Wipe down your surfaces and dust, again, you deserve to live somewhere without dust and muck.

Pick up anything off the floor and put it anywhere that isn’t the floor for now

Mop/sweep/vacuum your flooring. There’s a good chance that this really needs done and your feet will thank you for not stepping on a crumby/sticky floor.

If you have one/are not sensitive to it, put on an infuser or candle. There’s different oil mixes on Pinterest and Etsy sells a bunch of different candles from small businesses. Candles from anywhere else is also fine, obviously haha!

Put clothes in the laundry - I know this can be especially hard if you live somewhere that your washer/dryer isn’t in your apartment. If this is the case then at the very least sort out the clean clothes from the dirty clothes, putting away the clean clothes and putting the dirty clothes in a hamper/bag to carry.

While they are in the laundry/everything is sorted, fix any decor in your house that may have fallen over, posters that are coming off the wall, and if you have the money it may make you feel better to have a couple new pieces/art/lights to brighten up your space. If not, your stuff is just as good and seeing it look well presented will make you feel better.

Go through your refrigerator and throw away anything expired or moldy, clean out the fridge (I use vinegar and baking soda, followed my a kitchen cleaner) and optionally, put in a smell control product

Go through your dry goods and spices, throw anything away that is expired, moldy, or looking a bit rough. Put things back nicely.

It’s time for dishes. If you have a dishwasher, this’ll be easy enough if you followed the step above, just throw in your soap and have a bit of a break. If you have to hand wash your dishes and there are a lot of them, it’s perfectly fine to take as many breaks as you want. You can wash half of them and do the other half later, even! If it’s a common problem for you to have lots of dishes and you find it extremely hard to wash them, it may be something to think about to get a dishwasher or a tabletop one (you pour water into the top of it and put the soap in. It’s overall easier and if you are having too hard of a time to wash them everyday, it can)

Optionally, you could scrub your oven but it’s not super important. You should scrub the stovetop, to get any muck off and make it sparkly clean.

Whenever they’re dry, put your dishes away and scrub your sink/put a dishwasher cleaner in

Go to the bathroom and clean the sink, then the shower/bath tub, and lastly the toilet. Do the best you can to clean inside and outside of each. Scrub the walls and mirror. If there’s anything out of place then reorganize!

For the bedroom(s), wash your bedlinen ASAP - you deserve to sleep somewhere clean. Fix your desk up nice and neat (if you have one)

Organize your makeup and/or beauty care

Clean your windows and any other glass things in the house

If you can, buy yourself flowers at the supermarket or get them delivered to you! It may seem silly or frivolous, but fresh flowers *are* nice.

Water your plants and fertilize them, them being healthy will make you happy

Last but not least, put on a record or play some of your favorite music, and cook yourself a nice meal... or even better, get something from a nice restaurant brought to you. Sit on the sofa, take in your pretty, newly clean and nice smelling surroundings, then unwind. You deserve to!

I may have forgotten a thing or two and I will update it if I happen to remember! Have a lovely day, darling and I hope whatever is plaguing you will get better - sooner than later.

[xillveart]

Anything

Rating:  Explicit

Warnings: Rough Sex (Vaginal), Rough Oral Sex (blow job, face fucking), Spanking / Whipping (with a drumstick), Obsessive Reader, Toxic / Power Imbalanced Relationship, Emotional Manipulation, Suggested Dubcon / Reluctant / Compliant Reader

Words: 10,418 

Pairing: Drummer!Bakugou Katsuki x Superfan!Fem!Reader

Quirkless, Punk rock band AU

BTW, please blacklist the tag cutesuki-lemons if you do not want to see this content from my blog. I will no longer be tagging with specific keywords for this type of content.Thank you~

Due to the nature of this post, the characters are 18+

Tags: @lady-bakuhoe​, @gallickingun​, @mirakumiruku​, @wakaoujisenhime​, @sunnieskies02​, @hisoknen​

Art in banner by me.

This was incredibly frustrating. Finally, after years of admiring and being an incredibly dedicated fan, you were standing in front of your favorite punk rock band. They were just a few feet from you, so close that you could reach out and touch them. How badly you wanted their full and undivided attention was near suffocating, and yet, it was so difficult for you to find the courage to speak at all. You had given them your name after you had been brought backstage for the meet up, which was a perk of the insanely expensive VIP tickets you and your friends had purchased. 

That’s all that you had been able to say. Your friend, however, was absolutely bursting with questions. You were very close to her, but damn, you wished that she would just stop talking long enough for someone else to get a word in. All day you had been brooding over what you wanted to ask, what you wanted to say to these men that had been such a huge part of your life for the last few years. Their music had inspired you, made you cry, pumped you up so much that you’d jump around your room and just jam out. But, more than that, they had saved you. You didn’t know how to explain it, or even how it happened in the first place, but you had truly begun to feel like their existence is what you lived for. 

Was that unhealthy? Probably. But who could blame you? You loved every single one of them. All five men were like your best friends, and you felt so close to them from your time following them on social media and attending their concerts. You knew them like the back of your hand, from birthdays, to favorite food, drinks, hobbies, past or current girlfriends, and you had even found out their personal telephone numbers. Had you ever called them? No, of course not. That would be creepy. 

Midoriya Izuku, the band leader and lead singer, was being the most engaging as far as answering questions. Unlike their punkish attire and aesthetic, he was like sunshine, incredibly friendly and soft with his curly green hair and freckled cheeks. He was adorable, able to make all the little fangirls scream and squeal with his grin and a cheeky wink. 

Todoroki Shouto, lead guitar and backup singer, was the quiet pretty boy of the group, breaking hearts with his intense and piercing stare. That wasn’t to say he didn’t have a soft side to him, but more than anything, he was extremely dense, and his genuine confusion was what made him so desirable. 

Kirishima Eijirou, second guitar, was another ray of sunshine amongst the black clothes and punk piercings. He loved to get the crowd riled up, his endless energy and cheery personality infectious. Out of everyone, he was the most openly friendly without a hint of shyness and treated everyone like he had known them forever. 

Kaminari Denki, bass guitar, was the group idiot. He was nice, but often did and said things that could get the group into trouble or make a fool of himself in the public eye. Funny and playful, he could make anyone laugh, either from a joke or from just being a silly fool. 

Although you adored them all, one of them had you in his grip, like your heart had been locked in a vice that grew tighter every time you saw him. The fifth member, Bakugou Katsuki, was your absolute dream man. Rough, arrogant, mean, and foul mouthed, he was the bands second in command, drummer, and backup singer for moments that required his deep and gruff voice. God, he was everything you ever wanted in a partner. Boyfriend. Husband. Whatever! You wanted him so badly that you dreamed about it constantly, picturing yourself in those strong arms or having those calloused hands on your body. Much to your misfortune, he was the most private on social media, so there was still a lot about him that you didn’t know. 

That was one of his most attractive qualities to you. His mystery and his silence. What was he really like? Was he this grumpy and off putting with those close to him? Did he have a gentle side of any kind?

You wanted to know everything about him! But, standing here in front of the entire band, you were frozen, not able to make a squeak. Even your eyes were locked on the floor, unable to look up at them in fear that you would gawk a little too intensely. Or start crying. One of the two would happen, probably. 

Your chance to interact with your heroes was slipping by with each moment, however, and you didn’t know if you’d ever get to have this chance again. What did you want to say? What questions had you thought about? You had a million of them, all you had to do was just say one. Something. Anything! 

“Bakugou-!” 

The name slipped from your lips in a sharp snap, which tapered off at the end with a tremble. Just as the sweet name left your lips, your eyes darted up, catching the confused and irritated crimson glare of the blonde drummer. At first, you were taken aback by his current appearance, still flushed and sweaty from the concert performance. His blonde spiked locks were wild and unruly, bangs stuck to the sweaty skin of his forehead and cheeks. He was so handsome, all messy and hot--

“U-uhm…” Your friend that stood beside you gave you a nudge in the side, though she was unable to pull your gaze away from Bakugou, who’s annoyed snarl made your heart begin to race. “[Name], I was about to ask something else…” 

“What’d you want to say, you damn shitty extra.” Bakugou barked at you, ignoring your friends' whine at being interrupted. “Don’t just bark out my name and then stand there like a fucking moron.” That gruff and demanding voice was intoxicating, making you involuntarily clench your thighs together and clutch at the fabric of your skirt.

“I… I was wanting to know. Uhm,” Your eyes darted across his face and his chest as you tried to think of what you had been wanting to ask him. You couldn’t remember for the life of you, but as your gaze landed on the piercing he had on the bridge of his nose, a thought popped into your head and curiosity flourished instantly. “How many piercings do… do you have?” 

Bakugou’s eyebrow cocked in initial confusion at the question, before returning to its usual furrowed position. “The fuck? That’s kind of personal, ain’t it?” 

“I’ll tell you how many I have.” You weren’t sure if the teasing, flirtatious sound of your voice was purposeful or not, but just hearing yourself made the tips of your ears flush. “Five types… Nine piercings total. I bet you beat me on that, hm?” 

“Tch, that’s fucking nothing, you little punk poser. I have nine types, thirteen total.” Bakugou shoved his hands into the pockets of his loose shorts, pulling the fabric down just enough to show the skin of his left hip and a peak of his boxers. One of the stated piercings gleamed in the light once exposed, and it took all your willpower to not hyper focus on it. “Not like you’ll ever know them all or see them.” 

“I bet I could guess.” “You’d fucking fail, moron-”

“A-ah, let’s not!” Midoriya interrupted, giving a nervous laugh and a wave of his hand to pull your attention off Bakugou. “We’re not here to talk about such personal things, you know! Right, Kacchan?” 

“I don’t give a fuck,” Bakugou shifted his weight from his right foot to his left, giving an annoyed click of his tongue. “I’m not in the mood for this bullshit.” 

“Why?” You once again spoke without thinking. “Because you missed your cue during Collide?” The accusation immediately had Bakugou’s eyes widening in surprise before he scoffed, glaring crimson daggers at you.  

“Well aren’t you just a fucking super fan.” 

“I try to be.” Although you knew that he wasn’t kind to you, the fact that he noticed your extreme interest in the band made your cheeks flush, looking down at the ground between your black combat boots. The t-shirt you had paired with your skirt was your favorite that you owned of the bands merchandise, and just seeing it as you gaze down over your chest made your stomach bubble nervously. Was it really that obvious? Was it weird to him? Did he like it? 

“Ah, well, anyway!” Your friend piped in again, taking a step closer to Midoriya with a sparkle in her eyes. “Deku! Please, tell us about your girlfriend!” 

Midoriya instantly went into his flustered state of rubbing the back of his head, his stuttering and embarrassed gibberish cracking with his exhausted voice, leaving you once again off to the sidelines. With a small, quiet sigh, you fiddled with the hem of your skirt, more questions burning on the tip of your tongue. In your down casted vision, you saw Bakugou’s feet shift, and there wasn’t a second thought in your mind about looking up at him. Your gaze immediately locked with his, which was still a dark and threatening glare. 

Your heart instantly skipped a beat, the heat in your cheeks growing hotter. Had he already been looking at you? Why was he glaring so intensely? You didn’t think that he would get upset with the mention of his mistake that you had pointed out, but perhaps he had gotten embarrassed? In truth, you hadn’t meant your statement to be argumentative in any way. You were more concerned about him. Messing up during a performance was a big deal, and though most people might not have noticed, you were curious if it was eating at him or if he just doesn’t care. 

Then, he made a move that you didn’t expect. With a quiet click of his tongue, he began to make his way out of the room, only stopping at the door when Kirishima spoke up. 

“Woah, man, where are you going?” The redhead interrupted Midoriya, who also looked at Bakugou curiously. 

“I work a lot harder than all of you assholes during a show! I’m sick of fucking standing around, and these losers aren’t even interesting. I’ll be in my room.” Before anyone could stop him, the door slammed shut with his exit, and you turned your attention to Midoriya as he sighed. 

“A-aha, I’m sorry about Kacchan! He’s uh… he doesn’t like meetups much.” 

“That’s a shame…” You mumbled under your breath, already missing his presence. You could still feel that glare on you, so threatening and dangerous. This had been your chance to really make yourself stand out from the crowd and show him how genuinely interested you were in him, and you wasted it. You cared about him more than these other women that fawned over him like brainless zombies. You were perfect for him. You knew you were, without a doubt, and you wanted him. 

It was true that the rest of the band members were close to your heart, that you admired all of them as your heroes. But Bakugou… You had just ruined your chance to talk with him and get to know him. 

There wasn’t anything else you could do.

“Is there a bathroom I can use?” Your question once again popped out of your mouth during the middle of a conversation, though instead of stopping it, Kirishima smiled at you sweetly. His kind face and gentle touch to your arm to lead you away from the group so he could talk to you had your heart racing, almost too scared to take a step in fear that you’d trip with how distracted you were by his face. 

“Yeah, babe. Go left down the hall, you’ll see it marked. Don’t get yourself into trouble, m’kay?” 

B-babe? Aahh, why would he call me that? He’s too sweet for his own good. Cheeks flushing, you gave a small nod, thanking him quietly before heading out of the room, taking a final quick glance at the group behind you to catch Kirishima giving you a playful wave. Of course, by the time you stepped outside into the hallway, Bakugou had already vanished. Using what you had remembered of the route to get to this room from backstage, you hadn’t seen anything that was labeled as a changing room for any of the men. So, you went left down the hall as you had originally been instructed, glancing at each door you passed to see if there were any names scribbled on the dry erase board many of them sported. 

Your heart nearly stopped when you finally saw it. Bakugou Katsuki, written in red marker with a shitty doodle of what looked to be a hand holding up the middle finger, along with the words “fuck off”. Before going in, you took a moment to press your ear up against the door, listening closely to see if there were any signs of life. There wasn’t a single sound or hint of movement, so gathering your courage and glancing up and down the hall for danger, you took hold of the doorknob, your heart beginning to race as it moved without resistance. 

With a quiet click, the door opened, not making another sound as you cracked it just enough to look inside. The lights were on, and your suspicions that he hadn’t been inside were confirmed. Feeling a bit discouraged, you considered just going back to the room to finish off your time with the rest of the band. That would probably be enough to satisfy your longing for them, right? The others could be great company, and maybe Bakugou would come back before you left. 

But, deep in your chest, you could feel the need to be with Bakugou alone to talk to him one on one. You wanted his attention more than anything, and you knew that there wasn’t going to be another chance for you to see him this close again any time soon. No, you couldn’t run away. You had already come too far to back out now. What’s the worst he could do? Kick you out? Call security to have you removed? Call you names? Press you up against the wall and threaten you? 

Ah, well, maybe that wasn’t all that bad. You’d probably melt in his hands and collapse on the floor in a blushing puddle of tears if he so much as touched you. 

Gathering your resolve, you pushed yourself on into the room, walking lightly and glancing this way and that to make sure he wasn’t just laying on some furniture or something to take a nap. Feeling confident that he wasn’t in the room, you shut the door behind you with a light click, taking a few timid steps into the room. Almost instantly, you were completely engulfed by the scent of his body spray, which you had only been faintly able to pick up while in the group. It was such a powerful scent, bold and intense, just like him. How quickly just the simple scent of him made your core burning hot was a bit staggering, feeling your knees already growing weak and your chest growing tight. 

This is harder than I thought… Just from smelling him like this I feel like I’m going crazy. And he’s not even in here! I should leave before I get too distracted… But… This is his stuff! 

Beginning to feel a bit overwhelmed being in the presence of Bakugou’s possessions, your teary gaze scanned the room methodically, surprised to see that the room was actually very well kept. With his brash personality, you more expected Bakugou’s personal space to be a wreck, but the only thing that was really out of place was a small pile of clothes tossed aside next to a suitcase. A desire to be close to Bakugou driving you, there wasn’t a moment of hesitation as you made your way towards it, squatting down. Right on top was the tank top he had just been wearing, still soaked with his sweat. It was the most recent thing that had touched his body. It still had his essence all over it. How could you just leave it there? 

Picking it up, you brought the shirt up to your nose, inhaling deeply. It was absolutely delicious, your body quivering from the excitement and adrenaline beginning to pump through your veins. You were actually holding one of Bakugou’s sweaty shirts in your hands, one that he had just performed in! This was absolutely real. It wasn’t a dream!

Becoming overwhelmed with your feelings for him, you flopped back to sit on your butt, spreading your legs open. Since you were wearing fishnet hose with decently large holes, you had direct access to your already soaked pussy, the little lace thong easily moved aside. Now, all that existed to you was the scent wafting off his shirt and your fingers eagerly stroking your sex, alternating between stroking your clit and digging two of your fingers inside you. The cloth of the t-shirt pressed up against your lips and nose, you panted and moaned softly against it, imagining that you were right up against his chest, his fingers teasing your cunt. 

You were so engrossed in your fantasy that you could even hear him taunting you, that deep growl of his voice in your ear. 

“That’s right, babygirl. You like when I finger that slutty pussy, don’t you?” 

“You’re so fucking wet, you little whore. Dripping all for me.” 

“Getting horny just from the smell on my clothes? You dirty fuck.” 

“What the fuck are you doing?!” 

The sudden rattling boom of a familiar yell startled you out of your pleasant daydream, turning your moan into a squeal as you nearly jumped out of your skin. Spinning around, you were met with the wide-eyed shocked crimson glare of your dream man, who was standing halfway in the room, as if he had stopped in his tracks upon seeing you. All you could do was sit there in shock, still holding his shirt up to your face as your other hand tried to pull your skirt down between your legs, as if to hide your sin. 

“I,” Stuttering, you tried to gather yourself, clenching your thighs together tightly. “I, uhm, Bakugou, it’s not- How’d you… get in?” 

His shocked expression contorted into one of confusion, then into annoyance, his brows furrowed deeply as he startled at you. “Are you fucking kidding me? You didn’t lock the door, ya dumb cunt.” Walking the rest of the way inside, he slammed the door shut loudly behind him, startling you again enough to scurry back against the wall, your knees pulled up to your chest protectively. “What the fuck are you even questioning me for? You’re the horny bitch sitting on my floor sniffing my fucking clothes and touching yourself.” Without having to look back at the doorknob, Bakugou gave the little lock a twist, setting the latch firmly in place. 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you could only stare at him, your eyes captivated by that fierce glare. How hot he made you only intensified now that he was back in your presence, and more than that, the asshole was even shirtless. His flawless muscular figure made your mouth feel dry, as if any and all liquid your body could produce was pooling between your legs. It was everything you could do not to start touching yourself again, clutching onto his shirt with both hands tightly. “I… I’m sorry. I just… I-” 

“You’re just a damn psycho fan, aren’t ya?” Reaching up to give his hair a quick ruffle, Bakugou started making his way towards you, his ruined and ragged skater shoes squeaking against the smooth wooden floor. “I’m surprised you didn’t rip your shirt off during the fucking concert and throw your bra on stage.” 

“I’m not stupid like those girls… I have dignity. And I don’t want a bunch of other people seeing my tits anyway.” Your voice lowered down to a meek whisper by the time he stood in front of you, both of his hands on his hips, as if he were about to scold you like an angry parent. With him so close, your eyes glanced over every inch of his bare torso, drinking in how absolutely flawless he was. What was even more enticing was the piercings he had so proudly boasted about not long ago, a pair of them placed on his collarbones, nipples, and hips. 

“Tch, dignity?” Bakugou scoffed, a sly smirk crossing his lips. “‘Dignity’, the little slut says, as she sits on the floor in my dressing room fucking herself to the stench on my shirt. Pathetic.” 

“What are… Are you going to kick me out?” 

“There’s a lot that I could do to you,” Bakugou’s smirk turned wicked, his lips curling up to show his gums. “But how about you tell me what the fuck you were doing in here?” 

“I just… I really wanted to get an autograph or picture with you. You’re my,” Your breath caught in your throat, not wanting to let it slip that he was your absolute dream man. “You’re my favorite band member.” 

“Then what are you doing with my clothes?” 

An intense burning suddenly rushed to your cheeks with a new round of embarrassment, and with it came the stinging sensation of tears building up in your eyes. What had you been doing? You had just wanted to talk to him more, to get to know him better, and just spend time with your hero. And yet, you had let yourself get completely overwhelmed by a burning desire for him, one that was just too strong to ignore in the moment of solitude with his possessions. You knew that you had a very intense crush on him, but that bad and that… gross? You had told yourself over and over that you weren’t like the desperate women who would do anything filthy to get his attention, yet here you were, sniffing his clothes and touching yourself. 

“I… I don’t know what I was doing.” Your voice quivered as you avoided looking at him, trying to blink the tears away. “That was really gross of me. I had just… wanted to see you in private. I wasn’t getting a chance to talk to you, to any of you, and… I just wanted my chance.” 

“You wanted your chance, eh?” Bakugou brought a hand up to his chin, rubbing it as if he were in thought, contemplating his options. “So much that you’d sneak into my room, to wait for me or try to corner me?” 

Swallowing the lump that had grown in your throat, you coward down back against the wall, wishing that you could just shrink away in shame. Your impulses had completely ruined your chances. He had to think you were a total freak by now, he’d never want to even give you the time of day. 

“Ya know,” Bakugou crossed his arms over his chest, taking a half step closer to you. His posture and presence over you was so aggressive and domineering that you couldn’t find it in yourself to move, only pulling your legs up tighter to your chest to try and get further away from him. “You talk all big, saying that you’re not like those other extras out there that’ll drop their pants in seconds for me. That you have ‘dignity’. But I don’t think that’s true. I think you’re just like those other sluts out there, a stupid whore that is driven by nothing but her cunt.” 

You gave a small shake of your head, trying to ignore the throbbing between your legs and the swirling in your stomach from how he was treating you. You couldn’t believe it was turning you on so much. “No, I… That isn’t what I wanted.” 

“I think it is. You’re disgusting. Nothing but a filthy super fan and a stalker. Why don’t you just admit it?” 

“Because… It’s not true. I love you, but not… It’s not all like that.” 

“If you loved me, you’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?” The change in tone caught you off guard, his voice no longer accusatory and vicious. Instead, his growl was almost soothing, as if he were trying to calm your frantic thoughts of failure. “You’d do anything to stay in the same room as me. To just be able to fucking look at me or get a shitty autograph, hm?” 

“I would… yes.” Your heart racing, you tried to blink away the tears still prickling in your eyes, but they were persistent. “But if you want me to leave, I’ll… do that, too. I shouldn’t have come here like this in the first place…” 

“You regret it?” Bakugou moved his hands back to his hips, his fingers resting against the pristine shape of his hips with such rugged and confident posture. You were so conflicted on your feelings, and that question only made your throat grow tight. Did you regret it? All your actions up to this point had gotten you here, alone in his room with him, and no matter what the interaction was or may end up being, just getting to be here was a dream come true. 

But what would you do? Would you really do anything he asked of you? Anything? In truth, you didn’t think that you had the courage and you would just annoy him until he kicked you out. What would he even want from you in the first place? You weren’t innocent enough to not have noticed the bulge beneath the zipper of his shorts, pressing up into the fabric. Was this entire situation, having you cowering on the floor in front of him like this, actually turning him on? Did he… like you, then? Was he attracted to you? 

“I asked you a question.” Bakugou snapped when you didn’t answer him, leaning forward a bit to glower down at you with that typical snarl. 

“I don’t… I don’t regret it. I just don’t want to upset you.” 

“Aw, don’t want to upset me, eh?” With a click of his tongue, Bakugou’s snarl stretched into a smirk. “Poor little stalker, scared to upset me. Don’t worry, babygirl. Just do what I ask, and you won’t upset me.” 

“Really? You’re not upset?” 

“Not at all, babe. But you have to do what I say. You’ll do anything for me, won’t you?” The condescending growl of his voice was lost to you, only able to latch on to the pet names and hope of getting back on his good side.

“Yes.” 

“Because you’re not like those other girls. You're my number one fan. Aren’t you?” 

A new burning of heat and tears flared up, unable to stop the happy smile on your lips. “Yes. Yes! I am! I love you so much-”

“Get on your knees.” 

Smile faltering, you were confused by the demand, looking up at Bakugou through your gathered tears. “What?” 

“Get on your fucking knees.” Bakugou snapped again, the gleam in his glare almost… sinister. Still, there was something in you that begged for you to comply, and just like your impulses earlier, you couldn’t ignore it. Squeezing the fabric of his shirt tightly in your hands, you slowly shifted yourself up onto your knees as demanded, though the space between him and the wall was limited. Worried about your face being too close to his crotch, you sat back mostly on your legs, but he was quick to correct you. 

“All the way up on your knees.” 

Nibbling at your bottom lip, you pushed yourself up to be kneeling, your eyes glancing and looking everywhere but at the crotch of his baggy blank punk shorts, which reached his knees and ended in tattered fabric. The chains on both hips rattled lightly as he shifted his weight to his other foot, and that slight sound pulled your eyes to look at them, and thus at his crotch. At this angle, you could truly see how strained he was, the form of his cock clearly visible. The heat in your cheeks grew fiercer just thinking about what was just a few inches from your nose, and what was worse, the smell of him was overwhelming all your senses. He must have just recently reapplied his spray after sweating like mad for hours on end, but even his natural scent was enticing. 

“What are you looking at, babe?” 

Bakugou’s voice broke you out of your stupor, bringing you to look up at his face. “Nothing… Just, well…” Your voice tapered off, unable to find it within you to ask him. He obviously had a boner, but what the hell did that mean?

“Open your mouth. Keep those pretty eyes on my face.” His commands had grown softer, as if he were purring at you to keep you compliant. Opening your mouth as told, you peered up at him through your lashes, tilting your head back a little. The way his smirk grew had your skin tingling, but that isn’t what had all your attention. Your focus was on his hips, listening to the rustling of fabric and watching the movement of his arms through your peripheral vision. “Good girl. Now stick out your tongue. And don’t move.” 

Slowly, your tongue lolled out, and the low groan he gave in satisfaction of your obedience had you opening your mouth wider. As you sat there waiting for him, you could feel the saliva beginning to dribble down your chin and along the length of your tongue, gathering in a slick pool before dripping off the tip of your tongue to the floor. 

Suddenly, you felt a hard and hot presence slap against your tongue, making you squeak and recoil back. Though, before you could get far, your hair was in Bakugou’s fist, yanking you back up into position and peering up at him in shocked fear. He was visibly agitated, but his smirk was still wide, teeth bared. 

“What do you think you’re doing, slut? I said don’t move. You told me you’d do anything I say.” 

Trembling now, you pulled your gaze from his to look at his hips, pressing your lips together tightly as you gazed upon his erect cock. As he held it steady with his free hand, you couldn’t help but take in every detail, from the girth and length, the prominent veins and ridges, and the frenum barbell piercing nestled just under the blushing head. It was truly the most attractive cock you had ever seen in your life, and a fire began to rage in your core as you realized that was what had just hit your tongue. 

Bakugou’s cock… He… He wants me to suck him off? What if I’m not good enough… I shouldn’t! 

You could feel the heat of your essence beginning to dribble down your thighs, your poor excuse for underwear and hose completely soaked through. You could feel the throbbing all the way into your stomach, and it was impossible to deny that you were the horniest you had ever been. But this isn’t what you had expected or wanted to do. Was it? 

“That’s what you said, isn’t it?” Bakugou pulled your head a bit closer, giving you a few rough smacks to the cheek with his impressive cock. “You would do anything for me.” With your lips still tightly closed, he ran the tip of his cock across them, smearing his precum along your skin. “So be a good girl and give my cock a little kiss. Be sweet, now.” 

Although the demand was embarrassing, the pressure of his grip on your hair and his cock literally at your lips made you feel like you truly didn’t have a choice. He was in control of all of this. He could do anything he wanted. He could get you arrested, even. You had to do what he said, not only for your own benefit, but because you adored him. So, you placed a tender kiss right beneath the head, your eyes fluttering closed. Abandoning the t-shirt in your hands, you reached up to softly caress his cock, using your grip to move it up to give you more access to the underside. Your kisses were quite timid at first, but as one lingered against the underside of his shaft, the pulsing you could feel against your lips made your body ache. 

Eventually, your kisses became more passionate, even giving light suckles and little kitten licks, teasing the piercing and the sensitive head. Hearing him groan with the attention pulled your eyes up to look at him, a bit surprised to see that his cheeks were quite flushed, and his smirk had faded. Was he really enjoying this? 

Bracing himself against the wall with his free hand, Bakugou only further crushed you with his overwhelming presence and dominance, making you pause in worry. “Good girl. Now open your fucking mouth.” 

The instant your lips parted wide enough, Bakugou simultaneously pulled your head and pressed his hips forward, shoving his cock into your mouth, the tip stopping at the back of your tongue. Squeaking and groaning in surprise of the forced entry, you clutched on tightly to his thighs, only just having noticed that his shorts had fallen around his feet. His boxers had simply been pushed down out of the way, but the elastic kept them up on his hips for now. You were unable to move, his grip on your hair too tight to pull back. He didn’t want you to do the work? 

“That’s it, baby. Keep that mouth nice and open for my cock. You don’t gag easily do you?” You could hear the feigned concern in the question, and the only answer you could give is a furrow of your brow, new tears prickling in the corners of your eyes. “Oh well. Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” 

It was then that Bakugou began to thrust his hips, fucking your mouth slow and shallow. You were actually surprised that he started out so cautious, but you could tell that the pleasure was beginning to grow quickly. “Fuck babe, you’re such a good little slut for me.” Ever so slightly, he began to thrust faster and deeper, until the tip of his cock was hitting against the back of your throat. You were lucky that you didn’t have a strong gag reflex, as you knew that anyone who did would have already puked all over him. But you could take it. You could take it for him, to let him have his way with you just to stay with him a little longer. 

Though, you were finding that it was difficult, breathing in through your nose and trying to distract yourself from the burning in your jaw. Each thrust had your nose touching his pelvis and his balls slapping against your chin, which was coated in drool that dripped freely. It was so difficult to handle him, in fact, that you couldn’t stop the tears from running down your cheeks, only further displacing your already ruined makeup from crying earlier. You were a mess already, but the fire within you didn’t falter. If not for needing to grip onto his thighs to keep you balanced, you would be touching yourself again, the craving for your own pleasure just as suffocating as the dick in your throat. 

Still, your struggles were worth it. You got to watch Bakugou’s expression, his brow no longer furrowed in anger but in pleasure, his eyes glazed over with the undying need for release. His face was flushed and sweat was already beginning to drip down along his skin, his body still affected by the intense performance he hadn’t finished not even an hour ago. The way his body moved, muscles tensing and rolling beneath your grip on his thighs. He was so gorgeous. 

You had expected him to finish in your mouth, but after some time of fucking your throat raw, he stopped, holding the back of your head as he dug his cock as deep in as he could. You groaned and whined from the pressure, wishing desperately for relief while pushing on his thighs. With his own groan and hiss of pleasure, Bakugou pulled out of your mouth slowly, his smirk returning as he took in the sight of you. “You should see yourself. Filthy. Keep your tongue out.” When he finally removed himself completely, you took in a deep breath, gasping and panting to try and recover from the brutality you had to endure. Your tongue, however, stayed out as he demanded, allowing him to rub the underside of his tip against it. 

“You’re fuckin’ hot, you know that? So fucking sexy. I bet you have a nice tight little pussy, too.” After a few rough slaps of his cock against your tongue, he took a step back, stepping out of his shorts as he did so as well as his shoes, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. “Stand the fuck up.” 

Swallowing hard, you took the moment of getting to your feet to wipe your chin of the mess of liquids, but you didn’t get much time to steady yourself. Snatched by the arm, Bakugou dragged you over a few feet towards the couch, grabbing you once again by the hair and forcing you down over the armrest. The couch was quite tall, so with your upper body pressed into the cushions and your hips snuggly in place against the armrest, you could barely touch the floor with your tiptoes. It was another uncomfortable position, but you ignored the pressure on your belly as your ass was suddenly exposed to the cold air of the room, your skirt flipped up out of the way. 

“Fuck you have a nice ass.” Gripping your backside with both hands firmly, Bakugou squeezed and spread you open, taking in the pleasant view. “What a fucking punk poser you are with these shitty fishnets. They don’t even do shit.” Digging his fingers into the holes along your crotch, he gave a rough yank, ripping the fabric open to give him easy access. “Holy fucking shit, you should see how wet you are, babygirl.” 

You whimpered at the feeling of his thumb stroking along your sex, the slick that coated your skin giving him no resistance. You could feel it, all over your inner thighs and aching cunt, but now your favorite person in the entire world could see it, too. He could see how wet he made you, how getting tossed around by him made you feel. 

I… I didn’t agree to all of this. I know it isn’t right. I didn’t want it to go this far, but… How can I stop him? Why would I stop him? He’s… I love him so much! I want him to touch me, even though I know I shouldn’t--

Your thoughts were cut off by your own gasp, your body tensing and legs bending at the knee involuntarily at the sudden pleasure that rocked through your body. You knew what it was, his tongue hot and eager against your clit as he ate you out. The sounds of him lapping at your cunt and grunting in delight at the taste of you had your mind spinning, the pleasure devouring your body. Not wanting to be heard by anyone outside, you moaned and gasped into the fabric of the couch cushion, digging your nails into it as you did everything you could to not writhe out of his grip. 

You were so sensitive to his touch that you could feel everything, from his nails digging into your hips to the way his tongue piercing slid across your clit. It was as if he knew exactly how to use it to be able to drive you completely insane, the hard metal sending shocks of lightning through your body with each stroke and flick. 

“Ba-Bakugou, ahh-!” You tugged and pulled at the couch cushion in your grip, digging the toes of your boots into the floor. “It’s too much! Wait--!” 

“Too much? Don’t be such a fucking wimp. You’re my little slut, aren’t you? You can take anything I give you.” As he stood back up, you looked up at him over your shoulder, having to peek through your messy hair to see him. That wicked and excited smirk was back, and you were only able to watch as he gripped your ass in his hands, sliding his cock between your cheeks to coat himself in your essence. “And I know what you want me to give to you. You want my dick inside you, babygirl?” 

Immediately, you stomach rolled nervously, eyes on the tip of his cock and the precum dribbling from it. You were on birth control, there wasn’t necessarily anything risky about that, but there was something else that pricked at the back of your mind. If you did this with him, then you knew that you could never settle for another man. You would want him forever, as you always had, but would you ever get a chance like this again? Would you ever even see him again after today? 

It doesn’t matter… I’ll do it! 

“Yes! Yes, Bakugou, I want you.” You were surprised as he leaned away from you for a moment, though what he was doing was quickly made clear as he came back into full view with a drumstick. The way that it was beaten and chipped told you that it was one he had used that performance, and the other was probably close by, set to be discarded or handed out to fans. 

“And why do you want me?” Bakugou dug the stick into your hose, giving a sharp yank to further rip the delicate fabric and expose more of your ass to him fully. “Just because I’m your favorite of the band?” 

“No!” You couldn’t help but become defensive. “I… I care about you more than that!” You bit down onto your bottom lip as he began to run the tip of the stick across your skin towards your cunt, mind racing with thoughts of what he was going to do with it. You could still feel and see his cock between your cheeks, hot and pulsing, and you were honestly surprised that he could hold out to tease you this long. Just seeing you like this, bent over and so submissive, was enough to keep him going long enough to torture you a bit. 

“You love me? Even though I’ve slapped you, pulled your hair, and fucked your throat until you went hoarse? Even though I have your ass bent over the couch and haven’t given you any more than a few minutes of pleasure?” Suddenly, he brought the stick down hard onto your ass, making you yelp out and tremble beneath him. The pain was so good! You wanted that again, and you received it without having to ask, a moan slipping from your lips. 

“Yes! I’ll love you no matter what you do to me! Always! I love it when you throw me around and use me like this! Please, use me more! I’m your little slut, Bakugou--” You were silenced as he leaned over you, his palm pressing into the side of your face and pushing the hair roughly away from obscuring your flushed and teary features. Now with your full attention, Bakugou smirked, narrowing his eyes at you. 

“No, no, my pet. Call me by my name.” 

The heat that rushed to your face made even his burning palms feel cool, trying to blink the tears away as they rushed down the side of your nose to soak into the couch. Was he being serious? He wanted you to call him by name… by his first name. Something that he never allowed anyone but those close to him to do, and you had seen him on more than one occasion snap at people when they did it. He was huge on respect and feeling dominant over others, so to him, his given name was sacred. 

“Ka… Katsuki…” You couldn’t speak any louder than an airy whisper, though his reaction was enough to tell you that he enjoyed it. Smirk growing, Bakugou sat up from over your back, his fingers curling into your ruined hair as he began to rut his hips against you. His cock stroked slowly against your ass, his tip teasingly pressing into your cunt before slipping up back between your cheeks. 

“Again.” The drumstick still in his free hand, he brought it down hard onto the already abused and welted cheek, right as your voice had begun to leave your lips. 

“Ka-ah! Katsuki!” With another whack, your body instinctively tried to shift away from him, though all it did was off set his cock. His tip slipped into you, making you pause, both from the feeling and from the irritated growl that left his chest. 

“What a naughty little bitch, trying to get me to fuck you before I say so.” 

“N-no, it was just--” 

“-- Well if you want it so fucking bad, I’ll give it to you!” Abandoning your hair and the drumstick, he gripped your hips tightly in both hands, sinking his cock into you with one quick snap of his hips. “I’ll show you who fucking owns you!” 

You didn’t have time to think or respond as he began to fuck you, fast and hard. Already, the pleasure was overwhelming, rolling through your body like electricity. It was perfect, everything you had ever imagined and more. The way he filled you up to the absolute brim, not leaving a single inch of you untouched, had the coil in your core tightening so quickly that you couldn’t even think about how to restrain it. You were going to cum very quickly, and you had never wanted to so badly in your life. 

“How does my cock feel inside you, slut?” 

“G-good,” You struggled to choke out a response behind your moans, which squeaked with surprise as he picked up the pace. “It feels good!” 

“You want to cum all over it, don’t you?” 

“Yes!” 

“Beg for it.” 

At first, you couldn’t even comprehend what he was asking you, your mind growing hazy to everything but the pleasure. “I… please!” You reached back, clutching onto his hand tightly, digging your nails into his skin in hopes that it would keep him latched to you. “Please! Please let me cum, Katsuki! I want to cum all over your cock! I love it!” 

When the pleasure stopped, all you could do was sit there in shock, the emptiness you felt as he pulled out of you making your stomach sink. Had you said the wrong thing? Before you could really ask him, you were grabbed by the elbows and lifted up off the couch, your body flipped so you were sitting on the armrest with your legs now loosely hooked around his hips. In the next moment, his strong arms were around your body, one hooked around your hips to pull them snug against his own while the other supported your upper body. What shocked you more than that was the fierceness of his lips against yours, kissing you with intense passion and aggressiveness that you couldn’t help but to give in. 

Wrapping your arms around his torso, you moaned and gasped softly into the kiss, his hips once again rutting against yours to stroke his length against your clit. For a moment, things seemed to feel different than they had during this entire experience. It wasn’t as if he were using you anymore, doing everything entirely for his own benefit. Instead, his touch was attentive, caressing you and moving your body into position without force. Even the way he kissed you was quick to change, from dominating your mouth to a more tender sweetness. You didn’t ever want it to end, but you allowed it when he pulled away, gazing up into his piercing crimson gaze as he pressed his forehead against yours. 

“I want to see that pretty face when you cum.” The growl against your lips was teetering on threatening, as if he were warning you to not even think about turning away or hiding your face in his shoulder. “I want to see how good my cock makes you feel, baby. So cum all over it like a good girl.” As he began to sink his cock into you slowly, you couldn’t control your reactions to it, Your eyes rolling back and fluttering closed as he bottomed out inside you, even biting down onto your bottom lip as you whined. 

“Yes, Katsuki--” Your voice hitched as he began to thrust into you again, his cock reaching even deeper inside you that it had been before. “--Please watch my face… See how happy you make me!” 

“That’s right, you slut. That’s because you belong to me, don’t you? You’d do anything for me.” As he fucked you, he relied on your grip on him to keep you up, both of his hands moving to grip your hips again. As the pleasure began to boil, you dug your nails into his back, your voice spiking as he became rougher with the added pain. 

“Yes! Yes, anything! I’ll be your little slut forever, Katsuki! Just please don’t stop!” It was impossible to tear your eyes away from his even if you wanted to, but it was more than just the fact that they were intoxicating. He may have wanted to watch your face for the visual expressions of pleasure, but he didn’t realize that his demand to keep your eyes on him gave away more than he probably had expected to. There was no anger or frustration that you had seen before. Instead, he seemed absolutely overwhelmed with the pleasure himself, just as you were, and the flushing of his cheeks paired with his upwards furrowed brow gave him almost a… desperate look. Like he was pushing himself to make sure he was fucking you as well as he possibly could. 

Was he feeling some self-consciousness about all of this, too? Or regret for pushing you to this, unwillingly at first? You didn’t know, and you knew in the end he wouldn’t tell you if you asked. 

“Fucking hell, babygirl, your pussy is so fucking tight,” Bakugou pressed his forehead against yours again, wrapping his arms back around your waist to hold you closer, both to the edge of the armrest and his body. “You’re the best fuck I’ve had in months. I hope you’re ready for my cum all over that pretty face--” 

“No!” You moved your arms to wrap around his neck instead, one hand pressing against the back of his head with fingers tangled in his hair. “Come inside me! Please, Katsuki, I want you to fill me up! It’s okay--” Your voice cracked with a cry of pleasure, your encouragement pushing him to fuck you harder and deeper. 

“Then cum for me, bitch. Cum all over my cock.” 

With that command, you couldn’t hold the coil still any longer. It shattered with his movements inside you, each rough hit of his tip against your cervix only prolonging your orgasm and sending wave after wave of harsh pleasure through your body. Trembling, you squeezed onto him tightly, clutching a fist full of his hair and kissing him roughly, moaning and sighing softly into the kiss as he didn’t give you a moment to breathe. Within moments after your climax, his thrusts became slower and erratic, before he was finally able to release. 

Groaning and cursing against your lips, Bakugou kept his gaze locked with yours, not giving you any room to move or pull back as he came inside you. How hot it was coating your walls made you shiver, squeezing his hips with your thighs and pulling yourself in closer. It was an incredible high, and as you both came down from it together, you both loosened your grip on each other. 

For a moment, you stayed connected, your head on his shoulder with your forehead pressed against his neck, able to feel his pulse against your skin and his chest heaving against yours. Had all of this really just happened? You were pressed up against your crush, his arms wrapped around you with one large hand stroking up and down your back softly. It was so strange compared to his aggressive demeanor just moments before. You knew that it should have made you happy, but instead, all it did was confuse you, and you felt a new wave of tears rush down your flushed cheeks. 

Able to feel your tears run down his chest, Bakugou gave a click of his tongue, prying you off him with little pressure. In the same moment, he slipped his semi flaccid dick from within your still aching cunt, pulling his boxers back into place to cover himself. “Fucking crying again? Seriously?” 

Steadying yourself on the armrest with your hands, you kept your gaze downcast, squeezing your legs together as you could feel his cum beginning to leak out. “I’m sorry, Bakugou, I just--” 

“--Katsuki!” 

His loud correction made you jump, looking up at his face in shock as he glowered down at you. His cheeks were still flushed red, but you were unsure if it was from the exertion of what you had just done or from something else. Reaching over, Bakugou wiped your cheeks roughly with his thumbs, before giving you a bump to the bottom of your chin, as if telling you to cheer up. “I already fucking told you, psycho fan. Katsuki.” 

“Right. I… should I leave now?” 

Unsure of what to do with yourself, you stared up at Bakugou expectantly, fiddling with the hem of your skirt. With another click of his tongue, Bakugou bent over and snatched the forgotten drum stick up off the floor, taking a few steps away towards the vanity that was neatly organized with what you assumed he wore during a performance. Picking up what looked like a marker, Bakugou wrote something on the thick end of the drumstick, before presenting it to you. “Here.” 

Feeling your throat begin to close up as nerves began to take hold of you, it took you a moment to even find the courage to look at the stick, scared of what he might have written on it. Of course, it was probably just his autograph, which he had promised you at the beginning of all this. There wasn’t much time to look at it, though, before Bakugou huffed, shoving it against your chest and forcing you to grab it. “Take the damn thing!” 

Body still feeling quite weak, you squeaked as you fell backwards onto the couch from his push, clutching the drumstick tightly. You could see the tips of Bakugou’s ears flush as he scoffed, pointing towards the door that led out into the hallway. It was… cute. 

“Will you get out! Fuck, you’ve wasted enough of my time for now, go back to your friends!” 

For now…? 

Sitting up, you took a moment to fix your hair and wipe your face again, using the edge of your shirt to help you. “Do I look clean enough?” 

“You look just as fucking hot as you did when I first walked in. Now you better fucking leave, and I expect you to do what I say.” Walking over towards his pile of laundry, Bakugou picked up the shirt he had caught you with, tossing it at you and hitting you in the face. “And take that shit with you! You like it so much; you can have it.” 

Clutching both of your new prized possessions close to your chest, you hopped up like an excited child, smiling wide and squealing as you hopped towards the door. “Aahh, thank you, Katsuki! Thank you! I’m… sorry again for intruding…” 

“Yeah, and I’m sorry for the welts on your ass. Now fuck off!” Bakugou barked again, trying to rush you out for whatever reason. Stepping outside, you couldn’t help but take a moment to lean back against the wall when the door shut, breathing heavily and blushing fiercely. In truth, you weren’t sure what to make of that entire endeavor, thrown into a confusing mix of shame, embarrassment, arousal, and longing. You shouldn’t have done that, and yet, you just didn’t want to leave his side. 

“Got a little lost, didn’t ya, babe?” 

The squeal that left your lips was quickly doused by the t-shirt in your hand, jumping and nearly slamming yourself back against the wall in shock of the unexpected voice. Standing across the hall was Kirishima, whose presence you were surprised you didn’t notice immediately. The mischievous smirk on his lips quickly widened into a pleasant grin, uncrossing his arms and pushing himself off the wall to stand up straight. Had he been waiting for you to come out?

“You skipped the bathroom, you know! It’s down that way. I decided to come look for you before we were forced to call security guards, but I guess Bakugou found you first.” 

“A-ah, sorry! I… saw him go in his room and I just wanted an autograph.” Holding your treasures close to your chest, your stomach rolled nervously as Kirishima leaned in closer, his eyes locked on the visible part of the drumstick. 

“Aahh, I get it! Bakugou can be kind of a jerk, I’m surprised! But uh… if you want to convince anyone else that you were just getting an autograph, you should really go to the bathroom. I’m sure Bakugou didn’t give you a mirror, but you look like you had a real good time.” You could hear the tone in his voice lower from friendly to flirtatious, and you quickly tried to fix your hair. 

“H-he told me I looked fine!” 

“To him you probably do. May I?” Still grinning with a friendly disposition, you glanced at both of Kirishima’s hands as he held them up in an offering of help, before nodding timidly. He began to run his rough fingers through your hair, fixing it back into a state of normalcy with a tender touch that was so opposite to what you had just experienced with Bakugou. “You’re cute. I can see why he was so into you right away.” 

“That isn’t… normal for him?” Your eyes glanced over Kirishima’s exposed muscular arms and sides, the deep cut in the arms of his tank showing all the way to his hips. You thought you saw his smile turn sly out of the corner of your eye, but you couldn’t be sure. 

“Nah sweetheart. Bakugou might be a lot of things, but he doesn’t go for random chicks.” Seemingly satisfied, Kirishima also used his thumbs to wipe your cheeks and under your eyes. “Such a messy thing.” 

“Thank you, Kirishima… I’m… I’m really sorry for causing you trouble.” Your heartbeat grew heavier as the redhead in front of you didn’t step back, towering over you just as the blonde had. “I’ll go to the restroom and then... Back to the group.” 

With a chuckle, Kirishima nodded, tapping the end of the drumstick a few times. “You do that! I’ll meet you back there, just going to have a few words with our drummer. Careful with this stuff, yeah? Someone might just try to take it.” 

“I will…”

“Go on, then, scoot.” With a nudge, you were pushed forward down the hall gently, only taking a moment to look back at the pleasant smiling man behind you. He was so different from Bakugou and yet they were the closest friends in the band. You knew that Bakugou was going to tell him everything, and you could only hope that it was going to end up a positive conversation. You hated the thought of Kirishima spending the rest of the VIP visit looking at you in disgust, or even the possibility of him putting you down in front of everyone. 

Flustered, you scurried down the hall into the bathroom, slipping into a stall. After pushing down what was left of your hoes and your drenched thong, you plopped to sit, relieving yourself as you held the t-shirt and drumstick close to your chest. Though, it dawned on you that you hadn’t even looked at what Bakugou had written on the stick, so growing curious, you held it with both hands and spun it slowly to look over every inch. The ridges, dents, and splints in the wood were marks of every beat Bakugou had played, a solid crack down the middle representing just how powerful he was. 

In truth, you felt like that drumstick. You were always a splintered person, emotionally broken and splintered off from the world. And yet, Bakugou had touched you with his passion. But did that mean that you were truly broken now? Could you ever be used again by any other person, or would you snap into pieces the instant your heart tried to find its beat again? 

Eyes tearing up, you tried to blink them away, carefully running your finger along the crack until it met with a smudge of black writing. Unlike what you expected, there was no autograph. Instead, the words “Call Me” were scribbled in the black ink, along with a series of numbers. 

Is that… his cell phone number?! It’s different from what I had found… Those must have been fakes.

Reaching down into your boot, you pulled out your phone, having placed it there for safe keeping, though you were surprised it stayed in place the entire time in Bakugou’s room. Without an ounce of hesitation, you created his contact and started a message, sending it so quickly you didn’t even consider the consequences, though his words did ring in your ear loud enough to make you think he was right beside you. 

“Now you better fucking leave, and I expect you to do what I say.”

He said to call him, but… texting is the same, right?

Me 10:45 pm: Katsuki? 

Bakugou 10:47 pm: hey babygirl. ever been to an after party? 

[soft-citrus-central]

SELF INSERT RANT TIME~!

This is inspired by @black-cat-express​ rant/ worked on along side with, and was also done for overall writing practice and for some reason when it comes to this I tend to write it kind of like a wiki so expect that. The image above is more of a visual reference of my self insert (Part 2 design), and this post will be more of a hub for most of her information. 

(I took some of this info from older posts too, and somewhere in my art tag you can find more visual refs of her lol)

But yeah, since I'm hoping to be drawing even more of her its probably good to get a lot of this information just out there. Feel free to ask me questions about her, if you want. Without further ado~! Introducing Amanda Nolan, under the read more uwu

General Info:

Amanda Nolan, She’s a master forger and has a history with auction houses and appraisal. Her knowledge mostly specializes in the Arts and Architecture, which she gets easily excited about when she gets the chance to go off. Her appraisal and forgery skills are known to be some of the best, as she’s great at making and identifying fakes. She also has a not so great gambling habit, which is bad for her wallet but can be useful in calling someone’s bluff. (not 100% accuracy of course but still decent). So basically most of her skills rely on her eyesight. Her main weapon is a Colt Python that’s stored in her vest.

She got her gun when someone betted it and she won the pot. The Colt Python is a rather decent gun, but not without its flaws, but given it's the only gun she had for a while and still the main one she uses, she can't really complain too much. She also currently stands at being the second best shot, but only after long teaching lessons with Jigen. She started off as a decent shot, just inexperienced but he taught her not only how to shoot better but also how to shoot more than just her gun. These lessons were done under the request of Lupin, as he figured the logical thing of, ‘two gunmen is better than one’.

She’s very passionate when it comes to art and knows how things are supposed to be properly cared for and gets irritated when they aren’t as that usually ruins the value of the work and means more time she needs to spend restoring the product to its original state. She takes pride in her work, as both a forger and an appraiser, so she hates it one someone is able to spot her fakes, or tries to say she’s wrong about an appraisal, usually getting aggravated and seeing it as a challenge.  

Usually with first meetings she has a more professional business base feel to her, but her general energy can be described as chaotic neutral, as she tends to go along with stuff that she deems fun, which usually involves some sort of feral shenanigans. She gets very excited when the gang gets an opportunity to fuck shit up, even if its just watching one of the other members cause chaos. Despite her more ‘cute’ exterior, she has some violent tendencies and enjoys a good rough housing, Not to mention a love for more sketchy and/or haunted looking places. 

She doesn’t take too kindly when others cheat her out of a game or deal, and will often catch this and in return also cheat. That being said though, she isn’t a stranger to cheating games herself, namely if it of course benefits her and/or the gang. If it’s during friendly or not-as-serious games, she’s a lot more lenient as she finds it to be part of the fun. Amanda is also shown to be the member with the least amount of temper as shown by if she is asked to join on a heist after being left out of a previous one, she takes the least amount of convincing and usual response with, “No, I’m mad, don’t talk to me.. I’ll meet you there in a couple of hours.”

Songs associated:

Theme Music: A Boss Approaches - Super Mario 3D World

Everything Moves - Bronze Radio Return

General Background:

She is a master forger in more than just art, though that is what she originally went to school for. She came out of school running from her debts and struggling with money as a whole, her gambling tendencies not helping. This was an overall rough patch in her life as she was literally a starving artist living out of her car. She got lucky when someone approached her offering what seemed like a decent enough deal, though any money coming in would be considered a good deal at the time. They commissioned her to make copies of famous artworks for them to sell in their auction house. She agreed and that's when their partnership started, she was finally getting on her feet somewhat.

 Money was still tight, especially with having to buy her own art supplies, and she was living out of a motel, but it was better than nothing. After a couple of years though, in some adaptations its through Fujiko with her own goal in mind, in others it's by her own means, She finds out that they have been screwing her over by paying her crumbs in comparison to what they’ve been making off her work. She had a feeling she was being underpaid, but never could imagine the extent she actually was. 

After this, she decided to cut out the middle man to put it lightly, and a couple of forged documents and careful wording later, She owns the auction house. She still continues up the business of selling fakes, but she also takes on side jobs of appraisal and forgery. Enter Lupin. There were plenty of instances that lead to items she has forged for a client, being used against and putting a wrench into Lupin’s plan. This led to Lupin having a strong dislike for her, and in some adaptations he actively tried to cause her harm, and Amanda retaliates, often with forged wine. But after her auction house business fails, whether by Lupin’s doing or some other kind of misfortune again depends on the adaptations. Lupin makes the decision to have her work for him as having a forger and extra appraiser can be very useful.(and later on an extra gunman bonus) Amanda agrees, because well one, she just lost her business, and two, seems like it could be fun.

Relationships:

Lupin and Amanda- Their beginning dynamic was more of a mutual annoyance, with Lupin being irritated by all the reoccurring fakes and Amanda dealing with Lupin just showing up and causing problems. This leads to a back and forth of each of them just causing problems for the other. Still there was an underlying fun to it, and eventually she joined his gang. Because of their beginnings Lupin is one of the people Amanda rough houses with, and tends to join him on teasing other members. During meals together with the group while Lupin and Jigen are fighting over the food, Amanda can usually be seen sneaking food from Jigen’s and Lupin’s plate. Amanda and Lupin, both having rather impulsive personalities, sometimes lead into light-hearted competitions or bets between the two, with some of which led to Amanda betting against herself and helping Lupin win as She wasn’t aware the bet and their current job were connected. She also is rarely but jokingly known as his ‘Gunman Rebound’ as there’s times when Jigen will dip out of a job, and Lupin will call in the next best thing. Overall they have a good relationship.

Jigen and Amanda- The beginnings were kind of rough with Jigen’s general distrust of women, But given their similar attitudes and having to spend time together because of Lupin, whether it's on heist or with lessons, They started to get along fairly quickly. They both share more of a laidback and “Fuck around and find out” attitude, and some hobbies like gambling, so they were able to find common ground. They do differ on some things of course, such as outlooks, where Amanda has a more optimistic look on things, Jigen is more grounded with his realist/pessimistic look. Not to mention they have a tendency to bicker at each other, though usually light-hearted. Along with Lupin, Jigen is another person Amanda rough houses with and also has competitions and bets with. They both have a deep enjoyment when it finally comes time to wreck shop. 

His general distrust lingered for a long while, but despite that he would still playfully flirt with her, which in return would either cause Amanda to get flustered or on the rare occurrence shot back. They have both been shown on a few occasions, to fall or at least gain interest rather quickly. They eventually found themselves in an on again off again, kind of in a relationship, kind of not, gray area. Where they would appear to be a couple, but won’t really comment on it. This is mostly due to them not wanting to jinx it for Jigen’s sake as he’s had a long history of bad relationships. Not to mention, in some cases Amanda is more oblivious and would simply miss a cue. After a long time passed, and a mixture of Amanda showing she’s unlikely to betray him/the gang like his other exes and them both getting tired of the gray area, They both agreed to finally get together. 

Relationship or not though, with most of their interaction the rest of the gang tends to comment on how they’re like an old married couple already.

Goemon and Amanda- Goemon and Amanda’s relationship is more of a silent understanding and respect of each other. They don’t get much screen time together, but they have been shown to be a good duo together, getting their job done in a timely manner. Amanda doesn’t tend to tease or mess with Goemon much unless it’s initiated by someone else, and during meals his plate is left untouched by her scavenging ways. Their relationship stems more from a mutual respect for each other's skills. They don’t talk often to each other, but this surprisingly doesn’t lead to any awkward silences. It’s more of a quiet coexistence. This isn’t to say they don’t talk to each other at all, as they’ve had some joking banter before, it’s just not common. Their relationship is a silent one but still good, it’s just not usually shown. Fun fact though, He was one of the first people in the series to commission her for a fake in Part 1.

Fujiko and Amanda- Most of their interactions are considered mostly professional or business only. Now and then, Amanda has gotten roped into helping her because either she owes Fujiko money or because of Lupin. It’s not that they don’t get along though, they’re relationship is alright, Though Amanda doesn’t appreciate her screwing over her and the rest of the gang. Outside of all that though they are able to have civil conversation, it just usually leaves Amanda with wondering what she’s up to this time. Also being Asexual, Amanda is the only one Fujiko can’t fuck.

Zenigata and Amanda- Their relationship is the same as Zenigata’s relationship with the rest of the gang. He’s main goal is to capture Lupin, while only more passively going after the rest, but they all still hold a mutual respect and care for each other. There have been rare moments of conversation between the two, and it's usually the same playful banter that the rest do. Amanda gotta respect pops for being able to keep up with them for so long and to getting pretty good at calling out her fakes.

Trivia:

- Despite none of the characters having their ages specifically stated, it's known that Amanda is actually 4 days older then Jigen, having been born November 25. (Aka my actual birthday) Jigen still makes old man comments and only sometimes well Amanda point out she’s the older one to mess with him.

- Amanda’s favorite card game is Hanafuda Koi Koi. (though I believe it's just called Koi Koi)

- Amanda is usually described as vaguely European throughout the series but on rare occurrences it has been specified that she’s mostly Irish and somewhat English.

- Though it is not shown often she does own her own vehicle, A red 1965 Ford Mustang Convertible.

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

YOU DON'T LOOK LIKE MY UBER DRIVER

Marcus Alvarez x Reader

Anon asked: Hey, could you do an imagine with Alvarez where the reader is a very close friend of Chucky and once she brought peach pie to the club and he's there for a meeting with Bishop, and she ask him if he wants some and she's overall really kind with him and his boys that he's surprised to see someone so nice to them even if it's the first time they met?

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford ✨

Word Count: 2.5k

Author comments: I hope you all enjoy. Gif isn't mine, credits to the author.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​@sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @witchy-wish @rebel-without-cause-x @xx--day-dreamer--xx @spiced-reads @tita127 @ifoundmyhappythought @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

Chuckie and you have been friends since four months ago, when you move from San Diego to Santo Padre. There was no reason to do it, you just feel tired of being you whole life living at your hometown, and you were looking for a change of scenery. You opened a bakery store in the center of the small city and he was your first customer. You thought he was a somewhat weird, until you met him a little more. Chuckie was kind and pretty gentle, so that made easy to turn you two from strangers into good friends. So, when he asked you to go to his birthday party, you didn't surprise. He also wanted to introduce you to his friends, even if you already met one called Happy, who was strangely kind when he tasted your pancakes. The biker with rough look told you they reminded him of what his mother used to prepare for him. At that point, you really stopped judging people by their looks.

Chuckie didn't ask you for a birthday cake, but you thought it would be a good gift cook his favourite one. Peach and cream. 

Parking at the entrance of the car scrapping, you hold the big cardboard box between your arms with a extreme care as if it was a bomb, following the rows made by scrap and the latin music sounding somewhere. You reach a crowded yard with a blue house in the middle of it and a lot of motorbikes around. You have already heard about the Mayans, but it's the first time you're there feeling somewhat small and lost.

“Yo! Man, who's that piece of art?” Angel says, among Coco and Gilly on the porch, watching you looking for Chukie.

“I don' know, let's see, hermano”. Gilly smirks at him, hitting his chest with a soft gesture.

“Can we help you, mami?” With a strong mexican accent, a skinny and tall man comes closer to you, pulling away the long strands of hair from the roots to the back of his head.

“Yeah… Ahm… Chukie?” You reply in a shy mood consuming you. “I'm (Y/N)”.

“He's insi—”.

“Hey, love!” A familiar voice interrupts him behind you.

“Happy! You're here too!” The man places an arm on your shoulders, taking the toothpick from his mouth to leave a kiss on your left cheek.

“Cake, uh?”

“Yeah. It's a present for Chukie”.

“You know her, brotha'?” Gilly asks then, a little bit curious.

“She has a bakery store here. Chuckie's friend, and also mine. Don' mess with her”. Happy's scratchy voice doing that warning makes you feel somewhat safe, even if they don't look as bad as you heard. “Come with me, love”.

Raising your chin like a farewell, for the moment, you let the man guides your steps inside the clubhouse where the music is a little low than outside. The men there are older than the other, sharing beers and laughs surrounded by a lot of girls. Girls that, by the way they have to caress and treat every one, you know what they are. But you don't even care.

“(Y/N)! You came!” Chuckie's excited voice claim for your attention, walking somewhat faster towards him when Happy lets you go, leaving the cake on the wooden bar so you can hug him tightly.

“Happy birthday!” You say before giving him a kiss, pointing after that the cake.

“Smells like peach! I accept that!” He looks like a five years old super excited, holding your hand to accompany you to a large room with a huge table in the middle of.

The men inside looks at you with curiosity, getting up from their chairs.

“That's my good friend, (Y/N)”.

“Nice to meet you, kid. I'm Tranq”. A big and tall one comes closer, narrowing your hand as you show him your best and dearly smile.

“Che Romero to serve you, but you can call me ‘Taza’”. Another man, the oldest one but with a kind smirk on his face does the same gesture.

“Bishop Losa, querida. A pleasure to meet you finally. Chukie talks a lot about you”. El Presidente hold your right hand gentle, leaving a paternal caress on the back of it.

“Yeah, they talk about you all too. I'm sorry it took me so long to finally come”. 

“We know about your bakery store, and that box you brought… smells pretty good from here, sweetheart”. Tranq says supporting his forearms on the top of a chair, making you chuckle.

“Is it yours?” An unknown man, with mexican accent and a light whistle pronouncing every ‘s’, appears at your back.

“Yes, sir”. You nod turning above your sneakers, feeling a soft jump shaking your heart when you focus your gaze on him.

“Marcus Álvarez”. He raises a hand on air, taking you some seconds to react, narrowing it when you start to feel stupid.

“(Y/N). Nice to meet you”. You just say.

“C'mon! I want to introduce you to my north Cali friends!” Chuckie sound so excited that makes you laugh, saying goodbye with a hand to the men smiling at you somewhat warm. 

You can't help but being so obliging with everything. Helping the prospect to take more beer from the warehouse, helping with the barbecue and the music. You just want to contribute at Chuckie's party because he's your friend and you want to make him feel the most special man on earth, at a day like this. You're having a lot of fun going from a side to the other, sneaking with other Mayans, mostly with Angel who looks so interested in dancing with you, in the way to help someone else. They're like a big family around California and some nearby states. And you felt like part of it since you put a foot there.

“Hey, kid, have a rest!”

Tranq has a hand raised, making a gesture to come closer. Leaving the box of Jose Cuervo over the bar, you nod walking towards the men you met at the main room a couple hours ago. Taza makes you some space by his side at the sofa, falling down there actually feeling somewhat tired. Bishop opens a beer for you, offering it before sitting in front of the sofa.

“Are you having fun?” He asks.

“Yes! I've never been in a… party like that. I like it. Reminds me to my family”.

“All drunk and a little high?” Tranq laughs, exactly like you do.

“Yeah, more or less. I'm from San Diego, but my family are from Guadalajara”.

“So you're used to this kind of celebration, but without the bikers part”. Taza jokes a little, making you nod again.

“What about Chuckie and you? Just friends?” Seems like Bishop wanted to ask that a while ago.

“Just friends. He was my first customer. He's cool and smart. And knows a lot of things. But, just friends”. You say then, understanding that they want to endorse their friend.

“Chuckie is a good man. Somewhat weird. But he's loyal”. Tranq ads then, drinking from his beer with pursed lips.

“I assume you're single”. Bishop says leaning forwards somewhat above the table. 

You laugh a little bit nervous and ashamed, covering your mouth slightly with a hand.

“I'm just asking to protect your ass from my dogs”. He assure infecting his laughter to the others, knowing well that he's referring to the first men you met before finding Happy. But you also know there's something else hiding behind that question.

You're not stupid. You have seen sideways Marcus looking at you at four times. And even if you didn't asked him about his gazes, looks like he wants to talk with you and doesn't know how to do it without scare you. Guns, long rides, a lot of risks… Sounds like it's not easy to live with. And, because of their behavior, family is the most important thing for them. Put something like that into a danger it's not an option. But even if it's just your thoughts not being sure if he's interested, you could try. You hear him talking with other women there in a gentle way, taking care about them as only a good man, and also a good father, could do. The work he does, doesn't determine how he is. And you like it. You like him since you heard his voice, feeling that good energy around as soon as he was close to you.

The night passed by, between more beers, tequila shots and pieces of the cake you made. It's been a long time since you had some fun. Everyone is delighted with it and you're more happy than other days because of the alcohol. And because of that, you decide to take a first step, knowing that you probably are going to regret it. So getting up, and pretending you're okay, your steps follow Marcus direction to the room they called Templo. 

“Hey!” You say, sounding more excited than you should. “Did you taste the cake?”

The mexican turns at you, surprised at first because he didn't expect you. Smiling at you, he just simply nods wearing the black leather kutte after clean it with a wet rag, looking shiny than a while ago.

“Good!” You reply feeling truly stupid, not knowing what you can say to continue the talk. But he's staring at you like if he was waiting for something else. Like you leaving, for example. “Well, I just… I'm goin' home and I was asking myself if you liked it, 'cause you don' look seem very talkative”.

“It was a long day”. He says walking closer to your position. “You're not going to drive, aren't you?”

“No, ahm… Chuckie told me I could leave my car here, so I'm gonna call an Uber”. You shake your head, making a gesture with your left hand to take away its importance. 

“Where do you live, ah?”

“Second avenue, next to the post office. It's ten minutes walking, but Angel make me dance too much”.

That's the point. That's the hook ready to fish, and you don't know how the hell you have thrown it in such an amazing move. Marcus doesn't say anything about it, erasing the relaxed gesture from his face.

“It was a pleasure…” Focusing on the vest, you read one of the patches. “Padrino. I hope you enjoy the party”.

He nods in silence before seeing you turn over your steps to walk outside of the room. You say goodbye faster than you would like, promising that you will come back soon, looking for Chukie after that. He's with Happy next to the Mayans bikes sharing some drinks and old memories.

“Hey, guys!” With both hands into the pockets of the jacket, you smile at them. 

“Are you leaving, love?” The taller one asks, giving you back two kisses.

“Yeah, I'm kinda tired and I should work tomorrow”. You say before hugging Chukie tightly. “Thanks for inviting me, it was pretty fun”.

“I'll visit you tomorrow anyway!” He says blissful as always.

“Cool! Good night, guys”.

“Rest, love”.

At least you can walk straight through the hallway of the scrapping, right to the street. Rubbing your face with both hands, you feel like an idiot about the idea of Marcus having some interest, hoping he thinks you drunk too much. By the way, the fresh and cold air of the dawn helps you a little, crossing your arms before reach your car. You look at it, ready to drive it, but doesn't look like a good idea. So you finally leave it there, continuing with slow steps to the outside of the place, until the roar of an engine calls your attention. Turning aside, you find him stopping at your position.

“C'mon, I will take you home”. The mexican is giving you a black helmet, turning off the bike.

“Oh, no, no. Don't worry”. You say with pursed lips, feeling the shame running through your body, pretending you're waiting for the Uber car with your phone in a hand.

“C'mon, chamaca”. He insists moving his arm again, knowing that he'll not take ‘no’ for an answer.

Biting your lower lip, you nod holding it to sit behind him. Wrapping his waist with both arms, you try to relax yourself on your way back home, noticing that he's driving slower than normal. But you're not going to complain about it, resting your chest on his back getting somewhat comfy until he reaches your avenue. Then, the nerves return again when you have to point the building where you live at. Marcus parks there, letting you get up first.

“Thank you”. You just say pretending that everything is okay, while you return him the helmet. 

“The cake was delicious”. 

Raising your gaze from the keys you were looking for, your eyes go straight to the darkest. Now, he is who wants to talk, although he doesn't sound insecure as you did. You smile like an idiot, playing with the key chain and the nose bridge slightly wrinkled.

“I don't know if you are into the date game, bu—”.

“Yeah, tell Angel I would like it”. You're teasing him for making you wait and making you feel stupid for some minutes. And by the way his steps towards you stop dead and the look on his, you know it worked.

“I will”. He just replies back, tightening the gloves around his wrists.

“Really?”

“Sure, chamaca”.

You laugh somewhat funny, taking another step closer.

“You should see the look on your face”.

“I don't know what are you talking about”. He gives you his back somewhat prideful, keeping the helmet you used into a bag hanging by a side of the motorbike.

“You were looking at me”. You finally say licking your lips, after clicking your tongue slightly.

“Looked like you were part of the fam'”. He answers automatically, sitting on the bike with both hands catching the handlebar.

“Was it bad?”

“No. I actually liked seeing you taking care of my boys, when no one asked you to do it”. Even if that sounded a little passive-aggressive at the end, doesn't stop you to come closer enough to face him.

“I would really like to have a date with you, if that it… was you were to ask”.

“What if it wasn't?” Now, Marcus is playing your same game, at least, you hope it.

“Me sentiré aún más pendeja”. (I'll feel more stupid). You chuckle rubbing your nose in a nervous gesture.

The man laughs because of your words, shaking his head for a while. Then, he nods.

“I want it. Maybe I asked mi primo if he could find out what was going on between you and Chuckie”.

“Just ‘maybe’?”

“I'll pick you up tomorrow night. At seven?”

You lean towards him, leaving a soft kiss on his right cheek as a way to accept it.

[fluffnstuffjojos]

Fluffnstuffjojos Masterlist

Started: 05.27.20 Last Updated: 5.29.20 Total Number of Works: 314 

**Notes: If you are sending requests, please make sure to read the rules first. There are characters within the masterlist for which I do not currently write for.

**ITALICS LINKS ARE NSFW OR BORDERLINE** 

Jojo Combo Posts (All Jojos or Multiple Jojos):

**Note these fluctuate between being everyone and only the ones I currently write for based on the date they were written! A mess! I may reorganize some day, but for now, feel free to browse! Mix of headcanons/scenarios 

Longest morning routines 

Thoughts on horror movies

Disney Princes/Princesses

Peppering Josuke/Giorno with Morning Kissies

Facetime Headcanons

Getting Postcards from Traveling s/o

Rainy Day Headcanons

Social Media Headcanons

Modern College Headcanons

Dancing to Smashing Pumpkins (Suggestive NSFW)

Incorporating s/o into Workout Routine 

Josuke and Joots s/o with a stand that manifests while they’re asleep

Falling for a drifter

Jotaro/Josuke/Johnny Reacting to Affectionate s/o

S/o with chronic Nosebleeds

Duckling Imprinting

Joseph/Giorno/Jolyne Insecure s/o

Autistic s/o who hates loud noises/crowds 

Jonathan/Joseph/Jotaro/Josuke Flexing to Impress s/o 

Reacting to a cheating s/o

Butt squeezes

S/o has no sense of direction

Male s/o in a wheelchair 

Talented Baker teaches Jojos how to bake

Reacting to s/o placing a flower crown on their head

Missing and/or trapped s/o

Reacting to s/o getting a grill 

Playing with s/o’s hair as they fall asleep

S/o appreciating Jojo’s bodies 

S/o doing their makeup 

Types of Youtube Channels

S/o decking a trash-talker 

Rescuing s/o who is the “damsel in distress” type 

Reacting to s/o biting them 

Distracting s/o before hitting someone (Gappy style) 

Jotaro/Josuke reacting to s/o blacking out/hitting their head 

S/o who wears crop tops

Wearing Jojo’s clothes and mocking them/posing playfully 

S/o dies, but they are unable to find their body

Crushing on the same gender

How they feel about s/o calling them “Jojo” 

Cop Josuke hunts Mafia Giorno

3-8 comforting s/o with their stand

Jojo Hugs 

Playing dead to prank/scare s/o 

Vines/fave videos  

Indulging in fashion with s/o 

Great-Grandpa Jonathan with kid Josuke 

Contortionist s/o 

Jotaro/Gappy/Josuke s/o kidnapped by enemy stand user 

Fave memes

Serenading their  s/o 

S/o dying without them being able to say goodbye 

catching s/o after they fall 

S/o makes homemade Valentine’s Day chocolate 

Spoiling s/o on Valentine’s Day 

Self-conscious, chubby trans man s/o

Absent Father Comfort 

Giorno/Josuke/Jolyne insomniac s/o 

Taking care of s/o on their period 

Helping trans s/o into their binder

Jotaro/Josuke - s/o dresses like a sukeban/female delinquent  

Boys finding out the girl they’re flirting with is into girls  

Jotaro/Johnny/Gappy s/o steals their hat 

Playfighting with s/o

S/o playing with their hair 

S/o with mental illness(es) 

Squeezing Jojo bobbies (the original is linked here too!) 

Onesies (original is linked as well!) 

Androgynous GF 

Jonathan raising Joseph 

Jotaro/Johnny mute s/o

Joseph Raising Josuke 

1-4 + Johnny strong/small s/o 

Jonathan/Jotaro/Johnny s/o with anger issues 

Danger-seeking s/o 

Clothes stealing s/o 

S/o has a destructive/intimidating stand 

Getting s/o in the mood (nsfw-ish) 

Assorted Character Combos Grab Bag 

Johnny/Diego/Gappy Confessions Headcanons

Jotaro/Jonathan/Polnareff Painful Period Comfort Scenarios

Jotaro/Kakyoin/Polnareff/Josuke s/o talking in their sleep

Kakyoin/Polnareff/Rohan/Gyro S/o with narcolepsy 

Josuke/Jolyne/Rohan coaxing depressed s/o out of bed

Jotaro/Gyro/Rohan cheering up sad s/o 

Josuke/Giorno/Polnareff 20 Nugget Challenge

Jotaro/Polnareff/Josuke/Okuyasu Slow Dancing with s/o

Jotaro/Polnareff/Josuke/Okuyasu crush suffering from Hanahaki disease

Johnny/Gyro/Jotaro with a s/o who is a saddle bronc rider 

Jonathan/Caesar cuddles/fluff

Caesar and Gappy s/o fears rejection when requesting affection

Jotaro/Josuke - s/o telling him they’re pregnant 

Jonathan/Kakyoin - s/o hates their body 

Female friend asks Josuke/Polnareff for advice on flirting with women

Dio and Jolyne trans s/o 

Jotaro, Polnareff, Josuke, Okuyasu saving s/o from an enemy stand

Jotaro/Joseph/Dio with beautiful s/o 

Jonathan/Josuke/Kakyoin comforting lonely/stressed out s/o 

Okuyaus/Polnareff/Caesar/Jotaro Powderpuff GF 

Jonathan/Dio/Johnny/Gyro first “I love you” from s/o 

Jotaro/Kakyoin/Josuke/Okuyasu motivating s/o to work 

Jonathan/Part 4 Squad being protective

Caesar/Okuyasu/Josuke/Dio Taking s/o shopping 

Jobros Mario kart 

Jonathan/Josuke/Okuyasu/Kakyoin Comfort

Caesar/Polnareff/Josuke/Okuyasu winning the lottery

Jonathan/Josuke/Okuyasu/Polnareff musical roles 

Jotaro/Josuke/Okuyasu kickboxing s/o 

Jonathan holiday headcanons & Okuyasu sex headcanons

Jotaro/Kakyoin/Josuke/Okuyasu Sports/clubs 

Jotaro/Kakyoin/Josuke/Okuyasu with s/o who just applied for college 

“You’re safe now, I’ve got you” Polnareff/Jonathan

“Hey! I was going to eat that!” Joseph/Okuyasu

Cakes for Jonathan/Josuke/Okuyasu/Gyro

Part 1: 

Dio trying to steal/win s/o from Jonathan

Jonathan Joestar

Headcanons: 

Starting a relationship with someone outside of the aristocracy 

Modern headcanons! 

Father and Husband Headcanons

Descendants 

Ghost Jonathan watching over loved one 

Date at the Opera

Scenarios:

Forever and Always (Jonathan contracts Vampirism and s/o vows to stay with him)

Valentine’s Day  

My Immortal  (immortal Jonathan finds his soulmate) 

Happy Honeymoon

Dio Brando:

Headcanons:

Using Rich BOI™ tactics to woo shy s/o 

“Pillarman” s/o who loves being superior/intimidating to him 

Scenarios:

Rather Harshly (Post-snapping at s/o comfort)

Impeccable Tastes (Dio has to feed from s/o) 

A Sense of Belonging (Jealous/Possessive Dio)

Part 2: 

Joseph/Caesar with a fellow Hamon user who is laidback and silly 

Poly Caesar/Joseph swing dancing with s/o

Joseph Joestar:

Headcanons:

Reacting to Holly’s Wedding 

Raising Holly 

Scenarios:

Fierce Protector (Protecting s/o from a BUG) 

Indifferent (Chasing a girl who isn’t Interested)

Caesar Zeppeli:

Scenarios:

“What’s wrong, darling?”  (comforts s/o with depressive episodes (feat. my bad art))

Direct Instruction (S/o teaching him how to play violin)

Part 3: 

Dio and Jotaro Fluff 

Polnareff/Kakyoin Comforting stressed s/o

Poly Jotaro/Kakyoin Comatose S/o post Dio Nonsense™ 

Poly Jotakak Valentine’s Day

Jotaro Kujo: 

Headcanons:

Comforting Anxious/Stresses s/o

Cheating on his s/o (ANGST)

BFF Headcanons

S/o who gets upset when he raises his voice 

Joots being CUTE 

Crushing on a himedere girl 

Tranquil/gentle s/o 

NSFW Joots (Obvi NSFW) 

Mothering s/o taking care of Part 4 squad = Jealous Joots 

small gf 

Jewelry headcanons

Singing in the shower

Pastel s/o

Scenarios:

Forgiveness (Post-Argument Fluff)

Toxic Behavior (Crush is Leery of how Joots treats Women)

Tidepool Gatherings  (Meeting a Mermaid)

Maritime Fun (Boat trip with s/o)

Just Breathe (s/o teaches Joot how to use hamon)

Joots Jr.  (Super smart s/o makes a robot)

The Shape of Water (Joots meets a fishy person) 

Homemade (Homemade birthday cake & kissy) 

Introductions (Jotaro introducing s/o to Part 4 squad) 

Cop a Feel (Accidentally grabs a boobie while helping)

No Place like Home (Takes stand user s/o home after they’re injured) 

Past Scars (Self-Harm Scars Fluff)

“You look so cute when you pout like that”

A Joestar to Die for  (Zeppeli descendant gives their life for Joots)

A Joestar to Die for Aftermath  (Joots loses his cool)

Kakyoin Noriaki:

Headcanons:

s/o appreciating him 

cute relationship headcanons (plus my cursed art)

Fluff headcanons

Scenarios:

Firsts (Male s/o First Kiss)

Spelling Trouble (Honors student Kak falls for delinquent school girl)

Spoiled Rotten Spoiling s/o on Valentine’s Day 

Need a... Dad? s/o is a single mother 

Jean Pierre Polnareff:

Headcanons:

Part 3 and 5 Fluff 

Himedere GF with a hidden vulnerable/lonely side 

Giving s/o a tour of Paris

Part 4: 

Oku seeing Josuke without his hair up for the first time 

Josuke and Okuyasu New Year’s Kisses 

WHOMST is Josuke/Okuyasu checking out with binoculars in the header???

Josuke and Okuyasu antics 

Poly Josuyasu taking care of sick s/o

Josuke/Okuyasu with a s/o who always steals their clothes 

Part 4 Squad with a non-verbal/reserved crush

Part 4 Squad Music Tastes & Bonus oldie but goodie 

Vacations with the boys! 

Boys in a band! 

Famous boys 

Josuke/Okuyasu being Hayato’s big bros 

Boys as firemen

Secret Santa 

Josuke/Okuyasu future careers/relationships/families

Josuke/Okuyasu sharing a crush who likes them both 

Josuke/Okuyasu sharing a crush poly relationship (cont. from original) 

Josuke and Rohan Comforting s/o during a rough time

Part 4 Crew Ideal S/o

Poly Josuyasu and s/o with Mario Party 

Poly Josuyasu with severely injured s/o

Josuke/Josuke’s gf/Okuyasu as a Ron, Hermoine, and Harry trio

Josuke Higashikata:

Headcanons:

Werewolf Josuke and Female s/o

Male Crush

Childhood Friend Mutual Pining

Soulmate AU 

Protecting s/o from catcaller(s) 

Helping/keeping s/o company while their mom is in the hospital

Mutual pining shy crush 

Rural s/o is baffled by Morioh 

Twin Sister

Scenarios:

Waiting Up (Josuke has a late night and you wait on him) 

Hiding a Part of You  (Discovering s/o has a secret stand)

Sting of Betrayal (Forgiving s/o for Betrayal)

“For your eyes only..” (Josuke gets a text (NSFW-ish)

Star Crush Mario Party Confessions with Crush 

Tentative (Hesitant to makeout and ruin the romance)

Missing Something (Comforting s/o grieving a sibling)

Make it all Better (Bad day comfort)

Got Moves (Dancing with a boi)

Mornings Like These (Josuke Fluff)

Taste of your own Medicine (s/o mimics his pomp with their own hair)

Deeper Pain (Can’t protect s/o from grief)

Sound of your Voice (Reading to s/o)

Soft Boy (S/o teasing “delinquent” Josuke for being a big ol’ softie)

"Breathe with me” (Anxiety comfort)

Romance Kinda Guy (First Valentine’s Day date) 

“I had a nightmare” 

Batter Up! (Softball/baseball gf)

Dog Hair (Corgi antics)

Little Helper (Tries to win his ex-wife back with their kid’s help)  

Bloodlines (Crush is Caesar’s grandchild)

Christmas Tree Murder (Josuke knocks over the tree) 

Sunshine (Helping s/o fall asleep after a bad day)

Disinterested (Falling for someone who isn’t interested back) 

Single Father (s/o dies and Josuke raises their daughter) 

Feline Overlord (Cat Hates Josuke) 

“I’m not jealous” 

“You can’t keep doing this.”

“This is, by far, the dumbest thing you’ve ever done” 

PS2 Squared (s/o and Josuke have similar gift ideas) 

Okuyasu Nijimura:

Headcanons:

Foreign s/o 

Wedding/Honeymoon 

Proposal Headcanons

Sweet/shy s/o 

Clingy Oku 

Driving, hugging, anger headcanons

Scenarios:

Getting a Kitten

Fluffy Morning Lovin’ (NSFW AS HECK) 

“Yell, Scream, Cry” (Angst Prompt)

Baked Goods (Baking with the GF) 

Long-Distance (s/o Flies to Morioh to meet for the first time)

“You aren’t dumb, Oku,” (Comfort/fluff)

Fixer Upper (S/o and Oku fix up his house)

Love Letters (Flustered Oku gives male crush a love letter)

Valentine’s Day Korean BBQ 

Meeting the Fam (Bringing home s/o for the first time)

“You’re not falling behind,” 

Entrapment (Rescuing kidnapped s/o) 

“Come ‘ere” (Using his stand with GF (light suggestive nsfw))

Care (Taking care of hurt s/o)

Scatterbrained (So excited he forgets to respond to a confession)

Spirited (Ghost girlfriend )

“You can’t die”/”I’m not losing you again”/”Hold me back!” 

“I may be an idiot, but I’m your idiot” 

Stray Cat Adventures 

Loss (Oku is Missing Keicho)

Rohan Kishibe:

Headcanons:

Flexible/athletic s/o 

Daddy Kink (NSFW) 

Blind s/o

Pianist s/o

Scenarios:

Unique (Comforting s/o insecure over their “cutesy” art)

First Valentine’s Day 

Transgressions (Getting a cat without his permission)

Valued (Receiving expensive gifts)

“It’s a real shame nobody asked for your opinion” 

Part 5: 

Giorno Giovanna:

Headcanons:

Reacting to a member of La Squadra defecting to join them 

Finding a former classmate is a member when he joins the gang 

Don Gio romancing an American Tourist

Raising Kids 

Scenarios:

Surprises (Finding out s/o is pregnant) 

Hanging On (Has twins, but one is in critical condition) 

Young Love (Falling for a younger Passione member) 

Part 6: 

Jolyne Kujo:

Scenarios:

“You look tired” 

Part 7: 

Drunk Johnny and Gyro Headcanons 

Johnny and Gyro on s/o’s birthday 

Gyro/Johnny Christmas/Holidays

Poly Johnny/Gyro/Diego convince s/o horses aren’t scary

Johnny and Diego trans boy Crush

Johnny Joestar:

Headcanons:

Valentine’s Day 

Kissing Headcanons

Scenarios:

Fall for You (Falling for female friend)

Left Behind (S/o leaving him for someone else) 

Jealous Type (Jealous over guys hitting on s/o)

Quality Time  (Fluffyness) 

“I could kiss you right now” 

Gyro Zeppeli:

Headcanons:

Fluff headcanons

Small/strong s/o 

S/o with chronic pain and in a wheelchair 

Scenarios:

Fatherhood (Finding out he’s going to be a dad)

Twists of Fate (Crushing on foreign executioner who hates him!)

Lady and the Tramp (Spaghetti Kiss)

Bundle of Nerves  (Nervous proposal)

Chance Encounter (Pretty Lady at the Bar)

Diego Brando:

Headcanons:

Petting and Feeding him ROCKS 

Show-rider crush

Having his boobies squeezed 

Scenarios:

Sharing is Caring (Sharing a bed with his crush)

It’s a Date (Dinner Date)

Thoughts of the Future (Dinner Date Proposal!!)

Part 8:

Poly Yasuho/Gappy

Gappy (Josuke) Higashikata:

Headcanons:

Falling for Female Crush

Soft spot headcanons

Scenarios:

Fatherhood (Finding out he’s going to be a dad)

[parkersloths]

About a store and prints...

So, it's been a month.. I guess I should just say something at this point and stop avoiding it.

I've had several people here and elsewhere asking if there was anywhere they could buy my art, and I really intended to make that happen for a super long time, since last year even. A month ago I finally did make the account and stuff I needed for a store, but well unfortunately it turns out all my drawings might be too small to work as prints in a way that would look actually decent and good and worth selling/buying...

The truth is that when I made all of them I was just drawing casually cause it's my hobby and I didn't plan on selling anything, even though prints and an art store is something I've thought of before but Injust wasn't.. actively thinking of it while drawing I guess. So yeah I was just drawing casually and chose whatever sizes made sense to me at the time without considering it might be too small for prints.

So I'm really sorry everyone who asked and was hoping they could get a print of one of my existing drawings but that probably won't happen since they wouldn't be good quality. Right now I have a store account mostly set up, but just haven't uploaded any art there so I don't have a link to share at the moment. If I do put up some art there to sell it'll probably have to be totally new drawings that are in a better size.

And yeah tbh I've been feeling pretty bad about this all month and didn't know what to say but here's an overly long post about it I guess.. Also the drawings I'm currently making are still in the too small sizes because idk, I kinda feel like I don't have the mental energy to work on bigger, more finished pieces where I have to really care about how it turns out and if it's good enough. I kinda just wanna keep drawing whatever random thing I feel like to whatever degree of carefree roughness for a while. But hopefully I'll get more inspiration and motivation at some point to make new art that I could put up in the store if anyone's still interested by then X'D

But uh yeah that's it I guess, I tried to make prints available but it looks like it wouldn't work out so I'm really sorry to everyone who asked about it! I did have a few drawings planned in my old old to do list that I still want to do one day, that wouldn't just be quick random drawings like I feel like doing now. So if/when I get to those I will definitely make them in a bigger size and those could be a thing at least ;u;

[kelltheowlenby]

Luz IS a chosen one and here’s why

Omg I deleted this the first time and have to start over from a super rough draft cuz I spelled chosen wrong in the image and I’m not even gunna fix it now cuz I’m bitter.

OK ok so I feel like I've seen most of this information theorized about individually but with wing it like witches I feel like a connected some dots and my brain's going to explode. So in this essay I will be telling you why Luz is a chosen one, who chose her, and why.

This theory contains some spoilers for wing it like witches, and potentially the show going forward.

So lets start with the theory and then we can go back and review the evidence.

Luz is a chosen one, she was chosen by the writer of the Azura books. This person wrote the Azura books to influence her and created Clone Lus so she can stay on the boiling isles. Her goal is to take down the emperors coven. 

Now let me tell you why.

First, how do we know Luz has a clone?

Well we don't for sure, but the fact that when we are introduced to Gus's clone for the first time the show makes a point to show the clone misbehaving and having a personal identity outside of Gus makes me believe a clone developing it's own personality is something that will happen in the show. Now if Lus does have a clone that went to camp that means someone knew she was coming to the boiling isles. This was planned ahead of time. Owlbert is the one who leads Luz through the door, and it seems extremely intentional. This means it is someone who has a strong bond with Owlbert , which obviously leads to Eda, but I don't think it's her. Eda is genuinely surprised and confused by Luz, so that means it's someone who has a connection to Eda. Someone  Owlbert trusts and is willing to work for. Hmmm put a pin in that.

Now second, what evidence do we have that Luz is chosen and this was a long term scheme, not just a last minute decision?

The Azura books. With Wing it like witches I personally think it's impossible to ignore the blatant parallels between Luz, Amity, and the Azura books. I believe they were written and released in both dimensions to lead these girls in the right direction. They have had a ton of impact on both their lives and their relationship. Without these books they would not trust each other, and honestly would have missed out on a lot of character growth outside their relationship with each other. Luz wouldn't even have chosen to stay in the boiling isles if it wasn't for the cover art of an Azura book.

Not only that, but it’s pointed out MORE THAN ONCE that it’s strange that they have both read/watched Azura content. In the library Luz is surprised they are released on the boiling isles (letting us know this isn’t normal/expected) and amity is surprised in wlw that Luz has seen the same azura movie as her. I don’t believe this is a coincidence, the writers want us to be curious.

Third. Why Luz? What's so special about this human girl, and why would she be chosen for anything special?

Luz impacts everyone she meets, and the people she meets are important. She was intentionally matched with Eda, and not only has it softened Eda's heart but Luz gives her something to live for, to fight for. Twice in the first episode Eda seems willing to give in to capture only to change her mind when she realizes Luz is in danger. That's before she even knows Luz, what would she do for her now that she's her kid? Topple an entire oppressive government perhaps? Eda is a rebel but she’s not a revolutionary. She see’s the flaws with the system the way it is but she doesn’t have anything to push her to change it. Luz could be the key to that.

Now Amity, she freaking adores Luz, and that connection is only going to get stronger. The Azura books are pushing that connection hard. They WANT Amity to care about Luz. Why? Because Amity is connected to the emperors coven. She's a powerful witch well on her way to joining, and maybe eventually leading the emperors coven. Her mentor is the coven's leader and Amity likely has influence over her. Amity is intended to be the inside influence, or a spy, or something along those lines. Swaying her perspective can sway the power balance of the entire emperors coven if cards are played right.

And another reason Luz is chosen? She's powerful as HELL. Keep in mind she's only been learning magic for a FEW WEEKS, she only knows FIVE spells, and look what she's already accomplished. She has brought a house to life with her friends, and amplified Amity's magic enough to make a MASSIVE abomination. Theories are going around about that having to do with friendship or love or heart rates, but what if it's Luz? What if it's her connection to the island? Once she knows how to do a spell she doesn't struggle to cast it. If she has the glyph right she can cast it as big or small or as powerful as she likes regardless of the size of the glyph. She turns Grom into a massive tree with a glyph the size of a playing card. She is never tired after casting spells, she never runs out of magic, her form of magic combats creatures who can literally eat magic for dinner. Luz is no joke, she's a beast, and within weeks she's casting at levels on par with top students and graduated witches.

Now the final question. Who chose Luz?

The easy answer is Eda, because Owlbert is hers, but I don't think that's right. She seems too surprised by Luz and confused by her behaviors. She’s also too willing to let Luz leave. Emperor Belos is a decent guess too because we know he's trying to get to Eda, but why would he provide her with a powerful apprentice before he can even capture her? So I'm going to throw him out the window as well. Lilith? No, she was surprised Eda's apprentice was a human, and that she had an apprentice at all. Amity? lol no sorry. So who?

Someone we haven't met before. Mayhaps a character from season 2 that Dana is excited for??? Someone with access to powerful oracle magic to predict the future and identify Luz and what she needs to be guided down the right path, as well as illusion magic to create the Lus clone. Someone with close connections to Eda, that Owlbert would trust and work for. Someone who wants to take down Belos, and needs Eda's help to do it.

Maybe their relationship is strained, maybe Eda forgot her because of the curse, maybe there's a whole underground revolution and Eda's friend is just a part of it. I don't know, but I'm excited to find out if any of this theory is on par with what happens in canon.

hopefully I didn’t leave anything out. I’m so mad I deleted the post by mistake XD let me know what you think? Do you see any holes? Any additional evidence?

[peonycats]

your art is so so good! how did you get good at it haha like besides the practice were there any things you watched to help? how should i stop myeelf from getting discouraged at the start when i'm just a beginner and my art looks.. bad lol

hmmm, well this is a complicated topic for something as big and expansive as the topic of art but! 

I’ve been basically drawing as far back as I can remember, and it’s probably the great love of my life; like... not to get dramatic but art is just something I wholeheartedly adore and love doing, and I would be despondent if I couldn’t draw again asjdjgskjas

Here’s some things that have helped me:

Skool: I have taken formal art lessons when I was ~12 to 18, so that helped a lot with my realism, along with working in other mediums!

Save things that give you inspiration: I save both a lot of art, like pieces that I like/inspire me, and photos, things I want to draw/study from! (I rarely take photos myself tho I don’t travel a lot and I know nothing about photography lmaooo) I also follow a lot of photography accounts on social media! This is why my photo album has over 4,000 images oop-  But this does help me get inspiration or ideas for drawings! that and the 10 million requests in my inbox gdsfjjdsjfhsj

Study anatomy: It’s a pain but it’s so so important!! Manga Materials and miyuli on twitter have lots of great drawing resources pointing out common anatomical drawing mistakes and they’re great!

I would also recommend you to study your own body in the mirror and observe how it looks from certain angles, or the way that your body shifts and changes as you move or pose. Now, this will be limited to only your own body type, but reference photos on the internet are there for you to learn about others!

Catch your mistakes early: Please frequently horizontally flip your art I beg you- and on that matter, stay longer in your rough art stage, and try to fix all your art mistakes there, because it is 1000% harder trying to fix them in the late stages

Lighting: it’s also super mega important, especially without lineart, but I hate it >: ((((((( 

OH AND A VERY IMPORANT TIP, BOTH FROM MY TEACHER AND ME: ZOOM OUT ON YOUR CANVAS FOR GOD’S SAKE- the forest is much more important than the trees!!!! nobody is looking at your art as closely as you do, and most people will glance at it for a seconds at least a feet away on a screen, so you need to make sure your drawing is clear and good looking from that perspective !!

generally, learn the rules before you break the rules is good practice!

Certain exercises/practices I recommend:

hmmmm I dont really watch a lot of youtube art channels tbh? I prefer to listen to videos over watch them sdhjfjsjkkjsd so I can’t really help you there ‘’’

Try drawing a reference photo, looking at it much as you need to. Then, try to draw the reference photo a second time, without looking at any references. This exercise is very useful for observing your default art style- what techniques do you rely on most? what things do you naturally emphasize? What are certain aberrations you don’t wanna keep and will need to look out for

To take an example, through this exercise, I found out that I tend to elongate the neck. Nowadays, I try to keep that in mind as I draw and keep a careful on my characters’ neck length dshgfjdsjfhd

Tracing other ppls artwork is good for practice!! Just don’t post it publicly without their permission!! 

Tbh, I think it’s more important to draw consistently and frequently for a beginner than it is to create like a few high quality, high effort drawings. This doesn’t mean never finish a drawing, what I mean is moreso- the goal for a drawing shouldn’t automatically mean a finished, well-lined/fully colored and shaded drawing. Like... you don’t need every piece of art to be a masterpiece- that’s just impossible. Your goal could be “I want to draw lots of hands here and get comfortable with their basic shape”- therefore, not every hand will be perfect, nor will you need to create something appealing for viewers. You could draw a thumb there, an ugly, unshaded pose here, whatever helps you fulfil your goal!

gesture drawings are massively helpful because they force you to use less details to convey your drawings- you can’t just keep on layering details on a flawed base in hopes that it’ll turn out okay in the end. In a similar vein, try putting limitations on your drawings! like, drawin in only straight lines, or limit your line strokes! 

Social media is a hellscape for artists because of the constant feeling of competing with your fellow artists and frequently pushing out content for attention and “engagement” and instant rewards- for the love of all that is holy, do not make your own self worth dependent on your social media success man. It’s hard, and I don’t think we can fully separate ourselves, but do not let the algorithm decide your worth!!

Time: yeah this shit’s gonna take a while; don’t be impatient!! just focus on how far you’ve come (especially compared to the vast majority of people who’ve and will never draw) and the now!!!

Experiment! Find a way of drawing that is sustainable and works for you!! There’s nothing wrong with spending some time practicing/experimenting with painting or painstakingly inking everything, but if it’s not doing it for you, or you can’t maintain that level of output, there’s nothing wrong with dropping an element from your art style?? you can always add it back or experiment again!

(take this tip with the “learn the rules before you break the rules” tip- there are certain things I think you should have a pretty good handle on, but then if you wanna break them for a reason, go for it!)

[bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture]

Hello hello to all the new followers! However you came across this blog, thanks for being willing to put this on your dashboards. I still have half of this chapter left to go, but hopefully I’ll be able to knock out a larger chunk of it since it’s gonna flow better… at the least, I’ll try to get to where Episode 1 of the anime cuts off.

...huh, damn, now I’m curious about exploring differences between anime and manga… I don’t have time for that, this manga thing is already more of a time-eater than expected… plus considering how many chapters I need to get through… yeah no, I will leave anime-manga comparison to others.

Anyways, into today’s pages! I wanna get this chapter done this week!

[No. 1 - Midoriya Izuku: Origin]

...you, I’m gonna translate you.

[transliteration of sign: 頭上 (zujou) [overhead] 注意 (chuui) [caution, being careful, attention (heed), warning, advice]

[Translation: caution, overhang 2m]

I mean, it’s obvious because of the context, but now I know how to pronounce it! And I guess you guys can as well. No, I will not be ashamed of spending fifteen minutes on this. I’m probably gonna stay in the habit of translating stuff as I come across it.

Anyways, to the chapter itself. Izuku doesn’t do that ‘All Might impression’ thing here like he does in the anime, just basically hypes himself up with grit teeth and determination. Which is a shame, but it makes sense since that sort of thing would look/turn out better in animation anyways. Still a little weird he had a flashback there, but like whatever, it’s supposed to give readers context into the setting and character, this whole opening chapter’s gonna be a bit weird like that.

The villain comes up out from the holes in the sewer grate, and holy fuck does this come off as just a bit of a horror manga, if I saw that I’d be terrified.

You know, out of context this is REALLY disturbing… no wait, in context this is disturbing too, nevermind. But yeah, look at that terrified kid, that is not the face he was wearing earlier against Katsuki, making it even more obvious that he wasn’t scared at that point.

The villain pounces on and envelops Izuku, covering his nose and mouth and making Izuku realize he’s been attacked by, you know, a villain. Which I would share the image of, but honestly it’s graphic as hell, if you wanna see it go look at the manga yourselves.

Yeah, it’s a wonder Izuku didn’t have nightmares for months after this, or have issues with water or potentially drowning/suffocating. Also, honestly, with this hijacking the body thing, I’m looking at the amount of mass of the sludge and the size of Izuku, and I have to remind myself again that this is a shounen manga with urban fantasy magic, logic isn’t a concern here.

But yeah, the villain is super vague about who the ‘he’ he’s avoiding is, while Izuku is frantically trying to scrape at the sludge to no effect. Also, after being in the sewers, that HAS to be some nasty gunk, yikes, how did Izuku not come down with something?

Izuku’s struggles makes him drop his charred notebook while panicking about his death and begging someone to come save him. The book flips open to his conceptual hero costume, which we know is going to end up the ‘first’ version of his costume, though obviously it’s going to undergo some revisions as the series progresses (which is a small thing I like about the series a lot). If I recall right, this is also what prototype!Izuku’s costume was going to look like!

Fortunately for Izuku, in the next page All Might punches his way up out of the sewers, letting both the villain and Izuku know he’s there, and- god, I wouldn’t trust those groceries for any sort of safe consumption, even if they are… two bottles?? That’s it?? What-

Sure, whatever, two bottles of soda, I guess, isn’t that not good for people who have had their stomach removed because of too much sugar or something? Is him being down a stomach even actually canon or just popular fanon? I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.

Anyways, All Might showed up and punched the villain away from Izuku, basically only hitting with the shockwave to avoid hurting the kid too much. Also, we get this gem of a face:

Incredible.

Izuku passes out, and wakes up a bit later to All Might slapping his face, which like, sir, sir, that’s not how you take care of a victim of a villain attack that definitely isn’t an allegory for another kind of assault. But yeah, All Might is sort of out of ‘character’ while waiting for Izuku to get up, and then shoves himself back into it once Izuku’s awake, which is… interesting, and makes sense.

Izuku naturally freaks out, and All Might does a pose while apologizing for his mistakes and explaining his sloppiness with the villain - he’s new to the area, and besides that, he’s ‘off camera’. Which, yeah, you really get the sense this is his TV persona pushed forward. He also thanks Izuku for success in finally containing the villain, and Izuku gives us this hilarious gem:

Ah, meta jokes. Izuku looks around for his notebook for an autograph, only to see it’s already been signed. He bows enthusiastically and says he’ll keep it as a family heirloom, and All Might heads off to take the villain in and to ‘catch him again on tv’.

Izuku wants him to wait, because he still has something to ask, but All Might says he’s got no time, and crouches to jump away, with just a shot of Izuku’s desperate face before All Might takes off, the ‘thanks for your support’ dragging after him like the words themselves couldn’t keep up, and again that is just a cool fucking effect and use of shape and warping to give effects otherwise not possible in text and just- gah, I love comic/manga art for these reasons, so freaking cool!

You’re an all star.

Sorry not sorry. But yeah, the bottles are still there in his pockets - his definitely totally secure open pockets. Honestly, with or without Izuku, he might have dropped those bottles because what the fuck All Might. 

All Might tries to shove Izuku off until Izuku reminds him that he will die if he falls, which gets him to pause and go ‘true enough!’ Izuku says he’s got a lot of things to ask, and All Might asks him to close his eyes and mouth to avoid the wind drag. All Might coughs and grunts, with a drop of blood escaping from between his teeth, and him swearing about it.

Onto the next page, and we have some background kanji that I am definitely going to waste time translating, because that’s just who I am.

Top windows/hanging sign: 卜 (uranai) [divination, fortune telling] 黄葉 (kouyou/momiji) [autumn/fall colors, leaves changing color, layered colors in garments (resembling autumn colors)] 

[rough translation: fortunate garments / lucky coloring.]

I’m gonna assume this is something to go with Japanese culture and their beliefs around what certain colors mean. 

Middle banner/hanging sign: Su/Ta/De [study] 

Not confident at this one but I cannot grok how messy those katakana are and so I just have given up on that for now. If someone can confirm, that’d be sweet of you.

Lower windows/hanging sign: [事]務所 (jimusho) [office]

Lower banner: Ma/a/ke/t/to [Market]

Shop overhang: Fu/ra/shi/[mu?] [Flashy] 喫茶 (kissa) [teahouse/coffee shop/cafe]

Flashy Cafe makes sense, but I’m not confident in the katakana when we can only see three of them and no way to know about modifiers,,,

Victory.

Alright, now that I’m done crying over that, onto actual chapter analysis. We get the ‘whoosh’ of something falling, before seeing the POV of the sludge guy coming back to consciousness, frustrated with All Might, and we also get a peek at some kids approaching… aka Katsuki and his minions.

First off, the branding on the can is hilarious and weirdly suited to the situation. Secondly, you can just see Katsuki kicking the bottle in the bottom left corner there, which probably knocks it open for, you know, the upcoming events. And huh, both of the minions smoke, which Katsuki chastises with displeasure in the panel after next. 

So Katsuki blames Izuku for ‘messing with him’ and that Izuku being ‘full of stupid dreams like when they were kids’ pisses him off. Which he emphasises by blowing up the can in his hand. I wonder if that’s meant to be a reference to him thinking Izuku’s just paying lip service to being a hero just to annoy Katsuki, at least in his POV?

But yeah, Katsuki shakes his hand after that - which meant he DID feel some backlash for blowing up a can in his hand, or perhaps the superheating of the metal before it went? Either way, backlash! He turns back to yell at the two about their smoking and how it’d go on his record, and the two freak out and point behind Katsuki, before we go to their POV:

But yeah, another decent stopping point here. There should only be two posts after this for chapter 1, based on my skimming of the rest of the pages. I really want to have the All Might convo separate, and then the whole sludge fight and aftermath… but we’re getting there! :D

[thattimdrakeguy]

ROBIN 80TH ANNIVERSARY - REVIEW!! - The GREAT, the okay, the meh, the wait what, and the freaking awful

None of the stories I’d consider bad in this besides the Super Sons one.

They have flaws, some don’t have any but aren’t that great, and just weird choices, with some disappointments.

I’m just gonna be honest about each story because that’s all I can do.

--

DICK GRAYSON’S FIRST STORY: Really freaking good.

My favorite story is probably the first one:

Like the art is the best in the whole issue, and the only real flaw is how mean they made Bruce through-out it.

It’s yet again another story of how and why Dick quit (I guess he didn’t get fired this time) being Robin, but it’s just nice. Nice pacing, timing, dialogue, good art, and because the people working on it are 80s writers and artists, it keeps it feeling classic.

Which is great for a little showing of the 80s world, and I’m no big 80s DC guy at all, but it’s a really nice flashback for that.

One thing that was disappointing but I won’t count as a flaw (since it’s really not, just a wasted opportunity) is that this kid didn’t end up being Tim:

It looks like a young Tim, it’s drawn by the first artist on Tim’s Robin ongoing, written by his creator, it’s about the history of Robin, and he’s an overeager Robin fanboy-- like why wasn’t this kid Tim? He even has that dorky bowlcut Tim had when he was little, just less 80s styled.

A missed opportunity honestly.

The story though shows Dick’s compassion, talent, frustrations as he became his own man, his views on Robin, some of his sense of humor even. So his characterization is pretty great, but it is written by the man that grew Dick his own unique character to begin with, and it’s great to see this story keeps it up. (Prolly gonna find out this is an old script, but hey, it’s a good one.)

A weird retcon story, but it’s a nice callback to the 80s, and I think it’s really well-done beyond Bruce being a controlling grumpy prick to the point it feels like parody.

--

DICK GRAYSON’S SECOND STORY: It’s just alright.

Where the first story is a flashback to the 80s, this is a direct flashback to he 90s, with the writer and artist that started his ongoing solo.

And it’s good. Like I had a lot of fun reading it, good heroics, feels of it’s era, but like the last story that’s the fun.

There’s nothing really to say about it besides it’s good. There isn’t anything too standout about it.

--

DICK GRAYSON’S THIRD STORY: It’s forgettable.

I forgot this was a thing in this, and it just feels like a waste of page.

It’s in no way bad that I seen, but it’s so very bland and one note. Titans fight and Dick acts as leader. Very generic.

The art’s really good though.

--

DICK GRAYSON’S FOURTH STORY: It’s better than that last one at least.

Unlike the last one, this feels like it at least has a point to be here, and it actually feels like it makes sense to be in he 80th anniversary as well.

I’m not a personal fan of the “Grayson” series, it just sexualized Dick too much honestly, made him cheesier again a bit, and the writing was a little on the off-side in a way that just made it all feel empty besides a few moments, but I never read the whole series to be a great judge on it.

But also because of that, I have no idea who these people are for this story to be grand. What makes it feel like it’s worthy of being here though is trying it back to the history of Robin like the first story with these little bits.

Without these moments though, you wouldn’t have a clue why this is there.

Also Dick just suddenly wears this:

Which is super duper off-putting. But Oh-ho gotta have sexy Dick in there somewhere I guess. Just-- wow, was that super sudden.

--

JASON TODD’S STORY: It’s good but this kid doesn’t look right.

The story is very simple and sweet, and I think it works a lot given Jason and Bruce’s complicated relationship.

It’s even written by Judd Winnick who did Under the Red Hood, which is awesome.

But who is this kid they keep calling Jason exactly? It irrationally bugs me, because all the art has been super spot on till this story. They even write him well, but it just genuinely doesn’t look like post-crisis Robin Jason.

Like to show what I mean--

You read it and this is how the kid speaks.

Super snarky,

a bit of a rude edge to it,

practical sounding but rough teen-ish still

yet still mature enough to feel like he can handle himself.

So you might place this around when Jason was 15 given he’s Robin, and when he was 15 and when they gave him a unique design finally away from a generic silver age Robin, he looked like a young body builder--

Like this is what Jason Todd looked like when they settled his look away from a Dick clone:

A young body builder type, strong jaw, working out, mature features for his age

So who the heck is this?

Like this isn’t what Jason looked like besides pre-crisis, but this is post-crisis Jason. They already settled what he looked like during that 80s run, and this isn’t it. He’s not supposed to look like a generic silver age Robin anymore.

Even beyond it not looking like what Jason’s supposed to, it doesn’t fit the dialogue. He’s written as a practical, snarky, yet in his own way still mature teen. Soooooo why’s he look 5?

It’s so off-putting and it bugs me.

However, beyond that, I really like the story, and at least the artist was good at drawing adult Jason.

Them representing Bruce’s and Jason’s complicate relationship of distant but still caring is something I really enjoy. It’s so much more true to character rather than acting like Jason is just a part of the family like nothing ever happened.

More of that dynamic for them, please.

--

TIM DRAKE’S FIRST STORY: It’s pretty good, but it’s missing something.

Not the highest praise ever, but I do like this story. I enjoy it’s setting at Tim’s school. High school was a constant setting for Tim’s comics in Robin, and they rarely ever treat it like that so I enjoy this story bringing it back.

I really enjoyed the connection  between extracurricular activities and what he does as Robin. It’s that blend of relatability and heroics that really made Tim work as a character. So that’s also great they brought back.

One of my favorite things that they bring up is Tim being into eSports, cuz it reminds me of how much Tim was into video games. It’s a very modern version of him being into the arcades in the 90s. Which is great.

However a downside is that it doesn’t really focus on Tim as a character like the other stories did with the other Robins.

Nothing about his never give up attitude, his insecurities, his underdog likability, how hard he is on himself, or things like that.

In-general this story says nothing about his personality besides a mention that he’s geeky. Which is a pretty big let-down because it keeps it from being any better, despite it already being good.

Freddie William’s art is also very hit or miss. It’s so crude sometimes, and Tim seems so buff compared to before in his actual Robin run. It’s very displeasing given that his early Tim work was top 5 Tim art material. However I still enjoyed that they brought him back even if he can’t draw Tim as well anymore. Tim’s still good in the babyface in most panels at least.

BUT-- this is still a pretty good Tim story. It’s just lacking.

Like it just should��ve been more about Tim as a character since it’s a Tim Drake story.

--

TIM DRAKE’S SECOND STORY: It’s honestly just pretentious.

Tim doesn’t talk like this. Tynion has a melodramatic tone to his characters that works great for characters like Batman, I’ve actually quite liked his Batman run so far partially because of that, but it doesn’t work for Tim.

This is not what Tim talks like. It’s so very unnatural sounding for a kid. Yet Tim talks in this incredibly dramatic tone except for a few light hearted spots, when I feel like it should be the opposite.

It’s also trying hard to be a character study, but again it’s so unnatural. It sounds like a fan describing their view of the characters, not the characters themselves. Like since have these guys became each others therapists?

And then he has Dick say these things that makes Tim seem like a Gary Stu and the greatest most talented guy ever.

Also having Tim hang out with Jason when Jason’s using guns even though Tim’s insanely against that sort of thing.

They even have Damian talk like a typical fan person who dislikes Tim based off of superficial things for a bit.

The fact it treats that Detective Comics Rebirth part of Tim’s character history as uber important is also a bit pretentious of the writer given he wrote that too. Despite Tim only being in that run for like three arcs and wasn’t even in-character for most of it.

Best part of it, is the vague acknowledgement that Tim didn’t want to be anything else but Robin to me.

Otherwise it just reeks of awkwardly written fan fiction.

Honorable mentions of quality though, is Dick and Tim being brothers train riding, and Damian’s mini-adult coming out. I’m so sick of them making Damian a generic kid sometimes that I actually liked this part even if it’s through a snarky filter.

--

STEPHANIE BROWN’S STORY: Better than expected, it’s actually pretty good.

I actually really liked this story. Overall I think Steph’s actual Robin run sucked, this is still a good story if I can get past the era it’s set in.

Unlike Tim’s stories, this actually uses her character.

How reckless she can be without it being super exaggerated, her attitude, love that they brought back the diary format for her inner-monologue too. 

There’s not much to say besides I’d actually consider this one of the best stories in the thing, except for the fact Steph clearly disobeys Batman and she was said to get fired for that. That’s a decent plot holes for me.

I super love the detail of Tim being so small that Steph can’t fit in his uniform. That cheered me up.

Them bringing back her Robin era artist was also great. Unlike Freddie Williams, their art actually really improved.

DAMIAN WAYNE’S FIRST STORY: The genuine worst story in it.

It’s so-- baaad.

Fan service can work if it’s in good quality. Like being in-character, or a nice homage. The train riding in Tynion’s story was that.

This isn’t that.

Damian and Jon didn’t get along right away, not even soon enough for this “mostly” part to feel right as a joke, because they obviously didn’t get along mostly right away. They fought a lot. They even show it on the full page them fighting, but they downplay how long they did fight just for fanservice. It took a long time, and even when they did it was still contrived.

Then they have Damian and Jon in the same class, when they aren’t the same age for that to make sense..

They even have Jon help Damian on his tests when it’s constantly shown that Damian is a brainiac who wouldn’t need that.

It’s literally even in the history summary at the end that he’s highly intelligent. So he probably wouldn’t even ever need a study partner considering he’s even said to have actual PHDs anyway. Which makes the study partner thing just plain out of character.

There’s also panels that straight up feels like oddly specific deviantart fetish art, which is so nasty. Especially considering that I know damn well that’s there’s pedophiles who make this same kind of oddly specific fetish art on there. So much so I had to stop using the site cuz of the anxiety it gave me.

And they downplay how mean Damian can be too Jon so much that it irks me.

This is the worst story in the whole comic, genuinely. Nothing good is in it, besides some decent enough art.

It’s certainly pandering to it’s fandom, but to certain parts it really shouldn’t be.

(This sort of stuff was still happening in their miniseries. Jon really shouldn’t want this as a brother. That’s stockholm syndrome.

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DAMIAN WAYNE’S SECOND STORY: It’s better than the last one, but somethings missing still.

Unlike the last one avoiding talking about Damian’s actual character besides to play it down. This one actually uses it.

It’s just so quick, and empty feeling at the same time that it’s missing something. A bit like an inverse of Tim’s first story. Tim’s story had the setting and interesting story format, but no real character, while this has a lot of usage of the character but no interesting setting or story.

A lot of Damian’s character is that he’s not a natural Robin as far as attitude goes. He isn’t a typical Robin, and I enjoy how they play into that rather than be afraid of that. It’s what makes this actually work for me.

Although it makes you question why he’s still Robin, I consider that a good thing, because YOU SHOULD. You want the character’s to actually acknowledge things as if they’re real and not just ignoring things.

He’s not typical, he’s unique for better or worse. That’s Damian, and that’s what you should show of him.

This goes into why Damian’s the exact opposite of what a Robin normally is. That’s great.

But it’s missing anything memorable about it. However I think that’s cuz it leads into a future issue of Teen Titans which gives it a reasonable excuse.

I’m really hoping it leads into something.

Although i have a feeling they sadly might do the same thing as typical and ignore Damian’s actions more. Avoiding any genuine feelings.

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OVERALL

It’s not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. Only two stories I’d actually call bad, which is a lot less than I thought With just occasionally sloppy art, not even what I’d call back, but just crude or not drawing the character accurately which will annoy some more than others.

When I heard of this book I got so worried, but only two stories is actually almost relieving how little that is given the potential ego-driven things they could’ve done, which only those two stories then.

To me, I say it’s worth a pick-up, just rip out a story or two to keep it friendlier to revisit

Mostly was just really missing that extra heart in a lot of the stories.