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seospicybin · 2 months ago

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THE FUCKBOY NEXT DOOR.

PART 2

Bangchan x reader. (s)

Chapters: Part I / Part III

Synopsis: To help you moving on from your break-up, Chan takes you out for a night. However, he doesn't expect you will find a potential new love in someone else. (9,5k words)

Author's note: Here's one you've been asking for. Please tell me what you think about it! Nevertheless, enjoy x

"I think we're done for the day, huh?" You sigh in relief after dumping the dirty towels into the laundry bag and tossing it to the back room.

"No, actually, someone just walked in and wanted a haircut," your co-worker says while holding a stack of clean towels in front of her.

"Keem can have it," you resolve, you've finished all of your appointments for the day, and you're tired and ready to go home.

"Yeah, that's the problem. He specifically asked for you," your co-worker answers, putting the towels into the shelf full of them.

You plant your hands on each side of your waist and shoot a puzzled look at your coworker, "Huh?"

Is this customer aware that the salon is about to close and there's another hairstylist on duty? That exciting feeling of getting home soon is slowly fading as you head in to meet this customer who specifically asks for you.

The second you walk in, Keem, the other stylist, grabs your elbow and then leans into your side to whisper, "He's so cute."

Hearing it doesn't lift your mood at all, you just want to get it over with and go home.

"Where?" You ask as you put on your apron.

"He's right there," she whispers, pointing to the middle seat hidden behind the big mirror then detaches herself off you to go back behind the counter.

For a customer who chooses an awful time to get a haircut, you put on a phony smile and shove your hands into the pockets of your apron as you greet.

"Hi, what can I do for... You!" The infliction in your voice changes as you see who that customer is.

It's the shit-eating grin, the stupid dimples on his stupid face and

"It's enough torture to have you as my neighbor and now I have to you see at work too," you say as you cross your arms together in front of you.

"Oh, wow, is this how you treat your customer?" He says with a fake concerned look.

"Only the select few," you say with a sinister smile.

"I made it on your list of honors? Is this because we had sex—"

You hurriedly cover his mouth with your hand and make sure no one is seeing what you're doing to him, or worse, letting them acquire that piece of information.

"What do you want?" You scold him with a piercing glare.

He takes your hand off of his mouth and dramatically gasps for air, "I want a haircut," he simply answers.

With a huff, you swivel his chair to face the mirror and grab the cape for him, putting it around his neck, then clip it together. You put on a phony smile as you look at him through the reflection in the mirror.

"So, what do you want me to do with your hair besides setting it on fire?" You sarcastically ask him.

It's amazing how his grin doesn't wear off even just for a second, "We don't need to cut much, I guess just the tip," he says.

"Just the tip," you repeat, "Is that the title of your sex tape?"

Chan cracks a sonorous laugh, "That's a good one!"

Once you hear the sound of the scissors snipping away the hair, you get in the zone. You focus on giving his hair a nice shape that accentuates his strong jawline and makes his facial features more prominent.

"Don't talk much, huh?" He asks, slightly turning his head to the side.

You grab the nape of his neck and forcefully turn his head back to the front, "just here trying my best not to snip you somewhere else," you calmly mutter.

"Ooh, chills!" He responds with a shudder.

You switch your scissors with a hair clipper and it starts buzzing as you turn it on, you're holding it in his hand as you look at him and say, "You're going to regret coming here and allowing me to be this close to you with a sharp object."

Seeing you bringing the hair clipper close to his face, he reflexively closes his eyes so tightly and you hold the urge to not laugh at it.

"Oh, okay, I regret it now," he says like a frightened child left alone by his parents.

You gently place your hand on his jaw, "Stay still," you warn him.

He obeys you, keeping his head still and his eyes closed as you're carefully trimming his sideburns. You suddenly find yourself admiring his face and his beautiful features of a long, big nose and voluptuous lips.

For a split second, you so badly want to run your thumb on his lips and feel how soft they are. You did feel it once with your lips but you were too sad to notice and now you realize how much you regret it.

Before the temptation returns, you turn off the trimmer and put it away, then proceed to help brush the hair on his face and around his neck with a soft brush.

"You're all done," you announce, taking the cape from around his neck.

Chan stays on his seat as you brush the excess hair off the nape of his neck and make sure they don't stick to his skin. You put all of your equipment on the cart next to you and anticipate his reaction to your haircut.

Not trying to brag here but you did a good job here because he looks even more attractive with a fresh cut.

"Aren't you going to tell me how handsome I am and then kiss me on the cheek?" He asks while blinking his big eyes at you.

"I'm not your mom," you reply with a plain smile.

When you think you already got rid of him after giving him a haircut, you see him lounging around the counter and putting on his charms for Keem. You plan on keeping it a secret that you know each other but if he starts flirting with your co-worker, then there's a possibility you'll see her walking out of his apartment the next day and it only gets messy from there. You come up to him and tug at the sleeve of his jacket, then pull him to the side.

"Why are you still here?" You ask through your gritted teeth and keeping your volume low.

"I'm waiting for you."

"Why?"

"Because we're going out tonight," he answers.

"We?"

"And no, my panties are not in a twist," he says with a teeth-baring grin, "You can check it yourself if you want."

"Ugh. No!" You groan in refusal.

What is it about him anyway that makes the girls go crazy for him? If you're thinking with your depraved, brutal, and cavewoman brain, it must be the body that is inexplicably electric and sexually charged, braced with heavy muscles, and injected with a high dose of testosterone. In other words, he's hot, and it's hard not to be biologically attracted to him. But if you're thinking progressively and in the 21st century way, you know you should avoid this fuckboy at all costs.

"If you don't want to go then I'll just take Keem," he says, secretly threatening not only you but also your workplace dynamic.

"I'm sure she's keem for it," he makes a pun.

"Ugh. Okay," you groan in agreement this time.

And then, there's something called human error.

At first, Chan thought that you have that stoic expression only whenever you're around him but he was wrong. He learns that it's just your default expression and you wear it like a defense mechanism to keep the predators at bay. At least, he shouldn't worry about leaving you alone in the bar as he's working the DJ booth.

Once he's done with his set, he ignores the calls for his name and walks up to you, seeing you rather unimpressed by what he just did. What did he expect though? You're not most girls.

He taps the table, signaling the bartender to come and tend to his order, "The usual, please?"

The bartender nods and is about to turn away to make his drink when he calls for him again, "And one more for this nice lady," he adds, gesturing at you and flashing you a sly smile.

Chan turns around to face the dance floor and leans his back against the counter, "So, what do you think?"

"It was good," you answer after sipping your drink.

"You have a filthy expression on your face," he teases you and gently elbows your side, "go on, tell me what you're really thinking."

"Strangling you with my bare hands," you answer without a beat.

Chan leans in close enough that he can get a whiff of the smell of your shampoo, "so that's your kink?"

"Only when I see fear in your eyes," you answer with a wicked smile.

"Wow. You know how to excite a guy," he praises, not entirely lying about it because he gets a little excited from your snarky comments.

The bartender comes with both of your drinks and you hurriedly finish your previous one to go ahead with the next. He watches as you take a small sip and then waits to see how your nose scrunched at the bitter aftertaste.

"You're single now and maybe it's time for you to get out there, you know, find a new love," he says, secretly hoping that you'll find it in him when he looks at you.

"Hey, Chris," a girl comes and without hesitating, placing a kiss on his cheek, "Great set!"

"Thanks, Alicia," he says to the tall lady with beautiful braided hair.

"This one is on me," she says as she gives him a drink from the ones she ordered.

"Cheers then!" He says, clinking his glass with hers with his charming smile on.

The lady leaves to take the drinks away and is soon engulfed by the crowd. Chan notices that you remain calm about that interaction, and again, what did he expect?

"At least, one of us has no problems getting some tonight," you take a jab at him.

"I'm taking you out so we can have fun tonight and enjoy yourself—"

"The only way I can enjoy myself is when I'm alone."

"Oh?" He gasps and gives you a wild glare.

You roll your eyes and sigh once you realize he's taking it the wrong way, "I just want to go home and binge my favorite show and sleep," you finish your sentence with a big gulp of drink and he gets to see another nose scrunch from you.

The intention was to take you out of the apartment and perhaps, he can get you to loosen up a little bit, making this getting to know each other thing a little easier for him. It seems like he's forcing it on you and maybe it wasn't a good idea after all.

"Okay, then, we'll go home after this one," he says, lifting his glass close to his mouth.

"Or you can just stay here and do your thing, and I'm going home," you suggest a better idea after finishing your drink and you grab your bag as if you just can't wait to get out of here.

Chan is quick to grab your arm and stops you from leaving, "Hey, at least, let me finish my drink first," he protests.

"You don't have to leave with me. I can go home myself," you say to him.

"Just wait for me," he squeezes on your arm and adds, "Please?"

You consider it for a moment and then say, "I'll wait for you outside."

Since he's done a gig here, Chan has to make a proper exit out of the club, he greets a few people who work there and grabs his backpack of equipment, carrying it in his hand as he walks out of there. He finds you leaning against the street lamp and the light casts a glowing halo on your head, making you look like an angel... with a stoic expression.

He grins when you notice him coming, "Okay, I lied, there's another thing we have to do tonight," he says.

"Goodness, Chris, just bag a lady and call it a night," you groan in complaint.

Both of his eyebrows ratchet up at your words, "It has nothing to do with that."

"What is it then?" You cross your arms together in front of you.

"Only the best part of the night," he answers with a cryptic smile.

Chan knew he should have started the night with food. He can see that your mood gradually elevates with every bite you take from the delicious kebab he recommended to get after a boozy night out.

By the time you both arrive at the apartment building, you get all quiet like a drowsy child after a day out at the park and he finds it cute, especially with the way your lips slowly jutting out and you keep widening your eyes to stay awake.

"How about next Friday night we're doing it your way?" he suggests as he keeps the elevator door open for you with his back.

"If that means you'll leave me alone then yes," your eyes turn small as you politely moan into your hand.

"We're going to stay in and binge-watch your favorite show and sleep," he lists everything you mentioned earlier and an idea pops into his head.

"We'll have a pajama party!" He announces along with a poor imitation of tooting horns.

"No!" You flatly reject the idea.

"I'll bring the snacks," he offers.

You steadfastly shake your head.

"Then I'll keep knocking on your door until you let me in," he annoyingly moves into your side until he's rubbing elbows with yours.

"Then I hope you get abducted by aliens," you come out with an absurd wish and it cackles him.

"You would miss me," he confidently remarks with his signature grin.

"Doubtful. Very doubtful."

"Why?"

"I know I'd get to see you again someday—"

Chan can't help himself from smiling but little does he know, you're not done with your sentence yet.

"— in hell."

That wipes the smile off his face, "but I'm a good person. People like me," he says while making an innocent face.

"Because they don't know you, if they did, someone would have kicked your ass already."

"They'd try," Chan easily says with a nonchalant shrug, and at the same time, you both burst out laughing.

This is not flirting and he's aware there's something wrong with this interaction but you know what? He likes every bit of it.

Chan's heart sinks when it's time for the two of you to part ways and before you get to slip away from him, he tugs at the strap of your bag.

"Hey, can't wait for our pajama party," he says.

You pull your bag until the strap slips out of his hand and head to your apartment door.

"No response," he points out, "it's as a yes then."

"No!" You shout.

"So... it's a no?" He asks in confusion.

You push the door to get inside your apartment and lingers by the doorway, facing him.

"No," you cheekily respond and then close the door, leaving him with a different kind of thrill for what comes next.

From the way this person treats your door like a tambourine, you can safely guess that it's Chan knocking on the door for the so-called pajama party.

Ugh, why did you agree to it in the first place? It's so unlike you to let someone in on your space but it doesn't matter whether you let him or not, the boundaries have been crossed so many times that there's no such thing as personal space anymore.

Before letting him in, you check through the peephole, and just as you expected, he comes undressed, literally. He's standing on the other side of the door wearing nothing but gray sweatpants hanging low around his hips.

"Please have mercy on my eyes and put some clothes on!" You shout through the door with your hand holding the knob.

"I don't wear pajamas. This is what I wear to sleep," he responds and you can hear him faintly laughing with your ear pressed on the door.

"And what makes you think you're going to sleep at my place tonight?"

"I don't know. A hunch," he playfully responds.

"Pajama party is officially canceled!" You say through the peephole.

"Okay, okay, I'll put some clothes on," he sighs in defeat.

You watch through the peephole to see if he's really going to his apartment to change. With his broad shoulders, all hunched up, he walks back to his apartment and doesn't even bother to close the door, he grabs whatever lying close to him and puts the dark t-shirt over his head. Even under the poor lighting, the ridges of his muscles are visible and inviting you to feel it with your touch.

As though he knows he's being watched, he looks your way and then trudges his way back to your door. The first thing you see after you open the door for him is his big grin that sends his dimples sinking deep into his cheeks.

With a glare at his empty hands, you ask, "And where's the snack?"

Chan puts his arms on each side of the doorframe and leans in close, towering you with his big figure, proudly he answers, "Ma'am, I am the snack."

Can't tell if he's trying to charm you, intimidate you, or both, doesn't matter because he failed at all of them.

"But you promised!" You can tolerate people when they make jokes about anything but you can't accept when it involves food.

Chan takes his phone out of his pocket and shows it to you, "It's being delivered. See?"

Your jaws unclenched in a second and you open the door wider for him, "You may come in!" You sweetly say with a curtsy.

"Thank you, Your Majesty!" He says with a bow before steps into your apartment.

It's ironic how you prepared everything despite you were grudging it, you set the sofa, put some cushions and since he said he was bringing the food, you bought drinks for tonight.

"I have juice, soda, and beers," you list everything you have in your fridge as you're looking at it.

"We'll have the soda for now and beers for later," Chan strategically plans.

The food he ordered only lasts for two episodes and from there, you both run on beers and chips while sitting on opposite sides of each other on the couch with your feet touching.

"I like seeing white stockings on women," Chan comments after seeing the female character wearing it under her dress.

"This is why I hate watching with a man," you say in a condescending tone.

"I'm not even saying anything about her body," he defends himself and playfully rubs his foot with yours.

"Just shh..." you hush him, getting back at him by tackling his foot with yours.

The whole time the TV show is playing, your attention is on him, you're merely curious if he's genuinely invested in it or just wants to annoy you with his presence. From your observation, it seems like it's the former but the jury's still out.

"Wait, is that it?" He asks as the first season has just ended and the credit title rolls down the screen.

"That's the end of the first season," you say, starting to gather the trash on the table and put it into a plastic bag.

"But there's another season, right?" He says, looking distressed that the show ends with a cliffhanger.

"Yeah," you answer.

"Then let's watch it!" He says with a grin and slowly blinking his eyes at you.

"No, Chris, it's late," you show him the time on the screen on your phone that it's close to midnight.

"But I want to know what happens next and I need to know now," he speaks like a spoiled little brat.

You get up from the sofa to get rid of the trash, "You can watch it on your own."

Grabbing the back of your sweater, Chan pulls you hard until you plop down onto the sofa next to you then he puts his arm around you to keep you down.

"Let's just party all night, eh?" He persuades you as he leans in close to the side of your head you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek.

You leer to the side at him and ask, "I can't make you leave, do I?"

"Not a chance," he shortly answers.

Seeing that there's no other way to make him leave but to fulfill his wish, you give in and sit back down on the sofa as Chan hits the play button.

With your stomach full and the exhaustion from the day, and you feel snug on the sofa wrapped in your blanket, you're getting drowsy as the night gets late. You manage to stay awake for two episodes but not long after that, your eyes get really heavy and you can barely keep them open anymore.

Going to rest my eyes for a bit, you tell yourself in your head but close your eyes, slowly drifting into deep slumber.

It's not new that Chan wakes up not knowing where he is, he lifts his head and looks around, taking in his surroundings to give him clues of his whereabouts. One look at the TV screen that shows a question whether he's still watching or not, he immediately recalls where he is, what he's doing here, and—

"Owh!" He lowly gasps as you accidentally elbow him on the ribs.

There he is, lying next to you on the sofa, your back pressed close to his chest he can feel every rise and fall of your body as you're breathing. He doesn't know how it comes to this and he's not complaining though, if anything, it's an opportunity for him to admire you up close.

Cautiously, he removes the hair covering your face to the side and takes an intimate look at your facial features, first at your eyes with your eyelashes fanning out so beautifully, he runs his fingertip down your nose and eventually at your lips which he dreams of kissing.

Do you know that you're so beautiful yet so unaware of it?

Chan gently buries his nose in your neck and inhales your heavenly scent that gets him intoxicated, putting himself in a test of restraint that he'll be likely to fail. All of a sudden, you stir in your sleep and nuzzle closer as if you're seeking warmth from his body heat.

What did he just put himself into? He frustratingly asks in his head.

Soon enough, he can feel your body start to mold against him and it feels nice, you're fulfilling his need for this closeness but unfortunately, he can't control how his body is reacting to this as it wants to do more than just being pressed close to yours.

Chan carefully places his hand on your hips and quietly, he tries to push you away to make a safe space between your bodies even though he has to suffer the loss of your warmth against him.

As if your body knows what he's trying to do, you push back even further and the curve of your ass sits right on the bulge growing inside his sweatpants, putting him at a greater risk.

"Fuck!" he mouthes in distress.

If it wasn't for the TV light that casts a hazy glow on you, he wouldn't notice that your eyes are open and you're waking up to him with his hand on your hips which he's afraid only giving you the impression that he tries to pull you close instead of the opposite.

"I—" he can't say anything without sounding like he's lying because he knows that a greater part of him wanted it, wanting you.

In the next moment, he finds your hand reaching for him and unexpectedly, you put your fingers across his lips, asking him to stop talking as you bring his head close until your lips touch. He doesn't dare to do anything but when you stroke his lower lip with your tongue, his instincts take over.

To no one's surprise, Chan claims your mouth like a starved man.

However, Chan doesn't plunge right into it, he's starting the kiss with innocent brushes of his lips on yours and teasing licks before taking your mouth once again in a deeper kiss.

When he draws back, your lips are parted on soundless gasps of desire. It takes a moment for your eyes to clear enough to focus on him and with a low voice, he says, "I couldn't resist it."

He can't waste a second without kissing you so he indulges in another dizzying kiss, "I thought about kissing you all week."

Days, weeks, months, it comes to a blur to him but he learned the agony of waiting so he counts the time until his lips can reunite with yours again, hopefully, once and for all.

"Now, I can't seem to stop," As he speaks, he threads his fingers into your hair and angles your head back. He trails kisses along your jawline, nips your chin, and kisses the corner of your mouth.

A murmur humming in your throat as he kisses you yet again and your hand flies into his hair, fingertips lazily scratching at his scalp. You suddenly pull away from the kiss and gaze into his dark eyes, "Then don't stop."

So Chan hasn't been the only one, after all.

Planting his mouth on yours again, he twines his tongue with yours, and oh... this taste, this softness, your hand in his hair, kiss after kiss after kiss.

He allows himself to run his fingertips down the length of your arm and smiles when goosebumps ripple outward. Nuzzling your neck, he breathes in the soft scent of your skin and kisses the sweet spot just behind your jaw. Your lips are calling him, but instead, he sucks on your earlobe and bites it, startling a shaky sigh from you.

He allows himself to explore more by running his hand along the length of your body, cupping the curve of your breasts, and even through the layers of fabrics, he can feel the firm buds of your nipple. He so badly wants to pinch it, love on it, but there is too much fabric in the way. He simply resolves it by slipping his hand under and he finds your soft mounds in a second, not wasting another second to fondle on it.

As he kisses you harder, and you arch into his body, you're undulating your hips against the aching bulge inside its confine, forcing him to bite back his groan.

Oh, he hasn’t wanted someone like this in... Has he ever wanted someone like this?

He reels himself back to the present, glancing down at his pale hand and your nipple caught between his fingers, it's an erotic sight indeed that he can't resist pinching it and enjoying your sharp intake of breath.

"Chris..."

The sound of his name falling from your lips is just as unexpected as it is hot. He sees you breathe through your parted lips that's swollen and glistening wet from all the kissing, and then at your wide, lustful eyes that tell him you're ready for more.

An impatient hand glides down your stomach and slips beneath the waistband of your shorts, his gentle fingers caress you with slow strokes. He is touching you there, right where you need him and you shiver, then burrow closer to him as more goosebumps dotted your skin.

"My God, you're drenched," he says and with each syllable, his lips grazed your ear.

Your body clenched hard, clenched even harder when he presses a finger deep into you, filling you. He massages your clit with lazy swirls of his thumb, making you start trembling against him.

He lowers a kiss on you again, tongue and teeth invading your mouth and that's all it takes to send you climbing quick and sharp toward your release.

His mouth finds your ear and with his hot breath tickles you, he lowly asks, "Does it feel good?”

There's no answer but you sink your teeth into your bottom lip as you throw your head back, inhaling sharply. Chan can feel tiny muscles fluttering around his fingers, and he knows you are close.

He doesn't need to see to know the answer, he can feel it with his hand, "You’re drenching my palm," he whispers again.

With your hand in his hair, you bring his head close and peck his lips, "Chris, I want it," you mutter as you pull away.

"It?" He asks to confirm if you're thinking of the same thing and he's not taking the wrong sign.

You lightly nod, "Mmh-hmm."

"Condom?"

"No need," you shortly answer, "I'm on the pill."

A jolt of excitement surges all over his body just from the thought that he'll be inside you with no layer of protection and it utterly exhilarates him that he needs to calm down for a minute. He uses the time to remove your shorts and then his sweatpants next without taking his other arm from around you.

Once he settles himself behind you, he puts his hand between your legs, lifting a leg and putting it over his hips, allowing his hard member to get between your legs. It feels a whole lot different to feel how wet you are on every inch of his length.

"Feel that?" He asks you with his mouth nestled close to your ear and his swollen cock rubbing between your folds, "I'm aching for you."

Chan kisses your mouth, your jaw, your neck as hard flesh prodding at your sex, making you stop breathing for a moment and you feel nothing but a sensuous stretching that goes on and on until he seated himself fully inside you and oh, he fits perfectly.

"It's too good. You feel– oh... I'm going to lose it," he can't comprehend what he's feeling right now.

The heat, this tightness, so perfect for him and his body asks for nothing but more and more and more of you.

Responding to his body's needs, he withdraws and then thrusts back into you, soon enough, he sets a steady pace. His free hand slides down to your bundle of nerves, touching you there for added stimulation. You grip his wrist, seemingly intending to pull him away, but your hand refuses to cooperate.

The twin assaults of his fingers and his cock that fills you full kindle a flame inside you that spread all over you like wildfire. Your mouth is parted open but all that comes out are gasps and sighs of pleasure so instead of words, you communicate how you feel through your body. You spread your thighs wider and writhe to match his thrust for thrust.

There's nothing but the sounds of his hips slapping your ass and his cock that incessantly slipping in and out of you, and he likes how he finds peace despite his body being in pure chaos.

With his mouth lingering close to your ear, he knows you hear every shudder of his breath to the lowest of his sultry moans slipped out of his mouth, and honestly, he would have been embarrassed if it weren’t for your hand tangled in his curls and keep pulling him for a kiss, before finding his hand that rests on your chest and hold it.

"Perfect..." the word tumbles out of his mouth as your fingers slip right between the spaces of his fingers and lace it together.

"Ah, ah, ah," more moans fall out of your lips as you arch into him, and through it all, your eyes locked in a gaze with his, letting him see the pure pleasure that builds up inside you.

Chan has slept with a handful of people, but he’s never been so in tune with someone's body. He’s never been so desperate to please or so elated when he hears you cry his name as you cum around him.

The high takes you over and also your ability to move, speak, and think. You curl up, making you feel smaller against him. The hand interlaced with his tightens as he speeds up the motions of his hips and with one last deep thrust, he joins you in falling apart.

Using this tender moment to pour his affection for you, he's whispering your name and kissing you softly, then slowly, he eases out of—

"No, don't!" Your hand grabs at his hips, hard, nails digging into the flesh, "Stay."

Obeying your words, Chan holds you close, limbs to limb, skin to skin, hearts lying so close to each other with mere flesh and bones in between. He doesn't know what this was, but it sure as hell was not fucking. He kisses you hard and soft to find out.

It's when he pulls away and looks into your eyes that he figures out the answer as the most incredible feeling of being loved washes over him.

When Chan wakes up the next morning. He registers the sunlight on his face, the distant barking of a neighborhood dog, and the delicious smell of buttered toast and coffee, it's all around him and—

It just hits him that he's waking up on your sofa and he burrows into the blanket with a happy sigh once he recalls everything that happened last night to the tiniest details, summoning the butterflies to flutter around in his stomach.

The sound of your footsteps forces him to get out of his daze and he scrambles to get up when you walk past the sofa on your way to the kitchen.

"Morning!" He cheerily greets you while covering his naked lower half with the blanket.

Without looking and with your hands tying your hair, you fainty reply to his greeting, "Morning."

You didn't reply to his level of enthusiasm but that's okay, he just doesn't expect you to be this stoic this early in the day. Instead of searching for his sweatpants, he wraps the blanket around his hips like a towel and waddles his way to the kitchen.

"You're up early," he says, noticing that it's barely seven and he knows you usually leave for work a little after eight, sometimes close to nine.

"Early appointment. Have to do a client's hair. Wedding," you concisely explain as you quietly sip your coffee from a big red mug.

It's strange, the way you speak and how your eyes are looking anywhere but in his direction. For now, he's going to think that you're just tired and not fully meeting your dose of caffeine yet

"Okay, so what's for breakfast?" He asks, excitedly tapping the dining table with his hands and grinning at you.

"Toast and coffee," you say while standing on your toes to get a glass from the top cabinet.

"Anything but coffee, please?" He politely asks, watching you walk the other way to get a carton of orange juice out of the fridge.

It's a sunny day but the room shares the same temperature as the glass of orange juice you pour into his glass. He observantly watches you, searching for any clues whether this is how you are in the morning or something is actually off with you.

There's one way to know, first, he takes a small sip of his juice to help with his dry throat and then jabs around the topic, "Last night was fun, don't you think?"

There's no answer and he can't see your reaction toward it when you're standing with your back facing him and he begins to think that it's the latter.

"I'm thinking we should do this again next Friday but I'll get to pick what we're going to watch and you bring—"

"Chris, I'm sorry but..." You swiftly turn on your feet and check the time on the clock, "I have to leave now."

"Sure, yeah, you can't be late for a wedding," he playfully says while keeps searching for your eyes to make you look at him.

You walk around your apartment to gather your things, your phone, and your wallet, stuffing them into a purse. You grab another bag which he guesses is one you usually carry for work and that only confirms that you're indeed leaving for an appointment.

"You can stay for breakfast and use the spare keys to lock the door when you leave," you say those things in a hurry as you drag your bag to the foyer.

He turns on his chair to look at you as he jokes, "We've only slept together twice and you're already giving me your apartment keys?"

Unfortunately, the jokes fall short as he hears nothing but the sound of the knob turning and you're getting out of the apartment.

"Have a great day at work!" He shouts at you but all he gets in response is the door closing and then clicks in place.

Chan can't tell anymore if you're leaving for work or you're leaving him, but it feels like he's getting his karma for always being the one leaving in the morning.

It's wedding season and that explains why there are a lot of scribbles on your calendar, you have a lot of appointments to do this month, and you get so busy that he's hardly seeing you lately.

Work is one thing he can understand but you can't possibly work 24 hours a day without a day off, right? At one point, he should have caught you leaving or coming home from work, whichever it is, the chance never comes to him, not even once.

Chan begins to wonder if you're avoiding him, he knows because there's a slight difference to it and it's in the purpose. You've been purposely doing things to avoid him.

With an excuse prepared in his head, Chan comes knocking on your door the next Friday night. He's been keeping your spare keys and can easily let himself in but that would be impolite, he needs to be on your good side to earn your trust.

After a few times knocking with no answer, he lets himself in but not because he has the spare keys, the door is unlocked so he figures you must be at home and doing something that makes you unable to get the door.

"Anyone's home?" He shouts into the void in your living room and hesitantly walks further inside.

Hearing the loud humming of a hairdryer, he walks to your bedroom. Unexpectedly, you're coming out as he's about to walk in.

"Oh, God!" You gasp in surprise as you hold the front of your bathrobe together, "What are you doing here?"

In contrast, Chan laughs seeing your shell-shocked expression in his presence. He then crosses his arms together and leans the side of his body against the doorframe, not forgetting to wear his grin as he answers to you, "Just checking to see if my neighbor is alive."

"Well, I'm alive," You're talking as you're taking dresses out of your closet, "and I need your help."

Looking at your mood and the way you talk normally to him, he concludes that the thought that you've been purposely avoiding him was just a silly thought after all. Other than that, you need his help and he likes being needed by you.

"I'm at your service," Chan says, permitting himself to step into your bedroom and sit on the end of your bed.

You're standing in front of him, holding up two dresses in your hands, one is a white line dress with a v-neck and the other is a body-hugging velvet dress in a deep burgundy color. Both will look good on you but he needs to know one thing before he gives his vote.

"Are we going out tonight?" He playfully asks, feeling a buzz of excitement filling him.

You turn around to face the full-length mirror while holding the dress in front of you in turn to give you ideas on how it will look on you.

"I have a date," you tell him.

Hearing that, the excitement in his body vanishes in a second and is replaced by a cold shudder of panic. He tries to laugh it off in denial.

"A–a date?" He stammers.

"Uh-huh," You end up settling the dress situation yourself by choosing to go with the white linen dress, "Can you get out of my room so I can change?"

His subconscious has the tendency to obey you, he gets up from the bed and walks out of your room, and he lingers there by the door, contemplating whether he should push the conversation or not.

"With who?" He doesn't want to know but curiosity gets the best of him.

"A guy I met at one of the weddings," you share from inside your bedroom.

"Is this—" he pauses to swallow air, "Is this your first date?"

"Yes and I'm excited," your voice grows louder and soon, the door cracks open and you reveal yourself to him, "Now, tell me I made the right choice?"

He takes a staggering step backward and asks, "On the date or the dress?"

You take a look at yourself on the round mirror hanging on the wall, "Is it too casual? No?"

For a second, Chan forgets about the direness of the situation and takes a good look at you, the dress compliments your shape so well, the hem flares up like a blooming flower and the v-cut neckline offers a modest cleavage, perfect for a first date. If he has to be honest, even without the dress, it won't make you less comely but he hates that you look this good and it's not for him.

"You look... good," he tries to make it sound like your appearance doesn't make any impression on him.

You wipe the excess lipstick on the corner of your mouth then look over your shoulder, "And the date?"

He doesn't expect you to give him the chance to say something about it and obviously, he's going to try his best to intercept your plan.

"Don't you think it's too soon?" He follows you as you head back to your bedroom then stops at the doorway as you enter the bathroom after, "To get on a date."

You take off the hair rollers nestling on the crown of your hair and your hair flows down like big springs, then brush it down with your fingers.

"You told me yourself that I should get out there and find new love," you return his words to him.

That feels like he's just slapped himself in the face. Why did he tell you that? Oh, yeah, that's because he wants you to start opening up so he can let himself in and fill that position.

"But that's not�� I just didn't think..." his words trailing off as he can't exactly explain the reason why he said it, not now at least.

You put all of your hair to the front then flip it all together to the back, you're shaking the end with your fingers, sending the sweet smell of your shampoo flying around in the room.

"Didn't think what?" You curiously ask as you apply a fresh coat of lipstick on your lips, the shade is bright red like a flamethrower.

"When I said you should start finding a new love, I was hoping that you could finally see me and..." he can't find another way of telling you without saying it out loud, "perhaps, you can find it in me."

That makes you stop whatever you're doing and turn around on your feet, leaning against the bathroom counter, you look at him in eerie silence, and then out of nowhere, a laugh bursts out of you.

"Chris, stop playing!" You brush past him on the way out of the bathroom.

He's trailing behind you as you pick up a purse from a collection of them in your closet, "I'm not playing," he assures you.

"Okay, yeah, I trust you," you half-heartedly respond, heading out and going to the foyer to pick your shoes next.

"Can you please look at me?" He pleads as he waits for you to make up your mind with your choice of shoes.

"Just look at me, please?" He begs again, desperately.

You take your chosen shoes and hold them in one hand as you hold his gaze, "Okay, I'm looking at you."

In those fierce eyes, Chan finds the courage to assess his feelings and tries to fathom them into words. He inhales air before letting it out in a long, low sigh.

"Don't go on that date," he demands.

"Why?"

"Because I want you here."

"Chris, that's not a good enough reason," you say with a low laugh.

He gently places his hands on each of your elbows and tenderly stares into your eyes, "Then go ahead, ask me that one question."

"What question?"

"Ask me what are we," he steadily holds your gaze even though he feels a whirlwind in his head and chaos stirring inside his chest.

You brush it off with a laugh, "Why should I ask you—"

"Just ask me the question!" He accidentally raises his voice at you and immediately lowers his voice after, he looks down to take a breather before looking back into your eyes, "Ask me what are we!"

It feels like an eternity waiting for you to ask him that but he has the patience and an answer to that, he only needs you to ask him that.

You drop the shoes onto the floor and take a step forward, you hold his gaze as he holds his breath. Deep down, he knows that you'd have to be blind to not see the light of affection in his eyes.

To his dismay, you unexpectedly retreat and pick up everything with you toward the door. With your back turned to him, you say, "I don't want to be late for the date."

It's been an hour since he came back from your apartment and he's still stuck in the denial stage. He's lying in the dark and stares at the ceiling of his bedroom, ignoring his phone that's been tirelessly blaring with notifications.

It's not a rejection if you don't give him a definite, abundantly clear answer, right? Besides, there's a chance that the guy blew the date and you can see that he's the better man. Is he though? Is he any better?

There are two ways to handle this situation. One, he can try to forget all about it, hit call back on one of the girls contacting him right now, get out of here, and distract himself with a physical release. Or two, wait because there's something in him that tells him to wait just a little longer.

But wait for what? Wait until you return from your date? Wait until he sees it happens, you with your new beau, all lovey-dovey next door?

It seems like he's finally progressed into the next stage: anger.

Every thought that crosses his head right now is not nice and he needs an outlet for this anger. He shoots up from the bed, he starts pacing back and forth in the room, hands balled into fists, he gets this urge to punch something, he wants to— No, he can't wait with this ugly feeling slowly taking over him and driving him insane.

"Fuck this," he curses out loud into the void in his apartment, he picks up his phone and texts someone about meeting up tonight.

While typing a text, knocking comes on his door, and whoever it is, they'd better not piss him off or— the knocking comes again, he exhales air out of his mouth to calm down and walks in heavy steps to get the door.

It seems as if his anger wasn't there in the first place, the second he opens the door and sees you, all of those nasty thoughts vanish into thin air.

You're carrying your shoes in one hand and the other is holding one side of the doorframe. You look at him with a smile ever so softly blooms on your face, "So..."

See? It wasn't a rejection. He just needed to wait a little longer and God, he was glad he did.

"So...?" He asks back, holding the urge to smile back at you.

You daringly stare into his eyes as you take a step into his apartment, "So... what are we, Chris?"

It's crazy how your magnetic field is so strong that he can't stand being this close to you and not touching you, his hesitant hands are reaching for you, they retreat and give, doing it for a while until you drop everything off your hands and put your hands around his shoulders. Indirectly permitted him to put his hands on you.

"What are we, mmh?" You ask again with your eyes flickering like they hold stars in them.

"We are..." he considers to let the truth out but what's the fun in that? He needs to get back at you for making him doubt everything earlier, "Neighbors."

"No," you shake your head in disagreement, "You're definitely going to say something else."

Luckily, he's strong enough to hold you steady as you put your whole weight against him, leaving not even an inch of gap between your bodies.

"Someone still has her panties in a twist," he playfully responds with his charming grin on, dimples and all.

"Shame on you because I don't have any panties on," you say with your small smile turning into a broad one.

His eyes widen in slight shock, and his hand automatically glides downward, landing a caress on the curve of your ass and slipping under the hem of your dress to check whether your words are true or not. His fingers edge at the lacy fabric of your underwear and it turns out to be the latter.

"Ugh, you're lying!" He groans in complaint but it doesn't make him less happy, he's elated, and his heart is about to burst.

"Partly."

"How so?"

"Because you're about to take them off," you shamelessly say.

Chan wants to let go of all the things that hold him back. He brings both of your lips together, he kisses you like you're oxygen and he's short on air. He runs his hands down your back to your hips, cupping your sweet ass, and pulls you even closer. You struggle to get closer as he kisses you deep and hard your head tilted to the back, you weave your fingers through his hair as you pour yourself into the kiss.

Everything that happened before this is in the past now, all he knows now is your taste and the hot sighs of your breath, and then this irrepressible want to devour you.

"I'm going to carry you to bed," Chan's plush lips brushing yours as he speaks.

The idea of carrying you to bed is highly appealing to him at the moment. He likes holding you and as messed up as it was, he wants to throw you onto the bed, in the most respectful way.

"Then what are you waiting for, kangaroo boy?"

A sharp gasp escapes your mouth as he swoops you into his arms and carries you in the direction of the bedroom. You have your arms looped around his neck to hold onto and place kisses along his jaw all the way to his bedroom.

Instead of throwing you onto the bed like he planned, he throws both of you onto the bed and it quakes, he immediately props an elbow against the mattress to not put his weights on you.

"God, you're so beautiful," his sigh tells how overwhelmed he is by what he's seeing and what a privilege that he's able to place kisses on such beauty.

When you try to gasp a mouthful of air, he breathes it into you with his hand resting on your jaw, you look up at him, and a starburst of emotion expands inside him. He thinks you see it in his eyes because you softly smile at him.

Giving you time to breathe, he shifts his focus elsewhere, he kisses and sucks on your neck, all the while his hands are keeping your body closely pressed against him, making you aware of the firm flesh prodding your crotch through his blue jeans.

The next thing is his mouth searching for the source of the heat and your body goes into total system failure as his mouth inches closer to where you want him. Between your thighs, you flush and tingle with wanting.

"This smell..." he hums as he buries his nose in your clothed sex, making you able to feel every sharp intake of air he inhales through his nose.

He pries his mouth open and plants it on your heating wetness, not caring about the lacy fabric that blocks him from tasting it raw.

"Mmh..." he deeply hums again, almost like the low roar of a wild animal hunting at night, "I want this smell all over me."

The intensity of your desire frightens and embarrasses you at the same time, you need a little control but control is gone when Chan tugs the waistband of your underwear between his teeth and begins to pull it down your legs.

He places his hands on the back of your thighs and slowly, lifts both of your legs upward as he keeps biting your underwear. You're watching as he tries to take it off of you with such determination.

Once he succeeds, he grabs the underwear from between his teeth and holds it up to show you his latest conquest, "Twisted panties no more," he says with a sly grin.

Instead of tossing it aside, he puts the underwear into the back pocket of his jeans, "I'm keeping it."

There are so many layers of clothing keeping him from feeling your skin but he can start by removing his t-shirt, having no problems showing you his taut muscles and his pale skin that reddens around the chest, neck, and both ears.

Next, Chan grabs your knees, he pulls them apart to bare your sex to his eyes and his chest expands on a sharp inhalation. The look on his face tells it all, he wants you, he wants you so bad that he swallows air, sending his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

It's the first time that he gets to see it open and bare, gushing with essence, tantalizing. He leisurely takes his time to admire it while plotting things he wants to do to it.

He rubs his hands down the sides of your thighs and lowly sighs, without his eyes straying away from the sight between your legs, he says, "You have the prettiest little—”

He thinks he's imagining it but he's not the only one hearing knocks on his apartment door. Sensing someone else's presence, your legs instinctively shut and you pull the hem of your dress down.

"Chris, are you expecting someone?" You ask with your forehead wrinkled in question.

"No," he shortly answers, he doesn't want you to think that he's waiting for someone else other than you, "I don't—"

The knocking comes again a while later, a little too aggressive that both of you can't ignore it anymore.

"Someone is knocking on your door," you say.

"Yeah, but I swear, I don't—"

You place your hand on his waist and look at him, "well, then, get the door and find out."

He'd rather have someone sawing him off of you than having to voluntarily get away from you, whoever this person is will be responsible for what's not going down at this moment.

"Only if you promise you won't change your mind," he tells you with a sly smirk.

"If you don't hurry and get the door, I might," you say back.

"Stay still. Don't move. Not even an inch," he pecks your lips for every warning with both hands cupping your face. He plants another long peck on your lips before dashing toward the front door and thinking of just sending this person away so he can get back to you.

This is where he makes a mistake. He doesn't check through the peephole and opens the door right away, having the faintest idea that catastrophe awaits on the other side of the door.

"Ah, there you are!" The girl says, jumping at him and immediately locking lips with him.

It happens so fast that by the time Chan registers it, the girl pulls away but keeps her arms looped around his shoulders.

"I came here as soon as I received your text," she grabs his chin and kisses his slacked-open mouth, "I hope I didn't make you wait long."

On the other end of the room, he hears your footsteps coming and soon, you come into his sight. You look so calm and he'd prefer a raging sea because with calm water, he never really knows what he's dealing with.

With an enigmatic smile, you look at him and say, "You know what, Chris? I change my mind."

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moondirti · 7 months ago

Text

big fan of the headcanon that simon riley is hard to get.

if we're being realistic, he's probably gotten very good at ignoring any inclination he might have towards a person in the years since his families' murder. it's easier to function as a soldier, as ghost, when he doesn't have to carry the burden of concern for someone so vulnerable. whether it's worrying about their safety while he's on deployment and can't afford to, or otherwise repressing his darker tendencies in an effort not to break them; the extra effort just isn't worth it to him. he won't seek you out, he won't take care of you, he won't reassure and coddle and communicate.

and he's not blind, nor is he passionless. he can appreciate a pretty face when one happens to pass by, but that's pretty much the extent of it. he's gotten used to the scorch of the lonely flame that flickers inside of him. if anything, he thinks putting it out and tending to the burns left in its wake would be a more traumatic ordeal than just letting it consume him.

so for him to accept love, it'd have to sneak up on him.

it happens with johnny first. he's the natural candidate, of course. his stubborn subordinate, clever with a fixated loyalty and quick wit – who better than him to get under ghost's skin?

granted, he isn't as guarded around him as he would've been with a civilian. not as cold upon introduction because he doesn't need to be. soap's a soldier, and this is work, and he's confident enough in the sergeant's resilience that it doesn't hinder his routine. he doesn't have to make accommodations, bend backwards or wake up in a cold sweat concerned about the man's wellbeing; not at first, anyway. and such are the floodgates that allow him to embrace johnny's company.

jokes crackled over comms. sitting next to each other on the airlifter. claps on the back after a successful operation. trust in every decision he chooses to take, regardless of whether or not he agrees. he thinks about johnny's eyes, johnny's smile, johnny's fierce little pout and the scar on his chin – but everything in moderation. the perfectly healthy amount. passing appreciation of his best mate's features and nothing more. it's the only meaningful connection he's had in years, and so what if he tugs his cock to the thought of it? people have cum to less.

until the bastard gets himself shot in the liver on solo reconnaissance in cyprus, and almost dies on medevac.

because when ghost gets that call from price – soap's hurt. it's looking grim. – he's wracked with a terror so acute he thinks his heart has given up on him. it's about the worst way to find out that he considers johnny as more than a friend. this sheer desperation, longing, regret. he ponders over it in the plane, tries to scrub the dread from his being. tries to pick apart what went wrong, what makes the sergeant so special.

by the time he reaches the hospital, he's already accepted defeat. all it takes is one look at johnny in his hospital bed – features peaceful, bandages wrapped around his bare chest, mohawk and facial hair grown out – to understand that this isn't going away anytime soon. he'll just have to make his peace with it. readjust to accommodate the protective flare already sparking in his chest.

it's a hassle, but manageable. despite his injury, johnny's still a competent man. they already know how to function in bouts of high stress. they're good– great friends. all this is really is an opportunity for simon to finally dig his cock within an ass he's been eyeing for months – or at least, that's the rationale he uses to come to terms.

and then you arrive. and things get a whole lot more complicated.

johnny's bird, apparently – gaz whispers to him outside of the inpatient room, watching through the window as you fret over the comatose man's pillows – didn' know he had one. m'surprised. you'd think a loudmouth like him would let the world know. she's cute too. really, ghost, did you have any idea?

he can't find it in him to respond, opting instead to march back into the room. you're fussing too much, causing a scene, no doubt disturbing the air with the nervous energy radiating off you in waves.

"he isn' supposed to be elevated like tha'," simon scolds, inflating a bit when you straighten up, eyes blowing wide with distress.

"oh... i just thought- he gets all hot when he lays on his back like this. i wanted him to be comfortable."

he knows that he's being cruel. you've done absolutely nothing to deserve the harsh glare he shoots your way, nor should you be expected to handle it. your eyes are red-rimmed, puffy like you've been crying on the way over. no doubt unused to crises like this one. he should be a help, not another source of stress.

besides. johnny's your boyfriend, not his. he has no reason to be so territorial. he'd only just discovered his feelings eight hours ago.

but–

"are you a doctor?"

"n-no."

"then it's best you keep your opinion to yourself."

he just can't help himself.

over the next week, ghost treats you with nothing more than cold disregard. he side-eyes you when you cry, wakes you up with rough pokes to your shoulder once visiting hours close, and takes every chance to one-up you when it comes down to who knows johnny better. you've got a leg up in the domestic department, but simon knows that nothing can surpass the borderline psychic bond they've built, and he makes sure to emphasise it whenever he can. and fuck, does it annoy him that you take it with grace every time, nodding receptively as though his input is meant to be more than just a searing critique of your shortcomings.

his behaviour doesn't go unnoticed, either. gaz is infinitely perplexed to see that the usually controlled lieutenant is so quick to lose his temper around you, despite your earnest efforts to not be a nuisance, and all price offers are long, disapproving looks that have him itch uncomfortably in his seat.

on the other hand, you must believe that he's just like that – foul mouthed, disparaging, mean – because you don't take it to heart. you remain pleasant, gentle, if not a little bit emotional. never once do you raise your voice at him, or fight back when he extends a particularly hurtful comment. on the occasion that his attitude grows to be too much for you, all you do is slip on a pair of noise-cancelling headphones and spread out your textbooks to spend the evening studying on the other side of the room. not keen on making amends, or discovering the source of simon's malcontent, but not affected by it either. you're peaceful. conflict averse. a good girl.

then, you come back one day with a tupperware of cookies.

"i made them myself last night. couldn't sleep, so..." you shrug, holding it out towards him. he assesses them, assesses you, roving over your chapped lips and hollow under-eyes. when did you get to look so defeated?

"no." he looks away, back to the unconscious man in front of him. in his periphery, your shoulders deflate, and he doesn't know what compels him to add the quiet "thanks."

"you've been here every hour of every day. i don't think i've seen you eat. um–" you dodge his gaze when it shoots to you. you've never tried to hold a conversation before now, have always accepted his gruff responses as an indication to leave him alone. he wonders why you can't catch the hint now. "just- let me know if you change your mind. they're shortbread."

and that's the end of it. at least until an hour later:

you're sitting on your armchair, directly across the bed from him, staring blankly at johnny when you speak up. "lieutenant?"

ghost doesn't remember introducing himself to you. he doesn't respond, but clenches his jaw to let you know he's listening.

"he's been comatose for a while." you warble. meaningless chatter. he sees it for what it is: talking so you don't cry. seeking reassurance in someone who knows how these things go.

"hm."

"is this how it usually-"

"sometimes."

"oh."

"he'll be alright." simon adds. more for himself than for you, but your lip wobbles like it's exactly what you needed to hear.

a few moments later, you speak up again.

"he holds you in such high regard, y'know."

he didn't. his heart aches as he follows the rise and fall of johnny's chest, finds solace in it, calming himself before he rips the hair from his skull. he can't speak, can't muster a rude dismissal, or any hatred for you. not anymore. this hospital has sucked the soul from him, as it seems to have done with you.

"he'll be happy to know you've stuck to his side." you smile, stirring from your seat and slinging your bag over your shoulder. "i have to go, got an exam tomorrow. i'll leave the cookies here in case you crave one."

you're halfway out when simon replies. "good luck."

and he's on his third cookie when johnny finally wakes. by then, he's already made up his mind. it's revelation he comes to much faster than the first.

if he can't have just johnny, he'll take you both.

#i ran out of steam towards the end could you tell #ghostsoap #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley x reader x johnny 'soap' mactavish #johnny 'soap' mactavish x reader #ghostsoap x reader #simon 'ghost' riley x johnny 'soap' mactavish #call of duty

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fanaticsnail · 30 days ago

Text

Age Gap: Garp

Birthday Celebration Masterlist

Word count: 1,800

Themes: Garp x f!reader, gendered terms used, smut, mdni, 18+, NSFW, mirror sex, age gap, overstimulation, porn with minor plot, old-man endurance.

Notes: birthday celebration fic! Love Garp and all the fun that comes with him.

Back pressed against the bare chest of the man behind you, knees drawn up over his thighs, he braced you fully against his body with his large forearm. In front of the both of you was a large, rectangular, floor-length mirror: granting you no choice but to witness the actions the man behind you was enacting against your body.

His cock was pressed against your ass, leaking tip smearing precum on your spine while he disappeared his index and middle finger inside your slick pussy. His lips were on your neck, the scratch of his bristle-like facial hair adding to the experience of having someone so much your senior bringing forth this much pleasure to you.

Vice-Admiral Garp was always kind to you in the office. Never once an untoward comment uttered between you, truly the perfect gentleman. Now sprawled on his lap and watching his fingers hook up into your pussy while he whispered into your neck and ear, you had never felt so desired in your life.

Bumping into him after another poorly matched blind date had ended badly was truly serendipitous. You had just finished talking down this overeager match from venturing into a large tirade of how attractive he found himself, which was a large disappointment on your behalf. The younger man that matched you on the marine Den-Den dating frequency just didn’t click with you. He made no effort to learn who you were or what you did for work, and simply assumed the evening would end with him using you like his personal sheathe and disregarding your own needs for pleasure.

Concluding the evening with a firm handshake and your portion of the bill paid for your uneaten food, you stood and left the restaurant without further word as to why. He didn’t even ask you how you were, or paid you compliments on your attire. Sure, you didn’t need any of those things, but watching the man boost his own ego was simply too much for you to give your free evening over to.

When you found the Vice-Admiral laughing with a street-food vendor, you felt a little more at ease. Put of his decorated uniform, in a patterned shirt and cargo shorts with far too many pockets, he just seemed at ease and filled with joy.

As soon as he turned his attention towards you and away from the vendor, he extended out his arm with a broad smile twinkling up at the creases in his eyes.

“My, my, officer, don't you scrub up nice?” he chuckled, gesturing to your attire, “Not saying you don't normally make my office brighter with your radiance, just not accustomed to seeing you outside your uniform.”

“Thank you, Vice Admiral,” you shook your head to chastise him a little, chuckling alongside him, “Had a date.”

“Oh?” he asked you with a small hint of intrigue, “And how did it go?”

Rolling your eyes, you brush past him and gently begin ordering from the street vendor one of their hot specialties, paired with a sweet pastry to follow it. Garp couldn't help but bark a laugh, gently clapping a hand on your shoulder and shaking his head.

“That good, was it?”

“Speaking freely, considering we're both out of uniform and the office is far,” you turned to him while fishing out your Berry, “No. No, it wasn't good. It was, in fact, shit.”

This did nothing to quell Garp’s laughter, only involving the street vendor to chuckle along with the both of you. Sitting in a comfortable air and laughing along at your own misery, you couldn't help but to take Garp in.

Each of his features had this air of charm about him. Smile lines littering his face, creases and crevices that each told a tale of adventure throughout the years. He was far too many years your senior for you to ever consider romantically-.

“-I'll walk you home, love,” Garp suggested, offering out the crook of his elbow and indicating for you to take it. “It's far too late for a pretty woman such as yourself to wander through the trenches. Especially when you're dressed so fine.”

You quirked your brows up, almost scoffing at the suggestion while interlacing your elbow with his own. Taking the street food from the vendor, you held the brown, paper bag in one hand while the other gave his forearm a gentle squeeze.

“Sounds to me like either you don't trust in my abilities to take care of myself, or you don't trust your subordinates and civilians to act appropriately,” you comment slyly. Garp rolled his eyes, a smirk tugging up his whiskered lip.

“On the contrary, I'm actually thinking quite selfishly.” Finally making it to your door, you take a moment to study the man escorting you to your residence.

“Oh?” You asked in response, cocking your head down and seeking out his eyes. “How so, Vice Admiral?”

“It's not every day I have a beautiful woman hanging off my arm and allowing me to lead her home. Reminds me of my youth.” Leaning down, he playfully pursed his lips and enjoyed drinking in your radiance for a moment longer. You felt you had no choice but to laugh and enjoy his attention.

For once, out of these long and drawn out evenings with the large number of singles you had attempted to couple with in the past, you actually felt like you were desired. Not as a body to warm the bed of for a few minutes, not a marine to help rise another in the ranks, but truly desired.

You were not sure of the next few moments: who leaned in first, who removed your dress, who's lips found the others while the door closed behind you, or where you placed the food down while you jumped up and hooked your legs over Garp's hips. None of it mattered.

All that mattered now was how close you were to your impending climax while you watched him bring it on in your glossy reflection. Thick, leathery fingers disappearing into your pussy, crude squelching ricocheting from the corners of your quarters while Garp uttered huskily into your neck.

“How about another one?” he whispered against your skin, “You can give me another, can't you? How many is that now, hm?”

“F-... F-...” you could barely find the words, feeling him brace you against his torso and chuckle in your ear. Gently cooing at you, he pressed his lips to your shoulder and traced the up to your neck.

“My count’s four,” he drew his eyes up to meet yours in the reflection, “See if we can make it five before I give you my cock again, hm?”

“Garp-!” you cried out, feeling your legs shudder and flutter as the coil in your belly wound tightly shut. Your cunt began greedily sucking in his fingers, holding him within you while your high was right within your grasp.

“Oh, you're gonna climax on this old man’s fingers again, aren't you?” he snickered softly, gently biting at your jaw and holding you on the presipis of your edge, “Tell me. Who's making you feel this good?”

“G-G-... Gonna cum-!” you cried out, attempting to curl in on yourself while your high began to sizzle at the corners.

“Not until you say it, sweetheart,” he smiled. His corners creased at the corners, giving him that boyish edge that you had come to enjoy throughout your evening. “Go on. Say it.”

“G-Garp-!” you cried out, watching as his eyes met yours before you darted them down within your reflection to witness the creamy splashback you left on his fingers with your climax.

“Oh, good girl,” he praised you, grinning at you while he expertly ushered you into your high. “Go on, love. Cum on this old man's fingers.”

You threw your head back onto his shoulder, desperately keening and mewling for him while he shepherded you through your high. While one hand moved in and out of your pussy, ushering out your release with sharpshooting efficiency, the other hand braced you against himself while he felt your soul leave your body and join the chiors in oblivion.

Riding your high while trapped on his lap felt unlike anything you'd experienced in couplings prior. He had had you in ways you had never dreamed of: reaching highs you had only ever fantasized about meeting.

Huffing and panting while coming down from your powerful release, he slowed down his expert ministrations before withdrawing his fingers from your pussy and giving your thigh a gentle pat.

“Now, dear,” he unlocked his legs from your own and cradled you into his chest. You limply peered up at him, lulling your head against his collar while he hoisted you easily into his arms. “Remind me how many poor dates you had in the past few months?”

He tossed you back onto the mattress and fluttered his eyelashes down at you with the innocence of a newborn deer walking on stumble legs.

“Eleven,” you panted, a warmth dampening your cheeks and flooding your ears. “Eleven shit dates.”

He gently rose your thighs over his hips, drawing his cock between your folds and lining his tip at your entrance. With a slow chuckle, he began languidly rocking his cock once again into your pussy with an easy rhythm.

“By my numbers, seems we have six to go.” He drew his hips flush with your own, bottoming out with his mushroomed tip kissing at your cervix, “Whatever we can't do tonight, we'll pick up in the morning, yes?”

He gently slotted his arms beneath your shoulders, rocking his cock into your core and drawing out needy gasps from your parted lips.

“Yes,” you gasped in response, your head flinging back to mold your pillow to the shape of your hair while he drew out your ecstasy by his deep thrusts.

“That's my girl,” he uttered softly, continueing to staple you against the mattress with the stamina of a wild beast in rut. With every in-thrust, he let out a soft shuddered call of your name on his breath.

Although he would never admit it he was obsessed with the soft, little, overstimulated sobs you'd let out the closer you'd come to your release. He would give anything to be buried in your radiance, night and day, drawing out more of your ecstasy every time you called on him.

He would have you remember him, know that he could draw this much out of you in a single night without fail. Although he was not as spritely as he was in his youth, he could last much longer than he could back in his hay day.

But you mad him feel so young, so spritely, and so full of energy, he had no choice but to keep going until he deemed you fully satisfied by his hands, tongue, and cock. Anything more would have to wait for negotiations between you and he on the morrow.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @jadeddangel

🎶Happy Birthday to Me🎶

If you would like to celebrate by indulging my caffeine and bubble tea addiction, my Kofi link is here.

#one piece #x reader #2024 birthday event #garp #monkey d garp #garp x reader #one piece smut #x f!reader #one piece x reader #one piece garp #op garp

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lemon-lime-behavior · 2 months ago

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Do you have any tips for drawing noses? Sorry this is out of nowhere but I'm wanting to improve on my art, specifically the faces, and it's always the nose I find myself struggling most with.

I really struggle w making it fit the face if that makes sense? Every time I try to add it it just throws the whole face off, especially the eyes, not to mention how to make different nose types and the angles </33

I love your art style so bad, it's so smooth and satisfying to look at and the way you draw noses like it's nbd (and anatomy in general like damn) baffles me so I was just wondering if you maybe had any tricks or not, Ty either way for sharing your art in the first place <33

@extravagav Well I can try! First off thank you very much, I often feel like I still have a very long way to go in regards to proportions and anatomy so I really appreciate your kind words <3

Hokay, so, noses. I do love noses. To start off when it comes to drawing noses I'm afraid I'm going to have to give you the most annoying advice in the world which is just to practice a lot. Find a lot of pictures of noses in a bunch of different shapes from a bunch of different angles and just draw them until your brain melts out of your ears. Pay particular attention though to the nose as a 3D object!

It's of course trickier to do than I'm making it out to be but the more you practice at imagining the nose as a 3d physical form the easier it becomes to make a nose model in your mind that you can rotate like a microwave.

This is my personal very very basic understanding of the nose's construction:

it's like three circles and a taco shell.

Okay so now that you've got a basic understanding of the nose's construction, how to put it in the middle of the god-dang face??

So the funky thing about noses is that they tend to change shape the least out of all our facial features when we're making expressions. Our eyes change shape, our mouths move, our eyebrows, our cheeks, our jaws, they all go all over the place. the nose, however, tends to be pretty stationary and doesn't deform much (save in one important way I'll get to later). So because of all this, and here's my biggest piece of advice when it comes to making the nose fit in the face, I like to draw the nose first! I do a very loose head construction, draw the nose, and then sort of "hang" the rest of the features off of it:

Two very different expressions, same nose!

Now when it comes to noses interacting specifically with the eyes the greatest thing to remember is that the part of the nose that sits between the eyes sticks out farther than you might think, and will likely be obscuring one of them, the extent of which depending a lot on the angle and how pronounced the nose bridge is.

for someone with a pretty flat nose bridge you'll be able to see most of the eye except in a more extreme angle, while someone with a protruding ridge might obscure the eye entirely. but the nose will likely be interacting with at least one eye if we're not facing the character head on. Really making your brain think in 3d is gonna most helpful here.

Finally! The nose being expressive! So the main way the nose plays in to expression is by wrinkling. the muscles that pull up your top lip and the muscles that pull down the middle of your forehead are almost all connected to the nose, so the nose tends to develop a lot of wrinkles whenever brows are furrowed or teeth are bared.

Adding those wrinkles can add a lot of impact in the expression! And not just angry ones neither:

Sooooooooooooooo yeah! noses! They're weird and they come in all sorts of shapes and sizes and they can do a lot to add character to a face and they can also make you want to tear your hair out in big clumps! I'm still learning myself when it comes to noses (and most other things) and I'm faaaar from a master at it, but I hope I've been able to provide at least a little bit of help. If you do use my advice going forward please let me know! Good luck!!!!! (And here's all my nose "headcanons" for the strawhats. The ones who actually have human noses, anyway):

#my stuff #noses #art advice #I guess?#I have no idea how to tag this #enjoy!

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meanbossart · 5 months ago

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Do you do studies? If so, how does one go about doing art studies? I never really understood how you can use them to help you further your drawing practice/experience. Thank you!!!

Yeah! Occasionally, and they definitely help but it's kind of a muscle that you have to continue exercising or you lose it. How you do them depends on what your goal is and how you best learn. I don't have any formal art education so I can't tell you if this is the "correct" way to do things, but the way I go about it is by breaking anatomy down into lines and simple shapes and trying to watch for the placement of said lines relative to each other, then "adapting it" to my style. This is specially useful for figuring out how to differentiate characters by their facial features.

As a note, please don't use video game screenshots to learn difficult anatomy - unless we're talking really high-fidelity triple-A cutscenes, most of them are not a good place to reference musculature from. I'm just referencing the poses here and supplementing with my own knowledge/style for those details.

#ask #resource #tutorial

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livin4woso · 2 months ago

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Sweater weather (lena oberdorf x reader)

Summary- It's cold outside, and it seems your clothes just aren't keeping you warm enough, but your girlfriend is quite happy to give you her jumper, and it seems she isn't getting it back anytime soon.

You had a reoccurring habit of under dressing for the weather as you claimed it would ruin your outfit. Your girlfriend lena had come to realise this quite quickly and had started to wear an extra layer as she knew it would be stolen of her with about 10 minutes into the trip.

Autumn had just arrived, and the pair of you had decided to walk for some coffee. However, german Autumn is surprisingly much colder than Autumn in the uk, which you would think would be a hard task to beat. As you left your house with just a t-shirt and a light jacket, you started to regret your choices of not wearing a hoodie like lena had suggested for you to wear.

"Love, im cold," you state, looking at her with a pout while trying to place your hand into her pocket for warmth." I told you to wear a hoodie underneath that coat. It's so thin," she replied to you while grabbing your hand that was in her pocket however while she thought you were over exaggerating how cold you were she grabbed your hand and it felt like a block of ice.

"Jesus baby, you're freezing. im gonna give you my hoodie, and we're going back home. " lena began stopping to take her hoodie off and give it to you. You hadn't even made it halfway to the coffee shop. However, lena thought if you stood outside any longer, you might have caught hypothermia. Her hoodie was a bit big on you. However, it smelt like her and was doing a good job of keeping you warm.

You had arrived back home and changed into comfier clothes, yet you still wore lenas hoodie as you swore it was more comfy. "Are you going to take that off, or is it yours now?" She joked laughing lightly at the way the hood flopped slightly over your facial features "its mine now and you're not getting it back because its comfy and it smells like you" you reply tucking yourself into her side as her arms slid around your waist.

"You're lucky you're cute otherwise id be taking that off, you," she said, placing a kiss to the back of your head. As you lay on the couch, her hands lightly traced patterns on your waist, causing you to drift off into her side. As much as lena loved her hoodies, she would give everyone to you if it made you happy. That night she carried you to your bedroom and you slept like a log and that hoodie never left your back and you continued to wear it until it didn't smell like her anymore so you then traded for another one and this new routine continued and lena never wanted it to end.

#woso #woso x reader #woso imagines #woso blurbs #lena oberdorf #lena x reader

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greenorangevioletgrass · 2 months ago

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if this is a sin, a punishment (a.d.)

Pairing: art donaldson x popstar!reader

Summary: three years, three encounters. Moving on is a fickle thing, and why is it always worse the second time around? (part 1)

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: smoking, drinking, language, greek mythology references, some german slander lol, almost cheating?, art doesn't give a fuck lol, so much pining, hella angst (i swear the next part will be happy i swear!)

Notes: im back! work has taken up my brain capacity, and while im very grateful to write for a living now, i was unable to write for fun lol. but we're back, and i hope we'll have a good time reading. Big up to @ysuftmikey and @tommysparker for being awesome and hearing out my incoherent rambles about this story. But anyway, please comment, reblog, talk to me and tell me what you think about it! Happy reading!

**i do not have a taglist. Follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass andd turn on the notifications to be alerted for new fics and updates!**

Paris, June 2012.

As the new face of Dior, your appearance on the front row of their runway show is paramount. You’re not just there because you have to, you’re there because you love it. It’s equally important that you are well-versed in the thoughts behind next season’s trends of the fashion house. The fashion show is as much a celebration of craftsmanship as it is a coveted social event, and you’re oh so happy to be a part of it.

Or so you said in your Vogue cover story.

In reality, you’re getting decked out and posing for pictures and scrutinizing the details of every look that comes out because it’s a job. Sitting next to some buff dude in a manbun that barely gives you enough space for yourself.

His broad shoulder bumps against yours, effectively snapping you out of your reverie. “Oh, sorry.”

You’re about to murmur a politely dismissive remark, but it all fades away when you see his face, profile-first. It’s been almost a full year since you last saw that silhouette. There’s no way of forgetting it, even underneath the dramatic lights of the runway, not even if you tried.

“It’s you,” you breathe out, all wide-eyed and slack-jawed like an idiot in front of him.

He hears you before he sees you, really sees you, and his heart nearly stops. Of course! You’re right under his nose, and he didn’t see you. And how he yearned to see you since that night in London. How he wanted to lay it all out on the line, pour his heart out, but instead what comes out is…

“It’s me.”

The whole world starts again, pretty people milling back around as you blink. Warmth returns to your face, as you finally regain some sense. “Art!”

He murmurs your name as he hugs you, and he never wants to let go. He wants you to fucking come home with him because home doesn’t make sense until you’re here.

“Wow…” he flashes that signature crooked smile as he marvels at you—not stare, marvel. “What are the odds, huh?”

“I know!” You fight the flight of the butterflies in your stomach, but it’s impossible. “You grew your hair out, huh?”

“Yeah, just… trying something new.” His hand reaches up to the back of his neck sheepishly.

The blond mop no longer frames his face like Apollo incarnate. You can actually see his face better now with his hair pulled back. The depth of his eyes, and the soft parenthesis of his smile. But at the same time, his facial features look… a little heavier now. A little older. More mysterious.

But of course, you can’t say any of that to him, so you settle with, “Well, you look great.”

Art lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. He’s rocked this look for a while now, but he wants—no, needs— you to like it.

“I heard you won the French Open, by the way. Congratulations.” Your hand lands on his shoulder, much like the last time you saw him, but neither of you address it. Not outwardly, anyway.

(If his heart flutters, he hopes you won’t notice.)

“Ah well, it’s… yeah. Thanks!” He can’t help but light up. He wonders if Wimbledon has hooked you into tennis, or maybe, just maybe, you were keeping up with him…? “What have you been up to?”

“I’ve just been in the studio a lot. Recording, mixing, mastering the new album… boring shit.”

Art shakes his head. He doesn’t believe anything you do is boring. “When’s that coming out?”

“November. And if all goes well, we’re gonna tour it next summer.”

“Holy shit.”

“You know what they say. The devil works hard…”

But this unstoppable force of nature in front of him works harder. It has been almost a year since you last saw him. Eleven months and some 20-odd days since you shared that cigarette on that balcony. Since you broke his heart. And he still looks at you like a goddamn miracle. It disarms the fuck out of you.

“Hey, listen—”

“There you are!” a tall, leggy blonde cuts him off mid-sentence with a kiss to Art’s cheek, rambling in German as she takes the empty seat on his other side.

Fuck.

Art replies back to her in German, a little more hushed, but your head is already reeling. You don’t know what to make of this feeling in your gut—it squeezes you from the side, and twists you all the way to your throat. Like wringing the air out of you.

Art smiles almost apologetically at you, his hand falling on the woman’s knee. “Yeah, this is… Tatiana, my girlfriend.”

You exchange pleasantries and shake hands. Maybe. It’s all a blur and you’re fighting tooth and nail to stay present in this conversation.

You manage a smile, pushing through the ache of trying to sound courteous. Friendly. Normal. “I was just telling Art that I’m going on tour this summer. You guys should definitely come to a show.” Emphasis on ‘you guys’.

Art opens his mouth, but Tatiana goes ahead and answers for him. Her glossy lips pull up into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. She doesn’t even bother hiding it. “Hm, we’ll see. Art is very busy with his own tour, you see.”

“Of course. For sure.” You nod at Tatiana, getting the message. Your gaze barely grazes Art, even though you want nothing more than to reacquaint yourself with his features.

Art watches you turn away, fixing your gaze towards the runway, and his heart aches. The way his hand rests on Tatiana feels cold—he might as well be resting his hand on a railing.

He keeps his gaze straight ahead at the models coming and going the entire show. And if he accidentally catches a glimpse of your profile, or your manicured hand when he looks down on his lap, he’ll take what he can get. God knows he doesn’t get to ask for anything for more.

*****

The Dior afterparty is held in some French chalet, and after making the rounds with Tatiana, Art feels himself disengaging from the group conversation altogether. He mutters out an excuse to get a breather and wanders up the winding staircase. There are still people along the hallway, chatting and drinking by old-ass paintings and bust statues and tall vases.

Art takes a gamble and opens a door, simply eager for some peace and quiet. The knob gives and the room is dark, save for a large bay window on the other side, the moon shining bright… and the girl sitting there.

“Hey, room’s taken!” You flick the ash off of your cigarette out the window, ready to fend for your occupation. But then you catch a glimpse of his face in the light, and you relax. “Oh. It’s you.”

Art feels his face flush. He really should back the fuck off and leave, but his feet only bring him closer and closer to you into the room. “Sorry, I was just trying to find someplace quiet. I didn’t realize…” he cuts himself off when he sees the cigarette between your fingers, and he chuckles.

“What? You know I smoke.”

“A woman of taste, huh?” His eyes flicker to the pack propped on the windowsill in amusement and he wonders if you smoked Marlboro Green because of him (You do.)

You grab the pack and slide a cigarette out for his easy access, but he doesn’t take it. Not right away. Shit, was this a bad idea? Does he not smoke anymore? “Come on, your secret’s safe with me.”

Art takes another look at the cigarette, then at the door. He raises his forefinger in wait, going over to shut the door closed and then rushing over to you with a mischievous smirk at the cigarette. He looks like a kid, giddily settling in for a forbidden vice.

This time, you’re the one leaning over to light his cigarette. His hair falls over the other side of his face, and you watch him tuck the loose strand behind his ear. His eyelashes resting on his skin as he takes that delightful first drag. He can feel the nicotine hitting him straight to his head, and that’s how he wants to consume you.

You settle back in your seat against the wall, the smoking hand hanging out the window, and Art does the same. He sees your legs folded over to the side, almost touching him, and he has half the mind to pull them over his lap.

“It’s been a minute, huh, Art?” You take another drag, trying to calm your nerves down a little.

“Yeah, it really has.” He throws away his smile up at the moon, amused at how familiar this is. “Why are you hiding out here?”

”My shoes are killing me.” You absently massage your ankle with your free hand, throwing a sideways glance at your pair of So Kate’s on the floor. “And my social battery’s shot down.”

”That’s not very Dionysian of you.”

It makes you smile. He still remembers (though, in his defense, the whole encounter last year was pretty hard to forget). “I beg to differ.” You lift up a bottle of Moët that you stole downstairs.

Art’s smile widens as he makes a grabby hand at the champagne. You happily hand it to him, fingers barely grazing against him. He takes a swig and thinks, let me just steal your kiss from the lip of the bottle. It tastes better than the five other glasses he had back at the party.

“So how have you been?”

An easy question for a loaded answer. Art shrugs. “Ah well, you know. Still training, still competing…”

“You still pushing that rock uphill, huh?” You can’t fight the knowing grin on your face.

Art groans with a haze of smoke in his wake, leaning back against the wall. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I’m all about that Sisyphean grind.”

“Shut the fuck up!” The words fly out of your mouth, and it makes him laugh. And you can’t help but laugh with him. “You just won the French Open. Isn’t that like a—what do you call it, a… Grand Slam right there?”

He raises his eyebrows at you, impressed at your improved tennis knowledge. Maybe Wimbledon did hook you in. “Yeah, well… I still need to win the US Open. It’s the only one that counts, right?”

It’s absolutely ridiculous, Art knows that, but until then… There's no rest for the wicked like him. And you see right through him. It’s almost like looking in the mirror sometimes.

You roll your eyes, and he thinks it’s the cutest thing ever. “What are you, pressed for time? Relax. You’ll get there.”

“Fair point.” Art nods, hiding his flush in another swig of champagne. “In that case, things are pretty good. Training is good, I’m winning matches, hoping to win more…” he pauses, tucking a loose strand of gold waves behind his ear, “Tatiana and I are doing… well.”

He sounds almost regretful when he says it. But then again, you’ve gotten pretty good at gaslighting yourself into thinking it’s all in your head.

“That’s good,” you settle with a neutrally encouraging response. “She seems nice.”

This time, Art gives you the look. And he always looks so smug when he does it too—the little head tilt, the crooked smirk he’s sporting like he’s excited to get the rare leg up from you. It’s adorable.

So you relent, taking the champagne and chasing it with a huff of smoke.

“I’m sorry about Tatiana this afternoon, by the way. Didn’t realize she would be so…” he grimaces as he struggles to find the right word. Domineering? Territorial? Just outright bitchy?

“Nah, it’s fine. I just chalked it up to her… German predisposition, that’s all,” you deadpan, tapping the ash of your cigarette out the window.

“You’re horrible.” Art grins. He loves it.

There’s that smile you’ve been missing. “Besides, I didn’t know you speak the language.”

“I can get by. My coach is German, my best friend speaks German… I’ve been picking up more from Tatiana, but it’s mostly just… angry.”

His words make you frown. That doesn’t sound like a very happy relationship, if your girlfriend keeps shouting angry shit at you in her native language. Art is perfectly aware that you’re catching on.

And again, it feels like the two of you are operating on two levels of communications. The first one is whatever is spouted out of your mouths, and the second through these wordless looks that say so much more. With every exchange, there’s always a choice; to stay on the surface, or dive in.

Maybe it’s the sparkling liquid courage, or the white haze you share in this little nook, but your next response is neither a safe bet nor a daring risk.

“Do you guys fuck in German? Because that can’t be sexy.”

He cracks up, caught completely off-guard by your question. Leave it to you to always keep him on his toes. “No! God no. Absolutely not. That would be terrible.”

“I can imagine! Like, what would you even say?” You sit up to put on your worst voice possible, but making it breathy and porny, “Ja… ja… ooh, scheisse… oh, ich komme!”

Art bursts out laughing. A true laugh that comes from the belly. The kind that makes his face open up. “What in the Hitler was that?!” He keels over in absolute stitches.

“I mean, I don’t know!”

The two of you laugh longer than it’s funny, like you’re both relieved from this charade of civil acquaintanceship and finally free to be who you truly are.

Which, in this case, means immature goddamn giggly children.

Art relishes in this warmth. He has missed this so much, that he nearly forgot he never had this with you in the first place. His face softens. “What about you?”

“Oh, I don’t talk dirty in German. It’s unpatriotic.”

“Fuck off.” He can’t fight the giggles that’s taking over him, not when you’re already laughing at your own joke. His mind nearly gets sidetracked with the thought of you in bed. Would you keep making these witty one-liners while talking dirty? Or would you be completely pliant if he kisses you all over ehile balls deep into you— focus up, Art! “I meant… How’s the boyfriend?”

You smile wryly. It was your fault to joke about Tatiana, and now you got what’s coming back at you. You take a swig at the champagne, trying to play it off casually. “Didn’t work out.”

Oh. It’s sad news, really. But why is his heart perking up, knowing there’s no more guy on the phone on her end this time? “That’s a shame. Are you alright?”

“Well, I’m real fresh out the slammer, so… not really. But…” you shrug easily. “I’ll live.”

Art’s face softens. Sometimes the moments of vulnerability seeps through the cracks of your dry humor, and he gets to see the real you. The storm that’s brewing between your ribs. Head against the windowpane, most of your lipstick either on your cigarette filter or champagne bottle. A picture perfect of secret melancholia.

“You wanna know the weird thing is?” You inhale the cigarette, and exhale the fumes through your nose, eyes still fixed on the darkness outside, the bitterness is just pouring out. “I can always see how it ends.”

“What do you mean?”

The sensations run through your veins faster than your brain can muster up words. The butterflies of initial attraction back then—the elation, anticipation… and that funny feeling, that ache in the gut that paints the picture. The fight or the cold war that ends it all. And how are you supposed to come back from that, knowing what you know?

“I can always predict the end… right at the beginning.” You put out your cigarette and tosses it out, the faux nonchalance rising again. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am Cassandra.”

Art’s heart aches at that. It doesn’t feel right to be good this time. He almost wants to take it back, renounce Cassandra and he’ll give up Sisyphus so the two of you can be something else. Something different.

Something together.

Art puts out his cigarette as he studies your face. The pensive frown, the look of surprise… he loves that about you and everything in between. “I missed you,” he quietly admits.

And there it is. The air is knocked out of you, and it’s just churning in your chest cavity. “I know,” you whisper back.

He leans in and touches your arm tentatively, and you don’t pull away. You can’t even if you tried. He traces the outline of your hair, his long fingers finding home on the side of your neck. His thumb traces your cheek, so carefully that he fears you would disappear into thin air. He needs you. Needs to know that he’s not hallucinating this.

This moment. This feeling.

You.

You take his wrist, but you’re not sure whether it’s to pull him away or keep him there. “But we shouldn’t.”

“I know,” he echoes, although the way he fully leans into you is a whole other story. “I wanna kiss you so bad.”

“We shouldn’t.” You want to say it’s just him, you want to say that you’re stronger. Better than that. But the truth is, you gravitate towards him as much as he does to you, and now you’re just sitting there, both inching closer to each other until your foreheads are pressed together. “We can’t.”

He can’t find it in himself to lie anymore. He can no longer bring himself to care about the girlfriend he had, or whatever reason you’re thinking of right now. Valid, he’s sure, but he doesn’t give a shit anymore. “I know we can’t. But we want to, don’t we?”

“I’m not a homewrecker, Art.”

Art lets out a quiet huff. His thumb is still tracing along your jawline as if trying to commit your features to memory. He shakes his head softly. “If anyone’s a homewrecker, it’s me. It’s definitely me.”

“Art…”

“Yes?” You can wreck his whole existence, and he would thank you wholeheartedly. What bliss to be ruined in the hands of you.

To his surprise, you pull him into a hug—and to be honest, you’re kind of beside yourself too. It makes him pause, but as soon as he realizes what’s happening, he surrenders.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, with one hand caressing his long hair. You won’t give in, not to your desire. Not tonight. But for a moment, you let yourself imagine what it’s like to be in his arms. What it’s like to be his.

Each breath he takes hurts because you steal every single one of it, but he swallows it down. His arms encircle your waist, and he braves through the pain because this is his only chance to pretend. Art burrows himself into your neck and makes a home there. You gladly let him in.

For the longest time, you just… stay there.

“I never want to leave…” there’s such pain in his tone. Such sorrow. Defeat.

“Me neither…” It chokes you from the inside out. But he won’t be the one to end it, so you’ll have to take one for the team. “But we have to.”

He knows that, but his heart shatters anyway. You kiss him on the forehead, lingering as if it would tell him what you wanted to say. All the what-ifs and could-have-beens. It’s all a tangled mess in your throat, impossible to get out.

You feel a droplet where your hand cups his face the same time Art feels a single tear slide from his forehead down his nose. It’s comforting and disconcerting at times. .

For a fleeting moment, Art nearly hopes this is the moment you change your mind. Say ‘fuck it’ and stay.

But you pull away, and all hope is lost. It leaves with your laughter that echoed in this room just moments ago.

You take a deep breath, and with a gentle swipe of his tears and tenderly fixing his tousled hair, you do the right thing. “I’ll see you around, Art.”

Art barely manages a nod, staring at the intersection between the wall and the windowpane, as you gather your shoes and your purse and pads out towards the door.

Thunk.

He turns and sees you leaning your head against the doorknob. Your shoulders are shaking in silent sobs, and he wants to chase after you so bad. But before he can move, you turn the doorknob and disappear out of sight. Leaving him worse off than he ever thought after holding you.

#HELLO WERE BACK #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson fic #mike faist #challengers fic #challengers imagine #mike faist imagine #art donaldson x popstar!reader #ava writes

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shepherds-of-haven · 2 months ago

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How would the ROs rate their own attractiveness? Like do they consider themselves attractive?

Huh, good question!

Blade: he is distantly aware that other people/society in general considers him to be good-looking in some capacity. (By Ket standards, he and Gladius both are considered to be blessed with markedly good looks, but almost in a 'pretty boy' kind of way. Gladius is considered like stunningly beautiful while Blade has more of 'effortlessly hot' aura). So he would say other people probably think he's "above-average" in looks (but he also believes it to be more of a muscularity/strength thing than things like his facial features. Like women, if they do find him attractive, probably think so because he looks like a strong provider LMAO). But he himself doesn't think about his own attractiveness or appearance beyond what good hygiene and proper presentation dictate... he hardly spares himself a glance in the mirror most days. As you can tell by his haircut choices

Trouble: he considers himself to be average in looks, neither particularly handsome or particularly ugly, just exactly in the middle of the road! If asked to describe his own attractiveness in more detail, he'd probably say something like, "I clean up okay. I'm a decent-looking working-class guy? *shrug* I don't think anyone would be mad if I showed up at their doorstep with a bouquet of flowers, but artists aren't swooning over my cheekbones, either"

Tallys: Tallys considers herself to be a good-looking woman, probably an 8 if we're using a scale, a 9 if she put more effort into being conventionally beautiful (doing things like growing out her hair (!), using makeup or perfume, dressing well, etc.). She's confident in her own attractiveness and doesn't find much fault with her own features or body, but she also knows that doesn't mean she's everyone's specific cup of tea, either! She just believes that, according to a general standard, she rates highly in most areas, and no one could sincerely call her ugly. It helps that she's an Elf, since most of them have a high standard of confidence when it comes to their natural beauty!

Shery: before she joined the Shepherds, she believed herself to be average or below-average, and believed herself to be "mousy": hiding behind her bangs and spectacles was not something she ever saw conventionally beautiful people doing, so she grew up thinking she was forgettable or unremarkable, though not necessarily ugly or outright unattractive. Just sort of "plain." However, since joining and noticing that there are people who seem to compliment or even crush on her, she's since come to tentatively revise that opinion and thinks she could probably be considered "cute" by some people's standards, but she still thinks that her personality makes it hard for anyone to really notice her or become completely enthralled by her... so she would say she's probably like a 6 or 7 by looks alone, which she's content with!

Riel: as like a work of art or a painting (so judging by pure aesthetics alone, devoid of other considerations), he believes he rates around an 8 just going by the symmetry of his facial features, his taste in clothes, the fact that he's well-groomed, but he's a bit self-conscious of how he rates in terms of desirability or sexual appeal, which is a different thing entirely (in his own mind). Like, you can admit a painting is beautiful, but you don't want to fuck a painting? In those terms, he believes he falls well below the standards of the masculine ideal, probably resting at a 5, though he believes he makes up for it in other areas (wealth, intellect, uniqueness, etc). It doesn't bother him that much, but it is something that he is aware of at the back of his mind!

Chase: He thinks he's pretty good-looking (🙄), but that the effect is best felt and supplemented by his in-person charisma, charm, aura, and general personality. This is an extremely topical/dated example, but it's sort of like how a lot of people were largely indifferent to Glen Powell going strictly by looks alone, but then they saw him acting in Twisters or Top Gun or whatever and saw his chemistry with his co-stars and were suddenly like "oh 😳" Like he needs to be seen in action to really feel attracted to him?? Anyway, Chase thinks that if you were to see a perfect painting of him in a gallery, he's good-looking enough alone to make you stop and admire him, so probably like an 8... but his magnetism in person brings that to a 10 LOL

Red: He "doesn't really think about it" (🙄)--he more spends time grooming and styling himself to his own standards rather than really fretting over what other people would perceive or rate him as, but if you really pressed up, I think he'd say he's an 8 on a good day, potentially a 9 if he were to try very hard, but he'd sort of vaguely look around at everyone else to confirm if this was an arrogant thing for him to say lol, so he's definitely not totally sure about it! There aren't too many things he finds fault with when it comes to his physical appearance or body--he's generally satisfied and content in that department--but he also would never argue he's some great show-stopping beauty or gorgeous model: he just quietly lives with the idea that most people think he's a naturally pretty handsome guy!

Ayla: this is sad, but she probably rates herself a 3, maybe a 4 on a good day. 😕 Ayla thought she dispensed with thinking about her own appearance or attractiveness long ago, having accepted the fact that most people perceived her as this ragged, scrappy loner who mostly lived on the road and was lucky if she could find a stream to wash her hair in. She never possessed a mirror and, the rare times she stayed in a room that had one, she used it to check herself over for hidden injuries or things on her back and then went on her way... and none of this really mattered to her because she spent so much of her time alone. No one was really looking at her, she wasn't looking at herself, so who cared if she looked like a half-drowned rat with her hair growing into her eyes while she shook sand out of her clothes? Since joining the Shepherds, however, her private consciousness of her appearance has naturally increased, and sometimes she can feel quite down about it (especially when faced with the elegant grace of Tallys, the feminine cuteness of Shery, or the show-stopping beauty of Lavinet). Part of being in a group that she avoided was the vulnerability of natural comparison: no one's comparing you to anyone if you stand alone, but with the Shepherds, of course that's going to happen, even if only in her own mind... Anyway, this is a lot to say that she considers herself to be below-average in attractiveness, but is filled with a sullen self-loathing and pride when she considers doing anything to try to change that fact, so she just... resigns herself to feeling that way forever, if that makes any sense!

Briony: she thinks she's cute and can edge over into pretty when she tries really hard, so she'd probably say she hovers between a 6 and a 7 on an average day? While she thinks she has advantages like her striking hair color and eyes, she has areas that she privately feels a bit insecure about: she feels her face is too round, her nose is too short, feels like she's a bit short and compact and boyish in body when she's rather be tall and leggy like Tallys or buxom and curvaceous like Lavinet, etc. etc. It's not something that really bothers her--she figures that everybody feels that way about themselves--so she's happy with being "above-average" on most days. It's only when she's crushing on somebody and isn't sure of how they perceive her that she gets really unsure and self-conscious about it, and then she really obviously throws herself into styling herself to appear more feminine!

Lavinet: don't hate her, but she definitely thinks she's a 10 LOL. This is partly due to the fact that, by Blest beauty standards, she pretty much is a paragon of desirability, and everyone in her life has treated her as if she were a 10 or even outright said so... so there's really no reason for her to think otherwise! There are always small things she would tweak if she gave any thought to it, but in general she's been very happy with her appearance and how she's been able to use it as a tool to accomplish her goals in life!

Halek: he is well aware that he's gorgeous... he wouldn't say this out loud because he knows he'd get endlessly ragged on, but he'd probably say he's a 10 LMAO, maybe 9 so as to give the appearance of some humility... It's not even something he's arrogant about, he's just like aware of general beauty standards and is like 'yeah by no choice of my own and by complete accident of birth, i happen to fit these really well? *shrug*" It's nbd... and it's part of where his bde comes from, I'm sure

#Shepherds of Haven #attractive #attractiveness #beauty standards #all characters #romance options #no halek is not an RO :') i just included him because someone will ask a follow-up!#ranking #scale #rating

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scribblesofagoonerr · 5 months ago

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pairings: leah williamson x jordan nobbs x separate reader!buddy x chaos fc reader!monkey

summary: buddy is reunited with monkey, and there up to no good already.

here's the start of the cross over nobody asked for but i wrote anyways, featuring everyones' chaotic fc reader, monkey.

also thank you to @alotofpockets for putting up with me sending my ideas for this and word jumble.

Sure enough with a bit of encouragement, you slowly came out of your shell enough to move to sit in Leah's lap and get in all of the cuddles that you had missed throughout the last week.

Until you hear the front door open, and you knew who it is straight away.

"Ello'? I'm home!" You hear your favourite person shout aloud and your quick to jump up from Leah's lap and race towards the front door, "Where's my favourite little buddy?" She asks.

"Here I am!" You all but launch yourself into the arms of the older girl.

"There you are!" Monkey exclaims, squeezing you gently as she spins you around in her arms, "I've missed you loads!"

"I've missed you too!" You can't help but giggle as your lowered back onto the floor, "Look! We're doin' Lego!" You pull her in the direction of the lego blocks scattered on the floor where you had left Leah and Jordan in favor of Monkey.

"Aw, wow! So you like the lego set, huh?" Monkey grins as she slumps down on the floor and your quick enough to drop down into her lap, the two older women completely forgotten about now that your favourite person is here.

"She's been waiting for you to come back," Leah states, smiling at the pair of you together.

Monkey gasps dramatically before she beams a wide smile, "You have? Well I'm here. Where've you been?" She asks, tickling you under your ribs.

"I went on holiday with my mama, silly!" You exclaim, bursting into a fit of giggles right there, "Where you been?" You wonder, curiously.

You know Leah and Monkey went somewhere, but you can't exactly remember where.

Or if you were told, you didn't really listen much to it.

"Oooh right, of course you did!" Monkey facepalms herself and you can't help but laugh again, you sometimes think your favourite person is the funniest person in the world, "I went to Nashville and I was in my cowgirl era. I even had a lad try hit on me and I told him to kiss my--"

"Monkey!" Leah exclaims, cutting the girl off, "She's 3, she doesn't need to hear that!" She scolds her, which you find it even funnier.

Monkeys' always known to get herself into trouble, sometimes you're corrupted and like to join in with her as well.

It's even more fun when Kyra comes to visit as well.

The three of you have so much fun!

You find it funny sometimes when you watch Leah and Kim tearing their hair out with your favourite person.

"I wasn't even gonna say anything," Monkey holds her hands up in self surrender, smirking at Leah.

You look at Leah to see her giving Monkey one of her usual stern facial expressions. You see it happen a lot, but never usually directed towards you at least.

It's always Monkey.

"And just like that we're forgotten about," Jordan jokes, seeing you happy enough again with being in the company of monkey, "I should probably go." She suggests to Leah, knowing it's the easier option that wouldn't lead to tears.

Leah hums in agreement as she watches you and Monkey together, "That's probably a good idea," She replies before she turns to look at you, "Mamas' gonna go home now, Buddy. Shall we go and say bye?" She questions.

You nod and scramble up from the older girls lap to throw yourself directly at Jordan's legs, "Bye, Mama! 'Ove you!" You exclaim.

"I love you too, my little Buddy," Jordan crouches down and plants a gentle kiss on the top of your forehead, "Be good for your mummy, okay? No getting led astray either." She tells you, glancing in the direction of your favourite person.

"Accusations. False accusations!" Monkey screeches loudly and dramatic, which of course makes Leah roll her eyes in response, "I don't know what yer' even talkin' about there!" She insists, shrugging her shoulders.

"You and I both know what I mean," Jordan remarks, chuckling at the older girl as she ruffles her hair, having the height advantage being stood up while Monkey is still sat down.

"Pft," Monkey scoffs and stands up off the floor, "I'm still an inch taller than you!" She insists, smirking at Jordan.

Leah shakes her head at the antics of your favourite person, "That's enough, Monkey!" She states, firmly before the older girl can continue to wind up Jordan any more, "Stop being a menace, go and do something productive!" She tells her.

Monkey pouts and slumps her shoulders, "I'm bored though and I can't talk to Kyra because she's asleep still!"

"Kyra!" You squeal at the mention of the Aussie girls' name, "I wan' talk to Kyra!" You insist.

Leah gives Monkey a pointed look, "See? Look what you've done now," She pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Oops," Monkey gives the blonde a guilty facial expression.

"I wan' speak to Kyra!" You insist once again.

Shaking her head, Leah turns to look at you, "Buddy, you'll see Kyra when she comes back home, but you can't talk to her because it'll be night time for us when she's awake." She explains.

"I wan' speak to Kyra," You whine, not entirely understanding the whole aspect of time zone differences.

"Ooo, Buddy! I know who we can talk too!" Monkey perks up with the idea as she grins at you, "How about we go and talk to Lessi instead?" She suggests, hoping that you'll agree to that.

"Lessi!" You cheer excitedly, forgetting about the Aussie women for now.

"Yeah, Lessi!" Monkey repeats before she sweeps you up into her arms, "You wanna go fly around the house?" She wonders, knowing exactly what you like and don't like.

"Yeah! Yeah! Fly!" You squeal in delight, squealing even more as Monkey balances her hand under your tummy and you're in the air within seconds.

"All aboard Russo airlines," Monkey jokes, making fun of the blonde for her celebration, "Neeeeeawww!" She makes the noise of a plane, running through the house with you in her arms.

"Don't drop her, Monkey!" Leah and Jordan both shout in sync, almost both of them having heart attacks seeing it happen.

"Sounds like you got your hands full there," Jordan remarks, shaking her head.

Leah chuckles slightly in response, "I'm not sure who's more of a handful at times," She replies.

"Definitely Monkey," The older women out of the two replies, grinning at her ex-girlfriend, "Right, I'll be goin' then. Her teddies in the front pocket of her backpack if she wants it."

"Thanks," Leah nods in agreement, "I'm sure she hasn't asked for it yet when she loves that thing." She adds.

That thing that Leah was referring to was Mr. Bear, a stuffed brown bear that was gifted to you from your great-grandma and ever since you got him, you carried him everywhere with you, even going as far as almost dropping him out of the window one time and Jordan had to stop the car and jump out to retrieve him to save any of the tears.

"Yeah, me neither," Jordan agrees with her ex, "And her blanket, if she needs it is--"

"Jord, don't worry. I've got it, Leah interjects, chuckling slightly at her ex girlfriend, "She's my daughter too, remember? I can figure these things out."

"Yeah, of course, sorry force of habit," The older women out of the two gives her ex a sheepish smile and nods, while shoving her hands in her pockets, "Ehm, I'll be here on Friday at 2 to collect her for the weekend then." She tells her.

"I'll see you then," Leah nods curtly, opening the front door to let Jordan out, "Safe drive back."

Jordan smiles slightly at Leah, "Yep, thanks. See you on Friday." With that, she waves at her ex girlfriend before she departs down the driveway and climbs back into her car for the long drive back home.

#separate fic #woso x reader #woso one shot #woso fanfics #woso imagine #scribblesofagoonerr #arsenal women x reader #arsenal wfc x reader #arsenal x reader #leah williamson x reader #jordan nobbs x reader #buddy #monkey #woso

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rainbow-crane · 6 months ago

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In-Depth Character Analysis On All The DR Characters Because What, Are You Gonna Try And Stop Me? Who Are You, My Mom? Yeah, I Didn't Think So- Part 1: Kiyotaka Ishimaru

Yes, I'm aware the title is ungodly long, it's called comedy. Behold, a series inspired by my overwhelming hubris! Despite my better judgement, I love this series and (almost) every single one of its characters, so I decided to do this little series of posts on the side, just cuz!

So part 1 of like, 88 I think?, going through the characters from THH, DR 0, SDR2, UDG, DR3, and DRV3 with as much objectivity as possible, analyzing their character using only canon material from the games/anime/novel/canon adaptation they're present in. So sit back and enjoy while I go feral! Or just scroll, if you aren't interested. Whatever works for you.

Part 1- Character Design

Kiyotaka Ishimaru is depicted as a very aggressive honors student, and is shown as such through his very expressive facial features and his choice of clothing. He has large eyebrows and big eyes, and is given a uniform meant to make him look more like a soldier, reflecting his rigid dedication to the rules and his ethics. This uniform also includes an armband meant to signify his authority within the class as Hall Monitor and as the unofficial class rep. His sprites are very animated, with big gestures using his arm(s) and his mouth often wide open, whether in a wide smile or while yelling. This makes him one of the more expressive characters in THH specifically, as most of those characters are pretty restrained on a day-to-day basis and only become more exaggerated when put under high levels of stress.

Something interesting about Taka is that his talent changes from the original Japanese to the English translation. His official talent is the SHSL Public Morals Committee Member, meaning his original talent was that of discipline and social order. This was translated to Ultimate Moral Compass in English, as most western schools don't have a Public Morals Committee. This change in translation unintentionally shifted the perception of his talent from discipline to morality. This change in distinction has had a bit of a negative impact on the Western perception of his character, as rather than appearing to impose order on the other students, it instead appears at the beginning as though we, the audience, are supposed to view him as a beacon of morality. We're not.

Part 2- Character Introduction

Taka is one of the first characters to actually speak to Makoto directly, berating him for being late on the first day of school, despite the fact that he and everyone else had experienced a strange warping of memory. He also goes on to interrupt your first conversation with Sayaka, stating that their time is being wasted by 'ridiculous back-and-forth'. Despite this, when it's his turn to introduce himself to Makoto, he goes off on a tangent about how cool Makoto's name is. He's described by Makoto as a 'flawless honors student' and is most publicly known for his work on his local Public Morals Committee. He believes in putting 'every ounce of effort' into living, and imposes this belief on those he interacts with, something Makoto finds irritating(This guy is... kind annoying.").

So in short, Taka's first impression on the player is that he's a mildly obsessive honors kid, and a bit of a hypocrite that isn't fully aware of his own presence or the effect it has on the rest of the cast. The game goes on to use this lack of social awareness as a source of comedy, as he takes Monokuma's initial greeting as Headmaster fully at face value. He struggles to grasp the concept of the killing game at first, opening the discussion upon Monokuma's departure from the welcome ceremony with dialogue that sounds like it was pulled from a customer feedback survey("So guys, how would you define what we just experienced?"). He's not a malicious or hateful figure; he wants to work with the class but isn't quite sure how to.

Part 3- Early-Game Events

The game spends the early-game establishing Taka's more negative traits. He's shown to be inobservant and wrapped up in his own ideals and need to command authority to even notice Kyoko is missing and, upon being informed of her disappearance, cares more about her punctuality than her safety. "Not only is she late, she didn't tell anyone she would be late! A most unbecoming personality trait..."

He's also established as hypocritical once again, and a bit egotistical, as he has trouble fathoming the others' lack of discoveries but overinflates the importance of his own.

He then goes on to agree to Celeste's suggested nighttime rule for all the boys in the class, without letting them speak for themselves. While ultimately, no one has a problem with the rule, this is the first real instance of him doing something that, on paper, is beneficial to the group, but without considering how the others actually feel about it.

Taka doesn't show up in-story again until the day of the motive, when he goes around to the entire class demanding that they will now all have breakfast together every morning after the morning announcement. Although this is a good idea, allowing for everyone to bond and creating a morning headcount, he makes this decision for the entirety of the group. Leon and Makoto both complain about this if you speak to Leon outside the cafeteria, but ultimately go along with it because they don't want Taka to continue bugging them about it. So we can see that his efforts are perceived negatively by his classmates and go unappreciated.

Already we've seen Taka act overbearing and commanding over and over, inadvertently separating himself from the majority of his peers. He's direct and to the point, forming the breakfast meetings expressly to 'become friends and build trust' with the rest of the class. So we can see in no uncertain terms that he wants to befriend his classmates, but that his lack of social skills leads him to fail at every turn. He doesn't ask the class to join him for breakfast, he tells them. The strategy he employs doesn't leave room for choice, and ends up building resentment from his classmates.

It's not until the first body is discovered and the rules of the class trial are revealed that reality fully seems to set in for Taka. He, along with everyone else, are given the rules of a game they don't really want to play- that should they fail in the trial, all of them will be killed. And it sends Taka to a breakthrough- that some regulations can be harmful to those they're imposed upon.

There's now a shift in his actions- he's still trying to push for the class to follow the rules he's set, yes, but there's a newfound urgency to them. When Byakuya disappears in chapter 2, his concern has shifted from punctuality to his classmate's safety. He's the one to lead the search for Byakuya when he doesn't answer. Despite all his harshness, we can see that his strictness now comes from a place of genuine concern for the people around him, a direct parallel to earlier in the game when Kyoko went missing- "I'd like to think so. But I'm worried something might have happened to him."

This growth of character, though not focused on, is undoubtedly present. The dedication he has to his discipline and his ego are still fully intact, but now that dedication has moved beyond just order. It's an act of protection, for him and everyone else. The invisible threat of death has become all too visible with Sayaka's absence from their last breakfast meeting. If he can keep track of everyone, then he'll know they're still alive. He can prevent another murder. It imposes upon him the responsibility of the leadership he craves.

Part 4- Relationship(s)

Unincluding if the player actively seeks him out through FTEs, Taka only ever develops a real relationship with one character of the other fourteen in-game, though he does have some important dynamics with others. We'll continue moving in chronological order.

4.1- Ishimondo (these bitches gay?)

Throughout the game, whenever Taka is saying or doing something stupid, Mondo is typically the one to call him out on it or shut him down. While this doesn't start to take real shape until chapter 2, it is visible here and there in the early game.

But their connection doesn't really start to take focus until chapter 2, as Taka's failings as leader and Mondo's constant correcting him puts them at odds. Mondo's attitude is the antithesis of Taka's, living a life of complete risk and impulsiveness, yet has a matching level of energy, and despite being more intimidating on a surface level, he's able to actually befriend characters like Chihiro, Hina, and Sakura, while Taka's left on the out. One of the best examples of this is found not in the game, but in the stageplay adaptation, where both characters attempt to help Chihiro feel better about her weakness in the daily life segment.

When Byakuya starts mocking Chihiro for her fear, Mondo threatens him, and insists that Chihiro's weakness doesn't matter because she's a woman. But when this makes her upset and Sakuraoi call him out on it, he offers to help Chihiro train as an apology, acknowledging that his behavior was irrational. But when Taka tries to give her advice by telling her not to be weak anymore and is told to be reasonable, he can only insist that Mondo's words don't matter anyway.

In the game itself, Taka's barely present for this exchange, as it chooses instead to focus on Chimondo's relationship. Regardless, the animosity between Mondo and Taka is still made very clear in-game.

Mondo and Taka are both demonstrating the desire to protect their classmates here, but in different ways. Taka is the more logical of the two, focusing on keeping track of resources and devising a system of check for everyone to keep watch over each other in the breakfast promise. Mondo, meanwhile, wants to push the importance of actually getting everyone the fuck out of there. While their endgoal is the same, they disagree on how to go about it, and both their stubbornness drives them to butt heads as time continues to pass, leading to the sauna scene.

After being slowly built up in the background, Ishimondo's mutual anger finally comes to a head, with both not understanding the position that the other is in. Taka still believes Mondo's value to be what he provides to society, and as a biker gang leader, that's not much to a man that lives by lawful discipline. Meanwhile, Mondo can only see Taka as an egomaniac with a stick up his ass and doesn't know the background to why(and neither does the player without actively seeking out his FTEs). They each follow a different code of ethics, and view themself as the protector of the class, leading them to see each other as rivals. Yet, despite that, both of them still share their core value of total dedication, and so when finding a way to prove themself the better man, they end up with an endurance competition. For Taka, this reflects his belief that men connect by baring their souls, and do so by baring their bodies(something only learned in-game by approaching him for FTEs).

(This also leads to the implication that, while Mondo insisted on entering the sauna with all his clothes on, at some point, he was, in fact, naked while with Taka that night.)

The information as to what happened in that sauna is intentionally left unanswered, remaining fully private between both men in-game. The only thing either of them will say is that a brotherhood was formed between them, and that who won their initial contest no longer matters. Finally, Taka has found someone. Someone he can confide in and lean on, someone who'll support him and that he can support in turn("And if you can't do it alone, just find someone to support you, and you can support them back! That's how you can overcome any storm!" -Taka ch 1).

And then Chihiro's case happens.

At first, when the motives are introduced, Taka is one of the few to vocally insist no murder will take place. He has newfound confidence in the willpower of his classmates, and puts faith into everyone else for the first and only time. Even when presented with his own unknown secret, he finds it ridiculous that anyone would kill over the embarrassing memories and secrets. It's here that we truly see the highest high of this character- when he comes up with the idea to share secrets. When he presents this idea, he moves forward as usual, preparing to be the first one to reveal their secret and take the pressure off. But when his classmates insist they can't (Toko & Celeste) he doesn't keep chugging along, and he doesn't completely shut down, either. He looks around at his classmates, and he asks Chihiro. He actually steps back and asks for someone else's opinion.

And when she isn't yet comfortable, he backs off. He respect her wishes, and he stands with the class, ready to help them face their secrets the following day. Finding a friend in Mondo has softened his rigid exterior a little bit, enough to actually consider the opinions of the others. He's gotten comfortable. All that comes crashing down with the discovery of Chihiro's body the next morning. After finally taking a step back and letting his classmates- his friends- make their own choices, it directly leads to the murder of one of them("Dammit! I'm sorry, Chihiro... It's all because I wasn't strong enough!").

Taka fully blames himself for allowing Chihiro to be murdered, and as the guilt of failure starts to set in on him, he looks to his ethics and order to solve it. Chihiro may be dead, but the murderer will be condemned through the class trial("Justice always prevails! Right, bro!?"). A solution, a path forward, still exists for him. He still has Mondo by his side, and he and the rest of the class can surely prevent this from happening again, right?

The trial only validates him at first, revealing the existence of a serial killer among the group, someone so clearly immoral for her killing obsession. But it's not her. Why isn't it her? "Could such a heinous villain really be innocent!?" But his confusion is quickly stamped out- of course, it's Byakuya, the guy that's been threatening everyone and refusing to cooperate, the guy that has no regard for the rest of their classmates. "He kept calling this a game, right? So he'd totally be willing to do whatever it takes to 'win'!" But no, wrong again- he didn't know that the murder was in the boys' locker room, and was taken aback by Chihiro being AMAB. It should be him, someone so clearly antagonistic, that's how it's supposed to go, right?? But no, it's wrong! Why? And, who could kill someone like Chihiro at their most vulnerable?

He's failed. Taka's failed in every way conceivable. Mondo, the first person he's ever truly felt connected to, a murderer? Chihiro's murderer? That can't be it. Even long after Mondo's stopped arguing, Taka continues to push back against Makoto and Kyoko's accusations. It's a coincidence, that's not actually proof, anything to get them to stop, to save his brother, to save himself from the reality he's about to have to face. When sent into the BTB, it's Taka we fight in his despair, not Mondo. Until the very end, Taka won't acknowledge it. He can't. He can't bring himself to vote his Mondo a murderer, a killer. How could the man who gave him the chance no one else would, ever be so cruel? "I- I refuse to believe it... There's no way... no way he would kill someone! Why!? Why why why why why!? WHYYY!? Why did you do it!?"

He learns the truth of Mondo's story alongside the rest of the class, unable to process it all. It makes no sense. They were friends who trusted each other, who helped each other. And what about the man's promise? Doesn't that count for anything!? This doesn't sound right. This isn't Mondo, not his Mondo, not the man from the sauna. How could he have been so wrong about him?! It just can't be, but it is; the truth is but a slap to the face.

He was wrong. He stood by Chihiro's killer and defended him. He let his brother become the monster he saw himself as. He didn't stop it when he could have. He was blinded by his own beliefs, and as he watches Mondo's death, his spirit dies with him, the game cutting out all music as Taka screams, filling a deafening silence. "As Taka's sad screams invaded our skulls, we were each forced to realize once again..."

4.2- Kiyondo Ishida

Taka enters chapter 3 as a hollowed out shell of himself. He's gone near comatose, staring at nothing and saying nothing. He won't eat, won't speak, won't sleep, and although there are a couple weak attempts to get him back in action from Hiro("It's times like this where the committee chairman needs to get things going with a BANG!"), he's mostly left to grieve by himself, as the rest of cast is more concerned with the expanded school than the bossy guy they didn't like that much.

Monokuma even goes out of his way to torture Taka, to punish him for his grief, lying about the existence of a time machine just to fuck with his head and give him false hope, sending him further into despair- "Hmm... You sound disappointed. But actually, I was lying about the whole thing anyway. There's no such thing as time machines!" He's forced to become Monokuma's most successful project from the class, completely and utterly destroyed.

When he learns of Alter Ego, something in his head clicks. He can still talk to Chihiro. He can repent. He can apologize directly to him. So, with Makoto's help, he's brought to the laptop. His guilt finishes totally consuming him as he asks: "Do you... hate Mondo? And since I couldn't stop him... do you hate me?" His own self-hatred stemming from his failure is projected onto Alter Ego in one last attempt to come to terms with what's happened. The response he receives, unfortunately, is the culmination of all the toxic and unhealthy ideas of manhood the other boys carried with them via an attempted simulation of Mondo.

"You're not letting yourself get crushed under the weight of that responsibility, are you!? A man's only worth as much as the load he can carry! You get it, right bro!? Hell, what am I saying? Of course ya do!"

"So you're just gonna stand there, huh? Just wait for things to get better? Just take your time and get all depressed... Take the time to indulge your regrets... You might even start walking again without realizing it. Sure, that kind of mediocre thing might work for some people."

This speech, while attempting to inspire Taka to keep living for Chihiro's and Mondo's sakes, encapsulates the desperate need to be perceived as strong and untouchable that Mondo himself carried, and that Chihiro admired so much. It sinks its way into Taka, convincing him that the way to respond to his guilt is simple- pretend it isn't there! Mondo has clearly returned to him, and he's never letting him go ever again. He fully deludes himself, and he's fused with this idealized version of his bro. He permanently ties himself to Mondo's memory, and goes from the SHSL Public Morals Committee Member to something else entirely- Kiyondo Ishida, the unholy mixture of both men.

This revelation also leads him to an obsession with Alter Ego, viewing it as the vessel in which his bro was returned to him. He views it as another chance to protect his bro from ever being hurt again, as some divine second-chance he's been granted. All desire to be around the rest of his class is gone, replaced with this obsession. He's put at odds with Hifumi, who's also connected with the AI, and separates himself from the group that much more. When Alter Ego disappears, he can't handle it. He panics. He won't let his bro die, not again. And so he dooms himself, refusing to let go of the shadows of the past enough to see his own death looming before him, and he's killed in the early hours of the morning, led by desperation to his demise. And even so, the class can only worry about the semantics of when he died, barely mourning him.

5- Isolation (What's the point of this guy, anyway?)

Rather than learning from the mistakes both Chihiro and Mondo made by subscribing to the societal expectations of what makes a man, Taka ends up doubling down, burning away the optimism and more reasonable logic Taka used to have. Taka's story is that of a doomed fate to become the symbol of manhood and its self-destructing nature, leeching off of his first and only friend's unhealthy behaviors and sending him spiraling. And it's allowed to happen because of his social isolation.

From the very beginning of the game, Taka is singled out as annoying to be around. He's put in a negative light and viewed as unpleasant to spend time with. Every attempt to befriend or connect with a classmate is written off as a nuisance, a hindrance. Taka doesn't know how to make friends. He doesn't know how to do anything besides follow the rules and regulations he's been taught. He sticks to his regimen, because it's comfortable, and doesn't understand why others can't conform in the way that he does. He's very thoroughly isolated mentally and emotionally from his classmates at every turn, to the point where even in the very first trial he's standing with no one but the dead by his side(as Sayaka and "Junko" were positioned on either side of his podium).

All this is done with the deliberate intention to showcase his solitude, and more importantly, the loneliness that comes from it. It's to the point that when he finally does make a friend, he thoroughly idealizes him in his subconscious, coming to view him as some perfect person who'd even support him. It's inherently contradictory from his established beliefs going into the game, that a delinquent could be kind, but he accepts it wholeheartedly. He gets to know Mondo on some deeper level while in that sauna, and it's enough to rapidly develop a massive codependency on him. So when Mondo self-destructs and dies, so too does Taka.

Taka's purpose as a character is to suffer. He wraps himself in his moral beliefs, remaining steadfast in what he views as right and wrong, making judgement calls he's 100% sure of, and when they're challenged/disproven, he's thrown wholly out of whack. He exists to serve a purpose- what would've happened if Makoto didn't accept the truth about Sayaka? What happens when you let your idealism blind you to the truth? What happens when you blind yourself to the reality of the people around you, of the darkness in the people you care about? You self-destruct. He's tossed aside, killed as an accessory to the plot of someone who does nothing but manipulate the truth. He dies, and that's just it. His story is cut short; he doesn't get to heal or grow or come to terms with the truth. Such is the fate of the failed.

6- Afterword

...I didn't even touch his FTEs for this. Holy shit.

I'm gonna be honest, as much as I love Taka, I never expected this post would become as long as it did, or that I'd uncover such a dark fucking reason for why he gets as totally fucked over as he does. Don't get me wrong, I still really wish he'd lived and gotten to grow after this, but maybe his death was more well-written than I used to think. Good god.

#danganronpa #danganronpa trigger happy havoc #trigger happy havoc #thh #dr thh #dr thh spoilers #danganronpa thh #kiyotaka ishimaru #ishimaru kiyotaka #danganronpa kiyotaka #character analysis #character study #analysis #fan theory #DR character analysis #chihiro fujisaki #mondo owada #ishimondo #alter ego

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demaparbat-hp · 4 months ago

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Hi Dema!! Your art is fantastic and even the lineart is awesome! Solid and confident in where it's thick and where thin. I really like how your style has characters look more realistic and they have specific consistent features. Your blog has a pleasant atmosphere, and you're skilled in weaving AUs! There's a lot of details and structure, and I'd like to ask if any of them have a full story arc? Could you do a list of all of the AUs? Is there a motif that you especially like that repeats in any of the AUs? And whenever you add comments to my stuff in the tags I literally smile, it makes me want to keep at my plan to create everything I have in mind. So I'd like to spread this joy! I hope you have a nice day! (from late-draft ^^)

Hello, Late-Draft! I wasn't expecting this ask at all but I'm so glad to have received it!

First of all—I'll try to hold myself back from giggling like a schoolgirl. I'm having a sempai noticed me moment over here and that's just embarrassing. So give me a second to compose myself, if that's alright?

Okay, I'm back.

Now, on to business.

Character design, especially when it comes to facial features and how they're unique to each person, has always been a passion of mine. I always try to have a solid design for each character. I choose which features feel like the character in question, which face feels natural to draw, and go along with it. I love drawing Katara as much as I love drawing Zuko. Meanwhile, I seem to be on a never-ending battle against Sokka's features. Woes of an artist, I suppose.

Character design is actually one of the reasons I love your work so much, in case you hadn't noticed. I'm currently experimenting a bit with a different style... Hopefully it won't be long before the artwork is done and I can share it over here. I'm so excited for everyone to see it!

Now it's time for the reason we're all here.

I have said it before and shall say it once more: AUs are my lifeblood.

I love them so much! Building them, daydreaming the scenes, thinking of the characters and how they differ from their canon versions. The arcs and the themes and the worldbuilding. Building AUs is my passion, and I have so many of them!

There are a lot of motifs and themes that tend to repeat themselves in several of my AUs, I believe.

You'll notice that most of my stories are Zuko-centric, with a heavy emphasis on grief and humanity. There's the question of what makes us human and how to move forward when the whole world seems to push you back. I put a lot of stock in metaphors and symbolism within the narrative itself. I'm especially interested in the nuance of war and how it affects people emotionally, physically, and psychologically

I also tend to reutilize some elements of the lore and/or worldbuilding! Such as the Painted Lady's backstory, or the existence of War Children within the ATLA universe.

Now, the list!

I think I'll start with my current project, if that's okay :)

For the Spirits (New Gods AU)

Zuko was a child when he met Agni. Then, the spirits started coming to him. Eyes hidden in the hallways, voices pleading for help, for recognition, for remembrance.

Zuko could see Agni. He could see the broken remains of a Great Spirit and the empty smiles of amnesiac ghosts.

And they could see him in return.

I've been working on this AU for a long time, but only now did I get the chance to start writing the fic (linked up there!). I'm extremely excited about FTS and where the story will lead us in the future, but I'll try not to spoil too much.

It's a Zuko-centric story, with a heavy emphasis on Spirits and humanity. I'd like to add a warning for depression/mental health issues.

To Hesitate (Lee & Kya AU)

As she watches Lee and Kya avoid each other's eyes from across the room, the phrase comes back to her, swift and silent:

"To hesitate is to lose."

As Song treats the victim of an unfortunate interaction with a rare poisonous flower, her day takes an unexpected turn when it becomes apparent that the old man's nephew and her assistant have history.

A vivid history.

The Lee & Kya AU is a vibe, a feeling. It's probably one of my oldest AUs out there as well as one of my dearest.

A classical Lee and Kya From The Tea Shop AU, full with wholesome fandom tropes such as: fake (but not really) dating, fake identities, Ba Sing Se shenanigans, vigilante stuff, White Lotus missions, Iroh is a great Uncle, Zuko is an awkward turtleduck, and, of course, the fluffiest fluff you'll ever see.

Other than that, Lee & Kya is probably one of the less plot-focused AUs I have. However, that doesn't mean that there aren't scenes I can't wait to write or a canon divergence or two where Zuko is concerned.

(I have another fic posted but I'll leave that one to the end. You asked for a full story arc and, oh boy, does Soundless deliver.)

Kintsugi AU

Closer to being canon-adjacent than canon-divergent, Kintsugi is yet another Zuko-centric AU (and are we not noticing a pattern over here?).

I'd love to explain it in depth, but I believe the caption of the artwork linked above does a better job at explaining than I ever will.

Kintsugi is the art of decorating your scars with pieces of Agni.

In the Fire Nation, the amount of golden marks are a sign of status. Only the Royal Family can afford to seal every single wound with Kintsugi. Such is the weight of this tradition that, among the ones with Agni's blood, it is the highest mark of dishonor to have a natural scar, for it proves you aren't worthy of the privilege.

After the Agni Kai, Ozai forbid Zuko's scar to be sealed with Kintsugi. The boy wasn't worth his title, his traditions or his pride. Zuko would be broken, but he wouldn't be beautiful. Not anymore.

(And sometimes it's easier to pretend he never was)

Kyoshi Warriors AU

One of my absolute favorites!

In this AU, Ursa took Zuko and Azula with her when she was banished, so they could start anew. With help from Iroh and the White Lotus, she managed to relocate her freshly burned eight-year-old child and her crying daughter to Kyoshi Island.

Years later, when Avatar Aang and his companions first arrive at Kyoshi Island, they're met by the Kyoshi Warriors and their leader, Noriko of pale skin and warm brown eyes.

The Gaang leave Kyoshi Island many weeks later with a new companion. And if Jian Li, with his war paint and his scar and his dual dao, gives the island that he has called home for so long one final, longing glance as they fly away on Appa, they pretend not to notice.

Hunters AU

We're starting to dwelve deep into dangerous waters!

This is a Katara Joins Zuko In His Quest To Find The Avatar AU, with a twist!

This AU was born as a writing experiment. What if we take Katara's character, and change one of her core characteristics? Katara, who looked up to the Avatar as a saviour figure, now blames him for leaving and allowing the Fire Nation to wage war on the world.

Then comes Zuko, a banished Prince with a crew full of traitors and his own agenda. Zuko wishes for nothing more than to dethrone his father and end the war. He is a White Lotus member, an honorable, driven young man, and he has a plan.

The catch? He needs to take the Avatar to his father if he wishes to regain his title and be able to rightfully take the throne. Oh, and he will deliver the Avatar to the Fire Lord—but nobody said it had to be in chains.

Halfblood AU

I watched Blue Eye Samurai a few months ago and it destroyed me. The idea of a half-blooded child dead set on getting revenge for their very existence stuck with me, and this AU was born.

Kanna made a life for herself in the Earth Kingdom after leaving the North. Katara was raised by her grandmother in a small village, being taught to hide her bending if she wanted to live peacefully in a place she was only half of. Her mother had died in childbirth. Her father, a nameless warrior from the Southern Water Tribe who had loved Kya and left her behind, didn't know of Katara's existence.

Katara took over Kanna's clinic after she passed away. Always taking care of others. Always suppressing her need to bend. Always wishing for more.

One day, he arrived. A half-child, just like her. But while she was of Water, he was a son of Agni. He was searching for the man who brought him to this world. The man who scarred him. The man whose face he couldn't recall, whose name he did not know. The man whose specter had chased his mother to her grave. The man who would die at his hand.

The answers were hidden in a small teashop deep within Ba Sing Se. Lee offered her a way out, and Katara took it.

Soundless (Uiscefhuaraithe)

Katara of the Southern Water Tribe has hands scarred by fire and great talent, though no teacher.

Zuko is a mute War Child, a herbalist and healer, and the Blue Spirit. He bears the mark of fire, and the scar of the blade that took away his voice.

The first time they met, the Blue Spirit had just saved her, tough not before her hands got burned. The second time they met, his name was Lee, and he was healing her.

They live in war and they will fight, if not for the world, then for themselves.

You asked for a full storyline, and I shall deliver!

Soundless is probably the only AU I have fully planned. Three-books, Azula redemption arc, role-reversals and all.

This AU has everything. From travelling through the Earth Kingdom together, to odd character team-ups that somehow manage to work, and a major goal/conflict to resolve.

Zuko and Katara must find their way to Omashu in an Earth Kingdom ravaged by war as they also grow to understand each other, themselves, and the world around them. They meet with new and old alliances, keep their ears open for rumors of the Avatar (They say he is an airbender, Lee. Do you truly belive that?), and do their best to always be two steps ahead of their pasts.

Meanwhile, both the Northern and Southern Water Tribes are searching for the runaway heiress, Aang must find his way alone on this new, hostile world, and Azula must face the revelation that, despite what her father has stated for the last two years (liar, he lied at her! Her! He lied he liedliedliedlied), her brother might just be alive.

I'm sorry for making this such a long answer! I just get very excited about these subjects and don't know when to stop. If you made it all the way down here: thank you again.

I hope you have a good day ❤️

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