#thank you so much for asking and liking my art!!!

[matchingbatbites]

The woman is fucking stunning. A goddess amongst mortals, a vision sent from the heavens to bless any who may see her. Eddie could honestly go on, but she has to return her focus to the man currently standing at the counter and not the beauty that just walked through the door.

"Here's your change," she says as she passes over the few coins and receipt. "Pickup is at the end of the counter, and they'll call your name when it's ready.

The man gives Eddie his thanks before walking away, and then Aphrodite incarnate is stepping up to the counter. God, she's even more beautiful up close. The slant of her nose, the artful swoop of her chestnut hair - the twin moles on her cheek that are eerily familiar for a reason Eddie can't quite place.

"Welcome to Black Roast Café, can I have a name for your order?"

"Hi there," the woman says with a soft smile, and god, Eddie feels bad for ever making fun of Jerry Maguire. You had me at hello, indeed. "Uh, Stevie is fine."

Eddie nods and types the name into the system. "Okay, Stevie, what can I get you?"

The woman - Stevie - doesn't even look at the board before she rattles off her order. "Can I please get a large, iced caramel latte, with three shots of espresso, a pump of white chocolate, and extra whip? Oh, and a butterscotch blondie."

Eddie's brain shudders to a halt. The order is specific, unique, and it's one she's heard before, from- well if she's being honest, from the only man that's ever made Eddie question her lesbianism.

Steve had been so beautiful and so kind. He was her absolute favorite customer before he'd moved away two years ago, following his best friend when she transferred to a different university to complete her master's. Eddie had mourned just a little, had grieved the loss of sunshine he brought to her days.

Eddie's eyes snap to the two moles on the woman's cheek and everything clicks into place. "Oh shit! You're back!" she says, her filter absolutely failing her. Stevie's smile fades a bit, replaced with a tinge of nervousness as she shifts in place.

"Oh, uh, I didn't- I wasn't expecting you to-"

"Remember you?" Eddie cuts in as she finally punches the order into the register. "Honestly, your order is a hard one to forget. Clearly I was right about all that sugar going to your hips."

It's a gentle tease, one she used to make back when- before, because the order really is just so sweet. It works the way Eddie hoped it would, because Stevie just laughs softly and smooths her hands over her full, curvaceous - fuck, Eddie, head out of the gutter - her hips.

"Yeah, I could probably stand to cut back a little, huh?"

"Don't you dare," Eddie retorts, offended at just the suggestion. "If anything I encourage more, because you're- you look amazing, actually."

The woman blushes, so pink and pretty, and bites into her lower lip the way Eddie wants to. "You think so?" she asks as she hands her card over to Eddie.

"Uh, totally. Like, you were attractive before - and that's coming from a lesbian - but now you-" Eddie pauses, taking a second to run the card as she shrugs. "You're like, glowing. And it only makes you more beautiful."

There's no response from Stevie as the receipt prints, and it's not until Eddie is handing back the card that she sees the stunned look on Stevie's face, her flush even darker. Fuck, that might have been too much.

Before Eddie can apologize though, Stevie takes her receipt and blurts out "I think you're hot."

Huh?

"You do?" Eddie asks, and Stevie nods.

"I've always thought you were hot. But you have the little-" She points to where Eddie's nametag is, to the little lesbian flag sticker that she stuck on it. "The sticker, and like- My best friend, Robin? She's also a lesbian, and she's talked about how annoying it is when guys hit on her and I didn't want to be like that, so I never said anything."

God, Stevie's just as sweet as she used to be, and much more considerate than Eddie even knew. She probably wouldn't have minded getting hit on by Steve at the time, and now that Stevie is standing before her, more beautiful than she's ever been and claiming that she finds Eddie attractive? Well, there's no way Eddie can't make a move.

"How long are you in town?" Eddie asks.

"Oh, uh, we just moved back, actually. Robin finished her master's program and got a job at a local museum translating documents and artifacts."

"Okay, that's cool as hell and I definitely want to hear more about that, but first- Do you want to go out with me? Like, on a date?"

The question seems to surprise Stevie, and it takes her a second to process it. "Are you sure? Even though I'm-"

"The most beautiful woman I've ever seen and way out of my league? Yeah, I'm pretty sure, sweetheart. And I'm not above begging if I have to."

Stevie blushes again and oh, Eddie is already addicted to the way it floods her cheeks, is in love with how alive, how happy she looks. "Then yeah, I'd really, really like that." She grabs a pen from the nearby cup and scribbles her number on the back of her receipt before passing it to Eddie. "Call me when you're off?" she asks, and Eddie nods, beaming.

"The moment I clock out," Eddie promises, and Stevie giggles - giggles! Stevie's name is called and Eddie is thankful that the store is practically empty, because for a second there she genuinely forgot where she was.

Stevie gives her a wink and a "Talk to you later, Eddie," and Eddie barely waits for her to leave the store before she's adding Stevie's number into her phone.

"Okay," Chrissy says as she slides up beside Eddie. "Who is she and how did you get her number so easily?"

Eddie grins as she saves the new contact under Stevie 🩷🌹😍 "That, darling Christine, is my future wife."

[plainclothesdisaster]

“What the hell am I looking at.”

Batman stands next to him, arms folded, appraising the same piece of plain notebook paper on the table. To the untrained eye it looks like someone has scrawled a handful of shitty doodles and notes on it. But to John Constantine’s eye? Well, he was thanking his very limited lucky stars that he didn’t have a personal encounter with whatever god or demon that had given that paper to Bats in the first place.

Batman frowns. “I don’t know. That’s what you’re here for.”

“And if I told you I don’t want to touch whatever this is with a ten foot pole?”

Batman points to a green sticky note stuck on the paper’s bottom corner.

Call the Hellblazer if you need a tutorial.

Well, fuck. So much for flying under the radar.

“So. You know what it is.” Bats says it as a statement not a question, which is, of course, accurate. John knew what it was before Batman even led him to the black table at the center of the Batcave, where the paper sat in the center like some delicate work of art. The whole cave smacked of ozone and ectoplasm from the second he walked in. It’s positively filled with potential energy on a cosmic scale, emanating from that single, annoyingly unassuming source.

“That,” John starts, resenting the no-smoking-in-the-Batcave rule now more than ever, “Is a summoning sigil. A very powerful summoning sigil. How in hell did you end up with it?”

Bats hands him yet another green sticky note. This one reads:

Use in cases of: Mind control, literal apocalypse (ONLY if my fault). That’s it. Nothing else. If you do I will know and I will permanently turn off the gravity in the Watchtower as payback.

Thought I’d save you the trouble of making my file yourself.

-D

P.S. No spoilers, John. :)

Bats re-folds his arms. “It was given to me by a coworker.”

It’s a contingency plan, John realizes. One of Batman’s trademark ideas that piss everyone off but he does anyway. Usually the League Members didn’t personally and willingly hand over their personal kryptonite, though. John certainly hadn’t. And there’s also the issue that most Leaguers kryptonite isn’t this powerful.

“Care to enlighten me which of your coworkers is on a first name basis with the Ancient of Time?”

“Hn.”

“Not ringing any bells? How about this then: which Leaguer is strong enough that their contingency plan is giving you the personal calling card of a god?”

“He knows you.”

And John is just so thrilled that two of his names showed up in the context of god-summoning. So neat for him. Not problematic in the slightest. What’s only slightly less problematic is that he doesn’t know who wrote the notes- none of the current Justice League members fit the bill. Not that he’s ever been good at keeping up with the cape parade, but he would have known if something this powerful stepped this close to his territory.

Unless…

“When you say coworker, what exactly do you mean?”

“Does it matter?”

“You don’t typically make contingency plans for non JL members.”

“He values his privacy.”

Not a member of the Justice League, then. Powerful enough to hide in plain sight and also have an Ancient on speed dial. Self aware enough to deliver this nuclear option of a contingency plan.

John knows who it is.

The only question left is why the fuck Batman has the Ancient of Space, King of all Ghosts, on his maintenance staff.

But he won’t ask that, because according to that cheeky little sticky note, Batman didn’t know. And John is not about to piss off an Ancient by spoiling his gig.

“Well Bats. If you end up needing to use it you just prick your finger, touch the circle, and say that bit of Latin there.” He waves his fingers at the scribbles, still unwilling to get any closer. “But I hope for all our sakes that you never need it.”

“And why’s that?”

John resists rolling his eyes. He doesn’t resist the urge to grab a cigarette and put it between his lips. He’s not planning on sticking around much longer anyways. “Because if you do, it means we’re fucked. Like, cosmically.”

Batman glares at the cigarette but decides not to comment.

“Look mate I don’t want to get involved in your hiring practices, but have you considered background checks?”

“I trust him.”

“I should hope so.”

John sighs. He can feel a headache coming on. Batman didn’t just hand out his trust willy-nilly, so the king in disguise must have done something to earn it. It’s not much solace, but he’ll take it.

DPxDC Mechanical Engineer Danny

Danny caught the attention of Batman while studying at Gotham University for his alternative energy projects. He’s hired right out of college to work on the Watchtower.

He shows absolutely no tell of his abilities till there’s a dire situation- Flash’s electric discharge messes with one of his projects in progress and the whole base would have lost air pressure if he hadn’t done a quick fix using telekinesis and ice.

Of course Batman notices.

Batman assumes the worst- he suspects Danny’s a rogue of some kind, someone who has infiltrated the Justice League with an ulterior motive. But he can’t just fire Danny now- he’s the only one who knows how the new Watchtower energy source works. Plus, he’s not letting Danny go anywhere until he’s figured out his true motives.

Cue Batman subtly testing Danny- tossing things at him to trigger inhuman fast reflexes, having him lift too-heavy machinery, setting up convenient opportunities to steal or snoop or otherwise be up to no good. Danny does take advantage but only once, to use a computer terminal with unlocked clearance. He didn’t plant any bugs that Barman could find, and he otherwise kept up his powerless civilian act perfectly.

Still, Batman’s not satisfied. He brings an infrasonic sound emitter to Danny’s lab one day, and that, of all things, is what gets Danny to break.

“I know what you’re doing,” Danny admits with a sigh, finally. “If you’re really that suspicious of me, I can leave, but I kinda like my job so I’d prefer not to. The benefits are insane compared to what’s standard.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure. yeah. How about you turn off the freaking noise generator and we can talk?”

“Hm.” Batman obliges, and he takes the stool next to Danny at his gesture.

“Number one, I’m not a meta. Despite all the data and conclusions you’ve probably drawn otherwise. Number two, I’m on your side. I’m here to work on the base, that’s it. I follow your rules to the letter.”

“The-“

“The classified files I looked at? Yeah that was the one exception. You already know what I looked at, I’m sure, but maybe you haven’t figured out why. It goes back to point one- I may not be a meta, but I am something that organization, the GIW, cares about. I looked at your files on them to sus out your relations. Seeing as I don’t particularly love being the victim to twelve degrees of human rights violations if I can avoid it.”

“Hm.” The Ghost Intelligence Ward was one of many government agencies that the Justice League hadn’t worked closely with. But they also hadn’t been flagged for Justice League investigation. Danny’s comments made him doubt that call.

“Any other questions?”

“If you’re not a meta, what are you?”

“I’m an engineer. A pretty decent one. And I’d really, really like it to stay that way.”

Batman considers, and ultimately lets him stay. He likes Danny (everyone likes Danny), and it would be a massive pain in the ass to replace him. He really is a good engineer.

It’s only much later that his faith in Danny is repaid in spades.

Batman finds Danny on the Watchtower command bridge. Alarms are blaring, the station has been knocked out of orbit, out the window there’s shrapnel floating everywhere as a space battle rages around them.

On the station it’s chaos. Technicians run around, shouts from the med bay, sparks from the walls.

Batman and Danny stand at the main controls, watching the battle outside, stoic, unmoving.

Wonder Woman’s harried voice crackles through on coms: “We need backup.”

“There is no more backup.” Batman replies, while looking pointedly at Danny.

“What?”

Batman doesn’t move.

“What.”

“The impact from Darkseid’s initial attack should have sent this station on a terminal trajectory toward the planet.”

“Well. We aren’t currently plummeting to our deaths, so turns out it didn’t do that.”

“You did something.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re lying.”

“Maybe Superman nudged us back on course in all the chaos.”

“I’ve been watching the trackers. No one else with the capability has come near the station.”

“Can’t you just be grateful we got lucky?”

Sounds of peril screech over the coms. Danny’s face scrunches.

“Luck had nothing to do with it. As it is now, we are going to lose this fight.”

“Isn’t there anyone else you can call?”

“I’m asking you. You can help, can’t you?”

The glare-off lasts a long moment more before Danny breaks.

“Fuck. Fuckity fuck.” Danny runs his hands through his hair. “Shit. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I’m asking you to save this and countless other worlds from a genocide. I’m also asking you to save my friends.”

Danny looks at him, hard, weary, and with a kind of deep resolve that feels far too ancient to be on the face of a supposed twenty-something.

“Fine. Fine. Okay.” He steps back and transforms. If Batman is surprised when he shakes off his human appearance like an old coat, he doesn’t show it. But what’s undeniable is the being in Danny’s place has the unmistakable presence of power.

“No one else can know.” His voice echoes in a way that’s sonically impossible, both sounding closer and further away than he should be.

He pulls a gear-shaped medallion seemingly out of thin air and puts it over his head in one motion.

“If I get in trouble for this, I’m blaming you.”

He vanishes. Outside, the shape of the battle changes instantly. The stars seem to glow brighter as the arms of the galaxy flash with the colors of the aurora. Then it’s like the void of space itself comes alive. It moves the spaceships back like they’re toys, plucking them from one side of the field to the other. It finds Darkseid at the heart of the chaos and massive arms of nothingness and darkness wrap around him. He’s screaming as it swallows him whole.

His armies scatter. The battle turns. The JL deal with the stragglers, but the air of relief is palpable.

Danny reappears next to Batman, once again donning his grease-stained coveralls. Arms folded.

“Happy?”

It took all of five minutes. Less, probably. Batman tamps down a thousand questions.

“Thank you.”

“I’m gonna need two weeks off minimum.” Danny snaps. “One to deal with the bureaucratic nightmare you’ve just caused me, and another to recover from the headache.”

Batman blanks. “Granted.”

Danny sighs. “And I’m not fixing the station until I’m back. It won’t fall out of the sky as is. Make up whatever excuse you want.”

“Done.” He considers. “I would prefer to tell them the truth. That you saved us.”

Danny glares. “I’m not supposed to save you. I made a pact not to use my power to influence the mortal realm.”

“A pact with who?”

Danny rolls his eyes. “The embodiment of Time. The concept of Justice. Among others.” He smirks at Batman’s confusion.

“And what, exactly, does that make you?”

He stands, framed by the space window, haloed by the stars. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

Batman frowns.

“Look. I like you guys. I like working on your base. I like supporting the work you do. But you can not go factoring me in to any of your plans or contingencies. This was a one time thing.

“So to answer your question again: I’m an engineer.”

[borathae]

BTS Reaction: Breakfast in Bed

Anonie said: Sibiuuu I'm back 😚😚😚 thank you so much for all the other reactions, I'm so happy yippiee 😚 neow listen kween 👉🏾👈🏾 Bangtan's reaction to getting breakfast in bed? I just think it would be so fluffy and sweet 👉🏾👈🏾

Genre: Fluff

Gender: not-specified

Wordcount: 3k

a/n: anonie my love! this is exactly the kind of content I lose my shit over gaaah i LOVE!! this got so insanely fluffy and romantic i'm so happy but also omgmgm listen 😔 the thought of having a lover? and surprising them with breakfast in bed? i cry because it's not my reality 😔

Namjoon

CW: hinted “night after” trope, bsf2l!AU

This is the first time he stays at your place. You and he aren’t new per say. As a matter for fact, you were best friends before you became more. Namjoon always said that friends can’t become lovers until he fell for you. Namjoon was also at your place before, many times actually, but he never slept over. Especially not as your boyfriend. After a, well, after a very nice night. 

He traces the spots you touched last night, reminiscing with closed eyes how it was to be with you. Namjoon always thought that love making was only thing of movies. Sex stems from humans and humans are too flawed the create something as innocent as love making. Then he laid with you and felt your breath against his neck and Namjoon finally got it. 

He opens his eyes before his racing heart can overwhelm him. He sits up.

“Holy fuck”, he presses out, touching his own chest to make sure that he was still alive. His heart never raced as much before. So this is how it feels like.

You have some books on the bedside table. Namjoon reaches for one of them in order to distract himself from the massive butterflies in his stomach. He begins reading, glasses perched atop his nose while his tummy continues to tingle.

The books is about philosophy and art. No wonder he fell for you. An art exhibition is only truly enjoyable when he visits it with you. Philosophy only really makes him want to think if he knows that he can share his thoughts with you later. Nature is truly only relaxing if he knows that you get to be next to him. Falling in love with you was as easy as breathing. 

“Hey, you’re awake.”

Namjoon lowers the book, giving you his full attention. His hair is messy, his glasses sit on his nose very prettily. He isn’t wearing a shirt, honey skin kissed by the sunlight entering your bedroom.

“I am. Good morning. Damn, you are really beautiful”, he says, tummy fluttering.

“Thank you. You are beautiful too.”

Namjoon watches you close the distance, “what are you carrying?”

“Breakfast. I thought I could impress you. You know, first night together and all that.” You explain, putting the tray on his lap. “Let me know what you think of it.”

Namjoon studies it, feeling lost for words. You aren’t his first relationship and yet you are the very first person to ever make him breakfast in bed. Well, except for his parents when he got sick as a kid, but this was totally not the same thing. 

“You’re quiet. Does this mean you don’t like it?” you ask quietly.

“What? No, I love it. I’m sorry, I just can’t believe it, that’s all.” 

“Wait till you taste it. I really put my whole breakfastussy into it.”

He cracks up, scrunching his eyes. You snicker, swaying from side to side giddily.

“If that’s the case, I have to try it. I’m sure it’s delicious.”

You put on some music in the meantime. It is the same vinyl you listened to last night. 

Your eyes meet shyly. His heart is racing as much as yours is. The memory of last night is so sweet.

“Is it okay if I put on some music?” you ask.

“It's more than okay. You're fucking perfect”, he assures you.

“Nice”, you return to bed, getting comfortable on your side. You sit cross-legged, snatching some of the food to snack on.

But Namjoon can’t concentrate on breakfast. All he sees is you.

He finally gets it. Namjoon finally goddamn gets it.

He takes your hand, squeezing it gently. You stop munching, meeting his eyes in curiousity.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, thumb tracing your knuckles, “I know, first morning kiss and us being in the middle of eating and all, but maybe?”

You giggle, nodding your head. “Yeah, I’d really like to kiss you too”, you confess and close the distance to do exactly that.

Seokjin

“Wakey wakey to some brekkie”, you coo, entering the bedroom with a tray full of food. 

Seokjin, your boyfriend and occasional private chef, gawks at you in surprise as the roles are reversed this morning. He was already awake, scrolling on his phone, when you entered the bedroom. 

“You made me breakfast?” he asks, voice dripping in disbelief.

“I did and it’s your favourite. Now careful, there’s lots on there.”

Seokjin stares in pure shock, feeling his heart speed up. His ears are flushed. 

“Wow, I mean, wow. I love it, but why?”

“Why? Because I want to treat you, that’s why.”

“I see”, he murmurs and lowers his head shyly, ear flushing even harder. “Thank you, wow.” 

You snicker, climbing on bed.

“Now try it, pookie. Before it gets cold.”

“I don't even know where to start. Everything looks so good.” 

“Maybe this? I made it with extra love.”

“Wah, you and your cheesy lines.”

You laugh, “I learned from the best”, you tease, nudging his soft cheek.

Seokjin lets you because you are the only person he allows touching his face. Because he loves you and trusts you. And because your touch is always placed so gently. 

“Then I guess I have to start with this”, he says and picks up the chopsticks.

You snicker beside him, making him sneak a glance at you. You are so adorable to him right now. 

Seokjin lowers the chopsticks, meeting your eyes. He looks at you in ways you have never seen on him. Serious, intense and deeply in love. 

“What?” 

“Just making sure that this is real. You’re so perfect.”

“Be quiet.”

You fluster, lowering your head. The racing of your heart increases when he tilts your head back up with two fingers under your chin. His brows are lifted in a gentle invitation to open your mouth and take the bite he offers. 

Of course you take it, heart truly losing it when he wipes the corner of your mouth and licks his finger. 

Whatever happened to your goofy boyfriend right now, please don’t let it end. Don’t misunderstand, you love his dorky side, but this is changing you as a person. He is so attractive right now.

“Is it yummy?” he asks, gazing at your lips as he caresses your chin.

“It is. Wow, you just made my heart race.”

Seokjin grins lopsidedly and leans closer, “good.” He whispers and kisses your lips with such seriousness and emotion that your heart begins racing yet again.

Yoongi

Yoongi is already awake when you enter the bedroom. He is staring at the wall, trying to come alive on the lazy Saturday this way. Like most mornings, his hair is dented at the back and sticks up messily. It’s a cute look especially paired with his puffy cheeks and barely open eyes.

“Oh? You’re awake? Perfect. Brb”, you say after sticking your head into the room to check on him.

Yoongi acknowledges you with a hum and smacks his lips. He sits, waiting curiously for you to come back while his sleepy eyes run over the dimly lit room. 

You return with something in your hands and a goofy grin on your lips.

“Good morning, darling.”

“What’s this?” his voice is still raspy from sleep.

“Breakfast in bed. It’s raining today and I wanted to be romantic.” You put the tray on his lap. “Tada.”

Yoongi scans his eyes over the array of his favourite breakfast food. You even made him an iced Americano and put together a small flower bouquet with flowers from the garden. 

Yoongi feels so giddy that he could burst. But he is also a little shy about being openly giddy (and very sleepy), so he sits and stares while his heart races unbearably. 

“What do you think?” you ask him, running your fingers through his hair.

“You did this for me?” he sounds in disbelief. 

“Of course I did.” You peck his cheek. “You deserve it and I love you.”

“Thank you. This makes me so happy”, he says and begins eating with flushed cheeks and a giddy smile.

“And? Is it good?” 

“It is. I love breakfast”, he gushes and puts his arm around your waist to pull you close. 

You sit down on the edge of the bed, giggling happily when he kisses your cheek. His eyes sparkle in adoration once he pulls back.

“Thank you for this. I’m very happy.”

“It's because I love you.”

“I love you too.” He closes his eyes and rests his head on your shoulder, giving your waist a soft squeeze, “Thank you.”

You love how Yoongi shows affection, melting in fondness. You hug his head, giving it a little kiss.

“Anything for you, baby.”

Hoseok

“Happy birthday to you~ Happy birthday to you~” 

You are entering the bedroom singing and dancing. Hoseok, who is already awake and merely thought that you went for a shower, gawks at you with an open mouth and widened eyes. He even startled a little at first, still clutching his imaginary pearls.

“Happy birthday my Hobi babyyyy~ happy birthday to you.”

You stop by his side, grinning down at him. A purple birthday hat adorns your head. 

“Happy birthday, baby. I hope you’re hungry, I made you breakfast.”

Hoseok giggles, dropping into the sheets to kick his feet. He covers his face behind his hands, looking so adorable that you have to giggle with him. 

You love making him happy. Happiness suits him so well.

“Wow baby, I can’t believe it. This is perfect. I love it”, he gushes, sitting up so he could hug you. Very aggressively if one might add.

“Careful, the food.”

“Yeah, right. Sorry. Show me.”

You put the tray on his lap, eliciting another giggling fit from him. 

“I love it. Thank you. This is the best birthday ever.”

“And it is just the beginning. I have so much planned. So many presents to give you”, you say and lean down to hug him, giving him a big smooch as you do, “I’m gonna treat you like a king today, baby.”

Hoseok leans into your embrace, closing his eyes for it and squeaking giddily.

“Thank you so much. Wow, wait. I need to take pictures. And videos!”

“Do that, my cutie.”

Jimin

CW: hinted "night after" trope but make it flirty

He is supposed to stay in bed and let you surprise him. But of course he doesn’t. Although you made sure to sneak out before he wakes up, you suddenly find yourself in the kitchen with his arms around you and his chest against your back.

“Mhhm smells like breakfast. I’m so hungry already”, he purrs sleepily, using his lower register for it as his soft lips nibble on your neck. He rubs your tummy and waist softly, “what are we making?”

“You are not making anything, you are supposed to be in bed. Goddamn it, my plans are ruined.”

“What plans?” 

“I wanted to use your sleeping-in-tendencies to my advantage and make you breakfast in bed. But of course you have to wake up timely today.”

Jimin chuckles, kissing your ear. 

“I’m sorry. Last night knocked me out deep enough that I feel well rested.”

“Noted. I know what to do next time I want you to relax.”

“Please do, I’ll turn into your devotee.”

You chuckle, but tingle a moment later when Jimin sucks on your skin gently.

“Last night was amazing”, he purrs, kissing a path up to your ear so he could tickle it with his lips, “was it good for you too?”

“It was and you’re teasing”, you say, barely wanting to keep your eyes open. He feels so good.

“I’m not. I’m reminiscing.”

“You are totally teasing”, you laugh, “and you’re not supposed to. You’re supposed to go back to bed. I’m almost done.”

“But the kisses.”

“No buts. Breakfast in bed.”

“At least let me carry something. It’s the least I can do after ruining the surprise.”

“No. Back to bed now. I’m the one to romance you today.” You turn around and shove at his bared chest gently. “Hop, hop. I’m not asking again.” 

Jimin takes your hands and pulls them to his lips for a kiss, giving you flirty eyes.

“One kiss before I leave, to thank you for cooking.”

“Fine, one kiss. And then I’m sending your cute butt back to bed.”

Taehyung

He knows that you are awake, floating in a state between sleep and awareness. The sound of you doing something in the apartment is his background music, increasing the cozy state he is in. The bedroom windows are open, letting in the warm morning breeze. The curtains dance in the wind and the sun shines onto his skin. He isn’t wearing a shirt because he gets hot easily. The sun feels really good. Warm. It’s a nice, deep warmth. The kind of warmth which gets rid of muscle aches.

Life couldn’t get any better than this. You suddenly enter the bedroom and life actually does get better than this. A lot better. 

“Oh crap, your eyes are open”, you say, halting in your once confident steps.

Taehyung smiles at the view of you, “good morning.”

“Good morning, hey. You weren’t supposed to be awake yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because I wanted to surprise you.”

“With what?”

You pull flowers from behind your back.

“For me?” he gasps and sits up, stretching his arms out to you. 

“Yeah for you. I meant to put them on the bedside table next to you, so you’d wake up to them”, you explain as you trott to his bedside and put the flowers on their planned spot. You pout.

“But they’re so beautiful. Don’t be sad.” He assures you in a soft spoken voice, holding your hand. “I love them.”

“My surprise though. It’s ruined.”

He kisses your knuckles, “no, it’s not. It’s the most perfect surprise ever.” 

“There’s even more.”

“More?” he sounds in disbelief, following you with widened eyes as you leave again.

“Soon.”

Taehyung gazes at the flowers while he waits for your return. His heart is racing. This is such a romantic surprise and he loves these kinds of surprises.

“Eyes closed”, you announce your return.

“They’re closed.”

“And no peeking.”

“I’m not.”

He listens to you come closer again, then suddenly feels a weight on his lap.

“Okay, open them.”

Taehyung instantly gasps, eyes wide and tummy bursting in butterflies. 

“You made breakfast in bed?”

“I did.”

“Darling, oh my god. I don’t know what to say. This is…wow, it looks so yummy.”

You climb onto bed and sit down next to him, picking up a little strawberry which you tipped into whipped cream. 

“Open up.”

Taehyung takes in the strawberry with the cutest, most adorable expression, sending your heart into overdrive.

“Gosh, I have the cutest boyfriend ever”, you gush, caressing his cute little cheeks. 

Taehyung scrunches his nose giddily, leaning into your touch. His eyes are sparkling. 

“Open up. I’m feeding your adorable butt today.”

Taehyung giggles, letting it happen with a racing heart. He loves when you pamper him.

Jungkook

You and he went out with his friends last night. It got late and the two of you got drunk. He stayed over at your place, sleeping with no shirt on and his hair a total mess. Judging by how loudly he snores, he must be sleeping very well. You slept well too, despite the alcohol. Luckily for you, or perhaps because of your clever precautions of drinking lots of water, you don’t feel hungover. Just hungry. Really hungry. But you are also lazy and don’t want to leave bed. You have been staring at your boyfriend obsessively ever since you woke up.

You are so lucky. He is so handsome and he was so lovely last night. He kept close to you at all times and made sure you felt welcome with his friends by always including you in the conversation. He even borrowed you his jacket when you got cold and held your hand as you walked home. 

Jungkook snores especially loudly next to you, startling himself awake with it. He lifts his head, staring at the sheets with empty eyes.

“Good morning”, you chuckle, ruffling his hair.

“Hmhornming isf imf snorim ismsloud”, he mumbles something unintelligible and drops into the pillow again. His eyes close. His lips part. He fell back to sleep. He is so funny without even trying.

“Okay, you’re a sleepy head. Guess I gotta eat without you”, you decide and roll out of bed. 

Breakfast is prepared quickly and you return with your tray of food. You just about sat down when Jungkook lifts his head again. He is frowning sleepily, pouting.

“Good morning. Again”, you tease.

“Food?”

“Yes, this is food.”

“For me?”

“Do you want food?”

He nods his head. You already knew that he wouldn’t last long next to the smell of food, but this is a new record of how quickly he wakes from it. Doesn’t matter, you already prepared his tray in the kitchen.

“Sit up then.”

Jungkook obeys, grumbling and groaning as he does.

“Hungover?”

“Little.”

“This should help. Here we go.”

“Thanks.”

You leave the room to get his tray (which is now your tray because you gave Jungkook the first one) and return to Jungkook munching on his breakfast happily. His hair is a mess and his eyes are still puffy, but he looks happy. And a lot less hungover. 

You get on bed next to him, halting in your attempt to eat when he stubs your arm with his fingers.

He is looking at you with the puppiest puppy eyes ever.

“Yes?” 

“Did I take your food?”

“No, I planned for both of us.”

“You can have more if you want to.”

“It’s perfect for me. Just eat, baby.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Eat, baby.”

Jungkook holds your hand, “thank you for this. And for last night. I really appreciate everything you do for me and I love spending time with you.”

“I love it too, baby.”

He squeezes your hand, “and I love you.”

“Wow, you.” You and he didn’t exchange the big L-word yet. “You really mean it?”

“I mean it. A lot.”

“Kook, wow. I love you too.”

[meanbossart]

So I've noticed you've been getting a lot of asks along the lines of "how do I make good porn like you?" and I just thought to add in my two cents, and if you agree with what I'm saying perhaps you could publish this and it might help others, if not feel free to just ignore xD

So first of all the fact that you're also a horror/gore artist adds to your skill, there's a lot of overlap between erotisim and horror in artwork because it involves being extremly familiar with anatomy and how the body moves, and in art, like a lot of things, you needs to know how something works before you know how to break it.

People also really don't appreciate how difficult horror is as a genre, it's not enough to draw someone covered in blood holding a knife, it's mood and lighting and expression, and these are also transferable skills to erotica as so much of what sells an image as erotic is everything happening around the people involved. Colour choices, the lines around the eyes, how you depict the shine of their sweat and saliva, all these little things are part of the greater whole.

Finally, I think when it comes to improving your craft when it comes to depicting erotica is that you have to make peace with the fact that the physical act of sex is wierd and gross when you look at it objectivly. You're in wierd, undignified positions, there's a lot of mucus involved, you're sweaty and red-faced, and if you're looking at it without your brain swimming in sexy hormones it's just kinda rediculous. I think once you get over that hump of "no, I have to try and make this as pretty and aesetic as possible" and reach "okay, sex is wierd and ugly IRL" you're able to start creating things that feel more real and seemingly paradoxically become able to create things that people find arousing, because it reads as 'true' to them.

Your art is beautiful and erotic because I can believe that these guys are sticky, covered in sweat and working hard to bring each other pleasure.

Like, IDK that's how I ended up being a fairly decent erotica author, you let go of the dreamy hollywood version of sex and embrace something a bit dirtier and closer to life. If you draw enough silly 'O' faces you'll eventually find one you like!

Anyway, I hope someone finds this helpful. Also the picture of Astarion with Cazador's skull is my new favourite, the way he's pushing his thumb into the eye as the head burns in the sunlight and the blood drips down is just... so powerful, I wanna print it out and stick it in my BG3 scrap folder xD

A really useful breakdown of what makes compelling erotica and/or effective pornography!

Not a disagreement perse, but I just want to clarify to anyone reading this that being familiar with horror and gory art isn't a necessary step in this process - it just so happens to have a lot of skill-overlap, like eyesofthrone said, making the transition from one to the other easier.

Thank you for doing this write-up, and I'm extremely flattered if you or anyone reading this finds my saucy art especially compelling for any of these reasons!

[luvfae]

CLEAN, PT 2

summary: after rehab, you reunite with thanos, sharing love, passion, and a fresh start together.

parings: thanos/choi su-bong x f!reader

warnings: mention of addiction, swearing, smut, oral (both receiving), fingering, handjob, unprotected sex (don’t be an idiot), p in v.

part 1

Three months ago, Thanos had dragged you—kicking, screaming, and cursing his name—into the same rehab facility where he had gotten clean.

Today, you were walking out.

With no family to pick you up (Thanos didn’t even know if you had any who cared), he was the one waiting.

Three excruciating months apart. He spent every day wondering if you hated him, if you were okay. But no calls from the facility meant you weren’t doing too bad. Meanwhile, you had spent those months drowning in withdrawal, fighting everyone who tried to help, refusing therapy—until eventually, you gave in. And for the first time in years, you felt normal. You started to remember the girl you used to be before the drugs took her away.

Then came the shame. The time lost. You should’ve graduated from art school by now, but instead, addiction had dictated your life. You regretted cutting off your family, pushing away friends until you had none left. You regretted how you had treated Thanos when all he ever did was try to save you.

And now, standing at the door, your hands trembled. Would anyone even be waiting for you?

Then—

“Y/N.”

You blinked.

Thanos.

You didn’t think. You just ran.

Throwing yourself at him, you hugged him so tightly it knocked the wind out of him. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, voice shaking. You pulled back slightly to look at him. “Thank you so much.”

“Don’t thank me,” he murmured, brushing away your tears.

“I didn’t deserve your help,” you admitted, pulling away completely. He caught your hands, grounding you. “I was so awful to you. I’m so, so sorry.”

“I know what it’s like to be an addict,” he replied. “Everyone deserves help.”

Sniffing, you wiped your eyes as he led you to his car.

It was strange. You had known Thanos for nine months, lived with him, had sex with him, and yet… you didn’t really know him. Your brain had been so fried on drugs you barely retained any information.

And Thanos was the same. He had taken care of you, paid for your rehab, seen you at your lowest, and yet he didn’t know who you were.

Maybe it was time to change that.

The car ride was quiet at first. You were still getting used to the feeling of sobriety, of being aware. But as the city passed by through the windows, you glanced at Thanos.

“I used to paint,” you blurted out.

He looked at you. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Before everything… I loved painting. I was good at it, too. I was supposed to graduate art school a few years ago. Art was my dream.”

Silence settled for a moment before you continued. “I had a good life. A good family. My parents weren’t perfect, but they cared. I had a future. And then I got caught up with the wrong people.” You swallowed. “I let it ruin me.”

Thanos tightened his grip on the wheel. “It’s not too late.”

You let out a small, breathy laugh. “You sound like my therapist.”

“Well, your therapist is right,” he said, glancing at you. “You’re clean now. You can start again.”

You didn’t reply, just watched the city blur past.

“What about you?” you asked. “How did you get into rapping?”

Thanos smirked slightly. “It was either rap or go to jail.”

Your brows furrowed, but you stayed quiet, waiting for him to explain.

“I was a street kid,” he said. “Grew up bouncing between different family members. No real home. I got into some bad shit—gangs, drugs, fights. Ended up locked up a few times as a teenager. But music…” He sighed, tapping his fingers against the wheel. “Music was my way out. I started writing lyrics in juvie. Got out, kept at it, got lucky. Somehow, I made it big.”

You stared at him, realizing this was the first real conversation you’d ever had. “Do you love it?”

Thanos was quiet for a beat. “Yeah. I do.”

You smiled softly. “I’d like to hear your songs sometime. Really hear them. Not just in the background while I’m high out of my mind.”

His lips quirked up. “I’d like that too.”

And for the first time in a long time, you both felt like you were finally getting to know each other.

Thanos had loved you before—loved you in your worst moments, through the chaos, the anger, the addiction. But this version of you? The version that was bright-eyed, passionate, full of life again? He loved this version even more.

As he stole glances at you in the passenger seat, he really saw you for the first time. Your cheeks had filled out, your skin looked healthier, your eyes were wide and alert instead of hazy and half-lidded. And that smile—soft, genuine, real.

You were beautiful.

He pulled into the driveway, and you blinked, tilting your head.

“This isn’t the place I remember,” you said, glancing up at the massive mansion in front of you.

Thanos shrugged. “Bought a new house while you were gone.” He put the car in park and looked over at you. “Wanted to leave the bad memories behind and make good ones here instead.”

You let out a small laugh. “House? More like a mansion.”

Thanos smirked, pushing open his door. “Being rich and famous has its perks.”

You stepped out after him, following him inside. The space was opulent—high ceilings, sleek furniture, stunning artwork lining the walls. You turned in slow circles, taking it all in.

“I’ll donate them to charity,” Thanos said.

You glanced at him, confused. “What?”

“The paintings,” he clarified. “I’d rather have your art on my walls.”

Your cheeks burned, and you ducked your head, kicking at the floor. “I haven’t picked up a paintbrush in years,” you admitted. “Not sure I even can anymore.”

Thanos smiled. “I bet you can.”

Before you could argue, he took your hand and led you up the grand staircase, past a few closed doors, before stopping in front of one. He pushed it open, revealing a bedroom with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the entire city.

“This is your room,” he said simply.

You stepped inside, breath catching. It was beautiful. Warm-toned, cozy, welcoming. He walked over to the closet and pulled open the doors, revealing racks of neatly hung designer clothes, tags still on them.

“I even got you a new wardrobe,” he added.

You stared at the clothes, shaking your head. “Thanos, this is too much,” you whispered. “After everything I put you through… You shouldn’t have to take care of me anymore.”

He turned to you, gaze steady. “I want to.”

His words sat heavy between you. No hesitation, no doubt.

For the first time in a long time, you felt happy.

Real, genuine happiness. The kind that made your stomach flip and your heart race.

Or maybe it wasn’t just happiness. Maybe it was something deeper, something terrifying in its intensity.

You stared at him, eyes brimming with tears. “Thank you.” Your voice was barely a whisper, afraid that if you spoke any louder, the moment would shatter.

Thanos met your gaze, unwavering. “You’re welcome.”

You stepped forward hesitantly. “I don’t remember a lot from when I was using,” you admitted. “But I remember you.”

His brows lifted slightly. “What do you remember?”

You swallowed hard. “I remember you force-feeding me when I refused to eat. Flushing my stash down the toilet. I remember screaming in your face, kicking holes in your walls.” A tear slipped down your cheek, but you kept going. “I remember sleeping with strangers, with your friends—right after you told me you loved me.” Your voice cracked. “I was horrible to you. But that wasn’t the real me. I swear.”

Thanos nodded, watching you carefully. “I know,” he said simply. “But there were good times too, right? You remember those?”

You did.

You remembered the way he’d tuck you in at night, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. The way he’d run a bath for you after you got sick all over yourself, holding you steady as he cleaned you up. The way he kissed you like he was willing to set the world on fire for you. The way he touched you, loved you, even when you were too far gone to truly feel it.

“I remember how you made me feel,” you whispered, stepping closer.

His lips parted, his breath hitching as your fingers traced up his chest.

“I remember your hands,” you murmured, voice turning sultry. “Your mouth. Your tongue. Your fingers.” Your hand slid lower, brushing over the hardening bulge in his jeans. “Your cock inside me.”

Thanos inhaled sharply as you pushed your palms against his chest.

You had spent weeks thinking about this—about fucking him sober. About feeling everything for the first time.

“You made me feel so good,” you purred. “So fucking good, Thanos.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “My real name is Su-bong,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

You smirked. “Well—Su-bong…” Your eyes darkened with intent. “Let me make it up to you. Let me show you how good I can be.”

That was all it took.

His lips crashed against yours, hungry and demanding, his hands gripping your waist as he backed you toward the bed. You gasped as the backs of your knees hit the mattress, and he wasted no time pushing you onto your back, peeling his shirt off in one swift motion and tossing it to the floor.

You sat up slightly, dragging your fingertips down his toned abdomen, your mouth practically watering at the sight of him.

He was already hard for you.

And this time, you were completely, devastatingly sober.

You dragged your nails down his chest, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch. His skin was warm, firm—real. For the first time, you were feeling him, not just through a hazy drug-fueled blur, but with a clarity that sent a shiver down your spine.

Thanos—Su-bong—looked down at you with dark, hooded eyes, his lips parted slightly as he took you in. “You’re teasing me,” he murmured, voice thick with desire.

You smirked, trailing your fingers lower, letting them ghost over the waistband of his jeans. “Maybe,” you mused. “I owe you, don’t I?”

His hands slid up your sides, rough palms skimming the soft fabric of the shirt he had given you months ago—the same one you had walked out of rehab in. Slowly, he peeled it up and over your head, letting it drop to the floor.

His gaze roamed over you, drinking in every inch of exposed skin, every little mark and scar. You weren’t the frail, hollow version of yourself anymore. You were whole.

“You’re beautiful,” he muttered, his fingers trailing over your ribs, then up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples. You let out a soft gasp, arching into his touch.

His mouth found your throat, lips pressing firm, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your neck. He sucked lightly at your pulse, dragging his teeth over the sensitive skin, making you shudder.

“Su-bong,” you breathed, threading your fingers through his hair.

He groaned at the way you said his name, his hands sliding down your body, squeezing at your waist, your hips, like he was memorizing the shape of you.

You tugged at the waistband of his jeans, undoing the button and pulling the zipper down, your fingers slipping inside to brush against the hard length beneath his boxers. He let out a sharp exhale, hips jerking forward slightly at your touch.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his forehead dropping against yours. “You really want this?”

You wrapped your fingers around him, squeezing just enough to make him curse under his breath. “More than anything,” you whispered.

His lips crashed against yours again, hungrier this time, his hands gripping your thighs as he pushed you back onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs. You gasped as he kissed his way down your body, his mouth hot and insistent against your skin.

When he reached the waistband of your jeans, he hooked his fingers into them, glancing up at you for permission.

You lifted your hips in response, breath hitching as he dragged them down, taking your panties with them, exposing you completely to him.

His eyes darkened, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip. “Fuck, baby,” he muttered, his voice thick with lust.

Then, without hesitation, he leaned down and devoured you.

His tongue flicked against your clit, slow and teasing, sending a jolt of pleasure through your core. Your fingers twisted into his hair, hips jerking instinctively, but he pinned you down with a firm grip on your thighs.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groaned against you, his breath hot, his voice thick with hunger. “Missed this pussy so much.”

A whimper slipped from your lips as he flattened his tongue and licked a long, slow stripe up your slit before sucking your clit into his mouth. Your back arched, thighs trembling, but just as the pleasure built, just as you felt yourself spiraling, you pushed at his shoulders.

Thanos pulled back, his mouth glistening, brows furrowing in confusion. “What?”

You took a shaky breath, trying to clear the haze of pleasure from your mind. “This is about you, not me,” you murmured, pushing yourself up on your elbows. “I’m paying you back.”

A slow, wicked grin spread across his face. “If it’s about me, then I should get to do what I want,” he countered, voice low, dangerous. “And what I want to do is fucking taste you.”

“Jesus Christ,” you breathed, heat surging through your body.

Before you could protest further, he dove back in, his tongue circling your clit while two fingers slid inside you, curling just right. A strangled moan tore from your throat, your hips bucking as he worked you open, relentless and precise.

It didn’t take long—he knew exactly how to unravel you, exactly how to have you gripping his hair and gasping his name. Your orgasm hit fast and hard, your body shaking as he held you down, licking you through every wave until you were panting, overstimulated.

Only then did he pull away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking so fucking smug.

“Fuck,” you muttered, still catching your breath. “I forgot how good you were at that. Feels even better sober.”

His smirk widened. “Unforgettable, baby.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. Pushing him onto his back, you straddled his hips, hands sliding up his chest, fingers teasing over his nipples before raking down his abs.

“My turn,” you whispered.

You kissed down his body, taking your time, nipping at his collarbones, sucking marks into his skin just to watch him tense beneath you. When you reached the waistband of his jeans, you tugged them down, freeing his cock, your mouth practically watering at the sight of him—thick, hard, already leaking.

You wrapped your fingers around him, stroking slow, teasing. His breath hitched, his head tipping back against the pillows.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his fingers curling into the sheets. “You gonna take care of me, baby?”

You leaned down, pressing a kiss to his tip, then dragged your tongue along his length, watching the way his stomach tensed beneath you.

“Of course,” you murmured, voice dripping with promise.

And then you took him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as he let out a deep, guttural moan, his hands flying to your hair.

Your tongue worked him slowly, dragging along every inch of his length, teasing just to hear him groan. You hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper, letting him hit the back of your throat, moaning around him just to feel the way he twitched in your mouth.

“Shit, baby,” Thanos growled, his fingers tightening in your hair. “Missed your mouth—so perfect, so fucking good for me.”

The praise only made you more eager. You bobbed your head, stroking the rest of him with your hand, slick and messy, making sure to keep your eyes on him. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his jaw clenched, his muscles tense as he fought to keep control.

But you didn’t want him to be in control.

You pulled off him with a lewd pop, kissing up his abs as you moved to straddle his waist. His cock was hard, flushed, throbbing against your soaked folds as you rubbed against him, teasing both of you.

“Hey,” he hissed, gripping your hips. “Quit teasing.”

You smirked, leaning down to kiss him, slow and deep, your fingers threading into his hair. “You always take care of me,” you whispered against his lips. “Let me take care of you now.”

Without breaking eye contact, you reached down, guiding him to your entrance before sinking down onto him in one slow, delicious slide. Both of you gasped at the sensation, your walls stretching around him, molding to him perfectly like you were made for this.

“Jesus,” Thanos groaned, his head tipping back, fingers digging into your hips as he tried not to lose himself completely.

“You feel so good,” you breathed, placing your hands on his chest, rolling your hips slowly, savoring the way he filled you so perfectly. “So fucking good, Su-bong.”

His eyes snapped open at the sound of his real name on your lips, dark and wild with lust. He sat up suddenly, wrapping an arm around your waist, his mouth latching onto your neck, sucking bruises into your skin as you continued moving, grinding against him, taking him deeper.

You moaned, clinging to his shoulders, kissing him desperately, your tongues tangling, the pleasure building between you like a fire. “Thank you,” you whispered against his lips, rocking faster, harder. “Thank you for saving me. For never giving up on me.”

A low growl rumbled in his chest as he flipped you onto your back, keeping you pinned beneath him, his hips snapping against yours, hitting deeper, harder.

“You’re mine,” he muttered between kisses, his voice rough, possessive. “Always fucking mine.”

“Yours,” you gasped, nails raking down his back, legs wrapping around him to pull him even closer. “Only yours.”

His pace turned desperate, his thrusts brutal yet somehow still so full of love, his forehead pressing against yours, his hand slipping between you to rub your clit, determined to drag you over the edge with him.

And when you came—hard, clenching around him, gasping his name like a prayer—he followed right after, burying himself deep, groaning into your mouth as he filled you, his entire body shuddering against yours.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, tangled together in the aftermath, your breathing heavy, your hearts racing in sync.

Then Thanos kissed you again, softer this time, lingering. “I still love you,” he murmured against your lips. “I always have.”

You smiled, brushing your fingers through his damp hair. “I think I love you too.”

And when he pulled you into his arms, holding you close like he never wanted to let go, you knew—you meant it.

You lay there for a while, tangled up in each other, your skin slick with sweat, his breath warm against your neck. The weight of him felt comforting, grounding, like you never wanted him to move.

But eventually, you stirred, pressing a soft kiss to his temple before slipping out of his arms.

“Where are you going?” Thanos mumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion.

You giggled, running a hand through his messy hair. “Relax, I’m just grabbing a towel.”

You padded to the bathroom, your legs still wobbly, but you didn’t care. You cleaned yourself up before wetting a towel, you returned to the bed, settling beside him as you began to clean him up, running the cloth over his stomach, down between his legs, gentle and careful.

Thanos watched you, his expression soft, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your thigh. “You don’t have to do that,” he murmured.

“I want to,” you replied, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Let me take care of you for once.”

He huffed out a small laugh, letting you do as you pleased, though his hands never stopped touching you—gliding over your arm, your waist, like he needed the reassurance that you were still here.

When you were done, you tossed the towel aside, crawling back into his embrace, peppering kisses along his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

Thanos smirked. “You’re in a good mood.”

“I think you fucked the happiness into me,” you teased, making him chuckle before he suddenly rolled you onto your back, hovering over you, nuzzling into your neck.

You giggled, your hands slipping into his hair, tugging him up so you could kiss him properly. Slow, lazy, sweet.

After a while, you pulled back just enough to look at him, brushing his damp hair from his face. “Thank you for the room,” you said softly. “But… I think I’d rather share a bed with you, if that’s okay?”

He pressed a lingering kiss to your lips, his thumb stroking your cheek. “That’s more than okay,” he murmured. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You smiled, burying your face in his chest, and for the first time in years, you felt home.

You still had a long road ahead—staying clean, rebuilding bridges with your family, reenrolling in art school. But those were worries for another day.

For now, you stayed wrapped in Thanos’ arms, making up for lost time, showering him with the love you should have given him all along.

[littl3-b1ngo]

Here i go! My fictional caregivers are Howdy Pillar from Welcome home and Sun and Moon from fnafsb!!

First i'll start talking about Howdy Pillar

When i started with age regression and saw him, i inmediately thought he would be a great caregiver. He's busy cause of his work but he would have coloring books/books for kids to entertain you! Also grocery store/food toys for you to pretend that you're also working on the store!

And he haves four arms, so he could carry you when you're sleepy while he works.

And i like to think that his store haves a second floor where is his house, and he keeps a box with stuff like pacifiers, bottles, etc... Just in case you suddenly regress.

Now is time for sun and Moon!

I dont think i need to explain to much, they work on a daycare!! I dont think they would ask you for any explanations if you tell them you're an age regressor, they would be like "you're my new friend now, we're going to play :3"

Sundrop would love playing around with you and do arts n crafts, drawing, or even a bubble party when you guys blow bubbles or use those bubble machines and try to poke all of them

With moondrop is more calm and cozy, he would give you neon stick bracelets and probably prepare you some hot milk, very yummy :3 and he will tell you bedtime stories and probably use shadow puppets to tell you the stories. Oh, and also use those nightlights with little stars and play music for you to go to sleep

Thats all!! Thank you for listening!!🐾🍼

If you don't have a fictional caregiver, just share wif me your fav plushie 💖

[moxanji-real]

Hey guys!! Moxie here with another Moxanji masterpiece to gush over! I’m absolutely sobbing over how adorable this commission turned out. Hand kisses are the most romantic gesture ever, and I couldn’t resist commissioning some art of Sanji kissing my hand! Like, he kisses my hand every day, and I just had to get an art piece showing us in our daily routine of romance!

Every single time his lips touch my hand, my face turns beet red, and I just can’t stop swooning. He’s such a romantic dreamboat! AHHH, I love him so much, I can’t even! And don’t even get me started on the way he’s looking at me in this piece—that soft, intense gaze? I’m done. Completely obliterated. Hand kisses + eye contact = my ultimate kryptonite. My heart is bursting!

Anyways, I just had to share this with you all because I can’t stop staring at it. Huge thanks to hunaksseo on Crepe—their art is everything, and I’m absolutely in love with their work!

Enjoy the Moxanji 🤧💞

Tag list: (you can ask to be added or removed at any time) ^^

@100shark @herrling @strawberriemalk @vergils-beloved @katanahusband @mr12xu @zoroscanonhusband @a-sasi-selfshipper @brutally-loving @fl0ralsxgar @mahitosoulmate @frankys-wife @lances-wife @flusteredladylover @starshakez @pigeonbksimp @multiversal-selfshipper @lady-mole @starlos-soulmate @literally-just-there

[scary-grace]

sips drink. I am going to need. [ ring ] for shigraki

Thank you for the prompt! As usual, I went a little berserk with it, and there is. so much smut in this. If you're not a fan/this is not the vibe, let me know and I'll write you a different one, or do a better job with your other prompts! 9k, AU with demons, succubus!reader, tons of smut. If you're a big fan of super dominant Tomura, this is not the fic for that. MDNI + thanks to @dogblessyoutascha for beta-reading on short notice and putting up with tons of yapping and fic about this guy.

wanted (if you want me)

a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You're a down-on-your-luck succubus who just got rejected by the guy who summoned you, and you can't go back to Hell until you find somebody else's soul to steal. Shigaraki Tomura, reeling from a Valentine's Day rejection of his own, is the perfect victim. Or so you think. (cross-posted to Ao3)

“Sorry,” the guy who just summoned you says, sitting back from the pentagram he’s drawn on the floor with a frown. “You’re not my type.”

“I’m – what?” You feel stupid, which isn’t how you’re supposed to feel. You’re a demon, and a mortal’s just summoned you. You should feel powerful and lawless, not embarrassed. Not rejected. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re not my type,” the guy says again. He gestures awkwardly at you. “I was hoping for somebody – more.”

“Did you want a guy or something?” you ask. You cross your arms over your chest. Your clothes are barely worthy of the title, and you don’t want this guy seeing your nipples if he’s not even into them. “If you wanted a guy, you should have summoned an incubus. It’s not my fault you can’t read.”

“I like girls,” the guy snaps at you, rather than addressing the fact that you just called him a moron. “You were supposed to look like this.”

He picks up the grimoire he was reading the incantation out of and holds it up to you. It must be a new edition of the same old grimoire, because the last version of it you saw didn’t include illustrations. The illustration in question is a demon, identifiable as such by her horns and tail, but she looks about as much like you as you do like an angel straight from Heaven’s hideous art-deco gates. She’s got the kind of proportions that don’t work on Earth or in Hell – tiny waist, enormous breasts, ass that needs its own zip code, and her outfit is so tiny that you can see her nipples and her clit through it. And then there’s the face she’s making, straight out of some seedy erotic magazine, with blown-out pupils and open mouth and a delicate flush across her cheeks, all ready to be ruined.

Your outfit is skimpy, sure, but not that skimpy. You have the parts you need, but they aren’t that exaggerated, and if you tried that stupid expression, you’re pretty sure your face would melt off. If this is what this mortal expected, of course he’s disappointed to have gotten you.

His disappointment isn’t your problem, and now you’re in a mood. “Let me get this straight. You summoned a succubus – a sex demon from the depths of Hell – to fulfill your fantasies, and you’ve decided that now’s the time to get picky.”

“I’m not being picky,” he says. “Girls like you don’t do it for me. Can’t you send somebody else?”

“Sorry. All my sisters are seducing hotter mortals than you.” You feel a surge of pleasure at the way the man flinches. Guys like these – when they summon a succubus, they’re always thinking about the sex part, not the part where you’re a demon. “They took one look at you and decided I was all you deserved, and you know what? I don’t think you deserve me, either.”

“Well, I don’t want you, so –”

“In fact,” you continue, rising to your feet and internally cursing the fact that you decided to materialize in fuck-me heels, “I don’t think you deserve to get laid ever again.”

The mortal blanches. “What?” he demands, taking a step back as you step forward out of the pentagram. “You can’t leave the circle unless I say.”

“You really should look into those reading lessons. You’ll have a lot of time on your hands.” You were just going to lay the curse, but you decide that’s not enough. You nail him in the balls with a sharp kick, and as he doubles over, you speak, your voice crackling with the fires of Hell. “May your erections always wither, no matter how much porn you watch or how many drugs you take. May you disappoint every lover you take to your bed, and may that bed lie as cold and empty as the grave where they’ll bury your impotent corpse.”

It's a pretty good curse, if you say so yourself. “You bitch,” the mortal spits, but you snap your fingers and seal his fate. You know the moment the curse settles over him. You see the despair in his eyes. “Take it back!”

“No,” you say. You grasp his chin in one hand and lean in close, so close that your breath huffs out against his lips. You scraped your tongue for this guy. He deserves all this and more. “I’ll see you in Hell.”

His eyes roll up in his head and he collapses to the floor. You step over his unconscious form and survey the apartment you’ve found yourself in, dingy and filthy and smelling unpleasantly of human body odor. This is the kind of mortal who thought it was wise to reject you, just because you didn’t exactly resemble the absurd sketch in his grimoire. This is the kind of mortal who thought you weren’t good enough for him. Your lower lip begins to tremble, no matter how hard you sink your sharp teeth into it, and sulfuric tears begin to leak from your eyes. You were so excited to be summoned, so hopeful that you could do a good job for once. Now you just want to go home.

But you can’t. When you try to dematerialize and let Hell call you back, you can’t, and you realize why not in the same second as you realize that you didn’t curse that human nearly hard enough. You were summoned to this world to serve a purpose – to fuck some mortal so hard that they’ll sell you their soul – and until you serve that purpose, you’re trapped here. You need to find a mortal to sleep with, immediately. And you can’t go out looking like this.

You ransack the mortal’s apartment. None of his street clothes are anything you’d be caught exorcised wearing, but he has a long coat that he probably thinks makes him look mysterious and cool. You shrug it on, noting that it covers your skimpy outfit while still providing easy access to your body when it’s time to take it off, and keep searching, in case there’s anything else you can use. Money, as it happens – this human has a bank account and credit cards, and even unconscious, it’s all too easy to read his mind for the PIN. You pocket all of it, hide your demon form with a glamour, then leave the apartment door wide open on your way out.

As soon as you hit the street, though, you realize that you have an even bigger problem than you thought. You assumed it was some featureless winter evening, the kind where a bored, lonely mortal has nothing better to do than flip through a grimoire and get himself into trouble, but every storefront you look at is decorated with hearts. Every mortal you pass on the street is on someone else’s arm, or carrying flowers, or making out in the glow of a streetlight. It’s Valentine’s Day. You’re fucked.

Contrary to what humans like the idiot who summoned you think, Valentine’s Day isn’t actually about sex. Sex is a side effect of what Valentine’s Day is really about, which is romance. It’s about love and soulmates and tenderness and affection and forever, which is exactly nothing you know anything about. Succubi and incubi exist on the dark side of all of that, in its nasty, sleazy, prurient shadow. You don’t court, you seduce. You don’t make love, you fuck. You don’t show people the face of God, or whatever that dumb-ass musical says; you show them the gates of Hell and walk them through. Seducing a random mortal is a tall order for you on a given day. Seducing one on Valentine’s Day is going to be damn near impossible.

You feel tears welling up again and blink them back. Crying over rejection from a filthy, useless mortal was bad enough. Demons shouldn’t feel that kind of pain, and if they do, they shouldn’t wallow in it. Demons get the job done. And it’s not totally hopeless, when you force yourself to be honest about it. For all the mortals who are happily coupled, there are plenty who aren’t, and if the mortal who summoned you is anything to judge by, some of them aren’t averse to a little salacious, damnation-worthy fun.

As far as places to find single humans go, you’re spoiled for choice; while all the restaurants have Valentine’s Day specials for mortals out on a date with their special someone, it seems as though every club or bar is advertising an event for singles. You peer into a few bars, but none of them strike you as having the right mood. Most of them carry a pathetic air of hopefulness, as if the humans within believe they really might find someone to love tonight of all nights. You don’t need hopefulness. You need desperation. You need a human so lonely and desperate that they won’t question why a stranger wants to fuck them. If you were attractive in your human guise, you’d have a better shot, but apparently you aren’t. Only a human who’s truly desperate would go for you.

Finally you come across a bar where the mood seems a little more appropriate. Some sort of singles event is winding down as you come in, and you sense the despair beginning to set in. Most of the humans here could easily pair up with one of the others if they were willing to alter their standards, but humans have gotten entitled these days, and they all think they deserve a partner who matches their ideals. They cling to that fiction even as the mood in the bar worsens. They don’t need to settle. They’re holding out for true love.

Pathetic. You square your shoulders and wade into the mix.

The gender of your target doesn’t matter to you. It doesn’t even matter if they’re willing to sell their soul tonight – once you’ve fucked them, you can come back as many times as it takes for them to give it over. But even with your criteria broadened, you’re having trouble. As you search through the humans, tasting the flavor of their emotions every time you brush against one, you don’t find a single one who feels the way you need them to.

You taste sadness. Loneliness. Despair. Resignation or acceptance – sometimes they’re hard to tell apart. A few strange humans have even found refuge in faith, some idiosyncratic hope that they’ll find what they’re meant to find when the time is right, as if God has time to ordain such stupid things. On another night, you’d take pleasure in crushing their hopes, but your own hopes of getting out of here are sinking by the second. You need a human. Any human will do.

But just as you’re resigning yourself to seduce a woman, one whose loneliness carries just the faintest tinge of despair, you’re hit with a wave of exactly what you’ve been looking for. Not just despair, but disappointment. Not just loneliness, but hurt. Not just resignation, but frustration and embarrassment, at feeling hurt and disappointed and finding themselves here at all. You turn away from the woman without ever drawing her attention to you and follow the thread of rejection through the bar to a booth in the corner, where a mortal sits alone.

Along with the relief of finding a target at last, the first feeling that crosses your mind is surprise.  This isn’t the sort of mortal you’d expect to find alone on Valentine’s Day, just based on his looks alone – almost-delicate facial features, long white hair, a frame that’s broad-shouldered yet lithe, observable even when he’s seated. As you get closer, you see a birthmark below the corner of his mouth, scars over his mouth and eye, and long lashes framing his crimson eyes. This mortal is pretty. Some of your sisters don’t care what their targets look like, but you like your mortal men pretty.

The mortal looks up as you come to the edge of his table. He seems as surprised to see you as you are to see him. “You’re late to the party.”

“Apparently not, since you’re here. Do you mind if I sit down? My feet are hurting in these shoes.”

He looks down at your shoes, and just like you were hoping, his eyes trace upwards, over your bare ankle to your calf to your knee before it disappears beneath your stolen coat. “Go ahead,” he says. “There’s room.”

There’s plenty of room, but you sit down next to him anyway, your leg pressed against his. You feel him startle, feel him go tense, and decide it’s worth drawing attention to. “Did I scare you?”

“No,” he says, but you can hear his heart beginning to race. “Just wondering if this is a setup or something. People like you don’t usually want anything to do with people like me.”

“People like me?” you say. You turn towards him, elbow propped on the table, chin propped in your hand. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb,” your mortal says. “Looks like yours, there’s no way you’re single.”

You can’t imagine this mortal’s self-deprecating angle working on anyone, but the compliment makes you glow ever so slightly. “Strange. I was thinking the same about you.”

Your mortal doesn’t glow. He blushes. “Don’t lie.”

“Would I lie?” Yes, frequently and gleefully – but not right now. “You’re gorgeous.”

He scoffs, averts his eyes, but his heart’s beating faster. It’s cute, and since he’s opened this door, you might as well walk through. Time for a little touching. You start with the scar above his eye. “I like this, and this –” you trace the scar, then tuck a few strands of white hair behind his ear, letting your fingers graze across his cheek and down to his jaw before reaching the scar over his mouth. “And this –”

He speaks while your fingers are still against his lips. “Careful.”

“I’m being really careful,” you promise. You run your fingers over his mouth again, slow and teasing, then turn your attention to the birthmark. “And I like this. It really completes the picture. Whoever rejected you tonight, they were out of their mind.”

“I could say the same about whoever rejected you.” Your mortal’s hand brushes against your knee, then drifts away, and you shiver ever so slightly. You like this mortal. It’s always easier when you like them. “I saw you watching the rest of them. Why did you pick me?”

“Like I said, you’re gorgeous,” you say, and shrug. The shrug presses you a little closer against him, and you don’t pull back. “And you looked like you were having the same kind of night as I am. I thought we could make each other feel better.”

He gives you a skeptical look, but the flush in his cheeks gives him away. Oh, you like this one. Even if he gives you his soul tonight, you’ll come back to visit him at least a few more times. “How do you think we can do that?”

“By giving each other what we want,” you say. “Don’t you get tired of having to play a part, to be what someone else expects you to be, and never have your desires fulfilled? I could give you that.”

He scoffs. “You think you know what my desires are?”

“You’d tell me,” you murmur. “That’s the point.”

Your mortal’s skepticism doesn’t fade, but neither does his blush. “What about what you want? I don’t buy for a second that it’s just to sleep with me.”

The question gives you pause. It’s not one you’ve thought of before. Succubi don’t have sexual desires, really – your goal is always to seduce your target, which means it’s all about what your target wants. You aren’t very good at your job, but you’ve put up with all sorts of things, doing them or having them done to you, if it means the mortal you’re fucking will hand over their soul. What you want, personally, doesn’t factor in even slightly. What do you want from this mortal? You don’t know.

“You don’t know,” your mortal says, as though you’ve spoken aloud. His hand brushes against your leg again, settles there. “I’ll help you find out.”

“Only if you tell me what you want,” you insist, as he brushes your coat aside and finds your leg bare. His fingertips are dry and rough as they trail over your skin, brushing the inside of your thigh. “Oh –”

“Too much?” he asks. There’s an almost wicked glint in his eye.

You feel your own heart pick up the pace. This will be a challenge. You like a challenge. “Answer my question first. Every time you answer, you can move your hand.”

“I want you.”

“Wrong answer.” You close your legs, not that they were that far apart in the first place. You’re not easy. “I asked about your unfulfilled desires, and you just met me today. I can’t be the only thing you want.”

“Mm.” Your mortal makes a dissatisfied noise. Even as he leaves his hand in place, you see an awkwardness settle over him – nerves, or something like it. For such a gorgeous mortal, he’s an interesting contradiction. “I want – to be out of control.”

“Out of control?” You won’t open your legs just yet. “Tell me more.”

“You were right about me. I’m always doing what others want. I always have to be in control. I want to be outside my own control,” your mortal says. He can’t meet your eyes, and the flush in his cheeks looks almost uncomfortable. When you lean in to kiss it, his skin is hot beneath your lips. “I want someone else to –”

“Praise you? Worship you? Pleasure you until you can barely think?” You know you’ve got him by the sharp intake of breath, by the way he startles. “That would be my pleasure, too.”

You part your legs enough to free his hand, and his fingers, shaking slightly, work their way up the inside of your thigh. “What else?” you ask. “Be specific.”

“I want whatever you can give me.” He turns his head, looking away, which is an error on his part; it leaves his neck exposed, and you lean in to kiss it, feeling his pulse jump and race. “If I tell you it’s too much, I want you to give me more.”

“That was a good answer.” You part your legs a little further, and he takes it as the invitation it is. “Anything else?”

“I want to do the same to you,” your mortal says, and your face flushes. “It’s only fair. If you get to ruin me, I get to ruin you.”

Ruining him calls to mind all sorts of things, acts you’ve performed for other mortals by rote, acts you want nothing more than to perform for him, and the thought overwhelms you enough that you miss what he’s doing with his hand between your legs until he’s touching you, tracing your clit through the thin fabric. You realize with some degree of horror that you’re wet, and worse, that even his delicate touch has you spreading your legs wider. While you weren’t paying attention, your mortal made a bid for the upper hand, and he almost got it.

Not quite, though. You renew your efforts on his neck, feeling him shudder. You’ll do as he asks, as he desires – but not until he begs you, out loud, to give him what he needs. He shifts, squirms, in response to your attentions to his neck, much as you’re doing with his hand between your legs. “Mutual ruination,” you muse. “That sounds like a plan to me.”

Your hand’s been trapped at your side. You work it free and slip it behind his head, tangling your fingers in his hair. Then you turn him back to face you, drinking in the sight of him for a moment before you lean in to kiss him. The only way your mortal’s never had his desires fulfilled is if he’s never voiced them. You can’t imagine anyone looking at him, seeing him like this, and denying him what he wants.

Most mortals you’ve seduced lose patience with kissing quickly. The kind of mortals who summon a succubus only have one thing on their mind, but your mortal doesn’t know what you are. He kisses you eagerly, if inexpertly, and it’s only right for you to reward his enthusiasm. Besides, there’s something about kissing him that feels right, too right for the unholiness of what you are. If being with a mortal feels this good, you’re probably doing it wrong.

What does it matter? As long as you sleep with him, you’ll be free to return home. You’re a demon. Wrongness and rightness don’t factor in. You kiss your mortal carefully, paying some mind to the sharpness of your teeth and the delicateness of his skin. He’s less careful with his teeth. They nick your lip and blood wells out, and he licks it away without a moment’s hesitation. That flick of his tongue makes you consider other places it might belong, and you catch your breath. Or maybe it’s because he’s tugged your underwear aside to touch you directly, and you can no longer ignore the way he makes you feel.

You lean back, struggling to clear your head. A thought crosses your mind. “What’s your name?”

“Tomura.” Your mortal’s crimson eyes are dilated with want, the desperation you were so drawn to evident across his face. “Please –”

You kiss him again, and as he begins to finger you in earnest, stroking your clit and dipping his fingers shallowly inside you, you untangle your fingers from his hair and trace the inside of his thigh. Tomura startles at your touch, but spreads his legs at once, and your head spins with want. “How long have you wanted this?” you murmur against his lips. “Tell me.”

“Eternity.” Tomura twitches as you brush your hand over his groin before returning to toy with his thigh again. “But it’s not what they want me for. Nobody asked what I wanted until you.”

“Then they were missing out.” You bite back a gasp as Tomura sinks two fingers inside you, curling them just so, but his touch is only half the reason – the other half is the thought that you’re the first to see him this way, the only one to see him this way. “If they could see how pretty you are like this –”

“Do you want them to?”

“No,” you decide at once. You brush your hand over his groin again, noting how tightly his pants are stretched over his hardening cock. “I want you all to myself.”

His body jerks, craning upwards into your touch. “Now,” he says, almost demands. “I need it now.”

“People could see,” you warn. “If they walk by, they’ll know we’re up to something. Do you care about that?”

“Yes,” Tomura says, and you run your thumb over the tip of his cock through his pants. His body jerks, and you do it again. Again. “Fuck –”

“We can leave whenever you want,” you say, even as your body tenses around his fingers. You feel wound tight, your legs shaking from the strain, your lungs feeling as though they can’t hold on to even a single whisper of air. Mortals have choked you before while you’re seducing them and it’s never been like this. “Tell me to stop and we’ll go.”

Tomura doesn’t tell you to stop. You undo his belt, unzip his pants, and the instant your hand closes around his cock, he moans, loud enough to attract attention if anyone from the failed singles event is still around. He’s embarrassed by it – you can tell – but he doesn’t tell you to stop, and you keep stroking his cock. “So pretty,” you say, your voice catching as the heel of his hand presses against your clit. “Does that feel good? Let me make you feel even better.”

You grasp his wrist and pull his hand from between your legs, thankful for the reprieve. Tomura tastes his fingers, savoring them in a way that makes you feel almost awkward. “I wasn’t done.”

“No, but you’re about to make a mess.” You give a pointed glance down at his cock, which is oozing enough precum to stain his underwear. “I’ll be right back.”

There’s plenty of space for you under the table, and better yet, you’re out of sight, which means Tomura can’t see your reaction to the way he spreads his legs for you. And you haven’t vanished a moment too soon. You can hear footsteps approaching, and you sit forward and take his cock in your mouth just as the newcomers arrive.

“You sure you need this whole booth when you’re by yourself?” whoever it is asks. You hear Tomura start to answer, but you suck lightly on the tip of his cock, forcing him to bite back a curse. “What is your problem?”

“No problem,” Tomura grunts. You put your tongue to use, tracing it over his tip as you wrap your hand around the rest of his length. “Fuck – fuck off. There are other places to sit.”

The newcomer might say something else, but you can’t hear it around your own heartbeat thudding in your ears. Tomura wants you. He wants you so badly that he’s letting you blow him in public, that he won’t tell you to stop even when the two of you might be caught. The instant the other mortal leaves, you’re cradling his balls in your free hand, then sliding your hand a little further to press against his taint. Tomura’s entire body jerks and trembles. “Careful,” he forces out between gasps of air. “I’m going to – come –”

You wish you weren’t under the table, even if being under the table is necessary to contain the mess. You wish you could see Tomura’s face as his composure shatters, as he tries and fails to thrust upwards into your mouth and spills a ridiculous amount of cum down your throat. But he’s not quite out of control, not yet, and if you’re going to steal his soul, you really should give him what he wants first. You keep stroking his cock even as the shaking subsides, your tongue still dragging over his tip. He hasn’t gone soft just yet. You’re kind of impressed.

You’re impressed, too, with how he holds out. You know you’re overstimulating him, but he hasn’t told you to stop yet. And he asked you to keep going even if he told you it was too much. Still, you don’t like the idea of hurting your mortal. You renew your efforts, employing all the tricks you’ve learned to keep mortal men hanging on your every move, and to your shock, Tomura comes again. This time he’s almost sobbing, and you draw back at once, climbing out from under the table to check on your handiwork.

There are scratches in the couch cushions and on the tabletop, and both the napkins that were on the table have been crumpled out of existence. Tomura looks wrecked. He’s been yanking at the collar of his shirt, running his hands through his hair, and his face is flushed and sweaty. His eyes are blurred, and he’s still breathing hard, but when you lean in to kiss him, he obliges instantly. He’s unsteady, and yet there’s a strange hunger in the way he kisses you, a hunger that takes yours and amplifies it in a way you can’t quantify, let alone guard against. You find yourself melting into his touch, needing closeness, needing contact. And he gives it to you.

You’ve only just settled into a languid pace, your hands in his hair and his arms wrapped firmly around your waist, when someone smacks a server’s tray down on the table and startles you out of it. It’s the bartender. “Do you mind?” she demands, her face red. “This isn’t that kind of place! Take it outside.”

That’s fine with you. A little PDA is one thing, but whatever happens next between you and Tomura, you want privacy for it. You start to slide out of the booth, but Tomura won’t let you. He kisses you again, and you realize he’s giving himself cover to button his pants. But as long as you’re here – “What did I just say?” the bartender explodes. “Get out!”

You and Tomura stumble out onto the street, and the instant the door shuts behind you, Tomura pins you against it to kiss you again. “Does that feel good?” he asks, the same question you asked him earlier. You didn’t give him a chance to answer, and he doesn’t give you one, either. “Let’s go somewhere. You’re not the only one who doesn’t like to share.”

“Where should we go?” you ask. “I’d rather not go to a love hotel. Your place?”

He hesitates for a moment. “My place. Come on.”

You kiss on the train platform, mostly to keep out the cold, but on the train, you find yourself simply looking at Tomura, talking to him. You find out that he got rejected tonight, too, and came to the bar to mope about it. “They’re nothing. Their opinions don’t matter,” he says. Even his disdain sounds like yours. “That doesn’t change how it feels.”

“I know,” you say. You lean against him, your head on his shoulder, your left hand intertwined with his right. “My – date – said I wasn’t his type, then showed me this ridiculous drawing –”

“May his dick shrivel up and fall off,” Tomura says matter-of-factly, and you find yourself giggling. “If you aren’t enough for him, he doesn’t deserve to have any at all. Still –”

He trails off. “His loss, my gain.”

“You’re just saying that because I blew you.”

Tomura snorts. “Don’t be stupid. You asked what I wanted. Nobody’s ever asked me that. That’s not what I’m for.”

“What do you mean?” you ask. He doesn’t strike you as a sex worker – he’s too earnest, too vulnerable, in how he responds to you for it to be his day job. He shrugs, shakes his head. “I think you’re for whatever you want to be for. That’s how you are to me.”

His grip on your hand tightens for a moment, then loosens again, fingers tangling with yours. A strange spark, like an electric shock, ripples across your hand, and you look down to see an odd shadow around your ring finger. That wasn’t there before, but then again, you’ve never spent this long in the mortal world without fulfilling your purpose. “What about you?” Tomura asks. “Why don’t you know what you want?”

“I never thought about it before.” Some of your sisters enjoy their jobs, but it’s always felt like a job to you. Something to get through, so you can go home. “It hasn’t really mattered.”

“It matters now,” Tomura says. “When we get back to my place, I’ll show you.”

Tomura’s place is in a downtown high-rise, the third floor from the top of the building, and he gives you long enough to finally step out of your awful shoes before he peels you out of your jacket. For a single moment you’re convinced you’re about to see the same reaction as the mortal who summoned you, but instead Tomura’s eyes travel slowly over your form, lingering in every place you’d expect and a few places you didn’t. “This picture he showed you,” he says. “The one he thought was better than you. What did it look like?”

“Uh –” Where do you start, really? “The proportions were totally off. Its waist was tiny, and its breasts were huge –”

“Huh.” Tomura’s hands are at your waist, running over the curve from torso to hip and back with a firm, steady touch. One stays there, but the other migrates upwards, cupping your breast through your scant clothing. “What else?”

“It had this stupid outfit on. Like, way smaller than mine. You could see everything,” you say. Tomura’s thumb brushes over your nipple, then comes back to circle it, and heat begins to pool in your lower abdomen. “It barely covered her nipples – or her clit. It just looked kind of – I mean, I can hang in there with the best of them, but –”

Your voice catches. Tomura’s hand slides from your waist down between your legs, stroking your clit with his middle finger. His touch is featherlight, compared to the way he’s playing with your nipple, pinching and tugging it, making you squirm. “What else?” he prompts.

“The stupid face she was making. It was straight out of a porno – like, one of the really cheap ones. What some guy who’s never seen a woman come before would –” You startle as Tomura’s fingers slip further between your legs, then sink easily into you. “Tomura –”

“This drawing sounds like a fucking mess,” Tomura says. He reaches down and grasps your thigh, hiking your leg up around his waist and leaving you even more exposed for him. “I want to see the real thing.”

He wants you to come for him. You know how to fake a convincing orgasm – or an unconvincing one, depending on the target – but you don’t want to fake for Tomura. You promised him he can have what he wants, and he wants this, you. Your chest goes tight. “I don’t know if I can, like this.”

“I’ve got lots of ideas.” Tomura kisses you, and that need to melt into him resurfaces, even as your body responds to his onslaught. “Show me.”

You try to keep kissing him, but you can’t. Your legs are shaking again, and it’s hard to breathe, and you have to draw back to gasp for air. Somewhere in the back of your mind is the thought that this isn’t how it’s supposed to happen, that something went wrong in your seduction of this mortal if he’s the one trying to please you, but it’s stifled by other, more pressing matters. The heat flooding through you, the awful and yet indescribable exposure of your legs spread this way, Tomura’s hand anchoring you so you can’t pull back off his fingers until he’s done with you.

Or until you’re done with him. You come hard enough to blur your vision, hard enough that your legs almost give out, and Tomura keeps his fingers inside you until your twitching and squirming subsides. When he draws them back, you can see that his hand is soaked. He brings them to his mouth to taste them again, and you spot a shadow around his fourth finger. It can’t hold your attention for long. “That was good,” he decides. “But I want to see more.”

“More?” Your voice is shaky, and you’re hanging onto Tomura for dear life. “What do you mean?”

“You said I could have what I wanted,” Tomura reminds you. “This way.”

You follow him down the hall on shaky legs, into a bedroom with an enormous bed. Finally. You’re not getting into bed with Tomura still wearing your horrible outfit, so you peel it off, then turn to help him with his clothes. You undress him slowly, kissing every inch of skin you uncover, trying to regain some of your lost composure. But it’s hard to compose yourself when there’s so much of him to explore, to praise. So pretty, so noisy, so needy even when there’s no need for it – because you want him to have what he wants, and you want to be the one who gives it to him. The only one who gives it to him.

And that’s what you find yourself murmuring, as you guide him down to the bed to lie on his stomach, as you brush his long hair aside to kiss his back and his shoulders. I have what you need. Everything you need. You’re mine.

Tomura’s breathing turned quick and shallow a while ago, worse as you kiss the small of his back, the arch of his hip. He stirs beneath you. “I want to see more,” he says. “On your back.”

He’ll fuck you now, and he’ll come, and then you can finally go home. You spread your legs, leaving room for him to settle between them, and he does – much further down than you expected. He anchors your hips to the bed before you can stop him, holding you down with strong hands as he lowers his head between your thighs. The way his hair brushes against them tickles. The marks he leaves on them are oversensitive, making your legs twinge long before his tongue drags over your clit, and you wonder how you’ll explain the marks when you get back to Hell. How you’ll explain the fact that this mortal seduced you almost as skillfully as you seduced him.

Tomura eats you out messily, enthusiastically, until you’re arching your back and thrashing in his grip. The heat of his mouth against you, the pressure of his tongue against your clit or the way it feels when he licks inside of you – it all feels almost sinful. Too good for you to have, too good to want more of, too good not to beg him to keep going. You can barely manage to praise him for it, but when you do, his grip on your hips tightens and he grinds against the mattress. It’s wrong. There’s something wrong, and you want it so badly, and for the first time, you understand a little bit of why humans are so quick to sell their souls.

Tomura makes you come once, then a second time while you’re still trying to recover, and you barely manage to scramble away before he can slide his fingers inside you and try for a third. “What happened to not being in control?” you ask, and he shrugs, half a smirk on his face. “Lie down. It’s my turn.”

You crawl over him as he lies back, tasting yourself on his lips when you lean down for a kiss. Tomura relaxes so easily for you now, so much that he lets you grasp his hands one by one, raising them above his head. For the first time since you cloaked your true form, you engage in a little bit of demon magic. Enough to conjure restraints, and tie Tomura’s hands to the headboard before he can so much as open his eyes.

You’ve shocked him. You can see it, and better yet, you can feel it, in the way his skin heats up and his heart races. “You said you didn’t want control,” you remind him. “And I said I’d pleasure you until you couldn’t think.”

“Are you?” Tomura’s voice goes raspy. He watches you with wide eyes as you shift further down on the bed. “What are you going to do?”

“Everything.”

You learned all sorts of magic in the course of stepping into your role as a succubus, but this is the first time in a while that you’ve used any of it. And it’s for small things – the restraints on Tomura’s hands, the feather you conjure to trace all over his body until he squirms, the lube you coat your fingers with before you start working them inside him. Tomura doesn’t stop you, but he has a request. “Don’t fuck me like that. Not tonight.”

“Just my fingers,” you promise, and he nods, his eyes dark with need. “Whatever you want.”

You haven’t had the chance to watch Tomura come yet, and you get a chance as you finger him to an orgasm. He takes your breath away, your mortal – so pretty, so vulnerable, so loud and expressive and lost in it that you can’t help but stroke his cock with your free hand while you work him up a second time. In an ordinary seduction, with an ordinary target, now is when you’d stop. Now, when all he can do is beg for you, now when he’d give you anything to keep going; right now is when you’d ask for his soul in exchange. You know how to phrase it so that the mortals never guess what they’re truly giving up. It would be easy.

And it’s not what you want. There aren’t words for how much you don’t want that. Not when you’ve earned your mortal’s trust, not when he’s certain enough that you’ll give him what he wants that he doesn’t feel shame in begging for it. You know Tomura’s close when he starts squirming away from your fingers rather than clenching down on them. “Ride me,” he pants. “Ride my cock.”

Demon magic cleans your hands, and you slip down onto his cock with only a little strain. “You’re perfect,” you tell him as he stares helplessly up at you. “We fit so well –”

Tomura’s hips jerk upwards beneath you, making you gasp. “If we fit so well, come on my cock,” he pants. He’s been yanking at the restraints. You made them soft, but his wrists are chafed. “I need you to. I can’t – fuck, I need you –”

You’ve never needed a mortal before. You’ve never needed anyone before, but you need him, enough that doing what he asks doesn’t feel far-fetched at all. You ride him slowly, finding an angle that suits you, realizing how sore you are in the same moment. It’s been a hard night’s work. Usually mortals can’t keep up with you, and usually it feels like work. Tomura’s fingers curl and uncurl uselessly as he fights the restraints, and you reach up to grasp them, to hold them steady. And that’s when you notice it – the same shadow marking around his fourth finger as around yours.

Where did that come from? What is that? The restraints you conjured vanish in the space of a single heartbeat, and Tomura’s hands clamp down on your hips, guiding you as he thrusts upwards. His hair is glued to his forehead with sweat, to his chest and his shoulders and the sides of his neck, and the same heat writhes beneath your own skin as Tomura takes control over your pace. His thrusts are unsteady, but every time, he finds the angle you need him to.

You can’t breathe. You can barely think. Everything narrows down to heat and pressure and friction and pleasure and agony, because your body’s wrung out and still needs more, because Tomura’s falling apart beneath you and pressing his thumb over your clit to take you down with him. Pleasure explodes through you, collapsing you on top of Tomura. His grip on you barely loosens, even as your efforts to hold onto anything fall away. Anything includes your human guise.

Damn it. You untangle yourself from Tomura as quickly as possible, only to tuck yourself in against his side, uncomfortably relieved when he holds you tight. If you keep your tail under control and he doesn’t get a good look at you, he’ll never know what you really were. He’ll know something’s up, though. When he wakes up and finds that you’ve vanished out of this world, leaving evidence only in the chafe-marks around his wrists and the taste of you still on his tongue, he’ll know there was something strange about you. And he’ll have a lot of questions when you come back.

And you will come back. That’s the only thing that makes the knowledge that you’re mere moments from being drawn back to Hell bearable. Most of the time you can’t wait to leave your targets, whether you’ve collected their souls or not. This time, though – “I don’t want to leave yet.”

But you weren’t the only one speaking. Tomura said the same thing, on the off-beats as you spoke. “You’re leaving?” you ask. “This is your house. Where are you going?”

“Where are you going?” Tomura retorts. His grip on you tightens further – tight enough to bruise, if you were human or mortal. “What –”

He sits up suddenly, pulling you with him. Hell is pulling you back, but not quickly enough. Tomura looks at you, sees you – sees your horns, sees your tail, which is lashing anxiously in spite of your efforts to calm yourself. But you see him, too. You see the ram’s horns curling from beneath his white hair, the sharpness of his teeth. He’s not trying to control his tail at all. It wraps around your leg tightly. “You’re a demon.”

“So are you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t you know?” You try to separate yourself from him. Tomura should be letting go of you, should be shoving you away, but he’s still holding on, tighter every time you try to pull away. “Let go. If they find out –”

The world tears open around the two of you, well before you can pull away, and Hell pulls you back in at warp speed.

You don’t end up back in the spot you dematerialized from, and you doubt Tomura does, either. The two of you crash down on a rocky plateau, just on the outskirts of one of the cities, a desolate place no one comes to unless they’ve been cast out to wander amongst the souls of the dead. Why are you here? Is it because you came back together? Maybe that’s why – it couldn’t return you to your separate summoning locations when you’re so close together, so it split the difference and dropped you off here. Maybe there’s still time for you to hide this.

“Wow,” a familiar voice announces from somewhere behind you, and your heart sinks, “have the two of you fucked up.”

Tomura swears under his breath. “Is that your boss?”

Your boss, or your mother – nobody’s clear on which. Nemuri is picking her way through the jagged stones towards you, a vicious smirk on her face. “I can explain,” you start. “It’s not –”

“I tricked her,” Tomura interrupts. You stare at him in horror. “It was me. Not her.”

“No,” you snap. “I seduced him. I’m the one who –”

“I’m sure you believe that.” Nemuri’s smirk broadens, showing her fangs. “You’re so pathetically incompetent that –”

“Now, now, Nem. Let’s not let my guy off the hook here.” The new voice, loud and rich and full of almost-insane laughter, can only belong to another elder demon. Like Nemuri, he’s wearing a vicious smirk. “Remember, my guy’s the one who got rejected by his summoner and packed it in for the evening. At least yours gave it a second shot.”

“That’s my boss,” Tomura mumbles. “Fuck.”

“In fact,” Tomura’s boss continues, “one could argue that your girl’s off the hook. She did her job. It’s not her fault that my guy’s aura of misery was so strong that it made him actually look human. Or that he was so desperate to be wanted by somebody that he forgot to check whether she was actually a demon trying to steal his soul.”

Tomura’s shoulders hunch, and a surge of anger runs through you. “When you put it that way, Hizashi, it does sound like my nymphet is off the hook,” Nemuri says. “But when your pathetic little imp tried to take the fall for her, she wouldn’t let him. It seems they’re terrible at everything demonic, lying included. They’re telling the truth.”

“They really did seduce each other,” Hizashi muses. “That’s cringe.”

“More importantly, it’s against the rules.” Nemuri’s standing over you. Hizashi joins her, and the two of them leer down at you and Tomura, practically licking their lips. “Whatever shall we do with them?”

There aren’t many punishments that can affect demons – you’re basically gluttons for it. Then again, there aren’t many rules for demons to break. “I’m not sure,” Hizashi says. “Offer them up to Heaven for punishment? Banish them to the mortal world until the trumpets sound? Throw them out to wander with the restless dead forevermore?”

You might not love your job, but you have your sisters. If you’re cast out, you’ll never see them again. The only thing worse would be getting thrown to Heaven as an offering, one of Hell’s not-infrequent tithes to keep the peace. Tomura’s tail wraps around your waist, and you cover his left hand with your right as you wait for your fates to be decided. The thought crosses your mind, pointlessly, that you won’t spend an eternity of exile entirely alone. You’ve dragged someone else down with you, which might be the most demonic thing you’ve ever done in your life.

“Now that I think about it,” Nemuri says, her smirk broadening still further, “I don’t think we need to punish them – not when they’ve punished themselves so effectively.”

“What does that mean?” Tomura snaps. Hizashi is guffawing, his voice echoing off the jagged rocks. “Don’t laugh. What does that mean?”

“What does it mean, you gloomy brat?” Hizashi wipes at his eyes, still chuckling. “Take a look at your hands, both of you.”

You let go of Tomura’s and lift your own. Your right hand is clear, but your left – you remember noticing the shadow around your fourth finger, feeling the faint spark as it darkened a little further. It’s not a shadow anymore. Instead it’s a thin golden shackle, encircling your finger below your knuckle. No, not a shackle. A ring.

It won’t come off. You yank on it, try to dig your nails beneath it, but it won’t come off. Next to you, Tomura’s doing the same, cursing fluently, and Hizashi and Nemuri are laughing at you both, leaning on each other to stay upright. “It’s the first rule we teach you all when you’re spawned. No fucking your own kind, and this is why!” Hizashi is laughing almost too hard to speak, while you try to chew your ring off and Tomura breaks his own finger trying to remove his. “Thanks to your little tryst, the two of you are bound forever in unholy matrimony!”

“My congratulations to the happy couple,” Nemuri says. “The two of you are never going to live this down. You’ll be the laughingstocks of Hell. You’re going to beg us to banish you!”

“And we won’t,” Hizashi says. “I can’t think of a better object lesson than the two of you. We send you to the mortal realm to collect souls, and not only did you end up fucking each other, you didn’t commit a single demonic act!”

“I cursed somebody,” you protest.

“Me too,” Tomura says. “The mortal who –”

You remember what Tomura said about the mortal who rejected you: May his dick shrivel up and fall off. “You cursed the same mortal,” Nemuri says. She pauses a moment. “I will admit, it’s a fairly creative curse. The imp’s little add-on will make a nice insult to the injury.”

You’re better at cursing mortals than you are at seducing them, but you can’t imagine Tomura’s bad at it. Not with the way he worked you over. You duck your head to hide the heat coming up in your face. “Well, we’ll leave the two of you to enjoy your honeymoon,” Hizashi says. He shrugs off the ornate robe he’s wearing and drops it on the ground in front of you, revealing body chains, nipple piercings, and nothing else. “Wear this on your way back into the city. Maintain a little dignity.”

“Here, imp. Just for you.” Nemuri drops her robe over Tomura’s head, and he shoves it off into the dust. “Everyone’s going to know about your little bout of lovemaking, but I imagine you’d prefer if they didn’t know exactly how you’ve been chewing on each other.”

The two of them stroll back towards the city, arm in arm, still laughing. It’s a long time before their laughter fades, and then you and Tomura are alone on the outskirts. The wind, blowing hot a moment before, changes direction, growing cold and carrying sharp shards of ice. You put on Hizashi’s robe, then turn towards Tomura. He’s already shivering, arms crossed and shoulders hunched, Nemuri’s robe discarded in front of him. You pick it up and settle it back around his shoulders, shifting his hair aside so it won’t get caught beneath the collar – and then you realize what you’re doing. You freeze. “Sorry.”

Tomura shrugs, but the robe stays on. “You’re better at this than your boss says you are,” he says without looking at you. “I believed you.”

“I’m worse than she says I am,” you say. “I wasn’t lying.”

Tomura looks up at that, and you look away, your eyes stinging in the freezing wind. You never lied to Tomura, not from the moment you approached him. This would be so much less embarrassing if you had. If you’d listened to any of the moments where you sensed that it was going a little too well, that it felt a little too good. If you’d kept your distance instead of falling under his spell as quickly and easily as he fell under yours. “Your boss was talking out of his ass. Your whole thing worked really well on me.”

“Yeah. Except it wasn’t a thing.” Tomura’s tail wraps loosely around your wrist. “Mutual ruination. You were right.”

He’s got your right wrist. You study your left hand with its ring, and Tomura lifts his alongside yours. His ring looks the same as yours, although he’s dislocated his fourth finger in addition to having broken it. “Want me to fix that?”

“Demon magic doesn’t fix things.”

“It’s not supposed to marry people, either.” You’re not expecting that argument to work, but Tomura lets you capture his hand anyway. You relocate it manually, then try to work some magic over it. All your magic serves to make a seduction easier, so it shouldn’t be hard to twist it into something you can use for the sake of your – “I think it worked. How do you feel?”

“Like I fucked up,” Tomura says. Fair enough. “And I’m not sorry.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Tomura’s hands slip inside your stolen robe, settling into the same place he was holding on as you rode him. “This isn’t that weird. Mortals do it all the time.”

“Except mortals who get married in Vegas can get divorced,” you point out. Somebody has to play angel’s advocate here, even if you’re already unfolding yourself from seated so you can get into his lap. “We didn’t even make any vows.”

“You did,” Tomura says. “I heard you say it.”

You’re mine. Is that really all it took? It makes a certain kind of sense, when you force yourself to look at it honestly. Mortals almost never doom themselves consciously. It’s always a moment of weakness, a split-second lapse, an instant where desire rules over reason. “Then you can break us up. Since I’m the only one who vowed anything.”

“No way.” Tomura’s lips brush the side of your neck, making your nerves twinge. “I agreed.”

You set your hands on his shoulders and push him backwards, and he goes willingly. The way he’s looking up at you counts as a sin all on its own – crimson eyes half-lidded, pupils already dilating, his cheekbones already dusted with pink. “Did you figure out what you want yet?”

“I have some ideas,” you say. You collect his hands from your waist and pin them on either side of his head, leaning down for a long, slow kiss. “But I’ll start with you.”

[abusivelittlebunny]

I LOVE YOUR ART SO FUCKING MUCHHHHH. ESPECIALLY CHARLOS MY GODDDDD. I LOVE YOU, I AM KISSING YOU, I NEED MOREEEEE (BUT no pressure of course 💕)

Last minute man of faith

Thank you soooo much you guys' feedback is to due for every time I get an ask or get my art reblogged with tags showing appreciation I start kicking my feet and giggling like a maniac it's so inspiring ♡

Have this only because you said no pressure-

[thestartome]

Thank you so much, @j3lly-fish for tagging me!

Apologies for the late response, I am extremely slow to answering, non the less the asks are always greatly appreciated!

May you succeed with your resolution, I am excited to read your story and see more of your gorgeous creations!

My resolution this year is to follow where my heart takes me more, to forgive myself for what I am unable to achieve, and be proud of far along my journey I have come.

I would like to post more renders this year and tell more stories through visual art!

✨️👏💖🕯🎉✨️

hey y'all, happy holidays!

new years is coming up and i had an idea (ik it's probably been done before but yk) and wanted to share.

if you're tagged, share a sims or simblr related resolution and tag others to join in! 💖

my simblr resolution is to get better at building and gameplay!

i'm tagging @neishroom @claudtrait @acuar-io @birdietrait @coyotesim 🤞🏽

hope y'all enjoy your winter and your holidays <3

[captyns]

Saw that other ask, I would like to concur with them in saying the colouring is gorgeous. I personally have this one saved in my favourite pictures folder (a folder of 100 photos out of a total of thousands).

Basically your art is SICK.

cryinggg you guys are so nice thank you so much ;__; !!!!! i'm happy I could do something that stuck with you!!

[someoneelse0109]

˚₊♡JUNGKOOK FANFIC RECOMMENDATIONS˚₊♡

ೀ My most favorite works are collected in one selection. I think they are famous and many of you have read this, but they are my favorites, maybe you missed it so you should read them.

ೀ Special thanks for the @enchanthings divider. It's beautiful, so I will use it.

𓄵 Symbols: 💜 - fluff, ❤️‍🔥 - smut, 🖤 - angst, ❤️‍🩹 - hurt/comfort , 🤬 - swearing, 🎭 - drama, 🔪 - thriller, 🍑 - PWP, ✍🏻 - one-shot, 📝 - drabble, 👩🏼‍💻 - series

⟣ FRIENDS WITHIN TOUCHING DISTANCE by @dailynnt

━ ❤️‍🔥, 🖤, ❤️‍🩹, 🤬, 🎭, 🔪, 👩🏼‍💻 | mafia au

━ Jungkook and you, his childhood friend, live together in an apartment, sharing space as roommates. Your relationship, built on years of friendship, is gradually becoming strained by growing sexual tension. You decide to become friends with benefits, trying not to complicate your feelings. But Jungkook's world is not so simple. When you begin to realize that he is hiding something, you open the veil of his double life - a world of mafia, criminal activity, and risk that could ruin not only your deal, but everything you valued in each other.

⟣ AURORAᴺᵒʳᵗʰᵉʳⁿ ˡⁱᵍʰᵗˢ by @dailynnt

━ ❤️‍🔥, ❤️‍🩹, 🤬, ✍🏻 | ex to lover

━ A relationship that survived a breakup but could not be forgotten. Like the northern lights that appear only at certain moments, their feelings had their peaks and troughs, but always remained on the horizon. You meet your ex at some event. The feelings are still alive.

⟣ AGAINST THE RULES by @dailynnt

━ 💜, ❤️‍🔥, 🤬, 📝

━ Controlling yourself and not getting feelings for any of the memebers was the number one task. Besides, you're not allowed to do that. The company rules strictly forbid it. But it was with Jungkook that you had the hardest time. Because he always showed special feelings for you, and you stubbornly thought that he was just being caring. You thought that right up until this moment.

⟣ The Feeling's Mutual by emmiouija

━ ❤️‍🔥, 🤬, 🖤, 🎭, ❤️‍🩹, 🔪 | mafia au

━ You hated your brother's best friend. Jungkook was annoying, arrogant, and patronizing; he was downright insufferable. But when he offered to teach you everything he knew about sex, and in exchange, you would pretend to be his girlfriend to make his ex jealous, it was a proposition you weren't sure you could refuse.

⟣ teach me daddy by redcherrykook

━ ❤️‍🔥, 🤬, 🍑, ✍🏻 | daddy kink

⟣ ⋆˙⟡step by step - J.JK by @rispwr

━ ❤️‍🔥, 🖤, 🎭, 👩🏼‍💻

━ When your first love becomes your last love, but obstacles come your way, will he truly be your last love?

⟣ “3 words, 8 letters. I mean it” - J.JK by @rispwr

━ 💜, ❤️‍🔥, ✍🏻

⟣ Coming home to you. teaser + moodboards by @rerefundslocals

━ ❤️‍🔥, 🖤, 💜, 📝

━ when Jungkook returns to Willow Creek, what happens when he meets you again, struggling to make ends meet.

⟣ Take care of me - J.JK by @rispwr

━ 💜, ✍🏻

━ you haven’t gone to school or even touched your phone due to your flu. jungkook rushes to your apartment to take care of you

⟣ Stuck With You by @aajjks

━ 💜, ❤️‍🔥, ❤️‍🩹, ✍🏻

━ Imagine being stuck in a room with a walking nightmare who really wants to fuck you.

⟣ too much ☆ by @kissforyouu

━ ❤️‍🔥, 💜, ✍🏻 | daddy kink

⟣ UNO by Craztextae (Ao3)

━ ❤️‍🔥, 🍑, ✍🏻

━ A friend wants to play a new game with you.

⟣ That Night of Graduation bysmartkookiee (Ao3)

━ 💜, ❤️‍🔥, ✍🏻

━ After a stupid game of Truth or Drink you are convinced into telling everyone about the time you and Jungkook hooked up together the night of graduation. A missed connection that you and Jungkook hadn't even talked about. Bringing up some unexpected feeling that you hadn't realized had been lingering between the two of you.

⟣ The Art of Boxing by seokiie

━ ❤️‍🔥, 💜, ✍🏻

━ Jungkook loves boxing and in an attempt to get closer you ask him to teach you a few moves. You didn't think it would end up with you pressed face-first against the boxing ring floor.

⟣ JUST FRIENDS by @kinktae

━ ❤️‍🔥, 💜, ❤️‍🩹, 👩🏼‍💻

━ The transition from best friends to best friends with benefits is never easy, especially when there’s a daddy kink involved.

⟣ Blackjack by @kpopfanfictrash

━ ❤️‍🔥, 🖤, 🔪, 🎭, ❤️‍🩹, 🤬, 👩🏼‍💻 | mafia au

━ Bangtan is one of the most vicious mafias on the west coast. Only six members are known by name though, with a mysterious seventh member dubbed only as ‘the shadow.’ When you become indebted to the worst of the worst – how, exactly can you find a way out?

⟣ Oh My God, They Were (Quarantined) Roommates by @ot7always

━ ❤️‍🔥, 💜, 📝

━ What do you do when you’re quarantined for months on end with Jeon Jungkook - S tier cuddler, workout robot, and thirst trap extraordinaire? Fuck him, you guess.

⟣ (he)art thief | jjk by @latetaektalk

━ ❤️‍🔥, 💜, 🖤, ✍🏻

━ “jungkook is charming, kind, smart, and funny. jungkook is the guy to fall in love with. he is perfect in every sense, except that he is also a member of a notorious heist group and only getting close to you to steal from you. but what does he do when he starts to fall for you? who does he choose? his brothers or you?”

⟣ COLD NIGHTS & BLURRED LINES (m) — JJK by @awrkive

━ ❤️‍🔥, ❤️‍🩹, 💜, 📝

━ jungkook and you have been in a sexual relationship with each other for four months now, and it’s casual for the most part. but as time passes, you can’t help but feel that some of the lines suddenly got blurred in the process. is it a cliché to blur the lines with your fuck buddy? it definitely is. will you do something about it? both of your emotional constipation have a hard time saying yes.

Only the first page. I will add as I find something new ❤️‍🔥 Enjoy reading 💜

[canipleasegetthenumber15]

God I love your g/t art so much 💖💖💖

AH thank you so much, I'm glad you like it! :)

Not sure if you're a flower person, but here's a rose as a "thank you" for your compliment and for being my first ask. :)

[sleeperton]

Hello! I have a drawing request when jax is secretly regressing without any members knowing if that okay?

I love your art by the way!

He misses his mom :(

Thank you anon from super dated art request, I'm flattered! Hope you like it even if i got to your request suuuper late haha!

I'm experimenting with my art-style yet again oh boy, I wasn't even intending it to look like this, but i just rolled with it because... well... Why not!

Would regressor Jax get his stuff from Caine? Technically...? I like to think Queenie got it for him from Caine because Jax was too shy to ask Caine himself-- Aw Jax, there's nothing to be ashamed of, it happens to the best of us!

But now that Queenie's gone, what does Jax do now? Kinger's too much of a klutz to be in her place, so that's out of the question... Maybe... Jax hasn't asked actually, he's just assuming stuff because it's his first instinct.

How about Ragatha-- No!!! That would destroy the perfectly crafted version of himself that he created for her and the rest of the cast, he can't! He possibly can't!

...But it's so tempting to just knock at her door and extend his arms for a hug-- not that she'll accept anyways, that's the issue with him. It's that he's built a brick wall against him and everyone else so sturdy that when he starts to suffocate, he'll find that they have given up on even entertaining the thought of breaking it with him.

I guess he's better off just imagining that they would.

[illusioncanthurtme--art]

Hi! Even though you must receive such compliments often, I have to say that your Billford art is very unique and incredible! :D Your Bill is so cartoonish yet quirky; I can't express enough how much I like him and Ford (and any other GF character from you, but them especially) in your style. Overall, your traditional style drawing suits them just right !

Anyway, since you posted your last comic, I have been wondering how Bill would look like and behave when furious or triggered in your style :0. I like seeing him cheerful and excited with Ford, but I can't help but think what conversation they might have when Ford finds out about Bill and confronts him about it.

Do you plan to draw more comics/pics with angsty BillFord? Their relationship during/after their falling out?👀👀

Ohh man, thank you! That is so kind of you! I'm really glad you like my drawings of them :D💕

That's a really good question! I think the silly, ridiculous, stupid part of their relationship is what gets me the most, and that's what I like to draw. I mean, if you're on the patreon seeing the more suggestive stuff, even the way I depict THAT is really dumb. But Billford really does have it all, and there's a LOT of angst + scary stuff happening too. I do think about it, but it's not anything I get super motivated to draw.

When I DO think about drawing conflict between them, usually it's still in a humorous light. It's just the sort of thing that makes me happy. The sillystupid stuff.

I have thought about drawing bill with a very specific expression - one where he's VERY VERY furious. I'm envisioning some sort of equivalent to him "biting" his lower "lip" but it's a row of teeth pressing into the underside of his eyeball. Here's some doodles I did a month or two ago. I still haven't made any drawings of this expression that I'm satisfied with, I think it should be more exaggerated and lip-like... somehow.

It needs work. I want it to be like... spongebob freeze frame level of weird. But I was thinking this is how he'd react if he stumbled into one of Fiddlefords Fantasizing About Ford dreams. That's something I've been thinking about drawing for a while, but haven't yet.

Anyway, I hope this answered your question ok?? Thank you for taking the time to type such a lovely ask!

[riacte]

Been thinking about HC fan discussion shifting over the last few years to become more focused on individual creators, and I think the reduced prominence of the Recap could be a contributing factor?

Speaking from my own experience as having gotten into HC in Season 6 along with Grian, I started watching Recap from the S6 Day One video (I was already familiar with the concept thanks to Evo in a Nutshell, which was openly inspired by HC Recap, so it was easy for me to get into), and it was really formative for getting to know all the hermits and HC in general.

I think it ties into what you said about engaging with the server as a whole, because even if you don't watch every hermit, with Recap you get to learn their names, hear their voices, and get exposed to their personality, projects, interests, and running jokes. It presented HC as an interconnected community, where all the hermits came together to create a collective art piece (the server itself). That sense of community has always been one of my favourite things about HC tbh

Recap also made it much easier for me to get into new hermits throughout s6/s7, bc I was already loosely familiar with who they were and what they were doing, so I could jump in midway through their season, or watch a one-off episode, without being too lost!

Meanwhile, with lots of people getting into HC through Life Series (and likely not being exposed to Recap), I think it's easy for people to just... stick with people they already know? And I don't blame anyone for watching people they like (time/energy for videos is limited, and plenty of my favourites are in Life Series too), but it also feels bad to see the work of so many hermits go unappreciated in their own community, especially when there was more of an effort to include them in the past :(

We need a new wave of Recap appreciation posts I think

I think this is very true. Lots of people just regurgitate Life series povs to people asking on the Reddit who to watch when you could just do Recap and didn’t they make a whole flowchart of who to watch? (Outdated but still a useful reference)

Unironically we need to bring back 2021 level of propaganda. Like whole posts on Hermitcraft propaganda that introduce all the listed hermits and their uniqueness. Sure, everyone has preferences, but they brand themselves as a server, so we should also brand them as a server. I do find it realllyyyyy weird that this phenomenon got worse after HC9 when HC9 had TCG (includes all hermits and “quirks” about them) and Decked Out (huge event that involved many hermits, including non Lifers). The hermits are literally producing merch as a server. It’s a game that appreciates each of them. The audience loves TCG too so ?? ??????

Another thing is that for me, sometimes I feel like I’m yelling into the void with my posts so I end up in a circle of people who main the same people (since we interact and talk to each other) and I don’t have the energy to do more because again, yelling into the void sucks. So I’m also part of the “problem”.