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solxamber · 2 months ago

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Roommate Rumble || Vil Schoenheit

You and Vil end up as roommates due to administrative error. Unstoppable force (Vil's perfectionism) meets immovable object (your chaos). It ends up working out perfectly.

and they were roommates!!!!

You’re sitting in the most soul-crushing waiting room imaginable—stale air, uncomfortable plastic chairs, and the smell of desperation. You’re waiting for the housing office to process your late application, which, in hindsight, you should’ve done weeks ago, but hey, it’s college. Time isn’t real here.

Between borderline disastrous drinking sessions, last-minute assignments, and your general vibe of chaos, the fact that you’ve even made it this far is kind of a miracle. But now, thanks to your masterclass in procrastination, you’re about to get assigned a random housemate for the year. At this point, you’re too mentally checked out to care who it is. As long as they don’t steal your ramen, it’ll be fine… probably.

The door swings open, and in walks the most absurdly pretty man you’ve ever seen. Like, this dude looks like he stepped straight off the cover of a magazine. And not just any magazine—like, one of those high-fashion ones where people look all ethereal and judgmental at the same time.

You try not to stare, but it’s impossible. He’s got this aura about him, as if he’s too good for this building, this situation, this plane of existence. He walks up to the front desk, where the housing clerk is, predictably, typing at the speed of a snail.

“I’m here to check the status of my application,” the guy says, his voice smooth but with a distinct undercurrent of annoyance.

The clerk squints at her computer, clicks around a bit, then frowns. “Uh… what was your name again?”

The guy rolls his eyes, but still answers with the grace of a runway model, “Vil Schoenheit.”

You nearly choke. Vil Schoenheit? Isn’t that, like, some kind of celebrity? You’re pretty sure you’ve seen him on billboards for fancy skincare products or something. Now you’re really trying not to stare.

“Uh… huh,” the clerk says, now looking vaguely uncomfortable. “It seems… we may have, um, misplaced your form.”

Vil stares at her, and you can practically feel the temperature in the room drop by several degrees. “Misplaced?” he repeats, his tone icy. “You lost my form?”

“W-Well, not lost,” she stammers, “more like, uh, temporarily… not found.”

Vil’s eyes narrow, and you have to hand it to him—he makes passive-aggressive sound like an art form. “And how, exactly, do you plan to rectify this?”

The clerk clicks around desperately on her computer again, clearly wishing she was anywhere else. “Well, um, we’re going to have to randomly assign you a housemate. Since we don’t have time to redo the whole process… y-you’ll just have to— Oh, wait!” She pauses, glancing between you and Vil. “You both applied at the same time, so you can just… be housemates! Problem solved!”

There’s a beat of absolute silence as you and Vil both process this. You glance at him, and he glances back, slowly looking you up and down with the precision of someone scanning for flaws in a diamond.

Finally, he sighs, his eyes narrowing just slightly. “Acceptable.”

You blink, unsure whether you should feel insulted or… flattered? He says it with the same tone you’d use to describe a pair of shoes that don’t quite match your outfit, but are passable in a pinch.

You don’t even get the chance to respond because, let’s be real, your brain is still trying to catch up. Did Vil Schoenheit just say you were “acceptable” as a housemate?

Honestly, though, you shrug it off. If you’re being real, as long as he stays in his room and you stay in yours, who cares if you’re housemates with a guy who looks like he bathes in designer moisturizer?

“Great!” the clerk chirps, relieved to have avoided death by model glare. “You’re all set, then! Enjoy your semester!”

You glance at Vil one more time, who’s already looking like he regrets every life choice that led him here. Meanwhile, you’re just hoping he doesn’t judge you for eating pizza rolls at 3 AM.

It's three days into this whole housemate arrangement with Vil, and honestly, it’s not bad. You’ve barely even crossed each other’s paths, which works out perfectly. He does his thing, you do your thing—totally peaceful.

You stumble out of bed one morning, still half-asleep, grab the first set of clothes you can find on the floor (you’re 90% sure these jeans don’t belong to you), and zombie-walk your way to the kitchen. You’re already 15 minutes late to class, but who cares? Time isn’t real, and neither is your motivation.

As you shuffle in, you spot Vil at the counter. He’s sitting there, back straight, eating what looks like a perfect, Instagram-worthy breakfast. It’s all eggs and avocado toast and some kind of smoothie that’s probably made from fruits you’ve never even heard of. He’s impeccably dressed, even though it’s like 7 AM, and you can’t help but be mildly impressed. The guy is a full-time student, works as a model and actor, and still manages to look like he just walked off a red carpet.

Meanwhile, you’re over here in a mismatched hoodie and some band T-shirt from high school, hair resembling a rat’s nest, and the sheer determination of a person who’s willing to eat raw cereal to survive.

You try to be polite, offering Vil a smile. Or at least, what you think is a smile. It’s probably more of a grimace, to be honest. You’re running on fumes, and it shows.

Vil glances at you, eyes narrowing like he’s silently assessing every poor life choice you’ve made up to this point. Still, he says nothing, just gives a tiny nod of acknowledgment.

You head straight for the pantry, grab a box of cereal, and rip open a Red Bull. Breakfast of champions. You’re about to pour the cereal into your mouth raw, no milk, no dignity, when suddenly—

SMACK.

The Red Bull flies out of your hand, clattering to the counter, and you’re left holding an empty cereal box like some kind of fool. You stare at it in shock, then turn to Vil, who’s looking at you like you just summoned Satan.

“Dude??” You blink, genuinely confused.

Vil crosses his arms, expression disgusted as he points at the stove, where there are some leftovers of whatever perfect meal he made earlier. “That,” he says, enunciating like he’s explaining basic math to a child, “is food. What you were about to ingest is poison.”

You look between him and your spilled Red Bull. “Uh, that was breakfast?”

“No,” Vil snaps, “that was a caffeine overdose waiting to happen. And dry cereal? Have you lost the will to live entirely?”

You’re still processing the fact that he just slapped your breakfast out of your hands when you glance at the stove again. Your stomach growls, and, well, you guess your organs could use something that won’t actively try to kill you.

“Fine,” you mutter, shuffling over to grab a plate. “But if I’m late to class, I’m blaming you.”

Vil barely glances at you as you load up your plate with whatever masterpiece he’s made. “You’re already late,” he says flatly.

“...Okay, fair.”

You sit down at the table, expecting the silence to be awkward, but it’s surprisingly chill. You eat, Vil eats, and for a brief, strange moment, it’s kind of peaceful. You didn’t think breakfast could be… normal. Not with someone like him.

Just as you finish, Vil stands up, wipes his mouth, and gives you a small nod. “You’re welcome,” he says, like he’s just saved your life—which, in his eyes, he probably has. Then he grabs his bag and leaves the kitchen without another word.

You sit there for a moment, fork still in your hand, feeling oddly touched. Then you glance at the clock.

You’re now 30 minutes late to class.

Totally worth it.

You pass out at 4 a.m., your body finally giving in to the pure exhaustion that college life has inflicted on you. You're in that deep, blissful sleep when, at exactly 7 a.m., you're jolted awake by a scream so loud it feels like it rattled the entire room.

At first, you try to ignore it, desperately clinging to the last remnants of sleep. But after a moment, you groggily realize there’s no escaping it. You groan and roll out of bed, stumbling into the hallway with all the grace of a sleep-deprived zombie, not even bothering to change out of your mismatched pajamas.

Standing outside his room, on top of a chair(???), looking absolutely frazzled, is Vil Schoenheit. Hair still perfect, but his usual calm demeanor is gone, replaced by… well, panic?

“What the hell happened?” you mumble, rubbing your eyes.

Vil’s face is pale, and he gestures to the door of his room with a shaky hand. “There’s—there’s something in there.”

Your brain immediately jumps to the worst. An intruder? A stalker? A wild animal? Something actually dangerous? Vil shifts behind you, as you carefully open the door just enough for you to peer inside. You brace yourself, expecting to see something terrifying.

Instead, Vil points dramatically toward the floor. “There.”

You blink. And then you see it—a cockroach. A big one, sure, but still. A cockroach.

You turn to Vil slowly, your face a mask of pure judgment. “You woke me up… for this?”

Vil, now perched on a chair, crosses his arms indignantly. “It’s not about fear. It’s about disgust. I am not touching that.”

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

“...No. No, you don’t.”

Resigned, you grab a cup and a piece of paper from the kitchen. You approach the cockroach like some kind of extermination expert, scoop it up, and open the nearest window. With one swift motion, you throw the unfortunate bug into the outside world, praying it finds a better life somewhere far, far away.

“There,” you say, tossing the cup in the trash. “Crisis averted.”

Vil, still standing on his chair like the floor is lava, steps down carefully, brushing off his clothes with an air of dignity as if he hadn’t just been screaming at a cockroach. “I wasn’t scared,” he says, straightening his posture. “I was disgusted.”

You nod along, patting him on the shoulder with the patience of someone who knows it’s best not to argue. “Sure. No problem. Don’t worry about it.”

Vil purses his lips, his pride clearly a little bruised, but he still offers a tight smile. “Thank you.”

You wave him off as you shuffle back to your room, your bed calling you back like a siren. As you flop onto the mattress, you think to yourself, He might be a diva, but damn, he’s gorgeous.

With that, you pass out again, hoping to squeeze in a couple more hours of sleep before the universe inevitably conspires to ruin your day again.

You and Vil have settled into an odd but functional arrangement. If not quite friends, you’re definitely acquaintances with benefits — and by benefits, you mean Vil keeps you from dying a slow death via your terrible diet, and in return, you serve as his on-call exterminator for the various bugs your old house seems determined to spawn. It’s a mutual understanding, and lately, he’s stopped questioning your life decisions. Well, not as much.

One afternoon, you’re sprawled on the couch, half-asleep and doomscrolling on some social media app, when Vil clears his throat. You jolt upright, momentarily thinking you’re about to get a lecture about posture, only to find him standing there, looking at you in a way that’s… almost awkward?

“What’s up?” you ask, genuinely curious because Vil being awkward is as rare as you cooking anything edible.

Without a word, he hands you an invitation, embossed with gold lettering and all. It's for a performance competition on campus. The kicker? Vil’s participating.

“You want me to come?” you ask, surprised.

He waves a hand, trying to look nonchalant. “Only if you’re available,” he says, but there’s a slight tremor in his voice. He’s trying to play it cool, but the slightest hint of tension betrays him.

You have no plans (unless eating ramen at 2 a.m. counts), so you agree. “Sure, I’ll come.”

The day of the competition arrives, and you actually dress like a normal human being for once. Vil didn’t give you any kind of ultimatum about your outfit, but you figure you should at least try to look like you belong among the living.

You’re in the front row — of course, Vil had VIP tickets to a performance competition. The crowd is buzzing, but you’ve barely noticed because your attention is glued to the stage.

Vil appears, bathed in light, and you swear you’ve just glimpsed into heaven. His voice is smooth and captivating, his moves are graceful, and his gaze? One hundred percent lethal. It’s almost unfair. He’s the kind of performer that could turn someone to stone with a look.

You’re standing there, feeling the ridiculous urge to brag to the people around you that he’s your roommate. “Yeah, that’s right, I share a bathroom with that guy.”

Then, Neige LeBlanche takes the stage. Now, you’ve heard the hype. Neige is the campus sweetheart, the kind of guy who probably smiles at babies and rescues kittens from trees. If Vil is the untouchable beauty you admire from afar, Neige is the best friend you’d want by your side, also weirdly gorgeous.

You expect another powerhouse performance. You’re bracing yourself for it. And then… he starts singing.

Wait.

Is Neige… singing a nursery rhyme?

You blink. The crowd is eating it up, swaying along like they’ve been hypnotized. Meanwhile, you’re just standing there, dumbfounded, the only person in the front row not bopping along.

You glance around, jaw practically on the floor. Is everyone here insane? The man is singing something that you swear you heard at preschool.

And then it happens. Neige wins. The audience erupts into cheers, and you think the universe is playing a cosmic joke on you. What the actual—?

“What the fuck?” The words slip out before you can stop them, loud enough that the people around you turn to stare. Apparently, your disbelief is showing. You even catch Vil’s eye for a moment, and he smirks weakly at your outburst, but it’s clear the loss stung. A little part of you feels something unfamiliar—anger on someone else’s behalf.

You don’t even stay for the encore. It’s either leave or throw something at the stage, and you’d rather not get banned from campus events. You march out of the hall, still fuming.

Later, when Vil returns, you can see it in the slight slump of his shoulders. The air of perfection is still there, but it’s a little cracked around the edges. That anger bubbles up again.

But you have a plan. A master plan.

Vil’s been telling you for weeks that you’d look decent if you just took care of yourself, and you’ve been brushing him off like the human disaster you are. But tonight, for him? You’re willing to make a sacrifice.

So, when he looks at you, barely meeting your eyes, you blurt out, “You can do whatever you want to me.”

His eyes widen slightly. “What?”

“Whatever creams, lotions, skincare products—you want to use on me. Go wild. I’ll be your project for the night.”

Vil’s expression lights up like a kid who just found out Christmas came early. You didn’t think it was possible for someone to get this excited about transforming you from a crusty goblin into a passable human, but here we are. And honestly? You kinda owe him at least this much, considering he makes sure you don’t die from malnutrition.

The next hour is nothing short of war. Vil is aggressively applying products to your face like he’s trying to sandpaper your soul clean. His focus is deadly serious, his hands precise as he rubs some fancy serum onto your skin.

Between all the smearing of moisturizers and the occasional Ow!, the two of you start talking. Or rather, you start griping about Neige’s performance.

“I mean, seriously? A nursery rhyme?” you groan, rolling your eyes.

Vil huffs, his fingers moving swiftly over your cheeks. “Don’t remind me. The judges clearly have no taste. What kind of competition rewards… that?”

“Right? I was ready to riot. Your performance was like…” You search for the right words as he smears something cold on your forehead. “It was like watching art come to life, and then he goes and sings Twinkle Twinkle and everyone acts like he just reinvented music.”

Vil laughs—an actual laugh, something deep and genuine that makes the tension in his shoulders ease a little. “You sound like you wanted to run on stage and throw him off.”

“Maybe I did,” you mutter, wincing as he pats something into your skin a little too enthusiastically. “Honestly, the only reason I didn’t is because I didn’t want to get banned from campus events.”

By the time he’s finished, Vil steps back to admire his work like an artist assessing a freshly painted canvas. “There,” he says, his voice softer now. “You look… acceptable.”

“Wow, high praise,” you snort, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks, Vil.”

He smiles back, something quieter and more genuine. “Thank you.”

You wave him off, already heading to your phone. “So… delivery tonight? I’m thinking chicken?”

Vil wrinkles his nose. “Not fried. How about sushi?”

“Deal,” you grin.

As you place the order, you can’t help but think—yeah, maybe you and Vil are friends now. Weird, slightly dysfunctional friends. But friends, nonetheless.

You’ve been working on this project for months. Countless sleepless nights, caffeine-fueled coding sessions, and a pile of stress larger than your student loan debt have led to this moment. It’s crunch time. You’re this close to submitting your final assignment. You think you deserve a break, so you go to order a coffee—just 10 minutes, tops.

But when you come back? Your laptop, your precious laptop, is gone.

You look around in disbelief. This can’t be happening. Someone stole it. The weeks of coding, months of planning, your entire project, everything. Gone.

You do the only thing you can think of when life throws you a sucker punch like this: you go drink.

You’re a few shots deep when your phone buzzes. It’s Vil. He’s asking, “Are you going to be home for dinner?” His voice is sharp, but you can’t even string together a coherent answer. You let out some garbled mess of a response that’s more slurred syllables than actual words.

There’s a pause, then a very clear “Send me your location. Now.”

Vil shows up at the bar like he’s stepped out of a luxury fashion magazine, a vision of elegance in this grimy little dive. You’re nursing what can only be described as a sad excuse for a cocktail, and he just gives you this look—disapproving, concerned, and about two seconds away from reading you the riot act.

He doesn’t say a word as he helps you out of the bar and drives you home. You can barely sit upright in the passenger seat, mumbling something about losing your laptop. You’re not even sure if he hears you.

Back at home, Vil sits you down on the couch and hands you a glass of water. “Drink,” he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You sip the water, slowly sobering up, though your mind is still a mess. Meanwhile, Vil is pacing back and forth like an actor in a drama, preparing for his monologue. And then it comes. He’s yelling at you, frustration and worry bubbling up to the surface.

“What are you doing to yourself? Why are you so determined to self-destruct?!” he demands. “You eat like garbage, you barely sleep, you pass out at random hours of the morning, and now you’re drinking like you’re on some kind of mission to obliterate your liver!”

You can’t take it anymore. His words break something inside you, and you just… fall apart. Tears stream down your face, and you sob, unable to hold it together any longer.

Vil immediately stops pacing, his expression softening in an instant. He crouches down in front of you, gently resting his hands on your shoulders. “Why are you crying?” he asks, his voice now quiet, almost tender.

You try to explain between hiccupping sobs. “My laptop—it’s gone. I… I worked so hard, and now it’s all gone. Someone stole it.”

Without hesitation, Vil pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice soothing. “We’ll figure it out.” He holds you like he can somehow undo the theft, like he can bring back what’s lost just by being there. And in that moment, you cling to him, sobbing into his shoulder as if the world could collapse around you and it wouldn’t matter because he’s holding you together.

You wake up hours later, still curled up on the couch, with a hangover so brutal it could bring empires to their knees. But something’s off. You realize you’re not just lying on the couch—no, you’re lying on someone’s lap.

You blink and look up. Vil’s sitting there, talking softly on the phone, one hand gently patting your head. You try to make sense of it, but the pounding in your skull makes that nearly impossible.

“No, Rook, I don’t care how you do it. Just find it.” Vil says into the phone, his hand still idly resting on your head. He doesn’t seem too concerned about you waking up—if anything, he seems almost like he’s daring you to go back to sleep.

And you do.

The next time you wake up, it’s to the world’s loudest human: Rook Hunt.

“Ah, mon ami, I come bearing treasures!” he announces as he swoops into the room, a grin plastered across his face. In his hands? Your laptop.

You sit up, blinking in disbelief. “What…? How did you get my laptop?”

Rook flashes you a sly smile, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Ah, it was no small feat, but for Vil’s amour—”

“Rook!” Vil snaps, cutting him off with a glare that could freeze fire. “That’s enough.”

You look between them, still not fully understanding what just happened, but you’re too relieved to care. You practically leap off the couch and grab your laptop, hugging it to your chest like it’s your long-lost child.

Before you can stop yourself, you turn and hug Rook, then Vil, a huge grin spreading across your face. Then, in a moment of pure, unfiltered gratitude, you kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

Vil blinks, momentarily stunned by the gesture, but before he can say anything, you’re already dashing back to your room to finish your assignment.

As you shut the door, you can hear Rook’s laughter from the other side.

“You’re impossible,” he mutters to himself, but there’s a warmth in his eyes. Maybe you are a walking disaster, a self-destructive potato. But you’re his favorite potato.

It’s finally the end of the semester, and a little notification pops up on your phone: Housing Applications Now Open.

If you apply now, you could get your old dorm back—no housemate, no interruptions, just you and your tragic life decisions. No one telling you to eat healthy or waking you up at ungodly hours over insect-related emergencies. Just you, alone, in your beautifully chaotic mess. And Vil? He’d probably go back to wherever he was before, maybe with someone like Rook who actually knows how to behave like a normal person.

You should be thrilled by this prospect. A whole apartment to yourself again. But instead, your stomach is doing weird somersaults, and not the normal “I forgot to eat breakfast” ones. This feels... different. Kind of like the time you ate that suspicious leftover curry, except this time it’s your heart that feels like it’s about to implode.

Oh. Oh no.

You sit there for a solid 10 minutes, staring at the housing application, feeling something suspiciously like heartbreak. And being the impulsive disaster that you are, you decide the best thing to do is to blurt out your feelings without any consideration for how unhinged it might sound.

So when Vil comes home, looking elegant and put-together as always, ready to greet you with his usual "Good evening..." you don’t even let him finish. You jump up, and before you can second-guess yourself, you blurt out, "I’m in love with you. Deeply. Hopelessly. In love."

Vil freezes mid-step, his eyebrows shooting up so fast they might actually fly off his face. There’s a solid beat of silence as he processes what you just said.

“…Excuse me?” He blinks, looking like you just told him you set the kitchen on fire again. “What did you just say?”

You gulp but there’s no backing out now. You’ve committed. “I said I’m in love with you. Like... seriously. I think you might’ve ruined me for life.”

Vil stares at you, and for a second, you’re terrified that you’ve broken him. But then—he laughs. He laughs so hard he doubles over, clutching his sides like you just told the world’s best joke.

You blink, baffled. “Uh... you good?”

Vil wipes at the corner of his eyes, still chuckling. “Oh, potato…” He takes a deep breath, shaking his head, amusement still dancing in his eyes. “I love you too, you ridiculous creature.”

“Wait, what?” Now it’s your turn to stare in shock.

Vil sighs, but there’s a fond smile on his lips. “I was going to ask if you wanted to room together again next semester. But, you know... in a better apartment. One without bugs or whatever demons this place keeps spawning.”

You blink once, twice, processing his words. He wanted to room with you again? In a better place? Your heart does a little flip in your chest, and before you can stop yourself, you’re grinning like an idiot. “Oh, hell yeah.”

Without thinking, you pull him close and kiss him. It’s quick and impulsive, but somehow it feels right. When you pull back, you find Vil smiling at you with something soft in his eyes, like he’s genuinely content.

“Maybe I don’t wanna die young after all,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

Vil raises an eyebrow, his smile widening. “That’s a start. Now, go drink some water before you pass out from dehydration.”

You laugh, content for the first time in forever. Maybe this whole “life” thing wasn’t so bad after all. At least, not when you had Vil by your side.

Masterlist

guys I promise I don't hate neige I just hated the VDC ending I wanted to off myself fr

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #vil schoenheit x reader #vil x reader #vil schoenheit x you #vil schoenheit #vil #twst vil #and they were roommates

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woso-soso · 6 months ago

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Missing Puzzle Piece Pt.1

Mapi Leon x Reader x Ingrid Engen

Summary: Mapi and you have been together for years, what will happen when a new person makes an appearance in your lives.

Word Count: 3,639

Part 2

Any time words are Italicized it indicates another language being spoken, in the case of this story it will indicate Spanish is spoken.

You’d known María for years, having met when you were barely big enough to ride the fair rides that came into town every year. Meeting at a volleyball camp held at your town's community center, and while María thrived at it you found yourself cowering in the back. Shrinking further into yourself as you struggled to integrate into the game, finding yourself more so on the end of flying balls. Balls you weren't prepared to hit back, leading to more than one frustrated groan from the team you had been forced onto. By the time lunch had come around you were left to sit alone at one of the tables set up, that was until a wild haired girl came bounding over. A smile wide across her face as she sets her lunch down at the seat across from you. You hadn’t caught her name at introductions, having been more focused on not puking on your shoes than learning anyone's names.

“I’m María,” she said, her mouth full of food. “But everyone except my mama calls me Mapi.”

You stare at the strange girl in front of you, her arms covered in doodles. Many of them being extremely detailed, maybe the two of you would have something to talk about after all. “I’m Y/N,” you whisper hoping the much louder girl will be able to hear you.

“So why are you here Y/N, I mean not to be rude but like you seem to hate it,” Mapi remarks not looking up from the food in front of her as she continues to shovel it into her mouth at a speed that was honestly impressive.

“My papa, he got the dates mixed up when registering. I was supposed to be at the art camp next week but now I’m stuck here instead.” You answer somberly. Your papa was doing his best, becoming a single parent suddenly hadn’t been the plan and the two of you took it in stride together. Even when he did mess up, at least he was trying.

“So you like art,” Mapi’s interest piques as she finally slows down to look up at you. You nod softly as you pick at the simple sandwich in front of you. Something you had thrown together that morning because your papa had forgotten to pack lunch the night before. “What do you like to do?”

“Well, I like drawing. My papa just got me a ton of new pencils to try. But I also really like taking pictures. I have this film camera at home, papa says when it's full we can send it off to get them developed. Apparently it's a long process.” The camera had been something your therapist had suggested, she thought it would benefit your dad to see what piques your interest. Helping get inside your mind since getting you to talk was a challenge. “Do you like drawing,” you inquire hesitantly, looking again at the intricate doodles that covered Mapi’s arms.

“I love drawing, my mama says I get ink everywhere but I like drawing on my arms. At least then I get to see them all the time.” Mapi’s answer intrigues you. You could see the cap of a ballpoint pen stick out the top of her shirt having been clipped inside to attempt to conceal it.

“I like that,” you state, a soft smile crossing your face as you look Mapi in the eyes. Her own large smile somehow getting larger.

“Come here,” Mapi says suddenly, “would you like some drawings of your own.” You nod cautiously, moving around the table to sit next to the taller girl. Wiping her hands on her shorts before grabbing the ballpoint pen. “Here, stretch out your arm,” her hand gently takes your forearm, extending it across the table so it lays flat palm up. The pen tickles, but quickly you grow used to it. Mapi works slowly, making small marks across your arm as you relax into the feeling.

The rest of the day is less anxiety-inducing as you switch over to the same team as Mapi, her presence not only calming but protective as you were able to hide behind her. Avoiding any more unwanted contact with volleyballs. When your papa comes to get you you can see him eyeing the ink marks across your skin, a relieved smile crossing his face as he watches you wave to Mapi her matching ink marks clear on her skin.

“So did you make a friend today?” He questions cautiously.

“I think I did papa,” a bright smile appearing on your face for the first time in a long time.

“You got in!,” Mapi shouts gleefully, her arms wrapping around your body. The letter grasped tightly in your hand as happy tears trail down your cheeks.

After meeting Mapi the two of you quickly became tightly bonded. Spending many evenings camped out in each other's bedrooms exploring different art mediums, a football game usually playing in the background as you talked softly. Mapi had always encouraged your photography, she insisted that while you were one for few words your photos always told a story. It was because of her that you got up the courage to apply to art school, the same art school Mapi had gotten into and while she chose to focus on football and not attend you knew it was still the best place for you.

“I did it, I can’t believe I did it,” you mumble into her shoulder. Your tears leaving a damp spot on her shoulder.

“I knew you could do it, your mama would be so proud,” Mapi whispers softly, her hand stroking your hair. A new wave of tears starting at the thought of your mama. She had been gone for so long yet it felt like just yesterday she had been showing you her own camera, a camera locked up safely in the attic.

You pull away from Mapi’s warm embrace slowly, your arms staying connected around her neck. Your stomach twisting as you stare into her eyes, you knew you had feelings for her. It would almost be weirder if you didn’t, the two of you had been inseparable since you were small. You had been there for her through hundreds of football games where she dominated over the boys and she had been there for you while you displayed your photographs at various school events. She knew you front and back, like a book she had read a million times and you knew her the same. Before you can even think about what you're doing you lean in, Mapi making no move to pull away as your lips connect.

Mapis lips are slightly chapped, yet taste like strawberry as if she had just applied chapstick. Her arms tighten around you, pulling you in closer as the kiss becomes more frantic. The pent up attraction between the two of you coming out full force. The sound of your front door closing being the only thing to snap the two of you apart. Your face most certainly flushed bright red as you stare at the carpeted floor under your feet.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, quickly wiping your face clean of any chapstick. The strawberry scent lingering.

“Why?” Mapi asks quietly, leaning back on your bed. Watching you as your brain races a mile a minute.

“I shouldn’t have just jumped you like that, I just… I assumed things and I’m sure they aren’t correct,” your voice cracks as you try to keep from crying. Embarrassment is clear on your face with your blazing red cheeks.

“How do you know,” Mapi asks.

“How do I know? Because come on Mapi look at you and look at me, it's silly to think we could be anything more than friends.” You mumble.

“Well firstly, best friends. Secondly, what do you mean look at you? You are the most amazing person I know, I’m honored you like me that way. I’ve liked you for a long time now, I just never had the courage to say anything.” The two of you sit in silence for a moment, Mapi’s words hanging in the air.

“Really?” You whisper, turning to look at her.

“Really,” Mapi says, her hand taking yours.

The two of you are practically inseparable after that, wherever Mapi goes you are sure to follow. For years you worked at small photography studios, focusing on simple family portraits, weddings, and other parties. But by chance there was a day you got asked at the last minute to photograph Atlético Madrid's game against Real Sociedad. Atlético’s regular photographer had fallen ill and of course Mapi took this as a chance to throw your name out there. Sure some of her teammates were aware of your relationship but that didn’t seem to be a hindrance as you trekked out to the sidelines of the pitch, camera and monopod in hand. The game goes well, except for the occasional stray ball you stay safely tucked away capturing the high emotions of the game.

“Did you get my good side,” Mapi jokes as she approaches, her cheeks flushed from having just finished a full ninety minute game.

“Now when did you develop a bad side?” Your eyebrows raise in question as you continue to pack up your gear, preparing for a long night at home editing.

“Just checking, just checking” Mapi smirks, hands raised in surrender as she turns to take off back towards her teammates.

While that night is long. You curled up on the couch as Mapi’s head rests in your lap, her soft snores reminding you how late it was, your hand gently combing through her hair as you edit the lot of photos you had taken. Only finishing as the sun begins to rise, a nagging headache forming behind your eyes as you close your laptop.

“Come on love, let's go sleep properly,” you grunt as you nudge Mapi off your lap.

“What time is it?” Mapi groans as you drag her to her feet. Her eyes barely opening enough to see her surroundings.

“It's either very late or very early, let's not think about it.” You say as you push her into bed, joining her on the other side. Burying yourself under the covers, hoping for at least some restful sleep.

What you hadn’t expected to come from the game was a permanent job offer from Atlético. They insisted they needed a photography assistant and that if you wanted it you were more than welcome to have it. It wasn’t something you even need to consider, quickly accepting the offer on the table. In the three years you were with Atlético you learned as much as you could, following the lead photographer like a shadow. Getting to know the coaches and players, learning where to draw boundaries with Mapi, you may be together but you weren’t about to risk either of your jobs because of it.

That's what made it so hard to leave, when Barcalona came knocking at Mapi’s door it would have been stupid to say no. But the dread of having to start over in a new city made you nervous. You were already away from home most of the time, only seeing your papa a few times a year. You had finally established a career in Madrid, but at the same time you knew you couldn’t be away from Mapi. The two of you moved in tandem for a reason, you were two pieces to the same puzzle. You would rather put your career on hold to be there for her then be in Madrid, alone.

Things fall into place easily in Barcelona, a job as an editing assistant for the men's team opens up only a few weeks after you move in with Mapi. Sure it wasn’t where your passion lied but it was something.

“How are you settling in my love,” Mapi asks one morning as the two of you laid together in bed, the sun leaking in through the slightly open curtains. Her hand tracing shapes along your spine.

“It’s okay, I wish I was with the women's team but it's okay, it's a start.” You knew deep down your only actual chance to work with the women's team would be if someone leaves, and who would leave working for the most successful team in the league.

“It will happen one day, they will see just how talented you are and they won't be able to deny you the job you want.” You appreciated Mapi’s optimism, she had always been your biggest cheerleader. Reassuring you throughout the years as the two of you grew and changed with one another.

“Thank you my love, we can hope, but let's not get them too high.” You whisper softly, tracing the tattoos that cover Mapis arms only stopping once your alarm interrupts your morning peace.

The two of you go your separate ways when you hit the gate at work, her slipping off to practice as you make your way down the never ending hallways. Passing offices of people important enough to have actual doors, eventually settling into your small cubical towards the back of the room. A place you can tuck yourself into and hide from the rest of the office.

This continues for years, Mapi and you continent in your relationship never really sharing it with others outside of your family and friends. Your social media staying very much private, especially as you start to get more attention from fans of the team for the photographs you take, having been promoted to the men's team head photographer. You were happy, sure you had hopes and dreams you were still working towards but you found yourself fond of the simple everyday routine that you and Mapi had formed.

That was until you literally ran into a goddess.

The tall dark haired beauty had exited the main conference room right as you were passing, not a chance for either of you to stop as you collided. The box of hard drives crashing to the ground as she grabs your arm to stabilize you.

“I’m so sorry,” the brunette says quickly, a thick accent making it challenging for you to understand. Your limited understanding of English not aiding in the matter.

“It.. is.. okay,” you stammer out, hoping you said something okay. The soft smile on the woman's face giving you some reassurance that you had.

“I’m Ingrid, I just signed on with the women's team.” The woman you now know as Ingirid declares, her hand extended towards you. Your mind going blank as you gently take her hand.

“I am Y/N,” you say with less confidence than her.

“Well, it's very nice to meet you Y/N.” Ingrid declares, dropping your hand to bend down and retrieve the box you had dropped. Thankfully none of the hard drives had fallen out.

And with that she was gone, your mind racing at warped speed. The tingle on your skin from where she had been holding your arm reminding you of the feelings that had coursed through you. A sudden wave of nausea washing over you as Mapi popped into your mind, your fun, sweet, goofy Mapi. How you could even think of another woman, one you don’t even know, one who will have to work with your LONGTIME partner. This sudden feeling of guilt settling into your stomach.

You avoid the topic with Mapi for the next few days, a weird silence falling over your shared apartment any time work is brought into the conversation. You know she can tell something is wrong, you can feel her watching you as you try to keep yourself distracted in the apartment. Being barely able to sit still for more than a few minutes at a time this sudden influx of anxiety being clear as day to anyone who knows you.

It isn’t until one late night when you get home from traveling with the mens team that you and Mapi finally talk. She had stayed up late, catching you as you snuck in the front door.

“Please, my love, come talk to me. Somethings wrong, I can tell.” Mapi’s words make your heart ache, looking into her eyes you see someone who so desperately wants you to open up. Something that you had never seen before, up until now you and Mapi had never had issues communicating. Communication was actually one of the things the two of you pride yourselves on, something many of your friends were actually stunned by when they first learned how open the two of you are.

You take your time to drop your bags, sliding your shoes off as you close the door behind you. The pit of anxiety growing more into a black hole. Sitting down next to Mapi on the sofa, not daring to look at her. The two of you sitting in silence for what felt like hours, Mapi’s hand gently grasping yours.

“What is going on in your mind my love,” Mapi whispers softly as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I… I um, I met one of your new teammates last week.” You swallow, tears pricking at your eyes as guilt eats away at you. “She bumped into me in the main offices,” you whisper looking over at Mapi as she watches you intensely.

“Did she do something to you?” Mapi asks, a hint of urgency in her tone.

“Nothing bad I promise, she probably doesn’t even remember meeting me. But… when she held my arm to keep me from falling I got this feeling.” You turn away from Mapi again, not wanting to see the look on her face. “And I hate this feeling, it's a feeling I’m only supposed to have with you, yet my skin burned where she held it. I feel like I’m betraying you even though I haven’t done anything.”

You don’t dare look at Mapi, her hand hasn't left yours and she never shifts further away from you. But this feeling of guilt settles in your stomach, the fear that she will be angry at you for your unwanted thoughts lingers in the back of your mind.

“Who was it?” Mapi asks after a few long moments.

“What?” The shock is evident in your voice as you snap your head to look at her. Having expected anger, not curiosity.

“What is her name? Who is it?” She asks again, meeting your eyes, a soft squeeze of your hand reassuring you.

“She said her name is Ingrid. I think she just signed on with the team.” Sharing the only information you had.

Mapi takes a moment to process what you had said, gently wiping the tears from your cheeks as she takes you in. “It’s okay,” she reassures after a moment. “I am guilty of the same,” Mapis' words shocking you.

“What?” You hiccup.

“I have had the same feelings you have had for her, I’ve been struggling with them to my love. She is… enticing to put it simply. I don’t blame you for feeling this way about her.” Mapi’s words both alarm you and reassure you. You had felt some security in knowing that while you held these feelings there was no way you were going to interact with Ingrid again. But knowing that Mapi also held those feelings, for someone she is seeing everyday, traveling with, showering with. A sudden wave of fresh tears form in your eyes.

“You… you like her too. Were you ever going to tell me?” You ask suddenly, pulling your hand away from hers.

“Of course I was, it's not like I would ever dream of acting on those feelings. I was worried about you. You’ve been acting off.” Mapi defends.

“I’ve been acting off because I find this person attractive, the same person you apparently find attractive. A person you will be spending time with, alone.” A tone that isn’t anger but more so anxiety present in your voice.

“I’m not going to ever act on it, I love you, that isn’t changing.” Mapi insist.

“But what if you eventually find you are loving her? She seems charming, pretty. What do I have to compete.”

“You aren’t competing my love, there is no competition.” Mapi’s words hang in the air as you process all that has been shared.

But what if you want to share? The thought of Ingrid making your heart flutter, not in the way Mapi makes it flutter but in a way that feels like she completed the puzzle the two of you were pieces in. Your love for Mapi hadn’t changed, it had only grown over the years, but the thought of Ingrid felt like your heart was whole.

“What would you think if I thought dating Ingrid would be appealing, if I thought she would fit in well with us?” You ask hesitantly.

“Are you asking if I would want to open our relationship?” Mapi asks.

“Not open, it wouldn’t just be anyone. Just Ingrid.” You respond, watching Mapi out of the corner of your eye.

“I… I wouldn’t be opposed, not if she would be okay with it. She would have to want both of us, I’m not losing you because of someone else.” Mapi whispers.

“I don’t think you would have to ever worry about losing me.” You say softly as you place a gentle kiss on Mapi's cheek. “Let's think of it this way, if Ingrid shows any interest we consider it. But we will not tarnish us by seeking it out, okay?”

“I’m okay with that,” Mapi agrees, her arms wrapping around you tightly as the two of you sink back into the couch. A million thoughts racing through your mind as everything that has happened catches up to you.

#woso imagine #woso imagines #woso x reader #mapi leon x ingrid engen x reader #mapi leon imagine #mapi leon imagines #ingrid engen imagine #ingrid engen imagines #barcelona femeni imagine #barcelona femeni imagines #mapi leon x reader #ingrid engen x reader #woso fanfics

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salmonskinrolltf · 11 months ago

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Soulmates 2

[Here's a sequel of sorts to my previous story Soulmates (you don't need to have read it to understand this story). With thanks to @guytransformedforever, @beardobession, @tf-vigilante, @maletransformationlover, @clevertreephilosopher, @scorpionofredsand, and @maletffanatic for providing the photos used as inspiration.]

Hello, my name is Tyler. This is me:

And this is my roommate, Dylan:

Now look, I don’t have a problem with gay people. My cousin is a lesbian. And Dylan is a great roommate. Stays out of my way when we’re not gymming together, but is always down to hang when I need someone to talk to. I just wish he would be less in my face with all his gay shit. Rainbow flags everywhere, blasting Ariana Grande at all hours, constantly bringing new Grindr hookups back to the apartment but giving me side-eye when I ogle women. It’s just… too much for me.

Here’s the thing. I might actually be able to change that. I have this friend Evan, who I’ve wingmanned for on a few occasions over the past year. One night, when we were getting drunk together, he shared his secret with me. He has a magic gift. He clasped my hand and said “tomorrow, you will wake up and have this magic too.” And sure enough, the next day I could feel a tingle coursing through my veins, and I automatically had the knowledge of how to channel it.

Now I have the ability to change somebody’s future. I can’t fiddle with anything that’s innate or has already happened to them. Like, I can’t just make Dylan straight. But I can shape his future decisions or actions, and my magic will make alterations to speed the process along. Like if I made him decide to work out more, he would basically become a muscle beast within the week. Not that I’d do that. I still gotta be the alpha here. I just want to make him a little more… palatable. Someone cool to kick back with all the time, even if he sucks dick. Let’s see... I think I know what will work.

TOMORROW, DYLAN WILL BECOME OBSESSED WITH SPORTS

———————————

Hello, my name is Dylan:

Sports are my LIFE. I never cared about them much growing up, but about a month ago I felt the urge to join my local queer volleyball team and never looked back. It became my everything. It’s been great exercise, but on top of playing volleyball and getting totally jacked off of it, I’ve loved the sense of camaraderie. I love my team. So much so that I even pierced my nipples on a dare when we lost the semifinals. My teammate River also recommended I stop dyeing my hair, and I think the look is really working for me. For some reason, even though it’s only been a month, my hair has grown out significantly since then. Was the red dye stunting its growth or something? Anyway. I also feel like my roommate Tyler and I have really bonded. We’ve been watching baseball games together and I think he appreciates how into it I am. He says he’s excited to bro out while watching football together in the fall.

I love Tyler, but here’s the thing. Maybe I love him too much. I’ve always had this huge crush on him, and no matter how many random Grindr hookups I try to distract myself with, I just can’t stop hoping that one day he’ll give up women for good and decide he loves me. Especially now that we’re spending all this time together, bumping chests when our team wins and shit.

I know us getting together is never going to happen, but I have this… temptation. I was born with a gift. Or maybe I wasn’t. Something my twink friend Paul told me made me think maybe he had something to do with it. Anyway, I have the ability to reshape someone’s past. I change just one thing about their past, and everything about their present just ripples forward to reflect that change. It’s a delicate art. Changing something big can have huge effects that are totally unpredictable. It’s a major temptation to make Tyler gay, but who knows how he’d turn out. Plus, I think that’s just too invasive.

But… Maybe I could change something small about him. Something that would make him less my type, and allow me to move on and focus on finding a boyfriend who would actually be into me. I’m into nice guys. I really love how kind and caring he is. And come on, he’s a FIREFIGHTER. So maybe I can try…

TYLER GREW UP SELFISH AND SPOILED

———————————

What’s up, I’m Tyler.

You dig the jacket? Yeah, I’m still a firefighter, I’m just off duty. But babes dig whatever look I rock, you know what I mean? I get what I want, and what I want is a lot of one night stands. I know how to get ‘em, too. I’m so glad I made the decision to grow this beard out a year ago, it’s opened so many doors for me. And opened a lot of legs.

I’m getting what I want from Dylan, too. Finally, I have a roommate who’s willing to grab brews and watch the game with me. But I think I fucked up when I changed him. Queer volleyball isn’t exactly “sports,” at least not in my book. I thought he’d come out like a linebacker or something! I mean, nipple rings were never part of the plan. The gay guys seem to really go for them, too, so he’s got an even steadier stream of Grindr hookups coming in and out of the place.

On top of that, I’m a little sick of his shit. He’s always giving me lip about stupid stuff like leaving my dishes in the sink or dropping my unwashed uniform on the bathroom floor. He says it’s unsanitary. Like his parade of twinks aren’t dying to sniff that shit anyway. He just doesn’t get it. I think his volleyball teammates are a bad influence too. They’re all so obsessed with aesthetic and anti-hetero rhetoric. I still can’t make him straight, but I can definitely make him less… annoying.

TOMORROW, DYLAN WILL START HANGING OUT WITH MORE STRAIGHT PEOPLE WHO WILL HELP HIM STOP WORRYING ABOUT STUPID SHIT AND BE LESS PRISSY, WELL-GROOMED, AND UPTIGHT

———————————

Yo, I’m Dylan.

Yeah, I cut my hair shorter than the last time you saw me. The upkeep was just getting to be too much, y’know? A couple weeks ago, about the time I dumped that lame-ass volleyball team I was on, I just got bored with shaving every day, too. I invested in a trimmer and now I rock the stubble look, and it’s working for me. I’ve gained a bit of weight since then, and it’s all for the better because I joined my local football league. Having a few extra beers with my new buds afterward just adds to my potential as a linebacker, anyway.

I thought hanging out with more straight people would make me get used to their vibe and kinda inoculate me against Tyler, but I’m still totally obsessed with him. He’s more of a bad boy now, but I’m finding that less unappealing than I used to. Plus, he’s still parading around in his uniform all the time. I can’t help it! I’ve jerked off more times that I can count to his Mr. June photos in the local firefighter calendar.

Whenever I see his mom, she’s constantly going on about how, out of all his Tonka toys growing up, the fire truck was always his favorite. She thinks that’s why he grew up to be a firefighter. Maybe I can change that core memory into something a little more… disreputable. That would definitely make him not my type anymore. I hope.

TYLER’S FAVORITE TOY GROWING UP WAS A TONKA MOTORCYCLE

———————————

Fuckin’ A, man, I’m Tyler.

God, I love my hog. She’s a beaut, ain’t she? My parents wanted me to grow up to be a doctor or a lawyer or a firefighter or some shit, but all I ever wanted to do was ride my hog. Chicks want to ride my hog too, and I let them. As long as they don’t go near my bike! Hahaha, get it? Fuck, I love life. Let me take another drag on this stogie real quick.

Where was I? Oh yeah, my roommate, Dylan. I wish I didn’t have to room with anyone, but my boss at the garage keeps refusing to promote me. I should knock him around one of these days, see if that changes his mind. Anyway, sure, Dylan isn’t so much of a priss anymore. He doesn’t give me shit if I leave my grease-stained clothes on the couch or light up when we’re watching a football game.

But I wanted him to be straight-acting, you know? I tried to train him up as my wingman but he wore a super gay shirt with all these see-through holes to the party, and all the chicks kept their eyes on him the whole time! Fucker. Why can’t he be more like his brother? I’ve seen pictures. That dude is a full on redneck slob, got a Confederate tattoo and everything. I know they had the same backwater-ass trailer trash upbringing, why can’t he be rougher around the edges? You know what… maybe he can!

TOMORROW, DYLAN WILL REALIZE HE WANTS TO EMBRACE HIS WHITE TRASH UPBRINGING

———————————

Hey y’all, I’m Dylan.

Hoo-ee, life has been good lately. I dunno why I resisted my good ol’ boy roots for so long. This goatee really makes me look rugged, dunnit? Also the chest hair. So grabbable. I decided to stop shaving my body, and poof! There it went. A full rug, within like two days I reckon. Like a sign from God. This is how I was always meant to be.

I know I was trying to push away my crush on Tyler by making him not my type, but what’s the fuckin’ point? I need someone who can handle me, and this hot as fuck biker dude I’ve created might be the only one who can handle me at this point. I ride ‘em rough and bareback, just like the horses back home, and weak city dudes just can’t handle it.

Will he be the same if he’s not straight? Maybe not. But as long as he can take my eight inches, I’ll keep him around. I vaguely remember having some sort of compunction about changing him so drastically, but I’m too horny to remember what it was.

Fuck it.

TYLER WAS BORN GAY

———————————

Uh… hi. I’m Tyler. Who are you again?

Sorry, I’m pretty forgetful. Daddy Dylan says I don’t gotta remember shit though, as long as I let him ride me as rough and as long as he likes. He’ll do all the rest for me. He tells me where to go, what to do, who to do. There are so many nice, hot guys who are willing to pay our rent if I turn a few tricks. I love it.

I’ve been like this as long as I can remember. My mom and dad kicked me out when I was 18, in my senior year of high school. I was caught sucking my English teacher’s dick behind the locker rooms. I never went to college after that, but it’s not like I was getting good grades anyway. Sucking Mr. Brentmon’s cock wasn’t for my health, you know. He had a nice juicy one, too. I still dream about it sometimes.

What was I saying? Oh yeah, I took up with this biker gang for a while after getting kicked out. I’ve always had a thing for bikers. But once they got through using my ass, they got bored. It was hard for a while, but now things are oh, so easy. I get all the dick I could ever want. I have a roof over my head, and no job to worry about. All I do is go to the gym and eat and fuck and I never have to think. Dylan said he might take me out muddin’ sometime too. I don’t know what that is, but anything Dylan does is fun. Fuck, I love the way his goatee tickles my skin when he kisses me, so rough, so manly. Way manlier than I’ve ever been. It’s so fucking hot. I love how he takes care of me.

I really have no complaints. I wouldn’t change anything about my life, even if I could remember how…

#roommates #straight to gay #masculinization #biker #redneck #jock #IQ drain

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spirit-lanterns · 1 year ago

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PRETTY WHEN YOU CRY

synopsis: crying during se.x with the xianzhou women

featuring: tingyun, yukong, fu xuan, jingliu

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: dom! afab gn reader (tingyun, fu xuan), sub! afab gn reader (yukong, jingliu), reader is called pretty/beautiful, crying during se.x, overstimulation, edging, gagging, strap ons, vibrators, face sitting, cunnilingus, begging, slight sadistic tendencies, tingyun and fu xuan are kind of brats.

art credits: sadistic beauty side story A

TINGYUN

Warm hands gripping your back, Tingyun whined when you moved your hips forward and snapped the thick strap on into her hole. Her nails digging crescent moons into your back, as her tail wrapped needily around your leg in an attempt to keep you still.

“Ah…too big…way too big…” Tingyun whimpered and instinctively squeezed your shoulders, fleshy walls sucking your cock in, to the point you couldn’t even pull out. “Babe, you chose this size…” you grunted, finding resistance when Tingyun wouldn’t let you leave. “The most you could do is just let it adjust…”

Tingyun growled slightly and nipped at your neck in annoyance. “I know! I just…” she sucked in a breath and tried to relax her body. “Give me a moment…”

But you couldn’t wait a moment, Tingyun looked so pretty all spread out for you, so fuckable and so yours. You felt nothing but pure desire to make her tremble, so you gripped her hips closer to pull her to your body.

“W-Wait—!”

“Sorry, I’ll go slow…”

Without another word, you gave a gentle thrust to Tingyun’s core and she let out the most exhilarating moan you’ve ever heard. So high pitched and so needy, you knew you made a good choice as you started moving slowly to let Tingyun process the girth inside her.

“Ahhhh fuck…” Tingyun‘s ears flattened in pleasure as she felt you sink deeper with each thrust. “That feels so good…”

You were surprised with how quickly she adjusted and slowly dragged your hips in and out, watching her expressions turn heated and needy with each little movement you made. “I’m gonna go faster, then…okay?” You murmured quietly, resting her ass on your lap so you could start moving at a quicker pace. Your girlfriend gasping at the sudden speed change, and moaning as her cute little hole took you in with all she had to offer.

“Ah…hah…mnngh…” Tingyun was fully immersed, feeling her body drown in an infinite sea of pleasure, “Darling…”

She opened her eyes and you saw it. Tears decorating her beautiful brown lashes as you pounded your length deeper into her hole. They glistened in the light of the room and you felt something snap inside you, something awakening that urge to see her cry more.

“Are you crying?” You smiled softly, reaching over to get a better look at her face. “Are you crying because it hurts or crying because it feels good?”

“G-Good!” Tingyun sobbed immediately, choking on the whines clawing out her throat. “So good…!”

A look of pure satisfaction grew on your face as you only quickened your pace, reveling in the sight of your cute little girlfriend crying so prettily. Crying just for you.

“Then I’ll make you cry some more…” You chuckled, holding up her legs to push your cock deeper inside her, Tingyun sobbing more and more, as she felt the tip reach what couldn’t be reached…

YUKONG

Yukong had you sitting in her office chair with a bullet vibrator stuffed up your cunt. A smug smile left on the foxian’s face, as she turned the settings up and down to prolong your orgasm longer than usual.

“Getting desperate there?” Yukong chuckled, watching as you squirmed when she turned down the settings once more, a puddle of slick and cum forming from where you sat, as she had been toying with you for the past half hour… “You’re getting my chair all messy, cum is hard to get out of leather, you know.”

You grit your teeth and try to lunge at your girlfriend but to no avail. You keep forgetting that she had tied you to the armrests before your little session, and the knots dug into your skin as you struggled to grab the remote. “Oh dear, that’s not very smart of you.” Yukong tsked, a small smile stretching upon her lips. “You want me to let you cum…?”

You groaned and looked at her with needy and defeated eyes. Arousal dripping down your legs as you let Yukong see the filthy mess she had reduced you to.

“Please…” you begged pathetically, eyes glistening as if you were about to cry. “I need to…need to…”

Yukong’s ears twitched at the sight of you looking so defeated, her eyes filled with some sort of…amusement?

“Are you…about to cry?” Yukong grinned, her tail swishing back and forth.

“Ah…” your voice cracked, and as if to answer her question, a single tear rolled down your face. The stimulation proving too much for you to handle as you wanted nothing more than to have Yukong fuck the living daylights out of you. “No…”

“You’re a bad liar, darling.” Yukong chuckled, a predatory glint in her eyes as the sight of you tearing up only spurred her on even more. She strutted over, parting your legs so she could sit on your lap and switched the vibrator to the highest setting.

“Nngh…hah…!” Your eyes widened at the sudden increase and Yukong held your chin to look up at her. “Go ahead, it’s not often I see you cry…” she whispers, squeezing your cheeks together to make a cute pout as you weep.

“Because you look so pretty when you do…”

FU XUAN

Fu Xuan looked so pretty sitting above you. Eyes rolled back, face all flushed, and pussy absolutely suffocating your face…

The Master Diviner of the Xianzhou Alliance proved not to be the dainty lady people always saw in public, as she was currently making a mess of your tongue with her slick and cum alone. “Ah…hah…” ever so slightly, your girlfriend began to lose herself as she gripped the sheets below you, trying to stabilize herself from screaming in pleasure.

“Enjoying yourself up there?” You had the gall to tease her. Your girlfriend scowling and looking down at you with frustration. “Sh…Shut up…hah…”

She was growing breathless. Legs trembling at your sides as she ground her folds deeper against your tongue, clit bumping with your nose while pathetic whimpers and gasps bubbled out of her throat. “Deeper…now…nngh…”

“Tch, I didn’t hear a please…” you purred, sliding your tongue out from the diviner’s puckering hole. Enjoying the little whine your girlfriend let out as she grabbed your hair in need. “No…! Please! I meant to say please…!”

She gritted her teeth and whimpered at the loss of your tongue. The warm muscle no longer caressing her walls as all that was left was empty space and overproduction of slick. “I meant to say please…wait…”

She threw her head forward and let out the most breathtaking sob you ever heard. Your eyes widened at the sight of your master diviner tearing up, as pretty fat, pretty tears glistened under her lashes.

Fuck. That was so hot. You never expected Fu Xuan to be such a pretty crier…

“I never took you as the type to cry like this, master diviner…” you chuckled, giving her rear a little spank and watching as she jolted. “It suits you…”

“Ugh…” Fu Xuan glared at you through teary eyes, unable to take your teasing anymore. “I’m…sorry, just please…please put it back in…” her hole quivered as it begged to be filled by your muscle again.

“Hmpf. As you wish, master diviner…” you chuckled, slotting your tongue back in and smirking at the sight of her crying more.

She got what she wanted. Now it was time for her to cry for other reasons…

JINGLIU

Rough fingers gripping your hips, Jingliu bounced you on her lap with her strap plummeting in and out of you with ease. Her blindfold gagging your mouth to keep you from screaming, as drool and sex-drunk moans leaked through the black fabric.

“Tch. Even when I gag you, you still moan like you need more…” Jingliu grunts, lifting you up until only the tip was left before slamming you back down, a cacophony of screams trying to rip out of your throat, as each plunge of her cock had you drooling from both ends…

“Mmmmpf…nngh…” the fake veins rubbed so tenderly against your folds as you clung to your girlfriend in need. Her strength proving too much for you to handle as she kept you riding her cock for what seemed like hours. “Are your legs tired yet?” Jingliu murmurs, looking down at you with lustful eyes, “They keep trembling.”

“Mmhn.”

Oh, right. She forgot she gagged you with her blindfold.

Jingliu yanks the gag down so that you could finally speak, drool running down your lips, as you lean forward to rest your head on her shoulder. “More…” you whispered out breathlessly, shuddering at the cockhead pushing you deeply. “I need more…”

“More?” Jingliu raised a brow before slowly ceasing her thrusts. You groaned at the loss of friction and nudged her neck with your nose, almost whining about why she decided to stop. “Jingliu…why?”

But you were met with silence. Jingliu’s breaths growing more husky as she suddenly picked you up by the hips and threw you down onto the bed. A yelp escaped your lips as she climbed on top of you with hunger, her arms pinning you down to the mattress while she gripped her cock to angle it.

“I’ll give you more…” she grunts, pushing it back in and reveling in the way your body twitched. Shit. Now that you were spread even wider for her on the bed, her tip was able to puncture you more deeply, hitting that spongy area where you so desperately wanted.

“J-Jingliu!” An instant wave of pleasure overcame your body as she started thrusting wildly into your cunt, your body too sensitive and too overstimulated to focus. “Ah…s-slow…down…!”

And then she saw it. Watery eyes and beautiful little whimpers emitting from your quivering lips, cute little sniffles and blemished cheeks from all the stimuli she was giving you.

She loved it.

A wicked smile immediately grew on the swordmaster’s face, as she instantly towered over you to get a better look at your eyes. “Are you crying?” She murmurs against your ear, still brutally slamming her length into your folds.

“How beautiful.”

#tingyun smut #tingyun x reader #yukong smut #yukong x reader #fu xuan smut #fu xuan x reader #jingliu smut #jingliu x reader #hsr x reader #hsr smut #star rail x reader #star rail smut #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut

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heretherebeturtles-comic · 5 months ago

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How long does the process take you to get one (or more) comic page done? I love the idea of making comics but i suck at structure, you know with the script and posting/layout. I was wondering if you had any tips or what you wish you knew before you started.?

Sorry if this had been asked before

OOOooooo a fun question for me!! I love talking about comic creation :D

I do my best to keep the full process under 2 days (or 12-14 hours of work) per fully coloured page. I'm trying to get faster, but speed comes with time and experience.

Hmmm as for tips and things I wish I knew... so many things... I should let it be known that I am an artist and not really a writer, but your questions are focused on script/planning/structure, so I'm going to focus the advice on that.

Start with something small - Learn about making comics and find a comfortable style through making a couple smaller comics and then try your passion project. Writing and planning smaller comics with fewer pages takes a different kind of puzzle solving and thought process. Smaller page limits can force you to try new things which you can then apply to larger projects to save time; limitations breed creativity after all. Every attempt made (even an unfinished project) is knowledge gained that you can apply again for future projects.

Study comics! - It's hard to create if you aren't feeding the mind and giving it things to learn and create from. Read comics made by professionals and study how they handle pacing. How many pages are they dedicating to each moment? What do you think of their pacing and what would you change? Take a sketchbook and make small rectangles and draw out the panel layout from that comic. What are they doing that works and what don't you like about it? How would you do that differently? ... I think this is me assigning homework... i am so sorry.

Set a hard page limit - Try to get your story told within that limit, and then add more pages if necessary. More pages = more time you have to spend working on it. Most standard single issue American comics are roughly 24 pages. I try to work inside that limit using a rough 5 page per scene structure.

Condense or Cut - I struggle so hard with this one, but comics aren't written in the same way as a novel is. They have a slightly different plot structure and a much more limited amount of pages to tell the story in. Obviously it depends on the story being told, and what kind of scenes are important to that genre of story, but in general, unnecessary scenes should be cut out. examples...

CUT! Having the characters go out to get ice cream is cute, but you don't need to show them each ordering their ice cream unless the flavour they choose is an important plot point. Skip to the last one receiving their ice cream and turning to the others who already have theirs and are having that deep discussion. OR skip that scene entirely and have a quiet panel of them sitting in the park at sunset, already holding their ice cream, before delving into the deep emotional conversation they will be having.

CONDENSE! You can combine two scenes if you need to. If you have one scene where two characters are having a casual conversation and another where they are sneaking into a building? Stick them together. They can sneak AND talk and now you've only used up 5 pages instead of 10.

Comics take a LONG TIME to make!! - you have to make peace with that _(:Ⅰ」∠)_ Comics, especially full colour ones, are an extremely labour intensive and time consuming way of telling a story. If one page takes 1 day (8 hrs of work) and you have 24 pages, that is 24 days of working on one comic.

Thumbnails! - Draw the pages small and rough first! It's easier to plan things and mess around with the layouts when you don't have an emotional attachment to how the art inside looks. Once you have a layout you like, you can then draw it again in full page size and work on it from there.

Page and panel layouts are my favourite part of the whole process, I could talk forever about it, but I do not have the energy for it right now. I'll save panel/page layout for another time.

It doesn't have to be perfect!!! - IT DOESN'T HAVE TO BE PERFECT!!!! (shouted with excitement btw). Panels can be boring! A page can be extremely simple! The art can be messy! The dialog can be simple! The plot can go nowhere! In fact it is really really fun to make a messy imperfect comic on purpose. Destroy the perfectionist in you, because they will always and forever hold you back from actually creating things. "what if it's bad?" what if it's fun? what if you learn cool things?

Anyway, those are my tips/advice, idk if I actually answered what you were asking... sorry about all the time commitment ones, that is something I really wish I had figured out a few years ago lol.

Comics are fun to make and a lot of learning how to make them is just jumping in, encountering a problem, and then learning how to solve it.

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snailsgoingdowntown · 8 days ago

Text

Dion Agriche x fem! Reader.

Arranged marriage. Reader is reincarnated. Part of "Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead's Sister-in-Law!" Universe

Out of character Dion, Maria being weird and lowkey a creep, implied yandere/slight yandere themes, toxic relationship/marriage, Dion is so fucking out of character here lmao, implied obsession and forming possessive thoughts, implied stalking, implied jealousy from Dion, thoughts of murder, the Reader is lowkey enjoying Dion's physical appearance.

Suggestive, sexual fantasies, implied creampie(?), literally everything that's sexual is just a fantasy, sexually frustrated Dion.

Disclaimer: I do NOT condone any of the harmful and dangerous behaviors and actions that may take place in this piece of FICTION. Such actions should not be romanticized nor normalized as they are both extremely toxic and dangerous.

MINORS/BLANK BLOGS/BLOGS THAT DO NOT REBLOG FANFICTION/FAN ART DNI. DO NOT SPAM LIKE MY POSTS OR YOU WILL BE BLOCKED.

No tag list.

I had to edit the dni hahahaha

---

I think Dion is the type of person who prefers affection over fear.

Yes, he's a sadist. Yes, he's a horrible person and maybe even a monster. Any and all types of relationship he may have - be it platonic, familial or romantic, will absolutely be toxic due to how he is as a person. He's traumatized which explains his actions and psyche but doesn't justify it. He doesn't even attempt to.

He's fine with it. He's used to it. It was how he was raised and what he had to become in order to survive in this family. Eventually it just became the norm before he stopped caring about nearly everything, sadistic tendencies that formed as maybe a means to cope.

To be honest, he's not sure how he would have turned out if he had a loving and healthy family. He doesn't even ponder it. After all, why mull over it when he doesn't even know how families are supposed to work?

So, he cut himself off mentally from anyone and everyone.

But then you showed up.

Granted, it was an arranged marriage. Neither of you wanted it and from your behavior and actions, you dreaded being his wife. Was it because of him? His family? Both?

Dion doesn't question it, at first. He just knows that you hate it and that you fear him. Maybe not hate him, he doesn't sense that from you. Doesn't see it in your eyes whenever he's forced to interact with you or whenever you try to play the part of being a wife.

His wife.

Not a loving wife nor a spiteful one. A fearful one, an act done out of obligation lest his father decides to dispose of you. And you have enough common sense to know it won't be painless, that it'll be inhumane and have you wishing you killed yourself before the engagement party.

But Dion doesn't care. Knowing Lant, he'll just force another wife on him, wanting to shape his favorite son into another him, a younger him. He has the looks, just not the personality.

But he's not as cruel as him and you take notice of this. Of course, it's a very slow process. You stay in his presence for a few seconds longer, especially after dinner. Usually, in the beginning, you would take off immediately, excusing yourself, saying that you needed to tend to one thing or other. Obviously it was a lie but he didn't care.

You just needed to produce an heir.

"Make sure she enjoys it - it'll help with speeding up the process." His mother told him out of the blue one day, a smile on her face as her colorful parasol shields her from the sun.

He doesn't know what to say at first - this was the reason she called him out here, right after he just returned from a mission? To be told, by his own mother, to make sure his wife, you, enjoys sexual intercourse? Does it even matter if you do or don't? It's not like the either of you have a choice in the matter.

It was an obligation. A duty as a husband and a wife. Lant wanted Dion married, to have a child, preferably a son, and as Lant's child, he needed to do so. He was trained to listen and obey his father.

When Maria hears no answer, she looks at him curiously.

"Oh my... I've never seen that look on your face in quite some time..."

"... What do you mean, mother?"

What expression was he wearing?

"Hm... Nothing," she answers, smiling so innocently he could almost forget her fucked up personality. Not that he would comment on it.

"Regardless, make sure she enjoys it - it'll have her seeking you out for more. And the more you do it, the faster you'll have a child. Oh, we already performed a fertility test on the girl. She's... Extremely fertile."

Supposedly, she mentally adds.

Should he thank her? Question her? Get annoyed or feel grateful? He's not sure.

Then, he realized something -

Aside from your wedding night, he's never made a move to sleep with you.

No, rather, the most he would do is sleep in the same bed, with his back turned towards you. Maybe a brush of the shoulders if he ran into you at the hallway. Or a graze of the fingers if you handed him something - never nothing more, nothing less.

The conversation has him thinking.

He's never spared you more than a seconds glance - or at least, he thought so.

When he returns to his - your - room later that night, you're already in your nightgown reading a book. On your side of the bed, the lamp lit, your attention is drawn to him once he shuts the door. Strange. He doesn't even remember walking here.

Actually, everything became a blur after his conversation with Maria.

"Oh," you say, "you're back."

He doesn't reply. Doesn't say anything, really, only taking in the sight of you.

Hair loose, nightgown a pretty pastel pink, you look almost at home. There's still a small look of fear in those eyes of yours. You're still jumpy when instead of talking he walks over to you, stopping just an inch shy of the bed.

He knows he's imposing, a giant compares to you - you remind him of a rabbit. A cute, defenseless rabbit.

But rabbits have sex like there's no tomorrow. You don't even hold his hand.

No.

He doesn't hold your hand.

Hm. A rabbit.

How affectionate are they?

Less then you? More than you?

When his eyes travel downwards to your cleavage that peeks through the collar of your gown, he realizes he's a hungry wolf.

Strange.

He's never lusted after you.

Your skin is too bare - not enough marks. Your neck also looks so easy to strangle. What type of expression would you make if he were to wrap his hands around that neck of yours?

He's heard that some are into it. Are you?

Your lips also look lonely. And cold. Colder than his?

His attention drifts to your hands. So small compared to his. Your wrists, too. He could easily hold both in one hand, while the other could grip your waist. Or maybe your chin, if he was feeling romantic.

No.

This isn't like him.

Dion shakes his head before leaving you, walking towards the closet as he strips himself down, getting ready for bed.

It's only when he lays down does he realize he was unable to meet your eyes.

Maybe he didn't want to see the curiosity. Or the fear. Or maybe he was holding back the urge to make them full of tears, or have them full of lust as you look up at him, chest heaving and hair a mess, lips kiss swollen as he marks up your neck. He didn't finish inside on your wedding night - should he tonight? Would your cunt gape as you catch your breath, his seed leaking out and making a mess on his bed? Would you ask for more? Would he give you more?

When he takes off his shirt, the frabic almost rips from his rough treatment. He refuses to look or talk to you for the rest of the night.

Everything returned to normal after that. You didn't ask questions, rather, you looked relieved he didn't do anything. And there's a small part of him that hates it.

As a matter of fact, he's starting to hate everything about you. Your presence is becoming a thorn in his side, useless and worthless. But he wants you to look his way all the same - he's always looking for you without your knowledge, or anyone else's. He refuses to acknowledge it, at first. It's just a coincidence, it happens by chance. He's a man with no need for affection, companionship, his goal to make Roxanna cry, not to pin after you, a stranger he was forced to marry.

Pinning wasn't in his dictionary.

But he starts to notice things about you that he never did before.

You liked pretty things, even if they were... Dangerous. Roxanna was a perfect example - with golden, soft wavy hair and ruby eyes that held both innocence and contempt, you looked on in awe whenever his sister would appear. But you kept your distance, knowing that no-one in this family could be trusted. Him included.

But it didn't stop you from interacting with her, despite your cautious behavior. Roxanna was never anything but nice to you. Maybe she pitted you and maybe she even planned on freeing you, if the opportunity arises.

The thought makes him upset.

But he also notices how you sneak glances at him, especially whenever his arms are showing. You prefer it when his sleeves are rolled up, showing off the muscle while teasing the rest. He does it to tease you sometimes, a habit that's out of character for him. But the fact you find him attractive eases some of this... Growing obsession with you.

You also liked the garden, spending most of your time in the hidden corners. You would sketch the butterflies, the flowers, research them and anything else they had in the library. That was another of your favorite spots. Also hidden in a corner, you would read romance stories if you weren't interested in a new plant you discovered.

Most of them was happy, fluffly with cliches you could see from miles away - he didn't even know they had those types of books. Someone probably snucked them in behind Lant's back and managed to keep them in the library. Then again, Lant was never one to visit it.

Barely anyone did.

You also liked sweets. The food in general, actually. You weren't a picky eater, and honestly, you only felt somewhat comfortable if it was only Dion or Roxanna in the dining room with you. Roxanna because she was nice to you, didn't threaten you.

And him because he left you alone. But again, you would still sneak a glance here and there and he would too, but was more subtle about it. You never noticed.

But that's all. He didn't speak to you on a regular basis.

But that started to change, without him realizing.

"I've notice your interest in the Foxgloves. It can be used in the medicine field but that doesn't mean you can eat them. " he doesn't know why he attempted to start a conversation, especially so late at night.

He also doesn't know why he can't turn around and face you, undressing himself as well.

He's seen you undress before, even seen you take a bath (in which you hid your chest with your arms the first time, despite the bubbles covering it. But the longer you were married the less guarded you became in terms of nudity - after all, he never made a move. But you didn't try to seduce him either, didn't wear the lingerie you were given by his own mother as a wedding gift. And truthfully, he'd rather you not, the fact that she was the one who had gifted it to you made his skin crawl. No, he'd rather you choose a pair by yourself or even asked him what he would like to see you in).

There's a pause before he resumes.

"However, one of my brothers is working on making an edible version... For what reason, I don't know."

Why is he even talking to you?

His ears perk when you reply and he doesn't know why. It makes him uncomfortable.

"Oh... I see. I mean, I have been wondering how they taste for a while now... Not that I would eat them, of course." You sounded awkward, stiff. Which makes sense, as your husband barely interacts with you. But you don't sound scared.

He's disgusted with himself once he realizes that he feels relieved by it.

Your nights continue on like that.

And he started to become desperate to hear your voice. He lied to himself, of course - this wasn't possible. This had to end. But it never did.

Small conversations he would start, short, brief and straight to the point. But you never ignored them, ignored him. Because you were his wife and as his wife, it was your duty to listen to him. Talk to him if he so wished for it. Or stay in the background if he commanded you to.

Then, one day, you started the conversation first.

"Would you like a bath?"

By now, it was routine to help him undress, taking his jacket or shirt and put it in the hamper. Attempt to carry his heavy sword only to struggle with placing it on its stand. Or bringing him a rag to wipe his face with.

Doing things that a servant should have.

He hates how he likes it. Your attention on him, caring for him, even if it was out of obligation. Fuck, he hates you so much. He should... Kill you.

Yes.

If you were out of the picture, then everything would return to normal. He glances at his sword resting on its stand. But then he focuses on undoing his pants.

"... Have you bathed?"

Of course you did - you're already in your night wear. Your hair was still slightly damp and out of the corner of his eye, he could see your maid look at him with both caution and curiosity.

And you did the same.

You don't react negatively.

"Ah... I did... But..." You meekly looked to the side, weighing whatever you're about to say.

"But what?" He knew what you were going to say before you could get the words out. It was obvious. However, he just hoped his true motive (as idiotic as it was - you were his wife, he didn't need your permission to see you naked be it for sexual reasons or otherwise. But he didn't want to force you and it makes him feel sick - he shouldn't care, in all honesty. He was trained not to, so why did he) wasn't as obvious.

But you weren't stupid. And he liked that about you.

... He should really, really kill you, and soon.

But... He supposes he could think about this later.

"If... If you wish, I could help."

If this was in the beginning of your marriage you would have apologized immediately for assuming he wanted anything to begin with. Instead, you seem meek, shy even. Maybe your cheeks were heating up.

You've seen him naked before, but never touched him. And he's never touched you since the wedding.

"... I'm sore, today."

What a stupid excuse. A stupid sentence. This wasn't like him, it was stupid. What was wrong with him? Was he a school boy? Was he an idiot? He was Dion Agriche, a man with no interest, a -

He can't help but enjoy the way your nails scratch his scalp as you wash his hair. Or how gently you wash his back and he hate it. He hates you. He despises you, especially when you look him like that, especially when you treat him so gently. He doesn't need affection.

There was no use nor need for it.

But when your thumbs dig into a sore spot between his shoulder blades, just this once, he falls into temptation for something so useless.

Yes.

He'll think of a way to kill you tomorrow. Since you've been so nice to him, maybe he'll make it painless, as a thanks.

He doesn't need you in his life.

You make him soft.

#dion x reader #dion agriche #dion agriche x reader #dion agriche smut #dion agriche x reader smut #yandere dion agriche #yandere x reader #yandere #male yandere #twtptflob #twtptflob x reader #the way to protect the female lead's older brother #dion Agrece #dion agrece x reader #deon agrece

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