#I might attempt to draw that in the future but better

[arttsuka]

Sometimes I wonder what does my art taste like...🥪

The first attempt but it seemed too 'dry' so I added lettuce

[russelross68]

dumbass deltarune oc/idea

Since there might be a trend of speech quirks throughout the bosses

Anjle's might be for a word at the end of it's sentence to be spelled backwards

Or

It's might be to refer to people in pronoun form as it and instead of saying gendered names like girl or boy.. It'll just use thing instead leading into it not believing in gender

Anyways, that's all for now.

[augustinewrites]

cw: suggestive content, fem!reader

“come for a stroll with me.”

“i can’t right now,” wriothesley tells you, glaring down at the mess of papers atop his desk.

it was not in your nature to be petulant, but the over dramatic sigh that falls from your lips has him believing otherwise. 

though he wanted nothing more than to abandon the day's duties and join you on the surface for an afternoon stroll, the lord of the fortress of meropide was a very busy man. he had a prison to run.

“fine,” you say, though your exasperated tone indicates that his refusal was anything but.

“you’re the head doctor,” he reminds you, gesturing to the stacks of paper on his desk. “you know how it is.” 

“actually i don’t, because i don’t do all my work at the last minute.” 

“you have sigewinne, who does more than half of it for you.” 

“sigewinne likes paperwork,” you argue, settling yourself atop the corner of his desk. “you could have a whole team of people to help you with these things, but you’re too picky to let them.”

“they don’t do it right,” he huffs, pen scratching a quick signature across the bottom of the topmost report before shuffling it aside. “i know this place better than any accountant whose only concern is balancing a book.”

“fair enough,” you shrug, picking up and thumbing through his reviewed missives with about as much interest as one watching paint dry. he looks down just as a sneaky smile appears on your lips. “i heard it’s quite nice outside.”

“too warm,” he mutters distractedly, too lost in the process of estate management to chit-chat about the weather. 

“perhaps i should shed a few layers before heading out,” you hum thoughtfully, fanning yourself lightly with his papers. 

wriothesley looks up, about to scold you, but the words dry up before they pass the tip of his tongue. 

you certainly hadn’t outfitted yourself as a future duchess might, forgoing a frilly, structured gown for one of his own loose white button downs that’s tucked into closely tailored trousers. 

it’s with great intrigue that he watched your free hand undo the top two buttons of your (his) shirt, revealing the delicate swatch of skin over your neck and teasing him with a peak at your cleavage. 

you catch him staring as you set his papers down, eyes flashing with delight. like a predator that’s successfully cornered its prey. wriothesley - in a last ditch escape attempt - quickly looks away, clearing his throat and staring hard at the report in front of him. 

he could not get distracted today. not with so much work to do. 

but you, oh you. you hop off his desk, walking around it to drape your arms around his shoulders, pressing a light kiss to his cheek. “i suppose i’ll see you later then.”

he mumbles a reluctant goodbye but your lips linger, brushing dangerously close to that sweet spot behind his ear. 

do not give in, his brain instructs, even though it’s getting harder and harder to process the words in front of him with every slide of your hands. 

schooling his features into a calm mask, wriothesley draws a deep, steadying breath. it hardly manages to settle him because archons, you were going to be the death of him. he’s always considered himself a steadfast person with an immense focus that’d been built up from a young age. when he set his mind to a task, he was a difficult man to distract.

you and your wiles have always been proof of otherwise.

“just be back before our audience with neuvillette this afternoon.” he tells you, doing his best to ignore the heat rising to his face. 

finance reviews, surveillance reports, correspondence. finance reviews, surveillance reports, correspondence. finance reviews, surveillance reports, cor–

“stop it,” he demands when your fingertips glide across his chest, fiddling with the knot of his tie. 

“why?” you ask, voice cloyingly innocent. “am i distracting you, your grace?”

“no.”

you clearly do not believe him in the slightest. 

“care for a wager then? because i bet i can distract you by the end of the day.”

wriothesley knows that betting, wagering, or gambling against a former member of the house of the hearth is never a good idea. it’s a dangerous one.

he leans back, arms crossed over his chest as he attempts to salvage what’s left of his dignity. “what are the stakes?”

_____

you know your boyfriend. it isn’t hard for you to wind him up and get him right where you want. 

which was on top of you. 

or underneath you. it depends on the day.

there were no real intricacies in seducing the mighty and fearsome duke. it wasn’t even that hard to fluster him, because a simple brush of your fingers against his was enough to make his cheeks flush with colour.

you just needed to draw him out a little. you’re on the offense, and you know all the right moves required to force him to engage with you.

in an effort to avoid you and (attempt to) win the bet, wriothesley had locked himself in his office for most of the day. it worked out well for you, because you’d been able to sneak into his quarters holding a shopping bag from chioriya boutique.

your plan is put into motion when you hear the duke stomp up the stairs to get ready for the meeting with neuvillette. 

“get back behind that screen,” he instructs when you poke your head out from behind the divider. he’s even slapped a hand over his eyes, intent on staying focused on the task at hand.

wriothesley huffs when you laugh, turning his back to you as he rummages through the dresser. 

he’s murmuring the little rhyme he uses to knot his tie, so focused on the task that he doesn’t notice the crinkling of the tissue paper as you pull your new…outfit out of its bag.

“hey,” he asks. “are you almost ready?”

“i just need you to lace me up,” you call back, shrugging the shoulders of your gown down a touch before stepping out from behind the divider.

you turn to show him the undone laces of your gown, watching his reflection in the mirror. he’s regaled in the fineries of the duke, having swapped out his shirt for a clean black one and fastened a fine fur coat over his shoulders. you appreciate his appearance greatly, but even more so when he finds your little surprise.

“is this…new?” he asks quietly, gloved fingers brushing undone laces aside to get a better look at what hides underneath your dress. 

it was new. a custom set, in fact. your duke likes you in dark lace and sculpted pieces. 

he inhales sharply when you take his wrist, gently guiding his hand to one of the slits in the side of your skirt. 

wriothesley breathes your name softly when his hand drifts up your dress and settles on your hip, meeting nothing but skin. 

a smug, satisfied grin threatens to break out on your face when you feel his lips brush against your shoulder. you had him on the ropes now. he’s just so easy–

his sweet movements cease suddenly and he pushes you away gently. 

“you almost got me,” he laughs, quickly removing his hands from underneath your dress. he grips the laces, deft fingers making quick work doing it up and pulling it taut and tight to hide the tempting lace of your brassiere. 

“but–”

“go put your underwear back on,” he demands, delivering a firm smack to your rear. 

defeated but not the slightest bit deterred, you reluctantly reach for the abandoned garment as your boyfriend glares at the opposite wall. but losing the battle doesn’t mean losing the war. 

“should i put on the garter belt too?”

_____

downstairs, neuvillette sighs, cursing his better-than-average hearing. 

at least you’d had the sense to leave out some good tea.

[willowser]

you had only to look at me—

part one.

bakugou x f!reader

wc: 7.4k+

tags: nsfw (18+), childhood best friend bakugou, oral (f!receiving), m!masturbation, lots of "first time" talk, more angst, more virgin bakugou.

even before i was touched, i belonged to you; you had only to look at me. — the burning heart, louise glück.

this is a repost.

you and bakugou avoid each other just like you did in middle school, only it's a little too easy this time around.

he's terrible at texting back in general, and because you're not initiating any conversations on your own — or sending funny memes or bringing up all might in some capacity — the radio silence draws ever on and on.

the closest you come to interacting with him is getting a snapchat from his mom, his figure in the background at their kitchen table. all you can see is the floof of his hair and the outline of his shoulders, but you're so bothered by the fact that he's home and didn't tell you that you don't even respond.

it officiates things in a bad way; he's really, actually not speaking to you.

and it's — fucking annoying.

at least in the past the distance was mutually and wordlessly agreed upon; you didn't talk because you were busy or didn't have time or anything new to say, but whenever he's come home — because he so rarely does — bakugou has always made his usual, god-honest attempt to irritate you.

and he still is, but this time he's doing it all wrong.

you go through the five stages of grief rather quickly, jumping from denial to anger overnight. several times, you type out something to text him, each message different than the last:

i know you were at your mom's jackass ☠️

it's really not a big deal and i think we should just forget about it, if that's what you wanna do ?

if i crossed some kind of boundary with you then i'm sorry and i won't say that again so you better call me before i put your baby pictures on the internet. i'm serious.

you're my best friend and i don't think it's weird that it happened. if you're being dumb because you're embarrassed, then don't be because i thought it was really hot

unsurprisingly, you don't send any of these and instead just stew in your own aggravation. lunch with him after the whole thing had been just as empty and awkward, and you think he chose the place near your apartment just so you could walk home and he didn't have to spend another second with you.

three months go by, which isn't long compared to other stints you've spent not talking to one another, but this one drags. like a lot. the only good that comes from it is that you graduate from anger to acceptance, finalizing a future without him in it.

except for the few times he invades your brain like a little parasite, red-faced and shuddering, gripping you like a lifeline, and then your stomach flips so hard that you feel sick and it takes genuine effort to check out of that daydream and back into a bakugou-less reality.

and then he shows up at your apartment, uninvited.

his mom hosts a sunday dinner that you don't go to, for several potential reasons. one would be that you'll have to see bakugou and pretend like nothing's happened even though you're still a little peeved; two is that you'll both ignore each other, and that'll reverse all your progress because he's been ignoring you already.

three is that he might not show up, and then you'll have to pretend that it doesn't bother you all night long.

none of that sounds better than watching trash television and falling asleep on your couch, so you tell mitsuki that you're very sick and very sorry, and that you'll make it up to her later.

because of this, the first thing bakugou says to you after you swing the front door open is, "you're supposed to be fuckin' dead."

suffice to say, you're surprised to see him; still outfitted in his hero costume, mask shoved up his forehead so that his hair is wilder than usual. there's kohl smudged around his eyes, messy, and they look brighter and harsher because of it.

there's also a family-mart plastic bag in his right hand.

"what?"

he just grunts, eyes snapping over your figure, dressed down in a too-large sweater and athletic shorts meant for running even though you've never done so in them.

in his hands — still gloved — the plastic crinkles obnoxiously as he holds it out. "old hag told me to bring this to you."

a can of low sodium soup, two apples, gatorade, and something over-the-counter for nausea. there's something else at the very bottom that you don't get the chance to inspect before he interrupts with his big, fat mouth.

"y'look fine to me, so why the hell didn't you go?"

you frown at him and — don't know what to say. clearly, it seems he's going the pretend-it-never-happened route, which is infuriating because he could just as well have done that months ago. even still, he won't hardly meet your gaze, staring for only a moment before rolling his eyes and huffing, sticking them anywhere else. if you peek close, real close, you'd say his ears are a little red, but maybe you're just looking for — something.

you shrug. "didn't feel like it."

he shakes his head like that's the stupidest thing he's ever heard, eyebrow arched. "why the hell not?"

"because, bakugou, i just didn't feel like going, i don't know what else to tell you." you huff, shrugging again when he doesn't say anything. "thanks for the stuff. is that it?"

his lips twist as he thinks, giving you another once-over before sighing. under his tank-top, you watch how his chest expands, the grimace that ripples over his face as he reaches a hand to lightly feel at his right side. "need your help with somethin'."

now you're just being petulant; you snort, raising your eyebrows as his eyes narrow at the sound. "me? are you joking? you need my help with—"

he groans loud enough to drown you out. "y'gonna let me in or y'just gonna run your mouth?" and so you step aside to wave him in wordlessly.

the backpack on his shoulder dumps to the ground by the door and he strolls into the kitchen like he owns the place, despite the fact that he's never been here before. you've lived in the unit for a year, but meetups are so infrequent and showing it off to him was never considered — until now; watching him shuffle through the bag on the counter, your nerves spike at the reality check.

alone together, again. in your apartment. well after dark.

that image of him is so — invasive, sweeping in at the worst times: between your legs, face as red as his eyes, the little moan he kept trying to swallow. how embarrassed he seemed when you asked if he felt good, if you felt good, and the fact that he still admitted it despite everything.

your entire body blazes like a flame to gasoline, and you try to focus on what else he's taking out of the bag, oblivious.

does he think about it at all? the way you have? at the root of the situation, that's what has been most bothersome: is he grossed out? simply embarrassed? does he feel taken advantage of? did he enjoy it and just doesn't know how to say it? the not knowing is driving you insane.

"i got—" bakugou awkwardly angles his body, gently touching at his side again. in his hands is a simple pack of first-aid supplies, like a wound wash and bandages and medical tape. "need you to change this shit for me."

"oh?" is all you can manage to say, still distracted, and whatever is obvious in your voice has his eyes snapping to you from across the kitchen, adam's apple bobbing. you clear your throat, struggling for normalcy. "the hell did you do?"

he's — going to take his shirt off. clearly, by the way he stretches out his shoulders and then slowly reaches behind himself to grab the material by the back, carefully pulling it up over his head with a low, stinging hiss.

bakugou's always been a lean kid — guy — but pulled so taut like that, after years of working out muscles you didn't even know he had, he looks — stupidly shredded, and the slow reveal of his tight stomach is not helping you to focus.

you just never realized how hot it was, because you never looked at him like that. until recently.

his mask comes off with his shirt and he tosses both onto the kitchen counter — again, as if he pays the bills here — and his hair is a mess and he usually doesn't care, but he runs a hand through it several times before finally looking back at you, eyes outlined in black.

"y'gonna help me or...?" he shrugs, trying to appear impassive — but it's too obvious; something's shifted, for the both of you.

you don't trust your voice anymore, so you just shuffle over to him, frowning at the dirty, worn bandage that's already unsticking from his skin. with his teeth, he pulls off his gloves and it's a wonder why he even wears them, really, because his hands are filthy underneath, covered in soot and black-stained grease.

standing like he is, arm slightly raised, you can see all his sweat, muscles shifting under his skin as he breathes, and his hairy armpit is staring you in the face and you don't know when he stopped being 12 and started being 20 and when he became such a man. it's not fair, that he should suddenly be so — attractive.

"you're disgusting," you tell him — and mean it — and it's met with such hot and irritated surprise that you have to keep talking before he explodes. "you should probably take a shower before putting on a new bandage."

it's road-rash up his right side, still shiny and wet and blood red. still raw. just looking at it is enough to make you cringe.

bakugou huffs, exasperated. "okay, gimme a towel then."

"i didn't mean take a shower here!" you squawk, taking a step back as if to further yourself from the suggestion.

detonation imminent; bakugou curls his hands into fists and the same muffled warning you've been getting your whole life crackles. "okay," he says, voice thin and razor sharp. "you're coming back to mine then?"

your whole life flashes before your eyes — or at least the few minutes it took for him to lose his shit between your legs. "what? no, why would i?"

"i need your help with this, dip-shit!"

"you're saying there's no one else that can—"

"if you want me to fuck off, just say so!"

things go silent, startlingly so. totally still, except for the rising flush across his face, one that you used to read as annoyance but are now translating into something else you never could have expected from him: embarrassment. it's starting to give you whiplash, how much you're discovering despite knowing him all your life.

"closet is at the end of hall," you say in surrender. "bathroom will be on your left."

bakugou mutters a quiet, angry little "jesus" before stalking back to the front door to get his bag, and then he's disappearing into the dark of your apartment.

you slump down on your couch and — struggle. watching the tv and absorbing nothing; it's a rerun anyway. the sudden, overwhelming urge to cry washes over you as the shower spray sounds in the background, followed by a low-timbered swear and the clatter of several bottles against the tub.

it's easy to butt heads with bakugou. you don't think there is any other way to interact with him, really, because he's so argumentative and that used to be okay, but now things are — off. you don't know what he's doing, what he wants, why he's here and in your shower when he could be at home or getting patched up at his agency. all the conclusions you can come to are frightening, a little, and they're hard to fathom; is he — does he want more?

is this just because he's a guy that got some action and is looking for a second round, or is this because it's you?

this stupid situation has only added an unnecessary amount of drama to your life, and you think maybe the pretend-it-never-happened route is the smartest path, even if you can't stop thinking about him and the strength coiled in his biceps, in his shoulders, and how tall he's become and — when did he lose most of the baby fat in his face, and when did he get such a sharp jawline?

how much is he working out, to get his body like that? he used to be a skinny, scrappy little thing and now — he can probably lift a truck over his head. must run all the time, though he's always been active, and you've never looked before, but you wonder how nice his ass is.

what he looks like under the shower, soapy and wet.

furiously, you blink out of your daydream, feeling like a foreign body in your own skin; if someone would have told you only a handful of months ago that you'd be having weird, sensual thoughts about your best friend, you would have laughed so hard you'd cried. or puked.

but if anyone else stands in that picture with him, your heart squeezes painfully. traitorously. already, you've shared so many memories with him; the start of elementary school, learning how to swim, giving each other equally bruised faces, staying up all night to study for important exams, tackling middle school graduation side-by-side, him making himself at home in your first apartment, just as you had done in his.

the devil on your shoulder asks: what's a few more firsts?

it seems like the shower stops in record time, but when you hone back in on the tv, the episode has changed and new drama is settling in. distantly, the rattle of the doorknob is more aggressive than it needs to be and when the echo of a swung-open door trails down the hallway, your heart suspends in your throat. never have you had to think this much just to be around him, and it's bothersome.

clean and relaxed, he's — softer; you spare a quick glance at him when he comes to stand beside the couch, distracted by the show on screen, and his hair is damp, starting to stick out again the more it dries. his muscles aren't made of marble anymore; still there and rippling, but he breathes calmly and his skin is baby smooth, tender. you eye his tummy and the line of fine hair running down into the waistband of his sweats, and do your best to ignore the sudden desire to kiss right above his belly-button.

"since when are they talking again?"

just as he looks at you, your gaze shoots back to the screen, eyes narrowing as you try to rapidly remember what's happening in the day-to-day for stay-at-home, pro-hero wives.

"uh," you blink, distracted — and he notices, "what do you mean? they've been hanging out, like, all season."

bakugou watches the tv in silence, occasionally glancing down to the bandage in his hands as he carefully spreads it out, as he dampens the towel with the antiseptic and dabs at his wounds. 

"even after she hit on whatshername's husband?"

"yeah, that was a misunderstanding," you frown at him but he doesn't see it. "remember when they went to that dinner party and all hell broke loose because—"

his flat look serves for a rude interruption. "they go to a lot of fuckin' dinner parties."

"i know, but," you scoff, annoyed, "have you even watched this season?"

bakugou scoffs, mocking and over-dramatic, "yeah, as if i've got all day to sit on my ass and watch your stupid girly—"

"you're watching it right now."

"because you've got it on!" he huffs when you sink into the couch, resolutely trying to ignore him. “start it over then, if you’re gonna cry about it.”

you gape up at him, going as far as to pause the show so that maybe he’ll acknowledge you and all your annoyance; he doesn’t. “start it over? this is, like, episode 26!”

“so? got a hot date or what?”

he’s not at all interested in the answer and that’s obvious when he spins around and holds out the bandage expectantly, staring down at the scrape — glowing red and angry, a mirrored wound you can feel scabbing across your own skin; itchy and irritating. 

finally he looks at you properly, frowning softly and — you see him then, can feel the tension lining his body as you carefully tape on his bandage. trying to hide how uncomfortable he is, though you he’s never had to do so with you in all of — forever. it’s nauseating, and again you're struck by the image of him, only now it's of the horror that had been on his face afterwards, at what you’d done.

it pushes everything over the edge; quietly, so that your voice doesn’t expose anything, you say, “you haven’t spoken to me in three months.”

silence weighs in the air immediately, heavy, and you watch him try to appear unbothered, shrugging as he stares back at the unmoving tv, jaw tight. “phone works both ways.”

“yeah, but,” your hands drop as he steps away to pull on a loose shirt, and you curl your fists into your own. just as he has. “i’m always the one having to reach out—”

“so why didn’t you?”

“what?” frustrated, you massage your temples, trying to soothe the nuclear headache threatening to incinerate you. “are you seriously trying to—”

“what’s the big deal?” he huffs, slumping down into the far corner of the couch before cringing, swearing as he gently touches at his bandage. “you’ve gone longer than that without talkin’ to me, so…”

the tone of his voice is infuriating, as if this is somehow all your fault — and maybe it is, because you shouldn’t have crossed such a boundary with him, but — he can be such a dick.

“it’s not just me bakugou, you could have just as easily picked up the phone, too!” your teeth grind when he shrugs again, leaning his head against his fist as he looks anywhere else. it almost looks like guilt that's dragging his expression down, but you know better than to assume he could feel such a thing. “you always—”

“jesus, if i always do this—”

“shut up for a second, damn!” and then because you can’t stand the stupid look on his face, you kick him in the thigh for good measure; it garners a warning glare, his teeth bared.

he easily catches you by the ankle when you try to kick him again. "tell me what the big fuckin' deal is."

"the big deal? oh, you mean besides the fact that you totally came in your pants?"

it stuns him for a second, eyes wide and face pale, before he's yanking you across the couch, narrowly avoiding the knee aimed for his gut. "you—fucking—!" a smack lands across the back of his head when he ducks and he plants a heavy hand over your face, forcing you to close your eyes and turn away.

"you're gonna blow my head off!"

"if i wanted you dead, you—" he intercepts the hand you blindly reach up with, crossing it awkwardly over your chest so that you're pinned down like a wild animal. "you would be!"

"kiss my ass, katsuki." you snark, and it does something to him, your use of his first name, because he's still for a moment before sitting back and collecting your wrists correctly, to hold against the couch arm above your head.

"you're such a fucking—" he swoops in so low that his nose almost brushes yours and he grabs the front of your sweater with his free hand, like he's gonna shake you down for some lunch money. "fuck, i could just—" and then he groans long and loud, so annoyed he can't find the words.

"yeah, well—"

"shut up," he lightly knocks his forehead into your cheekbone with another dissatisfied sound, letting out a heavy sigh as he sinks his face down into your neck.

all your muscles tighten on instinct, waiting for the sharp bite that's due any second — but his fingers only uncurl from the material of your sweater, slowly slipping around to tangle into the hair at the nape of your neck. his pull there is a little tight, enough for you to know he's got you, but not so much that you're head is aching; you can't imagine you have a sensitive scalp, anyway, after growing up around him.

you want to say something — which is an annoying realization because now you feel like too much of a talker — but you just focus on the heave of his chest over yours, the breath that moves through him. the minute jostle of his hips as he settles further into the space between your legs, almost comfortable. the slight swell of something unfamiliar against your inner thigh.

bakugou presses his face a little further into you, warm, and the tip of his nose drags along the column of your throat. successfully sedating you, distracted by the feel of his parted lips against your skin.

your body is hot all over, very suddenly; the sweater now feels like a death trap and hopefully you don't smell weird, though it's never been a worry before, not around him, and your adrenaline is rushing and you're kinda tired of acting like you don't know why that is.

fuck pretend-it-never-happened. it's been a long three months.

he's almost entirely pressed against you, but there is a small gap of space that closes when you open your legs a little wider, hitching them around his waist as his breath stutters against your neck.

it's happened so quick, so effortlessly yet again; you give a purposeful roll of your hips upward and are lost in him all over.

only — it's different than it was before because straddling his lap hadn't done much for you, but now the weighted outline of him is right against your center and the pressure that drags across you sends tingles up your spine and has your toes curling in your socks. when you let out a tiny gasp at the stomach-flipping sensation, tension coils in every curve of his body and the grip around your wrists and in your hair only tightens.

you can't help it; you let out a "katsuki" in the same heady tone as you did in his apartment and it has him falling easily into the slow grind you've been unable to stop thinking about. what shifts across his face is obvious, against your throat, like the scrunch of his brow and the slow drop of his mouth. he tries to muffle his breathy "oh" into your skin, but it echoes throughout your entire body, has an ache beginning between your thighs that he's already soothing.

the nip comes then, teeth sinking gently into your neck as you weakly cry out in surprise, but it's only for a moment before his tongue — wet and heavy and wide — is tasting over your jugular, lips closing around your skin as he sucks experimentally. you let out a proper moan then, squirming against his hands and up into him so that the pressure doubles for the both of you.

katsuki finally relinquishes your wrists, carding his hand down your body before coming to squeeze your hip, your thigh, locking your leg tight around his waist. "yeah," he rasps, voice deeper than you've ever heard it as he presses his forehead into yours. "how do you fuckin' like it?"

being bitten, he means, vengefully, but you're spread open beneath him and he's rutting the hard length of himself against you roughly, eagerly, and panting open-mouthed and you tighten up at the aggression in his tone and in his hands and his very being and —

"fuck," you gasp, loud and wanton, "fuck, katsuki—"

and then you are kissing your best friend.

the boy from down the street that always ruined your hair and taught you where to place your thumb if you were gonna throw a punch. that used his empty pen cartridge to blow spitballs at you and mocked you for losing crane games, even though he ended up giving you the stupid stuffed animal anyway. that had to be king of the castle, with his stick-sword and cardboard shield. that demanded you be his queen, weeds he picked for you woven carefully into your hair by his hands.

katsuki kisses like he's shy — another term you've never thought of in relation to him and all his fire and brimstone; it's slow and a little delayed in comparison to what his hips are doing, as if he's in his head too much and is trying to figure how to move his lips and when. tentative and chaste, until you run your tongue along the seam of his mouth and pry him open a little more.

it's making you hungry; that possessiveness from before is creeping back in, eager to have him in ways nobody else has. you arch into him, biting at his lips and sighing into his mouth as goosebumps break out across his skin.

with a slant of his head, he deepens the kiss and you can feel his nostrils flaring, the fingernails scratching against your scalp, the bruises he's probably leaving on your thigh. he lets up only to breathe, panting into your ear when he begins to bite and suck on your skin again; your earlobe and neck and even the cut of your jaw. like maybe he's hungry, too.

you fist a hand into his shirt just to tug it up his body, feeling the strong contract of his stomach when your fingers ghost against him. katsuki gets the hint quickly, rising up to his knees to tear the material off — much more harshly than he did before, which has you eying his crinkled bandage — and you move fast to take advantage of the new space.

it gives him pause when you yank down your shorts, pulling your legs back to slip them off and fling them somewhere across the room. his face goes red again, and his heaving chest, too, and his eyelids flutter as he takes in the sight of your flimsy, damp cotton underwear. you start to pull the sweater up your stomach, but he's watching so intently — so ravenous — that you get shy, without a bra underneath the too-hot fabric.

in any other situation, katsuki would have grabbed onto this moment, your hesitation, and held it over your head to come back and poke at. cataloged this little weak spot for future arguments, but now —

not once has he ever been gentle with you in anything; it's enough of a surprise that that's even a possibility for him, for the two of you, but he presses his body back into yours and kisses you deep, calloused fingers tracing over the new skin exposed to him. he doesn't try to push the sweater up any further, but one hand slips up your back, to splay between your shoulder-blades like it had before, and he's so close and you've never known him to be this — careful. with anything.

"y'r so—" katsuki rolls his hips again and groans, whispering against your lips. "fuckin' soft."

his sweatpants are still on and you don't know why, but when you reach down to help tug them off, he grabs your wrist before they can go too far.

he presses the heat from his cheeks into your own, like he wants to share it. "you done this before?"

"have you?"

he frowns at your non-answer. "i asked first."

you have. three times, technically, though a phantom pain echoes in your stomach at the memories, and you feel an odd emptiness in your chest that makes you really glad to have the sweater still on. your answer leaves you a little ashamed, under his gaze, and you purposely turn from it. "would...that bother you?"

before, you wouldn't have cared, didn't care, nor were you even thinking of him when it happened. wherever he must have been; u.a, probably, getting ready to make his lifelong dreams a reality while you trusted a boy that didn't look at you the way katsuki is now. that didn't hold you and touch you and kiss you the way your best friend has.

he scoffs, though it doesn't sound as careless as it usually does and he squeezes his eyes shut so you can't read them. the truth that's hidden there. "no," he lies, "why would—" but he doesn't finish, just sighs.

"it was awful anyway," you tell him, offering a small smile when he peeks down at you. he doesn't say anything, so you kiss him once, twice, until his tension is melting away. "should have been you."

the grip on your thigh turns almost painful and he grinds into you so roughly that you both gasp, loud in the tight, barely-there space between you. "yeah," he rasps, sucking another bruise into the hollow of your throat. "fuckin' should have."

you try to imagine it; eighteen and nervous, naked in front of him for the first time since you were seven and got into paint from his mom's workshop, when she made you both strip down in the same room, furious. how different he might have been with you then, how much more unsure. kinder than your ex, without a doubt, even for katsuki, and he probably wouldn't have even gone through with the whole thing, considering how uncomfortable the first time is.

or maybe it wouldn't have been, with him; maybe he would have looked into it, taken the time to wind you up the same way he is now so that you were eager and wet and ready. looking down at you with his wide, almost-black eyes in the dim light of a table lamp. another first to share.

"if i'd have just," he huffs, allowing his sweats to slip down past his hips. shoulders trembling when he makes you moan out his name again. "fuckin'—grown a pair 'n told you—"

the weight of him becomes more obvious, the straining bulge he's rocking into your core, and seeing it is — really getting to you; wearing such tight boxers, you can tell just how close the pink tip of him is to his waistband, nearly peeking out from just how hard he is.

it takes a shrug to get him out of your shoulder, so you can press your lips back to his. "can still be you, katsuki," you breathe, biting on his bottom lip until his tiny frown is gone. "if you want, it can still be you."

for a minute, he indulges himself in the greedy kiss you're giving him, testing strokes of his tongue against your own as his hips stutter out of rhythm — but it's when your fingers brush through the hair at the base of his stomach, trying to slip a hand into his boxers, that he's gasping into your mouth and pushing his body up and away.

determination settles over his face then — along with his vibrant flush — and he doesn't say anything as he grabs you like it's nothing and scoots you up the couch so that your back is pressed to the arm, propped up. once he settles between your thighs, he just rests his face into the plush of your stomach — which is humiliating and has you squirming, but the firmness returns to his hands; holding your hips so that you'll still, so that he can kiss right above your belly button, just as you wanted to do to him.

heat flares in your own cheeks — and down your chest and in your ears and searing on the back of your neck — when you feel the first puff of his warm breath against your underwear, where you're sensitive and slick and aching.

this is completely new to you; your ex-boyfriend probably never considered tasting you here, certainly not with the same desire that's painted across katsuki's face. you have to slap your hands over your eyes and bite your lip, embarrassed, suddenly, at how desperate the simple press of his mouth to your underwear makes you.

"hey, hey," katsuki grunts, pinching at your hips until you peek at him through your fingers. the highlights of his cheeks are crimson and his eyes are black, glaring with an intensity that makes you shiver. "it's my fuckin' turn."

to make you fall apart, he means, just as he had.

at the first hot drag of his tongue against the material, you squirm, leaning your head back so that your expression is hidden. another grunt comes from him, you think in dissatisfaction, but he continues, laving until your mouth is falling open and the fabric between you is drenched.

he's gone just long enough to be replaced by the ghost of his thumb, touching you much too-gently. hunger has you stealing another look at him, watching behind your hands as he stares, blatantly, at the mess he's already made of you, stroking the pad of his finger against the sodden material in interest.

discovering; a curious swipe over where you're aching has you sighing and trembling and his eyes jump back up to your covered face, open mouth curling into the faintest smirk as he does it again and again and again. it's bullshit — how quickly he's figured you out, almost as if your body was meant to be unraveled by his hands — but then again, it didn't take you long either, did it?

"katsuki," you hiss, digging a hand into the hair at the crown of his head, tugging on it until his smile is dropping and his eyes are lidding. your body is on fire and your legs are trying to close around his head, hips squirming as he toys with you, like the little brat he is.

deadly serious, he grabs your underwear and holds it tightly in his fist so that you can wiggle one leg free, and then he's tugging it out of his way and devouring you whole.

it's sloppy, the mixture of spit and slick as runs his tongue through you, wet and wide, and you're so sensitive that you squeak out in surprise, fingers tightening. a groan punches from deep in his chest and your hips buck at the vibration of it, drawn so tight already.

"oh my—" you gasp, dropping your other hand from your face to grip the couch; eyes closed, you're somewhere else entirely, lost in the clumsy swirl of pleasure between your thighs.

katsuki raises his head to breathe, reaffirming your grip in his hair by wrapping his fingers tight over your own. at the shiny sight of his mouth, you can't help but to whimper with a needy roll of your hips, until he's simply sticking out his tongue and allowing you to ride it, to use it as you need to. it's embarrassing, how desperate you are, but his eyes are knife-sharp and trained on you and you've never experienced anything like this.

he moves then, slipping one hand further up under your sweater, cupping your breast carefully as his lids flutter — and the other is shoved between his hips and where they're pressed into the couch. you tighten up at just the idea of him rutting into his hand while kissing your messy slit, moaning openly, head falling back as your eyes start to roll.

this is — fuck — you've never been so turned on in all your life and it's driving you crazy; at one point in time, the thought of bakugou like this would have grossed you out, but now you think it's only like this because of him. anyone else wasn't right, not the way he is, and he's maybe a little impatient and unwieldy, but it's katsuki. between your legs with his mouth on you — something he wanted — and his fingers are brushing over your nipple and the other is down his pants, wrist flexing and —

"fuck, oh fuck, i—" you try to sit up, chasing blindly after the high, but he forces you back down. a long groan is muffled by your skin and when he lifts his chin just a little, a glob of spit falls off his lips and the sight makes your toes curl before he presses back into you and sucks.

everything goes blank as you free-fall into him and you cum quietly, muscles so taut in your body that your voice can't even squeeze out of your throat. the minute you're able to breathe, he's biting a mark into your thigh and yanking you back down under him, lips slick against yours.

tasting yourself on his tongue has you coming out of the heady haze, ravenous; katsuki helps you to shove his boxers down, though he can only gasp tightly when he grinds against you, coating himself.

"'m not—" his soft hair tickles your face when he shakes his head, arms trembling beside your head. "i won't be able to—"

"keep going," you breathe, smearing your mess over the tip of him and down his length as he groans. "i don't care, keep going."

he smashes his lips to yours, though he's only able to meet the pump of your hand a few times before dropping his forehead to your shoulder, spine curling, fingers digging into your hair. katsuki swears long and low, eventually letting out a soft sound you wouldn't have expected from him as his entire body tenses and he spills onto your stomach.

"goddamn it," he moans into the fabric of your sweater, weary, after a long moment. "now 'm fuckin' tired."

and for some reason that makes you laugh, though the lust is dissipating and your nerves are trembling at the memory of how this ended last time. katsuki pulls away suddenly, making your stomach drop, and he doesn't look at you as he detangles himself, awkwardly shuffling away from the couch and out of sight.

you frown down at the mess on your stomach, the way it's pooling in your belly-button — and you'll be damned to let him leave you like this, but just as you finishing reciting over and over what you want to say, he appears, towel in hand.

it's still damp from his shower and you tense on instinct, waiting for him to start twirling it with that stupid grin on his face, but katsuki only arranges your legs so that he can sit between them, carefully wiping you off as his cheeks burn. and you just watch him, the way he runs a hand over your skin to make sure he got it all before helping to finagle your underwear back on properly.

then he just looks at the tv, unmoving. if he's trying to appear casual at all, it's a piss-poor job — but he's never been able to keep his fat mouth shut for long.

the look he gives you lacks its usual heat, though you can't tell if that's just because he's drained or if he's withdrawn for another reason. "what now? six months, a year before you talk to me again?"

and you're annoyed all over again.

"what?" you return his weak glare, sitting up properly so that you're right in his face. "are you kidding me? you didn't talk to me either."

"the hell did you want me to say?" he scoffs and — you could slap him, for ruining everything so quickly. wipe that stupid look off his face with your fist. "'sorry i busted a nut, you free for dinner?'"

"yeah!" the shrill tone of your voice makes his eyes widen, and you throw your hands up in the air, incensed. "that sounds wonderful in comparison to coming home and avoiding me."

"i didn't avoid you," he mutters, though his eyes drift back to the tv. "just didn't have shit to say."

"bakugou," you slap your hands over your face for the second time, though this one is much worse than the last. "how is that fucking fair? what did you want me to say?"

and now — his eyes are full and furious, mouth curling down into an ugly frown that you've so rarely had the pleasure of seeing on his face; every time his mother made you go home and when you told him you weren't gonna try to test into u.a. when he overheard your girl friends teasing you for liking an older boy in your school.

when he was losing you, you realize.

"'m not doin' this shit with you," he mutters, definitive, before swiping his shirt up off the floor and standing. "not doin' this bakugou shit."

"oh my god," you groan, rising, too, because your stomach is twisting at the thought of him leaving again, no matter how angry he's making you. "what does that even mean?"

you trail him as he stomps into your kitchen to grab his work shirt and mask from the counter, trying to interrupt him at every turn, and the scowl on his face only grows when you shoot to stand in front of the door, just as he reaches for his bag.

"you can't—"

"this," he seethes, gesturing to you and then himself before gritting his teeth so hard that they should shatter. "this is why i didn't wanna fuckin' talk to you."

you knew he didn't. the minute lunch ended and when you made out his shape in mitsuki's snapchat: you knew. but hearing it from his mouth is as much of a confirmation as it is a kick in the gut.

there's more he's struggling to say, mouth shifting as he chews on the words and the skin of his lips. his gaze jumps from you to the door to something on the counter before he's swallowing again, staring down at you with brand new eyes.

the light in the kitchen makes them shine, angry and sad. "i can't—" he sighs, nostrils flaring like he's mad at himself for struggling. "go back to bakugou, not after—" a vague hand waves toward the couch. "maybe this is just, i don't know, whatever to you, but i — fuckin' can't."

tell me what the big fuckin' deal is; earlier, he'd demanded it of you, why the silence mattered so much this time when it didn't seem to matter before. in the midst of your anger, you didn't think twice about his wording but now —

he wanted you to say it. katsuki wanted to hear you say that it hurt to be without him for so long, and he kept his distance because he was afraid that you wouldn't.

"you're so stupid," you mutter it quietly, and his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, enraged, but before he can get another dumb word out, you loop your arms around his neck and just — kiss him.

not crazy or wild or lust-driven, just your lips to his, slowly working him out of the shell he's tried to hide behind.

the bag in his hand hits the ground with a soft thud and then his arm is wrapping around your back, tugging you to him as he finally breathes and opens his mouth — and lets you in.

when you cup the sides of his neck, katsuki inhales sharply through his nose, pulse jumping under your fingers, and his lashes flutter against your cheeks as he opens his eyes. he pulls back enough so that you can stare at each other and you realize that eyeliner is still clinging to his lids, making him seem sharper than usual.

you're a little stunned, then, at how beautiful he is. 

"i can't go back to bakugou either, dumbass." gently, you knock your forehead into his, smiling at the pout on his face. "you've totally screwed that up for me."

"yeah, well," he huffs, "about time. only took you all my goddamn life."

"sorry i'm late."

"what else is new?" he rolls his eyes and you squeak, indignant, before sticking your tongue out at him, patience worn thin already.

you expect a bite or a pinch to the cheek or another rough violence that falls along the lines that have made up your relationship thus far — but instead there is only something soft that reflects in his eyes and the shy kiss he presses to your lips, something that he's kept safe just for you, guarded, with his stick-sword and cardboard shield.

[evielmostdefinitely]

i would love if we got to see what the proposal in the garden was like!!!!! <3

bed of roses |young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader|

prompt: as requested above, coriolanus' proposal to you.

contains: kinda dark/posessive coriolanus. capitol!reader. duke!reader who is a rothschild type. slight oc?? no descriptor but mentions oc names. fluff. nervous coryo.

A simple luncheon. 

That’s what you were told. A Sunday tea with your family and Coriolanus’, just like they did in the Old World. Your Grandmatron had insisted on it, and in classic Duke style, what she said went. The drab chic of Capitol fashion was forgone for the afternoon, opted in for bright frills and patterns that went out of style long before you were born. A classic, still, for Sunday luncheons in spring. Your mother had your dress custom made, a blush pink that stood bright and radiant amongst the shades of soft cyan and muted marigold. 

Coriolanus had arrived in a linen suit, neatly pressed with amber buttons that stood out beautifully against the white suit. You had no doubt Tigris had made it, the telling touch of the cerulean pocket square that mirrored his eyes. 

He seemed tense, when he kissed your cheek in greeting. Chaste and respectable, but his hands felt clammy when they took yours. 

Unbeknownst to you, Coriolanus was feeling the weight of the world sitting at the table. His family’s legacy, his own future crushing on his shoulders. The small ring in his pocket felt like an anchor. Coryo wondered if this is what the tributes felt like, before their name was called, standing at the Reaping, knowing that at any moment their life could change for the better or for the worse. Their fate in someone else’s hands as his was now. 

“Are you alright?” You whispered, leaning into him gently at the table, your hand brushing his thigh under the table. Coryo jumped with surprise, further drawing your suspicions. 

“Yes,” Coryo’s voice was tight, heart lurching in his chest. He turned to you, offering a tight lipped, half smile that was a poor attempt at convincing you. “I’m alright. Just ate a big breakfast.” 

You frowned, but brushed it off when he took your hand in his, squeezing it affectionately under the table. Your body burned, electric with excitement at the intimacy of the action. 

Coriolanus couldn’t seem to swallow down the raging anxieties he felt blooming inside his chest. The nagging fear that you might reject him. 

Of course, he’d asked your father’s permission, elated when Atticus Duke granted it to him. The typhoon had even smiled, given him a half curled lip and a nod. “If you take care of my girl, I’ll take care of you, Snow.” 

Now, his fate lay at your feet. 

The rational side of his mind told him that you loved him. Of course, you loved him. You’d told him that endlessly. In the morning before he’d leave for the lab, or late at night between silk sheets. 

As each second passed, Coriolanus grew more and more anxious. He caught your mother’s eyes, her knowing grin making his blood run cold. She assured him she’d have the garden prepared for this momentous occasion, hiring the whimsical Trinket’s to florist the garden. Bright flowers lining the walkway, lotus floating in the small pond, an archway of pink roses over the gazebo. 

“Mother must be planning a party.” You giggled, your lace gloved hand in Coryo’s, strolling with him through the botanicals. 

Coriolanus stiffened beside you. “Why would you say that, my love?” He tried to sound casual, but still, that demanding cut in his tone lingered still. 

You looked at him, the sun illuminating his features, his hair as bright and light as the rays that blinded your vision. “The flowers.” You motioned towards the freshly planted lilies next to you. “She only ever goes this dramatic when they’re having a celebration of sorts.” 

Coriolanus felt his stomach turn, hoping you couldn’t feel the way his heart skipped. “Perhaps they’re hosting the Reaping party this year?” 

“Mm, perhaps.” Coriolanus nodded, taking a calming breath to soothe his nerves. Pull yourself together, Snow. You’ve worked too hard to piss it away now. Snow lands on top. She is your top. Don’t ruin it now. 

“Would you like to join me?” Coriolanus stepped onto the gazebos stair that bore a fresh coat of paint. His hand extended to your own, a soft smile tugging at his lips when you took his hand. 

“Hm,” Your head titled, looking at the array of roses above the entrance. “That’s odd.” 

Coriolanus’ heart dropped. “What is?” His lungs squeezed, stealing every last breath from him. 

Your eyes met his, brows furrowed with curiosity. “She used roses?” You tilted your head to the side gently. Coryo blinked at you. “Mother never uses roses outside. Says it’s gauche.” You shrugged. 

Coriolanus burned. He’d suggested it when she’d asked. Now, he wondered if it would all be ruined. One tiny slip up, and he’d blown it all. 

“It’s beautiful today.” The small sigh of content you gave stole him from his own worrisome thoughts. Your head tilted back, holding your small head piece so you could bask in the warmth of the sun- rare in the Capitol. 

“It is.” Coryo agreed, stepping beside you. He wondered if your father had somehow managed to pay for the sun to shine. He certainly could afford to. “Nearly as beautiful as you.” He whispered, breath hot on the shell of your ear, leaving you shivering. 

“Coryo,” You blushed, cheeks burning with adorning heat. 

“I mean it.” Coriolanus nodded, a hand sliding over your waist at a respectable placement, yet still affectionate. He knew your family was watching after all. “You always look so radiant. Always manage to steal my breath right from my lungs with your beauty. You have since the first time I laid eyes on you in Twelve.” 

Your chin ducked, hoping to hide the fluster of your cheeks. “You’re being playful, Coryo.” You muttered, eyes cutting up to meet him, hidden by the netting of your fascinator in your hair. 

“I am not.” Coryo shook his head, hand sliding over his pocket, feeling for the ring there. It was now or never, time to face his destiny. “I am entirely serious, my love. You have always managed to captivate me with your beauty, your humor, your kindness.” His hand took yours, pulling you closer to him. 

Your eyes shone when they met him, filled with a lovestruck, glossy gaze. It encouraged him, sending that final surge of confidence to deliver the speech he’d practiced endlessly for weeks now. His tongue felt numb in his own mouth when he said your name, tongue rolling over each syllable as if he wanted to savor each one. 

“There has been no other like you in my life before, and I hope there never will be.” Coriolanus' hand tightened around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted, all I’ve ever dreamt of, gone far beyond my own imaginations with your perfection.” 

“Coryo,” You choked on your tears, eyes shining with emotion. 

 “Please,” Coryo stepped away, though his hand never left your own. “I could speak forever about how perfect you are to me, and there still would not be enough time to capture how much I adore you.” Coryo paused, leaning forwards to look deeply into your eyes. “How much I love you.” 

Your heart skipped, racing like the wings of a hummingbird when he dropped to one knee. An outdated tradition, sure, but one he knew you cherished. One he knew your family would approve as well. 

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” Coriolanus said, hand sliding into his jacket pocket to retrieve the ring, hoping you didn’t see how it shook. “I can’t imagine a life without you. I don’t want to live a life without you. I want you beside me through it all. When I command this entire country, I want you to be there with me.” 

Your tongue swelled, head swimming when you caught a glimpse of the dazzling sapphire ring. Coriolanus’ mother’s ring, you knew that much. He’d mentioned it only a few times in passing. You knew what it meant to him, what she meant to him. 

“I don’t want to be without you ever again.” Coriolanus continued, the ring pinched between his fingers. “I only want you, my petal. So will you do me the greatest honor of my life?” His eyes rounded so sweetly when he asked, a new side of Coryo you’d never experienced. “Will you marry me?” 

Your chest burned, suffocated with tears and emotions that wanted to explode out of you. Your silence made Coryo’s own heart drop, fear filled with damning reality. 

“Yes,” Your voice cut through your thick tears before he could spiral completely. It felt nearly fake, like he’d imagined it. 

Then, you nodded. Head bobbing, uncaring at how the small hair piece shook, sliding through your locks. Coriolanus was sure he was in shock, ears ringing with uncertainty. “Yes?” He whispered. 

Your nod made his shoulders drop with relief, heart beat thundering through his body with aftershock. “Yes,” You croaked, sniffling wetly. “Yes, Coryo. Yes, I-I will marry you.” 

You surprised him next. Overwhelmed with emotion, your hands cupped his face, pulling him in for a sweet, nearly sloppy kiss. Lovesoaked with a powerful emotion that overcame you. Coriolanus faltered, eyes cutting towards the house, burning with embarrassment. It was so improper, and he knew your family was watching him- judging him. 

Coriolanus stood, breaking the kiss, not missing the look of disappointment that flashed for only a moment over your features, before he took your hand. He took his time pulling each finger off the lacy gloves, swallowing a smile at how you shivered with excitement before he slipped the ring onto your finger. It fit perfectly, almost like his mother was giving her own nod of approval to you. 

His lips brushed your knuckles, before you pulled him back into you, a sweet kiss, more respectable this time- appropriate, so he allowed it. Coryo’s chest boasted when he walked back into your family's home, smug at how you showed off your ring proudly, beaming with pure joy at the news. The rest of the afternoon was spent chatting about wedding details, dates and plans, while Coriolanus planned his own. 

Not your wedding- no, he’d leave that to you, but his own future plans. How he’d run Panem, when your father would appoint him, his first actions as President. His own future, out of your hands, and back in his clutches now. 

[cozy-cinnamon-roll]

A Princess' Guide to Interrogating a Radio Demon

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Ler!Charlie, Lee!Alastor (strictly platonic)

Content/Trigger Warnings: tickling, interrogation (in the most playful sense). If there are any trigger warnings you'd like me to add in the future (and/or to this fic), PLEASE let me know! I am always happy to oblige.

This is a ticklefic! If that's not your cup of tea, kindly move along.

This is my first fic for Hazbin Hotel, so any feedback would be welcomed and deeply appreciated! (also, let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future work - I'm quite sure this'll be FAR from my last fic for this fandom hehe)

Hope you enjoy!

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

Ever since he'd discovered glam metal, Angel has been blasting it nonstop from his room.

Unfortunately, his room happens to be directly beneath Alastor's... and the insulation in the hotel's walls leaves an awful lot to be desired. The Radio Demon's eye had been in a constant twitch for three days by the time he'd finally had enough.

"Alastor? Have you seen Angel's speakers?"

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

When Charlie appears in his doorway, the demon in question is sitting comfortably on his couch, sipping a mug of black coffee and reading a newspaper (though Charlie isn't sure how he acquired it - the local paper has been out of print for weeks).

"No. But I've certainly had the displeasure of hearing them."

"They've gone missing. Do you have any idea where they might be?"

"Far away, I hope."

Charlie rolls her eyes and leaves to go consult the other guests. The deer takes a long draw from his mug.

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

To Alastor's slight irritation, he only enjoys a few minutes of peace before the princess' voice echoes from the hall again.

"Oooh, Al...." Charlie sings.

"What is it, my dear?" the Radio Demon sings back absently.

"Nifty says she saw you with Angel's speakers yesterday."

"Did she?" He flips a page of his newspaper.

"Look, all I need to know is where you put them."

Long pause. "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

"Alastor."

"Whaaat?" Though his eyes haven't left the page, his grin has widened slightly. "You think I'm lying?"

"You're always lying. That's your thing."

"...Touché."

Charlie perches on the sofa beside him.

"Are you gonna tell me where it is or not?"

"Fine. I'll be completely honest with you."

She perks up.

"I would honestly die a second death before subjecting myself to one more note of that infernal garbage."

Alastor's eyes flick up from his paper for the briefest of seconds, just to watch the bubbly princess' face fall into a delightfully exasperated scowl.

"You can't steal someone's stuff just because it annoys you!"

"On the contrary. That's exactly what I did."

Charlie narrows her eyes. "Alastor. You tell me where Angel's speakers are or else."

Alastor chuckles in spite of himself - Charlie's attempts to be intimidating never fail to amuse him.

"What's so funny about that?"

"My dear, I say this with the utmost respect and admiration for your many talents: there's a reason I tend to be the one called upon to scare off demonic threats."

Charlie huffs and crosses her arms. "Just because you're creepier and... more sadistic than me, doesn't mean I don't have ways of making you talk."

"Oh?" Alastor arches a skeptical eyebrow at his paper.

"So you better watch your step, Mister."

"Hmm. You make a compelling case." He flips another page. "Maybe I should tell you where Angel's poor excuse for music is."

Charlie brightens. "Really?"

"No."

The princess deflates.

He's right, of course: even if Charlie figures out a way to make herself legitimately threatening to the Radio Demon... he's the fucking Radio Demon. She may be the Princess of Hell, but she doesn't want to have to rebuild the hotel from rubble all over again.

The two sit in impassive silence for a few minutes - Charlie glaring at Alastor, Alastor staring stubbornly at his paper - until she finally stifles a sigh and slouches against the cushions. He's enjoying this, she just knows it. Sitting there with that stupid grin. He's probably been laughing to himself all night, imagining poor Angel waking up and finding his most prized possession missing.

She finds herself wishing she could make the old deer laugh himself sick sometime, just to teach him a lesson.

...Which is a horrible thought! Charlie's eyes widen, her brow furrowing in self-disgust. She could never bring herself to hurt Alastor, even via laughter.

In fact, she quite likes his laugh - it's a little maniacal, sure, and certainly hard to truly enjoy amid the gory contexts that typically trigger it. But if she knew a way to make him laugh at something other than another person's expense, she'd probably do it all the time... it's just that the things that make him laugh also tend to make Charlie nauseous.

Once again, the princess finds herself completely baffled by her own subjects. How one could be so tickled by anything that goes on down here - the pain, the violence, the gore...

Charlie tilts her head. She may have just gotten an idea.

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

If Alastor had happened to cast a quick glance down the couch, the smile creeping across Charlie's face would've been enough to give him real pause.

But since he is instead stubbornly focused on his paper, he is completely unprepared for the fingers that suddenly begin crawling oh-so-gently up his side.

To her initial disappointment, Charlie finds at least three layers of fabric dampening her touch, and aside from a subtle flinch at first contact, Alastor himself remains perfectly still.

But then a low buzz of radio static swells around them. As she probes up his ribs, she can hear a soft crinkle of paper as his grip tightens.

"Charlie..." His voice is oddly clipped.

"Mm?" Charlie takes one glance at his face, and her smile deepens - even Alastor's signature grin can't mask the effect. He's still technically staring at the paper, but his eyes have gone wide and blank. He opens his mouth to continue just as her fingers reach his armpit - and his jaw quickly clamps shut. It's clearly taking everything in him not to squirm.

"Got something to say, Al?" She starts pinching back down his ribcage.

"Mmph!" The giggles start in his chest, bubbling up and fighting to escape through clenched teeth. Soon his shoulders are shaking with the effort of holding them in.

"...Maybe about the location of a certain object?"

No response. The radio demon just curls forward a little, hiding his face in his paper.

Taking advantage of this new posture, Charlie slips her other arm around behind him, and gives a good pinch to both sides of his slender waist.

The demon straightens right back up with an audible gasp and tiny squeak of surprise (that he quickly tries to cover with a cough).

"Charlie! Are you s-seriously trying to-"

"Are you seriously ticklish?"

"No!"

In response she delivers another series of pinches to the same spot. His posture crumples again, until finally he loses his grip on his paper and twists to face her.

"No?" she giggles. And squeezes him again.

"Stop that!" He fumbles at her fingers, trying to pry them off his sides.

Instead Charlie swaps her hands, wrapping her fingers around his waist with both thumbs resting lightly on his stomach... and begins digging them right under his lower ribs.

That finally does it. He flinches back with a little snort, followed by soft but utterly helpless giggles pressed shyly into his hands.

"Awww!" Charlie coos.

"Keheh- f-fuckin'- heheh! - quiet!" His voice cracks amusingly on the last word.

There are about fifteen different things Charlie is dying to say as Alastor goes to pieces with laughter, but she can't think of anything that wouldn't risk embarrassing the poor guy - and humiliating him is the last thing she wants to do. The fact that Alastor hasn't instantly dissolved into shadows (or cursed her across the room) hasn't been lost on the princess; she is NOT about to jeopardize this moment by making him uncomfortable enough to do so.

That said, she is conducting an interrogation here.

"What was that about not being ticklish?"

His clutching at her wrists becomes more frantic. "Don't-!"

Alastor hyperventilates a couple times, trying to get ahold of himself - but then she continues squeezing down the sides of his belly, and he can only collapse into even worse laughter.

"I think I know just how to get you to talk..."

"Nohoho- ahagh, Charlie! Shihihit!"

Charlie shifts onto her knees for better leverage, gives him a gentle push backward, and pins him (surprisingly easily) against the couch. Her snaggle-toothed grin looms over him...

For a split-second, Alastor gets a flash of what his victims must've seen moments before they debuted on his show.

But he's pretty sure this isn't quite how they felt about it. He's already shaking with anticipatory giggles, grinning back at her wider than ever. And the giddy panic behind his eyes quickly forms an unlikely union with defiance.

"Do your worst, my dear."

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

To be continued... pt. II is already in the works, so stay tuned!!

Until next time - hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! 💕

💜 - Cozy

[skittlesfics]

something soft

name: something soft

pairing: Joel Miller x gn!Reader

word count: 1212

summary: Settling down in Jackson has given you and Joel back a lot of things.

content/warnings: FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF, established relationship, Jackson!Joel, vague references to outbreak difficulties, unbetad

author's note: OMG, so I have been writing Joel fics/Pedro character fics for over a year now and have been too much of a coward to actually post anything. I decided to finally suck it up and join an event so that I was forced to post. This is a valentine for @beskarandblasters . Hope you enjoy! Happy Valentine's Day, y'all. -

Joel’s hand was warm where it wrapped around your ankle, his thumb stroking idly at the skin just below the joint as he turned to the next page of his book. It was a large-type Western that you had looted from an old library as a joke – but one that he became more appreciative of as the strain of years on alert made it harder and harder to focus on smaller script at night.

Many things were different now that you were settled into Jackson proper, but this was definitely one of your favorites.

Quiet moments out on the road meant that Joel was planning your next move or that all three of you were gathering energy for whatever horror was to come next. There was no space for leisure or relaxation in that quiet, even if there were rare moments of levity dappled into the shadows of survival. Here, though, in Jackson, you were both learning to let the quiet in.

Joel pushed his thumb into your ankle a little harder, just enough to pull you out of your reverie. Those memories were a dangerous path that you both had trodden too many times; He could see the spiral starting in your expression even before you knew it was there. When you lifted your eyes to meet his gaze, he smiled, sliding the bookmark Ellie had drawn for him as a Christmas gift into place. (Holidays were another thing that Jackson had given back to the three of you.) You let your eyes get drawn to the sketch of the astronaut floating over something that vaguely resembled the moon. I’m reading a book about anti-gravity. It’s impossible to put down!

“Got something to show you, if you’re amenable.” He said after setting the book down carefully on the fraying arm of the couch. His voice was rich and low, thick with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his eyes seeking something in yours. If you didn’t know any better, you might have said that Joel Miller was nervous.

You couldn’t hold back your own soft smile, swinging one leg off of Joel’s lap in an attempt to sit up. He held onto your other ankle for a moment, tracing idle circles into your flesh with his thumb before realizing his error and releasing you.

You sat up and bookmarked your own novel. Well Read Mother Clucker is what yours said, with a drawing of what you supposed must be yourself as a chicken. “I suppose I’m amenable.” You answered, nudging his shoulder as you stretched to loosen your taught muscles.

He huffed, fond smile still crooked on his lips, and stood.

“You stay right here and close those pretty eyes. Give me a minute.” He commanded. He pushed himself up with an audible complaint from his knees, a soft grunt marking the effort in the motion that he had hidden from you for so long before Jackson. You bit back your giggle, letting him believe that the sound blended in with the staccato crackles from the wood in the fireplace.

With your eyes closed, you tried to map Joel’s path through the room. You could hear his footsteps leading away towards the kitchen, the board next to the dining table groaning in protest. He didn’t say it, but you could already hear his grumble. Gotta fix that come springtime. That was a new thing in Jackson as well, planning for the future in this one place. Building a home. The thought brought a warmth to your chest that distracted you from his next movements.

Firelight danced behind your eyelids, and you let yourself sink back into the couch, shifting into the pocket of warmth Joel had abandoned as you heard him open a cabinet door. It creaked only slightly – the China cabinet perhaps? You wondered if he had finally listened to your complaints about chipped plates and managed to loot something whole to eat off of. Or maybe he’d managed to find another bag of stale coffee out there somewhere to replenish your dwindling supply. Practicalities that felt like luxuries.

Joel didn’t leave you waiting long. You followed the path of his footsteps back to you, tilting your head towards him even with your eyes closed. He leaned in and pressed a soft, warm kiss against your forehead, reaching out to cup your cheek before straightening again and placing something on the coffee table in front of you with a heavy clunk. The plates then?

“You can open.” He said, sinking into the seat you had abandoned in pursuit of his warmth. “It’s not much, but…”

You weren’t sure if he trailed off or if your brain simply stopped processing sound as you opened your eyes to reveal a small red crock speckled with white and black spots. There was a clumsy ribbon tied out of strips of sun-bleached red fabric from God-knows-where around it, but inside. Delicate, carefully crafted roses were arranged in an explosion of natural wood tones. If it weren’t for the colors, they would have appeared lifelike, almost. You reached out, carefully stroking one of the petals. It was nearly translucent, but undoubtably wood. He had made them.

When you looked over at him it was through watery eyes. He was watching you, expression impassive, betrayed only by the slightest quirk at the edge of his mouth.

“You made these?” You asked, breathless.

“’s hard to get fresh flowers in February up here.” He explained with a shrug, like that explained it. Like it hadn’t taken hours of painstaking labor to shave each individual petal out of wood that he had cut down and prepared with his own hands. Like he hadn’t filled your heart to bursting.

He opened his arms and you slid into his lap, throwing your arms around his shoulders and squeezing tight, like he might try to get away. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as you rained kisses across his face, one large hand finding your hip and resting there, the other finding your chin to pull you in and kiss you properly. It was a slow kiss, soft and reverent, like he wanted to memorize the press of your lips against his, the soft sigh you let out against his mouth, the way your body relaxed into the warmth of him.

“They’re beautiful, Joel, they’re everything.” You whispered finally, dropping your head down to rest against his strong shoulder.

“They’re alright.” He deflected, cradling you against his chest, “Next Valentine’s Day, I’ll get you something nicer.”

It struck you then, the date. Another thing that Jackson had given back to you was a calendar to go by. You hadn’t gotten used to tracking the days as the passed yet, more focused on the weather than a number. But of course Joel would notice, especially after he saw what Christmas had done for you and for Ellie. Valentine’s Day here, after the end of the world.

You burrowed your face into the warm cotton of his shirt, knowing that he would feel the wetness of your happy tears against his chest and not caring. He held you there, pressing a kiss against the crown of your head. Something simple, something soft, something yours.

[alllgator-blood]

Have you ever wanted to draw something but you fought due to your skill level at the time you decide not to do it

OH ABSOLUTELY, I personally feel like the key to art improvement is trying new things and experimenting often. But the thing about trying new things is that they're typically out of your comfort zone, and often times you're left struggling because you've never had to move your hand in the configuration needed to depict the thing you want? So often times it feels easier to just not do that thing, but you might not improve if you give up when you fight against your own skill level.

I'm wrapping up on a comic and I almost gave up on it because for some reason, I decided "these two should be hunting while this conversation takes place" and I struggled on and off for two days because of my dedication to get this comic out. The payoff to them hunting doesn't even happen til the second page so I really didn't need to do this. I actually have experience with archery but for some reason, I just COULD NOT figure out where to put shamura's arms to make them hold that damn bow.....UNFINISHED COMIC PANELS INCOMING:

Is it perfect? HELL no I think it looks pretty awkward cause I've only been drawing these characters for a few weeks so I'm still getting used to them, and that in combination with drawing them doing action poses after years of drawing slice of life comics is..............not ideal. I'm more used to drawing furries hitting a bong on a garbage covered couch. But that's the thing! I wanna do more fanart for this Violent Video Game, so I need to learn how to draw people holding weapons. If I give up, like half my fanart ideas will never come to fruition, so I think making flawed art is better than making no art at all.

If you're struggling with your art, just absolutely barrel through whatever it is you're struggling with and come back another time in the future to revisit it. Attempt to draw you're struggling with (even if it's like the shittiest worst sketch ever, god knows I have tons of those), save it somewhere, and when you want to give that idea another go, compare the new art to what you did last time. Honestly I wish I tried and failed more than I didn't try at all, I'd have more to show for myself if I took my own advice.

[love-me-purple]

movie night with the v3 boys

cw: slight nsfw and cursing in a few of em. spoilers of ET in kaito’s

a/n: might make a 1 and 2 vers. !! naur I did a few light puns in a few of them if you spot them tell me. under the cut cause it’s kinda long

Shuichi

➼ he’s so sweet

➼ he prioritizes you fully! he gives you the blankets, the snacks, he lets you choose the movie; he does everything.

➼ even if he sits on the sofa cold, hungry, and terribly quiet.

➼ he doesn’t complain a bit.

➼ you notice him shivering slightly a couple minutes into the movie, and even after he protested against getting a half in your luxury, you snuggled against him and buried him under the warm covers.

➼ once you did, he whimpered slightly against you. it just felt so nice. not the fluffy sheets, not the delectable food, and even though the movie was pretty great, you next to him really made the experience better.

➼ he moved closer next to you, kissing you on the cheek. you made him kiss you on the lips after.

➼ the movie run ends with cuddling and tangled arms and legs, overall super fluffy.

Kokichi

➼ large pillow forts with lots of soft pillows and thick blankets. he turns the ac and all the coolers on just so it’ll turn super cold in the house, leading you to bury yourself under the blankets and cuddle closer to him.

➼ he sometimes teases you by stealing the snacks and blankets, making you pissed off and subconsciously pinning him to the carpet floor.

➼ he tries turning the simple, pure movie night into a netflix and chill i SWEAR

➼ he flips the tables and climbs on top of you - kissing you lightly on the lips with a smug look. ➼ and then he gets up and goes back to watching the movie like nothing happened

➼ he’S GETTING HIS ASS beat TONIGHT

➼ interpret that any way you want

➼ anyways, if he’s not in that mood, he’s very chatty during movies. ➼ he’ll comment nonstop and predict the future with pretty accurate predictions.

➼ his habit of doing that will, if you don’t already, bring you to do the same.

Rantaro

➼ this guy is so romantic

➼ kisses, smooth; non - pushover pick - up lines, basically everything you’d expect from a good gushy mushy date.

➼ he likes playing with your hair. tangles, small braids, etc. if you don’t have hair, then / another option for him is he runs his hands down your arms and hands.

➼ he draws small patterns on your skin with his fingers while kissing you on the head.

➼ he loves it when you do it to him as well, so by all means, go ahead !!

➼ nooo but the chips with dip are absolute perfection adding to the mix. if you don’t like that kind of thing, he’ll get, like, anything you’d like to eat during the movie -

➼ the prices don’t mean aNYthing to him, he’s happy to spend money for you no matter what it is <3

➼ perfect night for netflix and chill

K1 - B0

➼ he’s a robot. he can’t be cold, he can’t eat, and so all he has to do is sit back and watch.

➼ people (miu) helped him with what to do and how to act during the movie -

➼ he’s so awkward, in a cute way. he’ll get closer to you as the movie progresses, trying to be discreet but pretty much failing.

➼ you pretend you don’t notice though, for his sake.

➼ he’s tense during the movie. but with a few calming, reassuring words - he calms down a bit and attempts to kiss you as a sign of thanks.

➼ oh he also looks up on his mental search engine how to act normal and such and comes across the term of ‘activities’ during watching movies / shows

➼ and then he overheats for a bit (thankfully while you were in the bathroom -)

➼ guess he didn’t have safe search on

Korekiyo

➼ horror / documentaries. if you don’t like those things, then …

➼ he likes it when you braid his hair. with any other person he’d kinda just be like ehhh, but when it’s you …

➼ he’s such a simp.

➼ he’s pretty chill, doesn’t really talk except for the parts when either you’re talking, something’s factually wrong, or when something especially pisses him off (usually when the characters are especially dumb).

➼ he likes having his hands free, so, of course, you have the blanket and snacks.

➼ he nuzzles his head into your neck and hair during sweet and overall ushy gushy moments.

➼ yeah

➼ he’s only human after all

Gonta

➼ like shuichi; he gives the blanket, the snacks, and is awfully quiet.

➼ there’s a sort of worried look on his face, like you won’t like doing this and it’ll never happen again.

➼ he asks you like every couple minutes if you’re okay - nonstop until you reassure him.

➼ because of his overall bulky, tall structure - you’re gonna need a few more blankets to cover him.

➼ and a lotta snacks if he’s especially hungry

➼ he’s the type of guy to watch smth like a bug’s life or the bee movie. and you’ll agree because he’ll be self - conscious of himself if you don’t.

➼ it’s either that or bug documentaries. he hates horror films, especially if it has bugs in it that are thoroughly portrayed incorrectly.

➼ he gets so angry it’s almost funny

➼ until you don’t calm him down and he goes to storm the director’s / producer’s place then uh good luck

Kaito

➼ tries to be romantic and kinda fails.

➼ the whole mood is sorta goofy. comedy / horror / sci - fi def. if it’s horror though, expect him to scream loudly and cling to you. and then for him to make up an excuse like, “i wasn’t scared! i was just … amazed by the stars in the sky in the film! so … spread out!”

➼ if it’s sci - fi, it’s definitely ET

➼ he cries softly when ET dies. and then he says, “I JUST GOT SOMETHING IN MY EYE WAHHH”

➼ comedy’s chaotic, but pretty fun with him. he tries so hard not to laugh, but when he does, his LaUgh

➼ it depends. it either sounds like a hyena crossed with a donkey or just a hysterical, soft sound.

➼ either way, movie nights with him are always a blast.

Ryoma

➼ he’s smooth. and he predicts the movie in his head, and shows barely emotion during sad, emotional, funny, or romantic moments. like none at all.

➼ but once he gets used to being with you during movies and finding out what exactly you like, he starts showing bits of emotion here and there.

➼ like outward pity. and sadness. and laughter.

➼ sharing is caring when it comes to blankets and snacks. sometimes when both of you reach into the bag / bowl / plate / etc. at the same time, and y’know your hands touch? he’ll squeeze your hand and bring it up to kiss it.

➼ SOME CHEEZY THING LIKE THAT

➼ and then he’ll just smile slightly at you. no matter what reaction you have.

➼ yeah other than that it’s pretty normal! still a hit tho

[blueicequeen19]

Now & Forever

Warnings: mostly fluff, breaking and entering, unprotected sexy time

You knew something was up. JJ was too nervous and antsy. Someone on the outside might think he was just being his usual goofy self but you could tell. JJ was hiding something and you were the last person he kept secrets from.

He’d insisted you wear his favorite dress and he even cleaned up nicely with his black button up and jeans. He could be wearing a onesie and still look irresistible.

"Do you know where we are?" JJ's comforting voice draws your attention as he pulls you to a stop on the beach. The moon was the only light available for you to take in your surroundings. The ocean looked like a pot of black ink and even the usual white sand still looked black. You glanced around, recognizing the lighthouse in the distance as you dug your toes into the sand.

"Is this the beach where we first met?" You smirked, feeling his hand tighten in yours.

"Yes."

"Where I was trying to surf and you laughed at me?" You tease, giggling as he pulls you into his big strong arms.

"I wasn't laughing at you. I was laughing over how angry you were." JJ kisses your forehead.

"Then I marched up to you and told you if you could do it so much better than to have at it." You smiled against his chest, his heart racing beneath his black button up shirt.

"And I showed you up and you were embarrassed. You didn't talk to me for two weeks." JJ chuckles, tilting your chin up to steal a kiss. You smile against the softness of his lips, practically tasting the mint on his tongue. He even wore cologne tonight which only heightened your suspicions.

"And you made up for it by teaching me how to surf and letting me push you off your board more than once." The memory enhances the butterflies you already have in your stomach. It warms you to think someone so carefree and good, took notice of you. JJ was perfect just as much as he was impulsive. He was fiercely loyal and protective but you loved that. You always felt safe with him and he never failed to make you laugh.

You almost laugh, remembering you’d never told him you knew he frequented that beach and you only attempted surfing to get his attention. You just hadn't counted on him laughing and you getting overly embarrassed.

"Do you remember our first time in the light house?" You look over your shoulder, still safe and sound in his arms and inhaling his intoxicating scent. Your cheeks heat as you think about how many other times you'd hooked up in that light house. The man was always horny and you could never tell him no.

"When I scuffed my knee because I had to be inside you on the stairs?" His low growl meets your ears and you gasp, your hands tightening in his shirt. "Or was that the time you finished me twice with your mouth?" Heat pools in your belly and your eyes threaten to fall closed, the memories almost overwhelming as you felt your panties grow wet through clenched thighs.

"JJ Maybank, you have a dirty mouth." You tease playfully, reaching up on your tiptoes and kissing him passionately, threading your fingers through his soft hair. He groans, always losing himself when your tongue slips past his lips. You're both lost in the kiss when he finally pulls away, his forehead resting against yours and his erection prominent against your navel.

"You know I love you right?" His voice is barely more than a whisper, his fingers toying with the hair that hangs down your bare back. Every brush of his skin against yours gave you goosebumps.

"Yes. And I love you." You whisper back, kissing the tip of his nose.

"No, like, I love you more than anything. More than I've ever loved anybody. You're everything to me and I don't know what I did all those years without you because now, I can't picture a future without you in it." You pull back enough to look up into those ocean blue eyes, your heart in your throat. He smiles, the love he feels is written all over his face. The man practically has heart eyes. You never doubted how he felt about you but it was amazing to hear.

"You don't have to, J. I'm yours. Now and forever." You kiss him and he kisses you back harder before pulling away and dropping to one knee in the sand. Your eyes widen as he withdraws a white jewelry box from his pocket. Your mind draws a blank as the box opens and you're left staring at a beautiful white gold band with a single round diamond. It seemed to glow under the moonlight.

"Y/N, will you marry me?" JJ lets out an uneven breath, his nerves getting the best of him as tears fill your eyes. A sob leaves you before you can find the words to answer.

"Yes! Oh my god, yes! Absolutely!" You cry, refraining from throwing yourself in his arms as he lights up with a smile and quickly slides the ring on your finger. JJ quickly stands to his full height and picks you up by the backs of your thighs, your legs going around his waist as your lips meet.

It takes you a few moments to realize that he's walking and you don't have to look back to know where he's heading. You giggle against his lips, your arms around his neck as your tongues collide and he steals your ability to breathe. Your back meets the door of the lighthouse and you groan, needing him inside you.

"JJ--." You whine, grinding your body against his.

"I have to pick the lock." JJ growls, pulling his lips away and sitting you on your feet. You impatiently wait as he takes his tools from his pocket and quickly picks the lock. You hear the lock give and you gasp happily before he shoves the door open and picks you up again. He slams the door behind you, engulfing you in darkness as he presses your back against the cool wall, kissing you like he'll die if he doesn't.

"Please, baby, I need you inside me." You beg, tearing at the buttons of his shirt.

"Trust me, I'm going to fuck my fiance." You moan when he calls you that, feeling him free himself between your bodies. You feel him against your thighs; thick, hard and hot. He puts you on your feet and spins you around, pulling your white sundress over your head in haste, leaving you in nothing but a sexy lace thong. He groans behind you, dropping to his knees as he pulls the tiny fabric over the swells of your ass and down your legs. His fingers slide between your legs, stroking your clit enough to make your knees wobble.

"Always nice and ready for me." JJ's lust filled voice has your clit throbbing in response as he raises again.

"Don't scrape your knee again." You tease, feeling his shirt come off next. He places it in your hands and you lay it across the third step so you have something to kneel on. JJ roughly grabs your ass, growling as he pushes you to your knees and spreading your thighs. You were so wet you were dripping.

"Does this mean I don't have to wear a condom anymore?" His raspy voice meets your ear, his lips finding your neck as he guides himself to your waiting entrance.

"Are we married yet?" You tease, pushing your ass back to torture him.

"We can go to the courthouse tomorrow." JJ growls, fingers digging into your hips. You were too far gone to think of something logical to say back, not with the head of his cock kissing your entrance. It seemed silly now to deny him now that you were engaged even though you weren't on birth control.

"You have to pull out." You practically plead, your body aching to be filled. JJ's lips find your spine, he kisses your skin before dragging his tongue upwards. You groan, sparks shooting through your body.

"I will, I promise." JJ groans, cupping your right breast with ringed fingers and tweaking your pointed nipple. You whimper in frustration, reaching beneath you to guide him inside your aching hole. JJ hisses and your eyes flutter shut as the thick head slips inside you. You suck in a breath as he pushes the rest of the way, filling you to the brim. You hear a string of colorful curses leave his lips and you bite back a laugh, fighting to slow your racing heart and the urge to move.

"Ahh, I can't wait to make you my wife and come home to this everyday." He makes his point by thrusting in hard just once, making you gasp.

"I can't wait for everyone to see my ring on your finger and my kid in your belly." You moan loud and long, clenching around him so tightly that he growls in response as he thrusts once more. You wanted nothing more than to give him all those things.

"I love you Mrs Maybank. Now and forever."

[dracomort]

When writing child Tom Riddle, what do you consider to be important notes/key elements/aspects to keep in mind? I really struggle with writing child Tom Riddle because there is only one scene we get from him as a young adult. I adore your characterisation of Tom

Even though we don't get to spend much time with child Tom, I do think that scene tells us a fair bit about his character. I would say it's even better character material than the memories we have of his teenage years, as this scene with Dumbledore shows us a Tom that isn't very good at masking yet.

One of the most important takeaways regarding little Tom, as outlined in this brilliant post, is his speech patterns. Tom at eleven is not sophisticated. He doesn’t speak like a precocious governess-tutored pureblood child. He’s blunt and direct, speaks without artifice and has little awareness or care for politeness or hierarchy. He interrupts Dumbledore repeatedly during their short conversation, even after being reprimanded for his manners and conduct.

Since we know that the author doesn’t, um, shy away from writing out accents in dialogue, I think it’s fair to say he isn’t as ‘full Cockney’ as perhaps many of his peers, but Tom still has the manners of a street urchin and does not give a fuck. Tom is a child who is used to commanding respect from both his peers and the adult Muggles in his life. Dumbledore neither being intimidated nor capitulating to his demands makes Tom uneasy. He doesn’t feel safe around people who aren’t frightened of him.

Tom doesn't know how to handle a world where he isn't the top dog. He's learning, undoubtedly, and practising his future model student persona, but he isn't very good at it yet. It doesn't come naturally to him, and he's clumsy with it. To me, that's one of the things that makes eleven-year-old Tom so endearing.

Another thing that is clear with a child Tom but not a teenage Tom, is his high level of emotional volatility. He’s far from the creepy, distant child that we see in the HBP film. Book Tom oscillates from one emotion to the next fast enough to give any reader whiplash. He swings from distrust, to fury, to wild joy, to politeness, to fear, then finally withdraws to a shrewd, calculating distance—all within his brief conversation with Dumbledore. I do think it’s important to recognise that Tom has never been fearless; after all, he destroys himself precisely in response to an all-consuming obsession with those fears. We already see a preoccupation with death, his mother’s death in particular, and a belief that his magic will save him from a similar fate.  

But what Tom isn't is a coward. When faced with a person or problem that frightens him, he addresses this head-on at first and tries to brute force his way through it, either through aggression or violence. Only when that doesn't work does he draw back and begin to think strategically, attempting to charm and ingratiate himself. As a teenager we see that he learns that the second strategy is going to work best for him, but it isn't really in his nature. By adulthood, he has reverted to form. In many ways Tom at eleven is closer to Voldemort in behaviour than Tom at sixteen.

Also, side note: while I was rereading this scene for the post I noticed that Tom actually believes his father is dead. When he asks Dumbledore about him, he doesn’t ask if his father is a wizard, he asks if he was a wizard. At this age, it hasn’t yet occurred to Tom that his father might still be living, just with no interest in finding his son.

[netegf]

violet chemistry (iii)

pairing: aged up!ao'nung x f!metkayina reader

plot: you and ao'nung attempt to regain control in your lives by fake-dating. the irony is... this is fated.

word count: 2.6 k

a/n: the finale of this three-part fake dating series!!! - as per usual, this takes place roughly 10 years after atwow - some angst, fluff, innuendo, and most importantly, a happy ending for our stubborn pair 🥹🩵 thank u so much for reading and i hope u enjoy!!

previous

Ao’nung never listens.

Or, maybe he did – so long as the thing being asked of him matched what he wanted to do anyways. So what? He didn’t like pretending. Much of his adolescence was especially hard for that exact reason – too many days spent gleaning the reef or building rafts with calloused hand when he wanted to swim or fight or both. But he did it anyways in the name of becoming someone his family could count on, and, though those early days spent teaching the Sully’s were no indication, because he had a palpable moral compass that took the form of a bone-chewing guilt. It meant spending many afternoons helping Tsireya with a chore she needed help with despite at first saying ‘no’. It meant teaching his little brother how to fish the best fish in the reef when all he wanted to do after training was sleep. Still, there were some things Ao’nung could not keep restrained, and some orders he simply could not take – like the order to leave you alone.

Obviously, Ao’nung runs after you.

“You’re chasing me? Really?” You groan over your shoulder, heels pounding at the grainy substrate beneath your toes, body dodging the weeping leaves of surrounding trees as you run.

Ao’nung was hot on your tail, but not enough to panic. He might have been strong, but you were fast.

“Yes, I’m chasing you! What do you think this is, Cinderella?”

When you reach the confines of your family’s marui pod, you draw the cloth sheet over the entrance and stop him in his tracks.

“Let me in. Please.” He pleads, hand pressed firmly against the divider, three-finger shaped shadow on the fabric.

You sit on the floor, head buried between the rounds of your knees now damp with hot tears. If he comes in, you think it’ll be over. Everything spilling out messily. Volatile emotions exploding against the walls. A confession you’re not yet level-headed enough to give. You thought you were ready, but you weren’t – who would ever be ready to have a dream ripped away from them?

You shut your eyes at the thought, lips warbling.

“This was a bad idea, Ao. We shouldn’t have done this. We’re… confusing everybody!”

Confusing me, would have been more accurate – but the revelation dies on your lips.

“I’m not confused.” He says with conviction.

It was true, he wasn’t. And not for lack of knowing the feeling well enough.

He’d been confused most of his life – living in limbo between the person he was and the person everyone wanted him to be – always a few seconds away from snapping until he found better ways to ground himself. His family. Friends. The water. You.

For once, he had an answer to those questions that prodded him about the future. He wasn’t confused. He knew exactly what he wanted.

You. You. You. 

It sang in his head and it was making him dizzy.

“I asked you. I asked you because you’re my friend and I trust you, because I-,”

“No!”

The desperation in your voice cuts through his train of thought.

You shove your face deeper into your knees, sinking into yourself, wrapping an arm around them and squeezing in what’s meant to be comfort but feels more like chagrin. If he was going to break your heart, then he could do it tomorrow. You couldn’t hear his praises of friendship. Not on the night you danced together. Not on the night it felt real. On the night you’ll revisit periodically in your mind to make sure it doesn’t slip away, refining the sore but unrelenting muscles of your memory.

“Please. Just go, Ao’nung.” You whisper, voice breaking. He doesn’t miss the way you use his whole name. He feels sick.

“No! I want to know why you’re upset. I-I want to know how to make it stop.”

“You can’t, okay? You can’t just fix everything!”

The silence that follows is sign enough that it went a step too far. Ao’nung’s body feels hot, but he shivers.

Fix things was one of the only ways he knew how to help. When you lost your favourite bracelet to Pandora’s light-fingered ocean in childhood, he had little to say except a gruff ‘here’ after having spent the night making you a replacement. Now, he was a lot better with his words but the urge to remove pain like it was an internal organ never deserted him.

“Fine. I’ll go.” He mumbles, shadow slowly retreating. “But this isn’t over.”

That, you could count on better than sheep as you force sleep through bleary eyelids. To you, Ao’nung sometimes listened, but he always kept a promise.

Sometimes you have a dream.

It’s a glittering shoreline with thousands of bivalves buried in sand. Each one of them special in their own rite, you can’t help yourself but to pick them up one by one, holding up their pretty ridges against the fringing beads of your top, the urge to claim them as souvenirs running hot in your veins, but you know better – they belong to the sea. Where stagnant creatures moved great distance. How inspiring, you’d thought, that the right home could do that.

“Thief.” It’s Ao’nung snickering, and you’re really not even sure you can see him. But it’s his voice. His permanence in your life.

“I didn’t even take it.” You grumble, crossing your arms over your chest.

He shrugs, eyes lidded with amusement. “Fine, almost thief, then. Happy?”

“With you?” You’re laughing now. Always. “Never.”

“Right… the same way I never ditch training to body surf?”

“Mhm, and I never stay past curfew to count the stars.”

“And I never wanna kiss you.” He bites his lip, eyes fierce and boring through you. “You get what I mean?”

Sometimes his lips make it to yours, sometimes they don’t.

Regardless, you wake up with your lips swollen and his question playing over and over again in your head – ‘you get what I mean?’.

It’s hard to say what came first, your love for Ao’nung, or the dreams about him. Maybe they were born at the same time and dreams were, as the sky people thought, an uncovering of the gritty but sort of poignant parts of your subconscious. What you did know was that the dreams about him always came on nights when you intended to pray that your deepest desires reveal themselves, but fell asleep with the words aching on your tongue. You suppose Eywa worked in not-so-mysterious ways, waking you with the wafting smell of the salty ocean and a cool breeze nipping at your feet, soft buzzing in the air through wood-winded chimes as if to say – ‘you get what I mean?’.

This morning, though, you’re not in the mood for ambiguous and one-sided conversations with the great mother, no matter how enticing they might be to fall into.

Last night was too revealing – and you knew Ao’nung would never feel comfortable moving on to court another if he felt like you were going to fall apart without him. The goal of today was to show him that you could handle it, that he deserved to find his fated match, and he didn’t need to stay tethered to you out of pity or loyalty to a childhood friend.

Even if that goal means avoiding sticky topics and squeezing Kiri’s hand in moments of instability, hard enough that she jabs you in the rib with her elbow.

“Ow!” She yelps, eyes narrowing in disapproval. “You need to talk to him before I end up in the healing tent with Ronal all morning.”

Like he can hear her, and perhaps he can with the way he’s been keeping a watchful eye over you since the moment you stepped into the communal area, Ao’nung treads over. He has a mission of his own. If you were going to reject him, then he wanted to hear you say it, even if it meant he’d never recover.

“Can I talk to you?” He murmurs, warm hand brushing over your shoulder.

“Actually, I have to-,”

“Yes!” Kiri answers for you, and bluntly.

You cast a particularly scornful glare at her, but Kiri seems unphased, softy applying pressure at the small of your back until you tumble forward into Ao’nung’s chest.

He catches you by the hips, and you’re shocked for a moment when he doesn’t take the opportunity to tease you with a coy remark, something along the lines of ‘if you wanted to touch me, then all you needed to do was ask’, instead his eyes are fervent and his lips are fixed into a straight line.

“You wanted to talk?”

“Yeah, I wanted to talk. Fuck.” He breathes out, rubbing his fingers over his jaw. “What happened last night? We don’t run… not from each other.”

Kiri seems to disappear, finding someone to chat with elsewhere.

As you make out the words through the ocean in your ears, you soften. In the best and the worst of times, you and Ao’nung were candid. Sometimes to a degree that made other Na’vi tilt their heads in confusion, like you had an especially short threshold for the inauthentic. Really, what else could you expect from two ex-hot-heads? Old habits die hard.

Still, this was intentional. Avoiding him was really the only way to ensure that your seams wouldn’t come apart. Maybe they weren’t even there and everything was just pressed together tightly. Ao’nung can tell when something’s up. He always does.

“You’re right. You’re right, I just– I felt guilty for lying.” You bite your lip, hoping it’s enough to persuade him. “To everybody. Our friends. Your parents. My parents.” Me.

“You have a real chance to love somebody, Ao. Why throw it away like this?”

“What?” His face twists sourly at the question.“No, I don’t buy that.”

“No? What do you mean ‘no’?”

“No.” He says again, more firmly this time. “You want me to believe this is some kind of honour-code bullshit? Since when do you care what anybody else thinks? This isn’t about them, it’s about us. What is this really about?”

Before the words tumble forward, a village elder wedges her way between the two of you, a haughty smile on her lips. It’s a cheap tactic, a cop-out – but the tension in the air is suffocating. When she begins sparking a conversation with you, it’s a welcome distraction that you very quickly jump on, while Ao’nung fights the urge to roll his eyes.

“Are you serious?” He whispers into your ear, almost laughing. “How are you going to avoid me when I’m right here?”

“Oh, lovebirds!” The elder laments, clasping a hand on his shoulder with much more force than he would have anticipated. “Are the two of you keeping busy?”

Ao’nung can be petty, too. Maybe you just needed a reminder.

“Very busy.” He replies smoothly. “She wants six kids.”

You feel yourself choke on nothing, glaring at the side of his face while he purposefully ignores your stare.

“He wants eight.” You flash her a forced smile, delivering a light pinch to Ao’nung’s side. The elder looks between the two of you with an amused expression.

“Oh, did I say six? I meant ten.”

Fighting the urge to kick him in the ankle, you bid the elder a hasty goodbye, and tug Ao’nung by the hand, dragging his large frame towards the beach.

Begrudgingly, you sit yourself down on the sand and take a nourishing breath that does little to calm your jittery nerves.  

“Ready to talk now?”

“You know, Lo’ak was right all those years ago. You are evil.”

“Yeah, yeah. Start talking.”

It strikes you that the two of you always seem to be in the sand. Malleable landscape that you can mark-up however you please, only to be washed away seconds later, like it never happened in the first place. Lots of catharsis came from that cycle.

Lots of sunsets spent with Ao’nung, the pair of you carving your feelings into wet sand, then letting them go with the tide. Renewal. If you put everything out there, maybe it would hurt.

Or maybe it would be a renewal.

“I haven’t grown out of it.” You begin, heels digging into granules that dig into you back. He watches you shift uncomfortably, fighting the instinct to snake his arm around your waist.

“Grown out of…?”

“My crush on you. I haven’t grown out of it.” You whisper. “And I can’t fake being in a relationship with you without caving in on myself because of how much I wish it was real.”

Ao’nung feels his heart thump wildly in his chest. He hopes he doesn’t look contemplative, because there was nothing to think about.

“Then let’s do it for real.”

“Ao, be serious.”

“I mean it.” He says earnestly, warm hands finding their way to your own. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about… no, you – you’re all I’ve been thinking about. I want this so bad… don’t you? T-tell me you do.”

The vessels in your heart pinch together.

“Of course I want this.” You murmur. “It’s just…,” hard to explain that you feel like a cloud. Shapeless and confusing to everyone you interact with. “You need better, Ao. Someone that can be tsahìk. More than just a decent shot or healer. Someone that can lead… and if we’re being honest,” your lips quiver, breaking out into a teary laugh. “I’m a really horrible weaver.”

There is silence for a few moments. Then, granular particles on your face.

“D-did you just throw sand at me?”

“Yeah, I threw sand at you.” He replies matter-of-factly. “And I’ll do it again.”

You stare at him dumbfounded.

“I’m not going to listen to you berate yourself.” He starts again. “You’re not a decent shot, you’re a great shot. Maybe healing isn’t your forte, but you patch me up just fine and honestly, I can’t really stomach the thought of anyone else doing it. You have an energy the People hang onto. Our friends love you, our elders love you, my parents love you. Above all that, I love you.”

He cups your cheek softly, pupils staring tenderly.

“Do you get it? The weaving… it’s true, that cannot be helped.” He chuckles, and you shove him gently in the chest. He catches your hand. Holds it against his heart. “But my tsahìk only needs to be one thing. You.”

As you lean in to catch his lips in a searing kiss, it feels easier than you might have expected.

No resistance, nothing holding you back, keeping you tethered by the hair or spine. Really, it’s like the air is pushing you forward into someone that it knows will catch you. Every time.

“It might be hard.” You say breathily when you pull apart.

The road ahead was something that struck great fear in you. Ao’nung has the urge to chase your lips again and never let them go, but he wrestles it just enough.

“Hey.” He tugs on your chin, crooked smile playing on his mouth. “You said you like a challenge, remember?”

Your amused laugh mixes into the smiley kiss after smiley kiss you press onto his lips. The reef is none the wiser… these kisses look just like the first one. Sure, this time they were real, but maybe that meant less than you thought.

The love was always there. A grain of sand could see it.

a/n: reblogs + tags + comments are always appreciated 🪐🩷 thanks for reading and i hope it made you feel good!! did you notice any easter eggs?

[dollya-robinprotector]

Giggling because I love making post with multiple character tags and then wait for the wrong face to be featured on all the tags ksksksks

This sydney looks soooo sillyyyy

Anw I just thought about my past so story time under the cut.

When I was in secondary school, I once knew a friend who was bullied.

For the context, it was a decent school, with 4 grades, each had 4 classes: A for lower-perform and naughty students, B for normal, C for better than average, and D for the Elites who will most definitely have bright future ahead. We are Asian children, study means EVERYTHING for us. Our worth are defined by how well we perform in school, how many awards we have and how good our grades are.

That friend was in class C. I was in class B. Normally we don't make friends outside of the class, but I once saw him being poured water on in the hallway, defended him and we became friends. Or something like that. Let's call him Z because I forgor his name now.

My parents didn't do well with the fact that I failed my entrance test and was stuck in normal class. They didn't have money to upgrade me to class C either, so they made me study extra hard. Back since I started going to school, I was being teased and harassed a lot too cuz I love to draw (what's the problem of kids being mean to artistic kids btw???). But since I was one of the best performers in study, I soon gained some respect and the soft bully subside. (I was terrible in math, but everything else were straight A okay??)

Z wasn't so lucky. I learned that his grades were terrible eventhough he was in class C. He stuttered a lot, always looks down when talking to people, never dare to engage in any conversation, etc... His appearance did not help, and he had some funny smell when I stood close to him. One thing though, he loved drawing too (urgh artistic kids again) and really admired my skill. The only times he would smile are when we talked about our fav anime. Looking back, I think maybe he had something to do with autism? I can't be sure though, but I know his parents spent a LOT to keep him in that better-than-average-class.

The bully was not too terrible, at least from what I saw and heard. He often got splashed by water, threw dirty rag or left-over food at, made fun of, laughed at, his belongings often went missing and be found somewhere dirty, etc... I used to went through all that too, so I helped him to somehow deal with them. Those sort of soft-physical bully were nothing scary once you got used to them. Just a little annoying. He got used to it too, I think, and we didn't mention those when we talk. I admit I might had some savior complex, and that friendship is not entirely friendly. It was more like I thought he would be helpless without me so I can't leave him alone.

And then one day when I was going home from school, Z approached me and asked if I want to go to his house. He said he has a very big greenhouse, and there were some pretty blooming flowers he wanted to show me. I never saw a greenhouse before and I love flowers, of course I said yes!

We rode our bicycles to his house. I've never been to his house before nor meet his parents. I didn't even ask my mom for permission to go but well, I was excited.

We went for a long time, and I started to realize he was leading me into the forest. I still went with him for maybe half an hour more, before I said I was tired and you didn't tell me your house would be this far. Then I look around and truly there was nothing bu trees surrounded the two of us. He looked back at me, clearly exhausted too, and said nothing. I started to realize the situation I was in: a 12 years old, in a forest, with no directions and a strange friend who I didn't really know. Yeh atm I was pretty scared.

I asked Z again where exactly is his house. He stuttered and said I don't need to worry, we would get there very soon. He said if I was too tired I can hop on his bike and he would get me there. Then he attempted to take my hand but that creeped me out so I stepped away from him. I turned my bike, ignored his calls, and just went as fast as I can toward the direction I thought would lead me out of the woods. He called out to me and began to chase after me too, but gave up after some times.

I then just rode my bike with full speed, somehow got out of the woods into a strange road I didn't know, asked around for direction and got home safe. My mom scolded me for being so damn late and I apologized. I never tell anybody, and never talk to Z ever again. He didn't bother me either. And that's the end of the story.

[theresattrpgforthat]

do you know of any solo-player crafting / designing games? like a witch making posions or someone building a cottage? the dream is a pen and paper solo-player architecture design game. or exploration/scavenging??

THEME: Crafting and Exploration

Hello friend, I selected some games that try to fit as many of the different prompts you are looking for here. Nothing fits everything, but everything fits something.

Dust and Void, by Robin Gibson.

The last remnants of humanity reside on Cathedral, a space-faring city, on its centuries-long mission to find a new home. Cathedral relies on spacecraft designed for deep space scavenging for vital resources.

In Dust and Void, players take on the role of these pilots. Players will explore the depths of space, look for resources, avoid dangers, and balance work, well-being and worship to make a name for themselves and build a legacy. Can you bring in enough to see humanity to a brighter tomorrow, and also to stay in the relative comfort of deep space?

This looks like a game that balances multiple characters, but is still designed for one person. It also appears to be a balancing game, so I’d expect being required to fulfill multiple objectives without depleting energy reserves or resources. If you want a game with high stakes and strategic options, you might want to check out Dust and Void.

Courier, by Sleepy Sasquatch Games.

Courier is a solo-RPG where you take control of a Courier—someone who travels the Wasteland delivering and trading cargo in exchange for REP, the currency of this post-apocalyptic future. As you explore the world around you, locations and factions are revealed and recorded on your map.

Choose to take jobs for factions and build reputation to access new benefits all while becoming better at your job and earning new character perks.

Courier is a highly structured game that focuses on exploration and salvage, leading your character through locations and various encounters, including Combat, Trade, and salvaging cargo. You work towards completing quests, earning money, and upgrading your reputation. Courier is probably the most like a traditional ttrpg in this list, and is great if you want to play a game but don’t want to be responsible for creating the world around you.

Guillotine Earrings, by Ella Watts.

You are a magical jeweller in a city on the brink of revolution. A solo RPG.

Guillotine Earrings is a magical journalling game on two pages. Your character is a jeweller living in a city on the brink of revolution, held in the grip of a cruel and despotic tyrant.  Over the course of the game, you describe and draw the jewellery they make as they attempt to fan the flames of protest in the city with their art. You also describe the parties they attend, the allies they find, and the communities they enlist as they start a revolution behind the unlikely barricade of their storefront. It's up to you to decide which you prefer - or to play the game more than once, creating different people in different cities as they try to rise up against their oppressors.

This game is intriguing to me because while your character is responsible for making items, you’re also crafting a revolution. Your decisions throughout the game will determine whether you’ll have a better chance to improve your art or improve your revolution’s odds through persuasive checks - recruiting for the cause, making powerful allies, and improving your network. There’s also optional rules for a jenga tower or a pool of jewelry, if you want to heighten the tension and increase the randomness of your results. If you want a game where your character occupies a niche in society that gives them the ability to cause great changes in the world around them, I’d recommend Guillotine Earrings.

Botanicals, by Ben K Rosenbloom.

A game for making potions to solve peoples' problems.  For one or more players. You will need some flowers, spices, maybe some bottles or cups, and anything else you want to throw in a potion.

This game can be played solo, although it also has instructions for higher player counts. This game might even work as a single-person larp, as it recommends creating your potions and determining their effects based on their colour and scent. The crafting of this game is more literal than it is theoretical, and it is likely to require some cleanup afterwards, so if what you are looking for is something immersive, this might be a good option. If you’re looking for mechanical crunch, you might want to look somewhere else.

Salvager, by TEU Games.

Collect salvage from wrecked space ships. You will gain in power and equipment. If you live long enough, retire to a life of luxury. 

This is another exploration game that brings you across a hexmap as you look for salvage. The game fits on 2 pages, but is full of descriptions of what you find inside the ships, as well as roll-tables determining what your retirement looks like depending on how many credits you save. Just be warned - if you duck out of a job before it’s done, you risk losing money and also retiring in disgrace!

Bad Bad Brew, by CABBAGEHEAD.

BAD BAD BREW features a colourful trifold spread with all the rules and inspiration you need to brew your next potion. It includes all the instructions, several tables for ingredients and side effects, and your Alchemist's Tools to easily change its properties.

The game is designed to be accessible, easy to play and highly replayable. All you need is one six-sided die, writing tools and some creativity to start playing.  The average session can be last from 10 minutes to as long as you want.

This is another game that has some tactile components to it, asking you to literally brew some of your concoctions. The game also expects your character to not always get the recipe right - and when that happens, expect a number of interesting side-effects. The game also suggests porting your creations into group sessions - perhaps something that your character made gets sold to an adventuring party! If you want something that can be played quickly, with many possible uses, check out this game.

Renovation, by kay w.

Renovation is a solo journaling game about a house. Whether or not the house is haunted depends on your definition of a haunting. In this game, you play as the house, old and worn, full of many memories and perhaps even ghosts. A new owner has come to renovate.

You do not wish for the renovation, but it comes regardless. 

This is a story in which the architecture of a house is a form of resistance - and the new creation that you turn into at the end of the game is a horror, not an accomplishment. This is the closest I could find to an architecture game, using a deck of cards to determine what element of your house is changed. If your foundation crumbles, you are no longer the house you once were. This game certainly isn’t for everyone, but if you’re interested in a horror take on a game, this might be worth taking a peek at.

Masterpiece, by LordPaido.

It was on my walk home from the store when I saw it. A bird floating through the air, barely flapping its wings. At once, ideas began clamoring for attention; moving without movement as the theme for a new poem! But my masterpiece could also use such an allegory, although it might take more editing to make work….I'm so close, and yet, I feel so much further than when I started….just a few days more, and it should be complete.

Masterpiece is a solo GM-less journaling game about the creative process and what goes into making a truly unique work of art. Maintain your inspiration as you draw on the influences of the world around you, past, present, and future. Strive to remain focused and not grow distracted by lesser works. Weather whatever storms the outside world and your inner landscape throw at you – and see if you have what it takes to reach your full potential.

This game lists architecture as one of the forms of art you could use in your creative process. The game depends on a deck of cards, which you draw from to navigate your ideas, as well as tokens, which you use to track your character’s inspiration. Every “day”, you draw and place a card, and then interpret your progress into a journal entry. Sometimes you might draw an idea for a lesser work, which is mean to replicate how artists often have more ideas than time to complete them. The game might end with a finished Masterwork, but it might not! Out of all of the games I looked at, this is probably the most suited to the architecture prompt you listed. I hope you find it interesting!

Games I’ve Recommended Before

Grimoire, by Anna Landin.

Exclusion Zone Botanist, by William Rose.

[c-u-c-koo-4-40k]

You know what? I think the process can be just as important for art as seeing those shimmering pretty pieces that come out finally Right. And I do mean Finally...

This plain ass sketch was my first attempt to design Ithio, but it didn't feel right so I moved on and tried again.

Okay better, but the build felt too Bulky for how I envisioned Ithio in my head. It could also be that the pose felt Too confident for a character that had to fight anxiety tooth and nail in order to talk to his crush.

But we did get further and even had some fun design ideas with the horns, battle damage on the ear, and claws (which current Ithio Definitely still has). I might reuse this base for a different OC, but just having done it justifies keeping it for now.

Ahhhhhh, here we go. Now the boy is taking shape. With my preferences discovered in the previous attempts, and my focus pulled in with not doing a full body I could really get a design that may not be permanent, but I can have fun and challenge executing.

Ithio at last! The only big difference between this pic and the one I posted was the hastily done skating rink background.

So yeah, that pretty shy lad took no less than four attempts. And that's not counting all the hemming and hawing and fiddling with the details at each stage.

Point being, every beautiful piece probably took a number of one's you'd consider rough when you're being charitable, and duds if you're feeling self critical.

Every drawing is progress, every ugly duckling is another feather fledged to your future swans. Maybe at some point I'll look at this pic, and think, Wow I could've done X better.

And I will reply, Yep, and I wouldn't know that without this serving as a step stone. Plus I had fun making it. And that's what matters.

Hope you all enjoy!

@kit-williams @nitro-devil @angronsjewelbeetle @barn-anon @bispecsual @bleedingichorhearts @sleepyfan-blog @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @egrets-not-regrets

[ladylooch]

I might have to request Nico fluff cause the last one you wrote was absolutely brilliant😭 and if you want to add some spice to it I'm down

The answer to any Nico fluff request will always be yes. Forever. He is so easy to write. And I really love this AU. So how about the fluffiest fluff there ever is in human existence 💍

This is part of the What My World Spins Around AU. Catch the other blurbs on my master list here.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warning: 18+ Content!, fluff, drinking, swearing because I like the F word... and smut LOL.

The final bubbles of my glass of champagne pop and sputter against my lips as I bring the flute to my mouth. I finish the drink off, glancing over my shoulder. I scan the inside of the restaurant, searching for Nico. He’s been in the bathroom for awhile. I hope he’s okay. Not seeing him in my immediate view, I turn back to the street just beyond our patio seating.

We are back in Switzerland for another off-season. The Devils year ended short of a Stanley Cup, but their captain is in much better spirits compared to last summer. The team grew so much this year; Nico did too. He became stronger in his leadership, more sure of the direction of the team and the future management has been promising him since he was drafted.

It feels like their hard work has pushed them forward enough to ease the sting. Instead, he can barely wait for the puck to drop next season.

I watch as a couple of bikers stride through the street towards the setting sun. It’s hinting at beautiful colors tonight. I pull my phone up to attempt a picture, but it’s pointless. The colors are prettier than the phone can even show.

I reach for my flute again, disappointed when I remember I already drank the last of it.

“Sorry, babe.” Nico announces his presences as he moves to stand next to me.

“Are you okay?” I ask, placing my hand on his wrist. He looks flushed and like he’s a bit troubled.

“Yeah. Just got caught up in a conversation inside.” He assures me. I nod in understanding. It’s a common occurrence when we are here. “You up for a walk?” He extends his hand to move my hair behind my ear, then off my shoulder. My dark curls cascade down my back drawing his brown gaze as they cover the bare skin of my upper back. I look around for our waiter, not seeing him in immediate view. “I already paid.” He tells me. I pause, wrinkling my nose at his weird behavior.

“A little impatient tonight.” I chuckle, grabbing my purse and accepting his outstretched hand.

“You do see this sunset right? It’s amazing. If we can get beyond the buildings in the next few minutes, it will be even better.”

I trust the Swiss native at his word and allow for him to hustle me down the street. My wedges hate the cobblestone path, so Nico has to continuously steady me as we go. We break through the buildings into an open area that leads to the marina and glacial lake we live on the other side of. 

“Oh, wow.” I whisper. “You should have picked a house on this side of the lake.”

“They won’t build anything new over here. Ground is too unsteady in the winter.” His gaze is intense in front of us like he’s facing a fierce opponent, not staring at a gorgeous, summer sunset.

“Bummer.” I pout, following him down to the public pier that leads into the clear, blue water. 

As we walk, the colors begin to change from soft glows of yellow to bursting warm colors beginning with pink and ending with orange and reds.

“Wow.” I whisper to him, completely mesmerized.

Our fingers are linked loosely together as we walk, swinging between our bodies. The colors intensify more, causing the lake to toss diamonds across it’s glass surface. The hues dance along the Swiss Alps causing an idyllic glow in the valley. It’s breathtaking and indescribable. My eyes drink in the sight, barely noticing when Nico’s fingers drop from mine. I stand rooted to my spot, trying to remember each flick of light across the mountains.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen-” I turn, to face Nico completely. When I see him down on one knee, my words get stuck in my throat. “Ah.” Sputters out with what is left of them. 

“You are without a doubt the love of my life.” His voice shakes as he pulls in a breath. My hand clasps over my mouth as I close my eyes, whispering ohmygod over and over to myself. “I love you in ways I didn’t know were possible to love another person.”

“Yes.” I whisper to him, nodding my head and reaching for his shoulders. I drop to my knees, sliding my hands around his neck to stroke his cheeks with my thumbs. I tug his face to mine for a desperate kiss.

“I’m not done.” He laughs against my mouth. 

“Yes.” I insist again, pressing my lips more forcefully to his.

“I haven’t asked.” He reminds me, but his tongue comes out of his mouth to tangle with mine. I pull back to look at him. His face swims in my growing tears. One spills over my bottom lash so he catches it with his thumb. My lips wobble, trying to stuff the happy sob in my throat. I end up bitting into my tongue until I can taste blood in my mouth.

“I never want to know what it’s like to not have this. I want you with me for every moment, good and bad and average, for the rest of my life.” He smiles as more tears dash down my cheeks. I nod enthusiastically in wholehearted agreement. He reaches out for my face. I gasp as I lean into his touch. “Will you marry me?” It’s an excited whisper that has an effervescent grin pulling my cheeks tight.

“Yes!” I squeal, head tilting back and spilling electric laughter. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

He pops the black ring box open and I practically faint.

“Oh… my GOD. Nico.” I am flabbergasted by the size of the diamond. It’s an oval cut in a platinum setting with several smaller diamonds that form a V down the sides of the band. It’s better than my wildest fantasies or any ring on my Pinterest board.

“You like it?”

“I love it.” I watch my hand tremble as he slides the ring onto my finger. 

“Whew, it fits.” He grins at me when he secures it in place.

“Oh.. how I love you.” I whimper to him, pressing our lips together again. The kiss is filled with sweetness. We share soft, open presses of our mouthes while his hands hold us firmly together.

Cheers break us apart. I look behind Nico and see his parents rushing towards us. Katja has her arms thrust into the air in excitement. Rino hold his hands up to his mouths to hoot at us. I smile, hiding my nose in Nico’s shoulder.

“I think we know those people.” I say, kissing the crook of his neck.

“They insisted on watching.” He chuckles, maneuvering us both to stand. I catch the glint of my ring as I brush a piece of my hair behind my ear. I can barely believe this is happening. Nico wraps his arms around my hips as we watch their final, joyful approach. His touch is grounding, but just in case this is a dream, nobody wake me up.

Nico keeps the celebration with his parents quick. We snap pictures, doing all the ring related poses and popping of champagne. Strangers embrace us with hugs and warm wishes of congratulations. I’m overwhelmed by the feelings of love and joy sweeping from every part of my body. Before I know what is happening, Nico is ushering me back to the car.

We crash into the house when we get home, beginning to strip each other’s clothes off. 

“All I want on you is your engagement ring.” Nico tells me, tugging my dress over my head. My matching red, peek a boo lingerie has him groaning.

“You sure about that?” I ask him, watching as his eyes drink me in. He steps forward, leaning his head down to suck my nipple into his mouth through the fabric. The barrier is too much. He shoves the cup down, gripping my breast tightly in his hand before sucking me deeper into his mouth. “Ahhh.” I whine to him, fingers threading into his long locks.

“Yeah I’m sure.” His nostrils flare when he pulls away. On the counter, the world demands our presence. Vibrating and flashing with text messages and phone calls, begging to hear about how the Swiss captain proposed.

They can wait. We can’t.

Nico reaches around to unclasp my bra, happy when it falls to our feet. 

“So fucking beautiful.” He hums, reaching for my other breast, tugging the pink nipple into his mouth. His teeth scrape lightly against it, making me wiggle impatiently in his arms. I reach for his hand, sliding it into my panties and beginning the motion I want from him. He grins, hooking my leg around his waist so he can run his thumb in tighter circles. My head knocks back to almost between my shoulder blades as I cry my appreciate to my future husband.

When my head snaps back, I turn into a vixen.

“You got on your knees; it’s only fair I repeat the favor.” I drawl. His glinting brown eyes watch my descent to the floor. He tugs his bottom lip into his mouth watching as I pull his thick shaft from his pants. His palms come to gather my hair at the back of my head. He tugs the hairs tight, holding my head back as his erection bounces against my tongue. He leers down at me as I stroke from base to tip. My wet mouth encloses around his head completely, sucking in steady pulses around the sensitive skin. Nico’s knees almost buckle.

“Look at how pretty my fiancé looks with me in her mouth.” He moans as I suck him deeper. 

“Ring looks good too.” I point out, showing him the glittering of the diamond against his taut skin.

“Mmm, almost as good as you.” He groans as I swirl my tongue along his seeping head. I take him as deep as I can, letting him set his hands on my head to fuck my mouth. His thrusts deepen and I resist the urge to gag around his hefty length. He sighs heavily as he falls from my mouth. “I can’t.” He confesses. “Not going to last long enough to get inside of you.” He reaches for my hands to pull me up. “Where?” He asks.

“Right here.” 

“Nah.” His head shake is assertive. “You deserve better than the floor.” He kisses my lips, swirling his tongue in my mouth to taste the last bit of himself there. His hands press into my hips, steering me towards the living room. We get to the couch wrapping our arms around each other, falling on it together. Our tongues meld as one, enjoying the company of one another’s mouthes. 

Nico reaches between us, gripping his cock to put himself between my folds. His fingers play with me, massaging me until I’m whimpering beneath him again.

“Nico.” I’m exasperated, too empty to keep playing this game with him. “Please.”

“Beg a little more.” He asks me watching my face as my eyebrows pull together in need.

“I can’t… please, I can’t wait anymore.” I don’t even need to play it up. I’m that desperate for him. He likes the sound of my pleading. One more stroke down my heat and he smoothly pushes himself inside of me. 

“Oh.” We both moan at the same time.

“So good.” He whispers into my mouth. He kisses me sloppily as his thrusts push me up the couch. The crown of my head hits the arm of it quickly. I wince slightly and Nico adjusts the pillow to protect my head. “Better?” He asks me, watching my face intently. I nod eagerly. With my head safe, he begins to increase the tempo. His hips snap and roll, then his staccato thrusts increase as he widens my knees.

“Fuck, baby you are gorgeous. So.. god damn perfect.” His long locks dance in front of his face as he looks down at us connecting. His gaze returns to mine when I scratch my nails down his arms. “Keep looking at me like that.” He murmurs, hand coming down to stroke my face. “Don’t look away.” I bite my lip, causing Nico to groan again. “So sexy.” My eyes close and he squeezes my cheeks as a reminder. “Me baby, eyes on me. I want you to see who makes you feel this good.” My fingers move from his arms to his ass cheeks, forcing my nails in to make him increase the tempo. “Tell me.”

“I want more, Neeks. Please. Just a little.”

He tilts my hips up, adjusting me so he can go deeper. I lurch off the couch, arching my back as he strokes my inner walls just right. My hand comes down, touching my clit in soft circles. Nico brings a hand to my breast, massaging it beneath his fingers. 

“Baby.” It’s a breathless whisper that falls from my swollen lips greedily. I grit my teeth, eyes closing. Nico leans down to my ear, hot gulps of air enclosing the space between us.

“I’m so addicted to you, sweet girl.” He murmurs, thrusting faster into me. “The rest of my life still won’t be enough of you.” My fingers grip the back of his neck. Then, my nail beds turn white against Nico’s skin as I come, taking him right with me.

I’m shaking when Nico jerks a final time inside me. His strong arms hold most of his weight over me, but our chests stick to each other. I feel his nose on my shoulder. He glides his way to the dip of my neck then kisses his way up my cheek to my lips. Our breathing collides between our faces in ragged exhales.

The way he looks at me has tears building in my eyes.

“Do I really get that look forever?” I whisper to him, fingers ghosting along his face to brush his hair back from his eyes. He doesn’t speak just nods.

There are some things words can’t describe.

The feeling of laying in Nico’s arms, newly engaged and freshly loved, is definitely one of those things.