#i say might be back though because. i mean come on. you all know me. i say i am back and then there i go vanishing again. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

doobean · 2 days

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SMOKE SIGNALS ─ BAROU SHOUEI

𝓼𝔂𝓷𝓸𝓹𝓼𝓲𝓼: Barou seems to have enough of your godawful dating life. What he doesn’t know is that you’ve reached your breaking point, too.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚: explicit content ﾉ 18+ ﾉ fem!afab!reader ﾉ friends to lovers ﾉ idiots in love ﾉ roommates AU ﾉ barou centric ﾉ soft love making bc he's a CLB duh ﾉ narration heavy ﾉ kinda mean to reader but it all means well ﾉ first time/virginity loss ﾉ dry humping ﾉ fingering ﾉ missionary ﾉ no beta we die like men wc: 8.5k (longest smut fic i've written thus far whew) a/n: hello friends i am back hehe trying out a new format :3 and also a standalone barou fic because wow i've always paired this guy w nagi sjakhdkajdfh pls give me more hair down barou im begging on my fuckin knees

“Promise me that you won’t get mad,” you peek around the door frame, head poking into Barou’s room.

“The hell did you do this time,” Barou tries to keep his voice casual, red eyes flickering from his computer monitor to your face, then back again. Frankly, he has no idea what you’re possibly referring to, but whenever you’re vague like this, it’s usually not a good thing.

Your brows knit together and you clench the sides of the door. “You gotta promise me, Shouei.”

It has to be something bad, at least in his mind, because you’re trying really hard to look convincing. He can make out the small fidgeting motions by just how hard your knuckles are gripping against the door frame. Barou exhales and pauses, and it’s for a long, rare moment. He’s always the type of guy to say whatever comes to mind, and it’s usually a whole bunch of unfiltered harsh truths and things that others don't want to hear. It’s rare that Barou is actually picking his words carefully and, of course, that catches your attention even more.

“Shouei…”

After a few seconds, Barou manages to narrow the possibilities down to three.

The first answer being the obvious choice: you’re planning to invite a bunch of your friends over for a last minute party. Your friends are loud, messy, and a bit too friendly towards him despite the numerous times he’s yelled at them. Whatever, he’s used to this by now. Afterall, he’s been living with you at this apartment for well over a year now—four years if he counts the amount of times you’ve crashed at his dorm during his time in high school and university.

The second outcome might be directly related to the second half: you’re moving out. Could it be a new job opportunity with better pay? Hell, he’s seen you hunched over and obsessively scrolling through multiple job posting sites these past few months that he’s had a feeling that the day will come sooner or later. But it wouldn’t be something that Barou could see himself getting frustrated over.

Which only leads to the third option: you’ve somehow brought home a stray animal and expect him to be okay with it—

“Okay, dude, you’re seriously starting to freak me out.”

Barou snorts and rolls his eyes. “Can’t promise if I don’t know what it is,” and motions at the empty space by the edge of his bed. “Whatever you brought back home, though, it’s a no. You know I have a cat allergy.”

“I wouldn’t bring an animal home without telling you! Plus, that’s such a lie because you had a cat growing up,” you flush brightly and glower. Needless to say, you end up shuffling past the door frame, into full view, and Barou quickly realizes what you’re referring to, and why you’re acting so agitated.

Breath quickly catches in Barou’s lungs. He averts his gaze, looks back, and clenches his jaw—all in a matter of seconds.

“You’re… dressed up,” he’s pretty sure his face is all contorted, because you’re suddenly acting meek again.

“Don’t give me that look,” your hands fly up and do a poor job covering your chest and exposed thighs.

A form fitting dress is the last thing he’d ever imagined you in, then again, you were never the type to actively show off your feminine outfits in front of him—lounging around in nothing but sweats and an oversized tee is a sight he’s more used to—until now.

“I don’t normally see you wearing stuff like this,” he tries to make the words casual and dismissive, though he’s very aware that he’s just admitted that he pays close attention to you. And, for whatever reason, he has the burning urge to tear himself away, before the tiny voice in his head starts taunting him to go even lower. “Why are you even showing me?”

“Y’know, I had an explanation to give you, but now you sound borderline pissed,” you begin to tip toe back behind the door frame, slowly.

“I always sound borderline pissed,” Barou adds. He’s paused his task at the desk, computer monitor on mute, and the room is exceptionally quiet, except for the low, hesitant creaks from the floor panels. After another moment of studying your face, he exhales and shakes his head. “Let me guess… a date?”

“Oh,” you look momentarily surprised, or maybe that’s just his imagination. You revert back almost immediately though. “How’d you figure it out so quickly?”

If it weren’t for those damn career boosting sites, the second most used apps would be those stupid dating ones.

Both of your parents work all the time, business partners even, so it’s been mainly the two of you left to your own devices at a young age. Barou didn’t have many friends growing up, outside of you and his sisters, if he can even count them.

You’re generally introverted by nature, but somehow you seem to attract people who seem to lack common boundaries and have a strange affinity to soccer. Of course, that includes him, your friends, and all the dates you try and bring back—Barou never lets them go past the shoe rack and, thankfully, your dates always seemed too afraid to object.

Your parents think that it’s a blessing of some sort. That he’s your personal guardian or a shitty guard dog to keep out unwanted men. Something about keeping you safe, another comment about being a good future son-in-law. Conversations with your relatives always tend to steer from topics of career goals, the amount of savings you have, to relationship status, and—ultimately—hey, Shouei’s available, right? Of course, you two don’t have that type of relationship.

Barou is observant, despite what others might think. Observant enough to know that you get uncomfortable when the idea of the two of you being together comes up. You tend to go quiet, then flustered, all before storming off to your own room. Maybe that’s why you spend all your energy into those dating apps—a weird rebellion phase of sorts.

He wants to chastise you, hoping it’ll lead towards you finding another pastime that consists of less unimpressive dicks. Perhaps picking up more books would be well suited for you. Though, upon recent apartment cleanings, he’s stumbled upon plenty of your obscured romance novels. The type of novels that the covers consist of half naked men in cowboy attire with the classic damsel in distress in his arms—Barou doesn’t understand why anyone reads that stuff—piled up all on the living room coffee table.

Scolding you is definitely on top of his to-do list right about now, second to decluttering the fridge. Advising that you can’t blindly trust men on these shitty platforms because god knows what they lie about to get a person’s attention. But he has a feeling that you’ll brush him off, spouting an all too familiar speech that you’ve given him plenty of times before about not being a kid. It’s probably a dumb idea, and he knows that.

So, instead, he shrugs and ignores the anxious buzzing tugging at the back of his mind. “An educated guess.”

“Oh, hm,” you go quiet at that and he isn’t entirely sure why that makes him nervous. “Do I look weird?”

“What?”

You tilt your head. “You’re staring. Like deep in thought.”

So much for keeping his expression neutral.

“Hmph,” Barou snaps his gaze back to his monitor, observing you from its reflection.

His awareness of your dress comes in levels of recognition. First is material: even from the distance he’s sitting, he can tell with a quick eye that it’s from some sort of designer brand. The silk fabric clings to your figure as if it was made for you, worshiping every curve and kissing your features perfectly. Second is how you chose to style it: the adjustments made to your chest is purposeful, making your cleavage the centerpiece while your neckline draws attention to it. Third is his own reaction to it: his mind races to the thought of how unfair everything suddenly feels.

“It’s nothing. It’s just—it’s different from the usual, that’s all.” An awkward beat and, “You don’t look weird.”

You lean back on your heels, body now coming back into view, and there’s a small grin. Looking closer, he sees that you’ve got your makeup and nails done, too.

“What? You’re coming at me for relationship advice now?” Barou asks, after a moment. “I’ve got nothing to say.”

“Your big mouth always has something to say,” you look at him with quirked brows.

He sighs airily. “Who cares, it’s not like you’ll listen,” then rolls his eyes. It’s a bit of an exaggeration, of course, but you’re quite literally one of the most stubborn people he’s ever come across.

Barou’s familiar with your on and off dating sprees before, and in the beginning he did loosely hand out some advice—even though most of the information came from all those dumb teen magazines he found in his sisters’ rooms. It’s almost like a damn script by how it plays out: obsess over a mediocre guy, go on a date or two, and be extremely disappointed when they don’t live up to your expectations.

It’s been about three months since your last date, and Barou doesn’t understand how this one might end up any different.

As if you’ve read his mind, you begin to explain, “We’ve been texting for a few days now. He seems super nice over video call, likes to cook, has a stable job—”

“Hate to break it to you, but that’s the bare minimum.”

“Shouei,” you grumble, “be nice.”

He feels his eyes narrow, lips pressing thin. “You planning to bring him back or something?” Barou can’t seem to mask the edge in his voice.

“If everything goes well, then yeah,” you look relatively proud of yourself. “Which is why I’m asking you to not scare him away—you’re capable of doing that, right?”

“It’s not gonna happen regardless,” the words roll out almost too naturally for both of your comfort, “something always goes wrong, anyways.”

Your lips press thin, weight shifting subtly between your feet. “Don’t be such a dick. I’m bringing a guy back this time.”

Barou doesn’t know what to say. What the fuck can he say? All he knows is that this is making him feel more annoyed than usual. You’ve got to be aware of that, right?

You two have fought before, of course. Nothing ever goes well when it deals with two stubborn individuals. Thankfully, none of the arguments have never escalated past mild inconveniences. Barou can’t seem to remember when’s the last time you’ve actually gotten angry, though. He imagines it being similar to his mom, or sisters, and it’s terrifying because you’re giving him that look—one where you’re a comment away from swatting everything off his desk.

His brows draw together for a moment, eyes squinting, before regaining his ground. He bites back his tongue. “Do what you want.”

“So, I take it that you’re not…?”

Barou scoffs, drumming his fingers against the desk. “Why would I be mad? I’m not in charge of you.”

It’s over a late dinner when Barou finally checks his messages. He sees a few notifications under your name, and he pauses. He doesn’t know why he’s hesitating, there’s a strange churning feeling in his stomach and suddenly he’s lost his appetite. Barou flips his phone down at the table before discarding his utensils, and the look Isagi gives him is a weird one.

“Everything alright there?”

“I’m not mad.”

Across from him, Isagi leans against the kitchen counter and laughs. “Didn’t say you were,” he picks at his dinner plate with a tilted head. “So, erm, why did you call me over here again? Something about a problem…? You still haven’t gotten to that part.”

“Everything’s fine. I’m fine. Not a damn problem around in this shithole. Fucking perfect around here,” he’s suddenly hot with anger.

Isagi replies to this with a vague handwave. “If I had to guess, someone’s out on a date, again, and you haven’t done much about it.”

Barou shoots him a scathing glare. Thinks of denying for a moment. Doesn’t. “Why bother asking if you already knew?”

Like him, Isagi is oddly extremely aware of everything and everyone. On and off the playing field. Which probably explains why he’s both the coach and fan favorite of the bunch. And more of a reason why Barou is stuck third in line for most sponsorships, right behind Itoshi Rin. Well, whatever, he was never a people’s pleaser to begin with. Though, it is nice having him around to vent to—if you count offering to cook dinner in tense silence while going over sporting logistics—because Isagi Yoichi doesn’t judge. Unless your name is Kaiser, then that’s a whole different story.

A shrug. “Wanted to hear it from you, though that might’ve taken all night.” It’s not a tease.

No matter how rough and rugged Barou looks, he can’t wipe the knowing smile off of Isagi’s features.

“So,” Isagi continues, “how long before you miss out on your chance? A few months? Days? Right now?”

He lowers the volume on the TV and shoves another bite in. “Most likely never. If anything goes down south, that’ll be on me.”

“You’re thinking about this carefully,” Isagi observes, earning him another annoyed look. “It’s a good thing—you’re usually, uh, headstrong and tenacious most of the time.” It’s kinda a compliment, Barou thinks.

“We live together,” he emphasizes, “that’s different.”

“For how long, though? At this point it feels like you’re doing this to yourself.” The corners of Isagi’s lip raise, just a little. “Have you tried seeing if she likes you back?”

Barou scowls and absently fiddles with his hair, still a bit damp from the shower earlier. “What’s with that question? If I knew then I wouldn’t be inviting you over here, dumbass.”

A beat or two. He stares at the wall for a moment and cracks.

“If she liked me back then I doubt she’d be out right now with some random guy,” Barou hates how whiny his voice sounds. He’s not the type to openly complain, especially not with his feelings like this. With Isagi, however, it seems like he brings that side out of everyone. What a weirdo.

The younger male simply smiles. “Maybe look into her dating history, you might be able to figure out some patterns.”

“Like I’m some sort of masochist.”

“Well, you’re currently spending your Saturday evening watching football highlights with me, and I think that’s telling by itself.”

Barou doesn’t take the bait, doesn’t bother to say anything to that. He just shoves a spoonful of rice in his mouth and half-distractedly finishes watching a previous games’ highlight on the TV. A quarter way through, and he feels himself starting to drift off.

Isagi’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and that’s a surprising relief to Barou. The younger male lets out a small noise, sets his empty plate in the sink, letting water and soap soak it up for a bit, and fishes his phone out. A few seconds and he starts making his way towards the door, gym bag in hand.

“Rin’s asking to see me for something,” he mindlessly explains while slipping on his shoes. “Guess I’m gonna have to pass on keeping you company tonight, bud.” Isagi says this with a bit of playfulness, but he shoots him a look of sympathy when his hand reaches the knob.

It makes Barou flinch, badly. “Go home, dumbass.”

Once Isagi leaves the premises, he goes back to his own devices. Watching sporting highlights soon went stale, so he opted to watch a drama that you’ve been raving about a while back.

It has an interesting start. The main lead somehow paraglides her way into a foreign country and the tall, handsome, and stoic—your words, not his—military officer has to take care of her.

He remembers, when you first discovered the drama, the main actor was all you could talk about. Sure, he’s your typical standard silent, tough guy trope, but you were especially smitten over him.

“The way he looks after her, the yearning and the need, it’s just—” you would wave your body back and forth, at a loss for words.

The ending credits snaps him out of the small lull and, out of curiosity, Barou browses through his social apps and thumbs your handle into the search bar. You guys are mutual friends, so this shouldn’t feel weird. Though, if he’s being honest with himself, he really, really doesn’t care much for what other people do in their spare time. Looking at his own account, there’s only two posts and both of them are cringey gym mirror selfies from several years ago.

So Barou doesn’t really know what to expect when he looks through your recent story highlights.

There’s a picture of a fancy looking latte with an equally fancy looking cheese foam design on top. The guy’s out of the frame, but he can make out an arm with a decked out watch in the corner. Another picture and this time it features a set of flaky chocolate pastries on a square plate with red sauce paired on the side. The third picture makes Barou pause, because it’s a selfie of you and some guy. From appearance alone, the guy is conventionally attractive, but he also has an extremely punchable face. White collared button up shirt, except for the plain fact that it’s wild open and his damn chest hairs are poking out. He’s got his hands around your waist, his stubbled chin pressed extremely close to yours, looking into the camera as if you belonged to him.

He feels his head throbbing, almost full of cotton, and he shuts his phone off, tossing it onto the far end of the couch. Barou doesn’t bother to clean the dishes, at least not yet. He sets his dirty plate aside, letting it soak in the sink alongside with the other bowls. It’s not until after another hot, long shower that Barou starts stress cleaning the apartment.

And, yeah, vacuuming the living room and running the loud dishwasher at nearly midnight is pretty outrageous and, frankly, dramatic—even for someone like him. By the time he’s done destressing, the air wafts with lemon essential oils and a hint of antiseptic scent. Eventually, after everything, he crawls under the blankets and lies still for a long time before the hint of sleep catches up.

It’s one in the morning when he hears you coming home; heels wobbling against the wooden panels, faint mumbling with a drawl, and sounds of keys hitting the small trinket bowl by the front door. He thinks maybe he should go see you, but stops himself halfway. Barou doesn’t know what he’ll do, how he’ll react, if you come back with smeared lipstick stains on your face, or if you smell like musk— like some stupid, rich casanova’s cologne.

Barou’s just about to pull the covers back over his head when a noise from the living room jolts him wide awake. A loud clatter, body hitting a surface, and he snaps his attention away. And, luckily for him, you just smelled like straight alcohol.

“I should’ve never gone out, I should’ve just…” A beat, followed by a series of painful groans.

You’re definitely tipsy from whatever drink that’s in your system. From what Barou can tell, it was strong.

“Did you take anything else?” It’s a rhetorical question but he keeps his voice quiet, low, and observes you from the couch.

You’re half slumped over, limbs hanging all over the place and your trench coat is doing an awful job at covering up your promiscuous dress. Tired exhaustion plagues all over. Barou quickly covers you with a spare throw blanket on the side.

He tries to get you off the couch, as carefully as he can, and you nearly jump out of your skin from the proximity. Your eyes are glazed, mouth slightly dry and slack, and some of your makeup has smudged—whether it’s from the date or the excessive tossing and turning, Barou doesn’t really want to know. What he does know is that you’re close, now actively leaning into his touch, and your eyes meet, and he’s yet again faced with that strange fire rushing through him.

He swears under his breath, lifting you into his arms.

There’s a million things he wants to say, majority of them being half-ass insults and I told you so, but none of that seems appropriate. His face is only inches away from yours. Barou quickly realizes that his mouth has gone dry and his tongue feels heavy. His recent reactions towards you have been… confusing, to say the least.

You stir, hand shooting up to hold your head. “Is he gone?”

“Your shitty date?”

“Mhm,” your head droops to the side. “That asshole…”

He scoffs, and makes a mental note to personally beat up the guy who left you while you’re like this. “He’s not here.”

“Fuck, thank god,” your eyes hover on his neck. It catches him off-guard. You swallow, and a strange expression flicks across your face, a bit unreadable and different from your usual wasted self. “You were right, sorry.”

For a moment, he thinks he’s in a dream; that he’s still in university, still checking up on you in-between his classes and labs—out of courtesy from your family, and being on the receiving end whenever you get your hopes up.

He shuts his eyes and opens them.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

Barou hears every heavy thump that his heart makes as he carries you to your room. His eyes keep shifting all over your body, whether he means to or not. Most of it is out of concern, your face looks terribly dazed and you’re warm all over, even if you keep insisting that it was just one drink. You’ve never been a heavy drinker, no matter how many times you tried to train your lack of alcohol tolerance. He wonders if he should let you sleep in what you’re currently wearing but, after quick consideration, you’d probably feel extremely uncomfortable the next day.

You press into the warmth of his shoulder, against his neck, then exhale. “I’m a pretty shitty friend, aren’t I?”

“What?” Barou’s eyes flick down the hall, then back to you.

“Ugh,” you make a face. “You know what I mean. How I’m always so tunnel vision when it comes to shit like this…”

“Then just stop,” he feels his face tightening ever so slightly, the unfiltered words unclogging. “Everytime this happens. Why bother going through with it?”

“You wouldn’t understand.” You laugh a little, and it’s half bitterness, half joy—something a little broken and somehow Barou immediately understands.

He watches, almost morbidly, the way your eyes subtly linger on parts of his body for a moment, before sighing. A hesitant, unspoken conversation stuck in your throat, and all at once, Barou wants to scream.

But he doesn’t.

He feels flames crawling up the back of his neck when you snuggle closer into his arms. Thankfully, before he can further combust, he’s pushing his way into your dimmed bedroom.

Barou takes a careful glance around in the dark, noting the familiar scent of you, the numerous prints that hang from the eggshell colored walls, and the small pile of clothes on your desk chair. He’s only been in your room once before, but that was just to help you settle in, so he’s never really paid attention to your surroundings. Now, though, as he lays you on top of the mattress, he notices everything in this room just screams who you are, and he realizes that maybe he should’ve said his piece earlier to avoid all of this together.

The idea fizzles out when Barou feels you tugging loosely on his wrist before letting it fall against the mattress.

“Shouei,” you call out, reaching for his hand again.

He absolutely hates the way he instantly stops and holds you, cherishing the warmth of your skin. Your fingers shakily curl around his, and Barou can’t help but squeeze back. His heart is thundering against his chest, and he’s making it painfully obvious that his breathing is erratic.

After a moment, he clears his throat. “What are you doing?”

His blood has rushed so high to his head that it’s the only thing he can hear, clogging up in his veins and leaving him feeling like he has to cling onto you for dear life. Barou isn’t quite sure what’s happening here, still disbelieving at the way you’re batting your eyes at him, eyes brimming with tears and lips puckered.

“Stay with me, please,” you mumble.

Barou lets out an airy breath, and hears himself saying your name. He’s so confused by all the fucking emotions hitting him right now, and it doesn’t help the fact that his voice gets so soft and tender when he calls out for you. His hand twitches against yours.

This isn’t fair, this isn’t fair, this isn’t—

“You’re drunk,” he finally manages to respond.

His crimson eyes trace your face in the dark, and makes out the shine of wetness on your lips when they part. You lift your eyes, and they instantly hook him in. He resists the urge to lean forward. And, just as instantly, he wants to kneel down, close his eyes, and exist anywhere but this moment.

“I’m not,” you continue and tug him closer, forcing him to sit on the mattress. Your words come out more as hot breath. He definitely smells it but, if he’s being honest with himself, you’re usually not this desperate.

Needless to say, it’s still a concerning fact. “You’re not yourself.”

You squeeze harder, brows furrowed. “I know what I’m doing and what I want.”

Barou tears away from your mouth and glances back into your eyes, studying them closely. You’re still clamped onto his hand, and he knows you’re burning on edge, too. Undoubtedly, he’s half-mast in his pants, and he’s very aware of that, as you slowly rise up, eyeing him with an expression that can only be described as hunger.

“We’ll talk in the morning, idiot.”

“What’s your deal?”

I should be the one asking that.

Barou stares at you for a long moment, The silence is heavy, suffocating. The bed shifts, and in that second, that quiet desperate hope, becomes even more evident. His grip tightens, just a little, and there’s that building headache pulsing through his temple. He really shouldn’t be here, entertaining whatever this is. What he should be doing is sleeping, it’s midnight and, fuck, he has to go to practice tomorrow, but you…

“Are you even listening to me?”

“I am,” his voice is rough when he answers, words dripping with heavy caution. “Even if you aren’t wasted, you’re acting like a real piece of work, right now. None of this shit is funny.”

“I’m not trying to be—I’m being serious,” you reply, but your lips are trembling.

Barou’s stomach lurches and he swallows back a groan, not the pleasure kind. “What do you want me to do?”

Suddenly, you shift restlessly, as if taken aback. “Stay by my side.”

“I know that,” he breathes in, and out. “I asked if there’s anything you want me to do?”

The moonlight creeps past your curtains and coats you in various shades of silver. It’s then, Barou realizes, that he's afraid of what your answer might be. He’s taken care of you hundreds of times before, it’s become second nature for him to look after you, but now this feels foreign—almost daunting when you’re looking just as scared.

But, scared as you are, you lean forward, steadying your palms onto his broad shoulders. It burns his skin at contact, but he steels himself, watching your lips part slowly. Focusing—absolutely fucking focusing—on the way that they move and the damn syllables that come right after.

He feels like dying when the words finally register.

“Kiss me.”

Barou stills, pressing a palm against the mattress and clenches his jaw, running his tongue hard against his teeth. He opens his mouth to reply—and immediately snaps it shut. It’s when you make a small dip in the bed that he recovers, gears running over a hundred miles an hour in his mind. “You want that?”

“Don’t make me repeat it,” your eyes wander all over his face and the intensity almost burns his skin. “It’s embarrassing enough that I’m doing it like this…”

Barou stares in awe. His throat feels tight and his chest clenches uncomfortably. “Doing what?”

A frown erupts on your face and you’re visibly frustrated, more flustered. “Why are you choosing tonight to be a dense prick? Do you need me to spell it out for you? I’m confessing to you. I like you—god, this is so fucking stupid—I’ve liked you since grade school, throughout college, and now! The dates, the guys, none of them work out because they’re not you. Do you know how many times a guy is saying some shit and I’m sitting there thinking ‘Shouei wouldn’t say that’ or when I’m trying to find a guy that looks kinda like you, and even that’s fucking impossible—that’s how much you’re on my mind!”

Your confession—honesty—hangs in the air and Barou nearly chokes on it. You make a low, undignified sound, and press your back against the headboard, looking absolutely anywhere but him. Barou, on the other hand, hears nothing but pounding in his eardrums. He’s not sure if that’s his heartbeat, or yours. There’s a feeling of tight strings tugging at his chest again, a painful ache being left behind. After a moment, the bed creaks.

“Okay,” he breathes, and swallows around that awful lump in his throat.

“Okay?” your voice cracks embarrassingly. “I pour out my feelings and all you say is ‘okay’? This is worse than a rejection. Yoichi said the worst thing you could say is ‘no’ and—”

“Wait, that idiot knows about this?”

“That’s what you’re focused on? Ugh, forget it, I’ve said too much already!”

“Stop,” Barou’s face contorts into a heavy scowl, taking slight offense. “God, sometimes you ramble on so much that it’s hard to take everything at face value.”

He hesitantly presses a palm to your cheek and holds it there, watching your sudden stiff reaction. He shudders, slowly, before dusting the palm across your cheek, ears, hair, and settles it against the back of your head. He’s aware of his breathing, shaky and full of nerves. Barou moves closer until he can feel your breath fanning over his lips.

Before he can say anything else, you lean up and press your lips softly against his. They’re surprisingly soft, he realizes. There’s no heat to it, just a plush press of warmth, a little bit of pressure, and you’re silently swearing under your breath when you pull back.

“Oh god, was that dumb? Am I being stupid right now or what?” Your hands fly up, cradling your face. A muffled scream, then a groan. “I’m sorry—I don’t know what I was thinking! You—me, we were—argh!” Your body retracts back, knee pressing up against your chest as you begin to lean away from him, almost in disgust with yourself.

Barou begins to feel a strange surge in his stomach and gnaws the insides of his cheek. The unusual warmth comes back and, this time, it settles between his legs, but there’s more to that. It was a small, soft kiss—barely long enough to be classified as one. He watches you fidget more before snapping.

“Do you know how to fucking relax?” Barou adjusts his grip behind your head, tangles his fingers in your hair, and drags you back in for another.

This time, it’s lasting, a more proper kiss, and he feels you getting lost in it. Your hands fumble their way back onto his body, finding ground on his thighs and leaning forward into the heat. Barou makes sure that his grip in your hair isn’t too tight, but warm and full of affection, and it makes you moan quietly, mouth parting and allowing his tongue to swipe over your lips.

Hardly any words are exchanged while he kisses you, slowly becoming more frenzied, drowning in the wet heat, tongues curling and hands roaming. There’s a steady, painful throbbing eagerness between Barou’s legs, and he’s positive that you can feel it.

It’s overwhelmingly awkward and stupid, how worked up you both are from just a bit of kissing; from taking turns ghosting each other’s jaws and necks, to hands blindly groping and snaking under clothing to get a squeeze at bare skin. You lean up again, lips tracing the contours of his jaw, and shift a hand down, curling your fingers through his sweats and around his length. A light, breathy noise slips out of him and he feels you pulling away, eyes half-lidded, lips swollen from the heavy makeout session.

“I, um, take it that you like me back…?” You ask quietly, tugging Barou out of his trance.

He blinks, feeling the tips of his ears flushing with warmth. “You really know how to ruin the mood, don’t you?”

“I-I just need confirmation, stupid!”

“Maybe,” Barou confesses, his voice wavers just a little as he speaks. His body shifts with you in his arms, palms cupping both sides of your face. When you refuse to meet his eyes, he huffs. “Look at me. I wouldn’t do this to just anyone if I didn’t like them.”

You make a low, unpleasant noise. “So, you’ve done this with others? I don’t want to think about that.”

Barou’s chest tangles over itself again and, for a moment, being with you feels just a little less daunting. His posture stiffens, then goes lax in a quick second. He could honestly ask you the same thing, whether or not some of the men you’ve matched with have showered you in affection like this but, given your behavior, it seems like you’ve been hesitant and selective. If Barou’s being honest, he’s glad it’s that way.

“Then we don’t have to,” he surges forward, forcing his head down to catch your gaze before capturing your lips in surprise once more.

Eventually, he ends up hovering over you. You’re lying on the mattress, head semi-propped up against the pillows with half of his body weight on top of you—not too heavy, but not too comfortable. Barou’s vaguely aware of what this might lead to, with the look you’re giving him—with the look he’s giving you. He should really go to bed, or else he’s going to wake up with a migraine and a sore neck. But your cheek is nuzzled against his palm, he’s got his other hand running through your hair, soft and lazy, and he’s finding himself grinding against your lower half almost pathetically.

It’s impossible to put his thoughts into coherent sounds when your fingers work at his pants and manage to free his erection, springing it heavily against his stomach. Barou’s mind short-circuits, body jerking in reaction, with the slow, experimental pump of your fist around his aching cock. The look you’re currently giving him is mesmerizing, and it makes him feel as if he’s the most powerful person in the world.

He’s not sure how far you’re willing to go, especially since this feels like your first for everything. You adjust your hand around his length and let it run for a few more strokes. It feels foreign and electric at the same time, softer than his own hands that’s for sure. After you brush your thumb over his tip, smearing the pre, Barou immediately tries shielding himself from you, face buried in his shoulder, and swallows back a rumbling moan.

You pause, hand loosely wrapped around his base, frowning. “Is it bad? I’ll stop if…”

“No,” Barou clasps a hand over yours, squeezes, and sets a slow, firm pace. He shudders again when you adjust your position, hot breath fanning over his tip. “You don’t have to go down—”

“I want to,” you look at him with pleading eyes. “I want to make you feel good, Shouei.”

His mind goes through a whirlwind of possibilities, debating the urge to either run or dominate. Barou closes his eyes, breathing deeply in order to steady himself before he fully loses it. His cock twitches and your hand is clinging around him like a mold.

“Please,” you moan, a plea that’s both an invitation and a surrender, and it’s that damn voice that cuts through his brain fog.

You make a small noise of confusion when he pulls you back, and settles you flat against the mattress. Disappointment flicks across your face but disappears as quickly as it came when his palms make contact with your legs. He carefully watches you squirm, thighs pressing together, when he starts hiking up the dress past your waist and eventually off your body.

Barou sucks in his teeth, eyes drinking in your shy figure underneath him as he stares at your heaving chest, stomach, and plump thighs. He swears under his breath, hesitating for just a moment, before slipping a hand lower, past the barrier of your panties.

A strangled moan catches in his throat as he discovers the slick heat from your arousal, thick fingers pressing gently at the entrance. Your face casts a wild, bewildered look and you throw your head back, hand covering the lower half of your face.

“D-Don’t tease me…”

Barou clicks against his teeth. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

Almost entranced, he stares at your slick center, folds glistensing and your clit practically pulsing with need. His fingers tremble, exploring with hesitance born from innocence. The warmth between your thighs is new, intoxicating, and downright terrifying. With each careful, slow, tentative touch, the sound of his name spilling from your lips is like a sacred plea and it ignites a spark within him.

He can’t wait any longer.

Barou groans as he rubs his padded fingers in between your dewy folds and slides in, a tight and perfect fit that draws a gasp from both parties. Your walls flutter around him almost instantaneously, paired by high pitched mews rolling off your tongue. He watches your knuckles fist the sheets as he starts his slow, stretching movements.

Your body squirms under his onslaught, thighs threatening to press closer from the sensitivity but he settles a firm grip on one of them. The sight of you under him, vulnerable and consuming, with hot tears springing out of the corners of your eyes, drives him over the edge. His fingers pick up speed inside, soon turning relentless, scissoring your gummy walls at a pace that you struggle to keep your volume low. Barou watches you throw a hand over your mouth when his thumb starts rolling over your clit in slow but purposeful circles. The scent of sex drenches him, listening to you mew and beg, his heavy cock leaking all over your thigh when you begin to raise your hips.

“Shouei,” you moan out, skin glistening and wet, flushed from the heat. Your fingers grasp sloppily against his biceps, sending shivers down his arms. “I want to take care of you, too.”

He spreads your legs even further out, applying more pressure to your core. Seeing the sight of you buckling your hips, grinding so shamelessly down on his fingers, brings him more pleasure than it should. Hearing the sighs and whines you babble out tells him everything he needs to know.

Barou raises his lips to your temple as he picks up the pace, groaning from the lewd sounds below. “Finish for me first, I don’t like owing favors,” he starts kissing your throat, tongue tracing over your sweet spots as your walls start fluttering around his digits.

Your hands land on his biceps, clutching his body as close to yours as possible while you calm down from the rush, unable to stop the way you're wailing his name right into his ear. It isn’t until Barou releases his fingers that he realizes that his sweats are now soaked from your orgasm.

“I'm sorry...” You sharply turn your head away, pleasure quickly replaced by embarrassment.

Barou carefully brushes the hair out of your eyes and captures your lips in a sweet and tentative kiss. “Was gonna get rid of them anyway.”

"Oh," you breathe out, unable to form a more suitable response.

He gets up from the mattress and manages to free himself from the remainder of his clothes. Normally, he would toss them in a hamper, but tonight he’s kicking them to the side. Mild anxiousness and anticipation claws at his throat when he formally settles between your legs and, this time, your hands are back to poorly covering up your bare, flushed out body.

Barou furrows his brows and gently pulls them aside, already reading your thoughts. “Stop, you don’t look weird.”

“But—”

He bends down, hands kneading on the flesh of your breasts while his mouth latches onto the side of your neck. You struggle to keep your voice down and squirm under his touch, again. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers. “Don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise.”

It’s like he can almost see all the blood rushing towards your head when he pulls back. You’re nodding, shaking and quivering, and he can practically hear your heartbeat over his own.

“Let me know if I’m hurting you,” Barou’s amazed that he’s able to keep it together, that his voice is even, because your fingers are slowly guiding his cock towards your entrance.

He’s had a girlfriend in the past, though the intimacy has never gone past making out. He has a faint idea of how it should feel and what he should do, but all that thought gets thrown out when his tip presses softly against your wet folds. Everything starts to feel unbearingly hot and tight.

“I trust you,” you sharply inhale when the first few inches slide into the soft, heated space, and spread your legs wider. You shift against the mattress, a hand splaying on his chest while the other is fisting the sheets. “I trust you more than I trust myself, Shouei.”

He hisses in response to that, adjusting his length, and cranes his head back so he can avoid releasing everything right then and there. You bite back a loud moan as soon as he bottoms you out, your nails digging and leaving half crescent marks into his chest at the stretch.

“Shit—you’re so warm,” he steadies his breathing, and reaches out a hand, caressing your flushed cheeks. He carefully dives in to kiss your lips and then your throat, biting until he nearly breaks skin.

You shudder beneath him, responding with a noise that’s in between a moan and a laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re going to cum already?”

Barou ignores your taunting and scrapes his teeth along the ridge of your throat until he finds your earlobe, basking in the way you’re squeezing around him. “How you do want me to fuck you?”

Silence takes over as your answer, eyes widening at his response. A small thrust and he watches you wince from the stretch. Barou slows down his movements, pulling all the way out before sliding back into the hilt. Shocks of pleasure surges through his veins, and his throat rumbles with every tight pulse your velvety walls offer him, holding your hips steady as he builds up the rhythm.

Your moans and gasps send shivers down his whole body, arching your back as he finds the furthest point. Your grip on his chest tightens, fingers grasping, nails breaking the skin. Though, the pain is nothing compared to the binding pleasure Barou feels being buried deep around your enveloping, addicting warmth. His brain melts into a puddle, every nerve in his system heightens to a new level as you’re tightening around him.

You raise your hips higher, opening yourself and deepening the angle that he can thrust his way through. Barou’s browline pools in a thin veil of sweat as he works his way through it all, staring down at you in a silent, consumed gaze. He presses his hips forward and manages to find the spot that makes you violent and wild. The sound of his name shatters the air and you throw your head back, bliss screeching through both of your veins.

"Shouei, it’s too much," you cry out.

Barou sucks in his teeth, fingers pressing hard into your flesh. “Just breathe, you’re okay.”

He watches your eyes widen with a shaky nod. Your chest rises and falls, eyes frantically darting from the area between your legs up to his face in an attempt to calm yourself.

“I-I know, I know,” you respond, choked out and breathless.

Any consideration for neighboring guests in the complexes are abandoned as Barou pumps into you, his core tightening as every thrust brings him closer. Your walls and arousal coat around his cock with eagerness, as if afraid to let him go.

At the sight of you, teary-eyed and a babbling mess, Barou leans down and his mouth captures yours in another searing kiss that mutes your sounds. Your fingers shoot up, tangling in the mess of his long, black locks, pulling him closer until there’s no space left—until he feels nothing but wet skin and sheer desperation.

He buries his face in your neck, his hot breaths and pants tickling your skin as he senses the incoming orgasm. Barou shuts his eyes and lets his concentration break, mind fully focusing on the feeling of you swallowing him as he works his cock deep inside of you as he could go. All he can think about is how warm and tight everything feels, the sounds you’re making, how much he loves hearing you, and how long he’s been waiting for this moment. Now, with your cries of passion filling the room, back arched in a way he can't even fully describe, it’s more than he can handle, more than he can believe.

Your walls clench violently around him, one hand flying up and tugging at his hair so hard that it stings. But he’ll take it, Barou will endure all the pain and hunger from you knowing you’re cumming hard on his cock. He lets the pain ebb away, turning into waves of ecstasy. Your name falls from his lips and fills the dark room.

Barou bites back a moan and chews his lower lip, head nuzzled deep into your shoulder blade and hips stuttering as his vision goes blurry. Pleasure overtakes him, both immense pressure and the immediate release of it exploding in his skull, and he ends up gasping for air, legs jerking and body trembling as he releases inside of you.

He holds you tightly, rocking your body and panting against your warm skin as both of you try to catch your individual breaths as the aftershocks settle through. Everything stills, all that’s left are the low hums of the air conditioner and your frantic heartbeats. Barou isn’t sure how much time has passed when he finally feels his length go limp. Gently, he slips out and catches the way you moan in disapproval at the feeling of sudden emptiness.

He raises his head and meets your eyes, finding yours wet and half-lidded, completely fucked over. Lifting a thumb to wipe away the threatening tear, he rolls off and settles upright by the edge of the bed. The darkness strains his eyes, but he manages to find what he’s looking for. A few moments later and he hands you a few tissues from the bedside table and cranes his body.

“Are you okay?” Barou’s cautious of the volume of his voice, as if raising it an octave higher would break you even further.

Your breath hitches, wincing and moving meticulously to avoid spilling out all the contents on the sheets. “I think I am?”

“You sound unsure.”

“Well,” you prop up next to him, body curling tight together like a coil, head nudging against his bare shoulder. “We just had sex.”

The word almost slaps him in the face, making him sit up even straighter.

“We… did,” he said, slowly, and now feeling a certain way that he isn’t sure how to describe. Comfortable isn’t the right word, but it’s not exactly uneasy either. But that’s another step to think about, one that he probably won’t take today. He pauses for a moment, tongue heavy in his mouth, but pushes through and ignores the fretting in the back of his mind. “Do… Do you regret it?”

“No,” and you’re quick with it, despite avoiding eye contact. Instead, you curl your fingers around his bicep and squeeze hard. After a pregnant pause, you throw back the question. “How ‘bout you?”

“I don’t,” Barou finds himself equally as responsive, and he’s sure about a lot of things.

He’s sure he’s going to wake up tired and sore, but definitely is still going to out perform his other teammates tomorrow. He’s sure that one day he’ll surpass Isagi. And he’s sure that he wants to be here, with you. You two are best friends and… what, girlfriend and boyfriend now? It’s a crazy thought, but it has his heart fluttering like some dumb teenage romcom.

You simply nod, humming in deep thought, before reaching over and pulling him in for another kiss, and this time, it’s soft and delicate. Fragile, slow, and it has Barou clenching around the edge of the mattress. You’re both making quiet sounds, and he wants to keep going, but he can’t quite subdue that little bubbling jolt of fear in his head. And, because you’re stupidly observant at the strangest times, you pull back.

“We should… probably talk about this, right?”

“We should,” he agrees but, as soon as he glances at the time, exhaustion hits him like a freight train. Barou shudders and he allows gravity to take over, collapsing back onto the cold, wet mattress.

“Hey,” you shake him, enough to rouse some of the tiredness away. “Don’t crash here tonight, everything’s covered in sweat.”

He scoffs and turns over, relishing in the mild comfort. “You’re starting to sound exactly like me.”

“C’mon, Shouei,” he can’t exactly see you from this angle, but he imagines a big pout plastered over your face. “I mean it, let’s sleep in your room. This is like a sex bed…”

“Don’t call it that,” Barou cringes.

“I mean, technically it is. Y’know, couples get twin beds in hotel rooms all the time for that purpose and—”

“If we move to my room, will you promise me that you’ll be quiet and get some sleep?” Barou can slowly feel bags forming under his eyes.

Your weight shifts above him and you make a small noise of approval. “Sure, but no promises.”

#doobean writes #bllk #blue lock #bllk smut #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #blue lock smut #blue lock x female reader #bllk x female reader #barou shoei smut #barou shoei x reader #barou shouei #barou smut #barou x reader

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letruyuread · 1 day

Text

Little thoughts about about Twisted Wonderland characters and you (yuu)

Riddle loves having the first slice of tarts, strawberry ones especially. So I think that, for holidays or even if you're just feeling down, he gives you the first slice of his strawberry tart. No explanation, please don't mention it- you'll fluster the poor boy. But it means a lot to him, and he secretly hopes you understand that.

Yes, Ace is a teasing prick, most of the time, anyways. But the second anyone brings up how he might possibly feel for you? Absolute tsundere. Denying it to the high heavens. Insults you a lot, too. "How could I ever like the perfect?! They're so- so-" Yeah, no one's falling for it. Give him time. He'll get comfortable with the idea soon enough, and then you have a whole other problem.

Deuce loves to talk to his mom about you. Rants about you- the incredible magic-less human that stole his heart (No, get out of here Ace-). You don't even care that he used to be a delinquent! How amazing is that? His mom is overjoyed that her son met someone who sounds so nice and keeps trying to give him advice to ask you out. She also tries to convince him to bring you home during break- you're not even dating yet.

Cater, of course, posts about you on his Magicam. It's the usual- oh, they're so pretty today, look my partner gave me food 😍. But there are also things he doesn't post, surprisingly. He doesn't post the picture he took of you, laughing against the sunset. That one's private. Too perfectly you to be seen by everyone. No, that's just a moment for the two of you, he thinks.

Trey loves baking you things, baking with you, but he always finds himself flustered when you bake something for him. He taught you the recipe, he remembers, a few weeks ago, and here you are standing with a small platter of cookies. Some are burnt, some taste a bit salty (you didn't add the oyster sauce... right?) and yet he eats them all and loves them because you made them. For him.

Leona, I think, takes very good care of his hair. It was worse before he came to Night Raven, his attendants tried to take care of it, but he always managed to hide away (he was taking a nap). On the first day, though, Vil couldn't stand such a pretty face with such horrid care and taught Leona a routine. Leona now follows that routine strictly. He takes pride in it, as much as his smarts and strength. You know he's having a bad day when it's unkempt and tangled. You also know how much he trusts you when he teaches you the routine, when he lets you help him with it on those bad days or weeks or maybe months.

Ruggie gives you things. It's always random- a bit of his food, a dandelion in the field, a ribbon floating in the wind. He grew up with little- so naturally, he hoards everything he can get his hands on and keeps it for himself. One day he might need it, or his grandma, or the kids in his neighborhood. He's very protective of his growing stash. So when he gives you these things, it's him telling you that you're part of his family now. Ask for anything, he'll find it. Just like he would for the people back home.

Jack adopts a lot of cacti (I nearly spelled cactuses) with you- very silly, right? A lot of cacti. He waters them appropriately, a strict schedule for each, and keeps them at Ramshackle dorm. You have a whole room for them, very bright from large windows and only tables for the plants to be placed on. It's common in his family that you only have one person, your whole life, to stick by. He's hoping it's you- he's hoping you'll fall for him if he keeps coming around, day by day, taking care of your plant children (plant army).

(oh God there's so many but Im on a roll)

Azul, Azul... Oh boy. He really wants you to make a contact with him. Doesn't matter what kind- you want it, you'll get it (even if you don't agree to his offer, honestly). He always seems to want the same thing, though: (no it's not marriage) a friend. That's what he says, that's not really what's in the contract, though. The exact wording is 'companion.' Someone to talk to, someone to trust. Someone who calls his merform pretty and him intelligent. Someone who doesn't make him feel insecure.

Floyd. What do to with you? He's very touchy. Very touchy. Once, he skipped all his classes and just grabbed onto you, having you carry him around on your back and not letting you go. Yes, he put a spell on himself to make him light as a feather, no one could carry that tall of an eel. He's very clingy and doesn't understand how he feels about you. It confuses him, he has no clue what this is, he just knows he wants to be around you and why shouldn't he be?

Jade knows. You have weekly tea parties. Don't worry, everything's free of charge... Except that, you have to pay for that. Oh, you didn't bring any money? Well, a kiss would do, but... Oh, no, that was a joke. Please don't look so worried. Jade may know what he feels for you, but he's still working out how to deal with it. The twins kind of never thought this would happen.

Kalim is such a sweetheart! Give him all the love in the world, he'll reciprocate tenfold! Whatever you want. He can buy it, if not, his family has the connections to get it, surely. But don't be mistaken- he'll adore you if you make something for him. If he can, he'll always have it on him. Plus, he tries to make stuff for you too! It might look bad, or taste weird, but he's beaming at you and the thought is there!

Please give Jamil a day off. No, really- drag him as far away from Kalim and any responsibility as possible. Do everything. Cook for him, cuddle him, tell him he's amazing and smart and very very cool and it is HIS DAY OFF. Take care of him, please? He needs this. He needs you. He'll do the same for you, if you ever overwork yourself or have a bad day. Trust him, and ask him to trust you.

(I haven't gotten beyond book 4, so I don't know enough about the other characters to feel confident writing them. Maybe Idia, Malleus or Lilia, as I really like them and have done some research on them, but for now this is what I got. Enjoy?)

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #riddle x reader #leona kingsholar x reader #ace x reader #deuce x reader #Trying to get everyone hold on #trey x reader #cater x reader #ruggie bucci x reader #jack howl x reader #azul x reader #floyd x reader #jade x reader #kalim x reader #jamil x reader #God there's so many #I think I did it

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obeythebutler · 2 days

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Hey, I'm glad to see you back!

I'd like to request "having a water balloon fight in their own backyard" with Leviathan, or "both waking up in the middle of the night and going on an adventure to find the perfect snack" with Belphegor please.

Whichever one you find the easiest to write. ^_^

Humans primarily sleep at night.

To recharge for the day ahead, ensure that new memories are consolidated in the brain and to rest and repair cells.

Belphegor sleeps because his sin compels him to.

Effects of such an extended sleep schedule hasn't been studied yet in demons. You think. There are simply too many books in RAD's library for you to conduct a research project, and nor have you stumbled upon any such scientific papers yet. But it is evident that all those extra hours of slumber have had a positive effect on the demon's memory. You had watched him use the RAD-issued Devildom History Textbook, 671th revised edition as a pillow before his test during second period in class. Your own two eyes can testify that he had not studied; and yet he had scored full marks.

Osmosis; he had told you with a snarky grin.

You roll around in your bed, the movement effective in stirring the demon from his sleep. Belphegor pokes out from the mountain of blankets like a cranky cat being awoken: bedhead glory and all. Gapes at you for a moment or two and groans when you stare back.

"Stop staring at me like that. You're creeping me out."

"But I can't sleep," You counter, nudging yourself closer until your forehead touches his shoulder, and you burrow further into it. "And you always are awake at random hours in the night."

You hear him sigh. Once. Twice. Then a hand stretches out to reach for the D.D.D. on the table.

"You're right," He whispers, voice heavy with sleep. "And now we're both awake together."

“What to do then?”

“I don’t want to get up.”

"Me neither."

"Mhm."

It takes three minutes for you to blurt out the words: “I’m feeling hungry for a snack though.”

"Beel might already be in the kitchen," He states, resting his head under his arm. "And Lucifer is awake at this time."

"Blegh."

"What do you want to eat?"

"Uh-"

Fifteen minutes later, you and Belphie stand in front of the establishment.

"It's closed."

Belphegor mutters with dejection at the closed sign in front of him. The always open 6/13 is closed. Under repair, the notice glued on the door states.

All that walking for nothing.

You check your D.D.D. "Let's try Uncle Demon. You and Beel often frequent it for donoughts, right?"

"Yes, but I don't want something sweet right now."

"Savoury?"

"Yes."

Belphegor rubs his eyes. "Cafe Lament has revised its working hours from 10 to 11pm to being open till 2am in the night."

"How'd you know that?"

"Beel told me."

An Ignis Owl hoots in the distance, breaking the quiet. You are reminded to look at the time. "We have," You bend down to tie your shoelaces, "Exactly twenty-five minutes before it closes."

"Shit." He says. "Better hurry."'

Countless times Lucifer has had to drag his brother downstairs to the dining table. Innumerable instances have occurred where one of the brothers had to carry Belphegor to whatever destination they were after in that moment. Many a times he fell asleep in your lap.

And now he's grabbing your hand and making a run for it.

The wind roars in your ears as you scuttle along with him. His face is determined, hair tousled by the wind, breath coming out in huffs.

You know he'll be exhausted by the end of it all, eyes droopy and breath slowed. He's so much like a cat sometimes, getting brief bursts of hyperactivity in the night, then settling down near you for a nap.

Lucifer hasn't started blowing up your D.D.D., which means the ruse of pillows arranged like two bodies sleeping has worked. Or that the demon has decided to plop down on his pile of paperwork face-first in exhaustion. Beelzebub has gone back to sleep. You'll get a snack packed for him too, hand it over in the morning.

Later, when both of your cravings have been satiated, and the clock will strike three, you and Belphegor will make it back to the house, the gates opening quietly. They're old iron gates, and usually they would screech, but the House knows the mannerisms of its inhabitants: when to be loud and when to be silent.

You know you're going to wake up late, but midnight adventures like these don't come often.

For now, you're content sleeping with your demon in the attic.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me x reader #obey me belphegor #obey me beelzebub #omswd #obey me fluff #obey me lucifer #obey me x mc #obey me x belphegor #admintalks #obey me nightbringer

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soaps-mohawk · 13 hours

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RORY I NEED OPINIONS (please)

Something popped up on my page and it was about Ghost.

The person who posted proceeded to say how they've had enough of the mischaracterization of him. And other people in the comments have said the same. How whenever they see Ghost written as a cold mean guy, they think, "oh you've never read the comics or played the games."

Now, I'm not here to bash anyone. I just wanna know what you think of people who write OOC {insert character}? Or what do you think about it in general?

Okay, this is one of the things that bothers me the most about the mainstreaming of fandom and fanfiction.

The whole point of fanfiction, is to write the characters however you want to write them. Fanfiction does not have to stick to how characters are presented in fandom. Some might choose to, others might not. Some might choose to in certain fics, and then not to in others. OOC exists as a term for a reason. It's okay. You can write/draw/headcanon/whatever any character however you want because that's your interpretation, or because it's how you want the character to be in whatever situation you're putting them in.

I know I said I was done talking about this, but this circles back around to the whole dark fic issue. "X character wouldn't do this" according to who? The fandom police? That's the whole point. The whole point of fandom and fanfiction is to present the characters however you want. That's always been its purpose. Fix it fics, OOC, crack ficks, dark fics, AUs exist for a reason. Not every character has to act exactly as they do in canon. If you want that, then just watch/read/play the canon media and stay out of the fanfiction side of fandom.

People that get all up in arms about FANFICTION not sticking to canon events and portrayals are ruining fandom. They are. People wonder why creators and fans are leaving fandom, it's because it's not fun anymore. You write a character how you want to write them and there's 50 people complaining in the comments about how "that's not how they are in canon." Yeah? And? That's the point. It's like whole ship thing with people being mad about fans shipping characters that aren't together in canon. News flash, people have been doing that for ages. Since the dawn of fanfiction. People ship characters that aren't even in the same movie or show or game. You gonna get mad about a crossover fic because it's "not canon?"

If you can't accept that FANDOM and FANFICTION aren't always canon compliant then you need to not be in these spaces. Leave us alone and stick to just watching the show/movie or reading the book or playing the game, whatever. You're ruining fandom spaces for everyone. Most of us creators have been in these spaces for a lot longer than the people ruining them. I've been involved in fandoms for 18 years now. Far longer than I should have been, and honestly, if I didn't love writing fanfiction and use it as an outlet for myself so I don't go crazy, I probably would have left too.

These pearl clutchers and mainstream people flooding into fandom that refuse to learn the "rules" and accept how things have been for literal decades are ruining fandom for the rest of us and killing people's passions for writing and creating. Us creators don't have to share. We do it because we want to and because we enjoy seeing others reactions and the interaction that comes from it. We are all very capable of just writing or drawing and keeping them to ourselves. Soon there won't be such a thing as fandom because all the joy will have been sucked out of it. Creators are already leaving in droves because interaction is down to nothing. Add on people getting mad about things that are normal in fandom and soon there won't be anything left. People will be complaining about there being no fandoms and no fanfiction and fanart and video edits and gifs, even though we've been screaming why from the high heavens for years.

#we need to make fandom cringe again #make the normies feel embarrassed for being into fandom and on tumblr #i'm begging you #also again this is not directed at you anon i'm using you in the general sense #even i feel it #sometimes i want to give up fandom #it's just not fun anymore #answered

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rontra · 3 days

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My hand never seems to actually translate the ideas that are spinning up in my brain. how do you get it all out? any advice? just draw more? do i need to use more references? your art is just so beatiful you are one of my top inspos.

ah first of all thank you very much! i'm honored! 😳

(long post incoming lol)

to answer the question though, i don't think i sufficiently translate what's in my mind and i frequently let myself down! but it's important not to let that Stop you. i think overall it's sort of multifaceted and different for everyone--theres no single answer i can give you that will guaranteed work for you--but for me personally i think it mainly comes down to Derangement, DISCRETION!!, Discipline, & Diet

before i say anything more though it's important also to remember that making visual art (in our case drawings/comics) is training like 2 or 3 separate skills (depending on how you divide them). the HAND represents your current drawing ability & technique; what your drawing hand is physically able to produce when you set pen to paper. the BRAIN is the creative engine that cooks up your ideas and thinks of ways to assemble them. and the EYE represents your ability to recognize what art looks like and how it "should" look. when your brain is thinking of ideas and your hand can't capture them, that is not because you're "bad" at it: it means your eye skill is currently outpacing your hand skill. your ability to discern art, to see things like proportions and anatomy and composition and whatever else is going on, is currently stronger than your ability to draw them yourself. this is not a flaw. this is not a flaw. this is not a flaw!!!! but it does mean your hands' ability to capture what your brain has imagined will let your eyes down until your hands catch up. once they do--by studying, practicing your technique, using references, and gaining confidence--your eye skill will then begin to outpace it again. this cycle, the dance between the two skills, is why you might sometimes feel yourself suddenly "getting good" at art, then just as suddenly plateauing or "getting worse"; you are training different parts of what makes art happen. there is nothing wrong with this. you are improving even when it doesnt feel like it--even when it feels like THE LITERAL OPPOSITE is happening. because you're improving different skills!

(and of course as your eye skill develops you will look back at previous stages of development and go "HOW COULD I NOT SEE HOW BAD THIS LOOKS!"--and yeah. that's the thing; you probably, rather literally, couldn't see it! you only think it looks bad now because you've improved your "eye" skill. you should try to be proud of that feeling, even though it also likely sucks and is embarrassing to you at the same time. there's posts, even recent ones, that i go "i cant believe i thought that looked OK enough to post PUBLICLY" and it is embarrassing for me! but all it means is that i'm better at what i do now...so it doesn't get me down too badly. you gotta shrug that stuff off.)

with that out of the way, my four evil councilmen are as follows:

DERANGEMENT: find something you are not normal about. this can be anything (whether it's a topic that interests you, The Character, a medium, a damn color palette...anything!), as long as it captures your mind and motivates you to create. your brain should be spinning up ideas like crazy and your only choice is to draw them. because once you have Derangement the only thing that feels worse than Making Something Subpar is sitting around Not Making Anything At All. you should be interested in what you draw. you should ideally love it, even if you don't love your own art yet. once you know what motivates you, let that simmer until you have no choice but to draw even if you're scared it'll turn out bad. and hey--there will probably (unless you become some kind of Art God) always be parts you think should've turned out better in some way, however:

DISCRETION!!: realistically nobody NEEDS to know what parts of a piece you're unhappy with. it's valuable to have friends/art partners/mentors/whatever that you can comfortably check in with and go "i dont like [part], what do you think" and get feedback, but that's for YOU. for the audience at large, maybe people will notice, maybe they won't, but as an artist you are constantly growing and you will very likely be constantly looking back at past pieces (even just days or hours old sometimes) and going "what the hell was i thinking? how did i not see [error/s], or why didn't i go for [different idea/finish/color palette/etc]?". getting hung up on this will probably either light a fire under you or demotivate you completely depending on your particular brain soup. for me it can go either way depending on where i'm at in my current hand/eye development phase. but i try not to fixate on it. it's enough to observe it and take notes for next time. every drawing is part of your growth and you have to make wonky art in order to occasionally make something that satisfies your eyes. in the meantime, don't beat yourself up or put yourself down. you are gaining experience and technical know-how, and spotting things you'd like to work on for next time; especially if you're sharing this work and other people are telling you they like what you made, there's no need to undercut this by dwelling on the rough parts so much that you can't enjoy it. the important thing is that you made it.

DISCIPLINE: you made it, it's done, now make something new. do it again from the top! you're right: Drawing A Lot is absolutely the key to Drawing Better. it is also usually an evil curse that reveals How Bad You Drew 3 Months Ago. but you have no choice, if you want to hone your skills and improve the Brain Image -> Art Image translation. you have to do it even when it sucks. do it bored, do it scared, but you have to do it or you'll never get anywhere. when improving yourself, you have to draw a lot to see change, and this is the part that sucks, right? feeling like you're not really getting anywhere or like you'll never capture what's in your mind. you can do studies where you collect references and focus in on ironing out something that's bothering you (such as, like, specific objects, perspectives, clothing details, anatomy pieces, light and shadow, etc etc); this can help crack the malaise for sure... learning how to use references is good, as well as whatever tools are available to you (in your medium/software). How To Do This is sort of a different post, but it does help (and sometimes annoyingly so; there's been rare but very annoying moments in my career where i will be simply looking at a picture and idly make an observation that cracks a style/anatomy problem i've had for Years and im always like COME ON!!! hahaha--but yes looking at references and studying them "like an artist" definitely helps, even when it's not as miraculous as that). overall work smarter and nail down the stuff you're unsure about, then incorporate what you've learned into your art style until it looks a way you like. you will likely have to just grind it out sometimes, and often this grind will not feel particularly fun. but you can Dog Medication Salami Pocket yourself into it if you're drawing something you're sufficiently Deranged about. <- this is what diesel is always doing with those women (LOL)

also, Output. you do have to Be Making Stuff in order to finish stuff. for example for comic projects like adastra or failteacher au, if i can draw ~1 page a day, the update will be complete in no time. but i have to draw that 1 page every day to make it happen, even if i feel off or lack confidence about what i'm making. of course i'm not saying you shouldn't take breaks; you NEED to take breaks, set your goals to your own level, and listen to yourself (and don't get some kind of wrist problem like me please). but the point im trying to make is that if you can make yourself sit down and do it even though you're scared it'll turn out bad, (or, hell, even if this part of your project is Simply Boring), then you can do it anytime. this is important too. but you will probably still sometimes feel stuck if you try to work and grind all the time.

DIET: regularly, but especially when you're stuck in a rut, step away from your craft and enrich your diet. you have to play just as much as you have to work. for example, i am always ALWAYS reading comics. at any given time i probably have 1-4 (sometimes more) tabs open of different comics i am simultaneously reading!!!! i read webcomics, webtoons, manga, DC--any demographic or genre, i take random recs from people and just go read them. whatever medium you're in, you have to take in what other people are doing with it, you have to let them teach and inspire you. you have to branch out and look at genres and styles you usually don't. unwind and look at comics, at illustrations, at design, at animation, at video games. enjoy them as an audience, but look at them like an artist too. when you like something, pause and examine (as both an artist and audience) why you like it. (vice versa: if you don't like something, you can try to figure out why that is!) let other people's ideas and habits flow over you. you have to relax and enrich your mind, to refresh your creativity and motivation. this is crucial. when you come back, you'll feel refreshed and ready to go, and your big brain cauldron of tools + ideas + techniques will be all shiny and bubbling. it's just as important to experience art as it is to make it. i really can't stress that enough!!!!

i talk about comics specifically here because right now obviously i am making a lot of comics (adastra, failteachers). i often feel like i get stuck in boring page layouts and can't think of how to panel something. and honestly sometimes a basic layout that just Gets Through The Scene is simply sufficient (after all, not everything has to be a Groundbreaking New Masterpiece; we would all get fatigued by that!)--or otherwise a "boring layout" is just what i have to put down in order to put down anything at all. but in both cases, reading comics and taking in what people are doing with their layouts makes me feel refreshed and i can return to my own work all rested and bright-eyed. everything we read and watch and take in is added to our "mental library" for the brain to reference when it's time to create something. it is just as enriching and important to experience someone else's art and perspective, and to enjoy a diverse range of impressions. you are always learning and observing, so try to pay attention--it's feeding your brain... :j

(and now, hopefully, your enriched Diet has added fertilizer for your Derangement, and the entire council can take their turn again from the top of the order. HDFHBJFS)

hmm...

well, overall, like i said at the top, there's no One Solution or really Single Piece Of Advice i can offer you. but i hope maybe you got something out of it anyway. everyone's a bit different and everyone's ideal workflow and journey is different too. but don't give up, keep at it, and...GOOD LUCK!!! 🫡🫡🫡

& always remember: in the end, making something YOU like, that looks good to YOU and fulfills YOUR goals, is more important than making something "perfect" (if such a thing even exists). as long as YOU'RE enjoying making your art (yes, even when making the art is hell and sucks!), that's all that matters. 🤝

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sanaexus · 7 hours

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accidental confessions- part two!

how the bluelock men would confess to you

includes: isagi, reo chigri

isagi yoichi

he knew he liked you, he just didn't know how to tell you. he wasn't to blame either, up until now the only the thing that occupied his mind was football, loving someone was a foreign feeling.

so how did he confess? he got too excited after winning the bluelock vs japan u20 match and might have confessed to you in the heat of the moment

they did it. he did it. he won against the japan u-20, scoring the final goal; essentially becoming the star on the entire match. adrenaline of winning the match was running though his veins as he looked around the crowd for a special someone. not his family. not his friends. but you. his bestfriend oh that's right. you're still only his "bestfriend". you locked eyes. you gave him that oh so sweet smile that he remembers so vividly.

he had to do it. if not now then when? as he finished his interview, ignoring his teammates, ignoring the swarm of reporters, fan and just everyone in general until he made his way to you.

before he could even utter a word, your arms wrapped around his frame, you didn't mind that he was sweaty, you were pretty much used to it. taking a moment to process what happens he hugs you back before pulling away.

"you came?" it was surprising to him. he didn't expect you to come to the match, even though he knew his parents must have informed you. he didn't really think you would come- wearing his jersey, his number, his last name on your back. the mere thought of that made him weak to his knees.

"of course i did, wouldn't miss this for the world. you did so good yoichi- that last goal was so amazing like it was almost like luck but it wasn't like luck-"

he knew you were saying something. he just didn't know what. he couldn't really pay attention. not when you were looking so happy and excited- all for him. all about him. his eyes were locked onto your lips. he knew it was rude, you met after so long and he couldn't even bother listening to you?

"yoi! are you even listening?" you ask, looking up at him with those pretty eyes.

"date me." fuck. he wasn't supposed to say it like that. he wanted it to be romantic, meaningful- something you would remember. but no of course not this was isagi yoichi we were talking about.

"what?" you were confused. your bestfriend randomly just asks no commands you to date him out of no where?

"i-i mean i like you y/n. i really do i mean but if you don't feel the same that's fine i mean you're like so perfect, an angel sent from heaven. but fuck i just needed to tell you i like you so much i mean i think i love you wait no what forget i said that" he was a stuttering, anxious mess. the complete opposite of what he was on the field.

"you still want me to forget your confession if i feel the same?"

was he going crazy? did bachira's monster take over him? was he hearing you right? you felt the same about him? god how long did he wait to hear that exactly? he couldn't even remember at this point.

his instincts took over as he pulled you into a hug, not exactly sure of what he should be doing but it felt right.

"well i didn't think this far to be honest" he sheepishly admitted as he pulled away. staring down at you.

"that's a first, usually you're doing so much thinking on the field no? but you love me huh?"

"shut up"

"i love you too"

yeah, he doesn't know how he did it. whatever had gotten him into this situation. he was grateful for it because being with you? it felt right. it was right.

reo mikage

life was boring for the rich heir. he got everything he wanted with a snap of his fingers. so for once when he fell for a girl, but it seemed like she didn't feel the same. the future heir took it as a challenge. of course he did.

finally. one lunch break without a certain purple hair brat showing up out of no where and annoying you. as you were coming out of the class, you got a worse jumpscare than any horror movie did.

"holy fuck, what's wrong with you?" that little flinch when you noticed him in front of you made him frown.

"is it a crime to say hi to my friend?"

"first off we're not friends, and cut the crap reo. what do you want this time?"

"ouch your hurt me and reo this time huh? not mikage? that's progress- wait what do you mean what do i want?"

"i don't know you tell me why are you talking to me?" with that you went walking off to ground with a confused reo following you.

"what do you mean why i'm talking to you? i like your that's why of course!"

you halt in your tracks. turning around to face him. "fuck you reo."

"wait what? what did i do- did i overstep a boundary? i'm sorry-" he went on rambling apologies and tried explaining how genuinely liked you and what not.

"you think it's funny?" you chuckled dryly, almost as if to stop yourself from crying.

"huh? what's funny?"

"to play with people's feelings? just because you got everyone and everything you wanted since you were a child, that gave you the right to go and fuck with people's feeling?"

"no, no what of course not. i'm not sure where or how you got that impression but god no."

"there isn't any explanation. just because you're some pretty rich boy means you get to fuck with my feelings? and cut the crap about denying it. you and me both know this probably just some stupid joke or bet."

"shut up wait no nevermind no don't shut up. it isn't anything like that y/n. i like you i genuinely like you so much. i don't know why you would think this was a joke or a bet or that i didn't mean what i was saying but i swear on nagi i mean it."

he doesn't know what took over him, but the moment he saw those tears falling from your eyes slipping down your cheeks he instinctively came closer to wipe them off your face.

"you weren't joking...? you actually like me?"

"why are you saying it as if it's a bad thing to like you? god i should be thankful you even dealt with me up until now"

"so this isn't a bet? you actually want to be with me? because i swear mikage if you're fucking with me right now"

"what will make you think otherwise? anything. if you want me to beg in front of the whole school for you. i'll fucking do it."

a small oof left him as you tightly hugged him. "don't do that, it's stupid"

a small chuckle left him as he kissed the top of your head. "nothing's stupid when it comes to you, if it makes you happy i'll do it 10 times if needed"

And he meant every single word from the bottom of his heart, all for you. always for you.

chigiri hyoma

that one moment where he lost balance on his foot, felt like he lost balance in his entire life. football (and you) were the only things he really cared about. but that injury crushed him to bits and pieces

he gave up hope on everything, including his friendships. but he never expected you to stand by him and be his rock through everything.

10 seconds. 10 seconds is all it took for everything to come crashing down, his career along with all of his past effort. coming back from the doctor's office all chigiri wanted to do was cry. he was on the verge of having a mental breakdown in his room until barged in slamming his door open.

"good night hyoma! what did the doctor say?"

he let out a small giggle to your sudden intrusion "night...? it's broad daylight right now."

"shut up i'm just trying to make my bestfriend happy, now what did that grandpa say?"

"i can't play football for a while, and even when i can there's always a chance of injuring myself, and this time it'll be worse"

"oh..well you won't let that stop you right?" you ask him, filled with hope because if chigiri gave up on his dreams, you're sure you're gonna cry more than he is.

"i don't know..." he genuinely didn't know what he was supposed to do without playing football. your question made him think. it was between playing football albeit not the way he wanted to as it would risk getting an injury again or not playing at all. he train of thoughts got interrupted by you abruptly grabbing his face making him look at you.

"you're trying to tell me you're gonna give up your dream, your passion your everything just because of an injury? what happened to becoming the world's best hyoma?"

"i can't do it! what if this time my career ends for real?"

"so? would you rather play football your way even if it means risking it all, or playing it like a fucking coward?"

you were right. he never really ever wanted to play football like it's nothing, he doesn't want to not give his 100% every time he's playing. but then the other voice in his head told him how if he stopped playing, you would leave him and he couldn't let that happen. he was so sure that anything he had right now was because of football, be it his friends or his own happiness.

"but if i fail, you'd leave me" his voice was barely above a whisper dripping with insecurity and self-doubt.

"why would i leave you? i love you hyo. every version of you, the one that plays football, the one that steals my food, the one that comforts about the stupidest shit at 1 am, i fucking love you, so cut that i'll leave you crap"

he didn't even notice he started to cry until you panicked "wait no no i'm sorry please don't cry? wait why are you crying?"

"because you're so nice"

"aww see you love me too!" a small giggle that escaped your lips was cut off by chigiri kissing you. it was sweet and soft, full of love and you swear at that moment you could have fallen to your knees because of how weak you were for this man.

"so you love me huh?" his teasing voice overwhelmed your senses.

"you talk to much shut up"

"if it helps i love you too"

according to you, he talked to much yet he still hadn't found enough words to describe just how he felt for you.

WELLLLLL THAT TOOK A LOTT LONGERRR THAN IT SHOULD HAVE NEARLY TWO WEEKS SINCE THE FIRST PART LOL

chigiri and reo part is mid asf but i like the isagi one 🥰

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sailorshadzter · 2 days

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Prompt: After being captive in Dragonstone for several months, Jon just wants to let off steam especially after repressing all the things he wants to shout at Daenerys. He went to Sansa's solar itching for a fight, but Sansa is guarded (has the Lady of Winterfell walls up). He finally succeeds in baiting Sansa to a fight, and then he can't help but laugh during mid-shouting match. Jon misses the tension, confusion, and he misses being treated as an equal. Sansa is confused, annoyed, but she can't help but be amused. Jon reduces the tension by apologizing, and they awkwardly try to do their jobs (talk about the castle and evacuation).

ANONNN

this has been in my inbox a long time so i hope you see this!!!

send me prompts

He knows it’s wrong, but there’s no stopping himself now.

Without any hesitation, he’s pushing open the door to the solar that once belonged to him, to them, and of course there she sits behind the desk, her usual place. She looks up as he barges in, a brow arched in surprise, but her face does not change.

Not at first, that is.

“Jon,” she greets softly, carefully, hands laying down atop the desk she sits behind. “I did not expect you,” she continues, blue eyes unwavering in their gaze. What she means to say is I thought you were with her, but she does not allow herself to speak to him in such a way.

Not yet, that was.

They’ve been apart for a long seven months and she cannot help but to wonder if the man that returned from Dragonstone was even the same man she knew. Jon was someone else entirely it seemed- though she hates to admit it. She thinks back to their last private conversation, one that had happened in this very same room just the day before… Did you bend the knee to protect the North, or because you love her? His face had changed when she’d asked such a question. She might as well have slapped him, the way he had looked at her then. Have you no faith in me at all? He had asked her, cutting her, striking her, filling her with shame. That could have been her chance, her one moment to tell him everything… But then she remembered the sight of him on the damned dragon queen’s arm and jealousy took control.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he says, but she’s shaking her head, rising up to come around the desk to stand before him, just an arms length away. “You weren’t at dinner.” He adds, recalling the way the lords had exchanged their glances, how Daenerys had whispered something to Tyrion, who only shook his head and swallowed a goblet of wine.

“No, I wasn’t,” she says, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Her voice brokers no argument, but his blood boils all the same. He wishes for her to rage at him, to fight him, to curse him. “I am sure your queen was more than enough company for you.” Ah, there it was, that quiet resentment. She speaks the words before she can stop them, though truth was, she’s glad she’s said them now.

“It’s rude to avoid her in such a way,” he snaps, harsher than he intends, but she’s laughing, blue eyes scathing in their gaze. “I mean it, Sansa, you don’t know what she’s capable of if you provoke her!”

“Oh, don’t I?” She snarls, throwing her hands up. “As if I’ve not already faced her wrath once? As if her dragons have not already attacked a local farm? As if I’ve not already faced worse than her?” She rolls her eyes, turning away. “Your queen will be the death of us all-”

“She isn’t my queen!” He explodes, cutting her off, drawing her back. For the first time, her face softens, something like realization registering in her blue eyes. “She isn’t my queen,” he says again, softer now, gray eyes full of the desperation he feels in his heart. A laugh escapes him without warning, without hesitation, for this conversation is everything it shouldn’t be. He cannot help but wish he’d never come here at all.

“Jon, I…” She speaks softly, hand twitching as if she might reach for him.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, quieter now than ever before, turning away to face the hearth, his back to her. It takes but a single moment for her hand to touch his shoulder, to turn him around to face her once more, the touch of her hand spreading warmth through all of his limbs.

She swallows and then stands a little straighter, her arm falling back down by her side. “We do have the supplies to last, you know,” she says, changing the subject, understanding him in a way no one else ever could.

“I knew you would find a way,” he says awkwardly, watching as she moves away, to sit back behind the oak desk, wishing he had the courage to sit on its edge as he once would have done. Perhaps with time… Perhaps there would be a day soon that they would fall back into their old steps with ease. “Lord Royce said the grain stores are plentiful.” She had done well to prepare Winterfell for the war that was to come, like the queen she should have been.

“I have sent word to most of the remaining houses to retreat here,” she continues, hands folding together atop the desk. “This is the safest place to be, after all.” Jon is nodding, agreeing, and they quickly fall into an easier conversation- one of planning and of survival. He supposes that should they all live through the Long Night, there would be time enough for them to talk about everything else.

And so they talk, not of their feelings, not of anything but what was to come.

Everything else would come in due time.

#jonsa #actuallyjonsa #jon x sansa #anon asks #writing prompts #send me prompts #my writing #i wrote this

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achilles-rage · 3 days

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NSFW Alphabet // Eddie Diaz x Plus Size Reader

A/N: thank you anon for suggesting this!! this was lowkey hard at first but i kinda got into it like halfway through and i had so much fun. if anyone wants me to do any other charcters let me know! also i know most people headcanon him as gay (me included) and i am not trying to invalidate that in any way, but it’s not confirmed (yet) and i’m just having fun<3

MDNI- 18+ Only

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

After sex he helps you clean up, having a shower together most of the time before laying together on the couch/in bed. He might put on a movie on low volume, sometimes talking and other times just enjoying being close to you as you both half pay attention to whatever movie he puts on. Honestly I feel like half the time he's OUT like 10 minutes into the movie though, feeling so relaxed and content with you pressed up against him.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His: I think he likes his chest the most, but mostly because he's seen how much you like it. It drives him crazy when you run your hands up and down his chest, and it gives him a bit of an ego boost to see you staring so intently at it.

Yours: Tits Eyes<333 He tries to be a gentleman, but this man loves your boobs. He loves when you wear low cut tops, fighting so hard to keep his eyes on your face lol. He also loves watching the way they move as he fucks you, loving to lean down and leave marks all over them. He also loves your hands, loving to kiss and hold them.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

I mean, he loves cumming on your chest, the thought of it helping push him over the edge. He also loves to cum on your plush thighs when he's not fast enough to pull out, loving how it drips down them and onto the sheets.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He cannot hold back when you wear your pretty little sundresses. When he sees you walk out in one, his eyes are immediately glued to you. His eyes slowly trail down from your face to your chest, how your tits spill out of the top a bit, then down to the outline of your soft tummy, then down to your exposed legs, your thick thighs. He needs you right then and there. He can't keep his hands off you. He can't help but think about how easy it would be to bend you over, pull your dress up, and have his way with you. It's only a dirty secret because he feels a little bad about it. The weather is warm, and you innocently put the dress on to keep cool, and because you love wearing dresses, but he can't stop his mind from going to how well you would feel wrapped around him.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s had a few girlfriends, and of course a wife, so he knows what he's doing. At the same time, I don't see him as a one night stand type of guy, so most of his experience comes from catering to specific women's wants and needs. I think the first few times you have sex, he's trying to learn what does it for you, but he knows how to read people, so he's quick to learn.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

I'm not saying he's vanilla or boring in any way, but I think his favourite is missionary, with your legs wrapped around waist, desperately pulling him closer. He loves to see your face as he fucks you, and loves having access to your tits, so to him, missionary is the most enjoyable. He also loves having one of your legs over his shoulder as he slides into you, loving the way you tilt your head back and whine for him.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

I think he's a generally serious guy, which translates into the bedroom. He's a little goofy sometimes, laughing softly and joking around when the moment calls for it, but for the most part, when he wants you, that is the only thing on his mind.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I think he keeps it trimmed, the carpet matches the drapes. In terms of his partner, he doesn’t really care, but I think he prefers a little effort to keep it at least a little trimmed.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

I think he's pretty intimate overall, lots of i love you’s whispered into your ear and his head buried in your neck to be closer to you. He's not super romantic about sex, as he's not really into the whole candle and rose petal thing, but he would definitely do it on special occasions like anniversaries if you're into it. He’s a busy guy with work and Christopher so when you have sex it's mostly when y'all have a spare minute, meaning he doesn't really have the time to pull out all the stops.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

I think he's a man that likes to follow a schedule, so I imagine he does it most mornings, unless you're with him and wanna help him out. I think he gets pretty pent up if he goes too long without release, so every morning that you're not with him, he's in the shower looking for a quick release.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Authority: I think he loves to be in charge, loving the way you look up at him with those pretty eyes when he tells you what to do, nodding and being so good for him. He loves that you trust him enough to follow his lead like that, allowing him to do whatever he wants. He loves the shiver that runs down your spine when he lowers his voice, giving you an order, and the way you whine softly when he praises you for it.

Innocence: This and the last one kinda go hand in hand, but I think he loves how you look up at him with your wide eyes, blushing as he whispers something dirty in your ear. I think he'll whisper dirty things in your ear when you're out in public, loving the way your head snaps up, face getting hot. While he doesn't exactly like you being completely innocent, he loves the way you act coy when he whispers in your ear, pretending you don't want him as bad as he wants you. He loves watching you squirm.

Lingerie: This man LOVES seeing you all dressed up for him. He's not picky about colour or style, he just loves seeing you feeling cute for him, the way you walk up to him slowly, hands behind your back as you stand between his legs as he sits on the bed. As much as he would love to rip it off of you, he loves worshipping your body when you're wearing a matching set that you picked out with him in mind. He'll run his hands up your thighs, grabbing your hips tightly as he pulls you closer, looking up at you with a dark look in his eyes. He'll move his hands slowly up your torso, kissing your stomach as he holds your waist, humming softly, wanting to get you all worked up before he finally slides it off your body slowly.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He loves some good shower sex, maybe a little round two when you get in the shower with him to clean up. You're already in there, so why not? He loves the way you look all relaxed in the shower, closing your eyes as the water runs down your body. He can't help but put his hands on you, pulling you closer, kissing down your neck slowly before turning you around quickly, pushing you against the shower wall to have his way with you.

He also loves taking you on the couch, although it doesn't happen unless you're home alone. Maybe it starts one day with you cuddling on the couch, your hand trailing down his chest to his stomach, going lower as you innocently watch tv, trying not to look at him, fighting back a smile. Next thing you know you're on your knees in front of him, his hands pulling on your hair slowly as you take him in your mouth. It doesn't take him long before he cums, and you're quickly getting up and onto his lap, grinding against him, still fully clothed, as he whines softly, twitching under you.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He loves the idea of being a family, so seeing you fit into his life so easily really gets him going. Seeing you in his kitchen, making dinner for him and Christopher, or seeing you come home with a random piece of decor you saw and thought would look nice in his house. He loves seeing you acting like a part of his family, longing for someone to share a life and grow with.

He also loves when you come workout with him. Maybe he offers to teach you some self defence, explaining how important it is for you to be able to defend yourself. You roll your eyes, but agree, since you know it'll give him peace of mind. The lesson starts off well, but then he notices the way your ass looks in your leggings, the way your thighs move as you punch and duck, and he's a goner. Now he's mostly focused on the way your body is moving, the thing layer of sweat on both of you, the way your breath is becoming heavier. He drags you out of there pretty early into the lesson, taking everything in him not to bring you into the change room and take you right then and there. Safe to say that he invites you to workout with him much more often.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He's not into age/pet play, and he doesn't really like the idea of gags or blindfolds. I think he would much rather hear you moan for him, and be able to look in your eyes when he's inside of you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

I think he likes receiving better, although he'll never turn down the chance to go down on you.

He loves the way you look up at him through your lashes, closing your lips around him, humming softly as you move. He loves to grip your hair, letting you control the pace, but still helping you move your head slightly with his hand.

He also loves going down on you, kissing up your legs slowly before pulling your body closer to the edge of the bed, before diving in, holding your hips down as you start to squirm.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

I think it really depends on the day, and the time of day. I think in the morning he's more into slow and sensual, still feeling a little sleepy, but still wanting to see you come apart for him before getting started with the day. At night, he's more into fast and rough, especially if he's had a hard day. We all know this man is a little wary of talking about his feelings, so a lot of the time, he buries his feelings, instead opting to bury himself inside you, forgetting about his problems for a short time.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He doesn't mind them, especially when all that's on his mind is a quick release. He loves going slow, taking his time with you, but sometimes there just isn't time with your busy schedules. If the choice is between a quickie or waiting, he'll choose a quickie every single time.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

I think he's willing to experiment, although he wouldn't bring up anything too out there to try. If you brought up something to try that he's unfamiliar with, he'll hear you out, and will probably try it once, unless he's completely against the idea. I think he's a bit of a risk taker, but for the most part, he'll stick with what he's comfortable with.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

I think he's got 2-3 in him, but most of the time it's 1 or 2, about 10-15 minutes each.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I don't think he owns any, he doesn't know much about them so he kinda stays away from them. With that said, he'd definitely be willing to try them on himself or you, if you asked. He wouldn't necessarily seek them out, but he would be open to them if you showed him what they were and how exactly they work prior to using them.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

This man is a fucking TEASE!!! He loves to watch you squirm, trying to act normal as he gives you less than innocent touches, and whispers what he wants to do to you in your ear. Once you finally get him alone he loves using his fingers and his mouth to get you close to the edge before pulling away completely, smirking up at you as you whine and squirm under him. To him, teasing you is one of his favourite games, playing with you until you can't take it anymore, begging him desperately to let you cum.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

I think most of the noises he makes are quite grunts and moans in your ear, trying to keep quiet in case someone hears y'all. He loves dirty talk, but he doesn't do it all the time, instead picking and choosing the best time to whisper something in your ear to make you squirm. He loves when you talk dirty to him too, and loves when he has to cover your mouth to muffle your moans when you start getting a little too loud for him.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

This man is SUPER possessive of you, but he kinda loves seeing how much other people want you, he's a little confused about it. If you're out at a bar and he sees someone checking you out he gets kinda smug about it, knowing that he's the one taking you home tonight. At the same time, he also has to fight the urge from grabbing you and taking you there, right in front of them, showing everyone that you're his. Instead of actually doing that, as much as he wants to, he'll instead opt for coming up behind you, grabbing your hips tightly, kissing your neck softly. He loves watching you melt against his touch, slowly turning your head to look at him over your shoulder, your attention focused only on him as you lean back against his chest, giggling softly because after so many times, you know why he's suddenly being so clingy.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

6 inches, average size.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It's pretty average, not too high, not too low. He'd never say no if you wanted him, but I think he loves spending time with you almost as much as he loves having sex with you. He's ok with going a few days without sex, but he would also love having sex every day if you wanted to.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

I think he's either up for a while after, somehow feeling more energized than before, or he's really tired and you have about 10 minutes before he's peacefully passed out beside you.

Likes/comments/reblogs would be much appreciated if you liked this! Or I would love to hear y’alls thoughts on any of the prompts<33

Also let me know if there’s any other character you’d like me to do this for (not just 911 characters)!

#eddie diaz #911 abc #eddie diaz x plus size reader #eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz imagine #eddie diaz headcanons #911 imagine #911 headcanons #plus size reader

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chilapis · 3 months

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Hello, hello; guess who is (quite possibly) back. <3

#honestly all i really needed was a few weeks of complete isolation without so much as an attempt at socialisation.#and I? am doing so dandy now.#also I just found out in the middle of my break that this one medication I take is known for worsening depression and psychosis.#so take that as you will.#i say might be back though because. i mean come on. you all know me. i say i am back and then there i go vanishing again.#✧.*🌹

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fooled-around-and-fell · 3 months

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she's mean, and he loves her for it.

summary: your peers wonder how the ever-so-annoying gojo satoru can stand being in a relationship with you pairing: sunshine!gojo satoru x grumpy!female reader genre: angst, fluff warnings: none

Masterlist

"Did you guys know Gojo-sensei is dating-" Nobara looks around left and right before whispering your name in fear that you might be around.

"Ehhh?" Yuuji's eyebrows knit together. "No way. She's so scary and he's so...happy."

Nobara agrees, "She never smiles -- kinda looks like she has a permanent frown, too. She scares me."

"You think maybe she intimidated him to date her?"

Megumi watches as his two friends bicker about whether you and Satoru look good together, not realizing that you've heard everything they said. Megumi notices you've arrived to teach them and clears his throat, catching the attention of his two friends. He glances at you to check how you're doing after hearing what they said, but as expected, you remain professional and stoic. But Megumi knows better, he grew up under your and Satoru's wings after all.

"Shit." Nobara and Yuuji mutter under their breaths.

-----

It's fairly common for people to question your relationship with Satoru. He's this... happy-go-lucky guy who annoys everyone except those on the same wavelength as him, while you keep to yourself, prioritizing your alone time, and taking things seriously.

Sometimes, too serious.

You never let it get to you, though, because you don't really care what people say. You and Satoru are happy, that's all that matters. Until recently, when those jerk Kyoto students came over to train, they started talking about you and Satoru.

"She's so serious all the time, I don't understand how Gojo puts up with her."

"I think he's scared to breakup with her."

"I bet she's high maintenance."

"Honestly, why is he with her when he can be with someone who's... not so difficult?"

You grit your teeth at that last comment. You can't tell who said what, but it doesn't matter. Their words got to your head and now you're angry. Angry because you're scared they might be right.

Does Satoru think you're difficult? You're not entirely sure how to show them that yes, you deserve Satoru despite being the dark, grumpy person you are.

Sighing, you decide to go home instead of joining the dinner. Satoru's not in there anyway, he just got back from a mission and is waiting for you at home.

Once you close the door to your apartment, you immediately feel Satoru's arm envelope around you from behind. He smells like fresh mint -- just got out of the shower.

"Hi darling," he kisses your cheek.

"Hi, Toru." You take your shoes off and give him a quick peck before making your way to the bedroom to put your stuff down.

Satoru watches you slowly, "hm, aren't you supposed to have that dinner with the Kyoto students today?"

Your jaw clenches, taking a second before shrugging. "Decided to skip it. I'm tired."

He just hums, "In that case, you wanna watch Bridgerton with me after your shower?"

"Again?" You groan, "Isn't it like the third time you've watched it?"

"Yes, and?"

"I'll skip, thanks."

He blows a raspberry and leaves you to shower while he lays down on the couch to watch Anthony Bridgerton fall in love with his Kate Sheffield.

While you were in the shower, the words kept coming back to you. Somehow more exaggerated. You're difficult. He doesn't like you. He's just tolerating you. Why would he be with someone who doesn't even smile? Look at him, Gojo is the epitome of sunshine. You're nothing like him. Why would he like you?

Groaning, you let the hot water wash away your thoughts -- though they don't really go away. Maybe you should just try to be nicer to Satoru, be more cheerful.

After your shower, you see him lying down on the couch while watching his show, and you sit on the other end, silently dreading having to watch the same show again. But you're doing this for Satoru, so you will.

With a satisfied grin, Satoru saunters over and lies down on top of you, his head resting on your chest. You smile softly, enjoying the tight grip he has on you and his soft hair between your fingers.

"How was the mission?" You ask, "Did you have to go to Shoko?"

Satoru shakes his head, "Sweetheart, it's me we're talking about here."

"You can still get hurt, Toru." You pat his hair gently, "I've seen you bleed."

"I'm always careful. Don't worry." He kisses your hand.

You sigh softly. You know Satoru is always careful, it's just that he always goes on missions alone, and more often nowadays that it makes you worry. Yes, he's the strongest, but you never want to take that for granted.

"Toru," You call him again, a little hesitant, "You know I love you, right?"

He lifts his head from your chest, staring at you with those big blue eyes. "Of course. And I love you. So much."

He kisses you deeply, now switching positions so you're lying down on top of him. "So do you want to talk about it?"

"No.." You mumble. Of course, Satoru knows. He isn't stupid. He can sense when something's wrong with you, just like how you can feel the scar on his hip that wasn't there before. He did go to Shoko.

But none of you say anything. You just hold each other tighter that night. It's more than enough.

-----

Satoru is on another mission. It's supposed to be easy, at least that's what he said 3 days ago. You haven't heard from him at all in 3 days and you're beginning to worry. Your frown is deeper than usual, you sigh more often, and your fuse is shorter.

Everyone's more scared of you.

You let the kids take a break while you try to collect your thoughts. You can't be seen so distracted, not when Satoru left you in charge of them.

"You doing okay?" You hear Megumi's voice approach you.

Blinking away the tears that almost fell, you turn around to face him. "I'm fine, Megs."

"I told you not to call me that..." He sulks as he stands next to you, leaning against the wall. He can see you're distraught, and growing up with you, there's only been a handful of times he's seen you like this.

"You know he's going to be fine, right?"

You sigh. "I'm just worried."

You remember once when Satoru didn't come back for a week. He couldn't be reached, no one could track him down, and you were just at home, taking care of Megumi. The boy's more like you than Satoru, he's not exactly sensitive or cheery. But he knows when you're feeling sad, so he'd stay up with you, praying for Satoru's safety.

"Guys!" Yuuji runs towards you and Megumi.

"What is it, Yuuji?"

"It's Gojo-sensei-" He pants, "He's back!"

You run as fast as you can with Yuuji and Megumi, and you can finally see your white-haired, blue-eyed boyfriend limping his way back to the school grounds.

He raises his hand and waves to you with a big smile despite struggling to walk. "Tsk-" You frown even more, feeling the tears pooling again as you walk towards him and catch him in an embrace.

"Umph-" He groans. "Hi, baby."

You let go of him and check his injuries -- he's healed most of it himself, thank goodness, but the bruises are still there. "We need to go to Shoko-"

"Mm, that can wait." He pulls you to sit down on the soft grass, hugging you once again. "It's okay, I'm here now."

You choke on your own sobs and hug him tighter, sitting between his legs and burying your head in his chest. "You idiot."

"'M sorry for makin' you worry," he smiles gently, leaving kisses all over your face.

As you cup his face in your hands, you're suddenly very aware of the 3 pairs of eyes staring at you both. Noticing it too, Satoru covers your red, embarrassed face. "Okay, nothing to see here. Go.. do something. Scram. Skedaddle."

Once the kids are gone, he chuckles and thinks you're being really cute. "They're gone, sweets."

You glare at his teasing smile.

Satoru wipes away your tears, kissing your frown away. "What took you so long?" You ask after kissing him deeply, not letting him go.

A smirk lingers on Satoru's lips. "I took a detour to Kyoto after the mission to teach some kids a lesson."

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo angst #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x you #gojo x you #satoru x you #satoru x reader #satoru angst #gojo satoru angst #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru jjk #gojo x female reader #gojo satoru x female reader

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ragingbookdragon · 5 months

Text

It comes as somewhat a surprise when the others realize that something has obviously happened between their resident Lieutenant and Private, as she’s quick to fall silent whenever he appears, and even more so make herself scare when she can when he’s around. It’s only the third time that Soap sees it that he says something, because if he doesn’t no one else will, and where’s the fun in that?

He watches her duck her head and leave the break room, Gaz, Soap, Price, and Ghost sitting alone at the breakfast table conversing over soggy cereal and cooling tea; Soap pushes a piece of bacon on his plate and asks, “Trouble in paradise, Lt?” the corner of his mouth arches with a slight grin when he hears the warning grunt come from Ghost.

“No.”

“Seems like it,” he retorts, taking a sip of his coffee. “What’d ya do? Tell her ta fuck off?”

“Drop it, MacTavish,” Ghost warns darkly. “Nothing’s wrong.”

This time, Gaz jumps in. “C’mon, Lt., it’s obvious that something’s wrong. I mean, she won’t even look at you, let alone say anything unless you speak first.”

“An’ she’s callin’ ‘im ‘sir.’” Soap adds, pointing at him. “Christ, Lt., ya musta done a number on ‘er. Poor Puffin. So sweet and kind. Broke ‘er heart ya did.”

Price can tell that Ghost is close to snapping at the both of them but gets to it before he does. “Soap, Gaz, go catalogue our inventory for the mission next week.”

“Aw, but we already d—” Soap falls silent when Price shoots him a look and quietly grumbles to himself as he grabs his plate and cup, Gaz following in suit.

It’s only until the two soldiers are alone that Price asks, “What did happen, Simon?”

Ghost lets out a long sigh and rolls his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Pretty much told ‘er to fuck off.”

Price watches quietly as Ghost begins rattling to himself—he’s never really had to ask the man to explain himself. All he’s gotta do is prompt him to do so and Ghost does the rest.

“I just got mad. She’s always ‘round and practically up my arse, and I got caught up and instead of ‘andlin’ it properly, I shoved my fucking foot in my mouth and scalped her.” He rubs a hand over his face. “I meant to be gentler but once I started, I couldn’t stop. It just kept comin’ out. And now she fuckin’ hates me.”

He pulls his hand down and looks up at Price with a scowl—the man is smiling at him, but it’s that stupid smile that means more than Ghost wants to admit it does.

“Quit that.”

“You care about her,” Price murmurs, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, though his admonish is still harsh. “And instead of telling her how you felt like a grown adult, you took the ten-year-old way out and decided to be a cunt to her.”

“I didn’t mean to be such a cunt.”

“But the fact of the matter is that you did, and you’ve screwed up team fluidity and cohesion.” He looks at him. “You know a team divided—”

“Can’t stand,” Ghost finishes with an even worse scowl. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He looks away. “I just don’t know how to even start tryin’ to fix it.”

“Well, apologizing might be a good start,” Price rumbles with a grin. “She’s a good kid, Simon. Her heart’s in the right place, even if it’s a bit much at times. Shows she cares. More than most do in our line of work. She’s a rare one.”

“I know,” he admits in a much, much softer tone. “I just don’t want her to lose that doin’ this.” His eyes meet Price’s, and they hold such a misery. “Look at us, Price,” he mutters, gesturing between them. “Middle age, unmarried, no kids, too fucked up for anything like that. She doesn’t…” he clenches his jaw. “She deserves a better path, a safer path, than this life. She deserves to go out and have a life where she comes home to a family.”

“That’s not your choice to make, son,” he replies gently, but there’s a firmness to it. “If this is what she wants to do, then she will. We can’t make her get out of service.”

Ghost growls low in his throat. “She has so much more potential than being cannon fodder. She could do somethin’ with her life. Somethin’ good. Somethin’ that won’t have her dying face down in the sand with a bullet wound in the back.”

Price simply watches him.

“But she’s so fuckin’ stupid. She wants to be here. She wants to spend whatever time she has dodgin’ bullets and wakin’ up every night in sweat ‘cause she can’t escape the dreams. No one wants to do this. We don’t want to do this. We do this because we have to. But her? She’s happy here.” He lowers his voice, it’s as if he’s in disbelief. “She’s happy here.” He looks at Price. “Why? Why is she so happy here?”

It's another long moment before Price speaks.

“You hear, son, but you don’t listen.” He moves the cup on the saucer. “She bounced around homes growing up, scraped by on the skin of her teeth. She has no one. But here, she has something. She has people who care for her, if nothing else, they won’t let her die alone.”

“Oh what? So, it’s found family bullshit?” Ghost spits. “If she dies, at least the team would mourn her?”

“Isn’t that what you’ve done too?” he replies, and Ghost falls silent. “People like Gaz, Soap, and myself are different than you and she are, Simon. We have homes. We’ve had families that have loved us, that do love us. But you two? Simon, you’ve made a home where you’ve had to. Made a family out of people you’ve bled for, would gladly bleed for. You’ve made something that’s yours. You made a family for yourself. And so did she. She’s made us her family. The one she never had the privilege to call her own.”

Price lets out a quiet hum, and pats his thighs, standing up and pushing his chair in.

“Think on what I’ve said, son. And if nothing else, apologize and leave it at that. Put the ball in her court and let her make the next move.”

As he walks off, he hears, “And if she doesn’t want it?”

He tosses a knowing look over his shoulder. “I’m sure she’ll take it.” His eyes twinkle as he adds, “Takes an awful strong woman to care about a man like you.”

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yanderenightmare · 5 months

Text

TW: yandere, noncon, size/strength difference

gn reader

Thinking about breaking things off with your fuck friend 'cause you feel he's been catching feelings you have no intention of pitching...

“Why.” He asked, and the cross you’d made on your fingers in a wish to avoid the entire conversation untangled with a sigh.

“Please, don’t act dumb.” You groaned, exasperated and slightly irked. “You know why….”

“No. Tell me.” He argued, and you sighed again in regret of your own common decency – wishing you’d taken the entire break-off over text instead, or at the very least taken the time to think about what you would say or do if and when he got this way.

“You...”

You hesitated, taking a second to decide whether or not you really ought to voice it out loud – not because you had any doubts of it being true – but because the man in front of you was still very much a large brawny beefcake with temper issues no matter your sneaking suspicion that he saw you as something more than just a fuck friend.

“You’re getting too...” You continued, still scrambling for better words. Coming up short. “Clingy.”

He paused, his expression going from searching to a mix of offended and scrutinous.

“Clingy?” He repeated, forced disbelief a present factor in his tone. “If I remember correctly, you’re the one who clings to me- screaming my name- begging me to cum inside you and-”

You cut his rant off with yet another sigh accompanied by a shake of your head. “That’s not what I mean by clingy. I’m sorry, I should have said emotional, and your comment just proved that.”

You folded your arms across your chest, watching him reel.

“Anyway, it doesn’t really matter. We’re done.”

You left him on the sofa to go put your shoes back on – admonishing yourself for coming inside in the first place when you could have just as quickly done this on the doorstep and walked away.

“You're not going anywhere until we talk this through.” He followed, his stronger hand latching onto your upper arm in a grip that was unnecessarily harsh.

You didn’t really mind, though – it was his lack of charm that had charmed you to begin with – you only wished he’d remained that same savage he was and not gone all lovey-dovey soft on you.

“There's nothing to discuss.” You felt as though you were repeating yourself, getting more annoyed by the fact. “It was fun; now it isn't.” You underlined, looking back into his eyes, cringing when seeing the gloss of something that you really hoped wouldn’t amount to tears while you were still there.

“I'm gonna need more than that.” He said, the grip on your arm still kept firm with no inclination of letting up.

You didn’t really want things to get more awkward by asking him to let you go – feeling as though maintaining the position of strength was important so he not mistake your resolution.

He had a nasty habit of never taking you seriously.

“You’re being childish.” You stated.

“Childish?!”

His grip tightened with his outburst, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t have your heart jump to your throat.

"Let go of me." Your voice had significantly diminished.

"You think you can tease me like this and then tell me to piss off?” He seethed, your arm aching in the bruising grip he had on it as he pulled you close until your face was an inch from his. “Think again."

Your breath thinned under his glare, and you felt nearly too stiff to do anything except stare back up at him in wait.

“Calm down.” You tried, but it seemed choice words were too little too late to save you.

“I am calm.” He hissed back into your face before pulling you back to the sofa.

Throwing you down on your back – you didn’t even have the time to gasp before he was on top of you.

“Get off me-” You whined, your hands shooting forth – trying with all your might to heave him off, but ultimately amounting to nothing more than a slight annoyance to the much larger man on top.

“It's all about sex with you, right? You want to have fun, right?” He said in a craze, and you cringed while he leaned down to graze your chest with chin-stubble and lips, whispering at your peachfuzz until goosebumps rose. “So let's have some fun.”

“Stop it – I said I don't want to anymore – I’m being serious.” You tried, once again – appealing to his reason.

But it would seem he was beyond reason…

“Oh? You're being serious?” He mocked with a sneer and a laugh. “You don't look it. If you want me to stop so badly, then stop me. Come on~ try a little harder. Show me how serious you are.”

You’re not sure why you took him up on the challenge, as you’d long known of your differences in build – how you posed as much of a threat as a bug in a mason jar...

But even a bug will try to escape still after the lid has been sealed.

“Come on~ you're not even trying~” He grossly crooned, smiling at your pitiful attempt at twisting him off with the useless help of your silly hands – how your much smaller body writhed beneath his weight and tried wriggling free.

Laughing dryly, he took your hands by the wrists and pinned them to the cushion beneath you. Sagging over you, his breath fanned your lips.

“What was I to you, huh?” He asked in a murmur, his face blank but his eyes swirling. “Just a toy?”

You were afraid to breathe, only keeping your gaze terror-wide of what he might do – still grasping to fathom how he’d even felt possessed enough to do this much – confused as to how you’d missed the signs while having not a single clue what more he was capable of.

“Guess now you're my toy, huh...” He muttered coldly.

And you just couldn’t help the whimper that it tore from you – finally understanding exactly what position you were in.

The disorienting knowing of what was soon to happen dawned on you mercilessly – and you completely broke under the hefty weight it had.

“Oh? You’ gonna cry now?” He scoffed before hissing. “That's cute, seeing as I’m the one who’s had his heart stepped on.”

“S-stop it, get off me-” You cried, whole body shaking where you squirmed to no use nor end.

“Not so cold-hearted now, are yah, fuckin' bitch?” Was all he had to say while leaning into where thick streams of tears rapidly ran down your cheeks in stingy streaks. “You scared?” He whispered in licks at your ear. “Gonna start begging, hm?”

You only shook – eyes squeezed tightly to a close.

“Nah…” His tone scraped, similar to how the shaven stubble on his chin scratched lightly against your neck as he started placing small kisses there despite your whines. “'Cause you want this too. I know you do.” He insisted. “You're just scared I'll break your little heart at some point.”

You’re breath hitched as his hands parted with its twin – leaving it to keep your wrists pinned by itself as the other one traveled down between your bodies to undo your zipper.

You wanted to say something, but you were too scared to – listening to him and his lovesick speech – full of so many things you feared could trigger much sicker things.

“But I promise you that no one’s heart is gonna break here.” He vowed, still with his lips pressed wetly against your throat. “Not yours or mine.”

BNHA – Bakugou, Shinso, Kirishima

JJK – Sukuna, Gojo

HQ – Kageyama, Kuro, Oikawa, Sakusa, Miya twins

BLLK – Reo, Isagi

AOT – Eren

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere smut #yancore #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #jjk smut #bnha smut #yandere bnha #mha smut #my hero smut #yandere csm #yandere aot

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 year

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UPDATE What's up, it's the proposal guy. You said you wanted to know how this turned out, so I figured I'd tell you. First some context though, because I'm mean and I wanna keep you in suspense longer.

1- I don't wanna doxx us so I'm not telling you where we live, but suffice to say, neither of us are American, and gay marriage has been legal here for less than five years. For both of us, this is the first relationship we've had where marriage was even an OPTION, and I think that's where we've been getting some of that whole 'this has to be a REAL proposal with EVERYTHING' idea.

2- I gotta figure out how to explain this properly. So, I'm pretty used to being the GUY guy in relationships? I was always the one who did the nice gestures, not the one they got done for. Before I met my dream guy, I didn't really notice or care that it was such a thing, I just assumed that's how shit worked. Also, I promised I wouldn't talk a lot about his stuff here, but his last boyfriend before me SUCKED. Anyway point here is, it turns out we both REALLY like feeling swept off our feet sometimes, and a big part of finding each other has been getting to feel special for once? That's a stupid sappy way of putting it the point here is I think all that's what morphed into "I need to be the one getting proposed to, also it has to be completely perfect", and then our Petty & Extra genes got involved.

So I'm sitting in bed thinking about all that up there, and watching all the comments coming in basically being like "Dude, you are BLOWING this" on repeat, and telling me to compromise, and I look up and see him flossing in the bathroom and making all these doofy faces at the mirror, and it's like a switch just flips in my brain, and I'm like "Oh, I'd rather he gets to have his perfect proposal than we both have an okay one". I'm gonna do it.

Morning rolls around, and while I'm 'out for my jog like normal' I hit up a pawn shop for a temp ring (the ring pop thing is cute but NOT HIM). I found one I was at least confident wouldn't get ruined the first time he got his hands greasy (he fixes old machines as a hobby it's hot as hell), got back home, and hid the box in the toe of my nasty ass workout shoes in the bedroom closet, since I figured he'd check there last.

He was still asleep, because he stays up late no matter what and then is SHOCKED he's tired the next day, so I called and booked a table at our usual anniversary spot. (Side note about the 'he picks bad restaurants' thing. This isn't an 'I like Greek, you like Chinese' situation, dude's just BAD at finding places. He either assumes pricey is tasty and I get to eat some overrated gourmet bullshit, or he'll try and find something hip and underground and risk giving us food poisoning again, and he REFUSES to give up and pick somewhere we've been before when it's his turn to plan date night. I'm obsessed with him <3.) Date was set, I'd propose on the 21st.

Some of you might have noticed this, but fun fact! It's currently the 16th.

Last night I'm doing dishes and he's been sent to our room for mug collection duty, and he's taking FOREVER, so I go check just in case he found the ring, because the man's a gift tracking BLOODHOUND. Turns out he hasn't, he's found my Angry Box.

I assume other people have an Angry Box? Basically, we had this huge messy fight right when we first moved in together, and I never wanna let it get that bad again, so I have this shoebox where I keep a bunch of our stuff I can look at if we're fighting and hopefully cool off. There's one of those photo booth roll things, letters we wrote when he moved back with his parents for COVID, the wine cork from our first date, shit like that. Anyway, he's just sitting on the floor staring at it, and I explain about the Angry Box, and then he! Proposes!!! Kind of.

He definitely didn't have anything prepared, because by 'propose' I mean 'ugly cried & rambled at me for several minutes before I figured out it WAS a proposal', but once I got on the same page it was amazing. I said yes, and he had to admit he didn't have a ring for me because he was CONVINCED he'd win and I'd do it, so I grabbed mine because, yeah, he was right. He was like "this is the ugliest ring I've ever seen" and I was like yeah well the plan is to replace it later and he went "No. You can pry this off my cold dead fingers. After I'm buried with it." So I guess it's not a temporary ring anymore.

I'm just gonna go ahead and skip to this morning. I pointed out we still have the reservation, and he said I should propose there anyway because "We can get a free dessert. They have those creme brulee shot glasses you like. And for love, or something" and I said ok deal, but that means you gotta get me a ring to keep it fair, and his eyes LIT UP. When I swung by his work for lunch he was still on the phone with a jeweler and he had a whole page of notes on three other ones. Pray for me.

OH PS: I was RIGHT that he'd been the one behind the cat biting me, but it wasn't about the proposal stuff, it's because I paid my baby sister three dollars to shout 'fuck you' every single time he enters a room she's in for (if you ask me, he should be madder at my sister for charging so little), and he did it by giving her a bunch of treats for biting his hands too, so now neither of us can pet our baby girl without oven mitts on. HOLY SHIT I love this man.

Oh my goddddddd I love everything about this <333 I awwww'd out loud on a voice call, like, six times while reading. You two are friggin perfect for each other and so obviously smitten with each other and I wish y'all all the happiness in the world

PS Are y'all planning to have a big wedding? If so oh boy I can't WAIT to get that one in the inbox

Original post

#aita #am i the asshole #aita update #the saga of proposal anon

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hungharrington · 9 months

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hi, gorgeous. currently daydreaming about steve’s innocent, shy girl climbing on top of him while he’s in a chair and she’s ready to ride him but his huge hands settle on her hips to stop her and she’s looking at him all confused and ready to do her part but he just says “just sit here and look pretty for me,” before he begins to absolutely pound into her, one hand on her hips and the other holding her jaw to make her look at him. he’s just praising the hell out of his little angel baby for taking him so good because he’s just so big. the mental image of his furrowed brows and clenched jaw as he watches her completely melt on his lap from pleasure has me clutching my peARLS

– sittin’ pretty

U KNOW WHAT!! UR THE DEVIL! THE DEVIL!! anyways this request had me feral the moment i started writing it… it gets a little soft at the end tho fem!reader, light choking, hella praise kink, what the request says basically <3 and around 1.7k MDNI this entire blog is 18+

It’s hard to press down your shyness as you tug the tight elastic of your underwear down your calves. They pool at your ankles. You step out of them and resist the urge to cave in and cover yourself.

“C’mon, c’mere sweet girl,” Steve says softly, his hands smoothing over the top of his tan hairy thighs. He pats them to urge you over.

Everything feels a bit stilted as you tiptoe over to the big comfy armchair he’s seated on, with his thighs parted. You can feel a surge of slick between your thighs at the sight of his aching cock, the head all pink and drippy just for you. It lies back against his happy trail, the vein on the side prominent.

Steve offers you his hand, palm up. You take it and let your knees gently find either side of his hips, hovering hesitantly above him. Heat swirls between you, mixing with the fog of lust that emanates heavily from Steve. His adoring face gazes up at you, but his are eyes dark in a way that makes your tummy twist up.

“Hi, pretty.” He murmurs, guiding your face down for a kiss. You sigh into it sweetly, hands gripping his shoulders.

“Hi.” You whisper back, against his lips. His kiss and reverent gaze give you courage, leaning back to plant one hand on his knee. Your other hand reaches between your two bodies and curls around his throbbing cock. It’s warm and hard, twitching at the sudden stimulation. Steve hisses lowly, his tummy flexing as pleasure jolts through him.

Even though you’re shy, that doesn’t mean you’re not impatient. Today, there will be no working him up til he’s begging to be inside you, no matter how much you desperately want to. Instead, you waste no time, tilting your hips forward to let the head of his cock catch against your entrance in a way that makes you moan. Your thighs ache a little with the slow pace you lower yourself — but Steve’s cock is always a stretch.

It stings, just the slightest, but enough to make you revel in it. You sink down, hand shifting forward to hold his hip to prop yourself up, and your eyes flutter shut in pure ecstasy as his hard cock stretches you open— unaware of how Steve fights to keep his eyes open, drinking in every minuscule expression on your face.

“That’s it, honey,” He coos, sweeping his hand up your hip to tug you down an inch more. You mewl, body shuddering as you clench around him. It feels fucking mind-melting how good he feels filling you up. “That’sssss it.”

You’re whimpering by the time he’s fully hilted in you, your thighs pressed down against his own. Steve’s panting a bit, hairy chest rising and falling as he struggles to keep himself in control. You’re so wet, so warm, and god, you’re still so shy even when you’re sitting on his cock — averting your eyes even as your tight little hole clenches around him. When did he get so lucky?

Try as you might, there’s not stopping the pitiful gasp that comes out when you lift yourself back up, his cock gliding almost all the way out of your cunt. You can feel the mess you’re already making on him, can already feel the subtle ache in your thighs but none of it deviates you from your plan. You’re going to ride your boyfriend like there’s no fucking tomorrow.

But right as you prep yourself to sink back down, Steve’s hands stop you, shooting out to grab you by the hips. You pause. Shyness creeps back in.

“Wha…? Is something wrong?” You ask.

Steve’s quick to comfort, one of his hands reaching up to cup your cheek. “Hey, hey, everything’s fine. I just—“ He shift his hips up a bit and you shiver, eyes fluttering closed without thinking. When you open them again, he’s grinning.

“I just want you to sit here and look pretty for me, hm?” He leans up to kiss your cheek and it makes you entirely too distracted for what happens.

His tummy clenches, muscles tightening, as his hips suddenly snap up, thrusting his cock back deep into you. You squeal.

“Steve!” Your hands propel forward, grasping his shoulders, but he doesn’t pause. His hands on your hips tighten as he holds you in place, drilling up into your wet cunt, hard and fast. Pleasure dribbles through your core, hot and melty. His thighs slap against your own, causing them to buckle and you sink down a little lower — only forcing his cock deeper inside you.

You whine, all of a sudden overwhelmed, and tuck your face away— all too aware of how every time he fucks up into you, you make a needy little uh.

And, well, that just won’t do. With one hand keeping your hips secure, his other wanders up, creeping in around your neck. Even as he fucks you roughly, his touch is still gentle. His big hands can stretch across the expanse of your jaw— and he uses it to coax your head up. You’re already looking teary eyed, warm enough in the face that he can feel it with his hand, all from how much you’re enjoying it. Steve loves it.

“Baby,” He manages to rasp out sweetly. You gasp, hiccupy and high pitched, embarrassed by the wet squelchy noises he’s fucking out of your cunt. “Look at you, my baby. Doing so good for me, huh? Taking it so well, angel.”

You lean into the hand around your throat further, letting him curl his fingers around it a bit tighter. One of your hands flies up to grasp his wrist, needing, craving the connection.

“Steve,” you cry, delirious from the pleasure. His cock fills you over and over, unravelling you from the inside. “Steve,” You repeat his name uselessly, mouth hanging open as a whiney moan takes over.

“I know, I know.” He coos, sweet as he can be while ruining you on his cock. He’s got a furrow in his brow, his jaw set, perfect brown eyes searching your face— always looking for which button to press next, which way to make it better for you. God, you love him.

“So fucking good, isn’t it angel?” He grunts. “Perfect fuckin’ cunt, just made to take my cock, isn’t she?”

“Yes!” you keen, the words tearing from your mouth. “Yes, yes, yes, fuck,” Pathetic whimpery noises flow out freely, your grip around his wrist tightening as you feel heat gather low in your tummy.

“G-God, fuck,” Steve groans, the first hint of desperation leaking into his words. His hand around your throat tightens in the slightest, a soft pressure that has your head spinning. “Can fucking feel you getting close.”

His words make you moan, your thighs slipping further down — your hand shoots out to brace against the arm of the chair, desperate to keep him going, to reach your peak.

“Your—“ A whimper slips into his voice. “Fuck. Your pussy gets all tight when she wants to cum— y’wanna cum?”

You’re nodding along before he’s even finished his sentence. With how hard he’s fucking you, hips thrusting up against yours, it’s a wonder he can even see it. You whimper out a “Yes.” just in case.

“I know you do.” He groans loudly. “Deserve to, too. You’ve been so good, so fucking good, yeah?”

His hand holding your hip slips forward, snaking towards your clit and pleasure twists the coil in your tummy up tighter and tighter. His rough thumb pushes against it, sloppy but effective. You wail.

“Y’deserve to cream all over my cock like a good girl, don’t you?” He rasps, throat a bit wrecked from every sweet sultry noise thats passes his lips.

You’re not even sure if it’s words coming out your mouth anymore, just a whiney mess of yes’s tangled up in your moans. Steve whines, the rhythm of his strokes beginning to falter as his own orgasm begins to rear up. You whine and your hips move on their own accord— bouncing down on his cock to meet his thrusts midway.

“Yes, yes, fuck, you’re so good, y’look fucking perfect bouncing on my cock,” Steve rambles, that perfect pussy-drunk expression beginning to take over him. His moans turn to whines and with one desperate whimper of your name, you topple like a house of cards.

Pleasure unravels you. Your hips stutter and drop down, trying to cram every inch of Steve into you as you can, while your other hand claws weakly at his tummy. Heat scorches every nerve inside you, delicious and overwhelming all at once.

The scratch of your nails, the clench of your wet cunt, the pitiful crying noise you make, all of it sets Steve off — his back arching and hips bucking up, trying to get more of your hot, wet pussy. His face screws up, a high whine tearing out his throat as his hands grapple to circle around your back, trying to get you closer.

It’s a sweat press of skin, chest to chest. You twitch and moan, face tucked away safely in his neck, as Steve lets all his noises out into the curve of your own. It’s deeply intimate — enough to make your shyness peek back up when Steve digs his face out after a minute of laboured breathing. His face is pink, his expression blissful.

“You,” He huffs tiredly, eyes scanning your face worriedly. “You okay? Wasn’t too rough?”

You melt a bit, a breathy laugh escaping you. “Yeah, I’m okay.” You chuckle. Nerves rear their ugly head within you before you can flatten them. “Was I— that was good?” You check.

Steve laughs softly, nuzzling in closer to you. He smells fantastic. You can’t help how you mirror him, nosing along his cheek, letting your eyes slip shut.

“Baby, I think you melted my brain.” He says, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

#i became my own number one enemy: they fuck for almost no time at all but came so quickly #BUT #it’s beddie byes #u guys can just pretend they were already fucking on the bed before this #and changed positions <3 #jay writes #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader smut

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