#if I get better at it I’ll try to draw a whole outfit!

[jinjeriffic]

DCxDP Prophecy universe

(Title subject to change)

Sometimes Danny really hated Clockwork. You’ll know him when you see him. “Cryptic and unhelpful as usual”, Danny groused. “You’d think the Master of Time could be a little more descriptive considering it’s his damned errands I’m running here, but noooo! I’m starting to think this whole apprenticeship is just an excuse to foist his busywork off on me.”

Here Danny was, aimlessly flying above the rooftops of Gotham, trying to figure out who he was supposed to be delivering his message to. He had a name, but no description and no location. I’ll know him when I see him my ass. Whoever this Damian Al-Ghul was supposed to be had better stick out like a sore thumb or Danny was never gonna find him. Speaking of…

Danny paused in mid-air. There was someone crouching on a nearby rooftop, peering over the edge. He was young, wearing a red and yellow outfit with a dark hooded cape. He wore a sheathed sword on his back that looked way too real to be part of some casual cosplay. Welp, if this ain’t him then Clockwork picked the wrong errand boy. Now, how best to approach this?

Danny considered his options. The cloak and apprentice staff Clockwork had loaned him gave him a suitably spooky appearance on top of his usual ghostliness but he wasn’t gonna go around scaring kids, armed or not. The friendly approach it is then.

“Hey there!”

Wow, the kid had some good reflexes. At the sound of Danny’s voice he jumped as if electrocuted, spinning around and drawing his sword in one smooth movement. He held the sword in front of himself in a defensive position and his stance showed that he knew how to use it. “Who the hell are you?” he barked.

“Easy there” Danny raised his hands in a placating gesture “I’m just here to deliver a message. I’m looking for someone named Damian Al-Ghul. You wouldn’t happen to be him, right?”

A deepening scowl was his only answer. “I repeat, who the hell are you?”

Danny sighed “Look kid, I’m just trying to do my job here. I have a prophecy to deliver, so if you’re not this Damian fella…” he trailed off invitingly.

“A… prophecy?” the kid hesitated before lowering his sword slightly, scowl still firmly in place.

“Yep” Danny popped the end of the word for emphasis “Phantom, apprentice to the Ghost of Time and part-time delivery spectre, at your service” he threw the kid a mock salute. “My Boss told me to come to Gotham to give a prophecy to you’ll know him when you see him” he dropped his voice to a lower register and made airquotes around the words, “and you’re the only memorable person I’ve seen tonight, so…” Danny spread his arms in exasperation.

The kid hesitated visibly before letting his sword hand drop to his side. “I am the one you’re looking for.”

“Great! Hang on.” Danny pulled a messenger bag out from under his cloak and started rummaging around in it, causing the kid (Damian?) to twitch “Now where did I put..? Aha!” Danny pulled out a faintly glowing envelope in triumph. It had a large purple wax seal on it and Damian Al-Ghul written in elegant cursive across the back. Danny floated closer and held out the envelope to the kid.

“The prophecy… is a letter?” Damian drawled, eyebrows rising in disbelief. Danny shrugged.

“What, did you expect a dancing, singing telegram? I only do those for the really good tippers” he shook the envelope slightly “So, are you gonna take this or what?”

Damian finally reached out and took the letter, turning it over to scrutinise both sides. Danny tucked his bag back under his cloak and rose into the air.

“Right, I’ve got other errands to get done, so… see ya!” he turned to leave.

“Wait”

Danny turned back to face the kid and to his surprise, saw that Damian was holding out some folded bills towards him.

“You know the tipping thing was a joke, right?”

“Tt. I am told it is rude not to tip delivery people” Damian sniffed “I am simply acting within expected social norms”

“Wow, um… okay” Danny took the folded bills from Damian. It looked like it would last him for a couple of good meals and he wasn’t exactly swimming in money, okay? Ghost apprentice wasn’t exactly a paid internship. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome” came the haughty reply.

Danny shrugged and tucked the money into his bag. He rose back into the air with Damian’s eyes tracking his movement. With a wave of his staff, he opened a portal back to Clockwork’s realm and passed through it leaving Gotham behind.

****

Robin’s hand rose to the communicator in his ear.

“Oracle, did you get all that?”

Now has a Part 2!

[nichuuu]

Scatterbrain

Word count: 18k+

They say it takes a village to raise a child. 

To raise a girl as fine as Jang Wonyoung, you’d probably need 3 whole villages.

Two of those three villages would be used to train the way she walks because it’s perfect: classy, poised, elegant. The other one would have to work on her outfits because god would she need those. Hopefully the village doesn’t operate a Shein style manufacturing line. She’d hate that.

Her face is the definition of “striking the gene pool lottery”, and so is the rest of her body. Lanky arms and legs; toned, slim tummy; big, bright eyes that glimmer under the flashing lights. Personally, you like her “you’re on camera” smile the most. She knows this, and she always makes it a point to shoot it your way as she struts towards you. She stops half way to get a flute of Champagne, make that two actually, then grabs another. Those long legs can cover one hell of a distance, and they bring her right to you in a matter of seconds.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” she hands you the Champagne flute in her left hand, and the rings on it shine in the light, “cause it’s starting to feel like you’re just stalking me now.”

Of course, it’s the snarky remarks that open the conversation. Jang Wonyoung, airheaded as ever m’lady, and you sip on the Bubbly that she’s very nicely delivered to you. Wonyoung is, of course, a little bit of an airhead in your books (only because she believes that you’re always there for her, nothing else), and it’s never not hilarious to watch her draw her lips into a thin line. It’s not the first time she’s hearing this from you; it certainly won’t be the last. You can’t control where you’re posted to, but you know for a fact that you’ll see her again a couple months down the road.

Cause your meetings with Jang Wonyoung are through pure serendipity really, and you certainly will start calling it that after you read that one story. You know: the one where this guy cheats on his idol girlfriend, who he has a tense relationship with, with another idol that he happens to meet just about everywhere. There’s 0 communication between the two of you when these types of events come around, and neither of you know if either of you will be there or not. Actually, it’s just you really; neither of you know if you will be there. 

“Here for Kwon Eunbi again? Or are you finding someone else?” This question of her’s is customary at this point. Never once has it been perfunctory.

“Well, I was actually here to try and catch an interview with Jo Yuri, but I guess you’ll do,” you reply. Wonyoung scoffs—so I’m second place then?—and you have to assuage her oh-so-damaged ego, “you’re making this inference on your own Princess. I never said anything remotely close to that.”

And it’s that smile on her face that makes you want to kiss her really. It’s gorgeous, it’s cute, it’s beautiful. She’s given you that damned smile so many times that you could probably draw it from memory, though you’d definitely butcher it. The dress is certainly doing it justice, and you watch it brush against the skin of her legs as she shifts her weight to the other foot. I’ve never been that good at inferences. You’re far better than me, Prince, and she’s playing with her hair: twirling and untwirling it around her finger. That ribbon atop her head… Her stylist certainly knows their stuff.

“Think I’ll win an award this year?” Her question draws you away from your thorough examination of her. You take a moment to think, and you have to say, it depends, but I think you could definitely get something in some category. She gives you this inscrutable look, and she’s chuckling to herself as she looks at the crowd and sips on her champagne. You can guess what she’s about to say next: quite the crowd today, huh? And you’d reply, “Don’t think that they’re all here for you”, and that would prompt her to shoot back with, “Then who are they here for? You?”. 

But of course, when do things ever go according to plan?

“Have you thought about my offer?” she asks, and you’re caught off guard. 

Cause here’s the history between you two: Middle school best friends, always kind of inseparable. She was the beauty queen, it girl, and she still is; you were the writer, head of the school magazine, and you’re pretty much writing for the rest of your life. Wherever you went with her, rumours followed—Are they dating? I think they’re just friends. Maybe she’s trying to be the front of the magazine?—but you never thought much of it. It was just a simple friendship to you, nothing more. 

Then the kiss she gave you in high school changed it all.

It was a party, hosted by one of your mutual friends. She kissed you, and no, it wasn’t a Spin The Bottle forfeit, nor was it a dare of any sort; it was a sincere, tender kiss in the garden—unprompted, and away from any prying eyes and soft like silk chiffon. You have to admit, the sensation had your brain mired for a minute or so. But when you came back to your senses, you kissed her right back, and things got complicated after that. 

No one knew of it; it was your little secret. Wonyoung became closer than ever, and next thing you know, she declares the two of you “exclusive” but not dating. It’s because her agency has that funky dating ban thing, and Wonyoung was desperate to find a loophole, albeit a little complex. Of course, you’re willing to stay “exclusive” with Wonyoung in secret, but you started to worry that it can’t stay this way for long after the two of you get out of high school. 

But as fate would have it, your career paths meet at the crossroads, and now you see her every other month or so. You still text her when you can, and the “exclusive” relationship has sustained. Now that she’s an adult and she’s bringing in mad bucks for the agency, she’s informed you of some changes in her contact. From there, the offer was birthed, and you have left it unchecked for the past four months or so, “grey ticked” as she liked to call it.

“You haven’t texted in a while, thought you died,” she continues, leaning on her elbows against the table. “Thank god you’re alive, huh?”

You hoped that she’d just forget about it, but she’s more of a mnemonist than you give her credit for. An award show is the last place you expected to be caught off guard by Jang Wonyoung, but she’s definitely a master of surprise. I uh… I haven’t really thought about it, is a lie you tell her and yourself. She smiles enigmatically, downs the rest of her Champagne. 

“Let’s talk about it tonight,” she touches your chest, and it’s soft like silk chiffon, “you know where to find me, Prince.”

She struts off to join the rest of her members, stops halfway to return her Champagne flute, then looks back at you over her shoulder to give you a small wave. You sip on your Champagne as the silk brushes against her skin. 

It’s a heavy breath that leaves your mouth, and it’s the rest of the Champagne that goes in.

*

302.

Gold lettering, black plaque. It’s grand, pretty elegant. Suits her well. 

Then the door opens. 

In her bathrobe, Jang Wonyoung shoots her “you’re on camera” smile. You’re earlier than expected—she lets you in—Matter of fact, I thought you might not show at all.

And it’s a must to quip back, “thought you’d be asleep by now you big baby.”

When the door closes, it’s straight to work, and here’s how that normally goes: kissing, undressing, foreplay, then finally—fucking. Not that it has to follow that order or anything, but it’s the unspoken schedule that Wonyoung’s written up. God forbid anyone goes against what the princess is comfortable with, not that you’d ever try to either way. Your voice is barely a mumble past her lips—aren’t we supposed to talk about something?—and Wonyoung’s quick to dismiss any queries, “later. There’s always time for it later”. 

So it’s the kiss that’s pulling you back into her. Her front teeth capture your bottom lip, pull, drags it back a little like she’s trying to unwrap you like a present. You hold her waist, and with gentle hands, you push her back against the wall. It’s not that you’re trying to get control or anything; you’re just attempting to give her something to work with, a place to rest as she starts to work on the buttons of your shirt. 

“Are you already naked underneath that?” you whisper, though it’s more of a drawl than a whisper. In response, she momentarily stops with your buttons to slide a section of her bathrobe away, giving you a good look at a column of her naked, milky skin. 

In short: Yes, she is very much naked under that robe.

“Don’t get distracted, my prince. Eyes up here.”

“You’re the one that made me look, princess.”

She’s evidently struggling with the last button of your shirt, and you have to let go of her for a moment to help her get it done. Then it’s off with the shirt, and she flings it against the door for convenience sake. Your belt’s next, and that’s taken care of before you can even say, let me undress you Princess. It does make her hesitate at the clasp of your trousers for a bit. Just for a bit.

“I’d like,” her fingers are moving again, and they’re awfully quick at unfastening your pants, “for you to unwrap me on the bed instead.”

How raunchy of her. Makes you want to try her on.

Your pants fall. Your hand slithers into the bathrobe. Her jaw drops. Wonyoung my darling, and your fingers have captured one of those perky breasts, the right one to be exact. How do you ever—it’s light pressure to the nipple for you; it’s mind melting for her—get away with being such a big slut? Look at you, I’m barely even squeezing here. You’d like to save that face she makes in a supercut of her other memorable faces: eyes wide, mouth agape and her chin tucked into her neck. Frame it up, take a step back, admire it. It’s the face of someone who’s pent up, the expression of a needy girl who’s been aching to get some dick. Maybe if you guys had met a little sooner, she wouldn’t be this sensitive. But now? A twist of your forefinger and thumb is all it takes to draw a cry out of her, a little more pressure is enough to rain hellfire upon her. What a crazy-hot mess she is; only god knows how to clean her up and get her sorted out.

Open mouth straight to your ear, Wonyoung lets out a breathy gasp. In your fingers, the stiff peak rolls between the pads—back, forth, back, forth: motions that make her weak in her knees. It’s with great effort that she pulls your face back to hers, captures you in her quivering lips. Elegance has long been thrown out the window by now, and it’s not going to be returning for quite some time, as if you ever need it at a time like this. She’s barely holding herself up at this point. Where did the prim proper Jang Wonyoung go? 

The answer’s in her kiss—gone, dusted, she was here just a minute ago though. She’s grasping at whatever inch of your skin she can find, and her nails are definitely gonna be leaving marks on the sides of your neck. You let out a small, wry laugh as you silently observe her behaviour, watching her implore without speaking, badger without requesting. It’s an art form really, the form of expression for the horny and desperate and bratty. When her hands grip your face and her nails sink into your cheek, you pinch a little harder and relish the pleasant vibrations that are sent into your mouth as she gasps. Her palms press into your jaw, and they’d probably crush it if you press any harder. Her feet patter against the wood as she starts to direct you to the bed. You kick off your shoes together with your pants. 

It’s definitely a sight to take in: Jang Wonyoung in a massive king size bed, a thin bathrobe being the only thing between you and that wonderful body being the bathrobe. Maybe if she wasn’t in this state she’s in, she’d gesture to you with a come hither motion, and invite you to remove the fabric from her body. Instead, she opts for a spine tingling mewl, and that’s your invitation to her body. It’s hardly an insinuation; the fact that she wants to be unwrapped like a present is undeniable, she used the word unwrap herself. The bunny knot holding the two pieces of fabric is symmetrical—has Wonyoung’s fingerprints all over it. If it weren’t for the fact that she’s watching you with a half-open mouth, maybe you’d compliment her on her efforts a little, maybe even call her “princess” a couple more times before you properly ruin her.

(But she’s already ruined, ruined by a mere bit of pressure to the nipple. What else can make her tick now?)

Her body is at your mercy and it, quite literally, jerks as you start to pull at the knot, undoing it centimetre by centimetre, millimetre by millimetre, inch by inch. You want to see how long she can watch for, how long she can witness herself be undressed in a painfully slow fashion. Needy as she is, she’s patient as she watches one end of the rope grow longer. 

Longer. 

“Do you want me to speed this up, baby?” The smirk on your face would earn you a pout from her if her nerves weren’t in a bundle at the given moment.

“W-Whatever you want,” she answers, and her voice is brimming with breathy arousal. How are you getting away with all this? She’d grab your wrist and pull by now if she wasn’t so damn needy right now.

You give a dry laugh. “Then I’ll keep at this then.”

Longer.

“Fuck. Just pull it all the way already.” She looks you right in the eye as she begs you to hurry, and now you can see the need brimming in those large, round eyes, the ones that stare back at you with soft intensity, if that’s even possible. She’s good at mixing emotions into her stare.

“I thought you said—”

“Just fucking do it!”

Slack.

And the knot comes undone, and together with it, the robe falls off to the sides of her body—it’s beautiful. Never have you taken so much pleasure in undressing her, but you sure-as-hell have taken this much time to admire that wonderful, slender frame. From your standing view over her, you get down to her level to get a better look at her. It’s all part of the game of course: the way you look her in the eye, the way you touch her jaw ever so slightly to turn it towards you. The kiss is sickly sweet, and she’s starting to taste more and more like that cherry lipstick you gave her when you saw her some time ago at another event. Into your mouth, she lets out a sonorous moan. Your fingertips brush along her skin, slither down from her collarbone to her cleavage—down to that flushed pink region between her equally flushed thighs. Almost instantly, the tip of your digits are coated in slick fluids, and you raise an eyebrow at the girl on the bed.

“I literally touched you.” It’s amusement permeating your voice more than anything. In the sheets, she squirms in the slightest, eyes locked on your fingers that rest against that dripping heat and breath caught in her throat. You know that if you were to shift your finger in the slightest, you’d trigger a chain reaction that you have no power over. Her legs would clamp, her abdomen would tense, her eyes would roll. In the midst of it all, she’d maybe scream, or maybe she’d moan; either way goes. As far as you’re concerned, she’s needy as fuck at the moment, and she’s not going to let anything stop her from cumming.

“Yea, well… I can be sensitive.” Her defence is hardly a solid one, more of a perfunctory reply. Her head’s far from able to formulate a quip to throw back at you; that ability went out the window together with classy Wonyoung. “Put them in.”

You go against her request, and your fingers start to skirt the edges of that swollen, pink slit of hers. A crime—you’re going against the princess’ wishes, but realistically speaking: she can hardly be called a princess at the moment, so why comply? 

A portion of the bathrobe is still clinging on to her breast. You use your other hand to push it away, and the split second of contact makes her flinch. “Jesus. You’re so fucking turned-on right now,” you can’t help but muse, all while your fingers retrace te outline of her swollen lips. She’s shivering, she isn’t breathing quite right. “Do you want to moan, baby? Do you want to moan like a good little slut for me?”

And she fixes you with a glare. “F-Fuck you… Put them in.”

No “please” this time. Shame. If she were more polite, you would’ve obliged; now you’ll just have some more fun with her. 

Your thumb finds the swollen nub, and a little brush is all you need to get her straining like a psycho in a straitjacket. What will I ever do with you Wonyoung?—and she’s getting wetter by the second—You look so pretty when you’re so needy, you know that?—why would you ever, for a second, think that she’d be as refined as the last time? She doesn’t play with herself when she needs to get off; she waits till she sees you again to get off on your cock, your fingers, your mouth. Sexting was off the table, she wants you to be physically there, driving her insane as she lets herself come undone. 

“You know,” and you’re almost laughing as you watch her face twist even further, “that I could do this forever right? I could just lie here, tease you for as long as I want… Or maybe that’s what you want?

She’s messy, so fucking messy. Juices are starting to soak the bed—you can feel it as your fingertips round the bottom of her slit. Housekeeping would certainly question the spot, and the two of you wouldn’t be there to reply anyway. Her cheeks are flushed, the veins of her throat are popping. It takes a considerable amount of effort to stay this composed, but you know that she’s breaking more and more. With each round your fingers make, cracks start to form along that perfectly sculpted face. The fine lines on her forehead begin to show as her brows start to furrow. Strained sounds are coming from her throat as the urge to moan is slowly winning the battle against her will. She wants control, but she can’t have it when she’s a wet, hot mess next to you. She’s being bratty for the sake of it. Your fingers are your leverage against her. It’s killing her. It’s delighting you.

And just like fine China thrown against concrete, her will shatters. 

“Please! Put them in!”

And your fingers stop just at the top of her pussy. It feels like a long minute, but she isn't about to take another second of this. Her thighs clamp against your arm. Her fingers wrap around your wrist in desperation. She begs again. And again. And again. And again, again, again. The bed starts to creak as you start to move your fingers down her lips, down to the very end of her cunt.

God is she dripping.

“Will you moan for me?” you drawl huskily. A finger, two, three rest themselves against her heat. 

“Yes.” There’s barely any of her original self left in there. “Please just—”

The fingers breach her opening. She screams, a high-pitched, keening cry. The noise makes your cock strain in your boxers, and you have to grit your teeth as her inner walls wrap tightly around your intruding digits. A moment of stillness comes, a moment where she’s just breathing raggedly, struggling to process this pleasure that’s racking her body faster than she can comprehend. She’s a ticking time bomb of nerves; the slightest movement in this state could send her into perdition, and she’ll barrel past that point of no return faster than both of you can imagine. God, she’s sensitive. God, she’s a mess. 

The chuckle that departs from your mouth is one of perverse pleasure. “Baby,” you whisper, right into her ear as she struggles to catch her breath. She squeezes her eyes shut, and you watch with a grin as her chest rises and falls. The grip on your wrist is a vice, knuckle-white and unrelenting. She’s begging you, with her eyes, to start moving, and you have to tell her, “I can’t start till you let go of me, baby.”

And it’s with reluctance that she slips her hand off your wrist, but that hand won’t stay empty for long. You guide it to her own breast, and with a soft whisper, you tell her to squeeze. She’s servile. She complies without protest. Her eyes slowly open themselves, and you relish the way they’re lust-glazed appearance looks under warm light while her breaths level themselves out. For a moment, there’s calm. For a moment, it’s tender.

Then your fingers start to move. All hell breaks loose.

Everything she did to calm herself quickly becomes futile; it becomes undone as her back arches in a way that catches your breath in your throat. Your fingers graze her walls, pressed into each other as they slowly draw in and out of her. And mind you: you’re going slow, slow enough to make her feel every bit of your fingers brush against her insides. But it’s enough to make her curse, enough to get her mewling like a damn kitten while her hips start to rock, rubbing her clit against the base of your palm. There’s no way to describe how needy she looks; her want is beyond words, and you’ve barely even started. Three fingers is the most you’ve ever put inside her. Clearly, it’s working wonders for her.

And now you yourself have to admit: you’ve wanted her for some time now. Since the last time you saw her, you’ve fantasised about that slim tummy twitching, about holding that snatched waist once more, about those long legs wrapped around your neck while your tongue and fingers turn her into a pliant plaything. For weeks, you’ve wanted nothing more than pulling Jang Wonyoung apart, reduce her into a withering mess wherever you guys are and get her screaming till she’s sore. You can’t even begin to describe what you’ve done with her in your dreams, nor can you ever convey how it feels to desire her as much as you have. So, you put all of it into action, sordid sentiments channelled into your fingers that are making those cute features twist and contort in perverse pleasure. She’s rambunctious, and her juices are quite literally soaking your hand, spilling the strongest sillage of lust all over the bed. 

“Why do you always have to be so fucking messy?” You’re really just trying to see how much you can get away with at this point, though the answer seems to be: just about everything. Your fingers start moving faster. You love the way her cheeks are starting to flush even more. “Are you always this wet? Or is it just for me?”

The squelching is lewder than you can ever imagine. The sound of her slick, wet heat being breached by your fingers is enthralling. Add the sounds she’s making into that and you have the ultimate erotica audio that can bless mankind. She’s panting, she’s moaning, she’s whining—she’s doing it all really, and you’re just using your fingers. God knows how she’ll react once you’re inside of her, rock hard meat stretching her out instead of a few fingers fiddling around in warm walls. 

But hey, the sounds she’s making are ever so erotic, and she’s definitely making your blood flow to all the right places. She feels out of place; you can’t put your finger on what’s wrong in this whole thing. It’s probably a small detail, something you’d overlook over the sight of her chest heaving as air shoots out and gets sucked back into her mouth, her whole body straining and convulsing against the bed while you get a thumb on her clit and rub at a languid tempo. Probably something miniscule, not worth mentioning because all your attention is focused on the look on her face (you want to mess up the makeup so badly it’s almost frustrating). And no, you’re not trying to make her cum in five seconds; she’s just really riled up—bundle of nerves and trigger happy. Probably hasn’t been treated this way in a while, probably hasn’t had three fingers twisting around, sliding in and out of that tight wet hole slow enough to make her feel every bit of skin against her walls; fast enough to make her combust if you were to speed up, in, like, forever. 

“I–I…” She’s quite literally mewling, and the sharpness in her voice is so cutting that it makes an incision in a bag inside you that’s keeping all the perverse thoughts at bay. The thoughts are leaking out now, and it’s almost impossible to stuff them back in. You want her against the glass: tits against the window and ass in your hands while you pump and pump and pump into that slick tight hole; you want nothing more but to pick her up and have her lock her legs around you, tight frame flushed against you while you nail her against one of these walls that surround you; you want to unhinge that jaw and watch that pretty mouth—now parted to let the stream of moans flow—take your cock in and out between those kiss-swollen lips and watch the drool leak out the corners of her mouth. Shit. It’s killing you. Jang Wonyoung, dolled up. She’s killing you. 

(No way in hell are thighs meant to be this hot, and lips are not  supposed to look this delicious. Yet Jang Wonyoung somehow goes against every fucking norm, fights it naturally and effortlessly and wins like a seasoned warrior. So just for her case: her thighs can be this hot and flushed, and her lips can look this fucking appetising. You kiss her; it’s sloppy, it’s lewd, it’s hot and everything in between. Mark her neck, mark that row of skin above her right collarbone, mark her everywhere. Cusses are flying—god forbid her agency finds out about the things hse says while she’s getting fingered. She's making a mess out of herself. She’s making a mess out of you.

Fingers, just fingers and she’s already looking like this: hair fanned out, frazzled, looking like she just went through a car wash and yet somehow has her make-up intact. Fuck. You want to watch the mascara run, watch it streak while she tears up as she’s choking down cum and she’s struggling to take in air. Pretty little princess, messy and glacially being turned into some improper slut. It’s hard to not smirk while you ruin her with the same fingers you use to type articles about her—fingers that sing praises and can also make her moan enough to make her throat hoarse.)

The rhythm of your hand makes her body roll. Her toes–painted over, fresh manicure—curl into the sheets. Doe-like eyes stare back at you, plump red lips part to gasp your name, throat muscles strain trying to  curse and moan at the same time. The fingers are gliding in and out and in and out and she’s begging you to not stop (like hell you ever would) in those choke up little sobs while she’s—

Oh fuck baby I can’t I can’t I can’t — Anything. I’ll do anything. Please just let me cum. I’m so fucking close baby. Please just let me fucking cum. I’ll be a good girl. I-I promise I’ll be a good fucking girl for you just… Fuck!

—blue screening on your fingers: lost in the sauce or whatever. Pliant plaything, docile doll. You’re certain she hasn’t gotten off in at least a month if the way she’s taking it is any sort of yardstick. She’s far beyond drenched, far beyond salvation and way off the deep end of the “needy” pool—drowning herself in her own sea of sighs and gasps and moans and loose phonics that slip out of her mouth. Ostinato of your fingers squelching in her cunt; half time rhythm of the creaky bed; melody of the chorus of Jang Wonyoung’s voice—music to your ears.

And there’s lots to unpack from the moment you locate that soft spot at the top of her pussy. There’s a lot of cussing, a lot of jolting, a fair amount of whining and your name is thrown somewhere in that mix. You find her lips, she kisses back, one of her hands grabs your arm, nails dig in and stay there. Flurry of actions, filthy language—fucking hell, someone stop her.

Bottom line: lots of action. You find it congenial to start from the part where it quite literally ends her world. Once your digits curled up into that sensitive patch of flesh, it was all over for her.

You can pinpoint the exact moment where the orgasm rips through her body, the exact moment where her muscles seized so perfectly that her back arches. The pulse around your fingers is strong, walls tight around your digits and your thumb gently rubbing on her clit while the pleasure rolls through her body, molten iron libido converting the feeling between her thighs to electricity that makes her short circuit. The moan is breathy if anyone’s asking, and the look on her face—twisted, perverse satisfaction: superimposing need and want—has a whole foot over the line of pornographic. Wires are fraying in her head, her vocal cords are strained, she’s ruining the sheets with her juices; you’re complicit in every damn part of this, and guilt is the last thing on your mind.

Then her back falls back flat against the mattress, and the sheets ripple as her body makes a dense thump against the bed, punctuating the sigh she releases into the air. Nerves are unbundling themselves. She’s sweaty and panting. Your fingers are beyond soaked.

“Messy,” you muse, slowly drawing your juice slicked fingers out of her cunt. You bring them to her mouth. She languidly tastes herself, sweat-darkened sheets hugging the muscles of her shoulders and lining her ribs. She looks so tiny in the bed if you looked over the fact that her legs were dangling over the edge of the mattress, and that’s easy to do once you lean in for a kiss.

(It’s not hard to slip your tongue into her mouth, and there’s barely any fight left in her as you roll her nipple between your index finger and thumb. The sweat-matted hair sticking to her forehead adds a nice touch to her face.)

“Such a good girl.” Your tone is warm as you praise her, and a hand moves to cup her cheek in an act of tenderness. Her eyelids flutter shut. She puts the weight of her face into your palm. 

“Do I get my reward now?” she whispers, and it’s more of a plea than a question really. You take a moment, not to think, but to drag out the suspense for a little more before you give her an answer. You take guilty pleasure in knowing that you could keep her on tenterhooks for the whole night—the only thing stopping you is the throbbing of your cock in your boxers and the look of sheer need on her face. If you could: you’d drag this out a little longer, maybe tease her a little and call her more names. You still could do that, but you’d much rather fuck her instead. 

“Where do you want it?” your thumbs hook into the waistband of your boxers and hook them down. Your cock springs free from its cottons confines, and Wonyoung’s eyes instantly dart to it. She may be a little obsessed with your cock, but only a little when she’s depraved (which is right now). Before you can even react, she has your shaft in her hand, lanky fingers wrapped around it and pumping it with considerate strokes. 

“I want a big load in my ass.” she requests, far from innocent and banking more towards improper, which seems to be a pretty big theme of hers tonight. “I’ve been wanting to feel daddy’s  hot load leaking out of my ass for a long time…” The strokes delivered to your length grow firmer and firmer by the second. “Please?”

The spikes of pleasure her small hand delivers to your system is really making it hard to say no at the given moment. Of course, she’s well aware of it, and she’s definitely feeling so damn smug right now. And so with a very clouded mind, you nod. She smiles smugly, unaware that you’re about to fuck that smug little smirk rig of her pretty face. Conveniently, she’s already on her back—it’ll make the process so much easier. 

“I take it that the lube is in your bag?” You raise. She grins and nods. 

Sure enough, you find it in the exact same place as it usually is: side pocket, right next to her lipstick. You toss it towards her and move around her, slip her ankles over her shoulders. She lies still, unmoving and obedient as her left calf goes past her head, then her right. You lean forward, and she gasps as she's almost bent her completely in half. She’s flexible; this position won’t bring any harm to her, but it is congenial to ruin her asshole and leave her sore for the next day or so, which is exactly what she wants, but probably not how she imagined herself getting it. She cracks open the lube, and with precision, squirts a generous amount of it on the tight ring of her ass, making eye contact with you all the while as the clear liquid gathers at the puckered ring of muscle. The tube is discarded to a side when she’s done, and she uses her hands to spread her asscheeks for you, inviting you to take your liberties with her hole.

“Come on Daddy,” she urges you. “Come fuck this ass,” she continues, her hands spreading her ass cheeks even wider as you start to line yourself up with the tight ring. “Wreck this fucking hole Daddy, I can fucking take it.”

To hear her say those words was almost enough to have you cum right there and then. You press the tip of your cock at the open, gaping hole of her ass, swirling it around the entrance, collecting more of the copious amounts of lube around it. She was generous with the amount of lube she dispensed; you're about to be generous with the strokes you're gonna make inside that ass.

(She yelps when you slide inside her ass. God does it feel so fucking divine.)

She is so tight and wet and hot that you think you could’ve cum with your first thrust inside her. Her pussy was tight and hot, but her ass was even tighter and even hotter. Even though your cock was slick with lube, it did close to nothing to keep the sheer tightness of her asshole from clenching around you like it was a really small glove. It wasn’t the first time you’ve been inside her ass, but it sure as hell felt like a novelty every single time you entered that tight ring of muscle. Fuck. The heat, the tightness—sublime. You think you could cum in a matter of seconds if you didn’t have self control.

“Go!’ she hisses, through the pain and discomfort. “Fuck me. Fuck my ass!”

You would have been happy to stay there, buried balls deep in Wonyoung’s ass, but her own words goad you into moving—slowly at first, but with a steadily increasing pace, you begin to fuck Wonyoung’s ass with long, slow strokes. She hisses—part glee, part discomfort—as your shaft starts to pump itself in and out of her ass. You draw yourself out till only the base of you tip remains inside of her, and then you thrust back in, hard, hard enough to make her yelp out in pained pleasure while she grits her teeth and watches your rock hard shaft fill her ass. It's a perverse show for her, and it brings you a sort of dark satisfaction in knowing that past all that discomfort she’s feeling, she loves the way your cock stretches her out and fills her defenceless little hole. 

With her ankles over your shoulders, you’re practically spearing yourself vertically into her ass, fucking her deep and making her feel every inch of your throbbing meat inside of that hot, tight hole. Every penetration is punctuated by a deep, guttural groan from Wonyoung, sometimes a curse, or something along the lines of: fuck. So fucking full. You know for a fact that the pained sounds you hear now will turn into airy gaps of pleasure once she gets used to the discomfort, and that she’d probably be a mewling mess by the time you reach the stage where she can take you in and out of her ass with only pleasure in her system and no pain. For now, you’ll settle with the pace you have—slow, long strokes in and out of her ass while she squeezes her eyes to block out all sensations distracting her from enjoying the sensation of her ass being filled with cock. You have to admit that she’s doing a great job at it, and your praise vocalises itself in the rather harsh form of, “what a good little slut.” 

(And here’s something interesting you noted: never once in this whole thing did she ask you to stop, nor did you ever think about stopping to let her adjust. If this was anyone else, you would have given them a moment to breathe upon entering, and you certainly would be checking on their wellbeing throughout it all. 

Thing is—the two of you know her too well to know that you could only dream of stopping once you got started with her, and it could only end in two ways. 1) You cum in her. 2) You cum on her. Edge her and you’ll never get the end of it, you would know. The last time you pulled a stunt on her like that, she left you tied to a chair with a vibrator taped to your cock till you were begging and a cummy mess. It wasn’t pretty. She could dominate if she wanted to, but she preferred to be a manipulative brat instead.)

It’s not long before she’s desensitised to the pain, and your slow pace is not enough, no, not for Wonyoung. Next thing you know it, she hissing for you to go faster, fuck her harder—I told you to fuck my ass Daddy. Don’t hold back on me now—and deeper. She swears, all three languages that she knew strung together shabbily like they were put together on some shitty production line and thrown out at random—and while you made little sense of the sounds coming out of her filthy mouth you knew what they meant.

Harder. Faster. Rougher.

Then you fuck her ass. Hard and fast.

You almost surprised yourself with the liberties you were taking, drilling in and out of her butt with the same speed and depth that you would use with her mouth and pussy.

“Yes!” she shouts—a loud, full shout. “Yes! Fuck me like this! Pound me, fuck me until you cum in my slutty little ass!”

You grunt in reply, because it was all you could do. The faculties of human language have long since abandoned your grasp and ability, and nothing else exists in your mind except the thought of filling her tight, hothole with warm, white semen. Her eyes lock with yours and you only find that they’re full of need, nothing else (not like she’s capable of displaying any other emotion at the moment). The rest of you, every fibre of your being, was focused on pounding Wonyoung’s tight little hole as hard and fast as you possibly could. Her ankles bounce helplessly behind your head, her knees press into her shoulders and her breath is ragged; sweat drips off your forehead and onto her tits, and your hot breath mixes with hers as you struggle to keep yourself propped up with your arms.

In short: the two of you are sweaty and messy (one more so than the other. Take a pick, not sure if there’s a prize for guessing right), victims of lust and slaves to pleasure. You blame Wonyoung just because you can.

For a few delicious moments, there is absolutely nothing in the world aside from the tight hot sheath of flesh around your cock, the warm flesh of her legs against your shoulders and the strands of sweat-slick hair that fly just about everywhere, all topped with the lewd, filthy, obscene words spilling from Wonyoung’s mouth. For a few delicious moments, she feels nothing but the feeling of her tight hole being stretched and used by the cock that turns her face into a wrought outlet of pleasure while she lets filthy words and exclamations spill from her lips. 

Try as you might, you couldn’t have it last forever. Not when you were already so turned on from watching her writhe and twitch under your fingers. Not when the sheer, pure pleasure overwhelming you was more than enough to cause you to cum at any moment.

And when she orgasms for the second time, her ass tightening exponentially around you—there is little you or anyone else could have done to stop the inevitable.

“I’m gonna cum in your ass, Wonyoung,” you hiss through gritted teeth, your lust and pleasure-addled brain on the edge of losing all comprehension.

“Cum with me! Fill me!” 

And so you do it, burying yourself hilt deep inside the quivering woman’s asshole before filling it with the last of your cum, giving her every last drop you had left in your body, leaving rope after rope inside her sore, well-used, cum-filled asshole. You almost black out, and you quite literally have to dig your nails into the sheets while Wonyoung’s own orgasm takes over her body, making her twitch and her ass contract—milking every last bit of cum from your throbbing, twitching length till it was nothing but a dry, hard rod inside of her creamy asshole. 

There’s silence that is punctuated by both of your ragged breaths. She looks at you, you look at her. And the two of you can’t help but chuckle at the mess you’ve made of each other. You want to remember the way her nose wrinkles as she teases you, “you fucking animal”, and you want, so badly, to burn the image of a sweaty, weary Jang Wonyoung, folded in half beneath you like she was a piece of origami paper, panting and gasping as a fresh load of cum spills out of her ass. 

It takes energy, but you bend down and kiss her, letting her sweaty calves slide off your equally sweaty shoulders as you do. She’s satisfied, for now, and she pulls you down next to her on the hotel bed with one hand and gathers the cum leaking out of her ass with the other. 

“Look at this,” she whispers, and your eyes train themselves on the pearlescent, sticky, slimy, fluids that run down from her fingertips slowly. “You made such a big mess inside my ass,” she chides before bringing her fingers to her mouth and sucking your cum right off her fingers like it’s a delicacy. “Now I have to clean all of this up. You’re lucky I like the way your cum tastes.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Um… Ew?”

Wonyoung smirks and gently nudges you with her left foot.

“It’s okay,” she tells you, all smug and everything. “I know you love the way I taste too.”

* In the dark, her small hand creeps around your torso and grasps yours. 

“You’re awake, aren’t you?” She’s whispering right into your ear, and it’s a sensation you want to be able to hold on to for the rest of your life. “I know your eyes are open.” The feel of her small fingers rolling the knuckle of your index finger sticks itself in your head like a post-it. “ I can hear and feel you tossing, you know?”

Okay. No dodging. 

The sheets stay still as your shoulders turn. You roll over, face her, and you really just want to capture the way the night lights paint her face: doe-like eyes reflecting glimmering pools of moonlight, warm yellow light painting her cute-yet-so-fucking-gorgeous face in a manner that not even Van Goh could copy, lips parted slightly as if in mid speak. She’s right there—you can kiss her if you really want to.

“Are you still mad at me?” She asks, tender with her tone. “I know that I fucked up, okay?” You can tell that she’s not even trying to look pitiful at the moment, but the way her face is sculpted really makes you want to just hold her to your chest and stroke her hair. Sincere are her words—heart heaved into her mouth. “I don’t blame you if you’re still mad. It’s your right. But… Just hear me out? Please?”

If you were mad, you wouldn’t have let her hold your hand the way she was now. If you were mad, you would’ve pretended to be fast asleep; ignore her pleas and just close your eyes and fall asleep. Alas, you can never stay mad at her for too long.

“I was… Never really angry, Wony.” Your tone is a lot softer than you would ever expect, but you know it’s because you probably needed this talk more than she did. “I... I’m sorry if it came across that way.”

And she studies you for a moment, lets the sound of your breathing fill the space as she furls her upper lip into her front teeth, and it’s a perfect moment for you to try and understand what’s happening in her head. She’s a complex creature really; understanding her is like finding a meaning that everyone can agree on when you look at abstract art.

Down below, you can still hear the cars moving through the street. Billboards and screens are still on, and from the window in your bedroom, multi-coloured lights filter into the room past the blinds like moonlight through bamboo leaves. The sheets you lie in are fresh, and they feel nice and smooth against your skin, and they smell like roses. The mattress creaks a little as Wonyoung shifts her weight, and you have to admit that you’re half-drunk on the scent of her shampoo. 

“You must have been scared,” she whispers. “I’m sorry. I got really emotional. I… I shouldn’t have walked out. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t know how to reply to that. Not now at least. Maybe it’ll come to you the next morning.

You give her a sweet smile. You hug her to your chest. You want to remember how she feels in your arms.

*

The gentle trickle of water down the arch of her spine is really something—a steady stream flowing down her back, running over the muscles of her shoulders, the curve of her breasts and fraying at her plump ass. You can’t remember the last time you showered with her, but you certainly remember the view being this good. 

In the shower of room 302, Jang Wonyoung lets the warm water hit her skin from the rain shower nozzle. Her hair—wet and freshly shampooed (and conditioned)—sticks to her back. Creamy skin glistens, small beads of water affix themselves to random parts of her body, stay there for one or two seconds, then roll down in streaks, almost as if they too were admiring Wonyoung’s well-sculpted figure.

Slim fingers grasp locks of hair. She lifts and looks over her shoulder, the whisper of a grin on her face as she shoots a beckoning wink. “Are you gonna help me soap my back? Or are you just gonna keep staring at my ass?”

“Don’t you have to, like, turn off the water first?” you ask, and you already know what she’s gonna say, but you just want to hear her say it. For memory sake.

“Mmmm.” Her humming as she ‘ponders’ reverberates in the shower, floating over the sound of water from the shower head falling to the floor like rain. “No… Adds to the atmosphere, don’t you think?” 

Ah. There we go.

“Then could you at least step back?” you request. This shower is comically huge—long length, breadth about the same length as your arm span. In the space, she looks so tiny, but you know for a fact that she could probably walk to the other end of the shower in a stride. You’re not one to disregard the facts, but you do like to live with a bit of imagination.

Wonyoung chuckles, low and sonorous. She pushes her hair over her shoulder, then—painfully slowly—walks back till she’s out of the stream of water. Water wastage is the last thing on her mind. She stops when she feels your hands on her back, and she looks over her shoulder, expectant. You move your hands and the soap lathers as it’s spread. You start from the centre of her back, rubbing gently in the section where the muscles of her shoulders meet and working your way outwards and upward to her shoulders. Then it’s down from there, your palms moving in small circles and covering every inch of skin.

“You’re good at this,” she mutters, watching with intent as your hands start to trail to her lower back. “Maybe you should’ve been a masseuse instead of a writer.”

“Uh… Patronising much?” You chuckle, watching as her back muscles twitch a little when you apply gentle pressure. “The pay’s about the same,” the soap makes patterns across the area above her ass—spirals of foam that stick to her skin like styrofoam flowers. “The hours are probably the same… But I don’t think I can live on rubbing someone’s back really hard. I Think I’ll just save this service for you, but only for when we meet.”

Humored, Wonyoung offers a giggle, high pitched and cutting above the sound of water striking the floor tiles. She shifts her weight to her right foot, making her body slant a little. Her skin is soft under your palms. Your hands are going lower and lower, slowly spiralling towards the curve of her ass that’s literally just a centimetre away.

“You know…If you take up my offer, you can do this for me everyday.”

Your hands slow to a stop. You raise your head a little to find her searching for your gaze over her shoulder. “Oh?”

“Yea.” Her voice is low, like a mother trying to persuade her child to eat their vegetables. “Every night, we can be like this: you soaping my back, us chatting… Doesn’t it sound wonderful?”

Your lip furls behind your front teeth. “Yea… It really does.”

And in her gaze, you sense her sensing your apprehension. “What’s stopping you from taking it up then?”

(For context, here’s the deal proposed by her company: the two of you go public with the relationship, get clout for the company, and Starship will let you lead your lives together—no qualms, no disturbances. She can visit you whenever, live with you, appear outside together with you like it’s a regular Tuesday night; you get to date the girl you fell in love with all those years ago for real. Only issue: once you get the last stroke of your signature out on the contract, you practically agree to blurring the line between your private and public life. Press will be all over you like ants after you step on their nest, you probably won’t get to enjoy a cup of coffee in peace, everyone will suddenly want to curry favours with you… Was it worth the sacrifice?)

You find it hard to meet her eyes, and so your gaze affixes itself on your hands. It’s not like you don’t love her or anything, but your apprehension makes you feel like shit. It shouldn’t be this hard to say yes, yet the idea of selling your life of privacy to live a life with her makes you screech to a halt at the crossroads. Sometimes (in these moments), you wished that you didn’t always make decisions with your head and your heart. 

As the shower continues to run, Wonyoung slowly turns around. One hand finds yours, the other gently takes you by the chin and raises your eyes up to her. She’s tall, and the two of you are staring eye to eye; same height, different trains of thought.

The hand on yours guides you to her breast. Eyes locked with yours, she lays your palm flat against her tit. The skin beneath your fingers is slippery, but it doesn’t remove any of the familiarity from the sensation. Then she squeezes, and the flesh spills out between your fingers like putty. She gasps—airy. 

“Don’t you want me?” She whispers, and it’s raunchy more than anything. It isn’t aggressive, but it’s certainly blurring the line between demanding and caring. “Don’t you want to be able to fuck this pretty little pussy every night?”

She’s really far from home base. “Wony…”

“Don’t you love owning me?” She’s squeezing harder. Her knee twitches. Sopa’s spilling out of your fingers. You’re certain that you’re gonna mark her. She doesn’t care. “Don’t you want me all over you? Every night?”

“It’s not that Wonyoung.”

“Then what’s on your mind?” She’s not prodding for an answer, nor is she trying to demand a reason for your silence. She wants to understand you, to internalise what’s going on inside your head. You have no reason to lie.

“Will it all really be okay?” you ask sincerely. “My family, my life… Will… Will it all really be…”

She understands where you’re coming from (if the relieving of pressure around her own breast is any indication), and she’s starting to tune herself to the frequency of your worries. “If you’re wondering if you’re gonna be harassed—you won’t.”

“Yea but—”

“I promise you: I will do everything I can to make sure that you will be safe. You and your family–if so much as a finger is laid on any of you, I will quit.”

“Wonyo—”

“No one will intrude on you. You won’t have to live with the flashing lights. I give you my word: I will make sure that everyone who wants to invade your privacy will leave you alone. You and your family will all be left alone.”

If it’s possible for sincerity to ring clear, Jang Wonyoung has absolutely made it happen. Sweet like honey; she’s left you feeling like you had a spoonful of it. And just for good measure, she steps closer and repeats once more: “I promise.”

Considering that your hand was at the left side of her chest, this was really a “I swear. Hand to my heart” type of deal (whether it’s intended or not is purely up to your discretion). 

And as you gaze into those eyes, you want to remember the way she gazes at you softly, gently, tenderly. If it weren’t for your hand on her tit, you would’ve considered this one of the more tender moments you’ve shared with her. Not that it’s not or anything… Just that it’s a little hard to call this a loving moment when you can literally feel her nipple poking into the flesh of your palm at all times of the conversation.

“Are you sure you won’t land yourself in trouble?” you ask her, and she’s quick to scoff.

“Of course. I make too much fucking money fo those higher up fuckers to not listen to me,” she reminds you. 

Well… Then that settles about everything then.

“Okay,” you tell her. “Okay… I’ll do it.”

The corners of her lips play up in a smile. She leans in, kisses you—no tongue, closed mouth—and lets the hand keeping yours at her breast fall. Long arms wrap around your waist and she pulls you close, flushing her tight frame against your body. When lips part, she whispers a soft I love you, a sparkle in eyes that lingered for a moment.

But only for a moment.

Then—without you noticing—her hand snakes down and grips your rapidly hardening shaft, and she squeezes. This time, the line between demanding and caring is clear as day, and she’s chosen to play her ball to the court of demanding. With a gleam in her eye, she begins stroking with her closed fist, and she pumps your stiff length at a slow but steady rhythm, adding an occasional twisting motion to her wrist, corkscrewing her fingers around your cock, increasing the pleasurable shocks she was sending through your system with each pump of her hand. It was almost like she wasn’t the sweetest, loving girl in the whole world just two seconds ago.

“Jesus fucking…” You can’t even finish your sentence. Your teeth grit. Your fists clench. It’s hard to breathe. “Maybe… A little bit of a heads up next time?”

She smirks proudly, watching as you tilt your head back and let out a groan. “Where’s the fun in that?” And gently, she pushes against your chest, guides you to the wall. When your back presses against the cool tile, she presses herself against you. She leans in, hot breath on your skin, and then the feeling of her lips against your jaw almost makes you yelp. She kisses a path down your jaw, paves a way towards your neck to get cheeky: sucking, nibbling, licking the skin of your neck while she keeps the movement of her hands slow and considerate. The shower continues to run.

Do you know—she breaks contact with your skin for just a second—how fucking horny—her breath’s tickling your ear, sending shivers down your spine—you make me?—and she squeezes a little harder around your shaft, not enough for it to hurt, but enough to feel you throb in your hand and make you gulp a little. She starts going faster—jerking, fucking pumping your length in her closed fist, and it’s almost impossible to keep your eyes open; your eyelids flutter shut. Your head rests against the wall, a sigh slipping past your lips. It’s filthy really—down from the way she catches you off guard to the way she makes your skin sore after she’s done feasting. Almost every interaction with her in a private space is as X-rated as this; it’s hard not to get into a situation like this around her. You know: a situation where the two of you are naked and getting really touchy and actively trying to get each other as many times as humanly possible. 

“Fuck yes baby…” you rasp, your nails starting to eat into your palms as she the sound of her hand sliding up and down your dick starts to cut above the steady stream of water. With each rise of her hand, the pad of her thumb plays with the head of your member, and when it sinks down, she twists her wrist in a screwing motion. Rinse and repeat; up and down and up and down and fuck. “You’re so fucking good at this.”

She hums in reply, and she has your earlobe between her teeth the next second, nicking you mischievously, sending small pricks of pain shooting through your system as she adjusts her grip on your cock without ever breaking her motion. Next thing you know, your tongue is inside your ear, and she’s leaning in so close that when you open your eyes, you’re practically looking over her shoulder, looking down the curve of her back that glistens with moisture and soap bubbles.

“I love this cock so fucking much,” she whispers, a bit of a hiss in her words as she takes the head of your cock between her forefinger and thumb and pinches lightly. “It stretches me out when I need it.” her fingers start to trail down your slipper shaft, letting the smoothness of her palm rub against your whole length, “fills me when I want it.” She’s milking the precum out of you, making you all leaky and squirmy as she starts pumping faster. “And it’s so fucking big that I can choke on it. You know how much I love being choked.”

She chooses that last bit to make eye contact with you, and she’s practically served you what she wants next on a silver platter. The next move is clear cut and simple; no words need be spoken. You were going to fuck her—and you mean properly fuck her—with a hand wrapped around that small throat. How you were gonna do it was still a mystery, but you figured that it’d slowly come to you, but it will definitely be related to the mirror and the sink outside and the mirror in front of it. At once, you reach over to the handle of the shower, and you turn it down to the handheld showerhead mode. Wonyoung bites her bottom lip, perverse glee painted all over her face as you use it to wash the soap off her back. She’s watching, waiting, probably drenched down there and aching to be stuffed full of cock.

She’s almost shaking with excitement as you finish washing all the soap off her body. You’d hardly consider her clean, but it won’t hurt to hop back into the shower again once you're done with her. The shower door swings open and you’re cupping her pussy, dripping wet while stumbling out with her, lips locked on hers and her hand on your cock as you push her against the sink of her hotel room. From the moment her mouth opens and let the moans pour out while you rub her clit to the moment her hand leaves your cock to cradle your face, she’s practically radiating need from the pores of her skin. You can’t help but playfully remark, “you’re such a fucking loser”, while your thumb thumps against her clit and sends pleasure tearing through her system. Weak in the knees, she holds on to you for support.

And the moans (those fucking hair-raising moans), they tumble out of those plump lips like marbles down a ramp, and they mix with the sound of your lips smacking against her skin as you start to leave a trail of kisses down her neck, doing to her what she did to you in the shower; you give her a taste of her own medicine, and the way she’s titling her head back to let you mark her freely makes it almost seem as if it’s the intended outcome of her actions. It’s like she knew that you would get back at her, and it wouldn’t come as a surprise if you ever find out that she gets off on knowing that she can manipulate you in her own bratty ways—get you wrapped around her finger and have you doing all the things she wants you to do without having to tell you. Not that you have something to gripe about it, but you’re just so amused (and that’s just one word to describe how you feel) by how she goes about her ways.

“Come on,” she manages to whisper, all while you’re busy sucking on the skin just below her collarbone till it’s sore. She has a lot of pride in her voice for someone who’s quite literally quivering. “You know you want to fuck me. Give me a good creampie again.” 

You lift your head for a moment, and you take in the look of almost childlike excitement on her face as your hand finds its way to her throat. It’s perverse excitement, that lewd exhilaration of knowing that she was about to get what she wanted, and albeit a little messed up, it was pretty hot in its own way. When your fingers gently wrap themselves around her throat, you can feel every muscle in her body tense in anticipation, as if she didn’t get enough from the bedroom earlier.

“Up on the counter baby. Let me see how messy you are down there,” you whisper.

She knows what to do, and she has herself propped up on the counter and engaged in open mouth kissing. She doesn’t need you to tell her to spread her legs, and she definitely doesn’t need you to tell her how cute she sounds when your fingers slip inside of her, feeling around the mess you’ve made of her and coating your digits in her fluids. Your index and middle finger are slick with her juices when you retract them from inside her, and you can’t help but chuckle. 

“Messy as ever,” you muse, making a show of sucking her juices clean off your fingers. She’s sweet and borderline tangy—a taste that you’re accustomed to, and you will never get tired of it. She’s biting down on her lower lip, the skin wrinkling under the pressure of her front teeth as she makes a sound that’s close to a purr. 

“You made the mess.” She has her eyes locked on yours as you raise an eyebrow, prompting her to follow up after her first statement. Not that you didn’t know what was coming, but more that you wanted to gently coax it out of her, because it was so fucking hot to hear what she had to say next. “You clean it up.”

And you’re more than happy to oblige. She watches you with intent eyes as you sink down to your knees, waits with bated breath as you lower your face till the glistening, pink folds of her pussy are right in front of your face, flushed thighs around your ears. Her excitement is almost palpable, and you can hear the sharp inhale she takes when your palm finds its place on the inside of her left thigh, pushing gently to give you better access to her heat (you’re really just trying to drag out the tension if you were being completely honest with yourself). You lick your lips, lean forward till your mouth is hovering above her slit. 

“You better moan for me this time,” you tell her, and you’re making sure to make your breath hit her slick as you speak. “You have such a wonderful voice. Put it to use.”

Praise mixed with the slight hint of authority—it’s enough to make her nod furiously and implore you with doe eyes to just get on with it. With a smirk, your lips find the swollen nub at the top of her entrance. You suck on it. Hard. And almost at once, her thighs clamp around your ears and her hand is on your head, like it’s some sort of natural instinct for her when you’re eating her out. Keeping to her word, she cries out—keening, whiny and ever so fucking bratty, and it’s the the holy grail of every wet dream. Nothing in the world could bring you more satisfaction than that shrill, airy cry she lets out when the pleasure ripples through her body, and you’re just getting started. 

Your mouth opens and your tongue flattens itself against her folds, (She tastes so good. You want all of it, all of her) and you drag it up her folds, deliberately, painfully slow as you start to lick up that wet cunt. Her back arches; you can feel her struggling to keep a hold of your head; she throws her head back and lets out a gasp; her thighs clamp down a little harder around your head. The pleasure in her system builds up with the slow movement of your tongue, only rising and rising as you lick from the base of her slit to the mid section to the top. When the tip of your tongue flicks her clit, it's almost like an explosion, enough for her other hand to join its pair atop your head, enough to make her cry out in a perverse plea, “Daddy, please!”

(For the record: she’s wanted this from the moment you guys stepped into the shower. She’s willingly turned herself into some pliant little plaything, and she’s probably getting off so hard to it. Frankly, if she wanted to order you around, you’d be up to it, but this is what she prefers.)

And nothing else needs to be said really. You put your whole mouth on her—relishing the shiver that runs up from her thighs up to her body—and get right into making a wreck of her. You lick, you devour, you ravish her: working your mouth on her pussy, lapping up the juices that spill forth from flushed lips with broad, sharp strokes that make her body grow taut and her legs quiver. You tongue her clit, lick up sweet fluids, make her messy and needy and hot in all the right areas till she’s drilling her nails into the back of your scalp and pushing your face against her sweet slick. In half whispers, she tells you just how good you make her feel—oh Daddy I’m so fucking wet!—and you feel a dark part of yourself be fed by these lecherous words—Oh god oh fuck I’m gonna fucking cum if you keep… Fuck!—that leave her half-parted mouth and linger in the air, reminding you of just how wanton she is and how you’re the only person in the world she ever wants to fuck and be satisfied by. You’re hers; she’s yours—a relationship with Jang Wonyoung that any guy would kill for. 

“Daddy—” she gaps, her voice a whole octave higher than it should be as her nails turn into claws at the back of your head. “Fuck I’m cumming. Daddy I’m cumming!”

The pulsing of her pusy against your tongue grows. You continue licking, lapping. One stroke, two strokes—three. She moans, blue screens. You hazard a look up.

Nothing else matters. Only: the sight of that back arching off the marble counter, her thighs around your head trembling and quaking as her hips roll and her mouth parts in a silent scream. You’re certain that there’s blood being drawn from the back of your head, but you're more certain that she’s got enough heat in her core to melt molten iron but a lack of breath that makes her gasp for air as you lick and lick and lick your way into her. You can feel her orgasm getting closer by the second, it’s in her breathing, and in the way her hips are practically thrusting her into your mouth.

And just like the bathrobe from earlier, she comes undone—falls apart and ceases to keep control of her body. She tenses, her thighs go rigid around your ears. Her breath is caught in her throat, her eyes are closed. You stop your work, admire the way she glows as her body twitches and her face twists. Pleasure rips its way through her muscles, her nerves—splits her very being in half as the orgasm rolls through her system. She’s beautiful, and she’s a messy work of art that you’ve created. 

You rise to your feet as she winds down, and her hands leave your head to rest on the counter while her body struggles to process the aftermath of that orgasm. It’s not the first time she’s cum for the night, and it certainly won’t be the last. Her eyes open, and she instantly locs them on you as you brush back some of the hair that sticks to her sweat slicked face. You take her hand and give a gentle tug, and she slips off the counter obediently. You grip her jaw—tenderly but rough enough for her to like it—and tell her to turn around. Servile, she obeys, and in the reflection of the mirror, she watches as your hand snakes its way to her throat and grips it. You’re not squeezing, not yet. 

“I’m gonna fuck this pretty little pussy now,” you drawl, gripping your shaft in your hand and slapping it against her slit. The contact makes her shudder, but she remains silent as you place a kiss on her cheek. “Your face is gonna be so pretty when I choke you and fill you.”

“Yes Daddy.” Her reply is a whisper, a borderline drawl that’s airy and raunchy and makes your hairs stand on their ends. She’s looking at you through the mirror, plump lips slightly parted and eyes glassy. “Own me. I’m yours, forever.”

And you’re all too happy to hear that from her.

You slip into her, hilt yourself inside her in one swift motion. 

(Tight. Hot. Wet. So tight.)

She lets out a sigh, low and sonorous, harmonising with your own groan as you press her against the edge of the counter and make the fingers around her throat squeeze. The sound that leaves her throat is the sound of her sigh being truncated, and it delights that dark part of you. Being inside Wonyoung was otherworldly, as it always was, but here, in the bathroom of her hotel, on the night where you’ve agreed to seal a deal with her, she felt downright heavenly.  She squeezes her walls around you, her body thankful for the sensation of being filled by cock, if the intense tightness and slick wetness were any indication; she looks over her shoulder and bites her bottom lip. And when she has your gaze, she mouths something. 

Fill me.

The silence is deafening, but it’s all you need to hear. 

When you withdraw your glistening shaft for the first time you relish in the feel of her walls gripping you, not wanting to release you—but just as quickly they welcome you back inside as you penetrate her again. Soon you are pumping in and out of her at a slow, steady pace, her soft gasps turning quickly into long, drawn out moans as she is fucked against the marble. Her hands steady her body against the counter, her back arched in a way that lets you get a wonderful top-down view of her breasts as they roll together with her body. It’s a concerted effort, but she makes it seem effortless. 

“Be honest.” With the hand around her throat, her voice sounds a little hoarse. It’s hot. “Do you think about this, Daddy? About fucking me like a good little slut?”

“Wonyoung,” you reply, speaking through your gritted teeth. “You have no,” and you punctuate the sentence there with a deeper thrust into her tight slick, a thrust strong enough for her to let out a strained gasp. “fucking idea…”

(In the mirror, you watch as she curls her lips into her mouth and tilts her head back into your shoulder, like she’s submitting her whole being to you and letting you take liberties with her body. You take the invitation, and your free hand finds itself on one of her soft mounds and gives it a squeeze—rough but tender enough to elicit a low moan from her throat that makes your hand around it vibrate pleasantly. 

At the given moment, she’s doing all she can to make herself a pretty little fuckdoll for you, doing her best to encourage you to treat her rough, treat her like you own her. She wants nothing more but to feel the rockhard meat penetrating her tight little cunt stretch her out and fill her the way she wants, all while she’s begging and pleading obsequiously while being obsessed with your cock. It’s a lot to take in for her for sure, but she gets off on it, and you get off on it too—the fact that she’s being all needy and pleading just so she can implicitly tell you to fuck her till she’s raw and can’t fucking walk the next morning. The fact that she’s actually in control while being such a bottom. Bratty manipulation.)

“Then fuck me Daddy,” she tells you, almost pleading. “Use this pretty little pussy. I want it. I fucking need it.”

With her invitation to do more with her body, you’re more than ready to do what you’ve intended to do from the very start. You increase your tempo, and before long you are truly fucking her, drilling in and out of the tight hot warmth of her body with quick, deep strokes. With each stroke you don’t pull out more than halfway—you concentrate instead on pumping hard and fast, getting as deep as you could inside her given your standing position. She takes it well, like she was made for this. In her world, this was what fucking looked like, and it was the only definition that she was going to live with and she’d take it to the grave. She indulges in the roughness, the almost animal-like way your cock fills her again and again and again, all while she encourages you with cries and moans and sighs that are music to your ears. 

And a notion hits you: she’s going to make you fuck her till she’s the only thing you can possibly think about. She’s going to draw out every single primal urge within you, make you want her like she’s some form of drug and you’re the abuser, and then she’s going to get exactly what she wants—your cum in her pussy. You can’t let her win like that, you can’t. You can tell that to yourself now, but you’re not sure if you can remember it later, not when she practically reeks of the strongest possible sillage of sex. 

Her pussy throbs around you, pulse strong and just a beat behind your thrusts as you thrust yourself in and out of her slick walls, filling her up and drawing yourself out before filling her up yet again. Pure filth spills from her mouth, expletives, sordid sighs and cries and any sound or word that comes to mind. She's a quivering and squirming mess, and from the mirror you enjoy the way she’s almost writhing in against the counter. Ample breasts bounce with each thrust that shocks her body, and it’s almost hypnotic if it weren’t for the fact that that pretty face was stealing the show. The face that was marvelled, the face that was the source of jealousy, the face that was on the face of so many magazines and posters and adored by millions, if not billions—scrunched up, improper and so fucking lewd that it looked like it belonged in a porno instead of an idols face, and you take pleasure in the fact that your cock is ruining the face of a princess, turning her dissolute and so fucking needy that she was as good as a fan begging her for an autograph. This side of her was reserved for you, and only you—her duality is reserved for your eyes only. 

Her body is slick with sweat, rubbing against your own sweaty torso while her body rolls together with your thrusts. “Fuck—” you’re saying, but it comes out as more of a growl than anything given how hard yur teeth are clenching. Your fingers squeeze tighter around her throat. The slightly reduced airflow at her throat causes her pussy to clench even tighter around you—and the added tightness brings succulent pleasure to your mind that makes you think you’re going insane. You probably are at this rate. “This pussy. It’s so fucking good baby.”

Her reply is a strained gasp, but you get the gist of what she wants to say. She wants, so badly, to tell you how good your cock is making her feel, how well it fucks her, how well it fills her and stretches her and how it’s her favourite thing in the whole world. The squelch of your cock filling her pussy is loud, but not loud enough to drown out the smacking of skin against skin as you press more of your weight against her, pushing her a little more into the corner of the counter and a little more over the line of pathetic. She moans in response to your actions, and it’s telling you: fuck. Harder. It’s better when it hurts. 

And you can feel her juices leaking down the back of her thighs, wetting your crotch and making the smack of skin against skin louder than ever, almost as if it was an announcement: I’m being fucked like a good little slut and I love it. She doesn’t know what she’s doing to you,and for clarity, it’s something along the lines of turning you absolutely feral with her moans and the divine tightness of her pussy that makes you want to cum on the spot. Okay,maybe she is cognizant of how crazy she makes you when you fuck her, but you barely have the capacity to think, let alone rationalise wether thai girl in your arms that your chocking and fucking feel smug in knowing that she’s driving you insane. 

Oh and she loves it when you play with her tits. The way you fondle them is almost aggressive. Scratch that—it’s really fucking aggressive. You’re slapping her tits, leaving red marks all over the milky white skin and pinching and twisting the stiff nubs atop her breasts, all while she mewls and cries out in that strained voice that makes you throb even harder inside of her wet walls and makes you grit your teeth like your a dog waiting to chew on a bone. 

“D-Daddy,” she pushes out, past the fingers that close her airways and past her groans and moans and sighs. “Harder.” And your thrusts are starting to cut her off, but she has more to say. When it comes out, each word that she spits out is punctuated by a thrust of cock into her pussy, and it’s the hottest thing you’ll ever hear. 

Fuck.

You thrust deep inside her. 

Me.

Your cock drives itself deep into her, slicking itself with her juices.

Harder.

And if words could linger in the air, hers certainly would. 

You fuck her hard, and fast, and deep—hammering her into the counter, nailing her defenseless pussy with a pace that you would have thought was rough and callous were it not for the fact you knew this was exactly how she wanted it. All she can do is hang on, grasp onto the counter with a knuckle-white grip with her hands as you take your liberties with her body, fucking her as hard as you can, as deeply as she can take it. The cups on the counter shake, the toothbrush inside one of them shaking under the force. It’s loud,  but you hear none of it. You hear only the sharp sighs of pleasure that leave Wonyoung’s lips, and the wet slap slap slap of your crotch as it hammers her cunt again and again and again, your cock drilling her, pounding her, making her yours if you weren’t already doing that.

It takes a little long, but the haze of lust parts for a moment for you to realise that you're getting closer and closer to getting what she wants out of you. While the thought of burying yourself inside of that quivering, pulsing pussy to let it milk every last drop of cum from you is ever so enticing, that small part of you that wants to own her pushes you to fight against the urges. Not that there’s any harm in giving her what she wants, but it’s just that you don’t want to reward her bratty, manipulative tactics. She knew for a fact that she could tie you up and ride you over and over till you were dry—she’d done it before. But instead, she’s chosen to fulfil her needs in a less direct manner, maybe for fun or maybe just because she felt like it. 

“Yes,” Wonyoung hisses, spit flying into the mirror and her palms slipping on the counter. “Just like this Daddy.” And she’s making sure to make eye contact with you through the mirror, letting her eyes do most of the talking. If anyone’s curious, the look she gives you is saying, I’m your good little slut. Fuck me. Use me. Fill me. Please, and it's nothing short of hot and tethering far over the line of lewd. At this point, neither of you are in a state where you're capable of coherent thought, nor are you capable of thinking about anything else except each other’s bodies and the wet, lewd squelching of cock filling Wonyoung’s pussy. It goes on and on and on, a cycle of your hips hammering the back of her legs and your cock spearing deep into her cunt.  She takes it so well, drinking you in hungrily, coiling around your shaft like a snake as if it was begging for you to stay in her forever. The sight is enough to make your balls tingle and your toes curl, and your hand around Wonyoung's throat tightens to the point where the only thing that can leave her lips is a groan as her airflow is reduced. 

She’s tighter, hotter, wetter. Her pussy fits you like a glove, moulding around your cock as it pumps in and out of her at a pace that you had no idea you were capable of. The hand around her neck is nothing but an outlet of pleasure for you, and she’s loving it. “Such a good girl,” you mutter, watching from the mirror as her mouth slacks and opens while she’s being pumped full of cock. “You were made to take Daddy’s cock, weren’t you?”

Her equivalent of a yes is a sharp, strained groan—an amalgamation of phonics and whatever sounds the lack of air flowing to her throat permits her to make. She’s so fucking messy down there, and your cock is sliding in and out of her with ease, aided by her slick juices that coat your shaft and let it disappear and reappear from between her legs with ease. The motion is almost graceful if it weren’t for the fact that it was a sordid one, and you take a moment to admire the way your shaft glistens in the light of the bathroom while you fuck her the way she wants it: rough, hard and tethering over the edge of callous. If it weren’t for the hand around her throat, she’d be making herself hoarse with all the moaning she’d be doing.

And the hand around her throat is bringing her so much pleasure, if the way her pussy squeezes around you when you choke her is any indication. She wasn’t lying when she said she liked being choked. While she didn’t like gagging on your cock, she sure as hell loved it when your fingers clasped around the muscles and made her gasp. She liked the sensation of being deprived of air, be it when she was riding or when she has her kness buried into her shoulders and was being fucked into the bed like a slut. You were always afraid of hurting her, but when she shots you that look, the one that says, come on, you can do better, you know that she’s getting exactly what she wants, just the way she likes it. It was just a matter of how hard you squeeze around her throat before she either cums or passes out, though the latter has rarely happened before the former.

“Daddy!” she chokes, and you know exactly what she’s about to say next. So you release her throat from her grasp, bunch a lock of her hair in your closed fist and you pull back. Her eyes squeeze themselves shut. Her back arches deliciously, her voice now free to finish shat she’s aching to announce. “I’m fucking…”

You never expect her to finish her sentence. Wonyoung’s eyes open, and a gasp leaves her open lips. Her walls, already vice-like, tighten so hard around you that you think you might come there and then. You feel how close she is. 

“Fucking cum for me, Wonyoung. Cum around my cock like a good little slut.”

Wonyoung does as she is told—and the quivering, trembling orgasm she experiences is almost frightening in the way it overwhelms her body, turning her into a wet, hot mess. Her pussy tightens and pulsates, her fingers claw against the marble counter, and her entire lower body shakes violently, as though she had lost control of her nerves and muscles. For a few beautiful seconds she is utterly overwhelmed by the sensations, until finally she slumps forward in your grasp, breathing heavily. 

It's good. It's so good, but it's not quite enough to get you to your finish. Not yet.

(And if anyone’s asking: it’s not that the sex isn’t good. It’s mind blowing, amazing, and whatever word that can be used to describe “fucking incredible”.  She’s hot, so tight and fucking soaked down there. You’re horny, throbbing and on the verge of filling her full of your seed. But you’ve said it before and you’ll say it again—you’re not rewarding bratty manipulation. As tempting as it would have been to simply pound her from behind until you gave her needy pussy the load of semen she so desperately wanted, you knew that there was something even better that you could do.)

You pull out of Wonyoung, your shaft glistening under the hotel light. Her eyes are wide with shock as you withdraw yourself from her body, pulling her away from the counter—but only enough to have her lean back against you and not stand up completely. Her mouth opens to say something, but she's interrupted when you turn her face to you and kiss her. She moans into your mouth, and you swallow it, your tongue slipping into her mouth and massaging her own, lapping at the roof of her mouth as her tongue swirled around your own. You bite her lower lip, and it's not rough, but enough to get her attention. When her eyes flutter open, you whisper, "I'm not finished."

She nods, and you relish the disappointment in her eyes. You turn her around, push down gently on her shoulders. She goes with the motion, and you're not sure if you can ever get over the image of Wonyoung on her knees with her pretty little face staring at you with anticipation. You think about fucking her face, letting your cock thrust into the back of her throat over and over and over till you finally bury yourself inside and cum down her throat, but that would just be a repeat telecast of every other night with her. Spice things up; give her the liberty of creativity with your cock. 

And of course, Wonyoung perfectly understands what has to be done. You step up to her. She parts her lips and takes your cock right into her mouth. Grasping the base of your cock and pumping it with one hand while she gently cups and squeezes your balls with the other, Wonyoung quickly launches into a hard and fast blowjob, taking the top half of your cock in and out of her wet mouth with a rapid pace while her fingers work your shaft in a corkscrew motion, just like she did in the shower. The suction of her mouth is almost lethal, and the audacity she has to look up at you while she takes your cock in and out of her mouth is so exhilarating that it makes you weak in the knees. Your hand finds a clump of her sweaty hair, and you close your fingers around it, holding them in your fist. No, you weren’t going to push her head down onto your cock; you had to give her the space to work on her craft. 

And of course, she exceeds every expectation out there. Your eyes shut involuntarily, your brain unable to handle any sensations beyond the wet, hot cavern of Wonyoung’s mouth sealed tightly around your shaft with tight, soft lips. With the first entry into her mouth her wet tongue is pressed tightly against the underside of your shaft, lathering it with her spit. With each subsequent entry her tongue becomes more adventurous, beginning with quick swipes left and right on your shaft with each entry and ending each exit with a swirl of the tip around the head of your cock. While she tastes herself on your cock, letting her juices mix with saliva, her hands work in perfect concert with her mouth, one joining her lips at your shaft and pumping up and down, a twisting motion to her wrist while her free hand works gently with your dangling balls, fondling them with considerate fingers. She plays with them softly yet hastily, her fingertips working their magic between the sacs with expert attention.

You are content to stand there with your eyes shut, simply enjoying the feel of your cock pumping in and out of her mouth at a fervent pace, but a small part of you knew that you had to see it happening in order to truly believe it was all real—and so with a not insignificant amount of self-control, you force eyes open to watch the spectacle unfolding between your legs. Black locks bob up and down frantically above your cock, doe-like eyes glazed with pure lust staring right up at you as her cheeks hollow and her jaw unhinges even more to accommodate your length. 

It all becomes too much, and it hits you all at once—having her pump your shaft in the shower, eating her out then fucking her—and you quickly find yourself nearing that inevitable peak.

“Fuck, Wony—” is all you manage to say before your orgasm overtakes your world.

Wonyoung releases your cock from her mouth a split second before you erupt, shooting long, thick strands of hot semen all over her pretty little face. Her face glazes over in pleasure and you are all too happy to watch as strand after strand of cum lands on her cheeks, her pretty little nose, and finally her open mouth and jaw. You watch, through half-lidded eyes drunk with pleasure, as the thick streams of cum flow down her face, dripping onto her upper chest and those perfect breasts of hers. Her face is flushed and her mouth open, as though she herself was on the verge of orgasm (she probably was, and she was going to make it your problem as soon as she got your cum off her face).

You want to remember the way she wipes your cum off her face with the back of her hand, how she licks it all up like a cat licking its own paw before moving to clean the stray strands of cum off the tip and sides of your cock. You want to remember how she rises so gracefully even though she was a sweaty mess, and how she gently takes your hand and guides you back into the shower for another clean up.   

And back under warm water, you want to remember how she kisses you, and how she whispers, “next time, I want that big load in my pussy.”

*

“What?”

And it’s hard to meet Wonyoung’s eyes as you set down the papers from the doctor. You can feel her confusion, her frustration, her rage from across the dining table in your apartment. It isn’t pretty. Nothing about this situation is. 

“It’s a neurological disease,” you tell her, all while you’re looking at the MRI that’s in the middle of the table. You’re really just regurgitating what the doctor told you—it’s the only thing you have the capacity to do right now. “They ran their tests. They told me what I suspected. I’m losing my ability to read and write, to understand language. In 2 years—give or take —I won’t be able to express my thoughts. I’ll be spouting gibberish. What people say, what I see — on pages, street signs, everywhere — they’ll all be unintelligible to me.” She’s silent, and it unnerves you in every way possible. You haven’t even gotten to the worst part of it all. “My mental competence will deteriorate. I’ll have to live off a tube cause I’ll forget how to eat and drink. Dementia will follow shortly.”  

Now would be a great time for her to say something, anything to break this silence. But she is silent, unmoving and reticent in her seat from across you. You have no choice but to gulp and deliver, in your personal opinion, the worst part of it all, “By the time I forget how to breathe I… I would’ve lost all my memories by then.”

She chooses the moment after the last word leaves your mouth to pick up the MRI scan and look at it. 

“So… Everything we���ve built up till now will just… Disappear?” she whispers. She sounds hurt, scared and everything in between. You bite your lower lip. 

“Yes.” There’s no point sugarcoating it, it’s inevitable anyway. Face it now, sulk later… You think that’s the best way to deal with this piece of news. You hope that the matter-of-fact tone of voice that you’ve chosen doesn't betray how frightened you are by the prospect of losing everything you know. “We can’t stop it. It’s in my genes.”

She sets down the scan, and when you look up, you see the tears flowing down her cheeks and it makes you want to cry as well.

She stands up, shoulders her handbag and walks towards the front door. 

“Where are you—” you begin. “I’m going somewhere else to think,” she interjects. 

When she slams the door behind her, you feel like you’ve let her down in so many ways. There’s a burning in your chest that you can’t describe. The first hot tear rolls down your cheek, and you let the rest that well in your eyes flow down without resistance. 

You don’t want to remember what it feels like to be helpless—the emptiness, the rage, the sadness, the confusion is all so overwhelming. But you figure that you’ll have to feel it again at some point down the road. 

Might as well figure out how to cope with it now, when Wonyoung isn't there and you're all alone with your thoughts.

*

When you awaken later that night in your bed in the apartment, it takes you a few moments to determine whether the soft, slim body climbing atop you is real or part of some wonderful dream—but the familiar warmth of your girlfriend, and the soft, pleasant smell of her hair, convinces you that this was all real.

Wonyoung places soft kisses on your neck and jawline, before moving to your mouth and kissing your lips softly. You are still only half awake, but your senses and instincts take over, and you find your mouth welcoming her kiss and returning it with one of your own, your hands moving to either side of her hips and finding, to your surprise, that there was only bare skin there and no clothing.

“Wony…” you begin, as she deepens her kiss, her lips pressing more firmly against yours.

“Shhh,” she answers, “please. I need this. I need you, right now. Please.”

She’s suddenly reappeared after walking out on you, and you have yet to process the slew of emotions that have come your way. Part of you wants to stop her, to talk things out with her so that you could: a) figure out if she was still mad at you and; b) verify that she wasn’t drunk. But the part of you that formed the majority of your conscience knew that she needed comfort as much as you did, and that she needed something to assuage her and make her feel like everything would turn out alright. So you find yourself relaxing underneath her, letting her scent fill your nostrils as her tongue dances with yours.

She straddles you, and your hands begin to run up her naked body, up from her slim thighs to her chest where the ample mounds sat proudly, her nipples erect and stiff. She isn’t wearing any underwear, and your fingers brushing against the slick of her pussy is enough to verify that for you. She’s naked atop of you, kissing you like you just confessed your love to her or like you’re about to go on some mission and never return. It’s not lustful, but it’s full off passion and aims to soothe not stir. 

She breaks the kiss. Her eyes flutter open. In the dark that is pierced by the street lights of the city, you want to remember the way her eyes glimmer and shimmer as she breathes heavily. There’s no alcohol on her breath, and from the way she’s cradling your face, you can infer that she’s not mad at you in the slightest. 

“You okay?” she whispers, and her tone is soft and warm, like that time she spoke in the shower of her hotel about signing that contract with her company so that the two of you could officially start dating. It’s been some time after that, but you still hang on to the way her words made their way to your heart. “I didn’t mean to startle you if I did.”

You respond by nodding, and it’s enough to convey: I’m alright. You brush away the hair that falls in front of her eyes, and you really want to remember how silky smooth her hair feels in your hands. 

“What are you doing?” you ask her, making sure to keep your tone as warm as her own. She blinks, goes silent for a moment, then answers, “I’m making amends.”

She holds your gaze, you hold hers. The staring contest ends when you gently pull her in for another kiss, and you want to remember how she softly moans into your mouth while her thumb, smooth and tender, caresses your cheek.

When the kiss breaks again, her hands snake their way down to your sweats. You assist her in removing your shorts—a very clumsy affair: tangled hands and arms and lots of chuckling. But your cock does finally spring out from your boxers, the ones that have been discarded in the corner of the bed, together with her clothes. When it’s all done, you have the pleasure of witnessing the sight of her slim frame straddling you once more, long legs surrounding you on either side of your thighs while she peppers kisses on your chest. 

“I’m sorry I left you to deal with… Everything. Alone.”  she begins, “I shouldn’t have walked out on you like that… I’m sorry. I hope you aren’t angry”

And from your lying position, you lift a hand to cup her cheek. “We can talk later.”

She gets the message, but bends down and kisses you nonetheless. You’d probably have trouble falling asleep later in the night, and she’d wake up and you’d have this same conversation again. You’d rather have it later than now, not when the wound is still fresh.

Wonyoung lets a soft smile play on her lips. You are slightly aware of her raising her hips, her right hand finding its way between your bodies to grasp your wet, erect shaft, and line it up with her entrance. She breaks the kiss for the third time that night, searches your eyes for approval to continue with this. Was it make up sex? You didn;t know if it was for sure, but it sure as hell felt like it. What you do no for certain is: you’d like to experience this now, and you want to etch this in your memory for as long as you can before it fades with the rest of your mind. 

You give her the slightest of nods, and you feel the head of your cock press against her wet, tight opening. Slowly, carefully, Wonyoung lowers herself down onto your shaft, your cockhead parting her tight lips to impale her pussy. She gasps loudly as she impales herself fully, and she opens her eyes slightly to match your gaze. You brush stray locks of hair away to reveal her face fully, and you bring her mouth back to yours to kiss her deeply. As your tongues duel, she begins to raise her hips, drawing your shaft out of her body before lowering it once more, and soon she has found a soft, slow rhythm as she rides you, grinding her warm, tight body against yours. 

She raises herself upright and lets her hands rest on top of your chest. You’d like to save that face she makes in a supercut of her other memorable faces: eyes closed, lips slightly parted and the wisp of a smile on her lips as she rocks her hips. From where you lie, you watch as Wonyoung takes you in and out of her body with soft grinding motions, riding you slowly, enjoying every entry and exit of your shaft as it fills her over and over in slow, tender strokes that make her shiver. You watch as your shaft appears for a split second or so before driving back into her, each disappearance accompanied by a soft spike of pleasure. As always, she’s letting moans and sighs and gasps tumble freely from half-parted lips as she takes you in and out of her slowly, rocking her hips with innate grace and elegance. All you do is let your hands rest on her thighs, moaning softly to encourage her as she rides you lovingly, tenderly, a far cry from what you’re used to when it comes down to sex with Jang Wonyoung. 

Through the night, your cock glides in and out of that perfect pussy, elicits moans and gasp and sighs and cute little cusses when you hilt yourself deep inside of her and tug a little at her hair. Her hands were always active, sometimes caressing your chest, sometimes on your jaw, sometimes behind your head as she snaked an arm behind your head to keep you locked where you were just so she could sneak in a kiss. You came in her mouth, her ass, her pussy. She came on your fingers, your cock, your mouth. She cussed a lot, almost passed out once or twice. You cussed a lot two, and you caught her when she almost rolled off the bed (the two of you laughed for a minute about that situation before you ended up spooning on the floor, her leg in the air and your cock pumping in and out of her while she had your back to you and your face in her right hand). 

Bottom line: it was wonderful, wonderful make up sex that ended with both of you sweaty and panting and wanting more from each other but you guys just don’t have that energy to keep going. It was a novelty for both of you, and you wanted to remember just how special she could make you feel, even in the impurest of acts. 

*

The flash of the polaroid camera is almost blinding, but you power through and keep your eyes open. Like a child that’s seeing snow for the first time, Jang Wonyoung watches excitedly as the polaroid emerges from the slot in the camera, and she’s all too eager to grab it and lay it face down on the coffee table in your apartment.

“I thought you’re supposed to shake it?” you ask, watch as she fiddles with the camera for a little bit before she snaps a selfie with her newest purchase. She gives you a look that basically translates to, “uh, are you dumb?” and waits for the next polaroid to emerge from the slot before she launches into her lecture. 

“Shaking the polaroid to make it develop faster is a myth,” the way she sounds so official and everything is so cute. You can’t help but smile a little as she sets the other polaroid down. “It shifts the pigments and blurs the photo, but an idiot like you would need a genius like me to tell that to you.”

The remark is clearly meant to be biting, but it’s nothing short of hilarious to you. “When did you become a camera nerd?”

“Ever since I got this,” she lifts the polaroid camera up and hits you with that you’re on camera smile. “Maybe I should do an ad for this brand. Increase their sales, you know?”

She leaves you to think on that and retrieves the first polaroid she took: a picture of you and her on the couch of your apartment. Not the grandest first photo, but hey, a memory is a memory, and you really are just focusing on cherishing those at the moment. As she leaves the couch to clip the polaroid onto the photo rack (a bunch of metal wires on a metal frame with wooden clips to hold photos) she just set up, you grab your journal next to you and flip it to the page you wrote on a few hours before. With your pen (that you now carry around just about everywhere with your journal), you scribble down a new part of today that you want to remember. It was her idea to journal down everything you wanted to remember. 

The entry goes right under the one about Wonyoung’s new camera.

She looks so happy with that new camera. Bet she’s going to go back to the dorm and show it off to all of her members because she’s a fucking child. I hope that…

And you trail off in your writing, What you wanted to say was just on the tip of your tongue just a second ago. Why can’t you remember it? It was literally just in your head a minute ago…

No. 

You shut the journal. It makes a soft yet substantial thud as the leather cover slaps against pages. You place your pen in your pocket, set the journal back down on the couch and stand up to walk towards your girlfriend, who is currently adjusting the angle that the wooden clip holds the polaroid at. She senses you walking up to her, steps aside and makes a space for you to watch her struggle. You would offer help, but you know that it removes half the fun for her when you do something for her. 

She fiddles around a little more, makes a couple of grunting sounds under her breath, curses a little, and next thing you know, she exclaims, “tada!” while pointing at the first occupant of the photo rack. You roll your eyes, throw an arm over her shoulder and look at the slightly blurry photo within the white frame. 

“With the camera,” she tells you, her tone soft and warm like… Like… Fuck. “I hope that we can help our memories live on. Sounds pretty deep huh?”

You can’t help but chuckle in agreement. You take a moment to stare at the two faces that occupy the space in the polaroid, and you hope to God that they will never, ever look foreign to you. It’s a futile prayer, you know, but a glass-half-full mentality is the best chance you have at not spiralling out of control. 

Wonyoung lays her head on your shoulder, silent and all sentimental as she closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath. She lets out a shuddering sigh, and you know that she’s trying not to cry, cause in this situation she’s the one that will end up hurt at the end of it all. You’ll forget the pain of forgetting; she’ll remember the pain of being forgotten. It sucks, but it’s just the way it is. You hug her, hold her close and stroke her hair. You don’t want to forget what she means to you, what you mean to her.

How many more polaroids left till it all ceases to matter?

____________________

Hello! Hope you guys enjoyed this fic. I'm a bit rusty so this one might be a bit funny, but hopefully the style of storytelling I chose didn't fuck you up too bad. Non-linear storytelling will be the death of me. Also: I kinda didn't edit this one too much. My bad hehe.

This was really more of a PSA to cherish the ones you hold close to you, because you never know when they will just disappear. Love the people close to you, cherish them forever.

~Lots of love Nichuuu

[chloesimaginationthings]

Shueisha color teasers dropped! thoughts on the pallettes?

Okay quick rundown of what I think!

I think Jodio and Dragona look the best, I’m glad they kept Jodio’s colours, and Dragona looks more or less what I expected!

Though I’m not in love with the orange outfit for dragona, I think green or purple would have looked way better! Paco is fine, though I think his hair should have been a dirty blonde.

And I’m so sorry Usagi enjoyers, he’s a lost cause, they made him tingle. They feared to let him slay, they debuffed him. It almost looks alright but then they made the hat neon blue,,, should of been at least red to at least compliment just a lil

I think everyone else’s colours are fine! Though kinda just standard, and I do love November rain, I won with him having blue!! (Looks like weather report which is super cool)

Tbh I can get use to these colours, EVEN though I’ll probably still use the colour palettes I’ve been using, not like Shueisha colours are canon, It’s disappointing they just used palettes from certain Araki paintings over trying to make their own decisions on palettes

Jodio is fine, seeing Araki used it multiple times so it feels like that is what Jodio is supposed to look like, but taking from a painting where the whole point is to be one certain colour scheme, where everyone matches (Araki does these types of paintings a lot) feels somewhat misguided and will make Dragona, Paco and Usagi blend together and while Jodio will stand out.

I feel like there should be more variety of colours amongst the group, similar to how Golden Winds cast are all defined by one colour. I felt like it was too soon to give them colours, but again maybe I’ll warm up to them,

Definitely still using my own palettes whenever I feel like drawing them again🩵🩵🩵

[thedustyleaves]

Sorry if you’ve answered this before, but I really love how your illustrations have such a cohesive color palette, how do you pick your colors to have a certain theme without looking monochromatic?

(In your breakdown on the saloon/western BP illustration, you mentioned that the overall color was reddish brown so you added blue to the main group to set them apart. But like how did you decide on which reddish brown colors to use for the flats?)

Thank you!! Your art is really expressive and the colors always work so well in the illustration. I’m always in awe of your pics

That’s an excellent question! My drawings actually start out pretty monochromatic because I tend to put most of my effort into the lighting and shading part to help differentiate where I want people to look.

For all of my pieces, I want my characters to be in focus. So no matter what, I always have to keep their main colors in mind and make sure their outfits and the background don’t clash with them (Kain’s red hair tends to be a problem, pft).

For my flats, I generally work with two main colors that tend to contrast each other and then I mix a lot of neutrals around them. (Sometimes the main colors are in the light and shading itself, but I’ll just focus on the flats!).

Sometimes, I will change the hue of their colors. So while Kain has bright orange hair, I will dull it down if it overwhelms the piece or doesn’t fit with the tone - like I did for the cowboy drawing - but never so much that it no longer looks like him.

With the cowboy drawing as an example, if I strip it down to my flats, it instantly becomes very dull and monochromatic. I really enjoy working with these colors because they’re easy on the eyes (or my eyes specifically) and I can see the difference in subtle hues a lot better than if they were very high in contrast. I like working with subtleties when I want background characters to become a single unit but still be separated as individual people.

When I picked the colors for the background, I wanted to separate the characters from the walls. Therefore, I kept the walls red and gold, and the characters brown - they’re still within the same warm-colored family, but they’re far enough away from each other that they don’t become one with each other. I also like to not have clothes from different characters blend together, so overlapping colours can't be the same. I made one coat lighter than the other, the glove warmer than the dark jacket, and so on.

(their coats are also in the same realm as the green/gold colour of the details for the curtains and the frames on the walls)

For the paintings I actually chose to put a bit of blue and green in to help create some interest for the main characters and keep your eyes around that area, as it matches the blue they’re wearing, just a whole lot darker. It also makes them pop just enough so they look interesting against the wall, but not enough to overshadow the main characters

I know, because of the way I work with layers, that when I add my overlays, I automatically brighten and saturate the colors a lot. It’s a lot easier for me to saturate something “dull” and move it into all kinds of hues than saturating something already high in contrast and then trying to force it into a new color theme.

But because of this, I usually have to go back and change the colors I work with constantly while the overlays are on. Since the overlays don’t know what sort of materials they’re laying on top of, everything gets lighter and washed out, so dark skin tones, hair, and clothes have to be corrected one by one afterward. If I were to remove the overlays after I corrected it to make it feel like a dark blue outfit on Raki, it’s basically just a black void now; but with the overlay, it’s a dark blue outfit. Before that, he simple blended in with the background too much and he didn’t feel like he was a part of the group either. 

I always try to put down colors how I imagine they’re going to look like, unaffected by light, but I’m also naturally drawn toward more earthy and warm tones, so all of my color choices will tend to lean that way.

Here’s another example of main colours vs. neutrals; the main colours are red and green/turquoise, with dark browns and greys to encapsulate them, and gold for accents or to make certain things pop (the chair, Dakon’s dark coat, etc.).

I never want them all to wear the exact same color, but I want them to feel connected and be in the same 'colour family,' so Dakon and Kain have nearly the same dark red/brown, and Christie and Raki have nearly the same 'bright'/red.

The blacks and browns, I’ve kept warm as well, so they stay within that realm of red. I also make sure that none of them are too close to Kain’s hair since he’s in the middle of the piece, and I want your eyes to be drawn toward the middle, and his orange hair helps with that.

The paintings I basically do not care too much about, as long as each individual painting has a single dominating colour. I mute them down with a darker overlay and ensure they don’t have strong shadows and light, so they get pushed to the background, so despite being a bunch of different colours, each painting feels like a solid color and they’re still cast in the same light as the rest of the piece, so they feel like they belong in the same room.

I try to help move the eye around the piece as well, so I keep the big painting sort of in the same realm of red and brown as the main characters, because it’s so big it shouldn’t dominate with a new color and force interest toward it. The blue/purple ones melt in with the background as they’re close to the turquoise background, but without disappearing, the yellow ones work sort of like the gold accents and blend in with the frames, and the green paintings at the top give the illusion of a monochrome fade, so everything gets more eerie and green as the image goes up - there’s also a subtle green fade that affects the gold accents from the top down, to enhance that effect.

This is just a few examples, if there are any pieces in particular you were thinking of, and it’s neither of these, just let me know, and I can break those down as well!

Thank you for the question; I hope I answered it somewhat, and thank you for the kind words! <3

[heavenlyakin]

starboy - atsumu miya x fem!reader

wc: ~5.8k

cw: fem reader, on-page drug use, alcohol consumption, the reader has red hair and hazel eyes (sorry, not sorry), reader blushes, and a little angst towards the end.

a/n: 18+ only please. I use “--” to switch POVs in this fic and “ – – –” is a time skip. I really hope you like this silly little AU! It’s giving Wattpad kid grows up and uses Tumblr and AO3 now. Sorry there’s no smut in this, but I might write a part 2 (please don’t ask for one because that’ll kill my vibes). If you’re interested in the playlist mentioned that they listen to, I’ll be happy to link it!

Part 2

—

Every crowd is the same, but somehow different in a multitude of ways. It’s a dichotomy that Atsumu hasn’t quite figured out yet. After years of touring and performing he thought he knew about everything about entertaining a crowd and getting them riled up. He’d sold out more than enough shows to back this idea up. 

However, on night two of touring his third studio album, he notices you in the crowd. The glitter on your eyes falling to your cheeks reflects the stage lighting and draws him to your eyes. That’s when he notices your red hair, the burgundy red is a sight to see. He winks like he would to anyone else, but something in him yearns to walk back down the catwalk to you again. He resists, knowing he needs to keep doing his job.

But, he does look for you the next night. 

He’s glad to see you’re back. He’s noticed fans going to multiple shows before and has invited them to the after-parties for being so loyal, so he thinks he wants to extend the offer. The other girls that seem to stick around are nice enough, and the band never seems to mind. When he’s changing between the third and fourth song of the night, he tells his manager to send someone out to see if you want to join them after the show. 

He’s happy to hear back after the show that you accepted. 

Outside the city limits, the rented house is big enough for hundreds of people to move around freely, but Atsumu got over massive parties after his first tour. The glamor of the drinking, drugs, and even the people he thought he loved being around seemed to lose their shine. With only about 30 people here now, he’s much more comfortable in this space. 

From his seat on the velvet couch with his brother, he notices you come in; walking through the door in the same outfit you’d worn to his show tonight. The glittery lavender tube top is something to see, but his eyes linger on your legs, covered in iridescent shimmering tights under white shorts. Your smile and wave to another girl across the room makes him look away. 

“How many more nights are we staying in LA?” Osamu asks his brother, taking a rip from the bong after. The smoke floats above the brothers, whirling in the colorful lavender lighting. 

“Two more, then the tour really kicks off in the States.” He tells him, taking the bong from him and taking a hit. 

He coughs after the smoke leaves his body and Osamu laughs at him. Atsumu has tried plenty, but he’s no longer used to the feeling. He takes a sip of water, leaning back on the couch and stretching his legs out on the table, careful to avoid Osamu’s stash. 

“I think this will be better than even last time,” he tells him. “I’m glad you decided to come with me.” 

Osamu shrugs, “I needed a break from the restaurant.” 

He’s not staying the whole tour with Atsumu, just the first leg of the U.S. tour, and then flying back home during the busy season at the restaurant. Osamu has been at his brother’s side since his early days trying to get a studio just to listen to one of his tracks, and now he’s watched him grow into one of the biggest Jpop stars in the world. He’d never tell him, but he’s proud. 

How Atsumu gained his fame is quite the story, hard to believe really. Who would have thought that a little karaoke fun would have led to all this? It still shocks Atsumu to this day. Every night he wonders when the crowds will lessen, when the tickets will stop selling out, and when this dream will all be over. 

“Can we join you?” Your unfamiliar voice sounds like a song Atsumu wants to write, but he shakes it off.

He’s slept with fans, had his fill, and he’s too old for this now. Nothing is exciting about someone who would do anything for you just because they are obsessed with you, not because they know you… the real you.

 It’s just the excitement for the new tour that’s getting to him. 

“Of course,” Osamu answers before Atsumu can tell you and your friend to sit. 

Atsumu ignores the irritation that washes over him as you sit beside Osamu, your thighs touching. He ignores the way Osamu smiles and drapes his arm over your shoulder. He ignores the sting in his chest that’s unlike anything he’s felt before. 

He looks away as your friend sits on the couch beside him. 

–

Your friend starts talking to him and you notice Atsumu engages her in a friendly manner, but he’s reserved. Something you hadn’t expected. His brother, on the other hand, isn’t shy. The way Osamu’s thumb rubs circles onto your soft skin is enough to drive you wild. However, you don’t want to be that girl. 

“Do you always tour with your brother?” You ask, making conversation. You know he doesn’t, but that won’t stop you from playing the part. 

“No, I’ve never joined him before,” Osamu tells you and you look past him to Atsumu, he’s engaged in conversation with the girl you met tonight. 

Honestly, tonight feels like a fanfiction you read when you were younger, getting to meet the band after the show and potentially fucking the lead or another member. The lead singer’s brother isn’t exactly who you imagined this playing out with, but you’re old enough now to know life is rarely like it is in stories… even if you did get invited to your favorite artist’s after-party. Despite the girl flinging herself towards Atsumu, after telling you that you couldn’t, you’re not going to let this ruin a good time. 

However, when you look over at her and Atsumu, it seems like he’s more interested in the bottle of water between his hands than the girl on his right. Serves her right for being a bitch about you wanting to talk to him. 

“Have you always been a fan?” Osamu asks you, and you realize you were probably spacing out. 

“Oh, yeah. For the last few years anyway after his debut album.” You answer and he nods. This conversation is going nowhere. “Do you want a drink?” You ask him, seeing that his cup is empty. 

He smiles and nods. “Come with me to refill it.” 

– 

Atsumu watches as you leave with his brother, disappearing into another room obscured from his view. He couldn’t hear what you were talking about with Osamu, thanks to the girl beside him rambling on about a festival she saw him at a few years ago. He can’t find it in him to care whatever she's saying about it. 

Where is Osamu taking you? His irritation is present on his face, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed as if he can see through the walls. 

“Are you listening to me?” The girl, whose name he’s sure she told him, asks him. 

“Not really,” he smiles to soften the blow. “Excuse me,” he gets up off the couch, leaving her behind without glancing back for her reaction. 

He finds Osamu at the bar with you, wrapped up in conversation and mixing a drink that you take a sip of as he approaches. 

“Can I talk to you?” Atsumu asks his brother. 

Osamu looks surprised but nods. “I’ll be back in a moment, doll.” 

“Not her,” Atsumu tells him, his voice barely containing the blinding feelings he’s experiencing all at once. “Not tonight.” 

“Calling dibs?” He smirks, a laugh falling from his lips. “Fine, fine,” he shrugs after seeing the look of irritation on his twin’s face. “I’ll go talk to the blonde you were ignoring then,” he says and leaves the room. 

Atsumu watches as Osamu goes to the living room of the rented house. The girl’s face lights up when he speaks to her. She drops her phone on the couch beside her and gives him the attention she wasn’t receiving. He turns back and sees you, sipping from a red solo cup and looking defeated. 

“Why so sad?” He asks, leaning on the bar and flashing his winning smile. Your eyes light up and he sees they’re hazel.

You shrug, “I’m not. Just bored.” 

Bored… she’s bored? 

– 

Fuck, why did you say that to him? Atsumu Miya, the biggest star in Japan and maybe even the world right now… thinks you’re bored at his party. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you stutter your words, trying to change his confused look to one of more understanding. “I’m just, not used to this.” 

He chuckles, standing up and shoving his hands into his pockets. “Oh, I get that.” He tells you. “I guess this is a lot for someone who hasn’t been to our tour before.” 

“I’ve been to your other tours.” You fire back, brows furrowed. 

“I’ve never seen you before tonight.” He grins, and you think he’s enjoying picking on you. 

“I’ve never been able to afford front row before now. I’ve always been in the lower sections.  I don’t think even your pretty eyes can see that far back.” You take a sip of the punch that has something in it, maybe vodka. You’re not well-versed in alcoholic beverages enough to differentiate between them. 

“I see,” he says and looks up towards the ceiling, teetering back on his heels. 

Something about this little movement takes you by surprise. It makes him… real? You knew he was a real person, of course, but something so casual never crossed your mind. That’s the thing with celebrity idolization, you lose their sense of humanity. 

That’s weird, isn’t it? But… it’s true. 

“You seem a little bored yourself,” you comment, setting your drink down on the bar, but keeping it in front of you. “Not enjoying your own party?” 

He looks at you, something on his face you can’t quite read. “It’s just not the same as it used to be, ya know. It’s more of an obligation.” 

“You shouldn’t live your life for others.” This time, he frowns at you. 

–

Is she serious? The look on her face makes it seem so. 

Atsumu laughs, running his hand through his hair, feeling the gel still in it from the show. “I don’t think that’s true with my profession.” 

Everything about him is for others. 

She shrugs, her red hair falling over her face. She brushes it away and tucks it behind her ear and he wishes he’d done it for her. “I don’t think that has to be true.” 

He leans on the bar, his elbows against the wood and hands supporting his face. “If you say so.” 

– – – 

Osamu leaves after three weeks, but that’s a quarter of the tour. They visited 9 cities during this time, but the parties started to dwindle. Everything from the second night of his show in LA is still stuck in his head. Red hair and hazel eyes haunt his dreams, even now. Plus, he can’t get out of his head what she said. 

You shouldn’t live your life for others. 

Isn’t that what he’s always done? Each album, every show, every meet and greet, every television or radio appearance, it’s all been for them… the fans. He puts a piece of himself in it all. 

How many more pieces does he have left? 

“Astumu,” his manager's voice grabs his attention. “The bus is stopping for fuel. Do you want anything from the station?” 

“I can go in. It’s late, there won’t be a crowd of people.” He likes to go do his own bidding when he can, even though many times it ends with security having to drag him through crowds. 

His manager frowns. “We don’t have security ready to take you in.” 

“Who the hell is going to be out this late? It’s 3 a.m. in the middle of nowhere outside Pittsburgh. No one will be there.” Atsumu says, probably more harshly than he intended. 

He sighs, but his manager moves out of the way and lets him leave the tour bus. The chilly air hits his warm skin, making him shiver as he approaches the gas station. He recalls the last update from the driver. They’re only 60 or so miles south of Pittsburgh. Then they’ll spend three nights there for the two shows this weekend. 

Atsumu was right, there’s almost no one here. The cashier looks half asleep at the register, and there are few cars in the lot. He turns towards the coolers full of drinks, looking for a Gatorade he likes. He locates the light blue color, opens the cooler, and grabs the cold drink. 

As he turns, his eyes catch on red hair walking down the aisle next to his. He can’t help himself, he follows it. 

“-----,” he says, shocked that you’re in this random gas station. 

Looking at you, he takes in your appearance. So different from the night he met you. You’re in casual clothes, pink sweatpants hanging off your hips, with a matching sweatshirt. Your hair is still down, but something about it looks different, maybe it’s the waves in it. You’re without makeup too, but he’s never seen someone so beautiful. 

“Atsumu?” You look as shocked as he is. “What are you doing here?” You wave your hand around, and he notices the bag of salt and vinegar chips you’re holding in it. 

“Heading to Pittsburgh for our shows this weekend. What are YOU doing here?” Atsumu raises his brows, smiling at you. 

“I, uh, I live here. Well, close to here.” You tell him, and he nods but is more confused than ever. 

“Then why were you in LA for my show? Wouldn’t Pittsburgh be an easier show to go to for you?” 

“Quite the interrogator, huh?” You laugh and Atsumu wants to record it and put it in a song. “If you must know, I won tickets and a hotel room by the venue on a radio contest. I was lucky caller number 7 and got two nights to see you.” 

“Oh,” he never considered that. “Are you coming this weekend?” 

“Oh no, I didn’t get tickets. They’re really expensive.” 

Atsumu’s heart sinks. You won’t be there. 

“Come with me. I think I can get you in.” He winks and you laugh. A few moments pass and he realizes you didn’t take it as seriously as he meant it. “I’m serious. Come with us.” 

“Atsumu, you can’t be serious.” You laugh, cheeks blushing. He stares at you, again something on his face that you can’t quite read.  “Oh, you are.” 

He nods. “Pretty serious.” 

“Look at me,” you gesture with your hands at your body. “I can’t just hop on the tour bus with you and head off to Pittsburgh. I don’t have anything on me.” 

“I can get you whatever you need. I have assistants.” He feels desperate now like this moment is going to change the projection of his life. “Please, —--. I want you there.” 

You close your eyes and let out a sigh. “Fine, but we have to go to my place and get my stuff.” 

“We can do that!” 

–

Atsumu is basically jumping with excitement and you wonder how in the absolute fuck this is happening right now. Of course, he’d find you on your 3 a.m. snack run when you look an absolute mess. 

“Okay, let me just go pay for these,” you start to turn for the register, but Atsumu snatches the bag of chips and Dr. Pepper from your hands. 

“I got these.” He smiles and the irritation leaves your body. Fuck it, he can afford it. 

“Thank you,” you tell him, walking with him to the register. “Are you like… allowed to come with me to get my stuff or are you going to have to wait here for me?” 

“Allowed?” He laughs, tapping his card on the card reader. The familiar ping rings in your ears as it accepts the charge. “Of course, I am. I do have autonomy, ya know.” 

“Sorry, Mr. Pop Star. Didn’t know if there were any rules you have to follow.” You tell him as he opens the door for you. 

“Well, we do need to go tell my manager.” He sighs. “He’s kind of a hard ass. But he can’t stop me.” 

“Can I wait in my car for that?” You laugh, not wanting to awkwardly be standing there when they have it out over him going home with a strange girl. 

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Which one is it?” 

You unlock your car, the lights flashing. “That one. I’ll warm it up for us.” 

The nights have begun to become chilly, fall setting in and all. You actually turned your heat on in your apartment tonight for the first time since late spring. You part ways, Atsumu heading towards the bus fueling area and you to your car. It’s a good fifteen minutes before you see him walking to your car, waving his hands with a big smile. You unlock the car and he slides in the passenger seat. 

“Went well?” You ask. 

“Oh, no. He’s absolutely pissed, but that’s not my problem.” He buckles himself in and you laugh. 

“Well, he’s gonna be even more pissed when it takes an hour to get back. I live twenty minutes from here.” 

“Oh well,” he shrugs as you put the car in drive. 

The radio softly plays his second album and you feel your cheeks warm. “Sorry, I can change it,” you reach for the radio. 

He stops you, his cold hand touching yours. You pull back, embarrassed and smiling. 

“I like this one a lot. I wish we could still play it.” He tells you, turning it up. 

“Why don’t you play it anymore?” 

“It just didn’t do as well as others.” He shrugs and you feel bad. It’s not your favorite song, but it isn’t in your bottom tier either. 

“You should play it tomorrow.” 

“I’ll think about it,” he looks over at you and smiles. 

The rest of the car ride you spend humming along to his second album, smiling and giggling when he sings certain lines to mess with you, and having genuinely one of the best times in your life. Hearing Atsumu live, even at his shows, has never sounded like this. 

This feels… intimate. 

“Welcome to my humble abode,” you say pulling into the apartment parking lot. “Please be quiet though. My roommate is sleeping. Plus she might scream if she sees you.” 

“A fan?” 

“Yes,” you roll your eyes and get out of the car. 

Then you remember… the poster in your room… 

“Oh. Um.” You stop him at the door of your apartment. “No laughing at me, but I might have your Rolling Stone cover on my bedroom wall.” 

Atsumu laughs, shaking his head. His hair falls over his forehead. “That’s okay. I won’t tease you…. For now.” 

“Fine,” you huff and open the door, welcoming him to the apartment. It’s dark so you turn on your flashlight on your phone “Remember, be quiet until we get to my room.” 

He nods and follows you. You take off your shoes, and he does the same, then you show him to your room. To your surprise, he is quiet the whole way to your bedroom. Once you turn the lights on and shut the door behind him you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Your eyes immediately go to the poster adjacent to you. 

“Remember, don’t laugh at me.” You turn to him and he puts his hands up in defense, a goofy smile on his face. “Also, I’m sorry about the state of my room.” There are clothes strung about, makeup here and there, and who knows what else is all over your dresser. 

“As long as you don’t judge the tour bus, I won’t judge you,” he shrugs and doesn’t look around at the mess. 

You pick up a few shirts on your way to the closet, tossing them in a basket to wash later. Honestly, they could be clean and just left out while you were getting dressed and forgotten about, but you don’t want to take the risk. 

Atsumu is still standing awkwardly by the door. 

“You can sit on my bed if you want,” you laugh, patting the duvet. At least your bed was made tonight. 

He sits, crossing his legs and watching you as you go through your stuff to decide what to bring. It takes a few minutes to decide what you want to wear to the shows, but longer to decide what makeup to throw into a bag to go with them. It’s all probably too much but you finally finish packing. 

“All done!” You declare, turning with two bags to face Atsumu. 

You go to take a step, but your foot catches on a pair of shorts on the floor and you fall on the bed, on top of Atsumu. He reacts, catching you and falling back onto the bed with you hovering over him. He smiles, his face so close to yours now. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, barely above a whisper. 

You part your lips to speak, but you can’t so you close them. Your heart pounds in your chest. Hyper-aware of Atsumu’s hands on your waist, the feeling of your lower bodies smooshed against each other, and his lips oh so close to yours. 

“Yes,” you finally get out and you feel yourself moving towards his lips. 

No, you’re not moving; he is. 

Atsumu’s lips brush against yours, his right hand leaving your waist and cupping your cheek. His lips are warm and taste sweet like a sugary drink. You kiss him back, trying to will your heart to slow down, sure he can feel it pounding in your chest. His thumb rubs against your cheek, the feeling sending shivers down your spine. 

You pull away slowly, catching your breath and looking at Atsumu’s smile. 

–

The way you look at him takes his breath away. That kiss, that feeling, it was unlike anything he’d experienced before. He’s aware of how he’s reacting, wondering if you can feel him through his and your pants or if he’s lucky enough that you don’t think he’s a creep. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and he brushes your hair away from your face and behind your ear. 

“I’m not.” He’s regretted things in his life, and this will never be one of them. 

You smile and he feels himself relax, “I’m not really sorry either. Well except for the falling on you. That was kinda embarrassing.” 

He laughs, laying his head back on the bed and looking up at the ceiling. All of this feels surreal, even with his life the way it is. He watches as you move off of him, picking up the bags you dropped and shoving a few last-minute items into the larger one. 

“Ready to go?” You ask him and he rolls off the bed and stands. 

“Are you?” He grabs your waist, pulls you into him again, and kisses your forehead. 

You feel hot against his lips and he wonders if it’s because of him. When he looks at you again, your cheeks are flushed, so it definitely is because of him.

“Let me take those,” he grabs the straps of your bags as you relinquish them, allowing him to toss them over his shoulder. 

“Thank you,” you smile at him and he follows you out of the apartment and to your car. 

“You should show me some other music you like on the drive back,” he tells you, placing your bags in the back seat. 

“I’ll let you look at my Spotify and choose,” you smile, starting the car and handing your phone to him. 

“Let’s see what we’re working with here.” He scrolls through your playlists, laughing at the one random country playlist with early 2000s music in it, and selects one of them.

“Are you serious?” You turn your head and stare at him, waiting for the light to turn green. “Not this one.” 

“Too late,” he laughs. “You said I could choose.” 

The car ride is filled with silly country songs he chooses, each one making you yell at him for picking it. He even forced you to explain why you selected each one for the playlist. He can’t remember the last time he had this much fun with someone. 

You pull the car into the gas station parking lot, pulling up close to the tour bus. He looks at the clock and sees it at half past 4. He hopes that he’s able to sleep at least for a few hours on the bus. He watches as you get out, giving himself a second to gather his thoughts before getting out and grabbing your bags. 

To his surprise, his manager doesn’t say anything when they get on the bus. He looks at you, but he can tell it’s not bothering you at least. He shows you to the back of the bus, his room for all intents and purposes. 

“You can put your stuff anywhere you want. We’ll have a hotel room when we get to Pittsburgh soon.” He says then realizes you might want your own room. “Should we ask for your own room?” 

“Do you want me to be in my own room?” You ask him and he shakes his head. 

“I’d hate that, honestly.” 

“Then I’ll stay with you.” You move to sit on the bed, looking around the room. “So, this is how Japan’s sweetheart lives on the road.” 

“It’s as glamorous as it looks,” he laughs, laying on the bed on his side, his head propped up by his hand. “You get used to it pretty quickly, really.” 

You lay down, on your back but turn your face towards him. “Don’t you miss being home, though?” 

He shrugs, “Sometimes. I miss my family more than that really. I was glad Osamu stayed with us up until recently, but I won’t see my mom until the end of the tour.” 

“I’m sure she’s proud of you.” You tell him and he feels his chest warming. You yawn and he realizes how late, well early, it is. 

“You should sleep until we get to Pittsburgh,” he tells you. 

“You should too,” you tell him, eyes fluttering shut. 

–

When you wake up, Atsumu is draped around you, his breath warm on your neck. You smile, taking it in and enjoying the quiet sounds of his breathing. His body is warm against yours and you’re surprised by how comforting this feels. 

How is any of this real?

Yesterday you were working and then decided you needed a break from your dissertation and decided to go get snacks. Now, you’re sleeping on Atsumu’s tour bus in his bed going to his weekend shows. 

A knock on the door grabs your attention and you nudge Atsumu. 

“‘Tsumu,” you whisper, “someone is at the door.” 

“Probably Jeff.” He whispers back. “My manager.” He tears himself off of you and goes to the door. 

“We’re in Pittsburgh. Decided to let you sleep here for a few hours, but we need to check in to the hotel and then get to the venue for sound check.” Jeff sounds no-nonsense through the door. “Get your stuff and let's get moving.” 

Atusmu shuts the door and you set up on the bed. “Please tell me your hotel room has a bathroom.” 

Atusmu laughs, “Of course it does.” 

You gather your bags, grateful you didn’t unpack anything and Atsumu helps you take it up to his hotel room. To your surprise it isn’t in the downtown area close to the venue, but instead closer to the suburbs. Perhaps it’s easier for him to have some privacy this way? 

The hotel room is the largest you’ve ever been in. The room is as large as your apartment, truly. This is more like what you envisioned when you thought about what it would be like to be on tour with Atsumu, and what fanfictions described. 

“I call dibs on the bathroom first,” you say, laughing but completely serious. 

“All yours,” he throws himself on the king-sized bed, seeming to fall asleep instantly. 

You brush your teeth first before hopping in the shower and taking an everything shower. You scrub, shave, wash your hair and face, and then moisturize your entire body after. As you’re drying your hair with the hotel dryer, you wonder if it's bothering Atsumu’s rest. You peek your head out of the door, still wrapped in the hotel robe. 

Atsumu is standing in the middle of the room at the round dining table, eating a slice of orange. “Hey,” he raises his eyebrows, and you close the robe more across your chest. 

“Did you order breakfast?” You ask walking in to sit at the table, clearly full of the food he ordered. 

“Jeff probably did,” he tells you and sits next to you. “He sent more than enough, clearly.” 

You load up a plate with eggs, bacon, and fruit. “Give him my thanks,” you laugh and begin eating. 

As you eat together, Atsumu gives you a rundown of tonight's plans, the show isn’t until 7 and he doesn’t go on until about 8. So you have lots of time to kill, but there’s still soundcheck in the late afternoon. But, the plan is to just hang out here until then. 

“Plenty of time for me to destroy this hotel room and get you in trouble,” you tease. 

“Oh please,” he laughs. “They’d never believe it was me. I have a perfect record of leaving everywhere I stay in great condition.” 

“Whoa, goody-two-shoes on our hands.” You tease and he throws a grape at you. “Oh, there goes your clean record.” You say as it hits the floor and he rolls his eyes. 

– – – 

Atsumu paces around the room and you notice he’s flexing his hands a lot. He’s dressed in a  similar outfit he wore in LA, but a slightly different design. The gold sparkles compliment his skin, and you can’t ignore how nice his muscles look. The vest without a shirt is a good look on him. 

“Nervous?” You ask, picking at the black skirt you chose for tonight. 

“Excited,” he replies. “I love doing this. It makes it all worth it.” 

You can’t help but smile back at him, he looks like he’s glowing and he’s not even under stage lighting yet. Maybe he was born for this. 

“So, I get to sit in this cozy room and enjoy the show on this television while you perform?” You ask. 

“Or, you can come backstage and stand near Jeff. He might not be the best conversationalist, though.” He suggests and you shake your head. 

“If I’m here I’ll at least get to see you change throughout the show.” 

“Pervert,” he teases and you shrug. 

“I’m basically living every fan’s dream right now, let me enjoy it.” You stand up, walking towards him and he takes your hands in his. 

“I hope I’m living up to your expectations,” he looks a little sad and you cock your head. 

“This is more than I ever imagined.” 

He smiles now, leaning forward and pressing his forehead to yours. “Wish me luck,” he says softly. 

You break the space between you and kiss him softly. “Good luck,” you whisper against his lips. 

He hugs you tightly before pulling away and leaving the room to go get in position to take the stage for tonight’s show. You sit back on a chair in the green room, watching the screen as the cameras start to focus on the stage. The show’s set is just like the two nights you spent in LA until he plays the song you requested. He dedicates it to a special someone, and you want to cry. 

He has to mean you, right? 

There isn’t anyone else he’s doing this with, right? 

You’d be naive to believe he isn’t doing this in every city, but some part of you is holding onto a nugget of hope that what he’s showing you is real. However, even if it isn’t you’ll remember this for the rest of your life. 

He joins you for a few minutes a third of the way through the show, and you get to tell him he’s doing amazing. He kisses you before he goes, and then this repeats once more when he changes again. Once the show is over, the band joins him in the green room and you don’t get much time to talk to him. You socialize with everyone, but ultimately end up back at Atsumu’s hotel room. He’s still riding off his high, talking about different nights of the show and how tonight compares. 

“I don’t think there’s been a better crowd, truly.” He tells you, tossing himself back onto the bed. 

You smile and laugh. “Maybe the East Coast is just better than the West.” 

“Maybe,” he laughs and sits up on the bed. “Would it be weird if I asked if you wanted to shower with me?” 

You stop moving, “I- uh-” you stutter and shake your head. 

He gets off the bed, crosses the room to you, and kisses you. ��You can say no, it won’t break my heart.” 

He disappears into the bathroom and you let out a sigh of relief. 

–

After Atsumu showers, he finds you on the couch, half asleep watching a rerun of a sitcom he’s not familiar with. 

“Hey,” he says softly, stroking your hair. “The bathroom is free if you need it.”

You come to and nod. “Thank you,” you yawn before going to the bathroom. 

When you emerge you're in black pajamas and your hair braided into two braids. Atsumu can’t take his eyes off of you. He can’t deny your beauty when you’re all done up, but this is something else. He feels like he’s in the presence of a deity. 

When you crawl into bed, he pulls you against him, kissing you deeply. You gasp against his lips and he chuckles. He rolls you onto your back, hovering over you and parting your legs with his knee. You whimper as he grazes your core, but he controls himself. 

In his head, he hears the melody of the moans he’d bring out of you and feels himself getting hard. 

“Atsumu, wait,” you put your hands on his chest and he pulls away. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, pulling away from your lips and looking down at you. 

Tears are threatening to spill out of those pretty hazel eyes. 

“I can’t do this. I want to go home.”

[prolix-yuy]

I SPINNED THE WHEEL AND GOT HONEY BEAR AND I DONT KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS BUT IM EXCITED (I'm not gonna google it to keep the surprise factor lamdovdf) the position name made me instantly think of Dieter so I'll go with him <33

this is just so much fun thank you for the sleepover bby!! ILY

Sil, I would be honored to Honey Bear you! And Dieter is exactly the man I want to get down with, especially in this position!

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Position: Honey Bear

Word Count: 1084

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, oral sex (m receiving), ass play, sexy wrestling, Dieter and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

Notes: I wanted to do another funny-sweet one, and Dieter is just perfect for it. Plus if I was having a bad a day, I would also appreciate being pampered like this ;)

He’s been a little ball of frustration all day today, and enough is enough.

You try not to be too hard on him. His agent interrupted Saturday morning TV with news that he wasn’t getting the part he’d be practicing for. “They wanted someone younger, to appeal to the newer audiences.” He sulked through the next two episodes.

Then his sister called, and he retreated into the bedroom. His voice still carried through the closed door, switching back and forth angrily from Spanish to English. He stomped back to the couch and doomscrolled for two hours, his brows pulled together in a dark scowl. 

His final straw came when you heard him groaning, “You have GOT to be kidding me!” Venturing into the kitchen, cautious of the sourness of his day, you find him tapping his phone with increasing annoyance.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, moving to lean beside him. His whole frame is tight, frustration directed at the world around him wafting off in heady waves. 

“If I’m too fucking old and too fucking lazy to get anything I want, then fuck it, I’m going to order a pizza and not give a shit about the diet. But the fucking delivery app keeps crashing and I just would like one goddamn thing to work today!” He shoves his phone across the counter, your hand stopping it from skittering off the edge to add to his annoyance. 

“How about you go take a shower and we lay down for a little while?” you ask, lightly stroking Dieter’s back. He takes in a deep breath and whooshes it out, scrubbing at his face. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just been a shitty day,” he says, letting you tug him towards the master suite. 

“Everything gets better once you’re in bed,” you say, leading him to the shower. He groans quietly.

“Baby, I’m not really in the right headspace for that.” You cup his cheeks and rest his forehead against yours, tapping the tips of your noses together. 

“That’s not what I mean. We’ll cuddle up and put on a movie and when we get hungry I’ll make something. But right now, you’re gonna try and relax.” Switching on the shower, you usher him in and close the door behind him. He looks through the glass at you in the perfect imitation of a Sarah McLachlan dog shelter commercial, and you draw a little heart in the steam.

Giving him a few minutes to decompress, you turn down the fluffy bedspread and change out of your day clothes. Shuffling around in your drawers, you find the perfect outfit to don before Dieter steps out damp and loose. The towel wrapped around his waist lets you admire his soft broad body, dimples and divots you love mapping with your mouth. He’s slicked his hair back but a few errant curls poke out. 

“That was needed, thank you,” he says, pulling out some neon green boxer briefs and tugging them on. They make his butt look absolutely adorable, and his bulge sizeable. You really should get him more of those. As he approaches, a smile begins working its way across his face.

“What are you wearing?” he asks, kneeling on the edge of the bed as you pose dramatically in the pillows.

“Why Mr Bravo, don’t you recognize the white elephant gift of last Christmas Eve?” Draped over your body is a white T-shirt with a badly rendered line drawing of sexy lingerie where it would fall on your silhouette. You’d won it at a party, and the terrible quality matched with the hilarious design made you keep it in the back of your drawer. 

“I thought we ruined that,” he says, crawling up the bed to hover over you. The weight of the day is smoothing from his face, fingers curling around the hem of the shirt. “You’ve got much better underwear than this.” 

“Dieter, don’t you dare take off the Seduction Shirt!” you crow, squirming below him as he redoubles his efforts to get the hideous shirt off. You nip at his biceps, digging your fingers into his sides to tickle yourself free. He tries to keep up, chasing after your crawling form and yanking you back into his embrace. 

He gets it halfway up your stomach when you manage to roll you both, pinning him on his back with his knees folded over your shoulders. He’s full on laughing now, cheeks a ruddy red and coughing with exertion. You let him catch his breath until he looks down up at you, a warm smile across his face. Pushing his thighs up to his chest, he takes in a small gasp, pupils blow out and hands clenching. Gaze drifting down, you find him hard and twitching in his boxers, your tits pressing softly. Cautiously, you stroke your palm up his length. He throws his head back, stomach tensing.

“Do you want…”

“Please.”

You’re stripping his boxers off in record time, sliding down so you can take him into your mouth in one quick slide. He chokes, hips bucking as your practiced touch massages behind his balls. Keening and hissing, you set a fast pace to topple him into pleasure quickly, adding two fingers pressing firmly at his hole. He’s babbling as your lips slide up and down his shaft, sucking hard and swallowing around the thick intrusion. 

“Oh fuck, baby, I’m…” he begs, and pride swells when he cums down your throat not two minutes after you began. You love knowing exactly what makes Dieter explode, and how quickly you can achieve it. Easing him down, you climb up to snuggle into his open arms. 

“Don’t know why I said I wasn’t in the headspace, I’m always in the right mind for you,” Dieter says softly, lips dragging over your temple. You smirk into his chest.

“It’s the Seduction Shirt, works every time.”

Quicker than you expect he rolls you, pinning your hips and ripping the shirt over your head to discard in a corner of the room. 

“There, no advantage now,” he snarks, rubbing his scruffy face into your neck. Fighting against the ticklish touch, you koala bear around him and pull him down to entwine.

“So if anything happens now, it’s all thanks to my own sex appeal?” you ask with faux curiosity. Dieter pops his head out to bathe you in warmth you’ll never get enough of.

“Damn right.”

END

LJ’s Bangathon 2023

[your-local-hoemie]

Okayokay but... lipstick stains on heizou?!?!?!?! S/o just covering his neck with lipstick kisses<333 and a bit on his lips too!! All because s/o wanted to test out if the lipstick was smudgeproof or not

THIS IS KINDA NS!FW. 18+ ONLY

HDJFJDIRJENDOND YESYEYSEYSUEYSYEJFJID

He’s such a little shit I want to turn his smug, pretty face into a flustered mess istg.

Warnings: pretty suggestive, it’s Heizou so it’s gonna be a lil’ sus, swearing, established relationship, Gn!Reader, does mention makeup, Not proof-read.

Characters: Heizou.

It was an hour before the Irodori festival in Inazuma.

Ayaka and Ayato invited you personally after your friendship with them had grown during the time spent after the vision decree hunt had been abolished.

You had been spending the whole day trying to figure out the perfect outfit not just for the Kamisato’s but also to try and impress your boyfriend, Heziou.

You had only been dating a few months now but it’s the least to say that he’s infuriatingly smug not to mention flirty.

You loved him dearly but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to wipe that smirk off his face, so you took it upon yourself to try that out this very night.

Sitting down at your vanity table, you pulled out a draw containing some makeup and started expertly applying it to your face, making sure to enhance all the features he’s mentioned he liked on your previous dates.

Taking a look at your reflection, you let out a satisfied hum before pulling out a tube of lipstick that you picked up in Port Ormos before applying the red pigment to your lips, giving them a satisfying pop.

Throwing on the rest of your outfit and grabbing your bag of mora, you head over to the door of your small home and right before you turn the knob-

“Knock knock, Y/N, your escort has arrived~”

You knew that voice better than your own.

The smooth tinge each word had along with an undeniable teasing undertone.

It was heizou.

Opening the door confirmed your thoughts. There stood your red-haired detective with his trademark smile as his eyes scanned over your outfit.

Letting out a whistle, Heziou placed his hand on his hip while flashing you a teasing wink.

“Man alive~ Is it my birthday or what? If I had known you’d been looking so dolled up I would of put in some extra effort to my appearance. Can’t have you showin’ me up now, can we?”

“Heziou? We were supposed to meet up at the festival, what are you doing here?”

“Oh come now~ I couldn’t leave my partner in crime to walk alone at night now, can I? Besides, it’s my job to keep everyone In Inazuma safe isn’t it?”

Rolling your eyes, you can’t help but smile at his teasing before your smile is quickly replaced by a mischievous grin as you grab his hand pulling him into the hallway.

“Actually, this is perfect! I need you to give me your opinion on something real quick!”

“Oh~? I’m not sure I like that spark in your eye there, doll.”

Closing the door, you took a deep breath to gather your courage before grabbing Heizou by his shirt, pulling his face dangerously close to yours.

“I got this new lipstick and I need to test it out real quick~”

Without letting him retaliate even for a second, you pressing your lips tightly against his before pulling away a few seconds later, relishing in the pretty shade of red growing on his cheeks.

“W-well I think I’ll have to take back my earlier statement, I think I like this very much~”

“Oh? Well you won’t mind if I do this then, Hm?”

Leaning your face in again before you press your lips against his jawline, drawing out a soft gasp from the red-head as you trail down to his neck leaving pretty trails of red lip prints against his soft, pale skin.

“Y-Y/N what are you- fuck~”

Before he could finish his sentence you took the opportunity to gentle grace your teeth against the skin of his neck, trailing further down to his collar bone enjoying the soft whimpers escaping his lips as you bite down a little harder.

Starting to get a little too into the moment Heizou, trying his best to regain his dignity, tried to reach his hand out to balance himself he accidentally knocked over a vase causing your concentration to get shattered along with the vase now laying on the ground.

“W-well… I, Ahem, you’re going to make us late, sweetheart~”

Flashing him a innocent grin as I wipe a smudge of lipstick off the corner of his lips with your thumb, you can’t help but continue to ride your confidence even further into dangerous waters as your really the lipstick to your lips.

“I don’t think they’ll mind too much~”

I wrote this while being mad at heizou for not coming home (totally didn’t use real money for extra pulls) so I apologise that’s it’s bad and if he’s very ooc. I wanted to make him a subby little bi-

[nanabrainrot]

(Don’t) Give Me Lip! [Brat Tamer!Connor Roy]

Brattiness gets you nowhere, but it gets him off at least.

Brat Tamer!Connor Roy/F!Brat!Reader

Warning! This is NSFW and not proofread. It includes: daddy kink, creampie, implied (unspecified) age gap, pussy slapping, and a bit of dom/sub dynamic. Reader is a brat and Connor tried to fix that.

WC: 2271

✎ Love, Connor

It’s not your best moment but his favorite sight: lips split by his cock and throat bulging, head hanging off the bed at you bat at his thighs with useless whines.

You were a bitch. Everyone knew it.

Connor’s girl is a bitch. Her crass lip, scoffs, and fussy attitude. Connor’s girl who whines so childishly to go home, tugging at his sleeve like a mad kid. Connor’s girl who still pouts and pokes her tongue out.

He can deal with that. The way you are in private is enough. It’s just the comment he heard today that bothered him: “He must not be fucking her right if she acts like that.” Followed by someone muttering back, “He probably can’t even get it up.”

The age gap wasn’t the be all end all, but granted you had no grays and his whole head was a mass of gray hair only made the thought simmer, a pot coming to a boil in his belly and stirred by the snarkiness of others. He let you get away with too much.

You’re better quiet like this: mouth stuffed shut.

“Aah, good girl. You’re so sweet like this,” he mumbles between scattered puffy breaths and choked grumbles. He really only told you that you were sweet when you were being fucked good enough to be quiet for once. There was less back talk when you were too stupid to muster up a smart ass quip. You behave better.

That thing you do when you’re all needy pops up just now, bare body twitching with your back against the sheets and whining in squeaks on his wet cock. That back arch. That clench of your toes and unclenching under the thin cotton of your knee socks that you were going to wear to the gym before you gave him lip again.

You wanted to cum. You could cum, if you could palm at your pussy. Your wrists move from clutching at his thighs from where you were batting at them for thrusting too harshly into your little throat - you were seriously going to try and get yourself off?

His hands move from where they were gripping at your tits as you twitched and arched and fly to your moving wrists to lock them by your side. A long whine vibrates against his shaft as you squeal at his sudden movement to deprive you of your orgasm. Each of his hands lock at each wrist to trap them by your hips to the mattress that was steadily creaking as he used your throat as a fleshlight.

“You fuckin’ kidding me? You’re gonna try and play with your pussy after all the shit you’ve been mouthing off all day?” he huffs with a scoff, voice returning to a series of strangles moans as he feels you swallow on his dick. That way you do to get him to cum sooner just to piss him off knowing he wants to keep fucking and fucking and fucking until the sun met the skyline.

“You’re such a - stop swaallowwingg… augh - bitch. Such a brat,” he seethes through clenched teeth tightening his grip so hard your wrists would inevitably bruise, “for no reason. I keep you dolled up and happy and you want to go to the fucking gym in this hooker outfit? Everybody thinks I don’t fuck you right ‘cause you mouth off everywhere all the time.” His hips still, balls sitting on your nose and thick gray pubes tickling your chin. Wrists stuck, you settle for kicking your feet like a tantrum and gagging and squealing. “Stop mouthing off in front of people or I’ll keep fucking this throat like that. Never gonna let you cum, just use your throat like a second pussy ‘til you can’t mouth off…”

A loud little yelp escapes you as he draws his hips back at you pinching his hand that way you do to signify a wordless safeword to go slower, be more gentle. Heaps of spittle coat your face as he pulls back, mascara running down your forehead as you sniffle pathetically with a quivering bottom lip. You pinch again, signifying you want him to let go of your wrists. He does so, raking his hands flat against your arms up to your shoulders then your neck to cup with one hand. His other hand settles on stroking the skin of your shoulder with soothing grazes. The way you were twitching signified you wanted to keep going though, which kept his dick at attention watching the way you tried to steady your breath and form words.

“Con - con, are you really mad a’ me…” you mumbled in broken, breathy words as you twitched.

“No,” he breathed before swallowing to even his breath as his dick drooled your spit onto the hardwood under him, “I think you just needed a lesson; you like to give lip is all…” His eyes glance up to your pussy from your eyes. “If I didn’t love your lips, that’d mean I don’t love all o’ you…” he breathes the last past, removing his hand from your shoulder to touch his shaft.

“Wan’ me to give you less lip, daddy?” you mewl, palms gripping the sheets in case touching yourself got him riled up again and continue punishing you.

“You’re saying that ‘cause you want something, aren’t you?” he smiles. You smile, cheeky, before sliding your tongue across your lips - hungry.

“Maybe…” you giggle, hips wiggling devilishly to draw attention to what laid between your thighs: your neglected pussy.

“If you promise…” he starts with his hand grazing your skin and sitting still on your pussy, cupping it with no pressure to not stimulate you, “I’ll let you cum.”

“No promises.” His eyes darken.

“Brat.”

The first slap makes you yelp loud, hands flying to press at his abdomen as your vision blurred from the sudden abuse of your cunt mixed with your head hanging off the bed upside down (though he was nice enough to support your neck with one of his big hands).

He fucking slapped your pussy.

“Connor!” you squeaked with a gasp at the contact. You let him fuck your throat for half an hour and the most stimulus he finally gives your pussy is a slap.

“You’re being bratty.”

Slap.

“It was a -“

Slap.

“J-Joke!”

Slap.

“Caahnnoorr!” you whined in a high voice, pressing your palms against his midsection to push him away.

“You wanna cum or not? You want me to bruise this throat so you can’t keep mouthing off?”

Slap.

“N-No!”

Slap.

“Oh, you don’t wanna cum? Fine -“

Slap.

“I wan’ah cum, please! I’ll be good! I’ll be good, please! ‘M sorry for being bad, I luh you pleasee let me cum!”

He pauses, his hand still on his shaft, rubbing the tip on your quivering pouty lips.

“Promise you’ll be good?”

You nod into his hand, pressing kitten kisses to his tip pleadingly.

“Promise… cross my heart, daddy, cross my heart…” you whimper soft like a breath or a breeze.

“Okay…” he croons, using the palm cupping your neck to help push you to sit up, “‘m holding you to it, baby.”

You nod, sniffling as you sit up and turn to sit with your legs hanging off the bed, sock-clad toes grazing the hard wood floor between his own bare feet as you looked up at him. It was a sight, a constant one, of your face coated in spit and pre-cum with mascara and makeup ruined and spread across your face. Hair all messed up from the friction of the sheets and lips so puffy from the abuse. You didn’t like being a good girl. It meant he wouldn’t punish you anymore. Promising to be one at least got him to let you cum.

He draws back and sits on a chair nearby, sinking into the soft brown leather of it. He rests his veiny forearms on the arms of it and leans into the back with legs spread - nude with a dripping dick.

“Make yourself cum then.” Your mouth opens and you huff.

“Me? You made my throat hurt!”

“I can just keep fucking your throat ‘til I cum and make you sleep with your throat hurting from being used and your pussy hurting from not being used.”

“That’s not fair!” you grumble, standing on shaky feet and shuffling to him as he lazily pumped his dick.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” he replied with eyes glazed with lust that ate you from top to bottom. You climb on his lap, hovering your hole over his dick he was still pumping. He really did spoil you, even in bed you never chose to ride him but obliged if he asked - yet you always wound up looking like this as you rode him: lost in pleasure.

Your hands gripping his biceps hard with your lip caught by your teeth to suppress any embarrassingly loud moans. Brows knit with eyes clenched shut as you bounced, tits moving with each effort you could muster to milk him of his cum - use him like a dildo like he used your throat. It never works like that though, as you start to agree with every word he says in your thoughtless pleasure trying to chase the high you were building with every movement that sucked his cock in to kiss your g-spot with his thick leaky tip.

“You like it?”

“Mhm,” you nod vigorously, panting.

“Love it?”

“Mhm!”

“Gonna be good for daddy?”

“Mhm!”

“Gonna be good so daddy keeps fucking this pussy right? So good that daddy fucks you stupid even more than he already does?”

“Uh huh!” you squeak, hips bucking and stuttering to try and get as much of him as you could. Sloppily bouncing as your hips shook and drool slipped out of your puffy parted lips.

“Kiss daddy while you cum. Let you cum on my dick for being so good,” his hand catches the back of your neck hard and pulls you close fast. Your lips clash hard as your hips twitch. Your pussy squeezing him with the hot ridges of your sopping walls - cumming.

You pant, hard, into his mouth. The short and fast breaths escaping your nose fanning the hairs of his top lip, babbling incoherently into his mouth as your tongue keeps darting in and out to try so hard to keep kissing him. “Luh you! Luh you! Ah… lovee you, daddy… I luh you, C-Connor, cum in me? You’ll cum in me, please? Please? I’ll be so good if you fill me up, I’ll be good forever an’ ever… fuck!”

You still, lips hard and still against his as you breath hitches and your convulsing cunt makes a lewd squelch. It sounds like something thick spilling, he could tell you creamed on him by the way your hips kept twitching despite being still and sat on his cock to the hilt with his balls pressed to your ass.

“Stopping? I didn’ cum yet, baby,” he pulls back with that knowing grin before gripping your hips hard and using the force to slide you up his cock. Only to buck and fill you with it again, hard.

You draw back, hands moving from his biceps to sit on his check with stiff arms and staring with wide eyes and a mouth open. You look so beautiful like this.

The hair still messy with spit from facefucking you, tears making mascara coat your cheeks (and forehead from hanging off the bed upside down) and face entirely wet from the spit of having your throat fucked and messily kissing. Trying to be as one as you could be.

Looking at this sight has him following after.

“Cumming.” His hips ram up, balls and dick twitching in your hole as you cream agains, leaving the seat of the leather chair sticky with both of your cum as it leaks out of your convulsing hole.

It’s quiet, no sounds of skin hitting skin or squelching. It’s less about the sense of touch or hearing now, but sight.

He watches your eyes come back from your high as you do that nervous lip bite you do with your palms still against his chest.

“Do I really mouth off too much?”

“A little,” Connor admits, hands stroking your sides in an up and down motion.

He watches your eyes glance away to a lamp nearby, looking shy and guilty as you wriggle on his dick.

“I’m sorry…” you hum in a soft voice.

“‘S okay,” he smiles sweetly and pecking your cheek, “just watch the lip in front of others okay? Heard someone say you talk like that ‘cause I don’t fuck you well enough.”

“Are they crazy?” you huff, “I act all irritable because we’re not in bed 24/7. If you fuck me before those stupid meetings or parties or whatever they are, I’ll be more agreeable…” you glance away. Embarrassment flares again, your stomach fluttering.

“Connor, it’s just hard seeing you all handsome giving out attention…” you mutter, leaning to nuzzle into the nape of his neck, “makes me all jealous…”

You can’t see him smile from where you’re hiding in his shoulder, but you feel the smile as presses sweet kisses to your hair and his hands squeeze your sides reassuringly.

“I got a gala next week, Tuesday at 8. I’ll fuck you 3-6, sound good?” You nod into his shoulder, rolling your hips lazily to relish in the contact as his member softened.

You really were more agreeable, hanging off his arm all giddy and smiley the whole gala. Sometimes rewards work better than punishments.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

my first connor fic !!! sry if my characterization isnt the best its all dirty talk anyway tho so like pardon me. theres almost no connor fics in the tag so here u go old man fuckers <33

[revlischarm]

Behold, Morro for season 4 in the Lego Monkie Kid au!!

Below the cut I’ve put some details about the season, as well as their design.

• So, Morro gets trapped in the scroll along with everyone else!! Inspired by what one of my friends on discord mentioned, apparently the scrolls work for all memories, not just for recording JTTW stuff.

• Therefore. We’re gonna get some Morro trauma. Since the scroll can put you in the worst memories you had/in some kind of past life, I thought, “what better than to hurl Morro back into his misdeeds as a ghost?”

- That’s why when Morro’s in the scroll, he’s gonna be walking around in his old gi from the show. I didn’t give him a cloak or anything for the sole reason of me having a hard time drawing it

• Boy oh boy Morro absolutely hates having to be dressed in the robes of his past. He’s been trying to move away from what he did, to forge his own identity and life. Yet now he gets put right back where he was, at the peak of his darkest times, and MK and Mei end up bearing witness to it, no less!

• Long story short Morro just. Is going to be miserable this whole season. Their past got dredged up in such a messy way for all to see.

• I don’t wanna give away too much since this post is mainly just for Morro’s season 4 design, hehe.

• You want more info?? Send in asks! I will devour them and answer back dutifully.

• Now onto design talk, tw for some blood stains and detailed description of death for a bit

• The only details I’ll really say for Morro’s scroll design are that his outfit is fairly burnt and torn up in many places, due to how he died. Well, more so the condition his clothes were in when he passed away.

- The front of Morro’s gi is stained with dried blood because of how he died, which I personally believe to be due to the kethanol gas in the Caves of Despair. There’s more info about it on the wiki, but the effects I’ve given to it basically are that prolonged exposure will cause someone to bleed out, with blood coming from the nose and mouth and the eventual exsanguination is the cause of death. So yeah, you just. Drown in your own blood, can’t get enough actual air and asphyxiate, bleed out, etc. The gas can kill you in a number of ways I’d say

• Moving past all that…Morro gets longer ribbons now!! He added on a new ribbon, since he bonded with Red Son at the end of Season 3, and off-screen between the last season and this one, lol. Think of their friendship as…fanning the flames. They kinda just hype each other up and it’s very chaotic.

• Morro actually trains with Macaque to learn some shadow magic!! They’re super interested in learning teleportation via shadows because it’s cool as hell, and they just generally like to spend time with Macaque. After some time, Morro finds that his eye markings are getting kinda…larger and discolored.

- Surprise the universe/gods saw Macaque taking in Morro and went “oh successor??? The Six-Eared Macaque has a successor??” And long story short, after an initial bout of extreme panicking, Morro realizes that he’s now got some cooler new markings!!

- Yes, I’m contractually obligated to change Morro’s eye markings with each new design at this point, lay off me

- I’m very happy with this marking design tho!! It looks very nice and is easy for me to draw. The markings actually manifest themselves in the way of like…scar stuff. And I tried to have them resemble Morro’s actual cursed markings as much as I could, but it was hard to do that when it kept veering into flame territory (which I wasn’t aiming for). So yeah!

- I also added a little chart at the bottom to demonstrate the differences between the markings and also how Macaque’s and Morro’s purples are different. Mac’s is more on the blue hued scale, while Morro’s has more pink tones to it. There!

• And last but not least, the tail(s) of Morro’s sash got longer!! I did this for the purpose of giving their silhouette a more monkey-like appearance, with the longer sash acting as a sort of faux shadow tail. This works great for any silhouette shots!

• So yeah! That’s that! Feel free to ask anymore questions, I’ll be glad to answer!!!

• Oh also I forgot to draw it in but you know how everyone else gets a cool weapon during season 4 from the scroll? Yeah, Morro’s taking the memory of the Sword of Sanctuary with him.

[ryuichirou]

Replies

A bunch of shorter ones today, but first!

We posted two top-centric hc lists yesterday, and I somehow completely forgot to mention Jack in either of them 🥳 I am so sorry to Jack Nation and to the goodest of boys himself, so at the end of this post there are hcs about him on both of the yesterday’s topics… (I’ll also add them to the respective posts, obviously)

This weird oopsie aside, here are the replies:

feverish-dove asked:

THANK YOUUUUUUUU♥️ i don’t think you realize how happy that made me. i love speedpaints but when an artist takes the time to break down what they did so i dont have to try (and usually fail) to do so myself it just goes brrrrrrr<3 im soooooo happy rn. you and katsu are awesome

You are so very welcome!! ♥️

I am very happy that the post was useful and any of my explanations were cohesive enough to understand something. And I really love talking about my art process, so thank you for your question!

Anonymous asked:

I just wanna say i'm in love with genderswap twst headcanons and arts... Thank you for sharing a full course meal-

You’re very welcome, Anon! I am super happy that you’re enjoying these. Like I’ve already said, drawing and writing these are a treat and a national holiday for me lol

Anonymous asked:

I’ll break Idia, you say? Well, I did always want to wreck him… 😏

Anonymous asked:

You can't tell me what to do 😠

I'm swallowing your art whole as you speak

Anons are misbehaving… Anons are getting wild 😳 breaking Idia left and right and not chewing stuff properly!

I love the chaos.

Anonymous asked:

I also have an Idia plush and he’s cheeked up.

His clothes sold out though so he’s naked. I put a Nagito jacket on him to hide his shame i.e. his butt.

Damn Anon this is even better though. Imagine Idia with a Nagito jacket barely covering his naked body. This image is doing something with my brain.

Anonymous asked:

HELP do you have any thoughts on azurido??? its been on my mind since i saw Floyd say Azul (probably) wouldnt mind keeping him as a pet for winter (?) break

Indeed, Anon, here is the tag!

Oh we love that line from Floyd lol This whole scene happens so fast and feeds us with so much stuff that it takes time to process.

Azul absolutely wouldn’t mind keeping him as a pet… it’s upsetting that Riddle probably wouldn’t be much of a help at the Lounge (the main reason for Azul to keep pets lol) but knowing how much Riddle’s existence wounds Azul’s precious ego? He would get super smug with Riddle temporarily being his lap cat. Or a little chihuahua.

Anonymous asked:

I’m not sure why but I would love the idea of Epel talking about how girls are weak and then getting his butt handed to him by a girl in Magical Shift. The competitive, tomboy in me would be grinning like a maniac.

Epel absolutely needs to have a girl kick his ass, and it’s weird that he even needs this to happen to realise that “girly” doesn’t mean “weak”; just look at his meemaw and how scary she can get. I’m sure Epel’s mom isn’t any better lol

Anonymous asked:

I had a sudden thoughts last night

So coway au

But it's just Riddle riding Floyd in a cowboy outfit

Thoughts? 👀👀👀

Anonymous asked:

yeehaw 🤠

I wonder… if you two are the same Anon… maybe not. Maybe we just mentally entered a saloon somehow and now I am a sheriff.

To answer the first Anon, this would be insanely hot, and I feel like if Riddle is drunk out of his mind enough, he could do that. He wouldn’t succeed though, because riding a horse is one thing, but riding Floyd while being completely drunk is totally different lol But it’s the attempt that counts. Floyd is going to be very entertained either way. Or annoyed, you never know with him.

Alright, so JackJack hcs.

strap hcs for fem tops or if they even use them lol.

Jack could’ve been very good at it if someone made her use it, but I feel like she thinks that this is too obscene of a thing to do. It’s not like she’s prudish, but wearing a strap is a bit too far for her. Even though someone would probably look at her and think that it looked very good on her…

Based on that one post about the bottoms getting creamed up inside how would the tops react if their partners are demanding/begging for them to cum inside them?

Jack – he is probably the type to start thinking about pulling out when he starts to feel his knot growing, you know, being responsible and stuff, but if he hears his partner begging or demanding him to cum inside, his brain would shut down completely and he would go even deeper than before and fill his partner to the brim :( He would be very embarrassed of himself afterwards.

[spookyscarydemonbabe]

Bad Kitty

Summary- Ralph gets you an adorable gift, but unfortunately he gets too excited while playing with it.

Genre- Fluff

Warnings- Mentions of blood (nothing explicit)

Tag List- @babybisexual @wheels-of-despair

Word Count- 2.1k

Ralph had always been a huge fan of animals, but unfortunately the people around him never seemed to be. Always being told how messy they were and how much responsibility they’d be. His parents never had pets, and Victoria thought they were pests, but he adored getting to see all the cute little animals in the window of the pet shop.

The puppies jumping up excitedly whenever he passed by, the bunnies hopping over to try and sniff him through the glass with their twitchy noses, but his favorites were always the little kittens that would press their paws up against the window to try and play with him.

He’d had his eyes on the littlest orange kitten for weeks now, wanting to go inside and get him as a little present for the both of you to love and take care of. He’d show up on your doorstep with the kitten in a box, with a few holes in it obviously, and the kitten would have the cutest little collar around his neck with a bell that jingled each time it jumped up into your lap.

He had kept a few things hidden in his room whenever you came over to try his best and keep your gift a secret. In his closet he had hidden away a few toys, a little bed, some cat food and collars to match each of the outfits you two wore together. All that was missing was that little kitten.

He had been so excited to come to you and give you that adorable little ball of orange fluff but he had also been too excited to finally hold that kitten. For weeks all he had wanted was to hold it and pet it and feel it’s scratchy tongue on his cheeks when it licked him, but his excitement seemed to have frightened the little thing.

He had bought the kitten and the moment he got home to put it in its little box for you he couldn’t help but want to play with it just once more before bringing it over to you, but before he knew it the kitten had reached his claws out and scratched Ralph’s cheek.

It came as a surprise to him, and it wasn’t enough to draw much blood, but it did still hurt. He was so upset that his new little friend would hurt him like that.

He checked himself in the bathroom mirror before deciding it might just be better to ask you over rather than try to get that kitten back into the box like he had intended. He placed the kitten onto his bed with one of its new toys to occupy it while he walked to the other side of the room to call you.

You had been reading quietly in your room, giving yourself some time away from everything in your home just to relax a bit when your telephone rang from across the room. You weren’t expecting any calls, your parents were out at the shops, and you hadn’t planned to get any calls from friends today. You smiled and set your book down onto your bed, knowing it was Ralph calling on the other end.

You picked up the handset and put it to your ear,

“Hello my love.” You could hear a giggle coming from him on the other end as soon as he heard his favorite of your little pet names for him. Who was he kidding, he loved them all! He couldn’t possibly pick a favorite.

“Hello darling! Are you able to come over? I’ve gotten a surprise for us and i can’t wait to show you!”

“I am sweetheart, i just have to fix myself up and then i’ll be out alright? Give me just about 15 minutes and i should be over.”

“Oh, please make it quick darling,” You could just hear it in his voice how big he was smiling, “you know how much i love to give you your surprises.”

“I’ll do my best.” You said with a giggle, giving each other quick ‘i love you’s’ before checking yourself over in the mirror to make sure you were ready to make the trip to the Penbury estate.

The walk was quick, the whole time you kept thinking about what Ralph’s surprise for you could’ve been with a smile on your face.

A bouquet of flowers? No, each time he got you flowers he always brought them to you immediately after picking them or going to the florist.

A new set of outfits for you to wear out? Couldn’t be, he always asked you to come with to the tailors to make sure everything was perfect when he bought them.

A ring? Absolutely not, you knew he was waiting until he finished finding the perfect jeweler to help design it for you. Unless he already had.

You could barely contain your excitement when you knocked on the front door, smiling big as soon as you saw your sweet boy, but your attention quickly went to his cheek. You saw there was a small scratch there, nothing devastating, but it was definitely a bit irritated and you could see a bit of blood collecting, a small drop forming that was about to roll down the side of his cheek,

“Ralphie what happened?” You raised your hand up to gently touch his cheek, trying your best to not irritate the scratch on his cheek, “You’re bleeding my love, let’s go clean that up, ok?”

Ralph moved his hand up to his cheek and carefully wiped away the blood, looking at the red smudge on his finger,

“Oh goodness, i hadn’t even noticed. It didn’t hurt all that bad though, are you sure it needs to be dressed?”

“Sweetheart, you’re bleeding. My surprise can wait, let me clean you up.”

You entered his home and took his hand into yours, guiding him into the upstairs bathroom where you knew their maids kept most of the things you needed to clean up his cut. A few bandaids and of course some antiseptic soap and water from the sink should help enough.

He sat down on the edge of the bathtub as you grabbed a washcloth from the closet and ran it under some warm water, taking a seat next to Ralph on the edge of the bathtub and gently pressing it to his cheek,

“You hold this here alright?” He nodded and did as you said, though he wasn’t anticipating what would be coming next.

He had gotten enough cuts and scratches when he was young to know that the antiseptic was his absolute least favorite part of cleaning them up.

He watched as you grabbed another cloth and ran it under the warm water once more, placing the bar of soap in the middle and creating some suds with it before taking your place back next to him on the edge of the bath.

“Alright sweetheart, give me this one,” You took the now cold cloth he had been holding to his cheek and set it onto the sink counter, “I’m going to use this one to clean it ok? It may sting just a bit, but only for a second.”

Ralph nodded and braced for the gentle sting of the soap against his cheek, wincing as you gently dabbed the cloth against the cut. It took only a moment before you were finished, and you used one last dry cloth to wipe the soap away from his cheek.

There was no more blood, just a light redness surrounding the cut, and you smiled before grabbing one of the bandaids from the counter. You turned his cheek to get a better view of it and you gently stuck the adhesive to his cheek, covering the scratch on his cheek.

“There! All better.”

“I’m not so sure darling, i think you’ve forgotten the lost important part…”

You giggled and cupped his other cheek, pulling him close to you to press your lips over the bandaid on his cheek,

“How’s that?”

“Now it’s all better.”

You smiled with one another before cleaning up the bathroom, placing all the cloths into the hamper,

“How did you manage to get that scratch sweetheart?”

“Oh! I nearly forgot, it was from your present darling, could i show it to you please? I know you’re just going to love it!”

You smiled at his excitement and as you left the bathroom, he placed his hands carefully over your eyes,

“I want to make sure it’s a good surprise,” You giggled once more as he slowly led you into his bedroom, guiding you to sit on his bed where he kept his attention on the little orange kitten that was now resting on one of his decorative pillows, “I’m going to take my hands off, but i want you to keep your eyes closed for me alright?”

“Ok Ralphie, i’ll keep them closed.” You sat there patently with an excited smile on your face, hearing Ralph shuffle over a few things on his bed.

“No peeking!” He said from next to you, earring another giggle from you as you felt his presence reaching out next to you.

He had gently placed something small into your lap, and you could feel it’s little paws gently pat at your fingers, it’s soft fit grazing over your hands and you could instantly tell what it was.

“Open your eyes my love.”

You gasped as soon as they opened, seeing the adorable orange kitten sitting in your lap, it’s blue eyes curiously looking up to you. You picked it up into your arms and pet it, it’s soft fur moving gently beneath your fingers.

“Ralphie, he’s absolutely perfect! You got him just for me?”

“For us my love,” He sat next to you, reaching his fingers out to pet between the kittens ears, “he’s all ours to love and to play with. As soon as i saw him in that window i knew he was the one for us, don’t you agree?”

“I absolutely agree, he’s so tiny and soft,” You lifted the kitten up to give it a closer look, “you bad little kitty, did you give your daddy that scratch?”

The kitten looked over to Ralph and stuck one of its paws out, wanting to crawl it’s way over into his arms. Ralph helped the kitten back into his arms and it leaned its head up, gently putting its paws onto his cheek and licking it a few times, earning a giggle from Ralph.

“Aww, see sweetheart, he’s saying sorry.”

“You’re right,” He moved the kitten away and held it in his arms for the both of you to pet him’ “i couldn’t stay mad at him, he’s too adorable. What should we name him darling?”

“Is there any name you had in mind?”

You both thought for a moment on different names for the sweet kitten, wanting to pick something that fit it well.

“How about…” Ralph started, his fingers gently scratching the kittens ears, “Ginger?”

“Ginger is perfect my love, and it suits him so well!” You leaned down to face the kitten, hearing it’s little mewls and purrs as Ralph scratched its belly, “Sweet little ginger.”

“I figured since we’ve been courting for a while, we should take another step in our relationship. It’s too soon for talk of children, and you know my plans for a ring already, so a little pet would be the perfect compromise for us.”

“I think it was a wonderful idea Ralphie,” You leaned up and gave him a gentle kiss, “now we’ve got a cute little kitten to care for and love. And you know what it means now that we’ve got Ginger, right?”

“What’s that darling?”

“It means i get to come over more so we can care for him! If you like i could run home and get a few things to stay for the next few days? Little kittens need lots of care and i don’t want you to get overwhelmed with the little guy.”

“That would be wonderful my love! And when you get back i can show you all of the toys and cute little collars i got for him to match our outfits!”

“Aww, that’s so sweet of you Ralphie,” You stood up from the bed and gave him another sweet kiss, leaning down to give Ginger a gentle kiss on the top of his head, “you be nice to your daddy while i’m gone little kitty.”

Ralph smiled and gave you a wave as you left to gather your things, gently setting Ginger back onto his bed for him to run around and play with his toy once more.

Ralph knelt onto his floor and watched the kitten play with the little felt mouse and giggled as he rolled onto his back and bit at the toy,

“You’re going to have such a wonderful life we with me and your mommy you bad kitty.”

[quibbs126]

For a fan kid request, can you do Dark Choco and Earl Grey?

Here you go, this is Dark Tea Cookie

So fun fact, she has been done for like, at least a month, if not more. The only thing that was stopping me from posting her was that I had no idea what to do for her sketches, but I didn’t want to just do nothing, since I always draw them for others, so she’s been stuck in this limbo for ages. But last night I finally came up with some ideas, and now I can show her

So she’s named after dark tea, which is different from black tea, due to it being fermented or something? I don’t really know. But dark tea is darker than black tea, and in the east, their names translate to “red tea” for black tea, and “black tea” for dark tea, since they’re named for the color of the tea themselves, not the leaves

I dunno, the whole situation is confusing. Just know that it’s because of the whole “Dark” prefix for Dark Choco’s family, and because Earl Grey is tea, and it’s not the same thing as black tea

Dark tea:

So to be honest, I don’t remember much of the design process. I made her hair black because of the tea, and I gave her the streaks because Dark Choco has them, but made them the same color as Earl Grey’s hair

I made her eyes blue because of the whole “I give too many Dark Choco kids red eyes” thing, but I ended up darkening the color because I thought Earl Grey’s eye color was just too light and didn’t look right. I think it looks fine now though

I do remember that I’m pretty sure the bottom of her dress was supposed to resemble a tea cup, since well, she’s made of tea

I think at one point I was planning on basing her design off of Alice from Alice in Wonderland (the original Disney movie one), but after looking at the designs again, it doesn’t seem I went for that route

But all in all, I think her design does look good. I liked drawing it in the sketches I did

Anyways, so let’s get into her as a character

So she lives at Earl Grey’s hotel (hence why her outfit more resembles something from him than Dark Choco)

I’ll admit, I don’t have much on her, or at least whatever I made up of her originally I didn’t write down. But she’s a shy young girl who just sort of lives in the hotel, probably trying to do some of the upkeep in the hotel, or at least as much as she can

But last night I thought, what if I leaned more into the Alice in Wonderland inspiration? And so, I’m considering that she has a story where she ends up in some sort of weird world (perhaps she accidentally gets transported into whatever weird chess dimension Chess Choco seem to have going on, at least in their Trial), and is sort of the normal girl in this place of madness

In the left sketch, she’s supposed to be trying to get the other people to act less…crazy, saying that’s probably not a good idea. My idea is that she’s got a set of morals on her, and she can’t stand injustice, but she’s usually a bit too timid to do anything about it. Maybe this other world is how she learns to be more assertive

Also, she will fight if she absolutely has to (though she’s incredibly nervous about it), though to everyone’s shock, she packs an incredible wallop in her punches. She might not be totally aware of this fact, so she’s just wildly swinging punches hoping she lands a hit, and when she looks she’s taken out an entire crowd or enemies

And honestly, I think that’s about it

*sigh* To be honest, I really feel like I could do better on her character section. The only person she has any notable connection to is Earl Grey, and all she seems to have from Dark Choco is looks and strength, but I have no clue what kind of relationship she has with him, if he’s even there. And that’s not to mention the Chess Choco twins, who would be there as older siblings

I don’t know, I feel like I could do so much more with the proposed family dynamic, especially since I originally put this one up because I was thinking about the potential of this ship. I was going to do it purely because I wanted to, and then someone happened to request it so it’s a win-win. But I feel disappointed that I haven’t tapped the potential of it. Which sucks because I really like her design, but I have no clue how to work her as a character into everyone else

Maybe I’ll do another shot at this ship sometime, but currently I’m just not sure what else to do

Well regardless of all that, I hope you enjoy her

[fridka]

Every year I try and avoid any Eurovision spoilers until the event itself, but I have finally listened to all songs and I have OPINIONS

so keep in mind these are all rather fresh opinions, and some of these songs might grow on me or lose their appeal over time.

Anyway my thoughts on each song under the cut‼️

Albania - Duje - Albina & Familja Kelmendi

I want to like this a lot more than I do. It’s sweet that she’s singing with her family(I think??) and the instrumentals are nice, but it’s all just a bit much.

Armenia - Future Lover - Brunette

Wtf are these lyrics. Wtf is this whole song. This is a front runner? I don’t get it

Australia - Promise - Voyager

YEA THIS IS MY SHIT. First verse I thought was kinda meh but then that chorus hit. I cannot see this win just bc of how eurovision is, but I’ll be checking out more of their stuff. Plus the guitarist is 💖💖

Austria - Who the hell is Edgar? - TEYA & Salena

This song got spoiled for me, but i don’t care because I love it. The lyrics, the opera, the dig at Spotify. Queens.

Azerbaijan - Tell me More - TuralTuranX

I can’t lie i kinda love this one. It’s just kinda awkward and the rap is PRETTY BAD but in this really endearing and charming way. They’re just a couple of guys 🥺

Belgium - Because of You - Gustaph

THIS IS MY SHIT. People don’t like this one? Why it’s amazing. The backup singers, the Lady Miss Kier reference, the nostalgia. I’m not gonna dare hope that this can win, but I want it to qualify so bad

Croatia - Mama Šč!

Oh boy. This one I knew I had to look into because I knew it was gonna be either extremely dumb or extremely political, and thankfully it was the latter. I still think the song is a complete mess but I kinda fucking love this.

Cyprus - Break a Broken Heart - Andrew Lambrou

It’s just a nice song. In a weaker year I think I’d like this a lot more, but as it is it sort of fades next to some of the other entries

Czechia - My Sister’s Crown - Vesna

I LOVE THIS ONE I WANT THEM TO WIN. At first I wasn’t sure about the English parts because it reminded me of Toy (which I really didn’t like), but this has grown on me so much. And the performance. The part with the hand signal for help. Fucking CHILLS. Plus the fashion in the music video, so good

Denmark - Breaking my Heart - Reiley

Den er ikke ligefrem min kop te, og han ligner en der er blevet skabt i et laboratorie i et forsøg på at lave den perfekte tiktoker. Men danmark sender altid noget bras så det er vel on brand :B

Estonia - Bridges - Alika

I’m biased against ballads, and this one sure was a ballad.

Finland - Cha Cha Cha - Käärijä

I LOVE THIS ONE AND I WANT HIM TO WIN. As someone who has social anxiety and who uses to party a lot, the lyrics were oddly relatable lmao. Plus the performance. The shirt the d a n c e

France - Évidemment - La Zarra

SO PERFECT. SO FRENCH. SHE IS GORGEOUS AND I WANT HER TO WIN

Georgia - Echo - Iru

??? The lyrics? Was this song written by ai? It’s painfully awkward and uh.. I think I hate this one

Germany - Blood and Glitter - Lord of the Lost

I think Lordi are iconic so I thought I was gonna love this one, but I kinda don’t. It’s.. a bit boring to be honest?

Greece - What they Say - Victor Vernicos

Yeah these lyrics are way too whiny for me

Iceland - Power - Diljá

It’s just alright. I don’t like it as much as many others seem to do. It’s not bad it’s also just not making much of an impression

Ireland - We are One - Wild Youth

(I can say the following because I lived in Ireland for the better part of a decade) Ireland is an amazing country and has such a rich culture and history to draw from, and yet they always just send boring garbage. I’m sorry but this one is trash, and your man looked so uncomfortable in that outfit

Israel - Unicorn - Noa Kirel

I don’t get it. Am I too old for this? I feel like I am. This song is a complete mess to me but people love it??

Italy - Due Vite - Marco Mengoni

It’s another one of those entries that’s just Some Guy. Nice voice and beautiful language, kinda boring tho

Latvia - Aijā - Sudden Light

Could have been good but it needed more power imo. Another adorable guitarist tho 🥺

Lithuania - Stay - Monika Linkyté

I don’t really know what to say about this one. Very eh

Malta - Dance - The Busker

NOW THIS ONE MAKES ME MAD, THEY SHOULD HAVE QUALIFIED 100%. It’s not quite winner material for me but there is no way they didn’t deserve a spot in the finals over some of the other crap

Moldova - Soarele si Luna - Pasha Parfeni

I usually like (or at least am entertained by) what Moldova puts out and this year is is no exception. This is a capital E Eurovision song, super theatrical and I love it.

Netherlands - Burning Daylight - Mia Nicolai & Dion Cooper

I like it as a normal song, but not really as a eurovision song, if that makes sense? I also don’t think his vocals could match hers at all

Norway - Queen of Kings - Alessandra

This is such a Norway entry 💖 there are other songs I like more but definitely deserves to place high. That whistle note

Poland - Blanka - Solo

Oh boy okay so I looked into this one and apparently there was another song people wanted to win, but the Polish government didn’t approve of it so they had the competition rigged and gave her the win? And I’m assuming she’s some dumb influencer or something? Anyway this song blows, Jann was robbed

Portugal - Ai Coraçäo - Mimicat

I like this as a performance only. She is kinda a babe, but the song itself is whatever

Romania - D.G.T - Theodor Andrei

This one is AMAZINGLY BAD. “Take off your clothes step on me” he sings with a super out of place anti-war message sharpied on his chest, while disinterested half naked women walk about the stage looking totally checked out. I love it

San Marino - Like an Animal - Piqued Jacks

Oh these lyrics suck ass as well. I got butterflies in my ears. Pure poetry

Serbia - Sami Mi Se Spava - Luke Black

At first this one was a little too silly for me, since I assumed it was just an edgy song about video games, but it’s grown a lot on me after learning what it’s about.

Slovenia - Carpe Diem - Joker out

Yea this one is legit. This isn’t exactly what I want in a eurovision song, but just as a song this is great stuff. That guitar riff in particular.

Spain - Eaea - Blanca Paloma

I think this one is… interesting, and I think it deserves a spot in the finals, but I wouldn’t exactly call it good.

Sweden - Loreen - Tattoo

Oh my god, okay so probably my most controversial opinion here. I don’t care for Loreen. I didn’t care for her in 2012 and I do not care for her now. I’m obviously not gonna try and argue that she’s not an incredibly talented singer, but I just can’t deal with the terrible enunciation or the annoying interpretative dance. And yea it’s gonna be so disappointing if she wins. Sorry

Switzerland - Watergun - Remo Forrer

Borderline disrespectful and incredibly eyeroll worthy, but regretfully it gets a bit catchy in the second half.

Ukraine - Heart of Steel - Tvorchi

It’s not nice to be all “yeah I know you guys are getting invaded and all, but your entry for silly song contest sucks”, so fortunately I don’t have to do that because I genuinely like this. Kinda reminds me of something from an LCS cinematic. I wish the whole thing was in Ukrainian though

UK - I wrote a Song - Mae Muller - I am biased against UK entries, but this one is fun. Not winner material for me, but deserves to at least make the finals

Overall I think this is a pretty solid year, definitely better than the last couple ones. There’s some really fucking good entries, and a lot of the bad ones are bad in an entertaining way.

[piichivii]

[Image ID: A sketch on a white background with a warm reddish overlay, depicting a feminine and muscular Wizard101 OC with green hair in a low ponytail, tan skin, and pointed ears. She stands haughtily with a white cane in her right hand and her left hand on her hip. A recolored Enchanted Armament pet in red, white, and gold, floats by her shoulders. Her outfit is a red, white and gold techwear inspired outfit containing red and gold strips patterned with symbols for the School of Balance. She wears red and gold sunglasses and gold earrings. The sketch is signed "PIICHỊVY 2022". /.End ID]

hello wizzy friends, and thank u all for the warm welcome 🥺 u guys r so sweet n i hope the year has been treating yall well

i’ll b answering some comments on my last piece w/ some compositional notes + wip shot below the cut!

im obsessed with the title for this piece like. i dont know ur oc or whatever personal story/AU they've got but even so this is. powerful they're a balance wizard. they're the blind angel of Judgement. they've got Power Nova behind em: the birth of a new star they've got a smile on their face and their stance isn't rigid straight. they're swayed the dark soul is heavier than the light feather of truth are the 5 blades a reference to tarot? or like. blades in wizzy that buff your spells?

also a balance wizard w a god comex is so antithetical i love it

so gonna b real here “god_complex” came from me saving the initial sketch and thinking “man homegirl’s got some bde here” LOL. i’m not entirely sure if she does have a god complex or not, but i love your interpretation of the piece! frankly, i try not to get attached to the little details of my characters since i tend to be more concerned about crafting a larger and thematically cohesive narrative, so their characterization is really flexible. i actually find this concept of an antithetical sorcerer w/ a god complex REALLY saucy, so this has all been a happy coincidence of me just wanted to draw a fun cool scene. when i first imagined this piece, i’m fairly certain it was while my homies n i were pressing the delete button on a random boss LOL so really, it was a bit of my own hubris as a “god complex” than my oc’s! i haven’t gone past polaris yet so who knows! maybe she WILL go down her corruption arc :O

the only concrete thing here is that she’s meant to be a successor to ma’at (judgement), hence the whole judgement imagery. it makes me giddy inside as an illustrator to see that these compositional elements communicated that sufficiently 😊

(like a fool i deleted my sketches so this is the oldest remaining screenshot of my sketch orz)

here r some compositional notes about the piece:

mistress of judgement—blindfold, wings, scales of time (include heart+maat feather) ((i also wanted to make the staff ridiculously huge to be cool; i included a counterweight at the other end but it got covered up by the sandstorm)), halo for the Cool Factor, khopesh ((this was later changed to the sword of kings, then later to dragonblade))

bladestorm encircling enveloped by wings ((or more accurately mechanics-wise, balanceblade+enchant balanceblade+bladestorm+enchant bladestorm+dragonblade; i like to imagine that in a solo context the 4 bladestorms would just stack up to b used later LOL initially i wanted to do the crossed blades, but it ended up being compositionally messy so i scrapped that. while sketching i DID consider tarot imagery though 5 and 4 didn't really fit akdhkfkf anymore than 4 blades encircling and it would've been messy, and less and it would've been lacking. also, initially the blades were pointed down, but i decided against it to better represent them as charms bc i couldn't stop thinking of the sword of damocles which would be more of a threat LOL))

power nova, framed by raised wings ((it's been my aoe of choice + i like the implication that balance as an "element" is part sand part (sun)light; i also wanted to somewhat evoke ra imagery too by having power nova as the sun w/ its rays of light))

swirling sandstorm below ((i was just really taken by the sandstorm animation update bc it's so sparkly and pretty—girl got such a glow up. a bit of a happy accident but my friend interpreted it as chastisement n i was like yea that works too LOL. another happy accident was the red cast ending up evoking balance of power c: although power play was such a fun meme play))

modified alhazzy fit w/ balance pattern trim + cowl + no shoes + inspo from kim kassas’s walk like an egyptian ((hoo boy that collection has so many hot fits. not historically accurate but idgf it fucks. i was having trouble thinking of a suitable design since none of the in-game robes really suited the image i had in mind but this collection was The One. anyways i absolutely Love the balance pattern trim and i'm Very Offended girls don't get to use maroon to match w/ it. i made a csp brush for this bc no way in hell was i gonna handdraw all those LOL. if u want the brush n some other assets i made or ripped from kingsisle u should check the source link ;))) also you can't see the toes in the final render but in my sketches i ditched the ugly boots it's just a lil soleless footwrap now. ALSO i’m distraught that it slipped my mind to give her these earrings that mimicked the pans of a balance scale 😭))

(from the cities in dust fw 13 lookbook)

buff lady of the blades ((another happy accident was the final product exuding "muscular women think they're gods/know your place" energy. i'll draw that later after i finish some of the stuff i've been planning, if i remember about it LOL))

the "u know im cool" grin bc we abt to delete some mobs 😎 ((fun fact: my friend wants her to aoe him))

nyways thank u again wizzy friends n i wish u all the loveliest day and if someone is ruining it for u, we accept offerings to feed ammit she’s gettin hungy

[on-noon]

After Ten Years

for @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt

[#FFF211 An Old Friend]

I finish the shift at the factory, tired but having gained plenty of information about the workings of the factory. I walk as fast as I can without drawing attention through the quiet, busy streets. I slip out into an alley where I had hid my usual outfit, the cotton vest and short pants, well-made but worn. I change out of the factory uniform, with it’s shyness and obedience. My outfit doesn’t have enough magic left for me to give any strength to the emotions. I prefer it that way.

I scramble up onto the roof, and run towards the meeting spot. I used to need shoes with an inch of padding to run without alerting anyone to my presence, but now my sandals don’t make a sound. They’re tied tightly enough to my feet, with the straps I added.

I slow down as I approach the tavern’s roof.

Atral sits on the edge, a bottle in hand.

I sit beside him, he flinches, startled. He usually notices me coming.

“It’s almost been ten years,” he says.

“Oh.”

It has. I don’t know how I hadn’t noticed. I had thrown myself so much into my investigations. I always do at that time of year.

“How’s Lank’s family doing?” I ask.

“His daughter just got a job at a newspaper,” Atral says. “You should visit them sometime.”

“They don’t like me.”

“Is that the whole truth?”Atral knows my oath. Can’t he just let this issue rest?

“No.” I look out at the sunrise, straight into the sun. “They’re uncomfortable around me. I remind them of Lank’s death.”

“You should visit with me today.” Atral climbs off the roof, down his rope.

I scale down the wall. Soon I’ll be getting to old for all this acrobatism. But I’m not going down into the tavern, too many people.

Atral waits by the corner, then wordlessly leaves towards Lank’s house. He knows better than to try to convince me with words. I follow him.

He knocks on the door of the building I first visited ten years ago. Lank kept his home life separate from his crew and our activities.

Lank’s daughter opened the door. She’s as tall as me. She’s got her hair in a pony tail, the same black, frizzy hair as Lank, just a little longer.

We sit down at the table. Lank’s wife comes out.

Atral chats with them. I can’t focus on what about.

The conversation wraps up, and we head to leave.

“You look like him. Like Lank,” I blurt out to his daughter, then rush out the daughter.

I can pull off complicated deceptions, but can’t tell Lank’s daughter something true without running away.

[showtoonzfan]

Hazbin Hotel- Vaggie redesign review and critique

So finally……FINALLY….we got our redesign for Vaggie. My thoughts? Well it’s………I can’t say god awful, but it could have been better. https://twitter.com/HazbinHotel/status/1531787648401936384?s=20&t=HaOEAGSKXcclxrJxVzbcag  Once again, the drawing looks a little….off. I feel like Viv is the one who has been drawing these promo pics for the characters, and I dunno why but her art just looks stiff and awkward now. (But this one isn’t really that bad to me) 

Moving on to the actual design, I think all I can say as a whole is that they could have done more. The outfit they gave her is very…..basic, she looks like a schoolgirl. Even though I complained about the pilot design, at least before Vaggie had this whole goth X aesthetic, but here, I honestly have no idea what they were trying to go for, it just seems random in my eyes, and it doesn’t really make her stand out from the other characters. (And yes, I’ve seen some people say that maybe she’s dressed like that because she’s the Hotel manager and they wanted to make her look more presentable, but to me she just looks boring now with a typical red shirt and black skirt, she doesn’t stand out.) Speaking of standing out, NOT happy to see red on her, as her shirt and bow is now that color, because of COURSE we apparently can’t have one damn character in this show without a red or black palette. At this point Vivzie must really not want her characters to stick out from the backgrounds and look distinct from one another. So now her, Charlie, and Alastor are all going to be difficult to look at (especially if they’re standing next to one another) because they all have red painted onto them. I mean I can’t say Vaggie is DROWNING in red like Charlie and Alastor, but I’m still not happy to see that. I’ve seen some fans excuse this and go ““well maybe these characters are red to fit the hotel aesthetic and look”- and like…..no. Let’s be real, these characters are only red because Viv has an obvious obsession with the color, as well as her typical yellow, pink, black, and white colors.  I’m also disappointed to see that that damn X is STILL floating above her hair. That design choice was so weird, it was a HUGE annoying distraction in the pilot because it kept looking like it was floating above her hair, and instead of just simply putting the X actually ON HER EYE PATCH, it’s just ganna be there floating like before so that’s great. Also once again she has no moth features, a lot of people have said the shape of her hair gives more of a moth vibe, and….I GUESS but it’s the bare minimum, if I didn’t know Vaggie was supposed to be moth themed and I looked at this design, I wouldn’t have knew until someone told me. Again, they could have done more, like a least give her an antenna or two, or a furry neck, or hell, make her hair shaped like wings, but we get none of that, just another boring basic design. 

So now on to the only positives I have. I’m glad they tweaked her hair, like I said before I guess it KINDA makes her look more mothy but it’s still the bare minimum. I do like how her hair now has grey streaks instead of pink, the less pink the better but…..we still got that red. Finally, it seems like her stockings and gloves are purpleish, and I honestly was happy to see that, it’s nice to see purple on her! (Thought again, would have preferred if her shirt was blue.) Lastly, I can once again appreciate this design being simple and easy to animate, but just because you need to simplify a design, doesn’t mean it has to look boring, but that’s what it does for me. She just looks boring and basic, it looks like this design took no effort or even thought, and it frustrates me because it’s not that hard to make each of these characters have their own theme and make them distinct from one another. I’ve seen a lot of redesigns that give Vaggie’s design more of a personality and unique look, maybe I’ll show some later. This is just my personal preference, but I’d like to think as Vaggie as a rebel warrior type. She has the spear, an eyepatch, so I associate ripped clothing with her and her having messy hair. Also, I keep seeing edits of her hair being shorter, I honestly would have liked that better, and of course for her to look more mothy. What we got isn’t bad, there just…..could have been more to it, so I ain’t mad, I’m just lowkey disappointed. 

Oh, and one more thing, still upset they kept that god awful name. Say what you want wether it was intentional or not to have her name correspond to her sexuality, it STILL wasn’t a smart move on Viv’s part to KEEP this name knowing Vaggie was a lesbian now. Now it just seems like it’s a punny joke that isn’t funny.