#you know when I don’t fight my drawing? when I’m drawing in that stupid barely useable aggie.io server with the art pals. then it flows

[kirnet]

Man I feel like I’ve been fighting every drawing I do for the last few months. Like I can’t even doodle anymore. It’s all just… blocked? Restricted in some way? I can get a good end product, sure, but I’ve lost all my fluidity and the ability to just spit something out onto the page. Everything takes multiple iterations now before it’s anything serviceable, and each one of those takes pushing and pulling and prodding to get to that point.

The answer is probably that I need to do some studies, or that I need to work in a new medium for a while, or that I actually need to start using my sketchbook again, which. Yes. I feel like I’m missing whole limbs when I don’t do all that. But drawing/ painting has never been easy for me? It’s always been this laborious process. One I enjoy, one I love, but now I’m just growing increasingly frustrated that something that should take me 20 minutes, that would take a better artist 20 minutes, is taking me 2 hours

[awkward-walking-potato]

how would Logan handle a reader that has anxiety? maybe they tend to overthink about things easily, or just can’t stop thinking about certain things. maybe they hide it really well but he knows them well enough to know when they’re upset

Unspoken Understanding

The world outside was quiet—too quiet, in Logan’s opinion. Nights like this always had a way of crawling under his skin, the kind of silence that made you hyper-aware of everything, every little sound, every little breath. But tonight, his focus wasn’t on the stillness of the night. It was on you.

You were sitting across from him on the couch, curled up with a book in your lap, a picture of perfect calmness to anyone who didn’t know better. But Logan knew better.

He watched you over the edge of his beer, eyes narrowed slightly, his senses keenly attuned to the subtle tells that most people would miss. The way you hadn’t turned the page in several minutes. The tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers twitched ever so slightly as if fighting the urge to fidget. And then there was the way you occasionally glanced up from the book, your gaze distant, lost in whatever thoughts were swirling around in your mind.

He didn’t need to ask to know something was wrong. He could smell it on you, the faint scent of stress that clung to your skin, masked by the outward calm you projected. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen you like this, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. He’d come to recognize the signs, the way you’d retreat into yourself when your mind got too loud, when the overthinking started to take over.

Logan was many things—gruff, blunt, more than a little rough around the edges—but he wasn’t oblivious. Not when it came to you.

He set his beer down on the coffee table, the soft clink of glass against wood drawing your attention. You looked up, eyes meeting his, and for a moment, you managed a small smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. You were trying, he knew that. Trying to hide it, trying not to let whatever was going on inside your head affect the evening. But it was a losing battle.

“Something on your mind, darlin’?” His voice was low, calm, a contrast to the roughness it usually held. He wasn’t pushing, just opening the door for you to walk through if you wanted to.

You hesitated, your gaze dropping back to the book in your lap. “I’m fine, Logan,” you replied, your voice steady, practiced. It was an answer you’d given before, one that you hoped would put his mind at ease, but he wasn’t buying it. Not tonight.

He let the silence hang between you for a moment, just long enough for you to realize that he wasn’t going to let it slide. Then, with a quiet sigh, he shifted on the couch, moving closer to you. The cushions dipped under his weight as he settled beside you, his presence solid, grounding.

“Talk to me,” he murmured, his hand finding its way to your knee, the warmth of his palm seeping through the fabric of your pants. It wasn’t a demand, more like an offer. An invitation.

You bit your lip, the weight of his gaze on you, making it harder to keep everything bottled up. You knew he wouldn’t judge you, that he’d listen, but the words still felt heavy on your tongue.

“It’s nothing, really,” you began, but the way his brow arched ever so slightly told you he wasn’t convinced. “I just… I keep thinking about things. Stupid things. Things I can’t control.”

Logan didn’t interrupt, didn’t push for more. He just let you speak, his hand on your knee a steady anchor.

“It’s like my mind just won’t shut off,” you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. “I keep running through everything, over and over, and I know it’s pointless, but I can’t help it. It’s like I’m stuck in a loop, and I don’t know how to get out.”

There it was, the truth laid bare between you. It wasn’t the first time you’d felt like this, and it probably wouldn’t be the last, but admitting it, saying it out loud, made it feel just a little bit more manageable.

Logan’s hand shifted, his thumb brushing over your knee in a soothing motion. “You’re not alone in this,” he said quietly, his voice rough around the edges, but there was a softness there, too. A tenderness he didn’t show to many people. “You don’t have to carry it by yourself.”

The words were simple, but they carried weight. Logan wasn’t the type to offer platitudes or false reassurances. What he said, he meant. And he meant this.

You took a shaky breath, feeling the tightness in your chest ease just a fraction. “I know,” you murmured, leaning into his touch, letting his presence ground you. “It’s just… hard sometimes.”

He nodded, understanding in the way his eyes softened as they met yours. “I get it,” he said, and you knew he did. Logan had his own demons, his own battles with the past, with the thoughts that wouldn’t leave him alone. He understood better than most.

For a while, the two of you just sat there, the only sound the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. Logan didn’t try to fill the silence, didn’t try to offer solutions or tell you how to fix it. He just sat with you, his hand a steady, comforting presence on your knee, letting you know without words that he was there. That he wasn’t going anywhere.

After a few minutes, you shifted, leaning into him, and he welcomed you into his arms without hesitation. You tucked yourself against his side, your head resting on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around you, holding you close. It was a simple gesture, but it was enough to make the world feel a little less overwhelming.

“Thanks,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt.

He didn’t respond with words, just pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary. You felt the tension slowly begin to drain from your body, replaced by a warmth that had nothing to do with the blanket draped over your legs.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

König x Petite Reader Headcanons

Warnings: Non-Explicit Implications of Sexual Content, Petite Reader, Size Kink, Jealous König, Insecure König, Implied 141 x Reader, Petnames, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’.

A/N: Forgot that I'd already written this once before, so here we are with more König x Petite Reader Headcanons ! Just see this as some extra content for our beloved König and his smol s/o <3

When it comes to you, this man is F E R A L

Genuinely cannot believe how perfect you are.

Constantly jokes about how he could fit you in the palm of his hand.

And once, to shut him up, you proved him right by sitting on his open hand when he wasn’t expecting it and gave him a smug look.

“There,” you said, folding your arms over your chest. “You can fit me in your palm.”

König tried not to think of how close he was to your special parts, how warm you felt on him.

He had to disappear to the bathroom for a few minutes afterwards, and when he returned, his face was flushed and he could barely look you in the eye.

He’s never been the same after that. Any trace of a size kink he had before has been amplified to such an extent that he’s taken to hiding your clothes so you’ll have to wear his.

And he just can’t keep his hands off you whenever you do.

“My my, Engel,” he says, one hand sliding around your waist and pulling you closer to him, the other drawing the hem of his shirt further and further up your thighs.

“What could you be hiding under here ?”

Calls you his Mini Maus.

“Because you’re just so tiny and precious !” he gushes.

And since you’re so small compared to him, he treats you as if you’re fragile, like an endangered species of flower.

Concerning intimacy at the beginning of your relationship, König was concerned that he was too big for you.

But, when you put his mind at ease (and challenge him) – “I bet I can take you, Köni~” – you’re in for it.

König’s fighting spirit won’t let you off easy.

When he’s feeling more dominant, he bunches your wrists into one of his hands while he sits on top of you, his other hand slipping beneath your (his) shirt and slithering round the band of your underwear.

“Pretty little thing,” he says, a dangerous smile at his lips. “All weak and defenseless.” He leans down, his eyes dark and wild. “Just for me.”

If you try to struggle (consensually), he’ll smack you through your underwear. And not gently, either.

“Don’t test me, Mini,” he says, his grip about your wrists tightening. “You don’t know what I’m like when I’m angry.”

He loooooves fitting his hands around your waist.

Especially when he finds that his hands wrap around your middle and his fingers touch.

Size kink: upgraded.

He gets lowkey jealous if you ask someone else to reach something for you.

Will sulk about it.

“I just don’t see why you had to ask Ghost to get it for you,” he’ll say, frowning as he lies in bed.

You sigh, putting your book down.

“König, you weren’t even here !” you say. “And I was starving !”

König knows he’s being unreasonable, but he can’t help but feel like he can be easily replaced.

Especially when he knows the rest of the 141 would gladly drop everything to be with you.

He’s not stupid, he’s seen the way they look at you.

A few minutes alone together and a kind word – “You’re so perfect, Köni~ My big, big boy,” – will set him straight.

Loves showing you off to his friends. His acquaintances aren’t safe, either.

He’ll stand you before him and show you off to his associates like: ”Look, this is my partner ! Aren’t they beautiful ?!”

So help him god if anyone tries to show you up or disagree.

You’ll never see them again.

And neither will anyone else.

König loves you more than life itself, and regardless of his insecurities or your unwavering ability to have anyone you could ever want, he’s glad you chose him <3

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Hallowed

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Toxic relationship dynamics, face sitting, smut. Word count: ~1.3k

Summary: Her Early Medieval Literature essay is due, and Michael has his own cruel way of ensuring she stays focused.

Author's note: Can be read as part two of this fic, but also works as a standalone. Day six of the Smuffmas prompts - "future and face sitting". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She lounges on Michael’s bed, clad in only knickers and one of his t-shirts, a copy of the Canterbury Tales grasped lightly between her fingers. Her eyes move over the words of Chaucer, but take none of them in, how could they? His long fingers draw lazy circles on her ankle, her legs stretched out up to the pillows where he reclines, the duvet wrapped around his bare midriff while he reads from a textbook called the Book of Proof.

Life feels simpler since Michael has entered it, despite the turbulent beginnings. She has given up her friends, under his advice, and there is now far less pressure to conform. Her only focuses are her studies and pleasing him, the latter of the two she takes great pleasure in.

It is always on his terms; when they see each other, what they do, how they do it, and despite his obvious initial inexperience he is a fast learner. His ability to make her fall apart, to make her relinquish all control is something he does expertly. The slight fear she feels towards him only adds to the excitement; he could destroy her if he wanted to, but if she plays nicely then he won’t, and she is more than happy to play nicely when the rewards for doing so are as satisfying as they are.

She sighs, his fingers upon her flesh making her core throb with want, even from the simple gesture of absentmindedly touching her leg. She lets her book slip from her fingers, raising up on her elbow to look at him.

“Michael…” she whines.

He looks at her impassively, adjusting his glasses. “The first of your three essays is due soon, isn’t it?”

“Mmm,” she responds with a roll of her eyes, flopping back down and stretching her arms above her head. “Early Medieval Literature.”

His hand moves from her ankle, fingertips ghosting over the exposed skin between the hem of his t-shirt and the waistband of her underwear. “And what have you written?”

She shivers beneath his touch, squirming slightly. “Am I really here to study?”

“I’ve no interest in sleeping with a failing literature student,” he pulls his hand away and she immediately misses his warmth. “So tell me.”

She groans in frustration. “Oh, I don’t know. Probably something about irony in the Merchant’s Tale.”

His textbook thuds closed and she hears the heavy sound of him dropping it onto the bedside table. When she chances to glance up at him she sees he is sitting straighter in the bed, his gaze hardened as he looks at her. “Probably?! You mean you haven’t started it? Have you even thought about your thesis statement, your in-depth analysis or how you’re going to conclude your ideas, if you’ve even had any?”

“Oh, come on,” she says softly, sitting up and reaching for him. “There’s still time. Can’t we just–”

“No,” he cuts her off. “I’ve been spoiling you, and it’s made you stupid.”

“I’m not stupid!” She protests. “If I remember correctly, it was you who called my degree a ‘glorified book club’.”

“You still need to try,” he tells her, frowning.

“You don’t try,” she argues with a shrug,” and marks in your first year don’t count towards the final degree.”

“I don’t have to try, but I still get firsts in everything. Marks this year may not count towards the final degree you get, but they count towards you keeping your scholarship. Think about your future instead of being a fucking brat for once in your life.”

His words are a sharp sting to her already fragile ego, and she lowers her gaze, fighting the sudden urge to cry.

“I’m not touching you again until your essay’s handed in and I’ve seen what your mark is.”

Her head snaps up, eyes wide with disbelief as she looks at him, searching his features for any indication that he’s being unserious. She finds none; he really means it.

“And you’re not to touch yourself. I’ll know.”

The next two weeks are torturous for her. On the occasions that Michael does invite her to his room, there is no more casual half dressed lounging on his bed. Instead, he has a study space set up for her at his desk, and won’t allow her to speak or leave until she has at least a thousand words written. 

They meet up in the library during free periods so that he can read through what she’s written, and her skin burns hot with humiliation each time he screws up a page and throws it into the waste paper bin, calling her arguments “lazy” and “uninspired”.

It lights a fire of determination beneath her, but bubbling under the surface is also a heightened state of arousal, driven by the lack of intimacy, and the fact that she finds that she likes it when he is so authoritative over her.

By the time she has finished, she has produced an essay that both her and Michael are satisfied with; it discusses the use of irony in Chaucer’s poem, the Merchant's Tale. She has used a number of excerpts and lines from the poem for analysis, revealing the instances of irony in each, and from this has determined that the irony Chaucer used in the Merchant's Tale is controlled.

Her eyes light up when Professor Ware hands it back, and she sees the 85% that’s circled at the top of it.

A first.

She feels giddy with excitement as she knocks on Michael’s door that evening, brandishing the now dog-eared pages at him as he opens the door.

“A first, I got a first!” She squeals, watching as he takes the essay from her, his eyes moving slowly over the top page.

“Hmmm,” he settles it down on the desk, removing his glasses and placing them on top. “Take off your jeans and underwear.”

“Wha–what?” She stammers, her grin fading.

“You want your reward, don’t you?” He asks, moving to lay back on the bed.

She swallows thickly, excitement fluttering in her lower belly, as she quickly complies, ridding herself of the clothing that covers her lower half.

“Come here,” he commands softly.

She joins him on the bed, a gasp leaving her as he manhandles her until her knees are positioned either side of his head.

“My clever girl,” he whispers. His words could be mistaken for softness, were they not directly juxtaposed by the rapid darkening of his blue eyes, and the way his thumbs drag across the indentations between her thighs and pelvis. “I knew you could do it, you just needed a little…push.”

He drags his tongue from her opening all the way to her pearl, and her jaw goes slack, the wet sensation making her clench as she falls forward, hands clawing at the wall in front of her.

His grip on her thighs tightens and he tugs her flush against his face, the sloppy sounds of him devouring her are lewd combined with the wanton cries of pleasure that tumble from her lips.

She feels her mind go blank as he inserts his tongue inside of her, keeping it rigid as she begins to grind herself in a circular motion, keeping his nose pressed against where she needs it most, desperately chasing the release she’s needed the last couple of weeks.

His hum of appreciation reverberates through her core, and as he withdraws from her, plush lips wrapping around her sensitive bundle of nerves she feels herself fall apart as the growing ache intensifies, completely at his mercy as he laps at her, while white hot waves of pleasure wash over her.

She raises up when it becomes too much, jerking at how oversensitive she feels and gazes down at him through heavy lidded eyes, breathless.

He looks like an utterly different person without his glasses, almost kind, though she knows better. His chin is shiny with her slick as he smirks up at her.

“You’ve worked so hard,” he says quietly, though the edge of malevolence to his voice is unmistakable. “But don’t worry, you can give that pretty little mind of yours a rest while I fuck you stupid again.”

She is powerless to resist as he tugs her back to his face once more, beginning the exquisite torture all over again.

[pjo-hoo-toa-freakazoid]

A lil rant about my experience with this god forsaken fandom

I made this blog around 2020 when I was 13 years old. This was my first shot at a dedicated fandom blog and I was pretty excited for it, to make friends, draw fanart, post fun stuff and what not.

All fun right? Right, so tell me why was it that literal 20 years olds felt the need to harass me, a then 13 year old girl with a relatively small blog, for the dumbest reasons possible?

What did I do that subjected me to 2 and a half years worth constant daily threats and harassment? Hmm???

You wanna know my crime? Apparently I showed interest in an antagonist character, which is so awful that grown adults felt the need to bully me. And following those adults came young impressionable people my age, that joined the bandwagon of hate against me.

As if other fandoms don’t have people literally dedicating themselves to a villain, no one bats an eye to that. Why did this fandom have such an issue? I also apparently dared to criticise the main character for a few of his flaws. Such a horrible thing to do right? I need to be burnt at the stake for it right?

I didn’t follow the “fixed” standards of the fandom so I was to be sent de*th/r*pe threats daily?? For not following the “rules” I was to be ostracised?

No please someone explain…I’m but a dumb bitch, I don’t understand what I did so terribly wrong to deserve this? Did I start a war? Did I rip open someone’s plush? Did I bully someone for not having the same ideology as me?

No it was but the fandom itself that for some reason found it so fun to bully a 13 year old, send her de*th and r*pe threats all because of not being of pjo fandom standards…let’s go and bombard her with hate!!

Do you realise how fucking stupid…this all sounds? Do you realise how low this is? Was bullying a child so fun? So trendy at the time?

Then came the victim blaming- I laugh everytime I remember people saying I must have done something really bad to get such harassment, that it’s all for attention. What kid wants to get hate everyday of their life for 2 whole fucking years? Tell me?

You know wanna know what I did wrong? Fight back, call the hate anons out for their bigotry. I was vocal about it, that’s what I did wrong right? Stand my ground? People said to ignore it and I did. But I still got bullied daily even if I didn’t respond. What was all this for?

I can imagine people asking why I didn’t simply leave the fandom? Why the fuck should I? I enjoy the stories, I enjoy the characters, they were my escape from real life struggles. It was the bullying I didn’t enjoy. Everyday I’d log on to enjoy posts and a few minutes later when the bigots found out I was active I was sent an anonymous threat.

Many of my oldest friends had to reduce the amount they interacted with me in fear of receiving harassment themselves. The extent of this is bigotry is beyond my understanding.

I did not deserve this much suffering AND ALL FOR WHAT? A STUPID LITTLE REASON THAT HAS BARELY ANY WEIGHT TO IT. Do people even realise the extent of what happened is beyond me. And Idc if I sound selfish, I want a fucking apology from all those bigots. I want compensation for the 2 and a half years of abuse I endured alone. I just want this bigotry to end, which surprise surprise! Still continues to happen.

Why do I bring this up now that it’s all over you ask? I’ve actually brought it up once before, but it was swept under the rug, (My deepest appreciation to the very few people who supported me when I first talked about it) I’m just finally being more vocal, because this has stuck with me. For all those 4 years this has stuck with me. It doesn’t mean if it’s over for now that all the trauma doesn’t linger. It still affects me to this day.

In fact I’m still being stalked by one of the people who sent me hate anons. One of the hate anons was revealed to be one of my bestest friends, they had admitted this to me and had the nerve to beg me to still remain friends. They were also the person who groomed me. They have left the fandom scene and I’ve rid of them from my life but they still continue to stalk me.

What do I get from ranting about all this? A bit of solace, a bit of weight off my shoulders. But nearly not enough for me to actually fucking heal. I also want people to realise how bigoted some are and how horrible the mentality of “fixed fandom standards/ideologies” is and that we as a fandom need to fucking change. Heck I know this issues in every fandom. But can we at least start with ours for a change for once?

Along side all of this there’s also a lot of racism and trans/homophobia that still actively prevails. Just look at what Leah went through when her casting was announced. Did she deserve all of that?? “Not my annabeth” do you realise how horrible that is to say to a CHILD? She is Annabeth whether you like it or not. And you are very welcome to leave if you wish to stick to your stupid racist nonsense.

I bet there are many others who have probably suffered the same may it not be for the same reasons, but everyone of them deserve their apologies and compensation as well.

Idc if I’ll get hate for this. I said what I said. I’m just so done.

[dira333]

I'd rather have one Snorlax than the whole world - Murasakibara Atsushi x Reader

tagging @true-deru and @alienaiver for the Pokemon theme even though I don't know if you know this Anime

“What kind of Pokemon would you be?” Kise asks just as you all sit down to eat.

“What kind of stupid ass question is that?” Aomine asks back.

“You’re just angry because you’d be something stupid like Electrode,” Kise snarks.

“Quiet, Jigglypuff,” you tell him off, swatting at Atsushi’s hand when he goes for your dessert.

“But it’s Matcha Flavored,” he whines, “You don’t even like that.”

“Still. You’ve got to ask.”

“Can I have your dessert-”

“I am NOT Jigglypuff,” Kise cries, interrupting Atsushi.

“The iffy one? For sure.” Aomine snorts, getting out of the way when a book comes flying, smacking Kise in the head.

“What was that for?” Kise wails, rubbing his reddening cheek.

“You interrupted me,” Atsushi points out, voice dripping with annoyance before he turns to you again. “Can I have your dessert please?”

You sigh. “You didn’t have to hit him for that. Sure you can.”

“Yay,” he wiggles around a bit on the bench, knocking his hip into yours. “You can have my veggies.”

“Forget it, they’re for you to eat.”

-

“I’m telling you, Kurokocchi, you’d totally be a Squirtle. Your hair has the perfect color for it.”

“I am not sure-”

“And… and Midorimacchi is Turtwig. Green color and they both look kinda constipated.”

“Excuse me?!” 

With a sigh, Atsushi’s head drops onto yours.

“Tired?” You ask, rolling your shoulders back a little.

“They’re still at it,” he mumbles. “What’s so interesting about Pokemon?”

“Well, they all have some kind of character. It’s fun to compare.”

He’s quiet for a while.

“What Pokemon would I be?” His voice is so low, you barely catch it.

“I’ll tell you when we get out of here,” you promise, not wanting Kise to overhear. 

Atsushi huffs and sits beside you, pretending to look into the book you’re reading. Soon enough though, his head sinks onto your shoulder and his breathing evens out.

You let him sleep, even though it’s a little uncomfortable. After all, they have only so few breaks in between Class and Training.

-

Somewhere in front, Kise’s still discussing Pokemon choices, unable to find one that fits Akashi well enough to present it. 

Satsuki’s hanging off Kuroko’s arm, asking him what kind of Pokemon he thinks she’d be most like.

It’s still warm out, the approaching fall season not yet strong enough to fight the last remnants of summer. Still, Atsushi’s warm hand feels nice, wrapped around yours.

It’s not that you haven’t told anyone that you’re dating yet. 

It’s just that no one thought to ask. 

You’re pretty sure that both Kise and Aomine have no clue. After all, Atsushi is neither less nor more affectionate toward you than he was before.

Midorima would blow a fuse if he knew, so whatever he’s thinking about all the time, it’s not the relationship status of his friends.

Satsuki has only eyes for Kuroko and Kuroko, well… He knows. He knows for sure. 

But just like Akashi, he knows when to stay quiet about a topic, choosing to let it play out the way it wants to, smiling knowingly whenever Atsushi drapes himself over you.

“Okay guys, Satsuki, we’re leaving.” You call after them, motioning at the turn in the road that leads you home. “See you tomorrow!”

“See you!” Satsuki waves her hand exaggeratedly. “Let me do your hair tomorrow, okay?”

“We’ll see!” You tell her, which translates to a “Nowhere in hell” but she laughs and nods and runs after the others.

-

Atsushi’s quiet as you walk the rest of your way home, his thumb drawing odd shapes into the back of your hand.

“What’s on your mind?” You ask when your house comes into view, knowing full well he’s going to crash there first, taking a quick nap before entering the madness that is his own home - five children with equally large appetites do not create a peaceful atmosphere.

“I was thinking about what Pokemon you would be.”

“Oh?” You turn, curious.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “The only one I know is Pikachu but you’re cuter.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet.” You coo, pulling your joined hands up as if to kiss it before biting into his. “I could eat you up.”

He laughs, the sound rumbling through him.

“You’re so weird.”

“You love it.”

“I do.”

You smile up at him at that, pulling him up the stairs to your bedroom.

“You know what Pokemon you are?” You ask, managing to fluff up one pillow before he drops onto them like dead weight.

“What?”

“Snorlax.” You grin, flopping down on top of him.

“Because Snorlax is big and lazy and cuddly and sweet and he likes to eat and sleep and do nothing all day.”

“Hmmm…” Atsushi pulls you in, hooking his head over your shoulder. “What a life.”

[emmyrosee]

y’all gonna hate this and I’m okay with that. tw//feet. nothing explicit, but I hate feet so here’s your warning too LMAOOO-

Annoying Sunarin is your favorite pastime.

He’d be a liar if he said his wasn’t annoying you, but there’s just something so satisfying about the way he sits there and takes it, only to snap and turn completely feral right back at you.

And it’s not like your annoying is mean or rude, you do it strictly to inconvenience him- like eating all the crusts off his pizza, or drawing smiley faces all over his volleyballs (although, the one time you put “I love you!” sticky notes all over his car was one of the more aggressive annoyances) he still chooses to forgive you when you get under his skin.

This, you’re sure, is one of those times you’re extra determined, wanting his attention and his alone.

But instead he’s doing a stupid Instagram live, talking about his rest week before his team leaves for the next two.

You want war. You’re ready to fight it.

Creeping into the living room, you’re smiling at the sight of him, slouched over the coffee table and head resting on the glass while he talks about the team, his practices, and least importantly, how much he loves you.

That, definitely, is not going to fly.

“Yeah, It’s definitely been weird not having practice every day, but I do like being at home-“

Instantly, he sees your grinning frame standing in the doorway. He looks you up and down in suspicion, but even he can’t wipe his own smile growing on his face. “What’re you up to, booger?”

“Wanna see something cute?”

And at this point, okay, Rintaro should know better than to say yes, or at the bare minimum tell you to show him later, but for whatever reason, he stupidly says ‘sure. Why not?’ and watches as you toddle over eagerly.

You take your spot on the couch and lay on your back, shuffling slightly to be comfortable, and suddenly, before he knows it, your fuzzy-socked-foot’s on his shoulder. He feels his annoyance grow, but he knows you’re doing this on purpose, and he’s not going to give you that satisfaction of making him agitated.

“Guys,” he begins, addressing the livestream which is filling with comments. “I think I spoke to soon about the happy to be home thing.”

“Don’t be rude!” You snap, poking his cheek with a pointed toe. “I’m excited, don’t be mean!” Your fuzzy toe moves to play with his ear, and he shrinks his neck at the feeling.

“Seriously?” He snorts, looking your foot up and down. “On Doja Cat’s green, Planet Her, you’re shoving your feet in my face? On my Instagram live?”

“I wanted to show you my socks!” You say happily, wiggling your toes. “They’ve got toe beans.”

“That’s nice dear, now let me get back to the people.”

“Uh, your live is not as important as my socks with toe beans,” you scoff.

“Please excuse my insignificant other’s nasty ass feet, they’re being a disappointment to their bloodline,” he says, poking his tongue in his cheek before casting you a warning look.

“You’re just mad because your bloodline likes me more than you!”

He blinks with a lazy smirk on his lips, and you, with your foot still on his shoulder, gently go to prod him one more time with your socked toe.

Except now, to your horror filled excitement, his massive hand wraps around your ankle, and you cackle in anticipation. “You’re on camera!” You warn, jerking wildly. He glances over at the Instagram live, comments now flying over the screen, and he shrugs, “they’re fine. You gonna behave?”

You don’t say anything, merely giggling and trying to tug your foot back. It’s another sign of your defiance without actually saying anything at all, and damnit, if it’s a war you want, it’s a war you’ll get.

Shrugging, he rips the fluffy sock off your foot and throws it back at you, looking at your foot curiously.

“Do you think I could fit your whole foot in my mouth?”

“EXCUSE ME?” you shriek, immediately trying to pull your foot from his grip, which only tightens as he looks up at you with a smirk.

“Do you know how famous we’d get on the hub? Just me, suckin’ at your toes, flicking them with my tongue-“

“GIVE ME MY FOOT BACK!” You cackle, swatting him with your sock as he chuckles and finally does release your leg, watching in full amusement as you scramble away.

He watches his viewers reactions to his filth fly across his screen (some of the more perverse ones having to be blocked) and he shakes his head at you as you escape quickly to the bedroom. “Keep your dogs in control, will ya? This live is important!”

“You were just talking about pregnancy cravings, no it’s not!”

He takes a deep inhale through his nose, then he sighs dramatically and shakes his head.

“I’ll log back on later, guys. Gotta go polish some piggies.”

“NAAAOOOOO!”

Needless to say, that would be a tactic you’d never use again to get his attention, this mission being unsuccessful.

Or… was it?

[kyojurismo]

— THAT ONE TIME HE SENT YOU A LETTER

# sanemi shinazugawa

tags : gn!reader, fluff, the bold parts are tengen’s comments!!! 500 words, not proofread bc i can’t read my own shit lol.

a/n : i told ya i was gonna write something about sanemi not being able to write, but it turned out completely different. anyway, i hope you guys enjoy it anyway <3

dear sanemi,

we finally reached the village. we’re waiting for the night, so we can get the job done. i’m sure it’s not a strong demon, after all he hurt just a couple of villagers and they’re alright now, thankfully.

anyway, uzui-san is very fast! i can barely keep up with him, but he’s of good company. i discovered his wives prepared a bento for me too, and it was my favourite food too! i was so happy while eating it, but don’t worry, your ohagi are still in my top three.

the young slayers with us are pretty good, so stop saying they’re all useless and stupid, please. they’re all doing their best and they will get stronger and better at fighting. i know that for sure.

that was all for now. i’m looking forward to see you again, i’m sure the mission will be over soon. after all, there’s a pillar with us.

— your [y/n]

sanemi catches himself smiling at your letter. he wants to go on missions with you too, but he is happy whenever he receives your letters.

although he could never answer.

“sorai,” sanemi calls for his crow and gives him a little bag, with some of your favourite sweets. “take this to [y/n], make sure it is delivered with care,” he asks as he pats his crow gently.

that’s his way to answer you. you send letters, sanemi sends gifts. always.

when he’s the one away on missions, he makes sure to send you special gifts, like accessories or simply food. and he waits patiently for your letters.

he keeps them all, secured in a drawer. he usually kisses the letter and then puts it away, going sitting back on the engawa, staring up at the sky.

─────────────────────

dear [y/n],

it’s uzui writing! but it’s sanemi dictating, hah!

me, uzui and tomioka are almost there, the village is close i believe. so is the demon. he’s talking about the way he’s gonna cut his head off but we both know it’s boring so i won’t tell you all that.

i bought you some sweets, i know you really like them. the lady said it was special, some shit about love… i don’t know.

what the hell …

i’m sorry i can’t write to you, personally, but i promise that once this is all over you can teach me properly. yeah, because the wind doesn’t have time to learn how to write at the moment.

i can’t wait to come back home to you, i miss you a lot. take care darling, i promise to be quick.

— your ‘nemi.

“you know i can read, right?” he stares at tengen, who’s eating his food acting innocently. “i don’t know what you’re talking about, man. here, tomioka, take it,” he pushes a bento to the water hashira, who quietly accepts it while murmuring a thank you.

sanemi draws a little dog on the back before giving it to sorai, ordering him to deliver it to you.

needless to say, you’re so excited to see sorai delivering a letter that you starts crying even before reading it, and after that, you hug it close to your chest.

reblogs & comments are super appreciated! thank you for taking your time reading it, i hope you enjoyed it. have a good day / night <3

[stromuprisahat]

If Zoya is so stupid and useless, why was she chosen as one of the Darkling's main people?

Where?

Because in books, she was strong, yet ordinary Squaller. Perhaps promising, but hardly highly ranking, no matter what she likes to believe.

“You look amazing, Zoya! How are you?” gushed Marie. “We missed you so much!” squealed Nadia. “I missed you, too,” Zoya said. “It’s so good to be back at the Little Palace. You can’t imagine how busy the Darkling’s kept me. But I’m being rude. I don’t think I’ve met your friend.”

Shadow and Bone- Chapter 11

What stings, is that everyone knows it. It shows, when Zoya attacks Alina. If she were SOMEONE by herself, wouldn't at least one person note that?

to Ivan “... Please tell me you were there when he [the Darkling] told Zoya she’d be leaving Os Alta.” “I was.” “And?” I urge as we head down the hill to the birch grove. I’m a greedy thing, but how can I be expected to resist this gossip? Ivan shrugs, scowling. “He just made it clear that she’s replaceable and Starkov isn’t.”

The Tailor

Marie rolled her eyes. “She can’t bear the idea of anyone being the Darkling’s favorite.” I laughed and then winced at the stab of pain in my side. “I’m hardly his favorite.” “Of course you are. Zoya’s powerful, but she’s just another Squaller. You’re the Sun Summoner.”

Shadow and Bone- Chapter 11

She's rash, and to lead or bear considerable amount of responsibility, she'd need to unlearn that, start thinking about others and most importantly about impact of her (in)action. It might be why she was stationed near the Fold. I've theorised about it a few months back- it's the ideal position for her. She's (partly) answerable for the skiff and people on it, but danger comes in predictable form of volcra. It's the perfect place to learn what she's lacking.

She's barely out of school, she lacks experience- why would the Darkling give her important position, when he has hundreds of people to choose from? What's "main" about the person, who's driving a skiff?

Now where did the notion she's the Darkling's super special girl come from?

“Zoya Nazyalensky, who was one of the Darkling’s most favored soldiers.”

Yuri Vedenen; King of Scars- Chapter 9

That's an information coming from religious fanatic, several years after the Darkling's death AND merry application of current regime's propaganda.

Have you ever noticed how there's not a single mention of Ivan post-his death? We don't even know his surname. Aside from him, there's not one (1) named Grisha from his side.

It's easy to be remembered as the favourite, when you erase existence of anyone else.

Even in her memories, she's among the promising ones, yet not favoured, not hand-picked.

“... I was the youngest of the group and so proud to be chosen to go. I was half in love with him already. I lived for the rare moments he appeared at the school.” She shook her head. “I was the best, and I wanted him to see that … The older Grisha were all in contention for the amplifier. It was up to them to track the tigers and see who would earn the right to the kill. ...”

King of Scars- Chapter 27

The interest is one-sided, Zoya draws the Darkling's attention by stealing three amplifiers from other Grisha, her recklessness and short-sightedness, not her capability.

The closest we get to some sort of recognition, is in Aleksander's chapter in RoW, when he points out her deficiencies and admits some of it made her work hard.

And if Zoya ever learned to harness the power she’d been given? She was still vulnerable, still malleable. Her anger made her easy to control. When this war was done and the casualties counted, she might once more be in need of a shepherd. She had been one of his best students and soldiers, her envy and her rage driving her to train and fight harder than any of her peers. And then she’d turned on him.

Rule of Wolves- Chapter 26

I have one (rather big) objection- Zoya has never been a good soldier. She failed twice on rather important occasions- the amplifier and Alina incidents-, proving her self-control is lacking. That rage he's for some reason praising here, makes her dangerous to those peers she's trying to outdo.

But hey- he barely crawled back from the dead, his mental skills won't be at their best- why would he plan to manipulate Zoya without a single mention of Juris? The Saint isn't gonna disappear any time soon (if ever), and he's hardly Aleksander's fan.

[epiclamer]

Here is part two my beloveds <3 of my crazy ass dream…

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Bait Pt. 2

The villain’s voice sent shivers down their spine, their whole body tensing against the rope even more was enough to draw a whine out from between their lips. Hero had to stay strong, they had to be calm for what was to come.

“Well, technically you’re Supervillains bait. Not mine. I’m not into high profile crime.” The villain winked, their smile appearing once more.

Hero’s gut twisted with unease. “Kidnapping a hero is high profile crime.”

The villain laughed, throwing their head back. “You really do know your laws, don’t you?” They said between laboured breaths.

Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm…

“I work for the law.”

Villain raised a brow, seemingly now more intrigued with their captive as they leaned forwards, hands on their knees.

“Oh? Feisty are we?”

At that, Hero backed down. Any fight right now they would lose. They had spent an hour trying to wriggle free, but nothing budged.

The hero was trapped. Tied up at the villain’s complete mercy.

“Let me go.”

“That’s a stupid thing to say.”

The hero glared at their captor, trying to keep a strong facade to cover their fear and quivering.

The villain hopped off the table, strutting forwards to face their captive. “Do you really think that after everything I’ve gone through to get you here, that I’d just let you go if you said so?”

It was almost a laughable point, Villain was right. It was a stupid thing to say, but they couldn’t help it. What else were they supposed to say?

The criminal huffed, closing up their knife and sliding it into their pocket. Patting the hero once on the shoulder as they kneeled down to level height.

“If you’ve got nothing else to say, I’ll be on my way, alright? I’ll be back… sometime later.” They smiled once more, taking the gag and blindfold in both hands as they reached for the hero’s face.

Hero’s heart pounded in their chest. This couldn’t end now, could it? They had barely any answers. They hadn’t gotten anywhere but on Villains nerves and now they were leaving.

This couldn’t be it. They didn’t want to be left alone again, they didn’t want to have to mull in their mind for hours on end.

“W-Wait!”

The villain stopped, mere centimetres from securing the gag in the hero’s mouth.

One deep breath. They had to stay calm. “What… What are you going to do to me?”

The shake in their voice was prominent as much as they wished it wasn’t. Hero couldn’t help but spare a glance around the room, it choked their sentence short, dread blooming in their throat.

Villain chuckled—they were much too amused for the hero’s liking—taking a short breath before they answered.

“That’s enough questions for now, hm? You’ll find out in good time…” With that, Villain didn’t waste another second in forcing the gag into hero’s mouth.

They struggled, pulling against the other’s grasp in an attempt to free themselves, but the villain was stronger in their position and easily finished the tie at the back of their head. Going in with the blindfold next, but they hesitated, stopping as they met eyes with the hero.

The villain’s gaze travelled just below the hero’s eyes, down to their lips. They reached out, roughly grabbing Hero by the chin as they tried to turn away.

Villain used their thumb, pressing gently on the hero’s dried, cracked and bleeding lip. Wiping away the blood as delicately as possible.

“Water?”

Hero only stared back in confusion.

“Do you want me to bring down some water to uh… clean that up?” It was a genuine question, something much softer behind their words than Hero thought was possible for a kidnapper to have towards their captive.

But they nodded quietly, their throat burned and their mouth was bloody. Anything to wash the metallic taste away.

The villain nodded back, reaching back around Hero’s head to replace the blindfold. They were a bit calmer this time, although Hero still proved to be a hassle when it came to tying the knot at the back.

It had been previously cut away, which was fine and all, just a bit shorter, but Hero wouldn’t keep their head still as the knot kept getting caught in their hair, ripping at their scalp.

“Relax.” Villains voice took a stern tone as they gripped Hero by the neck. “It’ll only be like this until I get back, sit pretty for me will you?”

And they finished off the knot, tapping Hero on the head as they left, causing them to mutter something through the gag. Villains laugh ringing out from the above.

[come-on-shitty-boys]

// So A Snake Walks Into A Bar. inked 06 //

prev << 06 >> next

*The nature of this series may be not be appropriate for all readers. Content warnings include: vulgarity, heavy swearing, and implications of adult relations.  Due to these themes, this series may not be suitable for readers under the age of 16.  Reader discretion is advised.*

The Winged Viper was easily the seediest bar on this side of town with at least one bar fight ending in someone being dragged out the back door every night, the kind of place where eye contact with the wrong person might just end with you being pulled from your stool by the collar of your shirt, whiskey breath in your face as you blink through the insults. But there was something about the dingy establishment that always brought you back. Maybe it was the drinks where the shots were poured just a little too long or maybe it was the Halloween skeleton that just stood by the door year round, donning different hats and decorative pieces for the changing of the seasons. 

Or maybe it was him and that stupid smile on his face as he raised his hand in your direction, waving you over, pausing only for a moment to laugh at something the bartender had shouted at him. Yeah, maybe it was Daishou Suguru who already had your drink sitting on the strangely sticky table, a basket of onion rings ready to share. This had become the Friday night routine years ago when you had both outgrown the loud music and overpriced shots of the clubs downtown, always a little too crowded by the city’s college students. Instead, you both had begun opting for the not-so-quiet and only ever so slightly less crowded atmosphere of The Winged Viper, just becoming a part of the regular group of bikers and college professors who found the bar just as endearing.

Daishou’s crooked smile greets you as you slide into your seat across from him. He’s washed the ink from his hands and replaced the collared shirts that he favors in the shop for a simple t-shirt, showing off the tattoos that flowed down his arms, transforming himself from the professional artist into just another guy to blend in with the crowd. 

He can’t even get a word out before you’re dropping a binder on the table. That stupid black binder that Kuroo had stuffed full of drawing assignments for you. A waste of paper. A waste of your apprenticeship. “The fuck is this?” He asks, eyebrows scrunching in confusion as he flips open the proof of deforestation that you had just slammed in front of him.

And then he’s laughing.

Face relaxing as his fingers weave through his hair, bright laughter ringing through the bar. “You’re fucking kidding me! This is insane, Y/N.”

“No, trust me! I know! I’m the one drawing 300 fucking lines everyday! ‘Ru, I’m going to lose my mind and it’s barely been a week,” you say, rubbing your face between your hands.

His lips quirk into a teasing smile, raising his eyebrows at you. “You know, I’m pretty sure I told-”

You don’t think it’s possible to roll your eyes harder and Daishou can only chuckle at your dramatics, watching as you fully lean into the eye roll and stare at him with a playful annoyance written across your face. “Yeah, yeah. You told me so. I thought you were just talking shit! I didn’t think he would actually be this terrible! Suguru, the closest I’ve gotten to tattooing is washing his ink cups. How am I supposed to learn if he won’t even sit down and tell me a little about what he’s doing? I don’t even know what the machine feels like in my hand! How do I turn it on? Do I do the linework first or do I do color first? Is it like watercolors where I start light and go dark or do I-”

“You’re thinking too much. It’s been a week.” That playful grin sinks into something more sincere as he looks at you from across the table, taking your hand to really get you to focus on him, except now you’re not focusing on his words, but rather the way his hand fits so nicely in yours and his thumb running over your knuckles, the soft brush of the calluses of his hands from years of tattooing and drawing. His mouth is moving and you’re sure that whatever he’s saying is important, but fuck. Have his eyes always been that green? They’re crinkling as he says something that makes himself laugh. Maybe you should laugh too? His fingers are finding the spaces between yours and you see him stop talking.

Fuck.

You’re supposed to say something.

“Yeah, I completely agree,” you say.

Daishou clicks his tongue, waggling his finger at you in mock disappointment. “I knew you weren’t paying attention.”

“I was absolutely paying attention!” You object. “I was listening the entire time.”

He cocks his head to the side. “Sure, Y/N. And just what are you agreeing with?”

“I’m agreeing with what you said! It’s not my fault if you don’t remember what you said.”

“Gaslighter.”

“Okay, fine. I wasn’t listening! What did you say?” You sigh.

“I was saying that if Kuroo doesn’t work out, you can always come apprentice with me,” he offers, locking eyes with you, sincerity swimming in the green. 

Friends. 

That was the label that you two had settled on back when you had met, back when you had drunkenly stumbled to bed with him.

Just . . . friends.

A heavy pause between the words to fill in all that was unsaid, time to see his eyes dart down to your lips before reaching your eyes again.

Just friends.

A confirmation as your hand drifts from his shoulder to his chest, eyes following the path of your fingers as they trail further down his body to hook onto the belt loop of his jeans, a firm tug to pull him against you, the only invitation he needed to push his mouth to yours, pressing you back against the wall as his hands found your waist.

Just friends who sometimes make out.

Shirts are thrown across the room and pants are kicked off in the least sexy way possible as he nearly trips over himself, but it’s fine because his mouth is on your neck, pushing you back down on the bed, teeth grazing skin in that way that never fails to have your mouth falling open.

Just friends who sometimes also have sex.

His hand squeezes yours gently, bringing you back to the present moment. You don’t want to look at his face as you pull your hand away, because you know there would be a flash of sadness swimming across his eyes, no matter how hard he denies it. “I can’t, ‘ru,” you say.

“Why not? I can teach you everything he can and I promise, I won’t make you polish the tile with my boxers.”

“Ew! Is he going to make me do that?”

Daishou winks, smiling at you softly. “I won’t give him any ideas. But I’m serious, Y/N.”

You blow out a sigh. “I know you are, but this is something I have to do on my own. I really appreciate it, but it’s not going to feel right if I let you mentor me. It’ll feel too easy, like the whole opportunity was just handed to me on a platter.” You couldn’t let yourself do that. It was the one thing that had held you back from apprenticing with Daishou in the first place. He was a brilliant artist and one of your best friends, but you couldn’t shake the nagging feelings that he would’ve just given you the apprenticeship without having to really work for it. He would tell you that that wasn’t true, that you really did deserve to apprentice with him, but that couldn’t stop that nagging in your head.

Besides, Kuroo’s work aligned more closely with your own style. Daishou had fallen into the realm of realism, being able to push colors in a way that seemed like a picture had been printed directly on the skin. But, Kuroo– He was an artist unlike any you’d seen in your life. Pushing the boundaries of composition and form in ways that didn’t just utilize the shape of the body, but enhanced it, finding ways to draw the eyes around unlike any other tattoo artist you had studied. He was everything you wanted to be and more. There was no one else that you wanted to learn from, but fuck–

He was a prick.

And you weren’t about to forget that, especially when he wouldn’t even look at you when you walked into the shop the next morning. His head was buried into his newest flash sheet, inks spread over the counter as he pulled an outline, but you did see those amber eyes quickly dart in your direction before returning to their work.

“How was your date?” Kuroo muttered, leaning back from the page to examine his handiwork from further away. You could see his features scrunch in distaste as he re-wet an area of ink to remove some of the pigment to try to fill the space again.

But, you’re too busy rolling your eyes as you hang your jacket by the door. “It wasn’t a date.”

He snorts, dipping his brush back into the blue ink. “Sure it wasn’t.” 

“Why do you care?”

“Did I say that I care?”

You round the counter to stand opposite of him, busying yourself with making a pot of coffee to only further enable Akaashi’s caffeine problem. “Then why would you ask how it went?”

“I’m just trying to be polite,” he says, pushing a smile that really looks more painful than anything. “We’re going to be stuck with one another until you either finish this apprenticeship or quit, so my apologies for trying to make this a little less dull for the both of us.”

“Yeah. Okay, fine.”

“So? How was it? You never said.”

“Because it wasn’t a date, Kuroo.”

He finally looks up at you, eyebrows raised in amusement. “Does he know that? Because guys don’t look at people like that unless they’re into them.”

You roll your eyes, helping yourself to one of Akaashi’s clean mugs as you pour yourself a cup of coffee. You raise the pot in a silent question to Kuroo who just gives a slight nod in answer. Two steaming mugs on the counter. Cream and sugar for him. Black for you. 

“We’ve talked about it.”

“And?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a nosy bastard?”

For the first time since you’ve known him, you swear Kuroo smiles at you, a true genuine smile as if he doesn’t hate your presence after all. There’s the faintest glint of mischief in his eyes as his lips shift into a smirk. “I’m not nosy. I’m just curious.”

“Curious about things that don’t concern you, like usual,” Akaashi states as he passes behind you to refill his mug from the fresh pot. He turns his attention towards you. “Ignore him. He’s a gossip at best, and meddlesome at worst.”

“I do not meddle!”

Akaashi slowly draws his eyes away from his mug to stare blankly at Kuroo. “Do you want to tell that to Tsukishima or should I?”

“Okay, so I meddled once,” Kuroo states, splaying his hands out as if it was only natural to get in the middle of another person’s business every now and then.

You didn’t know that it was possible to roll your eyes with such overwhelming drama until you saw the unparalleled amount of sass that Akaashi threw into that single movement. Steel blue eyes met amber in a look that could only be described as complete and utter disbelief. No words passed between the tattoo artist and the clerk for a long moment, just facial expressions of exasperation as a silent conversation took place.

Until Akaashi gave up, groaning in frustration. “You sent that poor barista flowers every week on Tsukki’s behalf! You can’t do that, Kuroo! You can’t go to the coffee shop and flirt with him and then say, ‘Oh, hey! Actually, my friend is really into you’. That’s meddling, Kuroo.”

“It wasn’t even that bad,” he scoffs.

“Tsukki got blocked and you’re no longer welcome at that coffee shop.”

“So, he wasn’t into my pick-up lines! How is that my problem?”

“You harassed him!”

Amber eyes dart over to you at the stifled snort that you were trying to hide behind your hand. The sneer that you’ve come to know all too well pulls at Kuroo’s features. “You got something to say, kid?”

You choke down your laughter, struggling to swallow those final giggles as you shake your head. “Nothing! Nothing. It’s just not surprising that you don’t have any game.”

“I have game!”

“Yeah? And that’s why you’re still single and trying to weasel your way into my love life?” You tease, leaning forward against the counter to push the nonchalance as you quirk an eyebrow at him.

But his mouth just grows into a smirk as he matches your posture. “So you admit it? You’re seeing him?”

And that was all it took for you to push away in frustration, hands in the air as you walked away from this nightmare conversation. You’d rather be repainting the walls with a detail brush before you had to put up with his shit any longer.

Silence dances in the front of the shop allowing Kuroo to return to the flash sheet in front of him. It stays that way for a while, the clacking of Akaashi’s keyboard being the only thing to fill the silence in the early hours of the shop.

He doesn’t even look at Kuroo when he starts talking again, eyes solely focused on responding to the floods of e-mails from the previous evening. “Do you care?”

“About what?” Kuroo mumbles, swishing his brush in a glass of water, watching the water turn to that same electric blue color that he had been using only moments before.

“You know what. Daishou and Y/N.”

Kuroo’s scoff is enough of an answer, but just to further push his point, he looks up to look at the clerk. “No, Akaashi. I don’t care.”

And Akaashi just nods, glancing at his friend from the corner of his eye to where Kuroo was staring at the curtain towards the back of the shop, the direction that you since disappeared as if he was willing you to return. “Sure.”

{Taglist: @boosyboo9206 @zamorazz @universal-s1ut @localgaytrainwreck // never miss an update! send an ask to be added to the inked taglist!!}

[pixlokita]

im with you, i hate that it feels like its gregory vs cassie in the fandom rn. theyre KIDS.

i also dont think its gregory in the main(?) ending (there are so many things that make it not make sense for it to be him), and it bothers me so much that people are pouncing on “gregory is evil” - he is a CHILD.

i really hope people dont pester you about drawing them as friends, i personally would love some art from you with them being friends <3 as much as i am a fan of the angst potential of that ending, cassie being tricked by the mimic (grimic? is that actually the canon name..?) one last time to pit her against gregory when really neither side did anything wrong is far moe interesting in concept than “gregorys just evil” could ever be imo.

i personally love feral/menace gregory, but hes not evil - again, hes a kid! and hes been in terrible circumstances! im not sure i could even really be mad if that WAS him in the elevator - a genuinely terrifying threat was released, and he might not be able to trust cassies voice, just like she couldnt trust his. we know cassie was okay, that the mimic wasnt with her (well, aside from the arm), but gregory had no way of knowing any of that.

seemingly, hes with vanessa and freddy. if he risked it and it WAS the mimic and not cassie, he could lose everything and more all over again. i cant imagine being a kid having to make such an awful decision. keep your current family safe, or risk everything in case your best friend somehow made it?

he knows how dangerous the plex is. and i can only imagine how much more dangerous hed expect it to be now. he barely made it out with freddys help, and as far as he knows, cassie doesnt have someone there to help her.

i feel so bad for gregory, both in-game, and in the fandom! he doesnt deserve all this hate.

sorry, that wasnt supposed to be a tangent - my point is im a gregory defender and 100% on your side. i hope no one is a prick about you drawing cassie and gregory as friends. ill personally fight them for u pix i promise

I agree with a lot of what you said tbh and heck dude Gregory is indeed a child, he’s even had to do things he didn’t want to do and got the short end of the stick every time. Cassie is a bean also, like she didn’t deserve to be tricked she didn’t deserve to be traumatized and she didn’t deserve to also get the short end of the stick either. It’s just I just really can’t accept that Gregory would do that to her either and ? If I’m wrong then okay? But like that’s just what I chose to believe and what I chose to draw I don’t get why people have to prove me wrong about it or pull lore nonsense into it to make sure I feel like I’m wrong. I mean =w= even retorting to insults like we’re in kindergarten is just ridiculous?Plus other people being stupid made me give up on interacting with anyone on that particular art piece. I felt like the end of ruin wasn’t satisfying so I drew art to feel better and try to understand it better and people took it personally =w= very mature honestly, they could just make their own art and leave mine alone.

[stayandot8]

One Day...

Genre: fluff

Relationship type: idol!Chan x actress!reader, best friends

Important Contents: Thank you for the idea, anon. It may not be exactly what you asked for but I couldn't get this scene out of my head. I hope you enjoy nonetheless. Who knows? Maybe there'll be a part two. We all know I love to write a part two... 😉... lmao that felt like an 'xoxo gossip girl' moment. someone save me

WC: 2.1k

masterlist l Part Two

Me: You promised to run lines with me. I’m outside, let me in

Chris: You have no manners. What if I wasn’t home and security saw you and forced you to leave?

Me: Let me in or I’m sending Minho that photo we took for Halloween last year.

“Okay, okay. No need for the big guns, alright?” As expected, Chris opened the door within seconds of my thumb hitting send. 

“Go big or go home.” I retorted, traipsing in through the doorway and planting myself on the couch. 

“I’d rather you go home. Don’t you have anyone else to run these with?” He shuffled over to me, sporting his trademark athletic shorts and black t shirt. So he’d been working? What else is new? 

“Are you saying that in your friend’s time of need, you won’t help her?” I flung myself across the couch with a delicately placed hand on my forehead, draping over the furniture. I heard a huff of air from the man in front of me as he was fighting his own smile. I sat back up, fighting one of my own. “Come on, Chan. I really need your help. I finally booked a serious drama after months of hosting stupid TV shows and this could be my breakthrough to be taken seriously. This could lead to some serious stuff one day! But I just can’t get these lines right on my own. I just peek at the paper if I mess something up and it ruins my whole flow. I need a scene partner. Please?” I gave him my biggest doe eyes and a smile so sweet it should’ve been used in Felix’s brownies. And like always, it worked. 

Chan rolled his eyes as he plopped down next to me and held out his hand for the stapled sheets of paper. I perked up, rummaging through my bag for the rumpled stack and placing it in his outstretched hand. He brought it to him and scanned the page, every so often lifting the top to scan the next, his brows drawing closer and closer together.

“This is a love scene!” He threw me his best disgusted face and dropped the pages in the space between us like it may bite him. 

“Do you know how hard it is to play a love scene when there’s no one acting in front of you? Acting is all about response, reactions. I can’t act if there’s nothing to react to!”

“You can barely a-”

“Don’t even finish the words I know you don’t mean.” I deadpanned to him, setting my jaw. He threw his hands up and at least had the decency to look mildly ashamed. 

“It was a joke. You know I think you’re great. The best.” He smiled at me, that tight-lipped smile he always had when he wasn’t saying the full truth. I always would mean to ask but he would change the subject too quickly. Like now. “What’s your character like anyways? I’ve never heard of this director before.” 

“Oh, the director’s name on the script isn’t the real one. It’s a fake that they wrote in so no one would know who was actually doing the project. Even I don’t know who it is. We start shooting in two days and I’m dying to know. I bet it’s someone super famous, someone no one would expect to do a project like this. Maybe a famous action director or something like that.” His lips were tucked into his mouth, fighting more laughter. I slapped his shoulder. “Stop laughing! Stop shitting on my dreams, okay? Just start at the top when you’re ready.” I shook out my limbs to loosen up and prepare for what was supposed to be the height of the series. The male love interest had just entered the airport where the female lead was leaving the country, taking a job offer elsewhere. He was calling her name, trying to find her and he spots her and runs to her. At least, this was the background I was giving Chan as his eyebrows rose higher and higher the more I went on. 

“Why doesn’t he just call her?” I rolled my eyes with such vigor, I strained them just a tad. 

“This drama takes place in the late 90s. They didn’t have phones like that. Now start reading where that line is drawn.” I closed my eyes to focus on the moment. I could see it in my head, on display in front of me. I was leaving my home, my country, to chase after my dreams. Or what I thought were my dreams, until I heard my name being shouted throughout the airport.

“Juna! Juna!” Chris whisper-shouted. He really was barely any help.

I mimed turning my head to where the source of the noise came from. There he was. My lover. My heart started racing. 

“You can’t just leave me like this. I won’t let you.”

“You have to let me go. This is my dream.”

“Are you sure about that? What about everything you said to me last night? And every night before that?”

“I meant it all. But I have to do this for myself. I owe it to her.”

“So you’ll throw away everything we have for - Wow, this guy’s a dick.” My head snapped to the boy beside me who was looking at the pages in his hands more closely. “He’s asking her to stay with him in the small town that she hates, just for him? Instead of following her dreams?”

“Yes. And then she leaves anyway and he follows her instead. Keep going.” I faced forward again, to the scene I had imagined. 

“Good! Good for her.”

“Yes. Yes it is good for her. Keep. Going.” Another sigh filled the room. I drowned it out again, going back into the scene. 

“So you’ll throw away everything we have for what? A stupid promise you made when you were twelve? You’ve grown up now. You’ve changed. You’ve changed me. Shouldn’t that count for something?”

“It’s not enough anymore. Please let me go, you’re only making this hurt more.”

“So I’m not enough for you, is that it? Is that what you tried to tell me last night?”

“It’s not you that isn’t enough. It’s this place. I need to go and see the world. See new places, meet new people. This city was what I needed two years ago. You’ve helped me see that. Now I need to go. My plane leaves soon, please don’t make this harder than it already is.” I could see it, my eyes filling with tears as he reaches for my hand and says the one thing I need to hear, the one thing he’s kept from me this whole time…

There was a long pause where there should’ve been words. I was shaken from my scene, waiting for Chris to say the next part. When he didn’t, I slowly looked over to him. He sat frozen, staring at the page. “I’m not saying this.”

“Why?” My tone was incredulous. 

“No one says things like this in real life.”

“Just because you’ve never been in love or had a girlfriend does not mean you know everything about it. In fact, it means the opposite.”

“But I know men. And they don’t just outright say things like this. It’s ridiculous.”

“Christopher, read me the line or so help me, I will make so much noise that I will wake up your entire building.”

“It’s not my fault you like to study your lines so late into the night.”

“That’s the only time you’re awake and free.”

“I wasn’t actually free, I was working on our new-” He was cut off by my sudden movement to his kitchen area. I started opening the cabinet with the pots and pans when he started fluttering the pages at me. “Okay, okay! See? Look, I’m ready to read now. Should I start here or somewhere else?” I nodded, satisfied, and returned to my seat. 

“Start a few lines back so I can work up to it again.” A small ‘so dramatic’ under his breath before he continued, which I dutifully ignored. 

“So you’ll throw away everything we have for what? A stupid promise you made when you were twelve? You’ve grown up now. You’ve changed. You’ve changed me. Shouldn’t that count for something?”

“It’s not enough anymore. Please let me go, you’re only making this hurt more.”

“So I’m not enough for you, is that it? Is that what you tried to tell me last night?”

“It’s not you that isn’t enough. It’s this place. I need to go and see the world. See new places, meet new people. This city was what I needed two years ago. You’ve helped me see that. Now I need to go. My plane leaves soon, please don’t make this harder than it already is.” 

“Even if you are the only thing in this world that makes me want to breathe? The only thing I want to do is be near you. Everyday. It is the only thing I look forward to. You are the only thing in my life that makes sense. Please don’t take it from me.” He pulls me closer for a kiss, which I allow. A final kiss. A final goodbye. Before I cup his cheek and turn away for good, one last tear trailing down my face. 

“I think I might be sick.” Chris and his upturned lip were still looking at the page. 

“Well, you’d better find a toilet then and let me read my lines in peace.”

“Is that all the practice you want to do? Are you sure?”

“If you’re going to make fun of my script, then yes. That’s all the practice I want to do. I’m just going to go over it a few more times in my head then I’ll leave.” I crossed my arms as I sat back, snatching the script back from him and gluing my eyes to it. 

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t making fun of you, you know that. I ‘mhm’d loud enough for him to hear without letting my eyes leave my script. “Okay then. Stay as long as you want. I’ll be in my room if you want to do it again. If you get done early, I’d love to show you a song we’re working on. It’s going to be a good one.” His voice went up an octave, knowing that teasing me with new music would definitely pull my forgiveness from me. And damn it, it always worked. 

“Okay, fine. But I want you good headphones!” I smirked at my pages, feeling triumphant for the umpteenth time in our friendship. I heard him shuffle back into his LED-lit cave and creak the door, leaving it cracked for me. Without the company of another person, my eyes suddenly felt very heavy. Okay, maybe just for a second…

Famous last words…

*

Where did that girl go? Did she leave without saying goodbye? Was I too harsh on her? I knew that joke was too much. God, Chris, you take it too far sometimes. 

I shuffled out of my room half an hour later and listened for any noise coming from the living room. I heard none. I called out her name. The first word for love I had ever known.

No reply. I ventured deeper until I heard the faint snores I’d come to love, becoming a constant for many years. Peering around the corner to see her slumped against the back of the couch with her mouth open and eyes shut, I shook my head as the Uncontrollable Grin took over. The same one that appeared when I saw her face the very first time. The one that fought its way onto my lips whenever she was near. Everyone else noticed it. But not her. She still had no idea. 

I somehow moved her to lay on her side without waking her, grabbed a blanket from my room, her favorite one, and threw it over her. Even asleep, she had too much strength. Taking the script from her hands was harder than it should have been. My work was beckoning to me again but I was drawn to her, as I always had been.  Watching her chest rise and fall in the darkness, the moon basking her in its light, I could see it. All on display in front of me. She, just having put the baby down for bed, if we had any, and not being able to make it to the bedroom, collapsing on the couch from exhaustion. I would carry her to the room and tuck her in, kissing her before I would have to go back to the studio. 

One day, I thought as I flipped the light switch.

One day.

masterlist

[your-unfriendlyghost]

4, 5, 7, 14

(Okay I really liked these ones fyi)

4. Rank the main 7.

  Ooh tough one. I guess right now, in order of favorite to least favorite, I’d have to go Sodapop, Two-Bit, Steve, Johnny, Ponyboy, Dally, and then finally Darry. But it’s pretty close, and the order changes day by day honestly- I like all of them a lot, y’know? I guess the only one I don’t think about too often is Darry. I still like him and think he’s a really well-written character- I just don’t have a lotta original thoughts about him, is all, whereas I do about all the others. 

5. What are your fave ships?

  In a truly shocking turn of events, I, a frequent draw-er and writer of Stevepop, am going to say Stevepop. I dunno, something about them just makes me happy. Reminds me of like…daydreams I had when I was twelve and crushing on my best friend, and trying to get her attention by doing stupid things and whatever…god I don’t really know how to explain why I like it. Before this fandom I didn’t usually ship things, to be honest. But I guess when I did it’d be stuff like Jesslake in Infinity Train, where it’s the sorta thing that can be seen as platonic or romantic. I reckon Stevepop scratches a similar itch in my brain lol

  But I also really like Marcia x Two-Bit, which I haven’t really talked about here much- They had good chemistry, y’know? I oughta draw something about them sometime

  And then finally there’s my DIY crack-ish ship Soda x Steve x Evie. I like them! It’s all the things I like about Stevepop, plus there’s a cool girl in the mix! I love cool girls! More folks should think about them i think

  I do like other ships okay too- like the Tarry crowd has dragged me in, and sometimes the Jally crowd does too, along with Purly and occasionally Johnnyboy. I’m not an active participant, but when I come across it, I sorta mentally nod and say “nice”, you dig? They’re like…my ship-in-laws. Or like…milk duds and hershey bars- candy I still enjoy, but reach for only after I’m out of milky ways and twizzlers.

7. What are your fave non-romantic relationships? (This can be close friends, familial, enemies or even just acquaintances)

  Two-Bit and Pony! I like them a lot. Their interactions in the book were some of my favorite parts. That line when Two-Bit was worried about Ponyboy using that broken bottle on the Socs…ugh that part was great. I remember reading it for the first time and just sitting there thinking about how much I liked that detail.

  Then on the opposite side of the coin, Steve and Pony lol. I LOVE how Pony doesn’t initially like Dally or Steve, and yet Dally’s chill with Pony…but with Steve the disdain is mutual. Jk I don’t think Steve really hates Pony- but he definitely thinks Pony’s kinda annoying. I like the idea of him watching out for Pony anyways though, like at school especially now that Soda’s not going.

14. Tell us five of your headcanons you basically see as canon

Sodapop has ADHD and maybe (?) dyslexia, but it’s the 60s so he won’t find out till he’s well into adulthood

Marcia gave Two-Bit her real number, and was disappointed when he didn’t call it. I like to imagine they end up remeeting at some point and going out together- even if that’s kinda unrealistic lol

Steve hated Dally when he first rolled into town, because Dally was everything he really wanted to be- tough, cool, and street-smart. And he was also scared of losing Soda, who thought Dally rocked- because Dally’s from New York and rides in rodeos! Eventually they became buddies though when Dally gave Steve a compliment or something. Not even a particularly good one- something like “Hey you ain’t bad at fighting”- just barely enough for Steve to feel like Dally’s earned a little bit of his loyalty. Might write fic/make a comic for this- it’s kinda niche but I think the idea is funny

Steve and Soda secretly listen to the Beach Boys at the DX. They can’t tell anyone because it’s not tuff to like a dumb California band. And Ponyboy would like the Beatles if he listened to them, but he doesn’t, so he won’t realize that until years after Beatlemania has died down

Steve is not just a Ponyboy hater but also a horses-in-general hater. He thinks horses are scary and unpredictable and that cars were invented for a reason. He was secretly relieved when Mr. Curtis stopped Soda from riding rodeos, because seeing Soda on a crazy horse gave him mad anxiety. Pretended he was sad though for Soda’s sake

Thanks so much for asking!! I loved answering these so much lol, definitely let me know your thoughts too on ‘em!

[breannasfluff]

Evil Incarnate

AO3 Link

“Oh, Ravio!” Legend’s sing-song tone has the bowerbird tensing. That’s usually the tone used to preclude something he won’t like. “Your favorite customer is here!”

Oh no. Not again. Why does the old bat continue to hang around? Ravio hisses at no one, flaps his wings to try to release tension, and stalks into the shop.

Legend is all smiles. “Look! Marta is here! And she brought me cookies, isn’t that sweet?

Marta gives a maternal coo and pinches the vet’s cheek. He smiles! He has the audacity to smile at her right in front of Ravio!

He puffs, then pastes on his largest, fakest smile. “Marta! How kind of you to drop by! And you brought cookies!”

“For Link,” Marta corrects. “The poor dear is looking rather thin, isn’t he? Are you sure you are feeding him enough when he’s home from his adventures?” She turns to the flame bowerbird. “You know, I make a wonderful lasagna. I’m sure I could bring some by if your…friend isn’t up to cooking.”

Ravio grinds his teeth. The feathers behind his ear make it clear he’s Link’s flockmate, even if he hasn’t had a chance to trade feathers back.

Legend moves next to Ravio and slings an arm over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Marta, Ravio is getting the hang of life in Hyrule. I’m sure he could benefit from some of your cooking tips, though. You do make the best cookies.”

Ravio’s whistle of outrage is contained—barely.

Marta’s dark eyes are positively vicious as she looks at the merchant. “Link, dear, I would love to share my recipes.”

And stab him in the back, but Ravio doesn’t say that out loud.

Marta, despite being old, has secret connections across Hyrule. It’s the only explanation for how she can get to the same magic sales as quickly as Ravio. Her wings should be too old and flimsy to fly long distances!

Yet here she is, perusing over magical items like the bowerbird didn’t speed here as fast as he could.

“Marta,” he hisses.

She raises one eyebrow. “Ravio.”

“Looking for anything in particular?”

“Just browsing.”

The two circle the table. They are old hands at this game. Whatever Ravio goes for, Marta will try to snatch away from him. If Marta gets to it first, sometimes she plays her old biddy card and the salesperson will chase him away. Him! Ravio! Like she doesn’t play up her frailty for a deal.

Today, there’s a beautiful blue scale among the magical items. It’s likely a zora scale enchanted to help with swimming. Legend already has flippers but…Ravio has nothing. And it might be nice to go swimming in the summer.

Mainly, it’s blue. The bowerbird needs it.

His eyes lock on the item and he edges a little closer. Marta, harpy that she is, follows his gaze to the table. Ravio takes his chance and darts forward, hand closing on the scale.

Marta makes a grab for it as he takes it, catching the other end.

“Give!”

“No! I need it!”

“You dirty old bat! I had it first!” Ravio’s wings flare in a threat display and hers do the same. Their shrieks and squawks draw the attention of the salesman.

“What on earth is happening here? Sir, ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to put the item down!”

Marta’s lost her old lady card tugging at the scale, so she huffs and lets go, crossing her arms. Ravio is a bit slower, but finally puts the scale down. On his side of the table, because he’s not stupid.

The avian nods. “In Hylia’s name, it’s not worth fighting over, you too. Honestly. What is the kingdom coming to?” Still shaking his head, he turns to return to the register.

Ravio snatches the scale and bolts, ignoring Marta’s screech of outrage. Blue scale clutched to his chest, he chortles and fluffs his wings as he gets in line.

Today, at least, Ravio won.

[quinloki]

Birthday Request Event

"It's my birthday and I'll write what I want to \o/"

Gift Details ♥ Reader: cisfem!reader Character: Shiryu Kink: #3 Spanking Prompt: #12 "No Panties" Gift Giver: @theluckychemist

Summary: You greet Shiryu upon his return to the island. Unfortunately, your short skirt and wide smile are appreciated by more pirates than just you intended target.

Content Notes: punishment, vaginal fingering, degrading pet names, spanking (duh), someone's the boss in this relationship and it ain't the reader, size difference, possible age difference

This birthday party is 18+, consensual unless explicitly stated otherwise, and BYOB

You stumbled a few steps into the room as Shiryu shoved you inside. Your heels clicked loudly against the stone floor, the room turning dim as he shut the door.

Gathering yourself you straighten up and turn toward him, taking a step back even though he didn’t move toward you. You tug absently at the skirt you’re wearing, he’s already grumbled about it being too short, and you’re pretty sure he’s a little angry since you greeted him in it – much to the pleasure of Teach who couldn’t keep his stupid mouth shut.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” He questions evenly. He towers over you. Everyone on this crew did, but Shiryu was the only one who loomed on purpose. He hasn’t even stepped toward you, but you can almost feel him drawing closer.

“I… I should’ve waited in here.” You admit, heart pounding in your chest. “This outfit was… just for you.” You take a step back.

You’re not truly afraid of him, but he is intimidating. Shiryu has done nothing but protect you and please you since you accepted his advances some months ago. With the Blackbeard pirates taking over the town, being under his wing made things easier. Not that you couldn’t handle yourself, but fighting back pirates when you were trying to work was exhausting.

He steps forward, going over to a comfortable leather chair that was designed for someone of his height. After he settles in, taking off his hat and coat, he seats himself and pats his leg.

You move toward him at the beckoning gesture cautiously.

“Over my knee.” He says simply. Sternly.

You swallow hard, feeling your throat go dry, but you don’t argue, and just nod. You have to step onto a stool to be high enough to do so comfortably, but there was plenty in the room to accommodate the height difference between the two of you.

You put your hips over his knee, chest against his other leg, holding on as your body shivered in anticipation. It wasn’t fear, he wasn’t nearly angry enough to do anything to leave you afraid, but you knew a detail he wasn’t aware of yet.

“Such an obedient girl.” He muses. “I’ll give you credit where it’s due. You owned up and quickly corrected your mistake and didn’t argue about this punishment.” His hand on the back of your leg makes you flinch.

He hums. “No need to fear, I won’t – Oh?” His hand had slid up your thigh and to the curve of your ass, pushing the short skirt up and over your hips. “No panties.” His hand rubs your bare ass cheek and you hold onto his other leg as you start to shiver.

His tone, and his touch, have you on edge. You don’t know yet if he’s pleased or angrier than he was before.

“Shiryu…” You nearly whimper. “Please, I meant it as… as a surprise.”

“… Around all those other men.” He growls, palm rubbing your ass in a slow circle.

You shake your head. “I wasn’t th-thinking! I just want-wanted to see you! I’m sorry!”

“You’ll certainly think better in the future.” He assures you, hand leaving you for a moment before it lands sharply on your ass.

The sting pulls a strangled sound from you before you gasp to catch your breath. You know the drill with this sort of thing, however, so quickly as you can you cry out.

“One, Sir!”

The second one lands sharp and heavy and you count it out. The weight of some of the smacks are pushing you into his thigh, but you’re aware that he could shatter you if he choose to. As it was, the sharp leading sting quickly sank into something pleasurable.

The fourth smack carried the sting of the one before it, and you knew your cheeks were already turning red. The problem was that the fifth smack raised you up enough your legs came together, and you could feel your own arousal slipping down your thighs.

“S-Six! Haaa ♥ Sir!” You cry out, nearly moaning in pleasure.

Shiryu’s finger slides between your thighs, causing you to grip his pant leg and buck, squirming against the finger that’s teasing your entire slit so easily. He rubs your leaking lips a few times as you shiver and squirm from the sensation.

“My little whore is enjoying her punishment it seems.” He says in a voice dangerous but amused. He pulls his finger away. “Very well, if you cum before this is done, then I’ll have you gagging on my cock and locked up in a chastity belt for a week.”

You grip his leg a little tighter and do your best to concentrate. His threat isn’t nearly as much of a threat as he might think it is, but you also don’t want to test if he’d keep you in a chastity belt for a whole week.

The seventh strike rattles you to your core, and you nearly forget to count. You rush the words out just before the next strike lands, and swear before you cry out the number. Shiryu rubs your tender ass for a moment, and the sensation sends pleasure rippling through you.

Along with the understanding that he’s not going to make it too easy for you to survive this punishment without feeling the full weight of his promised threat.

The ninth strike was almost a failure for you. Just as you were trying to call out the count he pushed his finger into your dripping pussy and you practically cried out from it. The heavy, wet, squelching sounds made your whole body shiver for a moment before you managed to nearly growl the count out from between grit teeth.

When he pulled his finger out you almost sighed in relief, even as he smeared it clean against your thighs.

“You’re doing so well, (Y/N).” He praises. “Don’t count anymore, just endure it.”

The first smack was heavy, just like the nine before it. After that there was less weight to the smacks, instead they were snappy. The sharp pain had no weight behind it, but the stinging sensation turned pleasurable faster. They were almost love taps, and you could barely control the building pleasure even against the hot sting of the rapid spankings.

Some part of you wanted to squirm away, but just as you were sure you couldn’t take any more the assault stops. Your skin is hot, and tingling, and the soft cool air is almost too much to bear, as though it wishes to bring you over the edge itself.

“Cum for me, little one.” He demands, finger sliding back inside you, the heel of his hand caressing your sensitive ass as he works.

It only takes a moment and you do as commanded, clutching onto his leg, moaning your pleasure into the air as your legs and body twitch beyond your control.

Check out the event - requests are accepted until 7/31/2023 EST