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willowser · 6 months

Text

you had only to look at me—

part one.

bakugou x f!reader

wc: 7.4k+

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

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

this is a repost.

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

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

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

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

and it's — fucking annoying.

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

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

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

i know you were at your mom's jackass ☠️

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

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

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

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

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

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

and then he shows up at your apartment, uninvited.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"since when are they talking again?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"you're watching it right now."

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

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

“so? got a hot date or what?”

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

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

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

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

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

“so why didn’t you?”

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

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

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

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

“jesus, if i always do this—”

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

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

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

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

"you're gonna blow my head off!"

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

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

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

"yeah, well—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and then you are kissing your best friend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"have you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and you're annoyed all over again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

when he was losing you, you realize.

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

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

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

"you can't—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"sorry i'm late."

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

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

#narrator voice: willow did not have the spoons to extend the ending #whoopsie #okie okie part 2 #✿ willow writes #✿ one shot: bakugou

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fallingdownhell · 3 months

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May I request Yae Miko, Dehya, Cyno and Childe getting defensive/angry/protective (whatever you see fit) about someone saying they deserve better then their s/o because they aren't in the best physical shape? (Be that being fat, disabled ect.)

Honestly? It felt so self indulgent writing some of this, especially Dehya's part, so thank you for requesting it<3 Also, since I'm writing about some conditions I'm not affected with, please let me know if I missrepresent any of it, and I'll immediately change it! Characters Included: Cyno; Dehya; Childe Content: gender neutral reader; established relationship; various conditions on reader: being deaf/overweight/in a wheelchair; mean comments being made by others; characters defending reader; does that count as comfort??; not proofread yet Word count: 1,6k words Enjoy<3

Cyno

being deaf was never the handicap to you as others would probably see it

of course, it was difficult, learning to interact with the world and the people around you when you could not hear any of it, but rather than seeing it as a hindrance, you saw it as a challenge, one that you were determined to overcome

now, as an adult, things were going pretty well for you. Most the people you often interact with know about your condition, so they tend to be more patient when conversing with you

growing up, you began learning sign language to communicate with the people around you, as well as reading their lips. Over the years, you got more and more fluent in the language, so this was working out pretty well for you

Cyno, upon first meeting you, was fascinated by the way you percieve and interact with the world

despite the fact that you were not able to hear anything at all, you were the most lively person he's ever met, always smiling and laughing at everything and everyone around you, always seeing the good

after first meeting you, he immediately went and started to learn sign language as well. He had this desire to be close to you and spend more time with you, and he thought, in order to better communicate with you, he should learn how to talk to you

Now, a few years later, you've been in a relationship with Cyno for quite some time, and he could honestly say, that he's never been happier in his life

you brighten each of his days, simply by existing within his proximity, your smile was contagious and he often found himself just staring at you, never getting tired of your beauty

however, sometimes, there tend to be voices that question the relationship you have. Mostly people who didn't know you all that well, asking Cyno how he could even be with someone who could not hear a word he said

While he did pity those people, he always jumped to defend you. You may not be able to hear, but that didn't mean you were any less than anyone else in this world. In his eyes, it's just another thing about you that made you unique

It was always like this. Whenever anyone was talking bad about you, or telling Cyno that he should find a better partner, he always defended you, claiming that there would never be someone better than you

and if those idiotic people still don't get it by the lovestruck way he talks about you and continue to pester him, Cyno can get annoyed very quickly, not hesitating to draw his weapon on them

he wouldn't actually fight them, but the possibility of it being there scared them enough to run with their tails between their legs

but, at the end of the day, he never tells you about those encounters he has, not wanting to bring down your mood with it. He'd much rather enjoy the stories you have to tell him each day when he comes home to you

Dehya

when people were thinking about Dehya, they thought of a strong, independent woman, beautiful, smart and capable of many things. They respected her, and many wished to become the person by her side

when rumors came about of Dehya having a partner, people began to talk among themselves, guessing on who it could possibly be and what they would look like

No doubt would someone like her only settle for a partner just as good looking, smart and strong as herself, right?

well.. let's just say, the day you and Dehya became public with your relationship was a very... tough one

People knew you as being one of the most trusted merchants of Caravan Ribat. And while they all agreed on you being a very likeable and easygoing person, many of them also made fun of you behind your back, for the simple fact of you being overweight

a fact that you had always struggled with since your childhood. You've tried a many great ways to loose weight, yet either nothing worked or only had very short lived success

eventually, you gave up hope and stopped trying, instead learning to love and accept yourself for who you are

And exactly that love you held for yourself is what drew Dehya to you in the first place, eventually falling in love with all of you. Sometimes, you yourself couldn't believe that she actually loved you, questioning how you got so lucky. But not like you were complaining about it

Still, the glances and whispers people threw your way when you were walking through the streets, hand in hand with Dehya, often brought you down, knowing exactly what they were talking about

but anytime that happened, Dehya jumped right in, telling those people off, yelling at them to mind their own damn business. And it always worked as they hurried away, afraid of her wrath coming their way

whenever this happened, she'd always comfort you afterwards, knowing that, despite everything, words like that still hurt and weighed down on you. She'd then always tell you how much she loved you, how beautiful you were to her, pointing out everything she loved about you. It always helped to brighten your mood again

then one day, it just so happened that while you were out on a date with Dehya, someone decided to be bold and walk up to Dehya, finally speaking out loud what everyone was thinking

"Dehya.. why exactly are you with them?", he would ask, voice timid and quiet, yet he just had to ask

"You got a problem with my choice in parner, huh?", Dehya spoke up, ready to defend you against the entire world if she had to. She stood up from her place, standing in front of the guy as it almost seemed like she got ready for a fist fight

"N-no! I just meant... they don't.. exactly... suit you..", the guy tried to argue, but realised that with every word, he was just more and more digging his own grave

at this point, Dehya was fed up. She did not care for any onlookers as she beat up the guy. Once he was on the ground and apologizing profusely to her, she let go of him, instead addressing the crowd that had gathered around them

"Okay, everyone listen up because I'm not gonna repeat myself after this! They are my parnter, and I do not care what any of you think or have to say about it. It's my choice and you all better shut up about it, or I'll beat you up just like I did this punk!", she yelled and pointed at the guy still on the ground, blood running from his nose and mouth. Pretty sure she made him loose a teeth or two

surprisingly, after this encounter, people stopped commenting behind your back, your days becoming much calmer and more enjoyable since than. And even if you might not agree with Dehya's actions, you couldn't deny that it did have a positive outcome

Childe

most people would suspect that a person as active in their day to day life as Childe, would want a parnter that is at least similar to them in that way

yet, when they find out that his significant other is actually disabled and in a wheelchair, they can't hide the surprised sounds and expression on their faces

they can't possibly imagine how a relationship like that would last very long, seeing as the two of you would be polar opposites

oh boy, would they be surprised to find out that you and Childe have been going strong for several years now. Sure, you were not able to walk and sometimes, in specific situations, dependent on him, but those are also the moments Childe loved, when he got to show his strength when lifting you up or doing something else for you

at first, you felt stupid for having to rely on him in those specific situations, since you always strived to be as independent as possible, despite your situation. Yet Childe always comforted you, telling you that it wasn't a weakness at all to ask for help every now and then. On the contrary, knowing when you need help can be a great strength. So, that's how you decided to see things from then on, and it did help you a lot

and even though you were bound to this chair, that did not stop the enjoyment you held towards life. You loved traveling around, exploring the world and expieriencing it first hand

it helped a lot that Childe got to travel around a lot thanks to his work, so you'd always ask to accompany him. Of course, there were times where he couldn't do so, but most of the time, he was happy to take you along and show you all the places he knows about, and even discovering new ones with you

whenever he couldn't take you along on his travels, he'd always come back with a tone of souvenirs for you, along with so many stories to tell you that never failed to grab your attention, wishing that you could have been there with him

overall a very good, very protective boyfriend

the first few times he heard people talking about the two of you behind your backs, he went over to them, drawing his weapons, ready to kill whoever dared talk bad about you in his presence

word spread around quickly and soon, no one dared even mutter a word about your relationship, in fear that the Harbinger might catch wind of it and came hunting after them, ready to take their lives

Childe did not mind that reputation at all. He was already known as a battlehungry maniac, and if it meant people left you alone, not having to worry about ill intended comments, than all the better. He can handle it

the most important thing to him is, and always will be, your well being

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin headcanons #genshin x reader headcanons #genshin impact x reader headcanons #cyno x reader #cyno x you #cyno headcanons #cyno x reader headcanons #dehya x reader #dehya x you #dehya headcanons #dehya x reader headcanons #childe x reader #childe x you #childe headcanons #childe x reader headcanons

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contact-guy · 1 month

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heyyy I hope it's okay to send an ask! I just wanted to know about your art process, if you got any advise. Because I'm in love with your SH doodles, they're so dynamic and lively and the shading is such a nice accent yet it remains somewhat minimalistic? I'm relatively decent at realism but want to develop my own character in drawing more and I'm wondering how you arrived at yours, did you have a method? Thanks in advance^^

love to talk about DRAWING......

The short answer is that because I want to draw them a lot, and have limited time, I can't be too precious about how the final result looks! So a lack of perfectionism and a desire for speed ends up forcing me to simplify and stylize them. This was an organic process (if you scroll down my art tag you can see I was drawing them with a bit more detail, finish, and care a few months ago - I was illustrating vs what I'm doing now, cartooning).

Ideally when you are cartooning, every line of the character's face is doing work to make them THEM, and to tell a story. No unnecessary lines! I find that story is best expressed through eyes, eyebrows, and mouth (this might be different for you). Those features can and should change shape to express emotion. They are usually what I draw first, to figure out the emotion, and they're what I spend the most time tweaking.

The rest of the features - face shape, cheekbones, nose, forehead, ears, hairline - are less emotive, less 'plastic', they don't change shape much. These are doing work to make the character recognizable. I try to keep them simple and have a few simple rules that I can remember about each character.

(Watson is tricky because of his mustache! I've found that treating it as part of his mouth rather than a distinct piece works best, but even so it makes his face less emotive - which, honestly, works for the character, as he is less demonstrative than Holmes)

I'll usually do a simple underdrawing to figure out what the body is doing - trying to capture the energy of a pose and, again, thinking about what story the body is telling.

Then I 'ink' in the clothing, following the lines of the body and gravity. Victorian clothing is fun to draw, I find that the structure around the shoulders and neckline lends itself to expressive poses. I did a bunch of Victorian clothing studies a few months ago and felt like I built up a 'library' in my head so that I don't need to reference it every time.

Shading is incredibly minimal and quick. In really simple drawings, its purpose is usually to distinguish characters from the background. In more detailed ones, it's to give them a little dimension and focus the eye to the faces.

Every choice I make is in service of readability rather than beauty or accuracy, if that makes sense. So it is quite a different mindset than when you're drawing realistically or painting.

I hope this was helpful! I am a professional artist but whenever I get sucked into a fandom I find myself making leaps and bounds in my craft because I want to draw so MUCH and don't care about making it polished...truly shout out to hyperfixation for the gifts it brings

#art post

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strwbmei · 3 months

Text

summary: fucking march's fever out of her

contains: soft sex, friends to lovers at the end, fingering (character receiving), arguably dubcon since march is sick, sort of porn with plot?, virgin march, not proofread, maybe ooc

pairing(s): march 7th x gn!reader

a/n: i need to spoil her and take care of her and eat her out. thank you

"Cute girls can't get sick!"

Or so, were March's last words before diving straight onto the freezing snow of Belobog and proceeding to make snow angels. It had been a long time since the Express had the time to visit Jarilo VI, and while you understood her excitement, her decisions, as expected, did not end well for either of you.

A few days later, March is still sick and you're taking care of her while the other Nameless enjoy their visit to Belobog. "[Name]..." She called out to you with a whiny voice, her lips put into a pout. "Don't you think it's fine for me to go down to Belobog now? Look, I'm basically fully healed!" She sat up from her bed, doing air punches as if that would prove that her fever was gone.

"Pfft..." You snorted. "What are you even doing? And no, I'm not letting you go anywhere until your temperature is back to normal." You say sternly, sitting down next to her. "I'm sorry, March. I know you were really looking forward to visiting Belobog again, but your health comes first."

She slumps in defeat as she lays back down on her side, her back turned to you. "Fine... I enjoy spending time with you like this more, anyway." She mumbled, but due to how quiet her voice was, you only heard the first part. "Sorry, what was that?"

"Nothing." March sighs, turning to face you with her rabbit stuffy clutched in her hands. "Hey, uh... I'm sorry you have to stay behind with me. I really wanted to show you my favorite spots in Belobog."

You tilt your head, resting the back of your hand on her forehead to feel her temperature. "You sure you're alright? You're being way too nice today." You tease. She pouts, playfully swatting your hand away. "Hey! And here I was trying to be considerate..."

You chuckle at her reaction. "Y'know, you're surprisingly pretty cute when you're sick."

"Well, for your information, I'm perfectly cute even when I'm not sick!" She retorts.

"Yeah, yeah."

In all seriousness, taking care of her wasn't an inconvenience to you in the slightest. She was surprisingly cooperative, and you'd be lying if you said that you didn't enjoy how much more clingy and affectionate she is when she's sick. After all, you've had feelings for her for quite a while now... Her bubbly personality and her admittedly cute looks just seemed to draw you in more and more each day.

March speaks up after a few seconds of silence. "Can I ask you for a favor, [Name]?"

"What is it?" You tilt your head in curiosity.

"Can you... cuddle with me?"

"Hm." You raised an eyebrow. Honestly, you expected something more serious. Cuddling was almost routine to the two of you whenever you hung out, especially during sleepovers when March would cling to you in her sleep like you were a pillow. You never minded. In fact, you've grown to like it.

Not once did she ask first, though. "Why?" You ask with a grin, ready to play it off as a joke. You're not sure what you were expecting, since it was a stupid question in the first place. Cuddling wasn't out of the norm for you two, and you wouldn't be surprised if she was the type to find comfort in snuggling with somebody whenever she was sick.

"Because I miss your touch..." She says in a voice barely above a whisper, yet one that you could hear in her now silent room where it felt like nothing else mattered other than the two of you. "Oh." You gulp, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks as soon as she says those words.

Meanwhile, March wants to dig herself into a hole and die. She wasn't supposed to say that out loud, and you were much less supposed to blush! She's surprisingly oblivious for someone so observant when it comes to you, so she never even considered the possibility that you might return her feelings...

However, you best believe she'll be putting out all of the stops if there is a chance that you do, in fact, like her back.

"You don't want to? Fine..." She pouts, and your train of thought is broken once she looks up at you with those eyes that you've always loved, oh so needily... "No- no, I mean, yeah, I'd... love to cuddle with you." You splurt out, stumbling all over your words.

Which is how you ended up in this situation: her body pressed up against yours in a way that isn't appropriate for friends. She might be sick, sure, but she's almost fully healed and there's no way she'd be doing this unintentionally... right?

After a few seconds of contemplation, you decide to speak up. "We shouldn't be doing this, March." You say, your voice soft and barely loud enough for her to hear. "Mm..." She pays no heed to your words, instead opting to wrap her arms around you even tighter if that were even possible.

You gulp. She understands what you mean, right? Maybe you're just reading too much into her actions? Your mouth moves faster than your brain can, and you speak without realizing it. "You're driving me insane."

"...If I'm such a bad influence, maybe you should put me in my place."

She whispers with an almost seductive tone that you've never heard her use before, and you have to take a second to process if you really heard her say that. She knows what she's doing. Has she always been this bold, or is this how she usually gets with everyone every time she's sick? God, you hope that it's just with you.

You roll over to position yourself on top of her, your arms now on either side of her head as the mattress dips under the two of you. "Are you sure that you want this?" She giggles at your question, wrapping her arms around the back of your neck and pulling you into a soft, yet hungry kiss as if she'd been ready for this her whole life.

"Be gentle, okay?" She smiles once she finally pulls away, the room devoid of any other sound other than your heavy breathing and a silence that spoke volumes of the unresolved feelings you had for each other. "Just let me take care of you." You mutter as you leave a trail of soft kisses along her jaw and collarbones, your hand reaching out for the waistband of her pink pajamas. "May I?"

She nods in response, turning her head to the side in an attempt to hide her reddened cheeks. "Pfft... You really are adorable." You mumble to yourself as you pull her pants along with her panties down to her knees. Your fingers find themselves teasing her entrance, rubbing slow circles over her clit and occasionally collecting her slick.

"Mmpfh... I'm fine, [Name]. You can put it in now." As if sensing your worries that you were trying hard not to show, she spoke up. Although you've imagined this scenario multiple times before, you can't help but feel nervous. You want to make sure that her first time is as soft and as pleasurable as it can be.

"Tell me if it hurts, okay? Just relax." You say softly, carefully curling your index finger into her cunt and giving her a few seconds to adjust before pumping in and out at a slow pace. The small moans and whimpers she lets out are even better than you'd imagined. "A-ah... That feels good..."

As if on instinct, her hand reaches out for your free one; an act much too intimate for friends, but you indulge her nonetheless. Besides, the two of you have long since done things that most people would deem past the border of a platonic relationship. When did the line between friends and lovers start to blur?

"I've got you, pretty girl. I'm not going anywhere." You coo at her, the gentleness of your voice much in contrast to the quickening pace of your fingers.

Her eyes are fluttered shut. Her hair is sticking to her forehead. Her mouth is ever so slightly parted in an "o" shape. Truly, she is beautiful in every sense of the word. Beautiful like this; beautiful always. "Do you think you can take another finger, March?"

She nods almost too eagerly at your question. You slow down, whispering sweet nothings into her ear as you slowly insert a second finger and stretch her out even more. "That's it. You're doing so good, taking me so well..."

After a while, she starts grinding on your fingers, and you take that as a sign to go faster and give her more. The second you start rubbing and pressing down on her clit, she can feel herself nearing her orgasm. She looks up at you with doe eyes and squeezes your hand, and that's all it takes for the feelings you've been repressing all this time to break loose.

"I love you."

Before you can process what you said amid the sea of emotions you're feeling and apologize, she pulls you in for a kiss. Unlike before, this kiss is more tender and warm than lustful, as if she was trying to say that she loved you too. As if she had been waiting for you to say those words her whole life.

You swallow her moans and whimpers as she comes undone around your fingers, finally pulling away after what feels like an eternity. You wish that kiss would last an eternity. Hell, if it were up to you, that moment wouldn't end even after the seas had dried and there were no stars left in the vast skies that she loved so much.

Heavily breathing, you collapse beside her. "Uhm," You break the silence, albeit a little hesitantly. "I'm going to get you some water, and help wash you up if that's fine?" You're far too ashamed to look her in the eye after what you said.

She embraces you in her arms, and it's the safest you've felt your whole life. "Just a little bit more..." She nuzzles her head into your neck, inhaling your scent and holding you just a bit closer.

"I love you too, you big dummy."

╰┈➤ taglist ; @nbdaddykink , @roninraccoon , @sinsmockingbird , @fvrina , @commandercarbs , @sapphic-simp4015 , @truculentbantam , @vrachis , @dukemira , @arbiteriey , @krowbyss , @the-night-owl-blr

#⁠honkai star rail smut #⁠honkai star rail #⁠honkai star rail x reader #⁠hsr smut #⁠hsr #⁠hsr x reader #・❥・strwb smut #march 7th #march 7th hsr #march 7th smut #march 7th x reader #smut #x reader

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thechekhov · 4 months

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How often would you say that you draw comics and art while also focus on the other things in life; work, family, etc?

Like, for example, if you had an exact number of minutes, hours, or days of drawing, what is an estimate per day or week? I'm just curious.

Honestly, it's difficult to count since my workweeks tend to vary based on the season but here's a quick example:

I don't work full-time at this point but I do have an hour commute both ways, and because I'm on a salary, I'm sometimes forced to stay overtime, meaning that my entire day is just sleep-eat-work-eat-sleep in that order, with nothing else that really happens that day.

During non-work days, most of my non-work time is..... art-work time!

And by that I mean that if I'm not washing the dishes, running an errand or spacing out, I'm drawing.

When do I play video-games or watch shows? I don't.

When do I spend time with friends? I don't.

Not unless it's specifically scheduled, such as when someone visits from far away. I have about 1 hour of social stuff set aside each week because I participate in a taiko group in the city I work at.

When I count it up, my art stuff ends up being anywhere between 30 -35 hours each work. My part time job is supposed to be 24 hours (not counting the commute), but often ends up going over. And I usually need another 5 hours each week to take care of the back-end office stuff - scheduling posts, managing Patreon, answering asks and planning future stuff.

I will admit I would not be able to do that if it were not for the kindness of my partner, who takes care of most of the cooking and cleaning, and often ends up cooking me things to eat:

I appreciate him and his commitment to keeping me alive very much

Also, just to be clear: I am not pretending that this is not a good work-life balance.

It it just the balance that works for ME, personally. I think most people would find this...less great.

I do not go out for coffees with pals. I do not watch new series, and I do not partake in social events. This is something I am fine with, but I know many other people would find my life incredibly repetitive and boring.

Actually, looking at this math laid out, I am quite disappointed in not being able to accomplish more with the 30 hours I have per week. But...the reality is that aside from running the comic on my Patreon and doing random personal doodling on my main blog, I'm also often trying to do other projects in the background that I don't feel like sharing until their completion.

The reality is, I enjoy this load, though. I make it work for me, and I'm getting to do stuff I like AND make money for myself and my partner! So I'm fine with it. I'm not actually dying from exhaustion.

It's just hilarious when I sometimes get asks going "Hey, have you played that latest 130-hour-long videogame? :)" followed by a swift "I wish you would post comics daily again :((( I want more arrttttt" like kids, you can't have both, I don't know what to tell you.

#chekhov answers

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mxchxelschmidt · 6 months

Text

-a/n- this is the barista!reader mall security!mike I was talking about. There will probably multiple parts if it’s enjoyed enough. I may cross post to ao3 at some point. It’s not proof read so bear with me.

Mike hadn’t been working at the mall long when he first came up to the coffee shop you worked at. You were only working there because the last job you had didn’t line out exactly how you wanted it to. Waitressing was different than coffee. Waitressing was more taxing mentally for you. The people getting angry with your service and then tipping you terribly instead of speaking up was annoying and you hated your income depending on how much of a people pleaser you were.

His coffee order was simple, black americano. Espresso and water. Personally you would take the espresso shots over the watered down version. The man before you looked like he needed the coffee. His eyes had dark bags under them. His hair was messy, as if he rolled out of bed to come to work. You could admire that. You had your fair share of days that required you to roll out of bed early with no regards to how you looked to come get the shop open in time for customers to have morning coffee. In fact you’d just had one of those days not too long ago.

He was wearing his security uniform, black dress pants and the long sleeve grey button up adorned with a security badge. It was tucked into his pants and secured with a black belt. His radio at his hip ready to take any of the very important calls about a teenage shoplifting from hot topic.

“Black coffee? You don’t want to sweeten it a little?” You ask half playful, half serious, because coffee on its own was just bitter to you. There wasn’t much enjoyment in it.

He kind of makes eye contact with you but he seems distracted. Focused on something else. Which is fine, most of your customers are distracted by the turmoil of their own life. They don’t care much to talk to the “barista”. This guy should be no different. Something about him draws you in though, makes you want to know more.

“Yeah. Not really a fan of coffee, just really tired today I guess.” He says almost sounding interested in talking to you but there’s something missing in the way he speaks. Something far off and distant. He’s more distracted than your usual customers, like he’s not here, far off in another world, focused on anything but what’s going on around him.

You shrug and go to pour the shots focusing on that instead of the stranger that’s only half there in front of you. Once his coffee is made you take it to the pickup counter and call out his name, “Americano for Mike.”

You start saying that every day. He keeps coming back and you’re not sure why. He still looks just as tired as each day passes. You grow to admire the look. He’s messy but he’s also pretty and that’s enough to keep starting small conversations with this stranger.

He’s ordered coffee from you a dozen or so times by now. Your coworkers begin to notice he isn’t coming to the coffee stand on the days you aren’t working, and so the teasing begins.

One of the next times he’s there you hear your male coworker call out, “Hi Mike!” And you cringe inwardly at his goofiness.

Mike tips his head to the side and you can’t help but compare him mentally to a puppy. You bite back a laugh and shrug, “What can I say, you must be a regular now Mike. You want that americano again?”

He’s less distant the more he comes to the coffee stand. He shakes his head and leans against the counter, “I can’t lie, as much as I’d rather not spend the extra money to make it taste good, I don’t think I can stomach anymore black coffee.”

You smile, you knew it would only be a matter of time before he gave up the black coffee charade. You pick up a cup and your pen looking at him, “Do you know what you’d like instead?”

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly and shrugs before shaking his head, “Mmm… No. I was hoping maybe you had some suggestions?”

You can’t help the grin that tugs at your lips and you write his name on the cup. He pulls out his cash to pay you, holding it out across the counter and you shake your head at him, “On the house for your first try.” you give him a playful wink and walk away to start making his drink. This time it’s similar to what he’s gotten in the past. You pour two shots of espresso. And put them in the cup. You steam milk with a bit of caramel flavored syrup and layer it on top of the espresso shots. When you’re finished adding a caramel drizzle to the drink you walk it over to the pickup counter and and hold it out to him instead of placing it on the counter.

He walks up and does that thing where he tilts his head curiously again and you can’t help but feel a little twinge in your chest at his cuteness. You can’t muster up the courage to say anything but, “You’re going to want to stir it before you drink it. That way it tastes better.”

He gives you a nod and a hint of a smile before taking the cup, “Thanks, I appreciate it. Sleep has been rough to come by recently. I think the coffee helps.”

You give him a small laugh and a nod, “Coffee is the sleep deprived persons best friend. Gotta make sure you’re awake enough to chase those shoplifters down.”

Maybe it’s the way that he holds the cup up to you in cheers way before walking away. Maybe it’s the fact that you know nothing about him. Maybe you’ve got a crush on the mysterious security guard that keeps coming to get coffee from you.

When you leave from your shift that day you notice Mike sitting on a bench by the exit and he has a cell phone pressed up against his ear. He’s got a look on his face that reads as mildly annoyed and very pissed off. You can faintly hear the words, “No I get it, but I just don’t have any one else to go to to watch her. I can’t leave work I have to be here for the whole shift. There’s no one to cover me.” He says and rubs the bridge of his nose with two fingers, leaning back on the bench.

You can see the stress painted across his face. He looks like hes going to get emotional and you cant help but feel bad for him. It’s the way he’s pleading into the phone as if it really is his last option. You walk over to him as the conversation ends and his cell phone returns to his pocket. You look at him for a moment and he doesn’t seem to notice you, but you speak up anyways, “Hey, mike right?”

He looks up from his lap and his mouth is parted slightly like he’s caught off guard by your presence. Once again too wrapped up in his own lifes turmoil to notice the world around him. He nods, lips still parted slightly before he fixes his slack jawed appearance and stands, “Yeah Mike,”

“Black Americano guy, that is until today,” You say with a smile. “By the way how was your drink? It’s what I suggest to most non coffee drinkers that want it to taste half decent.”

He gives you half a smile which is more than you’ve gotten in the entirety of your interactions. Mike seems to be coming back to this plane of existence, considering hes giving you the time of day, “It was good actually, much better than what I have been drinking.”

You’re not sure how to segue into it but you’re curious about the heated phone call you had so you pluck up the courage to say it, “Trouble with the missus?” You ask half sarcastically. Maybe you’re overstepping your boundaries but it’s too late now, you’ve already brought it up.

He looks confused for a moment and then looks down at himself as if he’s looking for a hint to what you’re talking about. He then looks back at you and here comes that half smile again, “Oh no just babysitter troubles. My sister isn’t old enough to be at home alone and her babysitter just called to tell me that she can’t watch her tomorrow. Some family emergency or something. I don’t know.” He rubs his hands on his pants nervously and shrugs as if it’s no big deal.

“You work tomorrow though don’t you? That’s tough,” You say and cross your arms thoughtfully.

“Yeah, now I’m kind of just shit out of luck. I don’t really have a back up since that was my backup.” He says and rubs a hand on the back of his neck sheepishly. His face gets that far off look again like he can’t get his mind off of the amalgamation of problems that is his life.

You tap your foot once, then twice, a thoughtful look on your face and your lips tighten into a line before you finally speak up, “I don’t work tomorrow.” you blurt out. He looks at you with a confused look on his face like he doesn’t know why youve brought it up and then you see the lightbulb, “I have babysitting experience too, so I mean if you need someone to step up, I’m your girl” you say with a smile.

He looks like he’s taken aback by your kindness. By the wear and tear of this mans existence you can tell he hasn’t had much kindness in his life. He finally speaks up moments later, “Really?” he’s not sure if this is real or if he’s daydreaming it but it’s the best chance he’s got at not losing this job he so desperately needs to support him and his sister, “That would be amazing I don’t know how I could thank you enough. She’s a really easy going kid she’s just quiet.” he says and feels the hope building in his chest.

You smile at him and nod, “Sounds great. I think I can handle that.”

He digs around in his pocket for a moment and pulls out a small notepad and a pen usually used for taking down descriptions of criminals in the mall but this time he uses it to scribble his address down for you. He rips the page out of his notebook and hands it over to you. There’s a phone number accompanying the address and you assume it’s his. “There’s my address, if you could be there at 8am that would be great. She’s usually had breakfast by that time so it will just be lunch and dinner in terms of cooking. I’d have to pay you on payday. I’m a little tight on funds until then.” He says sheepishly.

This is the most Mike has ever spoken to you and you can tell how much he cares for his sister. You finally know what’s going through his head when he is ordering coffee and seems like he’s a million miles away.

You nod dutifully and smile at him “You got it Mike, I’ll see you bright and early.”

He smiles back, it’s not half this time, it’s a full smile. Seeing it break past that rough and tough exterior is nice. He has a nice smile.

“Thank you again.” He says and suddenly theres a call over his radio for a blonde teenage girl inside wet seal stuffing clothes in her purse and he’s off. Waving goodbye to you before turning on his heel and jogging in the direction of the store he was called to.

You walk to the parking garage with that little slip of paper tucked into your pocket. You get in your little beater car and head home actually excited for a change in your weekly routine. You’re excited to get to know more about him, even if it involves babysitting his younger sister.

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #fiction #mike schmidt fnaf #mike schmidt fanfic #au

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yuurei20 · 4 months

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Hi there! Quick question, How does Idia feel about Leona?? to me, they have such weird dynamic. They don't like each other but they don't outright hate each other either, but sometimes it feels like they're totally fine with each other?? Is this just a respect thing??

Hello hello!! This gets into character analysis which is definitely not my strength, so I reached out to one of the most knowledgeable Idia-analyzers I’ve ever seen ( @frost__tw ) who was so kind as to collaborate with me on this response, and I am forever grateful ♡

Also: agreed! Their dynamic is particularly fascinating because they are both complete opposites and extremely similar, simultaneously:

Both are housewardens, near the same height, canonically attractive, unusually intelligent, very sarcastic, enjoy chess, are from important families, keep others at a distance, often complain about having to go out of their way to do things they are uninterested in, have brother issues and won’t put effort into things they have predetermined to be impossible, which ties directly into how they are trapped in situations they can’t do anything about due to the circumstances of their birth.

And we also have their recently introduced titles (on JP server): “Ambitious King” and “King of the Underworld.”

It is difficult to pinpoint exactly how Idia feels about Leona, possibly because he doesn’t know very much about him (which is possibly because Leona doesn’t want him to).

During Book 6 he assumes that Leona isn’t suited to a leadership role, for example, despite how people who actually spend time with Leona say otherwise.

The two overlap in Idia’s second birthday vignette, where Leona gifts him with an artisanal chess set and the two pause the interview to play together.

They seem to mutually agree not to mention who won the game, and it may have been a draw.

We see Idia categorize people and generalize them into character tropes (from anime/manga/games) throughout the game, and based upon Leona’s appearance/outward behavior, Idia may labeling him as the scary top boss of the Savanaclaw hooligans (re: their Halloween vignette together) in his mind.

But he is able to overcome his initial flight response in this birthday vignette once Leona procures the chess set (one of Idia’s personal interests).

(This is part of the reason why Idia’s stutter is such an important part of the character: he stutters when he panics, but then speaks smoothly when he becomes passionate, which the characters even comment on in the game (Ortho calls it his "go off switch" on EN, and his "heat up switch" on JP).)

(Recreation of this trait varies by scene on EN.)

Leona is difficult to read because he will insult the people he likes and respects just as readily as he does those he does not (something that we see Jamil come to understand in real time during Book 6), so trying to work out his true opinion about anything can get into conjecture.

They also do not overlap particularly often, which gives us less to work with, but his teasing of Idia in the birthday vignette is not dissimilar to his teasing of characters like Jamil and Vil. Whereas they understand Leona’s humor, however, Idia may not.

What we know for a fact is that Leona has canonically complimented Idia for being both intelligent and powerful during Spectral Soiree, and this may have been a parallel to Terror is Trending when, extremely impressed by Savanaclaw’s Halloween set, Idia asks, “Did Leona use his magic for it?”

Idia also comments on Leona’s power during his evaluations at STYX, saying, “I already knew Leona was tough and could handle whatever danger comes at him…”

I think you are correct, and it is a respect thing!

They are both aware of the other’s familial situations and strengths and, in any other circumstances, they might get along well. But their personalities are just too different, they frustrate each other in every conversation they have, and whatever positives the other person has might just not be enough to outweigh how obnoxious they find the other to be.

We learn from Vil that the rule at NRC is “the weak obey the strong,” and the Housewardens at NRC seem to take this literally, with Idia, Leona and Vil all being constantly torn between sincere annoyance and grudging respect. The three referring to others as “spudlings,” “normies” and “herbivores” is another interesting overlap that they share.

(Despite being even more different than Leona and Idia, Leona and Vil repeatedly find common ground in allying against Idia.)

(In a parallel to this, Leona and Idia find common ground on the subject of Malleus, with Leona saying, “It’s a pain when the majority forces their opinion on you,” which is an opinion Idia seems to share.)

Thank you so much for this question, it was wonderful to dive into!

Overall, Leona and Idia seem to share a mutual undertone of “I know you’re the best at what you do, but I can’t stand you. I acknowledge that you’re intelligent, capable and talented, but please go be that somewhere else,” which ties directly into a comment from Yana’s 2023 interview:

“Since the characters in the story are villains they do not admit defeat, but they will admit, ‘Hey, you did pretty good.’ Even if they don’t like each other, they will recognize each other’s abilities.”

(And thank you again to @frost__tw for all the amazing insight! ♡)

#twstask #Leona Kingscholar #Idia Shroud

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dianagj-art · 6 months

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How long do you typically spend on a drawing? Of the ones you've posted, which took the longest? Which was the quickest?

It really depends on what I'm drawing and how "finished" I do them

For example these kind of skectches don't really take me much time to do (specially when the poses are very simple), I can do a bunch of these in a few minutes no problem, then there are the ones when I add grayscale or colors that take a little longer

Then there is this kind of drawing that are finished with lineart, colors and shadows but each of them took me a different amount of time

The Gemini one took me hours to make (how many I dont really remember) I spent a lot of time on the sketch mostly because I was trying to figure out how Leo's arm worked, then spend around 3hrs doing lineart and chossing the base colors, and I had to do it twice because...

reasons...

The bottom left with Coin Toss Michael, took me less, even when it was a challenging pose I managed to figure that out quick enough, the most time consuming part were the chains because I hand drew them. I don't remember how long it took me to do but I did it in one or two sittings, probably took me aorund 5 hours to make (and maybe thats too much, might have been less)

And the bottom right was a fast one too, probably managged to do it in under 3 hours (I think the hardest part was to match proportions with Trainee that is cropped out)

And then there is things like this, I actually have the proccess recorded (minus the sketching and planning) and can tell you that it took me around 15 hours to make these two pages (I might one day edit that and make a speed draw)

But again, it really depends on what I'm drawing because this commission (that aparently I haven't posted yet) that I also have some of the proccess recorded, it took me around 2:30 hours to do inks, colors and shading

Most of the time I dont really time myself, when I know more exact times are when I record my screen for future speed draw videos (that I always forget to edit) or because I was watching something in the background so I know it took me X amount of movies or episodes or youtube videos so... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Oh! there is also this lil animation I did that took me 4 hours, I only know that because it says so in my tags

#hmmmm i should edit those videos #i have more that i thought saved #might do it for my patreon soon #anyways hope you enjoyed the info dump #dg rambles #dg asks #dg art

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luveline · 1 year

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okay but i absolutely adore your writing and i hope you are having a wonderful day!

if it’s okay to request bodyguard!sirius with shy!reader where sirius loves to be all flirty and tease the reader in their private moments to get her to smile as he knows how tense and stressful her life is and just wants to give her a moment of peace💌

thank you for your request, sorry it took so long! bodyguard!sirius x shy!reader

Sirius, when looking at himself, doesn’t necessarily think that he looks the part of a bodyguard. He has muscle — his arms look bulky enough to signify that he spends a moderate amount of time each week training, as do the rest of his body. But the arms are most noticeable, because he wears the same short-sleeved polo everyday knowing it’ll draw your eye.

He doesn’t mind you looking at him. You don’t ogle, he’s never felt uncomfortable under the weight of your gaze but he knows if he did he could tell you and you’d tone it down. He’s not sure that you know what you’re doing, he’s not even sure it’s an appreciative spectatorship. Sometimes he thinks that’s where your eyes land on instinct when you’re stressed, and you're stressed a lot.

Stress is more than mental for you. You become tense, pained by your hunched shoulders and crossed arms. Just last week you strained your radial muscle when he crept up on you. Accidentally, of course, but the damage was done. You’re still sore, and can’t carry anything in your left hand without pain.

It’s not Sirius’ fault, but that won’t stop him from taking care of you. Does anything?

“What are you worrying about?” Sirius asks, abandoning his post at your door to help you move a big pile of laundry from the end of your bed.

You frown as he steps in front of you but don’t stop him, turning your eyes from his arm to the carpet. “It’s for the second shelf, Siri.”

“You got it. Now spill it, please. What’s eating you?”

“Um… I guess it’s some of everything. You know how I feel. And, uh, she’s got that thing tomorrow and people always recognise me more after she’s been on TV.” Your mam’s in politics, and she’s a figurehead for some stuff that makes other people unhappy, hence the bodyguard. “I don’t want to go to the Gala on Thursday.”

“Want me to help you fake a sicky?”

“Maybe. Um. Yeah, maybe.” Sirius puts your clothes on the second shelf and turns back to you. You’ve sat yourself on the edge of your bed, and after a couple of seconds you lie back and cover your face.

You’re shy. You have been since you met. But the longer Sirius spends with you the less choice you have to be so. Like his being in your bedroom; any privacy you had a year ago has slowly worn down to nothing. Your mam said a bunch of brave stuff that some passionate others didn’t like, and your life was jeopardised. You’d been full security detail for a while, which you’d described to him secretly as, “A living hell.” Now it’s just Sirius full time, and Sirius’ second after 8PM. It’s not as bad as it was but it’s still pretty shocking. Sirius is glad you’ve been able to make friends with him. Otherwise your want to be left alone might’ve driven you crazy.

It probably has.

Your fingers twitch in agitation. Your chest rises and rises and doesn’t fall.

Sirius sits on the bed beside you and puts his hand on your thigh. It is an unmistakably intimate gesture, and it’s meant to be.

“What do you want?”

“It has to be something really contagious,” you say, parting your fingers. Your eyes are tired in the gaps.

“You can’t say you have a sick bug, you already did that.”

“Yeah. And it can’t be a super bad one, I’m not a sicko.”

“Course not. Did you ever get chickenpox, as a kid?” he asks.

“I don’t know… but mam will, so that’s bust.”

Sirius rubs your leg. His pinky finger inches up closer to your stomach, nowhere near anything private but enough to make you cover his hand with yours and push him away playfully.

“Mono?” he suggests quietly, toying with the tip of your pinky finger. “Wouldn’t that suit you?”

You ignore his light sarcasm and pull your arm up to your chest. “Sorry, that still hurts. The muscle.” You hike up on your elbows. “I don’t think mono will hold up. Isn’t that American?”

“It’s called glandular fever here. I didn’t think you’d get my joke if I didn’t say mono.” He puckers his lips. “I’ll infect you, free of charge.”

You laugh softly. That’s all he wanted, evidence that you aren’t unreachable, stuck at the very bottom of a pit of misery. You say it enough yourself that you have privileges in life that not everyone else has, but you have a lot of obstacles you’ve had to overcome too. He would happily hoist you over the lot of them if he could. He can’t, and so bad jokes and white lies in the name of a day off will have to do.

“Fake mono is fine, thanks.” You sit up some more, a tentative look about you.

“What?” he asks.

“Can you do that thing again, please?”

Sirius smiles. “Yeah. I can do ‘that thing’. Come here.”

You slide into the space in front of him and Sirius, with all the accuracy and professionalism of a real masseuse, finds the sore tendon in your arm and gives you a gentle massage. It’s far outside of his commitments to you as a bodyguard, but he likes to think otherwise. He’s guarding your well-being, your well-being is affected detrimentally by your inability to use your arm at full function, and a massage in the right place will reduce that. He’s making you a more effective self-protector, is all.

His hand has to travel forward to the front of your shirt. He doesn’t touch your skin, but he can feel your body heat starkly beneath his hand as he rubs the place just shy of your underarm.

You go rigid at first, an increase of pain and nervous at his closeness, but you melt eventually in the way that you do, slow and slow and then all at once, your breath catching as he soothes the right place.

“You like that?” he asks through a smug smile.

“Shut up,” you say, but you’re laughing. A win in his book.

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius x reader fluff #sirius black imagine #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fic #marauders era #marauders #sirius black drabble #sirius black scenario #sirius black oneshot #the marauders #sirius orion black

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belovedwhore · 1 year

Text

pretty boy pt 5

ethan landry x reader

warnings: smut, little bit of plot, “nipple play”, masturbation (m!receiving), dirty talk, thigh riding, lowkey sub ethan

notes: oh my god hey guys. i’m sorry i’ve been mia, it’s been a long week but i cracked this bad boy out for y’all so hopefully you enjoy it, i’m too tired to proofread so i apologize for any typos. i tried to lessen the amount of plot and get to the good stuff ;)

also i think the next part will be my last for this series because i wanna write other like pov of ethan in different scenarios so im gonna try to wrap this up. enjoy!!

pt 1 , pt 2 , pt 3 , pt 4 , pt 5, pt 6

————————————————————————

for the next couple of days you and than found anytime to hang out. whether you were skipping class or making tara and chad hang out so you could spend your time with ethan, you made it happen. every since he gave you head the last time, it’s like he can’t stop. he was quite literally pussy whipped for you, the way you moaned out as he devoured your clit, the endless praises you’d give him, calling him pretty boy, he didn’t said a chance. it got to the point where he could get himself off grinding on the bed with his head in between your legs, attacking your cunt. he’d groan when you’d slip your fingers through his curls, gripping his hair as you came closer to your unraveling.

chad had left to go the gym and afterwards he had class so he wouldn’t be back until much later. you came over shortly after he left to hang out with ethan. it wasn’t just sex, you enjoyed his company too but god the sex was good. well not “sex” by definition. you hadn’t fucked yet, and he hadn’t really complained about it. even thought you’ve been with each other in every possible way he still shyed away at the deed. he was just simply happy to be involved in any way which somehow made him even hotter.

you came over in a pair of baggy sweats and an oversized, just some stuff you pulled out of your closet, ‘easy to get out of’ pieces. you laid next to ethan on the couch as he sat watching a lecture and jotting down notes. he was wearing some athletic shorts and a tshirt with a random logo on it. you guys may or may not have skipped some classes to be able to hang out with each other without the rest of your friends in close proximity. and may or may not be required to watch these online lectures for review.

“do we reallyyy need to watch this ethan, i’m bored,” you whined kissing up his neck. you couldn’t care less about biology 101. i mean who gives a fuck.

“we missed class, we have to do this,” he replied shifting in his seat as you still trailed kisses over his chest. he struggled to focus on the video when he felt your lips on his skin. he loved kissing, his biggest turn on you learned. he’d always kiss you whether you just came on his tongue or swallowed a load of his. he was addicted to your lips. and the way he looked after a long kiss, lips soft and plump waiting for more. he was struggling to resist you now, eyes fluttering shut.

“i mean technically only one of us needs to be paying attention,” you whispered into her ear. you nibbled his earlobe playfully as you continued to tease him. you could see he processing what you said.

“you’re not w-wrong,” he faltered as your hands traveled under his shirt over the ridges on his stomach, “but i can’t focus when you’re kissing me and touching me.”

“ok, then i won’t,” you shrugged sitting back into your spot.

he quietly groaned at the absence of your lips and touch on his skin, “the thing’s almost over, then i’m all yours.” he leaned over and kissed you softly, lips molding together as he slipped his tongue inside your mouth lightly before pulling away. he hadn’t even realized this just spurred you on modern but he’d readjusted timely, refocusing on the video before him. you sighed loudly next to him, slightly exaggerating to draw his attention. he wouldn’t budge though, smiling in your direction, still working on you guys’ notes.

“i’ll be right back,” you quipped before hopping off the couch to head to the bathroom. you couldn’t watch this boring ass lecture any longer and you couldn’t stop thinking about ethan. you eventually decided to take matters into your own hands. before leaving the bathroom you took off your sweatpants, revealing your black panties that hugged your waist under your shirt. you walked back into the room, noticing his eyes on you from the second you walked in.

“where um where are your pants,” he asked dumbfounded. you’d broken his focus from your assignment.

“it’s a little warm in here,” you shrugged sitting down right next to him swinging one of your legs over his own, spreading then so lightly to expose your clothed core. he glanced down quickly before looking up again clenching his jaw.

you reached between your legs, circling your clothed clit. you let out a sharp breath as you brushed the bundle of nerves. you reached to palm one of your tits over your shirt, kneading the mound. the stimulation was enough for you to let out another gasp as you played with your nipple. your shirt tickled your hardened nipples sending shocks to your core. you breath grew heavier as you sped up your fingers on your clit, closing your eyes as you felt your panties grow wet with your arousal.

ethan couldn’t take it any longer, he let out a huff, “fuck.” shutting off the tv and tossing the remote somewhere in the room he embraced you quickly. he kissed you roughly, holding your face to his forcing his tongue into your mouth. he’d almost sucked all the breath out of you. you climbed over his lap, pressing your wet center onto his growing erection. he bucked his hips as you grinded on him, kissing his neck softly. he could feel your arousal through your panties. you felt his hands creep up your legs, groping your ass under your shirt. they soon moved to your thighs, and closer to your center until you stopped him.

“no, you had your chance and you wanted me to wait,” you said after pulling away from the kiss, “remember only one of us has to be focused.” you shifted your position so you were now only straddling one of his legs, his bare thigh directly under your mound.

“cmon you know we have to catch up on this class, i’m ready now,” he pleaded, looking down between the two of you at your cunt glistening with arousal. you pulled your top over your head exposing your bare chest to him. your hardened nipples poked out massively, erect from the stimulation. you brought his hands to your chest and he kneaded your boobs, capturing your nipple in his mouth. he nibbles on the bud, soothing the pain with licks over the mound.

“so i’m gonna focus on me,” you whispered into his ear as you lowered yourself onto his thigh, gasping at the feeling of your clit on his sculpted thigh, “a-and you can watch, but no touching.” you moved his hands away from your chest and placed them by his side. he looked at you in awe as you started to move back and forth on his thigh, your arousal slicking his skin. you played with your clit as you rocked your hips on his leg, feeling the pressure build in your core.

honestly ethan may have been enjoying this more than you, his breath hiked with your own. the feeling of your cunt on his thigh made him rock hard. when he flexed you could feel his muscle massaging you core, causing you to whine out and move faster. his eyes were trained on your cunt moving back and forth, breathing heavy. you wanted more from him, needed more.

“l-look at me,” you cooed, he looked at you, watching as your eyes screwed shut at the feeling of his bare skin between your folds, “you know what i want you to do.”

“touch yourself,” you said, “i wanna see you fuck your hand, and i want you to think about me.”

you kissed him harshly, biting his lip as you pulled away and rested your forehead against, “can you do that pretty boy?” he nodded as he pulled his cock out of his boxers and began to pump his length. his tip had already been oozing precum as it glistened under his touch. you spat between the two of you, your saliva falling onto his cock, lubricating it as he pumped faster, tightening his grip around his length. you followed his rhythm. as he fucked his length faster, you rode his thigh harder, coming closer and closer to your orgasm.

“what does it feel like baby,” you asked breathlessly while you relentlessly fucked yourself on his leg.

“tight,” he groaned, looking down at your cunt gliding across his thigh, “and wet.” he whimpered as he jerked on his cock harder. “y-you wanna know how you feels,” you moaned, “hard.” he groaned as you described your feelings to him explicitly. “feels like i’m gonna cum all over you any s-second, fuck.”

you could hear your slick on his skin, along with the noises of ethan fisting his cock and it sent you over the edge. eyes screwed shut you gasped as you released your arousal all over. you clenched around his leg, riding his thigh through your finish. rambling about how good he felt and how good he was listening to your instructions, “ethan y-you’re so good, so good for me.” you opened your eyes only to find he hadn’t finished yet, he was still jerking himself off, eyes on your cunt. you could tell he was close as his hips bucked into his fist and his breathing became sloppy.

“you know what i thought of while i came all over you,” you whispered as you wetly kissed all around his neck, “your cock inside me, big, stretching me all out.” he groaned at your words, increasing his pace even more to reach his orgasm.

his eyes were screwed shut now, focused on cumming. he hummed as you spurred him on with your dirty words, teasing and taunting him, “imagine my cunt wrapped around your pretty cock,” you spoke, “can you feel me?”

“mhmm,” he whimpered, “oh shit.” his orgasm ripped through him as he came hard into his hand and onto your stomach. he shuddered underneath you, jaw clenched as he experienced his high. he’d never felt anything like it. he felt weak, breathing heavy as you sat smiling at him, looking at the mess the two of you made. you kissed him softly, tangling your fingers in curly hair.

“can’t wait until you fuck me pretty boy,” you giggled into his ear. when you pulled away ethan was bright red, still shy of your bluntness. regaining his composure he realized, “we’re uh- we’re gonna need to clean up before chad gets back.”

“ok, but chad won’t be back anytime soon,” you bet, “it hasn’t been that long.”

seconds later you heard three knocks on the door.

“ethan, i forgot my keys again can you let me in?,” chad yelled.

“oh i guess it has been that long,”

“oh shit”

#scream fanfic #ethan landry #smut #ghostface #scream #ethan landry smut #ethan landry x reader #scream 6 #no plot whatsoever

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kuradex · 2 months

Note

I wanna know about your art style. How you draw like that??

i tried putting down considerations as well as a (very) general step by step of what i do; if there's anything more specific you want me to explain lmk i guess?

first off, general (self imposed) constraints / purpose of project -- this informs what i draw & how i draw it

i.e. "kuradex" is pretty different from my normal art (my 5 latest rough illustrations):

or my monster hunter charms:

or my pokemon tcg contest illustrations that im not allowed to show until june (😉):

although i've said its for merch purposes, ive started drawing these because i wanted to practice conveying "liveliness" and noticing key features / nuances of a given design, but i didn't want to spend a large amount of time on each one.

so what i came up with is

i want to draw things on-model in terms of proportions ( + take note of weight / tapering of shapes / etc )

no backgrounds & minimal "props"

experiment with / practice line/texture/color/flow/rhythm/etc

spend <1 hr on each pokemon on average (this is a bit more difficult for me to track, but for example, the cyndaquil line took me less than 42min to color, combined, and means at some point in time instead of focusing on cleaning up the art as much as i can, i stop after cleaning up most of it)

that said, the pose & the rhythm/flow of lines are key in conveying liveliness, and if i have a concept in mind i usually end up going with it, but i may go thru a few if i dont.

i consider pokemon origin / lore or a key point in its design, and if i'm particularly stuck, i try looking up pokemon card illustrations for inspiration. (i noticed the research i do is essentially a truncated version of how Atsushi Furusawa does research before doing an illustration.

(& even despite all this i do get stuck sometimes and don't exactly understand a pokemon and just opt for "as cute or cool as i can make it i guess?", but i think it's part of the process...?) (theoretically things that are A Shape should be really easy to draw but with what i want to practice in perspective i find them difficult...)

this is from my latest paid req but these are my first sketches of chesnaught -- i was thinking of how one of its inspirations is a warrior / tanker from RPGs, so i drew a pose where it's shielding its face.

i do another pass and take note of details.

in general i draw overlapping shapes and erase (it's a bit visible on one of the spikes)

because i opt for quickness i start coloring at this point -- i actually just use a colored "color burn" layer & i actually colorpick official art & lay down messy flats & set the color layer to 60%

60% multiply layer for shadows. i tend to use both hard and soft brushes

for bigger projects i would use 2-3 shadow layers to create more "layered" shadows

here i use overlay layer (60%). this is just throwing colors at it and seeing what works and doesn't work. i personally prefer to throw red under the eye and a yellow or blue near the top of the head. this is mostly done with a soft brush

before this point, everything is under the rough lines, but now i actually start drawing/painting over it, color picking the colors that have been laid down from the previous steps and cleaning up / rendering textures (making the green on its arms look fuzzy) / fixing anything that i forgot or looks too off (i.e. the spike on its shoulder and the way the tail curves)

I could potentially keep cleaning this up, but this is where i usually stop 🫡

#not art #barely a tutorial?

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yesimwriting · 2 years

Text

Final Girl (Part 2)

Final Girl Series Masterlist (currently updated parts 1 - 9 and extras)

A/N this one’s a bit of a filler but it’s needed and i’m looking forward to part 3!! a scene in part 3 inspired this entire fic :)) also i love feedback!! comments make my day and motivate me to write :)) so if you’re so inclined,, i’d love to hear your thoughts :)

also lmk if you’d like to be tagged!!

Fandom: (original) Scream

Series Summary: Y/n can’t believe that she has to leave the only home she’s ever known just because her mom’s latest boyfriend has a house in some town in California. Just as she’s starting to think that Woodsboro might not be that bad, something life altering happens after she agrees to sleep over at Becker’s house. Now her name is practically synonymous with Ghostface’s.

Chapter Summary: The only good thing that’s come from Casey’s murder and your injuries is that your good friends Billy and Stu are determined to help you.

also i made the reader’s birthday Halloween bc it helps the plot and i love halloween and am so jealous of fall birthdays!! So on the really good chance that your birthday isn’t on Halloween, just go with it!! Also I named the mom character bc the reader’s connection to her mom is kinda specific and relevant for plot and that felt easier lol

Warnings: maybe a tiny bit too fluffy in some parts but there’s a reason for it!! also gaslighting and the beginning of emotional manipulation (it’s billy and stu, y’all should’ve expected it lol)

----

I’ve always hated hospitals. Waking up with bandages I don’t remember getting placed on me just to receive the news of Casey’s death certainly hasn’t made me grow fonder of them. If anything, each additional second I spend in this hospital cot adds to the agony in my body.

“Miss L/n, are you feeling any better?” Nurse Samantha’s voice is cautious and smooth, but not overly peppy like Nurse Molly’s.

In another life, in another situation, I might have really liked Nurse Samantha. She gave me extra Jell-O when she noticed that it was the only thing from my tray that I picked at. She was the only one willing to be honest about Casey’s death with me. But this isn’t another life or situation, so when I look at her, all I can think about is what it felt like to wake up here. Alone.

But that’s not her fault, so instead of attempting to get out of this damn bed again, I just nod slowly. “A little.” My voice is so hollow and hoarse that it sounds wrong in my ears.

She waits for me to clear my throat before speaking again. “Your boyfriends are here to see you, but if you’re not up for visitors--”

“Boyfriends?” My voice is slightly less gritty than it was when I first spoke. “I don’t have a boyfriend, let alone a plural amount of them.”

Nurse Samantha’s eyes widen slightly. “Oh, my apologies,” she then tilts her head slightly, leaning against the doorframe of the hospital room. “But you might want to consider breaking that news to the two boys that have been harassing our receptionist since a little after you arrived.”

My eyebrows draw together in confusion. What is she--

“You said she was awake, which meant she could take visitors, so take us--”

Yeah, even in my state, that voice cleared everything up. “Billy.”

He’s close enough to Nurse Samatha to tower over her, but when he snaps his head in my direction, all sense of anger is gone. In an instant, he’s in my room. I must be more out of it than I thought, because I’m slightly surprised when Stu comes in right behind him.

“Visiting hours are technically over, but considering what you’ve been through and the late time you were brought in, I can make a bit of an exception. If you need anything, press the call button.”

I nod again, a little more grateful for Nurse Samatha than I was before. Not only do I love the idea of not being alone here, I’m also glad she decided to let Billy and Stu in before they got irritated. I know I haven’t known them that long, but I think Billy has a bit more of a temper than he’d like to let on, and Stu takes not getting his way personally.

“Okay, thank you.”

She disappears down the hall after a quick nod of her head.

Billy has pulled forward one of the hospital room’s chairs so that he’s sitting as close to my bed as possible. He grabs my hand as soon as he’s settled. His fingers are squeezing mine so tightly it’s slightly uncomfortable. “Hi.”

His greeting is oddly hesitant, maybe even a little nervous. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Billy this unsure before. “Hey.”

The silence that falls over us after that is serious. Much too serious for Stu to just stand on the sidelines in silence. Actually, it’s weird that Stu’s on the sidelines at all. What’s his deal? He never needs an excuse to be touchy and now that I actually need a hug, he’s choosing to keep his distance. Where was this restraint when I made eye contact with a cute boy during lunch and Stu decided that that’d be the perfect time to rest his head on my shoulder?

I tear my gaze away from Billy’s hard stare, ready to call out Stu for being so weird. But then I see his expression. His face is oddly pale and his eyes are wide and kind of blank.

“Stu, I’m fine, you can’t catch a concussion.”

Instead of taking the out and making some kind of joke, Stu’s expression falls even more. “A concussion?”

Oh. Maybe Stu’s more worried than I thought. “Relax, we don’t know anything for sure. Concussions can take up to days to form, it hasn’t been long enough.” He doesn’t seem eased. “Would you stop looking at me like that? I’m fine, Casey’s the one that--” My voice catches on itself. Nope—still can’t even say it. “Would you please just come over here and be normal? I’m tired and I-I really want to pretend that I’m not in a hospital and I can’t do that with you staring at me like I’m on death’s doorstep.”

His eyebrows draw together, but all he does is shove his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Stu,” Billy’s voice comes out so low and harsh I find myself gaping at him. “Y/n is asking you for one thing. For you to be normal.”

On a normal night, I’d brush off their tension with some kind of joke or laugh. It’s not the first time I’ve ever witnessed the way they disappear into each other. A slightly longer than average glance or a simple sentence is all it takes to initiate one of their silent exchanges. Whenever they get like that, I can’t help but wonder what they’re like when they’re alone.

Stu nods once, the motion oddly stiff, but then his eyes move so that he’s looking at me. And just like that, they’re back. Stu shuffles towards me. He moves like he wants to hug me but can’t figure out a tactful way to do it with all the wires connected to me. He settles for a gentle, barely there shoulder squeeze. It’s so awkward and unusually gentle I find an unexpected fondness tugging at my chest.

He lets go of me, his hand moving forward to allow the knuckle of his pointer finger to graze the edge of the cotton bandage on my forehead. “It’s okay, Stu.” When he doesn’t ease, I continue, “No stitches. Doctor said it won’t even scar.”

With that, Stu softens completely. He grabs the hand that Billy isn’t holding. “Won’t even scar, huh?”

His easiness is infectious. “Nope.”

“Good thing, too,” Billy says, “Wouldn’t want anything hurting that pretty face.”

My eyes widen slightly, heat rushing to my cheeks. “Shut up, I’m a total mess right now. I’m literally in the hospital.”

“And you still look like an angel.” If I thought that the earlier comment had me struggling to form a coherent thought, this is something else. I hate how stunned into silence I am, there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s totally reveling in my reaction. “Don’t even think a scar could make you less pretty.”

Weakly, I try to cover how sentimental I’m feeling. “I almost got murdered, you have to be nice to me.”

Billy exaggeratedly frowns. “I’m always nice to you.”

I pretend to contemplate his words. “Mm...nice-ish.”

There’s something oddly comforting about Billy’s mock gasp. It’s a display of the softer side of him that I’ve only ever caught glimpses of. “Now who’s mean?”

“Still you.”

Billy rolls his eyes at Stu’s reply. I turn, expression easing at the look on Stu’s face. “You’re on my side?”

“Always,” he hums pleasantly, thumb running along my knuckles. He’s definitely lying. Billy and Stu seem to understand each other in way that I’ve never seen between two people, but the gesture is still nice.

The realization that I’m really glad that they’re here settles into me comfortably, in a content sort of way. “I’m happy you guys are here.”

Stu tilts his head, his free hand moving to gently catch my chin between his thumb and pointer finger. I blink, eyes widening like a deer caught in headlights. He’s staring, analyzing me with a focus I didn’t think he was capable of. “You’re cute when you’re high.” My lips part in protest, but before I can get any words out, Stu continues, “You probably watched your friend get gutted, they definitely gave you something strong.”

I frown, sinking further into the hospital bed without thinking about it. Noticing my reaction, Billy throws a dirty look in Stu’s direction before leaning over me in order to punch Stu’s arm. “Shut up.”

“What? She knows I didn’t mean it in any bad way.” He then turns to look back at me. “You know that, right?”

I’m not exactly in the mood to brush off Stu’s insensitivity the way I normally would, and I don’t think I have the energy to humor him--but I also can’t bring myself to alienate them. I nod once, the motion tired and vague.

Billy runs his thumb over my knuckles gingerly, brining my attention back to him. “You did say you wanted him to be normal.”

At that, I almost laugh. “Yeah, that’s on me.” A moment of silence passes, and for whatever reason, I don’t like it. “Y’know, I didn’t see anything. I-I was knocked out before it happened.” I can’t believe I’m talking about this. “I didn’t even know what happened to Casey until one of the nurses told me so that I’d cooperate with police questioning.”

“The police already questioned you?” Billy’s question comes out too fast, too urging. “We’ve been waiting to be able to see you for hours, we didn’t know if y--”

“Billy.” Some hard to name aspect of his personality takes on a darker shade, but he does stop ranting. So much for getting used to slightly more lighthearted Billy. “If it makes you feel any better, I was asleep for most of the time. One of the nurses had to borderline sedate me because I kept trying to pull out my IV and disconnect the heart monitor.”

Instead of finding humor in my admission, the corner of Billy’s mouth turns downwards.

“Why?” Stu asks Billy’s silent question before tacking on something to ease the tension, “This stuff looks important.”

My nose wrinkles. There’s no good way to describe the panic I felt when I woke up here. No way to summarize the need I felt to be anywhere but the hospital. The desire to see Casey and be told that everything was just a bad dream. “Just didn’t want to be here,” I explain weakly, “I didn’t know what was going on and I freaked.”

Stu’s eyebrows draw together. I’m too tired to hide the way I study him. It’s not that he’s never serious (though it is kind of rare), but there’s something strange beneath the way he’s looking at me. His eyes seem dark, tired and emphasized by the bruise forming near the top of his cheek.

Now it’s my turn to frown openly. Slowly, I pull my fingers from his grasp. Stu lets me move my hand towards his face with no reaction until my fingers just barely graze the line of barely formed purple.

He catches my wrist between his pointer finger and thumb, his grip just a little too tight. “You okay, angel?”

The nickname leaves my face a degree or two warmer. Stu grins in a way that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Your face is bruised--what happened?”

“You’re in the hospital and you’re worried about me?” He lets out a breath, demeanor shifting back into something easier.

I roll my eyes, glad that his strange worry is passing. “Shut up.”

His hold on my wrist loosens. Stu twists my hand in order to press a quick kiss to the inside of my wrist, right above my pulse. “Billy and I were going to watch a movie. He threw the tape at me a little too hard when I wasn’t paying attention. Between you and me, I think he did it on purpose.”

Billy sighs, throwing a mean look in Stu’s direction. “I told you I was going to give it to you right before--”

“Yeah, give not throw--”

“You were right next to the VC--”

“Guys.” My interruption isn’t particularly loud, but they both instantly shut up. On a normal night, I really doubt that would have worked. I guess being in the hospital has its perks. “I’ve dealt with enough conflict.”

After a second, Billy concedes, “You’re right.” He squeezes my hand once, eyes softening. “I can’t believe the police questioned you right after you woke up. You must have been so confused,” his thumb runs up and down my knuckles, “Probably still are. You can’t be sure about anything you picked up on.”

An uneasy feeling I can’t name settles in my chest. The police were the ones that insisted on speaking to me as soon as possible, but if I accidentally gave them anything that leads to an inaccurate lead, I’m not sure I’d be able to forgive myself. “It was a man, I know that. I know that I wasn’t confused about that.” That was something I told the officers confidently. The voice on the other line was masculine and distinct and my attacker was too large and tall to likely be a woman. “I didn’t really remember anything else.”

The memories of right before are seared into my mind perfectly. Casey and her polaroid camera, the phone, the popcorn. Or--or was it the other way around? Did I make the popcorn before or after the phone call? Did Casey come in with the movies before or after she took those pictures of me?

What were her last words?

I can’t remember them and for some reason, that makes me feel guilty. He wants to talk to you. That’s when she gave me the phone for the last time. The phone I threw at the killer’s head. Did it hit him? And then she screamed. Wait, no, she clasped her hand over her mouth. She didn’t scream until the glass broke. And then...there was a second scream much later, a much more pained, animalistic sound.

My mouth goes dry. That might have been the last sound Casey ever made. I heard it, but I was too busy trying to escape the killer to pick up on it. Which would mean she was killed while I was being attacked. Which means...

“Hey, don’t think about it too hard. Don’t think about anything too hard, you said it yourself, you hit your head.” Billy’s voice is soft yet assured. He’s right, I know he’s right, and yet I can’t snap out of it.

“I,” my throat aches, a part of me regrets sending away the nurse before she could bring me ice chips, “I think there were two of them.”

The admission is so slow and unsure I instantly feel the need to defend it. “Maybe. I-I mean, I don’t--” I squeeze my eyes shut so tightly all I can see are stars that turn my stomach. The sharp ache in my head is returning. “I didn’t remember before, but now that I’m thinking about it--Casey ran while I was being attacked and I heard her scream. And not just a scared scream, it was the kind of scream that victims in a scary movie let out right before they die. I think what happened to Casey happened while I was still awake. Which would mean there were two of them.”

The two gape at me before glancing at each other. Their silence feels like some kind of reproach that tears at my insides. Stu breaks the quiet with a laugh. A loud, free kind of laugh that’s usually only ever used after the kind of inappropriate joke that earns him some kind of scolding from Tatum.

“You’re cute,” Stu hums with the kind of fondness a parent would use towards a child that proudly declares insanely unrealistic goals. Sure you’ll be the first president in space, here, have a gold star for being so creative. “This isn’t one of those books you read or a project for newspaper. This is about a real murderer that probably got hard watching you try to fight him off of you and finished to the feeling of killing Casey.”

I flinch. A full body, knee jerk reaction that has me pulling both of my hands away from them. Blinking, I cross my arms across my chest. I’m tired and the irritated frustration and embarrassment running through me aren’t making things easier.

The look on my face is probably only making me look more childish. I’m only a grade behind them, but it’s come up before. Only in a semi-joking way after a particularly naive reaction to something. Like the time Stu made a vague sex joke that everyone rolled their eyes at but I missed. Need me to explain it, kid. Stu had said, emphasizing the nickname to further embarrass me before Tatum smacked him in the arm. If she’s a kid, then that was a total pedo move.

Billy punches Stu’s arm again. This time he’s harsher. “You’re an asshole.” Billy then looks at me, expression placid with understanding. “Do you really think there were two of them?”

“I--” Now my already rickety train of thought feels even more unsteady. “I don’t know. It was just a thought. My memory of right before has been kind of iffy.” I scratch the back of my wrist, eyes focused on where my skin meets the plastic of the IV. “But shouldn’t I say something? Just in case? The police said that if I remembered anything a little more I should call.”

“You’re the one in AP Psych--aren’t most serial killers loners?”

The urge to rip off the tape that’s holding the IV in place leaves my fingers itching to do something. I tap my nails against thin hospital sheets. “We don’t talk about that kinda stuff, but yeah, I guess.”

Billy’s gaze flits away from my hands and towards my face. “So that means it’s unlikely for there to be two of them.” That’s a fair point, or at least, a point that’s a lot fairer than Stu’s. “You can say something if you want, but they’re so desperate for leads they questioned you right away. And we both know that police officers aren’t necessarily the most driven.” He’s gently referencing my mother’s boyfriend, who’s a cop and the bane of my existence. Billy and Stu both know exactly how I feel about him. “What if it does more harm than good?”

I frown, letting his words slowly sink in. Maybe if my head felt less sore and my body less far away, I’d be reacting a little more. “Yeah,” I mumble, “I’ll wait, see if it’s something I actually remember or not.”

The corner of Billy’s mouth turns upwards. “Good, would hate to throw off your step-dad.”

My glare is violent, which only fuels his smile. “That man is not my step-father. You know that.”

“Leave her alone, Billy,” Stu mumbles. I turn my head forward, gaze shifting upwards. Stu’s eyes are softer than they’ve been all night. He reaches for me, expression falling when I pull my hand back at the last second. “Aw, baby, don’t be like that.” My hand stays near my chest. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for laughing, I’m sorry for what I said about you and your friend.” I try to glare at him through my lashes, but the look feels like more of a pout than anything. “Don’t give me that look.” He moves his hand again, placing it on my cheek before I can protest. “C’mon, hurting your feelings is like kicking a puppy.”

Some instinct forces me to ease into the contact. Even though my shift is small, Stu picks up on it, because of course he does. My reaction unfortunately encourages him. His thumb gently brushes up and down my cheek. “Then don’t be mean.”

It’s a sad attempt at holding onto my anger, and I’m sure all three people in the room know it. “Promise,” Stu nods, “Anything you want.” I thought he was laying it on thick as some kind of joke, but when I look into his eyes, I don’t see anything that indicates his usual brand of teasing humor. “I’ll even watch one of those lame chick flicks you’re always talking about with the girls.”

A small, awkward noise that’s a hybrid of a scoff and a laugh escapes me. “Clueless may be my guilty pleasure, but it is not lame.”

Stu kind of smiles, but he’s still stiff. “Still. I’ll watch it, whatever you want.” His touch loses all sense of hesitance. “You know I’d-I’d never hurt you. Not really hurt you.”

“Stu.” Billy’s voice comes out a little too heavy, but I can’t look away from Stu.

“I’d never do anything to really hurt you, angel, you know that, right?” There’s something urging about the way he’s speaking. He’s waiting for an answer.

I think of Stu, who I’ve only known for a little while but also forever somehow in a weird way. Stu, who’s always throwing an arm around my shoulders. Stu, who seems to know when I’m getting nervous before I do. Stu, who is always willing to hold my hand or say the wrong thing when I need a laugh. Stu, who’s always touching me but I’ve never thought twice about it until right now because he’s like that with everyone.

Still, though, there’s usually something a little strange about the way his touch feels. More often than not, there’s a tension I don’t understand beneath his fingertips. Like he’s almost always trying to restrain the urge to hold on harder, to squeeze tighter, to keep pushing.

I don’t know what that’s about, but I know that he always stops. That he’s never caused me any real pain. For all I know, he’s just so energetic that he has to constantly remind himself of his own strength. “Yeah, I know, Stu.”

My words are too honest. Something in Stu relaxes and that’s when I realize he wants me to be sure enough for the both of us. It’s an incredibly unfair--and weird--thing to ask for.

Something flickers across Stu’s expression, but it’s quickly replaced by a grin. A genuine one. He leans down, pressing a shocking kiss to my forehead. My gaping doesn’t take away from his enthusiasm. “Does this mean I’m going to actually have to watch that movie?”

“Oh, one hundred percent. No chance of getting out of it. Billy too.”

Billy’s eyebrows draw together. “I didn’t make you any promises.”

I feign a hurt look as best I can, turning my head to better face Billy. “I, your friend, was almost murdered and you can’t put aside your surprisingly good, but let’s admit it, pretentious taste for one movie?” He gives me a hard look, but it lacks any bite. “You know, if the killer comes back for me, you’re going to feel so guilty about saying no.” Billy must feel a little bad for me in some sense because at least he’s letting me continue this rant. “It’ll haunt you--I’ll haunt you.”

He tilts his head downwards, the front strands of his hair falling forward. It’s an attempt to distract from the fact that he almost smiled. “Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

I roll my eyes dramatically. “That was like the least important part of my argument.”

“It was the main part of your argument.” Billy ignores my extremely pointed sigh. “Fine, compromise: a movie I pick, and then after, we can play your movie.”

Biting my tongue, I fight down a grin and force myself to narrow my eyes. “Nothing too gore-y or stab-y.”

“Deal.” He sighs the word like he can’t believe what he’s been conned in to.

The feeling of having enough influence over these two to get them to agree to something like this leaves me beaming. They’re likely going to complain the whole time, but still, it’s the thought that counts. “No take backs, even when I’m out of the hospital.” A subconscious part of my mind begs me to yank out the IV and try to get out of here. “Which should be as soon as my mom gets here.”

My mom and Wells were on a date--a show and a fancy dinner somewhere two towns over. The nurses and police assured me that my mom had been contacted, and that she was doing all she could to get here as soon as possible. But with traffic and the amount of time it took for them to get ahold of her, I’m not surprised that Billy and Stu beat her here. Actually, no, it is a little surprising. We didn’t have plans together that I missed and I’m not sure they’ve ever called me unexpectedly. Who told them I was here?

“How’d you guys know I was here?” The question is just as unexpected to me as it is to them.

“Stu was over when your mom called me,” Billy says, ignoring the way I raise my eyebrows, “She said she still had my number from the time you called me from her phone when we were working on that history project, remember?” I nod, still in disbelief.

Billy has been in my house twice. Both times were to work on the same project. My mom spent both of those times watching him like he was a danger to my entire future. I think in her head she was being subtle, but I can’t blame Billy for noticing.

I give him a semi apologetic look. “You’re making it sound like my mom hates you.” He gives me a look that silently asks if I’m kidding. “She doesn’t hate you.”

“Really?”

“She doesn’t!” I sigh once, my face already feeling warm as I struggle to figure out how to best word my thoughts. “She doesn’t hate you, she just--” Ugh, there’s no non awkward way to say this. "On Halloween, I’m going to be 17. That’s the same age she was when she had me. She just worries and she’s going to keep worrying and giving any guy I’m friends with a hard time until I’m in college.”

Billy pauses, letting the implications of my explanation sink in. With no warning, he pulls the sheets down just enough to expose a bit of my thigh. “So she’s worried that I’m gonna knock you up,” he teases, punctuating the comment by quickly pinching the newly exposed skin.

My face has never been this hot in my life. I laugh, the sound somehow both lighthearted and nervous. “Shut. Up.”

Another rough yet brief pinch to exposed skin leaves me almost jumping out of my skin. I look up at Stu, glaring as he barely attempts to fight down a laugh. “Stu!”

“What? I could knock you up just as easily.”

I let out a sound that’s basically a snort. "That’s such a weird thing to want to be included in.”

Stu half shrugs, placing a hand back on my thigh. Instead of pinching me again or doing something brief, he comfortably moves his hand up and down the expanse of visible skin. “The process would be fun.”

He’s joking, He’s joking. This is Stu--he’s definitely joking. Snap out of it, don’t be weird. I blink, coming to some sort sense. Pulling my legs forward, in an attempt to brush him off, I force myself to meet his gaze. “Fun for you maybe.”

“I’d rock your world, babe.” I’m ready to roll my eyes, but before I can Stu moves his hand, pressing it firmly into my upper thigh. He slides his hand forward, his fingertips digging into the start of my inner thigh. I struggle against the instinctual need to press my thighs together. “You’d be begging to go again before we even finished.”

In all fairness, I should have known better than to challenge one of those kinds of joke coming from Stu. He doesn’t know when to stop and doesn’t feel satisfied until I’m flustered. My brain must be as mushy as it feels, because I find myself digging my heels into the sand. “Pretty sure you’re all talk.”

He tilts his head downwards, eyes darkening. “I’ll prove you wrong right now.” His fingers press even deeper into my skin. I wouldn’t be surprised if I found small, fingerlike bruises on my thigh tomorrow.

“Mhm,” I manage after a long second, “There’s a supply closet in the hallway, give me a second to disconnect from all this and I’ll meet you there.” His expression is too good for me not to laugh. “Relax, I’m messing with you.”

“Haha,” he mumbles dryly, but makes no attempt to move his hand. And for some reason that I’m sure is head trauma or pain killer related, I don’t do anything to get him off of me. “You’re hilarious.”

I poorly suppress another laugh. Stu frowns. Oh my god. There’s no way he’s going to be a baby about this. He’s the one that found a reason to put his hand between my legs and I haven’t smacked him upside the head for it. “Don’t pout. You had to have known I was kidding the entire time.”

“Yeah, if she wanted to go to the supply closet with anyone, it’d be me.” I’m not sure if I’m more surprised by Billy’s comment or the way he says it. He’s much more evidently joking than Stu. The look he gives me after makes that clear.

But there’s still something pointed about the way he said it. Pointed in a way that’s not meant for me. It’s another thing between him and Stu. I know I should make some kind of equally teasing comment just to keep everything normal, but I can’t help but sneak a glance at Stu. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something distinct about the turn of his head. More pressure is added to my thigh. Okay--that’s starting to become uncomfortable.

“Alright,” I finally decide on, forcing a partial laugh into my voice, “We are dangerously close to either a bunch of threesome jokes or another one of those play fights over me.” I grab Stu’s hand by the wrist, moving it off my thigh before relaxing my legs. “And I do not have the energy for either.”

Stu turns his hand over in order to press our palms together. I let him link our fingers. “You brought up threesomes pretty quickly.”

My mouth falls open. “What?”

“Fantasy or--”

“Don’t even finish that sentence, Stuart.”

He holds up his free hand in defense, but he doesn’t have a chance to make some kind of comment.

“Oh my god!” I’d know that panicked gasp anywhere. It’s been the same my entire life. One of my earliest memories includes that exact same shout, a bloody knee, and a tricycle that let me fall off the side walk and onto the (thankfully empty) road.

Mom! “Okay, i know--”

“Don’t you dare try to calm me down!” She reaches me in a flurry of motion that’s so her I can’t help but feel comforted. Stu steps out of the way after a second and my mom closes the distance between us, her fingers gripping the bed’s railing. “Oh my god, a concussion? You could be one of those professional football players--don’t they all have to retire early?”

She presses the back of her palm to my forehead like I might have some kind of fever. I actually wouldn’t be surprised if she demanded the doctors perform more tests on me because something about me didn’t feel right. “Mom, be serious. Since when do you know anything about football?”

Ignoring my response, she moves to cup my cheek. “I am so sorry it took me so long to get here. We were in the theatre when they first called and our cell phones were completely off. Never again.”

There’s so much emotion in her eyes I find myself feeling a lot less calm about everything. “It’s fine, how could you have known?” She’s still staring at me with so much maternal concern. Being so directly motherly is rare in our dynamic. If anything, I’ve spent just as much of my life parenting her as she has raising me. “I slept for most of the time, and when I woke up I had good company.”

At that, my mom looks at Stu, analyzing his appearance. I’m ready to squirm for him. She then shifts her gaze to Billy and I bite my tongue to resist making some kind of joke.

Her lips part and I fight the urge to interject, but then all she says is, “Thank you. I-I couldn’t think of anyone else I could call so late that knew her.”

Billy’s expression is blank, but his silence lets me know that he’s as surprised as me. “No problem,” he finally settles on, “Wouldn’t have wanted her here all alone.”

My mom nods once. She then looks over at Stu, “We haven’t met. I’m Gloria, Y/n’s mom.”

I have spent my entire life dealing with reactions to people finding out my mom is my mom. I love her to death, but I don’t always love the way guys my age react. She’s pretty, I can’t be mad about that, but she’s also young and cool and I’ve had guy friends be super weird about it in the past. And she’s wearing a date night outfit. A dress that’s just a little too short that I’m pretty sure she stole out of my closet.

And I know Stu. I know that he rarely filters through his thoughts before speaking. “I’m Stu,” he says normally, “I was over at Billy’s when you called.”

My mom nods, processing the information before turning her attention back to me. I draw my eyebrows together, giving Stu a look. “Did they run tests on you?”

“Yeah.”

Answering was pointless, she’s already turning towards the hall. My mom waves down some poor, unsuspecting nurse. “You--I’m her mother,” she points back to me, “I want-I want her chart read to me, and I want every single possible test you could run done.” The doctor blinks. “If it’s something that could have been harmed, I want it checked out, I don’t care how unlikely--”

“Ma’am,” the nurse finally says, “I can personally assure that your daughter received excellent care. I worked with her myself and her vitals have been regularly checked. I understand that this is an emotional time, but--”

“If you tell me to calm down, I will sue this entire damn hospital and then find a way to personally sue you.” She takes a breath to prepare for her upcoming war path. “So go get a doctor. Now.”

The nurse’s tired eyes widen before he scurries off. “Mom!” She turns to me, giving me a look that’s barely apologetic. “Relax a little, okay? They ran like a thousand tests on me already. They even said that if you approved, I could leave tonight.”

“No way,” she gasps the words like the thought alone offended her. An instinctual, embarrassing whine escapes me. “Sorry, kid, complain all you want but you’re overnighting it.”

Even though Billy and Stu are literally right here, I pout. “That’s so unfair! When you had complications after getting your appendix out, you signed yourself out even though everyone thought it was a bad idea.”

“Totally different situations and you know it.” I glare at her. “Look, I know I’ve made a point of not doing this too often, but I’m pulling the mom card.” She ignores my frown, “Wells is already making calls and seeing what he can do--and do not roll your eyes, he is not some ‘monster that’s trying to ruin your life’.”

“I only called him that once,” I mumble petulantly. “And you’re in my dress.” It’s a stupid thing to point out, but she’s being completely unreasonable.

“You left home this morning in my skirt.” Ugh, why does she always have to have some kind of point? “I’m going to tell Wells that we’re staying.”

Leaving no room for argument, my mom turns on her heels and leaves the room. Once it’s just the three of us again, an unfamiliar shyness rises up my chest. I know feeling awkward is such a small thing compared to everything else, but Billy and Stu are definitely thinking and analyzing that entire interaction. Their silence is starting to unease me.

“Okay guys,” I say, eyes focused on the hands in my lap, “Let it out. I know you’ve got some kinda rea—“

“Your mom is hot!” These kinds of reactions aren’t unfamiliar to me, but from Stu, it kind of bugs me more than I thought it would. I don’t know why--I mean, he’s the exact kind of person to react like that. “I totally see where you get it from, babe. Amazing genes.”

My eyes widen, “Stu, I get your sense of humor, but my mom doesn’t.” I drop my voice as I whisper, “Cool it with the nicknames as long as she’s in the same building.”

“So now you’re embarrassed of me? I’m not good enough to bring home to mom?”

I might kill him. “I’m serious--try anything and I. Will. End. You.”

“You threatening me is really getting me going.”

Rolling my eyes, I don’t even bother replying to that comment. I then turn towards Billy, who seems a little too amused by all of this. “I feel a little better about you, but same rules apply.”

Stu gives me a particularly hurt look. “Him you trust?”

“He’s met her before!”

With a sigh, I sink further into the hospital bed. They’re both being quiet. Stu made a comment about my mom, but I honestly expected more. I was mentally preparing myself for jokes about me being a mama’s girl or a little kid. Stu’s expression is something I don’t understand and Billy isn’t looking at me. He’s staring ahead, face stoic. He’s somewhere else now.

“Billy?” My voice is soft, hesitant.

He blinks, the corner of his mouth pulling downwards as his head turns. “Yeah?” His voice reveals nothing.

I didn’t think ahead enough to have a question to ask him. He doesn’t seem like the type to want anyone noting his feelings. “You okay?” I regret my awkward phrasing instantly. “You um...for a second looked kinda,” my noise wrinkles as I struggle to think of the right word that won’t offend him, “Wistful almost?”

He side eyes me and I can’t even blame him. “I look wistful?”

Billy nearly smiles at the look on my face. That alone makes my embarrassment worth it. “I said looked--past tense.”

“Mhm,” he hums, eyes a little darker than before. I don’t break his stare until the sound of footsteps entering the room becomes impossible to ignore. A nurse has entered the room, likely due to my mother’s insistence. “It looks like you’re going to be busy, Stu and I should go.”

Oh. I don’t know why that makes my heart sink the way it does. It’s logical--my mom’s here now and she’s going to force them to scan me with every single machine in this hospital. Maybe it’s because they calmed me down or maybe it’s because they’re the first familiar faces I saw, but the thought of them leaving bothers me.

Stu squeezes my shoulder, his fingers lingering as he pulls away. “Yeah, babe, you don’t need us around while they poke and prod you.”

The description of what I’m going to be doing makes me frown. They’re approaching the doorway. “Guys,” my voice surprises me. They both turn to look at me, and once again, I don’t know what I want to say. Do I want to ask them to stay? There’s no way that’s normal. My mom’s here--it wouldn’t work out anyways. “Thank you,” I mumble, “Thanks for coming and staying with me and making sure I didn’t have a complete meltdown. I appreciate it.”

Billy’s looking at me in that way that makes me want to shrink into myself. Not that there’s anything particularly wrong or uncomfortable about the way he’s staring, it just feels so sharp and analytical. “Anytime, angel.”

“Yeah, couldn’t leave you here all alone,” Stu says, “Call me when you get out, okay?”

I nod, smiling a bit. “Duh--don’t think I’m going to forget about the movie promise you made me, and you can’t back out because hospital bed promises are like way more serious than regular promises.”

Billy throws me a look I can only think to describe as ‘bitchy’ and Stu rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” Stu mumbles, “Take advantage.”

They manage to leave me grinning as they disappear out of the doorway. I don’t know what it is about them, but they always manage to make me feel...safe, I guess. I can’t remember the last time anyone made me feel like that.

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