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mossmurdock · 1 month

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Toxic gfs please 😖

TOXIC GIRLFRIENDSSSSSS

anon, my love, my world, how could i see this without immediately thinking about mei mei??

i was literally thinking about this ask all day, so a lot crossed my mind!! but what i really ended up latching onto was a childhood friends sort of au (v canon divergent)

obvs, i feel like having any sort of relationship with mei mei that lasts this long is going to turn sort of twisty and complicated. she's so honest about her greed, and i feel there's def an always present insecurity surrounding the reader concerning their value to her. not a pressing one, but one that's simply there. addressed so rarely that it's become dust covered and logical.

the tests start off small, like her asking you to do certain tasks for her. little acts of service like grabbing her snacks for lunch, or doing her work, or offering your gym clothes when she forgets her own. the people around you call you a pushover and a doormat. but things have always been this way, and the benefits are so easily identifiable.

she's kind to you. and despite what everyone else says, you're aware that once you turn your back that it's hypocrisy that fuels their attitudes, because it's your shoulder bumping against mei mei's when the two of you leave the room.

you're turned golden with the connection. she's always had midas on her side, tucked into her lashes, her teeth, her nails, any part of her that she can drag along your skin.

it's a hot summers day when she brings you out to an abandoned train track. she's brought you to the edge of a thicket. the old rusting tracks look like they're the ageing borders to another world.

something in your stomach croaks as mei mei playfully balances along the steel rail. your feet remain carefully planted into the loose gravel. the sound of hollow metal and rock clashing against each other is a pleasant one. despite your subconscious unease, you briefly close your eyes and take in the warm air around you as she reaches out to grab onto your hand whenever she misplaces her balance.

she brought you out here to celebrate getting through another year together. your ears had burned at her words: together. so much implication behind such a simple word. you found your mind running as she brought you out without any other explanation. it wouldn't matter as long as you were together. as long as you were there whenever she threatened to tip over while treading along the thin metal beneath her with her arms splayed out like an elegant bird's.

the thicket walks along with you both, never ending in its length. just as mei mei hops off the rails and stops walking, you wonder just how she stumbled upon this place.

"we're here." she circles you languidly as your steps also slow.

"here?" you question dryly as she stands behind you.

you're facing the thicket head on now, eyes sucked into a whirlpool of sameness and obscurity. the endless and thick lanes of bark all mold into something foreign. the birds have ceased to chirp. something rancid seems to waft out of its clearing, like a gaping mouth that's feasted and starved.

"yes," mei mei whispers. her mouth is dangerously close to your ear.

she rests her head on your shoulder lightly, staring up at you with a look you've seen a thousand times before.

your head rests against hers, leaning into the touch.

"what is it?" you ask. eager, and perfectly pliant.

she chuckles softly, raising her hands to block your vision. they act as a blindfold, though her palms seem softer than any fabric.

"a surprise," she answers cheekily.

she makes contact with your skin, completely darkening your vision. your senses frenzy as one is dampened. for a moment, all you're able to register is mei mei's body against yours.

there's the faint chance of her perfection melding into whatever it is you've made of yourself.

the chance is however eradicated by the sudden rise of a rank smell. it oppresses the other scents around you so strongly that the feeling of it sliding down your throat has you choking on your own breath and spit.

with the loss of your sight, the rot in the air grows heavy with every passing second, stalking its blind prey.

your expression twists beneath mei mei's palms and she seems to feel the shift of every muscle in your skin. her fingers separate from themselves slowly, allowing light to creep into your vision through her command and nothing else.

what hobbles across the train tracks turns the spit in your mouth rancid.

what you can only identify as a discoloured mound of flesh and teeth writhes between the thick trunks of the thicket ahead of you. its skin gleams with bright and volcanic cysts, oozing the smell of rotten and overly ripened fruit.

"mei—"

"shh," she hushes. her lips are so close that they're able to graze your ears now, her breath fanning across your face. she smells sweet, like lollipops.

"just look," she demands. her voice progressively becoming shrouded by the caws of birds

her hands have hardened around your skin and if you weren't so frozen by fear you would recognize the testing and prodding of her fingertips. they try to spot any flaking, any fools gold feathered across you.

when she finds nothing, when your feet remain planted into the ground and you remain in her clutches, when you mold and gouge against her instead of crumbling, mei mei finds herself smiling.

she turns your body towards her just as crows manically dive into the monster and begin to merge each other into a pool of unidentifiable gore.

you've gone weak in the knees, but she catches you, still grasping you by your soft cheeks. the fear in your eyes glints against the excitement of hers as her thumbs brush the sweat and tears off your face.

there's a sort of ownership in her hold that's never felt safer to you before now.

#this was really helpful to explore her character a bit more!! if anyone thinks differently about the way im interpreting her so far pls !!!!#CONVO WITH MEEEEE i love getting different povs #esp since i havent written much for her :))#reader constantly having to prove themselves to her...wanting to serve her as well as possible #what i think separates reader's devotion to mei mei from others (like ui's for example) is that as they both mature mei mei recognizes that #it might not only belong to her. like i see reader's loyalty here as so very vast based on how their relationship with mei mei formed them #like they don't know how else to live;;so when they meet other people they naturally fall into this sort of relationship all the time #i think she'd fight for that exclusivity ?? based on your history #she molded you into what you are. why would it belong to anyone else??#also she'd sorta be in denial about how codependent the relationship actually is #AGH IDK THIS IS VERY PRONE TO CHANGING BECAUSE IM STILL GETTING TO UNDERSTAND HER CHARACTER A BIT MORE #take what i say here with a grain of salt #thank u so much for the ask!#i hope u enjoy this!!! sorry i got so carried away LMAO #moss answers #moss writes

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stillness-in-green · 2 years

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Sorry, but if Tenko was the "lump of lead" that causes Shigaraki's anger, Tenko would've been the first thing absorbed by AFO!Vestige. It was already confirmed that it parasites on Shigaraki's anger and hatred. It makes him stronger. If Tenko is the only part of him that isn't completely merged with AFO!Shigaraki, it's because it's everything that isn't hate. The hands surrounding Tenko are supressing him (because Shigaraki was supressing his inner child), and even more appeared once AFO noticed Tenko's presence.

"<...> and here we find Tenko, still covered in those grasping, clutching hands even after Tomura cast off all but one of them months ago." Hm, it's almost as if Shigaraki keeping one hand is the main sign that his anger and trauma didn't really go away. "His anger predated AFO, after all; it was forged in his childhood home and on that long walk where no one helped him." Tenko hated the way his father treated him and the way his family didn't do anything to stop them, yes, but he didn't really hate them. His issue with his family never was as much about his dad and how the rest of the family didn't protect him as about not being able to have closure or grieve them properly. For example, the fact that his family was going to change and Kotarou was planning to go and apologise to his kids, but Tenko never found out about that, since they all were robbed of the chance to reconcile by their abrupt death. AFO giving Tenko their hands wasn't meant to preserve his hatred of his family, it was a reminder to make him unable to properly move on from that day and hate himself. His quirk was supressed by the guilt he felt for killing them. The only reason he "awakened" in MVA was because he recontextualised the events of that day to fit the ideas AFO put in his head, and shifted the blame for their deaths from having Decay onto being born in the first place. Idk in which world deciding that "Oh yeah, actually my family dying wasn't a tragedy because they were always going to die since destroying it the only thing I was born for" can be seen as Shigaraki actually letting go of his anger surrounding what happened to his family.

I normally just delete asks that strike me as being in bad faith or based on willful misreadings of my posts, but this is just enough on the genuine side despite a few instances of passive-aggressive language that I’ll go ahead and bite. The passive-aggressive language does mean that this is going to be a bit brisk in places, however.

So, first things first, I’d like to note that I don’t think Tenko is the lump of lead. In the post where I mentioned it, I said it would be “an entirely delightful twist,” which I hope implies that I think it is an unlikely outcome, one most people wouldn’t predict, and so on. But I don’t think it’s unlikely because it’s incompatible with the text as we have it so far; I'm just skeptical that the current state of Hori’s endgame writing can support an idea that challenging.

For the purposes of canon, I think the inner Tenko is exactly what you’re saying he is: a representation of Tomura’s fragments of inner goodness and innocence that AFO couldn’t completely stamp out, the shred of him remaining that still wants to be saved.

I just think that’s easy, boring, and I’d be happy if the manga could pull something unexpected by complicating what currently looks like a literalization of the easiest moral choice in the world—helping a lost and hurting child. I’m so incredibly tired of Deku’s simplistic moral blinders that only allow him to acknowledge pain if it’s shaking him by the collar and shouting itself in his face. He is the main character of the manga and yet he has repeatedly shown that he has little to no imagination when it comes to adult villains and their motivations. I desperately want him to have to confront the fact that angry people deserve to be saved too. Especially when that anger stems from the failures of the system Deku himself has promised to restore!

Tidily partitioning off all of Shigaraki Tomura’s rage to make it nothing more than an expression of AFO’s grooming frees Deku from having to face the wrongs his own society is perpetuating on Shigaraki and everyone he represents. I’m not for it, fam.

That all said, I’d also like to make some counterpoints to the issues you raised with the theory. Again, I don’t think the canon is going to play out this way, but I like the theory anyway and think it can fit into the text as we have it, so call this playing devil’s advocate.

Hit the jump.

If Tenko was the "lump of lead" that causes Shigaraki's anger, Tenko would've been the first thing absorbed by AFO!Vestige.

In Chapter 222, Shigaraki describes the lump of lead in his heart as “providing an endless source of rage.” He further says the weight in his heart will never go away. That’s very absolutist language! Endless. Never. Vision!Tenko could be the metaphorical heart of Tomura’s rage and still not have been consumed because he’s inconsumable; he’s limitless. Hypothetically speaking, the vestige of All For One (let’s call him VFO) might not have initially realized Inner Tenko existed because he wasn’t expecting that inexhaustible fury to have gone and personified itself!

The hands surrounding Tenko are supressing him (because Shigaraki was supressing his inner child), and even more appeared once AFO noticed Tenko's presence.

Two problems here. First, the hands don’t represent the suppression of Shigaraki’s inner child, at least not as far as Shigaraki knows, and it’s his psychology we’re dealing with here. What AFO told Tenko about the hands—both his family’s and those of the thugs—was that he should use them to preserve the emotions associated with their deaths. And in the case of both the thugs and Shigaraki’s father—by far the most significant of the hands for most of the story—the principal emotion in question is frustrated rage.

I also don’t particularly think that Shigaraki is suppressing his inner child anymore, at least when he’s in his own mind. Look at the mindscape scene in 270. There, he fluidly shifts between his adult self, black-haired Tenko (with the eye scar he gave himself from scratching but without the lip scar from Kotarou/the gardening tool), and the boy with graying hair from the streets—he’s recognized and amalgamated all those different selves; he even tells Nao and Hana that it’s fine, that he’s okay. He kills Kotarou again with a smile, fully in control and aware, even in the body of his five-year-old self.

Secondly, regarding the contention that more hands appeared once AFO noticed Tenko’s presence, that’s just patently false. No, there aren’t any hands on the Tenko that Deku describes feeling when he and Shigaraki clashed at Jakku, but that’s because that Tenko is just a flashback to Tenko crying right before Decay activates, and only Deku’s description of his impression, at that. But once the audience starts seeing Inner Tenko directly, rather than via Deku, the hands are already there.

On the left is Inner Tenko at the end of the scene with the “death” of New Order, well before VFO had picked up on his presence; on the right is the scene after Tenko’s outburst to Mirio. In fact, there are more hands in the scene from before Tenko is discovered (though the disparity is not so stark that I get the impression Horikoshi meant for us to go in and count)!

Looping back to 270, there are a lot of hands in Shigaraki’s vision there, but they’re all ambient, just kind of floating around, not grabbing at him until the memory of Kotarou appears. Shigaraki destroys that one, and is again hand-free until he goes to approach VFO. His family appear again and Shigaraki rejects them, destroying all of them and telling them not to reject who he is. While he retains control, Shigaraki is able to push the hands aside, just as he discarded them in Deika. It’s only the Inner Tenko that surfaces after Shigaraki loses control that sits surrounded in and clung to by those hands, never making an attempt to push them away—hands the explicit purpose of which was to preserve an emotional state.

Tenko hated the way his father treated him and the way his family didn't do anything to stop them, yes, but he didn't really hate them. His issue with his family never was as much about his dad and how the rest of the family didn't protect him as about not being able to have closure or grieve them properly.

This one confuses me. I would buy this if you were saying that Tomura’s issue with his family is a lack of closure. Tomura went most of his life without knowing anything about his family other than, at best, tiny jumbled fragments that came to him in times of extreme physical stress, and Sensei’s claim that Tomura had killed them. He had no memories of them between the ages of five and twenty, so of course he was lacking closure! And of course he would have done better if he’d ever been able to process that horrible tragedy.

But you said Tenko’s issues, not Tomura’s, and I would contend that Tenko’s issues—and especially Inner Child Tenko’s issues—are all about the way his family treated him, and about his long walk. That’s the moment he’s trapped in, the moment he can’t get away from, the moment he was never saved from. And his feelings about his family in that moment? He says it at the end of 235, “I hate everyone.”

And yeah, of course, that’s him as an upset child; obviously the words of a 5-year-old in emotional distress do not represent the totality of his feelings when he isn’t in a crisis situation. But it’s not like Tenko resenting his family is some kind of huge swerve or fluke; everything Tomura narrates through his flashbacks at the climax of Deika is about how he was rejected. We can see on the page a representation of his resentment growing, a tiny drop that spreads further every time someone in the family takes his father’s side over his, until by the end it doesn’t even take being rejected to trigger him: the final panel below, on the far right, accompanies his mother’s horror-stricken face before she even has time to react one way or the other to his distress.

We see this same visual effect in 234—before the full delve into the Shimura backstory even begins—slathered across the center of Tenko’s chest in the flashback where AFO is telling him to keep the hands close so that “these feelings” never fade. “These feelings,” i.e. the ones associated with the visual effect, i.e. his frustration at his family’s rejection.

It’s important to keep in mind, about the Deika flashbacks, who is narrating them, and from what point in time, for any given line. Tomura does a lot of projecting his current thoughts back onto those memories, so you have to be careful, in analyzing them, to distinguish between what Tenko thought and felt in the moment as opposed to what Tomura is reading onto himself in retrospect. In that sense, one moment that’s always stood out to me is the panel in 237 where Tenko is looking at the retreating back of the old woman who approached him but then shied away.

In assessing the nature of Tomura’s grievances, you have to consider what he already knew and thought before being picked up by All For One. And here, we see that even as a child, Tenko had a conception of what his itch was, what it meant, the causality he himself drew between him killing his family and his itch disappearing, only for it to return when people on the street rejected him. His frustration is not inherently AFO’s doing, nor is it adult Tomura being an unreliable narrator.

Inner Tenko—if we must insist on viewing him as some kind of separate-ish entity that VFO is trying to stamp out and Tomura is trying to suppress—does not have an issue with a lack of closure; he has an issue with no one helping him when he needs it. That’s the entire point of his reaction to New Order saying a hero will come to stop him; that’s the vision of him Deku sees at Jakku. Like, this isn’t even in the context of the Tenko as the lump of lead idea; this is what the canon is saying, that this boy, regardless of who he is, needs to be saved. Of course that’s what his issue is, not a lack of closure on his family’s deaths.

Now, that sounds perilously close to me saying that Inner Tenko is just a sad baby victim Deku needs to help, but see, that’s what I like about the lump of lead idea. If Inner Tenko is a representation of the boy AFO gave those hands to, an emotional state preserved in amber for 15+ years, well, we know what Tenko’s reaction was to “not being saved”—it’s the frustration and anger directed toward people seeing him in pain and then averting their eyes from him. Deku may see this as a crying boy who needs help, but Horikoshi has been pretty consistent in his writing of victims as getting stuck in their own heads, needing some kind of shock to get them to reconsider whatever negativity they’re laden down with: Early-roki Shouto, Kouta running off to blast resentful craters in rock walls, Eri’s state of emotional shutdown.

I don’t want Shigaraki to be a less nuanced victim than any of them, so Inner Tenko as the origin point of Shigaraki’s rage is an extension of that. He’s not some pure innocent, he’s angry—and he has a right to be! Deku saving only the innocent part of Shigaraki while not addressing his anger is basically reinforcing the message that only victims who look and act the right way “deserve” to be saved. And I really am not here for that.

AFO giving Tenko their hands wasn't meant to preserve his hatred of his family, it was a reminder to make him unable to properly move on from that day and hate himself.

Give or take the self-hatred, this contention doesn’t strike me as incompatible with what I said in the initial post? My comment was, “AFO gave Tenko his family hands to preserve the negative feelings from that day.” Saying that AFO’s intent was to render Shigaraki unable to move on from that day strikes me mostly as semantic quibbling. I agree that AFO’s intention was to stop Shigaraki from healing—he says so straight out in 234! But the method he chose to prevent Tenko from healing was to give him his family's hands and tell him to never forget the frustration he associates with them. The two ideas go, forgive the pun, hand in hand.

The only reason he "awakened" in MVA was because he recontextualised the events of that day to fit the ideas AFO put in his head, and shifted the blame for their deaths from having Decay onto being born in the first place.

??? He did nothing of the sort??

Where in this panel do you see Shigaraki blaming his family’s deaths on his very existence? Heck, when did Shigaraki ever even think his family’s deaths were due to an accident with Decay? What he grew up being told is that he murdered them, and he didn’t remember enough to say otherwise. When he does remember, he simply affirms the judgment. Heck, even in the brief, nebulous in-between period, after the deaths but before AFO found him, he still believed, “I killed my family,” not, “I had an accident with my quirk.”

The reader can certainly see that he had a horrible accident with his quirk, and we can see the way he rationalizes that accident as intentional, but Tomura himself didn’t “recontextualize” anything, because he never believed it was an accident from the start.

As to it being because he exists at all, let me finish up with this:

Idk in which world deciding that "Oh yeah, actually my family dying wasn't a tragedy because they were always going to die since destroying it the only thing I was born for" can be seen as Shigaraki actually letting go of his anger surrounding what happened to his family.

Again, this is a vast mischaracterization of what Shigaraki actually says. He embraced agency in killing his father—“I wanted to kill him so I did.” That is not remotely the same thing as Shigaraki believing this fateful inevitability you’re insisting on.

I assume you’re probably thinking of something like this panel instead:

(This comes before the flashback, but we can assume it’s still in the context of the flashback, as Shigaraki’s already talking about how he’s remembered everything.)

I ran the raw of this by Translator Sis just to get a grasp on what all the nuances are here, and one of the things that the English phrasing here elides is a distinction between all the speaker can do as contrasted with all the speaker does. A more accurate phrasing would be, “All I do is destroy.” This doesn’t imply that Shigaraki feels he’s incapable of doing anything else, but rather that he is not actively choosing to do anything else. Translator Sis suggests that there’s a sense of the elemental here, of a natural disaster doing what it does because that is what it is, not because there’s some question of whether it’s capable of doing anything else.

Is Shigaraki talking about himself like a natural disaster dehumanizing? Sure! Absolutely. But you seem to be presenting it as some kind of “gotcha” for the whole lump of lead concept, as if Shigaraki not sincerely letting go of his anger disproves the idea, and I’m not sure why you think that? Of course Shigaraki hasn’t completely let go of his anger—the hands are the representation of that, and the fact that he keeps the one recovered in Deika and goes back to wearing it (albeit somewhat intermittently) speaks volumes. And of course his decision that lashing out in a moment of rage and pain made him a willful murderer at the age of five is flawed!

But like... People are not perfect logic machines. Their reasoning can be flawed, skewed by a thousand different motivations, and they’re not going to inherently detect that about themselves like someone ran a grammar/spellcheck on their psyche! People can and do tell themselves all sorts of things in trying to intellectualize and make peace with traumatic, senseless events, even if a therapist would look at those rationalizations and go, “Oh, no.”

Shigaraki’s self-actualization at Deika can be foundationally flawed and still reflect meaningfully on his mental state. He can tell himself he’s accepted his family’s deaths, as in 237; he can look back with an adult perspective and claim that he’s over it, as in 270. That doesn’t mean he’s right.

When I say that he cast off the hands AFO gave him as a child and the anger associated with them, what I mean is that Shigaraki believed he’d come to terms with his past. It doesn’t mean I agree with him. Still, you can see via his manifesto in Chapter 281 that he’s resigned himself to being rejected, and has made the decision that, if the society heroes built will do nothing but reject him (and others like him), then he will reject that society in turn—violently.

Not because there’s nothing else he can do—because there’s nothing else he will do.

Resignation can, after all, look an awful lot like serenity from the outside.

In summary, please don't assume that just because I think Tenko had negative emotions of his own accord, ones that AFO did not personally carve into him, I therefore believe he is a 100% rational actor and a reliable narrator of his own tragedy. I do not. I just don’t think it serves the story to sterilize and damsel its longest-running antagonist because, whoops, the author can’t come up with a way for the main character to meaningfully overcome the conflict he presents otherwise.

#bnha #shigaraki tomura #shimura tenko #lump of lead theory #deku semi critical #that last injunction goes to everyone who's ever gotten mad at me for acknowledging that villains have real character flaws #as if i think that makes them less worth saving #i support saving a character named DICTATOR guys #i literally cannot be made to shut up about Hero Society's crimes against humanity even when they only affect villains no one cares about #shigaraki's justified anger and dabi's mild heteromorphobia are kiddie fare #stillness has salt #salt in the tags #stillness answers #my writing

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marciliedonato · 1 year

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY FELLOW BEAUTIFUL ‘99 BABY I HOPE YOUR DAY IS PERFECT ❤️❤️❤️

OH HI ANGEL !! UR....AN ANGEL THANK U MWAH it's definitely been real lol mostly good vibes but it feels like it went by too fast lmao how is it 10pm already??😮‍💨😭 one year closer to my milf era ig ✌🏻

#how i wish the sun didn't go down at 5pm !!! the day feels too short rip #and now i'm going bonkers bc i have to send an email today asking abt a raincheck class #bc there was a MASSIVE mess/disorganization schtick and i missed it and it was a LAB class & attendance is 100 o_O #and as soon as we get back from winter vacation it's lab test time basically so i have to somehow get that class in #this class wrecks my brain fr i only just started recovering from that stupid friday test .. WAH #everything was pretty chill my dog brought the silly wacky vibes but my brother was being weird all day bc he's #in his embarassed of everything era and it made shit vvvv weird but that's literally it #i think i'm gonna go watch chucky after this LMAO *treat yo'self*#also the salted caramel liquor FUCKED. v expensive but v tasty #rickyolsen #moots tag #can i shut up in the tags for a moment? the answer is still no #anna answers

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keets-writing-corner · 4 months

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Thinking a LOT about Lucifer in the latest Hazbin episode. Idk what I was expecting but not this??

As I was watching my immediate thought was just "huh... Lucifer is kinda of weird..." but as the episode went on I realized the issue

the dude is off the chain depressed, like he says it as a joke but holy cow it is SO BAD

He's manically just creating rubber ducks cuz his daughter really like it that one time but it's empty, it's never good enough but he keeps doing it, maybe cuz he doesn't know how to pass the time otherwise.

like I get the feeling he HAS better things he SHOULD be doing than making rubber duck after rubber duck. At first I was like, "Bruh why isn't the king of hell doing anything?" aaaaand then it became clear...

The dude is disassociating so bad he can barely hold a conversation let alone remember information. He clearly WANTS to, he wants to be involved with his daughter so bad, he wants to care about the things she's doing so bad, but his depression keeps interfering. It's like he can only hear every other word and he grasps onto the ones he does hear semi-out of context. Like you can see every time he catches something that he hadn't before and he just "well shit I didn't catch that part"

and that's why he reacts so weird when people talk to him. He is struggling so bad to engage with the conversation he's only getting 50% of it

does that look like the face of a man who knows what the hell the conversation is even about??? he is STRUGGLING

like Charlie spent so long telling him about the hotel, and he STILL didn't understand what she wanted. Yeah it comes off as ditzy but literally I've been in that position where your brain just "nope, not doing this right now" and nerfs your conversation comprehension. So as someone who's BEEN in that position, to me it feels exactly like what he's dealing with. He's sorta engaged with the conversation, but only as much as his brain will allow

For example, when I'm dealing with this, this is what someone talking to me feels like this where the crossed out parts are what I missed and bold is what I catch, "Hey! You know I was thinking for dinner we could either make some chicken with rice? But if you don't feel like cooking, pasta is super easy and you love that right? What do you want to do?" you can kinda get that someone is trying to talk to you about dinner, and towards the end you get the impression that they asked something that needs your input so you can decently put 2 and 2 together and try and pass off, but crucial bits were left out, I would have no idea that either chicken or pasta is in the conversation only having heard "rice". When someone is just talking at me, I can decently pass off as being engaged but the second I'm required to participate in the conversation I'm screwed. Seem familiar? At which point I have 2 options, try to give a bullshit answer, or admit that I missed what they were saying and ask them to repeat

Lucifer, unfortunately, is trying so damn hard to hide that he's dealing with like 24/7 dissociation, so he can't admit that he's missing entire chunks of the conversation, hence his really weird replies. He does eventually get the full picture and then he and Charlie start having the real conversation

Also, the Alastor/Lucifer rivalry was hilarious but also really indicative of more of what Lucifer is dealing with

Alastor is, unfortunately, really good at picking up people's insecurities, and thanks to Charlie's description earlier and watching Lucifer clearly trying to overcompensate, he immediately picks up on the fact that Lucifer KNOWS he struggles to be a good dad (we know cuz it's cuz of the depression, hard to be engaged when your brain keeps turning off) and decides to rub salt in the wound by pretending he's been acting as a surrogate father to Charlie. Now why Alastor decided to pick a fight with the king of hell is beyond me, I do not understand Alastor (and I LIKE IT) (maybe it's cuz Alastor thinks he's hot shit and was expecting Lucifer to at least have heard of him but Lucifer just treats him like a nobody? who knows)(why would Lucifer listen to radio anyways when he can't even pay attention to a conversation it'd just be white noise)

But yeah I just was expecting someone who oozed either charisma or presence and instead I got a depressed dad who's dissociating so bad he can barely function and be present in his life. The only thing it seems he CAN do is make rubber ducks cuz his daughter really liked it that one time

Idk Lucifer is tragic to me. Whatever the full details of what heavan did to him absolutely broke him and he can't deal with it. He's aware of it, and he doesn't know how to fix it, so he tries to over compensate and sorta makes an ass out of himself but no one says or does anything cuz this guy is supposed to be THE king of hell

Suddenly it's making a lot more sense why he just rolls over and lets heaven do what it wants and even told Charlie to go in his place the start of the show. He's not in any headspace to hold a basic conversation let alone negotiate! He didn't even know who Alastor was, he's been so out of touch

idk I like him, he seems sweet, I hope Charlie brings some light back into his life. He really needs to get out of that rubber duck room

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scoobysnakz · 7 months

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||* Maybe it's because he's safe and keeps you warm in times or need. Or maybe it's because he has those unruly salt and pepper hair and worry lines. Either way, you want him and maybe he wants you.

Maybe you don't know, or maybe you don't care. But he can smell you, the rush of dopamine when he turns his back and you can see his trapezius shining deliciously in his dimly lit room.

pt2

||* dilf!miguel, vaginal fingering, praise kink, eye contact, perv!miguel, college-age reader, lap sitting, slight hair pulling, one shot, Daddy issues, Dom/sub, smut written by a virgin, not proof read

You're young. And oblivious. So painfully oblivious.

At first, Miguel had just assumed it was a defence mechanism. Don’t give them a reaction and they’ll leave you alone. But the more you smile at the guys flirting with you, the more you lean into their non-platonic hugs, the more certain he becomes that you’re just unaware.

And- in all honesty- he's jealous. He doesn't want to feel the shame that weighs down on his shoulders each time your expression softens at his praise. He doesn't want to feel guilt for watching your hips sway as you walk away. He doesn't want to be like them but he craves the audacity to leer at you in broad daylight.

Maybe it's his morals or maybe it's because he's a coward.

Either way, you’re young and oblivious. And deep down, he loves it.

It's worse in HQ, these men are meant to have morals, good morals, and yet they treat you like a fuckdoll to the eyes.

Your perfect, untouched, college body just for them to perv at.

And Miguel hates it. He hates how he has to ignore your pretty eyes staring up at him as he talks, how he has to scold every Spiderman for being a pervert, and he hates how he's just as bad.

Maybe if you weren't so bubbly sweet he wouldn't have to spend each night palming himself to the thought of your perky body, every shower spurting his hot cum on the misty glass and every moment alone with his office with the doors locked and hand muffling his moans.

“Migs?” that nickname, that only you can use, that only you dared to think of.

He turns to face you, a lazy smile drawn across his painfully perfect lips. “Princessa?” And you immediately try to hide the blush that threatens to bloom on your cheeks.

You hold out your hands, a tray holding a ‘spidey spectacular’ on top. In reality, it's nothing spectacular- a beef burger with barbecue sauce, large fries and a medium drink.

“Got you some lunch,” you grin.

He hops down from his podium, cringing at how your body tenses at the loud thud. “Why?” his tone is harsh, cold, forced.

He knows why. You care, you check in on him when no one else does, you randomly ask him if he's drinking more water than coffee that day, if he actually went to sleep the night previous- unknowing to the thoughts of you that kept him up.

“You haven't eaten today,” you stick your arms out, a playful smile on your face and he doesn't ask how you know. You just do, “and you can't capture those nettlesome anomalies on an empty stomach!”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Nettlesome?”

You laugh, a soft one that makes his core ache with need. “My literature professor has permanently engrained fancy words into my brain.” your shocking professor. Probably some perv who keeps you behind to help you with your tests and oggles at your perfectly shaped ass when you bend over to pick up a pen.

And a painful reminder that as mature as you may be, you’re still young. 18 years too young.

He takes the burger from the tray, gaze lingering on the second as he tries to decide if it's for him or not.

“I’m eating with you,” you answer his question without him asking.

“No, princessa.”

You huff at him, soft, rounded lips falling into a pout. It's a habit you've made- bringing him lunch and sitting with him to make sure he's actually eating the food you've bought no matter how hard he protests.

“Fine. I won't eat with you, I'll just sit and stare and probably piss you off,” you smile smugly at him.

“Whatever,” he grumbles, turning away from you and throwing the paper from the burger in the bin.

You hum in response, not even caring for his grouchy attitude because it doesn't bother you. Because you're young, and you don't understand how men work yet.

He pulls himself up to his podium, glowing red webs dangling from the large metal disk where you soon follow.

Maybe you don't know, or maybe you don't care. But he can smell you, the rush of dopamine when he turns his back and you can see his trapezius shining deliciously in his dimly lit room.

You pull yourself close to him, hand resting just between his thigh and yours. So soft and delicate and he wants to ruin the innocence within them. Wants to see your dainty fingers wrapped around his cock, wants to see how you use those digits inside of yourself while- hopefully- thinking of him.

“How’s school?” he feels like an awkward uncle at an even more awkward Christmas party. Is this what it's come to? Him having to ask about your college life because that's your main focus because you’re young… er.

A small scoff escapes you, and you immediately cover up with a cough.

“I’m not seven,” you tease, hand held out to shove him but you immediately withdraw it which makes him frown.

“You look it.” it's your turn to frown.

You blink up at him, wondering if he knows how you crave these sweet moments between the two of you. You hate how dependent you've become on him, how you can't get through the day without thinking of him and using his health as an excuse to come see him.

“You’re an ass,” you fold your arms across your chest, nose scrunching in feigned irritation.

Miguel clicks his tongue at you, head cocking to the side in disapproval. “Language, princessa.”

You mutter a feeble “sorry”, a forced waver to your voice that makes him chuckle lightly.

You turn your head to face him, his dark, almost curls illuminated by the neon orange of his numerous monitors. His eyes meet yours, deep maroon paralysing you in place, peeking fangs slowing your breathing, chiselled features pinking your cheeks.

And you smile. A sickly sweet, beautifully innocent smile. Any other person would look away, grow red with shame, and maybe say something embarrassing. But you? You just smile.

Because you're painfully naive.

“Really?” you turn your head to face him, neck craned back so he gets a perfect view of your soft skin. “Do I look seven?”

Of course, you don't look seven. You look twenty, which you are. But you're mature and not in a creepy way. No one else would think twice about seeing if he's okay, and no adult would have their panties organised by colour like you do either.

The sound of his chewing eventually fills the bleak room. You can see him looking straight ahead through your peripheral.

“No.”

“A man of few words,” you grin.

“A girl of far too many.”

You aren't a girl. You’re a woman. You don't spend time chasing boys, you enjoy literature, and you have your whole life planned out. Kids don't do the things you do. Kids don't want a life with a decent man, with him.

“School’s boring,” you cut through the silence, voice soft, quiet, shy.

Relief washes over him like the first rainfall in the Sahara. He swallows- quickly, and brings his attention back to you- not that it ever really left you.

“It shouldn't be, you're smart, princessa, and if your professors are doing their job you should be engaged with their subjects,” he hates that he sounds so parental and demanding when he speaks to you but it's like a default setting. He expects the best from you because he knows you can achieve it.

You scoff and this time you don't bother hiding it at all. “Thanks,” you mutter dryly, “I’ll keep being smart and then school will be more exciting.”

He grimaces at your dull tone. He's used to your sparkly side, the smiles and the giggles and now you're acting your age, all attitude and sarcasm.

“That’s not what I meant,” he groans, his voice harsher than before.

“What did you mean then, Miguel?” you press on.

“I meant that you're smart enough to entertain yourself, unlike other people.”

And in its own strange way, his ‘complisult’ makes you smile. He sees who you are, that you aren't some immature child.

It feels nice not being viewed as a child for once. A slow, steady warmth travels through you. He's being nice to you, not a rare occurrence but uncommon enough to mean something.

Slowly, you edge your hand closer to his, fingers gently nudging against his own. You pause for a moment, knowing you’re pushing it and waiting for his reaction but when he doesn't pull away you give his hand a squeeze.

“Thanks,” your gentle voice making his cock harden beneath his suit, “in its own way, that was sweet.”

And you grin at him again. Soft lips beaming up at his plain expression as he tries not to think about how badly he needs some relief.

Against his better judgment, he squeezes your hand back. And the soft, nervous, almost squeak that escapes you makes it all worthwhile.

“It’s true. When I went to your universe,” not to jack off while you shower, “I saw your study notes. You work hard, princessa, and it's good, admirable,” hot.

All your life you be craved words so sweet. Someone to tell you that all those years of dedication to being the best and coming second is too, better than good. Someone to tell you that when they saw your study notes they didn't see you as dumb you have to revise but studious enough to want the best.

You don't even think twice about him being in your universe, just putting it down to an anomaly or another perfectly innocent reason.

He can smell it again, that dopamine rush. You pull yourself closer to him, taunting him unknowingly and let your head rest on his shoulder.

You do this often, allow yourself to lean against him, intertwine your fingers with his, plant endearing kisses to his stubbly cheeks when he helps you out. And you do it so secretly that it's almost sexual but the innocence you perform these acts with makes it feel painfully platonic.

All he can do is ride out this moment of pure torment. Cock stiff and thighs burning.

Deep down he knows he shouldn't be like this, savouring your innocence that he can so easily capture on cameras he can use later. You're so pure, sacred almost, that it feels wrong to even have his arms wrapped around your waist.

“Migs?” that nickname that only you get to use because if he gets to call you princessa its only fair.

Your hand slips off of his and moves to rest on his thigh. “Migs?” you say a little louder this time. He hums dully.

“Princessa?”

Sometimes you wonder if he knows how wet his voice makes you. The low rumble that passes through his chest, the silky smooth movements of his lips, the slight tinge of an accent that makes your cunt flutter.

You let your thumb travel over the ridges of his fingers, smooth over the peaks of his knuckles.

His hand is so big compared to yours, something that the two of you haven't ignored.

He wonders how the rest of you feels, past the tight lycra of your suit as it covers your wrists, against the fresh cotton of his bedsheets, flush against his chest.

The dull humming of the monitors accompanied by your heavy breathing and the subtle whirring of the random machinery warms up the silence between the two of you.

You shift yourself to face him, pretty lips pursed and brow furrowed.

Maybe it's because he's so safe right now. Or maybe it's because you failed your paper and his praise is all you need. But he looks painfully handsome.

Broad shoulders rising and falling with every breath. Soft lips parted in hunger. The sea of deep sepias and carmines that is his eyes.

Miguel has always been there for you. Well, maybe not always, but often enough. Your roommates being assholes? You can sleep at HQ. Suit ripped? He’ll make you a new one.

And in this moment, you can't see past that. He may be older, grey strands peppering his umber locks and worry lines framing his features, but that doesn't matter.

So you lean up close to him, faces inches apart. Just to smell him, just to see him, just to be near him, just to feel him.

He flinches at first, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed. His gaze runs up and down your figure, trying to figure out what you're doing, your innocent expression leaving far too much up for interpretation.

For a moment the two of you just stare at each other, arousal burning white-hot in your core and bodies thrumming with desire.

A calloused hand moves to cup your cheek and pull you closer. Miguel lets out a low sigh, hot breath tickling your face and making your nose scrunch in a way that can only be described as perfect.

Your breathing slows and your heart hammers. He's so close, soft lips just within reach.

“Can I?” his voice is almost a croak, a desperate plea.

He can't tear his eyes away from your quivering lips. He wants to feel them against his own, taste you, have your mouth in his possession.

You don't get time to finish your feeble “please” before he's pressing his lips against yours.

It's soft at first, the two of you gradually warming to the sensation of each other. But when you let out a soft sigh something inside him switches. All morals and guilt go completely out the window and his senses are filled with you.

His tongue probes hungrily at your lips, seeking access to the warmth of your mouth and you happily agree. His hands slide down to your hips, fingertips pressing into the soft flesh crudely hidden beneath your suit.

“Need you,” you groan, hands gripping his chest with desperation. He silences you with another kiss, tongue immediately attacking yours, too impolite, too hard, too impatient to wait for your sanction.

He's blinded by lust, a desire that's been building up inside him for too long. His arm snakes to the small of your back, protruding talons catching on the material of your suit. He pulls you into his lap and you nearly gasp at the sensation of his erection brushing against your clothed cunt.

You lean back slightly so you can look at him, chest rising and falling with each pant. “Say something,” you pout, his mutism making your head swarm with confusion, “let me hear your voice.”

The neediness of your tone makes him smile, a boyish, cheeky one that makes your stomach flutter.

“What do you want me to say?” he questions, fingers tracing up and down the bridge of your spine.

“Just… talk me through it,” you pause, cunt fluttering and thighs tensing, “it’s my first time,” you admit quietly. Your cheeks flush with embarrassment. It's something you've never admitted, viewing virginity as a burden more than the blessing men do.

“Who said I'm gonna fuck you?”

Oh.

You purse your lips, your smile faltering and skin prickling with embarrassment as you fidget on his lap. His cock strains against his suit, hips threatening to buck up when you unintentionally grind against him.

You look down and a smirk forms on your face. You press the heel of your palm against his erection, eyes widening with arousal at the whine that escapes him. “This did.”

You swear that for a moment you can see a glint of red in his eyes, much darker, meaner, than his usual cool mahogany.

“Don't,” he grunts, hand gripping your wrist.

The excited grin on your face brings him back. He can't do this to you. He can't take your innocence, be the one to steal what makes you so pure. He's done things he's ashamed of, killed, lied, hated. He isn't deserving of the sweet bliss that’s you.

Your lips fall into a disappointed pout. Have you done something wrong? Maybe you’ve been too eager?

“I… I'm sorry?” you pose your apology as a question, unsure of what's actually going on. You’re inexperienced but this… this isn't normal.

“No, mierda, no, princesa,” and his hands back on your cheek, thumb tracing over the curve of your vermillion. “No digas lo siento.” your brow furrows in confusion but he doesn't elaborate.

He wants to ruin you, corrupt your pretty pussy with his hot cum and watch it seep out in think dribbles before he can stuff it back in with his fingers. But he can't.

That sweet innocence in your eyes, lashes fluttering with arousal from a simple kiss. He can't do this to you.

“Look at me,” he commands and on instinct, your eyes meet his.

“Good Girl,” he croons.

“I'm confused, Migs,” you push his hand off your cheek softly, head cocked to the side, “you’re confusing me.”

He brings a hand to your cunt and he cups it, the heel of his palm digging into your cunt. “Let me do this instead, hmm?” you nod in agreement, head too fuzzy with the strange mixture of arousal and bewilderment to even process the jolt of pleasure that shot down your spine.

The sound of ripping draws your attention down to your arousal-slick folds but he clicks his tongue. “Eyes on me, chica,” his tone is slightly harsher now but his eyes are still warm.

You don't know what he's doing. If he's coming or going. If he's teasing you or allowing this to go further.

“Mi-” he presses his index finger to your lips, not that he needed more than his intense gaze to silence you.

“You said this is your first time?” you nod again.

“No one else has touched you?” his fingers part the tear in your suit, your damp panties on show for him.

“No one.”

His thumb starts to slowly circle your cotton-clothed clit eliciting a soft gasp from you.

“Do you want me to touch you, princessa?”

Your fingers dig into the muscle of his thighs but he doesn't flinch. A sharp talon nips at your weeping bud and you nearly cry. It sends a jolt of pain fused with sickly sweet pleasure coursing through your veins. “Asked you a question didn't I?”

You nod your head again, not knowing how to answer.

“Use your words.”

Your cunt is dribbling its juices all down your thighs- and he can smell it. His mouth is practically drooling at the scent it your arousal. He's trying so hard not to rip your suit all the way and split you open with his cock. But you're gentle, soft, sweet, delicate. So he has to be as well.

Taking a shaky, deep breath, you nod your head again, “I want you to touch me, Miguel.”

“Muy bein, princessa,” his thumb slips under the waistband of your panties and comes to rest on your clit but he doesn't stimulate you. Just leaves it resting on the hardened nub.

You whine at the lack of friction, hips trying to grind against his hand but his free hand holds you down.

“Migs, please,” you know you sound pathetically needy but you don't care. The man you've been lusting after since he first recruited you has his hand in your pants.

“Then keep looking at me,” he instructs, “wanna see your pretty face. Can you do that for me?” he grins at the twitching in your cunt caused by his words. That's all the confirmation he needs.

His thumb begins its slow pattern around the hood of your clit while his other hand rests on your waist, keeping you planted firmly on his lap. And maybe so you can feel how big he is.

His hands are surprisingly gentle. You've seen him kill before, seen the plethora of blood he can draw from someone with one fell swoop. Yet he's always been so careful with you, right now being no exception. Maybe that's what’s drawn you to him, the idea of him viewing you as something so sacred that he can't bring himself to damage your fragile body.

The tedious speed he's using is purposefully slow. He wants to draw this out for as long as possible, keep you a squirming mess on his lap, your sweet nectar running down to his thighs. But you want more; you’re too shy to ask for it but you want it.

You press your lips to his again, tongue slipping into his mouth almost sloppily. He's taken aback at first by your sudden burst of confidence but he doesn't protest. The hand that was resting in your hip moves to the back of your head to press you deeper into the kiss.

You whine hungrily and he rewards you with a faster pace. Your thighs clench around him, not actually expecting your plan to work. Your eyes flutter for a moment but he grips your chin, forcing you to keep looking at him.

“Princessa, I'll stop,” his warning is heed enough.

Your mind’s a foggy blur of arousal and pure bliss. He keeps toying with your clit, slowing down when your gaze falters but speeding up and rewarding you if you've kept eye contact.

“Please, I'll be good, so good for you,” you mewl, craving his kind words of praise again.

“Will you? Will you let me see those pretty lips of yours smile so sweetly for me while I make you feel good?” you nod your head excessively, mumbled “yes I will”’s and “good for you”’s spilling from your lips.

The hot coil of pleasure tightens with each flick of his distal. More and more sweet moans spew from your loose hanging mouth which are just music to his ears. Your leaky hole clenches around nothingness but you're too shy to ask for more. Miguel’s thumb is good enough but what you really crave is that hard cock that's pushing up against your stomach.

Soft, sticky clicking sounds mellow in the warmth of the rooms atmosphere, arousal blending in smoothly along with the scent of your nearing climax. He can sense it, your hips stuttering and your nails digging into the meat of his chest. But he can't let you go just yet.

“Hold it for me,” its a command, not a request.

You bite your lower lip, eyes nearly watering as you try you hardest to hold back. Your poor cunt throne needily while it continues to pump hot juices all over his hand. “I-I don't know how,” you blubber, thighs trembling and hands twitching.

Your body runs white hot with pleasure while your mind teeters on the edge of climax.

“I know you can, be a good girl, princessa,” he pressed earnestly, two-toned lips falling into that signature smirk.

You let your head come to rest in the crook of his neck. He flinches at the warmth of your breath and grabs the back of your hair roughly. You whine at the sharp tug but don't protest further.

“Fuck did I tell you ‘bout looking away?” his voice is almost harsh but you don't care. Your whole body is tingling with so much euphoria, blood pumping hot with pleasure, that you don't even care about his talon catching on your clit.

You’re so close to cumming, to reaching that paradise he's dangling in front of you like a carrot on a stick. “Let me, I-i can't, Migs.”

He frowns.

Once you're done that's it. He has to let you go, push off his lap and keep you at arm's length. But he can't bring himself to do that, get rid of your warmth and tiny frame.

“Migs? Please, let me…” you cut yourself with a silent moan.

Your mouth falls slack, eyes widening for a moment before fluttering closed. Warmth washes over you, trickling down your spine like honey from a jar. And for a moment you think you've gone deaf because Miguel’s lips are moving but you can't figure out what he's saying.

Your arousal spills from your cunt and all the way down his hands in a warm, blanketing trinket of your pleasure.

He clicks his tongue in disappointment but lets you ride out your high with his thumb remaining on your pussy.

“Fuck,” you breathe, voice cracking in a way that only makes his cock harden.

“Mmmm, did my princessa enjoy herself?” you look up at him, eyes glazed over with lust.

Your orgasm took enough energy for you to be exhausted now. You can barely lift your head let alone reply to him. When you try to smile your eyes just roll back slightly, your lashes fluttering and your nose scrunching.

You’ve come before, plenty of times, but this feels different. This time it feels all warm and gooey like it's going to stick to you forever. Maybe it's because it's Miguel’s fingers instead of your own toying with your cunt or maybe it's because you got to hold onto him. Either way, you've just cum all over his hands and can't form a proper sentence now.

Miguel smiles down at you, revelling in your blissed-out expression. Knowing that he's drawn this pleasure from you makes his insides churn.

“Pretty Girl,” he coos, hand smoothing your spine, “so pretty for me, hmm? Cumming just from me playing with her pretty pussy.” as if to prove a point, he spreads your sticky folds open with his thumb two middle fingers, a soft gooey sound catching your attention.

“Wonder if your cunt is just as pretty?” be slides a harsh finger inside with a grunt, eliciting a sharp gasp from you, “want me to fuck your tight hole, princessa?”

And you nod. Too fucked out, too tired, too needy, too in love with him without either of you knowing it yet, to push him away.

#atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel x you #spider man 2099 #spiderman 2099 #fluff #miguel fluff #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut

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ro-is-struggling · 5 months

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Self care || Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky always seemed interested in your skin care routine, so when one day he arrives tired and drained from a mission, you take the opportunity to show him the importance and benefits of self-care.

Warnings: established relationship, brief mention to Bucky’s past trauma, a fuck ton of fluff, my little knowledge of skin care lol

English is not my first language

Word count: 2200

Notes: this was inspired by a dream I had. I thought it was cute and I couldn't get it out of my head, so I wrote this little thing. If it doesn’t make sense, blame my dumb dreams lol

It was one of the first times you slept over at Bucky's place that you discovered he didn't have a skin care routine. He would look at you cleansing your face from the bathroom door, watching you apply creams and serums with a mixture of admiration and confusion in his expression. And every time you picked up a new product, he would ask you what it was and what did it do.

It didn't really surprise you, most of the men you had dated tended to use a small number of personal hygiene products and usually the facial skin was only treated with soap and water. And if that was men your age, it was to be expected that Bucky and his over one hundred years of age were not aware of the benefits of skin care.You found his reactions kind of adorable. It wasn't every day that you caught Bucky acting with the naïve curiosity of a child, and you couldn't help but laugh as you answered his endless questions.

"Please tell me you at least wear sunscreen." You said and Bucky remained silent. "Oh my God, Bucky!" you complained, explaining to him how dangerous the sun was for his skin.

"After all I've been through, I don't think a little sun is going to kill me, doll." He laughed, coming up to you to hug you from behind. You wrapped your arms around his, smiling at him in the mirror as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

The bastard knew how cute he was —looking at you through the mirror with blue eyes full of love—, and he was using it to his advantage to keep you from scolding him. He was probably right, the super soldier serum surely protected him from skin cancer in the same way it protected him from hits and falls that would be fatal to the rest of humanity. But still, it wouldn't hurt him to take care of himself a little every now and then.

"You smell nice." Bucky praised you, inhaling the subtle floral scent the creams had left on your skin. He gave you a kiss on the cheek, his stubble tickling your sensitive face. You laughed and he knew he had won.

"Don't think you're getting out of this so easily." you warned, tilting your head to the side so you could kiss him. "Flattery will get you nowhere!"

From that day on you decided that you would put together a skincare routine for Bucky. Super Soldier serum or not, everyone's skin needed a little help from time to time. And besides, you believed it was something that could benefit Bucky in more ways than just one. It would teach him to take better care of himself and to value the precious 'me time'. And god knew he needed that. So you made a mental note to buy a couple of products for him the next time you went to restock some of your kit and stopped thinking about it for a while.

That was until one day Bucky came home tired from a mission. You didn't quite know what he had to do and he didn't want to tell you much about it either when you asked him. Not knowing tore you apart, but you respected his wishes and didn't press the issue, deciding to help him in a way that wasn't invasive. You started with running him a bath, filling the tub with warm water and using some of your bath salts and lotions to create a more relaxing environment. You insisted on taking care of him, although Bucky didn't put up much resistance, surrendering to the soothing power of your caresses on his hair. Your fingers gently massaged his scalp, coating it with shampoo to remove all the dirt before rinsing it and repeating the process with conditioner.

He still found such intimacy a bit strange. Even though he enjoyed it, he still wasn't completely used to being cared for with the affection you showed him. It had been so long since anyone had treated him with such love and care that he could hardly remember it. But he felt safe in your hands, happy to have you in his life. A light of hope at the end of the dark tunnel of agony that had been his life. That was what you were to him. His second chance to live, to love. So he relaxed under your touch and let your gentle caresses take all the tiredness and worries out of his system.

But your pampering didn't end when Bucky got out of the tub. After he changed into his pajamas and laid down on his side of the bed, you emerged from the bathroom with a small white bag in your hands. You rested it on the nightstand and began pulling out various products he recognized from your skin care routine, arranging them in a nice neat line.

"Doll... what are you doing?" Bucky asked, looking at the pink cat-ear headband you held in your hands. It was the one you always wore when you did your makeup or skin care routine, a tool you used to keep your hair out of your face while you worked. He always thought you looked adorable when you used it, but he didn't understand why you were directing it at him this time.

"Taking care of you." You replied as if it were obvious, "I want to show you the benefits of having a good skin care routine." Bucky hesitated for a moment, but eventually gave in to your soft smile and the sparkle of enthusiasm in your eyes. There was nothing he could say no to if you looked at him that way.

He gave you a slight nod and you took that as a signal to continue. You climbed onto the bed, settling onto his lap with one leg on either side of him, so you could face him and work more comfortably. Bucky put his hands on your hips instinctively, the cold metal of his fingers giving you goose bumps at the unexpected touch. But you didn't move them, you liked his hands there.

"First we have to make sure your hair is out of the way." You announced as you placed the headband on his head, making sure no hair was out of place or near his face. You couldn't help but let out a giggle as you admired Bucky wearing the accessory. The pink, furry cat ears looked so out of place it was ridiculous. The clear feminine energy of the headband clashed against the distinctive masculine look on his expression in a fun and charming way. It made him look adorable if you were honest, especially when he smiled at you. He could definitely pull it off.

"How do I look?" Bucky asked, batting his eyelashes in an exaggerated fashion.

"Adorable." You replied between giggles, before giving him a quick peck on the lips.

When you broke apart, you began your skin care routine, taking a piece of cotton and your favorite micellar water to cleanse Bucky's skin. He looked at you closely, taking advantage of the position you were in to admire your beauty up close while you concentrated on soaking the cotton ball in the liquid. You were the most beautiful woman in the world, he was sure, and not only that, you were kind and loving too. A wonderful person all around and he still didn't understand how he had managed to get you by his side, but he was happy about it.

"Why do you have to clean my face? I just showered." Bucky mumbled with his eyes closed, feeling your delicate fingers on his chin as you ran wet cotton across his face.

You let out a giggle. "Water is not enough! And regular soap is too harsh on the skin of our face, so you need to use a cleanser or cream that is meant for the face."

"I never heard about that." Bucky frowned, tilting his head slightly to the side in confusion.

"Because you're a guy and guys are used to using one product for everything hygiene related."

“That’s not true!” he tried to defend himself, although he didn't sound very convinced.

You decided to skip a few steps in the routine to keep things simple. The idea was not only to pamper Bucky and help him relax, but also show him that maintaining a skin care routine didn't have to be complicated and could bring him many benefits. So you went straight to the eye cream, taking some with your ring finger and carefully applying it to the bags under his eyes.

"Stay still! You're gonna make me poke your eye if you move like that!"

"It already feels like you're poking my eye!"

"Don't be so dramatic!" You laughed, men really were cry babies. "Just close your eyes and trust me." Bucky grumbled, pouting. You planted a quick kiss on his lips, and that seemed to please him because he kept his eyes closed and stopped moving. Carefully, you spread the eye cream over his dark circles, giving his skin time to absorb the product before proceeding with the last step.

"What is that?" Bucky asked you curiously as you reached for the last tub in the line of products.

"It's a night cream. You're supposed to use it at night after you wash your face to keep your skin moisturized."

"Isn't that what the other cream did?"

"No, silly! That was just for your under eye area, this helps hydrate the rest of your face. We need to give back all the good things we got rid off when we cleaned your skin of all the dirt and oils clogging your pores."

Bucky made an annoyed face, muttering about how complicated it all sounded. But the truth was, he was enjoying the extra attention you were giving him. He had you all to himself, the warmth of your body enveloping him in a comforting embrace as your fingers gently massaged his face. He couldn't think of a better definition of paradise than that. Just the two of you sharing an intimate moment, far from the horrors of the outside world. He could commit to a skin care routine if it involved at least a third of the pampering you were giving him at that moment.

"You don't need to use much," you continued your explanation, dipping one of your fingertips into the cream before bringing it up to Bucky's face. "Just a little bit here, here, here... and here." You painted a couple of white dots on his cheeks, forehead and chin, kissing the tip of his nose before applying a bit of cream to the area. It was such a cute and intimate act he almost blushed.

The first thing Bucky noticed about the cream was the scent. It had a light rose fragrance that was familiar to him, comforting even. It traveled up his nostrils as you massaged the cream into his face, sparking a warm and fuzzy feeling inside him. It took him a few seconds to understand that it was because that was the same rose scent he recognized on your skin whenever he kissed you, that sweet floral scent he had learned to recognize as home. He finally knew he had your choice in moisturizer to thank for it.

"You're using your cream on me?"

"Yes, it's the only one I had. The perfume doesn't last long, don't worry. I'll buy you an unscented one tomorrow."

"No, don't! I like this one, it smells like you... it's like having a little piece of you with me all the time."

You didn't expect him to say that, so you weren't prepared for the tingling warmth of love that coursed through your body. The idea that he wanted to keep you close at all times, that he recognized your scent and found comfort and safety in it, made your heart melt with love. Bucky was normally a man of few words, and tended to show his feelings with other things rather than words. Acts of service were his most common way of showing how much he loved you, although he also resorted to spending quality time together whenever you had free time. But every once in a while, he would manage to drop a sentence like that, which in concise words made it clear how much he loved you. Always taking you by surprise, he would drop them at the most casual moments, leaving you completely stupid for a few seconds as you processed his words and wondered what you had done to deserve having someone so wonderful in your life.

Bucky gave you a shy smile, cheeks turning pink under your gaze, feeling exposed and vulnerable. He looked so adorable that you couldn't help but join your lips with his in a slow, loving kiss. He reciprocated immediately, one of his hands leaving your waist to cradle your cheek, pressing you tighter against him and deepening the kiss.

"I love you," you muttered against his lips, pressing your forehead against his as you gazed into his deep blue eyes.

Bucky smiled, feeling the last bit of stress evaporate from his system thanks to you and your sweetness. "I love you too."

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n

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lowkeyremi · 6 months

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jjk men and aftercare ft. Gojo, Choso, Nanami, Toji, and Geto.

a/n: I saw something like this awhile ago and forgot to write abt it but here I am now babyyyy (there is already a part 2 in progress bc i wanna do 10 characters lmaoo) also not proofread bc im tired :P

cw: really suggestive, established relationships, how they are after sex basically :)

Gojo Satoru

When you two first started hitting third base Gojo was all about himself and about how he felt. When you had cleaned yourself up and prepared for bed that night Satoru finally realized something was wrong.

"What's wrong, babe? I thought you liked it??" He asks, worried about his performance in bed. Your silence prompts him to try and figure out what he had done wrong, and honestly he couldn't even think of anything.

"Pleaseeee tell me. I won't know if you don't say anything." Those invasive thoughts that tell you, "you don't matter to him." start to attack your brain once again. He's way out of your league you start to think.

"Aftercare. You didn't even offer to help me clean up, Satoru." Saying it out loud makes you sound kind of petty in your opinion but it does matter.

"OH. Shit baby I'm so so so so sorry!!!!! I- It's just-" He cuts himself off and tries to reword his sentence, "Well, back then I.. I was sleeping around so my pleasure was the only thing that mattered to me. It's different.. you know? Dating. I'm still working out everything. I won't forget next time I promise."

He'd been telling the truth because from then on he always went all out with aftercare. He would run you a bath with your favorite salts and oils, he'd make you your favorite snacks, he'd even cuddle you afterwards until you fell asleep. (rich boyfriend privileges)

Choso Kamo

He'd been waiting so long to finally sleep with you for the first time so he had done all his research prior to the day. He was looking at your dilated pupils, messy hair, and the cum that sat on your stomach.

"Okay so, according to the article I read, I should run you a hot bath, yeah?" He asks nervously.

A small smile braces your lips. In all honesty you probably should have expected this much from Choso. He wants to make sure everything is perfect.

"You looked up aftercare???" You sit up on the bed and a back cramp decides to hit right then and there. As soon as he hears your groan he sprints the the kitchen, only to return with a heat pad.

"Heat pad for cramps?" He's truly nervous, and eager to please you, the love of his life.

"Thank you, Cho. I'll take you up on that bath."

"Of course, I'll get in with you if that's okay." The smile on your face is enough of an answer.

Nanami Kento

YOU ARE WINNING!!!!

Massages, baths, homemade snacks, you name and he'll do it for you. In his mind it's the least he can do for you, because you treat him so well and give him that pretty pussy he loves so much.

"Right here?" He's currently working those skilled fingers into your tight muscles after bending you every which way.

"Ohhh... yes right there, baby. Hurts so muchhhh." You whine and moan at the same time. At this point you two have already bathed and he's made sure to moisturize your body leaving you clean and refreshed.

He seemed to notice the way you limped and asked if you need anything. The sex was good really, but you didn't want to tell him that folding you in half wasn't the best idea. Oh, but he's persistent would not leave you alone until you told him what was wrong.

Once you told him he had immediately sat you down, picked up your favorite lotion and started to work out the kinks in your body.

"I'm so sorry, again." He mumbles quietly.

"Stop apologizing, Kento. These things happen. At least I know to stretch before hand next time." His face softens at your giggles and he presses a small kiss to your thigh.

"Oh do not get me started." A smile creeps up his face, while blush slowly spreads across yours.

Toji Fushiguro

BOOOOOO no aftercare. well maybe not much at least.

Has not properly cared for a woman since his late wife but he realizes if he wants you to stay he'll have to fix that.

At first he would throw a wet rag at you and give a simple, "here clean up." When he got out the shower he was genuinely confused why you were no longer at his apartment.

As soon as you picked up he could tell you were pissed, "What do you want, Fushiguro."

He's a little shocked, did not expect that from you, "I'm your boyfriend so it's Toji and not Fushiguro. The hell is your problem??"

The silence is so loud. For a second he thought you'd hung up on him. "Hello??"

"I'm giving you some time to think about that dumbass question and figure out why I'm mad at you." He clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes too. He's lucky you can't see it.

"Ugh, I don't have time to play the damn guessing game. You're always mad about the little things.. what is it?" He's running through anything he could have possibly done wrong recently.

"Toji, you threw a fucking wet washcloth at me and told me to clean myself up. I'm your girlfriend, not one of your one night stands!" There it is, and the bad part is he doesn't even see what's wrong with that. (at first)

"I don't even give them something to clean up with, I just leave. But damn if you want me to get all fancy and shit I'll try." He scratches his head and begins to wonder why women are so hard to please.

Let me tell you he's no Nanami, but it's getting better. Still falls asleep afterward most times tho :/

Geto Suguru

You do it yourself for the most part, and here's why.

He's over here washing you up in the tub and he can't stop staring at your soapy titties and it just leads to more sex.

It's never just aftercare with him. He's always chasing more. Like that time you asked him to massage your legs after you two had finished fucking in the tub.

"Yeah shit why not? Lotion or oil??" He asks looking through your products.

"Uhhh lotion's fine." You'd grabbed your phone to see if your mother left you a voicemail which she did. She talked about how you need to pick up the phone or at least text her your alive if you're not gonna pick up. You were NOT going to pick up earlier though. Suguru likes to tease and you learned that the hard way when he was eating you out while you were discussing group bonding dinner ideas with your boss over the phone.

Anyway, he made his way to the bed with your lotion and all things went to hell. It was slow at first, nothing too sensual, then of course he had to slip a finger in your pussy and you sat there and stared.

"We are not doing this, we just got out of the bath." You were so serious, but so was he. (you were also aroused so)

"Another bath never hurt anybody, 'fraid of a little water baby??"

(such an annoying whore)

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sayoneee · 5 months

Text

☆ PARENT TRAP

in which, a plan is devised to set the two of you up (1.9k)

contains: luke castellan x fem! reader. mortal au. baby percabeth (they are 12). percys pov. loser older brother luke castellan 🔛🔝

kashaf’s note: i think we can tell i love my music references by now. (answering requests soon!)

i. remember the time - michael jackson

PERCY HAS ALWAYS liked afternoons: sitting on the green couch in his apartment, the smell of his favorite blue cookies wafting through the air, and the constantly running episodes of gilmore girls on the tv — that you had convinced him to give a try — and sometimes the addition of grover, who was prone to start passionate tirades on climate change.

though after summer camp, his relatively quiet afternoons now included at least two mentions of “seaweed brain” and two of “wise girl”.

percy’s trying to stay focused on rory freaking out over thanking dean for something (annabeth is almost laser-focused), but the doorbell rang a while ago, and you still haven’t returned.

“annabeth,” he whispered, to no avail — he guessed dean really had that effect on people. he tried again, waving a hand in front of her face. she blinked twice before being lifted from the spell of gilmore girls.

“what?” annabeth asked.

“who’s at the door?”

annabeth’s eyebrows rose. she turned around, looking past where you were still holding the door open, one hand animatedly gesticulating, the other still on the doorknob.

“that’s my brother,” annabeth said, turning back to look at percy.

but percy isn’t paying attention to her right now, instead, he’s focusing on the bits of conversation audible between you and this stranger, who’s smiling very peculiarly down at you.

“— no way, me too,” the stranger is saying, grinning.

you’re saying, “deadass? prove it —”

“— are you always so skeptical —”

percy gets up off the couch, annabeth beside him, striding over to you and the stranger, who, for a reason he can’t quite put a finger on, seems weird.

“hi,” percy says, looking at you, pointedly ignoring the stranger. you and the stranger seem to freeze, your hand halting mid-tuck of your hair behind your ear, something percy has only seen you do around one of your ex-boyfriends.

“hi,” annabeth says, looking at the stranger, who smiles in response. again, weird.

“ready to go?” the stranger asks, “or are you going to take over their spare bedroom?”

“luke, you’re not funny,” annabeth grumbles, but she doesn’t look that put out by luke’s teasing percy notes.

you’re smiling, but you’re not looking at annabeth. you’re looking at luke, your one hand still on the doorknob. interesting.

“you’ve got your yankees cap?” you confirm as annabeth laces up her converse, as you and luke are engaged in a tiny conversation of your own. percy wordlessly hands the worn-out cap to annabeth once she’s finished, saying his goodbye.

once annabeth and her brother are long gone and you’re no longer leaning against the door, you’re still smiling widely, and percy wonders why.

ii. shoop - salt n pepa

gilmore girls is on again, and luke is here to pick up annabeth. again. but for whatever reason, annabeth still hasn’t left, and you and luke are sitting in the kitchen, alone, conversing loudly.

annabeth isn’t as hyper-focused on dean and rory’s argument as percy had thought she would be a week ago — he assumed that dean’s appeal died the minute he got mad in that banged-up car. annabeth is saying something about architecture, eyes shining, though he’s not sure which one she’s talking about, hagia sophia or st. basil’s cathedral. your loud laugh seems to ring from the kitchen every minute or so, and well since you’ve begun babysitting him, he can’t say the sound is unfamiliar, but the frequency is suspicious. he doesn’t trust luke.

“annabeth,” he says, when she’s stopped talking.

“percy,” she responds in the same tone, her smile bright.

“how long has your brother been in the kitchen for?” he says, trying to sound nonchalant, but missing the mark horrifically.

annabeth looks at the watch on her wrist, “woah —”

“what does woah mean?” percy knows he’s being impolite, and his mom taught him to never interrupt people, but he can’t help it at this moment.

“i was just getting to that, seaweed brain,” annabeth rolled her eyes good-naturedly, “we were supposed to leave an hour and half ago.”

this was bizarre. “no offense, but what does my babysitter and your brother even have in common to be talking nonstop for an hour and half?”

“no idea,” annabeth says, thoughtfully. “is she in a band? luke’s in a band.”

“no,” percy says, but he thinks he remembers your last boyfriend being in a band. “is your brother a senior?”

“yeah — does she do boxing? luke does.”

“i actually don’t know,” percy pauses, “i think we should see for ourselves,” he stands up.

“wait,” annabeth says, “they might go quiet if they see we’re around. let’s just turn off the tv and eavesdrop.”

percy grins, annabeth was such a genius, “you got it, wise girl.”

they’re both so silent, he wonders if you’ll notice, but with the way you’re laughing again, borderline giggling, actually — which is odd — as you say, “shut up, you know what i meant,” he doesn’t think you’ll realize.

“erm, actually i don’t,” luke says, nasally (in what percy hopes is mockery).

percy looks at annabeth, who rolls her eyes at him and mouths, ‘he’s being ironic’. percy stares at the patterns in the carpet, and annabeth stares at the picture of percy and his mom hung on the wall, as they continue to strain their ears — which isn’t hard because of how noisy you and luke are together.

“you’re so insufferable.”

“and you’re the one who invited me in, so.”

“i was being nice,” you sound like you’re protesting, but percy and annabeth note the amusement in your voice with another shared glance.

“you? nice? let’s be forreal.”

“i’m literally not even mean.”

“you literally are.”

annabeth peeks at him, and percy thinks he’s had enough of listening to this conversation, which is quickly becoming weird. and mushy. he can practically see how you’re looking at luke, and how he’s looking at you, which is not at all something he wants to imagine.

he nods at annabeth, and they both try to make their footsteps as loud as possible when they start approaching the kitchen, just in case.

he’s grateful to every higher being out there when he and annabeth find you and luke in the kitchen simply sitting next to each other, no funny business involved.

iii. doo wop (that thing) - ms. lauryn hill

you’re on the phone, giggling. annabeth is over again, and there’s no luke in sight, but percy suspects he’s on the other end of the line.

percy sighs and turns to annabeth, who always seems to know what to do because this little situation has gotten unbelievably out of hand.

“is that your brother on the phone?”

annabeth’s concentration on the teetering jenga tower on the coffee table lingers, doo wop (that thing) playing on the tv in the background, “yeah, i think so.”

“how do you know?” percy asks, watching annabeth carefully choose a jenga block to remove.

“they like each other,” annabeth says, looking at him, as if it’s as obvious as grass being green.

“no, they don’t,” percy pauses for a minute when annabeth raises her eyebrows at him. “how do you know?”

“luke’s always calling her at home,” annabeth said, “and he made her a mixtape.”

“that doesn’t mean they like each other, that just means he likes her,” percy points out, crossing his arms.

they hear you giggle in the kitchen again. annabeth looks at him as if that proves her point.

annabeth blinks, her face lighting up, “oh my god, percy, we should set them up.”

percy stares at her. he can’t deny that for as long as he’s known annabeth, she’s seldom been wrong, but he doesn’t think this is the best idea. but, percy trusts annabeth, so he agrees.

iv. this is how we do it - montell jordan

percy’s spying on you. well, he doesn’t consider it to be spying exactly, he’s just making sure nothing happens to you because despite annabeth’s constant defense of her brother, percy still doesn’t trust luke. percy’s always thought of you more than just his babysitter, after all the attempts at making blue hot chocolate and the comforting after nightmares, you’ve turned into his sister.

he’s at annabeth’s place now, and both of them decided to put their — what annabeth swears is fool-proof — plan into action. step number one: getting luke to invite you inside when you come to pick him up (which was so unbelievably easy, considering how luke has perpetual heart eyes when you’re around).

currently, you’re in the kitchen with luke (the two of you are always congregating in kitchens for some reason), and annabeth decided that she and percy absolutely had to keep an eye on the two of you.

you’re gasping, “luke castellan, you are such a liar.”

luke is laughing, “no i’m not.” his cheeks are red.

you’ve seemed to notice this, and percy can see your gaze soften as you look at luke, but that doesn’t stop you from making your point, “no, oh my god, you call me the mean one but here you are, talking shit about your rivals, just because they’re better?”

percy has seen you argue with your ex-boyfriends, but not like this — not bright-eyed, and smiling, and none of them have been able to just flow the way you seem to with luke. this is it, he thinks, annabeth was completely and utterly right (as she is 90% of the time).

“you take that back right now, those motley crue knockoffs aren’t better than us,” luke says, sounding kind of angry, but percy can see his smile.

“you’re totally bugging,” you say, “what’s wrong with motley crue?”

luke looks scandalized, and almost as if he’s pleading, he says, “please tell me you’ve at least listened to guns n roses,” pushing his hands together in a namaste position.

“i don’t live under a rock, castellan,” you rolled your eyes at him, pushing his hands down. annabeth shares a look with percy.

“i mean, you never know,” he says, and you scoff, shoving him.

percy raises his eyebrows at annabeth, and she seems to know exactly what he’s thinking — time to put step two into action: set up a going-out idea.

percy and annabeth pretend to walk closer to the kitchen, to give the two of you time to spring apart, because you and luke weren’t a very pg distance right now — maybe pg-thirteen, but percy wasn’t supposed to be watching those, so.

annabeth jerks a finger at percy, as you and luke looked up at their arrival, addressing luke, “percy doesn’t believe that your band actually plays in public.”

percy’s head whips toward annabeth, trying not to glare at her, because the look on luke’s face right now was not at all amusing, but at least you were smiling, so you’d definitely stop luke from killing him.

“yeah, luke,” you say, smirking, “where do you guys even play?”

luke frowns, “the usual but we’re playing at the fair next week if you’re so interested.” the last part is aimed at percy, but their plan is going well so far, so percy doesn’t think he’ll have to sleep with one eye open tonight.

“when?” you ask, interested.

percy watches luke turn to you, surprised. “saturday — why, you wanna come?”

“yeah,” you admit easily.

percy looks at annabeth, who’s smiling and percy can’t help but feel proud of their idea.

“really? we don’t go on until like seven though.”

“yeah, someone has to be there to cheer for you so you don’t feel too bad when no one else does,” you grin.

luke turns to you, masking his smile with a fake air of irritation, “gee, thanks.”

“what are friends for?”

percy shares a disappointed glance with annabeth who begins to shake her head, as luke’s smile freezes in place, and you suddenly look extremely remorseful.

time to come up with a new plan.

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bruisedboys · 6 months

Note

No bc I need finnick to lovingly scold me over not eating all day and make me food and just be so protectively doting. you slayed with those casual dominance headcanons

thank you gorgeous! I hope u don’t mind, I’m using your ask to post a full blurb based on the hc’s :) I already had it written when you sent this in, and it’s kind of the perfect ask for it so!! thank u <3 here’s the original drabble if anyone wants it

finnick odair x fem!reader / finnick loves you and is bossy

You’re tangled up like a pretzel on the sofa when Finnick finally gets home. He’s been out swimming all morning and you’ve been (rightfully, in your opinion) quite miserable. It’s not your fault you like him so much — he’s lovely and handsome and perfect, and a handful of hours without him has left you a bit of a mess.

He appears in the doorway, the salty breeze following him in. He looks wildly handsome, his golden hair all windswept, his eyes searching for you.

You leap up. “Finnick!”

You swoop on him and he catches you easily, laughing softly as his strong arms wrap around your upper back. He smells like the ocean, salty and crisp, fresh. He hugs you so tight your feet leave the ground.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says into your hair. You hear the smile in his voice, it’s not hard to miss, and you decide you want to see it, so you pull back. Like you thought, he’s smiling a dazzling smile that combats the sun in its brightness. He’s so happy to see you, and it makes you feel electric.

“Hello,” you say back, your voice sticky with love. You push his pretty hair back from his face, card you fingers through a rogue curl and tuck it behind his ear. His hair’s still thick with salt — hopefully he’ll let you wash it for him tonight. “I missed you.”

Finnick’s grin grows impossible wider. “Mm, I can tell.” He takes his face in your hands, thumbs dragging across your cheekbones. “I missed you, too, pretty girl. What’d you do while I was gone all day, hm?”

You hum something incoherent. You’ve barely heard his question, too caught up in his soft touching, his gentle voice and his lovely names. Your eyelids flutter under his affections. He touches you like you’re something beautiful made of marble, like you’re not just a girl. He certainly doesn’t make you feel like just a girl.

Finnick laughs at your obvious pleasure, your inability to answer his question. “Sounds interesting,” he teases. He gets his hand under your chin and tilts you up gently to look at him properly. “Did you eat already, sweet thing?”

You think about it and realise you honestly can’t remember if you even ate at all today. You shy, because you know what Finnick’s reaction will be. “Um. No?”

Finnick raises his eyebrows. “No? Did you eat at all?”

Barely. You were too busy missing him to think about something so unimportant as food. Has it even been lunchtime yet? “I had half an apple for breakfast,” you admit.

Finnick sighs. His arms drops to your waist, warm and heavy. “It’s half four, honey,” he says. Way past lunch time, then. “You know that’s not good enough.”

He’s only telling you off because he cares, but you still feel awful when he looks at you like that. “Sorry,” you say quietly.

“Hey, don’t be. It’s okay.” He chucks you under the chin and smiles at you. “Sit down, I’ll make you something, okay?”

Finnick starts to move away. You follow, eager to be near him. “I’ll help.”

He looks at you, raising a quizzical brow. “No, you won’t.”

“But—“

“Sweetheart.” He puts a firm hand on your shoulder, pressing down lightly. “I said no. I’ve got it.”

There’s a sort of sternness to his tone that makes your stomach churn. You imagine arguing back would only result in more of it, and though you actually do quite like when he tells you what to do, you don’t want to irritate him. Still, you pout at him dramatically before stalking off to the sofa again.

You hear Finnick chuckling at your dramatics as he disappears into the kitchen. You resume your position of miserable pretzel, curled up and sulking while you listen to the sounds of pots and pans, the tap running, the stove being switched on. It takes less than ten minutes before you get bored and wander into the kitchen. Finnick’s at the sink washing carrots, his back to you, with all the ingredients for your favourite soup laid out on the counter.

You try to be as inconspicuous as possible as you pull out a chopping board and a knife. You only get so far as to have them both in your hands before Finnick’s on you like a hawk.

“Y/N,” he says, sounding exasperated but unsurprised. He comes up behind you to take the knife from your hand, sets it on the bench and then turns you around by the shoulders. He pushes you back towards the living room. “Do you ever listen?”

Even though he’s technically scolding you, you can hear the amusement in his question. He’s not mad. You might even say he’s having fun.

“Finnick,” you whine, struggling to stay put with his manhandling. You dig your heels into the floor, though you know it won’t work because he’s really strong when he wants to be. “Can I at least sit with you? It’s lonely without you.”

Finnick stops in his efforts to steer you out of the kitchen. There’s a pause, and then he sighs, and you know you’ve won.

“Alright, yes,” he says, in a tone that suggests admitting defeat. “Fine, you can sit with me.”

You spin around in his arms, pleased.

“But you’re not allowed to lift a finger,” he says, hands on your shoulders keeping you firmly in place. “I’ll do the cooking. You just sit and look pretty for me, okay?”

You beam. At least it’s something. And at least you get to sit with him, if anything. “Okay.”

Finnick looks at you with something akin to amused affection for a handful of seconds, and then shakes his head, smiling. “You always get your way, don’t you?” He asks softly, almost as if he’s talking to himself. His warm hand strokes a path down your neck and over the slope of your shoulder.

You want to tell him that it’s not your fault he’s always giving you what you want. You don’t think that kind of attitude would bode well for you being allowed in the kitchen.

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sillyfudgemonkeys · 2 years

Note

Silly, some youtuber is praising the heavens for p5d

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ahjkWFn6Kns

Ok! *starts video*

*salt in a way I wasn't expecting incoming*

*person puts a heart over Kanji and Naoto literally seconds into the video* *I take it as them being shippy towards then* You know what, nvm their opinion doesn't matter. I think I can close the video!

*pushes forward regardless* *person puts a clip of PQ2 in the middle of his argument that most of the spinoff games don't understand their characters and mess up the characterization and has most of the heavy lifting is done by the original characters, THUS IMPLYING RIGHT NOW that PQ2's characterization writing is on par with Arena/Ultimax/PQ1 fumble* The one good thing about PQ2 (besides FeMC), really? Yes the boot licking is a problem, but everyone is in char.

*Says that P5S's character writing is SOOOOOO good it should basically be considered P5-2 because it's that good* Did everyone just play P5S with their ass? Cause the first dungeon itself (esp with Anne/Ryu) has me wondering if the writers understood at least ONE of P5's characterization of them.

*Says that-that's not the case for the Dancing games* You're pretty right on that (at least with P4D)... Man.... not even 4 min in and made made a number of points/claims you got possibly one good point in (I'm not going to bash P3/5D's characterizations until I've replayed the story part cause I literally forgot it, so I'm giving them that point). *drops video* (tbf fair I have to go to work so I probs won't be on again until lunch at best or the next day at worst. Maybe it gets better, but my first impressions are left to be desired and I don't want to watch something that might tick me off atm, esp if it means seeing more K*nNao)

Sorry for being bitchy (mostly to the person), the person is probably nice and probably makes good points later and everyone else should def watch it too. I'm just annoyed having to see like 3 things in his vid that I highly disagree with so early in the morning (and ones I didn't expect to see opening a P5D video to boot!), extra not in the headspace to listen to that right now. Maybe later, they deserve a fair chance!

#i really hate shipping kanji with naoto #I will take pretty much any ship for those chars over them together #it is my NoTP #'silly that's a little childish' hush everyone has a ship they HATE this is one of mine and i try VERY hard to avoid it like a real adult #'kanji tends to get ONE really great scene with any game he is in' could not tell you what that scene is in pq2 tbh #it's because he's barely present half the time (hey I said PQ2 had a lot of issues but when it comes to writing IN CHARACTER it's good)#PQ1 is still better than PQ2 because it had a philosophy of MAKING SURE CHARS TALKED (even Kanji/Shinji and others that wouldn't usually #talk) and wow PQ2 has better characterization (minus P5 bootlicking) but at what cost?????#silly answers #silly asks #silly salt #i know i'm probs not going to agree with the goro symbolism on a certain level #on what the games are TRYING to TELL me and force me to think about goro? probs gonna line up #what I see when I play and am like 'wtf is this writing????? you want me to BELIEVE *THAT*...fat chance'#but the way I tear down Goro and his char/role in the story and how it STILL makes no sense is for another day #same with me denouncing Kanji bc the fandom keeps overlooking his creepy tendencies (but only blast teddie/yosuke)#tho most kan's issues are in the base game (but the scenarios he's in P4/G are not in spinoff game so thats a moot point)#at least the character flanderization for PQ1 was ON PURPOSE because it had a goal in mind (make sure EVERYONE feels included)#tbf they could just LIKE kanji and naoto as chars separately but I'm following my gut on this I don't trust it #i'd go into my points more (tho I have on some of these before) but I literally have to go

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gallusrostromegalus · 7 months

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Hi Gallus, I'm doing some worldbuilding and you seem like you could be connected enough for me to find an answer to the problem of dwarven agriculture. Many problems are created by the requirement of no sunlight, as even the common response of mushrooms still need light to break down decomposing matter as a primary energy source. Currently, we're thinking that they use a special type of mushroom that breaks down rocks in an energy-producing reaction, giving them enough energy to absorb nutrients and grow - this would serve a second purpose in explaining why building a massive hollowed-out mountain fortress doesn't produce an equally large amount of gravel.

Any thoughts? We're grasping at straws kinda lol

Well, some thoughts:

There's plenty of cave systems (especially Karst Systems) that are at least partially open to Sunlight- especially the kind that have rivers running through them, which is something else that's really helpful for agriculture.

For Example: This Cool AF Sinkhole cave in china that has an entire Forest in it

Now There's a view to put outside the city Gates!

Karst specifically is a landscape where underground rivers hollow out the limestone underground and then the cave roofs fall in. This kind of landscape answers your gravel question nicely: the hollowed out mountain does produce an equal amount of gravel, but the gravel turns up as the sandy banks of the river system hundreds of miles away.

So, there's your sunlight that can be used directly, or reflected or magically transferred deeper into the cave system.

Or they just put more holes in the roof! Unless your dwarves are also vampires, there's no reason for them to not hollow out a few Skylights into the mountain too.

But let's talk some other cave ecology and agriculture!

For starters, your dwarves could be sitting on top of a literal gold mine that would allow them to trade for a lot of needed materials and crops.

And by gold mine, I mean Salt Mine.

Historically, salt comes out of hollowed-out mountains and is worth more than gold.

Also something the humans have historically fought a bunch of wars over, so there's some free political tensions if you needed that!

I can also mean the possible fucking enormous piles of bat guano that accumulates in Karst caves, which is the world's most insanely good fertilizer, and ALSO something that has been worth more than it's weight in gold.

Speaking of Gold, another thing that often lives in sinkhole caves in abundance is BEES. turns out, limestone stalactites are a terrific place to build a hive that is difficult for predators to reach, stays dry and the stone substrate means the hives can reach many tons in weight before they start having structural issues. That sweet, sweet insect-derived liquid gold is already important to Dwarves in a lot of folklore- it's really hard to have a Traditional Dwarven Mead Hall without the honey to make the mead, you know?

So you got your mushrooms, you got your sunlight-grown sinkhole crops, you got your traded goods and you got your source of alcohol- the only thing really missing from an ancient food pyramid here is a staple carbohydrate. To that end, may I propose our good Peruvian Friend: The Potato.

Grain crops aren't actually all that nutritious and were kept around in ancient societies more as legal tender that kept the peasants busy, because wheat or rice takes months to grow, an enormous amount of labor to harvest, and wheat also needs to be milled before it can be turned into food- all enormously time-consuming processes that keep peasants busy and easy to rule tyranically over.

Potatoes though? Pop one in the ground in spring and you can dig up fingerlings all summer, and if you make potato towers, you can harvest up to 40lbs of delicious, easy-to-prepare-and-store carb out of a single plant- a real space-saver for the limited sinkhole skyspace.

If your dwarves have cheese, the potato makes even more sense, because Potato+dairy is the easiest, most nutritionally complete survival food there is.

Finally, consider: Dwarven Vodka.

This post is open for anyone to comment suggestions on, but that's my take: put your dwarves in a Karst-sinkhole cave system, give them a highly in demand resource like salt or guano, bees, and taters. Boom. Whole agriculture, economy and political scheme starters.

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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youtube

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

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januaryembrs · 8 days

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JUST A THEORY | Spencer Reid x Reader

Request: congratulations on 2k!!! you deserve that and so much more your writing is incredible! 🥳🥳🥳 if I could jump in with a request could I ask for a Spencer x reader fic where the reader is a journalist/reporter looking into a case as well and they cross paths? I think the tension and bickering would be so fun

Description: There's something about that agent Jennifer brought along with her that pushes every single one of your buttons

Length: 1.6k

warnings: general cm violence, probably not em's best work

“You know this could be considered obstructing a federal investigation,” Spencer huffed, trying to look over your shoulder where you skimmed the book in your hands with meticulous eyes. You ignored him, continuing to read the information despite feeling his burning glare in the back of your head, his breath on your neck as he shadowed your figure around the building.

“You know the best part about a public library, Doctor Reid? It’s public,” You drawled back, your eyes never ripping from the page except to make a few notes of some key information for your article, “Which means I have every right to be in here just as much as you do,”

You heard him run a hand over his face and tried not to smirk at how easy he was to agitate. You’d heard a lot about the BAU, almost every criminology based paper in Virginia had, and so it wasn’t too surprising to meet the brains behind the reputation when three women had been murdered in the FBI’s home town. Every press association that was worth their money was all over the story, ‘How could this have happened so close to the capital in a city crawling with agents?’, which made your job just that bit more competitive and taxing.

Yet luckily for you, you knew exactly where to go snooping for answers. It just so happened, the BAU’s resident genius did too.

“I guarantee it would be easier for both of us if you just give me the book first. I can read ten times faster than you,” He snipped, still a pup at your heels where you wandered through the aisles of non-fiction, the white lettering hanging above the shelves spelling PSYCHOLOGY. You rolled your eyes at his persistence, ignoring his attitude as you rounded the corner at the end of the row and looped back to where you’d picked up the book, the man still over your shoulder.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you you’re not supposed to talk in libraries?” You hissed back, flicking the page over and hearing his footsteps move in tandem with your own, “I guess you’re just going to have to wait and let the professionals work,”

You hid a grin, hearing him pause at that, remembering the first day you’d been assigned the story.

It started only a week ago. The newest victim had been found in the woods, stabbed seven times the same as the other two, her entire body washed in strong bleach, her hair and nails trimmed and ears even swabbed clean. You’d managed to get five minutes to sit with her parents, your pen and trusted notebook at the ready.

“Why don’t you tell me about what Clara was like as a kid?” You said softly, eyes comforting and calm as you spoke over coffee that was quickly going cold. But you didn’t care.

You didn’t do this part for ‘the story’. At least not the end of the story, the gory bits and pieces that the other news anchors focused on, how the women were brutalised and beaten, changed by a murderer until they looked unrecognisable. You didn’t like to focus on that, because that wasn’t who the victims were.

You wanted to tell their story. Who they were before something awful happened to them.

“She loved to dance,” Clara’s mother, Gwen, sniffled, her cheeks sodden with salted tears. Her voice quivered, croaked like it begged not to be used, but the saddest smile spread on her face when she said it, her husband’s hands clasped tightly in her own, “She used to ask to wear her leotard to bed; we couldn't get that thing off her,”

You smiled, eyes falling to the pictures the parents had spread across the table in their haste to find the best one for the missing posters. Gwen seemed to follow your eyeline and grabbed one in particular, handing it over to you, gently thumbing the edges like that too might disappear. A little girl, black hair as silken as fresh ink stared back at you, her hands poised delicately above her head like the professional ballerina’s you'd seen on TV, her feet laced into pink pumps. The way she should be remembered, not the images you’d seen of her at the crime scene.

You opened your mouth to speak again when two agents entered the room. Jennifer Jareau, who you’d worked with on multiple stories like this one to give the families the empathy they deserved, smiled at you civilly, somewhat guilty knowing she was stepping on your toes. Beside her stood a taller man in a matching FBI jacket, his hazelnut curls falling over his frown.

“Mr and Mrs Townsen,” He addressed the couple solemnly, who looked up at him through red rimmed eyes, their sockets sallow and empty, “We need to ask you a few questions about the last few days you saw Clara before she went missing,”

He flashed his credentials in his right hand, long enough for them to see it was real, and looked to you with a stern stare.

The couple glanced back to you, the picture still grasped tightly in your fingers, as you flicked a tight look between Jennifer and the new agent carefully.

“Just one moment,” You told the grieving parents softly, handing the picture back to Gwen, standing to move to one side with the analysts, immediately turning towards Jennifer with confusion, “I thought you said I had until twelve?”

“I’m sorry, I wouldn’t interrupt if it wasn’t important,” The liaison said cordially, the two of you somewhat acquaintances after emailing back and forth for so long. She liked that you didn’t see the bodies as dollar signs, and you liked that she wanted the same as you; to tell the victims stories the way they should be told.

Sighing, you wrapped up your notepad, delicately pushing the pen through the wire spine. “Can I get an interview with the second family at least? Daily Press was all over that story, and they made an absolute joke of it,”

“That’s a little hypocritical of you,” The other agent piped up, and your head snapped to him. Eyes roving over his figure, brows furrowing when you realised what he’d said. You looked back to his face in annoyance.

“Excuse me?” You snipped, crossing your arms over your chest, your notepad brushing against your ribs.

“I’m just saying, you all get paid for what you write, so it's just as exploitive to write about the victims than it is to write about the crimes,” He shrugged, eyes narrowing when you shifted your weight onto your other foot and raised a brow at him.

“Unlike you,” Your gaze fell to his badge he still had to hand, “Doctor Reid, I see those women as real people, not just little pictures on a white board. They’re not just dead girls to me, and they’re certainly not just money grabs,”

Spencer went to retaliate again before JJ put a hand on both your elbows, drawing the attention away from your little spat.

“We can talk about this later, right now we have an UnSub on the loose that is quickly devolving,” She chided the two of you like you were school children, and you sighed, biting your cheek to stop yourself from snapping back at the man.

“What does that mean?” You asked quietly, well aware of the grieving parents sitting little more than a few yards from where you stood bickering.

“It means you’re going to have to wait and let the professionals work,” Spencer cleared, pushing past your shoulder as he went to sit with the Townsens, his eyes swirling into something new and kind and reassuring as he looked at them, a Jekyll and Hyde to the hostility he had towards you.

You could only suck your teeth in annoyance, before Jennifer pulled you further into the dining room to discuss rearrangements.

Spencer blanked as he watched you skim reading the textbook, his own words thrown back in his face in an infuriatingly clever move on your part. With little more to say, knowing wit and barking orders would get him nowhere because he couldn’t exactly arrest you for not giving him public property, he resorted to begging.

“Please, give me the book,” He said, the desperation buried in his sigh, and you swivelled on your heels, a devilish grin on your face that had him fighting back an eye roll.

“Oh, would you look at that? I’m finished,” You said, handing him the files you were reading, passing them over to him with a smirk and he found himself almost smiling at your sarcasm.

Taking the book out of your hand, he debated saying thank you, but instead bit his lip because he'd found you were somewhat incorrigible when you were getting deeper in a story.

Turning on his heels to check out the book so he could take it back to headquarters, he stopped when you spoke, just a few decibels louder than the ‘Talk Quietly’ sign demanded.

“Agalmatophilia,” You murmured, and he whipped a look over his shoulders where you were skimming the shelves for a second textbook, seeing as your first one had been commandeered, “The sexual attraction to dolls and mannequins. I know you guys speculated he has some form of OCD but I think it's Agalmatophilia,” You said, drawing a book off the shelf without really looking up to where his brow furrowed in familiarity with the word. He glanced at you then, and you flicked open the page of contents, feeling his eyes boring into the side of your head, muttering under your breath absent-mindedly, “Just a theory,”

You’d shut him up the entire way back to headquarters.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #matthew grey gubler x reader

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bunny584 · 1 month

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For I Have Sinned

“Let no one say when he is tempted, ‘I am being tempted by God’ For God cannot be tempted by evil.” James 1:13.

But Father Geto can be.

Newly appointed Chaplain of the Noble Court, Suguru is a reformed sinner. Sanctity, discipline and celibacy are commandments of his choosing. A devout servant of the Lord. Armored with the Breastplate of Righteousness, the Shield of Faith.

This should be sufficient enough to withstand temptation.

Right?

Pairing: Geto x Female reader

C/W: Religious themes, dark romance, eventual filth. 18+. MDNI.

A/N: Holy hell. Anon, you sick, twisted genius. You, the puppeteer. Me, the puppet who writes. This one — this story might be the one. Frothing at the mouth to know what you guys think. Going on AO3 for sure. I haven’t decided if I will keep this long fic series here, but since it was an anon ask its only right to honor them with the first chapter.

Art credit: @ potchi_jpg on X

Music: Garden Kisses x Giveon (this was on a manic repeat for at least an hour. It wrote the chapter. I implore you to listen and levitate like I did).

CHAPTER I. Hello, Duchess.

Andesite. Dacite. Schist.

Gorgeous.

Suguru takes a mental note of the rock formations whizzing by just before he spears the Aegean Sea. Tailwind force trailing his feet in an elegant whirl.

Eh, mediocre landing. He’s out of practice.

It’s true. Seminary did not allow for too much idle time in between biblical studies. Devil’s playground, and such.

And it’s not in his nature to half-ass any life endeavor, whatever it may be.

Suguru deftly levels out in the welcoming waves. Loose-limbed and fluid. Choosing to hover below her surface for a few moments longer. The tail end of his thick, singular French braid undulating behind him.

His body flows in tandem with the current. Swimming deep enough to scatter a pool of Fagri. He instinctively captures one in his large hand — not quite as out-of-touch as he thought.

‘Make it to shore! If Poseidon calls, don’t answer Him, son!’

The gentle fisherman called out each time Suguru dove off their vessel. Still two or three, sometimes up to five miles from the coast, he’d plunge into the waters. Regardless of her mood, Suguru craved to be surrounded by her embrace.

To be baptized by her tide.

Showered with her salt of the earth.

A dampened smile blooms across Suguru’s terse lips. Oxygen bubbles float about, from the muffled chuckle escaping him.

His father’s voice rings between his ears. A little less clearly, nowadays.

He always dove deeper than his fellow seafarers. Without the restraints of gear or protective equipment. Unnaturally comfortable in an element more labile than human nature.

Suguru’s father mused about his Stormborn boy’s true lineage.

‘Everyday, I prayed for you. Begged for you. And the God of the Ocean delivered a precious gift. Don’t return to His storms too soon.’

Fond memories, a little yellowed now. Callouses from those days have faded.

Suguru is a different man. Born again. In a new country. With a new home, a new purpose.

Even still, it’s comforting to know the world is 70% water, 30% land. And the Great Majority has always welcomed him with open arms.

No matter the iteration of his life, he’ll always find a home at Sea.

“Father Geto!”

What?

Suguru begins his ascent. He is still by the cliff edge. Not nearly far enough for the Sirens to beckon.

“Chaplain! Are you out there?”

Not even the saltwater penetrates his ears like this melody.

An ethereal crescendo. With all the grace and beauty of a summer swan. Light enough to lull stoic men to a peaceful, permanent, slumber.

More alluring. More disorienting than the songs at sea he’s heard and resisted. Potent enough to drown a warship.

Who is calling for him?

Suguru chases the lethal sound. Careful pauses at each depth-level. To avoid returning to Poseidon’s storms too soon, as his father would say.

“Father Geto!”

Ahh, a voice he recognizes. His alter boy, Noel, at the peak.

Helios is kind, today. Because the Sun kisses Suguru as he breaks the surface. If the Ocean is his home, the Sun is certainly his lover.

“What is it, Noel?” He calls in between strides to the volcanic edge.

“You have a visitor!” A tremble to Noel’s tone. Suguru cant help the low chuckle that leaves him.

Adolescents are always so anxious. Nervous about the most inconsequential, meaningless things. He was once the same.

Who could be visiting? His schedule is supposed to be cleared today.

Suguru laments leaving his clothing at the peak of the cliffside. Tossing a glance over his left shoulder - memories of his past life tattooed in various symbols. His back, covered in a sprawling trident.

A permanent stain from the life he lived before this. It’s unbecoming of a priest to be seen this way.

Latching onto the unforgiving rocky edges, Suguru scales the steep terrain in long steps and short holds. Serrated earth digs into his damp palms with each grasp.

He savors the pain. It’s familiar. An indication that he’s spent some time in the only other place he finds unfettered peace.

“Noel, my schedule was cleared. Who could be—“

“Pardon my intrusion, Father Geto.” You seep into Suguru’s sentence, effectively answering his question.

Music.

Suguru nearly falls backward off the ledge he just set foot on.

Rumors about your beauty pollenated the compound for weeks. Anxiously anticipating your arrival. Hushed voices between maidens. Whispers within the walls of parlors. Bellowing gossip between court officials.

All the words, all the speculations roll around Suguru’s skull. Louder than glass shattering in an empty room.

They were wrong.

Liars.

Not even a tenth of the truth can be found in the frivolous ‘she’s a beauty’, ‘what a pretty face’ and comments of the like taking root in the compound.

No, no.

You were sculpted by every single Deity Suguru has ever studied.

Because the One he has chosen to worship couldn’t have possibly crafted you alone.

The good Lord is simply without the means.

Suguru will have to repent for that blasphemous thought later.

…but God granted him eyesight, no?

Eyes that can see underwater with the same clarity as a cloudless day. He trusts his eyes more than any part of his body.

And they aren’t deceiving him.

Flushed and turned away, Suguru takes a moment to soak you in, while patting himself dry. Maybe taking a little extra time to step into his khaki slacks and white button up.

His wind pipe threatens to spasm with each sip of you he takes.

Exquisite woman.

You could convert a non believer in an instant.

The gentle slope of your nose, those warmed soft, high cheeks deserve to be cherished in a museum.

That dress.

The tailor must’ve sewn it to your body in real time. Rolling hills and dips of your feminine curves. So quick to surrender to the ride your frame is taking him on.

Suguru could fall to his knees and praise the Gods right here and now for their attention to detail.

“Duchess? I’m embarrassed. Forgive my attire, I wasn’t expecting visitors today.”

Still damp but fully clothed, Suguru walks forward with a steady hand outstretched. Intentionally skipping eye contact with Noel, who would’ve interpreted the glance as anger. The boy is practically vibrating in his periphery.

Concerned about possibly making a mistake, sure. But if Suguru were still a betting man, he’d bet your presence is driving Noel’s rattled nerves.

“I’m the one who should be asking for forgiveness!” Unveiling your face to him with a gorgeous smile, you offer a delicate hand that drowns in his.

Well.

To call it just a gorgeous smile makes him no better than the rumor mill and its grave underestimation.

The air around him is sliced to a fraction of what it was. Suddenly gossamer thin and inadequate.

You are breathtaking.

“Please.” A deceptively even tone and casual wave of his hand. You wouldn’t know that words taste like sandpaper.

“How can I serve you, Duchess?”

“You do not have to address me as such, Father. I’m not wed, yet!”

Bunny lines along your nose deepen when you laugh. Heat scorches Suguru’s ears and you both are presently under shade.

Do. Not. Covet.

“It’s all the same.” With a restrained smile, Suguru peels his eyes away from yours.

Resting them on his rectory in the distance. He gestures his hands forward. Noel scrambles ahead of you two, undoubtedly to go tidy the chapel (that is already spotless).

“You’re quite the swimmer.”

You could assassinate him, you know.

With that voice of yours. The way it stuns his senses. Far more dangerous now that it isn’t dampened by unrelenting waves.

Suguru is a strong swimmer. He knows it. Noel knows it. The whole court knows it. Great Whites know it.

So why is his spine unraveling at its seams when you say it?

Why is his heart knocking against his sternum like it’s on the run from something?

From someone, rather.

“Mmm.” Suguru hums through closed lips.

Unable to acknowledge the compliment with decorum. He opts for diversion instead.

“Duchess, if I may. What prompted your visit to the chapel? How can I serve you?”

The two of you take lazy strides along the cobblestone path. You ogle at a white rose bush that Suguru is particularly fond of.

“I was touring the compound and noticed the garden surrounding the Church.”

A distracted response, while nestling your nose in a pretty bloom. Sun rays fanning your face as if to showcase that you’re God’s favorite. A biblical example of how flowers should be enjoyed.

Is it just the roses? Or are you this beautiful no matter the plant?

“Ahh. Come, then.”

You’re being indulgent, Suguru.

Maybe so. But the Chapel Grounds are his domain. The greenery lives and breathes under his fingertips. He adamantly refused a groundskeeper for the garden. Taking pride in nurturing its needy existence.

Second only to his eyes, Suguru trusts his hands fully. They’re intelligent. Fast. Expansive.

Definitive. Firm when the situation calls for it, yet gentle. Quick to learn.

Attentive.

He’s never gotten a shortage of compliments on his hands—

“Wisteria!” You torpedo through Suguru’s rapidly disintegrating spiral. And he couldn’t be more grateful.

Regaining a shred of control, he leads you under the oak archway. Draped in curtains of Wisteria. The billowing lilac petals sway romantically in the sea breeze.

Your lips hang open in a pretty, shocked ‘Oh.’ Eyes wide, gazing up at him in wonder. Adoration woven into those beautiful features slams hot and heavy into his lower abdomen. Remnant embers warming below his belt line.

Suguru coughs to reset his over-sensitive senses. A futile gesture because you knock him right back down to his knees.

“Oh, Father…..please?” A soft plea rolls through the slit in your lips. Pulling his eyes down to your pout.

Fuck.

The rock formation Suguru took note of earlier suddenly materializes in his throat. You coated his honorific in a new tone. Breathy and desperate. As if he is the only person who could satisfy your needs.

His skin is half a degree away from melting clear off his skeleton under those big, warm eyes of yours.

“Specify your request, Duchess.”

Both hands jam into his pockets so he can dig his nails into his thighs unnoticed. The searing pain tethering him to this dimension.

A deep rose blooms over your cheeks. Realizing you hadn’t actually asked him a question before begging.

So, prettily.

“May I please tend to your garden? It’s…I’m far from home and gardening brings me so much joy. Please, Father Geto—“

“Yes.”

His agreement comes well before Suguru is ready. Or, thought it through.

Should a noble woman be seen doing tasks as menial as gardening?

Should you be seen without your fiancée on his grounds?

What will you look like?

Kneeling over a bed of sunflowers?

Kneading the soil with your delicate, small hands—

“How can I thank you?” Your lips curl into an intoxicating smile. And Suguru no longer has the capacity to be in your presence.

“No need, stay as long as you like. I have to take my leave.”

Suguru offers a curt wave and terse smile before spinning on his heel. Leaving you, a work of art, beneath the masterpiece that is his arc of wisteria.

He barrels down the Chapel corridors at light speed. The pews, confessional, meeting rooms whirl by his periphery in a drunken haze.

Cold water. Cold water.

The wooden bathroom door creaks and wails beneath his harsh touch. Suguru fumbles with the two-level lock.

He nearly strips down naked. The fire incinerating him from within is unbearable. If there were scissors within grasp he would’ve cut his braid completely off. Because even the familiar sway of his waist length mane along his back is too much.

You are too much.

Suguru’s fingers unravel his braid and reposition his locks into a tight bun. Off the damp skin along his neck.

‘Father….please?’

Your voice echoes from Suguru’s incapacitated brain down to his drooling cock. Icy water splashes against face.

Suguru’s length has been weeping since you first revealed your face to him. Twitching and thrashing with every single word that came out of that pretty, sinful mouth. He’s never been so grateful that today he chose to swim with compression gear, rather than his usual bared skin.

Are you doing this on purpose?

Wide eyed and demure. But with a voice more beautiful than any siren that has tried to lure him to his watery grave.

Is this a test?

Suguru’s fingers desperately grasp the golden cross around his neck. Digging the symbol into his palm.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners…” He starts. Ignited, smoldering violet eyes staring back at him are unrecognizable.

They are not of God.

They are dark.

Lust filled.

“Now. And…and at the hour of our death.” Words slip through his gritted teeth. His other hand grips the sink edge.

‘May I please tend to your Garden?’

“God. Please.” Suguru is the one pleading. To anyone above.

For self-control. For reprieve from the shape of your lips when you beg. His cock bucks against his inner thigh. Demanding attention to the ache between his legs.

Are you Eve?

Have you come to destroy his Eden?

Your delectable mounds barely hidden beneath that fucking dress as the Apple?

“Holy…Holy Mary, Mother of God…pray for us sinners.” His vice grip around the cross tightens. Babbling words he hopes can provide him with some restraint, some clarity.

They don’t.

Because his other hand now hovers over the pulsating bulge in his slacks. His manhood starved. Especially having been deprived of touch. Of warmth for longer than Suguru remembers.

“Holy…Mary…fuck.” Blasphemy rolling off his tongue.

Scorching heat radiating from his hovering palm pierces his clothing. Encasing his cock like a warmed blanket. Enticing him like the soft sex of a woman. Every single muscle is under wire tension. Forcing space between his need and his hand.

His hands. Don’t forsake him now. He trusts his hands.

“Father Geto? Are you alright?” Noel’s call from the other side of the door startles Suguru still.

“I’m—“ Suguru clears his dry throat “I’m alright, Noel. What do you need?”

“I saw you run in here and—“

“I’m okay.” Suguru replies, more softly this time. The boy is almost too tender-hearted for his own good.

He doesn’t miss the small sigh of relief.

“I left your updated schedule on your desk.”

“And what would I do without you?”

Suguru can almost hear Noel smiling across the barrier. Gleefully padding away. Completely unaware that his presence was the saving grace from disgracing himself.

Another splash of cold water on his face and multiple deep breaths later, Suguru finally gains enough composure to emerge.

Curious about the updates to his schedule, he strides to his office. A leather folder awaits with his itinerary.

Saturday: 0800 - 1000- Youth lecture

Saturday: 1800 - 2000 - Evening mass

Sunday: 0700 - 0900 - Morning mass

Sunday: 1300 - 1400 - Pre-Marital Counseling [CONFIDENTIAL]

“High court, then.” Suguru muses to himself. Pulling out the envelope with a matching demarcation. Meant for his eyes only. Should the seal be broken en route to the recipient the offender could be sentenced to death for treason.

And at this moment, Suguru finds that fate less painful than the spear currently piercing his lungs.

His eyes burn into the names written at the bottom of the page.

The Duke Ahriman & The Duchess-to-Be.

Chapter II

E/N: Hello from [redacted]. I am literally losing my shite. I’m already in love with the plot before it has even fully materialized. And prince-of-the-sea-Suguru? This headcannon has me in a chokehold I fear. Thank you for reading 💋

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daddyricsdoll · 3 months

Text

(I know it isn’t exactly “come here and cuddle me.” But to me it’s perfect for what I wrote.)

˗ˏˋ🤍✧˖°. 🩹꒱ ˎˊ˗

My whole body shook as the tears kept falling down my face. Remembering the 3 years of my life that were wasted on someone who couldn’t even say they loved me- but at least they didn’t lie. My phone buzzed constantly, text messages and phone calls to check if I was still alive. But I hadn’t answered them in hours, creating problems for others, but right now I couldn’t handle thinking about another thing. My mind already clouded with memories that I’d just wish to burn. To even think that I loved him while he crept around from woman to woman.

Used tissues surrounding my sweater clad body. Even my stomach screamed, begging for love from myself as I hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday.

I could feel the pain in my chest, my heart fractured and hollow as I recalled the time when it felt comfort.

Just as I was about to shut my eyes and sob myself to sleep, a knock of my door distracted me. Scenarios running through my head as I overthought everything, gradually making my way closer to the door.

I didn’t bother to check who it was, as even my own safety didn’t cross my mind. My fingers gripping the door handle and pulling until my eyes found such familiar cerulean ones. A soft smile on his pink lips.

I didn’t say a word, unable to even think of letters, but I stared at him. Acknowledging the bag of food in one hand, clothes in the other and his dishevelled look. Only after painfully long seconds I moved out of the way and tried my best to seem normal. Lando took a second before taking a cautious step. Coming inches closer to me and sharing such a sympathetic look that drove my body to start shaking again. Salt streaming out of my eyes.

“Come here.” Lando opened his arms, pulling my fragile body into his firm one. Thick hoodie keeping me warm and the clean scent of him dancing in and out of my stuffy nostrils. Both my arms being squished between our bodies, as Lando let me cry against him. Holding my figure so close to him, letting me feel solace. It was the first time in a long time that my mind felt free. Focusing solely on Lando.

“I love you.” He says into my hair. The three words that one man never could. Another tear falling, but this one wasn’t filled with sadness, but a vulnerable contentment. All because he said “I love you.”

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borathae · 9 months

Text

“After listening to your friend’s story about how awesome it feels to sit on your boyfriend’s lap, you want to try it yourself. Jungkook is more than willing to offer his lap to you, even it makes his face burn up and his heart race like crazy (and maybe get his dick hard, but don’t tell anyone).

Alternatively: Maybe sitting on your boyfriend’s lap isn’t as innocent as you may have thought it would be.”

~ Requested by two anonies ~

Pairing: Jungkook x f.Reader

Gerne: College!AU, established relationship!AU, domestic!Fluff, Smut

Warnings: shy but horny!Jungkook, shy but horny!Reader, they both think the other is in charge which ends up with them being two needy subs grinding on each other, so much domestic sweetness, listen it’s so cute, making out, lap sitting, thigh riding, she rubs his cock over his clothes, grinding, she grinds her pussy on his cock, unprotected sex in the sense that he cums on her without a condom on but dw they are both clean & on birth control, cuddles for aftercare

Wordcount: 4.1k

a/n: I combined these two requests and decided to go with the Sense of Innocence!couple because they fit them really well. This is so adorable and cute and gosh, I love writing for them. They are both such sweethearts. Enjoy my lovelies, this is also my B-Day present for Koo 💗

You are hanging out at Jungkook’s place today. It is raining outside. The skies were grey and on the roads little rivers of fallen water were making their way downtown.

You don’t mind the weather. Not only because you love rainy weather, but also because Jungkook’s place was really cozy. He has his heaters on at their highest level, keeping the apartment nice and toasty. His diffuser was on as well, soaking the air in a sweet and perfectly faint vanilla scent. He even turned on his galaxy lamp. It is barely visible right now, as you not only have the lights on, but it’s also still bright outside. It still gave the room a slight colourful hue to it, which was nice.

Jungkook is playing Animal Crossing on his TV while you are next to him, playing on your phone.

Your feet you have buried under his thigh, using his body heat to keep your toes warm. Every now and then you can feel Jungkook caressing the back of your calf as a reminder that he was there and you were there and while he was busy with gaming he still thought of you. It was a nice reminder.

Right this moment you received yet another text from your classmate and friend Jia giving you dating advice.

- Jia: are you serious? you never sat on his lap before??

- Jia: haven’t you guys been together for like seven months??

Well, it was more of her shaming you for your slow step taking, but it was dating advice nonetheless.

- You: not like this. not so random.

- You: what if it’s weird?

Her answer is instant.

- Jia: girl, it’s weirder that you’ve never done it before

- You: :( i just don’t wanna be too much

- Jia: he loves you like crazy, I don’t think he’d think it’s too much

You contemplate her answer long enough that she sends you three more messages.

- Jia: besides. two things.

- Jia: sitting on your guy’s lap is so comfy

- Jia: and Kook’s a dude, he’ll love it cause dudes love that shit

You sneak a glance at Jungkook, who just this moment shoves a big handful of salted peanuts into his mouth. He wipes the access salt on his black shorts and chews with his big eyes focused on the screen.

So Jungkook loves it when you sit on his lap because all dudes do.

That sounds like a stereotype to you.

- You: I feel like that’s way too generic. not every guy’s the same.

- Jia: yeah, duh? but he’s into you and if a guy’s into you he likes it when you sit on him

You feel your cheeks heat up at her choice of words, looking at Jungkook in case he somehow heard what you just read. He obviously didn’t, still highly concentrated on planting pink flowers on his island.

- You: you really think so?

- Jia: yeah

- You: and it’s worth it?

- Jia: YEAH

You look at Jungkook again. He is chewing again, which means he shoved some peanuts into his mouth when you weren’t looking.

- You: okay I’ll do it, brb

You don’t get to see her answer, but she is cheering for you.

You place your phone down.

“Hey, Kook, uhm.”

“Hm?” he says, cocking his eyebrow up but not looking away from his game.

“Can I try something?”

“Yeah, wanna play for a bit?” he offers, but follows it up with, “can I just finish the flowers first? I know exactly where to put them and I don’t wanna forget the spots.”

“No, I wanna uhm…can I just show you?”

Jungkook nods his head, “sure”, he says, still staring at his game.

You take a deep breath and peel yourself off your comfortable lounging spot to get on all fours and crawl to him.

He sneaks a glance at you from the corners of his eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asks, eating some peanuts again.

You take his arm and pull it around you. At that Jungkook finally looks at you, flashing you a sweet smile instantly.

“Hey”, he says, pulling you closer.

“Hey, uhm”, you murmur, doing the next step of climbing on top of his lap and then sitting down.

“Oh?” he widens his eyes, gawking at you with his lips parted in a perfect O-shape.

You don’t bear to look into his eyes. Instead you let yourself plop against his chest, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in the crook of his neck.

Jungkook lets out a soft chuckle, nuzzling his cheek against your head. He rubs his hand up and down your back.

“You’re cute”, he says and pecks your hair.

“Do, do you like it?” you ask him.

“Yeah, I do”, he says, returning to his game, “so snuggly.”

You smile. So Jia was right. He likes it. You cuddle closer and begin playing with his hair. You like it too.

His chest is strong, his thighs are soft now that they are relaxed and his arms around you feel so safe. He also smells heavenly. Like his body lotion and laundry detergent. The faint scent of his shampoo lingers on his neck as well, as does the actual smell of his skin.

“Feels nice, don’t stop”, Jungkook says.

You also really love that you can play with his hair so easily. He has the softest hair. It’s always so nice to feel it run through your fingers and tickle your skin.

“Your hair is so soft”, you tell him shyly.

Jungkook rests his head against yours in acknowledgement, humming a soft “mhm”. He knows that he doesn’t have to say more.

You spend the next moments like this. Cuddled up together as Jungkook plays Animal Crossing. He is preparing his island for a flower festival and he wants it to look as perfect as possible. Every now and then, you can hear him munch on some peanuts or mumble innocent curses under his breath when he accidentally planted the flower in the wrong spot.

You feel so cozy atop his lap. He is so warm and snuggly. And the touches he gives you make you tingle like crazy. Each time he eats some peanuts, he makes sure to connect himself with you by touching you softly. His fingers trace your spine, his palms run along your side or thigh and every now and then you feel his lips leave a little kiss on your head. It’s so, so nice to experience and you curse yourself for not doing it sooner.

You would have sat on him longer if the stupid doorbell hadn’t rang. Jungkook lifts his phone to check for the time.

“Our chicken”, he exclaims, “took them long enough. Wah, more than an hour.”

The doorbell rings again. He pats your butt gently.

“Baby, can I get the chicken?”

“No, it’s fine. I’m already getting it”, you say and peel yourself up with a heavy heart. You wanted to stay on his lap for longer.

You thank the delivery person, wishing them a safe drive home. The rain became stronger in the time you sat on Jungkook’s lap, entering his apartment and hitting your toes when you had to open the door. The delivery person trots down the stairs with their head held low to shield the rain. Poor them. You hope that they can warm up and dry off soon.

You lock the door and return to Jungkook. He already has two plates set out and a pair of plastic gloves for each of you.

“Wah, look at the size of that box. I’m so hungry already, you have no idea. Thank you for getting it”, he says, meeting you halfway to take the box from you. He carries it to his coffee table and sets it down. Then he opens it, busying himself with taking out the different sauces and opening them.

You in the meantime, get comfortable next to him and switch the channels.

“Thank you”, he says.

“Sure. Should we continue Physical 100?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

And so it happens that you and Jungkook watch your current shared favourite show as you eat your crispy chicken. It is a very amazing time and the food is really tasty. But you can’t deny the sad little feeling deep in your tummy that you can’t sit on his lap anymore. You got a taste of it and now you want to experience it again.

You and Jungkook wash down the chicken with some beer. He sighs happily, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“The food was so good”, he says.

There is around seven minute of show left. He relaxes into the cushions and sips on his beer. You get up to clean the table.

“Baby, no”, he says, tugging you back down.

You fall with a squeak, landing on his lap. Your eyes flit up, meeting his playful gaze. Your heart is doing somersaults in your chest.

“Don’t clean, you’re my guest. Just relax”, he says and wiggles his legs, “please?” he adds, widening his eyes cutely.

“Yeah okay”, you say, stifling a squeaky giggle as you settle against his chest. Your back is resting against it while your head is on his shoulder. He wraps his arm around you, nuzzling his nose into your neck and kissing you softly.

“I love that”, he says, “this is so nice.”

“Yeah it is”, you agree, feeling your heart race like crazy. This is the best feeling ever. It really is.

And so it happens that you finish the show sitting on Jungkook’s lap. You drink your beer, laugh or gasp at parts of the show and enjoy the other’s warmth to the fullest. And you are so, so happy that you dared to take the step. Being on his lap is amazing.

“Do you wanna watch another episode?” he asks once the show finished.

“Yeah, why not?” you say.

“Noice”, he says, pecking your cheek, “keep it playing, I just gotta wash the dishes. I thought I could handle them being here, but I can’t. I’m so fidgety.”

You get off his lap and help him clean the coffee table. The show is running in the background. His kitchen is located right behind the TV, allowing you to listening to the show clearly.

“I get it. It’s nicer when everything’s clean”, you tell him, throwing away the empty chicken box and cans of beer.

“Yeah definitely.”

It doesn’t take long for Jungkook to do the dishes. They were only two plates after all. You are already on the sofa again when he returns. He sits down next to you and sneaks a glance at you. You do the same.

“Do you…” you begin.

“Yeah”, he says, blushing softly.

“Okay”, you almost squeak the word and then you are already on your feet to change your position. You sit down on his lap again, cuddling into him while he hugs you tightly.

“This is so nice”, he says, resting his chin on your shoulder and smiling softly.

“Yeah, it really is”, you agree, feeling oh so happy.

You manage to watch a good two thirds of the show and then you have to get up to pee. You tell Jungkook to keep the show running because you don’t like the current team and don’t care about what happens to them. Jungkook still gives you updates when you are sitting on the toilet, doing so by yelling out what was happening. It made you chuckle because it was cute.

Jungkook is gawking at the screen with big eyes and parted lips once you return. He is resting his elbows on his knees, looking totally captured by the show.

Saddened by the fact that you can’t sit on his lap anymore, you sit down next to him.

His head turns to you instantly, he frowns at you, studying you with sad eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you sitting there?”

“What do you mean?”

“Get on here”, he says, patting his lap, “don’t sit there.”

“Oh”, your cheeks heat up instantly, “sorry, I just didn’t want to force myself onto you.”

“You’re not. Now com’ere”, he says and opens his arms for you.

You follow happily, doing it in a way so you were facing him again.

“But you can’t watch the show like that”, he says.

“It’s fine, I like this so much more”, you tell him, running your hands up and down his neck.

He gazes into your eyes and smiles with them. You retort it.

“You’re cute”, he says.

“You like this, don’t you?”

“I love it so much”, he says.

“I thought that I would try it tonight.”

“It’s amazing”, he smiles, caressing your waist.

You are so giddy! You have to kiss him! You do so rather forcefully, knocking a surprised squeak out of him. He falls into the cushions, accepting the kiss with his breath tickling your cheek as he exhales shakily. One more time you suck on his lips and then you pull back to sneak a glance at him.

His eyes are half-lidded, his lips are parted. He gazes at your lips then locks eyes with you. A soft, hazy smile lights up his face.

“What was that for?” he asks.

“Just so. I think you’re so cute”, you tell him.

“I think you’re cuter”, he says and looks at your lips, “I want to kiss you again”, he confesses, cupping your cheek, “please?”

You close the distance between you and him. You want the same. You got a taste of him and now all you want to do is have him on your lips for hours. It starts off innocent. Really, you didn’t mean for it to turn into the mess it will turn into ten minutes from now.

It starts off oh so innocently. You are feeling each other up, but it is never meant to linger on an intimate spot. You touch his chest, his shoulders, his face and neck, playing with his hair as well. While he feels up your back, your waist, your legs and your face, tickling your scalp every now and then as well. It was supposed to be innocent, but the thing with being stupidly and unbearably in love with each other is that there will come a time where the innocent touches leave exciting sparks on your skin and then those touches send your hearts into overdrive and make your breaths shaky.

You break the kiss, just so you can connect your tender lips with his neck.

“Baby”, Jungkook sighs, tilting his head to the side and closing his eyes, “that feels really good.”

His pulse is racing like crazy under your lips, encouraging you to keep going. Jungkook moans softly, sliding his hands to your hips. That’s when the innocence ceases to exist. You chase his touch, forcing your pussy to grind against his thigh.

“Ah”, you gasp, tensing up and lifting your head.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook asks, looking at you with big, worried eyes.

“I, I”, you stutter, feeling your face heat up unbearably.

“Baby, what’s the matter?” he stresses.

You wiggle your hips and bite down a little moan. The pressure and warmth on your clit felt really intense. Jungkook sneaks a glance down at you, widening his eyes.

“Oh”, he lets out, looking back at you.

You lower your head, feeling too embarrassed to look into his eyes. He’ll probably think that you’re such a needy idiot.

Jungkook takes your hand and guides it to his dick wordlessly.

“Oh?” you gasp, gawking at him. He is really hard in his shorts, twitching into your hand as he guides your fingers over his tip. He is blushing like crazy.

“I didn’t want to say, because I didn’t wanna be a horndog”, he says and grins shyly.

“Oh”, you let out and wiggle your hips on his thigh. The grinding motion feels so good that you let out a little moan. Jungkook answers you with a moan as well, looking at your lips with droopy eyes. He is still rubbing your hand over his clothed cock, but soon doesn’t have to anymore as you take over.

“This is good”, he sighs.

“Yeah, it’s good”, you agree.

Jungkook places his strong hands on your hips and helps you ride his thigh. He feels so good. You are so warm on his thigh and the way you seem to tense and shudder each time your hips roll over his muscle excites him a lot. You in return love how his cock is twitching under your hand and how hot he feels to the touch.

You exchange one look, one moan, one touch and then you are kissing again. Sloppier than before. More tongue as well. And with lots of little sounds escaping the both of you. The show is almost over by now. Only ten minutes left. Neither of you take it in. It’s background noise, just as the loud rain outside is.

You rub each other sensitive that way. The next episode is already four minutes in when you break the kiss again. You have soaked through your panties and sweats by now. Jungkook did the same with his shorts. You are panting like crazy, barely catching your breaths. You try to look at him, but barely can. He is so blurry in your vision. You cup his heated cheeks. Jungkook leans into your touch, moaning your name.

“I can’t hold it for long”, he confesses.

“Same”, you say, tensing on his lap.

“I wanna feel your pussy.”

“We could take our pants off.”

“Yeah please.”

“Okay.”

You scramble to get naked. At least your bottoms for now. You are too horny to care about your shirts. You just want to connect with each other again. You scramble back onto his lap, Jungkook welcomes you with open arms. He grips your hips instantly without ever guiding you. You still think that he is. Neither of you really think they’re in charge, both think it’s the other. It still works somehow. You find each other, pressing up against the other.

Like this, your pussy is grinding right against his cock. Said cock is resting against Jungkook’s stomach, twitching when your wet warmth comes into contact with him.

“Baby”, Jungkook moans, closing his eyes, “baby that feels so good.”

“Yeah”, you moan and chase him with rolls of your hips. His cock grinds right against your clit, sending electric pleasure through your veins. He is so much warmer than his thigh was. And softer. And so much wetter. Oh god, having his naked cock against your pussy feels so good. You don’t want to stop chasing him. He probably thinks that you are acting so needy right now, but you have to keep moving.

You lower your head to kiss his neck and suck on his skin desperately.

Jungkook moans, dropping his head on the edge of the backrest. Like this, his body slides down the cushions just enough that you have even better access to his cock. You press down on him and use the better position to focus your attention on his tip.

Jungkook shudders, tensing his thighs as he feels bolts of pleasure course through him.

“Don’t stop”, he begs, leaking in bliss.

You smear it all over your pussy and cock seconds later, mixing it with your own never ending slick. The movements are so easy because of how wet both of you are. You can’t stop grinding on him even if you wanted to. His request is unnecessary because all you want to do is keep feeling him in this way.

“Don’t stop”, you beg. You don’t know why you begged, but it felt so right to do. In your eyes it is Jungkook, after all, who controls the scene. Who guides your hips with his hands as you lose yourself on his cock.

While he thinks that you are having him wrapped around your every finger, laying willing victim to your sweet seduction.

Truly it is almost adorable how wrong either of you was. Just two submissive lovers grinding on each other, thinking they are the one submitting whilst in reality you are both equally submissive. It’s adorable, really. Adorable and very needy.

Oh so needy.

You break your lips from Jungkook’s neck because you needed to breathe. You are so dizzy that it gets hard to keep moving your hips. But you have to, Jungkook would want you to.

“I’m so close”, you whimper, twisting a bundle of his hair.

“Me too, baby”, Jungkook gets out, squeezing your hips. He is holding back. All he really wants to do is climax all over your pussy. But he holds back, because you would want him to.

Adorable, really. You both are so adorably stupid right now.

“Kookie”, you whimper, tensing up. Your clit is pulsating like crazy. You can’t describe how intense his cock feels on it, but it does. Oh it does. You can barely breathe.

“You can c-cum whenever you, you need to”, Jungkook stutters, squeezing your hips.

“R-really?” you squeak out, resting your forehead on his shoulder. You are so ruined. Oh god, so ruined. You need to keep grinding and grinding and grinding.

“Yes”, he says and in his ears it’s him making sure that you cum first, but to you it sounds like he is finally giving you permission to let go.

You press yourself closer and sob his name, hiding away in the crook of his neck as you let that tight knot in your tummy burst. You manage to grind yourself on him one more time and then the pleasure gets too difficult to bear.

“Oh god”, you choke out, convulsing atop his lap as your fingers twist his hair desperately. You feel so hot. Your pussy feels like she’s burning up. It’s so intense that you end up sobbing his name again and squeezing him for comfort.

“You’re so hot”, Jungkook mewls, helping you ride out your high by moving his hips which results in his cock grinding against your pussy, “oh god baby, oh god.”

You finish after five aggressive shakes of your legs.

“Kook”, you moan, chasing him even if it hurts a little. You already acted needy enough, now you need to get him off as well, “Kook please.”

“I’m gonna cum”, Jungkook whimpers, “I can’t hold back anymore.”

“Please”, you beg him, grinding your overstimulated pussy against his tip.

“___”, Jungkook moans and arches his back. The tight knot in his stomach breaks and fire takes a hold of his body. It feels so good to climax like that, leaving him to drop into the cushions and keen your name loudly.

“Yes, thank you”, you pant, helping him ride out his high by grinding on his cock. He made you so sticky and wet now that he is cumming all over your pussy. You really like the feeling, chasing it with needy ruts of your hips.

It takes Jungkook six rolls of your hips and then he gets too overstimulated. He grips your hips and drags you away from his cock.

“Please no more”, he begs.

You drop onto his lap, soiling his skin with your mess. Neither of you care.

“Thank you”, he gets out, hugging you against him, “oh god, this was amazing.”

“Yeah”, you agree with your head resting on his chest, “I was so horny.”

“Me too”, he says, chuckling breathily, “you’re amazing.”

“No, you are.”

You lift your head to send him a goofy grin. One he retorts happily.

Behind you the show announces the new challenge. You and Jungkook sneak a glance at it.

“What the hell is going on?” Jungkook asks, reaching for the remote to press the information button, “huh? How are we already halfway through the next episode?”

“Stop it. I don’t wanna spoiler myself”, you say.

Jungkook turns off the TV and drops the remote in synch with his head falling against the sofa, “we’re idiots. I didn’t even realise the show was still on”, he laughs.

“Yeah me neither”, you giggle, “but I don’t regret it.”

“Agreed”, he says, hugging your waist, “lean into me, I wanna hold you.”

“Mhm, Kookie”, you say, snuggling into him, “we gotta rewatch what we missed.”

“Yeah definitely.”

“I gotta go pee and clean up soon”, you whisper.

“Hush, just a few more moments. I need to savour you.”

“That’s fine with me”, you say, feeling oh so happy that you want to scream.

Jungkook feels the same, replaying what happened moments before in his head. He is smiling as he does, feeling his heart race like crazy.

Jia will ask you for updates when you meet her on campus on Wednesday, but you won’t give her more than a simple “he really loved it”. She smiled and then acted cocky about being right.

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