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qawcamiz · 1 year

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READER WITH A MESSY ROOMMATE, WHO'S VERY FLIRTY AS WELL, THEN THEY CAUGHT READER PLEASURING HERSELF WITH VIBRATOR OR ISKDKDKDD YOUR CHOICE !

WHAT A SIGHT !

warning: fem reader, sexual content, oral sex (reader receiving), masturbation, fingering (slight), dominant, etc.

characters: Tartaglia, Kaveh, Kaeya, Heizou, & Itto

a/n: I just hc these characters to be a 'messy roommate', if you think they're the opposite, my bad ☹️☹️ This is js my opinion since the request said it can b anyone !!

"I don't like being poked fun at, So either you come inside the room and eat me out or go away."

"Don't worry, princess... I'll be cleaning the mess this time."

This man behaves consistently with his lifestyle. He doesn't approach anything seriously and doesn't take the responsibility of tidying up his mess. He occasionally shows gratitude when you clean up after him, but the truth is that you do it for your benefit to keep the place organized.

Despite his laid-back and carefree attitude, he's the type of person who would always lend a helping hand. He may not be the tidiest person but he makes up for it by his generosity and thoughtfulness. He never hesitates to offer his assistance regardless of whether you explicitly ask for it or not. moreover, he's always there to provide emotional support when you're in distress, even if it means simply sitting with you in silence.

Besides, whenever he goes out, he takes the time to bring back something that he knows you'll enjoy. As a result, you reciprocate his motions by completing any tasks he asks of you and occasionally purchasing items that align with his interests. It all works out in the end and you get to know each other quite well.

He is dependable, always willing to lend a hand no matter the situation. You find it tough to reject him or deny his requests, as his genuine respect for others makes it evident that he always has their best interests at heart, regardless of the potential consequences he may face personally.

Although you find his behavior exhausting, you recognize that he is a naturally flirty and playful person and try to take everything with a grain of salt. However, there have been times when his behavior crosses boundaries and he tries to become intimate with you. In these instances, you assert yourself and push him away firmly, as you have had enough of his advances. Despite this, his apologies and genuine remorse for overstepping ensure that you don't stay furious at him for long.

He had just returned from the party he had previously told you about, and it was around midnight, at which point he assumed you'll be sleeping. As he approached your door, he could hear the distinctive sounds of your wails, as well as the loud buzzing of some sort. He leaned in closer to listen, and a smirk formed on his lips when he heard you moaning his name and pleading for 'more'. He couldn't resist the temptation and slightly opened the door to peek inside. The sight before him was stimulating - you were lying on your back, your eyes closed and legs spread wide. In your hand was a vibrator, buzzing away as you pleasured yourself.

He felt a rush of desire wash over him as he observed you fondling your breasts by skimming through the openings in your clothing. Your heavy breathing indicated your high level of arousal, causing his erection to throb with discomfort. He tightened his grasp and commenced rubbing the lower part of his area through his pants. The smell of sexual excitement became more severe as you persisted in touching yourself, whining out loud.

He hadn't given in to the trick to enter the room, All he did was listen to the sounds of your pleasure while noticing the way your breath hitched. He felt guilty for peeking into your private moment, but it was a bit difficult to ignore your pleasuring noises, not to mention you're moaning his name. He didn't want to make you feel embarrassed about what you were doing so he continued looking and listening to your cries to savor them.

"...Fuck, get in... I can hear your groans, you know?..." you said hoarsely. "...Why don't you put that annoying mouth of yours to good use?..." You tried to shift to accommodate him but he wasn't having any of it. "I don't like being poked fun at, So either you come inside the room and eat me out or go away." You glared at him angrily. As he knew he wouldn't be able to oppose you if you insisted so he reluctantly removed his hand from his pants and went inside your room, he immediately began working on undoing his trousers. He then proceeded to kneel between your legs and press a soft kiss on your neck, earning a whimper of approval from you.

"You have no idea how much I wanted to do this, y/n." he lightly kneaded your clit, causing you to moan with pleasure. "However, I want to give you something that will surely make this evening memorable and pleasurable." As he ran his cool fingers tenderly over your breasts, he rested two of them on your nipple and began massaging it with a slow and steady motion, causing you to moan in ecstasy.

His touch was as delicate as a feather, yet it sent shivers down your spine and made your body quiver with anticipation. You felt yourself getting wetter and wetter as his expert fingers continued to explore every inch of your body, making you forget about everything else except for the pleasure that was consuming you. You couldn't wait to see what other delights he had in store for you, as you surrendered yourself completely to his magical touch.

He skillfully licked and sucked your clit with his mouth, making you moan with pleasure. The sensation was so intense that you could feel a tingle of electricity run through your body, causing you to writhe at his touch. He then proceeded to rub his thumb in small circular motions on your sensitive spot, adding to the sensation and building the pleasure inside you. your body was on fire as he continued to tease and pleasure you with his skilled tongue and fingers, making you moan louder with each passing moment.

"throw that toy, love. you don't need it when I could satisfy you better." His words were escorted by a sultry gaze that torched a fire within you, leaving you feeling even more turned on. He then pulled away from between your legs and leaned in for a kiss, his lips meeting yours in an electrifying embrace.

The feeling of his mouth on yours was sacred, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of enthusiasm as he pulled away. His words echoed in your mind as you felt a pang of guilt for using a vibrator, but also a sense of excitement at the thought of relying solely on him for pleasure. You couldn't deny the desire that was building up inside you, and you found yourself eagerly responding to his advances. As he deepened the kiss, you knew that you were in for a night of intense pleasure and passion, with nothing but his skillful touch to satisfy your every need.

"Can you really... satisfy someone like me...?" you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and savoring every sensation. His tongue continued to tease and explore your mouth, and you felt yourself growing more and more turned on with every passing moment. Finally, he pulled away, leaving you breathless and wanting more. You looked up into his eyes, silently begging him to continue. He smiled down at you, knowing exactly what you wanted, and resumed his sensual attack on your neck and shoulders. You moaned with pleasure as he continued to explore your body with his mouth, leaving you lost in a sea of rapture and ecstasy.

"Don't worry, princess... I'll be cleaning the mess this time."

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alloveroliver · 4 years

Text

Dalim x MC “My Doll”

🔞 SMUT 🔞

A|N: At the end of Oliver’s route, Alice decides to go with Dalim to be his toy instead :3

WC: 1,440

TAGS: Dub-Con(but con), Villain!Dalim js, publicish, speed-run romance :P

Ikemen Revolution Fanfic

Dalim uses his teleportation magic and warps Alice and him to the magic tower. She blinks rapidly as her eyes adjust to the dimly lit hallway. The walls glow in a tinge of purple and blues, but she doesn’t have time to take it all in.

“Look at you, doll.” Dalim presses Alice’s back to the wall. “Is it that you were scared of me that you agreed, or was it,” He leans in, lips hovering above her ear. “That you wanted to be with me. Hm?”

She gulped, sivering from the sensation to her lobe. Dalim smirks against her ear and takes a quick nip. There’s a long pause as Dalim waits for her response. His hands slide to her hips, and he grips tightly.

“It’s because…”

“Come on, Princess. Spit it out. You don’t want to start off as a naughty doll, do you? Because naughty dolls get punished.” He bit the side of her neck and listened to her whimper.

“I-I wanted to!” She blurted out, balling her hands into fists.

“I can be gentle with you, princess.” He kisses over the bite mark he left, licking at the red skin. He coos into her neck. “If you’re good. And, I know you want to be good for me, yeah?”

“Y-yes.” She nods, pressing her head back against the uneven stone wall.

“I usually break my dolls,” Dalim spoke calmly. His hand came up to rest on Alice’s neck, gently squeezing but not adding any significant pressure. “But, for you, I will make an exception.”

Dalim angled Alice’s face until she looked him head-on. Her heart raced in her chest, and Dalim could feel the pounding of her blood rushing in the veins in her neck.

“I’ll be good…” She whispered into the tiny space the separated them.

“Good,” Dalim placed his knee between Alice’s legs. “Now, kiss me, Doll.”

He held back, watching her push up on her toes to meet his lips.

“Such an eager one,” Dalim muttered before meeting her halfway and crashing their lips together. He nipped at her quivering bottom lip. “Seems like you will be easy to train, Alice. Do you want that?”

He pressed his lips back down to hers, claiming them over and over. The passion behind his kiss was lustful and needy. He’d been waiting for her for a very, very long time, coveting her presents the moment he saw her.

“Do you like it when my hands explore your body?” His words seemed to make her realize just where his hands had trailed. He touched her curves hungrily, feeling each inch of her.

“MMM,” Alice’s sounds were muffled against his crushing lips.

His knee, resting against her sex, began to grind against her core. Alice moaned into his mouth, and Dalim swallowed the sound.

“Someone could see!” Alice managed to break apart from his lips and look around the hallway.

“So? Better for them to see that you’re mine now rather than later. The people here know not to fuck with what’s mine.” He growled into her ear and tugged at her top until the sleeves dipped down her shoulder. A seam ripped, and the fabric snapped.

She shivered as his teeth dug into her newly exposed skin. He nipped and licked her clavicle as his hand journey to her core. Alice’s hands gripped his shoulders, steadying herself on the cement floor.

“You’ve made a mess here, Doll.” He slid his fingers up and down her clothed sex. “These panties are ruined.” He tugged at them then let go, letting them snap back against her skin. She bucked her hips and clung to him harder. “Such a good Doll. Maybe you won’t need much training, after all.” He smirked, dipping his hand down the front of her undies.

“Dalmin!” She squeezed her eyes shut as his fingers explored her most intimate place. His lips moved down her chest until they met her peak. He tugged her bra, exposing her pert nipple.

He hummed, lavishly licking the sensitive part of her chest until she gasped. The sounds she made echoed off the walls, indeed warning of anyone that may be walking down them nearby.

“Do you like how I touch you there? Teasing that naughty little hole of yours.” He sucked hard on her breast, taking a nipple between his teeth. “I’m going to fill you up, right here.” Dalim’s words were seductive as he dipped a finger into her cunt. “And, I'm going to fuck you so deep. Do you want that, Doll? Want me to fuck that naughty little pussy of yours? Hm?”

Alice rolled her hips into his hands. The words he spoke went straight to her sex, and she screwed her eyes shut. “Ye-” She gulped as a second finger entered her.

“What was that? Speak up, Doll.”

“Yes!” She clenched against his curling fingers.

“Good girl,” He lifted his face, kissing dead on the mouth. “That’s my good girl, yeah.” He purred against her skin.

His fingers left her, and she dropped her shoulders. Dalim eyed her messy state and gave her a sultry smile. “Now, turn around and put your hands on the wall.”

Alice did as he asked, turning around with legs like jello. Beneath her skirt, Dalim’s hands ran along her ass, squeezing the cheeks firmly. He tore down her panties and tossed them to the side. She eyed the fabric he threw, seeing the dark wet spot her body stained them with.

“Spread them,” He nudged one ankle to aid her. “Come on, Doll. You know you want to take this cock.” His voice was devilishly sly.

Alice split her legs, pressing her chest to the wall. She braced her hands against the uneven stones and pinched her eyes shut.

Dalim’s lips found her neck, and he began sucking and licking the sensitive skin. He pulled out his cock and ran it up and down her silky slit.

“You like how it feels?” He huffed into her ear. “You like how my cock teases your clit, Hm?” He rubbed the tip all along her cunt, making her practically drip with anticipation.

“Feels… good.” Alice kept her voice low.

“That’s a good doll. Responding to my questions. Such a good girl.” His tone wavered as he prodded her entrance. He slammed one hand against the wall and used the other one to tease her sex with his cock. “Do you want it?” He taunted, pushing the tip into her entrance then removing it quickly.

She moaned in response, hiding her reddened face from him.

“Do you want me to fuck you against this wall, Alice? Say it, tell me you want me to fuck you!”

Alice mewled, arching her back every time his dick teased her hole. “I-I want it.”

“Want what, Doll? Be more specific.”

“I want you to… fuck me.” Alice’s words were like a whisper. It was the only sound that didn’t bounce and echo off the walls.

“That’s a good girl.” He nipped at her ear lobe. “How long?”

“Hm?” She pushed up on her toes, giving Dalim a better angle.

“I said, how long have you wanted me to fuck you?”

“Um,” Her knees trembled as his cock slid up and down her slickening hole. “A-awhile.”

“I knew it.” He slammed his cock into her cunt in one swift motion. Alice cried out, clenching her walls around the intrusion. “I knew you wanted me from the start. The way your eyes always lingered on me. I knew it.” He took in a deep breath.

He swiveled his hips, and Alice rocked back into him. Her body arched against his as he pumped into her. One hand held her hip while the other cupped her breast. Dalim moaned into her ear with each new thrust.

“We’re not leaving here, Ah-!” Dalim began. “Not until my cum is dripping down those sexy thighs of yours. Not until then, you got it?”

Autocorrect, STOP CHANGING DALIM TO SALMON!!! MY BRAIN IS GONNA POP. huf huf

Thank you @stardust-dreamer13 for the ask!!!!I hope you liked this! This was also one of my most rewritten pieces of all time sldkfjsldkfjlasj. I like what I ended up on though!

My masterlist is at the top of my blog or search my blog for # ikemen revolution smut to see more like this!

#ikemen revolution #ikemen revolution smut #dalim tweedle #dalim x mc #ikerev smut

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armysantiny · 4 years

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You need to move on, Johnny - JS

Prompt 27: grey sky

Pairing: Johnny x ghost female reader

Genre: angst, drabble, short story

Includes: crematorium , ghost au, anniversary of reader’s death, moving on, tw mention of death

Word count: 963

Summary: It’s the first anniversary of Y/N’s death, and Johnny can’t help but miss her even more than usual. But Y/N doesn’t want to see the man who made her so happy in life upset over her. Talking to him at the crematorium, the ghost tries convincing her former lover that he should try meeting others, and to move on from the grief, as hard as that may be. Johnny deserves to be happy, that’s all she wants, and all that’s keeping her from crossing over

Tagging: @kwritersworld , @kdiarynet , @kpopscape,@neo-constellations, @lovingonrepeat

An: Songs I recommend listening to while reading; Only One - Zia, I believe - Younha, Done for me - Punch.

It had been a year already. A year since Y/N had been killed in a road collision and Johnny was still grappling with the grief. The guilt was killing him on the inside. What if he had agreed to picking her up that night? What if he had gone on the drive with Y/N? Would she still be here? Would she still be in his arms every night? With a heavy heart and a lump in his throat, Johnny ran his thumb over the picture he had of Y/N that was in his wallet. It was the anniversary date and he was on his way to purchase flowers. From her favourite florists, no less.

As Johnny paid for the bouquet, he forced a smile on his face as he looked to Taeil. Chuckling, Taeil reached over and rest his hand on the younger’s shoulder. “I know it hurts Johnny, I miss her too. You don’t have to pretend it’s okay.” As Johnny’s eyes met Taeil’s, the tears that threatened to fall landed on his cheek, his breath quivering. With a sigh, the older male exited the counter and wrapped his arms around the taller of the two in a hug; he needed one. That’s when Johnny couldn’t stop the sob that escaped him. His strangled cries stabbed at Taeil’s heart, and he found it hard not to shed a few tears as well. Taking a deep breath, he pulled out of the hug and smiled.

“Go and see her, Johnny. I’m sure she misses you just as much.”

“O-Okay, hyung. Thank you...” With a final hug, Johnny left the florist and took the first bus that arrived, making his way to the crematorium with Y/N on his mind. Everything around him just reminded him of her; the couple sitting a few seats in front brought back memories of the first few months, and his heart ached. A year prior, and he was doing the same with the love of his life, and now...he was visiting her urn. Whoever said life was just a cruel sense of irony, was right.

Getting off the bus, Johnny’s gaze fell upon the crematorium and he held the flowers close to his chest as he walked inside. Finding Y/N’s immediately, he opened the case and replaced the old flowers with the fresh bouquet,his thumb tracing the picture frame of his late girlfriend.

“Johnny, you’ve got to start moving on.”

…Y/N?!

“Y/N....? It, it can’t be...” His grief must have been playing tricks on his mind, because Johnny could swear he heard her voice. Looking around even though he was the only person there, his head snapped to the reception desk, where a familiar face was swinging her feet and waving at the Korean-American.

“Y/N?! How are- but you’re a -”

“A ghost? Yeah, I know, I haven’t crossed over yet,” Hopping off the desk and walking over to her shrine, she grinned, “you know you didn’t have to do all this, right? It’s so fancy~” Still in shock, Johnny simply stared at the apparition of his late lover beside him. She was really there. She was talking to him. Taking a deep breath, he spoke, his words as sincere as the day he first uttered them,

“I told you I’d do anything for you Y/N.”

“Then can you do me one last favour Johnny? It’s the last thing I’ll ever ask from you.” Stepping closer to Johnny, she took his hands in her own and chuckled to herself. It had definitely been a while since she had done this. Now it was time for someone else to hold him the same way. “I want you to be happy with someone new. Meet someone, be happy with them, create new memories - just - don’t stay upset over me.”

Someone new? It was true, Johnny hadn’t dated anyone since Y/N had died; everything just reminded him of her, and it tugged at the wound in his heart each and every time. Y/N brought him a happiness that he knew he wouldn’t find with anyone else. He only needed her, and she was gone. Did he deserve to be happy?

“Y/N how - how am I supposed to find someone as perfect as you? Without you, there’s something missing in me, I can’t go on without you.” Sighing and shaking her head, Y/N simply smiled.

“Wrong. You’ve made it this far without me. Now keep going without me.”

“But -”

“Ah - no ‘buts’ Johnny. Promise me you’ll live your life fully again; you’ll do what makes you happy, you’ll meet someone that makes you happy. You’ll be happy again. Can you promise me that you’ll try?” That same hope and optimism that Johnny fell in love with was there, bright as the brightest star and looking right at him. The longer he remained quiet, the more the lump in his throat returned and he felt his chest tighten. Swallowing thickly, he nodded, a strained smile on his face.

“I promise.” Once the words left his lips, Y/N grinned, hugging Johnny and hiding the tears that started to fall. As she stepped away, Johnny looked on in shock as her body started to fade away.

“Y/N?! Where - where are you going?!”

“I’m crossing over, Johnny. Thank you for making your promise, make sure you keep it, alright?...I’ll always be here,” placing her hand on his chest, she waved one last time before she faded away entirely, “...never forget that, Johnny.” Hand trembling as he placed his own hand where hers was, Johnny fell to his knees, uncontrollable sobs racking his body. He’d never forget the first love of his life, for as long as he lived.

“I will,Y/N...I’ll be happy for you. Thank you for being in my life...”

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inctlife · 5 years

Text

First Time | JS ~ Jasper & Ava

genre: fluff, dad!Johnny

summary: it’s the 12th of april, 2020 (the day Johnny has been waiting for)

age: Jasper & Ava = newborn

warnings: childbirth

_________

“Johnny, Johnny, John, please, ah! Johnny I can’t do this,” you panted, squeezing Johnny’s hand as tight as you could.

Johnny shook his head, pressing a small kiss to your forehead, “it’s okay, you’re doing brilliantly darling.”

“Johnny it hurts so much, I—“

“One last push and the first one will be out!”

You squeezed your eyes shut and pushed until the crying sounds of a baby filled the room, but the pain didn’t end there.

“Congratulations, it’s a boy!” the midwife smiled, holding up the tiny baby so you and Johnny could see.

“Y/N! Look! Oh my god, that’s our son!” Johnny cried, unable to hold his tears back.

“Yes and our daughter is still causing me agony, John,” you said through gritted teeth.

“It’s okay baby, she’ll be out soon and then we’ll be able to hold our beautiful twins, yeah?” Johnny said, stroking your hair with one hand, the other still holding onto yours.

You nodded, still panting from the first one.

“Okay, Mrs Seo, you can start pushing again,” the midwife said.

You looked to Johnny in pain, but he just nodded, smiling encouragingly, “come on, you can do this.”

You nodded, smiling before pushing again, thinking of your baby girl.

“I swear to god Johnny Seo I hate you so bad!” you cried, pushing again.

Johnny chuckled, drawing soothing patterns on your hand, “I know you do baby, I know.”

You screamed as you pushed again, squeezing your husband’s hand as tight as you could.

“Well done! The head is almost out!” the midwife smiled, “keep going!”

“You’re almost there, darling, and then we can show our beautiful twins to everyone,” Johnny said, “come on.”

You sighed, pushing a few more times before the screaming filled the room once more and she was taken in the same direction as your son was.

“We thought of their names yet?” the nurse asked.

You looked to Johnny, who shrugged.

“I’ll know it when I see them,” Johnny nodded wisely.

You chuckled, shaking your head at your husband’s lameness.

“Mr and Mrs Seo?” the nurse asked, “here is your son, and here is your daughter.”

You gasped slightly, properly seeing them for the first time not being covered in blood.

“They–They’re beautiful,” you breathed, taking hold of your daughter, while Johnny took hold of your son.

“Jasper.”

“Hmm?”

“His name’s Jasper,” Johnny said, turning away to wipe away a few tears.

You chuckled, nodding, “okay then, Jasper Seo. And this one?”

Johnny looked over, smiling at his daughter’s tiny face, “Avery.”

“Avery?” you asked, “isn’t that where they keep birds?”

Johnny paused, staring at his daughter, “okay then, Ava.”

You smiled, nodding, “our Ava.”

Ava stretched out her tiny arms, her skin still wrinkley.

Johnny gasped, “Y/N! Y/N! Jasper! His little eyes!”

You glanced over to see Jasper fluttering his eyes open, looking straight at his dad. He whimpered slightly and you froze, glancing up at Johnny.

This is what he’d been afraid of the whole of your pregnancy. ‘Y/N they’re gonna be scared of me’ or ‘Y/N I don’t know what to do if one of them cries because of me’ and yet here we were.

“Here, do you want me to–“

“Shh, it’s okay, Jasper,” Johnny soothed, cuddling his son closer to his chest and stroking the side of his face with his finger until Jasper was calm and even smiling a little.

You smiled, “I told you.”

“What?” Johnny hummed, still concentrated on his son.

“I told you it was gonna be fine, didn’t I?” you said, but Johnny was barely listening, “you’re gonna be a good dad, John.”

“Hmm.”

#nct #nct 127 #johnny seo #johnny #nct johnny #dad!johnny #dad!nct #dad!series #nct kids #nct scenarios #johnny scenarios #johnny seo scenarios #nct imagines #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 imagines

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chocolatemillkk · 6 years

Text

Upset (JS)

Request: can you do a imagine where joe is upset and cryif about something and his gf ( the reader) makes him feel better, kinda like the one w jack and the cat but w joe and somthing else😚

----------------------------------------

"Joe! Are you home?" I call out into the flat. Joe wasn't answering my texts all day and I wasn't sure what he was up to. He'd come home late last night from a work function so I hadn't seen him in a while.

"Joe?" I peek into each room but he's not there. It's when I reach his dark bedroom where I'm about to close the door that my eyes adjust to a Joe-shaped lump on the bed.

"Hey babe, you alright?" I call out. He doesn't respond so I go in to investigate. I poke him but he stays curled and motionless. That's when I start to worry.

I shed my purse and jacket and climb atop the bed. "I understand if you don't want to talk love, but I'm gonna stay here with you." I whisper. I lay beside him and turn to my side to cuddle but in a single movement he's turned to face me and buried his face into my chest. I can feel warm tears on my skin.

"Babe," I rub circles on his back as he holds onto me and cries for a while. I play with his hair, tangling it then smoothing it down, trying to soothe him although not understanding why.

"Y/N," he says although it's hard to understand through the mess he'd become.

"What do you need?" I ask. He continues to sniffle before pulling away to look at me. His face, which is inches from my own, is streaked with tears. His eyes had gone pink and puffy just like his nose.

"Why do you even love me?" He asks unexpectedly.

"Where is this coming from?" I try to ask as I swipe the tears from his face. When he continues looking at me sadly I have to respond. "You know why Joe. We fit well with each other, you're funny and kind and always looking out for me. I love you for you...just who you were and who you've become these past three years. If I didn't love you I reckon I'd have had plenty of time to change that." I try to make Joe laugh but I'm only met with a ghost of a smile.

"I'm such a failure Y/N," he says and his tears become waterfalls once again.

"Joe!" I try to pry him away from me again but he clutches me so tightly it's hard. "Hey where is this all coming from?"

I say his name again, more gently and slowly he relaxes slightly.

"Please tell me what's wrong?" I ask.

"There's just too much stress and I just feel like everything I put up is shite. I don't think I can keep on like this."

"Baby," I sit up and encourage Joe to do the same. I brush aside his tears and run my fingers through his bedhead. "You're probably just uninspired right now. Doesn't mean you're gonna be that way forever yeah? You put on too much pressure, maybe you need a break."

"I can't," he fiddles with his thumbs, biting down at the skin-a nervous habit.

"Hey listen to me," I say. "You're not a failure okay? You make amazing content and you have great ideas...just not right now. You deserve a break, your followers will understand."

Joe slowly meets my gaze and his teary eyes brings tears to my own.

"Why are you crying?" He asks.

"You make me emotional," I laugh and he lets out a small chuckle.

"Promise you're gonna take a break and not be so hard on yourself." I say.

He looks at me with a concentrated look before sighing and looking away. He picks at a loose thread on the duvet and I can see the tears falling wet onto the white covers.

"Joe, promise me?"

"Yeah," he ruffles his hair. "I promise. Thanks."

I sit there in the silence with him as he gathers himself. He finally takes a long, ragged breath and looks up at me smiling.

"I love you," he kisses my forehead.

"I love you too," I say with a smile. "Please stop crying I'm emotional enough for the both of us."

"Yeah that sounds about right," Joe laughs and the sound is like sunshine on skin; it warms me up and lets me know he was alright for now.

Joe tugs on a strand of my hair, lost in thought again, twirling it between his fingers. Carefully, he brushes it behind my shoulders and curves his hand around the side of my neck. My breath catches as his fingers make patterns down my neck, to my collarbone and onto my chest where my necklace lays.

"I remember when I got this for you," he says whilst picking it up. "It was the first jewellery I'd gotten like this for a girl and I was so nervous you wouldn't like it."

"I loved it," I whisper and Joe looks up. He leans in and kisses me, the hand without the necklace rising to cup my face.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," he whispers, his voice still hoarse from the crying he'd done earlier. I go for another kiss, reassuring him physically that I'd always be there. Not that he needed reassuring-I would always be there whenever he needed me. Rain or shine, smiling or crying. I was there because I loved him.

"You'll never be without me," I remind him. "I'll always be right here."

#joe sugg imagine #joe sugg imagines #joe sugg #thatcherjoe imagines #thatcherjoe imagine #thatcherjoe #youtube imagines #fic

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desolationofzara · 7 years

Text

three’s a crowd, but four’s a party part 2

Characters: Damian Wayne, Jon Kent, Connor Kent, Tim Drake

Pairing: TimKon, DamiJon

Summary: just two batboys trying to double date with their super boyfriends

A/N: annnnnddddd here’s part two!! This one focus’s more on Jon and Kons dynamic. Their actual date is in a little bit, I wanna build up to it and make it perfect! I also wanted to base my Kon off of @daddyschlongleg art. Enjoy!

Jon raced home after school. So maybe he’s a little excited to go to the fair. A little excited for his date. The thought of it made his smile widen and his heart beat a little faster.

“I’m home!” Jon called, opening the door to his house. There was unusual silence in the house. Jon knew his Dad could hear his bus drop him off a block before, and Krypto was usually racing out to meet him. “Anyone the-” Jon started but what cut off by a strong force knocking him to the ground. Jon shook the dizziness from his head and tried to find his attacker.

“Surprise!” a familiar voice yelled on top of him.

“I saw you last night when you got here Kon, it’s not a surprise.” Jon groaned.

“Flattered, but i’m not the surprise. Me tackling you was the surprise.” Kon smirked, getting off of the younger boy. Jon rolled his eyes as Kon helped him up. “Me going with you on your date is another one.”

Jons head snapped up. “You’re joking.”

“Nope.” Kon grinned, ruffling Jons hair. Jon was swatting him away when Clark approached.

“Hey kiddo, how was school?”

“Dad! Please tell me that Kon isn’t coming with me and Damian!” Jon cried.

“Tim’s going too.” Clark smiled, trying to console his youngest.

Jon relaxed immediately, “Oh. Like a double date. Okay. That’s not too bad.”

“What’s wrong with just me?!” Kon asked, offended.

“You want me to list them?” Jon smirked, walking into the kitchen.

“Don’t be a little shi-snot.” Kon quickly corrected himself. Jon chuckled opening the fridge.

“What are you making? Make me one too!” Kon cried from the living room.

“Make it yourself!” Jon called back, even though he was already making a sandwich for Kon. He could hear his ‘brother’ grumble as he dramatically trudged into the kitchen.

“How are you going to eat four PB&Js?”

“I’m a growing kryptonian boy, my appetite is through the roof.” Jon smiled, leaning down to let Krypto lick the last of the peanut butter off of the butter knife.

“Guess you could say your appetite is- out of this world!” Kon snorted.

Jon laughed loudly. Kon stuck his hand out expectantly. Jon looked at his hand and raised an eyebrow.

“Payment for entertainment.” Kon said with a tone that implied a ‘duh’ at the end.

Jon rolled his eyes and handed Kon a sandwich.

“For another sandwich, i’ll give you advice.” Kon said, scarfing down half of his sandwich in one bite.

“Advice?” Jon asked, his cheeks full of food too.

Kon swallowed, “On how to deal with Robins of course!”

“So, dating advice?”

“Sure, lets go with that.”

“You’re my big brother. You’re supposed to give me dating advice whether I want it or not.”

“My brain doesn’t work on an empty stomach.” Kon sighed dramatically, leaning over the kitchen counter like a diva on a piano.

Jon mock gasped, “You have one of those!?”

“I swear im gonna beat you up.” Kon glared, not moving from his position.

“Avoid the face, please. That’s the money maker.” Jon smiled, handing Kon another sandwich.

Kon snorted, accepting the sandwich. “Lesson one: How to deal with the Big Bad Batman.”

“Otherwise known as How To Develop an Immunity to Kryptonite.” Jon smiled into his food.

“Bingo, baby cakes. Gonna have to ask Daddy on that though.”

Jon started choking on his last bite of food. “I’m so done with you.” He gasped out, walking away from his older brother.

“Where are you going?! My lessons aren’t done!” Kon called after Jon.

“Im gonna take a shower! Cause some narcissist wanted to hog up the bathroom all morning!” Jon called walking up the stairs.

“Listen! When you have an amazing body like mine, it’s a crime not to look!” Jon heard Kon yell as he got to the second floor. Jon heard a chuckle and a sigh from his fathers office.

Jon showered and changed into black pants and a pressed denim shirt. He walked down the stairs toweling off his hair.

“Dawwww, don’t you look dapper, Baby Supe.” Kon crooned from the couch. Jon was about to thank him until Clark opened his mouth.

“Yeah, he and Louis went to the mall before she left for her conference. Picked out an outfit just for today.” Clark smirked, reading something on his laptop.

"Is this the shirt he got specifically that matches his eyes, so that Damian can get lost in Jon’s deep blue orbs?” Kon swooned dramatically, flopping down into Clarks lap. Jon could feel his face start burning.

“That would be the one.” Clark grinned.

"Wow Kon. Going to poetry slams again?" Jon sassed back, hiding his reddening face with his towel. A pillow smacked him in the face. Jon snapped his head toward his smirking older brother.

"Boys." Clark drawled, not bothering to look up from the article he was reading.

“He started it.” Jon pouted.

“Tattle tale.” Kon grinned, blowing a small puff of air in his direction. The towel flew off Jon’s head and his hair was immediately dried.

Jon leaped onto the couch. By no means was the thing big enough for three kryptonian men (well, two kryptonian men, and one adolescent.) but that didn’t stop the Kents. Jon was sat on Kons stomach and Kon was practically laying on top of Clark, who was smushed to the edge.

“How do you weigh so much, you’re so skinny!” Kon groaned from under him. Jon ignored him and started to channel surf. After about a minute of complaining, Kon noticed Jons foot bouncing up and down. He also noticed Jon unlocking his phone, checked the screen, then locked it again every thirty seconds.

“Psst.” Kon mock whispered to Clark. “I think he’s nervous.”

“Really? What gave you that assumption?” Clark asked in the same tone. Jon shifted to sit on Kons ribs.

“OW. YOUR BUTT IS SO BONY!”

Jon opened his mouth to give a smart ass reply until there was a knock at the door. Jon shot up from the couch, but Clark was faster.

“Hi Tim, how are you?” Clark smiled, opening the door wider to let him in. “Damian.” Clark said in a deeper, graver, tone.

“Clark.” Damians voice came from the other side of the door.

“Alright!” Jon exclaimed, pushing his father out of the way and grabbing the back of his older brothers shirt. “We’ll be going now! See you at 11!” Jon called over his shoulder, hauling his brother, his date, and his brothers date to the car.

“Woah! Wait a second!” Clark called, grabbing the back of Jons shirt.

“And we were almost to the car too.” Damian sighed under his breath.

“Don’t you think 11 is a little late?” Clark asked. His stern Dad face was on.

“No?” Jon asked in a hopeful voice, slowly turning on his puppy dog eyes. Clark gave Jon a skeptical look.

“Don’t worry Clark, they’re with us.” Tim smiled.

“Yeah, how much trouble can they get into with us hovering over their shoulders?” Kon grinned.

Clark sighed. “Fine, but I want you boys back here at 11. Not a minute later.” Kon and Jon mock saluted. Clark closed the door and the Super Brothers high fived.

Kon gave Tim a quick peck on the lips. “Ready to see me kick Jons butt and win you every prize there is at this shindig?”

“He fell out of the shower this morning and bumped his head. He must still be out of it.” Jon mock whispered to Tim. He heard Damian snort next to him and turned to give him a grin. The only thing that Jon could comprehend in that moment was how good Damian looked in normal clothes.

“You look great.” Jon blurted. He could feel his cheeks begin to burn.

“Thank you, you do as well.” Damian gave a small smile back, a small blush littering across his cheeks.

“Awwww, how about we get this show on the road, lovebirds?” Kon said, draping an arm around each boy.

Damian gave Kon a glare that screamed, ‘you’re lucky im trying to date your brother or you wouldnt have arms right now.’

Jons face just turned a deeper shade of red.

#damijon #jondami #supersons #connor kent #tim drake #tim drake-wayne

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gogh-bot-blog · 7 years

Text

Everything Else

Originally published in Gravel magazine.

Mozart was crazy. Flat fucking crazy. Batshit, I hear. But his music’s not crazy; it’s balanced, it’s nimble, it’s crystalline clear. There’s harmony, logic. You listen to these, you don’t hear his doubts or his debts or disease. You scan through the score and put fingers on keys and you play. And everything else goes away. Everything else goes away… — “Everything Else”, Next to Normal My favorite confessional poet is Anne Sexton, who committed suicide by carbon monoxide poisoning at age 45. A book of her poetry, published posthumously, featured her therapist: I have words for you, Dr. Y., / words for sale. / Words that have been hoarded up, / waiting for the pleasure act of coming out, / hugger-mugger, higgiliy-piggily / onto the stage. When I was in kindergarten, a boy hit me in the forehead with a toy truck during playtime because I asked to play with him. I sat in the corner and cried. Eventually, the teacher called me over. What’s wrong? she asked me. I don’t have any friends, I replied, sniffling. The teacher called all of the kids to the front of the classroom and asked them to raise their hands if they were my friend. Everybody raised their hands. I don’t know why, but this was probably the moment that I became crazy. Or maybe I was crazy all along. She laughed when I told her this story. She said it was incredibly sad and funny. I’m glad she saw how funny it was. Then she asked me, have you ever written about this?

Eunoia is a dated term for mental health. Literally, it means beautiful thinking. However, some of the most beautiful thinking has been done by people with mental illness. Consider the incredible artistic achievements of people like Vincent van Gogh, Virginia Woolf, and Sylvia Plath. And if you look for mental illness in artists, writers, poets, musicians; the list goes on. We were running about Whole Foods. I say running because she kept forgetting things on her list and going back. We probably circled around the store three or four times, picking up various items along the way. She was in constant motion. Couldn’t stand in one place. Got excited over a jug of coffee. Perhaps she didn’t even notice, but I did: a slight fidget, balancing on one foot at the cash register. We looked at the things she’d ended up buying and laughed. Talking constantly. I am attuned to these kinds of things. She had told me, though, that she felt manic. I wished I felt as manic as she did, but I was not; rather, I was plagued by a familiar moroseness, a heaviness. Asked about JS, I mused well, I think you’d win a fight with her. A few months after the breakup with JS, I fucked a fashion designer from the city. He was kind of cute, dyed hair and a stutter. He slept in my bed with his arm around my waist. I slept uneasily. In my dream, I saw JS. It was the first time in a while I’d seen her face in my dreams. I don’t remember what she said, but I woke up all at once warm and shivering, cold sweat dripping down my forehead. I snuck out from the boy’s grasp and went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. Looking into the mirror, I thought how strange it was. I started to cry. He gave me his shirt afterwards. I don’t usually see people’s faces in my dreams. I rarely ever learn a person’s face. This is a condition known as congenital prosopagnosia. In fact, I only come to individualize the faces of people I’m in love with. When I told her this, she said it was very romantic. I did not tell her that I had come to know her face. There is a thing known as a flow state: when words come out of your brain like blood seeping from a tapped vein, an insatiable passion for the task at hand. Manics often get into flow states. The world is poetry, you breathe it like air. Maybe this is part of why we are so successful in art. Love is also like a flow state. She’s a doctoral student in the psychology department. But she told me that she used to write as if seized by a certain fervor for it, for the language, for poetry. I imagined Van Gogh and his passion for painting, his insatiable hunger. I thought I wanted to kiss those lips stained with yellow paint. Yellow, the color of the edges of a street, the boundaries of a self crossed like two neurons, the actualization of a synesthetic dream. To imbibe it is to take all of that in, the passion, life thrust under your tongue. I wanted that. When I was a child, I sat by myself at recess. The teachers saw that I was always alone; they gave me chalk to draw on the sidewalk. My hands dusted with pastel yellow, I would watch the other kids play. It’s not easy for me to admit, but I hated them. I truly hated them. My heart was so full of hate that I couldn’t bear to watch them anymore, and I would go to the bathroom and cry. I’ve never been a good person. Sadness is part of the human condition, said one of my writing professors, a woman who seemed perpetually rather flummoxed by the world. Without it, you’d be a monster. I wanted to ask, with sadness, am I not a monster? For me it was different. I, too, was seized by passions; but they occurred for me in successions, a pattern sometimes disapprovingly called serial monogamy. I was like that with my writing, too. But when I was engrossed in the page, or lost in her eyes, everything but the space between my canvas and I disappeared. Everything else goes away. I wrote constantly when I was in love with JS. Everything I felt was transferred to the page. She was my muse; she was the gasoline to the fire behind my eyes. Kay Redfield Jamison wrote an entire book about the connections between mental illness, particularly bipolar disorder, and artistic talent. It’s called Touched with Fire. My heart has holes in it. They’ve been there for a long time; before JS, I’m sure. But maybe I could have ignored them before that. Not anymore. I wanted to patch them up, fill them with cement, or gorilla glue the pieces back together and pretend that it was the same as it was before. A clean canvas, a blank page, a fresh start. But it’s never been the same. I’ve always been different from other people. Maybe that is why I write. To escape the sadness of being alone. The desolation, the emptiness, the misery of a life condemned to this certain loneliness. Sometimes I try to fill the holes with other people’s loneliness. It never works. I knew right away that she wouldn’t be a suitable shape to fit there, like a square peg in the round hole of what I really needed. I was filled with this dread of knowing. But when I looked at her I would forget. Everything else goes away. I was ten years old when I first decided I was going to kill myself. I wanted to slice off my arm with an old circular saw, patched with rust, and die in a pool of blood on the hard cement floor of my garage. I daydreamed about it, wondered endlessly what it would be like to die there, cold and alone and smeared with bright red, a baptism in blood. It was Anne Sexton’s therapist, Dr. Martin Orne, who encouraged her to write poetry. Perhaps he thought that poetry would be a form of healing, a way to expel her demons through the pen, exorcism in the act of creation. Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard, she said. I am a collection of dismantled almosts, she said. Suicide is, after all, the opposite of the poem. But suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build. Lithium is like an emotional straightjacket, or at least like wearing a shirt that’s too tight. You can’t breathe. You can’t feel the way you felt before, not manic or depressed or happy or sad or anything. You wonder if you can even write. I didn’t write for months after I started taking it. She told me she feels sadness only fleetingly. We’re opposites, I guess; two sides of the same coin. I live in a state of melancholy permeated briefly by manic interludes. But I wonder if mania is really like happiness. Or is it like a saccharine substitute for happiness, itself almost a deeper form of sadness? I remember hanging upside-down on one of the hospital couches and pacing up and down the long hallway, smiling cheerfully at anybody I passed along the way. The doctor informed me point-blank that I was manic. I’m happy, I said. There’s nothing to be happy about, she told me. Although the official diagnostic term was changed to bipolar disorder in the DSM-IV, maybe this is why some people identify more with the older term manic depression. Vincent Van Gogh’s stay at the little yellow house in Arles, France, from February 1888 until he was committed at the St. Remy asylum in 1889, was arguably the most prolific period of his entire career as a painter. He believed that the growing disruption of his inner chaos stirred within him this compulsive creativity: The more I am spent, ill, a broken pitcher, by so much more I am an artist... a kind of melancholy remains within us when we think that one could have created life at less cost than creating art. His time in Arles culminated in an episode wherein he cut off a portion of his left ear and attempted to give it as a gift to a prostitute, requesting she keep this object like a treasure. Perhaps, in the end, this is the ultimate display of love: to give a piece of oneself to the other. To be something more than a memory, something tangible, something real. It’s a distinctly human error, this drive to be treasured. I was sitting across my kitchen table from her. She was wearing my pajama pants and my sweatshirt, an oversized blue one that falls in folds around her thin wrists. I thought it looked better on her than it did on me. She had a look of deep consternation as she studied. I was quiet. I was watching her mannerisms, an absent-minded gesture of her fingers as she stared into the screen. The harshly azureous light of her laptop illuminated a sharpness in her almost perfectly symmetrical face, a ubiquitously beautiful face. Perhaps it is not simply that the artistic temperament comes in tandem with emotional pitfalls, but that inner turmoil fuels the creation of art. If Van Gogh had not been crazy, would he have painted at all? Perhaps, like his brother Theo, he would have settled to be an art dealer, and never dirtied his hands with the business of creation. Do you ever feel like I do, that you know a lot of people, but you’re still very lonely? But sometimes, maybe just when the stars align quite right, I meet someone that sees me. That looks at me like I’m not invisible. She came up to me in the courtyard one day, a small green space in between the psychology buildings that’s mostly overgrown with ivy and shrubs. I was pacing back and forth, taking long drags and blowing smoke into the October sky. She asked me to bum a cigarette and smiled and said, I’ve seen you out here. You have a very thoughtful walk. You always say the right thing, Elliot. You toss out aphorisms like you’re handing out daisies, she said. (Aphorism: either a pithy observation that contains a general truth; or, a concise statement of a scientific principle.) And you know it’s just a sonata away. And you play, and you play. And everything else goes away. Everything else goes away. Everything else goes away... She says she finds solace in her loneliness. I wonder if I could ever come to view things the same way. I’ve been alone for a long time, since my childhood. It wasn’t a tragic childhood. But it was solitary. For my whole life, I’ve wanted to find whatever it is that breaks down this invisible wall that divides us, that brings the fragments of people together into one, into a mosaic of shared humanity that I’ve never quite fit into. I feel like I can tell you anything, she said. You’re very understanding. I feel like you understand me. I smiled sadly. Is talking easily about something the same thing as healing a wound? About her family, about foster care, about the scar on her thigh? She gave a small laugh, like it wasn’t really a big deal. It’s not my place to say something like are you really okay? No. I couldn’t heal her. She couldn’t heal me. I just wanted to listen, to understand you in the way I have never been understood. That’s why I write. Balanced there, suicides sometimes meet, raging at the fruit, a pumped-up moon, leaving the bread they mistook for a kiss, I thought to call JS. It rang only twice; I knew she’d blocked my number months ago. I wanted to say, but I was always there for you. I wanted to say, but I loved you. I wanted to say, but I need you, I need you, I need you. Please. Two rings. Silence. leaving the page of the book carelessly open, something unsaid, the phone off the hook and the love, whatever it was, an infection. She told me about enneagrams, a theoretical model of personality. She told me that I was a type four, the individualist, which she qualified as the suffering artist: expressive, dramatic, self-absorbed, temperamental. In love chiefly with my sadness. I wanted to say, and you are not? I’ve changed, she says. But why are you still here? We read Maggie Nelson’s Bluets. Her voice grew incredibly impassioned as she read aloud: I say something about how clinical psychology forces everything we love into the pathological or the delusional or the biologically explicable, that if what I was feeling wasn’t love then I am forced to admit that I don’t know what love is, or, more simply, that I loved a bad man. Sometimes I would wait in the spot where JS and I would always meet together before class, as if she’d appear there again if I waited long enough. She never did. I found myself there, cold, alone, staring at the sky in its seemingly infinite vastness. Eventually I stopped waiting. I want to write again, she told me one day, sitting outside the front of her house, smoking a cigarette. The smoke drifted into the gray sky and faded like the unintelligible, inexplicable fragments of a dream upon waking. You should, I said. It was the best healing I knew of.

#creative nonfiction #mine #my writing #writers on tumblr #lyric essay #writing #personal essay #essays & memoirs

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