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euryvices · 3 days

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after exclusively listening to rap music for almost three days, here are my thoughts (a beginners guide to the culture from a beginner herself) + a playlist of recs <3

if you start reading this, please please read till the end (and maybe reblog with suggestions as i'm still new here.) this is (maybe?) a guide for other people who are outside of the hiphop culture, but who still get affected by it and it's fluctuations. (tags at the end, playlist at the end, most of my thoughts at the end.) disclaimer - i have not slept or showered in the three days it took for the preparation of this, whatever it may become. this is all my adrenaline rush and black coffee talking. may my opinions piss you off. godspeed.

hiphop, the term often interchangeably used with the term rap, is actually more than just rap and the inculcation of it. there are four elements to hiphop, which exists as a broadly classifying term for the culture inherited by the people of color who lived in a specific area of america, the bronx. they are :- rapping (or MCing), deejaying (or turntabling), grafitti paintings (or tagging) and b-boying (or break-dancing). But I believe there's a fifth element - the interpersonal connections formed with the knowledge transpired, as the legend DJ Afrika Bambaataa once stated.

before we get to the explanation of the last one though, let's talk about the first sub-culture - rap. rapping is the figure-head of hiphop culture, with more than 12.8% of people worldwide listening to rap. it's a subculture that's based in the bronx, but has travelled so far that today, there are indian rappers, slovakian rappers, etc.

nothing beats a good beat and soul-poetry, which is rap. (shoutout to the producers and the music arrangers who make the music pop. these are the people that are the backbone of the industry.)

coming to the part where i become opinionated : before we understand the culture, let's understand the types of people involved in hiphop culture, starting with the rappers.

the archetypes of rappers : 1. the zeus : this refers to the proud type of rapper, whose talent trumps their behavior, but in several instances fails to see the errors of their ways. rap is very competitive, but these rappers refuse to be humbled (jay-z did slowly find vulnerability after the birth of his daughter, but his legacy remains to be cool ego). they canonically have a lot of ego and have been put on a pedestal by their followers, who form a sacred sort of club around them. it's not even a bad thing, but from an outsiders perspective it can make them feel unreachable, or terrifying - like the lord of the skies, zeus. examples for this can be :

2. the white flag : these rappers are honestly my favorite type. they have too much love and serenity to engage in rap beef*, and they continue spitting bars while finding the serenity of life in every thing. it could be because they value their own peace, or because other rappers know it would be curtains if they beefed with them. either way, they mostly stay unbothered and just...do what they love. some examples are :

(*when i say beef here, its strictly restricted to diss tracks against other rappers)

3. the shakespeares : rappers that write like their hands are dipped in god's blood. these fine lyricists make rap what it is, make the genre what it is. they may also fall under another category, "the zealots" as their words stem from a place of anger, love, hatred, mutiny - strong feelings that invoke strong feelings. while some other rappers don't care about the lyrics (see, "the blue balls") these rappers are all about a message they need to bring to the table. some examples are :

they are called lyrical rappers.

4. the rabid dogs : while the title of this archetype sounds rude, it's definitely not. these rappers are the ones that, while similar to "the shakespeares", write their own tracks but are also out for blood. they have looked into the light unblinking, and then gone for a coffee run. frankly, they terrify me and they should terrify you too - but the respect for them is unparalleled. they are the underdogs/rabid dogs/obstinate toothed rappers that fuel the competitive streak rap needs. some examples are :

they are also called hardcore rappers. *

5. the zealots : these rappers were actually my first introduction to the genre. very similar to "the rabid dogs" and "the shakespeares", these rappers can sometimes be full of blood-lust, or sometimes write very soul moving pieces. it all depends on the day. they have a strong message they want the world to hear. and hear we do. "the zealots" often talk about growing pains and the impact their upbringing has had in their art. their hearts and souls contain what the rap movement embodies - freedom, and the quest for it. some examples are :

they are also called conscious rappers.* some gangsta rap* also falls under this category.

6. the blue balls : some people are good at conflicts, but others are definitely not. these are rappers that are good, but would not know how to release a diss track if the manual came and read itself aloud to them. they are the exact opposite of "the rabid dogs", whose tracks are native to their fighting spirit. these rappers on the other hand, release good tracks but cannot handle confrontation, especially when faced with an opponent who has better aim than them.* some examples are :

(*this refers ONLY to specific instances of the rappers career and is not an overall view of their art. but if a rapper is unable to respond properly to any sort of confrontation, they don't get any of my respect and fall under this category)

7. the slammers : admittedly, when i'd heard the truth about specific rappers my father used to listen to, or my friends listen to, i'd recoil in shock. "the slammers" are the type of rappers that should be/are in jail for horrific crimes against the human condition. i don't mean of the small kind, such as possessing drugs, etc. etc, i mean truly terrible crimes. you can argue that "oh, separate the art from the artist" but with rap, a genre based on the culture and the self, can you really do that? personally, i don't believe it can be done, and no, this isn't an invitation to argue over the semantics. that being said, some of their music truly does hit, even though i wish they didn't.

don't even want to call them examples, but they are :

8. the beat bottoms : i love these rappers within an inch of my soul. while a lot of conscious rap is based on knowledge of the self, these rappers are their antithesis. their music is all about the flow, how the vibes make you feel. lyrics aren't the main concern here, but that's all good - it's about providing your soul a reprieve from the more hard-hitting stuff. some of them even add autotune and make the music soothing. all in all, super catchy stuff. some examples are :

they are also called melodic rappers. *

9. the artemis : stereotypically, rap (as far as i've consumed) has been dominated by men in the industry. this category of rapper refers to the women in the industry who either play by the rules, or break free of them. it's hard to beat a person at their years-of-patriarchal institution. it's also true that while some of these rappers do not essentially fit the bill of what good rap (to me) must be, there is no doubt that there's more need for women in the rap game. one of the first female rappers signed was only able to hit a minor success, despite the songs being gold. nowadays, we see an upward trend with women in rap, and female representation in the rap genre, but as far as i can see, there doesn't seem to be many women in the conscious stream of rap. some lovely examples are :

10. the clowns : saving the most hated for last, this type of rapper is the kind that tends to lie. a lot. it could be about their ghostwriters, or their surgeries, or things in general. while some of their music is indisputably good, it is not as thought-provoking as "the shakespeares", nor as inspired as "the zealots". they have all the ego of the zeus" archetype and all the guts of "the bad bitches" archetype, but none of the talent behind it. however, the issue isn't the lack of deep lyrics, its the lying to the public eye, or actively harming the culture. these fodder rappers are necessary to create adversity in the movement. their main difference from "the blue balls" is in the fact that they are disingenuous & harmful. disappointments are :

to summarize :

now, what exactly are the different types of rap?

oldies : these are institutional hits, the types of songs that pop off even today. some of these raps deserve jail time for the way they absolutely slap.

grannies : rap that doesn't have substance, beat or...anything, really. these raps are (in my opinion) an absolute snooze fest. granny panties vibes. 10/10, would not recommend. if these raps were a hoop, i'd set the court on fire. there's nothing i hate more than uninspired, stupid music.

melodic : this kinda rap provides rest when you listen to a lot of conscious stuff, or if you're super into the sound and not the message this is right up your alley. melodic rappers are godsend, as they combine the two opposing worlds of fast-paced lyricism, and good, soul-soothing music.

hardcore : the people that rap hardcore are crazy. there, i said it. these raps are fast-paced, they are vicious, they are reminiscent of that feeling you get when you're in a coma and your heart speeds up cause someone put poison in your drip bag. it's my favorite type of rap, after conscious rap.

conscious : i love this kind of rap. it has meaning, it has soul. it looks into your house and tells you what's wrong and how to fix it. conscious rap has been the driving force of so much change, personally in my life, and overall in the dynamics of the movement.

mumble : personally, this is the type of rap i loathe the most. i get it, you love playboi carti, but i am a lyrical girlie. if i don't get the lyrics, i am prone to not particularly fucking with a song. no disrepect to carti, i love some of his work (as soon as genius comes out with the lyrics). as mother gothel said, "bitch stop mumbling"

chopper : think hardcore rap but doing bench presses on speed x2. sometimes i wonder if these chopper rappers have lungs or they can just perform osmosis through their skin.

drill : this is a relatively new type of rap that surfaced only in/around the 2000's. it's like if gangsta rap had a different type of flow, something i can't put a name to. some of this kinda rap makes me sick, some of this kinda rap makes me want to lock & pop.

whatever the fuck those uk dudes be doing : imma be very honest, i have no idea wtf any uk rappers are except central cee. after maybe sleeping for a day, and showering, im going to actively start listening to more uk rappers (probably). so far, i understand uk rap to be based off the jamaican immigrants style of rap, a few bands and also dance?

gangsta rap : this is the type of rap i cannot begin to comprehend as someone very, very alien to the gang culture of america. i can say though, that some of the records under this type of rap are goddamn terrifying and give me an adrenaline rush.

if you've read this far, you're probably wondering what exactly "the movement" is, that i've been referring to for more than half of this written blog. so let's go back in time.

back in the '70's and 80's, block parties became a thing in america. in 1964, a historic act called the "Passage of Civil Rights" allowed african-american people to actually fight back in case of discrimination based on color. but, the seeds and stems of racism still existed at the time. black people, who had arrived onto america as slaves as you've probably read, were forced into the margins of society by the continuous hindrance they faced because of white people. they weren't even allowed into the same schools and given a level playing field in the first place! it was terrible, and wrong. and a lot of the children of that era found the inequality to be preposterous and as a result, they met up and started creating music, or dancing, or simply talking about it.

if you wonder why hiphop hadn't started before that, think about it. in a land like usa where white people and police used to be considered the upper echelons of right and justice, who used to target black americans and use them as scapegoats - do you really believe a bunch of black people before 1964 would feel safe enough to hangout publicly and just jam? it's another thing ofc that these pioneers didn't really care about that at the time and were more focused on getting their anger out - creating art from hate.

we've talked enough about the rappers and rap. now, let's go back to the tenets.

DJ Afrikaa Bambaataa, who was one of the most well-known DJ's of his time, said knowledge was one of the main pillars of hiphop, and I believe he's right. Almost every song I've heard thus far that absolutely embodies the culture is steeped in wisdom. the genre is essentially passed down from generation to generation. this creates interpersonal relationships in the rap industry that are like no other. ofc, gangs also create interpersonal relationships in the rap industry as the two are also intermixed, but i would like to idealistically believe that many rappers bond over the message they want to send out to the younger generations, the legacy they will leave. not to say that hiphop and rap were always about gangs. the origins of hiphop were to stop drug use and gang violence i believe, but as the movement changed so did the message. the power of rap went from the masses to the the people who controlled them, as does every other sphere in life.

but that doesn't mean rap has lost it's edge. it's very much a competitive field, with each rap artist trying to out-rap the other. the competition is what creates a forum to diversify ideas, maintain the standard of rap, ensure the best came out of every artist's work, and shine light upon the on-ground issues in america. but over the past few years we've seen a dynamic change. something even a newbie like me can pick up on.

the mainstream has almost always been populated by white artists and white art. this is the case in every field of life, not just rap. while sugarhill rap gang did put rap in the mainstream in america, it wasn't until eminem came around that hiphop became a staple, an actual mainstream. he opened the doors for a whole new set of rap listeners - the white american majority.

it's not surprise that there are more white people in america than black people. 61.6% of people in america according to the 2020 census identified as white alone. rap, being a musical genre that is ethnically tied with the african-american community of america, did not obviously appeal to the white masses at first. but then, as the culture shifted and the doors to rap opened, there came about so many casual listeners that were white people. nothing wrong with that, until rappers started to cater to the white audience instead of doing their own thing.

i firmly believe you should never, EVER forsake your art for the sake of your audience. rap is about the ghettos. it is about people from marginalized sides of america and the struggles of it. it is not fodder for edgy teenage white boys who want to say the n-word while you rap it. if you're a white person, or a poc like me, or any slightly privileged person listening to rap, it's important to remember that this is not your culture. no matter what you do, even if you drown yourself in black paint and play into stereotypes, you will never be a part of the culture. you can aid the movement. you can donate to blm charities. you can relate to the songs. but you can never say that you are a black person. i can't believe i have to actively say this. but there are so many desi men who feel comfortable using the n-word in a derogatory way just because they are hidden behind a phone screen.

moreover, unless you share the life experiences of the people for whom rap is actually ABOUT, then you don't have the right to call yourself an actual rap artist. i'll say it again - rap and the african-american community in the u.s is intrinsically linked.

just like how indians have bollywood music/our own classical music, brazillians have samba, russians have kalinka, etc. etc, rap music is native TO black people. this is exactly why artists like drake, who not only used his blackness as a persona and refused to accept his white side, was taken down for his disingenuity.

an issue i find within rap though, is the hypersexualization of female bodies and how that affects female rappers. you don't see many mainstream conscious female rappers, because most female rappers have to sell their image via their sexuality. and overall, the treatment of women associated with rappers is questionable sometimes. as we progress as a society though, im hoping that all this will settle.

enough of my silly yapping though. here's a playlist. it's been arranged in the order of each artist showcased in this list, then the recommendations i got from this post, and then a few songs i just vibe with.

thank you for reading this post. for all the people that genuinely want to understand rap properly. im proud of you. understanding a genre not native to you is a different experience, but to see african-american culture - the strongholds of a community that has survived after some of the most horrific times, only through the power of their steadfastness and sense of community - you can't help but feel a swell of respect. maybe that's all we really need to understand.

thank you @staaapler, @need-a-name-101, @marblebees, @honeyppie, @thelazaruscomplex, @skullinahat, @salthat, @unihumanitia, @nicknova6, @stopitbahis and @samtalksmusic for the recs. im going to pass out

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theodorenmyth · 8 hours

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Theodore and Nb! Hufflepuff reader having a platonic duo of sun x moon trope. Like literally reader is the light of his day because of his they always make sure he has a good day so he feels as if he wants to return the favor. Like completely fluff as nb! Reader literally yaps and Theodore just smiles at them

-🎆

Sun and Moon

Pairings : Theodore Nott x NB! Reader Summary : In the bustling halls of Hogwarts, where magic swirls and friendships bloom, there exists a unique bond between you, a talkative and vibrant student, and Theodore, a reserved Slytherin. Together, you embody the sun and moon, lighting up each other's lives in unexpected ways. This fluffy fanfic delves into the heartwarming dynamics of your platonic relationship, filled with chatter, laughter, and the warmth of friendship. A/n : Listen to "So American" by Olivia Rodrigo while reading this (⁠・⁠∀⁠・⁠) Warnings) : Nothing! Word count : 1k+

You practically bounce down the Hogwarts corridors, your energy infectious as you chatter away to anyone who crosses your path. Today, like any other day, you're on a mission—to brighten the world with your endless enthusiasm and lively conversation.

"Theodore!" you call out, spotting your Slytherin friend ahead. "Hey there, sleepyhead! How's my favorite snake doing today?"

Theodore looks up from his book, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Good morning to you too, Y/N. You're as energetic as ever."

"Of course!" you exclaim, linking arms with him. "It's my duty to inject some excitement into your life. I mean, someone's got to keep you from turning into a nocturnal creature, right?"

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. "I suppose so. Though I must admit, your constant chatter does have its charms."

You grin, taking it as the highest compliment. "Well, get ready for another day filled with my charms, because I'm not planning on shutting up anytime soon!"

And true to your word, you prattle on about everything and anything, from the latest gossip to the most recent Quidditch match. Theodore listens, occasionally interjecting with a comment or question, but mostly content to let you lead the conversation.

As the day progresses, you notice Theodore's mood lifting, his demeanor becoming more relaxed in your presence. It's a subtle shift, but one that fills you with a sense of accomplishment. After all, making Theodore smile is like winning a small victory each day.

At lunchtime, you plop down beside him at the Slytherin table, piling your plate high with food as you continue your lively banter. Theodore watches you with amusement, his eyes crinkling at the corners as you regale him with tales of your latest misadventures.

"Seriously, Y/N, how do you manage to get into so much trouble?" he asks, a fond smile playing on his lips.

You shrug, grinning unabashedly. "What can I say? Life's too short to play it safe. Besides, where's the fun in that?"

Theodore chuckles, shaking his head in mock exasperation. "You certainly have a point there."

After lunch, you drag Theodore to the courtyard, determined to enjoy the afternoon sunshine. You flop down on the grass, basking in the warmth as you chat animatedly about your plans for the upcoming weekend.

"I was thinking we could explore the Forbidden Forest," you say excitedly. "I mean, how cool would that be?"

Theodore raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his gaze. "Are you trying to get us expelled?"

You laugh, swatting his arm playfully. "Oh, come on, where's your sense of adventure? Besides, I'll make sure we don't get caught. I've got a knack for talking my way out of sticky situations."

He shakes his head, but there's a fondness in his eyes that makes your heart swell with affection. "You're impossible, you know that?"

You grin, leaning back on your elbows as you soak in the warmth of the sun. "Guilty as charged. But admit it, you wouldn't have it any other way."

Theodore's smile softens, a warmth in his gaze that sends a shiver down your spine. "No, I suppose I wouldn't."

And in that moment, as you lie side by side beneath the bright blue sky, you realize just how lucky you are to have Theodore by your side. He may be the moon to your sun, quiet and steady where you're bright and boisterous, but together, you make the perfect pair—a platonic duo destined to light up each other's lives in the most unexpected ways.

As the day draws to a close and the sun begins to dip below the horizon, you and Theodore head back to the castle, your laughter ringing out like music in the crisp evening air. And as you bid him goodnight, a sense of contentment washes over you, knowing that no matter what tomorrow brings, you'll always have each other—the sun and the moon, shining bright in the magical world of Hogwarts.

You're always eager to share your day's adventures with Theodore, recounting every detail with animated gestures and infectious enthusiasm. He listens with a patient smile, occasionally offering a quiet comment or nod of understanding.

At times, you worry that your constant chatter might annoy him, but Theodore assures you otherwise, his gentle demeanor a constant source of comfort and reassurance.

"You're like a ray of sunshine, Y/N," he says one evening, as the two of you sit by the lake, watching the stars twinkle overhead. "Always brightening up even the darkest of days."

You beam at him, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "And you're like the moon, Theodore. Quiet and steady, but always there when I need you."

He smiles, a softness in his eyes that tugs at your heartstrings. "Together, we make quite the pair, don't we?"

You nod, leaning against his shoulder as you gaze out at the tranquil waters of the lake. In that moment, surrounded by the beauty of Hogwarts and the comforting presence of Theodore at your side, you feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude and contentment.

No matter what challenges lie ahead, you know that as long as you have each other, you'll always find a way to weather the storm. For you are the sun and the moon, destined to shine bright in the magical world of Hogwarts, illuminating each other's lives with friendship, laughter, and love.

With a contented sigh, you lean your head against Theodore's shoulder, letting the peace of the night wash over you. And as you close your eyes, enveloped in the warmth of his presence, you feel a sense of peace settle over you, knowing that no matter what tomorrow may bring, you'll always have Theodore by your side—the moon to your sun, forever and always. And as you continue to chatter away, your words blending seamlessly with the soft rustle of turning pages, you know that no matter where life may lead you, you'll always treasure the special bond you share with Theodore—the sun and the moon, illuminating each other's lives with warmth and light.

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liketwoswansinbalance · 1 day

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I am really curious to see your take on Aric and Japeth's relationship. I mean, the beloved author and creator of the series have addressed this issue with 'in their own sick wicked way they had loved' so yeah it's cannon cool. But I feel like the further implications of this? We saw evil 'unable to love'/ 'only ever have true love'. From what I remember Japeth mentioned Aric more than once, how they would write letters to each other how Aric 'begged' for Japeth to come to him but Japeth never did so and then bro spent the last of his life trying to bring Aric back to life. There are so many implications, the dynamics, the context, everything, but I love how you theorise and explore all sorts of ideas so I can't help but wonder how you view all of this :D.

Thanks for taking the time to read this and have a great day/afternoon/evening/night!

Sorry to disappoint, but I should probably start off with the fact that I don't ship Japeth and Aric. While I like Japeth, partly in thanks to @discjude winning me over, and further recognizing the tragedy surrounding him, his relationship to Aric never canonically does him any favors. And, with Aric, I think I'm apathetic enough towards him that I don't actively hate him; I just don't care about him. In truth, if not for Aladdin's pitiful existence actively hammering on my nerves, Aric would probably be my least favorite character.

The first thing I want to address is that Evil being "unable to love" or "only Evers have True Love" is actually false, despite the many times the series puts forth this claim. Yes, we are explicitly told this "fact" in book 1, but the book's point was to subvert/deconstruct the myth.

First, by the end, with her self-sacrifice, Sophie proved Evil's capacity to love, meaning: Evil being unable to love is just a commonly-held belief in the Woods, not the absolute, be-all, end-all truth.

(And the belief could've been perpetuated by "Rafal's"/Rafal's way of running his institution that literally shapes the Wood's perceptions and the future. Alongside this claim about love, consider the existence of the Doom Room, created to punish a singular mutinous class of first-years, based on a now-revised philosophy about Nevers' learning from harsh treatment and (probably) disproportionate retribution that an excessively stubborn dead man already too entrenched in his old ways never had the chance to change because he died—and this is all aside from the fact proven by the display at the very first Circus of Talents, that Rafal's students did indeed learn better when he finally listened to them and mentored them as an equal in their position (as Fala). In addition, the statement: "Nevers learn from deprivation" similarly reveals how the Woods really do generalize about Nevers—until Sophie, the "exception" and iconoclast, comes along.)

Second, Sophie's non-romantic True Love at some point was said to be Agatha, and I think this established fact is consistently maintained throughout the series, even if other elements overshadow it, so not only Evers can have True Love.

My take on Japeth and Aric is that Japeth's love for Aric, however twisted or sincere it was, drove him to become the Snake, follow along with Rhian's Camelot ambitions and initial staging-terrorism-and-hostage-scenarios plot, and commit all his other, duplicitous, villainous acts throughout TCY, later by his own will, which is a motive I find fascinating (and contradictory about the nature of the Woods' Good and Evil souls, whenever Japeth is set next to the rather grey Rhian).

So, while Japeth's devotion to Aric could be viewed as romantic, it's just not appealing to me, personally, due to the relationship's ambiguous one-sidedness in particular. And, I think I once may've read something about Japeth as a Never fighting for True Love (or his perception of "True Love") and Rhian as an Ever fighting for power (the Nevers' ideal fairy-tale ending) being ironic or inverted in some way. That's also some world-building fodder to consider, or even just another point that could overturn the Rules as we know them, yet again. I'm not surprised by that subversion honestly. Japeth is very much like his parents. Nearly every SGE villain Soman has ever written has been motivated by the pursuit of love, or by the overwhelming force of their own (often obsessive) infatuations (with the exception of somewhat flatter, less-developed, secondary villains, like Aric, Vulcan, Marialena, and Peter Pan).

Also, thanks for the compliment!

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lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar · 9 months

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i feel like every day i add another song to my playlist of favorites from badfinger

it'll probably just end up being all of them eventually. it'll be like my iron maiden playlist where it's just every single album

#me #i know already that i like all of them but i have my favorites #but some of the others are becoming favorites the more i listen #i just #love their music #it's good music #and their voices #i can't get enough #and pete is officially my favorite guitarist

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astrxealis · 9 months

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i am so obnoxious over bg3 but like. privately. bcs i'm still urgehafsjsh over how astarion is literally everything to me now and i really adore him but hi: i haven't played bg3. anyway. half-elf + bard maybe!

#⋯ ꒰ა starry thoughts ໒꒱ *·˚#sorry. sorry. sorry to be so annoying but ASTARION.....#mr neil did so good voicing him all lines HIT. not a single bad one. oh man #i adore astarion's character from the outermost layers to the innermost i love his development and all the different scenes your choices #can lead to. how different he can be. how dramatic he can be how sarcastic how soft he can be. astarion.#wtf the obsession kicked in late...#bcs okay i learned of bg3 just. around tumblr. and what got me finally the Nudge to get into it was THE NEWS OF THE BEAR ASTARION THING #LMFAO and then i was like Oh Yeah hm maybe astarion will be my favorite (insert my thoughts here)#and then i learned more abt baldur's gate only Then and then got obsessed whooo but very normal #and sometime there my twin also got interested and whooo normally obsessed w bg/3/astarion and then got insanely obsessed #and here i was a few days ago or last week. normal. then all of a sudden i GOT... obsessed.......#astarion has consumed my every waking moment and i'm also in lov w the other characters. gale... karlach... shadowheart... etc...#and astarion has easily become one of my most favorite characters. which is not surprising at ALL #when you consider . every general factor of my favorite characters #+ how the story of how i came to like him is a STORY INDEED to tell ..... and how i got spoiled a bit too on some stuff but thats ok w me...#and my circumstances w my favorite games are real funny (for a lack of a better word) too i realize. oh man.#anyway. astarion. i adore him #it's unfair too i'm in my hozier era fully rn so. brain consumed #me listening to all of hoziers three albums (i adore hozier) and associating so many songs w astarion :/ like work song #idk. astarion reaaaaaally deserves hugs and love and and and i adore him

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sketchy-scribs-n-doods · 2 years

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if no one else contributes to the latino!Eddie and latino!Dustin agenda i have set forth i may just have to get off my ass and do it myself by writing a fic or something, like some sort of writer, god

#stranger things #dustin henderson #eddie munson #argyle stranger things #argyle st #me w my favorite characters: i bestow upon you the highest honor i can #me: *makes them queer and mexican*#no bc listen liSTEN #dustin can understand more than he speaks and eddie is conversational #but argyle is fluent in spanish and you KNOW he'd get them to a level of fluency #where they can talk shit about everyone else without getting caught #jokes on them tho robin is a polygot and billy and max grew up in socal so they can speak some spanish to varying degrees #they fail to take this into account and it becomes War #cue steve pulling out the italian his nonna taught him and billy pulling out the gaelic his mom taught him #robin blows them all out of the water tho obv lol she's got like 5 other languages tucked in her brain #these characters get culture those characters get culture everyone here gets culture #in this universe alexei is still alive and dating murray and both them and robin also love talking shit in russian at get togethers #obv implied but billy and eddie are also still alive bc i said so #latino dustin henderson #latino eddie munson

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isuckatwritingsobenice · 4 months

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𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞.

Synopsis: What I think Alastors wife would be like, if he had one of course.

Warnings: mentions of blood, pinning, harassment?, Alastor being himself, not in a specific time period but at some point shifts to hell? Let me know if anyone is interested in a part two!!

Navigation!! // Masterlist!! // Serendipity Writes (event)

Alastors wife probably didnt like him at first, and that’s a guarantee. He likes a challenge, but Alastor also likes being liked by people. It fills his ego, makes him feel good about himself. He likes to watch people stumble and fall but quite literally cracks under the pressure of doing just that when it comes to winning you over. Chances were he was constantly trying to figure you out, for two reasons. One, being that he didn’t understand how you couldn’t like him. I mean come on, look at him! He’s got the charm, the manners, the style and the class, the status. What more could you want? The second reason being, the more you denied him, the more he took it as a challenge, the more he wanted you.

Well, surprise surprise, you dont like people with an image to keep up; and to his dismay, that’s exactly what he does. He projects an image. One he refuses to change, and even after marrying you, still doesn’t drop the image, but starts to become more real and honest with himself.

“People who project an image of themselves to others are just trying to fool themselves into being someone they aren’t.” Was what you told him.

Alastor had also asked you out multiple times before you finally said yes. Everyone knows Alastor is very picky with the people he chooses to surround himself with. Everyone he associates with is either there to serve him, or to provide him with something, even if they’re unaware of it. Which only made you trust him less. What purpose did you serve him? What if one day he found you no longer useful and tossed you to the side? Well what were you to do then?

Denying him proved to be a challenge in itself, seeing that he’s quite literally everywhere all at once.

He’d try cheap tricks first. Buying you gifts, constantly showing up at your doorstep with a bouquet of flowers or a stuffed animal. One time he even got you a whole gift basket of your favorite treats. How sweet~ if it was actually about you and not him just trying to patch up his ego. Well at least that was what you thought on the matter.

If that didnt work he’d resort to going ghost. After all, people only miss you when you’re gone right? Well not in this case. He had left you alone physically, at least to your knowledge, but he had still kept a close watch on you. Why, he just knew it would bother you that he suddenly stopped! Until he overheard you speaking with a friend about how happy you were to finally get some peace and quiet. Well that simply wouldn’t do. After all, you should always make an impact, and what kind of impact would he be leaving on you if you went back to your old boring life? No no that just wont do dear.

He’ll start showing back up at your doorstep, taking you on surprise outing to force you to spend time with him. He’ll take you on a walk around a nearby park, a restaurant one day, the picture show the next. He has a long list of places to take you, so you’ll never go to the same place twice! Get your dancing shoes because he’s gonna take you out to the town for the night, after all the city never sleeps! This is when he becomes less forceful, but more of a decent calm. He begins to listen more when you speak, and you actually begin to care about what he’s saying, what a shock!

It’s almost like a switch flips after your outings. He’ll take you to an orchestra show, snickering to himself when he sees your eyes begin to water as the show closes out. He’ll force you to hold onto his arm as he walks you across the street on a rainy night, making sure you don’t slip or trip on the wet pavement. If you ever do, he’ll try his best to catch you and if he doesn’t? Oh what a nightmare, it seems he’s fallen too! For you that is~

You two begin to feel closer, not only physically but emotionally. He gets you to open up about your personal struggles, and in turn, he’ll share some of his own, but not too much. He doesn’t allow himself to be fully and completely vulnerable with you, not yet. But he does try his best to sympathize with you when you share your piece of mind with him. He feels accomplished to know this part of you, and his ego is the last thing on his mind anymore, but instead you take up all the space.

He doesn’t use pet names for you, not cute ones anyway. He’ll call you his devilish belladonna, especially if you love flowers. His creepy spider Lillie. He’ll often speak in the ‘language of flowers’, and will educate you on it if you don’t know so you know exactly what he’s talking about.

He’s the type of person to correct people in public to make them feel stupid, but he never does that with you. Instead he’ll wait until it’s just the two of you and tell you jokingly how wrong you were. You’ll get upset because he let you look like a fool, but in his mind he’s just protecting your feelings. If anyone else corrects you, they’ll have their mouth sewn shut that’s for sure!

He never gets you the same bouquet of flowers. They’re always different, and every week or so you have a new one. He keeps a separate batch for himself so he knows when to get you another. That being said he also makes the bouquets himself, he does not buy them for you already made.

When you finally take Alastor up on his offer to court you properly, he is over the moon about it! Finally, you seem to be coming to your senses dear! Though you quickly follow that comment up with a “Let the blood rush to your head first.” He just bats his lashes at you with a smile. You always know how to make him feel so loved!

Gets very jealous very easily. If he sees you laughing with someone that isn’t him, he’ll size them up before deciding if they’re a threat or not. Heaven forbid anyone actually put their hands on you and uh oh! Limb of the floor someone come get it!

His possessive nature is rooted in abandonment, and thus being said, he has deep attachment issues to you. You are never out of his sight when you two begin dating, and you’re hardly ever far from him in general. You two dress similarly too, especially if you’re from the same era. He’ll switch up your wardrobe slowly so it complements his.

He isn’t one for strong PDA unless he feels like he needs too or just has a strong want too. Usually it’s an arm around your waist, or you hanging onto his arm loosely. The most he’ll ever really do is a kiss on the back of your hand or to your temple. That being said, he’s like this for various reasons.

One, he has a lot of enemies, which means that not not only does that put you in danger, but if you’re also a powerful overlord, it puts him at risk too, though he doesn’t care much about that part.

Second, he doesn’t like physical contact much, and though he always makes an exception for you, he has his image and pristine reputation to keep up. Which you extremely dislike but tolerate because it’s Alastor and if he hasn’t changed much in centuries, nothings going to change ever.

Alastor is very very fond of you, whether you believe it or not. Your fiery attitude has him whipped more than he likes to admit. He’ll joke with other sinners that he’d sacrifice you to save himself but you both know that isn’t true, his nervous ticks prove it to be false, if you do say so yourself.

He’s very fidgety. He’ll tug a piece of your clothing or twirl a strand of your hair between his claws. If you claim he’s messing up your hair he’ll cast a tornado of shadows around you to fuck it up even more, and then smiling at you lovingly when you threaten to cut his ears off because you can’t tell if they’re his hair or just furry ass ears. You always give him a good laugh.

Other sinners are actually convinced you both hate each other, but turf wars on the news show that you two are the most in love when you’re wreaking havoc on innocent sinners for no possible reason other than the fact you two had an argument and the best way to settle it? Dancing in the rain, which actually isn’t rain, just blood falling from the sky because you like to kill people for fun.

“My darling looks the best in red if I do say so myself! Especially if she’s dressed by another’s remains, oh the beauty!”

Alastor has and will continue to get in his feelings about you and his mother getting along so well. He loves you both to pieces, so seeing his two favorite people together makes his dead heart swell with joy.

He’ll ask you to accompany him to the tailors, he values your opinion more than others so you often make adjustments to his suit and he’s just like ‘Whatever she says that’s what’s going on the suit.’ You also make him your personal dressing doll, trying different patterns and styles on him for fun. Alastor is a true skinny jeans hater and he will die on that hill, again. He really appreciates the 60’s style, but prefers to stick to his own decade.

He will take you out hunting with him, and the two of you share breakfast together with the fresh meat you’ve caught. He only gets the best quality for you because he refuses to have you two ‘eating like chums’. A restaurant tried to lie to the two of you, saying their meat was high quality and fresh. Alastor killed everyone in it and you two shared remains like a true power couple. Hells finest of course. ;)

He’s very critical of picking out jewelry for you. Hunting for the perfect ring for you took him ages, mainly because he knew exactly what he wanted but no jeweler had what he wanted all in one ring. So instead he forces them to make him a custom one. Torn limbs and bloody parts later, you have the ring that Alastor worked so hard to give you. He proposes to you Extermination day, claiming he’d love to spend another year in hell with you before the angels come to rip you two apart from each other. It was such a sweet day, at least to you it was.

The type of relationship where he plays the piano and you sing. He loves when you sing and will gush about you to anyone in sight even if he doesn’t know them.

Is very needy in private. He’s a stage 10000 clinger, and will stick to you like his life depends on it, but will be damned if anyone catches him. You don’t tell anyone about it, you like the private life.

You two have cook offs all the time. You make the hotel staff judge, and ultimately Niffty is the tie breaker because she’s brutally honest. Once she told Alastor he should stay out of the kitchen because women were better at it for a reason… harsh!

He was fine though, he got her back by ridding the hotel of bugs. He knows she likes chasing them around and for that she sobbed at his feet for ten minutes asking him to bring them back. It didn’t take much actually, Sir Pentious brought them back on his own, much to Charlies dismay.

He loves to read with you. You two often read a book and once you both finish you have a tea session over it. It starts off being about the book and then somehow shifts to just gossiping and talking shit about the other overlords, except for Rosie, we love Rosie in this household.

Speaking of, Rosie is usually where you get your clothes from. She’s a sweetheart when she isn’t picking pieces of muscle from her teeth, that sharp smile is a killer! She loves to talk about Alastor with you, and usually she’s where you go after you two have had an argument. You’re also her personal Barbie doll. She puts you in outfits and she and Alastor judge over them. Nine times out of ten you leave her boutique with a new wardrobe every time.

Now let’s talk about Vox.

Honestly the whole reason Vox knows about you is probably because he was digging through Alastors shit. But when he sees you? Oh lord, this man is HOOKED.

He doesn’t even know how Alastor managed to get you entangled with him. He finds out about you when you and Alastor aren’t dating yet, and he basically jumps at his chance to try to be with you.

Vox will forever consider you the one that got away, you can’t change my mind.

Alastor has proven time and time again that he’s basically better than Vox. He took a seven year back, came on the radio one day and boom all his viewers were back. In Alastors mind there’s no competition, just Vox being obsessed with the fact Alastor said no.

Valentino uses it against Vox all the time, and it will always make Vox buffer.

#hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin demon #alastor #Alastor and vox #Hazbin hotel #helluva boss vox #hazbin hotel rosie #hazbin valentino #charlie morningstar #hazbin niffty

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lady-ashfade · 5 months

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Our comfort

Platonic!Yan!Camp Half-Blood x Comfort!Goddess!Reader. (Percy, Annabeth, Grover)

—£ Yes I know I haven’t finish the book but I actually couldn’t wait anymore. So, this is me with little knowledge so bare that in mind.

—£ Warnings: Book/show spoilers, Yandere! Behavior, Being bound to a place, Possessive behavior, Obsessive behavior, Manipulation, Characters fighting for the reader’s attention. Short.

You weren’t a known for too long goddess, much younger then rest of the gods. A teenager like age compared to them. It was strange to have more powerful gods look to you for comfort but you love it. As you are the goddess of comfort.

But, as the other gods started to have many demigods you saw how miserable they could get. You hated the fact they didn’t care for their children so you decided to stay at the camp for half-bloods when the time came.

The campers cling to you. You bring a comfort they never quite felt before. It was like a warm hug, like the ones they wanted from their parents.

You couldn’t leave, and at the beginning you were glad to accept that fate.

Almost always you are found surrounded by demigods and they just relax in your comfort. You are the one they go to with every worry in their mind.

Being close to Aphrodite, her seeing you as a sister and a younger child. Stories of your love for one another are still told today, as she gave ideas to the mortals of how great your relationship was. But in reality there wasn’t much to tell.

So her children have a mentality that they are your favorite and because of their mother, they have some sort of claim to you above the others. But that never works because you love the children equally.

The demigods have less nightmares with you around and watching over them.

Ares children fight often for your affection. They will constantly get into fights with others to show they deserve more time with you. Which you always scold them but it never sticks. They kiss their weapons each time to you, like a sign of good luck. Aries children are one of the worsts ones because they get aggressive at times, even with you. But the golds make them stop by punishing them, mostly their father.

Hermes children are hard to explain really. They aren’t aggressive, but they are mischievous. They take their revenge of stealing things from the other campers, pulling pranks. Or trapping some of them up and go straight to you before they can get there. Luke for instance, is always looking around for you and talking about his day. He’s either laying down next to you, or making you watch him train.

Many games of all houses take place just for you.

AnnaBeth, is constantly by your side when she has free time. She scares off people with a glare behind your back, knowing that she could put plan them. She also trains and makes you watcher her and needs your praise. Maybe, somehow you are her older sister. But, sometimes she just chills by your side not saying anything, she’s like a lost duck at times.

Grover however is actually a lost duck. You comfort him when his past missions fail and he loses kids. You are so nice to him and makes him feel special and brave. When he has to leave he keeps a coin in his pocket with your face on it and prays a lot. He’s not possessive much. He’s willing to take what he can get and is just happy to be there. But maybe if someone comes in when he’s “crying” and having you fuss over him then he’ll be a bit mad but never does anything about it.

When a new camper arrives you devote your time to them because they need it a little more. They come into a world they know nothing of, waiting for the parent they hardly know to claim them. You claim them like your own until the time comes.

So when Percy comes you feel something off with him, like he is special and in need of a lot. He lost his mom, taken from the world he knew.

Percy becomes the most possessive out of all of them.

He feels out of place but you are always there to listen to him. It doesn’t help that you follow him to make sure he’s okay. At the beginning you’re both following each other around.

“It’s okay, Percy.” You brush his hair lightly like his mother used to do. “You’ll get claim, and you’ll have glory.” And he doesn’t care if you say that to everyone because you make him feel special.

Also, you protect the new bloods. So you’ll show up when he gets bullied and just raise one brow and they all back off. Can’t risk making you mad at them.

When Percy gets claimed he’s all alone again, no friends and the campers looking at him funny. Being one of the top threes son isn’t fun or easy. He shares a cabin all to himself.

So he starts to be the worst of them all. Raising his voice when you try and leave him and he manipulates you to stay with him. Can’t you see how alone he is?

He can’t sleep unless he knows your watching over him.

You pick no sides of the war. Your family will figure it out themselves, while you take care of their children.

#disney plus percy jackson #plantonic percy jackson x reader #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #yandere percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #platonic #yandere #grover underwood x reader #yandere annabeth chase #annabeth chase x reader #annabeth chase #grover underwood #yandere Grover underwood #yandere greek gods #yandere annabeth chase x reader #I stand peter Johnson

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phebbsl · 2 months

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Just Benefits

Something I whipped while procrastinating on my other fics bc brainrot got to me. Lmk if there's any typos. May or may not make this into a full fic hehe

Sebastian x F!Reader

content: nsfw

MDNI!!!

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Sebastian who is completely shocked when you propose a friends with benefits situation with him.

Sebastian accepts because why the hell not? He finds you attractive and you’re steadily becoming one of his favorite people in the valley after some late night chats by the lake and generous surprises of his favorite gifts.

Sebastian has to smoke to calm his nerves as he walks down the mountain path to meet up with you for the first time. He makes sure to not litter on your property and stuffs the dirty cigarette butt into his pocket before knocking to enter.

Sebastian decides to just kiss you after an awkward greeting. It’s slow and fumbling at first but the two of you soon find your bearings and it becomes deeper and neither of you can get enough.

Sebastian lets himself get pulled to your bed, only to push you on it and beneath him so he can kiss you more, he can’t stop his hands from roaming your body and tugging at your clothes.

Sebastian who asks for permission before pulling off your bottoms and gets harder with your shy agreement.

Sebastian who can’t help but gawk at the wet patch already forming on your panties and ends up kissing that very spot, over and over until you beg him to just take them off.

Sebastian who ends up making out with your clit, flicking his tongue piercing along your folds and pumping his long fingers in and out of you until you come for the first time. He doesn’t even notice that he’s been humping the mattress until after you’re done, he’s already so high from your taste and smell.

Sebastian who eagerly shuffles off his jeans and boxers when you ask to reciprocate. He has to bite into his hands to keep himself from whining too much.

Sebastian nearly finishes in your mouth but pulls you off because he just needs to fuck you so badly instead.

Sebastian who asks again to make sure you’re sure before slowly pressing into you so you can feel every single inch and vein.

Sebastian who has to grip your sheets hard because it's just so, so difficult not to immediately come, and he really doesn’t want to let you down.

Sebastian listens to all the sounds you make to make sure he’s fucking you how you like, every gasp and moan is a direction to him.

Sebastian who fucks you harder when you ask for it, who holds your legs open so he can angle his hips just right to thrust harder and faster right into the spot that makes you whine his name.

Sebastian makes sure to rub your clit right when your legs start to shake and your voice gets all pitchy to help you climax.

Sebastian comes when you do, unable to hold back when he feels your walls getting wetter and tighter, practically milking him. He continues to thrust into you though, working both of you through your highs.

Sebastian feels awkward when the afterglow fades, he’s unsure of if you want him to stay or do aftercare, but ends up fetching you water and giving you some cuddles before deciding to leave as to not overstay his welcome.

FWB!Sebastian starts coming over more often now, whenever he’s annoyed at home or just whenever you text him.

FWB!Sebastian who starts to shamelessly introduces new positions and kinks to try after getting more and more comfortable.

FWB!Sebastian who also figures out that he likes it when you praise him and that you like it when he makes sounds, so he makes sure to let out his moans and whimpers too, even if he thinks it a little embarrassing.

FWB!Sebastian who will smoke in bed afterwards if you allow it and if he notices that you find it attractive. Otherwise he weans himself off smoking more and more unconsciously if you don't.

FWB!Sebastian who stays for the night almost every time now, he enjoys your bigger bed and doesn’t mind being the bigger or the smaller spoon, he goes along with whatever you prefer.

FWB!Sebastian alternates making breakfast with you whenever he stays over. He notices the new coffee machine that mysteriously appears soon after, and he hides his little smile and red cheeks with his hair when you enter the kitchen.

FWB!Sebastian rarely jerks off anymore, he has you now, but when he does, it’s always to the thought of you.

FWB!Sebastian who ends up gravitating more to you whenever you join him and his friends at the Saloon on Friday night. He starts to arrive earlier and stays later just to talk to you more.

FWB!Sebastian doesn’t even notice that his habits are changing, also waking up earlier as a result of your early schedule.

FWB!Sebastian who finally realizes his feelings after some off handed comments from his mom and Sam about how different he acts when he’s around you.

FWB!Sebastian doesn’t want to mess things up so he eventually resolves to just keep the friends with benefits arrangement because he’ll take what he can get.

FWB!Sebastian really can’t stand it though. You consume every moment and every thought, he just wishes that you would feel the same. He starts to become more awkward around you now, and even avoids you sometimes because the butterflies in his stomach become too strong whenever he sees you.

FWB!Sebastian who starts to fuck you gentler sometimes, as if he’s making love to you as a boyfriend instead of what it really is. He presses kisses to your forehead and cheeks tenderly and just wants to hold your hand.

FWB!Sebastian accidentally confesses during a particularly intimate round of sex as he’s finishing, and he runs away when you ask him what he said as the two of you cuddle.

FWB!Sebastian who panics in his room after because he’s really fucked it up this time now, hasn’t he?

FWB!Sebastian really avoids you now, burying himself back into work and sending clipped responses to your texts.

FWB!Sebastian who eventually spills the whole situation to Sam because he just really needs to get it off his chest. Sam verbally hands his ass to him, and encourages him to really confess, because holy shit, everyone’s realized that the farmer is not as happy as they used to be.

FWB!Sebastian feels so guilty when he hears that, he knows he has to fix the situation, so he prepares.

FWB!Sebastian texts you to meet him at his place. When you arrive, he has his bike out and he asks you to go on a ride with him. His palms sweat in his gloves as he drives, and he can smell your scent even through the helmet.

FWB!Sebastian akes you to his spot on the cliff. The view is beautiful that night, looking over Zuzu city, and the sky is clear for all the stars to shine, but he only has eyes for you.

FWB!Sebastian says that the two of you need to talk, but he comes off as too serious, and you think he’s breaking up with you. He panics and confesses his feelings, not following the script he set for himself, but he can’t stand to see you cry.

FWB!Sebastian who hugs you tight after you say you feel the same, he feels so overjoyed. He kisses you, you kiss back, and it really does feel like the two of you are in a movie.

Boyfriend!Sebastian feels like he’s on top of the world when the two of you drive back to the valley, he screams out his happiness as he speeds along the empty highway and the two of you laugh the entire way.

Boyfriend!Sebastian who can’t get enough of the way you smile at him when you get back to his place and remove the riding helmet. He loves the way it grows when he gives you the bouquet he stashed behind a bush.

Boyfriend!Sebastian who races back with you to the farmhouse so he can properly worship you as you deserve, and this time as his girlfriend.

#sdv farmer #farmer x sebastian #stardew valley #sebastian x reader #sdv sebastian #stardew sebastian x reader #sdv sebastian x farmer #sdv sebastian x reader #pheebsfics #sdv smut #sdv sebastian smut #stardew smut #sdv sebastian x female reader

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scuderiahoney · 3 months

Text

Color Theory

Oscar Piastri x artist!reader

Masterlist

Summary: Oscar’s an old friend of yours. This time when he comes home to visit, things get messy. Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: alcohol, mild drug use, sexual content 18+ MDNI, overuse of color descriptions

It’s summer in Australia, your favorite time of year despite the overbearing sun and the overwhelming heat. Sweat spikes on your brow, but the sunlight that pours through the windows makes you happy. The door to the back garden is open, the smell of wildflowers blowing in with the breeze. You can hear your roommates chattering in the other room. You hold a paint palette in one hand, a brush in the other. There’s something just slightly off about this piece, some part of the light you’re not capturing quite right. You step back from the painting, trying to get a better view of the whole picture.

Someone calls your name from inside. You ignore them. By the third time you hear your name, you give in, setting the palette and brush down and heading inside. You’re still wearing your apron, covered in paint marks.

Lizzy, one of your roommates, smiles at you. “How’s it going?”

You sigh heavily. “Can’t get the light right.”

She nods in understanding. “We’re ordering pizza. Oscar’s on his way. Thought I’d give you a heads up in case you decide to try painting in your underwear again.”

You laugh. “It was one time,” you say defensively. “It was hot out and I was trying to become-“

“-one with the art, I know, I know,” she teases. “Just giving you a warning!”

You lean on the counter and let out a long breath. “It’s gonna be weird, isn’t it? Him being here?”

Oscar’s an old friend of yours, and your roommates, too. Old, like preteens old. He left for the UK so long ago that you’d probably barely remember what he looked like if it weren’t for video calls and social media and now, his face being plastered everywhere. You’ve kept up, have stayed friends through it all. But it’s the first time you’ll be seeing him in person in over a year, the first time he’s ever going to visit your shared house, the first time since… since he became Oscar Piastri and not just Oscar.

Lizzy shrugs. “Only weird if we make it weird, right?”

She’s right, to a certain extent. Your other roommate, Leo, shows up with Oscar in tow, and you do your best to not be weird about it, and you think it works. He greets you and Lizzy with long hugs. He smells like sea salt and something warm. His body’s much more firm and filled out than he was the last time you saw him, which makes sense, you suppose. He still smiles like golden yellow sunshine, though, crinkled eyes and round cheeks and that near permanent blush on his face.

The pizza arrives shortly after he does, and you all settle into the living room to catch up. Oscar tells stories about racing, about his first year in F1, about his teammate and his competitors. You’ve been keeping up with the races more than you ever did before- Leo always wanted to watch but you hadn’t cared that much before it was Oscar, before the guy in the orange car was the same kid who used to finger paint with you in the backyard, your mother worried about the mess. Now you sit glued to the TV most Sundays.

In turn, you, Lizzy, and Leo update Oscar on what he’s missed. All about your family lives, your jobs, your other friends he’s lost touch with. He listens intently to each story, the way he always has.

“What are you doing for work?” He asks, nudging your knee.

You sigh dejectedly. “Nothing fun.”

He pouts. Leo elbows you and speaks up, though.

“She’s still painting, though,” he says brightly. “You should see the sunroom.”

Oscar’s face lights up. “Is that your studio? You always said you wanted a sunroom.”

He’s always been one of your biggest supporters when it comes to your art. He’s the one who’d join you in the art room at lunchtime in school, eating his lunch at one of the counters while you worked on your latest piece, unable to put the paintbrush down. He’d attended all your art shows, had bought you paints and brushes and sketchbooks for birthdays and Christmases, and had even posed for a portrait you’d been required to paint for class. He’d had a hard time sitting still for that long without falling asleep.

You nod with a smile growing on your face. “Living the dream with that one.”

The night slips away from all of you, caught up in conversations about everything under the sun. You find yourself feeling sad when Oscar goes to leave. He does it with hugs and a promise to be back in a few days. When he leaves through the front door, you feel that emptiness again, that hole that’s never healed quite right after he left.

Lizzy sees it on your face and squeezes your shoulder. “He’ll be back.”

Two days later, you’re deep in painting mode, eyes beginning to ache as you stare at the canvas in front of you, when there’s a noise from the sunroom doorway. You turn and find Oscar standing there, eyes wide, brows raised. He chews on his lip sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he says, quietly. You hold back a laugh. “Leo said to come over and just let myself in, and I heard a noise, and- sorry-“

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, tilting your head and smiling. “Leo should’ve told you, he ran to the store for drinks.”

Oscar rolls his eyes, and his shoulders drop. “Right.”

“You’re welcome to hang out, though,” you say, nodding at the chair off to the side in the sunroom. “Don’t want you getting bored all by yourself.”

He hesitated. “I don��t want to be a bother.”

He never would have questioned it before. He would’ve already been sitting, would’ve already known what you were painting, would’ve helped you get your palette set up. It’s different now. He’s been gone a while.

You jut your chin towards the chair again and wave a paintbrush in that direction. “Please. You’ve never been a bother.”

He was always the only one of your friends that you allowed to watch you paint. He knew when to stay quiet, and when you needed the background noise of his voice, without ever having to ask. He shuffles over to the chair and sits down. Oscar’s gaze dances through the room with wide eyes, and when you turn back to the canvas, you can feel him watching intently.

“What do you think?” You ask, just to break the silence. You gesture at the paintings lined up around the room. “Have my skills improved?”

He lets out a slow breath. “They’re amazing,” he says, and your heart twists in your chest. “I’m so glad you kept up on it. That you didn’t lose your… you know. Passion. Sounds cheesy, but I mean it.”

You nod. Most of your friends and family had spent your teenage years trying to convince you to learn any skill other than art. You’d continued pouring yourself into the paintings. Oscar had been one of your only cheerleaders through it all.

“It’s not easy,” you admit. “Bills and shit, you know? Real adult stuff. But I’ve been trying to get into some galleries recently. I don’t know if it’ll ever be something I can make a living off of, but I’ve gotta try.”

Oscar nods in understanding. “How about when I win my first championship, I’ll make good on my promise?”

You laugh. There’d been a night just before he’d left for the UK where the two of you had stayed up late, out far past curfew at the local park. You’d laid under a tree next to him, giddy on the high of breaking the rules and the late hour. He’d told you all about his big dreams. About F1 and championships and how he was going to make it big. And when you’d asked if he’d remember you, he’d smiled and turned his head towards you, eyes wide in the pale moonlight, nose nearly touching yours.

“I’ll use my money and open a gallery,” he’d promised. “And I’ll fill it with all of your paintings.”

You’d rolled your eyes. “Even the bad ones?”

He’d nodded, so seriously. “Especially the bad ones.”

Now he sits next to you in your makeshift studio, so close to reaching his dreams. You can only hope you’ll get there, too, someday.

There’s a party at your house that night. There’ll be more people there than usual, wanting to talk with Oscar and taking up his time. But for now there’s just you and him in the studio you’ve always wanted, the one you talked about under the tree in the park. You’ll take what you can get.

Oscar finds you later at the party, in the back corner of the backyard. The sun is nearly gone, the last bits of daylight slipping away. When he walks up, you’re leaning back in an outdoor armchair, and you smile hazily up at him and hold out the joint you’d been smoking.

He shakes his head. You pout.

“I get drug tested,” he says, and you suppose that’s understandable. “And I think my trainer would kill me over the lung damage.”

“It’s just once,” you friend says next to you, “can’t do that much damage.”

“Oscar’s a high performance athlete,” you tease.

Someone finishes the infamous Daniel Ricciardo quote for you, complete with the sound effects. You’re not really listening, more focused on how Oscar rolls his eyes as he sits down on the arm of the chair. You tilt your head to look up at him.

The late sun is hitting the bridge of his nose, a bright orange band against his freckled skin. He blinks at you with thick lashes, and you wonder how you’d capture the look on his face with paint- the softness of his cheeks, the care that sits heavy on his browbone, the restlessness in the curve of his mouth. You don’t like to do portraits- Oscar’s one of few people you’ve painted, but it was years ago. He was a skinny kid with a bad haircut. Now his jawline is chiseled and sharp, and his hair falls over his forehead in a soft swoop. He's pretty.

He cocks his head at you. You’ve been staring too long. You force a giggle and nudge his knee. He laughs right back.

You’re not sure how he ends up squished into the chair with you, his arm over your shoulder, his bare thigh pressed to yours. You think maybe it was your doing- you grabbed his arm, pulled him until he sunk in next to you. The sun is gone, now, the evening chill taking over, and it’s nice to have him next to you, keeping you warm. His cheek is pressed to the top of your head.

“You can go, you know,” you say quietly. Most of your friends have abandoned the corner you’re in, moving to the lit back deck, or the firepit area. You and Oscar have stayed put, though.

“D’you want me to go?” He asks.

You shake your head. He laughs. “I just don’t wanna take up all your time,” you say with a shrug.

His fingers play with the ends of your hair. “I’m right where I want to be.”

You curl in closer to him. You’re right where you want to be, too.

Eventually, the two of you rejoin the group. He stays glued to your side most of the night, though. His shoulder presses against yours, and in turn, you lean against him. He grows quieter as the night goes on. That’s when you remember that his time spent with you while you were painting wasn’t just for your benefit. He’d been a quiet kid- popular, but easily exhausted by socializing. He’d liked the solitude and comfort of the art room nearly as much as you had.

In the backyard full of your old friends, he seems content to stay stuck on you. When he shoves his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, you wiggle one of yours in alongside his, hoping you’re not crossing a line. Or maybe, really, you’re hoping it’s a line he wants you to cross. When he knits your fingers together, you sigh happily.

People leave one by one, with hugs for Oscar and promises to watch the next season. He says goodbye to them and then returns quickly to your side. Soon enough, Lizzy shuffles off to bed, and then Leo stretches and does the same, and it’s just you and Oscar. You hide a yawn. You don’t want to go to bed, not yet.

He squeezes your shoulder, his arm around your back, now. He has his cheek pressed against your temple. For a moment, you wonder if you could stay stuck to him long enough to keep him here. If eventually, the two of you would fuse together. That’s probably just your wavering high speaking. He mumbles something into the side of your head. You break from your staring at the coals and make a noise of confusion.

“Missed you,” he says. “Sorry I haven’t…”

This feels like too heavy a conversation to have now, when things have felt so good and warm all night. You know it’s coming at some point, but you’ll avoid it all costs. You turn further into him and wrap an arm around his middle, and let your eyes fall closed.

“I missed you too,” you say, rubbing your thumb against his rib cage through his sweatshirt.

The two of you sit quietly for a few moments. Then, you say, “you know, I still have that portrait I did of you. How many races d’you think you need to win before I can make some money off that?”

He laughs into your hair. His hand has fallen to your side now, and he squeezes- you nearly gasp at the feeling. “I was a scrawny baby in that painting. Nobody wants to buy that.”

You giggle against him. “You were a cute scrawny baby, though.”

It’s not something you would have said all those years ago. You’d have never been caught dead admitting that you thought he was cute. But now… in the safety of the backyard, in the darkness, pressed against his side…

“You’re cuter now, though,” you say.

“Yeah?” He asks.

You nod confidently. He slips his other hand from his pocket. It comes up to hold your jaw, gently. You hold your breath. He tilts your face up towards his.

“You’re prettier than ever,” he says, softly. “And I thought you reached the limit a long time ago.”

His lips are on yours within seconds, then. It’s not the first time he’s kissed you. By now, you know it probably won’t be the last. You let it happen, opening up for him. You slip your tongue past the warmth of his lips. His hand cups the side of your face as that warm feeling melts across your skin, the one that only he brings. You’ve been searching for a replacement since the last time this happened. Nothing comes close.

He uses the arm around you to pull you into his lap. You reach up and thread your fingers into his shirt, something to anchor you in the swirling feeling of him on and around and against you again. His hands fall to your hips, trying to do the same. He kisses like Australian summers, hot and long and sunny and bright orange. His touch leaves sparks behind everywhere he goes.

When you finally break away for air, his hair is a mess, and your lips feel puffy. He grins sheepishly at you. You chew on your lower lip as he brushes a finger over the arch of your cheek.

“Sorry,” he says. Always apologizing. You know he’s not sorry for kissing you. He’s sorry for how this will eventually end.

“Don’t be,” you say, quietly. “Please. Let’s just…”

He nods, then swallows before he says, “okay.”

Then he kisses your cheek, your jaw, your temple. You giggle at the feeling and let your fingertips dance against his face and neck. He muffles another laugh into your skin.

“Missed you,” you say again.

“I missed you too,” he says.

He walks you inside. You think about inviting him to stay the night, but you think that might be a bad idea. Instead, you give him a hug and watch him walk out the front door, into the only black and blue night.

…..

You meet up with him and a few other friends at a bar a couple nights later. You walk over from your house with Lizzy, who either doesn’t notice your nervous energy, or is nice enough to just not mention it. You shouldn’t be nervous. It’s the people you’ve known for years, and it’s just Oscar. There’s no reason to be nervous.

Except for the still fading hickey he left on your neck, covered by strategically placed hair, and the way you feel his lips on your every time you close your eyes. Yeah. There’s that, sure.

The bar is crowded even before all of your friends arrive. Oscar comes in with Leo, having been out all day while you and Lizzy had to work. There are at least five people there who are acting like they haven’t seen Oscar in years, even though they were all at the party a few nights ago. You try your best to hide your jealousy. He has other friends. He probably likes them way more than he likes you, anyways.

He finds you later, standing at the bar, waiting to order a drink. He’s just- there, all of the sudden, warm shoulder pressed to yours, elbows on the countertop. He smiles softly at you when you turn to him, and he leans into you.

“Hi,” he says. “I was looking for you.”

You want to laugh, because surely he wasn’t, but- there’s something so serious in his eyes. You lean into him in response, just to watch him raise his brows and smile wider. There’s a little mole on the swell of his cheek. You want to reach out and touch it. You refrain.

“I’m here,” you finally say, nodding towards your crowd of friends in the corner. “You’ve been a busy man tonight.”

He sighs, heavily, like it’s been difficult for him. It probably has been. He’s a quiet person in general. Not one to really like being the center of attention. You wonder if he’s exhausted as easily by it now as he was before, or if his years of podium celebrations have dulled the sensation a bit. Wonder how much of your Oscar is still left, under the facade.

He chews on his lower lip lightly, and you smile softly. That’s an old habit. That’s one you recognize. You also think of the night by the firepit, how you’d pulled that same lip between your own teeth, and the noise he’d made in response. Your face grows warm.

The bartender finally turns to you. Oscar orders for both of you, because of course he knows what you’re drinking. Then you follow him back to the crowd of your friends. When he grabs your hand to pull you along, you don’t complain. You just squeeze his fingers in response.

You stumble out of the bar with him, hand in hand, hours later. He’s insistent on walking you and Lizzy home, claiming that Leo won’t be enough to keep an eye on the both of you. You’re just happy to have his fingers locked with yours, to have his shoulder brushing against you as you both sway down the sidewalk. It’s comfortably warm outside, and you hum to yourself as you walk, listening to Lizzy and Leo arguing about nothing important.

Your journey home is stopped by Oscar, who stops in his tracks suddenly. You turn back to look at him. He’s staring across the street, where there’s a neon sign lit up in the window, the word Pizza flashing like a beacon. You laugh as he tugs on your hand.

“No, come on, we’re going home,” Lizzy calls out.

“I want pizza,” Oscar says in response, deadpan.

You turn to your roommates and shrug. “He wants pizza.”

Lizzy sighs. “I want to go home.”

“You guys go,” Oscar says with a dismissive wave. “I’ll make sure she gets home safe.”

Less than ten minutes later, your legs are stuck to the vinyl of the pizza parlor booth, knee bumping Oscar’s underneath the table. There’s a pepperoni pizza between the two of you, far too much for you to actually finish.

“Yknow,” he says, waving a piece of pizza around in the air. “Logan dips his pizza in ranch.”

You laugh at the disgusted look on Oscar’s face, at the way he says ranch. You take a sip of the soda he insisted on buying for you, along with the food.

“Bet it’s good,” you admit, shrugging.

Oscar wrinkles his nose. “I’m not a picky eater, but… isn’t pizza good enough on its own?”

You shrug, pretending to think deeply about it. Except that Oscar knows you well enough to know you’re pretending, so he starts laughing. And then you follow suit, doubled over in the booth, grease from the pizza on your fingertips.

As his laughter fades, he presses his knee against yours. It feels deliberate.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he says.

Something twists in your chest. “Missed you, too, Osc.”

Your friendship goes through cycles. When he’s here, it’s almost like nothing has changed. But when he’s gone… the two of you aren’t good at long distance friendship. Or maybe, really, you’re better at it than most. You can go months without talking and pick up like nothing has changed. The tough part comes when he’s here, within reach, and then he leaves. That’s the moment you dread, the part you don’t handle well. It would probably be easier if you stopped kissing him every time he came home. But you look across the table, and his lips are soft and cherry pink and slightly shiny from the pizza, and you know that would be impossible.

“I’ve missed you too,” you say, because you know he needs to hear it even if he already knows it. “I was worried that maybe now that you’re in F1, you’d gotten too important for… us.”

You really mean me, but it feels a bit too much to say out loud. You think he knows, anyways. He reaches a hand across the table, lays it over top of yours. There’s a sad smile on his face.

“I could never,” he says, eyes drilling right into yours. “Promise.”

He walks you home, hand in hand. The front porch light is on, probably Lizzie’s doing. He insists on coming all the way up to the front door, which is sweet and does absolutely awful things to your brain. Because he’s right there, his hand in yours, and you’re fumbling for your house key in your purse, but really you’re thinking about kissing him. When his fingers squeeze yours, you give up on the key and turn to him.

He knows it’s coming, you think. When you cup his face in your hand, he’s already leaning in.

The kiss is softer, messier, than the other night. You’re both still a little tipsy. But it’s less frantic, more comfortable. His other hand falls to your hip, and you lean back against the front door to your house and melt into him. He presses against you, warm, firm muscle against every curve of your body. You don’t want this to end. You want to wrap your arms around his neck and beg him to stay right here, to never leave, to come back to you.

He pulls away first. You try to kiss him again, hands tugging at his hips as he pants through reddened lips.

“You’re drunk,” he mumbles.

You shake your head no. “Not that drunk.”

He leans in close and kisses your cheek. “This is a bad idea.”

That makes your gut twist, makes your chest hurt. You roll your eyes and turn away so he won’t see the way your tears well up. He’s right, you know, but it hurts to hear it.

“I care about you. A lot,” he says, quietly. “And I… if things were different…”

“I know,” you say, because you do know. “Yeah. Bad idea. You should go.”

You leave him standing on the porch and disappear inside the house. When you lay down in bed, you lay awake for hours, swirls of color dancing behind your eyelids.

…..

The next night, you find yourself in your studio, alone. There’s paint on the canvas in front of you- not the good stuff you’d normally use, but the cheap kind you keep on hand for moments like these. Children’s finger paint, runny and thin and non-toxic. It’s running down the palette and dripping down your wrist. You’re in a pair of shorts and a sports bra, and frankly, you’d probably be wearing less if you didn’t know your roommates were due home eventually.

Oscar’s leaving tomorrow morning. At this point, the last you’ll see of him for a while will be when you left him on the porch. You swipe a bit of blue on the canvas. You’re not really painting anything, just trying to put color to the feelings. He’s leaving and he’ll be gone for a while again, and things are weird again, because he kissed you and then you kissed him and now he has to leave. You add a swipe of orange. Papaya, you think, gritting your teeth.

You wonder if things really would’ve been different. If he’d stayed, would you be together? Would he love you the way you want him to? Maybe. Or maybe, no matter the universe, this is how it ends. Maybe there’s always a bigger dream waiting. Maybe you’re not enough for him.

There’s a knock on the door. There’s red paint on your fingertips.

“Busy,” you call out.

Someone sighs. You freeze, hand halfway to the canvas. It doesn’t sound like Lizzy or Leo.

“It’s me,” Oscar says. “Can I come in?”

You huff. “Sure.”

He opens the door and blinks owlishly at the sight of you. You know you probably look crazy. He steps into the room and shuts the door behind him. The silence is deafening. Paint runs off the palette and onto your leg.

“Rough day?” He asks, because he knows.

You laugh bitterly. “You could say that, yeah.”

“I’m-“

“Don’t apologize,” you say with a sigh. “I’m not sorry.”

“No?”

“No,” you say. “I’m just… frustrated.”

Frustrated that he gets to live out his dream while you wither away in the hot Australian sun, waiting for your chance. Frustrated that every time he comes back it sends you into a tailspin. Frustrated that he’s leaving again. Frustrated with yourself for kissing him, frustrated that you want to do it again.

He crosses the room and stands next to you. You watch his shaky fingers drag through the mess on the palette. Then he reaches out and drags them through the mess on the canvas. He’s the only one you’d let do that, the only one who’d be brave enough to even try.

You follow suit, dip a finger in the yellow and smear it in a line over the canvas. Oscar’s finger falls to your wrist, scoops the bright blue from your skin and draws a squiggle with it. Cadmium Yellow and Phthalo Blue mix on the canvas and turn into envy green. Oscar dips his hand into the Cobalt Violet and draws a line of it up your arm like a bruise. You laugh and pick up the Ultramarine Blue to match the empty feeling in your chest. It leaves behind rivers on his cheeks when you hold his face in your hand and kiss him. Gently, first, and then with all the color you can muster up. You drop the palette on the floor. It splatters everywhere.

You wonder how you’d go about painting this. Red for the brush of his tongue, the bite of his teeth against your neck. Blue for the way his fingers dig into your hips. Bright pink for the way he moans into your mouth, breathy and broken and oh-so-lovely. The way you drop to your knees is lavender purple. The feeling of him heavy on your tongue, the way he sighs over it, is sunflower yellow.

He gets paint in your hair when he pulls you off of him, and then he sinks to his knees with you. You think about suggesting the couch, but then he’s pulling you all the way down onto the floor and you can’t bring yourself to protest. He cleans the paint from his hands first, always a gentleman. Then his fingers slip into you in a rush of an orangey-yellow feeling, one that turns more and more pink with each press of his hand, each swipe of his thumb against your clit. And when he finally presses his cock into you, it’s the brightest burst of sky blue behind your eyelids.

The colors melt together in your mind. You’d never be able to put this onto a canvas- not the way he breathes so heavy in your ear, the way his fingers drag against your skin, the way you shake as you clench around him and he spills himself inside of you. There’s no way you’d get the color right.

You drag him upstairs afterwards, both of you giggling, and you gasp when you hear the front door open just as you pull him into your bedroom. You head for the attached bathroom first, drag him under the hot spray of water and watch the rainbow mix into brown and wash away down the drain. There’s paint crusted in his hair and yours- you do your best to scrub it out as he leans heavily against you.

You don’t even bother asking if he wants to stay. You just drag him to the bed and toss him a t-shirt and pair of sweatpants you think are Leo’s. He doesn’t question it. You can hear your roommates downstairs talking. You wonder if they know.

Oscar flops onto the bed and reaches for you, tugging at the hem of the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing. You go easily, willingly, eagerly. He wraps you up in his arms and presses his face into your neck.

“I…” he starts, then cuts himself off.

“I know,” you murmur, because you do. “Me too.”

I love you. I wish it was different. I would stay if I could. I’ll miss you.

You wake up in the morning to his lips against your cheek. You drag yourself out of bed to walk him to the door. Your chest aches, and the feeling is a color that you can’t quite put your finger on. Someone’s there to pick him up and take him to the airport, take him far away for a long time.

He kisses you on the forehead and squeezes your shoulder. “I’ll see you soon,” he promises.

You nod and lean up to kiss his cheek. “Yeah. See you soon.”

The ache he leaves behind is a muddy mix of all your favorite colors.

…..

Six months later, you stand in an art gallery full of people. Your paintings hang on the wall nearby. You sip your drink and try to pretend like you’re not waiting and watching their every little reaction. Like you’re not searching for validation in the faces of strangers.

It’s strange to have these paintings hung up for everyone to see. When others look at them, they see pretty landscapes or flowers or a simple still life. They don’t know the meaning of it all.

You step away to grab another drink, something to quell the anxiety rising in your chest. When you come back, the one person who might just see through the facade is standing there, staring, wide eyed.

You swallow tightly and walk up next to him, and let your shoulder bump into his. “You made it.”

Oscar’s eyes stay trained on the paintings, but he leans into you. “Of course I made it.”

You want to tell him that there’s no of course here, that you’d invited him without really expecting him to show up. You keep your mouth shut though. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that he is here.

“What do you think?” You ask, quietly.

The truth is, of all the people in the gallery, his opinion is the one that matters most. You wonder what he sees when he looks at the canvases. Does he see the rays of sunlight on a table for what they truly are- a poor recreation of the sun on his skin? Does he realize that the deep purple of the plums in the still life matches the bruise on your knee that lasted for weeks after that night in the studio, the one you’d press your thumb into when your heart ached? There’s the painting of the orange lilies, color matched to the papaya of his car and race suit. There’s a painting of an empty table setting, a painting of a wide open blue sky over the backyard, and most telling of all, there’s the fabric study of his t-shirt, left behind, draped over the chair in the studio.

The collection is the closest thing to a portrait that you’ve done in years, even though there are no people in it. It’s the closest thing to a self portrait that you’ve ever done. Does he know?

His hand brushes against your elbow. He points at the empty plate on the empty table. “That’s how leaving felt for me, too, you know.”

You could cry, just knowing he understands. Instead, you nod and lean into him. You have people to talk to, art critics to impress and studio owners to try to convince, but the truth is that Oscar will always be the only one who truly understands. You stay with him for just a moment longer.

He stays the whole time, even as people begin to leave and the catering staff starts clearing the tables of food and drinks. You find him after you’ve had the last of your conversations with the important people. He’s standing near the door, looking only slightly out of place, scrolling on his phone.

“You didn’t have to stay the whole time,” you say.

He shrugs and smiles. “I know. I wanted to. There’s a pub down the street, it’s one of my favorites. D’you have time for a drink?”

You nod and pout. “Maybe some food too? M’starving.”

He nods eagerly in agreement. He leads you out of the gallery, holds the door for you and everything. The cool London night air hits you like a blast as you step outside.

Right. You’re not in Australia.

It’s a strange feeling, being here with Oscar- his chosen home for all these years, and yet it’s the first time you’re seeing it with him. He reaches for your hand on the sidewalk and tucks it into his jacket pocket, right alongside his. The pub isn’t far- when you get there, it’s crowded and warm, and he helps you slip your jacket off your shoulders. You smile at him in thanks. When he smiles back, your heart skips a beat.

Ten minutes later, you’re at the bar, beers in front of each of you and a pile of chips between the two of you. Your knee is pressed against his under the countertop. He’s smiling at you, his face lit up golden yellow in the inky gray light of the bar.

“So. What did you really think?” You ask, leaning towards him.

He shakes his head, almost disbelievingly. “The same thing I always think. Your paintings are amazing. It was like I could feel it, you know? Like I’m staring at, I dunno, fucking plums, but feeling something completely different.”

You nod, chest feeling tight. You’re unsure of what to even say. How to explain to him that maybe he’s the only one who feels that, because all the paintings are about him. You think of the portrait you did all those years ago, sitting in your storage, and how it doesn’t even begin to do him justice.

“How much?” He asks, and you blink widely. “I wanna buy them. I want- yeah.” He has this dreamy, hazy look on his face. “Can I buy them? Or even just one-“

“Osc,” you murmur. You reach out and press your hand over his on the countertop. “You don’t have to do that.”

He tilts his head at you, and when he speaks, his voice is almost raw. “I meant what I said, you know. The plate. That’s how I’ve felt. All of the art, it’s… you know.”

“I know,” you say. “But they’re not for sale.”

He deflates. You squeeze his hand and try not to grin too widely. “Right,” he says. “No, of course, sorry. Just thought it might be cool to have some of them in my apartment. We could get prints made, right?”

“Sure. “ you pause and take a deep breath. “The gallery wants to extend them,” you say, and his face lights up again. “The curator spoke to me after the show. She wants to keep them up for a few months.”

“That’s amazing,” he gushes, leaning over and pulling you into a hug so tight it almost topples you off the barstool. “Oh, wow, baby, that’s- and I could go see them, then, even when you’re gone?”

You laugh against his chest. “Yeah. Sure. Or, um…”

He freezes, the hand that had been sweeping up your back stuck in place. He’s holding his breath. You might be too.

“They offered me an artist’s residency,” you blurt out. “They want me to come stay for six months, maybe longer if it goes well. Work out of their studio, show art, teach some classes.”

Oscar’s voice is breathy and high pitched when he says, “here?”

You nod against his chest. “I mean. I’d have to find an apartment. And move all my stuff. And probably break Leo and Lizzy’s hearts.”

“But you’d be here,” he says. “Here, like… it took me twenty minutes to get here tonight. And you’d- this is what you’ve dreamed of, isn’t it?”

You nod, eyes burning with tears. “Would that be okay?”

Oscar laughs- you feel it more than hear it, in the shake of his shoulders and the rumble in his chest. “Yeah. I could live with that, I think.”

He kisses you in the bar, nearly pulls you off the stool with the force of it. You kiss him right back, bracing your hand on the countertop, not a care in the world who sees it. Fireworks light up behind your eyes like splashes of paint.

…..

There’s not a sunroom you can turn into a studio in your new apartment in London. It’s a smaller space, and you end up doing most of your painting at the main studio anyways. But Oscar is there, perched on the edge of a table watching you paint whenever he can. And in the entryway of your new place, you hang up the old portrait of him, right next to a photo of the two of you taken just after you moved to London.

In the photo, his arm is around your shoulders, his lips against your temple. He’d asked you to be his girlfriend officially seconds after it was taken, but there’s a light in both of your eyes that tells you it was inevitable, really. It’s something in the way he’s smiling, in the way his cheeks burn red and his lips are pink and the way you smile at him, too. Like you’ve both known it all along. That the two of you have always been complementary colors, just waiting for the right moment.

a/n: been working on this one for a while finally got it! hope you enjoyed thanks for reading!

Taglist: @4-mula1 @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully @ggaslyp1

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daisynik7 · 4 months

Text

Make Me Sweat

Pairing: Aoi Todo x f!reader

Rating: Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Word Count: ~2.5k

cw: written with a curvy reader in mind, canon-divergent (post-Shibuya but a happy one), all characters are 18+, explicit language, smut – cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, spit play, PIV sex (cowgirl position, mating press), breeding kink, praise kink, pet names (sweetie, sweetheart, baby, pretty girl, good girl), creampie

Summary: With the start of the new year, you make it one of your resolutions to become more active. You begin at your apartment's fitness center, where you run into your muscle head, loud-mouth next-door neighbor, Aoi Todo. He offers his gratuitous advice, annoying you at first. But when he suggests a particular kind of workout, it piques your interest enough that you can't refuse.

Author’s Note: I used metric units (kg) to describe the weights. Also, I am no expert in lifting so please take all of this with a grain of salt LOL. I just know that canonically, these characters are fucking STRONG. I stopped with the tag list on this one bc technically this was a bonus fic and I wasn't sure if anyone wanted to be tagged in these. With that, please enjoy some shameless smut about our favorite JJK himbo! Divider credit to @/cafekitsune.

part 6 of to all the boys who live next door anthology series

When you said you wanted to start exercising more, you weren’t expecting this: being bounced up and down your next-door neighbor’s impressively huge cock. Yet, here you are, getting pounded with your ass slapping lewdly on his thighs. His big hands dig into the sides of your belly, his lips on the skin of your neck, voice gruff and husky. “Told you, didn’t I?”

Let’s rewind to a few hours earlier.

You haven’t been prioritizing yourself lately; your obligations during the day drain all the energy from you and your bed is always so enticing for a nap. When the new year approaches, you make it one of your resolutions to be more active. The gym in your apartment complex is finally open after being renovated the past three months and now, there’s really no excuses when the opportunity is just five floors below you. Your forego your usual nap and suit up in your favorite workout clothes, heading down the elevator to the fitness center.

Luckily, it isn’t crowded; the only other people inside are Aoi Todo, your neighbor, and his pink-haired buddy, Yuji. They’re both at the weights section, Yuji doing squats with the barbell while Todo spots him, yelling at him encouragingly. “Come on, brother. Hold it, hold it! You got this!”

Yuji grunts, holding the deadlift for as long as possible, eventually dropping it to the floor with a loud thud. Todo claps emphatically, beaming at him. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

You smile to yourself, amused at Todo’s contagious enthusiasm. When he notices you, he gives you a nod, which you return, slightly embarrassed for being caught watching.

Have you mentioned yet how fucking ripped he is? Today, he wears a loose tank, arm holes cut low to show off his extraordinary physique. Arms bulging with muscles, an incredibly large chest, a well-defined eight-pack. He’s built like a Spartan warrior, ready for battle, destined for victory. It’s impossible to ignore a body like his, even more impossible to ignore his eccentric attitude, which gets on your nerves when you have to listen to his noisy demeanor on the opposite side of the wall.

The cardio section is on the other side of room, so you make your way to one of the treadmills, setting the level to a walking pace for a quick warm-up. Before you put your headphones in to listen to music, you eavesdrop of their conversation, observing them from your peripheral.

“Good shit, brother,” Todo says, massaging his shoulders affectionately.

Yuji scratches his head, grinning. “Still got work to do to match my PR. After Shibuya, my strength hasn’t been the same.”

“You’re still the strongest fucker I know. Besides me, of course,” Todo adds, chuckling. “Spot me before you go.”

They replace the already notable weights with what you suspect are heavier ones. Yuji whistles through his teeth. “300. You’re losing your touch, don’t you think?” he teases, nudging him in the ribs.

Todo digs into a container of powdered chalk, coating his fingers with it. “I’m taking it easy today. Don’t want to over-exert myself in case something exciting happens later.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He grabs on to the barbell, smirking. “I don’t know yet. We’ll see.” Maybe it’s your imagination, but you can almost swear that his eyes meet yours for a split second in the reflection of the mirror.

You continue to observe as Todo easily deadlifts 300 kg, as if it weighs nothing to him, repeating this ten times without breaking a sweat.

Yuji laughs, helping him rerack. “That’s crazy.”

Todo pats his back. “You’ll get there soon, brother. Once you’re fully recovered, you’ll be lifting more than me, I’ll make sure of that.” His unwavering support is actually endearing. Sure, he can be obnoxious, but this side of him is charming.

Unfortunately, this sentiment doesn’t last long. Once Yuji leaves, Todo decides to choose the treadmill right beside you, purposefully neglecting the surrounding unoccupied cardio machines. You’re still at a walking pace, eyeing him suspiciously as he stands there, blatantly watching you with a cocky grin. “Did you enjoy the show?”

Avoiding his gaze, staring at the console in front of you, you mutter, “Excuse me, but I’m trying to focus here.”

“Focus on what? Walking?” he scoffs, leaning on the handrail nearest to you. “You’re not going to get far if you keep going at a snail’s pace.”

You roll your eyes, finally looking at him. “So what do you suggest, Oh-Wise-One?”

It’s meant to be sarcastic, but of course, he thinks you’re genuinely asking. “You’ve got to alternate between high intensity and low intensity. Sprint for thirty seconds, then walk for a minute to cool off. Then repeat. Simple as that.”

As much as you appreciate the gratuitous advice, you’re already familiar with high intensity interval training. You’re just nervous to actually do it, not confident in your running abilities. “I’m not a good runner,” you admit.

“I’m sure that’s not true. Come on, show me what you got.” He crosses his arms over his pecs, waiting.

Deciding it’s better to relent to him rather than argue, you brace yourself, upping the speed so that you’re doing an easy jog.

“You can do better than that!” he hollers, reaching for the controls to increase the level, making the track move faster and faster. You’re sprinting full speed now, lasting about thirty seconds before you swat him away, tugging at the emergency shut off cord to stop it.

You catch your breath, glaring at him, sweat starting to bead on your forehead. "What the fuck, are you trying to kill me?!"

He’s unfazed by your outburst and oblivious to the asshole move he made. “Don’t be so dramatic. You did great. You have really nice form.”

You don’t let his compliments dissuade you from being angry at him. “You can’t just do that without any warning. I’m still getting used to all this.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “I won’t do that again.” He watches you take long sips from your water bottle, scanning your figure up and down. A coy smirk spreads across his face. "You know, if running ain't your thing, there are other workouts we can try that might suit you better."

You continue to drink, gradually regaining your composure. "Like what?"

He leans in close to you, breath hot on your ear. "Sex."

You choke on your water, using your towel to wipe the mess. Ready to give him an earful, he hops off the track, walking towards the exit. "If you want to work up a real sweat, you know where to find me. I promise to make it worth your while.”

And with that, he's gone, leaving you speechless. And intrigued.

~~~

After dinner, you take a long shower, Todo’s unconventional suggestion replaying continuously in your mind. You’re almost certain it’s a ridiculous joke, though the more you analyze it, the less ridiculous it seems. In fact, by the time you’re drying off in front of the mirror, checking your reflection carefully, you’re seriously considering it. You’re not particularly tired from earlier, so maybe you have room for one more workout. And hey, if the offer still stands, why not take it?

You slide into a different pair of leggings, one that shows off your curves, and slip on a t-shirt, fulling prepared to exercise. In your running shoes, you walk the few steps next door and knock twice. When he doesn’t answer within the first ten seconds, panic sets in and you’re tempted to turn on your heel to retreat. Before you can, the door swings open and you’re greeted by Todo’s bare bust. He smirks, not at all surprised to see you standing in front of him. “Hey.”

Swallowing the thick saliva gathering on your tongue, you let out a meek, “Hello.” His enormous frame towers over you and you can’t help but salivate at the sight of him. You always assumed he’d be the type of guy to walk around shirtless in his apartment. Not that you’re complaining.

He beckons you inside, closing and locking the door shut behind him. “Can’t stop thinking about it, huh?”

You roll your eyes at him, cracking a smile simultaneously. “Well, it’d be rude to turn down such a generous offer, right?”

He lets out a small laugh, stepping towards you, gripping at your hips to pull you into him. “I knew you were a smart girl.”

You’ve severely underestimated how much bigger he is than you until this moment, as you peer up at him eagerly. “Todo.”

He bows his head down, mouth grazing your ear. “Aoi.”

“Aoi,” you repeat, breath hitching.

“Good girl,” he praises, making you shudder with anticipation. “Tell me exactly what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

You paw at his chest, admiring his sculpted muscles, pressing your fingers into them without even making a dent. “I want you to give me that workout you promised me.”

“Yeah?” he croons, his noticeable erection strained in his sweatpants. “You want this fat fucking cock, don’t you?”

He’s as vulgar as you imagined he’d be and it only spurs you on. You link your arms around his neck, on your tippy-toes to meet him for a kiss. Instead, he hoists you up, holding you with his hands below your ass, your legs wrapped around his waist. His boner throbs as you buck your hips on him, desperate for friction on your aching clit. “You feel it, don’t you?” he purrs, grinding you against him. “That’s all for you.”

He carries you into the bedroom, kissing you sloppily with his massive tongue invading your mouth. When he can’t take it anymore, he tosses you onto the mattress, stripping his clothes off swiftly, you doing the same. He crawls on top of you, ogling your naked body, a lustful gleam in his expression. “You’re so fucking hot.”

“You’re so fucking big,” you blurt out in response, not knowing a better word to describe him. Because everywhere you look, Aoi Todo is big. Big biceps, a tremendous torso, a huge fucking cock ready to fill you the fuck up. You spread your legs open for him, practically begging for him to fuck you.

“Look at this perfect pussy,” he coos, face inching closer to your cunt. He hocks a thick wad of spit directly onto your clit, smearing it with his tongue. “So wet for me.”

You squirm beneath him, unable to control yourself. “Fuck, Aoi,” you swear, toes already curling from the sensation.

“I’m going to make you come first. Make this pussy extra creamy for my dick. Is that okay, sweetheart?” He massages circles into your clit with his thumb, looking up at you from between your thighs.

“Yes,” you whine, trembling with arousal.

“Good girl,” he says again, and you realize how fucking sexy it is when he praises you like this. “Can I finger you too?”

“Oh god, yes,” you moan, growing impatient, needy for whatever he’s willing to offer you.

With his lips latched to your clit, he teases your entrance with his middle finger, slowly sliding deeper until he bottoms out. He adds another digit, pumping inside you while he sucks on your bud, tongue swirling around it. You rock your hips against his face, greedy for more. Todo hums, encouraging you, the vibrations spurring you on until it’s too much. You come for him after a few more strokes, gushing all over his face. You reach down to grab his hair, trying to pry him off you, but he’s obviously way stronger and more resilient. “One more,” he muffles, chin shiny with your slick, his tongue flicking your clit. “For me.” He flashes you a cocky smirk that makes him even more impossible to deny.

You throw your head back into the pillows, staring up at the ceiling, hazy-eyed from the pleasure. The squelch of his fingers in and out of your wet cunt is obscene, combined with the shameless moans pouring out of you. After your second climax, or maybe it’s the third (you’ve lost count), he finally eases off you, slurping his digits clean to swallow up your juices. “You’re doing so good for me, pretty girl.” He strokes his cock in his fist, tapping the glistening head on your swollen clit. “It’s going to feel fucking amazing.”

You hum, the only response you can muster in this fucked-out state.

“How do you want it, sweetie?” He lifts you off the bed, having you straddle his lap. “You want to ride me?”

You nod, resting your head on his shoulder, yearning for anything. “Yes.”

“Fuck yeah,” he growls, slapping your ass before guiding his cock into your slippery cunt. You gasp, astonished by the extraordinary girth of him filling you up to the hilt. “You’re swallowing me up.” He spreads your cheeks apart, squeezing your ass in his grip. “That’s my girl.”

You gaze at him, pressing your forehead to his, sticky with sweat. “Fuck me,” you whimper, kissing him fiercely, completely enraptured by him.

He does, bouncing you on his lap, hitting your sweet spot over and over until you’re unraveling for him once more. “Told you, didn’t I? Told you I’d make it worth your while.”

Whatever semblance of rationale you had is gone. All you can think of is Todo’s manhandling you like a fucking rag doll, pliable and yielding to his every touch. Before you reconsider it, you spout the words, “Breed me,” wishing nothing more but to have his hot load leaking out of your cunt.

As if he wasn’t already feral enough, he most certainly is now, planting his feet on the bed to fuck up into you faster and harder. “That’s what you really want? You want my fucking seed in you? Oh fuck. I’ll give it to you, then. I’ll give it to you so fucking good.”

It happens quickly; you’re on your back again, folded nearly in half, knees to your chest, Todo fucking you in a mating press like his goddamn life depends on it. The mattress creaks noisily with each savage thrust he delivers. Sweat drips from his face onto yours as you kiss each other passionately, his massive body surrounding you as he floods your womb with his cum. “Fuck, milk it all out of me baby. That’s it. That’s my girl.”

You stay like this for a moment, allowing yourselves to catch you breaths and cool down. This really was a workout. Todo takes his time, reluctantly pulling out and watching his cum ooze out of you.

“I can’t believe we did that,” you sigh, hiding your face in the pillow.

He gets comfortable beside you, giving you a smooch on the forehead. “Honestly, I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

“Really?” You look at him, cupping his cheek gently, wiping the perspiration off his brow with your thumb.

He smiles, nuzzling into your palm. “Yeah.”

“Then maybe we should make this a regular thing,” you suggest as you snuggle into his arms.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” he agrees, embracing you.

And just like that, you have yourself a new and very, very personal trainer.

#todo aoi #todo x reader #todo jjk #todo smut #todo aoi x reader #todo aoi smut #aoi todo #aoi todo x reader #aoi todo smut #aoi todo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #to all the boys who live next door #todo x you

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thatfandomslut · 4 months

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Princess

Regina George x Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Trigger Warnings: homophobia, physical bullying that results in injury, fluffy ending

Frankly this isn't my favorite fic I've written but I have tried my very best.

Request:

HEYYY omggg can i request ANYTHING with regina pls i dont care what it is:3 thank you!!

Synopsis:

After someone hurts the reader, Regina will make sure everyone knows not to hurt her princess.

Mean Girls (2024) requests are open.

Regina George was the Queen Bee at North Shore High. She was confident, brilliant, and ambitious. Regina could bring the entire school to their knees if she wanted. Only one person rivaled Regina George in popularity, and that was the only person Regina had a soft spot for. (Y/n) (L/n) was proclaimed Regina's princess by none other than Regina herself. On her own, (Y/n) didn't feel special, but Regina ensured she knew she was. While Regina lived for the popularity, (Y/n) could care less, but it was nice not to get bullied by the jock branch of the school's social structure.

While Gretchen Wieners was Regina's right-hand woman, as she deemed herself to be, (Y/n) could always be found on Regina's side. Regina was someone who was motivated by words of affirmation and physical touch. So, while she was touching (Y/n) in some way, whether their knees were touching or her hand was placed delicately on (Y/n)'s thigh, she reveled in the compliments she received from her girlfriend. Nothing boosted Regina's ego more than the love of her life, her princess, flirting with her shamelessly at the lunch table, not caring if Gretchen, Cady, or Karen heard.

However, today (Y/n) wasn't at the lunch table, in her usual spot. She tended to have everything ready for Regina by the time she reached the cafeteria. This ensured a few minutes alone as the other Plastics were forced to wait in line while (Y/n) and Regina talked about whatever they wanted without the listening ears of the other girls. Regina's brows furrowed as she looked around and didn't see the girl still. "Maybe she's still in class," Gretchen offered, earning a glare from Regina who sent a message to (Y/n), wondering where she was. Perhaps Gretchen was right though. As time passed, Regina grew impatient and agitated over (Y/n)'s absence.

After all, Regina knew that (Y/n) was present that day. They had walked to their homeroom class and their shared first period together. Tapping her fingers on the table, she was becoming more restless. "I'm going to go find her," Regina stated, standing up to leave. The girls went to follow her, but Regina stopped them. She wanted to go alone, and she didn't need Gretchen's constant pestering during their search. Quite frankly, she was also slightly annoyed over the fact that (Y/n) hadn't answered her text message.

As she passed one of the stairwells, Regina heard sniffling causing her to take a step back to see if it was who she thought it was. "Princess," her voice echoed the area, and (Y/n) looked up. Regina's previous annoyance was now abandoned as she saw the puffy lip and bruising eye adorning her girlfriend's face. Making her way over, Regina took (Y/n)'s chin into her feeling delicately as she wiped away some of the driving blood under her busted lip. "Who did this?" Her voice sounded leveled and cold. (Y/n) wiped a tear from her good eye, nervous to touch her other one since it was still stinging. Noticing this, Regina brushed a gentle finger to help rid the girl of her tears.

(Y/n) was led to the bathroom as Regina cleaned her face up. Only (Y/n) was allowed to be exposed to how gentle she could be. "You still haven't answered me, princess," Regina whispered, examining her face, and searching to make sure there was nothing she missed. "You felt like they had the right to hurt you? I need to know so I can burn them to the ground." For someone who was threatening (Y/n)'s bully, she only sounded calm and caring towards the girl in front of her. (Y/n) knew deep down that she also wasn't going to keep it from Regina. She just didn't want to be a snitch or make things worse. But maybe things were already worse at this point. After all, Regina had the sweetest tone in her voice but the most dangerous fire (Y/n) had ever seen in her eyes.

(Y/n) swallowed thickly wincing slightly when she licked her lip. She had forgotten how swollen and sore it was. "Marianne Hayes," she told Regina quietly, feeling Regina's fingers intertwine with (Y/n)'s. Regina's brow rose, wanting to hear everything that had happened. "She said I was sinning, being with a girl as she walked by me in the hall. So, I told her to say it to my face. That's when she turned and punched me. She got another punch in before her friend pulled her off. She reminded them that I was your girlfriend. Marianne made sure to point out that I was defenseless without you before she left, too. Which I'm not! The punch just caught me off guard and… I don't know. She always says things like that to me." (Y/n) expressed, sighing softly as the bell rang. They were supposed to be going to class, but neither of them moved.

(Y/n)'s words were also a revelation to Regina. Nodding slowly, she listened intently. "What do you mean she always says things like that to you? Why didn't you tell me she was talking shit to you?" Regina questioned. The quirk in her brow never left her face as she stared at her girlfriend with care and worry.

"I guess I never felt like it was important to bring up." (Y/n) muttered, looking away. A clear indication she was lying. There was more, and Regina squeezed her hands comfortingly. (Y/n) could be honest with her. She'd always listen to anything and everything that she had to say. "Okay, I suppose I felt like… If I didn't handle this, she'd be right, That I was just your little dog who couldn't defend myself. I wanted to prove that, yes, I'm your girlfriend, and yes, I'm proud, but… I can also defend myself. When I finally had the opportunity, she punched me."

Regina kissed her forehead in understanding. "You are not my dog. You are so much more than whatever the fuck Marianne, of all people, thinks of you. I will make sure she burns to the ground. You are my girlfriend, princess, and I know that you think you need to do things on your own, but I'm here for you." Regina cupped (Y/n)'s cheek gently. For anyone else in the school, seeing Regina this caring and soft was strange. But for (Y/n), this was her girlfriend. She was always this soft with her. "Now, come on. We're going to my house and we are going to watch a dumb romcom." (Y/n) smiled at this, allowing Regina to lead her out of the school, thankful to spend the rest of the day cuddled up to the blonde with She's All That playing on her wide-screen TV.

#regina george x reader #regina george #mean girls x reader #mean girls

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simpjaes · 28 days

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mdni. req by anon: pleaseeeeeee more innocent Jungwon with a dom Heeseung or Jake that gets jealous and ruins everything for him..like imagine Jungwon is finally going to lose his virginity to Y/N and Heeseung/Jake finds them in the act then decides to make him sit and watch how to do it correctly..

wc: 1.4k

tags: virginity loss, jungwon is jake's brother and jake is ur ex bf, reader is a whore we love her, voyeurism, exhibitionism

It’s not that he’s doing it wrong, it’s just that he doesn’t have the confidence to own the way he moves his body.

Jungwon, your favorite person in the world. Your ex boyfriend’s brother, who you simply couldn’t leave behind after the break up. Yeah, probably not an ideal situation you’re in right now but it’s still a situation that feels right.

Sure, hanging out at your ex boyfriend’s house was weird at first but all three of you just kind of got used to it after Jake realized there’s no getting rid of you for as long as he lives there with his brother. Exhausting? Yes. Annoying? So fucking annoying.

It’s not that Jake minds you being around. After all, he’s not the one who wanted to break up. You broke up with him. Imagine how he felt just four days after the break up, walking into his house and seeing you lounging on the couch as if he was still allowed to pounce on you. He couldn’t do that, of course. For one, because you’re not his girlfriend anymore, and secondly, because his bitch-ass little brother was always crowded up next to you on the couch.

You guys weren’t that close he originally thought. At least throughout your relationship with him, Jungwon was never clinging to you like this. So, really, Jake doesn’t mind being able to still see you. What he minds is the fact that you’re here to see his little brother, and it’s a bit…

Well…

It doesn’t sit very well with him when it comes to the way you now interact. Like, really? You’re gonna break up with him over some shitty excuse of “we just aren’t on the same path in life” only to run and cling to his little brother? As if Jungwon knows what path he’s on either? Hell, the guy only just chose his major after a full semester at your college.

Exhausting. That’s what the two of you are. And Jake tries his fucking hardest to not witness you when you’re over.

That is, until it becomes far too difficult. Until that pit in his stomach bubbles up with envy so draining that he can’t help but barge into the room.

“Like this?” Jake had heard his brother’s broken voice through the door that he should not have been listening through.

Hearing Jungwon sound like that isn’t exactly new. After all, he always sounds embarrassing when a girl is around. Jake really would have just rolled his eyes and went back to his room if it weren’t for what he heard next.

“Does it feel good when I do this?” Jake heard this time, Jungwon’s voice coming out in more of a breathy moan.

“Yeah, so good–” You responded with your own moan.

“Ah–it’s so warm–”

And for a split second, Jake wondered if maybe you guys were doing massages or something. Trying to make sense of why the fuck you’re in there moaning alongside his brother. Surely you’re not fucking him. Jungwon is a virgin as far as Jake’s concerned and…if he’s really about to lose it to you, that’s beyond crossing a boundary.

Both of you should know better.

So, naturally, Jake doesn’t even knock.

The door swings open with the force of a thousand suns as Jake stands there and connects the dots. Nope, no massages. Yep, that’s your legs spread around his brother. Oh, yeah. Okay. Wow.

Jungwon is no longer a virgin it seems, considering his cock is clearly nestled inside of you. All the way. He saw the jerky movements of his hips just before the two of you snapped your heads to him. He saw the way you cling to Jungwon harder.

And the three of you just stare at each other, you frozen with your piercing gaze on Jake, Jungwon’s cock plunged into you as deep as he can go, with little pants because he can still feel you clenching around him and he’s really, really trying not to moan right now.

“Are you fucking joking?” Jake finally lets out, furrowing his brows and zeroing in on Jungwon. “You decided to lose it to her of all people?”

There’s silence for a long while as Jungwon tries not to moan out an answer, feeling both awkward and entirely aroused because you’re still so wet, you’re still holding onto him, you’re still clenching.

“And you’re not even making her feel good?!” Jake continues as his gaze falls to you.

It’s not that you look bored, or even that you were bored. It’s just, Jake knows how you are in bed. He knows you very well, and seeing you be more in control, guiding someone else is definitely not something he thought you were into. In fact, no matter how many times the two of you would fuck, you always acted like a fucking virgin. Like his cock hurt you every single time, like you couldn’t help but moan. You couldn’t help but babble incoherently. You couldn’t help but orgasm within the first five minutes.

It’s the fact that he never saw this side of you, and you’re giving it to his fucking brother while taking something away from him.

“Jake–” You manage to get out, so turned on beyond belief that you barely recognize how awful you look in this situation. Then again, you’re no longer dating Jake. It’s not like you cling to Jungwon because you want him instead.

Jungwon is just…really cute and needy. Jungwon just needs some love. Jungwon was just nervous about this girl he’s supposed to meet this weekend and wanted to get some experience in.

Fortunately for you, and unfortunately for Jungwon, Jake could probably give less of a shit as to why you’re in here letting Jungwon fumble between your legs. If you’re gonna fuck anyone in this house, it’s gonna be him. You guys can fucking go outside otherwise.

“Move.” Jake says, now making his way toward the bed and practically shoving Jungwon out of you.

There’s a wet sound when he does that, Jungwon letting out both a pornographic and frustrated moan when he falls back. Jake spares no glance at him though, all he does is shove him further, all the way until he topples off of the bed.

You don’t really care whose hands are on you though. While you wanted to be this person for Jungwon and while you feel bad that he barely got to even start, you really, really don’t mind the familiar grasp of Jake. With the way he puts his hands on your knees and spreads your legs wide.

You blink up at him, seeing Jungwon peek at you from the edge of the bed as he keeps himself on the floor. Probably both intimated and embarrassed at what’s happening.

“I can’t believe you.” Jake announces now, leaning his face in between your legs and inspecting how stretched Jungwon managed to get you. “I can’t believe you got this wet for him.”

You roll your eyes, clenching hard just so Jake can see that you’re still just as needy as you’ve always been.

Jake sees it and squeezes his eyes shut with a frustrated sigh. Of course you’d do this. Of course you still want him, sexually, at least. And then he snaps around to look at Jungwon.

“If you ever try to fuck her again, at least make it count.”

Jungwon looks away and avoids eye contact. He knows Jake is pissed, not that he cares or anything. It’s not like he’s not allowed to be pissed off too. Jake really just walked into the room thirty seconds after he officially lost his virginity. Of course he’s not gonna be good at fucking yet.

And Just as Jake turns back to you, whipping his cock out and sliding his fingers down the length of it to stiffen up, Jungwon tries to get up and leave quietly.

No, no, no.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Jake asks through a seething breath, sliding into you with ease and a slight moan. “You’re going to sit right there and watch.”

Jungwon doesn’t know why he listens, but he does. He finds himself right back on the floor. His hands that were covering his cock slowly begin to palm when he keeps his eyes on you and the way you moan out for your ex boyfriend.

He’s not happy right now, but you. You turn him on. He wishes so much that it isn’t Jake here doing this, that’s his brother, after all. Still, he watches. And somehow, he learns.

#enhypen smut #jungwon smut #sim jaeyun smut #jake sim smut #jake smut #enhypen hard hours

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vikkirosko · 5 months

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The last story was amazing, hope you can get this one in before the holdidays, and have a nice vacation. And just a great next few months on top of that! But I was wondering ( sorry this may be long ) if you could do a headcanon of alastor, lucifer, Angel Dust, lucifer, fizz + Ozzie, and Rosie? ( sorry if that's to many characters there all just great characters ) x a reader who has CIP ( the inablility ) to feel pain? Thank you! Also how have you been?

I'm all good. I haven't had much free time lately, so I'm a little behind schedule on writing requests, but I still don't lose hope that I'll be able to finish everything before the end of the year. And how are you doing?

Headcanons CIP

🕷 Angel Dust x Reader 💖

You and Angel have known each other for a long time. You knew that he often got into various scuffles and always reminded him to be careful. One of the times you knew for sure that he was going to get into trouble, you went with him. You were right and helped him cope and not get hurt, but there was something that caused him concern. You were hit by several bullets, but you didn't seem to pay any attention to it at all

Only when you noticed the blood on your clothes did you say with irritation that you had ruined your favorite sweater. Angel jumped up to you, worried about your wounds, but you didn't seem to feel the pain, which you soon informed him about. That's why Angel took you back to the hotel, where he treated your wounds. You told him that you had a CIP. You haven't felt pain since you were born, even when you were human, and even in Hell, the absence of pain has remained with you

Angel was surprised that for so long he didn't know that you don't feel pain at all. You had to pay attention to little things so as not to harm yourself, for example, be careful about hot dishes, because you might not notice how hot the soup could be or how hot the cup of coffee was. Angel listened attentively to you, surprised that he didn't notice it

Angel has become more attentive towards you. He didn't constantly take care of you, but sometimes he reminded you that the food or drink was hot, that you held the knife too close to your fingers, or that you were injured. Angel understood that even if you didn't feel pain, it didn't mean that the wounds didn't hurt you, which is why he tried to take care of you at least a little

📻 Alastor x Reader🎙

Alastor found out that you don't feel pain when he noticed that you returned to the hotel with an injured leg. You weren't even limping. You just went to your room like everything was completely normal. He didn't know any other reason for this. He went to your room with a first-aid kit and you did not hide from him either your own wound or the fact that you really did not feel pain

Alastor stayed in your room while you treated the wound on your leg. You told him that even when you were human, you didn't feel pain. You assumed that at least in Hell this would change, but it turned out not to be so. Because of this, you didn't notice the wounds you could get until you noticed the blood on your clothes

The origin of the scars on your skin was now clear. He understood that you probably got these scars in Hell. On your palms, hands, and obviously not only there. You really weren't very worried about your own health, and the lack of pain only made it harder for you to take care of yourself

Alastor understood that in Hell there was much less harm from this for you. Dying in Hell was much more difficult for a sinner than when you were alive, so Alastor didn't worry too much about you. He knew you'd be fine, but he still left a first-aid kit in your room in case you needed it

💀Rosie x Reader 🌹

You were a frequent guest at Rosie's and helped her with some problems at her store. You often stayed at her house for weeks at a time, but Rosie was only too happy to spend time with you. Sometimes you came in with wounds after fights, but Rosie was sure they weren't that serious, so you didn't pay attention to it. However, when you came in seriously injured but behaved as if everything was fine, she became worried

Rosie insistently asked you to sit down and brought a first aid kit. She was in no hurry to ask questions or jump to conclusions, primarily focusing on your wounds. You didn't make a sound when she was treating your wounds, which gave Rosie certain thoughts

You honestly told her that you didn't feel pain at all. Even before your death, you had CIP and you learned to live with it, but in Hell you became more relaxed and took much less care of your own health, which led to your injury. Rosie listened to you carefully, then gently stroked your hair and asked you to be careful

Rosie didn't want you to try. She knew that you tried to be more attentive to yourself and tried to avoid new wounds. You didn't want to upset Rosie and make her worry, which is why you tried not to put yourself in danger, not even realizing that Rosie was ready to show those who would harm you why she was overlord

🍎 Lucifer Morningstar x Reader 🐍

Lucifer knew perfectly well that you didn't feel pain. You've known each other for a long time and he often saw you after fights. You didn't pay attention to the wounds, just talked irritably about stained or torn clothes. You both knew that the lack of feeling pain had its own characteristics, so you made sure that the wounds were treated, and Lucifer made sure that no one dared to hurt you

Lucifer was much stronger than you, and when you were together, no one dared even try to look at you askance, but sometimes you got involved in fights, especially when it was the end of the year. You didn't want to hide, even though you knew you could have died. Every time Lucifer found out that you were fighting again, he watched, taking his time to intervene. It was only when he saw that you were seriously injured that he intervened

Lucifer sometimes offered to pick up personal guards for you, but you kept telling him that it wasn't necessary. Just because you didn't feel pain didn't mean you were reckless. You tried not to put yourself in excessive danger, realizing that even in Hell you could die

You didn't know how long you would be in Hell and whether it was possible to leave Hell at all, but while you were there you weren't going to let yourself die again, especially because you didn't notice any wound and Lucifer didn't mind helping you with it

🎪 Fizzarolli x Reader x Asmodeus 💕

In your relationship, Asmodeus has always tried to take care of Fizzarolli and you. He had sincere feelings for both of you, and you responded in kind, but if Fizzarolli really tried to be careful, then you got into trouble more often. They both saw the wounds healing on you, but you always said it was just a small accident and they had nothing to worry about. This went on until you returned with bloodstains on your clothes and serious wounds that you didn't pay attention to

They immediately rushed to you, both very worried. You convinced them that you were fine, but this time it was obviously not the case. Asmodeus treated your wounds, after which he seriously asked who did it. To his question, you smiled gently and said that they were much worse off than you, so you shouldn't have worried about it. However, there was something that did not escape their eyes. It's like you didn't feel the touch of your wounds

When Fizzarolli asked you if you were in pain, you were confused and said that you didn't feel any pain at all. You've had CIP and you've never felt pain in your entire life. There used to be problems because of this, but now you have learned to avoid serious problems, at least you tried

Asmodeus and Fizzarolli weren't going to leave you alone until your wounds were completely healed. They both surrounded you with care, worrying about you, to which you laughed softly and hugged them. Even in Hell, you were able to find those who gave you the warmth that warmed your heart and soul

#Hazbin Hotel #Hazbin Hotel x Reader #Hazbin Hotel headcanons #Helluva Boss #Helluva Boss x Reader #Helluva Boss headcanons #Alastor #Alastor x Reader #Angel Dust #Angel Dust x Reader #Rosie #Rosie x Reader #Lucifer Morningstar #Lucifer Morningstar x Reader #Fizzarolli #Fizzarolli x Reader #Asmodeus #Asmodeus x Reader

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