#i will not be so surprised if i will be down bad for this pixel man again. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

squoxle · 2 months

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HIIEUSI WAS WHHEE HI SIS I WAS WONDERING U COULD DO ARCADE FF WITH HEESEUNG ?

Omg girl I haven’t had time to write a damn thing yet and my drafts are piling up. But moots take TOP priority and I try to respond to asks as fast as possible. Anywaysss here you go and I hope u enjoy 🩷

Ride Me ~ L.HS

pairing: Heeseung!bf x Reader!gf| wc: 1k | summary: Things take a steamy turn after your boyfriend shows you his new at-home arcade setup. | cw: 🔞MDNI!! unprotected sex, cumshots, fingering, clit stimulation, pet names [daddy, good girl, baby] <- 100% Heeseung coded [porn with a plot] Enjoy :)

“Well babe, what do you think?” Heeseung asked as he uncovered your eyes revealing the mass gaming setup. “I figured I’d use this more than the theater room,” he ruffled his hands through his hair, anxiously waiting for you to respond.

“It looks great, but I’m gonna miss our little movie nights under the blankets,” you smiled as you walked up to one of the machines.

You clicked a few of the large buttons, anticipating a pixelated image to flash across the screen. “Umm, how do you turn this thing on?” You asked as nothing seemed to work.

Heeseung placed his hand on the edge beside you, trapping you beneath him as he reached down to flick a power switch. You felt his weight slightly press you against the machine as he did this.

“I must’ve forgotten to turn this one on,” he met your eyes through his shaggy hair. Something about that state felt off, but maybe it was just you so you brushed off the feeling and proceeded to look at the other games he had.

A zombie survival simulator that came with 4 guns.

A claw machine filled with plushes.

A retro fighting game.

And a two player motorcycle game.

Eager to try this one out, you climbed onto the bike.

“Of all the stuff you just saw, im surprised this is the one you wanted to play,” Heeseung tilted his head.

“Yeah, well, I like racing games. Stuff like MarioKart, y’know,” Heeseung watched as you struggled to reach the coin slot from your seat. The opening sat just out of your reach.

Your tits pressed up against the leather as your cheek meshed with cold material.

"Let me help you," Heeseung whispered in your ear as he reached over to insert the coin. You felt him pushing himself up against you from behind which sent butterflies through your stomach.

You went to the loading screen and customized your bike, "If you wanna play, there's another bike," you said as you noticed your boyfriend was still straddled on the bike behind you. His hands gripped the back of the seat as he sat there with his legs spread open.

You had a bad habit of staring at the print in his pants, didn't matter if he was hard or soft. You craved to feel him inside of you.

"I know, but I wanna see how you ride," he smirked as he grabbed your hips, quickly jerking your hips backward.

Feeling the heat rush to your face you continued to start up the game. You chose a Tokyo map because of the neon cityscape terrain at night time. Though you tried your best to stay focused you couldn't shake the feeling of Heeseung sitting behind you like this.

"San, ni, ichi...sutato," the automated female voice called out as tri-colored traffic lights flashed across the screen. The aggressive rumble from the bike startled you as it took off.

You felt as Heeseung squeezed your hips again before leaning against you. You nearly crashed as his touch caught you off guard.

"Be careful baby," he said before placing a kiss on your neck.

"I-I'm trying. But you keep distracting me," you stuttered.

"Am I really that distracting," he asked as he slipped his hands around your thighs, squeezing and pulling at the flesh.

"Ngh," you groaned. "Yes, you are."

"Oh, but you like it when I touch you like this. Don't you?" Heeseung grinded his hips against you.

"Mmm," you moaned as you felt his budge pressing into you. "H-heeseung," you said letting out a soft breath.

"Keep driving baby. If you come in first place, I'll give you a little treat," he hummed as he reached his fingers in between your folds. Your growing wetness slowly seeped through the fabric of your panties.

"Ngh!" you huffed as he massaged your clit through your shorts.

He continued to tease you as you struggled to finish the race, barely coming in first after finding a shortcut.

As the gold star shot across the screen, Heeseung hummed a raspy "Good girl," in your ear before helping you out of your shorts.

At this point, you were only wearing your hot pink thong--something you knew Heeseung loved to use. "Show me that pretty little pussy of yours," he bit his lip as you pulled the small fabric to the side, exposing your wet folds.

He smiled as he palmed himself before pulling his veiny cock out only to glide it between your slimy lips and tease your sensitive bead with his tip.

You whimpered as you began pushing yourself against his hard dick, eagerly trying to force it inside.

He halted your movements by gripping the inside of your thighs, spreading your legs more, before telling you to "ride Daddy's dick like the good girl I know you are."

Immediately after he said those words, he shoved his dick deep inside of you, causing you to let out a sharp groan. "Fuck," he winced. "You're still so fucking tight," he said slowly pumping his cock into you. "Ngh," he moaned before leaning forward to kiss your neck as your ragged breathing filled his ear. "You sound so fucking sexy when you're taking my dick like this," he pecked your cheek as you finally adjusted to his length.

You started to grind into your boyfriend, stuffing his cock deeper into you as he held you from your waist. "That's it, baby, just like that," his words encouraged you to pick up the speed as he pulled your lips into his, gripping your throat.

He turned you over and fucked you from the back as your tits pressed up against the leather. You clenched around him as he let out a groan. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he gritted through his teeth before 3 long, hard thrusts. You felt his warm seed spill into you and drip out as you came with him. Fortunately, your panties caught the majority of the spill.

Exhausted, you laid across the bike as Heeseung kissed your shoulders.

❀ Thank you all so much for reading! Make sure to check out other works on my masterlist!

❀ 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @chlorinecake @mimikittysblog @nikisdubblchococake @wonbinisbabygurl @hynjinnn1 @mrswolfhard3 @laylasbunbunny @sussyjake @furious-eagle @cherrriesss @abbyizzy @weyukinluv @addictedtohobi @thatonenoona @wavykook @givemeyourtmihyun @jaeljn @hoonmywk @valennshit @19-yunalyn @hoonbby @frostedblankets @hoonsyo @no-mannerism @perfectxserendipity @chubbibish @ihrtlix @bunniesforsoobin @thereadersparadise @thatbooknerdfr @aiden2001 @belongstoheeseung @jakeybabe @donut-crazs @rizzhee @nikimeows @woonieees @uarmyxtae @rebecca-johnson-28 @they2luv1naia @isa-2007 @silcry @riverscafe @pearlwhitesoul @nikohiroshi @thatbooknerdfr @wonniewonwon @sughoonieeee @babyy-bambii @adrika04 @sehunsharpasseyebrows @wtfyangjungwon @fr-3-akn-4-stymf @rikiloversworld @shawyle @sunoosrightbuttcheek @uarmyxtae @lovesickxmina @urfavberry @urauntiefaye @breadlover01 @taehyunsfavmoa

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deadsetobsessions · 16 days

Text

Pt. 3

Again, the timing is icky but pretty much everything about it is icky.

——

Bruce wondered when Talia al Ghul would stop upheaving his life.

He loves Damian, but one surprise child was a lot, considering the cult deprogramming they’d had to do.

A second, older, surprise child? That was a bit overkill.

At least this time, the conception was consensual.

Bruce cradled his head in his hands, still-gloved fingers gripping onto sweat-soaked hair. The glow of the bat computer shone on his lone figure, sat huddled before endless screens of investigations and the unraveling threads of Bruce’s sanity.

How was he to cope with the knowledge that a child- his child, like Dick and Damian and Tim and Jason and- suffered so at the man he thought he had beaten so soundly?

It was his fault, Bruce thought, that Ra’s al Ghul tortured his… Bruce’s… daughter so brutally. It was no doubt, a way to assuage his anger at Bruce’s denial of being his heir.

His mistakes always came back to haunt him, but it never laid its furious eyes and hands on his own person. No, when Bruce made mistakes, his loved ones paid for it.

He tried his best, pushed harder as Batman, in penance. But this… his unknown daughter, trapped in the shadows of the league where it is cold and cruel and brutally painful…

How could he repent for the sin of letting his daughter suffer and chained at the hands of Ra’s al Ghul? How could he show her that the shadows could be kind? That he would rather break his own spine and get lost in the time stream again before he could even fathom hurting her? He found himself stuck in the same loop of thoughts that plagued him when Damian first came into his orbit.

The screens turned black, and Oracle’s call sign flashed onto the dark pixels.

“Oracle. I hadn’t finished looking at the cases.”

“Go to sleep, Bruce.”

“No, there is still work to be-” his voice, dipping into the growl, died a quick death when Barbara cut him off.

“Your daughter is coming tomorrow. So, unless you want to look like a disheveled grease racoon when you meet her, go shower and get some actual sleep.”

Bruce paused, feeling oddly offended. His eye bags weren’t that bad.

Bruce caught sight of his reflection in one of the blacked out monitors.

…Nevermind.

He sighed. “…Thank you, Barbara.”

“Anytime, Bruce. I’m always here to kick your ass into gear.”

Bruce huffed, but obligingly got up to change and shower. Alfred silently appeared at the elevators, polished shoes tapping against the stone floor as he raised an imperious eyebrow at Bruce.

“I see Miss Barbara has managed to persuade you to retire at an hour common to regular man, Master Bruce.”

“Ah, yes, she… did.” Bruce felt the urge to apologize, because if Alfred’s up because of him, it’ll wear down harsher on the older man’s health. If there was one thing he took seriously, it would be the health of his loved ones. “Sorry, Alfred. I’ll head up to bed soon.”

“See to it that you do, Master Bruce. I will warm dinner that you had missed by many hours and bring it to your room.”

Bruce lingered as the butler turned around and began making his way back to the main house.

Alfred paused and turned around once more. “If I may offer you some advice?”

“Please. Always.”

Alfred sniffed delicately, most definitely thinking of the times Bruce decided not to take his very well reasoned and seasoned advice. “You have done well with Young Master Damian.”

“Most of that was Dick,” Bruce interrupted, man enough to admit that he wasn’t a present or a particularly good father figure before his jaunt through time and space. Alfred shot him a chiding look, reprimanding him for interrupting. Bruce rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Perhaps, but you have put in effort towards all of your children in a way that I have yet to see since Master Jason had… gone.”

“I’ll never make that period of time up to Tim.” Bruce whispered. Another thing he was guilty of. Tim still avoided some spaces in the manor, even when Bruce had-

“That is because you sit here, wallowing in your guilt,” Alfred returned. He added a belated “Master Bruce,” and it sounded like ‘you utter buffoon.’

“But…”

“You must take the first step, Master Bruce.”

“What if she hates me? What if I’m not ready- what if I can’t help her?”

“You will try. She deserves that, at the very least. You must try. Even if you are not ready for the day, Master Bruce, it can not always be night.”

“… You’re right.” Bruce straightened his shoulders. Time doesn’t wait. He, of all people, knew that.

“You will find that I am hardly ever wrong.” Alfred primly rested his hands atop each other.

“Thank you, Alfred.”

“Of course. It was also meant literally, Master Bruce, for the sun shall try its best to peek out of Gotham’s smog in approximately three hours and fourteen minutes.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Bruce grouched.

——

Her mother gave her a slow, cautious hug, akin to approaching a wild animal.

She huffed, and pulled her mother into a crushing hug. She allowed herself, for the first time in a long time, to linger and cling onto her mother’s shirt. Another tendency that Ra’s had thought he’d beaten out of her.

“Be careful,” the reincarnation whispered.

“You as well, my beloved daughter.”

‘You do not have to remind me that I am beloved, mother. I know.’

Talia al Ghul tucked a strand of the reincarnation’s curled hair behind her ear. “No, I do not believe that you do. But that is… my own fault. I will tell you and remind you that you are beloved to me as long as I can. I have two decades of it to make up to you, habibti.”

The flight attendant- a League operative- returned from placing her bags onto the private plane.

——

A sleek car made its way up Wayne Manor’s winding driveway. She’d declined the offer to pick her up from the airport. She had wanted a vehicle of her own, and some time before she met every one else. No doubt, knowing what she knew of her brother and Bruce Wayne, not to mention the little photographer, they were most likely tracing her path to Wayne manor obsessively.

She tapped her nails on the wheel as she drove towards her brother. Brothers. And… Bruce Wayne. On one hand, she’s kept them safe. On the other, she’d sacrificed years of getting to know them. It was odd, to feel this intensely awkward and nervous after years of intense hatred or apathy sprinkled by the the occasional love and fondness for Damian and her mother.

“Hmmm.” She hummed, slight smile spreading a bit more as the sound came out without pain. Two weeks, and the novelty of freedom had not worn off. She thinks that it would never wear off. She cherished it.

The gate had opened without needing a code, so they most definitely knew she was here. It’s a good thing she had prepared gifts in advance. Dodging Gothamites as they drove and jaywalked had been a rather unforeseen ordeal that she was not looking forward to repeating.

She rolled to a smooth stop at the front doors, giving the intricately carved oak doors a passing glance. She huffed a laugh as she saw Damian, flanked by Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth, staring proudly outside at the front door. They’re anticipatory of her arrival. Warmth spread through her heart, and for the first time in a long while, it wasn’t the heat of rage.

She opened the doors with a quiet click and hiss, stepping out onto the heated paved driveway, and closed the door. At the steps, the two older men had frozen but Damian had come walking quickly towards her.

“Damian,” she whispered as he came near her, suffusing as much fondness as she could into his name. Her little brother all but sprinted towards her, screeching to a stop in front of her with excited eyes.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, ukhti.” He said formally. Her eyes softened and she pulled him into a hug.

(yā waṭawāṭī alṣṣḡīr is the phonetic spelling.) ("وطواطي الصغير" is the actual spelling. I think.)

“I have missed you, ya wat-wat alssgirr,” she whispered. The familiar endearment, “my little bat,” rung warmly like a warm crease ruffling his hair. The silks of her clothes and the ever present warm sand and candle scent wrapped around him like a hug… like the hug she was currently giving him.

(Her clothes were in blues and silvers. It suited her, she who had been forced in green and golds and cuts of black.)

“I still can not believe you all but told me who father was and I still could not figure it out until mother told me.”

She pulled back. ‘Damian, you were five.’

“I have little doubt you were smarter at my age, ukhti, so do not lie to me.” Damian grumbled. Nevertheless, he stepped back.

‘No, you were smarter.’

And to her, he was. It’s not like Damian had the edge she did, and he wasn’t the one trapped for twenty something years. She had foolishly thought that Ra’s wouldn’t dare to harm her too much, seeing as she was his blood, but Damian knew from day 1. She made sure he did. If she was half as smart as Damian, she would have bent her knee and obeyed, no matter how she felt about killing. She would have taken warning Ra’s issued and soaked in the poisonous praise to bide her time to escape. She could not- she did not- do what Damian found effortless, and paid the price for it.

“Unlikely,” Damian said, turning around fully, but she could see the tips of her brother’s ears burning. Ah, perhaps she had been to stingy with compliments if he was shy hearing a mild one, sincere as it might have been. “This is Alfred Pennyworth. He is the butler, and an integral part of the family.”

Damian glanced at her, taking in her suddenly impassive face, and nods. Good. His attitude towards Pennyworth when he first arrived was… mildly shameful. His ukhti was smart enough to know that and therefore he won the argument.

On her part, the reincarnation followed along like she hadn’t mildly stalked this family for decades. It was nice to see excitement rearing on her brother’s face. It was rare in the league and Gotham’s gloom had ironically cheered him up far more than the suns of desserts ever did. She nodded at Alfred Pennyworth, who had admirably recovered from his earlier shock.

“And this is… Bruce Wayne. Our father.”

She tucked a strand of curled hair back, impassive blue eyes meeting her… father’s.

She offered him a short nod.

——

“My word,” Alfred Pennyworth muttered as his charge’s (his son’s) daughter step out of the car. Her steps were silent, graceful, and lighter than a gazelle.

The way she moved, even as she hugged young master Damian, whispered of leashed lethality and treacherous waters. She moved like if grace had a form and Alfred was willing to bet his entire career that not an iota of air got close to her without her knowledge of it, and it reminded the aging man of the young Miss Cassandra. He knew then, that she could have pretended to be unassuming and that he would have had a hard time equating her with danger. That she showed them her potential for death was a sign of trust.

But it was not the way she claimed death as her own name that caught the former spy’s attention.

No.

It was her blue eyes and the way they ever so slightly crinkled fondly as she laid eyes upon her younger brother. It was the way her hair, curled in a nostalgic style, that curtained her face as she spoke to the young Wayne heir, though he could not hear her voice. It was the way that she tucked Damian against her side, protective but encouraging.

It was the way that she, despite Talia al Ghul’s features, resembled his dearest friend, Martha Wayne, in her every movement.

Alfred Pennyworth felt like he was decades younger, standing before Martha as she fondly tucked Bruce against her side and successfully needled Thomas into going to see Bruce’s favorite movie.

It felt like he had his best friend once more, just a little.

From the way Master Bruce stared, it seemed as though he thought the same.

Alfred straightened when young master Damian introduced him. He was the Wayne Family Butler. And she was definitely a Wayne.

Master Bruce stood there like a lout as his daughter greeted him. Alfred shot him a scathing look- he had taught Master Bruce much better manners than to gape, the nerve!- before smoothly directing the attention away. His hands moved as he spoke.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, Miss-”

She made a sharp motion to cut him off and signed something. Alfred might be a tad rusty in Arabic sign language (like he and the rest of the family hadn’t spent the last two weeks frantically memorizing and brushing up on their sign language) but he knew a name sign when he saw one.

“al Ghul.” Damian recognized. He did not use regular Arabic Sign Language with her often, vastly preferring their own established sign, but that did not mean he slacked. “You may call her al-Ghul.”

‘Or nothing at all,’ Damian’s sister signed. She looked at him like she was waiting. A test, Alfred realized.

Alfred pushed the slight twinge of disheartening disappointment away. He had wanted to call her Miss Wayne, to perhaps indulge in a bit of nostalgia for a while longer. But he shan’t do it at the expense of his charge.

“Miss al Ghul,” he continued, not missing a beat, imitating the name sign with pin point accuracy. She lifted her chin. Alfred sighed in relief. He passed. And now, perhaps he should revive Ra’s al Ghul and have a nice, entirely civil conversation about Miss al Ghul’s expectation that her wishes would go ignored.

Alfred will bring his shotguns and most likely would abandon pretenses as soon as that old goat got into his crosshairs. Old as he might be, he was still a very good shot, and civility was reserved for those with honor.

“Please head inside. I am sure young master Damian would love to guide you on a tour,” Alfred continued like he didn’t think of violent second deaths for Ra’s al Ghul. “Perhaps Master Bruce will join you, if you are amendable, once he has managed to stop imitating the rather life like form of a smooth brained sloth.”

Alfred congratulated himself on the small crinkle of humor that graced Miss al Ghul’s otherwise expressionless face. Well, expressionless to those that did not know where to look. Fortunately, Alfred and the rest of the family were used to stoic caveman micro expressions, courtesy of Bruce, and therefore it would not be much of a problem.

“I will bring your bags up to your room.”

She scrutinized him and then dipped her head.

‘Be careful. There are dangerous things in there.’

“I assure you the utmost privacy in regards to your belongings,” Alfred said.

“Pennyworth will not peruse your belongings, ukhti. He has more honor and respect than that.”

Alfred would like to interrogate Talia al Ghul to see who he must introduce some lead to, that clearly disrespected Miss al Ghul’s privacy like so. But for now, he will bask in the warmth of young master Damian’s implicit trust.

Miss al Ghul nodded. She opened the trunk of the car- the interior of which Alfred could now perceive to be entirely customized and of extremely quality material. She handed the keys and gave him access to her luggage. Then, placing her hand at young master Damian’s shoulder, followed the young master into the halls where she ought to have been raised. Or, at the very least, ought to have taken a step in at least once before today.

Master Bruce lingered at the doorway, torn between following the siblings and helping Alfred with the luggage (read: running away.)

“The daylight is wasting, Master Bruce.”

Master Bruce skittered in behind them like a newborn colt, wobbling and anxious.

Well, it’s time for Alfred to do his job. There was only a single duffle bag.

Hm. He’ll have to tell Master Bruce to take her out for necessities. He hardly doubted that a single bag could last her very long. And Alfred Pennyworth was hellbent on convincing his granddaughter to stay, may the gods have mercy on whichever poor soul that tried to convince her otherwise for he won’t.

——

She followed Damian as he led her deeper within the walls of a home she knew by heart from afar. She was like the little photographer in that way. Bruce Wayne trailed behind them like a particularly awkward ghoul, and she found it amusing to equate this turtle necked man was the illustrious Dark Knight. How dangerous.

“This is the first parlor. It is for guests of the… regular persuasion.”

Ah, for the civilians. She nodded.

“Ah, the silverware was selected by Alfred.” Bruce interjected, gesturing to the display silverware by the door. Their cabinets were intricate without taking away from the paintings upon the delicate ceramic.

She looked at him, wondering why he was following before giving up and nodding. It was his house.

(Bruce, for his part, felt like his daughter had laid judgement upon him… and found him lacking.)

‘It is… adequate.’ She sighed to Damian. Damian tutted.

“It’s fine to say quaint, sister. It could hardly compare to the palace.”

Bruce jolted, plans for converting the manor into a palace already in the making.

No, he couldn’t. Alfred would murder him with his favorite dish.

‘I like it, even if it is smaller.’

“….you do?”

‘You are happy here. It is warm to you. I like it.’ She repeated.

Damian latched onto her sleeve. “I- I shall show you my art. And then introduce you to the rest of the bumbling fools we have for brothers-”

She tilted her head. Bruce paused as well when Damian’s words cut off.

“If… you want them as brothers. It would be… helpful, to integrate.”

She waited.

“But… I am the first. Your blood. And-”

‘I will make room in my heart for them, if you wish it. I already know some of them.’ She allowed a small smile to show. ‘But that does not mean you will ever lose your place, little bat.’

Damian felt extremely thankful that father had not managed to pick up their version of sign language yet.

“Well… as long as you’re aware.” He marched further into the manor. She followed, once more, a look of fond indulgence gleaming in her eyes.

——

She stood in front of a painting her younger brother had done.

‘I made it two weeks ago,’ he’d told her, fingers curled into her palm.

It was green. She hated green. And gold. And ominous. Rage. Harsh, bold strokes and spots where the texture of the canvas were either globbed over or painfully showing through.

Her hands traced the single stroke of blue amidst the turbulence of green.

She tucked Damian against her side and realized that perhaps he understood after all, what it felt like. Perhaps not all of it, but enough.

——

“Here is your room, ukhti.” Damian stood watch as his sister scanned the room. She quickly removed three listening devices as Damian sighed.

‘You’ve gotten better.’ She crossed the room and plucked the listening bug from its place on the door frame.

“Clearly not good enough.” Damian huffed. “But I have beaten your knife game record. What do you think of the room?”

His sister rolled her eyes and handed him a blade she pulled from somewhere on her person.

An implicit challenge.

“No cutting your fingers off, please.” Father interceded.

“Begone, father. We are doing sibling bonding, something I remember you insisting that I participate in.”

Damian shut the door on his stupefied face, matching his sister’s sharp smirk as he splayed his hand on the dresser and raised the blade.

——

Alfred walked in with a covered plate and paused at the sight of the dresser.

Then, he looked on as Damian sat at the desk, rapidly signing to his sister in their own version of the language as said sister pulled out an entire wardrobe and a half to fill in the walk-in closet.

Alfred made a note to study some more magic.

“Miss al-Ghul. I bring you a snack that young master Damian made and to inform you that the others will be arrive en masse, within an hour.” Alfred paused. “Might I interest you in a mat before the two of you decide to… take a gander at furniture redecoration in the future?”

“Of course, Pennyworth. Apologies.”

“I’ll try to make sure they won’t overwhelm you. They can be a lot, at once.” Bruce said from the doorway. Miss al Ghul glanced at him and dipped her head in thanks. Her eyes wandered right back to the dessert.

Alfred made another note.

‘You made this for me?’ She asked, switching to standard.

Damian grumbled. “Do not eat it. I could not get the spice quite right, no matter how many variations…”

‘I am sure it will be good.’ She took the plate from Alfred’s hand and uncovered it.

They all had the fortune of witnessing a true, genuine wide eyed smile from a stoic face.

Alfred inhaled sharply. He had thought Master Bruce and young master Damian had inherited Thomas’ dimples. But she had inherited his entire smile.

‘Bstilla!’ She turned to Damian. ‘My favorite! You made this?’

“I know that. I am not incompetent as to not notice when you snuck three of them from the palace kitchens. You must give me the recipe from the cooks. I could not get it to taste like the spices they used. I even imported spices!”

Miss al-Ghul, like she had forgotten he and Master Bruce were there, stabbed a fork into the pie and put it into her mouth.

“Ukhti! Don’t- do not eat that! Spit it out! The pastry is too thick and-”

She held up her hand. ‘It’s good. I know what it is missing.’

She strode to her magic bag and pulled out a bottle.

She sprinkled flakes on top and offered a forkful of b’stilla to the young master who, shockingly, did not insist on his own utensil.

His expression lightened. “This is it. What is it? You know of the chefs’ methods?”

She sprinkled the mysterious spice on the food. ‘You’ve never eaten anything the chefs have made. I made your food by hand to prevent assassinations and inoculate you against toxins. Also, this is poison.’

Alfred stiffened.

“It’s what?!” Bruce spoke up, rushing into the room, finally to try and look Damian over.

‘It is fine. He has been immune since he was three.’

Miss al Ghul placed a piece of poisoned b’stilla in her mouth and ate. Young master Damian batted his father off, saying that poison inoculation was hardly a surprise. What was a surprise, though, was something else.

“That is- you- you’re the one who made my meals?” Young Master Damian demanded, looking guilty. “But- I- why did you not tell me? I made all of those demands in the middle of the night- what about the time I sent back the knafe fifteen times?”

She nodded.

“Why would you- why did you not tell me?”

‘You knew what grandfather thought of women. And besides, it was the only time I was allowed sweets. He did not want me to ruin my figure as it would lower my marketability.’

Alfred itched for his gun.

“You are not a commodity,” Master Bruce stated, intense as he tended to be. Miss al Ghul blinked at him.

‘… I am aware. But… thank you.’

“Ah. Yes. Of course.” And there went the emotionally intelligent Master Bruce. May he rest in peace until the next time he decides to make an appearance.

“I believe today is a chocolate chip cookie day, do you not, young master Damian?”

“Yes, Pennyworth, I believe it is.”

‘I have never tried it before.’

“You will love it. Pennyworth’s cookies are the best in the world, as is expected.”

Alfred watched as young master Damian tugged his sister out and marveled. The sides of his grandson they rarely get to see was so easily pulled out by his older sister.

——

Y’all I wanted to write her meeting the siblings but Alfred came out of no where and went haha nope feel the angst of a man who lost his best friend and had to raise her vigilante child.

Alfred, seeing Bruce put on the bat cowl for the first time: martha, why have you forsaken me

——

Me: what would baby assassins play as a binding game?

Me, remembering my past as a kid: I Spy, but with trackers and bugs. oh wait… THE KNIFE GOES CHOP CHOP CHOP

——

Also, I think B’stilla was food meant only for royalty and was probably rooted in slavery, so I thought it would be a meaningful nod to her position of privilege and how she are like a king but was treated as a… bed warmer and a slave. Yeah. If anyone knowledgeable on food history wants to school me on b’stilla, feel free to do so. I did like, a cursory research at best.

#Bruce Wayne #Bruce Wayne’s guilt complex #Bruce ‘everything is my fault’ Wayne #no Bruce not everything in fact is about you bby #ras al ghul #Ra’s was a jackass long before you were born #oc in dc #batman #tim drake #damian wayne’s older sister #damian wayne #Bruce took his guil and fucking sprinted with it #he’s also making a lot of (very fair considering the circumstances) assumptions about oc #did I write that entire first part so I could make Alfred quote a poem?#yes yes I did #technically it’s also a part of a Kanye west song or whatever #oc: my brother is so cute look he’s so excited to see me #everyone else: what? hes walking so elegantly and calmly???#sleep deprived me did not do the difference between habibi and habibti #Alfred Pennyworth #Alfred Pennyworth was besties with Martha Wayne #Martha Wayne coming back to haunt the Waynes via her granddaughter #Alfred calling Ra’s and honorless goat #a couple thousand words of Alfred being sassy

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emelinstriker · 5 months

Text

Soundwave & Shockwave ♡ Be More Expressive

Second X Reader one-shot to be dropped. And guess who's just been told that her wisdom teeth need to be extracted. Fuck. :D

[TL;DR] You have stickers and art supplies. And two lovely victims.

♡ ~ Fluff ~ ♡

"There is nothing logical about what you are doing."

"Shush'up, Shocky- I'll have you know I'm great at drawing!" You sassily stated as you continued working on a little doodle on his shoulder pad. You drew it right in your science lover's field of view so he would also remember you were there. However, your body was in front of the drawing to make it a bit of a surprise. So for the last few minutes Shockwave was only able to stare at your butt. Not bad of a sight in his point of view (literally), but he was still curious.

"That's not what I was referring to."

"I know, I know... But then you'll have something that reminds you of our relationship! No worries, it's easy to wash off if you don't like the drawing in the end." The cyclops ex-vented, deeming your response as logical enough to please him.

"And... tadaaa! What do you think?" You moved aside so Shockwave could have a proper look at what you did to his shoulder pad.

You drew an adorable little piece of his and Soundwave's helms, as well as your head surrounded by a heart. Shockwave actually felt a little flattered by your artwork, and yet he decided to play off what he actually felt.

"It looks logical", he commented. You pouted at his response. Again, he found your human way of expressing yourself interesting.

"Be more expressive, damn'it!" Suddenly your gaze locked onto your little bag filled with your art supplies... including stickers and sticky notes. You had a grin on your face as you pulled out a package of stickers and took out a few. Once you had a few sticking to your hand, you turned to give your Conjunx a bright smile before leaning down and lightly slapping random colorful stickers all over his chassis. If Shockwave had a faceplate instead of one optic, he probably would've given you a confused pokerface mixed with internal screaming. But here he was, simply observing your actions out of curiosity.

"What are you doing?"

"Sticking sticky stickers, duh. Here," you started as you grabbed a sticky note and wrote something on it before aggressively sticking the note just above his optic. "You deserve a DUM sticker for that question, mister!" You pouted at him before slapping his frame with more stickers. You finally decided to stop when you emptied one whole sticker package, finishing by putting a little unicorn sticker on your own cheek for a little partner look. Leaning back to have a better overview of your newest masterpiece, you hummed in satisfaction. The scientist was covered in stickers that looked definitely odd on him, accompanied by a DUM sticker over his optic. Good thing the note was so much smaller than his optic because otherwise giving him a little kiss on it would've made it a bit harder. "I love you."

After giving him the little kiss as appreciation for his tolerance, a certain Intelligence Officer came into the lab, much to Shockwave's relief and your happiness. You frantically waved one arm around up high, leaning back against Shockwave's helm. "Hiya, Sounders!"

As he walked over to the two of you, his visor held the image of a smile until he was standing in front of you and the bigger mech. The ex-gladiator raised his servo up next to you and gently rubbed your cheek with a digit. A pixel heart appeared on his visor as he did so. You giggled at his affection, leaning into his digit's touch. "Aw, I love you too."

You glanced at Shockwave's sticker-covered frame and smirked mischivously, turning back to face your other Conjunx' visor. The heart instantly faded and got replace with a raised eyebrow emoticon. He didn't like that look on your face and decided to leave while he still could. So, he slowly pulled his digit away from you and took one step backwards.

"Hey Shocky," you started as you pulled out another package of stickers. "Wanna see me make Sounders suffer as well?" His ear fins perked up in delight. He was definitely amused by your suggestion.

"Equality only seems logical, sweetspark."

Shockwave approached the shorter mech, already armed with you in his servo. You were smirking, menacingly. The scientist held you out towards the TIC's chassis. And before said mech could escape by moving further back, there was already a unicorn sticker slapped onto him. Surprised by your swiftness, he looked down at his chassis. You caught him off-guard once more when he saw you had already drawn a little red heart on Laserbeak's left wing.

That's when he heard rather evil giggling coming from his right.

Oh scrap. You were now on his shoulder pad, doodling away with a line of stickers already trailing up from his chassis to the side of his helm.

You and Shockwave weren't exactly the sneakiest duo, so this greatly surprised him. Then again, he must've been in some form of trance in that moment. However, there wasn't much he could do to stop you now that you already marked him with your stickers and drawings. Well, more like he didn't have the spark to stop you. You have managed to basically capture him and he was being a good sport about it.

The scientist had already resumed working on the project you had interrupted earlier, calm relief visible in his posture. His sticker-covered frame turned to you one last time. "They are your artistic problem now, Soundwave. Do not bring them back until all their stickers and art supplies are gone from their possession." His right ear fin flicked upwards by a little, as if he was smirking at your other lover.

You laughed at his words while the masked mech showed a smiley on his visor as he nodded. Then he decided to walk out of the room with you still present on his shoulder, having your fun with your supplies.

Bonus:

Shockwave approached Megatron's location, ready to report his progress, when the warlord suddenly let out a chuckle. He couldn't even look the cyclops properly in the optic. The DUM sticker was too much of a funny distraction.

"I see. Soundwave wasn't the only victim affected by this... sticky situation."

His ear fins drooped at his master's discovery, unamused by the joke. That's when he looked behind the grey mech and noticed Soundwave completely covered in stickers and lovely drawings. He had more stickers on him than Shockwave, and yet still held a pixel heart on his visor as he used one digit to pat their shared organic Conjunx, who was still on his shoulder pad, on the head.

[ Masterlist ]

#transformers prime #tfp x reader #soundwave x reader #shockwave x reader #cybertronian x human #transformers x reader #transformers x human #tfp soundwave #tfp shockwave #tfp soundwave x reader #tfp shockwave x reader #fluff

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bahrtofane · 2 months

Text

bruised knuckles

Jude x gender neutral!reader

While it’s not that surprising that a last minute party invite leads to a fight, Jude carrying you out was a little bit of an overkill

Word count - 1.5K+

Watch it - physical fight, pretentious male character, bruised knuckles mentioned like once. i am so unserious for writing this yall

—————

“That doesn’t make any sense though. “ You scoff idly playing with the rings adorning your fingers. Most gifts from Jude.

Speaking of, He sits next to you on a sleek black couch. The both of you got dragged away to some party by his teammates on what could’ve been a lazy weekend at home. He got a call way too early than what was socially acceptable on a weekend, (it was 10 am), and was begged to come along. You were already getting up groaning at the whining coming from his phone. Blame it on being half asleep or unaware but you both mumbled a promise to be there and went back to bed.

So here you are at a party hosted by god knows who in a now packed hotel, god knows where.

You know Jude doesn't like going to these. He calls them a poor excuse to show off and boost egos. You agree, it's all a ruse to see who can drop the most on champagne or bring the model with the most followers home. All just to have pixelated pictures of yourself blasted on social media

You couldn’t even call it a party to be honest, there’s a crowd jumbling together in an attempt to dance and music blaring from somewhere. It's more of a bad linkedin meetup. Dim lighting flickering poorly and cups strewn carelessly on the floor. It’s lame and you can’t wait to leave. His teammates that dragged the two of you here have long since abandoned the two of you to do.., actually you have no idea what any of them are here for, nor do you care.

You just continue to sip on your water and try to keep yourself entertained. It's not going very well.

The guy you're in conversation with sits on an identical couch across from you rolls his eyes, “Of course you don’t understand. I don’t expect you to understand the complexity of such a topic. “

Judes been pretty silent this whole time, watching the exchange. He understands you prefer to handle things yourself and respects that fully. He won’t take that away just to tell someone off. Though the second you ask he doesn't have a problem getting in anyone's face.

Now his hand moves to your thigh gently squeezing it, a warning to keep things in check for the night. He knows that you can get into more trouble than you care for sometimes. Spurring into action faster than you can actually process what you're doing.

You dont want to give him anymore bad press but holy fuck is this guy youre talking to an ass hole. You don't even know how he spotted you in the almost pitch black room. He smiled and asked for a picture with the two of you, and had gotten agitated when you declined.

“At least give me conversation.” He pleaded.

And so here you are. You regretted the choice about 20 minutes ago.

Your eyes narrow as you clench your teeth. “Listen I don't care for pretty arguments on topics that are in my jurisdiction ”

The man, who’s name you long forgot, just shakes his head and takes a long drink from his red solo cup.

“I seriously doubt that. You dress like that and expect anyone to take you seriously like come on. “ He snickers.

Jude tenses next to you and you try your best to calm the both of you down. Jude isn't one to start fights per say but he's not 6’1 (give or take) for nothing. Reputation be damned.

You breathe deeply trying to resist the urge to beat his ass right then and there. The cheap laser lights only make your head hurt. Jude rubs circles on your thigh, you settle for a quick response instead.

“What I wear doesn’t mean shit. I look good. What the fuck you have going for you? “

“A diploma ?? I don’t think you have one of those do you.”

Your patience is wearing thin, knee bobbing up and down harshly as you try and focus your attention away from him.

Jude stands, gently nudging your shoulder. It's time to leave. And you agree. No worth entertaining this any longer.

Just as you stand, taking Judes outstretched arm with a smile, setting your cup down on the table. You get one last retort that truly sends you reeling.

“Oh yeah walk away,” he begins, using his cup to point at you both. When you dont reply he chooses to get up, following you around the table and back into the dance floor.

“Let the money maker drag you away,” He yells, grabbing into your arm and yanking it back it almost knocks you off your feet“ So worthless compared to him you don't-”

You don’t let the man finish, rushing from your seat to slam him onto the floor. His drink splashes on your chest as you meet the slippery brown hardwood with a loud thud. Your body jerks with heavy force, ears ringing, but you don’t let up. Trapping his legs under your weight, one arm forcing his hands down while the other lands blows into his face. A crowd has gathered, you know that much, the bass that’s been shaking the floor has stopped as people are clamoring around to get a better look.

That all fades in the next few moments, passing in a blur as the man under you tries desperately to get up with no avail. You're clawing at whatever you can reach, tufts of his hair in between your fists while he yells so harshly you think his voice is about to give out.

He manages to land a kick haphazardly to your lower stomach, which makes you groan just enough for your grip to loosen and for him to begin to slip away.

Just as you get a good grip on him again you're lifted on the ground watching him skimper away, heaving deep breaths as he grips a couch arm rest. You thrash trying to slip away from the arms but you're caught all too soon. You're yelling at the man, spitting venom. Though the exact words are less clear at this point.

When you walk out from the blaring lights, you have half the mind to realize you're in a familiar set of arms. Wrapped around to keep you steady, swinging you over their shoulders. Jude.

The adrenaline rushes through you, blurring the party and its noise out of focus. You do realize you're heading down stairs and outside, the cool night air like a hotel AC on summer vacation, a little bit of an overkill. But it does good to bring you back to reality.

“You're going to get quite the reputation if you keep this up. “ He sighs, amusement in his voice.

You have half the mind to respond with a slap to his back. “Yeah well next time bitches need to know not to try me. A reputation wouldn’t even be that bad for me. Might be bad for you“

He pats your back gently and continues down the curb, softly setting you down when you reach your car. You lean against the passenger door, wiping the sweat off your face and checking for any major damage across your body. There are none, just bruising on your knuckles. Dude couldn’t even get one proper hit in. The aftermath of your actions sets in and you groan, rubbing your temples.

Jude gives you a small smile, gently taking your hand in his. You look at him fondly, if it weren’t for him you really don’t know what you would do at this point.

“I'm sorry. This is going to be all over twitter in an hour fuck.” You apologize.

“He deserved it. Doesn't matter what they say they weren't there.”

You shake your head, “i need to do better, this is just gonna come back to you. I guarantee you everyone was recording.”

“They can think and do what they want.”

“Jude…”

“No more talk of that. Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” taking your hands and giving then a once over.

“No baby. Im fine.”

“Thank god.”

“I'm really really sorry, love.” you mutter.

He fixes your outfit, gentle tucking and rearranging the fabric back into place. “I told you baby, it's really fine. He was disrespectful and passed the limit.”

“Do you think he'll press charges?”

“I'm not sure. But for now dont worry okay? I got you. He touches you first anyway”

“Okay,” you breath out.

“Eduardo’s getting your stuff, he’s gonna be here in a sec. “ He tells you softly.

You nod your head and lean onto his shoulder, “The carrying me out was a little bit of an overkill babe.” you play with the buttons on his shirt. Trying to find at least a little light in the situation.

He snorts, “if I didn’t you would’ve mauled the guy.”

You shrug in response. Maybe you should lay off parties for a while if they keep ending like this.

#jude x reader #jude x you #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham fanfic #jude x y/n #jude bellingham #bahr footy #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham fluff #WE BACK YALL

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sopuu · 3 months

Note

Imma be real for a second and say I love the way Jesse has scars on your art??? Love it when someone gives a character who's been through a lot of physical (and mental) trauma some kind of scar. It just emphasizes to me that they went through that. And the effects of that stay with them.

Sorry I'm rambling

Tldr mmm scar art prettyyyy

exactly!! jesse’s gone through so much that i’d be surprised if he didn’t have any scars. and i like to think he’s confident enough to show them off not as injuries to his body but as a part of who he is, like a collection of experiences and battles he’s overcome. hence why i have his sleeves rolled up most of the time (and also rolled sleeves…so gender…)

he’s got a bunch of other scars i never get to show off so here’s some scar headcanons as a treat! i wanted to give each major one a backstory so it’s not just there for aesthetics. the others are normal battle scars tho

ramblings about the f-bomb scar and the face scar under the cut bc there’s a lot oops. ty for the ask!

can we talk about the damage the f-bomb did to him in game. or the lack of damage even. because there’s no way this man got out of a close explosion from the strongest bomb with ONLY ringing ears for a few seconds?? not that im complaining i’m glad he’s okay bfjkfh

either the order’s armour is made of impressively strong cloth and metal or minecraft block people are very tolerant to damage. although the logical explanation would probably be the damage can’t be shown realistically within the limitations of a minecraft game (not just on the pg side of things but also they are. made of a few pixels) idk it’s something interesting to think about lore/game development wise

if it weren’t for canon depictions i’d probably have the scar cover half of his body,, but i like keeping designs close to canon depictions so a big shoulder scar it is! i had it cover more of his back since he turns when being fished down to try and shield himself

as for the face scar! i’ve debated for a long time whether to have that as the origin bc i thought it was too cruel but it stayed in the end- it’s probably the hardest one he’s had to overcome despite it being the smallest major scar. every time he looks in the mirror he’s reminded of how he failed reuben. how can it be that he only gets a small scrape while his best friend loses his life? all because of jesse’s mistakes?

some OLD art incoming so shield your eyes but these are a few doodles exploring that! i was also testing the f-bomb scar on the face for funsies

eventually though, as he learns to accept his many scars he comes to see this one as a mark of the turning point of his life, both the good and the bad, and how much reuben and jesse meant to each other that they faced the world’s end together, knowing full well of the consequences. in a sense he carries reuben’s memory through that scar :]

anyways this is so long i’ll shut up now LOL

#asks #mcsm jesse #sopuuart #my doodles

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runwayrunway · 10 months

Note

id be interested in seeing you rank plane emojis from different platforms (by their livery, or by whatever else) just for fun, if you want!

You're right. I WILL do this for fun, because this is fun. Not based on livery, since they're mostly white with blue wings - just how much I like them. I'll be adding a rating out of 10 for each one because I think that's the tradition for this sort of thing.

Apple - 4/10

I mean, because I have an iPhone this is my default conception of an airplane emoji - I think it's fine, I just find it a bit offputting how they model the individual flaps and cockpit windows but the rest of it is a white airbrushed tube. It's a weird contrast.

It's fine, I think. Acceptable. I maybe think emojis by default aren't the most aesthetically pleasing.

Google Noto Color Emoji - 4.5/10

I think this is a slight improvement over the Apple version because of the more consistent stylization. It's also a little more contemporary, since most airliners that are flying now have two engines. I like that they added a few windows and highlights to keep the cabin interesting, and I think it's a bit...something that they took off the flaps but added flap track fairings. Cockpit windows look awful though.

Samsung - 2/10

This is a bit more of a realistic shape for an airplane but for some reason I don't like it. Maybe it's the fact that you can barely recognize that there's a tailfin at all, or the cockpit window looking weirdly...shiny? I think what gets me the most, though, is that those engines look like Super Mario pipes.

Microsoft - 1/10

She's a little...phallic somehow. I just think a top-down view of an airplane is almost always going to look worse if you make it super round and blobby. On the bright side, it's still recognizable as a plane.

WhatsApp - 7.5/10

I really like the way this one is red. Way to stand out in a crowd. It's also quite realistic without giving up on being stylized. My one issue is with the cockpit windows, which look a bit out-of-place and weird. This seems to be a common point of failure for this sort of emoji. Also, I'm unsure if this is meant to be a two-engined 747, but if it is points off for those not existing.

Twitter - 6/10

I hate to ever hand it to Twitter but this is just solid. That's an airplane, just a very simplified and round one. Even the cockpit windows on this one look okay.

Facebook - 3.5/10

Maybe airplane emojis with airbrush shading just look bad to me. There's nothing fundamentally wrong with the shape of this but I don't think they differentiated the tailfin from the fuselage enough. It looks like a stub. Also, what is up with that miserably short wing chord?

Telegram - 7/10

I mean, it looks like a 3D version of the Apple one, but it's surprising how much making it 3D improves it. Plus, gotta hand it to them deciding their emoji was being flown by Tex Johnston. I admire that sort of verve.

Microsoft Teams - 0/10

On the flipside, animating this one and making it 3D makes it so much worse! It looks like it was made right when people just figured out that 3D animation was a thing that was possible to do, back in the 50s or something. And boy are those pixels crunchy - I wouldn't mind this if it weren't already heinous. Seriously, how is that tailfin even attached?

Skype - 10/10

Now this I really like. Most of these are impossible to assign a model to but this distinctly looks to me like one of the earlier, stubbier 737s, just really short with a pointy nose, and she's waving at you. Crisp, nice smooth animation, just fantastic.

Twitter Emoji Stickers - 0/10

Looks bad. One of the few of these which are very easy to recognize as a specific model of airplane - this is clearly a 747, based on the inclusion of the hump. There is a reason basically none of the others are trying to be a 747. Adding a weird lump to the front of your emoji doesn't really make it any less weird-looking, and rendering a plane from above tends to be weird-looking already. It looks like she was stung by a bee.

JoyPixels - 6.5/10

As with the WhatsApp red, I appreciate anything setting itself aside in color, so I have to compliment the choice of this sort of toothpastey green. This is one of the better simplified airplanes we've gone over today, and the only thing I really dislike is that it has the same issues with the tailfin Facebook does.

Toss Face - 0/10

I can barely tell this is supposed to be an airplane. It makes me want to, excuse the mental image, toss face.

JoyPixels Animations - 10/10

Now THIS is what I'm talking about! Just a nice little pixel aircraft, doing the same sort of smooth wriggling as the Skype airplane - no criticisms.

Sony PlayStation - small/10

Adequate, but too small to really assess further - but the fact that I don't dislike anything about it is honestly a credit at this point.

Noto Emoji Font - 3.5/10

This just looks like the Samsung emoji but rendered with plain lines. Removing detail from these tends to improve them.

OpenMoji - 0/10

Oh, no, I take it back! Too few details! It's like a torpedo with wings awkwardly stapled on. A really phallic one at that.

emojidex - what the hell/10

I think this more or less looks fine, and the livery it has also looks fine, but I'm so thrown off by the fact that I don't think this is a real airplane. I am obviously not an authority on every model of airplane ever built but I'm reasonably sure this isn't a real one. It most resembles a BAe 146/Avro RJ, the only four-engined t-tail plane intended for passengers rather than heavy cargo. But the 146/RJ has high wings, located above the cabin windows, so...what is this airplane? What does emojidex know that they're not telling us?

Messenger - 7/10

While not ugly per se, it's a bit futuristic for my taste. Still, the choice to model it from a position other than directly from the top avoids a lot of the pitfalls that make many of these so bad to look at.

LG - 4/10

Boring? Yeah, without question. But this is just a good representation of an airplane, and at this point I'll accept that. Does the tail thing, though.

HTC - 3/10

Something about the way this is shaped makes this look more like a rocketship than an airplane. Or a Convair Pogo.

SoftBank - 5/10

A decent pictoral representation of an airplane. See: LG. Fixes the tail thing.

Docomo - 5.5/10

Also a decent pictoral representation of an airplane, but I think rendering it in silhouette gets rid of many of the pitfalls associated with airplane emojis. No details to mess up, just the shape of an airplane. Why do the majority of these have four engines? Seriously, there are only three four-engine airliners in passenger service right now. Have the people designing these not flown since the early aughts?

au by KDDI - 2.5/10

Okay, I know I've been saying being a good representation of an airplane is good enough but this is just simplifying too far. This isn't an emoji, it's a unicode character.

Mozilla - 1/10

Why pointy but only sometimes? Why does the tail pinch in like that? It's ugly, Mozilla, you made an ugly one.

#off-duty #transmissions #stopovers

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angelkhi · 1 year

Text

laundry day - j.m

pairing: joel miller x reader

summary: joel finds a small surprise when doing his laundry.

warnings: SMUT 18+ (MINORS DNI) male masturbation, allusions to sex, nasty thoughts, joel being horny and a little bit in love.

word count: 657

a little note: i love the last of us with my whole heart and coochie and i cried ugly tears watching the trailer last night. anyways if i thought i was down bad for pixels, pedro has now doubled it. tripped it. enjoy this short thing i wrote in like 20 minutes 🫶🏾

Joel knows he shouldn’t. But they’re just sitting there, taunting him, sat so perfectly amongst the washing pile. He hadn’t meant to take them, he didn’t even know he had until he was folding away the few shirts he owned. But now the simple piece of cotton has thrown him so completely. It wasn’t uncommon for laundry to get mixed up around here, close quarters and all. But it had never affected him like this.

He knows they’re yours, you’re the only other person who does their washing at stupid o’clock. You’re the reason he’d started doing his in the depths of the night, the chance of bumping into you, having you to himself in the vacuum of the laundry room his selfish need to be around you, to feel things he hadn’t felt in so long.

He can’t decide if it’s backfired or a godsend, resting on the edge of his creaking bed, hunched over the small pile of clothing. They’re soft against his calloused skin when he finally plucks up the courage to touch them. Simple. Black. A slightly torn frilly hem. They’re you.

He thumbs at the fabric for a moment longer, imagines them flush against your skin, hugging your backside so perfectly, hiding your perfect cunt. His cock twitches in his boxers, arousal settling in his stomach. He strokes them again, wondering if you’re missing them, what they’d look like pulled to the side as he fucks you with his fingers, or hanging from your ankle whilst he makes you come on his cock over and over.

Fucking hell.

Joel squeezes his dick tight and hard trying to relieve some of the building pressure. He’s hard as a rock, palming himself in the middle of the night, your panties in his hand. A small dark splotch decorates the light grey material, precum leaking from his head, and he feels like a prepubescent kid again. Beyond desperate.

He pulls himself free, hissing at the cool air brushing over him. He wonders what sounds you’d make beneath him, how wet your pretty panties would be as he grinds against you. He jerks once, and then again, his grip tight almost mean. He wonders how you’d feel, cockdrunk, twitching beneath him cause he can’t let up. He’s addicted to something he’d never had the pleasure of having. He groans quietly, his mind running ragged, his need to know how you feel, how you smell, how you taste colouring filthy pictures he never wants to look away from.

He doesn’t think when he brings the material to his nose and inhales, a moan deep and guttural escaping his lips. He can smell the rosy suds of the detergent, the sweet floral notes smelling so you. But beneath it, there’s a hint of you. A warm, earthy musk. So perfectly you. Joel strokes himself hard and fast, the arousal spiking dangerously close to release.

He wraps the cotton in his fist, eyes closed, head thrown back, chest heaving. The smooth wrinkles on his skin grow harsh with bliss. He doesn’t think when he wraps the cotton around his cock, he can’t think when the cotton rubs against him so sensitive and ready to just let go. His now empty hand cups his sac, rolling and squeezing until he’s damn near panting.

He catches himself in the small mirror on his dresser, the image of him using your underwear to get himself off so downright filthy. The tension pulls, to a near breaking point and he’s spilling himself into your underwear. Small ropes of white come decorating the gusset, small droplets leaking onto the torn laced edges.

He sits for a moment, staring at the defaced material, thinking about your pretty, innocent smile, thinking about sliding them right over your pussy, his come mixing with your slick heat.

He finds the energy to fix himself up and tosses the panties into his dirty laundry pile. Maybe he’ll keep them.

#pedro pascal joel miller #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us hbo #the last of us #tlou #tlou smut #the last of us smut #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal smut

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thinkingaboutjaedyn · 5 months

Text

the biggest bully ever ( selma bacha x reader )

prompt: your girlfriend is probably the biggest bully in your life (lovingly)

author notes: i wrote this just because i saw a video of selma jumping up and kicking someone in the face. i just know she is like a bad ass little kid. (also i love her so..)

selma prides herself on being your biggest supporter. always finding some time in her schedule to come see your games with paris saint german. proudly wearing your jersey while yelling as loud as she can in the stands and of course making sure to take a few pictures for the gram after the game is done. posting with a cheeky caption of, just met my favorite player ever! what a legend. however, you know first hand that this is just a cover up for how much of bully she really is.

in the privacy of your apartment or hers, she is the complete opposite. especially when you two are playing a game together even if it isn't a competitive game. making it even more laughable.

it was a nice sunday evening when you forced (selma knows she loves playing the game. she just won't admit it) your girlfriend to play minecraft with you. now if she thought you were going to be fighting zombies, creepers, and spiders. well she would be totally wrong. that would her job while you spend your minecraft time building a nice farm and house for the two of you to stay in.

"it's domestic! i'm like your little pixel housewife" you say as you continue to focus on working on the garden you were building. selma smacks her lips, "it's not domestic. just unfair! i don't wanna be the only one fighting off these dudes."

on her screen, selma was actively battling off a creeper. almost throwing her controller in frustration as the creeper blows up and creates another hole in the ground. she pushes you slightly, but just enough that you put down a block you weren't going to. "stop being childish and go kill some cows for me, dumbie" you say as you delete the block. giving selma a quick sight of you sticking out your tongue before going back to finishing up the veggies part of the garden. your girlfriend rolls her eyes, going back to fighting off a zombie to reach a few cows in the field behind it.

instead of getting some cow meat like you asked, selma runs away from the zombie. bringing it and other mobs along to you two's house. she smirks in revenge as she brings the mobs straight to you. you shout in surprise as the mobs surround you. "babe, help me! why would you.." you say as you try to fight them off. giving selma a nice punch on the shoulder once you were finally succumbed to the mobs and died. "that's what i said earlier, but you didn't come to help your absolutely amazing girlfriend, so you had to die" selma shrugs. acting nonchalant until the mob of mobs started to surround her. she manages to kill off a few, but end up dead just like you.

you laugh loudly as you push her shoulder using yours. she glares at you, frowning. "i'm totally killing you myself next time. less effort" selma says before standing up and heading to the kitchen for something to calm her frustration. you still got the last laugh though.

the french player can also be the biggest bully when it came to your games. whether you win or lose, she is always there to make a few snarky comments about your defense or how you let the ball pass you too many times. it was even worse if you two went against eachother.

it was one of the biggest games of the year for the division 1 league; paris saint germain vs lyon. your girlfriend and you were set to both play this match. the playful banter between you two the day before the game fueled the competitive spirit in you. selma was always competitive and ready to do whatever she needed to make sure lyon scored a win.

"ready to lose, babe?" selma says as she stands next to you in the tunnel. you roll your eyes before shrugging, "we'll see." the sound of the crowd ramps up you two's competitiveness as the two teams walk out onto the pitch.

the game goes off well for paris saint germain at first. with ramona scoring a goal for your team. however, despite your team's great defense, lyon was still able to score three goals. the game ends in disappointment with a lost of three to one. you groan out in frustration as you look at your teammates. the lost was a bit of sting just because paris saint germain needed the win, but also because you knew selma would never let you live this down.

after the game and lyon's celebration finally dying down, selma finally texts you; told you that I was gonna win. the text makes you roll your eyes. you message back, shut your mouth for two seconds please.

you two text back and forth. with alot of bragging from selma and tons of insults from you. eventually selma does stop her bragging, messaging you, but truly don't worry bae. you did well I swear. the message makes you smile as you lean your head against the bus window. thank you, baby. congrats on the win even if ... undeserved. after sending that text you shut your phone off and let the tiredness from the match catch up to you. letting yourself slowly fall asleep. knowing good and well your phone will be full of selma going back to being a bully.

#selma bacha #selma bacha x reader #frawnt #woso fanfics #woso x reader

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millersdjarin · 1 year

Text

Religion's In Your Lips

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: E (SMUT, 18+ ONLY)

Word Count: 5.4k

Tags: smut, joel's Skills(TM), oral (f receiving), rough sex, unprotected piv, a bit of mandhandling from joel, dirty talk, begging, praise kink, all that good stuff

Full Masterlist

Request: "Joel hearing how unsatisfied you’ve been left in the past and he wants to show you what it means to really get off..." (rest of request here)

notes: thank youuuu for this request, it immediately inspired me. fun fact: i was out for dinner when i read this ask and i was like, my thoughts are not appropriate for my current environment. hope u like it! (as with all my joel fics, i write for pixel joel rather than live action, but you can picture him however you wanna❤️)

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” you say. “Jesus, Joel, you have no idea how badly I want to.”

With a smirk, Joel slides his hands to your hips. “You could tell me how badly you want to,” he teases. “I’m all ears.”

You smirk too, roll your eyes and wrap your arms around his neck. “It’s just. It’s never been, like, amazing for me. With other men. And I really don’t want it to fuck this—us—up if it’s not…if I don’t…”

His eyebrow twitches up. “Is it because you’re not interested in it, or because those other men were terrible at sex?”

“Definitely the latter,” you answer with a surprised laugh, settling a hand in his hair. “And I’m not saying you’ll be bad, for the record. I just. I’ve never been all that satisfied before.”

“Well,” he wraps his arms all the way around your waist, tugs you in closer, “if you’ll let me, darlin’, I’d like to show you what it can be like.” He leans in and kisses you, then keeps his mouth up against yours when he says, “What it means to really get off. God knows you deserve it.”

A shiver runs down your spine.

As if you could ever say no to that.

He’s propped up on an elbow beside you, and you’re lying flat on the bed, looking up at him. He rubs circles over your stomach, the fabric of your shirt bunching up a little. You feel open beneath him, vulnerable.

“You know how you like it?” He asks lowly. “You like it rough, slow…?”

You swallow, just a little nervous. It’s new to be talking about this so openly. It’s always just been something that gets done, that your partners have just assumed what you like and done that without much thought. “Kinda rough,” you say, putting a hand on his chest. Your fingers find the little bit of chest hair that pokes up from the top of his button-down. “But not, like, too rough. Not until I’m used to it.”

He nods. His hand slides up from your stomach, around to your ribs and the curve of your breast. “I’m gonna start slow,” he tells you softly, “get you real worked up for me. You tell me if something’s too much or not enough, alright?”

Already feeling arousal pulse between your legs at both his touch and his voice, you nod. “Alright.”

“Good girl,” he leans down, kisses you.

When he pulls away, you can’t help but admit it, “I like that.”

He looks at you with a soft smirk. His thumb lifts and strokes over your cheekbone. “You like bein’ told you’re good?”

“Yeah. A lot.”

“Alright, darlin’. Good to know,” he says before leaning back in for another kiss. It’s slow, his mouth opening deliciously against yours, catching your top lip between both of his over and over and over. His hand stays on your cheek for a minute, but slowly slides down your arm, takes a gentle hold of your hand. You feel yourself starting to keen up into him, just wanting more of his mouth, his breath, his warmth. Your hand comes up to hold the back of his neck, fingers pushing into his hair.

Gently, his palm on your hip tugs at you. Unsure what he means, where he’s trying to put you, you pull away from his kiss but keep him close, and raise a questioning eyebrow.

“Roll towards me,” he says gently, his tongue darting out to wet his lip.

You do as he says, and his hand slides down the edge of your thigh, carefully coaxing it up towards him when he grabs the underside of your knee. You keep your eyes on him as he lifts your leg, settling your thigh against his, your knee over his hip. He watches your face as he shuffles closer and puts his thigh right against your centre, and he seems pleased by the slight whimper that escapes you at the sensation. He smiles, leans in to kiss you again.

Your hand finds its way back into his hair, nails running lightly over his scalp. He pushes in closer, fitting his body right against yours, your hips flush together and his leg pressing even harder into your cunt—

As his hand runs around to your back, his fingers splayed to touch as much of you as possible, his lips start to trail down your jaw and your neck, open mouthed and wet and delicious.

You tip your head back, allowing him better access. Your hand moves from his hair to the back of his neck, down over his shirt, grasping a fistful of it over his waist. He chooses a spot on the side of your neck and stays there; you feel him suck, hard, drawing a gasp from your throat as you cling more desperately to him. His tongue darts out, soothing the mark he’s made.

“Joel,” you gasp, because it feels so good, and his hand is running down your back, down to your ass, taking a handful of it. He squeezes. On instinct your body bucks up into him, and you feel him smile against your shoulder, his beard scratching your skin.

Then he’s moving you again, back onto your back, keeping his hand hooked under the bend of your knee. With both hands now free, you grasp each side of his face, pushing your fingers through his beard as he comes up to kiss you again. His mouth is just so warm and perfect, he’s breathing into your lungs, sweet and familiar and you just want more.

But then he’s moving away, lips trailing all the way down your clothed torso, tongue darting out to taste your skin through the gaps in your button-down. You keep your hands on the back of his head for as long as you can, but when he gets low enough, starts to nose at your hips…

“Joel,” you say, stopping him.

He looks up without moving his head and meets your eyes, his chin pressed into the dip of your pelvis.

“Are you going to…?”

With his chin, he gently pulls down the waistband of your leggings, presses a soft kiss there. “If you want me to,” his voice is a vibration on your skin, and it goes straight to your pussy, “but if not, I won’t.”

Fuck. “I’ve—I want you to, I just…I’ve never…”

He looks up at you again, this time with a frown so sincere that it actually hurts. “No one’s ever tasted you before?” He raises an eyebrow.

“No, they have, it’s just…”

“It wasn’t good?”

“It was alright,” you say with a shrug, one of your arms straining down to hold his hair.

He kisses your stomach again, this time pushing up the hem of your shirt with his nose. “I can make it good for you,” he promises. The feeling of his breath on your navel, his beard against your skin, so close to your pussy and not close enough—“May I? If it’s not good, we can stop.”

You nod. Despite other people’s failings in the past, there’s no way you’d say no to him.

Like a seal of approval, or even a sign of gratitude, he kisses the spot just below your belly button and then brings his hand up, starts tugging at your leggings. You lift your hips, helping him pull the fabric off and over your ankles. He throws them on the floor, not taking his eyes off your panties. You can feel that you’ve already soaked through them, and you’re not sure if you should be embarrassed by that or not.

He looks pleased by it, though.

In fact, as he settles on the bed between your thighs, gently pushing apart your knees with his elbows, he looks pleased. “Look at you,” he says, almost to himself. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. A shot of need pulses through you from your head to your centre, your clit already throbbing, aching for some pressure. He glances up at your face, gives you a smile. “You tell me if it’s not right, darlin’, and I’ll make it amazing for you. We’ve got all night, and I only want you to feel good. Just relax, okay?”

You can’t reach his hair anymore without craning your neck, so instead you reach out, silently asking him to take your hand. He does; threads your fingers together, then settles them beside your hip, his thumb smoothing over yours.

And then, warmth. The press of his face against your panties, right over your cunt, his nose nuzzling into the hood of your clit. It’s barely anything, it’s not enough, it’s not even skin-to-skin, and yet it feels beautiful, just the warmth of him down there, so close, the promise of what’s to come—

He presses kisses over you, all the way from one side of your hips to the other, across the top of your panties, down to where the wetness is gathering. He takes his spare hand and hooks his thumb over the fabric, then starts to tug, gently pulling them down your legs. It takes a bit of work with his hand still in yours, to manoeuvre the very wet panties across your ankles and off onto the floor, but he doesn’t let you go for even a second, knowing that you need to hold him.

“Christ,” he mutters under his breath, his eyes now on your naked pussy. You can feel your wetness cooling in the air, and you already miss the warm feeling of him pressed up against you. “Look at you. So wet, darlin’. All this for me?” He looks up at you, earnest.

You nod, staring up at the ceiling. “All for you, Joel,” you whisper. You’re feeling a little self-conscious, not used to being bare before him—before anyone, really—but the hand not in yours lands gently on your knee, squeezing reassuringly.

“Hey,” he says softly, calling your eyes back to him. “You ready?”

You lick your lips. “Yes,” you breathe. “Please.”

He smiles. Gives your hand and knee one last squeeze, then he’s back between your legs again, and you feel his hot breath just a split second before his nose presses to the hood, pushes it up, revealing your clit—

He wastes no time. The flat of his tongue laves right over your clit, firm, sending a shocking pulse of pleasure up through your very insides. He does it again, gives a few long, languid swipes, and hums at the sounds you’re making, the gasps that come from your throat, the way your hand tightens in his. Your other hand grasps at the sheets as you feel his tongue moving down to your entrance. He takes his time with it now, lapping up every inch of your wetness, all over your folds, gathering every drop he can.

Your knuckles are going white as he takes his hand and uses it to hold your folds open, granting him more access, letting him lick and eat you up in more detail, like he just wants to get every single part of you that he can in his mouth. You glance down at him and see his eyes closed, bliss all over the half of his face that you can see.

His beard scratches against you, you hear the wet sounds of his mouth working into your wetness. It’s downright filthy, the way he moans, the soft frown of concentration—determination—on his forehead.

His tongue reaches your entrance. You expect him to just lick you there like he did everywhere else, to taste you before moving back to your clit. But suddenly he’s inside you, breaching you with the very tip of the muscle, his lips closed around it like he wants to stay attached there forever.

“Jesus—Joel!” You cry out as he thrusts inside you, hot and wet and thick and strong, fucking you on his tongue like he would his fingers, his cock—

He pulls away and you almost whine at the loss of him, “That alright?” He asks, his wet cheek pressing into the inside of your thigh.

You nod, scramble with your spare hand to take hold of his head, desperately trying to get him back where he was, “Please don’t stop, that’s—”

“I got you,” he says simply before he’s diving back in and resuming the fucking delicious thrusts, so far up into you like he wants to get as much of his tongue up there as possible, as much as he can without grazing you with his teeth. His hand moves from holding your folds open, and slides up the wetness, catching on his nose before it’s pressing into your clit, rubbing in firm circles with each hard push of his tongue inside you. Then, he curls it, hitting that spot, sending sparks into your vision.

Your eyes are closed now, and all you can do is focus on how he feels. The sounds of his heavy breathing, and how you can feel those breaths against your core, going inside your hole, heating you from the inside out. Every time he moans is like he’s eating the best meal he’s ever had, like he doesn’t think he’s ever going to love something as much as he loves doing this. He’s so earnest. He brings his hand away from your clit for just a second so he can hook his arm around your thigh, bring it up onto his shoulder. He keeps his arm there and manages to reach for your clit again. It’s heaven. It’s fucking heaven.

You don’t know when your hand found its way under your shirt and to your breast, but you tweak your nipple in your fingers, imagine that it’s Joel doing it. Not that what he’s doing now isn’t plenty good enough.

“Mm,” he hums against you, pulling his tongue out for just a second to lick his lips, “Goddamn, baby, you taste so fucking good,” he looks up at you and you meet his eyes, arousal shooting through you at the sight of your wetness soaking his dark beard.

“Jesus, Joel,” your head falls back against the pillow again. His thumb is still on your clit, working earnestly. It feels good, so good, but your pussy is clenching around nothing now and it needs something else, it needs more, it needs him—“Please keep going,” you beg him.

He obliges, of course. In a second he’s back where he was before, his tongue pushing inside you hard and fast but also languid, pressing against every millimetre of your walls, feeling the ridges and drawing sounds of pleasure from your throat.

It’s never been like this. Nothing has ever been like this.

It’s building in your core, the heat, a spring about to snap. You’re writhing on the bed beneath his mouth, the only thing keeping you down his arm around your thigh, clamping you to him. Your thighs press against his head, and at first you try to stop yourself, not wanting to make it weird or hurt him, but then he’s moaning, pulling your thigh closer to him, encouraging you.

So you clamp tight around him and he groans. Distantly you notice the bed rocking beneath you; Joel’s grinding into the mattress with each thrust of his tongue, and that alone is enough to send you closer and closer to the edge—

It comes so quickly, so suddenly, washing over you like a wave—“Joel! I’m gonna—!”

“Come,” he says, so simple like he barely wants to pull away long enough to speak, all muffled in your pussy and your hair and your wetness.

You do. It hits you, rolls over you, drops you. His tongue is relentless inside you, really proving the fact that it is, in fact, a muscle, and his finger on your clit doesn’t let up, using his thumb to spread your lips as far as he can, creating a pull just tight enough to sting.

You’re coming down, panting heavily. He starts to slow, gently pulling his tongue from you, lapping up the wetness around your entrance.

“Holy shit,” you curse in a breath, opening your eyes to stare up at the ceiling. It takes a second for your vision to clear.

His finger goes still on your clit. You can feel the aftershocks pulsing in it, and deep inside you, inviting him back in for more. There’s sweat on your chest, your legs ache from how hard they’d clamped against his head.

Speaking of. You release them, letting yourself relax.

With the newfound freedom, he lifts his head from your pussy, and you’re too distracted by the fact the entire lower half of his face is covered in your wetness to even look him in the eyes. His hand moves from your clit, sits instead on your hip. “That good?”

You laugh. “Uh, yeah,” you say, because obviously. Then you let go of his hand and make grabbing motions towards him. “C’mere.”

Only too happy to oblige, he does. Climbs up your body, presses himself on top of you and dives in to kiss you. You taste yourself on his mouth, his tongue, run your fingers through the wet hairs on his beard. Against his lips you gasp, whimper, feeling the hardness of his cock through his jeans pressing into your thigh.

You grind up into him, “Joel,” you say, not sure where you’re going with it; just wanting to say his name.

“Now, I’m only gonna ask one thing of you,” he says, pulling away from the kiss to press your foreheads together.

“Anything,” you grasp at the back of his neck.

He kisses you again. Just once. Then kisses your jaw, trailing his soaking mouth down your neck, leaving a shiny trail in its wake. He puts his lips to the shell of your ear, and his breath his hot, vibrating into your skin when he says, “I want you to beg for me.”

Oh, shit.

A shudder runs through your entire body, the throbbing in your pussy getting faster again, aftershocks turning back into renewed desire. “Joel,” you whimper.

He runs his hand over your cheek. Looks down into your eyes, so deep and searching in the dim light of the room. “Will you beg for me, darlin’?”

Your mouth opens and closes and you try to speak, but it’s taking too long for your brain to catch up. You hook your still-shaky leg over his, hitch it up to his hips as far as you can get it. Then, finally, “Please,” you whisper. You lean in just close enough that he could kiss you by merely pursing his lips, making sure he can feel the heat of your breath, the desire in your very core. “Please, Joel, I need you.”

“Hm? What do you need?”

Your leg pulls him further down onto you. “I need you to fuck me,” you whine. “I need you inside me. Please, I need you.”

He hums in approval, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to your lips. “How do you want it, sweetheart?”

And, God, his cock is still offensively clothed and pressed against your thigh, just brushing closer to your core, to where you’re still wet, probably messing up the denim of his jeans. “However you want to take me,” you tell him, panting already, “Fuck me as hard as you want.”

He chuckles, low. “You sure?”

“I can take it, Joel,” you plead. “Please.”

“Alright, baby,” he kisses the apple of your cheek, “I got you. You sound so goddam pretty when you beg. You gonna make some more of those sounds for me, while I fuck you?”

Holding the back of his neck, anchoring him to you, you nod. “Whatever you want.”

“This is meant to be about what you want,” he reminds you with a smirk as he reaches down to unfasten his belt. It sounds loud beneath the sound of your heavy breaths mingling with his. He throws it on the floor, makes quick work of removing his pants.

Without permission your hands find their way to his shirt, tugging on the buttons, pressing into the little patch of chest hair that pokes up from the top. “Please?” You ask, meeting his eyes.

He smiles. “Go on, then.”

You get to work undoing each button. Your fingers are shaking, a mixture of the earth-shattering orgasm he just gave you and the anticipation of him inside you, but you manage it. Before even shrugging the shirt from his shoulders you push your fingers into his chest hair, running them over his pecs. He’s hard, his chest and shoulders strong, muscular, scarred—

You lean up and kiss the first scar you can get to, one just a few inches above his nipple. Your hands find their way down to his stomach where he’s softer, just a little rounder. You want to kiss him there, too, hold him so tight that he never forgets how fucking perfect he is.

He chuckles again, fond, and finishes the job himself; shrugs out of the shirt, tossing it to the floor. When he looks back down at you his eyes are sparkling. Your hands roam over his torso, getting to know him like a map.

“You alright there, darlin’? Just giving me a good feel, huh?”

“As much as I can get.”

He laughs. It’s so fucking beautiful to hear. Crows feet appear deeper around his eyes and if you could reach you’d lean up and kiss them, run your tongue through each wrinkle. But he’s tipping his head back a little, and all you can get to is his neck, so that’s what you go for. Messily, your mouth explores him, catching his Adam’s apple as it bobs down and up again.

“Thought you wanted me to fuck you?” He smirks, running a hand over the top of your head.

“I hadn’t forgotten,” your head falls back to the pillow, and he’s still smiling when you look up and meet his eyes. You smile, too, running a hand over his cheek.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs. He leans in, leaves a quick kiss on your lips, and then pulls away to take off his boxers.

Then, he’s naked.

Holy shit. Hard, rock fucking hard, the tip of his cock already shining with a little bead of moisture. You want to cover it in your own, let him fuck you until he comes, let him do whatever he fucking wants.

But before he does anything else, he leans over you again, and pulls a little on the hem of your shirt. “Do you mind?” He asks. “I wanna watch your tits while I fuck you.”

You’re pulling it off before you can form words.

“Jesus,” he breathes out as you settle back down underneath him. Self-consciousness starts to creep in his as his eyes wander all over you, one of his hands reaching out to give an experimental tug to your nipple. “Gonna make you feel so goddam good,” he promises lowly. “Make you forget it could be anythin’ else. You want that, darlin’?”

“You already know I do.”

He reaches down with one hand and takes a hold of himself, his eyelids fluttering closed. “You tell me what feels good,” he says, “I’m gonna take you apart.”

You fucking believe him.

After what he’s done already, how could you not?

With wide eyes, you grind up into him, absolutely aching for him to fill you up, to take you, to fuck you into the mattress until all you can feel is him. For the first time ever, you trust that it’s going to be fucking good. And if it’s not, you know that he won’t rest until it is.

He lines himself up. Then, not taking his eyes off you, he sinks inside.

It’s beautiful. The stretch of him, the heat of him, like his tongue but bigger, so much bigger, better—he’s pulsing, throbbing, or is that you?—

“Jesus, darlin’,” he curses as he bottoms out, the curls between his legs pushing against yours. “You feel so fuckin’ good. So wet for me.”

“Don’t think I’ve ever been wetter,” you tell him, earning a chuckle, pressed right into your neck.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Your leg hitches around his hips again. “Please, Joel,” you whisper into his ear. “Fuck me. Take me.”

He starts slow, steady, getting you used to it. He kisses your neck, your shoulder, down your chest as far as he can go without it disturbing where you’re joined. “Wanted this for so long,” he says into your clavicle, “wanted to fuck you so bad. You’re so fucking sexy, baby.”

You moan, your hand finding purchase on the back of his neck. Your other is on the pillow beside you, and Joel sees it, lifts his own hand to thread your fingers together, sliding his palm up and over yours before grasping hold. It’s so tender, so soft, it makes your chest hurt.

“You want it harder, baby?” He asks.

“God, Joel—yes,” you gasp.

He hums, amused, and then gets to fucking work.

Bracing himself on his elbow, hand still in yours, his thrusts get harder. Fucking deep and rough into you, his cock hits your cervix so hard it feels like he’s fucking your actual stomach, like you’d be able to look down and see him through your navel.

Your head tips back on the pillow, gasps and whimpers of pleasure-pain coming from your throat. He dives in, attaches his mouth to it, like he wants to eat your sounds like he ate your fucking pussy.

His other hand is down on your clit in a second, rubbing gently, gentler than he’s fucking you.

“Shit, Joel, that’s good,” you tell him, but then, “harder. On my clit. Please.”

Without a word he obliges, pressing in hard and downright rough into the already-swollen bundle of nerves, using his thumb to hold the hood out of the way, pull it up so high it creates pressure in itself. “Like that?” He asks into your ear.

“Fuck, yes…”

“Atta girl, tellin’ me what you need,” he praises. “So good for me.” Then he pulls back, looks into your eyes.

It’s all you can do to look up into them. To just take it. You’re bouncing on his cock, your tits shaking with each movement, each rough thrust into you. His balls slap against you, and you hear it, skin against skin, wet and squelching as he pistons in and out of your aching heat. He’s frowning, concentrating, like he’s trying to hold himself back and fuck you as hard as he can all at once.

Your hands cling to his back, nails scratching so hard they’re probably leaving marks. He doesn’t seem to mind. His eyelids are fluttering, pupils blown so wide you can’t even see colour anymore.

“Oh, shit…” you feel it building again, that heat, coiling tight low in your belly—

But then he stops, and he’s pulling out, and you’re about to complain, to ask what’s wrong, when he takes hold of your hips and flips you to the other side of the bed, leaving you on your stomach. He soothes your surprised yelp with a kiss to the back of your neck, brushing your hair away from it. “’S gonna feel good, baby,” he promises, “gonna get deeper inside you. You want that?”

“Fuck—yes!”

“Good girl,” he kisses your shoulder and then pulls back, lifting up your hips so you’re angled down towards the bed, and you shuffle to press your forehead into your arms. With one hand he pulls apart your cheeks, stretching your folds in front of him. “So goddam wet,” he says, almost to himself. “Just throbbin’ for me, aren’t you?”

“Joel, please…”

He chuckles. You feel him line himself up at your entrance, not needing to gather any more wetness but doing it anyway. “I got you, baby,” he promises. This time, he doesn’t sink in slowly. He pushes in, right to the hilt, just as deep as he was a second ago—

It pushes you up the bed; you almost lose your balance. But he’s holding your hip and then leaning over you, draping himself over your back, his other hand coming down to press against your clit again, just as hard as you had it before.

“Oh, fuck,” you curse, your eyes screwing shut as pleasure shoots painfully through every inch of you, his cock at this new angle changing everything, making it better. He’s pressed to your back, so close you could probably feel the beat of his heart if he wasn’t pounding so hard into you that it’s all you can think or feel.

“That good?” He checks in, opening his mouth on the curve of your shoulder.

You nod. “Uh-huh,” is all you can say, dumbly, and you’re getting spit all over your wrist, dripping down onto the bed. You can’t close your mouth. You’re just moaning, panting, saying his name under your breath like a prayer.

“Shit, baby,” he says. “Want you to come for me. Wanna hear you. Come on, baby, takin’ it so good. So good. Just for me, huh?”

“For—for you, Joel—” your words are cut off with a strangled cry as you feel the pleasure building again. The press of his fingers on your clit is so hard but not hard enough, your wetness making it too slick, not enough friction.

But he’s fucking you so roughly, so earnestly, that it makes up for it. The hand on your hip comes down to brace on the bed, then he pulls yours out from under your head so he can place his palm over the top of your hand, threading his fingers through the gaps in yours.

“You’re so perfect,” he whispers into your ear. He’s bracing on your hand, pushing it into the mattress. “So perfect. Come for me, darlin’. Let me hear those pretty sounds.”

“I—Joel—”

“Yeah, that’s it, take it just how you want it. Can have whatever you want. Just take it, use me, come on…”

You’re tumbling over the edge, head-first, pleasure coiling and sparking and climbing and peaking—

It drops over you with a long, helpless moan, and his thrusts are starting to stutter, he’s getting close too, feeling the pulsing of your pussy around his cock.

“Joel!” You cry out as it lingers and lingers and lingers, the high lasting longer than it ever has, clenching over his length. “Oh, fuck, Joel…Baby…”

“Yeah,” he grunts, still thrusting just as hard, but slower, knowing you’re sensitive. “Shit, baby. Gonna come.”

“Come for me,” you request, then, “come inside me. Please.”

“Can I?” His mouth and breath are hot on the place where your neck meets your shoulder.

“Please, Joel, I want it—”

That’s all it takes; he’s spilling inside you, whispering your name into your ear like he’s never going to say anything else again, like this is all he’s ever wanted. His finger comes off your clit, instead wrapping his arm under and around you, holding you right to his chest. You lean up into him, feeling him spilling inside you, his release spurting out from your pussy and onto your thighs.

His kisses on your neck are messy and uncoordinated as he comes down, his thrusts slowing.

“Sweet Jesus,” he says, so Southern that it makes you chuckle, all breathy and shaky. He’s still got his arm around you. Your back and his chest are sweaty. You don’t care. You couldn’t possibly care less.

He’s inside you still. “Fuck,” you curse. Your hand wiggles out from under his, instead reaching behind you to take hold of the back of his neck. You tilt your head, pressing your cheek to his sticky, lovely forehead. “Joel, that was…”

You can feel him smile. “Good?”

“Better than good.”

He kisses your ear, takes it in his mouth for a second. “I’m a man of my word,” he says, all low and sultry and teasing.

You laugh, feel him laugh too, the vibration in his chest. “Oh, yeah. Joel Miller the Saint, fucking me so good.”

He shakes his head, still chuckling, and a warm flood of affection comes over you at the sound. You open your eyes, turning to look at him as best you can, seeing amusement sparkling in his eyes.

“It’s never been like that before,” you whisper, looking into his eyes.

He kisses you. “You deserve for it to always be that good,” he whispers.

“Mm. That another promise, Saint Joel?”

Another kiss. Longer this time, then his forehead is on yours, and he’s hugging you in even tighter to him. “I promise,” he says. “On my life.”

You’ll hold him to that.

notes: hope you enjoyed! all interactions are appreciated, but reblogs help my engagement, and i'd love to hear your thoughts if you can :)

(if you want to be on my taglist for all future fics (not just joel miller), just ask me here)

take care of yourself!

oh also, title from "false god" by taylor swift because i'm apparently incapable of not titling a fic with a taylor lyric. so. i can't help it that she's the first artist that comes to mind when i think "what song can i title this after?". the woman has like 200 songs on her discography. THERE'S ONE FOR EVERYTHING. anyway

taglist

@your-slutty-gf @brilliantopposite187 @iwantjoelmillertoultraviolenceme

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller smut #my fic: joel smut #my fic: joel #my fic #my post #gif cw

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k-n0-x · 2 months

Text

༺ ♱✮♱ ¨:·Something Stupid-Chapter 3·:¨ ♱✮♱ ༻

A/N: Hii everyone! Sorry this chapter is a little later than usual, burnout happened, school happened, the whole shebang! This chapter is a doozy though, hope you all will love it <3

Playlist:

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Enjoy<3

꧁🥀☽💫✶♛🦢♕✶💫☾🥀꧂

The sun rays peek through your window and the birds’ chirps awake you from your slumber.

Or maybe it’s the snoring of a drowsy Adam, who was lying beside you, though you’ve inured yourself to his unconscious noises for ages.

You get up from your bed, just to almost have your legs give way under you, thanks to the fact that you had to be pounded by your husband, as you promised to him.

Last night felt like a chore. You feel really bad for thinking it, but it really did.

You’re not an expert, but sex should feel enjoyable, by all sides involved, but with Adam, it feels like an obligatory activity.

You spend the next 25 minutes brushing your teeth, showering and getting ready for the day. Since there’s nothing to do at home (well, there’s nothing to do at home) you decide that this is a good time to be productive.

You head into the kitchen and scrutinise each and every ingredient that graces your pantry.

“Hmm, maybe this would work…” You grab flour, eggs, milk and a frying pan…

꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂

The smell of buttery pancakes drifts throughout the kitchen. You sit down in your chair and take a bite of your breakfast.

The pancakes themselves were lovely; the consistency was just right and the flavour was something to die again for, courtesy of Heaven’s always perfect ingredients.

Heaven….

‘Perfect’ Heaven.

Up until a few weeks ago, you would have believed that sentimental saying that you hear being thrown around on multiple occasions, but now, those words seem like direct opposites of each other, an oxymoron even.

The mere thought of it sets an uneasy feeling in your stomach.

You shakily finish one pancake, and neatly leave the rest in the microwave.

You have more pressing matters to get on about today, and pancakes aren’t one of them, though you want it to be.

꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂

“Welcome to Heaven, how can I help?” The Saint looks up from his logbook with a face coloured with surprise when he recognises you.

“Y/N! How’ve ya been?”

“I’m doing good,” you smile up at the angel behind the pedestal.

“So, what can I do for the wonderful wife of Adam, hm?” St. Peter clicks his tongue and finger guns.

“Well, Peter, is there a chance you could show me the list of Heaven’s recent residents? There’s a certain person I’m looking for…” Realisation hits you like a truck. Would this information be classified? You wouldn’t know until-

“Yeah sure, here!” The Saint passes you a page with written names and dates.

“This is a list of Heaven’s newest angels from up to a month ago. I hope you find who you’re looking for!”

“Thanks Pete, you’re a Saint,”

“Well, I am Saint Peter after all, ah bye-bye!”

Well that was easier than anticipated.

Now you need a private place to mull it over…

You walk through the brightly lit heavenly streets and bump into someone, sending you and your papers flying.

“Oh my, misss, I am ssssso ssssorry,” The person bends down to collect the papers.

“No, no it’s fine, sorry-” your voice gets stuck in your throat. You take a close look at the person collecting your papers.

The person, or, you should say snake, was sporting a smart coat, top hat, and eyes in his hair?

He was familiar. Where have you seen him before?

Your eyes dilate in recognition.

He was pixel perfect to the mural that Charlie showed you the other day.

“Excuse me for asking, but are you Sir Pentious?”

The snake demon, or angel, looks around before leaning in.

“Depends on who’sssss asssking,”

“Oh uh,” you think for a moment. How do you explain that you know he was a demon, without seeming like a stalker of sorts.

Clearly, this isn’t the subject to have casually in the street.

“Here, let me explain over tea and cookies, hm? My treat!” You grab the hand of Pentious gently and head to the nearest café.

꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂

“And ssso, thisss Adam guy just sssnapped me out of existence, and now I’m here, but without my egg boisss,” Pentious explains while indulging himself with a Pain un Chocolat, eyes welling while doing so.

“Huh, I see. So Charlie’s plan does work,” you mumble to yourself. “And I apologise for my husband, by the way,”

The snake pales, his skin now ashy. “He’ssss, your husssband?” he instinctively pushes away from you in his seat.

“Yes, but don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you. I just promised Charlie that I would help her with the hotel and redemption and all that…”

“Oh I sssee. Here’ss my card if you need anything more,” He produces a card and hands it to you, and you accept it graciously, despite it having a slimy residue on it.

“Great! I have to go now but it was nice meeting you,” you shake his hand and leave the café.

꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂

“So, what’s it like having sex with the first man? What are your orgasms like?”

“Angel, don’t torment the poor girl,”

“Whaat? Just askin’” Angel groans and puts his phone on the countertop of the bar.

Apparently, Charlie has gone AWOL, along with Vaggie and Lucifer, the three people that deserve to be the first people aware of the gratifying information you are holding.

This tension is getting you antsy, but you answer your newfound bestie’s question.

“Overrated to be honest. Not meaningful in the slightest,” Your blunt answer stuns Angel and Husk for a moment.

“What’s this about orgasms?” You turn back to the entrance of the hotel.

Shit.

The one person whom you didn’t want to hear you say that, was standing in front of you, holding about 10 shopping bags, his daughter and his daughter’s partner following suit.

God, what must he think? You want to slam your head into the table, but you refrain yourself.

“Uh Dad?” Charlie taps her dad’s shoulder.

“Maybe let’s refrain from talking your way into the sex life of guests? Anyway, how are you, Y/N? I hope everything’s alright?” Charlie inadvertently snapping you out of your apparent embarrassment.

“Oh yes! Not just alright; absolutely amazing actually. I have important information to tell you so forgive me for my impromptu visit, but it clearly cannot wait,” you practically jump out of your chair, bursting with energy.

My, you haven’t felt this emotion since…

Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

“Well, I did some digging and…” you grab the crusted card from your bag.

“Well, congratulations to you, Miss Charlie Morningstar, Princess of Hell, because your dream is a reality!” You flourish the card to Charlie, and she takes it.

She blinks.

Everyone else blinks.

“Uh, what is this exactly?”

You groan. Fun police much?

“Sinners can be redeemed, I found Sir Pentious in Heaven just this morning,” you concede, impatiently tapping the card.

“Wait really? You aren’t just messing with me?” Charlie’s eyes practically shone with stars.

“Angels aren’t known for that darling.”

As soon as you say that Charlie squeals and jumps up and down, ecstatic.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyooouuuuuu!” She gushes and hugs you extremely tight, constraining your lungs, but you really don’t care.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” You pull away to have Alastor behind you, with that ever-so-familiar-yet-unpleasant grin.

When did he get here?

“Seems like out little Morningstar is becoming quite the entrepreneur,” Alastor places a hand on Charlie’s shoulder, as though they are father-daughter.

Father-daughter, where the daughter’s biological dad is directly beside them.

“Hey, hey now, get your slimy claws off of my daughter, would ya?” Lucifer asks the Radio demon, half laughing.

“Oh? The same daughter you’ve abandoned for countless years on end? The same daughter who had to build this establishment by herself, with no support. The same daughter I’ve been faithful to, in comparison to you? I’ve stuck through thick and thin with her. Hell, I probably fit the Dad position by definition,”

The room is loud with silence; you could probably hear a pin drop.

Alastor’s voice carries those words in a seemingly defensive manner, but you can tell that those words don’t hold any meaning to him.

It seems like you’re the only person to realise that, because with the slam of a door, Lucifer exits the room, leaving an aura of pure anger and jealousy behind.

“Dad!”

“Charlie, maybe you should give him a breath of fresh air-” Vaggie tries pulling her back.

“No! Vaggie, he needs someone to be there with him. God knows what he will do and what if-” Charlie is in a craze to get to the door.

“I’ll go,” you say abruptly. Without question, you go through the door.

꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂

“Hey, it’s really hot out here, you know,” you stand at the garden door, as the king gazes out on Hell’s not-so-perfect landscape depressingly.

Silence.

“Alastor was just pulling your leg back there, he just wanted to piss you off,” you stand beside him, keeping an appropriate distance.

“I know. That’s not the problem. The problem is that-” his voice hitches.

“Go on,”

“The problem is, is the fact he’s not even wrong; I left Charlie with nothing, she had to support herself before help came along, I barely was there for her throughout all of this, until the very last moment, when she didn’t even need me anymore,” The King of Hell rambles, and fidgets with a small yellow thing in his hand. A bird of some sorts.

A duck?

“I can’t do anything right,” he continues.

Okay, you have to stop getting sidetracked by meagre things.

“Lucifer, listen. Yes, you may not have been there for her before, but you’re here now, and you are ready to help. Yes, I know it’s scary, yes I know it’s hard, but I have an inkling that Charlie would love to start having a bond with her father again. Also, you know her and how she is; she isn’t the type to shut you out. Just try to put some work into it, okay?”

That felt like more of a ramble, than advice, but it seems to suffice for the King of Hell.

“Thank you. I really know why Charlie has taken a liking to you…” he trails off, continuing to fidget with the rubber duck. He squeezes it, and it plays a short, spunky tune.

“And see? Atleast you’re doing something small for now, you should take it easy. By the way, that’s the most adorable rubber duck!” You gush at the plastic fellow, earning a smirk from Lucifer.

“Oh? Changing the subject are we?” The fallen angel teases.

Well, that was out of nowhere, but you just go with the flow.

“Yeah, and what? That’s a fuckin’ cool duck, so I apologise for acknowledging that fact,”

“Ah well, I have better. By the way, why are you talking about orgasms to that porn star- I mean Angel, back there?”

Oh yeah. That happened.

“Gee, why does everyone want to know the juicy details of my life? But really,he was just interested in my sex life, that’s all,”

“Interesting. You know I slept with 2 of Adam’s previous wives?”

“Don’t even try,” you give him a playful shove.

“Eh, worth a shot,”

꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂

You and the blond-haired demon go back inside, giggling about some disastrous function you went to when you were younger, and how you may or may not have been the leading cause.

Thankfully, the only person in the lobby was Charlie, who jumped to hug her father the second she saw the two of you, making them both cry and profusely apologise to one another.

Yeah, maybe it’s a good time to go. Maybe quietly too this time.

You open the portal, and you are back in Heaven again, in front of the pearly gates of the place you call home.

As you open the door and turn into the living room, you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Hey,” The sound of your husband’s voice rings through your ears.

“I ate your pancakes from this morning,”

“Alright. I’ll make dinner soon, but I’m tired right now,” you pave your way to your bedroom, when Adam pulls you back.

“Where were you even?”

“Places,” you try to pull away, but the First Man doesn’t relent.

“Where? You weren’t in Heaven, were you?”

“Alright fine. I was in Hell, cleaning up the mess you and your little play soldiers made by the way,”

“Were you not there the other day? Why are you so attached to this-” Cogs turn in Adam’s head.

“You were with him, weren’t you? You fucking slut,” Adam’s hand swiftly slaps you across the face. A small cut of golden blood streaks down your face.

“What the fuck? Of course Lucifer is gonna be there, you dumbass?! Why do you think I’m gonna sleep with-” You dodge a flying porcelain jug that was headed in your general direction.

“That fucking demon, thinking he’s hot shit and- and all, just fucking whoever he wants-” The Angel starts storming around the living room, just throwing random shit about, like a kid having a tantrum, making colourful insults while doing so.

You sigh and go into the kitchen to make dinner; hopefully Adam would have blown off enough steam by then.

“Oh and- You better not go back there again, you got it?”

“…Fine,” You slam the door behind you.

Clearly, you have to be more furtive about your visits to the underworld.

For now, maybe you should cook some dinner, and a warm bath.

Your back really hurts.

꧁🥀☽💫✶♛🐣♕✶💫☾🥀꧂

Word count- 2264

Taglist:

@dionysusismypatrongod

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fairyhaos · 9 months

Text

. ˚ game on !

requested by 🫧 anon: what about strangers to lovers with wonwoo, the guy that you met at the arcade 😌

pairing: wonwoo x gn!reader

genre: college au, meet cute, arcade au, fluff

word count: 1256

warnings: 1 curse word, maybe mildly ooc

notes: this took way too long for me to write,,, i hope y'all enjoy anyways <3

Every competent, sensible, slightly-more-sane-than-the-rest college student has a safe place. A haven, a refuge, somewhere they go to be alone and clear their thoughts to relax after a stressful day.

For some, that place is one of the libraries. Maybe a secluded place in a park. Maybe meeting up with their friends in a coffee shop a little ways off campus. Maybe even just hopping on a train and going all the way home.

For Wonwoo, however, his place is a little different.

Wonwoo goes to the arcade.

There is a small arcade a little ways away from where he lives, on the corner of a busy street and yet, oddly, seems to remain empty for the majority of the day. On the off-chance that there are people there, they're mostly small kids with adults, or pre-teens giddy at having been able to go out without parental supervision. All of them however, know to avoid Wonwoo’s arcade game. The one he’s staked claim over all the way back during his first year.

It's nothing special, simply just one of those shooting games with the plastic guns and bad graphics and weird, tinny sound effects, but Wonwoo likes it. It reminds him of the terrible arcade games back at home.

It also helps that he's really, really good at it.

And so, it's another one of those days for him, where he wants to run away from the stress of college life, wants to ignore Mingyu's texts for once and Seungcheol's endless offers to go out for a drink and stand there and shoot at pixelated images without a care in the world.

When he arrives at the arcade, however, he finds his plans are somewhat disrupted.

There's someone using his game.

Wonwoo blinks, surprised. He doesn't move from his spot, a few metres away from the machine, watching the person play and listen to the crackly sounds that come from the speakers every time a successful shot is made.

They're actually really good.

Eventually, the game finishes with dramatic closing music and the words 'GAME OVER' flashing in front of you, and you set down the arcade gun, sighing.

You've never played in this arcade before. Coming from another area of the town, the arcade near where you’re staying has been closed down for apparently engaging in "suspicious business" and, without your usual escape, you've had to scour the town for another place to seek refuge in.

This arcade certainly looks cleaner and more looked-after than the one you'd been frequenting before. Maybe yours really had been engaging in "suspicious business". Old Mr. Song’s oily moustache had been rather suspicious-looking, now that you think about it.

The games are more or less the same, however, and whilst you haven't played in a while, you're pleased to see that you aren't doing too badly, seeing your score flash up as first place in the leaderboard on the game's screen.

Well, as expected, really. You've been playing this game literally every week for years, whenever you have time or want to chill. Even in a new arcade, you're still a pro.

You raise your eyebrows at the second place score, however, surprised by how high it is, noting the barest difference in number compared to yours. Not bad, stranger who apparently is as addicted to arcade games as me, you think.

"Hey," a voice calls out behind you, and you whip around to see a boy standing there, hands in his pockets, walking towards you.

Oh, shit. The first thing you register is that this guy is quite possibly the most attractive person you've ever seen.

His black rimmed glasses glint in the neon signs of the arcade as he tilts his head, a bag slung over his shoulder, and there's the faintest smile on his lips. He stops beside you, nodding at the flashing screen. "You're pretty good."

You raise an eyebrow. "Pretty good?" you echo. "I beat the high score that was previously held on his machine. On my first time here, might I add. I think I'm more than 'pretty good'."

That makes him laugh, surprised by your quick-witted response. "Ah, of course. My apologies. You're incredible."

You grin, pleased by both the compliment and the way you managed to pull such a delighted sound out of this boy. Who was really, really attractive, damn. "Thank you. I know."

He smiles again. "So it's your first time in this arcade, hm?"

“Yep,” you say. “I’m not from around here, actually. The arcade in my area closed down, though, because apparently the owner was using it as a cover for a money-laundering scheme, or something.”

The boy’s eyes are glittering behind his glasses lenses, amused. “Or something?”

You shrug. “Something like that. I can’t remember. It was something illegal, anyway, so they shut down and I haven’t been able to let off steam since.” You pat the machine like it’s a long-lost friend, and he follows your movements with that mildly amused expression on his face. “This is the game that I normally play. Well, not this exact one, but we had one of these in my old arcade.” You pause. “Before the illegal—”

“—before the illegal business, perhaps,” the boy says, and you grin.

“Exactly. I don’t know, but something about these games are just so… stress-relieving. I love them so much.” You glance at your score on the screen, still somehow flashing up even though you’ve finished the game a while ago, and smile proudly. “Back at my old arcade, this was ‘my territory’. No one could touch this game because they knew it was mine.”

That has the boy smiling, an amused twitching of the lips, glasses flashing as he holds out his hand to you. “I’m Wonwoo.”

“Um.” You blink, a little confused by the sudden introduction, but you shake his hand. Wonwoo’s grip is firm, warm, and his eyes seem to light up when your palm makes contact with his. “I’m Y/N?”

“You’re Y/N?” he says, voice a little teasing, mimicking the questioning lilt you’d unintentionally added to the end of your sentence. “Are you sure?”

You roll your eyes, unable to help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

He laughs, a soft chuckle that makes your heart clunk oddly in your chest. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” he says, releasing your hand to gesture to the game machine, “and in this arcade, this game is my territory.”

You blink, and then your eyes widen. “Oh my god,” you say, laughing a little. “That’s such an incredible coincidence. Wait, does that mean that all of these scores are yours, too?” You point to the screen, and Wonwoo grins.

“Maybe. No one else has touched this game in years. Not since I’ve claimed it.”

You nod appraisingly. “You’re pretty good,” you say, as if giving him your grudging respect, and he smiles again. “Not as good as me, unfortunately.”

That makes him pause, raising an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge, Y/N?”

“Maybe,” you chirp, drawing yourself up to full height, looking him right in the eye. “Will you be willing to take the challenge, Mr. Wonwoo?”

Wonwoo tilts his head, observing you quietly for a moment, before the corner of his mouth quirks up in a half-smile, confident and gentle and shy and eager all at once. He drops his bag from his shoulder and steps closer to you, eyes bright with an emotion you can’t quite name.

“Game on.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @butiluvu @zozojella @kawennote09 @thedensworld @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @evasaysstuff @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @sakufilms

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twstthing · 19 days

Text

[Bake Bread] 1/2

Minecraft Single Player! Yuu AU

Summary: Yuu baked(?) bread for Azul.

Part 2/2

Yuu has insanely fast-growing wheat on their farm located at Ramshackle grounds. Azul has been so, so shifty about wanting to own the property, but he has continuously and fabulously failed at acquiring it.

But what kind of business man is Azul to give up on such an opportunity? Wheat can take up to 2/3rds of the year to grow, but the wheat this abnormal student plants takes approximately 1 and a half days to be completely grown! Not only that, it is beautifully, so beautifully consistent in its quality.

Yes, sure, there are PLENTY of magic agriculture brands that sell amazingly consistent produce, but this wheat? This wheat is terrifyingly accurate to the industry standard. Azul had to confirm to his two associates that no, he was in fact not tripping balls ("You are MALDING over overrated grass, Azul. You sound just like Jade.")

Just to confirm that he wasn't insane, he had gotten his hands on some legally obtained samples of the wheat (He politely asked for a bundle of wheat from Yuu with a contract where he promised to not commercialize nor generate defamation/slander associated with Yuurmom because of the wheat.) and had Jade take it to his Science Club to study it.

Even according to that Heartsyabul Clover, he was thoroughly impressed at the remarkably consistent quality of the wheat.

Trey had kindly indulged Jade's questions about the wheat, explaining one of the most business-booming, profit-generating, game-breaking facts about this produce

This wheat does not expire.

It doesn't expire? Are you kidding? No preservatives, no drying processes, no water rot, none? None at all?

As Clover explains, "Uhh, yeah. It doesn't go bad even when carried around for months. Yuu gifted me some, but I don't exactly know how to process wheat into flour, so it's been sitting in the pantry for some time now. I've been wanting to put it to use though, so this week I'll be meeting with Deuce, Epel, and Jack to help me process it."

So yeah, Azul is definitely NOT crazy for losing his mind over this farm that Yuu has going on. If he can have Yuu make a contract with him to exclusively sell their harvests to Mostro Lounge, he'd be booming! Fast crops, no preservatives, no need to watch for shelf life, do you even understand what kind of miracle crop this student has?!

When Azul comes knocking at Yuu's door once more, he is greeted with the expected presence of the Ramshackle Housewarden, but also a basket of... Flatly stacked pixelated bread?

"Why, Yuu, I wasn't aware you enjoy my company so much!"

"Come in. Bread, eat."

Azul is slightly surprised by the sudden hospitality, but accepts it to see if he can further his advances in getting his hands on those crops.

Upon being seated in the common room, Yuu takes one of the breads from the basket and begins to eat it in their really loud and strange way. Crumbs are flying everywhere, yet not one speck actually makes it onto the couch or floor. Azul wishes he could forget the way Yuu tried to eat the food at Mostro Lounge for the first time.

Jade sets the plate down, and gives a simple smile, "Please enjoy your food." Deuce and Ace usher various forms of a curt "Thanks." before digging in, but Yuu continues to stare at the plate in front of them. Ace raises an eyebrow, but before he got to make a snarky comment, Yuu grabs their Sirloin Steak with Mushroom Sauce and Stir-Fried Vegetables with their bare hand and proceeds to begin ripping at it.

Ripping is not a strong enough word to describe their eating process, Yuu's mouth was barely open yet there were steak shreds and mushroom sauce flying everywhere. The two little card soldiers were trying to fend themselves from the food splatter onslaught, Jade was collapsed to his knees trying to hold in his laughter, Floyd dropped the food he was supposed to serve in opt of releasing howling laughter, and Azul felt like crawling into a ditch.

.. Maybe this was a more prominent memory for Azul than he initially thought.

But! Azul has persisted through worse, really strange eating mannerisms do not compare to the Leech's impulsive personalities. Therefore, this is nothing.

"So, Housewarden, how do you fare? I can see that this place has recently been cleaned well, was that your doing?"

The sounds of disconcertingly loud bread munching fill the room for a solid 4 seconds. Yuu is staring straight at Azul, and Azul stares back. Azul dully notes that their pupils are square-shaped. He's aware of slit eyes and horizontally slit eyes, as evidenced by goat beastfolk, but he's unsure if a person with square pupils is simply born like that or had an extreme cosmetic surgery.

Yuu audibly gulps and burps after finishing their loaf, the bread vanishing from their hand with the blink of an eye.

There are a lot of things running through Azul's mind right now, but his goal was not forgotten. Get closer with Yuu, get that wheat, make business boom. Thus, he slightly extends his hand out to the basket of pixelated bread that is stacked upon each other like cards, "Mind if I have some?"

Yuu nods, so Azul reaches out with his gloved hand to take one of the reasonably sized hard-as-rock pixelated loaves of bread.

He goes in with two hands to rip the bread in half, but finds that it is rock solid. Of course it is. It is a physical slab of a pixelated graphic of a loaf of bread. Azul feels a bit stupid. ("Of course you are, normie! You should've expected that!")

Despite the failed first attempt, Azul tries to rip at it once more with more force. Fingertips pressed into the slab, he pulls his arms away from each other horizontally in a final attempt.

rrrip

Rip? Azul looks at the now split pieces of bread in his hands, and the previous rock-solid pixelated graphic has turned into actual bread.

Azul blinks. He looks at the basket of bread, and the pixel graphic was still there stacked neatly. Bringing his arms back, he observes the bread in his hands that looks to be an ordinary, warm, freshly baked loaf of bread that bore no resemblance to what he initially held in his hands prior to tearing it.

"You ever eat bread before?"

Azul nearly whips his head up to look at Yuu, who's unconcerning gaze never left him.

Pushing up his glasses, Azul speaks, "I assure you I know of bread, Housewarden. I was simply wondering.."

There are a lot of questions Azul wants to ask, those related and unrelated to the current situation, but he pulls through and selects a question that would give him more insight to the Housewarden's stranger properties.

"I was thinking about how you made this. It's still fresh and warm after all. I didn't know the oven in here was operable, no offense to you and your skilled craftsmanship."

Yuu shrugs, "Just 3 wheat, bread made."

Azul blinks.

"Do you mean 3 pounds of wheat? That's quite a lot of crop to process."

"No. 3 wheat makes 1 bread."

Azul Ashengrotto is one of the youngest genius businessmen to enter the world. His thorough work and sound words carry his reputation as smoothly as sea currents, letting all know of his benevolence and charm. However, such skill was not born from nothing. The young man had persisted through harder times, fought his way to the top, wrangling only the best of deals and people to keep his position rising, an experienced businessman as he is no stranger to challenge.

However, interacting with this abnormal Housewarden has somehow managed to shake the reality and logic of such a esteemed man more than thrice.

".. Do you mind explaining what that means, Housewarden? I feel that you might be referring to a unit of measurement from your home, which I'm unfortunately not familiar with."

Continued in Part 2

#twst au #twst yuu #mcsingleplayer yuu au #disney twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #azul ashengrotto #azul twst #azul twisted wonderland #twst azul

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kimmiessimmies · 5 months

Text

Make this night count...

"Look at all the colours! Isn't it pretty, James?"

"Very. The view is great from up here."

"It was a good idea to book this room for tonight."

"I'm full of good ideas."

"We have made things difficult for her this year, haven't we, James?"

"For whom, lovely?"

"Our author. This. Us. It was never part of her plan, was it?"

"No, but, haven't we also made things great for her?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Well, we've made things great for us, either way, Sade."

"Cheers to that, lovely."

"Sade..."

"Hmm...?"

"You wouldn't let me kiss you under the mistletoe because of where it might lead, but... since we're here now... Will you let me kiss you for New Year's?"

"Umm... No, I don't think so...

"Oh... Sorry..."

"I'm not going to let you kiss me for New Year's, James, because I'm going to kiss you first."

"Wha..."

"Happy New Year, you."

"Happy New Year, my girl..."

......

....

...

"James?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think she'll let us be together in the new year?"

"We'll have to see, love... Let's make this night count while we're here..."

My dear followers,

This year has been very... intense... for me. I already wrote a long post about my mental health struggles, which put a huge stamp on my year. However, 2023 will also forever be the year I went back to my Sims, back to my stories, and back to Tumblr.

I spent five years away. Both because real life took over and because I had gotten into a rut with my Sims and the story. I never forgot them, though, and never stopped loving them. And suddenly, somewhere in February, it clicked. Everything fell into place, and I knew where I wanted to go with it all. In fact, it was this boy up here, my dearest James, who pulled me back. His story was suddenly clear as day to me. But how to begin? So, in March, I decided to just start writing. Then, I dusted off my game, found that all shortcuts and cheats were apparently in my muscle memory, and started shooting pictures to go with what I had written. And once I got going, I didn't stop. Everything I wrote in 2023 (and that's a lot!) even if it seemed unrelated, was geared towards James's story and the big moment that still lies ahead. However... As I've emphasised several times by now, I didn't account for this girl... So now it's like James said, "We'll have to see."

Coming back to my story brought me so much this year; I went from gameplay-based to story-based and found out how much I truly LOVE writing and how much it helps me, especially now that I'm going through rough times. Encouraged and inspired by someone dear to me, my story gained a title and came to Tumblr in full. I learnt to not only accept the benefits of poses, but how incredibly enhancing they can be to bring my ideas to life when used right. I reconnected with old contacts and made new connections too, some of whom proved to be true friends outside of this Tumblr/Sims world too. I've loved getting caught up on the stories I used to follow and discovering new ones. I've been amazed at how good CC has become in five years and pleasantly surprised to see there's still a good crowd playing TS3 in addition to the great things some of you are doing with TS4. All of this has been bright spots in my darkness.

And now we're entering 2024. I hope it will be light and bright for all of us. May the good days outnumber the bad ones and may we continue to feel the joy these little pixel-people bring us. Happy New Year to you and yours.

Much love. ❤️

-Kim

P.s. I know, I know; Some of you are now very disappointed you didn't get to see James and Sadie "making the night count." Just for all of you filthy animals I have one more post in this non-canon series set to go. Be forewarned; this one is very NSFW (And Not Suitable To View At New Year's Parties With Lots Of People Around) and will be labelled mature. I also have a sneaking suspicion it'll take Tumblr about 3 seconds to take it down, so I have an alternative post with Pillowfort link waiting in the wings. Going live as the the New Year hits where I am, at midnight GMT+1. See them making the night count by clicking here!

#this is obviously non canon again #My Jadie love is strong...#atoh New Years message #atoh au #Sims NYE #both sims and non sims #personal #long post #the sims 3 #ts3 #sims 3 #sadie stevens #james wyler

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7-wonders · 1 year

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Can I request a Morpheus x reader fic where reader is really tired, but she ignores it and keeps doing what she has to do, even though she feels overwhelmed. Morpheus knows from her dreams how she's feeling, he feels bad cause she didn't tell him anything, so he decides to ask her and surprisingly, she breaks down, telling him everything. He listens and reassures her, telling she doesn't have to fake emotions with him, he loves her anyways. Thank you <3

It’s been a long couple of weeks, and life seems to really enjoy just kicking you in the ass. Be it at work, where your boss continues to chastise you for problems that are not your doing (really, how is it your fault the internet went down for an hour yesterday?), or the deluge of school projects and deadlines that are all coming at you in a short amount of time, or even just petty drama within your friend group. It’s stressing you out to be so busy, but is life not just a series of periods so busy that you think you might be losing your mind?

You’ve been able to find absolutely no respite, not even in sleep. This, you know, will soon become a problem, thanks to the fact that you’re somehow in a relationship with the Dreamlord. Your dreams have been just as stressful as your waking life, actually nightmares about failing at all of the tasks you’re working so hard on, and they’re almost always fitful to the point where you’re not even asleep long enough to recognize you’re in the Dreaming and will yourself to the Dreaming proper before you’re waking up with a jolt and staring in resignation up at your ceiling. He’s going to find out, it’s a matter of when, not if, so you’re hoping you can somehow be faster and magically finish all these stressful tasks before he decides to look into why you haven’t visited him in the Dreaming lately.

That plan is almost immediately derailed by the essay you’re currently stuck writing. By stuck, you mean that you have absolutely no idea of how to finish it. It’s a longer assignment, 10 pages, and though you have about half of it written and know the topic and how you had set out to complete this assignment, it’s suddenly as though you’ve forgotten everything you knew about writing. For almost an hour now, you’ve been stuck staring at the cursor as it blinks mockingly at you, daring you to try and write something, anything, that will make sense.

(Jeez, maybe you really do need a break if inanimate objects are starting to pick fights with you. Narrowing your eyes at the offending computer pixels, your hands hover over the keyboard and you decide that, actually, the best revenge is to make this bitch work overtime as you whip out the rest of this essay.)

When you feel a pair of large hands settle on your shoulders, you don’t even flinch, too focused on finishing typing the paragraph to even summon enough energy to be surprised. Plus, by now you just seem to innately know when Morpheus appears in your general vicinity, and this also takes away from the element of surprise he used to possess when you first began becoming involved with the King of Dreams.

After you’ve completed your sentence, you tilt your head backwards in order to properly look upside-down at Morpheus, who’s already smiling at your antics.

“Hi,” you greet.

“Hello.” He leans down to kiss you, before spinning your chair around so that you’re actually facing him. “You look tired.”

You huff out a laugh. “I’ve been tired for, like, a week now.”

“Your absence has been keenly felt by my realm’s denizens.”

With a raised eyebrow, you ask, “Just your denizens?”

“No being has missed you more than I,” he says with a smirk.

“That’s better.”

Gently, Morpheus tugs you up from your chair. “I believe that you deserve a break.”

“Isn’t that my line?”

He just smiles in response (his smiles, of course, are fleeting and barely there, but you know how to spot them by now that you almost never miss them) and walks with you to your bed. Normally, when he’s spending too much time trying to get one of his new creations just right or when he’s too stuck on research and running himself ragged, convincing him to take a break is your specialty. You should protest this and insist that you need to finish your assignment first, but it’s almost impossible to say no to your beloved. Really, now you see why he gives in almost every time you pull this move on him.

When Morpheus does get you on your bed, he sits right next to you so your thigh is touching his. He’s so touch-starved that it would be almost endearing if you didn’t know the reason why. Instead, every time he has to be touching you, you just wish that Roderick Burgess was still alive so that you could beat him to death for what he did to Morpheus.

“If I have the wrong impression, feel free to say so.” Morpheus makes sure that you’re making eye contact with him, and you know that you’re screwed. “Are you alright, though?”

You were going to reassure him that everything was fine and that you could handle it, really, you were. And then he just has to go and cup your cheek with his hand and rub his thumb along the soft skin under your eye, and that ruins everything. The moment that he does that, you break and feel tears begin to spill down your face, which surprises you just as much as it surprises Morpheus.

“Y’know what, I don’t think I’m completely alright,” you admit through your sudden outburst of emotion. When Morpheus wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest, your cries turn to sobs.

Sure, you know you’ve been stressed, but you didn’t think that it was “verge-of-a-mental-breakdown” stressed! Apparently, you were completely and utterly wrong, and now you’re facing the mortifying ordeal of being known in one of the most vulnerable ways that a human can be known.

One of the nice things about Morpheus is that he doesn’t try to fill any silences by talking or trying to distract you. Instead, he simply lets you cry it out. And cry you do, probably ruining his shirt–made out of the finest dreamstuff, of course–with all of your tears. You’ll worry about that later, though, when you don’t feel like your chest is caving in from crying.

When you finally feel like you can breathe, which is an indeterminate amount of time later, you pull yourself away from Morpheus’s chest and wipe at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. You feel Morpheus push something into your other hand, and you look down to see he’s produced an actual handkerchief from out of thin air. Regardless of your continuing awe at the things he’s able to do, you take it from him.

“Thanks,” you say hoarsely, using the soft cloth now instead of your shirt.

Morpheus allows you to collect yourself, rubbing his hand up and down your back and making sure that your breathing slows down to match his. Morpheus, of course, doesn’t actually need to breathe, but he’s currently doing so simply so that you have something to focus on. God, you love him so much.

Finally, you think you can form a full sentence without crying again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I really didn’t think I was at the level of stressed where I start crying.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Morpheus says firmly, leaving no room for discussion. “Why did you not tell me you were feeling this way?”

You scoff. “What, like I’m gonna bother you with my silly little human problems? Tell you that I’m stressed because of work and school and my friends? You have better things to worry about than that.”

“There is nothing more important to me than you. Not my power, nor my realm, nor my station–nothing. If anything, I should be apologizing to you.”

“Why?”

“I could sense the nature of your dreams, and the way that you kept waking up throughout the night. I assumed, however, that you would come to me first with your problems and that I would not have to seek you out.”

“So you forgot that stubbornness is one of my most endearing traits,” you say sheepishly. You had that very thought, that you should talk to Morpheus about how stressful your dreams were, but then talked yourself out of it due to believing he had better things to do than deal with one human’s dreams.

“Yes. My mistake.” The dryness of his tone makes you laugh a bit, and the relief on Morpheus’s face is palpable. “My love, you need not hide your worries from me.”

“I wasn’t trying to do so on purpose, I just…thought I could handle it myself.”

“Is it not part of a relationship that we both support and take care of each other?”

You nod begrudgingly. “It is.”

“You take care of me so ardently, in a way that nobody ever has before.” He brings his forehead to yours, sitting with you for a moment before he pulls back just enough to look at you again. When another tear escapes from your eye, he’s quick to meet it with his lips. “Won’t you allow me to return your kindness?”

“If you think you can handle it, then sure.” You’re still feeling a little self-deprecating, which, by the pout on his face, it’s obvious Morpheus doesn’t appreciate it.

“Caring for you is the easiest and most natural thing I’ve ever done.”

It’s obvious that he’s going to take you to the Dreaming, but you can’t help casting a helpless glance at your laptop, still sitting open on your desk. “I really need to finish my essay first.”

“No, what you need is to rest and relax, both of which you shall do in my realm. Your schoolwork will still be here when you return.”

“What if I just write, like, one more paragraph?” you try to barter.

Morpheus remains unimpressed. “If you’d prefer me to use force to get you to the Dreaming, I certainly can.”

“No, I don’t have the energy to put up a worthy fight.” With that admission, you have no choice but to let him lift you up into his arms so that he can take you with him to the Dreaming.

Plus, the more that you think about being pampered by your ethereally attractive, devoted, eldritch nightmare king of a boyfriend, the less that homework seems important. Not that you’re going to let him know that, though.

#morpheus #morpheus imagine #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless imagine #dream of the endless #the sandman #the sandman imagine

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theboywithburninghands · 11 days

Text

So uh... in my last story I sorta implied Pomni was autistic. This is the story that confirms it. I wanted to explore more of her worldview and how she might find ways to pass the time. So this is what came out of it. It's a bit short, but it's personal and sweet and I think you'll like it. Lists T/W: profanity in some of the linked songs? I guess? I hope anyone who reads my stuff has heard the word fuck or shit before...

Pomni paced about her room. Pacing helped her think. She was here indefinitely, and while her boyfriend and girlfriend kept her from slipping too far into existential despair, boredom was a whole different animal. So, after racking her brain for several hours one evening after dinner, she finally settled on the one idea that would offer instant gratification.

Lists. Lists of what? Well, any kind of list. Chronological lists, best to worst lists and vice-versa, top 100 lists… something about them scratched a hot red itch in her brain. Information could be so overwhelming when it was just flopped in front of you, especially in huge portions. If it was broken up piece by piece based on certain categories, it was far more digestible. You didn’t shove an entire pizza in your mouth, after all, you cut it into slices. Being able to break something down was not only comforting, but satisfying. Maybe that’s why she was so good with numbers…

So, Pomni went to Gangle. She had plenty of paper. Most of her room was covered with drawings of all sorts, done in crayon, colored pencil, watercolors, magic marker, even the odd charcoal.

“Sure, I can lend you some paper…” Gangle had said with a timid but pleasantly surprised smile. “I didn’t know you liked drawing too, Pomni.”

Pomni laughed a little. “Um, actually, I was going to make a journal. To keep up with all of the wild stuff that goes on around here, you know…?”

“Oh, okay! That’s a good idea! I don’t know if I have any regular pencils, but I have some black colored ones. Would that be okay..?”

Pomni had told her it was perfectly fine, and she went back to her room with ten big sheets of sketchbook paper, three black colored pencils and a red twist sharpener. She made a makeshift desk, the flat side of one of the oversized building blocks in her room and another building block for a chair. No real lumbar support, but eh. Her body was a bunch of pixels anyway. She set her things down tidily, placed one of the sheets in the middle of her desk, and began to write.

She tapped her pencil on her desk. Man, it felt good to have something to fiddle with while she thought… She decided to start with a profile of every other performer in the circus. She began by writing out a quick template, something she could use as a reference so every profile followed the same pattern. After some thinking, she came up with this:

Name: Their name (duh)

Potential Real Name: Educated guesses on what their real name was before they came here

Likes: Hobbies, favorite foods and candies, favorite people

Dislikes: Fears, least favorite foods and candies, anything else that bugs them

Musical Taste: Music I’ve heard them listen to on Layla, or if I’ve asked them.

*Hobby Related Stuff: See asterisk

Personality: What they’re like. What they’re like to me, others, etc.

*Variable, only if needed for major hobbies

Things like gender or age didn’t matter since she already knew all of those by heart. Personality would be the biggest category obviously… well, the only way to see if it satisfied her was to try it.

So she started with the first person that popped into her head.

Name: Jax

Potential Real Name(s): Jackson/Jack, John/Jonathan/Johnny, Max/Maxwell, Braxton, First initial J, middle initial A, last initial X, Alexander/Alex, Xavier

Likes: Me, Ragatha, practical jokes, spaghetti and meatballs, lock picking, bowling, Nerds Rope

Dislikes: Corn, bad dreams, condescension, authority, anime, Ayn Rand, black licorice

Musical Taste: Radiohead, Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Alice In Chains, Foster the People, Soundgarden, Garbage (the artist), Linkin Park, Flyleaf, whoever wrote that song “Pepper,” Big Black, Bad Brains

Personality: Formerly a bitter, selfish assho-

Hm…

Pomni stopped to think. She had never tried actually writing down a swear word here before. They were never censored in her head, thankfully, but as soon as they left her mouth they were filtered out.

She picked up her template sheet and wrote “asshole” in the bottom left corner. A few moments later, a black censor bar appeared over it. Pomni smirked ruefully and went back to Jax’s profile, scribbling out the beginnings of her swear word and continuing.

Personality: Formerly a bitter, selfish jerk. In fact, in some ways, he still is. One of the first adventures I ever went on with him, he threw me out a window between two moving trucks. He kept putting things like tacks and whoopee cushions on my chair at dinner, hid bugs in my room, he was awful… A few months later, he let me come into his room and talked to me about the law of entropy… He actually said he was sorry for the way he treated me after that. Then he got me my favorite food (honey-glazed garlic salmon), down to the way I like it cooked. I kissed him. He kissed me back. We kissed a lot. We didn’t really know what we were for a while, but it got made clear pretty quickly that we both loved each other.

Now he’s… better. Not perfect… no one is perfect, but… he’s grown a lot. I don’t know what changed. He told me once he acted like such a bully so people would forget about this whole purgatory situation and be mad at him instead of at the world. I didn’t believe that then and I still don’t. I could ask him, but I don’t know how he’d react. I guess I’ll wait and see.

Anyway. He’s great, really. Underneath that sandpapery outer shell, he’s just as vulnerable and human as the rest of us. He’s funny, he’s charming, he’s handsome… and most importantly, he’s genuine. I love him.

Pomni smiled at this completed profile and set it aside. She paused to sharpen her colored pencil, the lead on the end worn down to a nub. After it was sufficiently sharp, she grabbed a fresh sheet of sketchbook paper, cracking her knuckles and fixing her posture before getting back to work.

Name: Ragatha

Potential Real Name: Agatha, Raquelle, Ann/Anna/Annie, Annabelle, Agnes, Anya, Christie

Likes: All of us here- me included, horses, video games, ballet, hugs, stuffed animals.

Dislikes: Centipedes, circus peanuts, ripping her stitches… she doesn’t have a lot of dislikes.

Musical Taste: Aretha Franklin, Roberta Flack, Smokey Robinson, Tom Petty, Pink Floyd, OutKast, Kendrick Lamar, Joan Jett, Carole King

Video Games She Likes (Heavily Abridged): Dark Souls Trilogy, Final Fantasy VII, Legend of Zelda, Goldeneye, Spyro the Dragon, Bloodborne, Uncharted 2, Assassin’s Creed 2, tons more…

Personality: When I first got here, I thought Ragatha was just being nice to me because I was new. But she just… never stopped being nice. She always had my back, always had something encouraging to say… I left her behind like a coward the first day I was here and she didn’t give up on me. I look up to her.

She’s not perfect. She can be a bit arrogant without meaning to, and she used to let Jax walk all over her, but… well, things are a lot different with Jax now. And I think she helped in some way with that…

I love her just as much as I love Jax. I couldn’t imagine life without her sweet smile and her cute laugh and her hugs. Oh my god, her hugs! I HATE hugs, but somehow she makes hers incredible. She’s incredible.

Pomni re-read the profile and grinned. Oh, this felt so GOOD. Being able to put her thoughts down and in the form of a neatly organized set of lists. Scraps of order in this world of never ending chaos… She needed to write more.

She sharpened her colored pencil again and started work on Gangle’s profile, breezing straight through it and moving on to the next person. Zooble’s profile wasn’t as complete as the other three so far, since Pomni didn’t know as much about them. She would just have to add more to it the more she found out about Zooble.

She was a good ways into Kinger’s profile, adding Luna moth to his list of favorite insects, when her eyelids sagged. Pomni grunted and rubbed her eyes. Time must have really gotten away from her. She should ask Caine for a clock. Well… maybe not. Seeing time slowly creep by in this prison would probably do more harm than good. Either way, she must have been writing for an hour or two, it made sense for her to be tired. She went on an adventure that day.

She decided to take a break, give her brain a chance to wander. She crossed her arms on her desk and laid her head atop them. Sketchbook paper always had a pleasant, ethereal smell to it, like a shaft of sunlight illuminating a shelf of old yellowed scrolls in a castle’s study. She loved that smell. Pomni felt even more at ease. She found something to pass the time, and nobody could stop her. She could write as many lists as she wanted, about anything she wanted. She closed her eyes, the warm, private dark behind her lids the perfect place to imagine what she could write next.

Within minutes, she was asleep.

——

The faint yet insistent song of birds woke Pomni up. She blearily opened her eyes, lifting her head up off of her arms, the spots on them where her head rested warm and flushed. Pomni reached a gloved hand to her right eye and rubbed it, something slipping off of her shoulders and drifting politely to the floor. She turned around to find her comforter rumpled about her chair. It must have been draped over her while she slept at her desk. Did she do that..? She turned back to her desk.

It took her eyes a moment to defog, but everything on her desk was right where she left it, Kinger’s profile stopping at Luna moth. She stretched, a yawn bubbling up and escaping her mouth. She picked her blanket up and made her bed, tempted to flop right back down onto it and get some more sleep. But she needed to organize her things first.

She yawned into her palm and picked up the completed profiles, tapping the sheaf of papers on her improvised desk so they fell into order. She blinked and examined the top sheet. It was written in purple colored pencil, not her black one, and it definitely wasn’t her handwriting. She held it a bit closer.

Name: Pomni

Potential Real Name: No idea

Nicknames: Pompom, Poms, New Stuff, Newbie, Shorty, Clownface, Jingles

Likes: Jax and Ragatha, Salmon and rice, number puzzles, swimming, long walks, lemon drops, fudge ripple ice cream, cuddling

Dislikes: Hugs from strangers, snakes, spicy candies, cooking, whoopee cushions

Musical Taste: U2, Coldplay, Snow Patrol, Marina and The Diamonds, Regina Spektor, Keane, Ariana Grande, Corinne Bailey Rae, Duffy

Personality: Pomni shouldn’t have lasted long here. She’s a nervous wreck that’s prone to crying, depression, overstimulation and anxiety attacks. We were all a little worried she would abstract early.

But she never did. She showed everyone that not only is she tougher than she looks, she’s smart as a whip and one of the most courageous people any of us have ever met. She’s a great friend to everyone, and never gave up on even the people here that seemed beyond help.

We all love you, Pomni.

Pomni set the piece of paper down on her desk. She rubbed her eyes again, her glove coming away flecked with water. She got everything organized, sliding her paper and pencils under her bed. She took the sheet with purple handwriting, folded it neatly, and tucked it into her pillowcase. She rubbed her eyes again, sighed shakily, and opened the door to her room, ready to meet the sunrise.

#the amazing digital circus #funnybunny #buttonblossom #bunnyrabbitdoll #tadc #oh no cringe #tadc jax #tadc ragatha #tadc pomni #tadc gangle #jax x pomni #pomni x ragatha #autistic pomni

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