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violetduchess · 11 months

Text

Hot things they do:

Summary: Hot things the Hashira do.

CW: Suggestive content

Note: The people have spoken and I have delivered.

Rengoku

Rengoku has a habit of running his hands through his hair, a gesture that's become almost second nature to him. It's not a nervous habit, but rather a confident and unconscious display of his self-assured nature.

Every time Rengoku runs his hands through his hair, a few strands inevitably fall in front of his face. The way those strands frame his handsome features adds an irresistible charm, making him even more attractive.

After an intense training session, Rengoku's body is drenched in sweat, highlighting the contours of his toned muscles. It's a sight that leaves you mesmerized and longing for his touch.

Those strong arms of his, glistening with sweat, hold an undeniable allure. They exude a sense of power and strength that could easily overpower you, and the mere thought of it sends shivers down your spine.

In your wildest fantasies, you can't help but imagine being at Rengoku's mercy, his arms wrapped around you tightly. The thought of him using his strength to pleasure and dominate you is both thrilling and irresistible.

Rengoku's physical prowess combined with his gentle and caring nature creates an intoxicating blend. The contrast between his powerful presence and his tenderness is what makes him utterly captivating and irresistible.

You find yourself yearning for those moments after training, when Rengoku's muscles are still slightly taut from exertion. The sight of his sculpted physique fuels your desires, and you can't help but crave the touch of his strong, capable hands.

Sanemi

Sanemi's habit of using simple phrases like "hm?" or "mhm" may seem minimal, but there's something about the way he says them that sends your heart racing. The rawness and directness in his voice have a captivating effect, drawing you in and making every word he utters incredibly significant.

When Sanemi wants your undivided attention, he lifts your chin with the top of his pointer finger, gently guiding your gaze to meet his. The intimate contact ignites a surge of electricity within you, making it nearly impossible to focus on anything else. Face-to-face with Sanemi, it's as if the entire world fades away, leaving only the two of you in an intense connection.

Whenever Sanemi is near, it feels as though you're floating in orbit, completely enthralled by his presence. His commanding aura and magnetic personality are captivating, making it hard to tear your eyes away from him. Every interaction becomes a mesmerizing experience, leaving you spellbound.

While Sanemi may not be one to share grand gestures or elaborate speeches, his silence holds great significance. In those moments when he chooses not to speak, his focused gaze and unwavering attention communicate volumes. The intensity in his eyes conveys more than words ever could, leaving you breathless and eager for his next move.

Sanemi's presence has an undeniable magnetic pull, drawing you closer and leaving you captivated. Whether it's the sound of his voice or the touch of his finger against your skin, the effect he has on you is undeniable. In his company, the world around you fades into insignificance, and all that matters is the connection you share.

Giyuu

In the early morning hours, as the sun gently kisses the horizon, Giyuu's voice awakens. It carries a certain allure, a perfect balance of raspy tones and a hint of sleepiness. It's the kind of voice that makes you want to listen to him speak endlessly, losing yourself in the melodic cadence of his words.

During his training sessions at home, there are moments when Giyuu dons clothing that is just slightly too short, revealing glimpses of his well-defined abs as he stretches his body. It's a sight that sends a pleasant shiver down your spine, an enticing display of his physical strength and dedication.

Every now and then, when his gaze catches yours, Giyuu playfully remarks that "staring isn't polite," his deadpan manner adding an unexpected charm to the situation. It's his way of acknowledging your attention while maintaining his composed demeanor, a playful interaction that leaves a lingering sense of warmth and teasing in the air.

Gyomei

Gyomei's protective nature always has you by his side, seeking comfort in your presence. He instinctively pulls you close, finding solace in your proximity, especially in crowded places.

You feel a gentle pressure against your lower back as Gyomei's hand rests there, creating a comforting connection that sends pleasant shivers down your spine. It's a subtle gesture that makes you acutely aware of the effect he unknowingly has on you.

In public, Gyomei's preference for keeping you close is evident. He wraps his arm around your waist, creating a shield of security and making you feel cherished. The physical contact sends warmth flooding through your veins.

The sensation of Gyomei's hand on your lower back becomes a source of both comfort and excitement. It's a touch that reassures him and stirs something deep within you, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken connection between you.

Gyomei's protective grip on your waist in public spaces becomes a silent declaration of his trust and reliance on your presence. His touch radiates a calming energy, reminding you of the unspoken bond that exists between you.

Mitsuri

Mitsuri's excitement is contagious. Whenever she gets enthusiastic about something, her eyes sparkle like a starry summer night, and her vibrant voice carries her joy for miles.

There's an undeniable charm in Mitsuri's little habit of bouncing up and down when she's excited something else bounces too. It's like her energy can't be contained, and it adds an adorable touch to her already endearing personality.

Animals are drawn to Mitsuri's gentle nature and warm energy. They have a natural affinity for her, and it's not uncommon to see furry creatures flocking to her side. She welcomes their presence with open arms and finds comfort in their company.

Uzui

Uzui, in moments of vulnerability, finds comfort in resting his head in his partner's lap. It's an intimate gesture that creates a sense of closeness and trust between them.

When Uzui slowly opens his eyes, his gaze carries a magnetic quality. It's as if the world falls into place around him, and his partner can't help but be captivated by the depth and intensity within his gaze.

There's something undeniably alluring about the way Uzui lowers his head, whether in deep thought or as a display of his relaxed demeanor. His partner finds themselves drawn to his subtle movements, which exude confidence and a touch of mystery.

Uzui's undeniable self-assurance is a magnetic quality that draws others to him. He knows he's attractive, and his partner can't help but be intrigued by his confident presence.

Uzui's effortless charm and attractiveness seem to emanate from within. It's as if he effortlessly carries an aura of refinement and sensuality, leaving his partner unable to resist his magnetic appeal.

Shinobu

Shinobu has a penchant for oversized sweaters, particularly during the colder months. Despite the slightly loose fit, she still manages to look incredibly stylish, especially with the cozy sweaters emphasizing her delicate frame.

However, due to their oversized nature, the sleeves of the sweaters tend to be a bit too long for Shinobu. As a result, she often finds herself with sweaterpaws, her delicate hands peeking out from the oversized sleeves. along with the top of her breast,

While Shinobu doesn't actively sing on her own accord, she possesses a beautiful singing voice. Most of the time, she unconsciously hums tunes to herself when she's lost in her thoughts or at ease. The melodic hums serve as a testament to her tranquil nature.

Obanai

Whenever a single strand of hair dares to stray onto his partner's face, Obanai can't help but brush it away with the lightest touch. He does it with such nonchalance that it often catches them off guard, leaving them flustered and secretly thrilled by his subtle display of affection.

Obanai finds great delight in teasing his partner by brushing away those tiny stray hairs. He'll do it playfully, pretending to be completely absorbed in the act while slyly observing their adorable reaction. It becomes their little game, with both of them cherishing these tender moments.

Muichiro

Muichiro has a habit of fixing his gaze on you, his eyes filled with adoration, and he can't seem to take them away from your presence.

Whenever you catch him staring, a soft smile tugs at the corners of his lips, and his dimples make a subtle appearance, adding to his charming demeanor.

You can't help but feel a blush creep up your cheeks as you ask him what he's looking at, only to receive a gentle shake of his head accompanied by a quiet smile, leaving you wondering about the thoughts behind his adoring gaze.

Muichiro's unwavering attention and admiration for you make you feel incredibly special and cherished, as if you're the center of his world.

His silent adoration speaks volumes, expressing a depth of emotion that transcends words, creating a connection between you that is both sweet and intimate.

Despite his quiet nature, Muichiro's eyes communicate his feelings with such clarity and sincerity, leaving you with a warm and fuzzy feeling in your heart.

It's a delightful and slightly embarrassing secret between the two of you, as you both understand the unspoken language of his adoring gaze and the love it conveys.

#giyuu x reader #rengoku x reader #sanemi x reader #obanai x reader #shinobu x reader #uzui x reader #muichiro x reader #mitsuri x reader #gyomei x reader #demon slayer x you #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader

5K notes · View notes

jazzyoranges · 6 months

Note

Can you write a friends with benefits situation Wednesday or Tara has with gp reader? Wednesday or Tara enforces a no strings attach policy but of course reader has to catch feelings and admits their feelings. It freaks Tara/wednesday and causes her to push them away and ghost them effectively hurting the reader who after a while tries to rebound with another girl causing major jealousy from Tara/Wednesday. You can choose the ending I just wanna see some jealous smut and angst mix in there 😩

She’s my Collar

Wednesday Addams x fem!werewolf!reader

Words: 4.6k (whoopsies)

Warnings: gp!reader, definitely ooc Wednesday, heat cycles, unprotected sex, knotting, explicit smut, everyone is 18+, Wednesday calls you a mutt and a puppy, breeding kink, is it really pet play if you’re actually a pet?, italian/spanish pet names and phrases, possessive Wednesday, fluff, angst i think

A/n: so sorry it took so long for me to write this anon who requested 😓 could be read as a prequel to this fic, but not specifically written as one. also i kinda strayed away from the original request, sorry about that too 😭🫶

MINORS DNI!

Wednesday didn’t want to admit it, but she was feeling a certain emotion that was completely undesirable. You’ve been out sick for an entire week. Wednesday hadn’t seen you in the last 8 days, 17 hours, and 42 minutes. But who was counting? Definitely not the Addams girl

Others would say Wednesday looked the same as any other week, but Enid’s roommate senses were tingling. Constantly fiddling with her rings, the very prominent scowl on her face that was meaner than usual, and the common frustrated grunts when Wednesday would make a mistake with her writing. Something was up, and not even god herself couldn’t stop Enid from figuring it out

While Wednesday was smart in every aspect except social, Enid’s people smarts came in useful every now and again. It really didn’t take long for her to piece two and two together. Angry roommate while someone she frequently hung out with was out sick? It was child’s play, really. All she needed to do was have Wednesday come to the same conclusion as her

Easier said that done, really. Wednesday was a knucklehead not so smart when it came to emotions. Any emotion other than creating despair, Wednesday struggled with. Luckily Enid was dedicated and also a knucklehead

Currently Wednesday was seated at her desk, simply staring at a blank piece of paper without moving. On any normal day her fingers would be speeding across the typewriter with ideas constantly coming to her. Now she was met with absolute digital silence from her mind, which proved to be discouraging and inconvenient to say the least

“Alright, Wednesday. What’s going on?”

“I have not a clue what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve been different this entire week. Spill the beans”

“As I’ve just said, I don’t have the information you want.”

“It’s because you haven’t seen her all week, right? You miss her, don’t you?”

“Why would I miss that mutt of a werewolf? I do not miss Y/n.”

“I never said her name, yet you know exactly who I’m talking about. Funny how that works, Wednesday” Enid teases. Her roomie has been caught red handed

“If you want your tongue, I’d recommend you stop talking.”

“Cmon, Wednesday, I’m being serious. It’s not weird to miss a friend. How about you check up on her?”

“First, I do not miss her. Second, she is definitely fine. I do not need to check up on her.”

“She’s been out sick for an entire week. She texted me just today the sickness isn’t showing any signs of stopping”

“Why has she not called the nurse, then?”

“She told me they ran out of the medicine she needs. The sickness is werewolf specific. I’ve gotten it before and it hurt like a bitch without medicine”

“What kind of school clinic runs out of medicine?” Wednesday says under her breath while getting up. Presumably to check on you, Enid assumes

“It’s really high in demand right now. It only infects werewolves, so you won’t catch it”

“I suppose I’ll ask Y/n on the specifics of her current condition. Perhaps it could be a part in my writings.”

“I’m sure it will be, Wednesday. Tell me how it goes!” Enid waves goodbye to Wednesday as she exits, and the Addams misses her roommates wolfish grin

Luckily your dorm isn’t too far away from Ophelia hall but it’s still a considerable walk to and from. The walk there gives Wednesday enough time to really question why she was doing this. She did not care for you, that was most definitely certain. At least that’s what Wednesday kept telling herself when she neared your room

The Addams girl hesitated before she knocked on your door. She could hear you whimpering and whining in pain, your tail quickly thumping against your bed. The shorter girl bit the bullet and held her fist against the door, quickly knocking on it

“Open up, Y/n or I’ll be forced to axe down your door.”

“Go away, Wednesday” Your voice was muffled

“Either I pick your lock or you open this door. Make your decision.”

Wednesday hears your feel shuffle to the door, and you open it just enough for your eye to peek out. Wednesday immediately notices your flushed skin and dark eye bags. You’re only wearing a tank top and boxers, trying to hide your lower body behind the door

“What do you want?” You spit out a bit more aggressively than you mean to

“I’ve come to check up on your illness”

“I’m uh- I’m okay. You can go now, Wednesday”

“You obviously aren’t, you haven’t gone to your classes all week.”

“Listen, I’m not actually sick. If I tell you what’s actually happening, promise you won’t freak out?”

“I promise.”

You suck in a breath to calm your nerves. “I’m in heat. The school clinic ran out of suppressants, so I haven’t been able to come to classes”

Wednesday looked you up and down, and in a split second she felt something she hadn’t before. Something about how your wolfish features came out. Ears were pressed against your head, tail hung low and swaying softly, and Wednesday noticed your fangs poke out when you spoke

“Let me help you.”

“W-What?” You momentarily stoped holding the door, and Wednesday let herself inside. Wednesday was immediately hit with a musk that was so… you. Werewolves weren’t her major, but she could tell you’ve marked your entire room with your own scent. Something about it made Wednesday’s mind think of all the unspeakable things she wanted to do to you

“Uh, sorry for the mess. And sorry for the smell, I know it’s bad…” You shift on your feet, and it’s only then Wednesday notices the tent in your boxers. Quickly mumbling out apology after apology, you move your tail so it covers your growing erection

“Stop apologizing, it’s getting quite annoying. I said I’d help you, did I not?”

“Help me like..?”

“Yes. Help you as in having sexual intercourse”

Your cheeks flush red and you have to actively stop your tail from wagging in excitement. Wednesday takes a step closer, but you take a step back

“A-Are you sure? You’re human, and I’m a werewolf. Your body isn’t designed to handle our heats”

Wednesday takes another step closer to you, grabbing your neck to make you look straight in her eyes. You can’t stop the whimper that escapes your throat

“I decide what I can handle.” The shorter girl firmly gropes at your clothed erection, and you moan at the contact

“Wednesday, I-”

“A dumb puppy is what you are. Why didn’t you tell me you were in heat?”

“I didn’t- I didn’t think you’d care” When Wednesday starts to massage your clothed cock more roughly, she earns another moan out of your throat

“Please, please make it better, Wednesday. It hurts so fucking much” You whimper, and Wednesday wonders if you’d look good in a collar with her name on it. She’d have to save that idea for a different day.

“Puppy.”

“Wednesday?”

“Take everything off. I want to see all of you.”

Wordlessly, you start to strip, which doesn’t take long since you’re barely wearing any clothes. Your mindless obedience made Wednesday happy. You start with your tank top and the Addams chooses to observe every part of you. Wednesday notices you’re considerably more furry than usual, your happy trail showing just above your boxer briefs

“Are you sure?” You ask nervously when you reach your boxers, and Wednesday is getting considerably more impatient

“Do I have to do everything for you?” Wednesday mutters while she takes off your boxers instead. The shorter girl sucks in a breath when your hardened cock slaps against your stomach

Wednesday didn’t expect you to be so… lewdly big. Looking at the size of your erection only reminded her your body was meant to breed. You were designed to reproduce, and the thought turned Wednesday on more than she liked

The shorter girl pushes you onto your bed, and she takes a second to look at the state you’re in

“Please, Wednesday…” You whine

“Be patient, Y/n. You’ll get there eventually”

“It hurts so much, please I can’t wait” Begging harder, Wednesday doesn’t likehow her first instinct is to give you what you want

“You’re lucky I tolerate you. If you were any other person, I’d think this was dehumanizing.” She pushes you further back, licking a stripe up your tip and across a vein. You have to stop yourself from cumming embarrassingly quick

Wednesday keeps giving your shaft long kitten-licks and you’re in heaven when she finally decides to suck your tip with a new type of hunger.

And due to previous attempts at suppressing your heat by yourself, your cock was absolutely raw at how much you masturbated. It only made Wednesday’s tongue feel even better

She hollows out her cheeks, making your tip hit the back of her throat. This earns a groan from the back of your throat. You didn’t know if touching was allowed due to her track record of broken arms and hands, so you decide to play it safe by just holding onto your bedsheets for dear life

“F-Fuck, I’m about to-“ Before you can finish your sentence, Wednesday pulls away from your cock. The look on your face is something Wednesday would like to cherish. Your penis was twitching like crazy. It was drooling with pre-cum and the shorter girls saliva. She couldn’t help but admire how you shook under her

“Why’d you stop?” Whining seemed to be a strong suit of yours

“In me.” Wednesday wipes a bit of her saliva off her chin, and you swear it’s the most attractive thing ever “Now.”

“Huh?”

“You know what I mean. Really, do I always have to spell it out for you?”

“You have to cut me some slack here, Wens…”

“I suppose I could provide an understanding for your view. You’re nothing but a dumb pup, are you not? Your kind is known to follow orders.”

“I think you’re confusing me with a domesticated dog, Wednesday”

“If I were to demand you pluck stars from the night, you would, would you not?”

“I mean I would, but for different reasons…”

“My point still stands.” Wednesday mumbles, sinking down on your erection. You don’t remember when she got naked, but you’re also not exactly complaining

The Addams holds onto your shoulders for support, and you hesitate before putting your hands on her hips. Luckily you made the right choice, your warm hands directly polar to Wednesday’s.

It takes a little effort for Wednesday to completely take in your cock, but the stretch is worth it when she sees your labored breathing like she’s the best pussy you’ve ever had. Which, Wednesday wouldn’t admit she was proud of. She could feel every vein on your cock and every twitch made her spiral into thoughts of you

The sight is funny, you think. The Wednesday Addams is impaled on your cock. The Wednesday Addams that saved Nevermore. The Wednesday Addams that was notorious for being gorgeously scary. That Wednesday Addams was riding your dick like her life depended on it.

Skin slapping together was music to your ears, and the feeling in your lower stomach you recognized well was rapidly building up. Wednesday came with a hitch in her breath, and you reluctantly pulled out before releasing your own cum with a groan. Both of you are left breathing hard.

“There will be a silver bullet in your skull if you so much as think about telling anyone about this.” Wednesday mutters in between breaths.

“Duly noted.”

—

You’ve been in this arrangement with Wednesday for about 4 months, now

The first month consisted of a casual fuck here and there. After a particularly hard week, teachers being annoying, or a hard test. It wasn’t difficult to keep your situation away from your friends. For all they knew, you two were still the platonic match-made-in-hell duo that were strictly friends

The second month was a little harder to keep your situation away from your friends. Wednesday would randomly pull you into any empty closet or classroom she could for a quick orgasm to get her through the day

The third month was rough. You two went on dates as you liked to call it, but Wednesday would call them study sessions or hangouts. Trips to Jericho on the weekend, Wednesday helping you with botany, it was practically impossible to separate both of you. Unfortunately your friends became suspicious

So during the fourth month, a new vampire transferred to Nevermore. You were assigned to give her a tour of the school and her classes. When Wednesday saw you two hang out when you’d usually see the Addams, she suspected the tour went better than anticipated. What Wednesday expected to be a minor inconvenience for one day, caused her many unwanted thoughts. It made a vein pop out of her neck. (not literally, but that’s what it felt like)

Wednesday noticed how you two started spending more time together after and during school. Of course there was definitely a reasonable explanation, you were her only friend. Unfortunately a very minuscule part of her brain is telling her you like the new vampire more than the Addams. The thought didn’t sit right with her

You were supposed to be Wednesday’s. You were supposed to only have eyes for the Addams and not some vampire that doesn’t even make you half as happy as her. You would always be Wednesday’s. When you finally realized the vampire wasn’t enough to satiate your needs, Wednesday would be there. She would be there to catch your fall, and the thought made her uncomfortable.

Wednesday Addams, a feared individual that wore her heart tucked under enough layers of blunt sarcasm and a deathly scary look, yet once glance from you sent her spiraling into something between fear and love. She hated it. She hated you. Wednesday hated you for bringing this side out of her she swore to be kept away from the surface of her character.

The Addams couldn’t afford this. You were her weakness. You definitely knew this as well. Unwanted doubt flooded her mind. Thoughts that ended up with you exploiting her only weakness made her heart ache, and not in a way she enjoyed.

You would end up breaking off your relationship with the Addams, leaving her to be made a fool as you were the only one that could do it. The worst part is Wednesday couldn’t even be angry with you. She knew you deserved someone of your own kind. Another werewolf that would understand and satiate your needs. Wednesday would end the arrangement the next time she saw you.

—

“(L/n).”

“Wednesday?” You open up your door with a smile on your face. A sight for sore eyes is what you were.

“We cannot continue our arrangement.”

“What? What do you mean?” Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. Wednesday wished she could take back her words, but she was doing this to keep herself safe. To make you happy.

“Our late night meetings can no longer continue. I’ve grown uncomfortable with your presence.”

“Wednesday, I-“

“A nuisance is what you are. You’re needy, and you can’t do anything by yourself. You really are just a dumb mutt. You are incapable of doing anything except cling to me like a lost child.” Wednesday spits out, and something akin to regret dawns on her face

Stray tears leave your eyes and you wipe them up as quickly as they fall, but Wednesday notices. She can tell you’re trying to be strong, your quivering lip giving you away

“I’m- I’m sorry you feel that way, Addams.” You say before turning your back on Wednesday, closing the door. Broken sobs escape your throat, and Wednesday brings her hand up to your doorknob. She thinks a little longer before a single tear falls from her eye. She turns to leave instead.

—

Three weeks, nearing four since you’ve last talked to Wednesday. You’ve been out for a week and a half and Wednesday knows exactly why. Since the Addams has been helping with your heats for the past few months, you haven’t needed to request for more suppressants. Neither you nor Wednesday knew why your heats were commonly hell-ish and lasted for weeks without the suppressants you desperately needed

Really, she could picture you right now. You would’ve found the boxers that created the least amount of friction, and you’d be whimpering and whining while your tail rapidly thumped against the bed mattress. Finding the nearest thing to bite, which usually happened to be your bed frame, you’d sink your teeth into the cold wood and find a splinter on your tongue the next time you brushed your teeth. Rinse and repeat until you eventually fell asleep or Wednesday saved you from your own body

It was pathetic how much you constantly needed Wednesday…and consequently, how much Wednesday needed you.

Disgusting is the only word Wednesday can choose when thinking of how much space in her mind you took up. She was seated in the Quad while eating an apple and contemplating her life. Which, was not in an ideal situation.

“I know you want to talk to her, Wednesday” Enid takes a seat near the shorter girl

“I do not.”

“I know for a fact you didn’t mean what you said. Unfortunately, you’re too stubborn to realize it”

“She has that new girl, does she not?”

“For the last time, Wednesday, they aren’t dating”

“They may as well be. The two are practically attached at the hip”

“So were you two, but then you decided to fuck it all up and haven’t talked to her since” Enid groans. This is was going to be harder than she thought

“Wednesday, you know how much I love you, right?”

“Annoyingly so.”

“Not-so-respectfully, you fucked up really bad. I know you didn’t mean it, but would you rather see her kiss another girl, or would you rather be the girl she kisses?”

The question makes Wednesday hesitate, and relief washes over Enid. Did she want to be with you? She mentally scoffs at the thought. The Wednesday Addams uncharacteristically soft for a girl. Outrageous. Disgusting. Absolutely unheard-

“Well, it seems you have your answer. Talk to her right now, ‘kay?” Enid knew her roomie would do the right thing even if it was gut wrenchingly difficult

The shorter girl only responds with a grumble, but it’s enough of an answer for Enid to skip away and continue being the social butterfly she was. Wednesday was going to… apologize to you. Just thinking of the word made her recoil, but it was you she was going to. As much as Wednesday didn’t like apologizing, she didn’t want to admit the thought of being away from you any longer was the worse option

She was almost in the same exact situation almost five months ago. Only this time you were sad, and it was Wednesday’s job to make you feel better (in more ways than one)

It didn’t take long getting to your dorm. She knew all of the correct routes and shortcuts to take. Wednesday was met with a tightly locked door and a knob that had collected dust after the past week and a half. She brought a hand to the door, knocking loudly

The Addams was only met with silence. That is, silence, with the exception of stray whines and whimpers

“It’s Wednesday.” Silence again.

“I know you’re in there. Ignore me and I’ll find other means to see you.” More silence

“You’ve made your decision.” The shorter girl sighs, taking a lock pick from her uniform pocket. Why she had a lock pick? For important situations like these, of course

When Wednesday finally managed to unlock your door, she noticed how you looked considerably worse than the first time the Addams decided to help you with your heat

What Wednesday didn’t expect was you fully naked sprawled on your bed. Bite marks littered your bed frame and a chew toy Wednesday bought to mock you, but it ended up being somewhat helpful. A low quality fan spun, only making your scent waft around the room even more. An air freshener was mentally added to her list of things to buy

“Go away, Wednesday.” You growled. You never growled. “If you’re here to mock me and call me a nuisance, I’d recommend you leave”

“I came to help.”

“You’ve full of bullshit, aren’t you?”

“I’m not lying, Y/n.”

“Go away, Wednesday, I’m not going to say it again.” The Addams only took this as an invitation to step closer to your bed where you were laying face down and a light blanket to cover your ass

When you only heard footsteps near, something inside you snapped. You were a werewolf. Not a puppy that said please with a tail between your legs. No, you would make Wednesday leave. Also you were sexually frustrated while in heat, so that was definitely fuel to your sour mood

Before she could register what had happened, you pinned the smaller girl to the floor. Your pupils contracted into small circles while there was a permanent snarl on your face

“I said, go away.” Your erection accidentally brushes against Wednesday’s thigh, and she was suddenly aware of how much self control you had for not already relentlessly stuffing the shorter girl full of your cum

“Knot me, cucciola.”

When the words leave Wednesday’s mouth, something in you changes. You’re overcome with sinful thoughts, and your cock starts to drool with precum at the image of Wednesday being full of you. It’s sinful, truly

“Is that why you came here? Just to be bred?”

“No, but it seems my words are working. You’re incredibly hard.” The shorter girl grabs your erection, jerking you off roughly

“Puppy.”

“Don’t… don’t call me that.” You say in between moans. Wednesday starts to sit up, and your back meets the side of your bed frame

“Cucciola wants to breed?”

“F-Fuck you.”

“We’re getting there, mi sol” The pet name accidentally slips, but you’re far too blissed out to notice

“She can’t make you feel as good as me, can she?”

“W-What? Who are you talking about?”

“You know who. The vampire that can’t get her hands off you.”

“Wednesday, we’re no-“ The shorter girl only started to stroke you faster. Her hand barely fit around your cock, but it still felt like heaven

“I don’t- I don’t like her that way” You say in between moans. Your orgasm was nearing and Wednesday knew this. She slowed down her pace, and you whined at the sudden loss of stimulation

“Knot me.”

“Huh?”

“Show me you don’t like her the way you like me.” You only notice your proximity after she speaks. Your noses are only inches apart. Wednesday’s eyes flick down to your lips, and you quickly close the distance

Wednesday was an addiction. Nicotine, acid, weed, none of it compared to how you felt while kissing Wednesday. You’d get drunk off her taste and crave it until she was in your arms once again. It was hell without her

When the shorter girl accidentally grinds on you, a surge of lust runs through your body. You quickly pick her up with your lips still attached to hers and take off her skirt. You couldn’t go another second without being in Wednesday

Sinking her onto your hardened erection, you let out a gasp of pleasure when her velvety walls stretch at your intrusion. You’re holding up her body by her thighs, and Wednesday just wishes you’d go faster.

“Cucciolo, ti amo.” The Addams moans when she looks down to see she’s only taken half of your length in her pussy. The sight is rather lewd, Wednesday thinks. Your cock is absolutely dripping with pre-cum when you push yourself further in her

“Mierda. Más, cachorro. Tan bueno para mi.” Wednesday slips into her native tongue. You haven’t seen her like this any other time she’s… helped you out

Bringing your lips to hers again, you decide to be in control when you push your tongue into her mouth. Eyes half lidded, bangs sticking to her forehead, and hair a bit disheveled, you think she’s never been prettier.

You let Wednesday rest a bit before sinking your cock deeper into her cunt, and the Addams ends up scratching you hard enough small amounts blood start to drip down your back. The sensation takes you by surprise. Accidentally bucking your hips up further into Wednesday, the girl lets out a groan as she fully takes your length in her pussy.

Placing her on the bed, you notice a tiny bulge in her stomach. You decide to be bold. Pressing your thumb against the intrusion, you hear a sound you’ve never heard before

Wednesday whimpers at your touch.

You do it again.

Her cunt squeezes around your cock, making it harder for you to keep thrusting. But you’re a wolf in heat and Wednesday is incredibly horny, so you continue your movements.

“Sh-She’ll never- she’ll never be as good as you, Wens…” An unexpected growl comes from deep within your throat

“No one can take my cock as good as you…” You’re thrusting considerably faster when Wednesday looks back down at where you two meet. The scenario folding out is a sight for sore eyes, the Addams thinks. You, feeding into your primal urges like it’s an unstoppable beast; and Wednesday willingly taking it in however she can.

“Cara mia.”

“Mine… mine all mine. No one else but mine…” You whimper a little pathetically, but the girl below you is only focused on your thrusts. Her cold hands find their way to your back again, leaving a trail of blood behind

“Yours, puppy. All yours.” Wednesday feeds into your possessive behavior. She knows she shouldn’t, but with you thoughts of reason leave her head and are replaced with thoughts of you

“Were you serious about the knotting, Wens?”

“Deathly.”

“Are you- mph~ sure? It’s kinda big…” The girl under you looks down again, and your ever growing knot seems to just be getting bigger and bigger. Even horny out of your mind, you still wanted to make sure your mate was alright.

…you decide to ignore that thought.

Your eyes were trained on how your erection stretched out Wednesday. Her pussy would be yours, and yours alone. Nobody would make her feel as good as you did. You’d make sure she wouldn’t need anyone else’s cock but yours.

A breathy moan erupts from your throat when you start to actively try to push your knot into Wednesday

“Relax for me Wens, it’ll never go in unless you want it too” You feel her tensed under your touch, but your words are enough for her to relax

Every thrust you get closer, until you eventually start to reach your peak. You can tell Wednesday is too. Her hair is messy and both of your bodies are littered with marks of possession.

“I-I’m so close Wens…” Are the last words you say before succeeding in pushing your knot into the Addams girl. You cum inside of Wednesday’s pussy, and the swell of your knot inside her is enough for Wednesday to cum impaled on your cock. The feeling of being full is an experience Wednesday wished she did with you far sooner.

You wiggle your hips to seemingly get more comfortable inside of Wednesday, but the movement only makes her moan. She was sensitive as hell.

“…was that enough proof I like you more than I like her?”

“More than enough, (Y/n).”

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #wednesday addams x reader #wednsday addams #enid sinclair #wednesday (2022)#jenna marie ortega #wednesday x reader #wednesday x you #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you #wednesday x y/n

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certainlynotasimp · 1 year

Note

OH MY GOD. THE WAY I JUST SCREAMED IN MY PILLOW BECAUSE OF YOUR NEW SUNNY FIC AGDGJAEGAJAVSG ITS SOSOSOS CUTE I CANT BREATHEHEHEHEHE. it got me thinking…sunny and miggy are perfect for the one bed trope 😭😭😭😭😭 just imagine miggy acting like it doesn’t effect him, sleeping in the same bad as sunny. i’m already giggling thinking about it. PLEASE WRITE A FIC ABOUT IT WHEN YOU HAVE THE TIME 😭🙏

As Warm As You.

Miguel O’Hara x Female! Reader

A/N: OMG! Thank you so much for the love and the request! 💕🤍 I personally never read anything from this trope, but I think I made something that can satisfy your fluffy craving😅. But I added some Sunny lore, so maybe this will make up for my ignorance. I’m also sorry it’s kinda short.

A/N: I haven’t seen the movie yet, but this shouldn’t be harmed by it maybe. Also I would like to say that I am using Google Translate for the Spanish phrases I use, so if you are fluent in Mexican Spanish (I think that’s what you call phrases and sayings more common in Mexico.), please comment some criticism my way. Thank you!🤍

Warnings: Trauma, Nightmares, comfort, fluffy bits, One Bed, Miguel is a secret softie, No Use of YN ((Sunny is her nickname, not her name name)), Female pronouns, Google Translate Spanish, Established relationship?

——————-

“Ben?…Ben!”

The little spider’s scream cuts through the screeching sirens. The smog hung around the air as the dying flames stained the sky. Too many flames…Too many places to be at once.

The red staining the dark costume caused bile to build up as the search becomes more desperate.

I have to find him.

The dull pain from nails bending and breaking as the rumble falls around her shaking frame. The choked panting caused the Doctor to find his friend quite easily. His friend desperately searching for something. Someone.

Why can’t I find him?

The question is answered with a patch of dark hair appears under a pile of rumble, the tips stained in red. There was so much…why is there so much…

A howl of pain rings out of the young woman’s throat as she clings to the body, her mentor just steps behind her, helpless as to how he can help her.

No one can help her. Like how no one helped her Ben.

——

A faint flash of orange alerts the sleeping man out of his endless dream. He looks around and doesn’t notice anyone at first. Miguel sighs, his paranoia running wild as he almost thought an enemy broke into his apartment, not that it would be a first. As he lays back down to sleep, a slight drag against the floor brings the hairs on the back of his neck to life.

He may not have a spider-sense, but he certain knew when someone was watching him. His talons burrow at as the sound patters closer to his bed. With out hesitation, he lunges towards the noise, his hands catching the form of an invisible figure as he rams them into the wall. A yelp with a whiff of vanilla and lavender stops him from ripping the invisible person’s throat out.

“Cariño?…” Miguel whispers as he retracts his claws. A faint whimpering emerges from the solid unseen being in front of him as her body materializes in the moonlight. The lines of her spider suit glowing an ethereal green as her mask disintegrates, revealing her tear stained face.

“What are you doing?” His eyebrows furrow as he looks at her suspiciously, despite knowing that she was the only one he knows wouldn’t hurt him. His mind blurs his confusion and frustration as he steps back to allow her to recover from being slammed into the wall. Certainly there wasn’t a big enough emergency that the beloved residential ray of sunshine would leave her room at The Lobby to break into his dimension, and bedroom to come get him.

“You know better than to use the gizmo to…” His scolding comes to a halt when the young woman hugs his figure, burning her head into his firm chest.

His shirt becomes wet with her tears as she sobs. The realization hits him as she whimpers into his touch.

She had the dream again.

No. She had the memory again.

His arms wrapped around her short frame as he buried his nose into her hair. Her scent filled the hole of sorrow her cries burned into him. As he rubs her back, her cries eventually stopped as she pulls away from him, an apology already waiting on her lips.

“I’m sorry, Miggy…it was really bad this time…” She mutters as she tries wiping her tears away as she forces a shy smile.

She felt ashamed for bothering him. Miguel was a busy man and she could have just stayed in her room at The Lobby, but the screams were too much.

His screams were too much.

Miguel doesn’t respond as he heads over to his dresser, pulling open a drawer. His face remaining emotionless as he retrieves a sweatshirt that sparked her familiarity.

The old gray crew neck sweatshirt with a fraying collar and mysterious stains along the sleeves. The old golden initials of NYU were cracked and picked apart due to many trips in the wash and anxious tendencies. A faint blush appears as she remembers the first time she ever saw that sweatshirt, the memory being one of her favorite…it was the first time she felt so warm since that day…

Miguel attracts her attention again when he rolls up the fabric in his hands and forces the neck over her head. Her hair sticking awkwardly as she peers up at Miguel in awe at how caring he was despite his annoyed expression.

“Brazos arriba, Sunshine.” He whispers as he helps her arms through the sleeves. She blindly follows him like a student being instructed. The taller spider stands back as he raises an eyebrow expectantly.

“I appreciate that you enjoy the suit I made you, mi luz.” Miguel states with a slight teasing smile. “But you probably wanna be more comfortable for bed.”

“Oh yea…” The small spider blushes in embarrassment as she disintegrates her suit back into her gizmo device. A shiver travels up her spine as the cold air on her legs, leaving her almost exposed except for the old sweatshirt.

“Now then,” Miguel sighs as he walks back over to his bed and crawls back under the covers. “I have several meetings in the morning, so I need to sleep.”

The little spider shuffles in her spot for a few moments as Miguel closes his eyes, getting ready to sleep again. With a nail between her teeth, the girl heads for the door to go find the couch when Miguel clears his throat. She turns back to look at him when she sees the covers beside him pulled back. Miguel’s open eye glaring at her as he groans. “It would be a lot easier for me to leave in the morning if you are in here and not in my way.”

A warm smile forms on her face as she excitedly comes into his bed. Miguel’s front facing her as his burgundy gaze burns with false annoyance and exhaustion. Miguel sighs as he feels the smaller being’s weight snuggles into his broad chest as expected.

“Thank you, Miggy.” She whispers. Her eyes peering up at him with gratitude and an emotion that only shines for him, his own secret that he will die to keep to himself.

Miguel rolls his eyes as his eyes meet hers, his warm cheeks hidden by the darkness. “Go to sleep, Cariño. You’re gonna need it for training.”

She giggles as she wraps her arms around his waist like a teddy bear. “Sweet Dreams, mi bonita araña..” She mumbles as she closes her eyes. His warmth fills the coldness of her nightmares as sleep draws her to peaceful breaths. Miguel remains frozen for a few moments as he makes sure she is deep in REM sleep before his gaze softens.

His rapidly beating heart acts as her lullaby as he places a kiss on her crown.

“Sweet dreams, mi vida…” He whispers into her scalp as his arms loom around her, acting as her shield before he slips into a sweet slumber in his light’s embrace.

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara #across the spiderverse #spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #spiderman #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 x reader

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somehow-a-human · 2 months

Text

Whose POV is it anyway?

An Introduction

DO NOT ASK NEIL ABOUT FAN THEORY

Cracking down on the storytelling of Good Omens season 2 through the lens of a changing narrator.

If you haven't read this interview with Good Omens cinematographer Gavin Finney, and you're interested in the fantastic dedication and detail that went into this TV show, definitely give it a read. Not only is it lovely, but Neil also posted the article with a caption mentioning that it's got so many secrets in it. Obviously that made me take a closer look.

I have already gone into a fair bit of detail about the different Lens Filters that Finney mentions in the article in a separate post and I will be referring to them quite a bit so if you aren't familiar with them I would suggest reading that first!

This first post is going to cover the basics of changing narrator/POV's and I'll be writing additional posts for separate episodes/minisodes/scenes since there's obviously way too much to cover in a single go. So shall we take our first look?

It's no secret that something's a *bit weird* with season two, and there are SO many theories about it. I love to read speculation, metas, theories, and opinions, it's definitely fun but my personal ideas align more with the idea that we're simply being shown the events of season 2 through the memories of multiple narrators, different POV's, and it slightly skews the story, sometimes within one continuous scene.

I am also a sucker for a good multiple timeline theory but that isn't this post.

Lens Filters

As I stated above, I wrote a post about each of these individual filters earlier. What I didn't go into in that post was speculation about the filters. While I think they're pretty straightforward, especially the filter for hell (Black Pro-Mist ((BPM)), I think the other two have a bit more room for speculation.

Bronze Glimmer Glass

BGG was described by Finney as being used for 'bookshop scenes', but after S2 back numerous times and paying as much attention as I could to the lighting and colouring of the scenes, I think this is generally true but not always true. There are times when bookshop scenes seem to use a different filter, and other locations also seem to be shot with the BGG filter as well. I think BGG aligns with Aziraphale's POV. Or if Not Aziraphale, an outside-of-Crowley narrator? Based on the scenes (which we'll specifically get into in other posts) which BGG seems to be used, context clues, character behavior, etc, I think BGG clues us in that we're seeing, if you will, through Aziraphale's eyes.

Black Diffusion FX

BDFX was described as being used for 'Crowley's present day storyline' and fuck me, that's not ominous or weirdly phrased at all Mr. Finney! This filter definitely aligns with Crowley. Most of the time he's separate from Aziraphale it seems that this is the filter being used, and certain scenes switch filters mid-scene when he begins to go off on snarky Crowley-centric commentary.

Catch-22 & Herzog

The books on Gabriels bookshelf, great books obviously, but I think books that are also meant to give us context about the story. Pride and Prejudice is a love story about making snap judgements on someone's character, and coming to recognize somebody might be good despite their title or appearance. The Crow Road is a story about life, death, love, morality, mystery, and God. 1984 details the tragedy of Julia and Winston's attempt at falling in love while living under in a police state. You see my point?

That's why I wanted to touch a bit more on Catch-22 and Herzog specifically when talking about the possibility of changing narrators/POV's in Good Omens 2.

Catch-22 frequently switches narrator and the events described are often not necessarily sequential. This way you're getting information about previous scenes as the story continues, so while you're reading the book you're forming a more complete image of the events as the story continues from different characters POV's and iterations of the story. Sound relevant?

Herzog is the other book I wanted to talk about. To be fair I haven't read Herzog in full like I have Catch-22 but I pulled out my copy to reference and flip through a bit to remind myself. Herzog unlike Catch-22 doesn't switch narrators but the narration by the main character, Herzog himself, switches between first and third person throughout. When he is narrating through his letters, you get a deeper look at his thought processes and emotions. It also relies on flashbacks to bring context to the life of Herzog.

While these books touch on other elements that are relevant to the Good Omens story, namely Yossarian's relationship and views of God in Catch-22, the way these stories are told intrigued me for this context.

Crowley's Hair

Yeah I'm gonna mention the hair, because I think the hair is linked. Crowley's shorter sideburns, trimmed mutton chops in the 1827 flashback, and shorter Job wig seem to be clearly aligned with the BDFX filter/Crowley's POV as far as I can tell. I don't know if this means it's just another way to denote POV, but it seems way too consistent not to mention it. The longer sideburns, fuller mutton chops, and longer Job wig all match up with Aziraphale's POV or the BGG filter. My thoughts here are that his hair is another hint of who may be relaying the information to us, AKA is it internal or external. I am making my best guesses though and there are still some situations that I feel less sure about. For example, when Aziraphale takes the Bentley to Edinburgh and Crowley is in the Bookshop with Jim his sideburns are long, is it because he's remembering these scenes unreliably? Is Aziraphale imagining the events? Is it because Jim is present? A brief fluttering thought I toy with from time to time is the fact that in the before-the-beginning scene they are long, and what that means in context of the rest of the season.

S2 Promo Posters

Finally this set of season 2 promo posters showing the characters thoughtfully considering scenes in their heads just gives me a lot of these POV vibes.

I'm planning on doing individual posts for specific scenes, episodes, and minisodes that require detailed breakdowns. I'll update this list with links as the posts are finished!

POV "Your 'Something's Wrong' Voice"

POV a Trip to Hell and a 25 Lazarii Miracle

POV a Companion to Owls

POV The Dirty Donkey & I think I Found a *Clue*!

POV Bodysnatchers & Cosplaying a bookseller

POV 1941

POV The Ball

POV The End?

Whose POV is it Anyway - a Conclusion

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mediumgayitalian · 1 month

Text

Nico is pretty sure, at this point, that something has gone wrong. A chasm has opened up, a trap went haywire, an explosion went off and blew up half the camp. Something drastic has to have happened to make everyone go quiet.

But the rocks of Zeus’ fist are sun-warmed. A sweet-smelling breeze ruffles brand new leaves, musses his hair, although it’s hot enough that he’s rolled up the cuffs of his jeans and forgone a sweater. Will is on guard duty next to him, and no one has come to bother them in hours, and he cannot bring himself to care.

“Found one!”

“No way,” Nico protests, leaning over to see. “It’s been ten minutes!”

In the palm of the cupped hand Will holds out between them, held loose so as not to crush it, is a four-leaf clover. One of the more picturesque ones, too; emerald green, heart-shaped leaves, delicately crimped, and a thin curling stem tapered perfectly down the middle.

Will shrugs, smiling. There’s enough bitten-back teasing in his expression that it looks more like a smirk. “I guess I’m just lucky.”

“Lucky I don’t smite you, maybe,” Nico grumbles. “Go away. Your bad vibes are hindering my success.”

Snorting, Will does, shuffling back over to let Nico comb through the clover thatch in peace. He stretches out on the grass — he ditched his shoes and helmet and armour the literal second the rest of the team ran off, the dork — and shifts ‘til he’s comfortable, ankles crossed, hands behind his head, eyes closed. Nico pictures him with a piece of straw sticking out of his mouth and a cowboy hat resting over his eyes and giggles to himself. The image is so clear he’s half-certain it was a vision.

“Though you were tryin’ to focus,” Will mutters, cracking one eye open.

Nico sticks his tongue out. “I’m trying, derpface. All your shifting around is distracting.”

“I’ve moved maybe three times.”

“Yeah, in as many minutes.”

Will, without looking, plucks a blade of grass and flicks it at him. “Stay focused, Death Breath.” He stretches his arms above his head, sighing. “I’m gonna nap.”

He doesn’t move when Nico flings a handful of (regular) clovers at him, infuriatingly serene. He’s trained himself to fall asleep anywhere, anything to catch up on the sleep debt he’s been wracking up for years, and the sunny patch of clearing in the first they’re in is one of the nicer places Nico has found him passed out. At least here he can stretch out, sit in the sun — Nico found him tucked in between the camp washer and dryer, once, curled under a stack of laundry baskets. He’d made a valiant effort to hide himself from accident-prone younger siblings and best friends who invite mortal wrath, but his snoring had given him away. Nico’d heard him outside the building.

Here, though, no one is bothering them. Chiron’s playing field medic, the infirmary has been stocked, the Ares kids were cursed by Clovis and co. last week and have been asleep since. There haven’t been any echoing screams of agony. No desperate IMs. Nico, even, makes sure to keep his sword within reach, armour still firmly strapped, quietly on guard so Will doesn’t have to be. For once, he can take up as much space as he likes, bare skin absorbing the sun that has outshined the clouds perhaps for the express purpose of keeping him toasty even without a blanket.

Nico drags his eyes back towards the clovers, smiling. He’s cute when he sleeps. Sometimes he mumbles, nonsensical ramblings of the half-conscious, too slurred for Nico to make much sense of it. He catches bits and pieces of words and phrases as he picks through the soft leaves; lemme try, twice, as he watches a ladybug hop her way over a stone; careful with that, as he tosses a handful of regular, three-leaf clovers into the air; and notably diphenhydramine as he digs his hand through the soft dirt to yank out a worm.

Nico turns to face him. “You’re a nerd,” he says solemnly.

Will snores in response.

“Sleep quieter, why don’t you.”

The thing about Will is that he is like a tapeworm.

Nico means this in the best possible way. They start out invisible — sure, you might feel the irritation of something new burrowing its way into your person, but it’s not your most pressing concern. You’ve maybe got other things on your mind. You’re not focused, intensely, on how tiny changes are happening to you; you’re eating more, moving more, sleeping weird. Sometimes this happens. It’s nothing notable.

Slowly, though, you start to change. There’s this…cavern, inside of you, that you’re suddenly aware of. Maybe it was always there. You’re struck, more and more each day, with the need to fill yourself. To consume. You are aware, for the first time in years, that you have not had enough. There has been an emptiness inside you. And now there’s this driving force making home inside you instead, pushing you to take enough to not just survive but to thrive. You’re capable, now, in a way you weren’t before, to feel your needs, your wants. To listen to them. There is something that has worked it’s way inside you and grown and grown and grown and forced you, alongside it, to care about yourself enough to maintain its life inside you.

Will would probably not appreciate being compared to a parasite. It might be funny to tell him anyway, though. Watch his eye twitch as he tries to find a diplomatic way to ask Nico what the fuck his deal is. He’ll have to tell him when he wakes up.

A quiet groaning noise has him looking up again; the sound of rustling clothes and twisting grass.

“Y’r smirkin’.”

Speak of the devil. Or parasite.

Nico picks at a tangled stem. “What are your thoughts on tapeworms?”

“Generally bad,” Will says, yawning. He doesn’t seem fazed at all by the random question — he usually isn’t. People ask him a lot of strange things, generally. Like, how many consecutive concussions are medically unsound? (any, dude, please), or what is the recommended liquid amount of iron to swallow to fortify your blood? (none, please don’t fucking swallow liquid iron), or perhaps most notable are you up for learning how to un-do cerebral paralysis within the next ten seconds? (no, Jesus Christ, get off the fucking roof and set down the wax wings, do you people learn nothing ever).

“What about tapeworms as a metaphor for friendship?”

“…That’s a new one, I’ll give you that.”

Hell yes. Point to Nico.

“D’you find one, yet?”

Nico’s face drops into a scowl. “No.”

He doesn’t understand how Will found a four-leaf so quickly. Nico’s been looking for much longer, and the clover patch is huge — statistically, he should have found one by now, right? It just makes sense.

Will hums, dragging himself to his knees and then somersaulting over. He lands legs sprawled over a smattering of pebbles, head by Nico’s knees. Nico reaches out and flicks his temples, just to watch him wrinkle his nose in protest.

“Whattaya so bent on getting one for, anyway?”

Nico shrugs, looking away. “Luck.”

“Duh.” Will pokes his thigh. “What for?”

“None of your business, nosy.”

“Well, that just made me a thousand times more interested. I was going to let it go, before, but now —”

“You’re so full of shit,” Nico huffs, grinning. Will matches his look with a shameless smile, placing his hands under his chin in a caricature of cherubic innocence.

“Why, whatever do you mean.”

“I mean —” he punctuates every word with a pinch — “that you have to know every detail —”

“Ack! Stop!”

“— of everybody else’s lives —”

“Hey! Derek Hale! Put the claws away!”

“— at any given time —”

“I am going to scream!”

“— or you’ll die.”

He acquires, finally, to Will’s screeching and writhing, pushing him away with one last poke. He pouts, looking at Nico with round, wounded eyes.

“You’re so mean to me.”

“You invite it, honestly.”

“By caring about you, you butthead.”

Nico rolls his eyes, fighting back a smile. “Yeah, yeah.”

Looking for the four-leaf is different with Will watching him. Different, somehow, even though he’s quiet, chin resting on his knees, eyes following Nico’s searching hands. Every shift has Nico’s breath catching, fingers twitching at his minute hums, his tapping fingers. He’s distracting. If Nico was struggling to find the lucky clover before, it’s hopeless now. Will drags his attention like the core of the Earth drags everything towards it.

“Hey,” Will murmurs, poking Nico with his toe. “Take mine.”

Nico glances up to find his hand, again, outstretched between them, four-leaf clover centred in the palm of his wide hands. His eyes watch every minute shift of Nico’s form, his stuttered breath, sweating palms. Bitten lip, shifting eyes.

“…You don’t know what I need it for.”

“I don’t need to.” Blue, blue, blue eyes. Ridiculously so, really. An exact match for the sky no matter what time of day; olympic blue, now, an perfect reflection of the late afternoon. “Take it.”

He thrusts his hand out farther. Heart pounding, Nico does, lightly pinching the stem between his thumb and forefinger, keeping his hand curled on Will’s.

He promised himself. One to ten thousand chance — if he found one, he’d do it.

It counts.

“Hey, Will.”

Blue widely above him, encroached by the canopy. Blue flapping in the wind behind him, perched on Zeus’ fist. Blue on the plumes of his helmet. Blue in the lavender, in the grape hyacinth, in the cornflowers.

Blue, blue, blue eyes, meeting his, flicking down. Flicking hastily back up again.

Nico tugs, gently, on his wrist. He moves where Nico directs him. Easily.

Up. Down. Up again. Perfect rings, thinning against a growing expanse of black.

Nico darts forward and kisses him. He sighs into it, immediately, hand going limp in Nico’s hold. The clover flutters to the ground between them, disappearing once again in a sea of green.

“You didn’t need luck for this,” Will mumbles.

Nico tilts their heads to rest closer together and kisses him ‘til he’s quiet.

#this is so dorky and random u can tell i haven’t slept LMFAO #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #nico di angelo/will solace #solangelo #100 ways #100 ways to say i love you #banter #flirting #my writing #fic #longpost

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beeslibrarycorner · 3 months

Text

Imagine dating Oliver and Felix but there four years older and they think they know what’s best for you

A/N: I wrote more on the idea

They adore you, you give them purpose every day.

Felix has someone to coddle and Oliver had someone to adore everyday.

Here is all the details on what it would be like.

When your upset:

Felix likes to hold you and shush you and rock you when you’re upset. Holding you close as he reassures you that what you’re feeling is completely normal and that you should let it out.

Oliver on the other hand coos at you, brushing the tears away and pressing kisses to your damp cheeks. He tells you about all the different things he’s done to feel better when he’s extremely sad.

They bundle you up and keep you away from doing any work for the rest of the day. If they catch you trying to do anything during this special time they will carry you off and keep you where they can see you.

_____________

If your in school and stressed:

Felix would definitely become your rock when everything becomes too much to handle, especially during exam season. He shows you different ways to get work done without experiencing burnout.

Oliver would help with whatever you become overwhelmed with from essays to math he’s there to support you. Sometimes you just need a hand to hold other times it’s a hug, whatever it is Oliver doesn’t mind.

The both of them insist on listening to all your written assignments and essays, telling you that they are so proud of you and smart you are.

“You’re such a clever girl darling, we are so proud of you.

_________________

They like to make sure your dressed appropriately for the weather:

“As cute as you look that cropped shirt is not for the winter honey, you’re going to catch a cold” Felix says to you while walking to the closet.

“How about this one?” He holds up a chunky light pink sweater and Oliver who had just walked into the room gasped. “That would look so much better on you darling, you would be a lot warmer” he said.

“We don’t want you catching a nasty cold” he says walking towards you, Felix following right behind him. They helped you get redressed with Oliver taking the offending crop top off and Felix gently putting the sweater on.

“Now that’s much better” Felix said and Oliver pressed a kiss to your cheek and said, “now we can go out!”

————————-

They set up a bedtime routine for you:

Oliver read somewhere that having a routine before bed helps the body relax before sleep. They become very insistent on sticking to the routine, no matter what you’re doing.

Writing an essay for class? You can finish it tomorrow with there help, it’s bath time.

You’re reading a book? The two of them can read to you when you get into bed.

You just don’t want to go to bed? Well that’s too bad, you’re getting carried off by one of them to start the routine.

Sometimes they say certain phrases to you to get you in the mindset that it’s bedtime:

“Let me help you get ready for bed”

“Let me help you wash your hair lovey”

“Let’s get all the make up off your face.”

“I got your pjs all set and ready to go darling”

“Let’s get some socks on your feet, it’s going to be cold tonight”

“It’s time for bed”

They love to tuck you into their sides and press kisses into your skin and watch you fall asleep.

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x oliver quick #felix catton x reader #oliver quick x reader #felix catton #oliver quick #saltburn imagine #saltburn

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zaynesaurora · 27 days

Text

ʟ&ᴅꜱ ! reaction to bedroom talk/noises — (MDNI)

a/n: idk i had some loose thoughts and tried to turn them into something, might be nothing ! bonus boys both got promoted for this one though because im insane about caleb in particular rn

zayne ! gets off on ambient noises. the rain battering the window panes, the crackling of a wood fire, the thump of the headboard against the wall- he’s romantic like that. he's pretty quiet broadly speaking when it comes to sex and so he enjoys when the atmosphere helps him to express his feelings, his own noises typically being the air escaping his nose in heavy puffs.

he has one sound he enjoys above all those though, always prefacing it with a gentle "are you ready, my love?"- before slipping himself into your awaiting walls, revelling in the gasp that follows in response.

accompanying it will always be the sounds of kissing. zayne pulling you under the sheets, wet lips planting themselves where ever he can reach- the dip of your collar bone being top of the list as he takes you chest to chest in his own perfected version of white noise. an instrumental that makes your skin burn until he stills above you, professing his love with a groan.

xavier ! forgets who he is, who you are, where he is, what hes doing- mind blank but his mouth works overtime to chant a chorus of "yes, Yes YES" with every drop of your hips, descending on him with precision.

if he could see himself from your perspective, he'd probably be unbelievably embarrassed- unaware of the drool thats collecting in the creases at the corners of his lips with every breathy mumble, voice horse from the sheer amount of satisfaction rushing through his veins and off his tongue. the same dewy look would be collecting in his eyes. pretty blues glassing over in a way that makes him look unresposive. he'd fail to let you know he was going to come. too caught up in his own choir to give it even a fleeting thought.

breathing would be laboured after the matter, lungs struggling to catch up with themselves as he comes back to his senses. he'd be slung right off of cloud nine when you start giggling beside him- suddenly aware that he has no idea what he was saying, or the noises he was allowing to be known. you had no idea a human being could change colour so fast.

rafayel ! has fun in sex. teasing nature seeping into all aspects of your life with him regardless of certain activities so it's completely expected that your shared quaters are filled with laughter and bickering even with him burried inside you- elegant hands swatting at your arse randomly to hear you yelp in surprise for him ( he's also doing it bc it makes you tighten around him but shh)

rafs tone would alter to have a more commanding edge as the pleasure really sets in, "dont you dare stop" being a phrase often thrown around and his nails sinking further into your skin- each time it's laced with a snarl that almost makes him seem intimdating if he wasn't belly laughing only a few minutes ago.

unfortunately, or fortunately in his case, he grows impossibly hard at the thought of someone hearing you guys- his pride and ego stroked thinking of an accidental visitor learning how healthy his sex life is, poor thomas has to do damage control fairly often to keep his reputation in good light.

caleb ! has a filthy, rotten mouth when he's caught in such an act. not really in a humiliation sense but more in that he swears like a sailor- each sentence broken or seperated by various profanities as he bigs his game up to egg you one. he won't admit it ever but his wordy displays are defenitely not rhetorical. he needs, and wants, you to let him know that he's doing you well.

"fuck baby, you lik- fuck, you like that dont you?", he'd hum into your ear, sweaty foreheads pressing together in an attempt to be as close to you as humanly possible- each question laced with a sweet pet name.

this boy has a unhealthy addiction to the sound of skin on skin, heavy plat plat plats ricochetting of the walls in a steady hyponitc rhythm that knocks all remaning sanity out of his head and into his dick. he’d drive into you for hours after he’s slipped into exhaustin just to hear the way it becomes messier, stickier- wetter as he annouces his orgasm to you.

jeremiah ! desperately tries to keep himself as quite as possible, shyness seeping into his bones when a stray moans slips from behind his lips- a soft note from the back of his throat that makes his ears flush a painful, deep red and his lip catch between his teeth until the skin breaks and theres a metalic tinge to his delicate kisses.

would have the tendancy to be higher pitched when he's in the bedroom, somewhat squeaky in his efforts to keep a lid on his excitement and would just about explode at the sound of your voice carrying him toward a sweet release- air coming out in hurried pants as his shoulders start to shake, stomach convulsing in waves with each desperate attemp to fill his chest and focus his mind.

"atta boy miah", he ascendes. literally. minimal contact with the mattress when his being raises in an attempt to escape you and get closer at the same time.

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rosedom · 1 month

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lyney with k, l, m, p, and s please ... i beg ... ibneedmore lyney 🅰️🅰️🅰️🅰️

"you have summoned LYNEY for the event . . ."

A/N : the first time i read this, i read "ibneedmore lyney" as some type of horny-key-smash "i need to breed lyney" lmfaoo

✦ㅤㅤK = kink (one or more of his kinks)

lyney has quite the penchant for lingerie—i mean, c'mon ! he wears garters on the regular. be it soft lace, a deep maroon or lavender or any other color, lyney looks downright divine in anything he dons. while he may forgo the brasserie most times, he will wear one every now and then, if only to "complete" the look. but, fuck, his favorite? his favorite are, undeniably, crotchless panties. there's just something so—so enticing to him, about being so dressed up for you yet with absolutely nothing standing in the way of you ravaging his body. like this, you can suck him off, eat him out, fuck him in any way you way—all without taking off that pretty attire.

all prettied up, easy access: that's lyney's motto. and, hey—if you like it, too, then that's just an added bonus :3

additionally, he's super into overstimulation. this one ties into his stamina, below; but lyney's oh-so sensitive, and he wants you to just keep going and going and going until he's passed out or boneless (or both !) but, oh, the idea of being all dressed up in those crotchless panties n' garters spread up his thighs and across his belly, cunt and cock aflame in a puffy, ruddy red—mm . . . if you don't want him, i do.

✦ㅤㅤL = location (favorite places to do the do)

there are a myriad of places that lyney would love for you to take him—and take him in. for such an actor, he's not into exhibitionism; he wants these moments to remain private, only between the two of you, the romantic. however, that doesn't mean sex is restricted to the bedroom; oh, goodness no. be it the opera epiclese itself—the two of you sharing secret touches before or after a show—or his home—the one he shares with lynette and fremi, you both quiet as mice as you ruin him a mere wall away from his siblings—, lyney is down for anything.

but, favorite-wise: it's the bed. he's a romantic at heart, c'mon ! of course he'd love the intimacy of being pressed into the same bed he and you sleep in at night, the bed he wakes up in . . . it does crazy things to his heart.

✦ㅤㅤM = motivation (what turns him on and really gets him going)

his need doesn't translate into the bedroom as often as you may think. honestly, he's far more content cuddling with you most nights ! but that doesn't mean he's invulnerable to your advances . . . oh, no: lyney is quite open to them. all you need to do is tug him close, nip at the tip of his ear—that's what it takes to make his knees go weak and make his cock begin to throb. a small bite, lick, kiss right to that sensitive spot; it simply makes him melt into you, a puddle of arousal wherever you are. your breath against his ear is all he needs to start to drag you somewhere more private: his dressing room, a closet, wherever he can get your hands on him !

so, the ear thing, for one; but lyney can be turned on on a dime with certain phrases, too. sayin', "my pretty boy," instead of, "you look pretty !" when he asks you about his outfit; or murmuring, "i got you, sweetheart," when you catch him from tripping up or the likes whenever you're out together. any innocent phrase can so easily make his blood singe depending on how reminiscent it is of you in the bedroom. you calling him a good boy when he does something right—something entirely unsexual, thank you !—, it does things to him, okay??

and whether or not you're doing these things on purpose to sweet, poor lyney . . . well, that's up to you .3.

✦ㅤㅤP = pace (does he prefer fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

lyney's very, very eager; he moves and paws at you like he wants it faster, faster, faster. but, really, he just wants you: in every single way he can get it, greedily and desperately. so many things (so many people) have been taken from his life, and he doesn't want you to be the next; but, if, god forbid, you are, he wants to have you here and now—he wants the memory of your touch against him for as long as he can have it; he wants to savor you the best he can, memorize your face, your lips, your cock . . . ahem.

"faster, faster !" he'll beg, even as you're pumping into him quick 'nuff to make the bed—or whatever surface it is that you're fucking him on or against—creak, even as he rides you fast and hard . . . it's all a gamble to get you all over him, all in him: a bid for you, you, you. "please, faster !"

it'll be hard not to abide his sweet requests, but do not be fooled, in the end. "easy, kitty, easy," you'll need to soothe, all because of this deep-rooted fear of his; all because he's so, so terrified of losing you. regardless of pace, of how hard and rough or gentle and soft you are—lyney just needs to know that you're here, and that you're staying. (hopefully forever.)

✦ㅤㅤS = stamina (how many rounds can he go for? how long does he last?)

after all those magic shows he performs, lyney's built up quite the endurance; however, he's loathe to use it all. he is the epitome of a bratty lil' pillow prince, begging for your touch with that pretty, teasing voice of his and the enticing spread of his plush thighs. it's all pretty whines for more, to just "c'mon, and fuck me !"

for all that stamina, though, he sure is quick to meet his ends—over and over and over again.

yes !! i'm still doing these !! i didn't forget !! i'm not even a fourth done ,, i apologize. i am working on other things too (namely an omegaverse ask, which i hope to do in two parts: pt 1 with ae, and pt 2 with tighnari !!).

19 APR. 2024, @rosedom, rosey .

#ㅤ✦【 EVENT 】#i'm gonna be straight up i do not proof posts w this event #so if u find mistakes: no u didn't ^_^#alphabet #sub genshin #genshin smut #sub lyney #lyney smut #dom reader #<333

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alwritey-aphrodite · 2 months

Note

“it’s your turn to do the dishes.” “let’s get a divorce.” “we aren’t married yet, my love.” “well we sure as hell aren’t getting married now.”

from the prompts 🥴🤭

Ok reader and Peter are parents in this, and if you’re not into that I will happily write another version for you!!!

Typically, there’s an even distribution of work between you and Peter in your apartment. If one of you vacuums, the other does laundry. If one of you does bath time with your daughter, the other does storytime. It’s easy to switch off so the tasks don’t seem too daunting, too repetitive, and it normally works like a charm, but for some reason, both you and Peter absolutely dread doing the dishes.

Before Charlie May was born, takeout was a frequent staple for the two of you because of the convenience, and even though you’re still young enough that takeout every night seems like a trendy lifestyle choice, it’s not the most nutritious practice to raise your daughter. It’s been hard for the both of you, making changes in your daily life in the hopes of doing right by Charlie, hoping that no one will comment on your parenting abilities or your age or Charlie’s wellbeing.

Cooking fun and tasty and nutritious meals hasn’t been a problem, and Peter is surprisingly skilled in the kitchen, but dishes are a fight every night.

“It’s your turn to do the dishes,” Charlie tells her dad as she sits perched on the countertop, legs swinging and her cheeks rounding in a smile as you squeeze her knee. She loves her dad, and sometimes she acts exactly like him, but she’s always been your little partner in crime. He likes to pretend to be put out by it, but you know that Peter grins behind your back at your scheming and your daughter’s delighted giggles.

“Let’s get a divorce,” Peter says with a sigh, turning towards you to lean an elbow against the counter. Charlie thinks this is the funniest thing she’s ever heard, laughing so hard you need to support her waist in case she tips over with the force of her giggles, even though you’re not entirely certain she knows what the word divorce means. Your daughter’s joy is so infectious that Peter’s faux-serious expression only lasts a second before he’s grinning over at you.

“We’re not married yet,” you remind him, even extending your bare ring finger to emphasize your point. The two of you have discussed your life plans in length, both before and after the surprise arrival of your daughter, and neither of you feel rushed to get married, wanting to wait until Charlie’s a little older and you’re both a bit more financially stable and maybe spending less time swinging above the city. Neither of you truly mind, but in your theatrical fights for the sake of your daughter, it’s nice to have a little pretend-leverage.

“Well, we’re definitely not getting married now,” Peter replies, all exasperation and sorrow as Charlie launches herself towards him, tiny body shaking with the force of her laughter. Peter’s reflexes have made parenting easier in many different ways, but his deftness in catching your daughter every time she launches herself at him never ceases to amaze you.

It takes you a second too long to realize that Peter has carried your daughter out of the kitchen, leaving you all alone to tackle the dishes. Just as you go to call out for them to return, Peter shouts out instead.

“Can’t help, my arms are all full of baby!” And Charlie thinks this is the funniest phrase that has ever left her father’s mouth, her laughing ringing through the apartment and you can’t help it when you smile at the noise, even as you turn on the tap to get started with the dishes. You really don’t mind doing them, and it was your turn anyway, but you’re already plotting your revenge and planning out how to get your partner in crime back on your side.

#tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #tasm fanfiction #tasm peter parker #tasm!peter imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker

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innuendostudios · 6 months

Text

youtube

New Alt-Right Playbook, regarding the minimization of power imbalances with "enh, it's not SO bad."

If you like this and my other work, do please back me on Patreon and/or watch me on Nebula.

Transcript below the cut.

Say, for the sake of argument, you and some other folks have gotten embroiled in a debate about the use of content warnings. One side has put forth the usual case: some people have trauma or anxiety disorders, and giving them a heads up about common triggers lets them make informed decisions about how to engage with a piece of media. They aren��t always looking to walk out, even, just to avoid a panic attack by having a few moments to prepare themselves. And this is often better for everyone as more people can appreciate the work itself and the discourse doesn’t derail into another discussion about whether it should’ve had a content warning.

And then someone from the other side of the debate says, in all seriousness (and I remind you this is about whether or not people should put a single sentence at the beginning of a video, the start of a game, outside the door of a theatre), “Can’t you just, like, have your panic attack? I mean, this isn’t life and death.”

The discussion quickly and predictably devolves from there into people who have panic attacks trying to explain how miserable they are, and how comparatively simple putting up a content warning is, and you realize far too late that this whole conversation is missing the point. Because the “it’s not life and death” crowd? They never claimed they are more inconvenienced than the person having panic attack! Content warnings ain’t life and death either! They made no attempt to frame this tradeoff as fair or justified. Only that, in the grand scheme of things, it’s not so bad.

I call this Didoing.

(Relationship Discourse would call it The Tolerable Level of Permanent Unhappiness, which is a really powerful phrase, but I came up with Didoing and I’m keeping it.)

You see Didoing everywhere. Be as gay as you want, just don’t tell your commanding officer. Be trans if you must, but pee at home. Kink is fine, but keep it out of Pride. Drag is whatever, just not in front of children. Being a woman on the internet isn’t hard if you’re willing to block seventy thousand people and just use this service to scrub all your private information from the internet so men have a harder finding your home address. It’s eleven bucks a month! What, you can’t afford eleven bucks a month??!

And, yes, all these are minimizations, and, if you want, you can point that out. You can tell them what it’s like to get a Twitter DM threatening to murder your entire family using a quote from Mission: Impossible 3. Yeah, he’s probably not gonna do it! But it can still fuck up your day; the goal is to fuck up your day. But the “it’s not life and death” crowd won’t understand, not because they don’t care, but because they don’t care enough.

But even that is letting them control the conversation. You’re trying to stress the pain of a panic attack, the anxiety of a death threat, to emphasize a gulf of iniquity between their experience, as a person who does not deal with these things, and that of someone who does. As if, were the gulf smaller, it would be not so bad. In this, you have accepted their premise. Did you even catch what the premise was? That it’s okay for things to be unfair within a certain tolerance. That some people do and should take extra precaution just to exist in the world alongside the rest of us. That it’s okay for others to suffer for the convenience of the normals. Because it’s not so bad.

This is a bit different from how privilege usually works. The issue with content warnings - really, most things people Dido over - is that, if you are a person with triggers, it means other people can provoke a panic response in you against your will. The severity of that response is, frankly, immaterial: the point is, they have power over you, and, if you’re going to operate in this world as equals, you need their word that this power will not be invoked.

The usual move for people on the privileged end of a power imbalance is to deny the imbalance exists: “white privilege is a myth,” “there is no gender wage gap,” etc. etc. You would think, the greater the imbalance, the harder it is to deny, but it’s just the opposite: people Dido when the imbalance is small (or, at least, appears small in the eyes of the Didoer). It happens with content warnings, microaggressions; “no, I don’t get followed around Macy’s like I’m gonna steal something, but is that really so important? is this life and death? don’t you have bigger problems?” (Which is a funny thing to say, because, according to white privilege: no! The bigger problems don’t exist!)

Didoing is foundational to the privileged mindset, because it’s one scenario where they will admit to the Didoee, “yes, I do have power over you… and you should just let me have it.”

#video essay #alt right playbook

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drconstellation · 6 months

Text

The Assistant Book Seller

Edit 1 Dec 2023 - added missing information on the "ribbon pattern."

Edit: 3 Dec 2023 - correct information about middle pattern from creator

GABRIEL: Greetings! I'm Jim! It's short for James, but I don't need to keep telling everyone that. I'm an assistant book seller.

I'm sorry. Before I do anything else, I need to apologize for something I need to write further in. I didn't plan to write it, I just kind of bumped into it and, well, I can't ignore it. So...sorry. It's said. Forgive me for what needs to be done.

Although he arrived with nothing but a cardboard box and Rodney the Stunt Fly, Aziraphale made sure Jim was clothed in appropriate raiment while under his protection. We'll forgive him that he took a step back about, oh, fifty years or so to the 1970's, as Jim's overall look is a nod to the famous old sitcom "Open All Hours." So if he looks a little bit out of place, or, a little bit familiar, even, that's why.

While we are used to seeing angels in overcoats, it's Jim's vest that is the particular feature here. But I will take a moment to comment on the overcoat - not just the colour but its lapels. Aziraphale has obviously given him a colour with an earthly connection and one that indicate that he has bought Jim under his protection, but the lapels look quite neutral, with one up and one down. (Muriel is the same in their Inspector uniform, btw) This is the first indication they are between two things at the moment.

Onto the vest.

There is so, so much work and thought put into this vest! It was a one-off commission for the show, and the creator, Sandy Higgins, has said she is not allowed to give away the final design pattern. I have tried to contact her, and I'm waiting for a reply, so in the mean time I thought I would ask my keen knitter of a sister-in-law about one of the patterns I'm not sure about. "Well, that's Fair Isle knitting," she said, but she knew nothing about the individual line pattern I was interested in. Hmm, I kind of know that already, its in the notes that are guiding me for this meta, but hey, why not do a broader search and see what comes up?

So once I got back home I did. "Fair Isle knitting patterns" hmm...Wikipedia page for starters...what on *earth* is that at the bottom of the page...? YOU ARE. FRIKKING. KIDDING ME!!!!!!!

"See also: Gumbys"

oh ffs

I am so sorry that needs must make me mention Monty Python yet again, but here we are. And we must mention them, because this link is just too...unbelievably, deliciously good.

If you aren't familiar with the Monty Python catalogue, and don't recognize the mention of Gumbys, they were a set of characters that dressed and spoke in a certain way but the main points to take away were they wore woolen vests in the Fair Isle knitted style and their catch-phrase was - wait for it - "My brain hurts!"

I think we've heard that somewhere before?

CROWLEY: When you first arrived, you said you were here because they were planning to do 'Something Terrible' to you. So you remembered it then. Remember it now. GABRIEL: It hurts to remember. My head isn't built for that.

Right. Now we've got that out of the way...back to the serious stuff.

The colours used in the vest are not your typical angel colours. There is a base of angelic off-white and there are some bits of purple for his royalty around the shoulder area - sometimes you need to look carefully for it. Otherwise it is dominated by vintage shades of red and green. Well. Who's an agent of change driven by love, then?

The horizontal stripe pattern is partly to remind us of the classic biblical robes with stripes that ran along them, much like the style of Crowley's black and red robe in the Job minisode, but is also part of the traditional Fair Isles pattern work. And each row only has two colours, but up around the shoulder area we do see purple start to sneak in as a third colour.

On to the incorporated symbols! I'm going to go from bottom to top.

On the lowest two we feature Crowley and Aziraphale. We have Crowley's demon satyr tail from the Good Omens logo on the lowest stripe - the double-headed arrow.

The next stripe is Aziraphale, with a variation of the classic OXO pattern ("hugs and kisses.") The X is meant to represent his angel wings, and the O is modified to mimic the "o" with a halo in the Good Omens logo. I've highlighted all three in the image on the right.

The third row up is a Sumerian Star pattern that represents one of the flowers associated with Gabriel, the lily. They are supposed to represent the purity of Mary, mother of Jesus, as he had one in his hand when he visited her during the Annunciation.

The row above that is what I believe to be a Byzantium pattern, and is included to show "an Angel's ability to be timeless."

The next three rows are still under a bit of a question mark as I write this. I plan to come back and edit it in if I find the answer.

The bottom of the three is the Duke of Buccleuch pattern, "to celebrate the long and necessary contribution that the cottage industry of hand knitted items."

The middle one - ? (perhaps you, the reader, know? It looks like a spiralling ribbon if I stand back, but that isn't sparking any connections, either.)

Edit: @noneorother tells me in a reblog (below) that this pattern represents the shoelace from the magic incantation Aziraphale uses "Banana Fish Gorilla Shoelace." So it is ribbon-like! This then points to the Second Coming, as it the shoelace references the end of the book, and the last paragraph of the book references Yeats poem "The Second Coming" as well as the novel 1984. To me it is then also telling us there is a cycle occurring, or a cycle that needs to be renewed. This fits in with some other clues other meta-writers have been picking up.

Edit 2: Turns out none of that was correct - I heard back from the creator herself and it's actually the double-ended satyr tail pattern again! It just seems to make a bit of an illusion of a ribbon or shoelace.

The pattern below is a modified OXO pattern.

The top one looks like two rams horns facing each other. A hollowed out rams horn can be used as a trumpet, and is known as a shofar in Jewish religion. Gabriel was traditionally known to carry a trumpet.

The ancient meander pattern would be recognized by most people, included as another classic timeless pattern found all over the world. For some it symbolizes eternity and endless flow.

The wheels here appear to be Michael's ophanim wheels, that would have eyes around the rims.

The hourglass is to remind us that time is running out. Memento mori - "Remember that you die." It is a major theme in both series.

Right up high, just before we lose the rest of the vest inside the overcoat, we get a glimpse of a large diamond-shaped icon. I wonder if this is another stylized set of angel wings, like we saw in the Job minisode on Aziraphale's golden collar.

To finish off the outfit, he is wearing dark gray trousers with sneakers! I'm sure that's so he could keep sneaking up on Aziraphale in the shop, haha. His shirt seems a little too large for him and the tie is knotted too high and is not settled along his centerline. It's all at odds with his previous neat and sharp appearance as Supreme Archangel Gabriel.

I'd like to say a big thank you to @aduckwithears for helping me with information on the vest and finding the creator's other social media sites. You can see their two posts about it here and here.

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kentolove · 2 years

Text

There is always a time and place for everything.

Or in other words, you are far too shy for your own good.

Tsukishima Kei does not like beating around the bush.

He’s forward. Says things as they are. He’s never been one to hold back, and he won’t start anytime soon. He knows what he wants and he gets what he wants.

You, however, are the opposite. You shy away from upfront attention. You’re insecure and your mind plays games with you, and you cannot find ways to control it. You like to keep to yourself—that’s how you’ve always lived—and you don’t see a reason for change.

He is yin and you are yang.

You find balance in the midst of it all. He carries traits of you inside himself (as do you), and you make him better. He makes you better.

He loves you.

Tsukishima Kei has loved you all twenty years of his life.

From the first day he met you—a little boy with bruises all over his skin—he knew that he was destined to be yours. He was put on this earth to love you. To hold you. To call you his.

He shows you that he loves you. Granted, it is in his own way, words laced with a teasing tone that may sound insincere to most. (Luckily for him, you are not most. You are the light of his life.)

Tsukishima can’t imagine how lucky he is to have you.

You’re sitting in the cafeteria together, a room full of other students, but he can’t take his eyes off you. You’re fighting sleep, trying so hard to pay attention to the story that he’s telling you, but your mind is astray. You’re on the brink of dreamland, and Tsukishima feels guilty for plaguing you with his morning lecture affairs. He abruptly stops rambling.

“Why’d you stop?” Your nearly-closed eyes gaze into his.

“It’s boring,” he starts, the ever-present frown soon on his face. “You’re tired, anyways. I don’t wanna bore you anymore.”

Your eyes are alert for the first time this afternoon. “What’re you talking about, Kei? I love hearing you talk.”

You raise your head from your arm, finally eye-level with the boy. You lift your hands up to push his glasses further up his nose and Tsukishima loves it.

In all honesty, Tsukishima loves a lot of things that you do. He loves when you run up to him with a smile on your face, nothing new to tell him, simply declaring how you missed his presence. He loves it when it’s just the two of you in his tiny twin-sized bed, bodies molding together and forming one. He loves it when you call him in the middle of the night, asking him to help you with a certain subject that’s been too difficult for you to fathom. He loves it when you’re you, when you never apologize for being the person that you are.

“Tsukishima?”

He realizes that he’s spaced out when he meets your eyes yet again, a slightly bewildered look on your face.

“Sorry,” he smirks, a look you recognize as slyness, “just thinking about you.”

You’re nearly fully awake now, your mind love-drunk and shocked that he could utter such a romantic phrase so easily. Tsukishima is like that - his words of affection stumble out of his lips before he can catch them. His mind is filled with thoughts of you and you alone, and it’s only natural for him to think before he speaks. Maybe he’s weak—he’s not quite sure if he’d call it weakness—or maybe you just light his world up in an unimaginable way.

“Don’t say things like that.”

Your head soon falls into your hands—a weak attempt at hiding your face from him—but all he does is take your hands into his.

“Who are you hiding from?”

He’s too close. You can feel his breath ghost your skin, and you see each individual mole and freckle on his face. You could count each and every one of his lashes if you dared to (you want to, so badly), but you move away before your mind strays too far away.

“I’m leaving.”

You’re up before Tsukishima can blink, and he follows you in a rush to keep up with your steps.

“You’re no fun.”

“And you’re rude and weird and—”

Your face collides with the chest of another before you can stop yourself, and you look up and meet with the eyes of a goddess.

She’s bright. So damn bright. She’s beautiful and some part of you recognizes her from one of the lectures you have with Tsukishima.

She says your name in a sweet, cherry voice, one that nearly makes you collapse at her feet. “And Tsukishima, hi!”

You look in his direction and it seems as if he sparkles at the sight of her. He looks good, you think. He would look better attached to her hip and not yours.

Her name is Lia. You know her because everyone knows her. She’s beautiful, smart, funny, and you’re sure that if she was in love with her best friend, she would have no trouble confessing. She is Lia, and Lia is everything that you are not.

They get lost in conversation and your mind twists and turns against you. Tsukishima would call you dramatic. He’d scold you for your apprehensive behavior and give you courage you would never find anywhere else. He’s all that you see, but why can’t he think the same? Why can’t you be the air that he breathes?

You’re too far gone. All that courage is swallowed up and you need to leave. You need to escape from Tsukishima and Lia and the perfect future that they could possibly build.

“Um,” you interrupt, feeling both their gazes on you, “I need to go. I have a… test. And I need to study.”

Tsukishima grabs your wrist before you can make your grand escape. “What class? I can help you if you need it.”

You forgo his first question, “I’ll be okay. Bye!”

And you’re gone. Before he can question you on your behavior, you disappear from his grasp.

“Couple’s quarrel?”

It’s a joke. He knows it is. Lia is far too sweet to have a bad bone in her, let alone mockingly tease you.

“Oh–we’re not dating. It’s not like that.”

Her head turns in confusion.

“I see you guys sucking each others faces off at nearly every party you’re at.”

He knows what she’s referring to. You’re not sucking his face off, you just like being close to him in a crowded room. And sometimes he pulls you onto his lap and he sometimes likes to whisper in your ear. You’re not dating. He is not yours.

“We’ve never done that before,” he gets defensive, and traces of the ill-mannered Tsukishima everyone seems to know makes an appearance. “We’re just friends.”

“Friends who get jealous of one another?”

“They weren’t being jealous.”

“Don’t be stupid, Tsukishima. You’re too smart for that.”

He thinks. He remembers the look on your face and how distant you were. Would he call that jealousy? Is that how he looks like when he’s jealous?

A lightbulb sparks inside of his brain.

“I’ve gotta go.”

He practically runs to your apartment.

Tsukishima doesn’t like to run, but he supposes he’ll do anything to be closer to you.

You open your door with a small smile that drops as soon as you see him. A soft oh falls from your lips before you can stop yourself.

He lets himself in before you can protest. “You didn’t want to see me?”

“That’s not it. I was just… studying.”

He looks around and doesn’t find a single book on your coffee table.

“You’re lying.”

You stare him down. Your lips are dry. Your throat is scratchy. There’s nothing you have to say, so you opt for silence.

“Lia,” he starts and your heart drops. You’ve lost and you do not have the resolve in you to fight for his love. “Made me realize something.”

“What is it?” You don’t necessarily want to ask. Your heart beats far too rapidly waiting for his answer.

“I like you,” he makes one step towards you, and you let him. “More than a friend should.”

Time stops. Your heart is in your throat. Tsukishima takes another step closer. “Say something.”

It isn’t like him to beg. But he has never wanted anything as much as he wants you.

“Why me?”

“Because it’s you.”

His answer isn’t enough. You yearn for more.

“There so many other people you could love. They’d be better than me and worth more of your time and—”

“And all I want is you.”

Another step, and you’re eye-to-eye with your Kei. His eyes are clouded with a trace of annoyance. He knows you want him, just as much as he wants you.

“I’m yours,” he says, his forehead on yours and his eyes locked on you. “I always have been. I always will be.”

You’re shy. You always have been. You always will be. You’re shy, and even in the heat of his confession, you find a way to push Tsukishima Kei away.

“You don’t belong to anyone…” you lose momentum, “you’re your own person.”

He knows you. He knows your heart and the depths of your mind. He knows you want to be his, just as much as he wants to be yours.

“Don’t be stupid,” his hands find a home on your cheeks. Your eyes are on his, his eyes are on yours. “I want to be yours. Let me be yours?”

And with his eyes so sincere and true, how could you say no?

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atinylittlepain · 1 year

Text

Apothecary - Chapter Six

joel miller x witchy!reader

series masterlist

living in an aftermath, joel tries to hold her together as she falls apart.

warnings | 18+ smut, significant angst, canon-typical violence

wordcount: 4.3K (we were concise this week lol)

a/n | this is a rather insular chapter, and it happens to be one of my favorites so far. feel free to drop me a line and let me know what you think <3

p.s. if i had to offer one song for this chapter, it'd be magneto by nick cave and the bad seeds (yes, more nick cave, sue me)

.......................................

“Nothing?” “I don’t think she even touched the plate, old man.” Ellie huffs, setting the plate of what had been dinner down on the kitchen counter, the plate that Joel had placed in front of the closed guestroom door last night with a quiet plea for her to eat something. But judging by the untouched look of the food, his plea went unanswered.

“Alright, kid, I’ll check on her. You better get to school.” Ellie nods, though she makes no move to leave, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she looks at him.

“Do you think she’s gonna, like, be ok?” Joel has to clear his throat before answering her, trying to make his voice sound as certain as he can.

“She’ll be ok, kid. It’s just a– a hard thing– what happened. But she’ll be ok, I’m gonna make sure of it.” Ellie offers him a faint smile, her brow still scrunched up in worry.

“We’ll make sure of it, right? I can help too, y’know.” He has to smile at that, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze as he nods.

“I know, kid. You’re right, we’ll make sure she’s ok. Now you better get to class before you’re late– again.” It’s just enough levity for her smile to broaden, her eyes to roll with a huff, and then Ellie’s out the door, and Joel’s shoulders slump immediately.

When he goes upstairs, Stevie is laying in front of the guestroom, swiping her paw under the closed door in what could only be frustration. She and Stevie have been staying with them for a little over two weeks now. It hadn’t been soon after that day he found her in her shop that she showed up in the middle of the night at his front door, wide-eyed and disheveled. She hadn’t known where else to go after someone had thrown a rock into one of the windows of her house. And then, when he had walked her to her shop the next morning, he had been stunned speechless at the words smeared over the door in thick, black paint.

Witch

Slut

Baby killer

She hasn’t left his house since, and she’s barely left the guestroom he set her up in either.

“Darlin? I’m coming in, alright?” He doesn’t wait for a response, knowing now from prior experience that he’d just be waiting forever. Stevie darts in the second he cracks open the door, making a beeline for the bed where her mom is curled up under a swath of blankets, even though it’s the beginning of September and still plenty warm out.

He kneels down alongside the bed, right next to where her face is half smushed into her pillow, her eyes cracking open to peer at him. Faded dark circles face him, and his heart catches at the sight.

“Hey, darlin. Think we oughta get some food in you, huh?” She lets out a long sigh, blinking hard a few times.

“Not right now, Joel. I’m just– really tired.” That’s become her new favorite phrase, and it scares him more than when she had been endlessly crying. It’s always said on a breathy exhale, like she’s trying to be casual about the fact that she’s been in bed for days, and seems to have no plans of getting out anytime soon. Any emotion is masked behind her flat voice and vacant eyes, and he’d give just about anything for a glimmer of something. Anger, sadness, he’d even take fear right now, just any proof that she’s still there. But there’s nothing, just her owlish stare, and Stevie nuzzling up against the blankets.

“Alright, not right now. Will you drink some water, at least? For me, please?” You’d think that he just asked her to run a marathon with the exhausted huff she lets out, shifting slowly to sit up with her back against the headboard, her head lolling onto her shoulder to look at him. It’s such a far cry from the woman he’s gotten used to, all slow movements and barely-there words as he offers her the glass of water he brought up for her. She takes two little sips then slumps down, handing him back the glass and scrunching her eyes shut.

“Baby, I-I’m really tired– I just need to lay down for a while.” He can feel his frustration rising, but he swallows it down, taking her hand in his and squeezing lightly. She doesn’t squeeze back.

“Ok, darlin, I know you are. Gotta get to work, but you know where I’ll be, right?” All he gets from her is a nod as she lays back down, curling in on her side.

“Think you might get cleaned up today? Bet a shower would feel good.” Another long sigh.

“I just got a shower yesterday.”

“That– that was Monday, darlin, remember? It’s Friday now.” That’s new, and it makes fear kick up in his chest, cold and frantic. She, however, isn’t phased by it, simply shrugging her shoulders beneath the blankets. Stevie stumbles over the blankets up towards her head, nuzzling up against the back of her neck. It’s a small comfort to him, knowing that she isn’t completely alone during the day, just enough reassurance for him to murmur a soft “I’ll be back soon, honey” and get up with a sigh. He takes one more look at her before closing the door behind him, no acknowledgement from her save for another deep sigh.

Things around town have gotten tense, to say the least. Word spread fast about what happened to Maura’s baby, and while it was clear that no one was to blame, just a horrible stroke of luck, it was a whole lot easier to blame the witch for what happened. Now, as Joel walks to the stables everyday, people openly stare at him, murmuring just loud enough for him to hear about how he’s “harboring the murderer.” The only thing that keeps him from knocking their lights out is knowing that it’d only make things worse for her.

People are being particularly vocal this morning, but he gets no relief when he gets to the stables either, seeing Mason and Matthew, Maura’s husband, are getting ready to saddle up for patrol.

“Don’t know why Maria’s letting her walk around free. Oughta be a trial for what she did.” Mason scoffs at Matthew’s words.

“You know why, that’s practically her sister-in-law, that’s why.” Mason’s eyes narrow into slits as Joel approaches them, Matthew’s face reflecting a similar sneer.

“You boys better watch what you say. Especially when it ain’t based in any reality.”

“What do you know about reality, Miller? She’s got you so turned around I bet you believe just about anything she tells you.” Joel can feel anger rising like bile in his throat as he looks at the men, and he keeps his hands on his hips to stop himself from doing something he’ll regret.

“You saying you two are talking about reality? Some fucking story about her, what? Hexing a baby?” He focuses his attention on Matthew before continuing.

“Son, I’m sorry for your loss. I really am. But trying to blame someone for this– this horrible misfortune– it ain’t gonna make that pain go away.” Matthew lets out a bitter laugh at Joel’s words, his eyes flashing wild as he takes a few halting steps toward him.

“I’m not trying to do anything, Miller. I know she did it.” Joel would like to punch him in the teeth, but instead he scoffs at the man, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Let’s just say for a minute that I’m living in the same delusional world that you are. How are you so sure that she did it, huh?” Matthew’s face stretches into a grin that doesn’t meet his bloodshot eyes at that.

“I know she did it– she did it to get back at me.” That makes Joel pause, and Matthew catches it, his grin splitting wider.

“She was jealous, you see. When I wouldn’t leave Maura for her, she got real upset. I guess she’s used to getting what she wants, but I’m a faithful man, and I wouldn’t look twice at that slu–” Joel doesn’t let him finish that sentence, grabbing him by his shoulders and driving him backward until his back slams against the wall of the stables.

“See, now I know you’re full of shit because she’s with me. She’s been with me all fucking summer, so I find your little story pretty hard to believe.”

“Not all the time.” Joel squints at him, keeping him pinned against the wall.

“Come again?”

“She wasn’t with you all the time, not during all her little house visits. Lemme tell you, Maura wasn’t the only one she was checking on.” He does it before he can think, his fist making contact squarely with Matthew’s jaw, the man groaning and doubling over, though Joel is quick to haul him up by his shirt collar.

“Listen to me, you keep my woman’s name out of your mouth. Do you understand me?” Matthew gives him no answer, his eyes squinting slits as Joel shoves him back against the wall. As he turns to leave, his eyes catch Mason’s, the man grinning as he watches the whole thing. The look makes Joel’s stomach twist, and it’s all he can do to walk away from the pair.

He doesn’t care that he’ll miss his shift. He needs to talk to her. Now.

Any patience, any gentleness, any carefulness has dissolved in his need to speak to her, and it clearly catches her by surprise when he comes barreling into her room, giving her shoulder a brusque squeeze that has her wide eyes looking up at him.

“Wha– I thought you were going to work.”

“We need to talk.”

“Joel, I’m really–”

“Tired. I know, but you can’t– I can’t– I need you to talk to me. I know that you’re hurting, but I need you here with me, or else I can’t, I can’t do anything to help.” She sits up at that, brow furrowed.

“What’re you talking about?” He sighs, sitting down on the edge of the bed, glancing at Stevie who has curled up on the pillow next to her.

“There’s– talk, around town.”

“Uh, yeah, I’m aware.”

“That isn’t what I meant– I mean– Matthew, Maura’s husband– he’s saying that you–” She cuts him off with a bitter laugh. “No.”

“You don’t know what I was going to say.”

“It’s always the same– they’re always the same– he’s telling people I tried to fuck him, isn’t he?” The blunt crassness of her words coupled with her still blank eyes is unnerving to him. Even now, her voice is flat, no emotion to be found in her cool assessment of him.

“Not in so many words. He said that you had reason to want to– get back at him.”

“And you believe him? You believe that I’d be capable of something like that?”

“I don’t, and I’ll fight this, whatever this is. But I need you here fighting with me. I can’t do this without you– and I can’t keep watching you– disappear right in front of me.” Silence, a heavy pall of it falls between them as she continues to stare at him, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

“Maybe they’re right.” It comes out so hoarse, he almost thinks he didn’t hear her right.

“What?”

“Maybe it is my fault, somehow. Maybe I-I– somehow– I– it’s my fault, my fault, all my fault–” Before she can dissolve any further, he takes her face in his hands, holding her steady.

“Don’t go there, darlin. I know you don’t really believe that. Remember what you told me? About when you held her?” Her eyes widen at that, and he feels something like hope lift off in his chest when she nods.

“She was– she was so small, Joel. And it wasn’t right, it was too early– and I knew it.” “And you did everything you could, right?” Another nod, her eyes narrowing into something like focus.

“I-I did. I did. But, it just happened. It was too early, and– and I don’t think anyone could’ve done anything to change it.”

“That’s right. It just happened. Ain’t anyone’s fault. Don’t let them get into your head, darlin. You and I know the truth, and Ellie, and Tommy, and Maria, and– Stevie.” The cat, who had been dozing on her pillow, lifts her head at that, letting out a questioning mrrp. It isn’t much, but her lips twitch into what could become a smile, eventually. He’ll take it.

“I think I’d like to get a shower now.”

…

He could shout from the palpable relief he feels seeing her at the kitchen table, hair still damp from her shower, eating a plate of leftovers. It’s clear to him that she’s still not all there, still quiet, eyes endlessly downturned, movements slow and small. But she’s clean, she’s eating, and she’s even talking a little, and whatever has changed, Joel’s just glad that it did. He sits in the chair next to her, resisting the urge to stay as close to her as he can, afraid that she might float away if he doesn’t, but worried she’ll shut back down if he does. She sets her fork down and sits back in her chair, tilting her head to look at him, worry a perpetual crease between her brows.

“Could you come with me to the shop? I’d like to get a few of my things.” He nods, trying to keep his voice even when he responds, though inside he feels nothing but elation at her question.

“Of course, darlin. You just tell me when, and we’ll go.”

“Could we– could we go now?”

Though it caught him off guard, he scrambled to get them out the door before she changed her mind. He reckons it’s more for him than it is for her, the tight hold he keeps on her hand as they walk through town. For her part, she keeps her chin tilted down, eyes on each of her steps as they pass through the stream of stares and whispers. But she comes to a stuttering stop in front of the apothecary door, and Joel can’t help but smile.

“Dina and Ellie– they cleaned up the– mess. But it wouldn’t come all the way off, so they gave it a new coat of paint.” What once had been a plain white door is now painted a deep green, though it’s beyond Joel how Ellie managed to find that color. For a moment, she’s completely still, considering the door before her. And then, she squeezes his hand, and he knows that these tears of hers are different, no despair to be found.

“I’ll have to thank them for this.”

Ellie has also been going to the shop in the afternoons everyday, taking care of the plants in her absence, another thing that seems to surprise her when she enters the shop, what could be a smile threatening a quiver in her lips. But he swears that the green goes a bit greener, leaves stretching out and lifting as she walks amongst them, reverential fingers checking here and there. She collects a few bottles and tins, a few books, tucking them into her bag, before checking what she explains with a quiet murmur is soap, curing on the counter of the back room. There’s no ease about this for her, he can tell in her skittish movements, her eyes glancing around like she’s waiting for something to happen, and she’s ready to leave in a flash. He hates it, that the space in which he had first met her, the space in which she had always been so at peace, now conjures this kind of fear in her.

They return home as quick as they left, and he can see just how much it took out of her, the heavy slump to her shoulders, the unfocused haze falling back over her eyes as she sits down on the couch in the living room, her bag still slung over one shoulder. She lets him take the bag from her, setting it down on the floor. He moves tentatively, letting out a quiet sigh when she lets him pull her into his side on the couch, his arm wrapping around her tight.

Wordlessly, she leans back in his hold, and he’s stunned into stillness when she tilts her chin up and brushes her lips against his.

“Thank you, Joel. For everything, for dealing with me through all this.”

“I’m not dealing with you. I’m taking care of you, you don’t have to thank me for that.” She presses another kiss to his lips, though he stops her when she tries to deepen it, holding her by her shoulders.

“I don’t– don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”

“Please, Joel– I just wanna feel something else for a little while. Just wanna feel you.” She presses a smattering of kisses to what skin she can get to beneath the collar of his shirt, and he sighs, already feeling himself dissolving under her touch. He knows this is probably a terrible idea, that whatever is going on in her head can’t possibly be good, but he also knows that whatever peace he can give her, he will in a heartbeat.

“Hey, hey, easy, darlin. Let’s go upstairs, alright? Lemme take care of you properly.” She lets him lead her upstairs, into his bedroom. She lets him lay her back on his bed, gentle and sweet as he undresses her. And she lets him take over when her trembling fingers fumble at the buttons of his shirt, shucking off his clothes as quickly as he can to keep contact with her.

There are no words for this, the way their hands move over each other’s bodies, getting reacquainted with bare skin they had each mapped so well. He settles between the plush of her thighs, pressing a kiss into the soft skin before finally tasting her. She’s an endless tide of sighs, writhing above him as he works her over with his tongue. Her pleasure is his privilege, and he collects every whimper, every scrunch of her brow, every tensed muscle, tokens of what he can do for his woman. He can’t help the way his hips rut into the mattress beneath him, chasing whatever sensation he can find as he takes in the sight of her, the feel of her beneath his mouth. When she comes, it’s an unraveling, a slow tumble that he holds her steady through, his arms wrapped around her hips to hold her up to his mouth as he coaxes her through her pleasure. The first word to leave her lips as she comes down is his name, a breathless plea to come closer that he answers in kind, crawling up the bed to hover over her, their lips catching in a desperate tangle.

Broken groans resound from both of them when he presses his hips forward, a dizzy prickle skittering up his spine as he settles into the heat of her. He lets his lips drag wherever he can, over her collarbone, the arc of her neck, her jaw, giving her a moment, waiting for her word.

“I’m not going to break, Joel.” The tone of her voice, certain and steeled, makes him lean back to catch her gaze.

“I know that, darlin. I know you aren’t.”

“Then don’t treat me like I’m fragile. I want you to fuck me.” Truthfully, he has been treating her as if at any moment she could shatter. But the way that she’s looking at him, the steady heat of her gaze, the tick of her jaw, the way her nails are grazing up and down his back makes him feel like she’s coming back to him, and something inside him snaps at the thought.

He gives her what she wants, a push and pull that has them both sighing with each press of his hips into hers. He wants to leave marks, to stamp something permanent of him into her, and with the harsh grind of his hips, the desperate graze of his teeth along her chest, he thinks he’ll be successful in his desires, drawing whimpers out of her with the force he fucks her with.

Neither of them are making much sense, words slurred into skin, frantic coaxing to see each over the edge.

That’s it, darlin.

S’good, huh?

It’s all yours, honey. Go on, take it.

When she comes again, it’s with a shattered yelp of his name, her fingers pressing little moons into his shoulder blades as she crashes around him. She’s a fucking vision beneath him, tears streaking silver down her cheeks, her face a twist of pleasure, sobs that sing sweet for a change, and it’s enough to send him spiraling after her. He only realizes he’s crying when he sees his own tears smudged against her sternum, his forehead pressed against her collarbone as he catches his breath.

He goes to get up and grab something to clean her up with, but she doesn’t let him get far, pulling him back down by his shoulders and holding him against her.

“Can we just stay like this for a little while, please?” The sigh he lets out at her question melts him even further into her, his arms wrapping her up and pulling her into a closer tangle. They’re a mess, sweat-damp skin sticking slick and his spend dripping onto the sheets beneath them, but he reckons he needs this as much as she does, burying his face in the junction of her neck and inhaling her deeply.

She relaxes in his arms, muscles going slack against his, her fingers trailing shapes across his shoulder blades. He feels like for the first time in ages, he’s got her, he’s really got her.

…

Ellie won’t stop staring at her. The kid had stopped dead in her tracks when she got home and saw her and Joel in the kitchen, quietly fixing dinner. Joel had quickly shook his head at her, a silent plea to not make a big deal out of it. But if there’s one thing Ellie is not, it’s subtle, and she’s been staring at her for most of the meal like she might disappear if she takes her eyes away from her. If it’s bothering her, however, she doesn’t show it, still a bit hazy around the edges as they eat, leaving Joel to muster up whatever conversation he can, which is to say that most of the meal is spent in slightly tense silence while Ellie continues to stare at her, much to his chagrin.

“I want to thank you, Ellie. I got to see today how you’ve been taking care of the shop. I really appreciate it and– just, thank you, kid.” Ellie’s eyes widen at her words, before softening with an emphatic nod.

“Yeah– I mean, of course. You, like, taught me well, and stuff. And I want you to know, if anyone else tries to mess with you, I will personally fuck them up–”

“Ellie.”

“What? I’m just saying, geez.” Ellie lets out a huff at Joel, while he’s about ready to give her another lecture about her language, though his annoyance dissolves when his woman lets out a light laugh at the girl’s exclamation.

“Thanks, kid, but I don’t want you fucking anyone up for me. That’s not gonna be necessary, alright?” Ellie gives her a sheepish smile at that, a light moment that relieves whatever tightness had been in the air. But just as soon as they all seem to slump back into ease, the sound of someone knocking on the front door echoes through the house.

Joel excuses himself, a wordless plea for her and Ellie to stay put. He’s admittedly surprised to see that it’s Maria standing on his porch, a steely look on her face and her hands on her hips.

“We have a problem.”

“That son of a bitch started it.”

“I don’t care who started it, Joel. I’m gonna finish it, all of it. I’ve called a town meeting for tomorrow night. This can’t keep going on. It’s— people are asking me questions that I can’t answer. And I know Mason is getting people more worked up the longer this goes on.”

“Maria, she’s— she’s not ready for this.”

“She’s gonna have to be. I’m worried, Joel. The longer we let people talk, the more out of hand this’ll get and— I wouldn’t put it past some of those men to—try something.” He feels a cool prickle shoot up the back of his neck at Maria’s words, his mind going back to the night of the dance, the way Mason had grabbed her, and he knows that Maria is right, that something needs to be done now before it escalates.

“There are people on her side too, Joel. It’s just– there’s so much talk going around that everyone’s too afraid to say anything otherwise. If we can hear her side, I know people will come forward. But if she stays holed up like this, people are just gonna keep talking.”

“You’re right, Maria.” He hadn’t been expecting it, the sound of her voice startling him as he turns to look at her padding up behind him. She places a firm palm between his shoulder blades, a presence, a confirmation.

“Just tell me what time tomorrow, and I’ll be there.”

...........................

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everybodyshusband · 6 months

Text

what was supposed to be a tiny little drabble because dysphoria is stupid and it sucks turned into 1.9k words because i couldn't stop writing, haha !! (see again: dysphoria is stupid and it sucks)

transmasc dysphoric dew being comforted by cirrus and rain <3

cw. lots of crying, dew has a mindset that he can't do certain things because he sees girls doing them but he's aware that this is an unhealthy thought process to have, he also misgenders himself in his head once out of dysphoria

Dew's skin is crawling. Sweat from tonight's ritual clinging to his compression shirt and making his skin itch more and more with every second he keeps it on. He needs to get it off. In fairness, his skin has been crawling since before the ritual caused him to sweat buckets into his shirt. He's been feeling distinctively wrong since this morning, when they all arrived at the venue and realised the venue crew had allocated the dressing rooms differently than usual.

Dew's with the ghoulettes. He hates grouping them all together like that in his mind—knows Cumulus would probably have his head if she knew he was referring to the three of them as one single entity rather than individually appreciating them as they all deserve—but today, there's something in the back of Dew's head that itches every time he tries to separate them. He hates it. He can't figure it out.

He doesn't figure it out until after the ritual. When Rain calls out to Dew over his shoulder as he makes his way to his own dressing room. "When the rest of the boys and I are done, we'll meet the four of you in the greenroom with Papa, okay?" Dew calls out his response but the way Rain phrased it won't stop echoing through Dew's mind as he chats with Aurora, lifts his mask off, unbuttons his shirt, unlaces his boots.

"The boys and I" Rain had said.

The boys.

And Dew's not with them.

As he comes to this realisation, he pulls his first boot off, throwing it to the ground in frustration as tears pinprick the corners of his eyes. Cirrus jumps at the loud noise as she unbuttons her shirt, revealing her short-sleeve compression shirt underneath—most days Dew forgets that she wears it, given that it doesn't show when she rolls up her sleeves. And because he's never placed in the same dressing room as the... The girls.

"I don't know what kind of tantrum you're throwing over there, Dew," she says, not looking at him as she takes a seat in front of the mirror to unlace her own boots. "But if you could cool it enough to not make loud noises, that'd be great."

She's joking. He knows she's only joking and that her casual dismissal shouldn't hurt as much as it does but... Well, he's already had an off day and apparently, the disinterest in her tone is enough to break the dam of tears that was already struggling to contain itself.

He cries silently, too scared of disturbing Cirrus even further and of interrupting Aurora and Cumulus' conversation by making more noise. It's not until Cirrus is finished with her boots that she looks up and sees Dew sitting on the beat-up, beer-stained couch with tears streaming down his face. Her face softens immediately, an apologetic furrow forming between her eyebrows as she makes her way over to him. He flinches back before her outstretched hand can come to rest on his knee as if she's got cooties. As if he's going to catch "the girl" from her. As if her touch will cement the fact that Dew's just a silly girl playing pretend with her boyfriends' clothes.

The worry in Cirrus' eyes as Dew sobs makes him hate himself even more. "I'm sorry I was so rude to you, love," she tries.

"'S fine." It's not fine, they both know that. The real apologies and explanations from both of them will come later, they always do. The cursory, meaningless apologies happen in the moment, and the real ones come later as they hold each other close, tears streaming down both their cheeks. That's just how they work.

"Do you want me to get Rain?" She knows her presence is too much for him right now. She's probably able to read him better than he's reading himself. Come to think of it, she probably knew how Dew was feeling before he did, if her gentle questions throughout the day are anything to go by—well, with Cirrus, "gentle" usually means gripping Dew around the neck and ruffling his hair, laughing and pressing a kiss to the top of his head once she's had her fun; Sathanas, he loves her so much.

Dew nods. "Rain," he echoes.

Cirrus nods as well and disappears out the door, letting it band shut behind her as she goes off in search of the water ghoul. On the other side of the room, Cumulus and Aurora are trying very hard to pretend they haven't been watching the entire exchange.

In what feels simultaneously like no time at all and all the time in the world, Cirrus returns with Rain in tow, looking especially soft and relaxed in his street clothes. She must have briefed him about what's happened because although Rain runs to Dew and drops to his knees in front of the couch, he doesn't touch Dew.

"No," Dew whispers softly, longing for Rain to reach out and touch him.

"No?" Rain starts to move away from him.

"No! Come back... Please." He holds his hand out and almost starts crying again out of relief when Rain takes a hold of it.

"You doing alright, darling?" Rain's voice is soft, kind.

Dew tilts his head this way and that, not quite a nod but not quite a shake of his head either. "I'll be okay." He's not actually sure he'll be okay for a while, but he's rather Rain not worry about him even more than he already is.

Rain fixes Dew with a look, but gives him a gentle smile regardless. "D'you want to get out of this, love?" He gestures to Dew's uniform, his pants and the compression shirt that remains clinging to his sweaty skin.

Dew nods, standing up to shuck his pants and replace them with his favourite fluffy sweatpants, balancing himself against Rain and chuckling good-naturedly when he trips as he steps into his pants and almost falls flat on his face. As he tries to pull his shirt over his head, Rain collects the other parts of Dew's uniform and places them into a neat pile.

He turns back to Dew while Dew's shirt is halfway over his head, his head trapped in the damp fabric, stretching it as he tries to pull it over himself to no avail.

"Love–" Rain's hands are gentle as he stills Dew's hands. "Love, stop pulling. You're going to wreck the shirt."

"It's stuck." Dew knows his voice is muffled by the shirt from the way Rain chuckles at him.

The water ghoul's cold hands are welcome against Dew's warm skin as he pulls the shirt back onto his body. "Don't pull it off, you're just going to stretch it. See what Cirrus is doing?" Dew's gaze finds Cirrus just in time to see her cross her arms in front of her body and grip the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head.

He knows it's irrational, but his stomach twists and his skin begins to itch all over again in that same uncomfortable way as before at the idea of taking his shirt off the same way Cirrus did.

"N– No, that's... That's..." He trails off, voice thick with tears before he can say "the girl's way" because Sathanas, if he doesn't know how horrendous that sounds.

Somehow, though, Rain seems to understand what he wants to say, because before Dew can even start to think about panicking any further, Rain is taking Dew's hands in his and nudging their foreheads together. "Do you want me to take it off for you, love?"

"Sh– Shouldn't you take me out to... To dinner or something first?" He stumbles over his words and his voice cracks as he tells the joke, but Rain laughs anyway and something in Dew's heart feels a little lighter, but with Rain still looking at him expectantly for an answer, all he can really do is nod miserably and pull back from the water ghoul to give him room to help him out of his shirt.

Once Rain has pulled the sweaty shirt off of Dew and has begun searching for the fire ghoul's hoodie, Dew does his best to avoid looking down. He knows he's got something on underneath his shirt—whether it's a binder or tape he can't remember, but the incessant itching feeling from earlier makes him think it might be his tape—but regardless, he's hesitant to test his luck with his dysphoria, especially after everything that's happened today. Soon enough, Rain is passing Dew his hoodie and helping him pull it over his head, ruffling his hair gently and kissing the top of his head once he's finished.

"All done, love," Rain murmurs against his forehead. "Just shoes and then we're done, 'kay?"

Dew nods, eyeing up his choices. He's got the Doc Martens he arrived in leaning against the wall, or the pair of beat-up Converse buried in the bottom of his bag. Against his will, his eyes drift across to the other side of the room, where Cumulus is lacing up her own Docs.

Rain's fingers are gentle against his cheek as he guides his gaze away from the air ghoulette. "Don't worry about what's she's doing," he says gently. "What shoes do you want to wear, Dew?"

He casts a longing look at his well-worn, comfortable Docs before dropping his head and asking for his Converse.

Rain kisses him again—a soft thing that makes Dew's stomach swoop at the realisation of just how loved he is—and moves away to rummage through Dew's bag and hand him the shoes. He kneels down at Dew's feet once more and laces the shoes for him, stroking his knee gently before he stands up once he's done. Rain holds his hand out, offering Dew a hand up, but he ignores it and stands by himself, pretending not to notice the disappointment in Rain's eyes. He can't help it. Rain's extended hand reminded him of all the times Mountain has pulled Lus up off of the couch, or the few times Swiss has offered a hand out to Sunshine to help her up when she's been sat on the floor during their rest time at practice.

Once he's up however, he takes Rain's hand gladly, just as Aether and Aeon or Ifrit and Omega when the pairs walk around the Abbey.

Rain huffs out a quiet sigh, looking over at Dew with a soft smile on his face. "Ready to go?"

Dew nods, grabbing his bag and slinging it over the shoulder not obstructed by Rain's hold on his hand. He pushes the door to the dressing room open and tries to turn left, but Rain tugs him along to the right. "Greenroom, remember?"

Dew sighs and follows without saying anything. In all honesty, he couldn't care less about their post-ritual rundown at the moment. He'd much rather head back to the bus with Rain and let himself be held—maybe he'd even be able to convince himself to curl up into Rain's side without feeling wrong about it.

As they walk, he feels Rain look over at him. He returns the gaze, knowing the smile he sends Rain's way is a bit too tight to be genuine. He's tired out from monitoring his own actions all day, he just wants to cuddle up with Rain in one of their bunks and go to sleep. The water ghoul squeezes his hand twice in quick succession.

You okay?

Dew squeezes back once.

I will be.

#i don't know if i like this much but that's okay #also i'm aware cirrus doesn't actually wear a compression shirt but for Plot Reasons i gave her one :)#and i like the concept that maybe she wears it for the sensory comfort of a tight garment under her loose uniform shirt #because she can't handle the inconsistent feeling of loose fabric against her skin #ANYWAY #dewdrop ghoul #rain ghoul #cirrus ghoulette #nameless ghouls #the band ghost #husband ficlets

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pandoa · 1 year

Text

it's the little things: III

the little things they do for you

~feat. heartslabyul~ ~twisted wonderland x gender neutral reader~

~headcanons~ part 1│part 2│part 3

ace trappola saves you a seat wherever you two may go—though that doesn’t make him any less of a pain in the ass about it. in class, the cafeteria, library, or even your own dorm room, ace makes it his personal obligation to (1) save you a spot beside him, and (2) piss you off in the process. it's not like the seat wasn’t meant for you, but ace felt that he needed a much more entertaining way to save it for you. from draping a lazy leg over your seat just as your body finds its way into the chair to placing random—but overall harmless—items onto the cushions of your seat, he’ll do almost anything to mess with you. your reactions are just too priceless.

"Ah... class is finally over..."

"I thought Trein's lecture would never end! I am exhaus— Hm?"

"Oh, hey, (Y/n). What's up?"

"I... took your spot? Nah, I don't think I saw anyone sitting here before~ You're imagining it."

"Besides, my legs seem really comfortable here; I don't think I could move even if I wanted to."

"There's an open spot on the ground, though; you could sit there if you wa— Ouch! Okay, okay, I get it! I'll scooch over!"

"Just stop hitting me for Seven's sake!"

deuce spade unconsciously picks up your mannerisms. whether it be the certain phrases you say or the carefree way your hands seem to wave at the sight of him, deuce begins to mimic it all. he doesn’t even notice it until ace irritatedly points it out after a sickeningly oblivious “study session” with you and the other first years as the majority of the time was spent watching the two of you—each both more dense than the next. it wasn’t too difficult to catch on, really, but some part of deuce hopes that you hadn’t caught on just yet. he wishes to face his feelings properly, so perhaps give him a little more time, yes?

"Wait, so... in the history of magic, the fae began to progress their own kingdom... when?"

"Uh... let's see. It should obviously be sometime before the war between the fae and humans, that's a given, but... Huh?"

"What's up? Is there something wrong, (Y/n)?"

"We're both just sitting the exact same way—? Oh... yeah, I guess we are."

Deuce looked down only to notice the similar way your hands would fidget in sync with his. Oh, great. Now we're both twirling our pens the same way; I need to stop before this starts getting a little weird for them—

"U-uh! It's probably just a coincidence! Yeah!"

"No deeper meaning to it... totally."

cater diamond sets his phone aside when talking to you. he may be the type to practically be attached to his phone twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week; however, that doesn’t mean he lacks any self control when around you. even he knows that time is precious and that the memories he shares with you would come to be much more valuable than checking the likes of his latest magicam post. flipping over his screen to face the back of his phone, cater’s attention is entirely on you, and you alone. although, he might pull it out for a quick pic with you as you two are hanging out wherever you are. could you blame him, though? the view of you and him in the same camera frame was just too pretty for a sight to skip out on~

"(Y/n)! You made it~ I think you had something to tell me, right?"

"Nope, you weren't interrupting anything! Just posted a last-minute story on magicam—nothing too important."

"Just go on with whatever you wanted to tell me. I'm listening."

"Oh... my phone's ringing? They can wait, hehe."

"Keep going~ My full attention's only on you."

trey clover never fails to give you a small treat—be it a homemade piece of candy or pocket-sized sweets—each day he sees you. at first, it starts as a matter of chance. one day he happened to have a petite sample of a new recipe he’d been experimenting with and saw you as the perfect taste-tester of the newest treat. but as one day turned into another, trey found that he never failed to keep a sugary dessert inside a pocket or two of his uniform, each one different every day. he just enjoys the way your face seems to light up at the sight of the sweets gently being placed into the palms of your hands.

"(Y/n), here's the book you left back at Heartslabyul yesterday. Make sure to remember it next time, haha."

"It's no problem. Oh, yes, and—"

"I baked these miniature pies yesterday after you and Grim came over for the Unbirthday. They're candied, too, so they might be to your liking."

"It's no trouble! I'm glad you seem to like the smaller things I bake."

"It's nice to see whenever you enjoy my cooking, in all honesty."

riddle rosehearts is more lenient on you when regarding the dearest queen’s rules. he doesn’t seem to be doing it on purpose, though—no, no. all of his words and actions, to him, are all acts of respect and common courtesy for the dear prefect. you’ve encountered so much; the most he could do is show you respect as well, yes? like deuce, everyone but him tends to notice it and it truly messes with everyone’s minds. clearly an act of favoritism, all the students of heartslabyul grow envious of riddle’s much more lax treatment towards you. riddle may be fond of you, but why did they have to get the short end of the stick???

"And what do you all think you're doing eating a tart so guiltlessly?"

"Rule number 089: Never eat a tart without the Queen's permission. I do not remember giving any one of you permission to eat a tart today."

"Such violations will not go unpunished."

"Oh... the prefect is here, too? Well..."

"They are in no part of the Heartslabyul dorm and, in fact, lead their own dorm as well. We are—in some way—equals from differing dorms."

"No, I am not just conjuring excuses! Stop this nonsense, or off with your head!"

a/n: ace was one of those kids who’d pull on another kid’s pigtails or ponytail back in elementary school i just know it

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