#it’s for their all white kit day that they’re going to have

[melancholytimes]

Kim and Leah looking incredible in these promo shots.

#it’s for their all white kit day that they’re going to have #it’s an all white kit to bring awareness to knife violence #Which is an excellent initiative because it’s a real problem in England #kim little #leah williamson #Arsenal #arsenal wfc #woso

[honeyhoshi]

hat trick!

the term 'hat-trick' is used to define when a player achieves the feat of scoring three goals in a single game.

summary: the first half of the championships is going to their opponents and everyone is looking to mingyu to lead the team to victory. as their star player, it’s a tall order, especially when his plate is already full with you.

this a part of the man of the match universe

genre: professional football (soccer) au, porn with a little plot

wordcount: 5,616

pairing: mingyu x afab!reader

warnings: HEAVY DDlg kink, HEAVY d/s themes, both parties are safe, sane, and consenting adults, reader is implied to be significantly smaller than mingyu, huge mingyu, big dick gyu (canon), (acknowledged???) exhibitionism, unprotected sex (pls dont do it, its not worth it), multiple sex scenes, spit kink (bec i wrote it), creampie (also bec i wrote it), mentions of masturbation, size kink go bbrrrr, bulge kink, pussy stretching, plenty dirty talk, mingyu uses soooo many nicknames (pretty, baby, princess, etc.)

author's notes: this is written for my dearest friend @madeforgyu who helped me bring forward!mingyu to life and for making his gf such a joy to write. thank you also to her for inspiring me to come back to tumblr after almost a decade.

Mingyu is pissed. He’s absolutely fucking livid.

This game had to have been fucking cooked. There was no way the ref was making all these shitty calls for him not to be paid off or something. The team had been making all the right moves but the second something seems like a foul, a whistle blows and somehow it's always someone from the Diamonds getting the blame.

Mingyu had come to four attempted goals on target and any other time was deemed offside by the refs. If he sees that fucking checkered flag go up one more time before they call for half time he’s going to really give them a reason for a red card.

Any other day he’d probably be able to brush it off after the half time break. But this isn’t any other day or any other match. It was the last match of the season — it was the Korean FA Cup final.

The 23-24 season was grueling but rewarding for the Diamonds. After the major upset at finishing as runners up in the season prior, the whole squad had come into this season with fire under their asses. The change in coaches was another thing — while their ex-manager, Mr. Cho was a hardass, their tearful promise to give him a win even after his retirement paired with Seungcheol’s no-bullshit coach style took them from 100% to 250% in the space of the off season.

Mingyu’s never been a better football player. Which is why he’s unhappy when the half time whistle does blow and they’re down 0-2.

Both teams shuffle into the tunnel to head to their locker rooms where their managers and coaching staff were waiting. Then Mingyu sees a flurry of pink shuffling through the mess of white and red kits.

“Excuse me, excuse mee, coming through please,” comes a light voice, parting the crowd.

There are a couple of chuckles and greetings coming from his teammates and even a high five and a “hey tiny!” from Hoshi before it finds its way in front of him.

It’s his girlfriend. It’s you.

Your presence at the game is no anomaly. You’re pretty much a permanent fixture, sort of like the 12th man of the team. Except you can’t play football for shit and you’re always somehow wearing the worst shoes for going on the pitch.

Everyone on the Diamonds’ side knows you — from the press, to the coaching staff, even some of the nutritionists. You’ve been with Mingyu forever. You hardly phase anyone around you when you bat your eyes at Mingyu and grab one of his hands in both of yours.

Mingyu tries to harden his glare at you, doing his best to send a look of displeasure at whatever it is you’re trying to pull.

“I’m soooorry,” you start, playfully rocking on the balls of your feet and trying to tiptoe to get closer to him.

Mingyu almost wants to roll his eyes.

The last of the team coaches enter the locker room but before the door closes, Seungcheol peeks out and meets Mingyu’s eyes. Hoshi’s head pops out next to him shortly after.

“I don’t have to tell you anything, I’m sure," Seungcheol starts, “But you’ve got 10 minutes, Gyu.”

“Tiny, I need my forward in tip top shape, alright?” comes Hoshi’s laugh.

Now Mingyu really rolls his eyes.

You can’t help the giggle that bubbles out, “Aye aye captain!”

You don’t have to be told twice when Mingyu drags you into an extra locker room and says “Skirt up, pretty.”

He makes quick work of slamming the door shut, not even bothering to lock the door. But he does flick the lights open. He wants to see. He has to see all of you.

When he turns around he clicks his tongue at you seated on one of the benches. You’re still rolling your underwear down your legs. They’re a completely useless pair. Though he admits most of your underwear is useless, either too frilly, flimsy, just there for decoration. It’s okay. He likes pretty things. No wonder he likes you so much.

“Uh-uh, doubletime princess. No time for the usual. I need to come before stepping back on that fucking pitch.”

Mingyu’s agitation from his sub par showing during the first half is bubbling under his skin. He’s been stiffening under his shorts since he saw you shuffling through the tunnel and the minute you grabbed his hands, the only thing in his head was how badly he needed to stuff you with his cock.

He grimaces at the pout on your lips as you finally untangle that stupid lacey thing from your frilly socks and platform sneakers. Mingyu grabs your wrist and drags you up against the wall that isn’t lined with lockers. He presses your front against the wall and uses his knee to spread your legs apart.

On instinct you stick out your ass, eager already despite him still being fully dressed, wiggling slightly to show him you want this too.

With quick, practiced fingers Mingyu undoes the knot of his bottoms and pushes down his compression shorts low enough to pull his cock out. He breathes a sigh of relief because finally he can flip up your skirt and see just how needy you are.

He has one large hand wrapped around his equally large cock and inspecting the view in front of him. His other hand settles on the roundness of your ass, grasping slightly to spread you open. He eyes your pink puckered hole and allows his gaze to move down to your pussy. He’s pumping himself roughly to get himself to full hardness as he eyes the slick that’s seeping between your lips. You’re almost jealous. That’s your job.

Once he’s satisfied with himself, he lets his cock rest between your cheeks, and he grasps you on both sides to squeeze. You want to cry, almost scared he’ll get off like this, just fucking the tightness of your pressed asscheeks. It’s almost quiet save for his panting and the way your slick cunt is starting to wet his cock.

So you whine loudly, that unimpressed, unsatisfied one that precedes a—

“Daddyyyyyyyy!”

Fuck there it is.

Mingyu grimaces and clicks his tongue again. No use being quiet now. Or ever, really. Everyone knows anyway.

He turns you around quickly, hoisting you up in his arms and moving to wrap your legs around his slender waist. This position has your pussy pressing up against the underside of his cock and the slight relief it gives you makes you nearly sob.

Instead you whine. You whine and start to grind sloppily as the feeling of delirium starts to course through you. It comes naturally when it comes to Mingyu. You’re addicted and so is he.

Even if your bare cunt is already pressed against him and all Mingyu has to do is angle your hips slightly to slip in, he goes the extra mile.

He supports your smaller frame with one hand and uses the other to lift a corner of his jersey to his teeth so he can bite it. He pulls it up high enough to expose his stomach and your mouth waters at the sight.

Mingyu looks good. He always looks good and he knows you like it when he’s on display for you as well. The dips and groves of his stomach, how it's still damp from the sweat from the first half, has you clenching around nothing.

He feels it against his cock and he quickly decides to quit playing around. You two probably have around 6 minutes and not a second to lose. So he flips the front of your skirt up and groans at the sight of you.

You’re soaked and coating his cock as you try to grind against him, a futile attempt to somewhat relieve yourself. 

So Mingyu pulls away slightly to position the head of his cock at your entrance.

“D’you play with yourself at all, sweetheart?” He says, tapping the large head of his cock against your clit.

“Huh?” comes your confused response.

“I asked my dumb baby if she played with this little pussy?” He answers meanly.

You flush. It’s like a routine for you to stay with Mingyu the night before a game, allowing him to let off steam and go into a game day glowing and stress free while you sit on his lap in the team bus full of his cum from your morning fuck.

But the night before the cup finals had you attending a work event at the last minute because of a scheduling issue that had both you and Mingyu pissed off and horny.

You suppose that’s partly to blame for the first half that had even you swearing at the refs from your seat in his private box.

“Just a little—“

He clicks his tongue, “How many fingers d’you use?”

“Just two daddy, a-and I stopped!” you cry almost petulantly.

“Yeah, baby? Why’d you stop?”

“Because it was no good!” You bounce in his hold slightly, biting your lower lip as he continues to tease your entrance and clit. Just the head of his cock was enough to get you this wound up.

He grins. It’s brilliant and handsome and just so fucking mean because he says, “Thats right. Two of my dumb baby’s fingers are nothing on daddy’s cock,” and pushes into you.

Mingyu has always been so big and thick and you have always always been so much smaller than him, his cock always stretching a little painfully when he first slips in. But today, with such little time and even spending the night away from each other, the stretch punches the breath from your lungs.

You squeal in equal parts delight and distress and Mingyu sets a brutal pace, not even letting you settle into the feeling of him inside of you.

But you understand. You’re his good girl so you look at him with big teary eyes, bottom lip in between your teeth and nod dumbly at him. Words fail you whenever he’s inside you but it’s okay. It’s better than okay. 

You two have long established how nothing nothing in this world makes you happier than when he uses you as he wants, when slips into you whenever he wants, and calls you his princess while destroying your insides.

His eyes are transfixed on where the two of you meet and you can’t help but follow his gaze. It’s absolutely lewd how you wrap around his cock, airtight, and how the sloppy noise echoes in the room.

“Look at my little pussy,” he starts, “my perfect little hole. My baby’s little cunt was made for me.”

Your cries are growing needier, louder, and more depraved. At the back of your mind you remember to worry about how tonight's the championship match and that the halls are surely bustling with press, staff, and even the opposing team. But Mingyu is fucking you so deep, so fast, that he’s literally fucking the thoughts out of your head.

You fight to stay with him in this room, in this moment, but before your eyes completely shut close, you feel his hand wrap around your throat.

“Daddy’s running out of time, baby,” he says, “so be a good girl and stay still for daddy, huh?”

You whine and nod as his hips move faster and he cages you up against the wall, your arms coming up to wrap around his head. 

“Words, princess. I need words.”

You want to swear at him and thrash in his arms but you’re feeling too good, too lost in the pain and pleasure. You bite at the collar of his jersey because it's the only thing you can do to quiet the pathetic whimpers, babbling, and indecipherable cries Mingyu’s pulling from you. 

Mingyu presses a kiss to your temple quickly, “My dumb baby,” he coos, “look so pretty when you’re crying on my cock. That’s my pretty baby, daddy’s almost there. Keep being good for me, m’kay?”

He speeds up his fucking, hips pistoning, and the press of his cock pressing against that spot in you that makes you see stars.

Mingyu pulls you into a kiss that’s all spit and teeth and bruising lips. He sucks on your tongue before separating the two of you and looking back down at his cock bullying its way into your pussy. 

It happens before your mind can process it but at the speed of light you feel a wet, hot thwack of his spit landing on your clit harshly and you cry out, unable to keep it in.

“Daaaaddy!” It’s loud and keening and you’re sure everyone on the other side of the wall hears.

But it’s all Mingyu needs and one, two, three, brutal thrusts later, he’s spilling deep into you, fucking you through his orgasm.

Your eyes fly open as he rubs at your clit with his thumb while he pulls out and slaps at your puffy clit before he brings your face close and presses back in for a long, deep kiss.

When he pulls away and meets your eyes there’s a mean glint in them and a shit eating grin that is almost frustrating enough to bring you back to tears.

“See baby, if you’d been good, I’d have made you come.”

“B-but! I was good, daddy! I was so good for you!” He settles you back down on wobbly legs and tucks himself back into his uniform.

You’re looking at him in indignation, tears brimming at eyes, threatening to fall. Mingyu’s eyes soften as he brushes the tears away with large thumbs and tucks your hair behind your ears.

It’s a futile attempt to have you looking presentable but your smudged lip gloss and the mess at the back of your head are enough to sell you both out for your halftime activities.

“Being good means not touching what belongs to daddy when he’s not there.”

All you can do is huff. He’s right.

You’re trying to fix how your jersey (a custom pink version of the Diamonds’ home jersey) is tucked into your skirt when you catch Mingyu picking something up from the floor.

It’s your underwear.

“Gimme!” You pout, trying to reach for it. But all Mingyu has to do is raise it above his head and it’s impossible for your to retrieve the flimsy lace

“I think I’ll keep this one for now,” he starts, “Think of it as a lucky charm.”

He unrolls the flimsy fabric and folds it into a small square, tucking it into his compression shorts and tightening up the drawstring of his uniform.

“If you want to be good for daddy tonight, you’ll keep all my cum inside of you, won’t you?” He says sweetly, talking you through the idea he’s suddenly come up with, “then daddy will win this game and fuck you with my medal on.”

After trying to get both of you presentable again, you slip out of the auxiliary locker room hand in hand just two minutes over Seungcheol’s initial 10 minute deadline.

You greet the team as they all line up again to return to the pitch and smile proudly as Mingyu talks to his teammates about feeling more relaxed and ready to play. You don’t miss the way he lets go of your hand just to wrap an arm around your waist, hand resting just on the curve of your ass as you two pass the players of the opposite team.

“Good luck, daddy. Come back to me a champion, please.” You bat your eyelashes at him and press the most innocent of kisses to his cheek.

The sweet moment is interrupted by an exuberant, “OKAY! LET’S GO!” from Hoshi.

You roll your eyes at him playfully but give in when he asks for a fist bump and says, “Tiny, thank you as always for your invaluable contribution to the Diamonds.”

You head off to where Hoshi’s girlfriend is seated, opting to be surrounded by friends and fans alike, but not before hearing the two teammates’ exchange.

“You ready to show them up, rockstar?” Is Hoshi’s jest.

Mingyu can only laugh and say, “Fuck you.”

And show them up he does. Just 6 minutes back on the pitch and Mingyu reminds everyone why he’s one of South Korea’s most prolific strikers. With an assist from Jeonghan Mingyu is lighting fast as he performs one of his signature moves and sends the ball flying to the top left corner of the goal.

You scream your throat hoarse as you watch him run across the pitch towards a camera, pointing and kissing the diamond crest on his chest.

Not long after that Mingyu nets a freekick from just beyond the penalty box, equalizing the game. With so much at stake and still so many minutes on the clock, you can hardly breathe easily, knowing it could still go either way. And it does. 

At the 80th minute the opposition scores their third goal and you could practically feel the Diamonds’ crowd deflating, fearing a repeat of the previous year.

“They can still equalize, I’m sure of it,” you hear Hoshi’s girlfriend from beside you, “As long as Soonyoung doesn’t fuck up and your boyfriend produces another one of his miracles, we can take this to penalties.”

You groan. You hate penalties, but you know how much this match means to Mingyu and the team.

Despite the possibilities, the game has gone into injury time and the crowd around you already look like they’re ready to pack up but sticking around just in case.

The majority of the players are crowded around the opponents’ goal, desperate feet hoping to score or hoping to defend. At this point some of the opposite side’s players are just trying to kill time to secure their win.

Hoshi is yelling orders from along the Diamonds’ midfield, abandoning his goal with the confidence that his teammates will surely take another goal. 

But time just about stops when the Diamonds are awarded a corner. Jeonghan looks like he’s dragging his feet about taking it, walking away to have someone else take the kick. But in a split second he turns back to kick the ball in a beautiful arch that meets none other than Mingyu’s right foot to take a third goal.

Hat trick.

Penalties are an awful cruel thing for any football fan, you think. Even after over ninety minutes a winner still isn’t decided and it falls down to each team’s five penalty takers and their goalkeepers.

Hoshi’s girlfriend is in hysterics next to you, gripping your hand like a lifeline. Mingyu had been the first to take his penalty, the ball floating almost gracefully and finding itself out of the keeper’s reach in a split second.

The score was at 4-3 with the Diamonds in the lead after Seungkwan’s attempt had found the back of the net neatly. If their opponents miss this, the championships would be theirs.

This all falls down to their captain.

Hoshi has always been so dependable and today is no exception. The very second he deflects that fifth and final attempt, cheers erupted in every direction and the final whistle is blown. 

The Diamonds won the Korean FA Cup.

The players, the coaches, and press flood the pitch and white confetti erupts around you. Before you know it your seatmate has vanished. She’s running across the pitch to jump into Hoshi’s arms, kissing away the tears pouring down his face, the team captain overcome with emotion.

Jealousy flares in your chest and you try to look everywhere for Mingyu. You stand indignantly, looking all over for him when you’re reminded of gravity.

The intensity of the match and the anxiety at its uncertainty had taken your mind away from your mid-match tryst with Mingyu and from the fact that he had come so deeply inside of you that it was only now that you were standing and pacing and you could feel the thick, sticky seed moving inside of you, threatening to drip out of your hole. You didn’t even have any underwear to catch it and sop up the mess, the lace neatly folded and tucked into Mingyu’s own underwear. 

You stamp your foot and a whine pathetically when you feel someone come up behind you. You quickly turn to see that, amidst the chaos, Mingyu had found you.

You’d only been away from each other for an hour but in that hour he had become a champion and that fact alone had changed him. He looked like some Greek hero with how he stood with pride painted on his face and how his handsome smirk screamed winner.

God, you needed to suck his cock. 

Luckily for you, Mingyu had the same idea. With the flurry around the win and the podium and carpets still being set up, the captain, manager, and executives still giving interviews, Mingyu knows everyone will be busy and he has time to whisk you away before anyone will even notice he’s gone.

That’s how you end up in the team’s main locker room, still a bit messy from the half time huddle, kneeling in front of Mingyu’s locker and choking on his cock.

“That’s right, baby. Take it slow so you can take more daddy in your mouth,” is his sweet encouragement before he takes the bottle of champagne next to him and takes a long swig.

You’re transfixed, blinking teary eyes to clear them, just so you don’t have to look away from the sight in front of you.

Mingyu had stripped everything off, feeling like he was overheating from the match he’d just played. He sat like a king, leaning back against his locker, spreading his legs and propping one leg up on the bench. He’d popped open a bottle of champagne and pressed the mouth of the bottle to your lips, watching the alcohol overflow from your mouth and drip down your chin to your neck and down your chest.

He kisses you shortly after, tasting the Moët on your tongue and pushing you down onto your knees.

There’s no need to preface anything because in no time you’re gagging on him. It doesn’t take much to have you drooling all over him, his cock so much bigger than what you should actually have in your mouth.

“You can fuck my throat, daddy, please please please!” You gasp out as he pulls you off of him so you can take in a deep breath.

“I know baby,” he says before taking another swig of that champagne, your eyes following the way his Adam's apple bobs. 

He leans down to bring the bottle to your mouth and says, “tongue out, my filthy girl.”

Your spit is thick and sticky in your mouth and you make a show of it when you follow his orders. He wraps a hand around your throat to steady you as he pours champagne into your mouth again, not caring about how much falls down the side of your mouth and dampens your jersey.

He leans back, pleased with the indulgent mess before him, and grabs at the hair at the crown of your head to pull you back down on his cock.

You’re a dream. You had been so good, so obedient at learning to take his cock over the years, and now he’s sure he’s molded himself into your throat the same way he’s made your pussy perfect for only him.

“My perfect girl’s got the most perfect mouth, huh?” He’s holding you down onto him, keeping your head in place, “The filthiest fucking mouth and its all for dad’s cock.”

The noises are disgusting. With your mouth full you can’t say anything but you’re happy just to listen to him come undone. Your spit and his pre-cum gather at the sides of your mouth but you don’t want to stop until he’s pumping his sticky cum onto your tongue.

You pull off of him to lave your tongue over his balls, sucking on one and then the other before saying, “Daddy, I think I deserve to drink your cum, right?”

Mingyu swears under his breath, somehow still not believing how lucky he got with you, your depraved mind the only one that can match his own.

He downs the rest of the champagne and moves to kiss you, sharing the drink. You gulp down what you can before going back down on him, holding down his hips as the muscles beneath your fingers jerk as he fills your mouth. 

Mingyu comes in thick ropes of sticky hot cum that you almost have trouble swallowing, but daddy trained you to be a good girl, thankful for everything she gets. So you swallow every single drop, proudly showing Mingyu your empty mouth.

“Atta girl.”

You try to be on your best behavior and good for Mingyu for the rest of the evening. You’re the picture-perfect girlfriend watching and cheering proudly as he gets his gold medal and the team cheers in unison once Hoshi lifts the trophy above his head. The pictures are taken and the interviews are given but there’s only so much you can take and by the time Mingyu has you buckled up into his car, you’re feeling unnecessarily bratty.

“Baby,” Mingyu starts. You’re some fifteen minutes away from his house and he’s about to get into it now?

“Mm,” is your petulant response.

“Listen to me,” he warns.

But it almost comes as an instinct to you to retaliate, having the most fun when you two go back and forth like this.

“Don’ wanna.”

From the corner of your eye you see his jaw harden.

“Didn’t daddy fill you up, today?” He says as more of a statement.

“He did.”

“Didn’t daddy feed you his come, princess?”

You start to flush, “He did.”

“And then didn’t daddy say he was going to fuck you with his medal on if he won the championships?”

He’s pulling up to his house now and you almost let out a sigh of relief.

“He did,” you answer.

He parks and turns to you, “Then you are going to get out of this car and head up to our room and you are going to strip yourself naked.”

You’ve been waiting for this. Finally, away from any prying eyes and ears, no matter how accepting, you can finally let loose and have him every way you want him.

“Daddy will park the car and unload the stuff and when I come into the room I better see that messy pussy served up for me.”

There’s buzzing in your ears and you bite your lips.

“Of course, daddy.”

It starts with your good intentions, really.

You had asked him kindly to lay back against the pillows and the headboard promising that you were going to be real good, daddy, I promise! And that you were so proud of him, that he was so yummy on the field and of course he was going to be the winner.

You wanted to reward him, said that daddy deserves to be ridden to have your tits in his face, to be spoiled.

To be fair, it was a valiant effort on your end. Once he’d settled into bed, you squealed and threw yourself over him, chest to chest as you rubbed your bare pussy onto his cock.

You were aching to be stuffed but you know how sloppy and wet he likes your pussy to be. And through his cum from earlier today was smeared all over your cunt and thighs, you knew you could do better for him.

You pressed kisses to his chest while running your hands over the dips and divots, the hardness and softness of his chest and abs and sighed dreamily as you met his eyes through thick lashes, “I love you daddy, I’m so happy for you.”

“I love you too, baby. I’m happy I made you happy,” was his simple response.

You bit your lip at the elation that filled your chest and you pressed a quick kiss to the gold medal resting on his chest. You stood on your knees on either side of his hips and kept one hand on his stomach to steady yourself as you lined his cock with your entrance.

The delicious stretch and resistance was still there as you sank down on him, his own spend mixing with your slick, making the slide delicious.

He couldn’t keep his eyes off how your pussy split open to take all of him. The pace is slow and your whimpers of “Daddy, daddy, daddy” made his head spin.

But while slow and romantic was good, it was always just how your love making started. This was all before your thighs had grown tired and your lower back started to hurt.

Mingyu tried to talk you through it, guide your hips on how to grind just right for the head of his cock to press against that spot inside of you. Even his encouragement of you can do it, pretty, daddy’s tired is futile when you finally cry out.

“But daddyyyyy,” comes the high pitched whine, “I’M TIRED TOO. Don’t you feel bad for your baby?”

And he breaks at that.

He sits up and flips the two of you over without even pulling out and your eyes roll as the movements jostle him inside of you.

The anticipation is reaching its boiling point when lifts one leg and places it over his shoulder and pulls out of you to rest his cock on your sopping cunt.

He loves this. It’s fucking sick, but he loves to see how big he is compared to your little hole. He loves to see the head of his cock aligned with your belly button and how you clench around nothing, already missing him inside you.

Before he decides to push his cock back inside you he grasps himself by the base and rubs harshly at your entrance and clit with the engorged head of his cock. It makes you squeal as the rough stimulation shocks your system.

He had left you hanging during half time, with only just enough time for him to fill you up, and you had been too preoccupied blowing him to rub yourself to completion after the match.

But the blessed feeling of an orgasm is finally bubbling back onto the surface now that Mingyu was focusing on your pleasure.

“You’ll give me this, right, baby?” He says pulling you back to him. He wants you to be present, to know how he’s making your body tick, “Be my good girl and wet my cock, daddy wants this pussy to be dripping when he fucks it.”

You whimper in acknowledgment and he speeds up his ministrations, the stimulation getting to him as well as beads of pre-cum mix with your slick and eventually, the spray of your cum squirting out of you messily. 

Your moan is music to his ears and you cry out as he pushes his cock into you, not giving you even a second of respite.

With both hands free, Mingyu positions both of your legs over his shoulders, your stupid frilly socks tickling his ears. This position is a favorite for the both of you. He loves how deep he can fuck you like this, the head of his cock kissing your cervix. And you love how when you put your hand just under your belly button, you can see and feel how his cock moves inside you.

“Fuck, look at you,” he says all too breathless, “So fucking perfect.” The sweat beading on his face falls on your temples and you want to cry — what a waste not to taste him on your tongue.

“My perfect little cocksleeve, that I made just for me, isn’t that right. Fuck.” He’s losing it and God do you want him to fall apart.

He pulls away slightly and laughs to himself a little when he sees how his medal, still around his neck, is resting on your chest, bouncing slightly as he continues to fuck into you. What a sight. And only his.

What a day it’s been for him to have woken up in this very bed alone and just another football player hoping for a dream to come true. And to end up here now, in the same bed with you calling out to him like a litany of prayers and his champion’s medal sitting between your tits, bite marks on the flesh contrasting prettily against the yellow gold.

He bites his lip and focuses on your bodies and how you can barely get the word ‘daddy’ out coherently, mumbling dadd-da-daddy-dad unintelligibly. He does you a kindness and presses a hand down where your smaller one is, and thrusts hashly, loving the way you clench around him as you finally reach a second peak. The vice grip your pussy has on his cock is enough to push him over the edge as well, spilling another load into you and your eyes flutter shut.

Mingyu doesn’t pull out of you but sets your legs down and massages the insides of your thighs because he knows you’ll complain about them tomorrow.

He slips off his medal and sets it on the bedside table next to your phones.

After arranging your bodies to be more comfortable, he presses soft kisses on your ear and into your hair, chuckling slightly as you mumble in your sleep that it tickles. 

Mingyu can’t help but keep that smile even as he settles down. It feels so good to be a winner.

-`✮´- if you've come this far, thank you and it'd mean the world to get a reblog or to hear your thoughts on my first fic on here!

#frizzy fiction #seventeen smut #svt smut #mingyu smut #mingyu x reader #mingyu imagines #mingyu scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #au: man of the match

[breadbrobin]

Hi idk if you’re taking reqs but I’ve been reading your posts about Luke Castellan a lot and I think I’m getting obsessed- So could you make a fic/shot about a Luke Castellan x daughter of Apollo reader where they’ve known each other since childhood and they’re kind of like frenemies (friends and/or enemies) and one day he ends up getting badly injured after a quest so she has to take care of him in the infirmary for a week, but ever since that happened he’s been trying to get injured just to go and see reader at the infirmary again?

Sorry if that wasn’t clear, and this is kinda inspired from another fic you made about Luke and daughter of Apollo:)

But if you ever make something like this I would really appreciate it if you tagged me!

two hearts

luke castellan x reader — percy jackson and the olympians

[fem!daughter of apollo reader]

summary: (as above)

warnings: canon typical mentions of violence, kissing, flirting, a couple of swear words, blood, idiots to lovers a lil bit too (can you tell it’s my favourite thing)

word count: 3.5k

(hiiii hello hi!! sorry this took me so long to get out, but here it is!! thank you so much for the request i had a lot of fun with this one (3.5k words of fun apparently). hope you enjoy it!)

———————————————

if someone had told you luke castellan was going to be gone on a quest when you arrived at camp for the summer, you wouldn’t have spent the whole drive to camp preparing to deal with his annoying ass.

you hiked up half-blood hill and over the boundary, noticing the distinct tension in the atmosphere. something was off.

when luke hadn’t come to see you as you dropped your bags off in the apollo cabin, or when you stopped into the infirmary, or even when you walked past the hermes cabin, you were clued in that something was up.

“where’s luke?” you asked chiron curiously.

“he is on a quest, child. sent by his father,” he smiled down at you warmly. “do not worry about him.”

“i’m not worried,” you bit your lip. “just curious. that’s all.”

and that was that.

it was weirdly boring being at camp without luke’s constant snarky comments. ever since you’d both gotten to camp when you were younger, he’d been a persistent thorn in your side. maybe it was because you both were new around the same time, or because you didn’t like it when he hovered around the infirmary, poking his quick fingers into buckets of bandages and medications. whatever it was, he seemed to enjoy irritating you. and you apparently enjoyed it more than you thought.

monotonous days: breakfast, archery, infirmary, training, activities, dinner, bed.

sleepless nights: nightmares of quests and dragons and a bright white scar.

you sighed one night, waking up from yet another dream of flashes and brief images. your siblings were sleeping around you, a couple of them snoring, and you sat up.

the air on the porch was cooler that night, especially for summer time. you wrapped your sweatshirt a little tighter around yourself and leaned on the porch railing, peering out into the darkness. you just needed a minute, really. you sat down on a chair and relaxed.

you woke up abruptly.

at first, you were confused as to why.

then you saw the figure on the hill.

it was a camper. the hint of orange in the full-moon light told you that much. they were stumbling down—no, they were rolling now.

you stood up and dashed back into your cabin, grabbing your to-go first aid kit. you then turned and ran towards the obviously injured figure. there were only three people it could be. and where were the other two?

you reached them quickly, dropping to your knees beside them and rolling them over.

luke.

it was luke.

the air rushed from your lungs. he was here. he was back. he was alive. you’d never felt such an overwhelming emotion before. it drew slight stinging tears to your eyes.

his eyes were barely open but he gripped your arm with a strength you didn’t think his weak body could still possess. “y/n?”

“just hold on, luke,” you whispered. there were injuries all over his body. you hardly knew where to start. “just hold on.”

“they’re gone,” he said absently.

you looked at him, but didn’t stop trying to help. “who’s gone?”

“everyone,” he stared up at the moon.

you bit your cheek and looked over your shoulder. one of your brothers had gone on that quest with him. “wake up!” you shouted. “someone come help!” you turned back to luke. “okay, luke. you’re gonna be okay.”

his cheeks were hollow. it was then that you noticed the way his eye was swollen closed and a dark red angry cut traced its way down the side of his face. you gasped and turned his head gently to see it better.

“not looking good, huh?” he murmured bitterly. “guess i won’t be getting any modelling contracts soon.”

“we’ll see about that,” you muttered. “stay awake, yeah?”

“you’re not the boss of me,” he grumbled, but kept his eyes open as help finally arrived to get him to the infirmary.

he’d had more injuries than you’d originally thought. it was like he’d been attacked by half of the monsters in greek mythology, honestly, based on the peppered burn holes in his shirt, the cuts and scrapes on his arms and knees and the gashes littering his abdomen. oh, and not to mention the gaping spear wound in his right shoulder.

after working all night with some of your siblings and chiron in the infirmary, he was finally stable. finally, he’d be okay.

you volunteered to stay with him to keep an eye on him for the first few hours, though your eyelids were drooping with sleep.

you held his hand. it felt like the right thing to do.

he didn’t stir.

it was strange, being around him without him talking. since you were fourteen, he’d rarely managed to shut up around you. incessant talking and waving his hands around, explaining some new thing he learned in sword fighting or some joke one of his brothers made. it was both infuriating and entertaining. you loved and hated it, just like you loved and hated him.

sitting in silence with luke castellan felt like the world was turning on its head.

a couple of hours passed. you didn’t let go of his hand. not even as you slipped into a dream—a memory, really.

you were fifteen, and it was raining. it had only been a few months since you got to camp. things were still fresh and somewhat unknown. what you did know, though, was you could never get a moments peace anymore.

“y/n?”

you rolled your eyes. of course it was luke. “what?”

“where are you?”

you supposed you were hidden pretty well. sitting among the reeds at the bottom of the lake was one of your favourite places to be. it was cooler there, but even in winter it wasn’t cold. your feet could sit in the water if you wanted them to and the reeds blocked you from the wind and outside attention.

when you didn’t respond, you could hear him coming closer anyway.

“that’s fine, don’t tell me. i’ll find you anyway.”

and he did. he always did.

there was some theory about that, you realised as he sat beside you, the tiny space between the reeds barely big enough to hold both of you. some theory about a string of fate tying people together. some greek myth about people originally having four arms, four legs and two hearts, and when zeus split them down the middle, those people spent the rest of their lives searching for their other halves. drawn together by fate and reconnected always. you arm was pressed against his arm and your leg against his leg, and maybe it felt so right because you were cold and he was warm. not because of some silly soulmate theory that didn’t even make sense. because there was also the idea that maybe he’d put a tracker on you, but you had no idea where he would have gotten that. or maybe you were just bad at hiding.

“i’ve been looking for you,” he said.

you tilted your head in confusion. “what? why?”

“well,” were you mistaken, or were his cheeks kind of red? “i kinda hurt myself at training today. and the people in the infirmary told me to grow up and get over it. but honestly, it really hurts and i just wanted to know if you could heal it.”

you rolled your eyes. “always needing something, huh, castellan? is it so much to ask for you to just want to see me?” you hold your hand out and he extends his sword arm, revealing the cross-muscle cut on his forearm.

“i do want to see you,” he protested. “honestly. it’s not my fault that i’m also coincidentally injured whenever i want to see you.”

you couldn’t stay mad at that smile. “coincidentally, huh?” you handed him a small section of ambrosia from your pocket as your fingers ran over the cut, whispering a prayer to your father. you watched as the skin knit itself closed again, leaving not even a scar on his arm. you pulled back with a smile. “there. done. good as new.”

“thanks, doctor. don’t know what i’d do without you.”

“die a horrible death and be left permanently disfigured? to the point where we’d do a closed casket funeral just so we don’t have to look at your ugly face?” you tilted your head with a teasing smile.

he elbowed you. “shut up, loser. you know you love my face.”

and as you woke up, feeling his hand tighten around yours, you realised you kind of did. there was gauze over the cut on his eye and cheek, covering half of his face. and yet, he was still annoyingly beautiful.

“something on my face?” he mumbled as he saw looking, finally awake. “except for this thing, of course.” he gestured to the gauze.

you smiled wanly. “i’m glad you’re awake.”

“missed me?” he half-grinned.

you snort and drop his hand, patting the back of it and standing up to check his bandages. “you wish.”

he was silent as you checked his bandages and reapplied the few that were loosening. then, as you left to go and get the next person to keep an eye on him, he spoke up. “i missed you.”

you paused in the doorway, a small smile growing on your face. you looked back at him. his eyes were earnest and soft. he looked younger like this. “i’ll be back a few hours. we’ll have dinner together.”

you did have dinner together. in fact, you had almost every meal together for the first few days.

it was quiet, mostly. you didn’t ask him what happened and he didn’t tell you. you knew he’d already been interrogated by everyone else. he didn’t need that from you.

annabeth came and joined you a couple of times, chatting about some new architectural design she’d learned about or a new move she’d learned in training.

you realised how alike they were. family in every way that mattered, regardless of blood.

it didn’t take long for luke to start getting annoying again though.

once he’d been in the infirmary for four days, he regained most of his usual personality. and that meant bad jokes, incessant talking and poorly-timed, half-hearted flirting.

“the sun makes your eyes glow,” he said one day. he’d never had much of a filter, so it wasn’t too out of the blue, but it still caught you a little of guard.

you fumbled the supplies in your hand. “sorry, what?”

he was sitting up on his bed now. his wounds were almost healed. two more days and he’d be out of the infirmary. you didn’t know if you were one hundred per cent happy about that.

“your eyes. they glow in the sun.” he repeated.

you paused, glancing over at him. “thank you…?”

he nodded and leaned back, his eyes staying on you.

that was only the beginning.

within five hours he’d complimented your eyes, your skills, your smile and your kindness. multiple times. it got the point where the other two patients in the infirmary had stopped taking you seriously, just complimenting you instead. that’s where you drew the line.

“okay, luke, you need to stop. this is too much,” you said. you were checking his remaining wounds and nodding happily at them.

“what, am i flustering you? are you blushing?” he teased.

you were not blushing at all, you decided. whether it was strictly true or not was between your brain and your cheeks, not your honesty. “you’re annoying me,” you grumbled. “like, a lot.”

“you know you’ll miss me when i go back to my cabin,” he leaned back on his pillows, a smirk on his lips. it warped the scar on his cheek more than you expected, and it made your heart clench every time.

“if i miss you, you have permission to annoy me for the rest of my life,” you grumbled. you definitely wouldn’t miss this.

finally, he was out of the infirmary.

finally, you could work in peace.

finally, you could— oh, what the hell?

“good morning!” luke said as he waltzed into the infirmary. “i’ve injured myself.”

you looked him up and down as you walked closer. “you look fine to me. what did you do?”

“i fell of the rock climbing wall and hit my head.” he turned his head to show you the small trickle of blood above his ear.

you sighed and led him to a bed. you handed him ambrosia as you used a wet cloth to clean his head. “you were meant to take things easy for the first few days.”

“i did!” he protested. “i was only like, twelve feet up!”

you pursed your lips and shook your head. your hand was under his chin now, stopping him from turning his head to look at you. “taking it easy means no rock climbing at all, dumbass. you’ve been out of here for half a day and you’re already back!”

“maybe i like it in here.” he shrugged, pouting slightly, looking up at you.

“maybe i find you really annoying and ban you from coming in here,” you countered.

“you can’t do that,” he gasped.

“watch me, castellan.” you prodded his cheek mockingly. “don’t mess with me.”

his smile wasn’t exactly the response you were looking for, but you found that you didn’t mind it all too much.

luke came into the infirmary almost every two days for the next two weeks.

there was always some new injury that he couldn’t ignore, that he needed to have you heal. he only came in when you were there though, like he knew your schedule off by heart.

he probably did.

his sheepish smile was becoming a fixture of your days and you couldn’t help but smile a little brighter when you saw it. you couldn’t stop your heart from beating a little faster either, and it was annoying.

in the years that you’d been at camp, luke castellan had driven you up the wall. did you hate him? did you love him? how did you love him? how a friend loves a friend? how a doctor loves a patient? how a lover loves a lover? how did you hate him? why? why anything? why nothing? the questions only got worse.

“another minor injury?” you sighed, hearing his footsteps entering the infirmary. you didn’t know when you memorised the sound of his footsteps, or the rise and fall of his breathing while he slept, but you did.

“uh, not exactly…” the weakness in his voice made your stomach drop.

you turned around to see him clutching a bright red wound on his inner arm. he looked pale. that wasn’t a good sign. the blood was still seeping past his fingers. also not a good sign.

you gasped and pulled him to a bed immediately, pushing him to lie down and placing hard pressure on the wound. you could feel him reaching into your pocket and fishing around for ambrosia. once he found some, he ate it quickly and sighed in relief.

“what the hell happened?” you exclaimed.

he shrugged with one shoulder. “sword training.”

“were you training against the fucking terminator?” you took in the other minor cuts and bruises. your voice was unfairly shaky. you didn’t want to get close to losing him again. even just the thought made you feel sick.

his eyes were soft when they looked up at you. you almost dropped all of your anger right there. “i got sloppy,” he said nonchalantly. “i’ll be fine once i get back to normal.”

“this is an artery,” you said. “you could die.”

he didn’t look all that upset or shocked. “i won’t die, baby. i won’t.”

your stomach gave a pitiful lurch at the nickname. “save your energy.”

“is that your doctorly way of telling me to shut up?” he teased.

“yes, it is,” you nodded. “now, shut up while i help you.”

he looked at you like you were hanging the stars in the sky, not tending to him with hands red from his blood.

no one had stopped talking about luke since he got back. the first failed quest in years, with two of the three members dying and the third one permanently scarred by a dragon. not a good ratio.

you often saw luke sitting alone now, and when he was nowhere to be found, you knew where he was.

maybe there was something to the strings of fate theory, you thought as you found him and sat down beside him among the reeds. they were taller now and more dense, but the two of you had carved out a little spot for yourselves over time. your limbs were still pressed against each other though. that was one thing that would never change.

he was turning something over in his hands. a repetitive motion.

you tried to make sense of what it was, but couldn’t.

“it’s a dragon claw,” he spoke up. “the one that did this.” he pointed at the still-red scar on his face. that was why you couldn’t get rid of that one. magic scars never really went away.

you stayed quiet.

“peter distracted the dragon just in time for me to get my sword back. i got the cut, but when i turned back he was getting thrown against the mountainside.” he shook his head bitterly. “he didn’t stand a chance.”

you stared at a dragonfly on a reed in front of you. “knowing my brother, he just would have been happy to be there. and happy that you’re alive.”

he smiled, but it looked forced and bitter. “yeah. he spent the whole time talking about how lucky we were for this opportunity, and how he was so excited to explore beyond camp… and gianna was the same. they were just…” he was fiddling with his camp beads now.

you watched his movements slowly. it was like he’d never been gone, but also like everything had changed. there was a new tension in the air around him. you weren’t sure if it was you or him.

“don’t be resentful,” you said softly, breaking the silence.

“what?” his eyes turned to you. “what do you mean?”

“don’t resent yourself and the gods for this,” you said, leaning a little closer to him and looking away. the dragonfly hadn’t moved—like it was listening. watching. “peter and gianna made their choices. they’re in elysium now. that’s about as good as it gets.”

he pressed his lips together and nodded. “i know.”

maybe there was something to the two hearts theory too, because you could tell he didn’t. he didn’t agree. he didn’t want to. you slipped your hand into his. “you know i’m always here for you, right, luke? i mean, you annoy me—a lot—but you’re still, well, you. and you’re important to me. i’ll always be there for you. if you want to hold hate in your heart, then be my guest. i’ll just have to hold more love in mine to balance you out.”

he was watching your connected fingers as you spoke. his hands were calloused and hard, but yours were softer. less time spent training and more time spent healing. “love for who?”

you, you thought. you didn’t speak.

he turned to look at you. you were already looking at him. “love for me?”

you swallowed tightly. “luke…”

he leaned in closer, until his lips were moments away from touching yours. one wrong move and you’d touch. or was that the right move? was the wrong move pulling away? leaving him alone—again? that didn’t feel fair. but nor did your pounding heart and your flushing cheeks, and maybe you were blushing now, but that didn’t mean you had to like it.

then you gave in. that string that connected your souls was pulling you too tight. your lips brushed against his softly at first, and before you could think to move any further, his hand was gripping the back of your neck and pulling you closer, and his lips were pressing against yours with the passion of years of built up tension. you’d never hated him at all, you realised. you loved him the whole time. sure, he was irritating. he was chatty. he was pushy and annoying and never stopped bothering you. but you’d missed his bothering, and you’d missed his smile, and when he pulled away to take a breath, you missed his lips with a fiery need that bubbled up from deep down inside you.

“guess i’ll be annoying you for the rest of our lives then, huh?” he said softly, chest rising and falling against yours.

your eyes were still closed, reeling from the kiss. “wasn’t that a given anyway? i wouldn’t want it any other way, personally.”

when he kissed you again, you decided that the theory about two hearts was, in fact, correct. you met as two, seperate halves in a fucked up world that had you grow up far too fast. you grew as two, finding your places at camp, finding your people, but always finding each other first. you met now as one. four arms, four legs, two hearts, meeting in a tumultuous display of love and desire. and that’s how you wanted to stay. your limbs locked with his, your hearts pounding in sync, your every feeling, every emotion, every sensation making your very soul hum with joy. you’d found him, finally, after years of your hearts waiting for this moment. finally, your two hearts were one again.

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #pjo x reader #luke castellan x you #charlie bushnell

[putellasawfc]

gingerbread competition!

leah williamson x reader

-

christmas music sounded from the bluetooth speaker that had been set up across the room, the familiar jingle of all i want for christmas is you by mariah carey filling the apartment you shared with your girlfriend of four years with a contagious level of christmas joy. the days had finally began to get chillier, the nights getting darker earlier and that’s all it took for you to get into the christmas spirit, which is why you had a variety of seasonal based activities ready for leah and yourself to partake in during the three day weekend you both had.

originally, you had really planned for tonight to be the night that you unpacked all the christmas decorations that you had stored in the loft and begin decorating your house. but after a long day of filming for different youtube videos and tiktok’s with the other arsenal girls, neither of you could be bothered with lugging down the boxes and bin bags that were filled to the brim with tinsel, baubles, stockings and lights. so instead, you went with the second best option. decorating a gingerbread house instead!

leah had been very scrooge about it at first, whining and wittering on about how there’s no point because it never stays up, even calling the whole thing a scam at one point but you had just tutted, claiming she just didn’t know how to build them properly.

“i do know how to build them! they’re just all flimsy, stay up for about five seconds and that’s it!” she defended herself, her brows furrowed in frustration as you stifled a laugh at how much offence she had taken to your previous statement.

“alright, alright. i believe you.” you teased, continuing to empty the gingerbread house kits you had picked up the day before. “i bet i can make mine look better than yours though.”

you knew the leah williamson could never back down from a challenge, her competitive streak was too high.

she scoffed, leaning forward with her elbows on the wooden table. “yeah right. sorry baby, but you have no chance.”

“well i actually have full confidence in my gingerbread house decorating abilities, so.” you said, dragging out the ‘o’ as you spread the different icings and sprinkles amongst the table, between the two of you. “why don’t we put a bet on it?”

“what kind of bet?” she eyed you, and you thought about it for a moment.

“whoever wins gets to choose an ugly christmas sweater that the loser has to wear to the next event we go to?” you suggested, that being the first thing that came to mind.

the blonde thought about it for a second, her gaze falling to the items on the table before she pursed her lips and slowly nodded, her blue eyes finding you again as she held out a hand in your direction.

“you have a deal.”

you grinned, wrapping your hand around her own and giving her a firm handshake. “may the best woman win.”

now, here you were almost twenty minutes later trying your best to apply the white icing onto the roof of your house that had miraculously managed to stay up for longer than fourty-five seconds, after you had generously coated the sides in too much icing. you would never admit it out loud, but leah was definitely right about the whole thing being flimsy. you had almost given up at one point in frustration after the house caved in on itself a sixth time.

“maybe we should’ve decorated cupcakes instead.” you mumbled, licking off some of the icing that had smudged on your thumb.

“i hate to say i told you so .. but.” the lioness captain huffed, “i definitely told you so.”

“when have you ever not enjoyed saying that?” you shot back, taking a quick glance towards her own house that had yet to be built, the woman deciding it would be better to decorate the pieces first and then stick them together after.

“i have my moments.”

you shook your head in amusement, finally satisfied with the amount of white, red and green icing that coated the house to mimic snow and tinsel. you moved to pick up a small bag of sprinkles that had already been opened by leah earlier, looking into the bag with furrowed brows.

“could’ve saved some for me babe.” you frowned, not even a quarter of the bag was full anymore.

“oops, my bad.” her tone was anything but apologetic, an amused smirk sat on her face and you elbowed her gently.

“you sabotaged me? that’s a yellow card!”

“i didn’t sabotage you! i just had to make my house look good, you wouldn’t understand.” she sent a playful look of concern to your creation and you gasped in mock offence.

“you’re so mean! my little house looks great.” you pouted, “would’ve looked even better if someone hadn’t used all sprinkles but … it’s okay i can still win without them.”

she scoffed at that, before the two of you fell into a comfortable silence, aside from the speaker that was still blasting out more christmas tunes as the night went on. you made do with the sprinkles you had left, carefully sticking them to the icing around your house, focusing on the outside of your roof to make it look like colourful christmas lights had been put up. you moved onto picking up different sweets, dotting them around the house wherever you thought looks best, just adding the finishing touches when a groan to the left of you caught your attention.

you raised a brow and looked over, not being able to help the smile that rose when you saw how much leah was struggling with putting the pieces together. she’d managed to get two to stick together, but then the other side would fall down, and then when she’d attempted to stick that side back together, another side would fall down, tangling her in a never ending cycle that was clearly annoying her with the way her brows touched and her jaw tensed.

“looks like your little sabotage was for nothing.” you chirped, revelling in the way it only made her more frustrated.

“shut up.”

you laughed, finally finishing the house before pushing it away slowly, relieved the whole ordeal was finally over. “ahhh, now i get to sit back and watch you struggle.”

“i’m breaking up with you.” she muttered under her breath, intense gaze not moving from her house.

“you’re not allowed.” you swiftly replied, leaning in closer to get a better look at the mess she was making. “maybe if you ask nicely, i could give you a hand.”

she didn’t reply at first, still attempting to finish the task herself, but when almost three minutes went by and she wasn’t getting any closer to completing it, she stomped her foot like a toddler throwing a tantrum and turned to you in annoyance.

“fine. help me.”

“uh, what was that?” you questioned, cupping your ear with your hand.

she rolled her eyes, throwing her head back in exasperation at your immaturity.

“please will you help me build my house?” she asked again, “before i throw it at a wall.”

you grinned, throwing an arm over your girlfriends shoulder and pulling her into your side, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek before nodding. “i’d love to.”

it took a little bit of work, the pair of you bickering back and forth when leah had accused you of putting too much pressure on it and you accusing her of letting go too soon, but eventually, the both of you pulled your hands away cautiously, giving it a few seconds just to make sure before you gave eachother a double high five, pleased that it had finally stayed put.

pushing it back slowly as you had done to yours previously, you both sat back and admired your efforts on both houses.

“think it’s gonna be a pretty close one love.” leah said, pulling up her phone ready to snap a picture for her instagram story, where you had planned to put up a poll to see who’d win.

“hmm, maybe.” you hummed in agreement, “but i think my gumdrops on the roof might just help me win.”

she rolled her eyes once again, but this time with less irritation now that the hard part was done with. “yeah, yeah. if you say so.”

the defender took a quick snap, moving her phone to show you her screen when not even second later did leah’s house fall apart, one of the pieces even landing on the floor with a soft thud.

“you’re having a laugh.”

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #awfc #awfc x reader #leah williamson one shot #awfc one shot #arsenal wfc x reader #lioness x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso one shot

[webfilledhead]

muscle memory

tasm!peter parker x reader

Angst then kinda fluff? My first time writing for him be kind to me

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Your night is quiet, you were getting used to quiet evenings. It was weird at first, it felt almost empty. You had so much time now, you spent most of your nights in your room studying for exams that were weeks away. You would sit at your desk and reread paragraphs that slipped your mind the first couple times as you played the news on your tv as background noise.

This night was similar to most, you were actually getting work done this time. You had three assignments done and one to go. The downside to this was that they were due next week and when you finished you would have no work to do and would probably end up reading your assigned readings early.

As you’re about to start your last assignment you hear tapping. You brush it off the first time. The second time it is impossible to ignore since you weren’t just imagining it like all the other nights before. Your breath catches in your throat as you realize the second you turn around it’s over.

You turn in the chair of your desk.

Sure enough there he is. He’s wearing his Spider-Man suit, he’s resting against the windowsill like he can’t bear to hold his own weight. The second your eyes landed upon the torn chest of his suit and the bloodied exposed flesh your movements were muscle memory.

It has been two months since you have done this but your movements are quick and sure. You opened the window and half carried him half dragged him to your bed no questions asked. You remove his mask and the upper half of his suit with deft fingers. You paid no mind to how he smelled like he spent his afternoon swimming in the sewers, maybe you noted it a little. You quickly analyze his injuries as you pull the now dusty first aid kit under your bed out. You didn’t have one before you met him, now you keep it under your bed for easy access.

“Sorry I’m getting your bed all bloody,”he groans out softly which makes your movements come to a halt.

You look at him, really look at him. It’s been two months since you’ve seen him up close and not just on the news. You haven’t seen him since he broke up with you, claiming it was too dangerous for you to be around him. You were so angry at first but now after sixty days you’ve grown numb. Your feelings are starting to bubble at the surface again as you gaze into his chocolate brown eyes. His stupid doe eyes.

You take a deep breath and tell yourself you can be angry later. You need to focus on the task at hand, another assignment really,“It’s fine everything can be washed away.”

Your words carry weight that you want nothing to do with. Everything can’t be washed away, some stains are stubborn and never leave. You know you can’t wash him away no matter how much you try that much is evident with how your ears always perk up when his name is mentioned in the news.

Before he can get another word out you exit your room, head to the bathroom, and get two clean towels and dampen them. You also get him pain medicine from the medicine cabinet. You give him the pills wordlessly with your water bottle that was at your desk.

With the damp towel you begin to clean off all the dried blood and grime so you can get a good look at how bad his injuries really are. You’re gentle as you wipe at his warm skin. The only sounds in the room are the quiet news channel now forgotten on your tv and his soft winces every now and then.

Once his chest is clean you can see he has three long gashes, they aren’t too deep they’re much shallower than you expected, the longest one runs from is upper right pec down to his left side on his lower ribs. As you use the clean towel to clean the wounds again he tries to speak again.

“It really isn’t okay, when did you get white floral bedding? It was dark purple a couple days a-” Peter cuts himself off realizing the implications of what he just said.

You feel slightly embarrassed at how happy you feel hearing that. He still cares for you, you hoped he did somewhere deep within you. Despite everything you still miss him and his constant need for first aid.

“You’ve been watching me,” you don’t ask it’s more of a statement since he just confirmed it. You start applying Neosporin to the gashes.

You can feel yourself folding like origami so you make sure not to look in his eyes. Not to look at his stupid sheepish smile. You can’t do this.

“Why would you ever suggest that? I just mean you used to have purple bedding,”He mumbles trying to cover up for himself as he attempts to sit up to look at you better.

You gently push him back down as you get butterfly bandages from your first aid kit. You use them in the deepest sections first since you don’t know if you’ll have enough for the entire length of the wounds.

“Why are you here Peter?”

You blurt your question out with no thinking prior to it. You know why he’s here, you’re the only person who can take care of him. You’re the only one who knows his secret, the only person he can let his guard down to. The only one who will open your window to him in the middle of the night no questions asked.

“I found myself coming here like I always did after getting beat up. I missed you,”he says so sincerely it hurts.

Your hands stop again for the second time. They begin to shake slightly when you hear his words. You hadn’t seen him in so long and the first time you do he comes back to you all beat up and bloody. You take in your proximity to him for the first time since you dragged him to your bed. You’re leaning over him awfully close to him so you can get a better look at his wounds. He’s warm, his skin is soft when your fingers brush against it, he’s so Peter.

You don’t say anything, not knowing how to reply. Knowing him this doesn’t mean he will want to be in a relationship with you again. He’s so stubborn.

You don’t move away when his hand reaches up to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek,“Do you miss me too?”

The answer to that question is obvious enough he just wants to hear you say it. You can’t, your pride won’t let you. You can’t be left to lick at your wounds alone again.

“You’re so unfair, Parker,” you mumble as you keep your eyes away from his. You focus on the tiny cuts on his chest now, keeping yourself distracted. It’s hard to distract yourself when his hand leaves your face to your waist to keep you close.

It’s not fair that he comes to you in the middle of the night all beat up and bruised after not seeing him for two months and asks you this. It’s not fair that he can just show up whenever he wants and leave whenever he pleases.

Then he gives you that stupid smile of his. That very same smile that never fails to make you melt and give into whatever he has to say. You move your hands from his chest to his face and start cleaning up his face with soft touches.

“I know I’m being unfair, I just can’t stand being away from you anymore,” he says making your brows furrow in confusion.

Then the ugly feelings you pushed down start bubbling at the surface once more,“You can’t just leave me then come back after two months expecting me to welcome you back with open arms.”

“I know I messed up, I know that but I want to make it up to you. Just answer this please: do you miss me?” Peter asks as he tugs you closer to him, you lose your balance and end up with one hand braced on the bed beside him and the other on his shoulder. You’re so close to his face and those pretty brown eyes are looking at you in away that makes your breath catch in your throat.

You try to pull yourself away but his arm that has snaked its way around your waist keeps you planted,“Yes, but Peter you can’t jus-“

Your words are effectively cut off by Peter pressing his lips against yours. It’s sweet, a sweet familiar warmth you missed so much. You wish you could blame muscle memory on how quick you are to melt against him and kiss him back.

#tasm!peter x reader #peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #tasm peter parker #tasm!peter x you #tasm spiderman #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm!peter parker #mcu fanfiction #spiderman x reader #spiderman x y/n

[tornado1992]

I know it’s wholesome Sonic and Tails Wednesday eve and I shouldn’t be posting anything angsty BUT

Now that we’re exploring the potential of Tails being directly linked to the Chaos Emeralds…

Team Sonic and the restoration are fighting Eggman’s forces, it’s rough, they’re outnumbered and are getting close to being out powered, Silver and Team Dark’s assistance be dammed, Eggman did plan how to keep them occupied.

A foreign place, no citizens around, no remaining functioning facilities nearby, not any city, town or population, nothing close to them, everything has been rather evacuated or demolished by Badniks.

They’re scattered around the battlefield, everyone way too far from one another, but they have to cover more terrain, and no one’s better than Sonic to do that.

He’s going from edge to edge, dodging, punching, wrecking, they’ve been at this for hours but he can keep on for days, no doubt.

There’s yelling and shouting until there isn’t, a harsh sudden silence taking its place, weird. Sonic turns to the vibration in his arm.

His communicator illuminates in bright angry red, an alarm. Tails vitals.

Tails flatlines.

Way to sudden, no rising on vitals, no yelling from his side of the battlefield, it had to be a mistake, he needed it to be a mistake.

But the screen shows Tails’ communicator’s still attached to his wrist, and there’s no longer any silence when the shouts and cries of the fox’s name fill the place, It wasn’t a mistake.

He nearly trips on his own feet at how quickly he moved, his legs suddenly so weak to support him, but he had no time to freeze, he had no time to doubt he had no time-

He gets beside him in less than a second.

He’s on the ground, no badniks near him, the ground around him almost steaming, surrounding him in infernal smoke, he can feel the ground trembling, trembling, almost like how his body felt when a much younger Tails was purring while hugging him. Hell, why does he look so small all of the sudden?

His baby brother’s bright pretty yellow fur tainted if not bathed in a sick red. His chest fluff has no white left to show, a deep wound right over his heart. No.

He craddles him close, he knows he shouldn’t move him but he shouldn’t be so still, he wasn’t supposed to be this still, no, he was supposed to at least be crying he was supposed to hug Sonic back he was supposed to open his eyes-

There are no functioning hospitals in miles. The medic team is not equipped for this after hours of treating the wounded and preventing casualties. There’s no longer any medic team around, just wrecked badniks and his friends approaching.

Tails isn’t breathing. He doesn’t react to the speedster’s hand on his cheek. He doesn’t purr when his brother’s fingers run through his bangs. He doesn’t wake up when Sonic shouts his name begging him to please open his eyes.

Tails flatlined, but Sonic could tell his own heart threatening to stop.

He can’t hear anything. He can’t think. He can’t see anything but how still his little brother’s chest is.

He doesn’t think. He just knows he will not lose his little brother. Not now. Not ever. Not like this.

His body moves on his own when he practically rips a chaos emerald from Shadow’s hand, returning to his brother’s side not a second after, he doesn’t think even once about what doing next.

Sonic puts the chaos emerald over his kid’s small chest, right over his heart. Most would call what he made an “overpowered defibrillator”, but he knows he was just reaching for a miracle.

The miracle mercilessly shocks his kid.

One time, it doesn’t work. Two times, he can feel how the kit’s body can barely handle that much energy. Three times, his own hands are trembling, why is Tails face wet? It’s not even raining. Four times, someone’s yelling at him to stop, he’s only hurting Tails even more, he’s only damaging his body, but he can’t hear anything, Five times, he uses even more power, all his rage, desperation and… fear? Into that last shock.

Tails wakes up with a gasp. It worked.

It worked, Tails opened his eyes and started coughing loudly. Rough and harsh, but it meant he was alive, no wound visible anymore over his chest.

It worked, and that’s all that matters now.

Not how the skin in his hands got burned even through his gloves, not how his little brother’s eyes are no longer baby blue but an emerald green so much like his, not how long it took for Tails to actually look at him and answer when he asked if he was okay, not how he seemed more scared than confused about the fact that he was alive, not how even while Tails was fully awake and conscious Knuckles couldn’t find a pulse.

Tails is alive, and that’s all that matters.

#sonic the hedgehog #miles tails prower #sonic and tails #unbreakable bond #they are cosmic truth #they’re brothers your honor #this will have consequences #damn chaos emeralds literally giving him life huh #anyways don’t worry this time this is unrelated to you know what fic haha that one’s worse #i just needed to get this idea out before Wednesday because #✨not very wholesome✨ #and now the bros have matching eyes ❤️ #hope that doesn’t backtrack or anything

[maybestoryideas]

TWST Imagine #1

Imagine the students’ reactions to finding out you enjoy making fiber arts (weaving, sewing, embroidery, etc.).

Since Ace and Deuce spend the most time with you, they’re the first ones to discover your hobby.

The three of you were having lunch when the two boys realized that you hadn’t said a thing since they sat down to eat. Deuce looks over to ask what’s wrong and sees you hunched over in your seat, fiddling with something in your hands.

“What’ve you got there, (Name)? (Name)?”

You looked up and around, as if not realizing where you were, before smiling and showing him your hands. In one, you’re holding a very familiar sash of grey and white fabric. In the other, you’ve got a needle with some thread. And beside you lies a small sewing kit.

“Grim ripped his collar while trying to sneak out of class, so I figured I'd fix it up before it tears completely.”

Then you immediately go back to sewing. It’s a little jarring for them; seeing their usually blunt and sarcastic friend taking on such a dainty endeavor. But what’s even stranger is the amount of skill and concentration you’re investing in said endeavor. Your hands and eyes are moving with surgical precision, and the tray of food you brought has barely been touched. Ace wants to make some snide remark about how you, of all people, know how to sew, but he’s not even sure you’ll hear him. In hindsight, it’s probably for the best; you’re holding a needle in one hand and are within arm’s reach of scissors.

If Kalim finds out that you can make charms or trinkets, he’ll immediately ask you to make him one. Expect other students to follow soon after.

“So, how did I sound?”

“You were great!” you answer, stopping the recording.

Cater had run into you earlier that day and invited you to stop by the Light Music Club; to come listen to him play and give some feedback. This resulted in you becoming their impromptu cinematographer and filming his performance. Personally, you think that was his whole plan from the start, and he just wants a good video to put Magicam; not that you mind, either way. As you hand Cater back his phone, his eyes flick down to your wrist.

“Hey, that’s a pretty cool bracelet! Did you get that from the school store?”

“Oh this? Nah, this is just something I made in my spare time.”

“WHAT?!”

You practically jump into Cater’s arms, certain that half of the school could hear Kailm. The latter of the two runs over and takes your wrist in his hands. Despite practically bouncing with energy, he’s careful not to grab or pull too hard as he stares down at your wrist.

“You can make jewelry? That’s so cool!”

“I don’t know if I’d call it jewelry since it doesn’t use metal or, well, jewels.”

“That doesn’t matter. The fact that you can make something like this just goes to show how talented you are.”

You know Kalim’s just being a proverbial ball of sunshine because that’s how he is, but the compliment still makes you go a little pink.

“Thanks, I guess? I mean, I learned how to make friendship bracelets when I was a kid one Summer, so it just sort of stuck with me.”

“Friendship bracelets…” he parrots, like you just spoke in a foreign tongue. Then he smiles up at you. “Say, could you make me one? I mean, we are friends, after all!”

How can you say no to a request like that?

“Hah, of course, Kalim. Did you have a preferred color in mind?”

“Hmm, maybe something blue. Like a sky blue?”

“I’d prefer something in an emerald-green.”

“Gah!”

You swiftly turn to face Lilia, who’s standing right behind you. It comes as more of a surprise than it really should.

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, I simply assumed the offer was open to all of us. We’re all friends here, are we not?”

He smiles back at you.

“If you want me to make you one, you can just ask. Cater?”

“Red and white, please!”

…And look forward to even more of them asking for you to fix their clothes

Knock-knock!

“Hang on a sec…”

You open the doors to Ramshackle and are greeted by the sight of Ruggie holding a small stack of hastily folded clothes.

“Again?”

“Yeah, things got a little out of hand during our last Magift practice. I already washed ‘em. D’ya think you can fix it?”

You take one of the shirts and examine the damage; just some unraveling along the seams, nothing longer than an inch.

“Yeah, I can take care of these no problem.”

Ruggie follows you into the lounge, closing the door behind him. He takes his usual spot on the couch and sets the clothes on the table, while you go to get your things. Perhaps he should stop by Sam’s next time and pick up some more supplies; you were starting to run low the last time he was over. A moment later, you’re back with your tools and are already at work fixing up the tears.

“You know, you don’t have to stay here and wait for me to finish; I can just text you when they’re done.”

“It’s fine. Besides, it gives me an excuse to not go run errands for Leona.”

“Aren’t you bored, though?”

“Nah, this is the only chance I get for downtime.”

You chuckle softly, finishing up one shirt before moving on to the next. It looks like you’ll just barely have enough thread to finish the job.

“Maybe you should start charging a fee to people for fixing their clothes.”

“You sound like Azul,”

“I’m just sayin'; if someone can afford to buy a new shirt, they can afford to pay for some thread. At least that way you’re not spending your own money.”

“Does that mean you’d be willing to cover the expenses?”

“Does it have to be my money?”

“Well how else do you plan to compensate me?”

“I could cook your meals?”

“Tempting, but I think I’d rather just take the money. Besides, didn’t you just say this is your downtime?”

You can’t help but laugh as his smile lessens just a little.

“Relax, I’m just kidding,”

“No, it’s fine. I was gonna buy you supplies anyways…”

“That’s good. Because I’m pretty sure this is the third time I’ve had to repair this exact tear in this exact spot on this exact shirt.”

“Huh, what a weird coincidence…”

While a lot of students will tease you, some of them admire the dedication you have to your craft.

You hold one end of the thread up and use your hand to cut it with your scissors. The snip could barely be heard over the sound of Idia furiously typing away at his computer.

At first you were shocked that Ortho had come to you, asking for help with something on Idia’s behalf. And you were even more confused when he all but dragged you to Ignihyde dorm, insisting that you had to come to his brother’s room and that there was no way he could bring ‘it’ to Ramshackle. But then Idia showed you a rather large demon-plushie with some torn seams and bits of stuffing poking out.

Yeah, no, that’s more than fair.

However, despite your respect for discretion and almost total silence, Idia was internally panicking. More so than usual. You’re with him. In his bedroom. And you’re handling one of his stuffed-imps. The only reason he hasn’t suffered a TKO is thanks to Ortho, who asked to watch you work.

If you were aware of the two brothers staring at you - one with pure curiosity and one in pure terror - you showed no sign of it. Instead, your attention was solely focused on the task at hand; at least you weren’t trying to talk to them. The minutes ticked by and Idia found himself looking less at his screens and more at you. And the longer he looked, the more things he began to notice. The way you smile when you pull the needle through, how your hands brush over the fabric as if trying to soothe an actual living thing, the slight movement of your fingers as you weave the needle in and out.

Once you’re done with one part, you pluck another thread from the spool, pulling more and more until you’ve drawn a length of string that goes from the tips of your fingers, down the length of your arm, and to your other hand. Still holding the thread in one hand, you grab the shears beside you, nest the thread between the two blades, and cut.

Snip!

And you continue working. Like the Fates from the age of Myth. Focused, graceful, confident.

His own little Fate…”

“Did you say something?”

“Ooh! What’s this thing for?” Ortho asks, pointing to a small metal tool beside you.

“Oh, I use that in case I need to split a seam,” you explain to him with a smile, “But it looks like I don’t have to use that this time,”

Thankfully, the school is somewhat lenient when it comes to customizing your uniforms...

“Hey, Deuce! Check it out!”

Epel’s eyes scan the sports field, making sure that no one was paying attention to him and the fellow first-year. Once the coast is clear, he unzips the top half of his uniform, just enough to hold out the right side of his jacket. It takes Deuce a moment to understand what he was supposed to be seeing, but then he notices a patch in the shape of a grinning skull lining the inside of Epel’s jacket.

“Woah!” he can’t help but be in awe, “When did you get that?!”

“You remember how we talked about getting designs put on our uniforms, right? I went to (Name) and actually did it!”

“That’s so cool! It’s like it’s staring right at me!”

“I know, right?! I wanted to go with the dragon, but (Name) said that something that detailed would be too big for a patch. And then Vil would inevitably see it and freak out.”

“That’s too bad. Still, it looks really impressive. Like, you open your jacket and people see that looking back at them.”

“Totally! Plus, it’s right over where the pocket is, so no one’ll know it’s there,”

“No one will know what’s there?” 

The two boys jump before turning to see Pomfiore’s vice housewarden smiling down at them.

“Ah… Hello, Rook. I didn’t see you there.” Deuce smiles as he not-so-subtly stands in front of Epel, who’s fumbling with his zipper.

“My apologies,” the third-year began, “But I couldn’t help but notice the two of you talking and had to know what it was that ignited that spark in your eyes. So…”

He moved Deuce to the side and took a step towards Epel.

“You’re not hiding anything, are you? Epel?”

The younger boy’s eyes are looking everywhere except at the upperclassman.

“Um… I-”

“Rook!” All three of them look over to see Coach Vargas marching over to them. “You better not be hunting my students again!”

“Ah, je suis désolé,” Rook sighs, “I’m afraid I must depart. How tragic, if only that I could stay a little while longer.”

He starts to walk away, but pauses and turns back to them with a smile.

“And rest assured, I will not breathe a word of this to Vil. Adieu, mon ami!”

Deuce and Epel watch Rook leave, only relaxing once he’s completely out of sight.

“...I’m glad you didn’t get the dragon.”

“Me too.”

…Because the teachers have noticed some of their students looking a little more colorful lately.

#Twisted Wonderland #Ace Trappola #Deuce Spade #Cater Diamond #Kalim Al Asim #Lilia Vanrouge #Ruggie Bucchi #Idia Shroud #Ortho Shroud #Epel Felmier #Rook Hunt #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #twst imagines

[muzaktomyears]

When we met the Beatles they were undressed and dripping with sweat

That day the Beatles were playing, all kitted out in black ties, white shirts and black trousers. It was so hot and crowded in the Cavern that, as usual, sweat was dripping off the ceiling, but we didn’t mind. The Beatles’ rhythm and harmonies were so tight and focused that we couldn’t stop dancing. They played covers of Barrett Strong originals, like Some Other Guy and Money. They did a raucous version of Twist and Shout, and wild rock’n’roll songs like Chuck Berry’s Roll over Beethoven and Little Richard’s saucy Long Tall Sally. More than ever, we wanted to be up on stage like them, playing our guitars and making the crowd rock.

After the set Wooler [Bob Wooler, the Cavern’s compere and DJ] said, “Come on, I’ll take you to meet the lads.” It was so exciting. He grabbed us and we threaded through the audience backstage where George Harrison was standing in the corridor talking to a very good-looking blonde girl. He was wearing a fantastic black leather coat, and later walked out of the Cavern with her, already like a rock star.

In the dressing room John Lennon and Paul McCartney were in their undies, getting changed. They were drying themselves with towels because they had just come off stage and were dripping with sweat. They were very handsome. Apart from our brothers, we’d never seen men in underpants before, so us four teenage girls just stood there staring at them. They were very down to earth, and Paul was particularly kind.

“Hiya girls, y’all right?” he said, while John sat there looking at us in a way that was direct and penetrating.

Bob Wooler told them, “This is the Liverbirds, they’re gonna be the first all-girl group.”

“What a great idea,” said Paul, but Lennon was sarcastic. “Girls don’t play guitars,” he said.

After we left the dressing room we huffed, “The cheek of it! We’re going to prove him wrong.” Years later we found out more about Lennon, that although he often made sardonic comments he was also sensitive and intelligent, an artist who regretted his disdainful treatment of women in his early career. “We can’t have a revolution that doesn’t involve and liberate women. It’s so subtle the way you’re taught male superiority,” he said in 1971, in an interview with Tariq Ali and Robin Blackburn for the underground paper Red Mole. It’s clear his feelings about women evolved, but we also wonder if what he said that day in the Cavern dressing room was meant to test us, provoke us into making a success of the band. If so, it certainly worked.

from The Liverbirds: Our Life in Britain’s First Female Rock’n’roll Band by Mary McGlory and Sylvia Saunders (source)

#thanks for that image! :) #the beatles #the liverbirds #paul mccartney #john lennon #(this took place in '63 so i'm not sure why the article has a '62 image but oh well i like it so i kept it)

[wolfstarisswag]

“The truth is every queer person has right to come out on their own terms and on their own timeline. They also have the right to choose not to come out at all.

The forced conformity of the closet cannot be answered with the forced conformity in coming out.”

- Alex Claremont-Diaz, Red White and Royal Blue

Those who participated in bullying this then eighteen year old child actor into coming out on social media, calling him a queer baiter because he played a bisexual character on a lgbtqia centered Netflix series really didn’t understand what that show was about.

This is a show about acceptance and love and just being yourself and showing that there are no social ideals that you have to conform to. You can be masculine and like guys. You can be feminine and like girls. This is a show about being confident and who you are but it’s also a show where they’ve made it clear that you only come out when you’re ready, and on your own terms.

It’s representation for so many people gay, lesbian, bi, trans, arocace… it’s showing that representation which is so important for so many people.

To those people who forced him out of the closet through constant bullying you’re not supporting the ideals of this show at all. You’re not being progressive by publicly harassing an actor who played a queer character because he’s seen with people of the opposite gender, so “he couldn’t possibly be queer himself”. You’re being a fucking asshole who couldn’t get it through their thick heads what this show was trying to get across to their audiences.

The term queerbaiting is being thrown around so loosely these days that even playing a queer character on show and not labeling yourself as such yourself is queerbaiting. Queer actors play cishet characters all the time. Are you going to bully them into announcing that they’re straight? I mean by your logic they have to be for playing that character or else it’s morally wrong.

Kit Connor played a bisexual sixteen year old who just realized he was such and had a whole identity crisis. He was scared and was worried that people close to him wouldn’t support him. His ‘friends’ are homophobic assholes and his brother is a bully. He’s scared that people he loves won’t accept him. He’s scared they won’t think of him the same way. When he tells his mother that he’s bi he gets that moment of relief when she hugs him tells him she’s sorry if she ever made him feel like he couldn’t tell her that. He’s relieved that she accepts him for who he is and that she doesn’t think of him differently than before she knew.

Kit Connor never got to have that moment with his mother because people who call themselves fans harassed him to the extent that he was forced to come out to social media before he was ready.

People need to just be more fucking aware.

#Im never letting anyone in this fandom forget this #i’m so fucking tired #people fucking suck #kit Connor #kit Connor forced to come out #message of heartstopper #heartstopper #Nick Nelson #red white and royal blue

[thecuriousquest]

Are you able to write how yandere erasermic would react to darling reader cutting herself and they find out? If you don't write for sh please ignore this!❤️

When Blades Dance with Flesh

Yandere EraserMic x Fem!Reader

Tag List: @issamomma

Warnings: Yandere themes, cutting, blood, blades, cruel punishment, implied kidnapping, aggressive behavior, stripping

Checkout my Master List here.

—————————————————————————

Caught in the tight grip of Eraserhead and Present Mic, you never have a moment of peace unless you’re in the shower.

The shower is your safe space, your refuge. It’s the only place you can get away with your unhealthy coping mechanism.

They harp on you day in and day out. Picking up the blade, you caress the skin of your thigh with the sharp edge. Ribbons of scarlet swirl with the water, running down the drain. The stinging burn left from your wounds distracts you from the fact that your life is over. Long gone are the days where you could be care free. Now, you always have to be on your guard.

Tears drip into your incisions, and with your palms a bloody mess, you wipe them away with the back of your hand as you shut the water off. As you step out of the tub, you take out your little first aid kit and begin to clean up, further removing your worries from your mind as you focus on disinfecting and wrapping your thighs.

The cutting and clean up help distract you, and at this point, you’ll welcome any distraction.

Throwing away a piece of gauze you used to dab at the incision, you finish tying the bandage around your thigh. You’ve gotten to the point now where you can walk without wincing, even if it is especially difficult with the larger and deeper cuts. However, you can’t let them know.

When you arrive at your room without a bed, you look through your closet for pants. Pushing past the burning of your aching flesh, you pull on your black jeans, careful as not to shift your bandage out of place. Dressing in socks and a white, long sleeve shirt, you pad out of the room and down to the dinner table, knowing that they won’t tolerate you being late.

You don’t want them to have to come and get you. Nothing good ever happens when they do that.

———

You greet Hizashi in the kitchen, giving him a shy wave as you sit down in between the head and the other end of the table. It’s unnerving to be in their presence, but when you go against their rules, you always feel like you’ll eventually get caught. You can’t help but feel like anything you do, any facial expression you make, any glint in your eye, might end up revealing your addiction.

Yamada sits down at the far end of the table as Shouta takes the head. The raven haired man looks especially displeased tonight. You wonder what could be irking him.

“Something wrong?” You ask right before swallowing a mouthful of food.

“You know, we understand that this is a big adjustment for you. It can’t be easy, but we brought you here for your own safety. You can’t be out in a world so terrible and dangerous.”

Having heard this speech so many times before, you simply nod as you shove another forkful of food past your lips. “Yes, Sir.”

“We have rules here for a reason. They’re to make sure that you are safe and well-behaved. Can you list them for me?”

Yamada sits up, a little confused about what’s going on. “Is she in trouble, Sho? What happened?”

All his partner does is hold up a finger to him in response. “We’ll get to that. Right now, I want you to list the rules for me.”

You don’t even have to think about them. Every rule is ingrained in your psyche along with the punishments that go with them if you happen to break one.

“Never call you names, never try to run away from home, never do anything to endanger myself, no talking back, don’t run away from punishments, hold still during punishments, eat three meals a day, and go to bed when told to.”

“Right, so, care to explain this?” He takes a piece of bloody gauze from his pocket and sets it on the table before you.

“That’s not mine.” Fuck, you’re basically digging your own grave now.

“Is this yours?” Shouta asks Hizashi.

“No,” the blonde replies.

They fix their attention back on you, waiting for a truthful response.

“Well?”

“Well what?” you ask sharply.

Shouta reaches over the table and grabs your bicep. Remaining seated, he drags you in front of him. He shifts towards you in order to keep you trapped between his long legs. The brunette begins rolling up your sleeves, and he sees the scars on your arms, but nothing fresh.

As he tries to look you in the eyes, guiltily, you look away. His rugged demeanor cuts through you like a hot blade, and you find yourself trying to squirm away from his grip.

Keeping you clenched between his knees tightly, he begins working the button and zipper of your pants. You know there’s no point, but you try to swat his hands away.

“No, Shouta! Don’t you dare! That’s so fucking indecent!”

He gives your lip a light smack. “Don’t mouth off to me, girl. If you know what’s good for you, hold still.”

You bend at the hips, trying to sink your weight back as you push against his shoulders. All he does is add pressure to your knees and thighs, making you cry out in pain.

Damn, he’s strong.

Wrestling your pants down isn’t an easy feat, and he has to spank you multiple times just to get you to release the loops of your jeans as you hold onto them for dear life.

The bandages have shifted out of place completely with all of the manhandling. With your pants at your knees, you have to stand before the two heroes in your underwear with your blood-soaked thigh bandages.

The look on Shouta’s face is one you never thought you’d see as he stares at your cuts. His mouth is drawn in a line, but there’s so much going on behind his eyes. Anger at himself for not knowing, anger at you for not coming to him, confusion for how this could have happened in the first place, guilt because he didn’t pick up on a single clue, and hurt because you’re his precious girl who’s taking everything out on her skin.

And then, you see it. A tear welling up in his eyes before he forces it down.

You look to Hizashi and see that he isn’t sad like Shouta. He’s fuming with the rage of a thousand gods.

Pushing himself away from the table, he stands from his chair and stalks over to you. Grabbing you by your wrist, he walks over to the sink. You’re not sure what he’s doing until he uses the spray head attached to the sink to wash your thighs with cold water.

Shouta doesn’t know what to think, but he doesn’t see Hizashi doing anything too bad, so he lets his partner do what he thinks is necessary. That is until the salt comes out.

Shouts shoots out of his seat and stands between you and the blonde. “Wait a minute. Do you really think it’s a good idea to do that?”

“Sho, we gave her time to adjust, and she took advantage of that. We had no idea. I had no idea. For fuck’s sake, Shouta, she could have ended up killing herself!”

The thought of finding you dead in the house one day causes the brunette to give you one last look before stepping aside.

Hizashi forces you to sit on the chair you previously took at dinner. He holds both of your wrists with one hand as he goes about pouring salt all over each and every slit you cut into your thighs.

An agonized wail tears from your throat, and Hizashi hasn’t even begun the real punishment yet. He slides his massive palm up and down your flesh, scrubbing the wounds with the tiny white grains until your skin is raw, throbbing, and aching for relief.

You have never really given any thought to the phrase “rubbing salt in the wound” until just now.

He watches you intensely, noticing your fingernails digging into your palms. He shakes you, forcing your attention on him.

“I’ll have none of that! No more hurting yourself!”

Sniveling, you try to placate him. “Okay! I won’t!”

Hizashi looks around at the mess he made in the kitchen. There’s salt and blood on the chair along with water on the floor from spraying you. Sighing, he asks Shouta if he can put you to bed.

“Leave her legs as they are. She needs to learn,” the Voice Hero requests as the brunette picks you up bridal style.

Shouta doesn’t respond as he takes you to the bedroom. He peels your wet clothes off of you and does his best to wash the salt from your cut up thighs despite what Hizashi asked. It hurts, and it makes you hiss, but Shouta assures you that everything will be alright as he wraps up your legs with gauze bandages.

The pro places his hands on your face, cupping your cheeks. “You had to have picked this up from someone. That’s exactly why you need to be with us. You can’t take care of yourself. You just don’t know how.”

Closing your eyes, you cry because you know arguing won’t get you anything but a mouth full of soap and possibly a sore bottom. In your agitated state, you feel like all you can do is scream.

Tormented sobs violently ricochet through your body, and Shouta truly believes his words are registering to you.

Oh, yes, they register alright, but not in a positive way like he thinks. All you feel is loss and entrapment, feeling as though you’ll never be able to escape this hellhole.

———

The aftermath of your cutting incident is quite a gruesome process. Shouta and Hizashi bring in a specialist for laser hair removal because you’re no longer allowed to shave ever again. The kitchen knives are locked up in a safe, and you have no idea what the combination is. All of the glass in the house has been replaced with bulletproof windows, and they even figured out how to make all of the mirrors unbreakable.

With all of this done, they still keep an eye on you as if you’re a danger to yourself. You’re their little lamb that they have to protect at all costs, and they’re going to make sure that you understand that.

Fuck, you could really use a good blade right now.

#yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #yandere x resisting reader #triggering content #triggering themes #my hero acedamia #boku no hero academia #shouta aizawa #aizawa shouta #bnha shouta aizawa #mha shouta #yandere shouta aizawa #yandere shouta x reader #eraserhead #yandere eraserhead #hizashi yamada #yamada hizashi #bnha hizashi #mha hizashi #yandere hizashi yamada #present mic #yandere present mic #erasermic #poly erasermic #yandere erasermic #yandere poly erasermic

[my-own-walker]

kit walker smut where they’re having an affair, or if you don’t write stuff like that, that’s okay :)

In A House That Isn't Mine

note: OOOOOH SPICY BITTTCCCCHHH YES!!! gotta make Y/N the cheater here tho bc kit is too kind to cheat...

summary: a disgruntled housewife, whose husband is likely already cheating on her, takes her sorrows to our very own kit walker (pre-asylum).

warnings: adultery/cheating/affair/whatever tf you wanna call it, sm*t duh,

+++

I was growing tired of nights spent alone. I held a cigarette in my teeth while lighting it and proceeded to take a long drag. From my seat at the dining room table, I watched the window. Headlights passed by sparingly, each one getting my hopes up. 9 pm. It seemed likely that my darling husband would not be returning home tonight.

I was married off in 1959 at the age of 20. It was pseudo-arrganed. In that, my father was friends with my husband-to-be's father. They were business partners, actually. His boy was shy of "boy" status, at 30 years old. His father worried for his unmarried child, and my father offered 19-year-old me up. How dandy.

Upon meeting Keith, I was swept away by his chivalry and coyness. He was my prince charming. My own girlish fantasies of being a wife and mothering children blinded me from what was truly happening. We married in the Spring, just after my twentieth birthday.

It wasn't even when the ring was finally slipped on my finger that things changed. It was when we began having fertility issues. Issues that, let's just say, were not my fault in the slightest. But, in his eyes, it was me that couldn't give him a child.

That was when the late nights began. The child in me that was excited to welcome my husband home, prepare his dinner, and kiss him goodnight was crushed. He increasingly spent nights away from our home in the two years we were married.

It was only fair that my eyes began to wander as well. I received no attention from my own husband, so I sought it elsewhere.

My car, bought for me by my father as a wedding present, had a small leak in the tire. As part of my daily chores, I went to go get it patched up at a local repair shop. My car was my only freedom from the hell I was living in.

The old man who answered the phone at the shop earlier in the day was not the man who greeted me when I arrived. Certainly not. This was a man my age, with soft golden curls and a lazy smile. He moved with confidence and had a piercing gaze that made my stomach flip.

He fixed my tire quickly and handed me his home phone number scribbled on a scrap of paper with a wink. Kit Walker, MElrose-3437. I assume he hadn't seen the wedding band on my finger.

It was a while before I gathered the courage to actually call this 'Kit' character. The receiver suddenly felt heavy in my hand, knowing I was doing something wrong, but it was another night in which Keith didn't care to come home from 'work.'

Seeing Kit became a regular thing. My being married was no problem for him. We fooled around whenever I felt lonely, which was essentially all the time.

And on this particular night, the feeling was too much to bear. Seeing the fifteenth car pass by with no sign of my husband, I stood and walked to the phone.

'Hello?' his low voice spoke over the line.

'Hi Kit,' I replied.

'Y/N,' he sighed. I could hear him smiling in his voice. 'How are ya?'

'Come over?' I asked, wasting no time.

'You sure I can?' he spoke lowly.

'Yes,' I uttered. I hung up the phone and rushed to the bedroom to make it presentable. If my husband saw it fit to lay in some other woman's bed, it was perfectly fine that Kit laid in ours.

+

Kit arrived within the hour. He completely changed my perspective on life. The air felt lighter as soon as he entered the house. He smelled of tires and dry wood cologne. He wore a simple white t-shirt and motor-oil-stained jeans. He shut the door behind him with care and stepped further into the home, meeting me in the foyer.

'Hey beautiful,' he sighed, bringing me in for a kiss. I breathed him in. Light stubble scratched against my face as he held me tight.

I wore my flouncy floral pajama set that just barely covered my backside. The babydoll-style top was embellished with a blue satin bow, and beautiful puffed short sleeves. The shorts rode up slightly when I stretched my arms up to hold Kit tightly. It was only natural that his hands wandered downward.

‘I couldn’t wait to see you,’ I murmured into his lips. ‘It’s been too long.’ He pulled back and contorted his face.

‘Damn, it has been long, hasn’t it? Two weeks or so,’ he agreed. ‘I couldn’t wait to see you either.’ His tone turned darker as he turned his attention back to my lips.

‘Too long,’ I hummed. Kit continued to kiss me as I led the way through the foyer to the stairs. The dark wood creaked under our feet. The house was dim, with only the dining room and bedroom lights on. We ascended, lips still locked, fumbling with articles of clothing in the dark.

We arrived at my plush shared bedroom. Only my bedside lamp illuminated the space, giving it a warm pink glow. We, still locked in each other’s embrace, staggered onto the bed, knocking a picture frame off the wall. It fell onto the top of the headboard and pitched at an angle onto the floor. The glass shattered upon impact, the sound ringing out in the empty house.

I laughed up at Kit, who was positioned on top of me. He didn’t smile, though. Instead, he lurched off of me to go retrieve the broken picture. I watched as he flipped it over slowly, more glass falling out of it onto the carpet.

‘It’s your, uh, wedding photo,’ he coughed.

‘God dammit,’ I exclaimed. ‘I’ll have to get a new frame.’

‘Won’t he care?’ Kit muttered, looking up at me with concern on his brow.

‘Baby, I don’t think he’d notice if I died,’ I laughed. I stooped down onto the ground and began to help Kit pick pieces of glass out of the rug.

‘You looked so happy,’ he murmured, holding the photo. ‘With him.’

‘I suppose I was,’ I said nonchalantly, dragging the small waste bin from the corner of the room over to where the frame had broken. We both discarded the glass in our hands, Kit still holding the photo.

‘I can take that,’ I began, holding my hand out, ‘I’ll put it somewhere else.’

‘Do you still, uh, feel anything for him?’ Guilt was all over his face as he stared down at mine and Keith’s smiling faces.

'He doesn't even begin to interest me. Not even curiosity,’ I assured the curly-haired boy in front of me. I placed a hand on his shoulder and pulled the photo out of his hand with the other. ‘He could come home now and I wouldn’t even hide you.’

‘Y/N,’ he spoke.

‘I promise Kit Walker. Consider this picture an ancient relic. I only feel something for you,’ I continued. ‘He’s nothing to me.’

‘Y-you,’ he stammered, looking deep into my eyes. I grabbed his neck and pulled him in to kiss me again. He melted into my touch and embraced me fully, picking me up and tossing me onto the bed.

My pajama shorts were the first thing Kit tore off my body. The thin fabric slid down my legs with ease. To his surprise, I wasn’t wearing anything under them.

‘Shit, Y/N,’ he laughed, before tossing his own shirt to the side. ‘You’re too much.’ His fingers slid through my wet cunt’s folds before feeling their way directly onto my clit. I moaned sharply. He worked me to my core until I was nearly screaming. Then, he pulled away, resting back on his heels.

Having no time for teasing, I sat up to Kit’s level and hooked my arms around his neck, connecting my lips with his and guiding him roughly to a laying position. I straddled his legs and worked to unbutton his jeans. I tugged them rather ungracefully off his body and threw them aside.

His large erection was prominent, pitching his briefs up. I palmed the bulge, leaning over him to pepper kisses all over his skin. He whimpered and breathed heavily. I started at his collarbones, then worked down his stomach, taking my time as I reached the hem of his underpants. I slid his white briefs down his legs and watched his hard dick spring up.

I positioned myself atop his cock and started riding him, feeling his full length hit my middle. I arched my back in pleasure and felt Kit do the same. He continued to whimper and whine.

‘Oh, yes,’ he cried.

My cunt’s walls tightened around his massive length. I couldn’t help but yell out. Before no time, I succumbed to the waves of orgasm. Still riding him, though, I was determined to get him to finish.

Within a short time, Kit came inside me. I felt his hot load spill into me as he breathed raggedly. I moved off of him and flopped down onto my side, feeling the silken sheets on my skin. My head rested on his shoulder and my hand on his chest.

‘Fuck, Y/N,’ Kit breathed after a beat. ‘You are so divine.’

‘Just let me know when you’re ready to go again,’ I purred, propping myself up on my elbow.

‘Shit, let me get a cigarette first, woman,’ he laughed. I grabbed his face to attack him with kisses.

He surely helped me feel less alone.

+++

Idk what to say here so WAHHHHHHH

#evan peters #evan peters fic #ahs #evan peters x reader #evan peters x female reader #evan peters oneshot #kit walker #kit walker x reader #kit walker imagine #kit walker x female reader #kit walker smut #ahs asylum

[writeformesinpie]

Habitual Sin

Seo Moon Jo x Fem!Reader 

Lee Dong Wook x Fem!Reader 

Summary - There’s something wrong with the new priest at your church. He’s… off. No one else has noticed; he’s stunning and they all just want to be around the shiny new thing. Small towns get dull, but this priest promises to be very entertaining. 

Genre - Smut

Warnings - Unprotected sex… in a church, fingering, mentions of religion obviously, swearing, is he the devil?! Will need to go to confession after reading this fic! Beta reader needed to take breaks while reading! Read at your own risk! It’s too hot to handle! 

Word Count - 2.8k

A/N - This is a request for my impromptu 1500 follower celebration. God have mercy 🙏I know what I do, but this was too hot not to write <3 If I’m going to hell I’m taking @trashlord-007 with me (thanks for the request 😂)

There’s something up with this priest. He. Is. Off. You’re not sure how else to describe it, that feeling that makes the hair on the back of your hair stand up and triggers goosebumps on your arms, the emptiness within that lets you know something isn’t quite right.

   You’re feeling it now.

   There’s something wrong with this priest.

   He’s a priest (at least that’s how he’s presenting himself) so there shouldn’t be alarms ringing in your head, the sound clanging deep within your gut and vibrating off your ribcage as it threatens to burst out like something from a sci-fi horror film. Scrunching up your face at the thought, you shift back and forth on your heels and look out past the small group currently organising medical kits.

   It’s a beautiful day. The sun is bright, there’s minimal clouds. The temperature is perfect with a slight breeze that caresses your face. The place is packed, the turnout is amazing. Natural disasters seem to bring out the best in people.

   Everything is, for lack of a better word, perfect… yet that priest keeps catching your attention and you know, you know that something isn’t quite right.

   Placing the last thermometer into the emergency kits you’re in charge of assembling, you nod at your small group of five before moving closer to him. He’s working in the food section. It’s the largest pile and therefore the most people are in his area, though you wonder if he’s the reason for the influx of people. They’re all fawning over him. It’s pathetic, really. Don’t they see it?

   And yes, he is stunning, but hold onto your tits, ladies. Afterall he is still a priest. Even if his black shirt and black pants hug him in all the right places, and if it weren’t for that white clerical collar you would take him for any typical person here.

   But he’s a man of the cloth. Just an average priest.

   Well, not just an averagepriest. He towers over the volunteers, though that’s not the only thing catching people’s attention. It’s his wavy hair that threatens length yet doesn’t fall past his neck, and lips that defy the laws of gravity; full and plush, moving in the most peculiar ways, with teeth that peek out when he smiles. He’s beautiful but cute, a contradiction in parts, and otherworldly.

   He stands out.

   That’s what gives him away. A priest shouldn’t stand out, shouldn't bring attention to himself. They wouldn’t. After all that attention belongs to God.

   “The service was beautiful, Father.”

   Rolling your eyes, you toss a few cans into the box in front of you. The service felt off, too. The words were all correct, he knew each line but… that’s just it – they felt like lines. Something he had to say, not something he actually meant.

   “Yes, it really was! What a blessing it is to have you here. We’re so glad you came to visit us, Father Moon Jo,” one of the women drooling over the priest pipes up, her eyes flickering back and forth between his face and the food she’s packing.

   “I’m the one who’s blessed,” he says with a small smile. You’re still surprised by how soft spoken he is. You didn’t notice it at first, but his voice is deep, and there’s danger hidden beneath the allure of calm. “This really is a wonderful conjugation.”

   The women practically swoon. You scoff at their obvious infatuation, then cough to cover your slip-up when they look over. Flashing your most demure grin, you continue to pack food neatly into the cardboard box in front of you.

   Once the box is full you move to the end of the table to grab another. Your lip curls as you bend down to look for one but come up short. You search the area for a moment, hoping there’s one more box. Just one would be fine.

   “There’s some boxes in the church.” He’s behind you. From the way the ladies further down the table nonchalantly crane their necks, it seems they can’t hear him. “Follow me. I’ll show you where.”

   “Oh surely someone else would prefer…” the words drift off as you turn and come face to face with him. Well, technically face to chest. Your eyes scan the broad expanse briefly before finding his face. The look of disdain that contorts his features has you looking down to the ground, nodding your head like a schoolgirl. “Sure, let’s do that.”

   Dragging your feet you follow behind, kicking up dirt and small pebbles along the thin, paved path in a half-assed display of rebellion. That is until he glances at you with that intense, dead stare and waits for you to catch back up. When he moves again you quicken your pace to keep up with his long strides, each step taking you further away from the gossiping group now all huddled together instead of performing the tasks they’ve been assigned.

   The small church isn’t earth shattering, it won’t win any awards for its architecture, but it’s still breathtaking. Withered bricks and stained glass greet all who pass with a whisper of a broken past. The building was erected when the town was first established. The interior, however, had been damaged in a plumbing mishap a few years back. The whole place was a disaster and had to be completely stripped down to bare bones and was replaced with cheap wood pews and sleek modern white walls. Now only the exterior is holding out its original glory.

   Stepping inside you dunk two fingers into the bowl of holy water and make the sign of the cross in front of the crucifix gracing the opposite wall with a small bow before glancing around the small church for the boxes. They must be in the back. You start to walk further into the church but come to an abrupt halt when halfway down the aisle the priest turns.

   “You know, I just remembered,” he says, clicking his fingers, “I left the boxes in the confessional.”

   “The confessional?” Narrowing your eyes, you look over your shoulder towards the confession booth. It’s small, smaller than the original. Just a wooden box with tempered glass and intricate lattice inbetween to help make you comfortable as you confess your sins, keeping those inside from prying eyes as if the town and priest alike don’t know who’s on the other side. “Are you sure?”

   “Quite.” His face is still. He’s waiting for you to walk over there but there’s no way. Why would he put the boxes in there? Okay, yes, when they are not assembled it’s just flat cardboard, but still, how many could you cram in there?

   “Well,” you say, shuffling back and forth before turning on your heels. He’s a priest, what’s the worst that could happen? The confessional booth is closer to the front door anyway.

   Taking tentative steps towards the booth, you look over your shoulder just as he starts to follow, a small half-smile on his face. It’s somehow worse than if he wasn’t smiling at all, the way each muscle bends and twists as if against its own will. Swallowing hard, you continue to place one foot in front of the other until you’re in front of the booth. Reaching out, your fingers graze the smooth redwood door.

   You push it open.

   It’s empty.

   Peeking over your shoulder you’re confronted with unmoving eyes. A sharp inhale courses through your body and you step back. It has to be on the other side, you try to reason with yourself, not wanting to admit the truth. Your shoulders tremble as you shuffle over to the other door, swallowing hard as you push it open.

   Empty.

   Before you can turn around he’s behind you, caging you in with his large frame. Rhythmic beats pound from deep within your eardrums as your heart attempts to escape your chest once more. Searching the small room for anything, anything at all besides the small built-in chair, you come up empty. You’re the only weapon you have. Turning, you hold up your fists and back into the room.

   “Oh?” His smile turns into a full grin, distorting the pretty features of his face the further it spreads. “I guess they’re not here after all.”

   “What are you playing at, priest,” you spit the last word, backing up until you’re flush against the wall.

   “Hmm? It’s a simple mistake,” he says, bowing his head to walk into the tiny room.

   “It’s not in here!”

   “Are you sure? Did you check every inch of it?” He takes up the whole space with both height and presence. Even the air is magnetized by him.

   “Where?” Struggling to suck in shallow breaths, you hold out your hands in what you hope is a threatening gesture. “They’re not here.”

   “Oh?” His hands close over yours, pushing them down to your sides as he takes another step towards you. His hair falls over his eyes, making it harder to see his face in the already dim light.

   “You’re not a priest.”

   He chuckles before asking, “What am I?”

   “You’re a devil.”

   “Not the?”

   “What?”

   “Not the devil, just one of them?” He bends down, his lips brushing against your neck as he whispers, “There must be so many of us.”

   “What are you?” The whispered words wouldn’t have been heard anywhere else but the intimacy of the small room makes them audible.

   “I thought you had it all figured out.”

   “Demon.”

   He chuckles again, the sound vibrating against your skin and causing shivers down the right half of your body. His scent circles you, trying to make you bend to its intoxicating will. He smells of danger and lust, and it takes your entire being to resist. “Who’s to say?”

   “You’re vile!”

   “I’ve been called worse.”

   “What are you?” you ask again, pushing your palms firm against his chest. He doesn’t budge.

   “What if I said I’m just a priest?”

   “I’d saying you’re lying–”

   “A priest who’s concerned as to why one of God’s children is so interested in everything he does. A priest that’s noticed a particular member of the flock who’s been watching him. Keeping him close while trying to catch him doing something he shouldn’t. Trying to do only God knows what,” he says, making the sign of the cross while looking towards the ceiling.

   “You’re not a priest.”

   “Then what? Maybe I’m an actor who’s researching a role? Or a mobster who’s on the run?” He lists off the options on his fingers. “Or, no, maybe I’m part of the witness protection program. Are you trying to blow my cover?”

   Narrowing your eyes, your face scrunches as you try to read his face. Between the dull light and the monotone expression he’s providing, you don’t know what to think.

   “Or,” he continues, “maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m a devil. Maybe I’m the thing your mother warned you about when you were a child. Maybe I’m the thing in the closet, the monster under the bed, your darkest desires made flesh.”

   Desire?

   “Please let me go,” you whisper. “If you let me out of here I won’t say anything.”

   “You won’t?”

   “I promise. I’ll forget everything”

   “In His house?” When you nod his laughter fills the room and echoes off the walls. “You’re willing to allow darkness to fall on someone else. As long as it’s not you, is that it?”

   “What–”

   “You’ll forget?” His fingers dig into your scalp, tangling within your hair and snapping your head back. You jut your fists out against his chest as dread fills your body, weighing it down like cement. “What is there to forget? Have I done something to you?”

   “I… I don’t know,” you say, the words weak under your strained neck. “Please, I don’t–”

   His lips on yours stop the words forming, making you lose your train of thought in the shock of the kiss, both due to the fact that he’s a priest but also from the pleasure it elicits. Heat spreads out across your skin and the hands that had been held up in defence now circle around his back, pulling him closer. He tastes provocative, like the forbidden fruit, like power and control.

   Addictive. His scent, his taste, his face; he’s a drug, pure addiction.

   Grinding your hips against his, his cock firm under your touch, you suck on his tongue as he lifts you up by your arse. Moaning, you wrap your legs around him with wanton abandon, wanting him more than you’ve wanted anything before. Your hands pull at the tucked material of his shirt in frustration, tugging on the fabric until it yields to your will and you’re able to slip your hands under.

   He’s unbuckling his belt and you’re inspecting his chest with your fingertips, neither of you allowing a moment to pass without your lips on each other's skin. Neck, throat, ears and lips, every sensation worshipped as your tongues explore every inch within reach.

   His fingers sneak under your skirt, pulling your panties to the side so he can slip a finger inside. Currents of molten lava threaten to erupt from within as you throw your head back. His finger curls up to find that perfect spot with ease, as if he’d already found it before. His thumb circles your clit. Between the pressure of your g-spot and the bundle of nerves he’s caressing, your pussy throbs, each stroke bringing you closer to the orgasm you’ve been denying yourself for way too long.

   “This is wrong,” you mutter against his cheek as he adds another finger and nibbles on your ear.

   “Sinner.” He chuckles and between the friction of his movements and the way he taunts you with his words, you come undone in his hands, your body shuddering against his as flames course through your veins. It’s bliss.

   Is this heaven or hell? Before you can ponder the question, your muscles still spasming from your high, he removes his hand and plunges his thick cock into your dripping pussy. A guttural sob exits your lips and you tense at both the shock of your own voice and the overstimulation of your throbbing clit. Was your heartbeat always this loud? Can he feel it beating against his dick?

   “Father Moon Jo?”

   Breath hitching, you freeze. It’s one of the gossiping women from the tent. You’ve known her since you were a child but for the life of you you can’t seem to remember her name. She’s walking inside, up the aisle, looking for the man currently balls deep inside your tight cunt. This is your punishment, God is angry that you’re fucking one of His priests, or, well, someone in His church. Letting out a jagged breath, you hope she’ll give up and go away on her own.

   The priest bites into your neck and you let out a gasp. Balling up your fists still twisted up inside his shirt, you glare up at him as he continues to move inside you, long slow movements with a devious grin on his lips.

   “Ah, Father Moon Jo? Is that you?”

   She turns back, the outline of her body barely visible through the grated wood and frosted glass shielding the door. The closer she gets, the easier it is to make her out… meaning the easier it is to make you out. Breathing in a staggered inhale as tears spring to your eyes, you plead silently with the demon in front of you. His grin widens and instead he picks up the pace, thrusting inside you with a carnal hunger. You tremble under the pleasure and if he wasn’t already holding you up, your knees would surely have buckled underneath you.

   She’s only a few steps away now. Pounding your fists against his chest doesn’t help. He continues to pound into you at a frantic pace. Shaking your head back and forth, huffed pants and soft whines filling the booth, you drive your hips into his. The room is a sauna, sweat dripping down your back.

   “Ah, is someone in there?”

   “Yes! Yes!” you scream out the words as he drives into you. She says your name right as you release an animalistic growl.

   “Can you come back later?” The priest’s voice is calm, serene. “I’m in the middle of an impromptu confession.”

   “Oh? Oh! I’m so sorry! I’ll wait outside,” she says, walking quickly back the way she came, throwing a questionable look over her shoulder before she exits.

   “The face of the fallen woman is the most delicious,” he says, slamming your back against the wall. He slides his tongue along your throat and across your jaw. “You taste like starlight and broken dreams – exquisite.”

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this content! If you did, please consider liking, commenting, reblogging and/or following, and check out my masterlist for similar content. Have a great day!

#lee dong wook #strangers from hell #seo moonjo x reader #kdrama smut #lee dong wook smut #strangers from hell fanfic #lee dong wook x reader #seo moonjo smut #seo moon jo #strangers from hell x reader #kdrama x reader #yandere seo moonjo #x female reader #kdrama #hell is other people #seo moonjo imagines #seo moonjo fanfic #writeformesinpie

[corazondebeskar-reads]

Kinktober 2023 - Day 22: Spiritual Possession/Sexual Exhaustion

worry not

haunted!Din Djarin x f!reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: Mand'alor Din Djarin is haunted by the Darksaber, and you suffer the consequences.

Warnings: Dub-con/non-con for both parties, Din is possessed, breeding, vaginal plug, p in v unprotected, delusions, hallucinations, unreality, ambiguous ending, non-consensual somnophilia, dead dove do not eat.

inspired by the Kinktober 2023 prompt list by @absurdthirst. I did not come up with haunted!Din or haunted!Darksaber and many great writers have built in this sandbox before me.

also on ao3.

You’re not afraid of your riduur.

Many are, especially now that the Darksaber hangs from his belt. But you’re not afraid, even if the way he’s looking at you sends a shiver through your body.

“Pretty girl,” Din’s thumb drags down your lips, holding the bottom one to your chin for a moment before letting it go. “Look at you.”

He says it like he’s starving, eyes gone so dark they look black. You’ve never seen him like this. It’s like he commands the shadows of the room to fall just so, light glinting off his teeth at an angle that makes them look sharp.

He watches you as you stare, but he doesn’t look you in the eye. Instead, he watches as you get wetter by the second, and his lips curl into a smirk.

He’s still dressed, despite having stripped you of your beskar as soon as you entered the room. Well, except for the helmet. He took that off as soon as yours was.

He wears his full silver kit, the beskar crown atop his curls. It’s a little weird, since he usually doesn’t care for it, but he keeps the fur-trimmed shimmering cape on as well.

“Do you find me pleasing, ner Mand’alor?”

“Pleasing? Cyare, I’m going to devour you.”

It’s like a pinch in the back of your neck. The words are alluring, but his voice is too sharp and his grin too wide.

He looms over where you’re knelt on the bed with your legs spread wide, his shadow consuming you. He tilts your chin up to look at him with one gloved hand. When you raise your gaze to his, your breath catches in your throat. You can’t even see the whites of his eyes anymore. It’s all black.

“Are you feeling okay?” you ask.

He slides his hand down to wrap around your throat. It rests there like a necklace. “I’m fine, cyar’ika. But I’ll be better when you’re full of me.”

He grins when he feels the whimper more than hears it, fingers tightening a little. Your lips part, seeking air, and he kisses you. It’s sharp and wicked, dragging you down into the dark. It’s exquisite.

Your body follows when he pulls away, leaning forward to chase him. He laughs and pushes you backward so you’re laid out on the bed.

“Get yourself ready for me,” he says, taking a seat on the vanity stool across the room.

You don’t take your eyes off him, as if he’ll vanish, only to creep up behind you if you look away. He moans his approval when you take two of your fingers and suck on them until they’re coated in saliva before pushing them into your cunt.

“No,” he snaps as you slide your thumb toward your clit. “That’s mine. You just worry about getting your tight little cunt open for me.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. His words draw wetness from your pussy and raise the hairs on your neck and arms.

You’re not scared of him. You’re not.

“That’s a good girl,” he says, leaning forward to watch as you slide another finger in, spreading them apart to make more room for him.

When he decides you’re ready, he approaches the bed. You have to actively fight the urge to scoot back. He removes his gloves and reaches down to check for himself. When his fingers come back soaked, he pushes them into your mouth.

You lick and suck, chasing the taste of you from him.

“It’s going to be a long night, cyare,” he says, moving his hand back to you and rubbing gently at your clit. “I need you to be good and only cum when I do.”

“Okay,” you say. Din usually likes to make you cum as much as possible, but you try to hide your disappointment. You don’t want to be greedy. You can be happy with one.

“Oh, cyar’ika.” He laughs softly, dangerously. “Don’t worry. You’ll get your fill.”

You’re incredibly aroused, but you can’t shake the apprehension. It grows each time you look up into the ichor of his eyes.

“Um, Din?”

“Yes?” He sounds amused. Like he’s indulging you.

“Are you—well.” You don’t know how to ask. It’s such a ridiculous question. “Are you on spice?”

He doesn’t answer right away, tilting his head to study you. “Of course not, cyare. I’m just excited.”

“You don’t usually get this excited to fuck.”

“I’m always excited to fuck you, cyare. But this, this is special.” He climbs on top of you and continues rubbing your clit, increasing his efforts until you can’t remember what you were talking about.

All you can focus on is the rapidly building pleasure.

“Remember what I said.” He pulls his cock out with the other hand. “Be good for me.”

He lines it up with your entrance and pushes all the way in, groaning as he buries himself deep. It’s brutal, immediately. No buildup. The pleasure is as intense as his stare, teeth bared, nearly snarling as he pounds into you. He pulls your legs onto his shoulders and presses, somehow, deeper, shaking huffs of breath loose from you with each thrust.

It doesn’t take long for him to reach his limit. You’re too dazed now to recognize the warning bell. Din doesn’t do quick. Not unless he has to.

He pushes his thumb down on your clit and tells you to cum. You’ve been fighting it, so following his order is easy. He fills you while you arch, pushing against him, crying out for him.

You’re still coming down from the high when you realize he hasn’t pulled out. You can feel him, thick and hot, still stretching you to your limit.

He shifts, leaning over to stroke sweaty hair off your forehead. “My perfect riduur,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss in the wake of his hand.

And then he sits up and draws back. You cringe, anticipating his seed to spill out. If any does, you don’t know, because he pushes back in and resumes his intense pace.

Wrong, something calls behind the haze. But his fingers are back on your clit, and he’s got you folded in half. You can barely get enough air, let alone form a full thought.

It takes longer, this time, but he brings you over the edge with him. You can feel his cock pulse and twitch inside, can feel him fill you again.

He pulls out, shoving three fingers inside, and tells you to roll over. You blink up at him for a minute, chest heaving, and ultimately roll over onto your stomach. It feels good, having rolled to a dry and cool part of the sheet, and you think maybe you’ll fall asleep like that.

“Up,” he says, tapping your knees.

You groan.

“I thought you were going to be good. I know you can do it,” he says. His voice is smooth and soothing, and he rubs a hand over your lower back.

The encouragement helps. You pull your knees under you, so your ass is in the air.

“There you go. You’re taking it so well for us, cyare.”

You give a soft hum, warmth from the praise spreading through your body.

He pulls his fingers out and slides his cock back in.

You had a feeling it was coming, but it knocks a gasp out of you anyway. “How—”

But he shushes you. It almost seems sweet, but you can’t help but feel a little hurt. You peek at him over your shoulder, and he’s smirking.

In the end, all you can do is take it, because he’s not slowing down. His thrusts are deeper this way, and you can feel each time he knocks against your cervix. Usually, it’s a sensation you enjoy, but your cunt feels so swollen that you’re already aching.

“Din,” you whine. “It h-hurts.”

“You’re okay, ner riduur. I’ve got you. You can take a little more, right?”

You find yourself nodding.

“That’s my girl.”

His fingers on your clit are gentler this time, coaxing it out of you and murmuring praise. It helps, and you manage to cum when he does again.

When you come down, you’re crying.

“I don’t care if it’s better that way,” Din says. “No, I want to—no, roll back over.” He pulls his cock out and slides his fingers back in again. You wonder if you blacked out, because his words make no sense.

Turning over is harder this time. You’re stiff and still struggling to catch your breath. You collapse onto your back. Closing your eyes does nothing to stop the tears.

“Oh, cyare,” he says as he sees the wet streaks down your cheeks. He pulls his fingers out, and you’re so relieved when he climbs up over you.

He leans over and kisses your forehead before pushing his cock back in.

You whine, and the tears turn to sobs. “Din, please. I’m tired. I don’t know what’s going on with you tonight, but please.”

He doesn’t move, just holds steady in you. It’s strange. It hurts, but you feel comforted by the weight of him, by the fullness.

He wipes your tears and kisses you softly. “I’m sorry,” he says.

You think he means it, but the bright black of his eyes tells you nothing. You miss his brown eyes, his wide expressive eyes that he never learned to control, never learned to temper his emotions.

Something in your chest is shifting, foundation crumbling. “Din…”

“Yes?”

“Din, what’s happening? Why—why—”

“Worry not,” he purrs. “I love you, cyare, and we’re going to take such good care of you.”

Your brain is too fuzzy, it’s humming too loud, and you can’t parse what about his words sends you into a panic.

He’s shushing you again, his voice clear through the thrum. “You can sleep, mesh’la. You can rest.” He leans down to press your foreheads together, and your eyes flutter closed.

You dream fitfully. (You don’t dream at all.)

There are whispers in the corners of your nightmares, and the humming never stops.

You fade in and out, unable to tell the difference between sleeping and waking. (In all worlds you walk, it’s the same.)

Darkness. Whispers. That sound.

And above all else, there’s Din.

He murmurs to you, but you can’t make out the words. But he’s always fucking into you, his cock relentless.

You fall, in slow motion, through sheets of sheer fabric. It wraps around you, cradling you, (constricting you), calming you, (choking you)—

You wake in bed. The warm morning light fills the room, casting everything in white. The sheet is draped across you, and your riduur is fast asleep beside you. When you sit, he stirs and blinks sleepy brown eyes, holding a hand up to block the sun.

“Good morning, mesh’la,” he says, voice rough.

You stare at him. He’s bathed in the light. The sharpness of his features has softened, and when he reaches out to take your hand, his touch is warm and gentle.

He sits up to kiss you with petal-soft lips that hold none of the cruelty from the night before.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, eyes wide with concern.

You ache. Your whole body hurts, and your cunt feels battered and bruised. And… full?

You reach down to touch, but his hand clasps your wrist. The hold is barely there, you could easily pull away, but you pause.

“Leave it, please,” he says, suddenly unable to look at you. “They won’t like it if you take it out too soon.”

When he looks up, his eyes are black, for only a moment. He blinks it away, but his lips are pursed in a frown.

“You’re scaring me,” you say. You hate it; you loathe yourself for the way he recoils.

The way he buries his face in his hands, trembling.

You move to reach out to him but draw back. “Talk to me, cyare,” you whisper.

“I’m sorry. They said it was time. They—I tried.”

“Who are you talking about, Din?”

The humming grows louder, pulsating. You reach down to your cunt and remove what you can only describe as a bottle stopper, but larger.

“What have you done?” he says, looking at you in horror. “They were satisfied. They were going to leave us alone.”

He snatches it from you. “I need to put it back.”

“No!” You pull the sheet around you. “You need to tell me what’s going on.”

The buzzing is so loud. He’s speaking, but you can’t hear a thing.

All you can do is watch as inky black swirls like oil over his eyes.

You wake alone. (You're not alone.) The air is still, though you can see the wind rippling the Mythosaur banner outside the open window.

The room, though, is suspended, dust mites unmoving in the air.

No, wait. The darkness is moving. It’s just where the moonlight shines that remains.

You tilt your head, watching the shadows.

“Where’s Din?” you ask them.

“Quiet,” they hiss.

“What did you do with him?” You move to stand and are suddenly restrained, wrists chained to the bedframe. (You have been this whole time?).

“His duty,” the shadows tell you.

“Give him back,” you snarl, yanking against the restraints.

“He is weak. It matters not. Your body has accepted our gift.”

“What gift?” you ask, but you know. Din told you, last night. Before you fell asleep.

(But he didn’t. He couldn’t. You blacked out.)

There’s a splitting pain in your head.

“Who are you?” you ask instead. Din hadn’t known. He was afraid.

(But you know. Because they told you, while they used his body again.)

“We are you. You are us. Mhi solus.”

“I want to go home.”

“Worry not, ad’ika. You are.”

You wake. You’re in the medbay, a monitor droning at your bedside. (You wake. You’re snuggled up to Din in the bunk on the Crest.)

You wake. You’re in bed with him, but the room around you is shredded, and the sheets are soaked in blood. (You wake. Din does not.)

You don’t wake. Din sits on the side of the bed, your hand cradled in his. He pulls the heavy winter fur over your swollen stomach. You gasp, but when you look to him, your eyes are black. He presses the bolus. It only takes a minute for you to fall back under when the drug hits your veins.

(He wakes. You sit on the side of the bed, his hand cradled in yours. You pull the heavy winter fur over him. He gasps, and when he looks to you, his eyes are brown.)

You wake.

#din djarin x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x you #mando x you #the mandalorian fic #kinktober 2023 #unreality #dead dove do not eat

[yae-energy]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ╰┈─✩ ˚ ‧ closet tour ! ‧ ˚

✧˖° synopsis : commonly worn items (or accessories) these characters may have .

✧˖° cast & crew : megumi fushiguro , maki zenin , yuji itadori , and yuta okkotsu .

.ᐟ content warnings : cursing , yuta lwk fighting for his life

⤑ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ authors note : new layout !!!! we finally ditched the old one cause it was def time for her to GO 😭. all pictures down below are just for visual aid :)

~

megumi <3 : friendship bracelets

he’s got so many of them, mf got one in every damn pattern and color you can think of. and he only has this many because one summer nobara got into bracelet making.

she convinced gojo to buy her a bunch of kits and she’s been a little busy bee since ! so now every time she shows up with a new bracelet megumi feels like he has to wear it— or at least this is what he claims whenever he gets asked about it.

he actually thinks it’s sweet she’s always giving him bracelets, he’s got one for almost every outfit so it’s always coordinating !

he even wears the matching one she made for him and yuji so the three of them are always matching.

~

maki <3 : hair clips / claw clips

she absolutely hated them at first ngl

the only reason she started wearing them was because gojo would alwayssssssssssss buy them for her ,,

like for no good reason either, literally just cause she’s a teenage girl and sometimes girls wear hair clips. he also said she could spruce up her style a little bit because she’s “bland” and maki didn’t take that well 😭

one day though, she actually wore one of the claw clips he got her because she had no more hair ties and everybody thought she looked so cute and it made her feel nice, so she kept wearing them. over time they grew on her more and more, so she’s always got in a cute lil hair clip now.

but if she sees gojo she will immediately rip that shit out.

she wouldn’t be caught dead in something gojo gave her LMAO,, he’ll get a big head about it and don’t nobody wanna hear that.

she loves her little accessories though <3

~

yuji <3 : the weirdest shirts imaginable

i don’t even know where to start tbh

like i can’t even tell you where he keeps find them become i literally don’t have a single clue,, but he’s always got one on.

it started as just a fun little thing where he’d where a silly shirt once and a while. but because he keeps find them he’s ALWAYS wearing one and they’re the most hilarious things ever, cause how are you finding these???

like bro will have on the most normal fit ever, but if he unzips his jacket or takes off his hoodie you get hit with them most random t-shirt ever 😭 and every time him, nobara, and megumi go anywhere they take a picture of him in his weird ass shirts.

they even made a little photo album of it for novelty purposes.

~

yuta <3 : a plain white t-shirt

i’m sorry yall… but yuta is a victim of the plain white tee epidemic 😕 i hate to say it.

and he absolutely refuses to let it go too. like bro is the number one consumer of the plain white t-shirt,, LIKE LET IT GO PLEASEEEEE IM BEGGING.

panda and inumaki are SICK and TIRED, like he gets clowned for it on the daily but he literally does not give a single fuck. he’s gonna wear the white t-shirt and you cannot stop him. but because of this lifestyle choice, everyone has banned from making comments about anyone else’s style.

like if inumaki puts on some bullshit he can’t say anything 😭 and it eats him up inside cause he knows if they hear one PEEP from him, he’s getting cooked BADDDD.

and every single time he catches yuji in those weird ass shirts he gets heated 😭😭 cause how they let him get away with it but he cant wear his shirts???

all in all, he’s forever a white tee lover 😕 can’t shit be done about it.

⤑ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ysl production credits : thank you to @ivanari for helping me with my layout !! live laugh irene

⤑ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ tags : @morosis-haze @jogeto @mypimpademia @ivanari @planetlunaa @cosmiles @milesmolasses @chinieh @romiantic @stqrriichiigo

if you wish to be tagged in any future works, here’s my tag form to fill out <33

if you wish to submit a request, here’s my ask box :)

⤑ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ closing notes : take care of yourselves please ! or i WILL hunt you down. also, for those who filled out my tag list and i wasn’t tagging you in any work, it’s just cause i forgot to check it lmao 😭. mb ! imma do better. i love yall bunches, mwah x2 .

- xoxo , yves <33

#saint laurent productions #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jjk hcs #jjk headcanons #jujutsu kaisen hcs #megumi fushiguro headcanons #yuji itadori headcanons #maki zenin headcanons #yuta okkotsu headcanons

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 34

With James at her back, Weedfoot feels like she’s going to explode with love. Weak with blood loss, Weedfoot nevertheless purrs at the sight of her new tiny litter of five.

[Image ID: James and Weedfoot sit together, facing Fennelspot. Oilstripe, Downstar, and Parsley watch from the back. James says, “How can I wait a quarter moon to name my children?” Fennelspot replies, “The wait is worth it, James.” Under Weedfoot, it says - CONDITION: PREGNANT, + CONDITIONS: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH, BLOOD LOSS.]

Oilstripe hated how the nursery smelled of blood. She hated how Fennelspot kept assuring her that a lot of the process was up to Weedfoot, that her instincts were kicking in and guiding the kitting, that all she needed was water, company, and time. She especially hated how that opinion changed when Fennelspot recruited Clammask to massage Weedfoot while he handled “a small problem.” The thing Oilstripe hated most, however?

The fact that the kitting took two days.

“How is this normal?” Oilstripe groaned, paws over her head. It was a cold start of the new year, with snow still on the ground. It was almost the dawn of the third day of kitting. Oilstripe stayed up with James, Parsley, and Downstar while Fennelspot helped Weedfoot with the last steps of the process. James sat with Oilstripe, grooming sand off his legs.

“I can’t tell if you expect an answer to that question or not,” James said, his leg over his head.

“How can she take the pain?” Oilstripe wondered, peeking between her paws at the nursery.

“Nature’s work, I suppose,” James sighed.

“Aren’t you nervous?” Oilstripe asked, turning her back to the nursery.

“Of course I am, do you take me for a rogueheart?” James scoffed, sitting up. “I also have confidence in Weedfoot’s strength.

“Shush, you two!” Parsley snapped. “I hear another kit.” Oilstripe cocked her ear back. Sure enough, a loud mew rippled out of the den. Not long after, Fennelspot left the den with blood on his muzzle and paws.

“That’s more than normal,” Downstar gulped from her perch on the Shiprock. All four waiting cats scurried up to Fennelspot.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry!” Fennelspot insisted. “There was more blood than I wanted, but Weedfoot will be alright. She’s weak, though, so don’t overwhelm her. Go inside, James. You have two daughters and three sons.” James squirmed past Fennelspot and slipped into the shadows of the nursery. Oilstripe crept after him and watched from outside.

The nursery was packed by both the living and dead. Weedfoot laid panting with five kits suckling at her belly. Blood-stained moss surrounded her. Four ghosts lingered behind her, staring at the kits with pride; Paleshade, Wasppaw, Lavenderleaf, and surprisingly, Puddlespeckle. James actually walked through Puddlespeckle to lay at Weedfoot’s back. Puddlespeckle shivered and sneered at his son-in-code.

“Oilstripe, you tell him to look after those kits,” Puddlespeckle grumbled. “StarClan, I would have been a good grandfather.” His face softened as he stared at a gray tom with a small white dot on the bridge of his muzzle. 

Both the mollies looked like their mother. One had spots, while the other had swirling marks. One tom, a lanky gold and white tom, looked more like Wasppaw than either parent. The dead apprentice stared at the tom with huge eyes. The last tom was more like James, with a ginger pelt splashed white. Weedfoot purred deeply, resting her chin over Jame’s front legs.

“Weedfoot, they’re lovely,” Oilstripe purred.

“Oilstripe, you’re taking up the entrance,” Downstar huffed. Oilstripe shrunk and backed up so Downstar and Parsley could peer into the den.

“I’m a little worried about the striped kit’s strength,” Fennelspot admitted from behind the crowd. “She caused the most blood loss during birth. Beyond that, all five kits are nursing well.” He squirmed between Downstar and Oilstripe and groomed some blood off the youngest tom. “They should all live to get their own names.”

“How can I wait a quarter moon to name my children?” James groaned.

“The wait is worth it, James,” Fennelspot promised. He patted Weedfoot’s back with his tail. “You’re a strong mother, Weedfoot.”

“Here here!” Paleshade cheered. Wasppaw and Lavenderleaf laughed while Puddlespeckle rolled his eyes, although his perpetual annoyed look softened. Paleshade touched her ethereal nose to Weedfoot’s head. Some of her exhaustion seemed to seep out as she cuddled deeper into her mate.

From Oilstripe’s perspective, there was more love in the nursery that night than anyone else could understand.

(Oilstripe: 38, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(James: 110, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Parsley: 128, female, elder, righteous, great speaker)

(Downstar: 93, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Fennelspot: 91, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Puddlespeckle: 156, male, elder, strict, good hunter, good kitsitter)

(Weedfoot: 83, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

A quarter moon after their birth, Weedfoot reveals the names of her kits.

[Image ID: Five newborn kits fill the screen. Under the gray spotted kit, it says NEW PLAYER: PALEKIT, 0, FEMALE, IMPULSIVE. Under the gold and white spotted kit, it says NEW PLAYER: WASPKIT, 0, MALE, BOSSY. Under the gray spotted kit with the white face spot, it says NEW PLAYER: PUDDLEKIT, 0, MALE, POLITE. Under the swirl-patterned gray kit, it says NEW PLAYER: RIPPLEKIT, 0, FEMALE, KNOW-IT-ALL. Lastly, under the ginger and white kit, it says NEW PLAYER: LAVENDERKIT, 0, MALE, NOISY.]

(Palekit: 0, female, kit, impulsive)

(Waspkit: 0, male, kit, bossy)

(Puddlekit: 0, male, polite)

(Ripplekit: 0, female, know-it-all)

(Lavenderkit: 0, male, noisy)

Halibutdusk helps Downstar work through something difficult that happened to her.

[Image ID: Halibutdusk and Downstar face each other. Downstar says, “It’s hard to accept the good things in life when I don’t feel good.”]

---

Halibutdusk wasn’t sure what to think when his mother took him to the Great Northern River. While Fennelspot had forced her to go to a few Gatherings in the later stages of her healing, Downstar was only just leaving camp again. Why would she choose to return to the river she had almost died in, so soon after her recovery? Still, Halibutdusk did not ask questions. Clearly Downstar wanted to do something. Halibutdusk just had to wait.

The warm spring sun turned the Great Northern River back into the churning, lovely current Halibutdusk spent much of his free time watching. Downstar settled on a sun speckled patch of grass. Halibutdusk took a spot beside her. The sun made him sleepy and dragged his eyes shut. He glanced at Downstar, but the leader was silent.

Halibutdusk was about to fall asleep when Downstar finally said, “Have you been happy lately, Halibut?” Halibutdusk shook the sleep out of his head and blinked rapidly.

“That seems like a vague question,” Halibutdusk said, squinting at his mother.

“It’s an honest one,” Downstar huffed with a twitch of her whiskers. “I want to know how you’ve felt lately. Life has been quiet as of late.”

“I’m fine,” Halibutdusk muttered.

“You used to be so excitable,” Downstar muttered. She brushed her tail against Halibutdusk. “What happened?”

“I didn’t like the results,” Halibutdusk sighed. “I hate seeing Heronflank at Gatherings, knowing I scarred his face like that. I’m more cautious as a result.” Downstar nodded softly and stared at the water.

“I don’t believe your littermates would understand what I’m about to tell you,” Downstar said. “Shadowdrop is focused on himself, and Wildclaw… I made a mistake giving her an honor title for her recklessness, but I don’t have the heart to take it away.”

“Why did you rename Wildclaw?” Halibutdusk asked. 

“At the time, she seemed brave,” Downstar explained. She dipped a paw into the water and let the cool current run around her. “I was proud of how ready she was to protect us. All I could see was the danger lurking outside our borders. The darkhound hurt me more than I like to admit. It felt like another major, Clan-ending threat I had to stop. I’ve lost two lives within the span of five moons. All I could think about while I healed was, what would the next threat be?” Downstar shook the water off her paw. “It’s hard to accept the good things in life when I don’t feel good. I got angry when I was around anyone, because they didn’t seem to take things seriously. I’m trying to be better, though.”

“I understand,” Halibutdusk said softly. He wasn’t sure how true that was, but regardless, he leaned against his mother and let his eyes drift along the river. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

“I’d like to sit here for a while, if you’d be willing,” Downstar said. Halibutdusk nodded. The pair said nothing more as they listened to the river’s hum and the ringing of their own thoughts.

(Halibutdusk: 26, male, warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Downstar: 92, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

James caught Mousepaw in a lie. Rabbitjoy thinks Mousepaw has been acting weird lately.

[Image ID: James and Rabbitjoy stand over Mousepaw.]

---

Mousepaw didn’t like the looks on James and Rabbitjoy’s faces as they approached the apprentice’s den. They had no reason to march over to her as she groomed in the comfort of the empty den. Why weren’t they fussing over Weedfoot and her noisy kits? 

“Mousepaw,” James called. Mousepaw bit her tongue to fight back a groan. 

“Yes, James?” Mousepaw said in her most polite voice.

“Where is the mouse you caught during our hunting patrol this morning?” James asked. He sat outside the apprentice’s den while Rabbitjoy scooted inside. Mousepaw shuffled away from her.

“If it’s not on the fresh-kill pile, maybe Rattlepelt’s making leather out of it,” Mousepaw huffed. 

“She was going to,” Rabbitjoy explained, “but it went missing.”

“I saw you move it, Mousepaw,” James huffed, breathing deep. “I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt and hope you spotted spoilage. But then I found its buried remains near the dirtplace. I thought you would be honest and tell the truth, considering you are a codekeeper in training.” Wonderful. Mousepaw’s pelt burned as she turned her gaze to the side, refusing to look at James.

“Mousepaw, why would you eat a raw mouse?” Rabbitjoy asked softly.

“I ate raw mice all the time when I was a kit!” Mousepaw snapped. “It tastes better than the cooked foxdung Rattlepelt grills.”

“This is not how I wanted to spend my day,” James groaned.

“Mousepaw, you could get very sick,” Rabbitjoy huffed. “Do you understand that?”

“It was one skinny mouse!” Mousepaw groaned. “What are you going to do about it, exile me?” James and Rabbitjoy shared a long glance.

“If we had a mediator,” Rabbitjoy sighed, shaking her head, “I would send you straight to them. I don’t understand where all this hostility is coming from.”

“You only care that I took prey,” Mousepaw hissed, searching for an exit between the two adults. “Don’t act like I need to do anything else. I don’t need your attention. I do my job, and I do it well. All I did was treat myself. Why corner me about it?”

“You’re right, you do work hard,” Rabbitjoy said, her tail inching along the edge of Mousepaw’s nest. “Harder than James, at least.”

“I would take offense to that if it wasn’t so true,” James sighed.

“But this feels like another example of the loner attitude you’ve carried with you since you joined RippleClan,” Rabbitjoy explained. 

“Again, why do you care?” Mousepaw huffed, rolling her eyes.

“Because I care about Rattlepelt, and she cares about you,” Rabbitjoy said.

“I don’t want her to care!” Mousepaw groaned. “I don’t want anyone to care! It’s easier for all of us that way. I won’t steal prey again, alright? Don’t tell Rustshade.” Rabbitjoy slipped next to James and whispered in his ear. Mousepaw laid in her nest with her back to the pair. A short time later, she glanced back, but James and Rabbitjoy were gone.

Good. Mousepaw didn’t want them to care. It was easier to look after the Clan that way. She would stay away from all those complicated feelings like love and sincerity, and she’d be just fine.

Yes… she would be fine.

(Mousepaw: 11, female, codekeeper apprentice, loyal, oddly observant)

(James: 110, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Rabbitjoy: 71, female, artisan, charismatic, master weaver)

Burdockcreek encounters a fox on patrol.

[Image ID: Fennelspot treats Burdockcreek, while Wildclaw looks on from the back and yowls, “Fox twins!” Fennelspot says “Foolish young cats…” Under Burdockcreek, it says + CONDITION: MANGLED TAIL.]

(Fennelspot: 91, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Burdockcreek: 28, male, historian, competitive, lore keeper)

(Wildclaw: 26, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

#warrior cats #clangen #rippleclan #warriors #rippleclan story #downstar #oilstripe #paleshade #weedfoot #james #puddlespeckle #lavenderkit #palekit #ripplekit #waspkit #puddlekit #mousepaw #rabbitjoy #fennelspot #burdockcreek #wildclaw #parsley

[facingthefossegrim]

He Tian Hasn’t Been Home

This is a revision of my old post [ found here ], which was made back in May. @rainy19days kindly suggested that I should repost, but some of my notes and observations have changed since then.

To summarize the previous post, He Tian hasn’t been home since the night of The Kiss (AKA the night of the showdown with She Li). You can see from the images above that he’s been wearing the same outer jacket/coat and shirt for the past couple of days.

Evening 1: He Tian originally wore a white shirt to school that day, but swapped it out for his current outfit when he went to his brother’s place because the aforementioned shirt was covered with Jian Yi’s blood (from when She Li cut Jian Yi --wow, did that happen two nights ago canonically? Wild.). After kicking She Li’s sorry ass, The Kiss happens, and He Tian ends up spending the night cuddled up next to Mo Guan Shan.

Day 2: Still wearing the same clothes, He Tian takes Mo to go visit He Tian’s mother’s grave, as well as the old dog house. They end up adopting more fish, which I originally thought were going to end up at Mo’s place since He Tian didn’t even change the next day, but now I’m unsure of because they weren’t seen in Mo’s place in the future comics. (But after thinking about it some more, how long do fish even live, anyways?) Whether or not they dropped the fish off at He Tian’s place, it’s clear from Day 3′s outfit that He Tian didn’t linger there, and it’s clear from the text He Tian sent Mo (see image below) that the two didn’t spend the night together since they arrived to school separately.

Day 3: He Tian is still wearing the same outfit and even made a cute little Mo bento. (See below.) It’s adorable, right? Sure, but it also serves as a good distraction for why He Tian came to school late (he said he woke up late, but if so, why wasn’t he in a rush to get to class? What made him think it was a good idea to stop and make breakfast on the way?)

He’s changed his pants from the previous day, but that can mean anything. The pants could’ve been from He Cheng’s place (from when he’d originally changed his outfit on Evening 1. The pants could’ve been laundered, but his bloody white shirt wouldn’t have been as salvageable). It could’ve also been a pair he carried with him or kept in his locker.

I personally think he went to He Cheng’s place to finalize the process of his move (where else would he have been able to make the bento?).

I’m also bothered by the fact that He Tian didn’t approach Mo at lunch, but Mo instead had to go out of his way to find him. Something about that feels off to me, especially considering how attached He Tian is to Mo (often entering and leaving school with him, seeking him out during breaks and shared classes). When we see He Tian during the lunch break, he’s by himself with the piercing kit in hand. Is he contemplating how much time he has left, if today should be the day he pierces Mo’s ear because it won’t be much longer before he moves?

@rainy19days and @letitbe-f​ also brought up an interesting point that I didn’t initially notice: Mo invites the gang to dinner after school, but He Tian isn’t carrying his bag with him when he leaves. It’s made even more obvious when they’re out in the storm, and all He Tian has with him is his jacket. If he didn’t take his bag with him, does that mean he wasn’t planning on going home tonight either?

What does this mean? And what’s going to happen next?

#19 days #19days #19 days analysis #he tian #foss posts #i love that bag observation #such a good catch