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#and now i want the sweater i found for my deer
ttulipwritezz · 29 days
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King Of My Heart (Body And Soul)~ R. Lupin.
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Chapter 2 -  Expectations
Ootp! Remus Lupin x Sirius's sister!Reader
Synopsis: When James and Lily died, and your brother was sent to Azkaban, Remus was the only person you have left. Until he left too. What happens when he returns after the events of Sirius's escape, only to find out you have a son? A son that's his.
WC: 1.4k
Warnings: lots of italics, probably grammatical mistakes, might be ooc idk, child (?), fem reader, italics are flashbacks ( idk), love (ew), Sirius is back, [ look at series masterlist for all content warnings]
A/n: This is more of the backstory and how they came to be, along with lots of awkwardness from both ends, I promise there's more remus in the next chapter <3 oh and reunion with Sirius and thanks to @lixzey for making me wanna push the awkwardness~ :) If you enjoyed this please reblog and comment :)
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You and Remus were in love, you had been in love for 6 years.
Everyone knew you'd be endgame, and your brother hated it, to an extent.
Sirius loved that his little sister was happy, that she had joy in her life after the roughness of their family life. But he was scared, scared because he knew how much Remus would push people away, push himself away.
He didn’t want you hurt. But you were.
~
You found out in October, two weeks before Halloween.
You had been talking with Lily through letters back and forth, discussing your recent morning nausea and sickness.
She had asked when was the last time you and Remus had slept together, strange you considered that question, you replied a week ago at most.
Her letter came back with the words "you might be pregnant, dear...why don't you take this potion i sent along?"
And along with it there was a potion in a small vial with a piece of parchment guiding you through the process.
All you had to do was drink half of the potion and wait for the other half to shift hues.
And sure enough, the once rust coloured potion soon turned blue, signalling your current state.
You were carrying Remus's child, a child you hadn't talked about, a child you were sure you weren't ready for.
~
It was now hallows eve, the day you thought you had worked up the courage to tell Remus.
Children around town had just finished trick or treating and your husband was bringing back the basket with remaining candy.
He came into the bedroom with you and went straight to the shower, promising to return in a bit.
Your eyes heavy with sleep, you sit down on the edge of the bed, waiting for Remus to come out of the bathroom.
He sees them on your trousers before in your eyes, your tears. His brows furrowed in concern and pity as he looked at your face, eyes dull with sorrow and fear, so uncharacteristic of your usual glimmer and joy.
"What's the matter, dove?" He asks, voice slightly hoarse from the drowsiness in the back of his mind.
You don't answer, only look at him like you're out of words. You're thinking, thinking what a little Remus would look like, how they’d have the same nose, probably his same freckles dusting their face, and the same sandy locks of hair with deep roots.
You wonder if he'd want this, a kid, if this could be the one thing Remus would give up the world for.
"Come here, darling" he says and takes your body into his, nuzzling your face in the warmth of his polyester sweater. He understands, he always does.
That's how you sleep that night, unaware of the chaos that was soon to follow.
~
Remus rushed out of bed the moment  the potter's deer patronus knocked on the window.
The white buck stopped at the foot of his bed and let out a call of help, soon disintegrating to mist after.
That night Remus lost three friends, you lost a brother to azkaban and you lost Remus.
He left the morning after. With your heart shattered to pieces, you let him go.
Your mind screamed at you to tell him. Tell him and maybe he'd stay. Tell him and maybe he'd reconsider. But your heart, ever the kind one, ever the selfless one, let him go. In hopes that one day you'd see him again.
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Remus was half expecting you to slam the door in his face. To make a face of absolute disgust and just lock him out. But of course the other half of him was longing to hold you, see you after so long. So it came as a welcome surprise when you widened the door and let him inside.
 "Uhm...come in, please, we were expecting you" You said,  trying not to let your voice waver.
Remus felt so awkward. His hands were clammy, his posture was stiff and his jaw was clenched. He felt like he couldn't move, no more than if he had been hit with the petrificus curse.
You weren't in a much better predicament yourself. You could feel your eyes pricking with tears at the mere sight of him. The same man who left you. The man you let go. The man you still loved.
As he made his way inside the house you let your eyes roam across his figure. His hands were littered in large scars, far bigger than those you'd seen before. His face was shrunken, eyes hollower than you remembered. His smile lines were far more prominent now and his sandy brown hair had a few streaks of grey littered throughout.
"Where is the rest of the order? Where's sirius?" Why did you leave? Why are you back? How are you? You had so many questions but the rest were best kept to yourself.
 "They're on the way, I was just...early" I wanted to see you. 
Remus hated himself for leaving you. He wanted to tell you that. He regretted each night, even more so on full moons. After leaving the realisation of what he had done dawned on him, it was already  too late.
Alas, by the time he had worked up the courage to talk, You were already making your way across the hall to embrace your brother who had just arrived.
When did he get there? How consumed in his thoughts was Remus?
You greeted Sirius with a hug and a look-over of his whole figure. His posture was shrunken, eyes even hollower than Remus's and instead of his signature smirk, only a ghost of a smile was left on his face.
A feeling of guilt consumed you. Your brother was back after azkaban. Innocent. And your mind was all consumed by Remus.
You ushered the rest of the order inside and told Regulus to pack up his things and clear out the living room. The confused and curious glances you got from everyone did little to ease your nerves.
Sirius pulled you aside. You prepared yourself for the conversation you knew was to follow.
“Who’s that?” 
It was a valid question, Sirius was well aware that Remus had left that night. After their teary reunion, the werewolf had gotten an earful from the oldest Black. He was shocked and thought that  you had found someone new, unlike Remus, Sirius was quick to notice the similarities between the small boy and you. He deduced that he was your son.
“Uhm- He’s my son.”
You were staring at your feet, and your hands were fidgety.
There was a long pause. The silence was so loud you could hear the clock ticking.
“I…I have a nephew?” His words came out uncertain. Cautious and slow.
With a hum you replied “His name is Regulus. Regulus Jace.” You left out the last name. Legally he was a lupin. And so were you. But it wasn’t that hard to conceal that at hogwarts.
At the mention of his little brother, Sirius seemed to grimace. But he put a smile on.
“You named him after Reggie?-” He asked. And continued as you opened your mouth to answer.
“Who’s..who’s the father?” He didn’t want to assume the worst. He was happy, truely he was. After that “bastard” (as he put it) left you it was only fair. No matter how much he ached to see the two of you together again.
“It is Remus.” You replied, vulnerability lacing your voice.
His face seemed to light up, eyes widening, both in shock and delight. Before he would alert the whole house, however, you let him know one more thing.
“He doesn’t know. Neither of them do. I haven’t told them.” 
Your chest felt heavy, and your throat seemed to close up. It was hard for you to talk about. Despite being married you and Remus had never talked about kids, let alone with your friends. The feelings of contempt and guilt surrounded you.
Next thing you know, Sirius is pulling you in for a hug, securely wrapping his arms around you and trying to soothe your worries. His right hand wraps around your back as his left brushes against your hair in a calming manner.
It all comes crashing down. The weight of the lies, the guilt, the fear, the hatred. You cannot hold back the tears that rush down your face. A sob rakes though your body. You feel so much, everything, all at once, joy, relief, contempt, familiarity of an embrace.
But most of all...love. Love you haven’t felt in fourteen years.
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Series Taglist (open): @twilightlover2007 @idli-dosa @lovesanimals0000 @deathbyramennoodle-s @deadgirlsrunning @lovelyypythoness General Taglist (open): @desikudisworld @iamgayforyourmom1510
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muzansfangs · 3 months
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Sweater weather.
Starring: Renji Abarai x f!reader; Aizen Sosuke, Gin Ichimaru, mention to Byakuya Kuchiki;
Format: one-shot;
Warnings: angst, slight nsfw, mention to fingering, fluff, minor injuries, mention to reader being chained, abusive language, bruises, psychological manipulation, threats, sleep deprived reader, recovering, mention to reader being kidnapped, friends to lovers, struggling with feelings;
Plot: the moment he found you chained to the wall, hooded eyes puffy for the tears you had shedded for days, he realized how badly he loved you. He would have never forgiven Aizen and Gin for what they had done to you. Back to your flat in the human world, you still had some trouble moving on. The post traumatic stress disorder you were experiencing was making it hard to even rest properly. He dropped his duties as a Liutenant for visiting you, for holding you in his arms. He would have made sure to warm up your broken heart once again.
Track: Sweater Weather — The Neighbourhood: “ 'Cause it's too cold for you here and now, so let me hold both your hands in the holes of my sweater".
MASTERLIST FOR THE EVENT.
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The shackles restraining your wrists for days had left some visible marks over your skin. Along with those, there were some other bruises sprinkled in various parts of your body. They had mostly healed, by now.
Wounds and ecchymosis, at some point, all fade away.
There are some other injuries, though, hard to wash away. Your soul was still shaken, your heart ached, whenever you laid down and tried to rest. You had returned home safe and sound, but your mind was still stuck in Las Noches.
Every single time you closed your eyes, memories of what had happened pestered your mind.
Their voices, Gin's laughter in particular, still echoed into your mind. In your dreams, the horror you had experienced repeated itself. It was always the same: you stared at him like a small, helpless deer waiting for the hunter to shoot it to death, as he mocked you with his cool and mocking tone of voice. Struggling, wriggling away was useless. After attempting to do it the first time, Aizen had seraphically reminded you of how stupid that decision was and how detrimental to your health it could be as well.
"If I were you, I would not do it. You see, the metal cuffs might cut onto your skin. You do not want to shed any more blood to feed Gin's sadistic side, do you?" Aizen had whispered in your ear, before gently tapping with a tissue on your left wrist.
You were too busy trembling and staring at him in fear, your throat burning for the insults you had shouted at their faces at the top of your lungs, for noticing that you had indeed injured yourself. When Aizen showed you the once immaculate tissue, you saw some crimson stains on it.
You saw your blood.
Pulling on the chains had only caused you a physical damage. From that day on, you stopped tossing and turning. Your only weapon was your tongue. Slaps and kicks were what you received in return of the despicable words you reserved to them. But you were not going to give up on your voice because you were scared of some pain.
"Where's your Prince Charming? I thought he would have sealed the Oceans to free you. Maybe he forgot about you... Or a shark has swallowed him whole! Oh, you poor thing, don't sob like that! I can always try to cheer you up, though. You are so pretty, when you drown in your sorrow. So messed up and cute!" Gin taunted you, gripping your jaw roughly and forcing you to lock eyes with him.
You were glad your vision was blurry, as your tastebuds were met with the metallic and dreadful taste of your own blood. Your lips had cracked, your head aching, as you were still trying to recover from the harsh smack you he had just delivered to you.
But your agony did not last for too long. You never lost your hope and you were so upset you had fainted in his arms, as he ran down the corridors of that palace that resembled a maze just to save you. His familiar scent, his deep and hoarse voice lowered to reassure you that no one would have hurt you anymore. Looking back at it, perhaps, you had not fainted. Your body had probably just relaxed, comfortable in the strong and tattoed arms of someone who would have never hurt you.
Renji Abarai had gone mad, when you had vanished, kidnapped by the infamous Sexta Espada right before his eyes.
The anguish of not having you around to mess with him, the weird feeling of glancing at the desk of your empty bedroom, where you spent the majority of your time, and seeing your chair pushed against wooden edge, your silhouette not occupying the seat, were enough to shatter his heart. He had to find you, he had to have you back.
Weeks of pain. The days had passed by torturously, with every dusk the list of things he missed about you had expanded notably. You were always on his mind. He did not just missed your face, laughter, or jokes. He missed your soul, the way you drove him crazy with your stupid remarks and how you scolded him for being too reckless. He missed the cute, little things no one even noticed. You were not just his friend.
He loved you. He loved you so much he had broken into your cell alone, quick to bring you back to Urahara in search for help. As you were laying down on that futon, he had been by your side all the while. You were friends, though, right?
No, no, you were not friends. You had never been friends. A friend should have not felt that away about his partner in crime. Missing a friend could bring saddness and nostalgia and he knew that feeling.
When it came to you, though, it was not just that. Missing you felt like dying of starvation, breathing in air, but not oxygen. You were his whole damn world.
When he had heard you had physically recovered, but you were reduced to your shadow self, he had not even bothered making up an excuse to his stolid Captain. He dropped out of the Soul Society, his only goal seeing your face again and holding you close to his chest for real this time. He wanted you to feel loved, he needed you to look into his eyes, when he held you close to him.
You were sprawled over your sofa, only an oversized sweater covering your body. Another sleepless night, another day tormented by Gin's grin and Aizen's brown eyes. To anyone that asked you how you were doing, you always returned vague answers on how you were gradually recovering. It was true, indeed, but not the entire truth. Struggling to sleep because you kept on seeing your abusers's faces over and over again was draining.
When the door bell rang, you furrowed your brows. Who could it be now?
Aizen Sosuke. Gin Ichimaru. Panic.
You sat up straight, eyes rounded for a split second, before you squeezed them shut and took your head between your hands to calm down. They were not there, right? They were far away from you, they were in Hueco Mundo. Or so you thought. No, they had to be there. You were overthinking, it was not good. You were about to explode, when a deep and familiar voice pierced your ears and swept the ghosts haunting you away from your tormented mind.
"Y/N it's me. It's Renji".
A small and tired smile graced your lips, as you walked up to the front door, your eyes locking with the warm brown chocolate ones of your best friend, when you opened the door. He was there, he had come to visit you. You had no idea of how deeply you had missed him, until you broke down in tears and buried your face into his chest. His strong arms wrapped around your waist made the ice sheet enveloping your heart melt away.
Stumbling inside, Renji closed the door behind you two with a foot and rested his chin on top of your head.
"Stay. Please, stay" you feebly asked him, sniffing pathetically while you tried to wipe the tears off of your face with the back of your hand.
"You absolute idiot, of course I'm staying" he softly said, his calloused hands sliding down your back, to your waist and hooking underneath your thighs to pick you up. Thus prompted you to wrap your legs tightly around his hips, allowing the red-haired shinigami to have a firm grip on you.
The short-tempered Liutenant walked down the corridor and entered your bedroom, climbing onto the bed and gently laying you down on your back. You were so fragile in his arms, so small compared to him that you wished you could just vanish into his strong arms.
"How are you?" Renji finally asked you in a tone that did not accept replies or lies of any sort.
You did not want to make him worried more than he had already been and still was, but you did not have much of a choice. You had to answer him, you had to tell him the truth.
"Whenever I try to sleep, or a sudden noise startles me, it's like being back to Hueco Mundo. I still hear Gin's mocking laughter, or see Sosuke's sharp eyes penetrating my brain in search for my weaknesses" you whispered, closing your eyes as Renji's large hand cupped your cheek to provide you some kind of comfort.
Sometimes he wished you had not been involved with that story. He would have never wanted you to get hurt, to suffer.
Some strands of his long red hair fell over your face, tickling the tip of your nose and your chin. You could swear you had seen his jaw tense for a second, but then he relaxed and craddled you in his arms. He buried his face onto the crook of your neck, his hot breath making you feel safe like you had never felt before.
"It’s my fault. I should have brought you with me to the Soul Society” he then said, your eyebrows knitting questioningly at his statement.
“What? How—” you interjected, only for him to shake his head and press his forehead against yours. There was sorrow dusting his usually fiery eyes and it was enough for you to let go of whatever you were trying to say. Talking was not a good idea, overall.
And Renji knew it too.
It happened naturally, your lips pulling him in like a magnet, compelling him to taste you eagerly, to find relief and secure the acquittal of his guilty coscience in that kiss. He loved you, his joy depended on yours. And when he found no resistance in you, when he hovered over your frame carefully not to crash your body with his, when you allowed him to gently lead you towards a sensual and blissful climax with his fingers, he knew you felt it too.
Labored breath, sweaty body, in a daze and finally safe from the monsters under your bed, you lulled yourself into sleep with your head resting onto his firm chest. He would have never let you alone anymore.
AUTHOR NOTE.
Hello there! You have no idea for how long this have been laying in my drafts. I seriously need to finish up those fics for my event or I won’t be able to host a new one 😫
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this little scrap! As per usual, likes, comments and re-posts are greatly appreciated!
Until next,
X O X O
TAGS: @electronicwitchcollection @kr0wu
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salem-starlight · 1 month
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little alastor headcanons?
Ohh! I've been wanting to do this for a while! Hope you don't mind if I include Niffty!
Alastor's Age Regression I would HC at ages 2-6
He didn't have a Caregiver and was very very careful of hiding it. After all, The ALL Might Radio Demon couldn't be found as an Age Regressor, now could he?
Until Niffty cleaned his room one day and found his paci's, coloring books and crayons, bottles, a few onesie's and soft sweaters and pants.
You know she asked what all of this was and if he had a secret kid she didn't know about. But a breakdown and a half later Niffty tunrs "Nanny Mode TM" on and instantly goes into Caregiver mode.
Alastor likes to color while listening to the radio. He's not a fan of tvs or movies. He listens to old softer music, and Niffty managed to introduce him to Agere Playlists from Helltube! Since they have no visuals and Baby Deer can just Listen an Color.
Him and Niffty make Bug crowns together that's canon already.
Alastor and Niffty have a code for when Alastor is feeling little, it's, "Hello Niffty, my room need tidying up, would you mind deer?" Because manners and he wants to keep it discreet. "Sure Boss!" With a little saulte from Niffty.
She's small and fast I bet she can make angels milk in the kitchen and get in and out without a crime scene or an eye witness.
Niffty give him a deer plushy which he promptly names Bambi
That's all for now! I might add!
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sweetpeapod · 1 year
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@dixontardis, tumblr is a dick. Here is the reposted version. Thank you lovely for a Daryl request! I don't get as many for him so I'm always overjoyed to see him turn up in my asks 🥺 I truly hope you like this as much I do 💚 I may have also made a moodboard...
Warnings: Smut 18+ minors DNI, plus size!reader, emotional sex, crying during sex (not in a kinky way), p in v sex, TWD spoilers s9.
Word Count: 3,118
Masterlists
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"Stop. Jus' stop.”
You freeze in your tracks, bent slightly at the waist as you pause in putting down the firewood you had gathered for Daryl’s makeshift camp. 
"What?" Your voice comes out as an awkward squeak, unused to him using such a forceful tone on you. 
The archer sighs, rubbing a dirt covered hand over his face. Part of him wishes you hadn’t sought him out, but he knows that part is lying to himself. He had been out here for close to six months now, the search for his brother, their leader, coming up empty with every day that passed.
He had missed you. Not that he had any right to miss you in the way that he did. You were merely a friend, a part of his found family. But you had this way about you, something that made him feel warm, like the sun itself was shining down on him whenever you were near. 
And yet somehow, you brought out an anger in him that he hadn’t known he possessed before meeting you.
"Stop talkin' 'bout y'rself like that." Daryl’s brow is furrowed in frustration, his eyes on you, sharp and unwavering. 
You say nothing, self consciously tugging at your oversized knit sweater. 
Frost was beginning to settle on the ground. Your plan had been to convince Daryl to come home, worrying that he’d catch his death if he remained out here alone all winter. But the words died on your tongue the moment you’d seen him, wanting only to bask in his presence. The conversation, that you knew would not end in your favour, was left to be had at a later time. 
Daryl seems to falter at your silence, lowering his eyes and shifting uncomfortably where he stands. His anger seeping away as he sees the way you begin to hold yourself, curling inward and avoiding his eyes. 
He hadn’t meant to bring it up, intending to bottle up his annoyance as he always did. But when your voice had turned self-deprecating, forcing a laugh as you told him that at least with winter coming you could go back to covering up your body with layer after layer of thick clothing. Hiding the dips, rolls and curves that made up your frame. Something inside of him snapped. 
"Ya nice t'look at, ‘kay?" The hunter mutters. His hair falling to cover his face, hiding the subtle warmth he could feel growing on his cheeks. 
"Daryl, wha-" The curious, confused look you send him has Daryl pacing with agitation. 
"Do I gotta spell it out for ya?" He comes to a stop in front of you, closer than you had anticipated. You can feel his warm breath on the cold skin of your face, causing a shiver to creep up your spine.
You’re looking up at him through your lashes, lips parted slightly as you wait for his next move. The vulnerable way you’re looking at him has his resolve snapping. 
Daryl takes a step towards you, hands reaching out for your face.
Startled, you take a step backwards, almost tripping on the pile of firewood. 
You hold your own hands out in front of you for a second, effectively stopping Daryl where he is. He brings his thumb to his mouth, gnawing on it as he waits for you to speak.
"What are you doing?" 
To say you look like a deer in headlights would be an understatement. You’re standing, hands nervously rubbing together in front of your stomach, bottom lip caught between your teeth. Your eyes are locked on Daryl’s with uncertainty, and maybe just a hint of hope.
In response Daryl huffs quietly. It had taken him a while to work up the courage to let his feelings come to the surface, and now that he has there’s no fighting them back. 
"Tryin' t'kiss ya.” His voice is gruff, but with an undercurrent of emotion that catches you off guard. “Stand still." 
As he moves to take another step closer to you, you place a small hand on his chest, halting him. For a second you say nothing, your heart racing beneath your own chest as you feel his warmth seep through the old, worn poncho.
"You don't have to do that, Daryl." Your voice is barely more than a whisper, vulnerability creeping into every word. Your head shakes subtly as you speak, eyes dropping to the ground between you and the archer.
"I want to.” His fingers feel rough against the soft skin of your jaw. He tilts your head up to look at him, heart clenching as he sees the conflict in your eyes. Daryl’s words take on a softer edge as he continues, “Don't ya listen t'me woman?" 
"You said I'm nice to look at?” Another self-deprecating laugh escapes you, “I didn't know that meant you wanted to kiss me." 
You can’t find it within yourself to truly believe that after all this time, all you’ve been through together, that he would suddenly feel any sort of urge to kiss you. You didn’t understand why he would wait so long if this is something he’d wanted, or was it simply a whim that he was having after being alone for so long. 
"Well, I do. Is that- do ya want tha' too?" 
The question hung in the air, the small gap between you filling with a thick tension. He could practically hear your brain trying to piece everything together, trying to understand what’s happening. 
Daryl’s eyes bore into your own, something akin to desperation shining through, albeit subtly. 
"Yes." You admit quietly, your own wide eyes staring back at him. 
You watch as relief washes over him, visibly letting his tense shoulders sag without the weight of uncertainty sitting on them.  
He moves with more confidence as, once again, he takes that bold step towards you. 
“Why now?” 
You hate doing it. Hate stopping him each and every time he steps out of his comfort zone. 
But you need to know. You need to know that he's doing this because it's you, not just because you're the only one there. 
“Wha’ d’ya mean?” His head is tilted to the side, husky voice tainted with confusion. Perhaps communication was neither of your strong suits. 
“Why do you want to kiss me now?” The question is pointed, insecurities eating away at you. 
“S’not just now. Been a long time.” His fingers are entwined with the ends of your hair, carefully twisting and turning it over in his hands as he speaks. 
You've never known Daryl to be so free with his touches, regularly shying away from so much as a soft touch to his arm or shoulder. So the action has you overwhelmed, your chest tight with emotion. 
“Why didn’t you say anything before?” You hear yourself whisper, letting yourself be pulled closer to him by an invisible thread that you feel tangled in your heart. 
His hair is curling into his face as you peer up at him. You see him open and close his mouth a few times before finally answering you. His voice tinged with a subtle sadness that you're sure anyone else would miss. 
“Ya deserve more.” 
Your fingers find his jaw, tracing a soft line up to his temple. You let your hand press firmly against the archer's skin, his rough beard scratching your palm in a pleasing way. 
“You’re more than anyone deserves.” 
His eyes close at your words, hiding the way they brim with wet emotion. He presses impossibly closer to the warmth of your hand against his skin, needing to feel grounded in this moment. 
You feel yourself moving before you have a chance to second guess yourself again. Taking that final step into his space, letting his warmth soak into your own body. You feel his hard chest molding itself against you as his arms circle your waist, hands resting lightly on your hips. 
You let your fingers find purchase against the worn poncho, gripping tightly, as if he may disappear at any moment. 
Those blue eyes are staring down at you in anticipation, hesitant to make the first move after your previous rebuttals. Your grip grows ever tighter as you lean up, gently, teasingly, knocking his nose with your own. 
There’s a soft smile on your face as you close the gap, letting your lips slot against his with a neediness you didn’t know had been building within you. 
Daryl doesn’t waste a second. His hands holding your waist in a bruising grip as he bites at your bottom lip, grunting at the way you quietly whimper, feeling your body go pliant against him.
One of your hands works its way up his chest, caressing his collarbone, his neck, his jaw, until it finds its true target. His dark hair is matted and thick with dirt as you twist the ends between your small fingers, tugging softly as Daryl’s tongue runs along the seam of your lips, asking for entry. 
And who are you to deny such a request?
As you part your lips, the muscle traces along the edge of your tongue, drawing a breathy whimper from deep within you. You can feel your body growing hotter by the second, despite the cooling air surrounding you. 
The forest is silent bar the panting breaths that escape the two of you, the groans and whimpers that neither of you can hold in.
“Daryl.” You whisper, pulling away only far enough to let yourself speak. His lips are chasing yours, hands moving up to your neck to try and guide you back to him. “Daryl, wait.” There’s a quiet chuckle in your voice, a happiness you never thought you would feel again.
He huffs, letting his forehead drop softly against yours. Fighting the temptation to kiss every inch of your soft, supple skin that's available to him. 
"I need to say something. Before we-" A deep flush covers your cheeks as you cut yourself off, not wanting to be too presumptuous. "I just need to tell you something."
Daryl says nothing, but leaves a whisper of a kiss on your temple as he forces himself to pull away from you. His hands remain tight on the fabric at your waist, not letting you go far as he stares down at you. 
"I came here to bring you home." Your voice grows sullen, knowing already what his response will be. 
“Can’t. Not yet, not found nothin’.”
No words leave your mouth. You can't speak for fear of the lump growing in your throat. So instead you give a small nod and opt to burrow your face further into his shoulder, hiding the way your face contorts in pain. 
You understand, you know how important this mission is to him. You only wished that you were a part of his plans, that he wouldn’t leave you behind again.
“Ya can stay wit' me. If- if that’s somethin’ you’d want t’do.”
“You want me to stay?" This time you can't hide the wet sound in your voice, tears beading up in your eyes as you stare at him incredulously. 
Daryl nods as he gnaws at his thumb, a nervous habit that you find alarmingly endearing. 
You can't stop the smile that grows on your face, salty tears flowing freely from the whirlwind of emotions your body has just been put through. 
The archer doesn't hesitate this time, taking your round cheeks in his rough hands and pulling your face toward his. You let your fingers run along the edge of his pants, tickling a small slither of skin that you find bare at his waist. 
His lips are gentle against yours, pressing endless kisses to your skin as he wordlessly guides you toward the makeshift tent, hands pulling softly on your hips as he lowers himself to sit on the ground. You let yourself be pulled gently onto his lap, legs splayed either side of his hard thighs. 
Daryl's hands glide slowly up your back, tracing their way up your spine, lifting your woollen sweater over your head. You feel a shiver come over you as his mouth settles along your jaw, nipping and kissing his way down your throat and to your newly exposed clavicle. 
Your head is thrown back as he explores the skin that he's longed to touch for so long, but always restrained himself from, breathy sounds escaping you with each touch to your feverish skin. 
There's a soft desperation in his kisses, in his movements. From the way his grip tightens as you subtly roll your hips down against him. To how he grunts when your own mouth begins to explore his skin instead. 
It feels as though everything is going in slow motion. You drink in every touch, every sound, every sight as Daryl pants beneath you. 
He's tugging off the layers of clothes that hide his warm flesh. Pulling you tightly against his chest as you roll your hips over the growing muscle that you can feel pressing incessantly against your thick thigh. 
There's a moment of awkwardness as you fight to remove your boots and jeans, the denim hugging your plump thighs. Quiet huffs of laughter fill the air as Daryl helps you remove the offending item, slowly dragging them down your sensitive skin. His fingers lingering on the soft flesh leaving you quivering from within. 
It doesn't take long for you to find your place, straddling him once again. Only this time you let your hand run down the toned chest in front of you. Tracing your way over every dip and rivet, watching Daryl's eyes gloss over from the delicate touch. 
Your hand stops at the top of his pants, fingertips barely breaching the dark material. Daryl can't help but jerk his hips up towards your hand as it teases him, running your palm ever so slowly over the front of his pants, fingers tracing the outline of his hard cock. 
The grunt that escapes him has you clenching around nothing, slick forming in the seat of your panties as you grind against his toned thighs. 
His hands brush the hair from your face, pulling you in for a deep kiss. One hand stays on your jaw, while the other runs gentle fingers down the meat of your arm. You sigh into his mouth as he keeps you close, body overflowing with heat and emotion. 
You slowly release his aching cock from the constricting denim, circling the tip with your fingers before running them down the thick vein that you can feel throbbing for you. You swallow the hunter's whimpers as you rub the swollen tip along the wet material of your panties. 
A gasp, followed by a loud moan, forces its way from your lips as Daryl's hand grips the crease of your thigh, letting his fingers dip beneath the soaked material between your legs. 
Working in tandem, he pulls the thin cotton to the side, letting you stroke his thick cock between your puffy folds. You tease yourself, rubbing the leaking tip over your clit.
Your whole body curls in on itself at the first touch to your sensitive bud, your head buried into Daryl's shoulder, teeth biting gently into his collarbone which has him rutting up into you, bumping the bundle of nerves again.
As you lower yourself onto his aching cock, you feel as though the wind is knocked out of you. It's been so long since you've been touched like this, since any man has breached your velvety walls. 
Emotions swell within you, forcing tears into your eyes as you feel him fill you in a way that eases an ache you didn't realise you had. 
You hear your name whispered from Daryl's lips where they're pressed against your temple. Restraint clear in his voice as you feel him twitch inside you. 
"We can stop." His words are muffled against your hair, "Ya cryin'."
"Don't stop, Daryl. Please." You whimper, lips moving against his throat as you speak. "It's just been so long. I forgot what it was like to be touched. I forgot how it felt to be this close to someone. Someone I love." Hot tears are streaming down your face as Daryl holds you tightly, his hands rubbing up and down your sides. 
"Love ya too." 
You whine loudly as you feel Daryl move, rocking gently into you. His lips find your shoulder, leaving soft kisses along your bare skin. He traces patterns into your back as you circle your legs around him, using his body to leverage his cock deeper inside of you. 
You can feel every vein on the hard muscle as it throbs against your fluttering walls, dragging him back in with every rock of his hips. 
He has you gasping and writhing against him as he moves a calloused finger between your bodies, circling your clit. It doesn't take long for you to be whimpering, arms clutching onto Daryl as you rut yourself against him. 
You can feel the slick gathering at the base of his cock, coating him and making the glide even more sensitive with each gentle thrust. 
He softly pinches your swollen bud between his fingers, holding you firmly against his hips as you writhe in his lap, driving his cock even deeper within you. The strike of your orgasm hits you without warning. Within seconds you're wailing as a white hot coil is unleashed within you, your pussy convulsing around the hard cock inside of you.
Your gasps and stuttering hips have Daryl grunting beneath you. His hands are firm on your waist as his thrusts become harder, messier. 
You can't help the way your pussy clenches around him, feeling even an ounce of the man beneath you going feral has your body heating up, the coil tightening again. 
He whimpers as he feels your pussy trying to milk him, grip tightening with every thrust. All it takes is a single kiss from you, a soft bite to his bottom lip as his head is thrown back, eyes closed tightly. He pulls his throbbing cock from the warmth of your quivering heat, his hand pumping furiously as he spills over your plush thighs. 
You watch as his legs shake, his thick cock shooting salty liquid over your hot flesh. 
Leaning forwards you place soft, barely there, kisses over his cheekbones, leaving a trail down to his lips. You brush away the hair that's stuck to his forehead, pressing your face close to his. 
"I love you, Daryl. And I'll stay out here with you for as long as you need."
The swell of emotion, the brimming of tears in his eyes tells you all you need to hear. 
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weer02 · 6 months
Text
Here's some of Max's outfits in chapters of my fic "Ambivalence":
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I haven't drawn in ages (in 2 years to be exact) and kinda gave up on it, but lately as I saw so many amazing artworks here, I got inspired to draw something myself!
Fanfic outfits seemed like a perfect warm-up,  I chose Max first cause she's ✨the main character✨, but what she was wearing was described the most (I also added her outfit from chap20 which I'm working on rn).
I forgot how much fun drawing was... and I might do more of this.
Here's single pics for more detail:
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and fanfic excerpts describing the outfits if anyone cares:
CHAPTER 4: "[...]She pulled on a long-sleeved shirt with a geometric deer print and a warmer, dark grey hoodie on top of it. She went ahead with her plan and started to dress up in more layers. She ran her hands through her hair, and gave up on doing makeup, even though she knew how awful she looked after taking a look in the mirror, her dark circles under eyes even more prominent these days." CHAPTER 7: " As they were slowly pacing through the junkyard, Max could feel the icy, November wind. She was wearing all black today, black jeans, boots that she found deep in her closet, and a black coat borrowed from Chloe"
CHAPTER 15: "[...]She dressed up — her outfit was a white buttoned up shirt with a navy-blue skirt that went down to her knee. She looked down at herself and was so uncomfortable, it all felt too tight and too formal for her, reminded her of some kind school uniform she would hate to wear. She also took the oversized black coat borrowed from Chloe, just to have something over the top and not feel cold. [...] she couldn't bear looking at herself, she looked awful. Dark circles under her eyes from chronic lack of sleep, her bangs covering her eyes and hair overgrown to the point it almost reached her shoulders.[...]"
CHAPTER 18: "(the dress) was pale pink, reached below her knee, and didn't have any leg slits. It had short sleeves, because she didn't want showed off shoulders, and was plain, because she didn't want to draw much attention with lots of fabric and sparkly sequins. [...] She also had shoes of a matching color with a two inch heel, as anything higher than that she had tried on made her trip within the first step. She wore a thin silver chain necklace and a flower corsage on her wrist. [...] she took a look in the mirror and almost didn't recognize herself in the layers of makeup she had on her face. She never tried to do it before, because she was too self conscious about heavier makeup, and by heavier she meant what she had on right now, smoky eye shadow and a dusty pink lipstick."
"[...]She smiled at the thought, catching a glimpse of her expression it in the mirror. She realized she was wearing the same white shirt she had worn at the trial, but it didn't make her uncomfortable anymore, she paired it with black jeans and it surely felt more like her." CHAPTER 20: "November had already started and temperatures began to decrease, so Max pulled out a beige knitted sweater from her wardrobe, one she found in the boxes of things she didn't take to dorms. She wore it under her recently thrifted, oversized brown hoodie, and paired it with the usual blue jeans. She changed the black converse into a pair of brown boots to not get drenched in the puddles of rain."
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"Touch Me" Robin Buckley x fem reader.
summary: you and robin have some sexual tension and it finally breaks.
warnings: reader is shorter than robin. light choking, size kink, teasing, fingering\oral ( reader receving) pet names, slight dark robin! DomRobin! SwitchReader! neck kisses, marking. ( freinds to lovers) the dividers arent mine found them on google lol. this is my first time writting i know its a little short sorry. i hope you guys like it worked really hard believe it or not lol.
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Robin was working the counter at Family video that morning,she was flipping through a magazine when the tiny bell above the door rang. She didnt bother looking up she knew it was you, the smell of your lavender shampoo wafted in her direction as you walked closer. She loves the way you smell. If that could be the last smell she smells before she died she would die happy. She finally looked up when she saw your shoes.
" Hi " you said in a sweet voice "Hey" she replied. You smiled and started asking her "So i was wonder if you maybe would want to come over later my parents are out of town this week" She blushed as her head filled with what could happen, if she would be able to finally touch you the way she craved. "Robin?" your soft voice broke through her thoughts as she realized that she hadn't answered you yet. Robin cheeks grew even redder " Y-yes i would love too!" she finally replied. You tried not to show the growing blush on your cheeks but robin noticed it. She loved the innocent look in your eyes. You broke the intense eye contact to fidget with your sleves of your cute baby pink cropped sweater. " F-four thirty tonight" you studdered. " see you then Bunny~" she husked back.
Your eyes grew wide at the cute pet name. You looked like a deer in head lights and she loved it. She smirked at you. You could feel the heat in your core bloom. You had to leave before you let her ruin you right there. " S-see you then" you whispered. You hurried out of the store not knowing how much longer you'd last before you broke.
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You spent the rest of the day setting up making sure your house looked cleaned and then went out and bought snacks. Once you got back you quickly put up everything that needed to be and left out the snacks for you and Robin. You bought some of her favorites. You really hope she liked them. You went to go shower looking at the time you had 30 minutes to get ready. You rushed through your shower. Once you were out you quickly blow dryed your hair and put on some light makeup. Now it was time for your outfit. You looked through your closet and found an outfit you knew Robin loved seeing on you. You wore a baby blue crop top with a v-neck showing off your boobs, and some tiny black pj shorts. You were just staying home so you didn't know what you were about to do to Robin.
The door bell rung. You took one last look in the mirror in your room and rushed down the stairs to answer the door what you didnt know was that Robin gave an amused chuckle at how loud and how fast you were coming down the stairs, she had right where she wanted you. Eager for her. When you opened the door she held a smirk on her lips while she leaned on the door frame. "Hi bunny" she breathed as she saw what you were wearing. Robin was on her last string for controling herself from not doing what she wants to you.
Once Robin was inside she looked around, your house was nothing new to her, shes known you for a long time. She's had a crush on you since you were a freshmen, you were sweet and quiet, you loved to read. She would be sitting at the park she knew you loved just in hopes she'll get the courage to talk to you. It never happened. It was until you helped them with saving the world from Russians and the Mind Flayer that Robin really started to talk to you. Lately shes been having some non innocent thoughts about you and its driving her crazy, she so in love with you shes needs to touch you.
You were grabbing the snacks while robin looked around. Robin followed you while you walked to your hall way cabinet to grab some throw blankets. You unexpectedly bent over to grab the blankets that were on the bottom shelf. Robin blushed hard as her composure was slowing melting along with her legs. You grabbed her hand and pulled her to your room swinging her on to the bed with the force of your pull while you swong yourself with her hand. You two broke out giggling you often had these cute little moments where you were just silly and Robin adored it. Robin saw how you locked the door behind your back she smirking at you as you walked over to the bed making you taller than her for once. Robin stood up while you set down the food and set out the blankets on your bed.
Once you were done you went over to hug her as you do any chance you get. Robin lifted your chin and slowly and lightly ran her hand down your neck to holding your cheek. She stroked your bottom lip feeling your soft skin. Your breath hitched as the light feeling of her fingers roaming your throat giving you chills. Robin chuckles lightly and whispers in your ear "Sensitive are we bunny?~" You can't stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together not even realizing your doing it. Robin coos at you mockingly sweet " oh sweetheart~" you whined at the mock.
She moved your chin so you were making eye contact with her. " Do you want this as much as I do". She panicked at how blunt that was. "I just mean like if you want to, Iv'e kinda have had a crush on you for like a really long time and I totally understand if you dont feel the same but ever since we nearly died to a bunch of different demenstion demons and russians I just cant stop thinking about how this is my chance to be with you and to take that chance."
You looked at her with shock at first not beliving if this was real or not but once you registered her words you stood up on your tiptoes and grabbed her wrist that was to the hand that was still cupping your face. Robin kissed you back with passion, she travles her free hand to your hip and slowly walks you back to the wall. Robin breaks the kiss to ask " I take that as a yes?~" you nod and replied back " touch me.. please" oh Robin loves it when you used your manners. " I thought you'd never ask princess~" she whispered before she kissed you with lust and love.
You stand on your tiptoes to kiss her back, you feel Robins hands grips the back of your thighs. She lifts you up and leans you against the wall while she moves her lips down your neck leaving nip marks on your skin along with wet kisses. You whimper as she finds your sweet spot. Robin humms in delight at the nosie you make. She goes back to kissing you as she nips your bottom lip asking for a taste. You give into her. Letting her carry you to your bed where she lays you down. She kisses her way down your tummy and comes back up to tug at your shirt telling you she wants it off. You lift your shirt over your head showing off your black lace bra.
" Fuck, do you have matching panties too baby~"Robin lowly husked as she slid her hand into your tiny pj shorts as you let out a gasp at her touch. Robin look up at you as she started to slid off your shorts giving you plenty of time to stop her. You didn't stop her you needed her now you had been worked up for weeks and anything you did,didnt help for long. The throb between your legs was unbearable. You were so wet for her. Robin could feel as you soaked through you undies onto her fingers groaninhg she lowered herself between your legs. She looked at your covered core, covered with to her amusment matching panties. You moaned as she ran her toungue over the fabric. "Please~" You wiggled your hips desperate for her touch. " Someone's impaitent Bunny~" she chuckled.
She slowly teasingly dragged your undies down your legs, kissing your legs on her way down on her way back up she sucks on your inner thighs as she pushes your legs apart giving her a perfect view. She blows lightly on your core watching you shiver.
Robin finally flattens her tounuge against your clit. You gasp as you clench around nothing. " Robin please I need you please!~" you whine. "Anything for you baby, what a pretty pussy look at you dripping for me. For me all this is mine, your mine~ " she says into your cunt. "fuck yours, all yours~" you moan as she starts to circle her toungue around your clit as she teases her fingers into you stretching you out, she curls her fingers finding that spongy parts making you cry out reaching for her hair. "Oh yes yes~".
"So Good~"Robin moans into you while she repeatedly rubs that spot that makes you scream while she continues her assalt on your clit. Your back arches as your hand thats not gripping robins hair is gripping your conforter as she makes you feel like your going to burst with pleasure. Your legs start to shake. "You close baby, you gonna cum all over my fingers, come on i know you can do it princess~" she brings her face to hover over yours as she picks up her pace with her fingers. Robin muffles your moans by kissing you harshly. You cant think of anything. nothings in your head other than HER. Just her always her. The way shes making you feel.
You grab her free hand and lead it to your throat so shes lightly choking you when she applies slight pressure you break your orgsam rips through you like a hurricane. " there she is such a pretty sight all fucked out for me~" Robin breathed in awe. Your chuckle turns into a moan as she lowers herself so she can taste you again cleaning you up this time . You whimper at the shock of overstimulation it didnt take long for you to reach your peak again as Robins eating you like her last meal.
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After Robin cleaned you up with a wet warm rag she got you new pjs to sleep in and asked if she could borrow some as she was still in her slightly uncomfy work clothes. Once she changed she went down stairs to grab waters for the both of you. She came back to your room to find you on netflix serching for a movie. You make grabby hands at the snacks you bought for her and opened them as the movie started. "I love you too" you whispered as you hid your face in her neck giving her light kisses. Robin hummed in content. "Cant wait for the rest of time with you." You kissed her lightly. "Me either" you blushed as you leaned your forehead on hers looking in her eyes as you both grinned like love sick idiots. Wait till steve hears about this.
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pleasantlycrazyworld · 11 months
Text
Chapter 1. Confusion
Inspired by the babysitting club books and @bloodthirstybreedingbunny 
This will be a series! Please like, reblog, and comment it would mean the world to me
Eddie has been hiding something from you...and you’re dying to find out what it is. You know he would never cheat on you and still loves you but he’s been acting so weird and it’s starting to gnaw at you. It’s clear he’s hiding something, there are new sweaters in his room nearly every week and it’s sweaters you’ve never seen before. 
It’s been almost two months since the first time you found a sweater; now there are six of them, and you’re getting increasingly confused. Where are these coming from? Are they someone else’s? Wayne's? They can’t be Eddie’s because you never see him wear any but they look homemade. Is someone making your boyfriend homemade sweaters??? You’re not worried that he’s cheating or anything anymore. At first, you were concerned about finding a random lilac sweater in his floor but the more you look at them the more they look like a grandma made them for him, he isn’t cheating with a grandma...is he? 
Eddie was coming home later than usual tonight and he felt awful for not warning you. Hellfire ran over much later than he planned but he wasn’t worried, he knew you would understand. When he walked into the small trailer he wasn’t expecting the sight in front of him. There you were, surrounded by sweaters and when you made eye contact he knew he looked like a deer in headlights. “Where...Where did you find those?” he’s kicking himself for not hiding them better, he never wanted you to find this out. “Just be honest with me...are you cheating? And is it with...with a grandma? Oh my God is it Gertrude!!” 
Eddie stands shocked for a moment, “What?! No I’m not cheating and with GERTRUDE! That old lady three trailers down!?” He says moving his hands around, “Baby I...Look I do more than just Hellfire with those guys, we...god this is so stupid.” He clears his throat before continuing, “We have a book club okay.” 
Now it’s your turn to stand there in shock, “A book club? Are you serious then who the hell is making these sweaters?”
Eddie sighs knowing he needs to explain everything now “Sit down, let me explain it all. We have Hellfire every Thursday, you know this but with school and the band and the club we just, I don’t know, got stressed out I guess. So Jeff suggested we try doing what his mom does with her friends so we started a book club. That led to us making cookies once a week and then it led to Gareth showing us how to knit after his grandmother taught him and my god is it so much fun babe. But when the kiddies joined Hellfire we started reading more because they were getting difficult books to read for their English courses. So now we hold this every other Thursday, it alternates between Hellfire and the book club.” 
You give him a soft little smile, “Eddie why would you hide this from me? If you’re enjoying it and this is helping you relax then I’m glad you boys have this. Let me know if I can help with it, I can always make cookies or anything for you boys, you can even make Sundays your book club days now so you don’t have to miss out on Hellfire anymore.” He smiles and kisses you softly, he should’ve known you would’ve supported him with this like you do with everything else. 
Author note: I’ve really missed writing and I’m sorry I’ve been gone for so long. I’m finally feeling motivated to write again so I hope you all enjoy <3 
If you want to be added to the taglist just let me know
Taglist: @sweet-villain @eiightysixbaby @zestychili @b-ritney @thefreak0fhawkinshigh @tiannasfanfic @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @lofaewrites @djkeruigbbygirl @moonchildquinn
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hopperzheartz · 6 months
Text
Missing You. (Brance Fluff)
something to hold y’all off because i’m taking years to work on requests 😭😭😭
1:27 on the dim phone light on his bed.
As bruce looked at his screen he scanned the photo on his lock screen.
His beautiful boy.
Smiling down at bruce’s camera as they stood under an umbrella, bruce almost barley fitting in frame, kissing his cheek.
As the screen went black, bruce continued to ruffle his damp hair with his towel.
“he’s probably home by now.”
Bruce had recently found his own place not too far from vance, maybe a fifteen minute walk.
Vance was working on moving in with him, and he’d been working longer hours to help bruce out with the rent, although he didn’t mind. It was affordable anyways.
These longer hours vance was taking meant less time with bruce, though.
He’d missed him a lot.
They missed each other.
Bruce understood of course, he worked too.
He began to dress himself and get comfortable.
When his head rested on the pillow, his eyes seem to stay open.
He couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Vance of course.
He longed to hold his lover.
It had been a week since they’d gotten the chance to see each other.
Bruce wanted to lay in his chest, play with his hair, or just listen to his sweet voice.
Yeah, yeah, whatever, he missed him.
He always did.
Bruce rolled over.
The sheets making plushy noises as he did.
he froze
“I miss him.”
Bruce stood up making his way to the closet.
He found Vances side of it, as he had some things here already.
He chose one of his hoodies and slipped it onto himself.
Laying back down he grabbed the teddy bear vance gifted him a while back and took in the scent of his boyfriends hoodie.
The fabric smelled faintly of his cologne, but still just enough to make Bruce’s heart ache for him.
He studied the sleeves, trailing his eyes to the sweater cuffs at the end.
The sleeve seams adorned with loose threads, the exact ones Vance pulled at when he was nervous.
Just as bruce had focused his embrace back on the bear and let his mind drift at the thought of his one and only, he heard a rattle in the other room.
His eyes shot open with a confused frown.
The struggle continued, he sat up.
“this fucking door—“
Of course thinking the worst he quickly stepped out of bed and into the kitchen only to find said door half open.
As well as a blonde figure and leather jacket in his apartment.
The dim hall light behind him hid his features.
He knew that tied curly hair anywhere.
It was all he thought about.
Bruce with a curious frown switched the kitchen light on and was met with beautiful blues that made his heart flutter.
Vance who only blinked at him looked like a deer in headlights.
It was cute how big his eyes got.
“V?”
Vance turned to close and lock the door behind him placing his keys on the nearby table.
Oh yea that’s right, he has keys.
“i’m sorry, where you awake or did I wake you?”
Bruce practically jumped onto him.
“w-Woah, jesus, hi~”
Bruce had his arms wrapped around him as if he’d melt away.
Vance hugged back putting his face into his neck.
“Do anything but apologize, I was missing you so much I thought you read my mind.”
Vance shined a beautiful smile.
Bruce pulled away and looked at him.
He had a ‘yesterday’s eyeliner’ type of look, as he wore it to work often.
Bruce’s heart pounded as he loved when vance looked this way.
Vance pecked Bruce.
He smiled and began to pull vance to their soon to be shared room.
“Let’s go to bed~, I want to hold you.”
Vance let out a little laugh as he slipped his boots off, with a demanding bruce pulling at his jacket.
“wait, wait, let me get home first.”
When he was done he followed bruce into the room, switching off the kitchen light as he entered.
Bruce sat in bed beginning to cover himself, Vance went into the closet and grabbed some pants.
He changed, and the only thing visible in the dark room was just his silhouette that the dim streetlight outside the window allowed.
Vance got to his shirt slowly taking it off.
The way bruce could see the shape of his torso made him blush.
He’d seen this before, rather often to say the least, yet it still did things to him.
Suddenly he didn’t feel so cold.
Before his thoughts could get to him vance snuck his way into the sheets, stealing bruce into his embrace.
He squeezed him and rolled around playfully as they both let out giggles.
They faced each other again.
“hey, is that my sweater?”
“yeah, I told you I missed you.”
“well, you have me here and you can wear it any other time so-“
Vance pulled the bottom of the sweater off of Bruce causing him to remove it.
“h-hEy- what the hell-“
Once he took it off he held bruce close again.
“Also the outside of it is way too itchy for me”
Now they held each other with no fabric separating their beating hearts.
Which where rather fast.
Bruce was so distracted by his eyes that he hadn’t noticed how Vance made his way on top of bruce.
Vance couldn’t slow his heart at the way Bruce admired him.
His hand reached behind Vance, letting his hair down, the tie slipping onto his wrist.
He let his hands tangle into his hair.
Vance let his eyes travel down onto Bruces collar bones and defined chest.
Just before he could think about how bad he wanted to bite him, he was pulled down to connect their lips.
Vance would never get tired of this, this kiss was full of longing emotions and sweet desperation.
Vance couldn’t stop the whimper he made when Bruce wrapped his legs around his hips.
When they pulled away, Bruce was met with a sweet sight. Vance was panting slightly, his lips swollen, a shy glint in his eye.
He could barely make eye contact with Bruce.
Bruce placed a hand onto Vance’s face.
“Let me hold you, V?”
Vance gave a shy smile again.
Bruce opened his arms, letting Vance get comfortable.
This was exactly what Bruce needed to be his happiest. Something as simple as the love of his life on his chest, letting him play with his soft hair.
“i can’t wait to wake up to you everyday”
Vance returned a little laugh
“working on it love.”
“please just let me take care of rent for now”
“only if you let me help you later”
“fine”
“deal i’ll be moved in by tomorrow”
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oh-katsuki · 2 years
Text
Where The Panther Killed The Stag - Chapter 2 (Hanma x Reader)
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masterlist | ao3 | series masterlist 
prev | next 
Pairing: Hanma x Reader
Series Content Warnings: THIS SERIES IS A PSYCHOLOGICAL HORROR AND INCLUDES THEMES OF: murder, violence, abuse, alcohol consumption, mentions of drugs, hard kinks, rumination, guilt, depersonalization, dub/noncon, organized crime, mind break, and other similar themes.
Summary: You're a good student at the top of your university class and the vice president of your student-led club. A shiny toy on the top shelf of your social circle. Hanma likes toys he can break. Slowly but surely, you begin to spiral into a twisted situation that is entirely out of your control, putting your life and the lives of the people around you at stake.
Or, Hanma takes an interest in the University of Tokyo's resident good girl.
Chapter Title: Infection Of The Highest Caliber
Chapter Content Warnings: fem!reader, dub/noncon, loss of virginity, fingering, rough sex, alcohol consumption, mentions of drugs, implications of violence, threats, erratic / unpredictable behavior, coercion, slight fear play, blood, praise, slight degradation, sir kink, slight choking
Word Count: 5.3k
A/N: I lied about uploading twice a week. i think im gonna do every other day or every two days for at least the first few chapters. or i might just do it ao3 style and upload whenever my heart desires lol. also im nervous about this series... as in i upload and immediately am anxious for several hours. i think its because ive been working on it for a while so the writing in the earlier chapters doesn’t reflect where I am as a writer now. oh well, enjoy this chapter! heed the warnings please!
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The next week rolls around with little reprieve from the growing paranoia you’re experiencing. It’s almost neurotic, the way you’ve been watching your back, certain that someone is following you. By the time you arrive at your council meeting, you swear that your hair is standing on end.
But you’re flooded with relief when you see Suzuki seated in his usual spot, teeth intact. He’s bruised up, bottom lip busted and his delicate cheeks bruised and growing yellow. They must have waited for him last week. A shiver runs down your spine thinking that they could have seen you walking home. You aren’t careful enough.
“Suzuki,” you start, “are you okay?”
It’s a vague question but when he nods, you understand. He must have gotten the money to him, or at least enough to stave them off. You swallow thick, eyes drifting down to the bruises on his face and you wonder if they were left by sin or by punishment.
Tension is thick in the air as Hasegawa starts the meeting, clearing his throat in the way men with power do. He doesn’t command a room as well as Hanma does. That’s what you’re thinking as he’s talking and it’s making you insane. You’re bored hearing him talk, despite the delicate cadence of his words and your previous fascination with him. A week spent looking into perhaps the most dangerous man you’ve ever encountered and you’ve the nerve to sit here bored.
You remind yourself what all this is for, your silence, staying away from people like Hanma, not that you could ever find him again. You know from your research that he won’t be found unless he wants to be. Your future is everything to you, one tall man with tattooed hands won’t ruin it. You won’t let a panther among deer ruin your shot at your dream life. It’s what you’ve worked for all these years.
Or that’s what you tell yourself. You really should have known that he’d have you in his web if he wanted. You shouldn’t be surprised by the car that pulls up next to you on your walk home or the frighteningly handsome man inside who sits against sleek black leather seats. That familiar deadpan is set on you again as the heavily tinted window is rolled down, the glass humming with electricity as it reveals him.
And then Hanma Shuji says your name despite you never having told it to him.
You stare at him, eyes wide as he takes in your appearance. The clean-cut pants, sweater, tote bag filled with books and a laptop. Such a goody goody. Hanma wants to eat you alive and under his gaze, you feel yourself shrink, feel the way your fingers grip the phone in your right hand tighter. All while he watches you. No, it isn’t watching, it’s appraising. Hanma’s looking at merchandise.
“Get in the car.” He speaks, that rich baritone invading your ears. You feel the wall on the other side of the sidewalk bump your back, not realizing that you had been stepping away from the car.
“Why?” It’s an automatic response, a scared one.
Hanma rolls his eyes before setting them back on you and then he does something that shocks you further. You swear that there’s a smile on his lips. A sadistic one, but a smile nonetheless. “We’re asking questions now?”
You swallow thick, tiptoeing, choosing your words carefully. “I really can’t. I’ve got studying to do. Thank you for the invitation, sir.”
It’s too formal, but the honorific slips from your tongue easily. It fits him.
Hanma can see you shaking, the way your fingers tremble, the innocent look in your eyes. He likes that you’re so polite, such a pretty pushover. And all for him? Isn’t he the lucky one.
“Taking mommy’s advice and not going out with strangers?” Hanma asks. He seems to ask a lot of questions. “But I’ve got a dress for you and everything. It’s your size.”
Your blood freezes in your veins. It’s your size? Something in you sings, there’s an animal in your chest purring at the thought. The thought that you weren’t the only one thinking. That you’ve lived in his mind for this past week. It’s frightening and all too enticing.
“No, thank you.” You say it a little firmer, with more conviction. Hanma looks back inside of the car, the interior dimmed by the heavily tinted windows. He rolls his eyes and you can see the flash of white before they come to rest to whoever sits in the driver’s seat. You can’t see the driver from where you are, but Hanma seems to give him a look.
“We could do this all day but y’know, I really don’t think you want to see me bored. So get in the car, doll. I won’t ask again.” He folds his hands across his lap, staring at you, through you to the brick behind.
You’re a good girl. You’ve always been a good girl and it’s moments like these that you curse that part of yourself. The part of yourself that needs to be liked, to be praised. Because when Hanma Shuji tells you to get in the car, when he calls you a doll and threatens you so sweetly, you find yourself sliding in next to him, slick collecting between your legs shamefully as the leather hits the back of your thighs.
Hanma nods to the driver, reaching over you and shutting the door. His car smells like cedar, like leather and cologne. It’s clean, nearly untouched, and you find that the most unsettling thing of all is that, beneath the smell of his cologne, you can smell blood.
The dress Hanma bought for you could hardly be called a dress at all. It’s a little number, a small, shiny red dress with spaghetti straps. It’s made of silk and the fabric slips expensively over your body when you move. He’s right, it is your size. It hugs your curves perfectly and you’re beginning to feel like you really are a doll, brought along under threat and dressed up pretty.
Even now, in his car again as you drive to a place he hasn’t disclosed to you, you wonder how the fuck you ended up here. Your eyes glance down to the bag of clothes on the floor of the car, your belongings from class and the outfit you wore earlier in the day. Whatever attitude you seem to have beside him, your mind is different, confused, frightened, screaming profanities that your peers couldn’t even imagine would come out of your mouth. And beside you, Hanma is still, his chin resting on his hand as he stares out of the car window.
“How did you know my name?” You find the courage to ask.
“Friends.” He offers a one-word response, not sparing you a second glance until you inhale a sharp and frightened breath. “You worried I’m gonna hurt you?”
You shift in the seat, “duh.”
“Relax. It’s just some fun.”
“Why?”
Hanma’s eyes dart over to you. “Why, why, why. You sure ask a lot of fucking questions.”
You’re startled by the emotion in his voice, the way his expression curls up into something nasty as he mocks you as if your reaction isn’t perfectly normal. You’re beginning to think that Hanma has no concept of what normal is.
“You looked interesting.” He finishes his statement, eyes falling deadpan again as they drift over you.
You wouldn’t call whatever this is interest, but something about being praised by him satisfies you, if you could even call it that. You briefly register that this isn’t how someone should be treating you, but garnering the interest of someone like Hanma feels like an achievement of some sort and bite your bottom lip to hold your tongue.
You quickly learn that Hanma’s emotions are as erratic and unpredictable as his actions. When you arrive at the club, he tosses an affectionate arm over your shoulder, striding past the bouncers and through the crowded club to a table in an adjacent room. People stare as you pass. They stare at you when he walks you past them, bored eyes sparing the room little more than a glance as he brings you to your destination. It’s obvious that they’re afraid of him, but also of you.
He sits you down in a booth in the far corner of the club, separated from the rest of the room by a red velvet rope that matches the upholstery. One moment, Hanma is calm and cold and the next, he’s shouting. Through the evening, there is always someone to be upset with, always something to piss him off, always something less than satisfactory. You find yourself struggling to please him, sitting close, letting his broad hand roam up and down your thigh.
You don’t drink. You don’t like the way being drunk makes you feel. But when Hanma pushes a glass in front of you, you sip it. When he slips his hand up your dress to pinch the fat of your thighs, you widen your legs. When he asks you to sit pretty and wait, you do. Because Hanma is someone that you want to give what he wants. Because despite the fear creeping in your veins, you want him.
The lights in the club are dark, pulsing with each beat of the upbeat music. They flash across his features, illuminating the dull look in his eyes and moving across the hard edges of his face. It smells like sweat and liquor. Your shoes stick to the floor when you move them and it would bother you if you weren’t so hyper aware of the man next to you and the heat radiating off of him. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the way bodies mingle on the dance floor, shapeless in the lights as they blend and shift until they are unrecognizable and abstract shapes glittering like gold under the strobes.
Hanma is reclined in the booth beside you, hands splayed over the top of the red leather that you’re matching so nicely. His fingers drum across the surface lightly with the music, long, vascular hands ghosting over the decor before his arm sinks down around your shoulder.
It’s a possessive grip, languid in movement, and in this position his long arm dwarfs you. You don’t miss the way he looks at anyone greedy enough to check you out, fingers running a circle around the ball of your shoulder as they realize their mistake. And it makes you feel good. Being desired, being possessed by someone other than yourself. As dangerous as this is, as strange as this situation is, you find Hanma charming. You find his hair-trigger sexy because right now you’re on the good side of it, safe under his arm while he frighteningly threatens another man.
“You’re not the type for clubs.” Hanma speaks, bending low by your ear. It’s not a question, but a statement rather, like he already knows.
You shake your head in response, turning to look at him. Over his shoulder you can see the entry way to a separate room, away from the pounding of the bass and the multi-color strobes. Despite the situation, the bags of drugs you can see being run from this room to the next, the guns in men’s belts that you have no idea how they got, you feel somewhat safe with him. Well, not safe per say, but far safer than you would be watching this from the outside. And Hanma loves that he can see that on your face.
He loves your uncertainty, the way you stick to his side like a good girl because when you’re here, he’s the only thing you’re somewhat familiar with. Hanma has a particular adoration for girls like you. The ones that break so easily. The ones that break forever.
He lets his gaze roam slowly down your figure, to where your thighs spill out of the sinfully small red dress he’d bought you. You match the booth like an accessory, like you’ve been bought. Hanma admires the way your unpolished fingers cup the drink he’d bought you in your lap, hardly touched, ice melting slowly in the glass. It clinks and shifts, sliding against its self and spinning with even the slightest movement.
He brings his fingers to the underside of it, knuckles grazing your upper thigh before he pushes it up delicately to your lips, all while maintaining your gaze as if he’s the fucking sun. Hanma pushes the rim to your slightly parted lips and his body hums when you let him tilt it back. Watching you like you’re an experiment, something fascinating and interesting.
The alcohol burns your throat. You’re not used to it and you’re sure that this drink is probably just straight vodka. But you let him tip it down your throat and you let him watch you while you do as you’re instructed.
Hanma hums, low in his throat as he takes the glass from you and sets it onto the table. Then, he leans in and puts his lips to yours in an open-mouth kiss. It’s aggressive and wet, his tongue dipping into your mouth and exploring. You part your lips for him, eyes fluttering shut because Hanma’s mouth is hot and his tongue is soft as it swipes across yours.
You’d be embarrassed to be kissed like this in front of so many people, but the alcohol is soaring through your veins and the kiss only makes you feel more separate from the situation. Even here, in your own body, you are an outsider.
Hanma’s lips move against yours, open-mouthed before he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and bites hard. You whine against him. It hurts, his teeth on the soft flesh of your bottom lip, but you’re squeezing your thighs together at the difference. The difference between how soft his tongue is in your mouth and the blood you’re sure he’s just drawn from your bottom lip. You can taste copper as he kisses you, gliding his tongue along the cut on your bottom lip. He shares with you, coaxing his tongue against yours as the metallic taste spreads through your mouth.
Hanma pulls away after a moment, eyes open as he looks over you with a bored expression, gaze flicking down momentarily to where you’ve tangled your fingers into his dress shirt.
“This is expensive.” He comments, pulling your hands from his chest and smoothing down the wrinkles. “If you want to ruin my clothes, you should at least do it at my place.”
Hanma tilts his head back and despite the fact that it sounded like an invitation, you know it wasn’t. In the short time you’ve known him, you’ve learned that Hanma doesn’t make requests because Hanma gets everything he wants. What makes you more nervous still is this growing desire to be that, to please him. You don’t think you could say no if you wanted to.
Alarm bells glare in your head as he stands and guides you from the club, the hand that reads “sin” pressed flush against your lower back, urging you forward with him. You should be getting home. You have work, club activities, organizational duties to complete, but your mind is foggy and your breath feels too loose to keep yourself together. Slowly, you unravel like string. All you can think about is the hand on your back, the way his long fingers would feel pressed up inside of you.
You’ve been touched before but never in a context like this, never in what’s shaping up to be something emotionless and filthy. You want to save yourself, to a degree, for someone you love. Hanma must know that you don’t have much experience because in the car, he eyes you from where he sits.
You’d expect the situation to be sobering because you’re afraid, but instead looking at him makes you feel drunker, makes you sink deeper into this unfamiliar intoxication that is Hanma Shuji.
Hanma doesn’t need to wonder what you’re thinking about. He already knows. You’re thinking about his hands, if his cock matches his height, if it’s going to hurt when he puts it in and if he’s going to hurt you after. He deals a lot with girls like you. The nice ones he finds in shops or on odd jobs. Innocent girls who want to please, who want to be something more than themselves for the sake of someone else. He loves the martyr type. So he lets you believe that you’re being a martyr. Hanma plans to let you think you’re making a difference even when he knows that you’re not. He’s not someone who can change and it’s fun to break things that don’t belong to him.
He staves off boredom with girls like you. That’s really all you’re good for. After all, someone who can’t think for themselves is nothing more than a dog anyway.
Hanma lives in the northwest portion of Minato Ward, in Aoyama, the wealthiest part of the city where he owns a penthouse overlooking the attractive neighborhood. It makes sense when you think about it. A man with a price on his head living in one of the safest areas, in a tower equipped with security and on the top floor.
His apartment is stale. That’s how you’d describe it. It’s full of sleek furniture clearly not designed for comfort and modern art that lacks feeling but no doubt has a high price tag. The floor plan is open with gray wood floors. It looks like it’s been pasted from a high fashion magazine and the space feels too clean to have been lived in. Against the bright interior, he looks like a devil, dark plastered against sterile whites and muted grays.
“Get out.” He commands, and behind you, you hear someone shuffle out of the apartment as the door clicks behind them. You’d almost forgotten that Hanma was accompanied by guards, high up on Tokyo’s underground food chain. You suddenly want to go home.
“Well, uhm-” You start, hooking your fingers together in front of your body. “Thank you for tonight but- I really should get home.”
Hanma doesn’t look at you while you speak, instead walking to the bar and pouring a glass of whiskey, liquid gold against a pristine glass. You think it’s for him until he walks over to you and hands it to you.
“Drink.”
“I don’t think I should.” You respond, holding it, fiddling with the dips in it.
“Don’t you know it’s rude to refuse a drink?” He muses, walking to the sleek black couch and sitting down. You follow him, caught in his gravitational pull, standing near him but not sitting because he hasn’t invited you to.
The last thing you want to be is rude. You’ve never been rude, not intentionally, so you nod, taking a small sip of the drink. You hate the taste of whiskey but all you can think of right now is how stupid you are for not accepting.
Hanma watches you take a sip, pleased again with your malleability before he reaches his hands out for your hips, pulling you between his legs.
“You’re pretty.” He says, low-lidded eyes looking over your figure.
You’re shocked by the praise. It’s the first real compliment he’s given you all night and despite yourself, despite the thrumming of your heart against your ribs, you melt a little.
“I like pretty things.” Hanma runs a hand over your cheek, stroking along the curve of it before running two slender fingers down along your jugular. “Red looks good on you.”
His fingers close around your throat and you suck in a sharp breath, screwing your eyes shut. This is a man who has killed. You wonder if the fingers around your throat now have ever done this to someone else. If they’ve ever closed around someone’s throat so tightly that the light fades from their eyes.
“Thank you…” You squeak out.
“Are you afraid?” He draws you closer by the neck, the hand on your hip giving a firm squeeze.
When you nod slowly, he hums his approval, bringing his lips to yours. They move against you languidly, tongue delving into your mouth like he’s claiming it, mouth hot and greedy. You let him kiss you, swaying slightly until he pulls you into his lap, taking the glass and setting it on the coffee table in one swift movement.
Hanma’s hand stays seated on your throat, your center pushed against his hips. He strokes the soft skin of your neck with his digits when he kisses you and each drag of his finger against your pulse point makes you feel like you’re choking, air catching in your lungs. He exhales languidly against your mouth, each movement calculated, meant to scare you.
As he guides your back to the couch, the tension feels like a chord about to snap. You want him, you do, but you also want to run. Your legs feel frozen as he lays down between them, covering you with his body that feels larger than life. Against your stomach, you can feel the hard ridge of his cock and your blood thrums with nerves you never even knew you had.
You’re dancing along a wire. You can feel it as he kisses down your neck where his hand used to be, biting harshly at the flesh, warning you against doing things he doesn’t like. You’re meant to just sit pretty for him, let him work you open. That’s what’s going to make him happy.
When Hanma drags his teeth harshly across your collarbone, you yelp and he chuckles into your skin. It’s the first time you’ve heard him laugh and it’s intoxicating, as frightening as it is. It means that you’ve done something he likes and you’re obsessed with the feeling of it.
He’s surprisingly gentle but, beneath it all, you can feel his hair-trigger. The paper-thin string is taught between your legs, caught between pleasure and punishment as his fingers trail under your dress and up your thigh.
He’s taunting you, gauging your reactions. You can’t decide if you want this. You can’t decide if you want whatever you’re spiraling towards but when his fingers come into contact with your clit and he closes his eyes at the feeling, you know you can’t turn back. This game he’s playing—and it is a game—is one you’re becoming more invested in by the moment.
It really isn’t until his fingers are curling inside of you, long and slender, that you realize what he is. Hanma is a predator, a panther with sharp eyes, and you’re caught in his jaw. But more so, as he works you open helplessly on his fingers, you realize that he’s the type of person who makes you want to end up as prey.
“You’re so tight down here, doll.” Hanma purrs. His voice is thick and deep and full of pleasure. For the normally cold man, the tone switch is disorienting. “You save yourself just for me?”
You don’t answer, instead gasping when he crooks his fingers up harshly. “H-Hanma-”
He stops, pulling himself from you. The faint trace of a smile falls from his lips, another sudden switch. You realized you’ve tripped the trigger. “Using my name now?”
Hanma lines his cock up with your entrance and you eye it, eyes wide. It’s long and slightly curved, tan and flush at the head with two angry veins running up it. He smears your essence over it, not watching what he’s doing, where’s he’s putting it as he feels around for the ring of your cunt.
“We’re familiar enough now that you can use my name, are we?” His voice is cruel, elated with the slightest uptick of anger. “If we’re so fucking close, let’s get a little closer.”
You put your hands against his chest, pressing back because you can feel what’s coming. “H-Hanma wait- wait-”
“There’s that fucking name again.” He thrusts into you and you gasp, fingernails digging into his shirt, ruining it like he promised you would. He looks angry, staring down at you with a nasty scowl on his face. “Show some fucking respect, eh? I’m not playing around here.”
“It hurts!” You cry out, back arching up at the fill.
“Yeah?” He says. “Does it hurt, doll? Got some fuckin’ nerve calling me by my name. Thought you were a good girl?”
“I am! I am!” You plead as he drags his cock along your walls and pushes back in with a harsh flick of his hips.
“Then what the fuck do good girls call me?” He spits down at you, pistoning his hips into you. “Only good girls deserve to feel good. Casual sluts get used like one.”
“Sir!” You say, tears brimming in your eyes. “Good girls call you sir!”
You feel Hanma’s cock twitch in you. He wants so badly to put you in your place, to ruin you now. He wants to take the knife from his pocket and drive the point home by pressing it to your neck, watch those pretty eyes well up even more than they already are. But if he breaks you too soon, you won’t break for him.
He pushes his hips flush against yours, stilling as he holds them there forcefully. “That’s right. And what are you gonna be?”
“Your good girl.” You respond, wary eyes finding him.
You need something to ground yourself with. You need something to tether you to earth and right now, you’re finding that he’s the only thing. The sterile decoration in the room around you offers you no comfort so you turn to the next living thing to validate you.
Hanma breaks out in an adoring smile. It reaches his eyes and sits wide across his face before he laughs.
“Oh, you’re so good.” He lowers his mouth to yours, pulling his hips back slowly and this time you can register the way he hits the sweet spot inside of you. “You’re my good girl now, right? Never going to let you go. So fucking good for me.”
You soak up his praise like a flower, like it’s a reprieve from everything else. When he likes you, when he wants you, you’re safe. Fear still hums in your veins but you pull him closer, for safety, to stay protected by walking the tightrope with this predator.
You moan your response, lost in it, the alcohol making your head fuzzy. You don’t have the mind to think about how fast this seems to be moving, about his words of possession and the adoration he regards you with so early into your tryst.
It’s a long while before he lets you go. A long while before he’s finally decided that he’s had his fill of your cunt and the loss makes you sad in a fucked up, perverse way. You’re half asleep by the time he’s finished, too fucked out to register that he’s cum inside of you with a deep groan, with threatening praises in your ear.
There is the distinct feeling that this is the cut that will cause the infection. You can feel the way it begins to invade your blood. It’s a new, unrecognizable part of yourself, brought about through your blood. Infection of the highest caliber.
---
The next morning, you wake up in his bed, or at least what you think is his bed. You’re clean and washed, a favor you didn’t think he would do you. His bedroom is as stale as his living room, a black duvet comforter covering your body. The bed beside you is empty and as you sit up, your head pounds with the hangover. You shift your body to move and your legs ache, body screaming for rest, for someone to massage the creak in your muscles away.
You let yourself think stupidly that he’s done this because he liked something about you last night. And you’re not entirely wrong. It’s never been this easy that he’s gotten a virgin to submit like that, but you’re also a fucking idiot to imagine that it makes you special. Still, you replay the words in your head, that he’ll never let you go, and though it sets a deep fear in your lungs, you also sing at the praise.
When you pad into the kitchen on shaky legs, unfamiliar with the layout of the apartment, he’s reclined on the couch, arm thrown over the back of it. His tattooed hand reading “punishment” lays idly along the cushion and in his other hand, he holds a newspaper. It’s oddly domestic and he tosses you one single sideways glance before removing his hand from the back of the couch and tossing a white and purple package to the end closest to you.
“Take this.” You walk over to the package, turning it over in your hand. You recognize the brand, Plan B. “I don’t need you getting fucking pregnant on me.”
You mumble your thank you, walking to the kitchen. As instructed, you take the pill and Hanma hums his approval.
“What are we doing today?” You ask, immediately regretting it when his eyes shift to you.
“You’re going home.” He responds cooly.
It should make you relieved to not have to stay here any longer with a man who’s known for being cruel, but something in your stomach drops. So he’s done with you? Bored with you already?
You don’t respond, in fact, neither of you says much to each other on the ride home. Instead, Hanma remains eerily quiet, uninterested in you once again. You watch out the window as the scenery passes, a bit dazed, but still registering as it begins to get more familiar. Beside you, Hanma does the same, cheek against his hand. He looks a bit like a child like this, spoiled rotten and unhappy with his new toy. It makes your stomach turn.
As the sleek black car pulls up in front of your apartment building, despite the fact that you haven’t told him your address, you find fear creeping back into your veins. He could kill you now. He could take you out to avoid any of this getting to the authorities, to avoid exposing where he lives, who he works with, what clubs he frequents, though you suppose the authorities already know. The problem isn’t not being able to find him, it’s that he covers himself so well. He could do the same to you.
You move to get out of the car but he stops you, a hand around your wrist. “What do you say?”
“Thank you, sir.” You respond, chest tightening.
“Hm.” He says, letting go and watching as you walk around the other side of the car to the sidewalk, dress from the night before still wrapped around your figure. Hanma rolls down the window, leaning out of it onto his arm. “Oh, and if you tell anyone about this, I’ll fucking kill you. So be good, okay?”
You wonder how he can say such frightening things so easily, how he can look bored when he’s just pressed a metaphorical gun to your head.
“Yes, sir.” For some reason, it’s hard to find the words when you’re around Hanma. You think that when it comes to him, there is very little to say.
“Atta girl.” As he rolls up the window, you hear him tell the chauffeur to drive before he pulls off.
You watch him pull away before turning to walk back to your quaint apartment. You don’t have the mind to ponder if you were just kidnapped, if it still counts even if he took you home after. Does a death threat mean anything if you plan to take it to the grave? Did that really happen?
Even as you let yourself into your apartment, you’re not worrying about yourself. You’re home and safe, the bruises will fade. All you can think of now is whether or not he got bored of you. God, you hope he hasn’t already grown bored of you.
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purekid · 3 months
Text
Daddy
I’m listening to Claudia’s music. She’s painted by Lizzie Grant. With great melancholy strokes of blue, pink, white and gold. Gold like her golden hair that cascades down her face. A coquette waterfall.
Lizzie sings, “If he likes me, takes me home.”
“Come on you know you like good little girls.”
“You can be my daddy. You can be my daddy.”
“Put me in a movie.”
I’ve always painted a picture for her (a picture of a man in a suit with these penetrating eyes, one hand imprisoned by a silver watch) And she’s always painted one in response (a picture of a good girl with her hands behind her back, doe eyes begging sweetly for attention). She was nose deep in a psychology textbook when I found her. She was living one page at a time. Chapter one, two, three, four, f— I ripped out all of the pages so she didn’t have to read anymore. So we just stared at each other at 2am through our macbook screens. Our pixels frozen in time.
And when I spelled out my heart it was always h-e-a-t. She’s Spanish but can’t pronounce her R’s. And I’m an American without a gun. And she’s a little sparkle jump rope queen. And I’m a boy holding his hand out to a doe-eyed deer, smiling with white-toothed confidence. I lift up my yellow polo sweater, and show her the contraption located in my chest. The thing in my chest that never beats. She tells me it’s okay.
“You can be my daddy. You can be my daddy.”
There’s something about the way we met. About her age. About the thing on my wrist. About her body count. About mine. About the comment section of that song. And the implications of it all. I’m in the comment section of this song and all of the girls are typing out their ages, spelling out their trauma. They spell it d-a-d-d-y. And I’m scrolling endlessly looking for a blonde girl who comments “17.” And I’m thinking of the man in the suit. The thing on his wrist. His penetrating eyes.
You want to know something? The night my parents kicked me out of their house. My stepfather, 53 years old, sitting across from me, meets my gaze burning a hole in the middle of his forehead. I swore for a second he looked like a deer, frozen.
“Those eyes of yours,” he says blankly.
And I, 19 years old, can’t tell what he’s feeling. I’m a loaded gun aimed for a kill shot. I want his brains on the walls, the furniture. Those eyes. My eyes. Why did he say that? Was he afraid? Was it pity? Was it wonder? What did he see? Did he understand? Why didn’t he show me his eyes? Why did he look like a deer?
But anyway, that’s how a boy gets his eyes. And now when he sees a deer, there’s always the idea of a gunshot waiting to sound behind his eyes. So he stretches out his hand instead. His hand that’s handcuffed by a silver watch. Everything about him radiates with power. All his body knows is violence.
Daddy is the Italian suit jacket he hangs over his shoulders. Daddy is the American tie that grips his throat. Daddy is the clop-clop-clop of the British shoes that announce that he’s coming. Daddy is the Swedish watch he handcuffs himself with. Daddy are his God-given eyes brimming with ultra-violence.
That comment section was filled with deer. And I’m just one daddy.
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blueroses789 · 2 years
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I wonder if you could make headcanons about Reader being Armin’s mother. She’s married to Armin’s father who’s a wealthy principal of a school and she’s Armin’s grandfather daughter. It will be a modern-setting AU and Armin will still be the smart little cinnamon roll we know and love in Attack on Titan
My first request! Yes, absolutely😘
You were thirty one and at a new school. It was made of red brick with vines crawling up the side. Morning dew hung on the air in a way that only daytime could bring. Suddenly your books tumbled to the ground. A little bolt of blond hair knocked into your knees. You caught the boy just before he hit the ground.
"Sorry miss!" The little boy stared up at you, trembling. You noticed the obvious distress on his face. He attempted to run off but his legs have up.
Suddenly two boys came taring up the pathway, oblivious to your presence. The little boy immediately curled up, frightened.
"What's going on here?" The boys finally noticed your presence. Like a deer caught in headlights, they froze. You wrapped and arm around the trembling child. His small hands clung to your cashmere sweater.
You were quick to lead the boys inside. Leading them to the front office, you saw the principals secretary. From your introduction to her a few days ago, her name was Carla Yeager.
After explaining the situation to her, Carla sighed and beckoned the boys except the blonde one inside.
Once the boys were gone, the blonde broke down into tears.
"Hey, your safe now." You sat him down on a chair.
"No it's not. They'll just be back at it tomorrow." He whimpered.
"Can you tell me your name?"
It's Armin." You'd heard that name before, but couldn't remember where. Suddenly the door opened and a man stepped in. He rushed over to Armin and knelt down to the boys level. His hands grabbed the boys much smaller one.
"Armin, what's happened?!" He pulled the boy into a hug. You were alarmed, this was a little inappropriate for a teacher to be this way with a student. Yet as he stood up you noticed the similarity. It clicked. This boy was Armin Arlert and this man was his father. The principal.
"This lady helped me." Armin looked up at you with sparkling blue eyes.
When Armin looked up at you, he saw an angel. Or at least it was like that. Earlier he had knocked into two boys a year ahead. He was sure they would beat him up. But then she stopped them.
"I want to thank you for helping my son." Later on that day principal Arlert sat down with you.
"It's no problem. Is this a common occurrence?"
"I suspect it is. But my son isn't very open about these things. I think it must be hard for him to have his father as the principal."
"Doesn't he have friends?"
"Yes. Their names are Mikasa and Eren. But I think he still feels isolated."
"How long has this been going on for?"
"Since he came here. I've been thinking about moving him." The idea made your stomach turn. As a child you yourself had been a victim of bullying. And always the teachers did nothing. You learned to fend for yourself. But it was a long, hard road. No child under your care would be treated as such.
"Mr. Arlert, I promise your son won't have to move."
As fate would have it, you were also this boys teacher. And as promised, you kept an eye out. His friends Mikasa and Eren were always there to protect him. Every time somebody knocked a book out of his hands, or kicked dirt in his face, they were there.
Of course you played your part. You made sure that Armin was safe, just as you did for every other student.
One day, you found Armin sitting alone in the library. The second he saw you, Armin hid the book behind his back. Thinking he was up to something, you asked him to show you.
Nervously, Armin showed you a book. It was a book about oceanology. Flipping through the pages, you saw that the content was well beyond the level of a first grader. You were impressed. Armin was smart, but you never knew he was this advanced.
"Wow, Armin! Are you really reading this?" He nodded and looked down at his shoes, as if being caught in wrongdoing. It was strange, why was he acting as if reading was bad?
"Armin... are you alright?" He stammered and nervously looked around. The entire library was empty except for you two.
You soon found out that the reason Armin hid the book was because kids would bully the boy for preferring to read while everyone else played.
You spoke with Armin, trying to encourage him to feel comfortable with reading in public again.
After marriage to his father: It was in the fourth grade that you became part of his family. Of course this meant that you had to move schools. But it was worth it. Honestly, this was the happiest you had been in years. Of course Armin was excited. Surprised no doubt, but happy never the less. Over the past couple years, he had become more confident and sure of himself.
No longer did he hide his love of reading, made new friends and definitely had something going on with a classmate. Her name was Annie and although she had a cold as ice exterior, softened around the boy. You were glad to see that Armin had broken out of his shell.
Headcounts about your relationship with Armin:
Because he lost his mother so young in life, it was a new experience. As the principal of a school it was hard for Mr.Arlert to come home early. So having a mother cooking dinner in the kitchen was new.
He enjoyed the small things you did for him. Even something as small as breakfast made his day.
Armin loved his father, or course he did. But it was something new to have a mother figure in his life. You encouraged him to progress beyond what others had in store. Up till now, he had excepted to become a principal, or at least a teacher. Just as his father, grandfather and so on had done. It was you who told him to aspire to what he wanted.
One day Armin was laying on his bed, nose deep in a book as per usual. You walked in to tell Armin that dinner was ready. He set down the book on marine biology. "Enjoying your book?" He nodded. At least he was no longer embarrassed about others finding him reading anymore.
"You know, have you thought about studying the sea in university?" Some might say that this was an overly strenuous question to impose on a fourth grader. But Armin had long since proved that he could advance himself beyond his classmates.
"I don't know. I'm, my dad-" But he was cut of with a hand on his shoulder. "Your father will be happy with whatever you chose. And I think it would give him no greater joy than to see you pursue your dream." You walked to the door, but turned back. " And I would too."
Many years later, Armin found himself all grown. With a place of his own, job and a fiancé. He was not a principal like his father and grandfather had been. Instead, he chose the path of a marine biologist. Just as he wanted. He busied himself by making dinner. After years of you cooking, it was finally his turn. When the doorbell rang, he rushed to open the door. You were still so beautiful, even if age had caught up. Out of everyone, you were the one to inspire him to follow his path.
His Armin wrapped around you. His mother.
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ladycatofwinterfell · 2 years
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Blood and ghosts
The Starks are a little strange, that has been known for a long time. And the people spreading those rumours definitely aren’t wrong, they are peculiar creatures, them Starks.
Part 4 of my monster Starks fic that I began writing last autumn. The three other parts can be found on my ao3 and here on tumblr under the “monster starks” tag
She strongly considered just walking out into the lake and spending the night there, but if she was to go to work the next day she would have to take a proper shower. Though after having spent the last couple of hours cutting up and burying yet another dead deer she wasn’t very excited about looking at her husband.
She tiptoed through the quiet house, the children were already asleep. She didn’t know what the time was, but it had to be quite late. It getting dark so early messed with her sense of time, and it didn’t really help that she had never been good at adjusting to the clock. She wasn’t meant to live by a structured schedule and still she did it because if she was to partake in a human world she had to follow their rules.
Ned sat on their bed when she came into the bedroom, leaning back against the headboard and reading a book.
“You are so sexy.”
Catelyn walked right past him, didn’t even spare him a glance. With determination she steered her path towards the bathroom.
“You don’t get to be mad at me for bringing you gifts” he continued.
She heard the amusement in his voice.
“This wasn’t a gift to me, this was a gift to yourself” Catelyn said.
She stopped, but didn’t turn to look at him. She flexed her right hand, could already feel how it had become slightly stiff. Her left one was the same. Both because of the quickly drying mix of blood and mud that covered her forearms all the way up to her elbows.
It was cold outside but she had worked up enough warmth to not wear a jacket. She had rolled up the sleeves of Ned’s sweater to get as little blood on it as possible, but it had been a lost cause.
“I’m being a good husband, I’m providing for you through hunting.”
“I know you have that urge and I know you can’t help it and I know you can’t bring yourself to get rid of what you bring home” she sighed. “But that doesn’t apply right now, that deer you brought home because you’re a whore and want to see me all bloody.”
There was a significant difference between when he had to go out for a little hunt because the urge of it was too strong to resist and when he brought things home simply to mess with her. The children did the same thing. She wouldn’t have cared that much if it hadn’t always fallen on her to get rid of the various animals they dragged back to the house because their brains just wouldn’t let them do it. What if we run out of food, Mom? What if we need the pelt, Catelyn? We worked so hard to take that one!
She left him in the bedroom and went into the bathroom, immediately starting the shower. She let it run while she got undressed, putting her clothes in the sink so that the blood she had all over her wouldn’t get on the new rug. When she saw herself in the mirror she also saw that she had specks of blood all over her face, as well. It wasn’t she that had killed something and still it very much looked like it. It was a sweaty and bloody and dirty woman staring back at her from within the mirror, her hair hanging in stripes around her face.
She made eye contact with Ned while she closed the door. He just smiled back at her. It was infuriating how satisfied he was with himself. She would absolutely give in, she needed an outlet for the rage she had built up cutting up the deer, but she wouldn’t be nice about it.
Catelyn always showered for as long as absolutely necessary and not a second longer. As soon as water hit her skin she get the urge to change form, and it was like an itch that wouldn’t stop until she was dry. She wanted to change, it was the only thing she wanted, the only thing she could think of and she couldn’t do it. Her species clearly hadn’t developed far enough to keep up with the concept of water that wasn’t a lake or river.
So a few minutes later she had left the bathroom, free of blood and dirt and wearing only a bathrobe. She only put it on to dry up a little bit, she didn’t plan on staying clothed much longer.
Ned had undressed and was under the blankets, still reading. He didn’t turn his eyes towards her when she came to stand next to him, so she had to make him. Burying a hand in his hair and forcing him to tilt his head backwards.
“Have you had a change of mind?” he said, putting aside his book.
“No.”
Without letting go of his hair she got into the bed and straddled him.
“Neither have I.”
One of his hands went up under her bathrobe and landed on her bare hip, squeezing lightly. With the other hand he took the belt keeping the robe closed and slowly began pulling so that the knot became undone.
While he did so she leaned forward and caught his bottom lip between her teeth, biting down. He didn’t make a sound, but his grip on her hip tightened. She hoped it would leave a bruise.
As her robe opened, revealing her naked body, another thing also happened. That thing being that the ghosts in the attic began making noice.
She was still for a moment, waiting to see if they would stop, and she noticed he did the same thing. The children had learned to sleep through their grandparents’ episodes, so that didn’t worry her at all, but it didn’t make it less annoying.
“If they keep this up I’m calling an exorcist” she muttered as she let him go and tied her bathrobe again.
It wasn’t the first time she threatened with that and they both knew that she would never make reality of it, but it became more tempting with every passing day. Lyarra and Rickard Stark were really nice, but they also never seemed to understand when it was time to seek contact and when it was better to be quiet.
“Feel free to” Ned said.
He leaned his head back against the headboard and closed his eyes, a long sigh escaping him.
Swiftly she climbed out of the bed and opened the door to their bedroom. She took the chair that always stood along the wall and placed it under the ladder that was fastened in the ceiling.
As she had done a thousand times before and would do it at least a thousand times more, she pulled the old wooden ladder down. She never got used to having her parents-in-law in the attic, but they were stuck there and couldn’t get out. Sometimes she wondered if the same would happen to her and Ned one day.
Catelyn climbed up the ladder and pushed the trapdoor open with one hand, ready to tell them to stop making noise. Though the moment she poked her head up through the floor, before she even had time to open her mouth, a cold wind swept through the room. Dust blew up in her eyes, but it didn’t hurt and she couldn’t blink it away. She couldn’t do anything except accept her situation.
Catelyn was a bystander in her own body, could only see and hear. She was too tired to fight it, she simply let the ghost steer her. It wouldn’t last long, it never did.
Lyarra or Rickard, she could never know which one of them before they used her for speaking, made her go down the ladder and walk back to the bedroom. She saw how her hand pushed the door open and how Ned smiled at her. If only she could have told him it was not quite her that came back to the room. Fortunately he was still beneath the blankets.
“Eddard, lad, what day is it?”
“Why are you– Mother! Stop possessing Cat’s body!”
His surprise was not strange, it had been a while since last time it happened.
Catelyn would have agreed if she had been able to speak. Maybe if she just focused enough she would be able to force Lyarra to leave her body.
“It is necessary, you never come up to speak to us. Now answer my question.”
“Leave Cat be and I will come up to you.”
“But I’m here now.”
“Mother. You can’t keep doing this to her.”
“Can you not allow me the kindness of being human for just a few minutes?”
Catelyn gladly would have let her mother-in-law be human if it hadn’t come at the expense of her own body.
“That’s not your body, it’s Cat’s body! You can’t use her as you please.”
Catelyn felt herself take a deep breath and then suddenly she could move again. She shook her head, as if to shake out any remains of the ghost. It wasn’t a very pleasant experience to be trapped in her own body. First time it happened she had been shaking for an hour afterwards, but over the years she had learned to be unbothered by the lingering feeling of that something or someone else was in her.
“I can’t believe I just accept that sometimes my dead mother-in-law possesses me” she said. “I can’t believe I agreed to move into this house.”
“I wish she would stop doing that, I really do” Ned said.
There wasn’t much more to say, they just looked at each other. She always felt so empty afterwards. Empty and annoyed. As if the ghost had taken everything else with it when it left and was busy with hiding joy and anger behind all the dusty boxes in the attic.
All she longed for was the cold, dark pressure around her. She wanted to feel water in her gills and bury her webbed hands in the muddy bottom in search of things that moved. She didn’t at all feel like sleeping in a bed, the barely green plants growing in the deepest part of the lake were much more tempting.
“I need to swim” she sighed. “I’m back when I’m back, don’t come looking for me.”
Ned knew, she didn’t need to say more than that.
“Sleep well, I’ll see you in the morning” he said softly.
“Goodnight.”
He would whistle on her when it was time for breakfast. He always did.
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Coming Out - (BFF) Pansy Parkinson X Female (Lesbian) Reader
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Title: Coming Out
(BFF) Pansy Parkinson X Female (Lesbian) Reader
Additional Characters: Snape (Mentioned) and Draco (Mentioned)
Requested
WC: 531
Warnings: Nervousness, anxiety, coming out, brief mention of pranks, and worries of not being accepted
You fiddled with your sweater as you traveled through the dungeons to the Slytherin common room. It was just one of those days, and it had started off bad before breakfast. You'd been sitting in the Great Hall at breakfast when Professor Snape had called you into his office for a chat. He told you that he wanted to discuss your grades with you alone, so naturally, you assumed you were in trouble again. But after they'd sent you back to the table, word got around that you'd done well on your Potions exam and that you'd gotten an O in Defense Against the Dark Arts. You never thought that was going to happen.
But that didn't stop you from being nervous. For weeks now you've been gaining the courage to come out to your best friend Pansy. She's such a sweet, kind girl, but she is also very accepting of everyone no matter what their sexuality might be. And considering her reputation, you originally didn't think that she would. Unlike most Slytherin, you didn't care about blood or race, and you knew Pansy did. Yet, once you met her and got to know her; she was actually really nice.
Simple misunderstanding.
And that's how she became your best friend.
Once you entered and found Pansy, you opened your mouth to speak; but she beat you to it. "Oh! Y/N! There you are! Where have you been?" She asked, walking over to you.
Your eyes were comically wide, like a deer in headlights as you tried to stop fidgeting. "I need to tell you something." You said nervously.
Pansy smiled warmly and placed her hand on your shoulder. "Come sit down. I'm sure whatever it is, we can figure this out together!"
You nodded and sat next to Pansy at the table, and then looked up at her. "Um… So…" You stammered.
"Yes?" She prompted.
You gulped. "Well… Um… Um…" You glanced away from her and then turned back to look at her. "I'm a lesbian."
She blinked rapidly and furrowed her brow. "What?" She said in disbelief.
Pansy let out a deep breath and gave you a long stare. After a few moments, she spoke again. "Are you serious? Why haven't I known this about you until now?"
You shrugged. "I don't know. I guess because I still haven't told anyone else yet." You explained.
"Oh, well, that makes sense." Pansy smiled. "I'm glad you told me. Thank you. I am glad you trust me enough to tell me."
"Thank you too!" You smiled. "For accepting me."
Pansy nodded, placing a hand on your shoulder, "Of course! You're my best friend. It's what we do."
You smiled and nodded. "Yeah." You replied.
The two of you fell silent for a bit, not knowing what to say. Then, suddenly, Pansy spoke up again. "So, um… Well. What do you want to do now?"
You shrugged. "I don't know. You wanna find Draco and turn his hair blue?"
Pansy giggled softly. "That sounds fun! We should totally go with that!"
You nodded enthusiastically and then stood up. "Yeah, let's go!" You walked towards the door, and Pansy followed closely behind you.
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luckypon3 · 2 years
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Often times I hear about the It Girl. She's strong, sensual, clean, high maintenance, the best to be around. I could name all of the fictional and nonfiction “It Girls” we’ve grown to not only love but excuse. However in a lot of ways that disregards that the It Girl concept is a false and complicated one. No Girl can be “It Girl” because the mystique comes from her never being perceived outside her social interactions. You must truly evaporate and sink into nothing when no one is around. You're Not It Girl if you cry, or if you lose your cool in an forgettable way. Don’t call, Don’t text, let people come and go because you are a statue women pray to, not god.
The Girl is a similar concept. Think more Ramona flowers, The Gone Girl monologue and summer from 500 days of summer. The Girl concept is a product of perception by men. For more on this just watch the Gone Girl monologue (Gone Girl does phrase it as cool girl which is more like post The Girl concept). The Girl ideal varies from man to man. While the It Girl is doing it for herself the The Girl is doing it for no reason at all but by proxy it pleases her boyfriend/husband and she smiles picture perfect because of it.
These concepts can intersect but there is a final product in that case. It Girl becomes The Girl and eventually she will just be a girl. That's one of many truly horrifying outcomes. Giving up It Girl status is an easy feat but giving up The Girl status is ripping the bones out of a deer. Ideally, in a man's eyes, It Girl trades in her LV heels for his oversized T-shirt. She could either one day be asked to devote a life to him or give the T-shirt back in a box of his belongings. The obvious question is who in the world would give up It Girl Status? My answer is it’s easy to take off your LV heels. And while The Girl is a concept many women devote themselves to, It Girl is forced onto women by strangers they’ve never met and is always truly a lie. It Girl may never want to take his oversized T shirt off.
And now for the truly peak form of female perception; Fun Girl! Fun girl can do what she likes, she likes ice cream. She's not summer or the city. Fun girl lives within herself listens to music she never brags about nor mentions. She holds her childhood close to her heart, her friends closer and keeps herself knowledgeable on whatever she pleases. Best summarised, clothing wise, in Fruits magazine.
Founded in 1997 by photographer Shoichi Aoki, Fruits magazine is a Japanese magazine that simply documents what the Japanese youth was wearing and how they were expressing themselves. This was around the time it wasn’t so easy to connect. Inspiration was more personal [will pick on in another post].
Fruits magazine is so fun girl. It’s so clear to see! From the choppy hair, bubbly shoes, silhouettes that were aggressively fun, and outfits that almost looked like they were cosplaying events and people. Beach schoolgirl, funeral at prom, rave picnic are all things that come to mind when looking at outfits featured in Fruits magazine:
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The rise in fun-girl-fashion is obvious. Brands like cop copine and hysteric glamour [not currently but in the 90s] are the obvious staples for fun-girl-fashion. Jean Paul Gaultier is also a staple. [read more on distinct fashion in this article https://www.sdamustang.com/arts-and-entertainment/2021/02/21/the-demand-to-dress-different/]
Cop copine:
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Hysteric glamour:
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Custo Barcelona:
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I could describe a fun girls wardrobe but it should be whatever you like. You’ll know what’s fun when you see it. But obviously stuff like Yoshi Yamamoto is not fun. It’s cool. Cool girl and fun girl are different.
The new and incredible sub brand for fun girl is the one and only, Heaven Marc Jacobs. Where Fun girl goes to dress for a formal event. That’s not a loose, translucent knitted sweater that’s the Heaven x stray rats supercharged rats sweater. That’s not an A line skirt, that's the Heaven Kissing skirt.
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Heaven continuously releases iconic garments that are built to be recognisable. The Heaven teddy bear is a mix of cute mascot culture and new wave graphics that begs to be owned. Even though Heaven is undoubtedly popular it’s still not completely accessible. This is what makes it a Fun girl brand. The inaccessibility, the ability to admire an outfit for its boldness and recognise that the person wearing it is a one of a kind person and you could only wish to be like that Is what Fun girl fashion is. Fun girl is admired by both it girl and the girl. She stands high on her fashion school, margiela clogs, irony t-shirt, beautiful jewellery, 90s anime prints, asymmetrical skirt, printed tights, ice cream taster, emotionally mature, bad runner, foodie, skinny and baggy jean pedestal made out of books she collects.
Of course this reach for such a specific personality is a product of our need to consume a new personality under late capitalism but what if fun girl didn’t care about that? We can all relax and be her or him or them if we truly could be.
LuckyPon3
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bucktoothymzkr · 24 days
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Generic Love Story 1-1
Hello everyone! I offer to you a generic love story. Please enjoy it! And if there are any issues, please let me know.
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If you asked me what her flaws were, I could spend a week talking about it; but I can spend an eternity talking about what makes her beautiful regardless. And I don’t think that’s enough. I recall when I first met her. It was a dreary morning, the ear-damaging shrieking of Cicadas drew through the air. I was in highschool then, which was to say, I wanted to look forward to something rather than stagnating in this little idyllic town that I live in.
No, it’s better to say that I have something to work towards, but I don’t know what it is. Perhaps attending highschool then was me lying to myself that I had to work for something to make my life worthwhile, despite not truly knowing what it was or what it could be. Just another lie to myself. In any case, the awful heat permeated throughout the world, but a calm breeze blew against the trees of the forest that surrounded this hill town. It wasn’t so bad, it wasn’t so good. 
I walked inside the school’s grounds, which, if it weren’t for the noise of children inside, would look more like an abandoned building than anything functional. The cement that held it up had visible cracks everywhere, overgrowth upon one side, no, every side. It was as if the gardens and greeneries that surrounded the school had been left abandoned for a decade, and rather than dying, it thrived. Nature found a way. I found no issue with it, I don’t think anyone has an issue with it.  The towering shrubs make for great shade to cool down under during the summer months.
Though, at the same time, it blocks one’s view from the side ground floors. Which means, before you reach the main door of the school, if you don’t look before crossing, anyone may bump into you. And you won’t even notice until it’s too late, deers get stuck in the headlights, but you won’t even see a headlight. 
That is to say, I’m a weak, frail, scrawny man. And any significant bump by a person twice my weight or even less can knock me over. 
That is to say, I did not see her.
Or, rather. I wasn’t even aware of her presence until it was too late.
It’s a tautology, I know. But I want to exaggerate on it more, dear reader. That when she bumped me, I was thrown two hundred meters away. Across houses, across fields, across the universe. That was how hard she threw me down on the floor. All bones broken, not a single fragment of my soul remained.
But it all came back when I stood up. A shadow loomed over me, one that was equal parts terrifying and beautiful. Her blonde hair flowed along the breeze, seemingly dancing as her pale hand reached out to me. I couldn’t see her face properly, blocked by the shadow she casted, “My, my. Sorry, I didn’t see you. Are you okay?” I grabbed her hand and my mind immediately raced at how soft and cold to the touch it was. A massive contrast to the ambient heat, as if she just left a human sized refrigerator.
And when I stood up, I realized that she was as tall, if not taller than me. Her eyes were blue, and she had a fair countenance. A look of worry washed over her, perhaps due to the circumstances of our first meeting, “I’m alright!” I replied, trying to alleviate any sort of worry by appearing chipper and fine.
I noticed then the clothes she wore, a long sleeved cream sweater and an ankle-length beige skirt. All that combined, she was beautiful. And her voice, soft, yet substantial, felt like music to my ears. To say that she fascinated me at first sight would be an understatement.
You read that right. Fascinated.
I was not in love.
Not yet at least. That would take a while to happen. All that is to say now is that I know she exists, her presence now took form in my life. And anything can happen with it. Hell is other people, after all. The things they do, indirectly or directly affects us, changes us, and we can’t do anything about it other than to accept. It’s frustrating. Disheartening, almost makes you question the free will you have over this world. How is it free will to be so restricted by the society around you? Or is it free will that you can choose to ignore all of them? The option is always there after all.
I let my mind wander often towards the dumbest things. It was not until I snapped back to reality where I realized how long I’ve held her hand. But it seemed she didn’t mind the overly long mode of physical touch, “I’m glad. That seemed like a significant fall.” Yes, it was significant, I felt my soul and breath get knocked out of me, but it’s fine now, “Still. You need to be careful. The shrubbery here makes it difficult to see anything passing by.” 
“I-i’m well aware. Just not this instance.” I gave off a pathetic chuckle. And now, terribly, to avoid making her feel any less terrible, and because she seems to be holding my hand for far longer than necessary, I introduced myself, “My name is Shinji Satou, I’m a new student here. How about you?”
It felt ridiculous asking someone’s name like this after they just bumped you so hard your soul gave in. But nevertheless this is what I read when it came to casual conversations and socialization. I’ve been a recluse prior to this, and to say that I’ve no one else to call a real ‘friend’ would be an understatement. Really, I locked myself in my room and read to my heart’s content. That’s what my life is up to this point, a selfish book-filled fantasy. 
Nevertheless, she shook my hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m Anna Tsubaki. Also a student here, and again, I must apologize for that awful bump.”
I chuckled, “It’s fine, it’s fine.” I pulled my hand away. I felt like I was intruding far too much now, relishing too much upon her kindness to even grab my hand in the first place, “That said, this is the first time I’ve seen you here.” Considering  how far detached this place is to the rest of the world. It seemed weird to see someone so… worldly (at least in appearance) being here. It was not as if I was averse to foreigners. She did look exquisitely foreign, and it was the first time I’ve seen one. Maybe that’s part of why I’m so surprised. I’ve lived all my life in this narrow world, only seeing glimpses of the outside through the internet. And now there’s one person in front of me that looks traveled. 
“Oh, my sister and I moved here last month.” Just before school started again. And before she could speak further, we heard the bell ring from inside. We knew then that our time for pleasantries was over, as we gave each other a silent bow before we made our way to our respective classes.
The first day of this school year was unimaginably boring. For one to begin to describe it would be akin to describing how a paint dries over a period of fifty days. It’s not as if I detest the people around me. Quite frankly, it’s only because I find nothing out of them. All terribly superficial and shallow. One likes to read, another likes to play sports (actually at least fifteen of them do), and I, of course, am the only one there that takes a quiet interest in astronomy. And as I declared that to the class, they all looked at me funny, weirdly, perhaps terribly. Their wordless scorn which was blatantly unfounded had not escaped me. I am, once again, an outcast of this world. 
Not that it matters.
Not to me at least.
They all felt superficial. A shallow form of the self created and built to be liked by others, by the norm of the social circle they wished to partake in. If it were any different, I wouldn’t be so lonely. If there were people like me in this class, I wouldn't be so lonely. But as it stands, I am alone, I am the outcast in their garden of eden. But it’s alright. I do not wish to participate in it. Let them party, let them have their cake. I, alone, will be alright.
Even still, admitting that hurts. That because I was raised differently from others, I’d be so outcast and isolated from them. But it shouldn’t be so weird, right? It’s astronomy. Do they not look at the stars at night? Do they not see the constellations and the way they form? Do they not see the north star to guide them in the right direction? I do not know. But even saying that, I form myself to be a hypocrite. At least, in one aspect.
That is because I’ve never seen Polaris.
I’ve seen numerous constellations ever since I started looking at the stars.
But never Polaris.
It always eluded me, that dear north star. And maybe I’ll find it eventually. Even if it’s always just out of reach, always just below the horizon. 
The bell rang eventually, and the weight of all that has happened was lifted off of me. Lunch break was here, and I could indulge upon the perks of my isolation. That is because I partially own some land here in the school. Well, I say that but it’s not because I truly own it, but rather because no one else does. I reached the fifth floor of the school and stumbled down upon dilapidated hallways that served as the artery of abandoned classrooms. As one steps deeper in these hallways it feels like one is being watched. Though I’m used to it. 
Every step up here is a creak. If you look into the classrooms you would see piles upon piles of abandoned chairs, desks, and tables stacked upon one another. And there was one classroom in particular that entices me. 
It’s much the same view. Abandoned, dusty, piles upon piles of desks, chairs, and tables. But one stood upright against the pile. No, it felt like the pile was specifically made to avoid that chair. All seemingly trying to crawl away, through the walls, through anywhere. Anywhere but that room. That said, that room had not been touched in over a decade now as far as I’m concerned. And this entire section of the school had been abandoned due to some major mishaps that occurred during one school year.
But I digress, I came here because at the end of this hallway to the right, was another set of stairs. And if you climb it, you’ll eventually reach a closed door. Open it, and you’ll be greeted into the abandoned school observatory. A nice, tranquil environment separate from this outside world that I am a part of. Separate from the sportsmen, separate from the shallow ingrates that roam my school and my life. Do I sound bitter? I do, don’t I? Don’t think too much about it. There’s a reason I remember these days fondly, and why I talk about it in a bittersweet way… Let’s continue,
Half of the reason why this place was abandoned is due to prior superstition. Be it feng shui, or the ghost of researchers and students long passed. And really, I’m a man of science. So such things don’t affect me. I lay down my lunchbox, took a blanket out of my bag, and decided to picnic upon this observatory. 
Its windows are open, and from up here I could see the rest of the school’s courtyards, the town itself, and beyond. Like the green mountains that surrounded us, or the city in the far distance. I try to relax while I’m here. Though it’s a dusty place, even after I tried my hardest to clean it up during my free hours. Do you understand how difficult it is to clean a place filled with such delicate instruments? Or doing so and hiding it from the rest of the school in the first place? It’s terrible. And often I felt it beyond me. But it was one thing I would do to have a better workspace.
Today, my lunch consisted of my mother’s fried tempura, and black tea. A bit on the simplistic side of things but it was under my own request. And it’s not because I’m on a diet. No, my reasoning is much more shallow. You see, with this minimal setup, I only have to really bring one lunchbox, the teabag, and the thermos. Such a thing made my load much lighter, and thus I can… well, I don’t really know what I could do with such a light load, all I knew is that I wanted one. But forget about that. I’m caught yapping on again. 
There’s one important thing that happened in this observatory on this peaceful first day of highschool. And it’s only something I noticed when I looked behind me and saw the color of wheatfields in full bloom. Golden, dazzling and beautiful. She was just standing there, fidgeting, as if confused and lost. It was almost a pathetic sight to see that I couldn’t help but call for her, “Ms. Tsubaki? What are you doing here?”
She sighed, “Thank goodness, sorry. I got lost trying to find the observatory and I’m glad you’re here.” She spoke softly, as if the breeze carried her voice and the weightless birds that flew along with it. As I stared at her I noticed the small leather handbook she carried with one hand, and a lunchbox in the other. Just what was she planning being here?
“This place is abandoned, it’s now just a hangout spot for vagrants and delinquents.” In truth neither of those kinds of people even hang around here.
“But it’s much too clean for that, no?” She was good at this.
“Well, yes. If I want to eat at this place, I may as well keep it clean, no?” I replied back.
“No, it’s cleaner than that. It’s as if you live here.”
I do, well, I wish I did. This was the only place in this town where I could see more of the stars than is possible, what with it being set in the tallest part of the town and all that. “I don’t. But if you insist on eating here, then you’re free to do so.”
She bowed deeply, enough to make me feel ashamed enough to do so as well, “Thank you for having me.” She said as she made her way to one part of the observatory and began to eat her meal.
We sat in collective silence after that. We both ate our meals and I, for the life of me, could not see hers. It had no smell, nor could I particularly look at it. And I never felt to be in the position to ask what it was. No even if I was, I wouldn’t. That’s just the kind of person that I am. Distant with a cause.
Always putting people at arm’s reach. For better or worse, only ever at arm’s reach. Even my mother, my father, my siblings. Anyone who dared to call me a close friend. All of them were only an arm’s reach away. Never closer. Was it to spare me from the feelings of disappointment associated with simply being alive in their presence? I do not know. Nevertheless, she was the one that spoke.
In the prior paragraph, I must add that I was not one to answer questions either. Especially if it isn’t relevant to the matter at hand, or served as a way to dig deep into who I am. I never needed that. My future never needed that. All I could do, and all I could be is someone who could have something to work towards, preferably without anyone else. And that’s why I gave more weight to the nature of her inquiry, “Are you a member of the astronomy club?”
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fizzingwizard · 9 months
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found some more cottagecore asks ty op
tagging @prevailing-westerly because you seem to like doing these too, and anyone else who might want to
teacup: what are 5 of your favorite songs at the moment?
Francesca - Hozier Two Slow Dancers - Mitski About Summer - Luli Lee Wish - Olivia Lufkin Hopeless Wanderer - Mumford and Sons
candle: how did you meet your best friend?
I don't have a best friend right now, so I'll talk about my childhood best friend. Not to knock adult friendships, but childhood relationships are so full of firsts and extremes of emotion that I feel like this one will always be special to me.
We were next door neighbors after I moved into the neighborhood when I was eight. I don't remember being introduced. But the other kids on the street included a girl my friend didn't like, a boy I didn't like, and then a few kids we just never interacted with (although years later I got to be friends with one of them through Girl Scouts). So pretty much we got to be friends because we didn't like anyone else :P and we both liked to play pretend. It was so much fun that I used to dread growing out of it, and we kept playing pretend long after most kids moved on.
blanket: what is your sleep schedule like?
Technically healthier than when I was younger, lol. I can't do all nighters anymore, not without paying the price. I get 6-8 hours a night, more of the 8 hours recently because I just pass out around ten or eleven with the lights on and stuff. On vacations I can still get by on less. Since I live alone and don't have kids, I have fewer sleep troubles. Even so, when I'm working I still feel so tired in the evenings.
hot chocolate: do you have a crush / partner / etc? describe them if so!
My boyfriend looks a little bit like Bradley Cooper in A Star is Born. I think I liked the movie particularly because of that, haha. He's quiet but friendly and very gentle and go with the flow. He always has candles lit.
fireplace: what has been your favorite age so far?
Whatever age I'm at. Every stage of my life has had its share of joys and difficulties. So as tempting as it is to say childhood, when happiness was never overshadowed by fears of tomorrow, I don't think it's really true.
cookie jar: if you could be doing anything right now, what would you do?
Swimming in the sea in Okinawa, for sure. And then ice cream afterward.
sweater: do you remember any of your dreams? describe them if so!
The dreams I tend to remember are all disturbing lol. And they fade when I try to think of them. I only remember one, from when I was a kid, a recurring dream in which a deer would approach me in random places. I'd be extremely scared and then wake up. The deer never did anything. I didn't have a fear of deers. Cannot explain.
doll: describe yourself through a mixture of fictional characters
Jo March with a touch of Beth. Right smack in the middle of Elinor and Marianne Dashwood. Bit of Snufkin, more Moomintroll, even more Moominmamma.
kitsch: what are your favorite books?
Well, the Moomin books obviously. Others: Never Let Me Go (Kazuo Ishiguro), Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austen), Lord of the Rings (JRR Tolkien), The God of Small Things (Arundhati Roy), Jane Eyre (Charlotte Bronte), The Giver (Lois Lowry), His Dark Materials (Philip Pullmann).
lace: list 5 things you like about yourself
Committed 2. Genuine 3. Resilient 4. Accepting 5. Reflective
teddybear: what is your favorite temperature / weather?
70s Fahrenheit/ sunny if I'm outside doing stuff 60s F/ rainy if I'm inside writing
coffee mug: is there someone you miss right now?
My dad, who didn't reply to his birthday message
embroidery: do you consider yourself an artist?
In my opinion, to be human is to be an artist. People who actively try to control, restrict, or limit art have abandoned their humanity.
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