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#anyway this has been rattling around my brain

trees-to-meet-you · 3 months

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God. What if Pandora didn’t want to open the box. What if she was manipulated, her hands tied to and guided by strings she couldn’t shake off. What if when she released the horrors out into the world, Hope chose to stay with her, in the box. What if Pandora couldn’t rid herself of that guilt. What if Hope couldn’t convince her that not all was lost, and that she wasn’t responsible for the strings around her hands. That she wasn’t a monster.

What if Pandora and Hope found a way to trap everything in the box again. What if Pandora couldn’t do it. What if she didn’t want anyone else to feel the guilt she did. What if she thought that trapping the horrors in the box would just doom everyone into the same cycle. What if she felt she had to break it by bearing the suffering of everyone else. What if Hope tried to convince her that it could be better. What if she wouldn’t save herself. What if Hope had to kill Pandora for a chance to save everyone, including her. What if they both were sealed in the box. What if no one ever knew what happened to them. What if their last words to the world and to each other were “I love you.”

What if the world ending was never Pandora’s fault, but in her guilt and grief she blamed herself for it, and the Hope that voluntarily stayed by her side had to take her life to save it.

What if?

#ive been sorta rotating this around my brain the past week or so.#yeah.#anyways.#i will NEVER be over this #i just. once saw someone refer to martin as the ‘humanity that they’re saving and will save them’ or something along those lines #and well. hope and humanity are kinda the same thing arent they?#hell i think in some versions of the myth hope is actually referred to as humanity #and this just started rattling around my head #but i can’t quite get the words right #im going to post it anyway. because better to have written down something than nothing at all.#but i can’t quite get the words right.#it has however also made me realize that jumanji is also pandoras box #which is kinda funny #the magnus archives #mag 200 #pandoras box #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #i guess now that ive processed it for a week or so. its time to listen to the post-season content and start the magnus protocol.#actually it may have been two weeks. i don’t remember when exactly i finished it.#anyway.#its late i need sleep.#tma #the magnus archives spoilers #tma spoilers #tma s5 spoilers #tma finale spoilers #how to tag this so that anyone listening for the first time does not see………

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lyhil · 7 months

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OC-tober Palette Week - 02

Quietly, Lyhil moved his fingers closer until they were sliding in between Harukehn's, gently interlocking in the damp sand. For a moment, he didn't say anything, content to just watch the water ripple under the gentle breeze.

"You're the first Sylvari," he finally spoke, "and the first person not drowned in drunkenness, who has looked at me - what I have done to myself - and not returned with some form of discomfort or disgust." He fell quiet. The sunset light was starting to fade to the dark purple hues of dusk, faint glimmering stars eagerly pushing through the remaining light. "So I'd like to do my best, no matter how hard it might be," he murmured. Harukehn - @harukehn

Prompt

#lyhil #lyhil but implied LOL #bweirdoctober #gw2 #guild wars 2 #gw2 oc #gw2 sylvari #gw2 fan submission #listen.....listen lyhil has said some tender things almost way too casually and they rattle around in my brain #also they've been having some moments where they're so niceys and not being stubborn and butting heads and it makes me want to explode #i love having little guys. i love blorbos. having ocs is so fun #anyway the palette challenges are actually so hard so i might just skip ahead and start prepping for the other prompts yayyyyy #art

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our-blood-is-our-ink · 1 year

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Snapshot One

Ship: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: You always give Agatha the pleasure you're able.

Word Count: 477

Disclaimer: 18+ ONLY minors dni

Warnings: smut, angst, lying, a hint of fluff

Her moans are musical to your ears, and her body rocks above yours as she grinds against you.

It's painful, sure, but she'll never know that, not when she clearly finds a sort of unique pleasure from this that nothing else can give her.

Not when that uniqueness is stemming from you.

“More.” She demands. “I- I need it.”

You smile through the pain, and you know how bright it appears.

“Of course, darling.” You reach a hand up and cup her cheek, and have to take a steadying breath as the glamor on it briefly flickers. “You've gone far too long without it, haven't you?”

“Shut up.” She hisses, her pupils blown, eyes wild with lust and need. “Just give it.”

You nod, dropping your hand, and pour more of your energy out, and her back is suddenly arching, her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“Fuck!” She cries out. “Fuck, fuck!”

“Cum for me.” Your voice sounds weaker than you want it to, but in her euphoric haze, Agatha fails to notice. “Cum for your precious little one.”

Her rutting picks up, and her wetness is gushing from her now as her moans turn into screams, before she suddenly goes still, before she collapses on top of you, panting heavily.

“You still want more, don't you baby?” You ask and she whimpers.

Of course she wants more, your magic is an aphrodisiac to her.

You carefully make sure your drained looking hands stay out of her line of sight, the glamor having fully failed within the past few moments, as you reach to card them through her wild hair.

“I can spare a bit more.” You whisper.

“Please.”

The word is uttered so quietly, you aren't entirely sure you didn't make it up.

The tender kiss she presses against your skin is the confirmation you need.

She whimpers softly with overstimulation as you feed the dark void within her, keeping a careful eye on how far the corpse effect creeps up your arms, and you stop just before it hits your elbow.

She whines.

“Shhhh…” You soothe. “Rest now, sweetheart.”

This was always the tricky part, ensuring Agatha fell asleep afterwards.

If she ever found out that feeding off of your magic affected you the way it did everyone else, these visits would stop.

You know it wouldn't matter to her that your magic just needs a few hours of rest to replenish itself.

All she'll see in it is a curse, and all she'll see in you is yet another liar.

You couldn't bear to lose her simply because she'll take this as proof of her inability to be good.

“Thank you.”

The two sleepily slurred words break you out of your thought spiral, and you shut your own eyes as you release a breath.

“Of course, Agatha. Anything for you.”

Anything.

#sky's blurbs #sky writes #c: agatha #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #kathryn hahn #this has been rattling around my brain for... I think two years now?#anyways this might pop up more when I write for agatha

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pregstiel · 1 year

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destiel au where cas is dean's like. video game waifu who gains sentience. dean is initially pleased (FUCK yeah. castiel In Real Life) then disappointed (babe you're not acting like you did in my head) and then back to excited (cas picks up on dean being disappointed and immediately alters his behavior. because of his agonies)

#i have one theme for destiel that's been rattling around in my brain lately #anyways. dean could also be cas's vr wife but the issue is cas's only real disappointment with dean coming to life #would be being robbed of his ability to watch dean's every move #now dean goes to the grocery store. without him :(#now cas has to Interact when he just wants to Look. it's all very sad but dean being an actual real person helps to mitigate it

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angelcasendgame · 1 year

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black?

Black: a piece of life advice?

Be nice to yourself!! It's so so difficult to do and its something I struggle with a lot. But I've been trying to do it more often and ngl, it's made a huge difference already. And that doesn't mean don't hold yourself accountable for your actions or anything, but the gut reaction of saying something mean and talking down to yourself and an inner dialogue of shame only makes things harder.

This thought only really started to take form a few days ago when I read through the entirety of my journal entries from 2013 to 2022. And I was so mean to myself! So mean!!! And for years it was similar things of like "wtf is wrong with me, why can't I study? Why am I so anxious? Etcetc." And then I saw a photo of me from 2013 and I was like damn. That's a child. So when I find myself repeating the same dialogue of "what is wrong with you," and "why can't you fucking get anything done?" etc. I just see the face of an actual kid and I'm like SHIT that's so mean!!

Like I've been mean to myself for so long and it's gotten me nowhere so this made me really think that this is clearly not working. It's not a good system yet I've been doing this for years. I'll try being nice to myself for a day and see what happens. And well. A lot apparently!!

nighttime aesthetic asks

#the temptation now to downplay this and make a self depricating joke is so strong!! but i won't let it win!!!!#i read my old journal the other day and cried #lil me was so small and sad and had such a hard life #anyways i hope this makes sense #this has been like rattling around in my brain for a while so it's nice to just get it out <33 #ty for asking!!!#mailbox #anon

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beetrans · 2 years

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I am once again resisting the urge to Disc Horse. However.

I've seen a post floating around with a Conjectured Scenario of getting dx'd for gluten intolerance and then at the end is like Can You Imagine? If physical disabilities were treated Like That? & expressing frustraton with their experience trying to get an adult ADHD dx. Which,

I'm not commenting On The Post Itself bc it reads like someone who's only recently come into an identity as Politically Disabled, and I don't want to @ them, but --

quite apart from the (true) fact that getting pro dx'd for all sorts of disabilities (incl celiac!) Is in fact Like That

-- the problem you're facing is the same as other disabled ppl, and anyone (medically) marked as requesting Special Intervention.

the problem you're facing is that marking (disabled, intersex, survivor, drug-seeking, & many more) means you're no longer an authority on your own body/mind, because you are now the site of medical intervention, and thus the subject of medical expertise, not first person authority.

the problem you're facing is medical training and its institutional power seeing you as either a diagnostic category or invalid. un-credible.

the problem you're facing isn't solved by conforming to that diagnostic category (as informed by racist science & all other kinds of bias). that might improve your particular situation, but not the next patient in that room. it's not solved by Making Doctors Aware. good doctors are valuable, but we don't get them by increasing their basic knowledge.

the problem you're facing is solved only by joining in solidarity with others scrutinized under the medical gaze and pushing back. yes, sure, more awareness is nice, but what next? what actions and restructuring of society & expertise & self-determination are necessary to build a world where everyone gets bodily autonomy, authority to make their own decisions, including to not seek interventions or "cure" at all?

it's not individual rights, that's for sure.

#disability JUSTICE #perhaps MIGHT have some clues for you dear op #disability #transness #medical model #anyways. Not Discoursing. but it's been rattling around my brain since I saw it today #then saw it like three more times.#but it is in fact the same system and trying to carve out exceptions for your own self as the Real Valid Disabled #(and pulling up the ladder behind you to stop the Undesirables from following)#is bad movement building and a bad theory of change because it won't be Sustainable #(also it's shitty)#(also also it won't challenge the system that got you there but that's just assuming you're self centered only)#also I do not want to stray too far from my lane as a dyadic/perisex person but #bodily autonomy #ABSOLUTELY has to include not just #informed consent #but real options to Not consent. Not pursue interventions that seek Normativity #whether that's a more cis-looking body #more Productivity under capitalism #or truly anything You don't want for Yourself.#anywho. shutting up now going to finish my assignment.

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byanyan · 1 year

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one thing i've been thinking about lately is how byan almost exclusively uses informal & casual speech when they speak korean, no matter who they're talking to. partly because, as they're usually in an english-speaking setting, they really only take advantage of being bilingual to shit talk people to their face. ...but also, they really like to advertise that they don't respect anyone (and they think it makes them sound cooler & more badass anyway).

#does this get them in trouble a lot? yes. but that's part of the fun if you ask them #anyways surprise they suck #this has been rattling around in my brain but won't ever come across properly in my writing #not until the day comes where i can write fluently in korean anyway lmao....#━━ ˟ ⊰ ✰ HEADCANON ⋮ DANGER IN THE FABRIC OF THIS THING I MADE.

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nereidprinc3ss · 22 days

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Ok but I think you hit on something in “in the dead of night” about how Spencer leans into his mammalian instincts. Imagine him angry and tense after a rough day and needing that and then talking you through the motions of it and why it makes him feel better because of the science and chemicals behind it all

i absolutely love this!! thank you for requesting:)

also experimenting with a new short and sweet format for blurbs/request! feedback is always appreciated<3

wc 800

warnings: fem!reader, very suggestive, d/s dynamics

“I don’t—Spencer—”

Something in your mouth keeps you from finishing the sentence. Namely: your boyfriend’s tongue. You gasp into him as he tugs your jacket off, arching your back against the wall he’s pressed you to so that the fabric can hit the ground with a thick thud.

“Spence, please,” you manage, barely, as his hand cups your jaw and his thumb presses under your chin, encouraging you to angle your head up and make room for his lips. It’s not that you don’t want this—you told him he could be rough with you and you meant it—but you’re slightly overwhelmed by this uncharacteristic display of nearing aggressive passion.

“What, baby?” he breathes, nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck while his hands snake under your shirt. Focused on the feeling of his hand pressed against your waist, you allow your eyes to flutter shut.

“You’re acting… different.”

A pause—his head drops against your shoulder as he reigns himself in.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No—you don’t need to stop, I just… it might make me feel better if I knew what this was about.”

He sucks in a breath.

“You want to hear about my day?”

The way his fingers trail downward over your skin is so gentle it feels almost dangerous.

“… Yeah.” But you don’t at all sound sure of yourself. A hum from him seems to rattle your skull as he drags his lips up your neck and over your jaw, kissing you with a softness that is almost certainly deceptive.

“You know what, angel? I don’t actually really feel like talking about that right now. Does that tell you—” he bites your lip, and it doesn’t really hurt, but you whine anyway, “what kind of day I had?”

No words are forming for you anymore, so you make do with an airy “mhm.”

The first button at the bottom of your shirt is undone before you even realize he was unbuttoning it.

“Have you ever heard of the ventrolateral ventromedial hypothalamus?” Spencer murmurs, undoing the buttons on your shirt with a practiced expertise that is hard to keep up with—especially when he keeps teasing your lips with his like this. It doesn’t even matter if you’ve heard of that or not; all the information you’ve ever retained is gone from the stores of your brain. If it doesn’t have anything to do with Spencer, it feels deeply unimportant. You shake your head no. “The hypothalamus does a lot. It regulates our appetites, our body temperatures, hormones…”

Why is this so sexy.

“It also has a lot to do with how we express our emotions. And that tiny part of the hypothalamus—the one I just mentioned—it’s where we process two really big feelings.” He undoes the last button, gently pushing your open shirt from your shoulders. “Anger.” Hands creep around your hips, blindly unzipping your skirt. “And arousal.”

Oh!

“In a disregulated brain, that can be a dangerous combination. But,” he tugs the straps of your bra down, “if you understand it, you can use it to your advantage.”

Your breath is bated as you do the work of kicking off your shoes, and he unclasps your bra.

“The human brain is fallible in so many ways. At the end of the day, we’re delicate, and vulnerable, and convoluted—but we’re also pretty simple creatures, motivated by a few basic instincts. Anger and sex are intrinsic to who we are as animals. For most of history, they’ve defined us. And they’re so closely related. Do you follow?”

Your response comes as a gasp when you realize you haven’t been breathing for a long moment now.

“Yes.” Does it matter if you understand? You just want him to touch you.

“Good.” His lowered voice gets even quieter as he continues, brushing hair behind your ear carefully. “You know I would never, ever hurt you, right?”

“I know.”

You don’t remember how all your clothes ended up on the kitchen floor, but they’re certainly not on you anymore as he presses flush against your bare skin.

“I will always take care of you and keep you safe. That being said—sometimes the best thing you can do when you’re having a really big feeling is to follow that basic animal instinct. It’s why sprinting can help when you’re having a panic attack. Your body is in fight or flight and it will relax if you follow the instinct to run.”

Spencer’s fingers slip under the waistband of your underwear.

“I’ve been having some of those really big feelings today. Do you know what’s going to make me feel better?”

You whimper. Fabric slips past your hips and falls to the ground as Spencer begins closing the small distance between your mouths—but not before uttering a word that has your heart racing.

“You.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert

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tteokdoroki · 1 year

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*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— playing defence + yoichi isagi.

૮˶ᵕ ༝ᵕ˶ა synopsis — you bitch slap kaiser for talking smack about your boyfriend. perhaps isagi is rubbing off on you.

⭑ warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up to 20s, crack, fluff, suggestive towards the end, violence, smack talk, mentions of injury, mentions of blood, established relationship, pro player!isagi, fem!reader - not beta read !

⭑ words — 2.2K.

⭑ notes — greetings all! isagi brain rot is so real rn, i swear i have like six wips for him... anyways this was a silly little idea that popped into my head lmao kinda cringe but i had fun with it !! enjoy ! - m.list ✩

your boyfriend is somewhat of a conundrum.

the world knows yoichi isagi as the ruthless heart of blue lock’s success. a man that’s unrelenting on the field with his strategic mind and frightening air of dominance poured into his every play. every movement he makes is calculated meticulously, the greed for a goal simmering in his blood. isagi as a pro player is foul mouthed and messy — taunting his opponent until they crumble into nothing but dust before his very eyes.

the media thinks he’s cocky, but rightfully so. after all yoichi isagi is the catalyst for a new generation of japanese soccer. the girls love him, he’s charming in interviews without meaning to be — they like how he talks about you. as if you’re a gem that’s worth millions. precious.

the isagi that you know has a tender touch and his soul warm, he wears his heart right on his sleeve and never lets you go a moment without knowing you’re appreciated. the isagi that you know is encouraging, he’s always on your side. if he needs to, he’ll sweet talk you with honey glazed words and kiss you until your thoughts fizzle out into stardust.

isagi is good.

he’s good to his friends, his teammates, his parents — he’s almost too good to be true. as if he’s been peeled from the pages of a shoujo romance manga or ripped from the silver screen of a perfect Hollywood romcom. a literal walking green flag. you’d say that you were lucky to have him, and yoichi would spin it on you — using strings of sweet words to express just how deep and profound his love is for you, praising you just enough to melt you into a love sick puddle of goo. and he’d mean it, sincerity swirling in his whirlpooling blue eyes. he swears by it.

so when someone pisses your isagi off, when they hurt him — you can’t help but lose your shit.

it happens during a practise match with a few of the players that joined during the neo-egoist league. although it’s been years since then and the blue lock project has become a formidable team, it keeps the boys on their feet to play with those with other worldly styles of soccer. the match had been going well, isagi trailblazing across the pitch and leaving nothing but a trail of destruction and despair behind — you were proud of him, amazed by him and the talents he possesses. to see him in his element makes your heart swell.

you don’t know kaiser very well — just that he’s super big and plays for the german team that gave isagi his leg up in the soccer world. you’ve heard from others about how much of a dick he could be and the intense rivalry he had with your boyfriend back when the blue lock project first started. you don’t know kaiser well but that information alone was enough to get your back up whenever he was in close range of yoichi.

and rightfully so. because you see the way he prods and pokes at the beautiful, sensitive parts of your lover as they race across to the penalty area. you notice how it rattles isagi, gets him all up in his head. you hear kaiser say something along the lines of:

“what’s with your shitty plays, yoichi? surely if you’re the heart of blue lock then the future of soccer is bound to be doomed.” he skirts around your boyfriend, intercepting a pass he was meant to receive from nagi. “pathetic, to see how much this star has fallen. i should crush you.”

you’ve heard all the insults the blue lock boys throw at each other before but this is nothing like usual. rin itoshi has said much worse to isagi right in front of your face (and isagi right back, foul mouthed motherfucker) but you know that’s a defence mechanism to how rin truly thinks and feels.

michael kaiser is just an asshole, plain and simple.

and that kind of behaviour doesn’t fly with you when it comes to yoichi.

you storm onto the pitch from the sidelines before your mind can even catch up to your body. the other players working around your boyfriend and his rival stop their movements as you stroll past them, snapped out of their egoist state by the referee whistle that calls for you to stop.

“m-ma’am! you can’t be on the pitch!”

you walk right past ness, weave between kurona, bachira and hiori, and right up to the blonde haired perpetrator himself. you’re polite about it too, tapping him on the shoulder to interrupt the narcissistic monologue he’s giving to isagi and showing him your sweetest, kindest smile.

there’s a split second before the blunt force of your fist collides with michael kaiser’s cheek and he’s knocked to the ground from the weight of it.

“you better watch who the fuck you’re talking to, you clownish freak.”

“babe?” isagi jumps into action despite his shock and the sniggers from other players on the field. he wraps his strong arms around your middle and tugs you into his chest with a winded laugh. “precious, what are you doing here?”

“he can’t talk to you like that!”

“but baby, you can’t be here—“

“this isn’t good.” bachira sings from a safe distance.

“fuck! what the actual fuck?” kaiser swears, using the sleeve of his jersey to wipe the blood from his bruising nose. “who’s crazy groupie is this?”

another wave of anger crashes through your veins, your blood at its boiling point as his words register within you. “excuse me?” isagi snarls, clearly unimpressed, loosening his hold on you while you struggle against your boyfriend’s lean frame.

“so what? you get your girlfriend to play defence for you and then act like i’m in the wrong? i said, get this groupie away from me—!”

before anyone on the pitch can realise, you’re free from isagi’s hold and you’re on kaiser like white on rice — fisting his sweatshirt between the same pretty fingers that treat isagi like he’ll break with too much force. “you wanna say that again, shitstain?” you run your tongue over your teeth, the menacing glint to your eye making you look like you’re a predator about to hunt down her prey. the blonde shakes underneath you as you pin him to the grass — an insult rolling around on his tongue. “i wouldn’t waste my words. you should just lay down and die before you take another sucker punch from this groupie.”

“do you have any idea how much this face is worth? i should—“

“gimme a break michael kaiser,” to your left you can hear bachira chanting something about ‘no violence’, bouncing around excitedly and a wicked grin tugs on the corner of your lips. “you’re not worth shit to me. so keep fucking around and find out, pretty boy. you talk smack about yoichi again and i swear your face won’t be the only goods i damage.”

“jeez, you’re just as crazy as that wanna be protagonist over there—“ is all he can muster before he flinches back from your fists that raise a over your head.

isagi moves quicker this time, scooping you up from underneath your armpits despite how you huff, puff and protest. “alright, alright, you’re done here. let’s go, princess.” he says sheepishly. maybe he’s been rubbing off on you a little too much.

his comforting touch slides down to your hand, grabbing at it to drag you off the pitch for the sake of kaiser’s safety, keeping everyone else out of harms way. and isagi just about gets you off the green before you set your sights on your next victim — ness, who can’t help but make faces at you as you trudge after your boyfriend.

drawing a line over your throat with your thumb, you make direct eye contact with him. “you’re next, shitty little meat-rider—! ow! ‘ichi!” you bark, but isagi quickly scoops you up again like a cat holding her kitten by the nape.

you have no choice but to back down for now.

“yanno, you really didn’t have to do that.”

isagi let’s you go once you’re back in the locker rooms to check on your hand. he crouches before you (where you sit just a level above him on the metal bench), holding an ice pack to your knuckles with the trace of a smile on his lips, only lifting it to see if the swelling has gone down. isagi reads you like an open book, he’s got you all figured out so he leaves you with the space to react and have your little tantrums.

besides, it’s cute that you get so pissed off when it comes to him. watching your nose scrunch up and your lips twist into a pout while you fight your own outburst just makes his heart beat for you a little faster.

“oh i fucking did! he was being so horrible to you and i couldn’t just let it slide!” you huff as your temper flares, shoulders sagging and arms crossing over your chest. he says nothing for a moment and lifts the compress from your hand to check the damage.

“look at you, precious girl. you’ve only gone and hurt yourself,” even when you’re throwing a fit like this, yoichi can only see the beauty in you — his cheeks flushing at how much you care for him. the dark haired striker flips through a first aid kit that rests at your feet, looking for disinfectant to clean up your split knuckles. “and, as for kaiser… well, he’s always like that.”

“well, i don’t like kaiser. i hope a bird shits on his head and both sides of his pillows are warm.”

“bird shit is supposed to be a sign of good luck, baby.”

“don’t test me yoichi isagi.”

he dabs at your wounds with a cotton pad and a brownish liquid that smells like the dettol your mom would keep in the cabinet under the kitchen sink for when you got yourself into similar situations like this as a kid. but instead of scolding you like she would, yoichi tends to your cuts and scrapes either upmost care. still smiling to himself. smiling at you. resisting the urge to burst with affection.

“you’re gonna have to apologise, precious.” he mutters absentmindedly, wincing when you do.

“i-i’m not going to, he deserved it!” that much is true, kaiser is clown who needs to be put in his place but it shouldn’t have been by you and at the expensive of your precious hands getting hurt.

you’re in more pain than you’re willing to show, and it bothers isagi just a little bit that you’re experiencing it because of him.

“well he did, but ego won’t be happy.”

“did ego make you apologise for all those times you beat the crap out of your teammates for even looking at me? for stealing your goals?” you roll your eyes, leaning away from your doting boyfriend in protest.

isagi grabs at your wrist firmly, tugging you back into place so he can start wrapping your hand up — ignoring the way his face and the tips of his ears start to burn up in embarrassment. “well no… but that’s different. friendly competition.”

“hardly! may i remind you that shidou literally couldn’t walk for a week straight after he commented on my ass? because of you?”

“i was defending your honour! and keep still!”

you give isagi a pointed look. hypocrite. “okay, but what about when rin said you couldn’t fuck for the life of you and then you proved your point. using me. in front of him. was that about honour or about your ego? mister egoist.” isagi’s big blue eyes instantly shoot up to meet yours and blushes a crimson that could rival the shade of the older itoshi brother’s hair. “itoshi couldn’t look at me for weeks!”

“point taken.” knowing that he won’t win this argument (if you could even call it that), isagi finishes up with bandaging your hand and takes a seat next to you, a comfortable silence settling over you both while he attempts to piece together why you love him this much. to play knight in shining armour to his damsel in distress.

“are you…really going to make me apologise yoichi?” you ask him sheepishly after some time, leaning into him for comfort.

“not if you don’t want to, precious.” he hums, fondly brushing a thumb over the back of your bandaged hand. a silent thank you. a hidden i love you.

“good,” you whine now that all of your adrenaline’s worn off and you can really feel the consequences of punching a world class striker in the face. “now kiss my knuckles. they hurt.” holding up your hand to isagi’s face, you shake it as if to rid yourself of the painful ebb to it.

“better?” isagi complies, his lips soft against your skin.

“much.”

“so spoilt,” he adds. your boyfriend’s voice stays low while he plays with your bruised fingers and checks them over, resting his head against your own affectionately. “next time you throw a punch in my name, tuck your thumb into your fist to minimise the damage. i don’t like seeing you get hurt.”

“so you did like seeing me punch kaiser.” you giggle, squirming when isagi drops your hand to pull you into his lap possessively. his loving grin spreads even further when your eyes widen at a certain…hardness poking your inner thigh.

“oh yeah, super hot. i love it when you get mad ‘n start talking shit for me.”

isagi doesn’t make it back to practice, too caught up in showing you just how much he loves it when you start fights over him.

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #isagi x reader #isagi x you #isagi yoichi x reader #isagi fluff #blue lock x you #yoichi isagi x reader #bllk x you #isagi yoichi x you #yoichi isagi x you #isagi drabble #blue lock fluff #bllk fluff #blue lock imagines #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki

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bookshelf-dust · 11 months

Text

when it's rainin'

billy hargrove x gn!reader

word count: 2,666 ;)

warnings: swearing, reader has a fear of thunderstorms, kinda newly established relationship, a few sexual innuendos, fluff

a/n: hi! this was very self-indulgent for me and i am decidedly dedicating this fic to all of my fellow thunderstorm fearers. i see you. i am you. i hope this isn't too bad. i revised it too many times and i'm still feeling a little fretful over it. also, the title is a fleetwood mac lyric. bite me. anyways, please let me know what you think! mwah mwah i love you <333

————

“Billy, I gotta get going.”

You squeeze the fat of his thigh where it’s draped over both of your legs. He takes hold of your wrist; his grip gentle, if not a little teasing.

He turns to look at you, head lolling against the back of the couch. His hair is pushed up messily behind him on the cushion. You know that if he were to sit up, it’d be matted in the way that it gets when he lays on it for too long.

Billy knows the cogs in your brain are at work. The beginnings of a cocky smirk play at the corners of his mouth. He furrows his brow, faux concern written all across his face, as if something’s wrong.

“But it’s rainin’, baby.” He gives his head a little shake, like he can’t believe you’d leave in weather like this.

His smirk is in full bloom when he laces his fingers with yours and lifts your hand up to his mouth. You turn to look out the window and feel him press a kiss to your knuckles.

He’s buttering you up and you know it.

“It’s just rain, Hargrove. And I do know how to drive.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, the rain picks up, enough so that you can hear it pounding against the roof.

Billy laughs, low and sweet. You glare at him.

“Fine. I’ll wait it out.”

“Mhm,” he grunts, peeling his leg off of yours and repositioning himself on the couch. He leans up against the arm, and holds his own out to you. You know what he’s doing, so you oblige.

Billy loves to watch storms, and holding you this way makes for a better view out the window. You lean into him, back pressed to his chest. He wraps his arms around your shoulders and buries his face in your neck.

There’s a crack of lightning and the rumble of thunder that follows seems to shake the earth itself. Your stomach drops. This is exactly what you hadn’t wanted to happen, and now you’re stuck here, with Billy, internally panicking over a thunderstorm. Admittedly, you do feel a bit safer than you would alone in your bedroom, but this fear isn’t exactly something you share with others.

“You can’t drive home in that,” he argues.

You grab hold of Billy’s forearms, his skin warm under your palms. “I said I’d wait it out,” you mumble.

He kisses the side of your throat, and it’s the kind of kiss you might feel lingering there for the rest of the day. Like his lips have left a searing brand against your skin.

“You could just stay,” he drawls.

“Billy.”

He lets out a breath of a laugh and moves his face back from you. “Yeah, I know. You don’t love me.”

You let yourself slide further down the couch until your head rests on Billy’s tummy. He doesn’t let go of you though, hands rubbing over your collarbones. “That’s not fair.”

It thunders then, at a volume you couldn’t have expected. It rattles both you and the windows, making you jump.

“You okay?” Billy’s tone is sincere.

You sit back up a little bit, and he uses the leverage to pull you into him. He wraps his arms around you completely, enveloping you in warmth and the scent of his body wash. The gesture is protective. He can see the way you glance out the window, and he thinks you might be looking for that flash, that queue for another rumble.

“‘M fine. Scared me is all.”

Your grip on Billy’s knee says otherwise. He thinks he understands.

“I’ve never been with you during a storm before. You don’t like ‘em?”

You glance back at him. The concern on his face is genuine this time, but you can still see that underlying tendency to tease, like he’s ready to use it when he feels necessary.

“Rain is fine,” you start. “I love it, actually. It’s just when it gets like this, when you can’t see down the driveway anymore and it’s windy. I really don’t like the wind.”

It is pretty damn windy. Billy hadn’t noticed it until you pointed it out. It makes him glad he parked under the carport today, knowing this is the kind of storm that leaves a mess behind.

You’re starting to panic, not only because you’ve just told Billy about your childish fear, but also because you don’t know what kind of weather they’re calling for. You live in Indiana, for fucks sake. You don’t like that all of this is out of your control, that there’s nothing you can do but wait it out.

“Hey, look at me.” Billy says, voice low and enticing. It pulls you from your spiraling thoughts. Your fingers are cold where they press into his legs. You twist around to face him and his hands meet your cheeks. His eyes are boring into yours.

He kisses you. It’s slow, measured. The kind of kiss that steals your breath and demands your full attention.

You realize too late that it’s a distraction. You don’t jump when it thunders this time.

Billy pulls away, pleased with the blissed out look on your face. With the fact that he’s seemingly calmed you down for the moment.

“That sweatshirt you like is on my bed. Why don’t you go get it, huh?”

You nod and he steadies you when you climb off of him and the couch. Billy wants to look at the weather, but he also wants to take care of you. He’s not letting you drive home tonight.

You slip down the hall and Billy uses the time to flip the channel, assuming the weather will be on.

You find his sweatshirt where he told you it’d be and stop at the foot of his bed, pulling it on over your head. It smells like him. Not like his cologne or cigarettes, but like the Billy who took a shower and got cold, who fell asleep earlier than usual and slept in more clothes than he ever has—this sweatshirt included.

You see the lightning this time and are able to brace yourself for the thunderclap that follows. You still scramble back to the living room, seeking refuge in Billy.

Your footsteps are quiet despite your panic, and Billy only notices you’ve entered the room because he’d sat up firmly against the back of the couch. You’re chewing on your lip, staring at the warnings flying across the screen. “What’d it say?”

Billy turns the tv off. “Nothing bad baby, promise.” He holds out his hands and scoots to the edge of his seat, pulling you to stand in between his legs. He closes them against your own, gently trapping you there. “Just that it was gonna be stormy the rest of the night.”

Your brow furrows. “It’s not gonna let up?”

“Doesn’t look like it.” This time you catch the way the corner of his mouth quirks up. Clearly he’s happy with himself and the weather.

Billy’s always loved these kinds of storms, and he hates that you don’t, but if he can get rain and his baby to spend the night all in one go? He’ll be pretty damn content.

You realize that you should’ve watched the weather report this morning, but it seems that when you know you’ll be spending time with Billy, he’s the only thing that occupies your brain.

“Dammit,” you say.

Billy squeezes at your hips, and it makes you look down at him. There’s a pout on his face: the crease between his brows deepening, his bottom lip jutting out just that little bit. He squeezes harder now that he’s got your attention.

“Something wrong with staying here? You really wanna go home that bad?”

Billy’s teasing and you know it. You know that he’d let you go if you actually wanted to, that he’d worry until you got home and called him to say you were okay. You also know that he wants you to stay, and you’ve known that since you got to his place and saw the relief on his face. Hell, he hasn’t stopped touching you since then either. He’s plenty needy today.

You cup his face with your hands, swipe your thumb over the smattering of freckles under his eye. His fingers have made their way under the hem of your (his) shirt and are pressing into your skin.

“I didn’t say that. I just told my parents that I wouldn’t be home too late.”

“So call and say you’re staying the night, that you don’t want to drive home in this weather.”

You decide then that maybe you don’t need to overthink this so much. That maybe you shouldn’t let your brain ruin what could be a nice night.

“Okay.”

Billy blinks up at you.

You move away from him and then you’re picking up the phone from its place on the wall, punching in your home number.

Billy can’t believe that worked. You never listen to him. And clearly you recognize this given that you’re hiding a grin with the back of your hand as you talk. The phone call is over quickly, and when you walk back over to him, Billy pulls you down into his lap. Your fingers find their way into his hair before you can even think about it.

“Have I behaved better than I thought?” Billy asks, tentatively rubbing up and down your thighs.

You grin at him and place a kiss on his cheek. It’s warmer than it should be, because somehow you’ve managed to fluster him.

“You keep giving me your pitiful little looks, Billy.”

He scoffs. “No, I don’t.”

“Don’t lie to me, pretty boy.”

He blushes. Goddamnit, Billy thinks. You can read him much too easily now. He’s really fucked.

Billy exhales. “I’ve wanted you to stay the night for weeks. But you always had to be home or somethin’. And the storm seems to be working in my favor tonight, y’know?” He gives you this look then, his eyes traveling across your face, down your neck and back up. He bats his lashes at you and you slap him on the shoulder.

He acts as though he’s appalled, grabbing you by the waist and maneuvering you off of him and onto the couch. Billy braces himself against the cushions and hovers over top of you. “Now that was just rude.”

“You deserved it,” you bite back, leaning up to swipe the tip of your tongue across the end of his nose. “Hate it when you flirt with me.”

Billy rolls his eyes and lets his weight drop down on top of you, causing you to voice an audible oof.

He props himself up on his elbows, face inches from yours. “Mhm. Hate it when your boyfriend flirts with you. I believe it.”

You start to say something, something he knows will be a smartass remark, so Billy presses his lips to yours, stealing the breath from your lungs. You make a noise of surprise and Billy starts to laugh against your mouth, a low chuckle that makes you want to both keep kissing him and shove him on the floor.

Billy pulls away to press kisses to both of your cheeks and the center of your throat. You’re lost in his affection when it thunders again, making you jolt underneath him. He brings a hand up to cradle your cheek. “Hey. S’okay.”

You start to nod when the lights flicker, and you swear your heart falls out of your ass. Please don’t let the power go out, you think. He can read the panic on your face.

“Okay,” Billy grunts, pushing himself to stand. “New plan.”

You sit up, and Billy quickly hooks one arm around your back, the other under your thighs. He hoists you up and over his shoulder, making you squeal with how swift the action is. But you don’t protest, and only hope that he won’t drop you on the way to his next destination.

Billy sets you down on his bed.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say, running your hands down your face. You realize too quickly the opening you’ve given him.

He leans in to kiss your forehead, though he pulls away and lets his mouth linger over the shell of your ear.

“You can ride anytime you want, baby.”

You fall back onto his mattress. “Billy, please.”

“Don’t gotta beg, honey. Whatever it is, I’ll give it to you.”

You hold back a groan at his antics. “I really should’ve gone home.”

Billy laughs and lands a playful smack to the side of your thigh before moving towards his dresser.

You push up on your elbows to watch him sort through his clothes. He grabs a couple things and brings them to you before pulling his own shirt off over his head.

“Why are you stripping?” You question, looking over the shirt and shorts he’d handed you.

“If you think that’s stripping, clearly I haven’t been good enough to you,” Billy snorts.

You grin up at him. “Are these for me?” you ask, holding onto the bundle of fabric in your hands.

“Mhm. For you to sleep in.”

You nod hesitantly, having just seen a flash outside of Billy’s window. This time the rumble is just that, not a clap, not enough to rattle the windows in their frames.

Billy moves towards his door, with the promise of getting more blankets, allowing you a moment to change. He comes back with water for you, too.

He kicks the door closed behind him, internally melting at the sight of you in his clothes. You’re so pretty, it physically hurts him. He’s never felt that way in his life.

Billy gets you to drink some for him before you’re scooting further into his bed and he’s kicking off his sweats.

You watch him move around the room, the way the muscles of his back move as he’s shutting blinds and pulling makeshift curtains closed. He turns off the overhead light, leaving only that coming from the lamps he has.

You’re in awe of how easy it is for him to take care of you. How he didn’t pester you for being afraid of the storm but instead has comforted you and seems dedicated to keeping you safe.

Billy finally slips into bed beside you. “What are we doing?” you ask, eyeing his torso while he settles in. He pretends not to notice.

“I’m protecting you from the big bad storm, baby.” He kisses your hairline.

You smile at him, one of pure joy that starts slow and grows brilliantly. The both of you are bundled up like it’s some big sleepover, or like you’ve stayed up hiding a book beneath the sheets.

“Well, I’m not sleepy. So what’d you wanna do? Tell secrets?”

Billy props his head up, palm cradling the base of his skull, elbow squishing his pillow. He laughs and squeezes at your hip.

“Trivia? Talk about boys?” you continue.

He shakes his head, his smile matching yours and making his eyes crinkle at the corners. Sometimes he can’t believe he landed you. “You got a boy you wanna talk about?”

You snort. “Mhm. There’s one I like. He’s pretty but super grumpy.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep.”

“I think trivia might be better since you’re just going to bully me.”

Billy flops down on his back. You push up so you can hover over him.

“Whatever you want, baby.”

Billy rolls his eyes but kisses you again, pulling your face down to meet his, mouth warm against yours. The next round of thunder is louder than the last and your heart rate picks up, but with him here it feels okay.

It’s hard not to feel safe when he takes such good care of you, when he’s warm enough that everything feels protected, like you could weather any storm with him and his smart ass mouth.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

tagging: @clovermunson (for being such a gem and helping me)

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove x gn!reader #billy hargrove x gender neutral reader #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove comfort #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove oneshot #savannah’s fics

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intenseperpetualbrainrot · 6 months

Text

The casting of Michael Sheen and David Tennant for good omens was artful, and not just in a "they did a real good job" way.

The thing about queer media is that it's not just the film. When an actor does a queer film, regardless of whether they're queer themselves, they're somehow taken as a Representative Of The Alphabetti Spaghetti. So, to star in queer media you have to be morally rock solid, unable to be found fault with, or it seems to set queer people back? Which is ridiculous.

David Tennant is SUCH a household name, literally has been Doctor Who, and doesn't use the internet enough to care about some transphobes on shitter sorry twit sorry xitter. For him to do gomens is wild but also meant that my father, who wasn't homophobic but apathetic, has now watched queer media and vaguely understood queer issues. (This may in part be because of his queer daughter, but regardless.)

Michael Sheen is an actual angel in real life. "I give all my profit to charity" right Sheen, give the rest of us a bit of generosity- oh, and he's sold his house. For him to do queer media means nobody's finding faults in his character. For him to do queer media means it's not just another excuse for people to discriminate against queer people. Also, for him to do so well at it? Like yes, you stare at David Tennant with lovesick eyes (I mean we're all doing it, but none of us TO HIS FACE ON CAMERA WHEN WE STILL HAVE TO WORK WITH HIM-)

Anyway just a few thoughts. They rattled around my brain for a bit like tumbleweeds and I might not have expressed this well but have them.

#tumbleweed thoughts #good omens #good omens season two #good omens season one #david tennant #michael sheen #michael sheen is an angel irl #its gonna suck if hes a terrible persln #queer #queer media #i heart gomens #gomens #neil Gaiman is so wise #what a dudebro mojodojocasahouse kinda standup fella

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