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gilmore-angel · 1 year

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unexpected pleasures || A.T x fem!reader

summary ♱ reader has just wed the infamous aemond targaryen, and though she's nervous, she will soon discover there are many pleasurable things to come (tldr reader gets finger fucked good)

warnings/contains ♱ arranged marriage, awkwardness at first, smut obvi, sub!reader dom!aemond, fingering, praise kink!! use of good girl, pretty girl, wife. overall very fluffy!! soft!aemond<3. let me know if I should add anything else!!

authors note ♱ okok this is probably trash but I'm literally forcing myself to write rn<3 lol anyways this is also my first time actually writing for aemond which is crazy bc I've been obsessed with him since like early January💀. if you enjoy please reblog! likes are obviously appreciated but reblogs are the thing that actually help the writer<3 oh and lmk if you want a part two!!

navigation 𔓕 follow and turn on notifications for @baysfics to know when I post my writings

married life isn't so bad after all.

of course, you've only been married for about three hours now, but it's going better than expected, which at this point is all you can hope for.

your new husband, prince aemond, has been quite pleasant thus far. you have only had roughly six full conversations since you were betrothed two months ago, but based off of them he was very polite and well educated.

though you had dreaded the wedding day, everything had gone smoothly. the ceremony itself was a big event, full of lords and ladies you didn't even know the house of, all eager to get on the new princesses good side. and of course there was the kiss you shared with aemond, one that sent an unknown feeling through you, settling at your lower belly. and now, the grand feast to celebrate the union.

it had less people there, only family and the very important houses were allowed to attend. you sat at the table in the middle, sitting in the center along with your husband. on your other side sat your father, mother and siblings, the same went for aemond. your husband stayed mostly silent during the feast, only speaking when spoken to.

your belly slightly ached with nerves for what was coming next; the bedding. thankfully, the queen had insisted upon a private bedding, just as she did for her other children when they wed. the action soothed your nerves a bit, but they still clung to you.

you had been warned by your mother that the bedding was an uncomfortable and painful process for the woman. but she also informed you that it is something all woman must do to please their lord husband and produce heirs.

you felt your heart sink when the king stood up weakly to announce it was time for you and aemond to head to your chambers. you both stood up and gave your goodbyes, your mother giving you a reassuring smile before you left.

there was an awkward silence as you walked with your husband to your chambers, escorted by guards. you glanced at him, only to see him looking straight ahead, blank expression on his handsome face.

once you arrived the guards pushed open the heavy wooden doors. you gave them a small smile in thanks before aemond dismissed them. as the doors closed aemond let out a small shaky sigh, you couldn't tell if it was out of nervousness or dread. you both stood awkwardly, unsure of where to begin. he spoke first, breaking the deafening silence.

"would you like help taking down your hair?" he blurted out. you nodded, giving him a awkward small smile.

"please," you moved past him to sit at the vanity. you began taking out the many odd placed pins and braids in your hair. aemond came up from behind you to start assisting in the process. the feeling of his long fingers in your hair made up for the times he would accidentally tugged too hard trying to take down the hairstyle. you both worked in silence, the only word spoken was his occasional 'sorry's when he would notice you wince.

now that your hair was down, the room was once again filled with an thick silence. eventually you stood up, turning to face him. you sucked in a breath, looking up at him nervously.

"should i..... should I remove my clothes, my prince?"

his eyes widened at the question, but he nodded, "yes, my lady... I can help."

he moved behind you, undoing the laces of the dress with shaky fingers. the gorgeous dress fell to the floor, pooling around your feet. you stepped out of the dress, leaving you in a silky shift and small clothes. you felt quite vulnerable as you begun taking your shift off, even more so once it was gone.

aemond let out a shaky breath at the sight of you in nothing but your small clothes. he looks up and down your body, desire filling his eye. he walks closer to you, looking deep into your eyes.

"may I kiss you, my lady?" he asked, his usual cold tone gone, now replaced with a soft, caring one. you nod, eyes wide.

aemond smiled softly before leaning down and kissing your soft lips. this kiss was unlike the other one you both had shared just hours before. this one was out of pure want, not obligation.

you gasp softly against his lips when he deepened the kiss, your hands flying up to his strong shoulders. his hands found home on your hips. he pulled away just enough to whisper against your lips, "is this okay?"

you nod, staring up at him with wide eyes. "yes, my prince, I just... I don't really know how to do this properly."

he smiles at you softly, moving one of his hands to caress your cheek gently.

"that's okay, just copy what I do, okay?"

he leans back in, kissing at a slow pace. his lips are soft and warm against your own. you feel something wet poking at your bottom lip and soon realize it's his tongue. you open your mouth slightly and gasp when he slides his tongue in, exploring where he can reach. the sensation causes a soft whimper to fall from your lips.

he begins pushing you backwards gently until the back of your knees hit the edge of the plush bed behind you, causing you to lay down on it. to your surprise, aemond gets on his knees before you and pulls you down so your legs hang off the bed. leaning up on your elbows you look down at him extremely confused. "my prince... what are you doing?"

he simply smiled and blushed, "let me know if you wish to stop, okay my lady?". his big calloused hands went up and down your thighs, pulling them apart. you laid back, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes. his hands eventually found their way to your small clothes.

"may I remove these, my lady?" one hand continued rubbing you thigh gently. you hum and nod. that wasn't good enough apparently and aemond lightly pinched your thigh. "words, wife. I need to hear some words out of those pretty lips."

you blushed deeply, taking a deep breath, "yes, please take them off."

he smiles, murmuring under his breath "good girl". you felt a tingle in your lower belly, growing each time he touched or talked to you.

he carefully slid your small clothes off, throwing them somewhere in the room. he sucked in a big breath at the sight of your bare cunt. you squirmed slightly, his gaze lighting you on fire almost.

"may I touch you, wife?" he spoke softly, a poorly hidden desire behind the words.

you nod but quickly remember what he told you. "yes, you may."

with one hand he softly rubbed your thigh, with the other he rubbed one finger up and down your lips, pushing past them and exploring the wet outside. your back slightly arched at the unknown but not unwelcomed feeling. he moved his finger higher until he found your clit. a high pitched whimper escaped your lips at his soft but achingly good touch.

he looked up at you with a sweet smile. "does that feel nice, wife?". his finger moved in gentle circles, pressing ever so slightly.

a few breathy whimpers and moans slipped out of your mouth. "yes," you breathed, "so so nice..."

he let out a hmm, continuing his movements. he moved his finger up and down, gathering your wetness and then spreading it around your sensitive clit. as he rubbed on your bundle of nerves, his other hand came up, softly pressing against your slit.

"this may feel strange, my lady, but I promise it'll feel so good soon, okay?" he pushed a long thick finger into your previously untouched hole, groaning at how tight you were. your back arched off the bed as a loud moan rang around the room. he slowly started moving it in and out, sending waves of pleasure through your body when he curled his finger upwards. your gummy walls tightened around him, almost as tight as he cock felt in his trousers.

he looked up to see your reaction, smiling when he saw your head thrown back in pleasure. soft whimpers left your mouth as his movements quickened.

"may I add a second finger, sweet girl?" something about the way he said the affectionate name sent chills down your spine as you slightly bucked against his hand.

"hmmph, yes, yes please husband." he smirked as he added a second finger. he pumped them in and out fast, his other hand still focused on your puffy clit.

suddenly a new feeling hit you. like some sort of knot in your belly, ready to explode any second. a panicked expression washed over you at the strange sensation.

"aemond, aemond! something is, fuck, happening!" you cried desperately, clenching the sheets beneath you hard.

"shh, it's okay, it'll feel so good. just let it happen sweet girl." it was too much and too little, it was overwhelming yet you needed more. it hurt but felt so so right.

before you could reply waves and waves of pleasure washed over you, drowning you in the feeling of him. your whole body shook, hips bucking wildly into his hand. creamy white cum drooled onto his fingers and hand. he groaned at the sight and fucked you through your peak.

he eventually slid his hand out and climbed up the bed, hovering over you. he brought his cum covered fingers to you mouth, "open," he commanded softly, sucking in a shaky breath when you wrapped you lips around them. he pulled them out, moving to caress your cheek, "such a good girl."

he began kissing your neck, trailing his hand back down to your thighs. you whimpered sweetly causing him to chuckle.

"oh, sweet wife, we are just getting started."

#aemond Targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x you #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #hotd #house of the dragon x reader #bay writes🌻

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lovingseventeen · 1 year

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How would svt react to you skipping your meals because you're too engrossed in the thing you're doing? 🤔

svt reacts to you accidentally skipping meals

a/n: thank you thank you all for 900! so glad our community on this blog is gradually getting larger! paragraph format for this post bc some of these scenarios got a bit longer than i anticipated.

seungcheol:

oh he is not happy, but he’s far more concerned than he is mad. he sent you a text around noon asking what you were up to and you told him: just a paper. when he comes over you greet him quickly at your door, but your hug is far too short when you’re already hurrying back to your seat.

“i’ll make food or something after, let me just finish this one paragraph!” you tell him, voice already getting father and farther away from him. he follows you back to your room, plopping onto your bed as you type away at your laptop. he’s scrolling on his phone in the quiet room when your stomach grumbles loudly.

he looks over the first time, easing his head to see that you were still working. then, not even five minutes later it happens again.

“hey, when was the last time you ate today?”

you pause, “i don’t know? i had a bagel from breakfast?” then you return back to your paragraph

he’s focused on you now, propping himself up on his elbows. “wait, so you didn’t eat lunch?”

“i guess not…” you reply, half paying attention to him as you reread your words

he’s shifting from your bed and you see him leave your room from your peripheral. maybe thirty minutes later he’s coming back into your room to gently grab a hold of your wrist.

“cmon, you need to eat, i just ordered food so you don’t have to do anything.”

“wait but this part needs-”

“baby,” he says gently, his other hand turning your chin to look at him, “is this due tonight?”

“no?”

“then can you please take a break? it’s not good for you to skip meals you know.”

he looks so concerned and he has brought to your attention that you actually are hungry. your stomach feels like it's shrinking into itself, making you feel quite empty.

“okay cheol, you’re hungry too, aren’t you?” you say, getting up to walk to your kitchen with him.

“i am, but you’re the priority right now, y/n.”

jeonghan:

you can't escape his light scolding whines.

“ayy,” he says, eyebrows furrowed when he sees the remnants of your iced coffee, your supposed “breakfast”, which only consists of melted iced now, “this is all you’ve had today?”

“you know this isn’t good for you…” he trails on.

before you know it, he’s tapping away on his phone and browsing for where to order from immediately. he doesn’t need to ask you because he knows you so well already.

when the food comes in, he’s opening the containers and setting them in the table near you, allowing the smell of the hot food to finally make you notice the growl in your belly

to speed up the process he’ll literally grab the takeout menu that comes with the food and fan the smell towards you. or better yet, he’ll set up an actual fan to waft the smell of food at you at a higher velocity. “jeonghan turn that off! the food is gonna get cold!”

“so you’ll eat,” he determines proudly.

joshua:

eyes got so wide at the realization that you haven’t eaten all day. he immediately tries to find the quickest snack to get something into your stomach.

i’m a believer in him cutting up fruits for you. then when he notices that you haven’t touched the fruits next to you, he’ll go so far as to feed you.

“c’mon, eat this, babe” he coaxes, gently prodding at your lips with the cubed melon on the fork. will tap your cheek with a finger to signal you to open your mouth if his voice isn’t enough to grab your attention

he’s still cheeky though so at some point he’ll give you your little tap only for you to open your mouth to nothing.

“hey! i thought you were feeding me” you pouted.

he rubs the top of your head, giving in immediately.

“looks like i’m spoiling someone here a little too much” (he can’t help it anyway).

jun:

it’s already 7pm and he returns to your apartment to see you in the same position he left you in. you were hunched over on your desk, still hyper focused on this little lego set you were building.

“junnie! look i’m almost done!” you exclaim, beckoning him to walk over to see your work.

“hey,” he says in his deep “extra manly voice”, “have you not eaten yet.” his arms are crossed but he softens when you proudly show him your bouquet of lego flowers.

“i only have one more flower left, but isn’t this so cute?” you gush, holding the vase up to him.

“they’re pretty,” he agrees, tucking your hair behind your ear, “i’ll be right back as you finish up.”

“okay” you hum, gathering the pieces for the last flower

he walks away and within 15 minutes, you can smell something cooking in the kitchen. he comes back to set a bowl of (quick but delicious) fried rice next to you.

“here, c’mon, eat up babe”

“there’s still some more..” you begin, but he pushes a spoonful of rice into your mouth (he blew on it first, don't worry).

“you can finish it after you eat though, right? you haven’t eaten all day.. you should eat while it’s warm” he encourages.

“true, you did make it really good today,”you decide. “i’m very lucky to have you.”

he smiles at your words but returns to his “ver stern man voice”, “you are. so to keep me you better make sure you don’t skip your meals again.” 😤

hoshi:

he pulls a very dramatic romeo and juliet move.

he facetimed you while he was getting driven home since he wouldn’t be able to see you in person that week.

“did you see the food we ordered for the staff today! we should go there when i’m finally free, i want you to try their noodles” he rambled.

“sure let’s do that,” you smiled, happy to see his excitement.

“did you eat dinner yet, baby?” he asked.

“dinner? oh wait, i didn’t have lunch” you thought out loud.

“you didn’t!” he exclaimed, head dropping back in his seat dramatically, “baby you shouldn’t do that!”

“i didn’t realize!” you laughed, rolling your eyes as his head was still tilted back, hand covering his face.

“how could my love forget to feed themselves?” he whined.

“soonyoung, i just got so invested in my paper!” you explained, “i wasn’t even hungry!”

“baby,” he says, now holding his phone very close to his face, “if you don’t eat i won’t eat.”

“what are you talking about!” you chuckled.

“it’s not fair to eat if you’re starving.”

“soonyoung, light of my life, my love, i didn’t purposefully skip lunch. please, you need to eat too, with all your dancing and horanghae-ing.” at the end of your sentence he can't help but give you his signature tiger paw hand gesture.

“promise you won’t forget again?”

“i will do my best,” you agree, lifting your own hand to horanghae back at him and he takes this promise very seriously.

wonwoo:

let out a soft, but audible gasp when he texted you at 4pm asking what you ate only to find out that it was nothing.

:0 that's not good he sent

i didn't even realize that lunch passed wonu

he left you on read, and you wondered if this was actually going to be an argument between the two of you even if it wasn't that big of a deal. at least, not that big of a deal to you.

you wait to see if he's just taking a moment to text you back. then thirty minutes later, two of your co-workers are bringing in cups of coffee and a bag full of sandwiches.

your phone buzzes in your back pocket soon after. your heart warms when you see that it's a message from wonwoo.

they told me it arrived, did you get it yet?

you're about to type your reply when he continues.

i know your team is probably busy so you can't fully sit and eat a bento lunch box, right? so i ordered sandwiches so you guys could eat and work if you had to

your co-workers are setting the food on your shared table and you can see the slight confusion on everyone's faces. "oh it's from wonwoo," you explain, "he sent food because i told him we skipped lunch today." you get a chorus of excitement from everyone and various responses of "tell him we said thanks!"

this is very sweet of you wonwoo, thank you <3 you made me (and my team) very happy :) you sent

i'm just glad you get to eat :) but try not to skip meals from now on please

i will try, love u (i'm going to devour a sandwich now)

woozi:

jihoon himself skips meals a little too regularly. he gets caught up in his studio and before he knows it, the sun has set and he hasn't eaten all day.

ohoho, but when he finds out that you haven't eaten all day he finds himself in a bit more of a panic than he ever would for himself. you called him after work, "do you want to get food when you get out? it was so busy at my job that i didn't even realize that i missed lunch."

"what? you didn't eat?" he asked, suddenly alert even though he was just starting to feel tired.

"yeah, i didn't even realize what time it was until all of our customers cleared out," you replied, "so do you wanna go out? i feel like i could eat a horse."

"yeah, let's go eat, you need to eat," he agreed, immediately getting ready to pick you up.

at the restaurant he encourages you to get whatever you want. even when you're just skimming the menu and you mutter, "huh, this looks interesting," he's telling you, "you want to get that? order it."

"i was just looking at it babe," you chuckle.

"you can get it if you want, you can get all of it if you want, i just want you to get full."

he's very attentive, further asking you what drink you want and if you want to get dessert after too.

dokyeom:

you're in the kitchen reading a book one day and he asks you, "do you want some ramen too? i'm hungry and i think this is all we have."

"i think i'll eat a little later, my book is starting to get interesting so i might read a couple more chapters," you reply.

"you sure?" he checks, walking over to you, "because it'd be bad if i took care of myself and let you starve, i'd be a bad boyfriend then."

he ran a hand through your hair as you chuckled, "you could never be a bad boyfriend, not when you're so sweet." he hums in response before walking back to the stove to check his boiling water.

eventually he finishes making his ramen and he goes into the living room to watch something while he eats. (he'd eat in the kitchen but he doesn't want to be loud when you're reading). the warm soup makes him feel so cozy after and he really just passes out on the couch while his show keeps playing.

dokyeom wakes up about two hours later, much past lunch time. he wanders back into the kitchen a little groggy to see if you're still there. he notices that not much has changed since he fell asleep other than that fact that you're sitting cross-legged on the chair.

"did you eat yet, baby?" he asks.

you momentarily pause your reading, "hm? oh, i guess not."

"huh?" he gasps, glancing at the clock. "baby.."

"i'm in the middle of a really good chapter!" you explain.

"but baby you gotta eat," he pouts. "how 'bout this, if i run out to buy a couple things and i cook it, will you put your book down?"

"you don't have to go through all that," you tell him, "i could just have ramen-"

"no, no, you can't eat that when you're been starving all day," he disagrees, "i'm going to give you some nutrition." he's already walking out of the kitchen to get dressed to go out.

you fully put your book down by now, "i'll come with you to the store. i feel bad if i make you do that all by yourself."

"you can keep reading if you want," he tells you genuinely, "i don't mind, i just want you to eat something good." this is one of those moments where you realize how sweet your boyfriend really is.

"i'll come with you," you confirm, "and let's cook together too, hm?"

he can never say no to you. plus, he loves your company. "i guess we do make a good team, yeah," he smiles.

mingyu:

immediately gets to cooking in the kitchen. he isn’t preparing just one dish either but a spread of food, from various side dishes of veggies to braised meat that goes so well with rice.

“you better eat all of this to make up for your lack of nutrients today” he huffed, sitting across from you after setting everything around you. he stands up again and he'll take the bookmark in your hand and put it into your book for you too.

“gyu you know i can’t eat all of this by myself,” you laughed, “but thank you for cooking, you know.”

"i know, just eat as much as you can, you shouldn't be on an empty stomach," he tells you, further pushing the dishes for you. when you try to offer him a bite, he won't open his mouth, pushing you spoon back towards you.

minghao:

so you were painting and you got so deep into groove that you didn't realize that three hours have passed and that your stomach is currently running on a cup of coffee.

"hi baby, i'm home," he announced as he entered your door.

he finds his way to you first to place a kiss on top of your head. "hi, hao," you hummed back, careful to keep your hand steady as you dragged your brush across your canvas. for a moment, the two of you stayed in silence to avoid disrupting your movement.

though what actually ended up interrupting the quiet was your stomach letting out a very loud growl.

"are you hungry?" he asked.

"i guess i am," you murmured, rinsing your paintbrush in water. "wait, now that i think about it, i don't think i ate lunch?"

"you didn't?" immediately his eyebrows are furrowed and you realize he probably has an incoming lecture already forming in his head. "you know you shouldn't skip your meals..."

"i know!" you explained, "but i just got so into this, i mean, i think this is in the running to become my favorite painting yet." when you wiped your cheek, you accidentally left a stroke of blue paint.

minghao, as caring as he is, crouches down and wipes off that paint with one of hi thumbs. "you know i love your creativity, and this painting looks great so far, it really does, but we can't have you passing out before you finish it, right?"

you smile at his comments as he continues, "can you take a break? eat something? it doesn't even have to be big meal but you should have something."

seungkwan:

he was appalled when he saw the breakfast he bought you still on the counter, untouched.

he walks into your room where you're working on a project for the nth hour. "what's this?" he asks, holding up the plastic bag of food.

"it's what you brought home this morning?" you replied, before immediately going back to you little diorama.

"and why is it not in your stomach?" he huffs, arms now crossed.

"uhh, i lost track of time?"

"unacceptable," is decides, but he walks over to you and breaks off bite-sized pieces of bread the bread he bought to personally feed you anyway.

"thankf-you" you mumbled back as he fed you.

"tsk, what you you do without me? starve?" he tutted (but the way he feeds you is still so gentle). he wipes off the crumbs from the corners of your mouth and asks you if you want anything else when you do finish the bread <3

vernon:

vernon drops his jaw in the most cartoonish way when he finds out.

"you haven't eaten yet?"

his (perfect) eyebrows knit together as he contemplates what to do, as you don't usually skip your meals. this wasn't exactly on his boyfriend-responsibilities bingo card.

"this isn't something you do regularly, right? or have i been missing this for a long time because that would be bad," he thinks out loud.

"vern, it's just today. i didn't even realize how much time passed," you explain.

"mm good to know it wasn't on purpose but i'll order something for you now," he decides, head quirking to the side as he scans his phone for nearby restaurants.

precious boy ends up ordering from two very different restaurants because he doesn't know which you'd prefer but he was a little panicked and figured: better safe than sorry. it's very weird when one bag of food comes to your house with burgers and fries and the other arrives with noodles and soup.

dino:

dino jokingly picks a fight with you when he finds out. you both wind up being a little loud, but not actually fully yelling.

you're surprised by him sitting a little ominously on your kitchen table despite the bags of freshly delivered food on it.

"is everything alright?" you ask.

"you!" he points, "you always take a cute picture of your lunch, so why didn't you have lunch today!"

"wow someone here is a detective, huh?" you chuckle, "you figured out i missed lunch from that?"

"this is serious y/n," he says, tone proving otherwise and fist coming down on the table with no actual force. "it's bad for you to miss lunch."

"okay, okay, yessir i understand i won't do it again," you joked, even putting your hand over your heart as a promise.

"you're not taking this seriously!" he whined.

"i am," you assured.

"no you're not!"

"chan! i thought you knew i missed lunch! i'm hungry and this food is getting cold!" it was your turn to whine now. immediately, he gave in, getting up to open the bags of food. he got a little too invested in his "scolding" and momentarily forgot that you actually had to eat.

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n--n · 21 days

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So can you elaborate on the lyrics of Poison being uninspired? I think a big problem with them is that there’s supposed to be a dramatic switch up in tone at the end, but it’s not actually big because the song has no dark subtext, the darkness is pure text. You can’t have a character say “My stories gonna end with me dead from your poison” then expect us to be shocked when the song gets sad in the end.

Addict was something people could have actually comfortably danced to in the club, which makes it hit when the concept is flipped to the dark side of itself, and it fits thematically, because it’s him coming down from his high, and he’s taking in what’s become of his life. Angel wasn’t happy before the ending of Poison so why is the song suddenly sad now like anything has changed?

But to me the lyrics seem unique enough. Like I can’t say any of them are cliches or platitudes. Though it kind of annoys me that the second verse like a regular pop song, but a real pop song has eight lines in verse one, this one has six and the Yeah yeah yeahs don’t count, so the second verse has an odd number of lines and just feels incomplete. That could be an example of it being uninspired.

Thank you for this ask it gives me an excuse to surgically open this song and really understand why it bothers me so much. Also it's 12 and I haven't rewatched it in a while so I might come back tomorrow and rewrite this so take it w a grain of salt sorry abt that.

In a nutshell- it's uninspired to me bc its such a nothingburger of a song. Like what do we get from it that we don't already know about Angel- either from the show itself, side content like the Addict video, or even from posts about him? Nothing. And lyrics aside, although the beat is good it's just a generic pop tune like Addict was a generic Kesha tune ya'know? Nothing about the melody particularly stood out to me as unique on its own or helping the storytelling. Even the fact that it's so upbeat in spite of the lyrics and visuals works against it when it gets towards the end and fails at trying to surprise you that it's sad.

"...so the second verse has an odd number of lines and just feels incomplete"

^^See thank you for articulating this bc I don't actually know much about how to articulate my thoughts on music, but this does help me make sense of why the actual tune just didn't grab me/felt off.

Also, going w/ the comparison to All You Wanna Do again- it's uninspired in that it also tries to do the thing where it makes a character use sexual innuendo to cope/describe the sa but falls so flat. Like,

"So far beyond difficult to resist another gulp

Yeah, I know it's poison You're feedin' me poison I'm chokin' from the taste and I can't help but swallow Up your poison I made my choice and Every night I'm wasted like there's no tomorrow"

Angel Dust does his dance as he sings this-and the images of him in his fetish gear/parts of the assault appear on screen, and he even poses in the positions it's implied he's being assaulted in. Like, was ALL of that necessary when the lyrics are already telling us directly what's happening to him??? Katherine made sex jokes abt her sa too, but we get to see her as her own character outside of the assaults and we learn so much about her pov, how it affected her entire life, etc. I feel like I wouldn't find it even that egregious if we had gotten to have scenes where the audience gets to see Angel be himself outside of the performative mask he wears+his suffering, but he was only used for cheap sex jokes when interacting w the others at the hotel. And now in his song, he redundantly sings abt his situation which we have already been shown:

"I got so good at bein' untrue I got so good at tellin' you what you wanna hear I disassociate, disappear Yeah, yeah, yeah"

We saw his conflict w Husk over how fake he is, saw him placate Val over the phone, and I can't recall if we saw him disassociate but regardless. The point is we know all this, it didn't need to be a song let alone a whole music video. If we left the scene after Val abused Angel in the backroom and made Charlie leave it would have been waaayyyyy more weighty and foreboding than this song/MV.

ALSO:

"You can’t have a character say “My stories gonna end with me dead from your poison” then expect us to be shocked when the song gets sad in the end." + "...and it fits thematically, because it’s him coming down from his high, and he’s taking in what’s become of his life."

^^^^THIS!! They really tried leaning into the tragedy of his situation but really just ended up making him a tool for whump instead. Addict was put together wayyy better musically, thematically and visually- it actually felt impactful when we're left with Angel Dust crying on the bed w his pet comforting him, whereas Poison leaving him on the ground left me feeling nothing but annoyance.

#Sorry if this is incoherent I'm tired but I love analyzing things asjdhfgasdkjh #While I'm at it I miss pilot Angel he was meaner and it would have made his arc more solid if they let his character breathe a bit #I love messy characters Angel has potential but it's constantly knee capped by HH being 8 eps + Angel being woobified and whump'd into bein #sympathetic instead of letting him be messy #HH critical #almost forgot to tag i don't need anyone coming for me for having Cartoon Opinions #hazbin hotel criticism

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aesteraceae · 7 months

Text

Boiling Over

Pairing: Minho/Chan, Minho & Chan

Rating: Gen

Summary: Chan has a nasty habit of throwing his health to the wind, and when his mind finally cracks under the pressure, Minho is there to help him through it.

Word count: 4.1k

Tags under the cut!

Tags: SFW, Age regression, hurt/comfort, stress relief, Chan is overworking himself as usual, Minho has Things To Say about that, angst, little Bang Chan, Caregiver Lee Minho, stim toys, panic attacks, crying, autistic Bang Chan

Also posted on ao3 here.

Notes: This will be part of a series of Chan age regressing because I am contractually obligated to project on Chan whenever I can. This is also for his birthday. No I'm not 2 weeks late shut UP.

Also, this fic isn't explicitly romantic in any sense beyond Chan calling Minho pretty like once, I wrote it with the implication that they like eachother (bc I'm a minchan truther at heart) but you can 1000% read this fic as platonic with no trouble at all.

Tags: @simpracha @sunnyville36 @toastyseungmo @sstarryyoong @decaffedthoughts @bunnypig18 @xcookiemonsteer

This is not going well.

Chan forces himself not to slam the studio door behind him, slumping down into his desk chair and shoving his hands into his hair.

His entire morning was spent talking with department executives and marketing managers and other producers, all asking him the same question; when will the next title track be ready.

And Chan has had to tell every single one of them, multiple times, that no it isn't finished and yes he's working on it and no he doesn't need any help.

It's almost finished, is the thing. He has the guide, tentative lyrics, he's even shown it to the other members, but he doesn't like it.

He's been doing this a very long time, he knows what a good song sounds like, knows what he's capable of making, and this is so far from his best he's terrified to show it to anyone.

The other members said they liked it, of course, but Chan knows better than to take their words at face value. He doesn't think they'd lie out of malice, of course, but they can all see the way Chan has been... Strung a little tighter than usual, lately.

He wouldn't put it past them to just say the song is good to not anger him or stress him out further. And he can't even blame them, really— if anyone said anything about the song to him right now, positive or otherwise, he doesn't know what he'll do.

Break something, probably. Or cry.

He wants to do both right now, but he shoves the urges away and opens up the editing software. He grabs his headphones a bit too hard and knocks over their stand, and he just watches it clatter to the floor, loudly.

He leaves it there.

Maybe kicks it a little, just for good measure.

It's probably not good to let this anger simmer underneath the surface like this, especially if one of the others comes to check on him, but he doesn't have time to go blow off steam in the gym.

Instead, he puts his headphones on and opens the file, shoving his anger into a box to be dealt with later.

· · ────────── ·𖥸· ────────── · ·

Chan's anger never lingers, at least not when it's because of stress.

By that night, nearing 2 in the morning, all of his anger has fizzled out into bone-deep exhaustion.

His ears ache under the headphones, but he left his earbuds in the dorms so he ignores the pain. Similarly, something in his back keeps sending sharp pains throughout his body every time he shifts wrong, and it's unpleasant, but it fades after a moment so he doesn't bother worrying about it.

He's listening to a new version of the track when he feels the anger starting to bubble up again, except it's decided to show itself in tears this time rather than violence.

He will not cry over a song, he won't.

But it's horrible. It feels like every change he makes somehow makes the song worse, even the tricks he's relied on in the past. He's searched for inspiration, looked at old songs, even rewritten entire sections but it's still wrong.

He claws the headphones off and presses his hands into his eyes until bright colors flash behind them, forcing the tears back. The burn of it forces his brain to reconnect with his body, and he realizes that he hurts all over.

How long has he been sitting here?

Shakily, he reaches for his phone.

There's a few messages in the group chat, an email from the project designer that he swiftly ignores, and 3 missed calls from Minho.

Fuck.

He's trying to calculate the math of how long he's been in here and how he missed his ringtone 3 times in a row when someone knocks on the door.

Chan considers not answering, pretending the room is empty. He can't let anyone else see him in this state, he cant. tears are clinging to his lashes, he's in pain, and he doesn't even remember the last time he slept.

There's a moment when he thinks it will work, if he stays very still, but then the door clicks open.

Minho pushes into the room, placing his key card neatly back into his bag.

He looks like he just got out of the shower, hair still damp and fluffy, cheeks still a bit flushed from the heat. He's pretty, because Minho always is, and Chan almost says so before he gets a hold of himself.

"Minho!" He says, instead, running hands through his hair both to tame the rat's nest it must be and to hide how wet his eyes are.

Fuck, his back hurts. When did just moving his arms over his head start to hurt this badly?

"Chan. It's like 2 in the morning, why are you still working?"

Minho has that disapproving look in his eyes, dark and unquestionable. He must be here to drag Chan back to the dorms, but he can't go back yet, not with the song like this.

"Oh, you know how it is. I, uh, got in the zone, I guess."

Minho shoots him an unimpressed look and reaches into his bag, pulling out a bottle of water.

He must have grabbed it from the breakroom downstairs, and the tiniest sliver of affection breaks through the panic buzzing through his veins.

He doesn't wait for Chan to take the bottle, just uncaps it and forces it into his hand. Chan knows better than to fight when Minho gets like this, so he drinks.

And... Fuck.

The water feels like heaven in his mouth, cool and refreshing and perfect. His head relents in its pounding, and he slumps down into the chair.

Minho passes him another bottle and takes the empty one, and Chan doesn't have to look at him to see his disapproving look.

"How long have you been working in here?" Minho asks, picking up his headphone stand from across the room. Huh, he'd almost forgotten about that.

"Couple hours," He lies, trying and failing to figure out the real answer. For some reason he can't wrap his brain around the numbers, the passage of time — he isn't sure when he even got here, just that it was daytime... Maybe morning? Noon?

"Bullshit. None of us have even seen you today, and you missed dinner. What's going on?"

Chan ducks under the anger in Minho's voice, trying to hide the tremor in his hands.

"Nothing's going on," He tries, "I promise I'm fine. I grabbed something from downstairs a little while ago." It's a flimsy lie, and he knows it doesn't land the moment he finishes speaking.

Minho just clicks his tongue and walks over to the trashcan in the corner, perfectly empty. The studio is immaculate, no trace of a wrapper or package.

Minho is silent for a long moment, only speaking when Chan starts to squirm, practically burning alive with the awkwardness and disapproval. He doesn't know why it's bothering him so much, but Minho looks upset, upset with Chan, and it almost hurts worse than his back.

"I thought we agreed not to lie to eachother, Chan." Minho finally says, and there's a hint of pain, there, under the anger.

Chan honest to God whines, trying to curl in on himself and stopping with a wince. He doesn't want to lie, especially not to Minho. He doesn't want to be a disappointment, doesn't want to be bad.

Minho doesn't like being lied to, he hates it, they've had so many arguments over little white lies that Chan or the others didn't think we're important but hurt Minho deeply. Chan knows Minho hates being lied to, but here he is doing it, without a second thought.

He's horrible.

"M' sorry," He mumbles, twisting his fingers into his jeans. He's being bad, and Minho is disappointed in him, and he has every right to be.

Part of Chan is screaming to correct the issue, but a far stronger part wants to sit in this discomfort, squirm under Minho's pained and angry gaze. He deserves it, Chan thinks. It's a fitting enough punishment, this gnawing ache in his chest that begs for praise forced to receive the opposite.

It hurts, but Chan deserves it for being bad, for hurting Minho.

... Wait.

Chan blinks, vision refocusing on a spot on the wall. Being bad?

No. No no no no no-

"I'm really okay," He says, a little bit frantic, heart rate picking up, because this cannot be happening.

The only reason he'd be thinking like that, thinking he deserves punishment or that he was being bad is if he was slipping, and that cannot happen with Minho in here.

"I'll be back home in an hour, okay?" He says, spinning in the chair so he doesn't have to look at Minho. Something about him being here is making Chan slip, hard, And maybe looking away would solve the issue. He just has to get Minho to leave, then he can handle this on his own and everything will be fine.

"No, you've been here long enough. I'm taking you home."

No.

"Min, I'm not-"

Minho just holds up a hand, pulling Chan's chair away from the desk and back to face him.

"This isn't a discussion. I won't let you weasel your way out of it, either— you've been in here for at least nine hours, that's enough. You need food and sleep."

"I'm fine. I'll grab something from downstairs, alright? But I really need to get this finished."

Minho doesn't answer— he just reaches over the desk to save the file. Chan doesn't realize what he's doing until his hand shifts to the power button, clicking off his laptop.

"Minho!" Chan snaps, trying to swat his hands away, but Minho just closes the laptop and shoves it into his bag, zipping it up tight.

"Are you seriously— Minho, give that back!"

Minho ignores him, grasping his arm and pulling. Chan stumbles out of the chair, and any other day it would be perfectly fine, but his back immediately protests at the movement.

He collapses down to his knees, trying to breathe through the pain and keep himself from crying. He will not cry in front of Minho, he won't.

"Chan? Hey, what's wrong?" Minho is crouched in front of him, anger entirely forgotten in favor of worry.

And Chan tries, he really does, but his back hurts and he knows he's already crying, and he can feel his grip on everything sensible slipping away.

"Leave," He begs, even though he knows it's futile. Minho won't leave him like this because he's a good friend, and he cares, and right now that care is going to burn Chan alive.

"I'm not going anywhere, Chan. I'm right here. You're safe, I've got you."

Chan whines against his will, listing forward, further into Minho's arms. He takes him easily, sitting completely on the floor to pull Chan into his lap. And Chan goes, because Minho feels so much bigger than him right now. He doesn't stand a chance at resisting, and he wants to sit in Minho's lap, wants to cry into his shoulder and know that the world won't end once he's done.

"Min..." He mumbles, wet and pathetic and sad, and Minho makes a noise like a wounded animal.

"Come here, Chan." He urges, even as Chan tucks his head into Minho's neck.

He puts a hand on Chan's neck, gently playing with the hair curling there, and the other slips underneath his shirt to rub massaging circles into the small of his back.

Chan doesn't even stand a chance— he drops so hard and so fast that he has to blink his vision back into focus.

His eyes slip right back closed, though, because Minho is still massaging him, both his neck and back, steadily loosening the knots and aches there.

It's good, it's blissful, and Chan lets his mind go entirely blank.

· · ────────── ·𖥸· ────────── · ·

The thing with Chan is that he never knows when to quit.

Well, that's not quite true. Most of the time, he's perfectly happy to quit, when necessary; scrapping a song or going back to the foundations of a dance, but sometimes, like now, he gets so caught up in finishing something that he can't even fathom the idea of stopping.

Minho knew Chan was spiraling, he’s known since this morning when Chan refused breakfast and left the dorms in a hurry for a meeting. He knew when he didn’t respond in the group chat, he knew when Chan missed three of his calls in a row.

Guilt settles deep in Minho's stomach as he holds Chan, shuddering and shaking and hurting. He talked himself out of dragging Chan back for dinner because he thought he was worrying too much, but now he cant help but think that he didn’t worry enough. There are headphone marks around his ears, for god's sake.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you. Just relax, Chan, I’ve got you.” And god, Minho didn’t think it was possible to feel fondness and fear at the same time, but here he is. Chan nuzzles further into his neck, trembling all over, and Minho has absolutely no idea what to do. Chan rarely cries in front of them, and even if he does the very last thing he wants is to be comforted.

It makes Minho’s chest hurt, sometimes, how insanely solitary Chan gets when he’s upset, but this is almost worse. He’s so far gone that Chan cant help but cling to him. Minho blinks tears back.

“Let’s get you to the couch, yeah? Come on, Channie, it’ll be more comfy there.” Chan whines, unwilling to move, so Minho does something a bit stupid.

He shifts Chan just enough that he can loop his arm underneath his legs, settling the other around his back.

Chan is heavy, but not too heavy for Minho to carry a few feet. He settles them back onto the couch, lying down so Chan can stretch his back a bit. The new position seems to switch something in Chan, and his sobs quiet, somewhat. He slips one of his arms up to cup Minho’s neck, like he’s… Oh. Like he’s feeling his heartbeat. His ear is pressed right over his heart, as well.

God, Minho is going to explode from all of this sympathy one day.

“That’s it,” He soothes, “I'm here. Feel my heartbeat? Try and breathe with me, okay? Can you do that for me?” The words come easy — Years of helping the other members through panic and anxiety attacks make things like this nearly second nature. In any other scenario Minho might feel awkward about speaking to Chan like this — not condescending, exactly, but something akin to it — but right now, anything else feels like a cardinal sin. Chan needs softness, right now; he needs a gentle voice to guide him, to remind him that its okay for him to relax.

It takes him a while, maybe 10 minutes, to completely match Minho’s breathing, but he’s so determined that it's almost cute. His voice hiccups every now and then and Minho can see the frustration on his face, but he just tries again with the same determination.

Minho is besotted. He knows it, and he doesn't really try to hide the love in his eyes as he looks down at Chan, whispering sweet encouragements into his ear as his breathing steadily evens out.

“Good job, Chan,” he whispers, when the last of the tension drains out of his shoulders. Chan hums and shifts to look up at him, eyes wide and glossy and vulnerable, and Minho forgets how to breathe.

“I was good?” He whispers, voice rough from crying but still somehow higher than normal, so sweet that Minho has to take a long, deep breath before he can respond. “So good. Look, you’re breathing smooth again, right?”

Chan nods, settling his head back against Minho’s chest, and Minho almost feels bad for being relieved, but Christ. That look, his eyes, so trusting and soft and loving, its—

It’s a lot.

It’s good.

“Breathing with Hyung,” Chan says, sweet, almost sing-song, and Minho…

Hm.

Minho starts to pet Chan's hair again, smiling when he melts against his chest, and takes advantage of it to think.

Minho knows a lot of things. He’s researched a lot of things, either for Jisung or Felix or Jeongin, ways to deal with stress or handle panic attacks or sensory overloads, anything he might need to make sure he knew what to do if one of the members needed him.

This… Minho thinks he knows what this is.

It would make sense, really. Chan joined the company at 13, barely a teenager and still very much a child, put into a stress-filled environment in a new country alone. It would make perfect sense for Chan to cope with that stress by regressing into a younger age, where he wouldn't have to think about training or producing.

That guilt pokes at him again — Chan has been stressing over this song for ages, and Minho knew, but he thought Chan could handle it, or at least that Chan would ask Jisung or Changbin for help.

None of that mattered now, though. Now Chan needs him, and they can talk about asking for help later.

“Hyung?”

Minho has to bite his lip to keep from cooing at how cute Chan sounds, schooling his expression into something calm and attentive.

"Yeah, baby?"

Chan takes a moment to preen at the nickname, but takes a deep breath and sobers. Minho can't help but frown— the serious expression, while familiar, doesn't seem to suit Chan, right now.

"I'm sorry for lying. 'was mean. I know you don' like it, but I was scared. Sorry."

Minho's heart breaks.

A million microscopic pieces, each and every one sucked into Chan's eyes, big and just the slightest bit teary.

"Oh, Darling. It's okay, I understand. It's okay to be scared." He bites his lip before continuing, but... well. It did hurt, and Minho would only feel worse about it if he didn't even express it.

"But, baby, in the future, you can just tell me what's wrong. I promise, I won't judge or be angry with you for telling the truth, okay?"

Chan nods, crawling up slightly to tuck his head underneath Minho's chin.

"I will, promise."

Minho can't help himself, he presses a soft kiss against Chan's hair. "Thank you for apologizing, baby. You're very sweet."

Chan is silent for a moment, and then—

"Chan?" Minho yelps, gasping a little, because Chan is... sucking on his collarbone?

He jerks back, already babbling out apologies, but Minho pets his cheek to soothe him. "It's okay, it's okay, I was just startled, baby, that's all."

Chan quiets, staring down at his hands in his lap, and there's something in his eyes, a hint of awareness, and... well. Maybe it's a bit selfish, but Minho doesn't want Chan to come out of this headspace just yet. He seems relaxed, less worn down by racing thoughts, more willing to be honest and ask for what he needs.

And Minho wants to provide. He wants to keep helping Chan like this, and maybe it does make him selfish, but Chan needs this, and Minho won't deny him.

"Here, can you hop off of me for a moment, little one?" The nickname does the trick— Chan whines a little and backs up so Minho can move, leaning against the couch like he can't sit up on his own. It's adorable, and Minho moves quickly so he can hold Chan again.

He brought his bag up here because he suspected that Chan would need some things— water, earbuds, painkillers— but there's also a little pocket full of stuff for Seungmin. Noise-canceling headphones, a few stim toys, and what Minho's after now, chewable toys.

Headphones are probably a bad idea now so he leaves those, but he takes out everything else and spreads them out in his hands.

The chewable toys are brand new— they're in the bag for emergencies, but Seungmin is just as overly prepared as he is so they're hardly ever needed — so he opens one of the bags and offers it to Chan.

"You can bite and suck on this for now, okay?"

Chan takes it tenderly, looking awestruck. "But... this is yours?"

Minho puts the other toys on the side table and sits beside him again, suppressing a smile when Chan immediately burrows back into his side.

"They're for whoever needs them, and I think you need them right now. I can... get you something else later, once we've talked about it, but if you just want something to do with your mouth, that should help."

Minho adds a few more things to his list of Things To Talk to Chan About When He's Big Again. Pacifiers, maybe, and Minho specifically caring for him, definitely.

Chan eyes the toy warily for a moment, like he doesn't believe that he can actually have it, but eventually he bites down on it.

His eyes light up.

He doesn't really chew it so much as he sucks on it, but his eyes droop a little and his shoulders slump.

Maybe Minho doesn't entirely suck at this, at least.

"There we go. Is that better?"

Chan nods, eyes slipping fully closed.

"Good. Come on, I'll put on some music, how about that?"

Chan perks up at that, slipping the toy out of his mouth to babble, "Can you sing? Please, Hyung? I'll be good!"

Minho blinks, "You don't have to be good." It comes out without his permission, but he doesn't backtrack. "I don't want you to worry about being good or not disobeying. You're perfect, Chan."

Chan stares at him for a beat, and then he breaks. He whines, high in the back of his throat, and tears flood over his cheeks in waves.

"Whoa, baby, baby, it's okay," Minho is on him in an instant, pulling Chan into his arms and rocking them like he did before.

"M' not, not perfect, not-" He cuts himself off with a painful-sounding hiccup, and Minho's heart aches.

"Shh, little one, it's okay." He says, growing frantic, because it isn't working. Chan is trembling, and instead of hugging Minho back he's covering his face, sobbing into his hands instead of Minho's chest. This is different, this is new, and Minho needs a different approach.

So. He sings.

It starts out shaky, because he's on the verge of tears himself and hasn't sung at all today, but he settles into it easily.

It's a song Chan wrote for him months ago, unreleased because he hasn't had the time to record it. It's short, unfinished, and Minho prays that it'll work.

He's on the second chorus before he notices any change, and it feels like the first sip of water in a desert. Chan shudders, cries quieting, finally tucking his head into Minho's neck.

He tightens his grip, remembering that Chan liked tight hugs, and he breathes.

He sings through the end of the song and Chan finally stops sobbing, just tiny little whimpers against Minho's chest, and he leans them back against the couch.

"I've got you," He murmurs, thinking of the first lines to Chan's favorite song, "I've got you, baby."

· · ────────── ·𖥸· ────────── · ·

Chan wakes up a few hours later, cheeks itchy with dried tears and more relaxed than he's felt in years.

He's... hm. He's lying on Minho's chest.

Minho is asleep, long eyelashes fluttering as his eyelids shift, and Chan can't help but settle back against his chest.

Minho hums, readjusting his hand to hold Chan a little more securely.

"Go back to sleep, little one," He murmurs, voice thick with sleep and fondness.

Jesus. He hasn't slipped up like that in front of someone since he was a trainee.

Chan flushes pink, hazy memories flooding back. He remembers crying, a lot, calling Minho hyung...

Chan can feel mortification creeping up on him, but Minho must notice that he isn't relaxing, because he tightens his grip. One of his hands comes up to hold the back of Chan's head, guiding his ear over Minho's chest.

The steady thump-thump thump-thump of Minho's heartbeat makes Chan melt, against all his better wishes.

"...thank you, hyung."

#stray kids #dahlia writes #bang chan #lee minho #skz #skz fluff #minchan #this was a bitch and 3 quarters to post tumblr my beloathed

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secrettastemakerland · 2 months

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Answering "Reblog this and let people send you asks (anonymously or not) about how they would describe your fics, your writing style or just anything they've thought about when reading your work" !! HIII okay so I've only read one of your fics so far and it was a short one so I might not be the best person to answer this but I'm so glad you reblogged that post bc I actually do remember getting specific thoughts & feelings when reading one of yours!! I'm not sure if your writing is always like this but in that fic (the one I commented on!!) it felt,,, cozy. it felt warm and familiar and the writing had life to it. it wasn't just Character A walking over to Character B's house (and then room). no, there were explanations, actions, emotions, thoughts and even little bits of humour in between. and that really added to the writing!!!! the story also flowed amazingly!! it was a short fic but it didn't even feel rushed!! everything just felt natural. it was all cohesive from one paragraph to the next and I adore that!! and the descriptions were wonderful!!! painted an image in my mind very easily. one I can only describe the image as love. if the fic was an artwork, it'd have a soft grainy/noisy textured layer over it and the colour palette would be of warm pinks and oranges -- and not just bc I was getting 'sun beginning to set' vibes from it, but also bc of how soft & tender the hurt/comfort in the fic was. also, I remember opening it, reading the first 1 or 2 paragraphs and then getting so genuinely excited bc by then I could already tell you could write well LMAO -- and I was right!! you CAN write well!!! like just in general too!! idk how exactly to explain this but basically what I mean is that you're good at coming up with unique sentences and not super straight-forward plain ones!! but anyways ya!! also, sorry for writing so much!!! I didn't realise I had so much to say 😭😭 (^ /gen to all of the above 💗) - 💎

okay so.

I've been hoarding this for like 2 weeks now and at first I had like the typical kicking my feet, twirling my hair, gotta kiss anon on the mouth (platonically duh) kinda reaction. I was ready to search all of tumblr for the epic poet in my askbox. UNTIL I GOT TO THE END!

I read the end (lol i saw the emoji) and felt magically, red string-a-lly compelled to write a simonette fic. For some strange reason.

So here she is: a slightly longer simonette secret flavored fic!

Jeanette sneezed, readjusted her glasses, and then sneezed again. She wiped her nose miserably before she let out a trio of more sneezes.

Honestly, if the shelves didn't need dusting, she would have stopped. But, alas, Brittany had begged and pleaded with her to do her chores this week in order for her to go on a date.

("And I triple, no, quadruple! promise I won't ask you if we're soulmates this time, Jean!"

"You're not supposed to be asking her that anyway," Eleanor scoffed from the other side of their bedroom.

Brittany stuck her tongue out at her before she returned to her begging and pleading. "Oh, pretty please, Jeanette!")

So Jeanette had agreed, if only to be spared from Brittany's puppy dog pout and crocodile tears combo. That and her obvious hopeless romantic tendencies aside (Brittany's soulmate was a street musician around the corner and, although she wouldn't tell her, she hoped that this date might somehow led her to her soulmate), she really did enjoy working at the shop.

Planting new flowers, experimenting with new potion combinations, organizing, and then reorganizing new spell books, Jeanette loved all of it.

Jeanette pouted as she watched her hat fall to the ground after another round of sneezes. Okay, maybe she didn't love every job at the shop. The heavens above knew that she wasn't exactly helpful during a lunch rush.

Her hand waved the duster with an excited flourish, more than ready to be rid of the dust and its cruel attacks to her nose. Unfortunately, that only made the dust to throw itself back towards her, causing her not only to sneeze once again, but also caused her to sneeze herself right off the ladder, towards the ground.

She let out a breath of relief as she bounced on the summoned daisy bed, catching her fall, returning the smile her little sister was giving her.

Read on ao3

#i wanted to either eat this compliment or hang it up on my fridge <3 #but then i was tricked! i was spelled! and somehow wrote every trope ever #simonette i hope i did you justice and if not i quit /jk #alvittany draft bbg you never seeing the light of day i fear /jk #thank you for the compliment random citizen! 💗#(megamind reference)#ask #anonymous #ask game turned gift fic is crazy but true #simonette #my writing

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griffinsboyfriend · 5 months

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THEORIES FOR CHAPTER 20? JUST CAUGHT UP AND GOING INSANE

Giiiirl. I have a few crack theories but I think they’ve managed to write a good mystery here. Anything could happen, and given how wild the smut has been, and how wild the story itself has been, I’m willing to bet the final chapter will blow our asses wide open.

It’s 10 minutes long too according to the description, so we should be getting a lot. I feel like they’ve managed to stuff a lot in the short chapters throughout, it’s well paced so I think the ending should be satisfying. Btw, I’d love to hear yours and everyone else’s theories!!! But here are my crack theories:

1. Charles/Charlotte is the murderer and has been leading us on a goose chase this whole time to put our sights off of them. He’s a stalker who obsessed about MC when his aunt was alive. She was genuinely kind to Charles, inviting him over or asking for his aid with the house, it would make sense that he’d see MC in photos and developed stalkerish feelings toward him. I feel like they’ve done so many coincidences with him that it’s too convenient when the writers are trying to tell us he’s innocent. He just happened to have a TRASH BAG full of foxgloves? Sure, Jan.

Additionally, in the van, if you choose one of the dialogue options with Charles (forgot exactly what it is), he tenses up… almost becoming a different person before he resurfaces and remembers where he is. He’s had a handful of those type of interactions depending on the choices you make. Could be PTSD, but idk. It smells manipulative to me, and MC has fallen hard for his savior. Moreover, the van being unlocked? Really now? 🤨 well that was easy, wasn’t it…

That cologne too, it could be one of Charles’s cologne and he planted it in the van to frame Vince. I always thought that MC was being drugged whenever they went into their fantasies early on, but MC is quite horny so I believe its likely just THEM being them lol.

I think Charles accidentally murdered his wife by overdosing her, and his grief is unprocessed or not properly dealt with. But bc of this, his mental is likely not sane. He pushed away the grief bc he thought he needed to be there for his daughter, who pushed him away bc she hasn’t been able to properly grieve either and that’s just how kids can be.

1.5 crack theory: Yvette burned down the house bc she was worried MC would leave her father and her new co-parent, who she likely looks up to. I mean who wouldn’t, this MC is one of the greats certainly. Yvette wanting to become involved in the investigation late in the game feels pointed.

Ultimately, the dirty little secret could be our lover is the murderer and we can choose to stand by him and keep it, or not. But since this book is a stand alone, I’m doubting this I actually going to happen bc I think we’d need at least 2 more chapters to connect the dots.

2. Vince and Sadie are working together and are the killers. Vince is super dumb so he’d go along with anything Sadie said, even if she didn’t intend for real murder. I think there’s evidence in ch19 to suggest he’s dumb enough to cross the line. THEN AGAIN. The evidence only stacked up in the last chapter so I feel like… this is a red herring perhaps.

I truly don’t believe that Sadie wanted us to die or be burned alive. She’s evil but idk if she’s proven to be that evil. She’s conniving and manipulative, but I haven’t seen evidence suggesting she’d go that far. Then again she did try to hide her real identity, going so far as to get surgery. Post having sex with the mayor, she seemed obedient to him. So perhaps…

3. The Mayor is the murderer. He loved MC’s aunt but she never returned the feelings. He let his rich white man ego and pride get the better of him, he has the resources and money to make it happen without a second thought against him. I feel there’s less buildup for this though…

4. Charles and Sadie are working together to take down MC. This would be the real insane reason, and honestly I feel like I’d live if they did this! I’d have to hand it to PB if they went this route bc I feel it could be successful. They def led their audience on a wild ride, why not push them over the edge type of tease lol. There’s not enough evidence yet to suggest they’re working together but I mean this book has been fucking insane sooo…

—

I think whoever captured Yvette will force Charles to show his true colors. I can’t wait for the drama to unfold!!!

Also going into that van was the last straw. I KNEW the jig was up then. Whoever the killer is KNEW MC (and maybe Charles, if he’s not the killer) would be this stupid. It’s classic horror/thriller movie scenes.

I’m willing to bet someone is going to shut that van door and force MC/Charles to watch whatever is about to unfold. God I hope they obliterate us, man!!!!

#griffinsbf ask #I don’t claim to be good at solving mysteries #I’m just going off what I feel and what’s been shown to us #but I truly believe expect anything coming up #I don’t think we can trust ANYONE in the street #as the latter chapters have proven to us #I EDITED PARTS OF THIS

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trashcanwithsprinkles · 1 year

Note

my apologies for the slight length of this (ok maybe its not too long and im just self conscious) but-

i chewed through, devoured your fic cyanide narwhal from start to the current chapter within a 24 hour time period a day or so ago (including a sleeping break) during all my awake free time moments and was then so immersed in it mentally it was hard to tear myself away just to do my genshin dailies when i remembered they existed, at that time undone for that day? what-

and… although i am not confident about it (only bc of my own doubts about art, really, i have zero consistency outside of Brainrot itself) i really want to make fanart for it…? so yes, i am sticking to anonymous for this, but i may well be, uh. yelling less anonymously if that does occur. if you don't mind. (and if the art braincell cooperates. if i can stop getting distracted rereading 15+ chapters before i can even open krita. yeah, that… that happened already and may well happen again, at this rate. not that i truly consider it a bad thing. but it does somewhat make actually doing any art slightly challenging if im distracted before i can even open the program-) either way, really wanted to thank you for the amazing fic!!! 100/10 one of the best if not the best i have had the pleasure to find so far and i appreciate it so much. kudos to you. i actually tried giving kudos twice (from two different devices). dunno if it worked or not though, since i don't know what it works off of and my memory was too clouded with excitement to actually, well, tell me anything useful about that.

btw you have no idea how glad i was to see you were on tumblr bc i hardly exist anywhere else and don't really intend to in future either and also i loved to see your art designs!! they're so good i want to hold them,,

aaa thank you so much! please don't worry about the lenght of the ask, i love it all the more!

i get the struggle of wanting to draw but being to distracted;; if you do end up making some fanart please don't hesitate to send it through or tag me! i'd love nothing more than to see it! i could keep it private even if you don't want me to answer to the ask/post the submission ^^

i'm happy to hear you've been enjoying the fic <3

#thank you <3 <3

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whumpupthejam · 1 year

Text

Running For It - pt. 1

// A/N: If you saw this fic the first time I posted it, no you didn’t lol. It needed... fixing. It...wasn’t right. Lol. Anyway, yada-yada, here’s the Marcus boy, back again as I promised! I’m planning three parts to this currently, and parts 2 & 3 are already underway. I also have a few Other Things up my sleeve when it comes to this lil story-verse. I just really want to write for all these guys again, and I had a surprise burst of inspiration, so we’re running with it, bc that’s what you do, right? Thanks for reading, you don’t know what it means to me. :) //

Marcus’s stomach churns with dread. Half his instincts tell him to just go back downstairs--not to try anything stupid. If the Man catches him, he knows he’ll be better off dead than facing whatever he’ll put him through. But the other half of him whirs with hope and excitement. If he stays where he is--just to, what, play safe?--he might never get another chance like this.

If he stays, he’d rather be dead anyway.

He steps carefully. There are a few chairs and a coffee table he has to maneuver around as he makes his way through the living room, silent as a mouse.

He struggles to even out his breaths, but it’s difficult when he’s still in so much pain. Every breath in and out aggravates the wounds he acquired in this afternoon’s session. It’s a miracle he’s even upright.

Evidently, the Man assumed he’d be too broken down to even move for the rest of the night. Either that, or he simply forgot to lock the door behind him, in some bizarre lapse of character. And yet, he had left it unlocked. Marcus had listened for the clank of the bolt, straining his ears as he always did--hoping against hope. But it had never come. And when he’d forced himself to crawl over to the door, using the handle to drag himself up, it had opened for him.

After that, it was only a game of waiting. Of staying quiet and sitting tight until enough time had passed that Marcus was willing to take the plunge in hopes that it was nighttime and the Man had fallen asleep. And when he’d reached the end of the bleak hallway and climbed the stairs, pushing the door open silently at the top, he’d seen he was right.

The house is dark, the only sounds are those of a softly ticking clock, and the structure itself moaning and whining as the wind pushes it about.

When he reaches the entryway of the house, he stands for a couple moments, staring at the door, drawing shuddering breaths and thinking. He’ll have to get this exactly right the first time. He needs to be smart. He draws the curtain aside from the big front window and peers out. The moonlight is gentle on his eyes and on his skin as it washes him. Everything outside is outlined sharply in shadow, and the pane of the window is cold, a halo of fog forming around his fingertip as he touches it. Across the street, there are some thick woods. He can see only one house nearby, but in the distance, he sees that the little road the two houses are on connects to a bigger road. Where that leads, how far it is to the nearest town, he’s not sure.

His eyes narrow on the car parked in the driveway.

Silently, he creeps back into the rest of the house, to the kitchen this time.

He glances around, not wanting to move too much. The floor is made up of wide slats of wood, and he doesn’t trust it not to creak at the worst possible moment. In the kitchen, there are only normal things. A kettle on the stovetop, a tea canister not far away. Nestled into the corner are a few cookbooks, with many tattered sticky notes pressed between the pages. There’s a butcher’s block with a full set of knives. Pans hanging on the wall. Orange oven mitts on the counter. A slowly dripping faucet. Potted plants in the window. There’s even a small circle display case with what look like brownies inside. It even looks like some have been eaten. On the fridge, hanging by a magnet, there’s the beginnings of a grocery list: milk, and fabric softener.

He lets out a low breath. This could be anyone’s home. Any normal person might have collected these things and arranged them in a way that made them happy.

His eye snags at last on a bit of metal glinting in the pale light from the kitchen window. A keyring hangs by the back door. Bingo.

Just to the left of the door is a set of stairs, and Marcus somehow knows they lead up to his bedroom. He imagines he can hear soft snores coming from up there and it briefly reminds him of his father. He hisses through his teeth and shakes that thought loose before it can linger.

The injuries on his front and back pulse with heat as he takes a slow step into the kitchen. Nothing. Silence. He takes another, and it’s the same. He eyes the keyring across the room. He just needs to reach those keys.

His weight shifts and the floorboard suddenly pops loudly beneath his foot, freezing him on the spot. Any heat disappears from his body, his senses flipping into overdrive as he listens carefully.

The clock tick-tick-ticks from the living room. The wind moans against the windows of the house. The only other sound he can hear is a fly buzzing against the kitchen window, desperate to get through the glass. Stupid thing. He has an idiotic feeling of sympathy for it.

Marcus lets his shoulders relax and is preparing to take another step toward the keys when he hears a creak from upstairs.

A single thought is not spared as he spins on his heel, tearing back toward the front door. He would’ve gone for the back door since it was closer, but he doesn’t know what’s out there. At least he’s seen what’s in the front.

“Fuck!” He swears as his thigh slams hard into a chair on his mad scramble through the living room. He doesn’t let it slow him.

He hits the front door hard, fumbling to unlock it. Suddenly, his memory is jogged and he’s thrown back to that night that seems so long ago now, when the Man first took him. He’d been shaking, terrified as he grappled with his keys and groceries. That night definitely did not end in his favor.

The deadbolt unlatches as heavy footsteps now fly down the stairs--Marcus makes a small panicked noise as he hears them reach the kitchen.

Please, please, oh god, let me get out. I have to get out!

“Shit, shit,” he groans, his fingers moving to the lock of the handle and twisting.

The door swings inward and then he throws open the screen door, letting it smack into the side of the house.

And he’s running.

He can’t remember ever running this hard, pumping his legs to the absolute limit. Everything burns. His feet slam into the asphalt, hurtling him toward the tree-line.

Faster. Faster. Faster! Oh, god, oh jesus fuck, is he behind me? Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look!

Marcus hears the screen door rattle against the side of the house again as he passes through the line of trees. He makes a split second decision, switching course and running as far as possible to the right, diving into the first ditch he comes to.

He lies down as far as he can, praying he won’t be visible unless the Man is right on top of him, and further praying that the man will assume he ran forward into the woods, not sharply to the right as he had.

Marcus ignores the way his skin feels like it’s being peeled off all over--ignores the aching chill that has steadily grown in his bones, and the cold sweat that covers him. There’s something wet tickling its way down his body, and he can’t determine whether it’s sweat or blood.

Oh fuck, oh Christ.

Oh please, please, please. Don’t let him find me. I can’t go back--

Not again, not again, not again!

He clasps his hands over the agonized noise that almost leaves his mouth when he hears the Man crash through the trees. He stops breathing and his lungs scream at him. He ignores that, too.

There’s a horrible, sickening moment when Marcus realizes the wind has stilled. The night’s silence stretches maliciously as the Man pauses to listen for him--not even offering the sounds of insects to cover Marcus’s breathing. Marcus bites his lips hard, squeezing himself to stop the shivers that quake through him. Any tiny movement, he fears, will alert the Man to his presence.

“Marcus?”

Marcus’s throat is tight. He can’t breathe, Jesus Christ!

“Well, well. Look at you. You’re not being a very good boy, now are you?” The Man takes a step.

He screams silently, biting down on his own flesh again. The Man’s heavy footsteps through the underbrush send hot skewers through Marcus’s chest.

“I’ll find you. You understand that, don’t you? There isn’t anywhere you can hide from me.”

Is-- is his voice closer now? Is he coming this way?

“Maaarcus,” he taunts. Sticks crack, leaves rustle. “Come out, come out, Little Cricket. You know you’ve been bad, but if you come out now, I might not crush you completely.” He pauses again. “I know you’re not feeling well,” he says sweetly, “So I’ll forgive you. I’ll even do all I can to make you feel better before I have to punish you--and I will have to punish you, you know. Come on,” he says, on the move again. Too close. “Make the right choice, Precious.”

Marcus shakes uncontrollably, doing everything in his power to silence the panicked breaths escaping around his palm. He presses his hand tight on his mouth, tasting dirt and sweat. Silent whimpers fill his throat and he almost chokes trying to swallow them down again.

The Man has to be almost on top of him now. This is it.

There’s a sudden noise further out in the woods. Marcus’s eyes widen. What the hell? It has to be some kind of animal, but it sounds just enough like a person making a run for it, that the Man takes off immediately in the direction of the noise without a word.

Those heavy footsteps fade into the distance. Marcus peeks over the top of the ditch, scouring the darkness for any sign of the Man’s return. He sees nothing.

He wastes no time. The Man has to realize soon that whatever he’s chasing isn’t Marcus and he’ll turn back. Marcus shoves down the pain once again. He can think about it later, he decides, as he pulls himself out of the ditch, forcing himself not to scream as the wounds are aggravated on his stomach. He stands slowly, requiring the help of a nearby branch. He only takes one second to breathe the pain back down before he forces himself to run again.

He doesn’t bother being quiet this time, rushing into the kitchen and snatching the keys from their hook. They’re cold in his fingers, and he’s practically buzzing as he runs back outside and hauls himself into the driver’s seat of the small car.

“Yeah!” He shouts, slamming his hands against the steering wheel as the car roars to life. He bursts into almost maniacal laughter as he backs recklessly down the driveway. Freedom is so close, Marcus can taste it--he can smell it.

There’s a flicker of movement in the rearview and Marcus twists around to see the Man hurtling toward him from the tree-line like a train. “Oh shit!” He spins the car in the right direction and slams the pedal down, tires screeching. The Man's hand makes brief contact with the trunk before the car peels away, leaving him in a cloud of dust and exhaust.

Marcus’s eyes are wide, and he feels his heartbeat in his mouth as he watches his captor grow smaller in the mirrors before disappearing completely. He’s not sure if the Man has another vehicle or not, but at the moment he can’t bring himself to care.

He. . . he got away. Can it be true? Can this moment be real?

A new wave of mad laughter bubbles in his throat. He does his best trying to stay on the road as his body is racked with it. In the end, it all went as perfectly as he could’ve hoped. He flicks his gaze up to the stars, tears forming as he thanks whoever’s up there for his escape.

The stars. When did he last see them? It almost hurts his eyes, how lovely they are. He’ll never take them for granted again. Not for as long as he lives.

He shakes himself, his groan long and low as the pain in his body reintroduces itself with a vengeance. But he can’t slow down yet. There’s too much to do.

He has to get to town, go to the police, report this son of a bitch, find a phone, call his friends. That thought alone almost does him in. The thought of hearing Caleb’s voice, or Jake’s. Or Elena’s. God, how he’s missed them all. They’re all that kept him sane these past weeks amidst the torture, humiliation, and misery.

Marcus turns onto a country road that he’s shocked to realize is familiar to him. He thinks this road is one he remembers leading to a small town he’s visited before but can’t recall the name of.

Holy shit. He laughs again, his head light. He knows where he is--sort of. Strangely enough, now that he’s out on the road, he can see that the Man didn’t take him far away at all--maybe only an hour or so away from home! Marcus has driven these roads before, on trips in and out of town.

He pushes the pedal down a bit further, his heart leaping with the anticipation of going home. Home! He almost doesn’t believe it.

Suddenly he’s startled by a high pitched chirp from behind him, and the interior of the car floods with red and blue light. The lights hurt his head, and he squints, raising a hand to shield his eyes as he slows to a stop on the side of the road. He watches a stocky man climb out of the police cruiser and approach. His stomach is uneasy again.

What now?

Taglist (I know it’s been actual eons, lol so if anyone wants to be added/removed, just let me know!): @whatwasmyprevioususername @whumphours

#Marcus Pearce oc #the Man oc #running for it #he's out there #poor Marcus boy #whump #my writing #captivity #implied torture #escape #failed escape #...maybe

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scarasweetheart · 2 years

Text

stupid fuckin' brat.

character: xiao <33

genre: uh. the opener to what will be another long ass fucking smut fic. (probably like 4k words if i had to guess)

summary: after a week of being an absolute brat and pushing all of xiao's buttons he finally snaps on you.

warnings: gn afab reader, brat!reader; angry!xiao, mean!xiao; reader and xiao are in an established relationship dw y'all 🙏; reader is implied to be shorter than xiao (168cm) sorry 💀💀💀

a/n: so. ok i was possessed by The Horny Spirit last night (16 mar. 1am) and wrote all but the last paragraph in one sitting. i'm posting this as is for now otherwise it'll just rot in my drafts, and that's no good at all. i'll write a pt2 fs, but only if y'all ask nicely <3 // anyway i wrote this bc i want xiao to step on my throat and be mean to me lmao

generally speaking, xiao was not a particularly patient person, so why you would ever want to mess with him and push his buttons is far beyond me — but, that's exactly what you had been doing for the last week: getting on every last nerve of his and he could feel his self restraint crumbling with each passing hour.

you had been so persistently annoying all week long, and xiao couldn't tell if you were doing it on purpose or not.

calling out his name for seemingly no reason, pestering him about trivial matters where his concern was not needed, somehow managing to always be in his way. not to mention you had seemed extra clingy as well! and while that was not necessarily a problem in itself, it was the fact that you were all over him in public !!!!!

you had convinced him to go down to the harbour with you three different times this week, today included, and everytime you just could not keep your hands off of him !! (fool him once, shame on you, fool him twice, shame on him, fool him three times? he's just a fool. as annoying as you had been, he still had a hard time telling you no when you dropped the bratty façade and asked him so nicely.)

no matter how many times xiao had smacked your hands away or pushed you off of him when a little peck on the lips had turned into you trying to initiate a full blown makeout session right in the middle of the marketplace, you just kept pawing at him! usually you were very keenly aware that xiao wasn't big on pda in the slightest and made sure to act with that in mind, but recently? not even the slightest attempt had been made. it's like you were trying to embarrass him on purpose!

and oh, how right he'd be to think that. a week ago, you'd decided that you wanted to see how far you could push xiao until he snapped and decided to return the favor (fucking you silly).

so now here you were, on the way back to the inn after leading xiao all over the city today, and you could tell he was on his last few threads of self-restraint.

internally, he was a ticking time bomb. waiting for your last comment or action that would inevitably push him over the edge.

brushing your hand against his, you felt your heart sink just a little when he jerked it back from you on reflex.

stopping in front of him, you immediately dropped your brat act (but not mindset) to sweetly ask him what was wrong or if anything was the matter.

but xiao wasn't gonna fall for your tricks this time.

"nothing. everything's fine," came his curt response, as he walked right on past you to continue on the path back to the inn all while avoiding making any kind of eye contact. bingo. you had him right where you wanted him. now all that was left was to wait until you were back in the safety of your room on the uppermost floor of the inn before enacting phase two of your little scheme.

the sun was just barely peaking past the horizon by the time you two had made it back, and you were fully ready to spring into action until ........... xiao walked right past your room and onto the balcony. that's okay, we can work with that.

carefully, you followed after him, very aware of how tense he seemed to be. this is it. the perfect chance to initiate phase two, the final straw. walking up behind him from where he was looking out over the balcony, you placed your hands on his shoulders. and, to be fair, you were going to offer to rub out some of the stress from his shoulders should this fail to be the last piece of the patience puzzle. it was, however, theast piece of the patience puzzle.

the moment your hands had landed on xiao, he had spun around and taken your hands in his.

"what the fuck?" xiao's eyes were piercing, molten gold irises seemingly glowing (both literally and with sheer irritation and anger). his gaze made you freeze up as your tongue suddenly felt heavy in your mouth — maybe this wasn't such a good idea: a realization you should've had much earlier this week. but, it was far too late to weasel your way out of this now. you wanted to provoke xiao, and now you had to deal with the consequences.

"i—i beg your pardon?" you asked, feigning innocence. you knew good and damn well what you had done.

"don't play stupid with me," he growled, yanking you towards him by your wrists. not expecting his sudden action, you stumbled forward and landed against his chest.

"i have half a mind to fuck you right here on the balcony, but," he paused, letting go of one of your wrists to roughly grab your jaw, squishing your cheeks and forcing you to meet his eyes, "no one else deserves to see how i'm about to fucking ruin you."

masterlist. | pt. 2

#WHWHHEEEEEEEEWWWWWW #cali posting two days in a row ??!/?:/?÷!?_?<??/??#he rlly has been possessed zamn #village.scribe #xiao x reader #xiao x reader smut #genshin x reader #genshin x reader smut #xiao smut #genshin smut #genshin drabbles #genshin impact smut #xiao genshin impact #bards.sinful.songs #gn.afab.reader

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miekasa · 3 years

Text

love talk

+ pairings: eren yeager + (fem) reader

+ genres and warnings: it’s not important that eren is a tattoo artist i just wanted to share bc i gave him tattoos here :’), fluff i think, smut/nsfw content, if you see a hint of eremin then no you don’t </2

+ word count: almost 2k, sickening innit luv

+ notes: yeah, still thinking about eren speaking german during sex bc he’s losing his mind hehe. i suppose this is the… softer version. might post another one later, who knows. and yes, i did almost name this pussy talk.

Unbeknownst to him, Eren Jaeger speaks three languages.

The first two are obvious, but English is his preferred language; the one you’ll find him speaking most often. It only makes sense, seeing as it’s what the overwhelming majority of people, media, and signs spew at him.

The second is more reserved; something you might assume given his name, but not know for sure unless you asked, or stuck around long enough to catch him rambling excitedly to Armin in German, with broken slang phrases of English interspersed. It’s fascinating—cute, moreover—the way he stumbles back and forth between both tongues; and the difference in tone between them. You’re not sure if your own bias is peeking through, but you’re certain Eren and Armin both sound a little… meaner in German; more sarcastic, at the very least—and you wouldn’t be surprised to find out they were talking shit the whole time.

Though, there is a special, reserved intonation to his mother tongue that shows itself when Eren’s around you. It doesn’t seem to be by choice—gone beyond comprehension that he’s forced to revert to grunted expressions and curses in a language foreign to his surroundings. You assume them to be curses; you never can confirm, and Eren seems to not even be aware of his switching in the heat of the moment, can never quite recall what he was saying to you.

There are times when he’s reduced to mere sounds, no comprehensible words between the hundreds of thousands he knows—only guttural moans, and breathy sighs, and he seems to not even be able to understand himself. You have to admit, it’s a bit of an ego boost to be able to fuck your boyfriend stupid in two languages.

And at first glance, Eren doesn’t seem like the type of guy to know about anything outside of himself. He doesn’t seem like the full-sleeve, three ear piercing, tattoo artist kinda kid; but Eren Jaeger speaks the language of pictures, of symbols, of images, that he is able to decipher and give meaning to upon creation. He’s got a penchant for art, and a vision bigger than himself, so it’s only right that he takes his knowledge and applies it in its most permanent form. The tattoos are more than a hobby for him—they’re an extension of himself, his art, his language; and his body is the only canvas fit enough to capture them.

So, here, with Eren laying on his back, chest exposed, arms bent for his hands to rest against your waist, you get to see the culmination of all the words and all the pictures, from all the languages he’s deemed important enough to find a place on his skin.

“Do all of your tattoos have a meaning?” you question, reaching your hand up to trace over the delicate waves that ride along his right collarbone.

“No,” Eren winces when you move—just enough of him to feel an ounce of friction inside of you, but not enough to give him what he wants. He wiggles himself a bit, desperate for something, “Not at all.”

It makes you chuckle, with a sort of disbelief, at both his words and his actions, “You get things tattooed on your body that don’t mean anything to you?”

Eren lets out a shaky breath, followed with a boyish smile. He blinks at you slowly, lids fluttering and hands gripping tightly at your body, “Learned that not everything has to have a deep meaning to want to keep it around,” he tells you, right palm moving to venture over your tummy, and up your sides, “Somethings you just love.”

You don’t miss the lilt in his voice on the word ‘love,’ but you play it off, rolling your eyes at his deliberately sweet affections, and then, gently, your hips, “Pretty poetic for something with no meaning.”

“Yeah, well, Armin taught me that,” Eren grits, hands fastening themselves at your hips again.

“You talk about Armin a lot when we’re in bed you know,” you taunt him, moving your fingers to trace over more of the tattoos that litter his right shoulder, “Something I should know about?”

Eren shivers at the feeling—of your fingertips on his skin, and what he swears was an intentional clench around him, “You don’t seem to mind.”

You smile at him, enjoying the contortions of his face when you run your hands down his chest, palms pressed lightly against his pelvic bone. Eren bends a knee, but does he best to remain still, and you can’t help but to chuckle. He looks pretty when he’s trying his best.

“I’m greedy,” you tell him, raising your hips, and pausing in your words as you slowly lower yourself back on to him.

“Trust me,” Eren scoffs, a façade to cover up his reddening cheeks and shaky thighs, “I know.”

He tries to move his hips up, desperate for something more; for you to fucking move, but, you keep your hips perfectly still. Instead, you reach your arms behind you, and onto Eren’s thighs, cementing them to the bed. He groans, his hands sliding down to your own thighs, fingertips digging into your flesh.

“And you called me greedy,” you huff, amused, as Eren rolls his eyes beneath you. When you’re sure he’s not going to move, you bring your arms back around, palms splayed on his stomach, “Relax. This is what you asked for, isn’t it?”

“Honestly, in an ideal world, this would be happening when I was playing COD, not when I was already impossibly hard with morning wood. And with a lot less teasing on your part.”

You have to laugh—genuinely giggle—at Eren’s blunt honesty. He’s unintentionally charming; another linguistic skill he seems unaware that he’s proficient in. You can tell he doesn’t understand the source of your amusement, but the look in his eyes, the twinkle in his irises lets you know he’s too far gone to even care.

“Call it a lesson in self-control,” you say, moving your hands to his sides in time with a shallow grind of your hips, “Besides, I’m admiring you.”

Eren keeps his hands anchored on your thighs, shivering at sensitivity of his dick coupled with your hands stroking over his pecs, “Lesson fucking learning—babe, fuck, please—”

“Shh—not yet,” you coo, and reach to pull his arms off of you, leaving you with room to admire his sleeve. You take pity on him, holding his right wrist with both of your hands, before slowly beginning to bounce on him.

Eren squirms, his free hand reaching to grab at the flesh of your ass, eyes blinking open to watch his cock be buried inside of you. The relief is instant—for the both of you—immediate groans and shallow profanities slipping past your lips as you build a steady pace to ride him.

“Tell—tell me what this one means,” you question slowly, keeping your right hand around his wrist, but using your left to point to the tattoo; a stylized line art of crossed wings.

“Some shit about freedom,” Eren grunts, fingers twitching, “Fuck, babe—more, please, I’ll—”

Eren cuts himself off with a whine, and you hiss yourself, lifting your body all the way to the tip, before lowering yourself again at an agonizingly slow pace. At this rate, you can feel everything; every vein on his shaft, every twitch of his cock. You feel Eren deep inside of you, even see where the bulge outlines your tummy.

You still yourself for just a second, catching your breath, anchoring yourself on Eren. You’re pretty far gone yourself, but you want more; for yourself, and for him. You do your best to stay coherent, slowly grinding atop of him, questioning him about another tattoo on his arm, ignoring the way his palm grips at your bicep. It’s a small one, with detailed Japanese characters that you can’t understand, but appreciate anyway; it’s one of your favorites, and you ask Eren about its meaning, clenching yourself around him as punctuation to your question.

Eren sucks air between his teeth, left hand pulling back to run his fingers through his hair, a grunted word in German falling from his lips. You smirk, but let him try to answer you.

“I don’t fucken’ know,” Eren grumbles, head thrashing from side to side, “It’s really fucken’ hard to remember anything—shit—like this. S’fucking torture.”

“Hm,” you hum, not satisfied; eager for more of Eren’s love language, “Tell me something in German, instead, then.”

But Eren can only babble beneath you; sounds incoherent in either language—reduced to desperate whines and grabby hands at your thighs, waist, boobs—anything. You lean forward, letting go of Eren’s tattooed wrist, and reaching to ghost your fingers over his lips.

“Come on, Eren, you’re usually so good at it when we do this,” you taunt him, words coated in sweetness that distract you from keeping up your pace, “Just want you to talk pretty to me. Tell me something, baby.”

Eren’s eyes travel from your fingertips, up your arm, neck, and to your face. When he meets your gaze something shifts; eyes heavy with want, and bitter with dissatisfaction.

So, he reaches for your extended hand, laces your fingers together, “Something like what?”

You wrap your fingers around his, then do the same with your left hand, “Anything.”

“Anything?”

“Yeah,” you affirm with a smile, finally satisfied.

Eren grunts, bending his right knee for leverage before he flips you over, hands still intertwined, but now pinned over your head, harshly pressed into the pillows below. He buries his head into the crook of your neck; licking a stripe along your collarbone, where you’d teased him minutes before. Then up, up, up, your neck to the shell of your ear, retreating downwards to suck on the skin just beneath your ear, nipping with pointed teeth.

Eren keeps his weight on you, the length of his cock sliding over your slick folds while he bites angry, red blotches into your skin—a kind of impermanent tattoo of his own making on your body. The friction is good, but not enough, and you wonder if Eren intends on teasing you as long as you’d done to him; but, he breathes heavy breaths up your neck again, before mumbling a series of foreign syllables into your ear.

He hovers over your face, satisfied by the daze in your eyes; the slight openness of your mouth. It’s you who looks dumbstruck now, a foreigner to his ministrations; and for once, he’s in control with his second tongue.

“What—what does that mean?” you finally ask, squeezing your eyes briefly when Eren teases the tip just past your entrance.

Eren chuckles, airy, gritty, and cocky all at once. He pushes his cock inside of you, balls deep, only to pull out almost all the way, before leaning forward just slightly, so that his bottom lip grazes over yours.

“It means I love you,” he whispers, hips bucking forward, “Try to remember that, ‘cause I swear I’m gonna fuck you stupid, baby.”

#aot x reader #snk x reader #eren x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren smut #eren jaeger x reader #levi x reader #aot smut #aot imagines #snk imagines #eren fluff

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catholicdaredevil · 2 years

Note

“have you ever thought about how much worse our lives would be without each other?” with either matt or tasm peter (i am having brain rot for both <3 but dunno if i should just send 2 separate things so go wild)

also if you post this & i don't see it know that i have probably gone to sleep bc my sleep is a mess okay ily bye

aaaaaaa kit you're on to something here ok this was meant to be small and it's kinda not but oh well

he's been quiet, ever since he crawled in your window a couple hours ago covered in dark bruises and enough blood that if he was anyone else you would have been worried. luckily you'd spent enough nights pulling the spiderman suit off as gently as you could, taking note of each mark that he hadn't left with. some nights were better than others, nothing a couple butterfly bandaids and some tylenol extra strength couldn't fix.

this wasn't one of those nights.

if you had to guess, and you had to guess because peter refused to ever tell you how bad it really was. saint parker refusing to put even his barest of feelings onto anyone in his life. but if you had to guess about tonight?

several broken ribs, a large gaping stab wound that you had to bite down on your tongue to hold yourself back from arguing that he really did need a hospital this time, and a myriad of smaller marks and cuts; all that he wore without a hint of complaint.

your hands tremble just the slightest amount as you open the first-aid kit, grabbing gauze and rubbing alcohol, hesitating over the needle and thread before deciding against it. his skin would most likely knit itself together enough before you could calm down enough to sew even stitches into it.

"have you ever thought about how much worse our lives would be without each other?" the words are barely a whisper, a prayer sitting on his split lips. you've handled everything up until here pretty well, at least you thought. but the way he sounds so small, so scared, is when the knife that always aches in your heart to see him hurt; twists.

a couple of unsuccessful blinks later and tears are streaming down your face as you dab across the watercolors of blue and red painted over his chest in an attempt to at the very least remove as much red from the picture as you can. it takes what feels like several full minutes dragging along as you catch a hold of your emotions and tie them down, driving the stake deep into the earth so it doesn't come up again until you let it.

"no." you turn to toss the blood soaked cotton into the trash can you'd dragged next to your bed when he'd first sat down, eyes so focused on the next piece you grab so you can avoid his soft eyes. "i don't think about horrible things like that peter. i wouldn't be able to sleep at night if i let myself even consider the thought of my life without you. i just don't-- can't."

your voice cracks on the last word and you suck in a breath through your teeth before going back to work, cleaning whatever you can off his skin. hoping that somehow you're able to scrub away at whatever it is that's buried so far under anything you can see that's truly bothering him.

peter says nothing, seemingly finished with the conversation. maybe he's satisfied with your answer, maybe that was just all he had to say. either way you're more than happy to sit in the quiet and piece him back together under your soft hands, only having one more thing that needs to be said.

"i love you."

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker #peter parker x you #peter parker angst #peter parker fluff #peter parker fic #ezra answers #ezra writes #ezra loves their mutuals

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ootahime · 3 years

Text

analyzing every gojohime moment in the manga 😈

this series will probably have more than one part because tumblr only lets me upload ten images per post </3

warning: there are disgustingly long paragraphs in here and delusions

chapter 32

utahime’s first introduction! akutami lets us know right off the bat that she thinks gojo is an idiot (so true).

chapter 32

i love the contrast between miwa and utahime’s reaction to gojo’s appearance.

chapter 33

NAH BC TELL ME WHY HE WENT OUT OF HIS WAY TO NOT GET HER ONE LMAOOOO!! when he traveled overseas to meet with yuta, he picked up the tribal protection charms and thought to himself, “let’s get enough for the kyoto students as a gift since i am such a great and caring teacher, after all. mmm, i should skip utahime to make her mad~” this guy puts way too much effort into getting on her nerves. his mind = utahime brainrot

chapter 33

she’s laughing at him here because he’s getting disciplined for being a lil shit. i wonder...what would he say if he saw her laughing at him like that?

chapter 33

this interaction between them is a little strange don’t you think? i feel like over the years he’s learned how to pick up her mood based on the way she’s acting towards him. you’re probably thinking, “well any person can figure out how a person’s feeling based on the way they’re talking or acting.” yes, that’s absolutely true, but it’s kind of different with this. she’s acting normal. utahime has a rather indifferent expression on her face and what she says is spoken in a calm tone, but gojo still asks her if she’s mad at him. it’s likely that he knows her well enough to be able to notice these subtle things. even if she wasn’t actually mad at him, he was being considerate for a split second, then he went and said, “of course. i didn’t do anything wrong and all.” what a guy LOLOL. to me, this implies that maybe he made her genuinely angry in the past to the point where he realized that he went too far, and thus decided to be more careful of her feelings. she has definitely gotten annoyed at him so many times after that so whenever she seems angry, he probably asks himself if he took it too far. i’m curious to see if he can pick up if she’s upset with something that’s not involving him. would he console her? how does gojo satoru console someone?

despite him always annoying her, she’s still courteous and brings him a cup of tea during their talk. she didn’t have to go out of her way to get tea for him but she did. that’s the kind of person utahime is. a kind and caring woman who would never put her students in danger. in the anime they were sitting far away and not facing each other like they’re doing in the manga. she also has her own tea cup. i think that little panel of her placing the cup down on the table and him picking it up to take a sip is a nice little detail. it just proves that her hating him most of the time isn’t actually pure hatred but annoyance because of his shenanigans and teasing.

chapter 33

i touched upon this a little bit in my previous post, but i wish to go more in depth about this panel. first of all, he ends the sentence with her name twice. two times too many, mr. gojo. i like how they can be serious with each other too LOL. i wish we got to see them talk about the traitors because they did figure it out together after all. does it always end in bickering? can they interact with each other like adults all the way through? somehow, i feel like that’s not possible when it comes to these two. furthermore, notice how gojo confides in utahime about his suspicions. from what we know, she is the first person he brought it up to. i mean, i guess he has to start investigating the schools and would need extra assistance to save time, but he could have done it himself if he really wanted to. by deciding to ask for her help we know that he thinks she’s trustworthy, smart, and strong enough to face whatever considerable risks this task may entail.

i didn’t point this out in my other posts but see how he makes a hand sign in the last panel when she throws the cup at him? gojo is manually activating his infinity. why though? about a year after the whole star plasma vessel incident happened, gojo develops the ability to keep his infinity up at all times by using the reversed curse technique to consistently heal himself to prevent exhaustion. this means that it really makes no difference whether he leaves it on or off. there are a few times where we can witness someone actually touching gojo. for example, yuuji giving him a hug. did he turn his infinity off, or was it able to deduce that yuuji was not a threat? the erasers and pencils shoko and geto threw at him during his demonstration of his new ability aren’t dangerous normally, but is it the speed that makes them dangerous? even if it did hit him, it wouldn’t hurt. how does the infinity know when to allow an incoming object to touch gojo? i believe it is up to gojo himself to let things touch him; his infinity restricts anything and anyone. some people say it could just be the fact that water is not dangerous to him, so therefore, he has to manually put his infinity up. i thought this was a reasonable explanation as to why he put up the hand sign when the tea was thrown at him, but then i realized that it couldn’t be. remember the second opening? it’s raining and everyone is carrying an umbrella, then it pans to gojo with a bouquet in his hand and rain drops slipping off his infinity. if he DID manually put his infinity up to prevent getting soaked then that implies that he chose to turn his infinity off. you can argue and say that jujutsu high is a safe place with students so there’s no need to have his infinity there, but do you remember when he stepped on the ants in front of gakuganji and yaga? the ants were perfectly fine after which insinuates that his infinity prevented his shoes from crushing the ants. he most likely had his infinity on during the baseball game even though he was in a safe environment. how does this long tangent relate back to utahime? well, it simply indicates that gojo trusts utahime so much to the point where he can be vulnerable around her. turning off his infinity symbolizes completely letting down his guard in a way.

how about what happens next? utahime throws the tea at him, he turns on his infinity to deflect it, and he responds with, “scary! hysteric women aren’t popular, you know!” why would he even say that LMAO?? utahime doesn’t even try to deny what he said either. she just hits him with the good old, “i am your senpai!” could it be that he’s trying to poke fun of her relationship status? maybe, maybe not. doesn’t he like people a lil crazy? he did say that all jujutsu sorcerers have to be a little crazy because they’re willing to put themselves in danger constantly.

chapter 0 p.1

i wonder who he’s thinking of when he said that. could it be utahime? it seems like he’s reminiscing or thinking about someone. he wears an amused expression on his face as he laughs - almost like he’s seen his fair share of how scary women can get :>>

chapter 34

the pattern behind gojo and utahime is called yagasuri “fletching,” a traditional japanese design. this design is inspired by arrow fletching. it's a lucky charm for weddings and other celebrations since it's based on the Japanese belief that an arrow shot once never comes back. brides were given kimonos with this pattern for good luck during the edo era (1603–1868) to ensure they would not have to return to their original family home. this pattern can have numerous meanings such as steadfastness or determination to achieve a goal, or a wish for the happiness of the bride. there is a belief that a bow and arrow represent the fight against evil. honestly, this meaning fits the narrative of the story. utahime and gojo are unearthing the traitors that are feeding intel to the curse users and cursed spirits. they are in the middle while the kyoto students surround them, which could mean that it’s their job as adults to protect these children from the grasps of evil slowly making itself more prominent. do you also notice that the arrows are pointed toward utahime from gojo? from all the images i’ve seen, the arrows are usually pointed downward. what could this mean? is gojo trying to protect her (in the future (?)) or does he have a big fat crush smh...

i think it’s a good time to mention utahime’s clothing. she’s wearing miko attire. miko are shrine maidens who were once thought to be shamans (you connecting the dots?). in their service to shrines, miko used to perform spirit possession and takusen (in which the possessed person acts as a "medium" (yorimashi) to communicate the divine will or message of that kami (god) or spirit; also included in the category of takusen is "dream revelation" (mukoku), in which a kami appears in a dream to communicate its will). this was back in the old days, of course. to become a miko back then (shaman), one needed to have potential. neurosis, hallucinations, odd behavior, and hysteria (HYSTERIA HELLO???) are some of the signs that a person is being called to shamanism. when a miko is communicating with a kami (god) or spirit by acting as a medium, she is in a trance-like state, and so she must learn techniques to control herself when this happens. chanting and dancing were used to accomplish this, so the girl was taught melodies and intonations that were used in songs, prayers, and magical formulas. all of this could give us insight about utahime’s technique and explains why she’s good at singing :) maybe she can’t control herself when she uses her technique which is why she isn’t shown using it because it should be used for dire situations. i imagine being possessed by a spirit or god must consume a lot of cursed energy. it makes sense that utahime and gakuganji wear traditional clothing. they’re the staff of jujutsu high’s kyoto branch. in chapter 0, kyoto is known as the sacred land of jujutsu. it’s more traditional compared to tokyo. if you want to learn more about miko, you should check out the wikipedia page!

chapter 34

i swear he tries to annoy her every chance he gets. i bet he sets a goal for himself to see how many times utahime lectures him about respecting his seniors every time he’s within the same vicinity as her. at least he called her utahime-sensei!!!

chapter 40

this isn’t even a gojohime moment tbh...i just wanted to share a pic of them sitting next to each other HEHE. why are they sitting next to each other anyway? it’s not like they have assigned seating.

----

that was so long and i apologize for the gargantuan paragraphs you guys had to read through. i’m writing this at 4 in the morning and i’m feeling borderline delirious so i apologize if there are any errors. i’ll edit this when i have time <3

the next part should come shortly.

#gojohime #gouta #gojo x utahime

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unohanadaydreams · 3 years

Note

Polyandrous, sexy, hot relationship between fem reader and Shinji, Rose and Kensei😈😈😈🔥🔥🔥 (sorry, I had a typo in the previous ask😓🤭🙃😄)

Oh my god. Like, imagine being the filling between three captains….real hot girl shit.

Features: Smut, a lil angst, and me bending my back to make these three bang reader and each other.

this is fantasy not a how-to guide on poly relationships thanks.

largely unedited bc its thirst post tower content, and pretty much all consent is implied instead of strictly stated. i checked with all 4 of them though and they told ME it’s consensual. Except Kensei. He told me to fuck off ):

Triple Threat Team-up

(Shinji Hirako x Rose Otoribashi x Kensei Muguruma x F!Reader):

How it seeded:

The relationship started with Rose. He wooed you with his flowery words and romantic fashion, paired well with his cool demeanor. Although some of his ideas on love are dated, he’s not one you could call traditional.

As a group, the vizards have endured much and gained little unless they gave to each other. When Shinji walks in on you and Rose naked, using his shunpo to grab a CD before leaving, you find it odd. Rose does not.

He admits that most of the vizards have been some form of...thing at some time in the past. “You can’t be too shocked,” he says. “It’s hard to stay warm in a warehouse.” The phrasing is odd, letting you know there’s something more he means than winter temperatures.

How it took root:

Shinji is odd too. Casual, yet guarded in a way that becomes awkward should he be forced to relax. There is always a joke or gross face or biting word that keeps him at a distance.

The trick is alcohol, like it is for most people. Rose displays you, a bloom with glistening petals and fragrant scent at every private party he arranges. And eventually, Shinji stops finding reasons to flee, his fingers skimming your petal-soft skin as he kisses Rose.

The two of you lure Shinji in, kissing him softly, feeding him well, and paying him attention when he knocks on the window. Who doesn’t love a stray coaxed into domestication?

Rose speaks like he’s telling a story, his eyes most often on yours, his calloused fingers feeling their way down your body until you have to break the eye contact. You never feel like he’s playing you--using you like one does an instrument--, not at all. If anything, you feel as though he’s teaching you a dance, his steady instruction bringing you to revelation each lesson.

Shinji’s eyes are always, always moving to drink in your body as he moves with you, his mouth just as restless. He can never settle on the perfect position, always toying with having more of his body on yours versus more of your body on display. Each time is a revolving puzzle of moments that end well and make him want to test again.

Together, they are easily overwhelming, even when their focus is on each other. Rose’s proclivity for words gets Shinji’s skin flushed as much as yours. Shinji’s restless approach to sex keeps your eyes excited, the play of their bodies combining with the rise and fall of their voices to make for a thrilling, climactic show.

How it sprouted:

If anyone has taken the repositioning to the Seireitei like a bullet, it’s Kensei. He’s not one for shows of sentimentality, leaving the vizards in the human world be, half to keep from missing them and half to stay sane away from them. And the separation feels cruel, a sloppy sever somewhere inside of him that he refuses to see.

The news of Rose and Shinji sharing you wrinkles his nose at first. Really? Is it some kind of middle finger to the “Man”? Seems ostentatious, how open they are about it, like shoving their tongues down your throat in his personal quarters is acceptable. Sure, he’s cooking with his full, undivided attention on the kitchen, but Kensei still has ears. No way would he purposefully hone in on the wet sounds and mewling of you being pressed in between their bodies in the other room as his sauce breaks.

After a sound lecture, Rose and Shinji seem to get the message. Sort of. The couple nights a week that they insist are Kensei’s turn to cook, a nostalgic bit that squeezes his heart enough to agree to, still happen. But it’s just you and Kensei.

And eventually, Kensei can’t help but ask the questions he wants to know, albeit fueled by visible frustration. It’s aggressive and a bit mocking, how he asks, but you answer freely. Which doesn’t help. Just like waking up wet in the pants and sweaty night after night at the thought of picking you up and fucking you in front of Shinji and Rose to teach them a lesson on home etiquette doesn’t help.

The need and want and well of shitty fucking loneliness comes to a head when Rose and Shinji invite themselves back to dinner one night, Shinji’s hand toying with your thigh as Rose whispers something that glazes your eyes.

One of the pots over boils when Shinji palms between your legs with one hand, his other coaxing a saucer of sake past your lips. Rose is between you and Shinji, his fingers kneading your waists.

That’s it, really. The food getting fucked over by his own inattention. The way your thighs are shaking as your kimono is un-tucked. The far too comfortable looks on Shinij and Rose’s degenerate fucking faces.

He makes what he’s been dreaming about for months into a reality, your squeaking morphing into low moans as he pounds into you, picking you up and away from the other two vizards each time they reach for you. They even beg a little and Kensei ignores their panting, their playing with one another, and pretends he’s teaching them a lesson.

How it blossomed:

Alcohol, food, and sex can’t soothe every tear, but they patch up enough to keep the wheels of your relationship greased. The sober statement that you are all in a relationship with each other does hit one of you with a splitting force at times. It’s not uncommon for someone to pull away, unsure how much their needed, wanted, or meant for such a thing.

But there are always enough hands to come around them, reassuring them back.

Kensei doesn’t lose his prickly sensibilities, almost never letting more than one of you touch him at once. He favors positions where he’s able to stand or kneel above one or two people, close enough be inside someone, but far enough to get away should be too much for him. Kensei is most uncomfortable fucking Rose; the dirty words constantly dripping from Rose’s lips and his eyes so focused on Kensei’s over stimulating. Kensei usually presses a hand over his face, muffling his look and words in one swift move.

He likes everyone having their place, approaching sex with three other people like a scene he’s seen before. Kensei loves attention, too. Rarely, he’ll let that show. Dropping his need to be in charge, he’ll let all three of you treat him to the full weight of your bodies and all that comes with it, usually three hands tugging cum to spill over his stomach as all of your mouths leave dark marks over the span of his body. Usually, he wants someone to drive into or a head to force deeper on his cock.

Rose loves those times the most, where everyone is stripped bare of their baggage, just bodies reaching for one another. Like those concerts where everyone is squished together, all feeling the music separately but together. His enjoyment of having some control is less about the power and more about the flow--it’s easier to make the ending come at just the right time when there isn’t a meaty hand squishing his face into the mattress. Anything that leaves his mouth free pleases him, especially if he’s able to drape himself over or in between bodies, guiding them closer to orgasm with verbal and physical encouragement.

Shinji doesn’t care about the positions or pace or anything outside of him being involved. He’s there and that’s vulnerability in itself. Saying that, the playing that thrills him most is the kind that makes him feel like he’s spilling over from contact alone. His body pressed under yours, his cock sliding at your back as you’re fucked above him. Or someone being hugged to him as he lays on his side, both he and them being fucked closer. His mouth is always happy to be at work, the flat of his tongue flicking his piercing over hot, puffy flesh.

Over all, your sex life probably has a color coated calendar--courtesy of Kensei--and you’re often doing overtime if you’re counting orgasms as work.

#my spine is damaged from making Kensei fit into this ;lkJSD:FLKJSDFLKj #kensei muguruma x reader #shinji hirako x reader #rose otoribashi x reader #bleach imagines #kensei muguruma #shinji hirako #rose otoribashi #bleach smut #thirst post tower #shinji and rose and reader being degenerates around kensei until he SNAPS #honestly even tho shinji can be prickly i feel like he's needy enough that at least he and Rose in a poly is super easy to make happen #Kensei is like the dude who you have to beg to please just PLEASE go to the party just this ONCE and you have to bribe him for 30 minutes #of his time

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lepusrufus · 3 years

Photo

As promised, a little thing about Cassandra being well...herself. Plus a sketch to go with it bc I don’t like posting lots of text by itself.

Warning ths one’s gory y’all

"Entertain him for just a bit," her mother had said. "Just take him down to the winery and I'll meet you there shortly."

And that's how Bela found herself leading one of Alcina's business partners through the castle's hallways. Her mother had to do some urgent calls and leaving a guest by himself would have been quite impolite. And who else to do the task really? Cassandra would probably scare the man to death and Daniela would take him down to the wrong winery. As much as they all reveled in killing and maiming, sometimes they needed to show some face and one such occasion was when the family business was involved.

The man, Emile, has been working with their family for a few years now. If memory serves her right he came from somewhere in France, looking for rare luxury wines. He wasn't exactly a pleasant person, but luckily he didn't talk much when her mother wasn't around, settling for admiring the decorations and paintings adorning their home.

The long route they were taking, staying well away from the dungeon's entrance, was taking them along one of the castle's outer walls. From the windows you could see the beautiful mountains stretching far in every direction and, down blow, the town bustling with activity.

"Quite beautiful weather today no?"

Bela couldn't help a small scowl, invisible under her hood but there none the less, when watching the snow piled on the ground outside. The sun was indeed shining today, but it's warmth didn't quite reach the ground, feeling more like sharp teeth on one's skin.

"I prefer the warm seasons."

The man hummed in response, still looking out the large windows while they walked.

"Come to think of it, I never saw any of you out during winter."

Bela narrowed her eyes at the remark. His tone came out jokingly, but there was something else in his voice, almost testing the waters to see how much he can poke and prod at a wolf before getting his hand bitten off. Bela decided to fall back in step with him, wanting to keep an eye on his every move.

"You're just never here long enough," she answered flatly.

They walked in silence once more, the only audible sound being their boots walking on the hard floor. Until Bela caught glimpse of a quick movement, only to turn and see Emile quickly grab one of the windows' handles and open it fully.

"What the-"

Bela's surprise died in her throat when the cold hit her, instantly chilling her to the bone. She screamed through gritted teeth out of frustration and pain, feeling the little exposed skin cracking already. Her attempt at backing away failed as her back quickly hit the wall and any logical thought of moving left or right was quickly leaving her mind.

"Oh, somebody will pay good money for your heads." He barked out a laugh.

Bela wanted to snap back at him, tell him he was so stupidly wrong and no, you can't literally chop our heads off even if you tried. But the pain caused by the cold left her unable to do much more than double over and grind her teeth.

Until a black blur of robes and insects came slamming against the window, shutting it in the process. Daniela then approached her shivering form while Cassandra materialized from a swarm of insects a moment later. She knelt in front of Bela and grabbed her face.

"Hey. Hey dummy look at me. Are you alright?"

Bela only let out a low growl, narrowing her eyes at her. Cassandra pursed her lips, taking that as a no, and got up.

"Take care of her Dani, I'll be right back."

She moved past her sister, giving her a quick pat on the shoulder and started walking down the hall that Emile had run through a couple seconds prior. Daniela wanted to ask if she needed help, but before she could open her mouth she saw Cassandra whip out her sickle which only meant one thing: hunt's on.

Cassandra's features were hardened into a deep scowl, looking every little bit like the bloodthirsty killer the townspeople feared so much. She wasn't running, as opposed to Emile who just took off. It was pointless. He was heading towards a dead end anyways.

When she rounded a corner only to see him a little further ahead, she wasted no time in bringing up her sickle and throwing it towards her prey. The blade cut the air forcefully with a quick whoosh and embedded itself into the man's shoulder. He let out a pained yelp and lost his balance, landing face first on the marble floor. He tried to scramble to his feet but Cassandra gave him no time to escape.

She grabbed the weapon's handle and pulled it free from the man's flesh, turning him towards her in the process. She then planted one foot on his chest, stopping him from getting up.

Her eyes narrowed and she brought the tip of her sickle to one of the man's eyes, letting out a short chuckle when his expression turned to terror.

"How did you know?"

"The real question is how do other people not know? It's pretty obvious once you think about it."

The answer was anything but satisfactory. Nobody who knew about their weakness was to be left alive, and if killing a bunch of smartasses was what it took to keep her family safe then so be it. Starting with one particular smartass.

She was snapped out of her thoughts with a loud bang. Looking down at Emile she noticed the gun that he managed to take a hold of and fire up at her. Cassandra didn't move, her eyes merely widening in mild surprise. His expression however contorted from smug to horrified upon noticing that the bullet flew straight through her, only dispersing a small swarm of flies that quickly flew back into her form.

"You know, I was really considering making this quick and clean since I have other things to do. But you-" she growled, grabbing his face "-you pissed me off."

He let out a muffled scream when Cassandra's fingers clamped down on his cheeks, forcing his mouth open. After a few stubborn moments she decided to use her sickle too, pushing the blade in between his teeth and prying them open. His muffled protests turned into full on screeches when she suddenly pushed the hooked weapon downwards, it's tip piercing the tongue and neck muscles and poking out through the underside of the jaw.

The screaming soon mixed with gurgling due to the blood now pooling into his throat and mouth. But that too died down when Cassandra forcefully yanked her sickle back, pulling the bottom jaw that it was still hooked to and ripping muscle and bone with a sickening crack.

Emile was writhing on the floor for a couple of seconds, unable to make any sound other than the chocked gurgling of the blood now blocking his airways. But soon he stopped moving, dark blood forming a growing pool around his now jawless head. She grabbed him by the hair and started dragging him towards the dungeons. On any other day she would bring him to her mother and have a feast with the rest of her family, but the seething anger that was still coursing through her veins gave her a different idea.

Down in the bowels of the castle, where she even had a space designated as her "working area" Cassandra looked up at her handiwork. Emlie's body was sprawled out on a scarecrow frame, limbs tightly attached to the wooden poles and jaw dangling from his neck attached with a rope. She couldn't go and put the new "decoration" outside herself but she could always have someone else do it.

With a satisfied smile, she spun on her heels and started to make her way back towards the upper levels of the castle to check on her sisters and inform her mother of what happened. While walking, there was only one thought ringing through her mind.

Nobody touches my family.

#in which bela can't take one single break #lady dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #resident evil village #fanfic #gore #blood

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cinnamonest · 3 years

Text

I’m pushing out another one of my long-since-drafted things to the queue bc I’m trying to start keeping the queue active 24/7 and fill more asks but have this in the meantime

//dark shit, like the blood gore violence kind of yandere not the hot kind, brief animal death, gruesome slow npc death, gore, violence, blood, decaying/putrefaction mention

I'm really bad at judging what's mild versus severe when it comes to gore/blood bc I tend to underestimate, I think this is kinda severe? Let me know which it is actually pls so I have a better idea for the future ---------------------------------------- I mentioned a while back in the corpse disposal post and murder methods post that Razor can be... Brutal to say the least, but to expand more on the concept I feel like there's a big potential for a sort of gap moe with him, a duality that seems to contradict itself. Because in many ways he's a sweetheart, always trying to find things to make you happy, often smiling with those wide, excited eyes, physically affectionate with nuzzles and the like. But the other side of that, he's not actually aware of how... desensitized he is. You notice it early on and it catches you off guard a bit the first time it happens. Some poor little animal you two see struggling, like a bird stuck in a tree, and you urge him to go get it and he nods and says ok. Grabs it, and just as you're about to thank him and let it go you hear its little bones snap under the crush of his grip with a final pained chirp. There, he got it, see? Now you two can eat it together. That was why you wanted him to grab it right? To kill it? Why else? He looks down and realizes oh, it's still twitching, so he reached a hand up and twists its neck. There, now it's dead, he says with a beaming smile. But it falls and he tilts his head when he sees the shocked look on your face. What's wrong? Why are you so upset? You soon learn a lot of the animals don't... die immediately. The little things the wolves drag back are still kicking and struggling, still making noises as they tear into them to devour. It makes you sick to your stomach when you witness it, tears come to your eyes. He knows you don't like it and warns you, but... he doesn't understand why? Why does it upset you like that? He doesn't get it. It's a gnawing awareness in the back of your mind. You start to pick up on his... lack of reactions to certain things. You were once in the church getting healing for a minor wound of his when another group of adventurers came rushing through the doors, desperately begging for help for their friend they were carrying... some guy seriously injured, gored by a boar. The sight is burned in your mind forever, the organs spilling out of his split gut, the shivering and wide, bloodshot eyes, the blood bubbling out of his mouth with choked horrific groans and the way his body convulsed involuntarily. The most horrid thing you'd ever seen. And you were pretty certain it was that way for everyone. Everyone in the church was gasping, some people were retching and trying to hold back sickness, people ran out of the room as they were unable to handle the scene, tears were in everyone's eyes, and as the man wailed in agony from them setting his dislocated bones, you watched the bystanders cringe and wince. Every person in the vicinity was visibly horrified.... except for one. Razor's face was neutral. Curious. He leaned in closer to get a better look, eyebrows raised. He doesn't flinch at the sight of organs spilling onto the ground and the man starting to convulse and foam at the mouth as his eyes roll back into his head. And then, after a moment, he asks if you're ready to leave, says he feels better now and that man is really loud, he doesn't like it. His voice doesn't even have the slightest hint of a wavering or discomfort. When you come across a man in the woods caught in a bear trap, you can barely stand to look at it. Just hearing the cries for help had you shivering, and the sight of the pooling blood and utter agony on the man's face had you gasping, hand over your mouth as you tried to look away. ...Razor didn't seem to mind, though. He just undoes the trap and, without giving the man any warning, yanks it apart, pulling the spikes from his legs. As he does, blood shoots out and splatters on his face. He doesn't flinch, nor when the man screams. He does finally seem to react to the pained groans the man makes. But... It's not like your reactions. He's not flinching and grimacing, drawing in sharp breaths and tensing up, eyes watering in pity and shock like you. Instead, his eyes narrow and he puts his hands over his ears as you stoop down to help the poor man. His eyebrows furrow. He almost looks... Annoyed. He draws his foot back as if he's about to kick him, but freezes with realization when he looks at you, as if he forgot you were standing there, and puts his foot back down. You're certain he wasn't actually going to do that, of course. You're not sure why he did that, but... He wouldn't do something like that, even in a moment of dissociation from his human awareness. He does volunteer to be the one to go get help, though, getting away fast, but for some reason you sense it was more out of irritation at the noise rather than horror at the whole thing. Perhaps the worst was the decomposing body, that day you took a walk in the woods together. He smelled it first, nose wrinkling up in disgust at the putrid smell. But it was strong enough that you smelled it soon after. He says having dead animals this close to the residence of the pack is not good, they all hate the smell, so he can try to move the carcass of whatever animal it is... but it's not an animal, it turns out, once you finally find the source, collapsed at the bottom of a cliff from where they most likely fell to their death. Well, it's kind of a stretch to say it still resembles a human either, but you can tell from the general shape. It's more just like a glob, putrefied and rotting flesh falling off the bones. It shocks you so much you fall backwards, but he just moves closer. Ugh, too far rotted to move, he can't do anything about it, he realizes as he gives the decaying mass a kick and watches the blackened flesh slide off the bones. Oh well. ...In your shock, it takes you a moment to realize how... unbothered he seems. Mildly annoyed by the smell, but his expression is neutral as he looks at one of the most horrifying sights you've ever seen, he just yawns as he walks away from it and says you two should get away from the smell, it makes his head hurt.

The events all linger in the back of your head. A growing sense of wrongness, a dark, cold dread that settles in your stomach as the occurrences slowly grow in number, one after the other, each time you notice the complete lack of any sign of disturbance on his face, in his voice or body language. You ask him once, one time when you get the courage to ask such a... potentially offensive question. Don't you... feel anything when you see things dying? When they're in pain? He nods. He gets what you mean. The feeling when you watch something die. Hungry, right? Oh, no? Maybe you mean the irritation, a kind of angry feeling, what's the word... impatient...? Because the thing is taking too long to die and he wants it to go ahead and die already. Or maybe you mean like when that man was injured? When something is dying but it's not something you wanna eat? Yeah, he has a feeling then too. Um... kind of like anger... you taught him the word once... annoyed? They make so much noise, and he doesn't like loud things. When that man came into the church... he didn't like how loud it was. Why didn't they just kill him, since he was making so much noise...? He doesn't get it. When things annoy him, he kills them, like loud birds and biting bugs. He kinda had an urge to just... reach out and make the man stop screaming, just twist his neck like he does small animals when they make too much noise. But he's smart, he says, he knows the other people might get mad. Yes, he uses the word "might," not "would," as if it was a mere possibility. So it doesn't really come as a surprise when the same attitude applies to the people at his own mercy, the people that get too close to you and end up dragged out to the woods. It's that same knowing dread in your gut, and while it horrifies you as much as it always has, you wouldn't have expected anything else. Maybe some people would feel bad about what they're doing, they would want to go ahead and get it over with, they couldn't take the begging and agony the other party is in... but not only is he totally unbothered, but if he kills him now, he says, the blood will go all over the ground, and that's bad, his lupical like eating the blood in things. So he just snaps the man's bones, that way he won't run away. It's hard to describe the excruciated noises that come out of the other's throat when he does. It's unlike any noise you've ever heard a human make, that kind of pain. The sweat that pours from the other's skin from the agony, the way his mouth hangs open even when he can't scream anymore, the trembling and muffled begging as he moves to the next limb. You tremble and cry. You shiver uncontrollably, you whimper for him to stop. Your eyes widen when he grabs each limb and you close your eyes and sob and grimace and cringe with the snapping sound. Razor, on the other hand, stays just as neutral as before. Face blank and empty, as if performing any other mundane task. He doesn't flinch at the snapping. His expression is unchanging at the sound of screams and the groans as he drags the still-living figure behind him by his shattered ankle all the way back home. When he finally goes to look back at you, he tilts his head at the look on your face. Why do you still look upset? There's no blood yet... isn't it blood that makes you upset? Maybe not? Maybe it's the sound that bothers you? Yeah, you flinch whenever the man groans in pain, so it must be the sounds of the dying things that you don't like, it annoys him too really. Ok, that can be fixed... sound comes from the throat right? Well, he left his claymore a ways away so, it'll just take a second, the guy is thrashing a bit but eventually he holds him still enough to get his teeth latched around his throat and just... bites down. The sound is a squelching, crunching sound, one that you'll never forget, it makes every hair on your body stand on end and your skin crawl. He pulls back with the mass of bleeding flesh and tracheal tissue in his jaws and spits it out on the ground. There, see...? You can see the blood on his teeth reflecting the light as he smiles. He's not making noises anymore, so... why do you still have that look on your face? Is it because the body on the ground is all... spasming and convulsing like that? Well, uh... that'll stop soon, probably. At least it's nice and quiet now. He gets it, really, he doesn't like loud noises either.

#tw: violence #.rz #q

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