#In that way it's sort of hard to describe and put down how exactly I do formline art I think? Bc of how close and thoughtful the process is

[telekitnetic-art]

Hi!! Your art is so fucking cool! Can I ask what the process looks like for form line? Ex. What do your sketches look like when they are really rough? How do you go from idea -> final product. 💕

Hadih, thanks so much for your question!

Honestly, it's sort of hard to explain? I do have some sketches to sort of give an idea though.

This sketch I posted a couple days ago is a pretty good example of what my initial concept sketches sometimes look like.. As you can see, they're pretty chaotic and very rough, and usually these sketches are more about getting the idea down then actually making the formline itself. There aren't formline shapes just yet, although I do sometimes sketch out elements or shapes like eyes or bodies or paws/hands that will usually have an ovoid in it, because those elements tend to be a focus or centerpiece. The sketch is obviously not final, and things can change along the way to account for space and balance as well as what I'm trying to convey. (These sketches aren't entirely accurate of course because they're for pieces that are meant to be fusions of character illustrations and formline art, but they're the best thing I can find on my pc at the moment)

The rough sketch helps me figure out the flow of the piece, and once I'm satisfied with it I try and get to putting down the shapes and silhouette, and it's here where I try to find the balance with my rough sketch and how the shapes can fit and behave in the piece to the best of their limits while also still conveying the message I want to send. The most common shape I start with is the focus shapes, which are usually ovoids.

This rough of my harbor seal formline which I sent to my aunt for review sort of gives a better Idea of what I mean when I say I try and focus on where the centerpoints will be. Ovoids are usually a focus, so you can see them pop up a lot; in the body, the head, the eyes, the tail, etc. Ovoids are so important and probably the most common shape in formline art, and one of the most common feedback I get from my aunt is to adjust how the ovoid looks in any one of my pieces; she often compared them to a loaf of bread! You don't want your ovoids to look like a loaf of bread! (Her words, not mine). I feel like I've gotten better at drawing ovoids though, because she gives it as feedback less and less nowadays. Ovoids usually also have to have a bit of weight/perspective to them; it's hard to describe but essentially the top of the ovoid should usually be bigger/thicker/have more weight then the bottom.

From ovoids, the next shapes are usually circles, u-shapes and crescents, then usually y-shapes/trigons. It can be difficult, because the key is to make sure the shapes flow together and feel cohesive, as well as to make sure the negative/positive space balance feels right. Also a fun tidbit, trigons are most typically used to essentially fill space; it's always important to make sure that they are binding bigger shapes like u-shapes and ovoids and not stealing all the space and attention.

The lines in this stage tend to be very rough and messy, and I always try to go over the next rough draft with a smoother and cleaner pen.

Once the initial shapes are done, I'll usually send the piece to my aunt (sometimes I send them earlier on, when I'm in the middle of working out the shapes) for feedback! I am still a student in formline work after all; basically all of my teachings come from my aunt, who has a lot more years of work in formline art then me. She'll give me feedback and tips of what she thinks I should fix or experiment with. I adjust and fix and sometimes even completely delete and redo parts of the piece with her guidance. The list of things she tells me to change decreases with each piece, so I like to take that as a sign that I'm improving!

Once the black and white version of the design is done, I move onto coloring. Usually I already have a color scheme in mind when I go into a piece, so I'll mess around and put down colors and see how well they contrast before I color it. Typically, a piece will have about 3 colors; one for the background, one primary color, and one secondary color. I use a clipping layer to color the entire formline piece with the primary color, and then go in with the pen tool and bucket tool to use the secondary color. Adding in the secondary color is tricky but important because it once again falls into balancing positive and negative space/colors and the transitions between the two.

Once coloring is done, the project is basically finished! Unless there are some other plans I have for it, ie using it for an overlay in a bigger piece, colouring is usually the final stage.

And that's about it! I hope this helps you understand a bit; this isn't a perfect explanation as this is just from my own artistic POV and other nations and artists have their own process, but I hope it helps nonetheless!!

Edit: I forgot I posted other WIP formlines here before 😭 here and here!! You can sort of see me figure out the flow and balance of the designs in between the WIP and the finished piece!

[fatecantstopme]

Spell Bound

Pairing: Dean Winchester x plus size!reader

Summary: It's sex pollen...I couldn't help myself.

Warnings: cursing, use of pet names. An excessive amount of heavy SMUT, unprotected sex (P in V), rough sex, oral (F receiving), multiple cream pies

"I freaking hate witches," Dean mumbled as he picked the lock on the apartment door.

You chuckled softly, very used to hearing him grumble every time you were hunting a witch.

He slowly walked into the apartment and you followed in after him.

"So what exactly are we looking for?" you asked quietly.

"Big scary magic book. Sam said it's probably on or near some kind of altar."

"Big scary magic book," you muttered under your breath. "Makes perfect sense."

You sighed as you walked into the living room and noticed several bookcases lined with large books. "You've gotta be kidding me."

Dean shot you a weary smile. "Guess it might take a little longer than I thought."

"You think?"

You took one side of the room and Dean took the other. Sam had described the look of the book to the both of you, but there was really no way to be 100% certain if you found it.

About 15 minutes into your perusal, you spotted a large leather-bound book tucked under what appeared to be an altar cloth. You slowly removed the cloth, wary of what you might uncover. The book was almost exactly as Sam had described, so you had a feeling it was the right one.

"I think I found it," you said aloud.

At almost the same exact moment, a crash sounded from behind you and Dean let out a string of curses.

You spun around to see the hunter brushing off some sort of florescent pink dust from his face. "What the hell did you do?"

"I was moving some of the books and this box fell out and some powder just kinda...sprayed my face."

"Seriously?"

He looked sheepish. "I didn't even see it."

You sighed. "Great. God only knows what the hell that was."

He looked at the box carefully, but there was nothing written on it to identify the powdery substance he had inhaled. He gave you another sheepish look and shrugged. "Maybe it's not harmful."

You shot him a stony look. "Dean...it's a witch. It's not gonna be fairy dust."

He sighed, knowing you were right. He started shifting his shoulders a bit as if he was uncomfortable.

"Let's get out of here. I'll call Sam on the way back to the motel and see if he has any idea what it could be."

Dean nodded and followed you out the door. By the time you got outside the building and to the car, he was twitching like an addict in need of a fix.

"Dean?" you asked tentatively.

"My skin feels like it's on fire and--and it's like--itchy. And there's a weird feeling inside that I can't describe, but it doesn't feel nice."

"Okay...how 'bout I drive?"

He looked up at you with concerned eyes, but he handed you the keys and got into the passenger seat. You knew he must really be feeling terrible if he was letting you drive Baby.

You started the car up and pulled out of the parking spot while simultaneously calling Sam on your cell. He answered on the third ring.

"Dean got some sort of witchy powder on his face and now he's...itchy?" you said quickly in lieu of a greeting.

Sam sighed. "What are his symptoms?"

You put the phone on speaker. "Dean, what are your symptoms?"

Dean couldn't look at you and when he spoke, his voice was barely above a growl. "I feel like crawling out of my own skin, everything aches, and I'm having a hard time breathing right. Oh and I can literally smell (Y/N)'s skin, which is totally not normal!"

"You can smell my skin?"

He grumbled under his breath. "I can smell your skin and your shampoo and your goddamn body wash, and I want--fuck. What the hell is wrong with me, Sam?"

"Uh, I honestly don't know. Let me call Bobby and see if he has any ideas."

You set the phone down on the seat beside you. "Maybe you're turning into some kind of animal?"

"What?"

"Well, I mean...you can smell me...which is weird and kind of--animalistic."

"I don't think that's it," he said harshly. "My body is aching in a way I can't even begin to describe to you, but I don't think I'm morphing into anything."

You eyed him carefully, worry etched into your face. He was your closest friend and trusted hunting partner, and you hated seeing him like this. Witches scared the shit out of you...you knew what they were capable of.

"Maybe drive a little faster," he hissed.

You pressed harder on the gas and the Impala shot down the road. When your phone rang, you answered it immediately.

"So I think I might know what it is, but I have something I need to ask Dean first," Sam said.

"Okay." You looked at Dean. "Can you hold the phone? Sam wants to ask you something."

Dean took the phone from your hand, hissing as his skin made contact with yours. "What?" he grumbled.

"This is gonna be awkward, but I need to know, okay? Do you feel--umm--aroused at all?"

Dean was silent for a moment as he let his brother's question sink in. Ohhh fuuuuck, he thought to himself. He glanced down at his jeans and noticed the bulge straining against them. With the intense pain he was experiencing, he hadn't really noticed. "Son of a bitch," he mumbled. "Yeah."

"Okay, well the good news is, I know what it is. It's called sex pollen."

"It's called what?"

"Sex pollen. The name doesn't really matter, but you have all the symptoms. They're only going to get worse until--well until you die."

"Die? Is there a cure?"

You looked over at Dean in terror, your foot pressing down even further on the pedal. Dean's hand was shaking slightly as he put the phone on speaker so you could hear.

"You have to--uhh--well--shit. You have to umm...fuck it out."

"I have to what?"

"Dude, I know, okay? But you don't have a choice. If you don't you'll die a rather painful death."

"Son of a bitch," Dean said again. "Can I, umm, take care of it myself?"

"According to what Bobby read, the only option is actual intercourse with another person."

"How long do I have?"

You were acutely aware of Dean's close proximity to you, and now you understood the nature of his pain. Your own breathing was more labored, but you desperately tried to maintain control of yourself. Don't make it weird, (Y/N), you thought to yourself.

"30 minutes from the time of contact until...until death," Sam answered.

"30 minutes?" you gasped. You started doing the math in your head as Dean continued talking to his brother. "We have maybe 10 more minutes until we get back to the motel and that leaves about 10 until..."

Dean looked over at you, his normally green eyes dark with need. "I'm so fucked," he muttered.

"That doesn't really leave us time to find someone for you to--you know," you said worriedly.

"Shit."

"Might wanna make it fast," Sam said.

"Obviously," Dean snapped. "How long will it take to...get out of my system?"

"That depends," Sam began. "If it's meaningless, one and done. If it's someone you care about...that's another story."

"Another story?"

"It could take a lot longer."

"Great," you mumbled.

"Sam, don't be there when we get there," Dean growled at his brother before hanging up the phone.

"Dean?" you questioned softly.

"Just drive, (Y/N)."

You continued driving, but your focus was most definitely not on the road. You could hear the heavy breathing and the soft pained sounds coming from the man beside you and it made it nearly impossible to concentrate on anything else. It certainly didn't help that you had wanted him for years and seeing him like this was making you feel things you absolutely shouldn't be feeling.

Dean flirted with you regularly, but he flirted with almost every person he came into contact with. It's just a part of his personality, so you never read into it. While Dean quite obviously adored you (and you him), you were not his type. You were a good fighter, sure, but where you really excelled was research. You were brilliant--almost as knowledgable as Bobby, though you still had plenty to learn. You were also significantly more--voluptuous than the women Dean gravitated to. Soft, chubby, more to love--whatever you wanna call it. As such, you'd never made any sort of move to announce your feelings for him. You didn't want to face his rejection.

"Sweetheart, if you don't speed up, I'm liable to die before we make it there," Dean hissed.

You shot him a look. "We're less than two minutes away, so don't die on me yet, Winchester."

He exhaled sharply and nodded. "I'm not gonna make it either way, (Y/N). Like you said, we don't have enough time to find a, uh--partner."

You took a deep breath. "I can't let you die."

He looked over at you and you felt his gaze boring right into your soul. "I can't do that to you."

"I really don't see how we have much of a choice here."

You pulled into the motel parking lot before he could respond.

"Let's go," you said quickly as you got out of the car and made your way to your room.

Dean was right behind you, so close you could feel his breath on the back of your neck. As soon as the door was unlocked, Dean was pushing you through it and locking it behind you.

"Shit," he muttered. "I don't wanna hurt you."

"It's okay, Dean," you said softly. "I'm not afraid."

His eyes widened and he grabbed your chin. "You should be...I'm going to lose control."

"It's alright...use me."

He let out a low growl and squeezed your chin tighter. "I--I won't be able to make this good for you."

You pressed yourself against his body, feeling the hard ridges against you. "It's not about me. You need this."

That was all it took for Dean to let go. His lips attacked yours with a hunger you were not expecting despite the intensity of the situation. He was not at all gentle as he tore your clothes from your body, ripping his own off with equal force.

He tossed you down on the bed with shocking ease. He had absolutely no difficulty manhandling you. You weren't sure if it was the sex pollen or just him.

His lips and hands were everywhere, touching every inch of your soft skin he could possibly reach. He needed to be inside of you so badly it was almost impossible to breathe. His skin burned with each touch and his instincts screamed at him to just break you.

He moves his way down your body and you're surprised as he stops just above your core. "Dean, what are you doing?" You knew he needed a release--and soon--or he wasn't gonna make it.

A voice in the back of his mind kept reminding him this was (Y/N), his (Y/N). Even in his current state, he wanted to avoid hurting you if he could. "Need to get you ready," he grunted.

The words were barely out of his mouth before he was devouring your pussy. The sounds he made were incredible, the feeling almost electrifying. He slid two fingers in and moved them in a scissoring motion to help loosen you up.

He was only down there for a 30 seconds before he came up and locked eyes with you. "I can't hold off anymore."

You nodded. "Just let go. I'll be okay."

He knew the moment he slid inside you, he'd be a goner. Whatever tiny amount of self control he'd managed to hang onto would disappear in an instant. But he could also feel the roaring agony inside him and he needed to feed it before it devoured him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against your ear a split second before he sheathed himself fully inside you.

You cried out--pain mixing with pleasure as his large member stretched you in ways you'd never before experienced.

Dean couldn't give you time to adjust--he was too far gone. His hips began to move and his sole focus was on his own pleasure--his own release.

His thrusts were powerful and fast, so much so that your body started to scoot farther up the bed. He grabbed your hips and held you in place, pace never faltering. The sensations were almost painful given his size, but you wouldn't have stopped him even if you could have.

"Fuck, baby--you feel so good," he grunted.

You were more than a little surprised when he spoke--you hadn't pegged him as a dirty talker. Then again, it could very well have been the pollen. The same could be said of the sounds coming from his mouth. You'd never heard such sinful noises and you loved them.

"So tight--squeezing me so good. Feels like heaven."

You squeezed his cock purposefully, making him groan each time you clenched down. He needed his release and you were gonna make sure he got it. Your own enjoyment was far from your mind--this was essentially a transaction--a lifesaving measure. You had to view it that way to protect your heart...at least that's what you told yourself.

"Baby," he moaned. "Imma fill you up--so close."

Despite the voice in your head telling you this wasn't real--that you shouldn't have any emotional attachments--you reached up and touched his face, caressing it lovingly. "Cum for me, Dean," you whispered.

His eyes locked on yours and he bit his lip--hearing you say his name in the heat of the moment was a bigger turn on than he'd ever imagined. It pushed him right over the edge and he spilled inside of you with a grunt.

You lay beneath him, panting despite the minimal exertion on your part. He'd had his orgasm, but he was still moving, much to your surprise. "You're not done--?"

He shook his head. "Need more."

He pulled out and quickly flipped you over with no warning. You instinctively lifted your hips to allow him access, which he took without hesitation. His cock was still throbbing and the need still burned in his veins. His mind remained singularly focused on his relief--his pleasure.

He slammed into your pussy and set a brutal pace, earning a cry of pain from your lips. This new angle allowed him better access, sending his cock deeper inside of you. His head brushed against your cervix with each thrust, a stinging pain accompanying the pleasure.

Dean's large palm came down on your ass with a hard smack, eliciting a gasp of surprise from your lips. Your pussy clamped down on his cock as he landed another slap to your round cheek.

"Fuck baby, you like that don't you?" Smack. "You like it when I slap this sexy ass?" Smack. "Fuck--squeezing me so tight, sweetheart." Smack.

He was right though, you loved it. You always had, but there was something extra enjoyable about having your ass smacked by Dean Fucking Winchester. Even if you couldn't verbally express your pleasure to him, your pussy made it well-known.

Dean's right hand gripped your hips tightly, pulling you flush against him as he continued pumping. His left hand trailed up your back until he grabbed a fist full of hair at the base of your neck and pulled. Your head snapped back and you cried out, but you didn't fight him.

"Do you know how badly I've wanted to pull this hair, pretty girl? Fuck--I think about it all the time." His pace was relentless and his hand remained entangled in your hair.

You'd never really noticed him looking at your hair in any particular way, so you assumed once again the pollen was making him say such dirty little things.

After several more thrusts, Dean let go of your hair and pushed down on your upper back, forcing you to press your upper body into the mattress. Dean gripped your hips with both of his hands and slammed into you with an intensity that was unmatched by any of his previous actions.

You had a feeling he was close to another orgasm, at least if his grunts and curses were anything to go by. You clenched down around him again, intent on pushing him past the brink.

It worked like a charm. Dean came with a cry of your name, thrusts continuing as he emptied inside of you once again.

You were exhausted and you hadn't had a single orgasm. Part of you really hoped Dean had gotten it all out of his system, but another part of you didn't want this to end. Even if it wasn't real--even if he didn't actually want to be having sex with you, you liked pretending, if only for a little while.

Dean pulled out of you slowly and rolled you over with a surprising gentleness. You assumed that meant he was satiated and the pollen was out of his system.

When you met his eyes, you were surprised by how brilliantly green they were. You'd almost gotten used to the dark forest color that had taken over as a result of the pollen. He was looking at you with an odd expression you couldn't quite place, but for some reason it made you want to scurry away and hide.

"Better?" you whispered.

He cocked his head to the side and a small smirk played on his lips. "Not even close," he murmured.

His lips met yours in a fiery kiss before you had time to respond. Unlike the previous kisses, this one was more passionate, more intense. It made your body tingle all over and a warmth spread through your veins.

Dean's brain fog had finally cleared enough that he could actually slow down and focus on what was happening--on what he was doing, or rather who. He hated that he'd cum twice without even thinking about you, let alone making you orgasm. Dean prided himself on being an excellent lover and he wasn't about to let you leave this bed unsatisfied.

His cock brushed against your pussy as he shifted to hold you closer. You both inhaled sharply, enjoying the sensation. Dean's lips began to travel down your neck, leaving soft, wet kisses in his wake. He nipped at your pulse point, earning an excited moan from you. He liked hearing that sound, so he sucked on that spot until you were panting heavily beneath him.

His hands traveled over your soft curves, touching and squeezing all the parts of your body you were self-conscious about. Dean didn't seem to give a damn that your stomach wasn't flat, that your hips weren't narrow and your thighs weren't skinny--in fact, he seemed to be reveling in the feeling of softness.

His lips were so gentle as he continued his downward movements. He kissed and licked and sucked on each of your breasts, spending several minutes focusing on each one. "You have such perfect breasts," he murmured.

You were too surprised, and perhaps too lost in pleasure, to formulate any kind of response to his words. Luckily, he didn't seem to need one, and he refocused his attention on you.

Once he was satisfied your breasts had received enough love, he continued moving down your stomach, stopping to place soft kisses to every mark and scar he saw.

When he reached your sweet pussy, he spread your legs as wide as he could and settled down between them. You were surprised at his actions, especially since you knew he was still hard--that he still needed another release.

Dean was now singularly focused on one thing--and that was you. Now that his damn brain was working properly, he wanted to make sure you enjoyed this--even if it was a one time thing because you didn't want him to die, he wasn't about to walk away from this without making you scream his name at least once.

He breathed in deeply, smelling your arousal mixed with his own spend, and he smirked. His eyes flicked up to yours and his mouth latched onto your clit, unleashing an overwhelming assault on your swollen mound.

You gasped as the sudden pleasure washed over you. You couldn't take your eyes off the man between your legs--nor did he take his eyes off you. Every time your hips bucked or you tried to move, his strong arms held you in place so he could continue to watch you.

You were writhing against the sheets in what felt like seconds--it was probably longer, but either way you felt embarrassed at how quickly you fell apart under his touch. Your orgasm tore through you like a hurricane, broken moans dripping from your lips.

To your shock, and perhaps concern, Dean didn't stop his assault on your pussy. Even as you tried to squirm away, he held you in place, desperate to give you another orgasm. You whimpered that it was too much, begged him to give you a break, but all of those words quickly morphed into pleas to keep going--don't stop.

"Dean," you gasped as your fingers slipped into his hair, grabbing hold of the short locks by the roots. Your nails scrapped lightly against his scalp and he let out a soft groan.

His tongue seemed to dance across your clit, creating beautiful designs and languages only he seemed to know. He paid attention to what motions made you quiver, which ones made you moan, and which ones had you tugging on his hair with an iron grip.

"Dean, please--I--so close," you moaned.

He smiled, enjoying the immense pleasure he was giving you just as much as you seemed to enjoy it. A few moments later, you were once again coming apart against his mouth and he eagerly lapped up everything you had to give him.

This time as you tugged on his hair and squirmed away, he obliged, lifting himself up from between your thighs. He licked his lips as he looked down at your blissed out face.

"You taste like heaven, baby," he murmured. "Wanna taste?"

Your pretty (y/e/c) eyes widened and you nodded hesitantly. He smiled wolfishly as he leaned down to kiss you, tongue invading your mouth almost instantly, allowing you to taste yourself.

You moaned into the kiss and he held you even more tightly, lips sealed to yours like he needed your air to breathe.

He wasn't entirely sure how he'd managed to control his urges long enough to coax two orgasms from you, but he could feel that control waning. "I need you, baby," he whispered against your lips. "I need you so badly."

You looked up at him, a small smile playing on your lips. You lifted your hips to brush against his cock and he groaned at the contact. You nipped at his jaw and pulled him back down to you. "Fuck me, Dean. Please."

He groaned. "Yes ma'am."

He didn't hesitate as he gripped his cock firmly and lined it up with your entrance. He slipped inside easily, having plenty of lubrication to assist him. Despite having been inside of you multiple times at this point, he was still taken aback by how fucking incredible you felt.

"God, I love this pussy," he murmured. "She was made for me."

You moaned softly at his words and the feeling of him inside you once again. As he started to move, he was much more gentle and you found yourself enjoying the sensations--perhaps more than you should.

"You're so good for me, (Y/N)," Dean mumbled, already lost in the feeling of you.

You would have given anything to hear him say that, but the words broke your heart a little. Had he had any other choice, he likely wouldn't be here right now--you wouldn't be the one he was fucking.

"Hey," he whispered, a rough, calloused hand running along your cheek as he looked at you. "Where's that pretty little head at?"

You smiled at him. "Right here, Dean."

Somewhere inside of him, he knew you were lying, but the damn pollen was still affecting his senses. He accepted your response and went back to his actions, focusing on the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his cock like a vise.

He wanted to feel you cum one more time...wanted to feel the way you'd squeeze his cock as you came. He wanted to watch you come undone beneath him, lost in pleasure he gave you.

He grabbed a pillow and gently lifted your hips, sliding the pillow under them. This provided him a new, improved angle, allowing him to cage you beneath him and hit that sweet spot inside you.

"Dean!" you gasped as the first thrust hit your g-spot.

He grinned and picked up his pace, slamming into it repeatedly. Each thrust sent you closer to the edge of an orgasm you knew would ruin you. Dean Winchester already made you feel things no other man ever had and his ability in bed was no exception. Damn him.

His thrusts were firm and measured, each one sending wave after wave of pleasure crashing through your body. The familiar tightening in your gut was so intense you thought you might actually explode.

Dean's strong arms were on either side of your head and he was looking down at you with that same strange expression from earlier. "You're so damn beautiful, baby. I wanna watch this pretty face as you cum for me."

You gasped, unprepared for the way his words made you feel. You felt emboldened, so you asked for what you needed. "I need more, Dean."

His hand slipped between your bodies, a single finger gently massaging your clit as he continued to fuck you. "That better, baby?"

You nodded rapidly, earning a soft chuckle from his sweet lips.

"You gonna cum for me beautiful?"

You nodded again.

"Yeah? I want you to keep those pretty eyes open when you cum, okay? Wanna see you fall apart."

"Dean..." you whispered.

"I know, sweet girl. I've got you."

Your brain seemed to short-circuit in that moment. All you could feel was a blinding hot pressure immediately followed by an intense euphoria. You heard someone scream "Dean!" and you belatedly realized it had been your voice.

The intensity of your orgasm sent Dean spiraling over the edge of his own. He hadn't even been prepared for it--the mixture of you screaming his name and the sensations of you squeezing him so tightly and the gorgeous way your face contorted as you came was all he needed.

He emptied into you a third and final time, his cock finally beginning to soften as he helped you ride out your high.

He pulled out and flopped down beside you on the bed, his body aching from what had to be some of the best sex of his life--sex pollen or not.

You were just as sore as Dean--probably more so given you literally couldn't move. The two of you laid there in silence, slowly coming down from the electrical highs you'd experienced, both trying to catch your breath for the first time in what felt like hours.

Dean was the first to recover. "Did I hurt you?" he asked so softly you almost didn't hear him.

You turned your head to look at him and your heart clenched at the expression on his face. He was genuinely worried, brows furrowed in concern. You contemplated lying to him, but you knew he'd see right through you.

"A little," you said honestly.

He winced and his beautiful eyes closed. "I'm so sorry, (Y/N)--I would never hurt you on purpose--ever."

You offered him a small smile he couldn't see, until your hand touched his cheek and he opened his eyes again. "I know."

There were a thousand other things you wanted to say--a thousand words you wanted to string together into just the right sentences, but you couldn't. You wouldn't put yourself through it.

"Shower?" he asked softly.

"I honestly don't think I can stand."

A smirk played on his lips. "That should not make me feel so damn good."

You laughed lightly, glad to hear the teasing tone in his voice that you loved so much.

He managed to pull himself into a sitting position. "It's not ideal, but there is a bathtub..." he trailed off.

"I wouldn't mind a bath," you admitted.

He nodded and got to his feet. He was a little unsteady at first, but managed to make his way to the bathroom. You heard the water running as he filled up the tub.

You laid there thinking about everything that had just happened. This was a position you'd never imagined you'd be in--with anyone, let alone Dean Winchester.

You knew this wasn't something you were going to be able to forget about, but you hoped things would go back to normal between the two of you and eventually this would just be a funny story.

Suddenly, Sam's words from earlier snapped into your mind. "If it's meaningless, one and done. If it's someone you care about...that's another story."

One and done...one and done. This most definitely had not been a 'one and done' scenario. But didn't that mean...? No. No way. Impossible. Dean Winchester does NOT have feelings for you.

You began to rationalize your thought process. Maybe "care about" included a friendly relationship. Yeah...yeah that made the most sense. Of course Dean cares about you. You're his best friend. There couldn't possibly be anything more to it...right?

As if on cue, Dean stepped back into the room. "Bath's ready."

"Okay." You tried to pull yourself up, but you immediately fell back against the mattress, body too worn out to sustain any kind of movement.

Dean chuckled lightly and came up to the side of the bed. He pulled the pillow out from under your hips and slipped his arms under your body, hoisting you up bridal style.

"Jesus!" you yelled. "Put me down! I'm too heavy--you'll throw out your back."

Dean laughed. "Calm down, (Y/N). I just threw you around this bed repeatedly with zero issues. I promise I can carry you to the bathroom without dying."

"But--"

He glared at you and tightened his grip on you as if to prove his point. "Ain't a damn thing wrong with your body, so shut it."

Your mouth closed immediately. His words sent a jolt directly to your core and you were almost annoyed by it. As if three orgasms wasn't enough...

Dean very gently set you on your feet in the bathroom and slowly helped you into the tub. As soon as he got you into a seated position, he got into the tub as well, slipping in behind you.

"Umm...whatcha doing?"

"Taking a bath."

"Isn't the tub a bit small for both of us?"

You could feel him shrug behind you. "I think it's perfect size. Now come here." He grabbed your shoulders and gently pulled you back so you were laying against his chest. "That's better," he muttered.

Your mind began to race once again as you laid there, body tense and uncomfortable.

"Okay, (Y/N), I know you better than anyone, so don't you dare lie to me. Where's your head at?"

"I--" you sighed. "I'm not really sure how to feel."

He nodded. "I know you didn't want this--I feel like I had to literally force myself onto you and I hate that. I know you only agreed so I wouldn't die, but--"

"Woah--stop." You sat up and turned your head to face him. "That's not true at all. You didn't force me to do anything."

"Okay, maybe 'force' is the wrong word...but you did have sex with me to save my life. Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?"

"I'm painfully aware," you muttered.

He ran his hand over his face. "I'm not saying any of this right."

"Then what are you trying to say?"

He bit his lip. "Remember what Sammy said? About...how long the effects would last?"

You nodded.

"Well in case you didn't notice, I had three orgasms."

"Both me and my very sore vagina noticed," you said lightly.

He sighed. "Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you, (Y/N)?"

You turned a little more so you could see his face better. He had that same look he'd had when he was making you feel incredible. "I need to hear you say it..." you whispered.

He nodded and leaned forward so his face was mere inches from yours. "He didn't mean 'care' as in 'we're friends, so I care about you'...he meant 'care' as in 'love'."

Your lips parted and you inhaled sharply.

"So you see, I don't just care about you as a friend...and I don't just love you as a friend...I'm in love with you."

"You--you love me?"

"In love," he repeated. "For as long as I can remember."

"You're in love--with me?"

He chuckled softly. "Who else would I be talking to, baby? Yes, I'm in love with you."

"I--I don't know--" you stuttered.

"The only thing you need to know is how you feel. Do you know how you feel about me, (Y/N)?" he whispered.

You nodded slowly.

"And?"

"I'm in love with you too."

He grinned widely. "Yeah?"

You nodded, cheeks turning red.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you back against him. He looked down at you with that expression he'd been wearing and you suddenly realized what it was...it was love--real, true, beautiful, heart aching love.

He leaned down and placed a soft kiss to your lips, which you returned in kind. He held you tightly, loving the feeling of your body in his arms.

"We better get cleaned up before this water gets cold," he said softly, lips pressing to your hair.

"Mhmm," you hummed.

He chuckled. "Don't you dare fall asleep on me, babe."

"But I'm comfortable," you whined.

He smiled against your cheek. "Give me five minutes to clean you up and then we can sleep, okay?"

You looked over at him and smiled. "Deal."

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Yandere! Uvogin General Profile

Yandere! Uvogin x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, violence, mentions of non-con, stalking, theft, mentions of masturbation, mentions of assault, reader is referred to as tiny and small but let's be honest everyone is small compared to Uvogin, brief neglect/being ignored, mentions of Stockholm Syndrome, manipulation, threats, isolation, Uvo is a bastard and is somehow charming even though he's obsessed with you, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 12K

DARLING PROFILE

Easily flustered

In many ways, Uvogin desires a darling who is the opposite of him.

He likes the idea of a darling who is more innocent, and while this doesn’t have to manifest as being literally naïve or just not being a mass murderer like him, he finds it endearing.

There’s just something about having a darling who is a little softer, a little weaker, a little cuter that just makes him smug.

He likes thinking that his darling is just so damn cute, and he isn’t afraid to tell them as much; he’s teasing them constantly, every other word slipping past his lips a mixture of flirtations and cheeky compliments, and the minute his darling looks bashful or flustered?

Well, it’ll only embarrass them more when he starts laughing, enjoying the sight of them all frustrated and embarrassed, a big hand coming down to playfully scruff up their hair.

 He’ll tell them that they’re cute, that he likes their smile, that they’re probably the prettiest woman he’s even seen, and the moment they freeze up a bit, their eyes going slightly wide before scowling and trying to hide how flattered they are, he’s only falling harder, loving the way they try to fight the effect he has on them.

And really, that’s what it comes down to – he likes to see the way their body betrays them, his compliments getting a rise out of them even when he’s got them stolen away in his modest apartment, touting all this big declarations of hatred towards him.

(Yet they fall apart at a simple compliment of their tummy or thighs – he knows these are spots of insecurities, and is it dirty to be playing the card of focusing on the area he knows his darling is sensitive about? Maybe, but he’s never exactly been ‘clean’.)

He just loves the idea of his cute little darling being a flustered mess with just a few touches and words, and he’s capitalizing on this personality trait as often as he can get away with – smacking their ass or kissing their knuckles or winking at them or even just telling them in that nonchalant voice that they look hot as hell in his clothes.

They’re just endearing, and he’s always been honest – so don’t get too upset when he speaks his mind.

Creative

There’s something about a darling with a hobby that he likes.

Maybe it’s the product of seeming they become genuinely passionate about something they love, or perhaps it’s simply just seeing them concentrate and put energy into creating something.

Uvogin doesn’t know, but regardless his ideal darling has some sort of creative hobby that he’s more than willing to help nurture. It can be anything, really – perhaps they draw or paint, or maybe they write or cook. Maybe they knit or sew, or perhaps they sing or play an instrument.

It doesn’t really matter what the hobby is – Uvogin just likes that his darling has an outlet for letting out all their energy, and he’s more than willing to sit through any kind of performances or viewings or anything at all where his darling can show off all their hard work.

He’s already spoiling his darling once they’ve been kidnapped, but he’s stealing supplies that pertain to his darling’s favorite hobbies, making sure they have a lifetime supply of paints or yarn or paper or cloth or anything their little heart desires.

He likes to see them smile, to watch them get all starry eyed and passionate, and often he'll simply plop down and watch them go at it, staring at them as they indulge in their hobby.

He'll even be willing to learn if his darling is willing to teach them – having massive hands makes most creative pursuits difficult, but he likes the way his darling’s hands cover his own as they teach him how to make the brush strokes or press down on piano keys, the skin soft and warm and perfect against his own.

He just likes the attention of it, the idea that they’re sharing something intimate and personal with him, and it only makes his possessiveness flare up, satisfaction swimming through him because obviously his darling is warming up to him, because why else would they spend so much time with him, teaching him and being patient as he purposefully messes up just to get them to show him again, to touch him again?

Snarky

Uvogin likes the idea of a darling who can dish it out back at him. He’s teasing by nature, always throwing quips and little one-liners at his darling, and the idea of his darling returning this teasing energy or even initiating it makes him feel a little weak in the knees, both impressed and aroused by their quick thinking and wit.

There’s just something attractive about being put in his place, and although the power dynamic between him and his darling is unquestionably in his favor, there’s something sweet about pretending that they have any semblance of control in the relationship.

He likes the idea of having a more ‘normal’ relationship with his darling, and the tendency they have to throw little comments at him help to make the relationship feel less like captor and captee, less like lovesick freak and victim, and more like two people hopelessly in love, enjoying one another’s company and never, ever leaving each other.

Of course, this trait can be pushed too far – Uvogin doesn’t want someone mean. There’s a fine line between teasing and rudeness, and he wants his darling to perhaps occasionally toe the line, but be firmly on the side of the former. He’s not interested in being critiqued or judged – it should be fun hearted, light, loving, even if he pulls information out of the blue that he really, really shouldn’t know.

(Like their banking information, or their biggest insecurities, or anything at all, really.)

He just wants someone he can banter with, his booming laugh filling the room when his darling catches him off guard with something funny and unexpected, and he’ll return the favor tenfold.

(And if he can’t think of a witty enough retort, he’ll just push them over the nearest surface, rip off those pesky shorts, and bury his face against their cunt until they’re crying and sobbing his name – the best comeback of all, he’d argue.)

Compassionate

Because he wants someone opposite of himself in many ways, a darling who is more compassionate and considerate of others is oddly attractive to him.

He can’t quite pinpoint why – he’s always believed it’s a sign of weakness to be so attentive to the needs and desires of others, but there’s something different about it when it’s his darling who’s stopping and worrying about how others feel.

It’s annoying, he’ll admit, because it stirs up his jealousy; why should his darling care what other people think and feel?

All that really matters is him – he’s all they need, so why are they wasting time on thinking of how someone on the news must be scared and all shaken up because they got robbed last night?

(It wasn’t even a real, meaningful robbery – just some low level thugs looking to make a quick buck, so why are they sympathizing with the woman crying on the TV about how she can’t afford rent now because the robbers stole her stashed away cash?)

Why do they waste precious energy into worrying about how strangers on the bus are feeling when they’re crying or clearly upset, their expressions clear as day as they stare down at their phone or bite their wobbling lips?

He thinks it’s a waste of his darling’s time, frankly, and instead would prefer all of this energy and care to become channeled towards him. He wants to take up every free thought his darling has, to be constantly on their mind as they are his, and he gets equal parts angry and jealous when there’s someone or something else taking up the precious space he’s claimed as his own.

It’s frustrating, but it’s one of the things he likes most about his darling – they’re just so sweet and soft and pure, even, that it makes him feel like he’s ruining something angelic, like his darling is his own personal bit of heaven all for him him him.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS

Possessive

Can he really be blamed?

He’s spent his adult life being a thief, stealing from anyone and everyone he’s told to, and Uvo sees absolutely no problem with it – you’re his, after all, and he’s never been especially great at sharing.

In his mind, you’re something that he’s claimed, something that is completely and utterly his, and once he’s set his mind to something, there is absolutely nothing anyone can do to sway him.

He’s stubborn to a fault, and when it comes to you this trait is only increased – so really, when he slowly becomes more and more controlling, more and more needy for your attention, don’t fight it too much.

Don’t be too surprised when his question of whether you’d like to hang out on Saturday morphs into you don’t have anything going on Saturday night, right? Shit, of course not, how could you when you’ll be spending time with me on my couch, eating pizza from that place downtown you love?

Don’t be too surprised when he starts gently but firmly grasping the phone out of your hand when someone calls you, dark eyes appraising the caller ID before he scoffs or rolls his eyes, muttering out a some people are real pieces of work, huh and quickly declining the call and blocking the number, all so quickly that you don’t even really get a chance to see who even called you.

Don’t be surprised when he cheekily asks you if you’re wearing matching a matching set of panties and bra, and if you answer an embarrassed yes and tell him about this date you’re going on that you’re nervous for, absolutely do not be surprised that the ceramic mug you’d given Uvo with a cup of steaming coffee in it is shattered in his grip, the grin on his face just a bit too tight, his form suddenly much larger than you consciously remember as he growls out a strained who’s this ‘date’, pretty girl?

Frankly, Uvogin has a talent at passing most things off as a joke at the start of his infatuation with you – he’s just charming and friendly enough that he can make most things seem funny, like teasing, like you’re just overreacting and blowing things out of proportion.

He’ll make you believe he joking when he pats your head and calls you his good girl, because that’s just a term of endearment he’s always called his friends – don’t let it make you uncomfortable, that’s just how he is!

(It most certainly is not – he’d never call Shizuku or Pakunoda or Machi that, too terrified for his own well being to ever have the guts to try something like that. Plus, he’d never want to – you’re his woman, and why should he give a shit about any other female on the planet? You’re all he’ll ever need, just as he’s all you should ever need.)

Surely you’re reading too much into it when he wraps his burly arms around you and spins you around in the air, his lips against your skin as he rambles praises of you, the hickey that forms later that night just coincidental to the location of his rather eager ‘talking’.

(He’s just a passionate man – he didn’t mean to give you a hickey. Don’t you know that he gets animated when he talks, his lips moving quickly, and it’s all just one big coincidence that it happened to be right over your jugular, a sensitive, intimate area reserved for lovers.)

You must be mistaken when he lunges at another man who dared to compliment your hairstyle, the oddly sincere threat of get your eyes off of her before I rip them out myself, you hear me making your blood run cold.

(He’ll tell you that he and the guy who’d complimented you were actually long time friends, and that this sort of threatening and joking around is typical for the two of them – he’ll shrug and tell you that boys will be boys, hoping you’ll take him at face value and not mention how the man seemed to be equally as shocked as you.)

It’s easy to let him talk you out of whatever doubts about him you have, his insistence that he was just playing around, trying to get a rise out of you convincing you much easier than it should.

And really, your willingness to believe him can stem from your own naivety, but if you’re being really honest you know there’s some selfish part of you that almost likes the attention Uvo gives you, the way he’s always touching you and smiling at you, making you feel precious and valued and wanted. You’ve just never felt so wholly seen and understood, almost as if he has this innate ability to understand you, as if you’re connected in some deeper way.

(He always seems to just know things about you, always guessing your favorite things correctly, and if he didn’t have such a bright smile and convincing laugh, you’d almost be unnerved and afraid of how eerily accurate his guesses are. Stalking is the answer, of course, but it’s best that you remain in the dark about that until the time is right.)

It’s a slippery slope though, because as soon as Uvogin realizes that you’re sweeping things under the rug, he’ll get more and more aggressive with his possessiveness, feeling more and more justified as he threatens and fights others, his passing remarks about you being his becoming more specific and explicit, his jokes about just whisking you away one day becoming more and more frequent, more and more detailed and well thought out and terrifying.

He’ll push the boundaries, but the minute he senses he may have crossed the line, there’s that familiar laughing man you think you know, that smile and calming voice telling you that you’ve got it all wrong sweetcheeks, I’m just giving you a good time, of course I don’t own you – I don’t have enough money to buy something so gorgeous!

It’ll work, frankly, until you suddenly realize that you haven’t seen or talked to another person aside from Uvogin in over a month, his face and voice all you’re met with as the days fly by, other people becoming more and more scarce as he slowly begins taking over your life.

Everything with him is a slow process, a gentle yet unstoppable path under which Uvogin will slowly become more and more obsessed, and less and less willing to simply share.

After all, being a thief has its perks – he’s just never had to work so hard for something so easy to simply steal away. 

Protective

Uvo is extremely aware of his own strength; it’s a point of pride after all, being the physically strongest member of the Troupe. His muscles are beyond noticeable, bulging and standing proudly even when he’s relaxed, even when his arms are covered with layers of fabric.

He’s just huge, giant and powerful, and you’re just not.

You’re so very small compared to him – small and sweet and fucking adorable, so completely opposite of himself.

And to Uvo, it’s incredibly endearing but also incredibly nerve wracking, because what if he one day slips up and hugs you too tight, grabs your wrist too strongly, or accidentally breaks a limb?

The idea of hurting you is something that makes him physically ill, his stomach churning in vile knots while a cold sweat breaks out as his hairline, if only because the idea of you crying, bruised or bleeding and staring at him like he’s some sort of monster would be enough to break him.

He wants you to love him, not to fear him. You’re the one person on this planet that he wants to look at him with adoration and reverence, like he’s some sort of god, just as he looks at you. And if he were to injure you, to accidentally go too far and leave a bruise or scar or break something?

He would never forgive himself, and he’s sure you’d never forgive him – and that would simply be unacceptable, a huge setback in the love he’s trying to very hard to create between the two of you.

He doesn’t want to hurt you on any level, and as a result he’s developed the habit of treating you as if you were made of glass, a lovely porcelain doll that’s his job to protect and keep pristine.

It doesn’t matter if you’re a skilled nen user yourself or whether you’ve never even punched someone before – Uvo will be keeping his place at your side, ready to step in at a moment’s notice in the case of anything or anyone trying to harm you, to which he’ll ruthlessly beat down and murder because no one fucking touches you.

He will be carrying you around your ‘shared’ home, wrapping you up in his arms and snuggling your face into his neck while he brings you from the bedroom to the couch for a movie marathon of those cheesy sports action films he seems to love.

He will be forcing you to sit still while he has Machi do a quick check up on you every few weeks, making sure that you’re healthy – though he never leaves the room, always hovering and staring at you, making sure Machi doesn’t get too comfortable with you.

(And no, the pink haired woman will be absolutely no help to you to escape – while she and Uvo aren’t particularly close, she’s still happy to see her troupemate in love, happy to see that he himself is happy, and surely he isn’t treating you badly if you come up perfectly healthy and bruise free every checkup, right? Machi honestly won’t even talk to you much – simple, curt answers to your questions, and not a single smile in sight. You’ll almost prefer talking to your kidnapper over her as time goes on.)

He wants you to be completely safe and healthy, and while he isn’t the best at cooking or any of the domestic fields he knows of, he still tries his best – expect a homecooked meal a few nights in months where he’s home, a sizzling breakfast that looks just a bit too charred on mornings when he’s spent hours staring at the sun softly glowing on your face.

The food might be overcooked, bland and a bit limp, but at the grin on his face and the way he brings the spoon up to your lips and tells you to open that mouth babe, I spent two hours making this casserole – wanna see you eat every last piece, it’s more than obvious that he’s proud, that he’s chosen foods high in proteins and vitamins, anything to make you healthy and stronger.

At first, his overbearing concern for your wellbeing won’t be too extreme – he doesn’t want to scare you off after all, and he’s able to keep most of the urges at bay aside from the occasional check over your body while you’re asleep.

He can sate himself by rationalizing that you’re with him now, that you’re safe and accounted for, that he was with you all day so there’s no way you somehow hurt yourself without him knowing, right?

And it works for a while, his paranoia growing stronger by the day but still just barely able to be quelled by this logic.

Except, as time goes on, Uvo just can’t help it – his feelings for you are too strong, too intense and overpowering to hold back, and soon he gives up completely. It’s his job to protect you, right?

He’s your lover, your man, and what sort of partner would he be if he isn’t keeping his you safe, if he’s not making sure that you’re adequately provided for, if he’s not diligently checking you over himself, analyzing every inch of your body to make sure you haven’t grown sick or somehow managed to scrape yourself without him knowing.

After all, you’re his cute little woman, his sweet baby that he’d kill everyone and everything for – is it so wrong to want to protect you, the literal light of his life?

Clingy

Uvogin has a massive problem when it comes to allotting his time with you in reasonable quantities. He really, really likes to spend time with you – you’re the best part of his day, the reason (aside from the thrill of combat and the Troupe) that he’s still living, that he still gets up every day.

You get his heart pumping in something other than adrenaline and pleasure when he’s beating someone senseless, and Uvogin’s never been good at denying himself pleasure. Being around you is like a shot of serotonin, his entire mood brightening no matter what happened previously, this ache in his chest quelling because you’re here now, right beside him where you belong.

He’s genuinely attached to you – you’re perfect in his eyes, his lovely little woman that he wants to love and spoil, and Uvogin quickly develops the desire to spend as much time with you as he possibly can.

You’re just so sweet and pretty and adorable, and fuck you make him so happy, so how can he possibly hold himself back from wanting to spend every second of the day with you?

How can he possibly be blamed for wanting to see your smile as often as he can, hear your chiming, lovely laugh, feel your soft hands against the hard planes of his muscles as often as he can?

Uvogin quickly becomes attached to you, thoughts of you taking up his mind, your face dancing behind his eyelids as your gorgeous eyes sparkle, your hair ruffled by the breeze as you laugh and reach out for his hand, telling him in that lovely sing-song voice of yours to come on, I want to see the fireworks before they end once he takes you on all those adorable, sweet dates he knows you’re dreaming of.

He’s almost a closeted romantic in that sense, and while he’s never really daydreamed about big, grand gestures between partners before, there’s just something about you that makes him want to buy dozens of bouquets of flowers, steal the most expensive, precious jewelry, wine and dine you until you’re giggling and leaning onto him for support.

That is to say, Uvogin is a complete and utter sap for you.

He wants to see you smile and look at him, to give him your attention and need him like he needs you, to the point where he’s not making any attempts to hide it.

He’s not trying to be discreet when he wraps an arm around your waist and plants a loud, dramatic kiss against the crown of your head; no, he wants you to hear it, to feel the weight of his arm around you and his lips against your skin, if only because you get so cute when you’re all flustered, when you shrink in on yourself and smack his stomach, hissing a quit it, that’s so embarrassing!

He’s not trying to be subtle when he calls your name from several meters away, waving a hand and sending you a smirk as he begins a loud, one sided conversation with you, hoping to draw as much attention to himself as possible so that you’ll be looking at him and only him, even if he gets chewed out by you later for causing such a spectacle in public.

(Not that he cares – not only does he not give a single shit what other people think, there’s something so sexy about the way you huff and yell, waving your arms around and sounding so exasperated, your voice high and irritated and saying his name…)

Long story short, Uvogin doesn’t make a single attempt to hide the way he’s always desperate to talk to you, to have your eyes on him, to just be with him, to the point where you’ll probably know that he holds romantic intentions towards you fairly early on – with how touchy he is and the way he’s always seeming to just be there when you’re in town, or the way he always shows up at your apartment, holding takeout from your favorite restaurant and giving you those smoldering eyes you just can’t say no to.

(And he is touchy – he’s always pressing his fingertips against your waist, the small of your back, your shoulder, tucking your hair behind your ear, tracing your collarbone or lips, or even, when he gets a bit bolder, dipping down to playfully smack your ass.)

You’ll know, and Uvogin knows you’ll know – that’s part of the plan after all, because while he’s a mass murderer and criminal that somehow has decided he wants you for his own no matter the consequences, he still would prefer for you to be in love with him, to enjoy your time spent with him and genuinely want him, and don’t women love men who show they care?

He won’t give you any mixed messages, but the trade off is that Uvogin will want every possible second of your time, and there won’t be a single thing that happens in your life that the taller man isn’t aware of – how could he not be, with your phone tapped, and all the trackers, cameras, and audio devices Shalnark helped provide him with?

 Uvogin wants to know every bit of your business, to be invested and participating in every aspect of your life, and he will – whether you know it or not, he’ll always be there.

Even once he’s stolen you away, he’ll be hovering and touchy, hugging you and teasing you, that grin on his face trying to pretend that you’re happy, that you’re in love with him, that you’re right where you fucking belong. 

But in the event that he’s taken away from you, forced to spend periods of time where he can’t be your shadow for the day, Uvogin resorts to other measures so as not to lose his mind from not getting to smell your scent or feel your skin or hear your voice.

That is, he begins collecting items of yours – small things, mostly, things he’s sure you won’t miss to terribly. He’s snatching away old hair ties of yours, right on the verge of snapping, still containing a few strands of your hair that he cherishes and sometimes idly plays with when he’s forced to wait for other members of the Troupe to arrive at meeting locations.

He’s got an old water bottle or two of yours that you think you accidentally misplaced while you were out, but really he stole it right from under your nose, having watched your pretty lips wrap around the straw piece, suctioning and sucking and swallowing, the sight provocative enough to be the star of many, many fantasies he’s played out in detail late at night.

Even your old toothbrushes, misplaced socks or even a pillowcase you thought the washer ate up are in his collection – they’re just things to help him sate himself when he’s forced to be away from you, things to help him stay sane. It’s almost like he’s an addict going through withdrawal – he needs your things in order to not be horribly short tempered and difficult to work with, and in many ways, your belongings are the only things keeping him functional.

So don’t worry too much when you begin realizing just how many of your things are missing – unexplained items that you swear you had yesterday but seemed to have disappeared over the course of the night.

They’re not unaccounted for, so don’t worry – besides, when you’re eventually living under the same roof as him, you’ll be reunited with all your stolen belongings.

(Just don’t mention the mysterious stains the socks and pillowcase now have, nor the way the toothbrush looks to be in much, much worse shape than when you lost it – almost as if someone has been regularly using it.)

Uvogin just loves you, and is it so wrong for him to be so needy, clingy, desperate for you?

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Patience isn’t really Uvogin’s strong suit.

His possessiveness makes jealousy something extremely common, and in general he’s overly sensitive to any possible interaction between you and another man. He absolutely cannot stand another person looking at you, watching their disgusting eyes rake over your figure, their tongues dancing out to flick over their lips, minds surely filled with vile, impure thoughts that make Uvogin clench his fist and work his jaw.

He hates seeing others try to talk to you, thinking they’re worth your precious time, and although he rationally knows that not every single man you encounter probably has nefarious intentions, he’s very, very quick to jump to conclusions.

And frankly, why shouldn’t he?

Those he holds dear are all criminals, and while not all of them see women as objects (though, some definitely do), he’s more than aware of how filthy and dehumanizing some men can be towards women. And with the amount of people you come into contact with every day, surely some percentage of them must want something more sinister.

And so, Uvogin assumes the role of your guardian angel – just with much, much darker intentions and methodology. He can’t stand the thought of someone else coming along and trying to seduce you, and while this anger doesn’t stem from any sort of insecurity in his own ability to woo you, it doesn’t matter.

The end result is still the same – he’s still regarding every man that comes within twenty feet of you as being suspicious, eyeing them critically and watching like a hawk to see if anything they do – anything at all – is a sign that they’re paying you unwanted attention.

He’s quickly noticing any signs; glances aimed at you that are longer than the cursory appraisal of one’s surroundings, any sort of shuffling or leaning closer to you, any move to look at your clothing or the title of the book you’re reading out of on the subway car.

He’s diligent, taking his job in protecting you extremely seriously, and he’s good at it, too – the moment something seems even slightly suspicious, he has no issue making his presence known.

Frankly, just the mere sight of him is enough to ward off most men, because who wouldn’t be terrified when an eight foot tall man with bulging muscles, an intense aura, and a deep frown settled onto his face approaches you?

He’s effective, and while it may seem like overkill to you, like he’s simply imagining up these interactions he claims could end poorly for you, you’ll just sigh and roll your eyes, writing off his strange behavior as typical Uvogin, always making jokes that he takes just a hair too far.

And this is good for him – it works in his favor to have you disregarding when his possessiveness flairs up. It irritates him that you aren’t appreciating all his efforts and the care he puts into making sure no men bother you, but it's better this way – you won’t get suspicious of him this way, nor will you start becoming afraid of him when you see all the missing persons reports that always seem to feature men he’s scared off.

It just makes things easier – and Uvogin won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

It's a nice, sunny day out, and Uvogin can’t help but be glad he’d chosen this park to take you to.

It’s near your apartment, and although there’s a lot of people here (lots of children and parents, mostly, but the occasional runner or elderly person getting their exercise), you’d managed to snag the spot most secluded, between a grouping of trees. He’d been wanting today to be a nice date – parks weren’t his thing, but you seemed to enjoy the idea of a picnic, and just the thought of you smiling up at him and getting all excited and happy and adorable was all the motivation he needed to go out and steal some snacks and a cute, checkered picnic blanket.

He felt stupid setting it all up, biting at his thumb and furrowing his brows to make sure everything was perfectly placed, but the moment you showed up, it was all worth it. You’d been so happy – beaming at him and practically jumping up and down, eagerly tearing into the basket of goodies and plopping down onto the admittedly quite small blanket.

Sure, maybe you didn’t think this was a date, per se, but Uvogin has spent the whole time watching you, gaze flicking between your lips and your eyes as you ranted about the latest drama at your workplace.

He’d chimed in a few times, telling you with a serious voice that he’s told you to quit working at that shithole; you don’t get paid enough to deal with all that crap. Plus, you don’t need to work – I can support you, I promise. I’ll spoil you, make sure you’ve got everything you could ever want.

He'll pair that with a little wiggle of his bushy eyebrows, making you snort and laugh at his - you wrongly assume – joke. That gets a grin slipping across his lips, pride and satisfaction sitting heavy in his chest because you just look so damn cute when you’re laughing like that, and even more so when you’re laughing because of him. Everything is going well – you’re smiling between bites of food (all your favorite snacks of course, down to the exact brands and flavors), and it’s not until you suddenly remember that you’d left something in your car that things begin going downhill.

It’s not a big deal, really – just a Chapstick that you offhandedly mention you wished you’d brought to the picnic with you, your lips feeling a little chapped from the crisp spring air.

(Immediately his eyes are darting to your lips, watching and having to force back a groan when he sees your tongue dart out to lick them, the sight nearly making him lose his composure.)

He’s standing up without giving you a second to think, squatting down and swiping your keys out of your pocket, sending you a wink and telling you to wait here, princess, I’ll be right back. You don’t even have time to protest and tell him it’s really no big deal (or tell him the location of said Chapstick in your car – useless information, really, because Uvogin knows exactly where you keep it, mostly because he’s used it before himself).

He can’t have been gone for longer than five minutes, spinning the keys on a finger and smiling despite himself, reliving your smile and laughter over and over in his mind, trying with all his might to keep himself from imagining the sight of you licking your lips lest he start imagining you licking other things, things that would be much bigger and harder and throbbing for you -  

Uvogin notices the man that’s approached your secluded spot a bit too late, it seems. He’s already standing next to you, chatting with you and being much, much too close for comfort as far as Uvogin is concerned.

His fist tightens around the Chapstick clutched in his left hand, nearly hard enough to crack the plastic. His brows are pressed inward, dipping down, a scowl replacing his smile, his feet moving faster and faster to bring him back towards you and this stranger.

Once he’s within ear shot, he’s immediately calling out your name much too loudly, stopping and standing on your other side with a hand on his hip and his aura heavy, the grin on his face just slightly too tight.

The man blinks, beady brown eyes staring up at Uvogin owlishly, the size difference more than apparent as Uvogin stands up just a bit straighter, making sure he’s reaching his full height. He even flexes his muscles a bit, hoping to appear bigger, stronger, better, both to intimidate this man and to have you admiring his physique.

Can I help you?

His voice is curt, not the usual friendliness you’re used to, and immediately you’re frowning, opening your mouth to speak from your position still sitting on the ground, but the stranger beats you to it.

I, uh, I was just getting some directions. Sorry man, I didn’t mean to interrupt.

Uvogin’s eye twitches. Directions, huh? What are you, stupid?

You gasp at that, swatting out and smacking his calf lightly. He makes no acknowledgement of your action, but internally he hums at the attention and the slight bit of pained pleasure that shoots up his spine.

The man looks taken aback, offense and unease swimming in those eyes of his. Listen, I’ll just go, have a nice day.

He nods at Uvogin, and quickly nods at you too – making Uvogin’s grip on the Chapstick finally crack the plastic – and swivels on his heel, taking off in a poorly masked jog. Uvogin watches him the whole way, his gaze so heavy that the man feels it even from some fifty yards away.

Eventually you bring him out of his stupor, your arms crossed and an irritated look crossing your face. Uvogin sighs, finding your attitude a bit adorable, but also finding himself a bit preoccupied. Chasing down that guy later would be a pain, but he’d manage – it’d give him something to do, after all, because he could only spend so many nights a week standing in the doorway of your bedroom with his dark eyes trained on your sleeping body, his hand sometimes diligently stroking himself.

It'd be fun, too.

What the hell was that? You’re asking him, the honest to god pout you’re giving him making him chuckle and pat your head.

Just man stuff, you wouldn’t get it, babe.

His comment only seems to anger you further, and you snatch the bag of chips he’d picked up out of his hands. Nuh-uh, you don’t get to be a dick to someone who was genuinely just asking for help and then eat all the food. No fucking way.

At that he laughs aloud, plopping down onto the blanket (much closer to you than he was before), picking up another bag of chips and throwing a few into his mouth. Get off your high horse sweetie, must be hard for a shortie like you to get up there.

You send another smack to his leg and this time he pretends to be hurt, clutching at his wound and telling you to kiss it better, a comment you only dignify with a piece of bread being flung at his face.

The picnic goes well, uninterrupted for the rest of the afternoon, but that night Uvogin stays true to his word, stalking through the backstreets of the area he’d narrowed down the man’s apartment being in.

It didn’t matter that the man hadn’t made a move against you, or didn’t say anything to make you uncomfortable – he’d approached you, talked to you, looked at you, and that was enough to warrant a punishment so severe that he may not get to even apply his newly learned rule of absolutely no contact with you.

And as Uvogin sends punch after punch flying at the man’s face when he tackles him in the man’s own living room sometime around midnight, he can only laugh, the grin spread across his face maniacal at best.

Eventually the corpse is so bloody and mangled that Uvogin finds himself satisfied, getting up off the straddling position he’d forced the man into, wiping his hands – covered with red – off onto the man’s kitchen towel, before strolling out the front door, whistling a tune and already deciding on which path is the shortest to get back to your apartment.

You should be asleep by now – and you always look prettiest right when you’ve just slipped under, your pretty face all relaxed and sweet and soft, making him sigh and slightly laugh at himself because when the hell did he get so damn soft?

Since he met you, really, because you just have such an affect on him.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Truth be told, while there’s nothing more in the world that Uvogin wants than to have you secure at his side, in a little home for the two of you where you can be together, alone, and living a perfectly sweet domestic life, he’s hesitant to force this situation to happen.

In general, he isn’t an especially forceful or strict yandere – of course, he doesn’t like seeing other men around you, seeing you doing dangerous things or interacting with people he knows are bad for you, but Uvogin is more or less lenient when it comes to what you want, with a few harsh exceptions (anything involving your safety, or another man).

Your freedom is something that he wants to preserve as much as he can, if only because he firmly believes that once your basic rights are taken away, you’ll no longer be the woman he’s fallen in love with, the person he’s become so horribly and wonderfully obsessed with to a pathetic degree.

He’s scared you’ll become a shell of your former self, that the woman he’s so desperate to spend the rest of his waking moments with will disappear forever, and while Uvogin doesn’t have too stellar a moral compass, even he knows that erasing your past identity is a step too far – stalking you, stealing your clothing and small trinkets, threatening others and killing in your name may not be, but actually stealing you is something that doesn’t sit right with him.

That isn’t to say, however, that the possibility of him kidnapping you is non-existent – he’s hesitant, but not unwilling, and so the moment that your safety is threatened, that something sudden happens that he can’t control or hope to fix, Uvogin will feel backed into a corner, as if he has no option but to simply take you away, to bite the bullet and keep you locked up with him forever.

He doesn’t feel good about it, of course, if only because seeing you in tears and hearing you sob and curse at him makes a massive frown replace that normally bright grin, but it’s reality, and to Uvo your safety is his number one priority.

So, he’ll wince and grit his teeth as the damn Hunters tie the rope around your wrists, the nasty smirk across one’s face as they tell him they got his precious woman, what now, you murderer? You’ll come and save her, because you’re such a knight in shining armor? Fucking pathetic, you’ll rot for years for what you’ve done.

He’ll sigh and ball his fists as he quietly apologizes to you, your scared, teary eyes staring right at him as he kills each Hunter one by one, telling you to look away as blood sprays everywhere, as his fists get dirtier and dirtier.

He won’t like the way he gently knocks you out (or the way you scream through the gag placed in your mouth and squirm around, trying your hardest to get away from him), nor will he enjoy the way your weight feels so heavy in his heart as he slings you over his shoulder and carries you home, but he can’t stop now.

How can he, when you’ve been discovered by another man, touched by another man, threatened by someone?

Uvogin’s only human, and every human has a weakness – so congratulations, because your status as his only weakness just became the reason for your former life to end. 

However, as a captor Uvogin is honestly not too terrible – he’s still clingy, always desiring your attention and trying to engage you in conversations or physical touch, but considering his status as an international criminal, he’s not too bad.

You’ll quickly learn that he has a massive penchant for spoiling you to no end; there’s nothing that he enjoys more than seeing you in awe or smiling, the way your lips tilt up and the apples of your cheeks grow round, how your eyes sparkle and you make the cutest expressions.

He strives to see you happy (preferably because of him, but he’s not too picky), so expect to be regularly gifted items with the intent of seeing your smile, of seeing you enjoy something that he provided you with.

You’ll get the nicest jewels – tones to match your eyes, colors that compliment your skin, matching sets to go with the gold rings on his fingers or the silver dog tags he occasionally wears.

You’ll get the prettiest dresses, custom designed by brand names, fitting your figure like a glove and never failing to make Uvogin’s breath hitch.

(More than once he’s stopped dead in his tracks upon seeing you in a newly bought gown, clutched his heart and closed his eyes, moaning something about how you’re too beautiful, it burns my eyes! The theatrics are sweet, you suppose, and though you’ll feel dirty for it, often the praise and the honest adoration in those swirling brown depths of his will leave a fluttery, warm feeling in your chest.)

There’s just something about making you happy that never fails to leave Uvogin feeling giddy and childish, a boyish excitement coursing through his veins that almost beats out the feeling of smashing his opponent’s skull in. And so, he strives to make you smile in every possible way he can – he spoils you, of course, but he also possesses such vast knowledge on you from all that stalking that he knows exactly what you like.

He knows just how to compliment you – he’ll know if you prefer comments on your appearance or your personality or your talents, effortlessly praising you with such ferocity and consistency that it’ll leave you bashful and embarrassed but so, so pleased.

He knows what kind of men you like – he knows which TV shows, movies, books, and stories you read, which tropes you adore, and try to alter himself just a hair so that he fits that stereotype a little more.

(He won’t be willing to fully change himelf, because he does want you to love him, but he’s not above playing up his more possessive or aggressive side if you like the bad boy type, or showing off his actually decent cooking skills if you enjoy a more responsible man, or even busting out more corny, bad puns if you prefer funnier, goofier men.)

He’s pulling out all the acts of services he knows you’ll find meaningful – you hate having to shave your legs? Let him do it for you – he’s good at that sort of thing, and of course he wouldn’t mind holding your legs or putting on the lotion for you afterwards.

(Plus, you aren’t allowed to use a razor by yourself – but that’s beside the point.)

He’s even going so far as to recreate sexual scenarios and acts he knows you have a penchant for – even if you possess a kink he isn’t super interested in, he’s willing to give it a try because he wants you to want to touch him, and even if wax or mutual masturbation or anything else isn’t his thing, if it gets you eager and in the mood for him, he’ll snap to it in a heartbeat.

He is, all things considered, a good captor – he treats you well and caters to your every need, but no one is perfect, and the only major downside of being stuck with him is his touchiness.

He’s clingy, incredibly so – he’s always touching you, his hands on your body in some capacity, regardless of whether you approve or not. He won’t force you into sex, but he will force you into intimacy, whether that be a casual arm around your waste, a kiss against your lips, or cuddling you to sleep at night.

He almost views it as his reward for being so kind and considerate with you – he’s showing immense self control by not ripping off your clothes and fucking you full of his cum right here on the floor, so let him pull you into his side and wrap an arm around your shoulder while you watch the TV, yeah?

He’s showcasing just how strongly he respects your opinion of him by not pushing you to your knees and shoving his cock down your throat, so let him hum and spoon you as you both drift off to sleep, his hot breath fanning against your ear. He’s just always touching you – and while it often leads to lewd activities, the roots of why he always wants to touch you and have contact between the two of you is much more innocent.

He strongly expresses his love through physical touch, and he feels that by always having your skin touching he’s helping build the framework for your relationship, that every touch and kiss and squeeze is helping you fall in love with him, encouraging you to relax in his presence and even enjoy being with him.

So, frankly, if you can put up with his handsiness and the fact that you’ll never be allowed outside or see another human being, Uvogin’s not too terrible – it could be much, much worse, and he won’t hesitate to tell you that.

He doesn’t like to, but telling you stories of how horrible some of his troupemates can be will get the job done on making you grateful that he’s the one who’s fallen for you – at least he doesn’t hurt you, at least he doesn’t mess with people’s memories, at least he doesn’t enjoy torturing others and hearing them scream.

(He’ll conveniently forget to mention that he does enjoy killing others, but throwing Feitan under the bus and framing him in a negative light is much more conducive to the point he’s trying to make.)

So really, be grateful that Uvogin is the one who’s gone through all the effort to follow you, observe you, love you, because really, that’s all he is – just a man in love. And isn’t that so, so very sweet?

The fact that you’re stuck under the same roof, unable to escape or ignore him or deny his affections may deter this lovely image of him as a lovesick man, but eventually you’ll come around. Just wait.

PUNISHMENTS:

Because Uvogin is generally a more laid-back yandere (particularly once you’re in his custody, where he knows you can’t escape – at least, not permanently), punishments are things that actually don’t happen too often.

He really prefers to see you smile, loving the way your laugh sounds when he tells horrible jokes or makes snide comments that get you giggling.

He loves the way you smile at him, pearly teeth showing off and your cheeks plumping up, looking perfect and squishy and like the ideal spot to reach out and pinch.

He loves when you get all flustered, your bashful expression making him lick his lips and rush forward to grab at your ass and kiss you, growling in your ear that you’re too damn cute when you get all stuttery, makes me wanna eat you up.

He’s genuinely endeared by you, and because of this it’s extremely hard for him to stay mad at you. Sure, fleeting irritation occasionally licks at him, particularly towards the beginning of his obsession when you were still rebellious, still crying when you saw him, still flinching at every act of affection he tried to give you. He was irritated, yes, but never angry – you’re too sweet and small and weak to be too much for him to handle, really, and although he never would, the fact that he could very, very easily overpower you always brings him back down to Earth, managing to calm down enough to not accidentally strike you across the face or snap your neck or  bite you or any number of things.

(Besides, biting you is reserved for the bedroom, as is wrapping his hand around your neck and oh, shit, now he’s hard. Well, you caused it, so now, as he stares at you with lidded eyes and that familiar, coy smile, you have to take care of it.)

It generally takes a lot for him to get mad enough at you to actually consider giving you the consequences of your actions – mainly, he has two big triggers.

The first one is causing any kind of harm to yourself. Sure, you may not be strong enough to hurt him, but you’re so delicate and weak that he’s convinced even a particularly strong gust of wind could kill you.

(Obviously not, but anyone that can’t use Nen or anything more than basic defense is automatically as good as dead in his mind.)

He’s not as able to seamlessly and tightly control your own actions against yourself. He can limit what you have access to (no sharp knives, razors or heavy, metal items that could clause blunt force trauma), but it’s harder to prevent you from starving yourself or breaking a bone.

And frankly, that scares Uvo a bit – he doesn’t like that he can’t bar you from harming yourself, and the moment he sees even a glimmer of it in your eye, he's shutting it down firmly and swiftly, his grip on your wrist iron clad as he glares down at you and tells you think this through, babe, because I ain’t nursing you back to recovery, and we both know you don’t know shit about setting broken bones.

His second trigger is when you make attempts to contact other people. He’s possessive to a fault, and while it would be extremely difficult for you to successfully get into contact with another person aside from himself, even the mere idea gets his blood boiling, something hot and heavy and ugly forming in his gut.

He doesn’t like the idea that you want to speak with others – particularly if they’re male, even if they’re related to you. He should be enough for you; he provides for you and gives you affection and love, even if you aren’t willing to ask for it.

He gives you enough pleasure to leave your head spinning every night, dedicated and committed to making you come at least twice before he bothers with his own pleasure.

He even goes so far as to spoil you by stealing every little thing he knows you want, just to see you smile and hear your pretty voice telling him thank you Uvo, I love it!

(He’ll even steal things he thinks you’d like – he’s almost always on the money, and you’ll be surprised at how quickly and accurately he narrows down your likes and dislikes. Though, with the amount of time he’s spent stalking you, stealing your personal items, and getting your family members to talk about you - normally with his fist acting as incentive to spill your information - it’s no surprise.)

But so really, outside of trying to speak to other people past the threshold of the house he keeps you locked in and harming yourself, Uvogin probably won’t hurt you – not on purpose, at least.

(He’s so strong and massive that sometimes it just happens, even when he’s not even remotely mad. He’ll hug you too hard and leave a nasty bruise on your ribcage, or slap your ass and leave you too sore to sit down for a few hours. He’ll always feel a bit guilty, but also a bit proud – because now you’ll be thinking of him, and isn’t that just wonderful?)

And even if he does get angry, punishing you with physical violence is never an answer – it would be too easy to kill you, and he doesn’t want that. Not at all – actually, the thought of you dying (particularly by his own hand) is a fate worse than dying himself, and if it were to happen, Uvogin would become a shell of a man, living to kill others to an even more extreme degree than he does currently.

But when he does have to punish you, he relies more on mental games. He may be strong but he’s not stupid, and so while he doesn’t have the vast knowledge or flair for manipulation that someone like Chrollo or Shalnark might have, he’s still able to get his point across.

And so, Uvogin decides that the most surefire, successful way to get you to stop doing something bad is to simply ignore you.

Frankly, it hurts him almost as much as it hurts you – you’re so precious to him, something he always, always wants to touch and talk to and watch like a hawk, but he’s able to steel himself and hold out until he’s sure you’ve learned your lesson.

Uvogin’s jaw clenches as he takes in the scene before him; he’d just returned home from the grocery store, getting (stealing) your favorite snacks – along with some beef jerky for himself and some meat that looked particularly appetizing.

He’d been doing something nice – going all the way into town, risking getting seen or recognized, even going through the effort of choosing what he knows you like – all because you’d been looking a bit sad this morning, and you’d been out of bed much earlier than normal.

He was worried, if he was being honest, because you hadn’t returned his good-morning hug like normal, and you hadn’t laughed at one of his terrible, horrible puns, and you hadn’t even yelped when he’d picked you up by the ass, making your legs wrap around his waist.

It was concerning, and he’d hoped that maybe getting you your favorite foods would brighten your mood. He’d been hoping to have a nice night in with you tonight, comprised of a new action flick he’d been wanting to see (Phinks promised it was absolutely dismal, and Uvogin always enjoyed mocking the poorly done fight scenes in cinema), some good take-out, and, of course, ending the evening with you perched on his lap, bouncing up and down and moaning his name.

It was a good plan, but this was not part of it.

The grocery bags fall from his slackened grip, hitting the floor with a dull thud as he continues to stare. Whatever he’d been expecting when he walked through the door, it surely wasn’t you with the small bit of sandpaper he keeps in a kitchen drawer in hand.

The sandpaper was used for sharpening knives, something he very firmly kept out of your reach – they were in the highest cabinet with a padlock on them, just so that you wouldn’t get any funny ideas.

But it seems he didn’t plan quite well enough – because here you are, the sandpaper inches from your forearm, the skin rubbed raw and blood dripping down the skin. You’re staring at him, equally frozen, and there’s a certain amount of fear in your eyes that makes Uvogin’s rage only worsen.

You know this is bad, you look like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Things are still for a moment, but then Uvogin’s rushing forward, grabbing you by the waist and lugging you over to the sink, not saying a word as he forces your arm under the stream of much too hot water he’d turned on, making sure to clean the wound. It stings and you hiss, nails digging into the skin of his shoulder, but even when you try to kick him and get out of his grasp, he doesn’t budge at all.

He holds your arm under until all the blood is gone, and then he’s setting you back on the ground, his expression blank. Somehow, that scares you more than his yelling and anger does – because this is something new, something you aren’t quite sure how to navigate. Uvogin fixes you with a harsh, cold glare, and for a moment you think he’ll start laying into you about how careless you were, about how you were purposefully hurting yourself, and you prepare for the onslaught of accusations and belittlement.

But it doesn’t come – instead, he turns on his heel, picking up the groceries and returning to the kitchen without sparing you a glance. He still hasn’t said anything, and as he starts putting away the various items into the cupboard, he remains silent.

Eventually, he reaches the portion of the groceries dedicated to you, and he hesitates for just a moment before throwing it all in the trash, still not bothering to look at you. You can see the brand names and packages of your favorite snacks, and for a moment you almost, almost feel guilty.

You’d been breaking one of his rules, just trying to feel something to combat the numbness that being his captive left to you with, all the while he was out buying you surprise snacks, all for some unknown reason.

Your arm was stinging still, and soon your eyes were too. Once he finishes up, he walks out of the kitchen, stomping down to his bedroom and slamming the door closed. You’re left to stand there, holding a paper towel over your wound that was slowly starting to bleed again, utterly confused at his strange behavior.

Never, in all your time with him, had you ever been ignored like this – he was overwhelming, sure, suffocating, even, but this? The day will pass slowly as you sit down on the couch and stare at the ground, confusion eating at you as you try to make sense of what just happened. The apartment is uncharacteristically quiet, and by the time two hours have rolled around, your arm has stopped hurting and your knee is bouncing, unease making you on edge.

Uvogin’s silent – there’s no sound coming from his room, and for a moment you wonder if he’s fallen asleep, something unusual for him. (He’s never let you nap mid-day, always claiming you’re wasting the time by sleeping it away.) Finally, after much internal debate, you gently stand up and shuffle down the hallway to his heavy wooden door, tentatively knocking. Uvogin?

Your voice is small, scared, hesitant, and there’s no response from inside. Your brows furrow but you swallow, loneliness creeping up your spine because as fucked up as it sounds, you miss him.

You miss his booming voice, warm touch, cheeky compliments, even his dark eyes fixed on you. It’s lonely without him, and although you’re beyond embarrassed and disdainful of how you’d only been left alone for two hours and you’re already feeling this desperate, you push open the door anyways.

Uvogin’s sitting on his bed, his white tank top stripped off and just a pair of boxers sitting low on his hips, and even as the door creaks open and you peak inside, he makes no move. He’s staring down at his phone – it looks comically small in his giant hands, and you bite your lip. Calling out his name again, you slowly creep closer and closer, your steps shuffled and small and quiet, but he doesn’t respond to you in any way.

It’s only once you’re within touching distance that you try a different angle – you’re playing with your fingers as you tell him that you’re sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. He still doesn’t move, and a new, odd sense of panic settles into your gut.

You apologized, what more does he want? You can’t stand being ignored like this – not even the slightest acknowledgement of your presence, after months of being the apple of his eye. With a newfound urgency, you carefully climb onto the bed, wrapping your arms as far around his chest as you can, burying your face against his arm as you shoulders start slightly shaking, tears welling up in your eyes.

You’re pathetic like this, and you know it – crying because your captor won’t pay attention to you? Any sense of self-respect you’d managed to cling onto dissipates, and soon you’re speaking again, little hiccups interrupting your words.

‘M sorry Uvo, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, please help me. I don’t know why I hurt myself, and I don’t know why this is hurting me even more than that stupid sandpaper – why does it make me feel so sad when you don’t look at me? What’s wrong with me? There’s something seriously fucked up with me, why do I miss you?

It becomes a stream of consciousness, more than anything, your voice progressively getting louder and louder until you’re actually crying – big, wet tears and snot dripping from your nose, your grip on Uvogin never loosening.

He’s looking at you now, peeking at you from the corner of his eye and watching you bare your heart to him, and although it shouldn’t feel this good, he can’t help but crack a smile.

You’re just too damn cute – he’d been livid when he found you in the kitchen, but now you seem more like a scared little kitten, all tiny and weak and malleable, and what you’re admitting right now sends shivers down his spine.

You miss him.

You want him.

It makes him chuckle a bit, and immediately you’re freezing up, staring up at him with your eyes all red and your cheeks wet. He smirks down at you, and before you know it he’s wrapping his arms around your waist and manhandling you on top of him while he lays down, pressing you against his chest and peppering kisses against the crown of your head.

So it hurts to not be around me? Damn babe, almost sounds like you’re in love with me. Isn’t that something?

He laughs, and you only clutch him tighter, embarrassment eating you alive, but the feeling of his hands on you and his voice crooning your name makes you not care.

All that matters is that he’s paying attention to you, seeing you, and as his hands move down to cup your ass and his voice gets more gruff and low, you’ll eagerly let him strip off your flimsy tee shirt and panties.

Anything he wants, as long as he keeps you from feeling that horrible, horrible loneliness.

OVERALL DANGER:

7/10

Uvogin is less dangerous and more overwhelming.

He’d never physically hurt you – at least, not on purpose. He’s painfully aware of how much bigger he is than you, of how much stronger and more adept at fighting and chasing, and the concept of even leaving a scratch on your pretty skin doesn’t sit right with him.

He’s wildly protective over the few people he loves, and you sit at the very top of that list – in many ways, he’s like your own personal guard dog, just much bigger and needier and touchier.

He wants you to love him back, to return the depths of his passionate, unhinged devotion to you, and he’s willing to do pretty much anything he needs in order to achieve this – he’s spoiling you with all kinds of jewels and snacks and flowers and clothing, grinning when he sees the way you get all embarrassed and flustered when he tells you just how much that diamond he snagged for you would go for on the market.

He’s handsy, always initiating affection with you, and not a moment goes by where he isn’t touching you – he’s grasping your hand in his when you’re showering together, the other hand helping lather your body up in the soap (and wandering, too, groping, squeezing, kneading, feeling).

 He’s wrapping you up in his arms, perching you on his lap while you watch a movie together, drowning in a pile of blankets while he hums in your ear and makes fun of the movie, his laughter low and his grip tightening on you when the main character and the love interest finally kiss, his voice purring into your ear that you’re much prettier than her, princess, love this smile and this fucking body.

He’s always smacking your ass or telling you horrible, dirty pick up lines, just because he wants to see you smile.

And even though you’ve been kidnapped, forced to live the rest of your life with a mass murderer, criminal, monster, Uvogin will treat you with more care, love and attention than other man ever has – he wants you, in this raw, pitiful way, and although he’s rough on the edges and scary, eventually he’ll win you over.

He’ll get you feeling fond for him, craving his touch, finding comfort in the way he wakes you up with a kiss in the morning and inhales against your neck, telling you to put on those panties you wore yesterday, baby, you know the ones, the mere command making you shiver in excitement because you know you’ll be having trouble walking tomorrow.

He’ll show up at your doorstep with splatters of blood on his white shirt and a crazed look in his eye as he kisses you, telling you that that man that used to catcall you on fifth street can sure run fast, but not fast enough, and you’ll find that you’re almost flattered that he’d gone and killed the man who’d made you so uncomfortable all those times.

He’s just oddly charming, and you may hate yourself for it, but eventually you will consider yourself his – and you’ll even be happy about it.

[apomaro-mellow]

King&Prince 6

Nancy was pacing back and forth. Normally, it made Eddie anxious, but since he knew exactly what was on her mind, he decided to let her continue until her short legs tired her out.

"I just-I don't understand you. How can you give him free reign of the castle?"

"He doesn't have free reign", Eddie said.

"Did you put a collar on him? Or cuffs?", Nancy asked. When Eddie shook his head, she continued. "Do you put any sort of spell on him? Or charm?"

"Robin can handle herself. And there's always guards nearby if he steps out of line."

Nancy looked him up and down, then crossed her arms. "It's almost like you have faith in him or something."

Eddie couldn't describe what he was feeling. He couldn't forgive the Harringtons for what they had been doing. But Dustin was right. Unless he could prove that Steve had been directly responsible, it wasn't right to punish him. He could still dislike him, since he definitely benefited from the misdeeds of his family.

And there was a slim chance those hard feelings would ever change.

------------------------

Steve got dressed just in time to hear someone knock on the door.

"Hey, your royal slowness, we haven't got time for you to soak all day. I have actual important things to do."

It sounded like the woman from before. The one who didn't want him. Steve opened the door to her unimpressed face.

"Let's go."

"Without shoes?", Steve asked, looking down his bare feet.

"You won't need 'em."

She led him down the hall, past some windows and Steve got his first glimpse of the outside. It looked...normal. Nothing like the blackened, dead trees, and the dry, salted earth that he'd been led to believe this area was. The trees were wilting, sure, but in the typical way ones did in autumn. There was grass and even people doing chores outside.

Past the castle walls, he could make out something in the distance that looked like a town.

"Keep up!"

Steve tore his eyes away and saw that she was a long ways ahead of him. He jogged to catch up, noting the carpet on the floor. He was suddenly reminded of being very young and still allowed to go barefoot outside his quarters.

"Alright", she opened up a closet that was filled with instruments. "I need these moved over to the other end of the south wing and then polished and shined."

"So you're using a prince as both a pack mule and a maid?", Steve asked, brow raised. "What if I refuse?"

"Then I get our all-powerful king to put a compulsion hex on you and hypnotize you to do it anyway."

"Steve!", Dustin exclaimed when he came around the corner, beaming. "I went down to visit you and you were gone! They set you free?"

"I'm less free and more like free labor, apparently."

"You know you're not supposed to go down into the dungeons, Dustin."

"I see you've met Robin. Don't worry, she's nicer than she looks", Dustin grinned.

"Not nice enough to not tell Eddie what you've been doing. And I'm pretty sure he threatened to tell your mom. Maybe I'll just cut out the middle man", Robin warned.

Dustin paled. "You wouldn't dare."

Robin gestured to the musical instruments. "Help out with this and I won't tell a soul."

Dustin let out a breath of relief. "Menial work? That's it? Between Steve and me, we can knock this out easy."

Steve frowned. "I never said I'd-"

"This spoiled brat probably can't even lift a flute", Robin challenged.

"He knows how to kill a guy like a dozen different ways. Steve could finish this in like ten minutes", Dustin countered.

"Ooh, challenge accepted", Robin turned, ignoring Steve's protests. "I'll be in the second music room. Keep his highness on a tight leash."

Fully roped into it, Steve started hauling instruments. Dustin was talking, but he was thinking of his escape. He had no shackles, no bars. He could find a moment to get past the walls and then...maybe it would be better to sneak to the stables and get a horse first. He dreaded the thought of traveling such a distance with no shoes though. Maybe someone had a pair lying around?

Could he steal a pair in town without anyone noticing? He doubted most townsfolk would recognize him as an enemy prince. Steve was deep in his escape plan strategizing, that he just nodded along and 'mhm'ed to whatever it was that Dustin was saying. That kid could talk to a wall and keep the conversation going, which he was pretty much doing now, talking to Steve.

He barely even noticed that they were done moving things until the woman, Robin, threw a cloth at him.

"I want these shiny enough to see my reflection in them", she ordered.

"Why are you making him do all this?", Dustin asked.

"I'm getting new students tomorrow and they deserve nice equipment."

Dustin's eyes narrowed. "Who?"

"Oh no one you'd know. Except for Mike."

"Mike?!"

"And Max. And El, oh and Lucas and", Robin went on naming people, some Steve knew, others that he didn't.

"Bullshit! There's no way they're all taking classes!"

"Oh they are. And you are too", Robin said while leaving the room.

Incredulous, Dustin followed her out, leaving Steve alone in the room. Alone. They had left him alone. He looked to the open door, leading out into the hallway, then the instruments spread out on tables and the floor, covered in dust.

-------------------

Jeff and Nancy were strolling the halls, discussing how best to prepare for any sort of retaliation when they heard whistling. It wasn't the sound that gave them pause, but where it was coming from. A music room that wasn't supposed to be in use yet. They poked their heads in and saw Prince Steve, whistling a happy working tune while shining a shining a trumpet.

The two of them pulled their heads out, shared a mutual expression of confusion and went to seek out Eddie to report to him, but he was nowhere to be found. That usually meant he was off in town or visiting some other part of the kingdom. Either way, they wouldn't be able to talk to him until he returned.

Steve didn't spend too long rationalizing why he was doing this. He was just biding his time until he came up with a more solid plan. Even though his homeland wasn't really a home, at least no one there wanted to actively kill him. He wasn't safe here and he couldn't forget that. He especially couldn't let his guard down around the king.

Robin remembered him a couple of hours later and led him back to the room he'd first been brought to. Steve had time to actually look at it now. Smaller than his own room but larger than the prison cell. Definitely warmer to. But besides that, it was very minimal and sparse. A bed, a small drawer, and the bathroom. Steve wondered what this room was for. It was an odd sort of guest room.

Robin said something about dinner being brought up but Steve paid it no mind when he realized he'd be sleeping on a bed tonight. He collapsed into it and buried himself in the blanket. He'd be having sleep for dinner.

Part 8

Tag Team

@thesuninyaface @only-evanescent @snakeorsquid @ignoremyworld @theclichefortunecookie @goodolefashionedloverboi @just-a-tiny-void @0body0disphoria0 @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @samsoble @sugartin @jamieweasley13 @y4r3luv @xtkxkrzrizir @un-knownperson @greekgeek24 @justdrugsformethanks @potato-of-the-lord @notaqueenakhaleesi @swimmingbirdrunningrock @queenie-ofthe-void @nebulainajar @lil-gremlin-things

[differenteagletragedy]

The grand return of Our Life Swap AU! Takes place when Baxter and MC are like 16. They are, as always, the silliest.

"How are you feeling, Baxter?"

"Great. Good. Thank you so much."

You bit back a grin as you buckled your seatbelt. Baxter, your best friend, had just gotten his wisdom teeth removed, and he was high as a kite. It was an unusual set of circumstances -- usually his parents didn't want him to have anything to do with yours, but they'd planned to be away on business when his dentist had insisted on having the procedure done, so Ma made the time to take him to his appointment.

"I'm fantastic," he said, pulling you away from your thoughts -- almost literally, with his hand firmly petting your hair.

You looked over at him, sitting next to you in the backseat of your mothers' old car. He'd sort of fallen into the seat, his usually prim and proper posture exchanged for what could most accurately be described as "jelly bones." His head was leaned as far back as it could go against the headrest, and he was gazing at you with so much adoration that you could barely stand it.

You liked him, as so much more than a friend. You liked talking to him, you liked spending time with him, you liked looking at him. And even as you watched him lurch forward and try unsuccessfully to spit the gauze out of his mouth, you thought you might have fallen in love with him.

"No no, Baxter, you have to keep that in your mouth," Ma said, looking at him through the rearview mirror as she pulled out of her parking space.

"Don't like it," he said, making motions that weren't unlike a cat trying to cough up a hairball. "Tastes funny."

"A little help here, kid?" Ma asked.

You put a gentle hand on Baxter's shoulder to push him back against the seat, and when that didn't work, you put your hand on his head. He let out a silly giggle when you pushed him back that way instead, and when he was seated properly again, he turned and smiled at you.

"You're so pretty," he said, smiling wider so you could see the gauze tucked in his cheeks.

"Thank you," you replied, hoping that you weren't blushing but taking solace in the fact that he probably wouldn't remember it if you were.

"You're my best friend," he continued. "And you're really really pretty."

With what seemed to be great effort, he lifted his head and peered up at Ma. When she didn't acknowledge him, he flopped back again, then leaned just a little towards you.

"Can you keep a secret?" he asked in a whisper that was somehow louder than his normal talking voice. You nodded, and he leaned in a little closer, then whispered, "I like you."

Before you could answer, he chose to elaborate, saying, "I mean to say that I like you as more than a friend. I like you in a romantic way. In a way that makes me want to be your boyfriend."

He held up a finger and did what you imagined he thought was a "come here" gesture, but was really just a strange little shake -- you knew him well enough to know what he wanted though, so you leaned in, heart racing.

"I have a crush on you," he said with his mouth by your ear.

You'd dreamed of him saying those words for years. This wasn't exactly how you thought it might happen -- he was slurring his words a bit, and the gauze made them come out a little garbled. He gave you another sweet smile, and a thick line of drool dripped down from his chin onto his shirt.

You weren't sure what to say, so you didn't say anything. You noticed Ma glance at you in the mirror, then she began engaging Baxter in a spirited conversation about bananas.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

By that night, Baxter had come down from the post-surgery high. He was spending a few days at your house, sleeping in your old room so you and your moms could keep an eye on him.

He had been taking a nap, but when you opened the door to check on him, he gave you a wave.

"How are you doing?" you asked. You hadn't been able to get what he'd said out of your head, and you were having a hard time meeting his eyes.

"About as well as can be expected," he answered with a small smile that tugged on your heartstrings. At that bit of sweetness, you made the choice to fight through the awkwardness and ask him what was on your mind.

"Do you remember what you said?" you questioned. "In the car after the surgery?"

He groaned, saying "Don't remind me," and your stomach dropped.

Trying to laugh it off, you told him, "Yeah, it was pretty weird."

"'Weird' is such a nice way to put it," he said. "It was downright mortifying. I never would have said any of that had I been in my right mind."

And there it was. He didn't actually like you, enough that it was "mortifying" to him that he'd said he did. It hurt, and you felt tears welling up, but you tried to fight them.

"I'm honestly sorry you had to hear that," Baxter went on, not noticing the shift in your mood. "Can you imagine if I'd actually meant any of that?"

He gave a shiver, like the things he'd said were the worst things he could imagine. You almost gasped, it hurt so much.

"Hey," he finally said, his tone a bit softer. "What's wrong?"'

"Nothing," you answered quickly. "I just didn't know, I guess ... I don't know ..."

"What do you mean?" he asked. "You know good and well that I don't like bananas nearly as much as I expressed to your mother."

Bananas. He was talking about bananas, not you. It was such a goofy misunderstanding, you started laughing.

"That's all you remember?" you asked, moving besides him to straighten his hair.

"Why, did I say something else?"

You paused your movements for just a moment, then forced yourself to continue. You pushed the black strands away from his forehead before patting his head and giving him a grin.

"Nope. Nothing."

[sixthwater]

Hello! Have you been feeling a bit lost recently? Especially with all of the eclipses that we've been experiencing? Well, here is some short advice from your spirit guides and angels to help get things sorted out.

Left → Right / Pile 1 → Pile 4)

Decks Used: The Psychic Oracle, Fairies Oracle Deck, Elle Qui Oracle, Woodland Wardens Oracle, Sacred Creators Oracle, Sea Melodies, Language of Flowers, Wild Unknown Animal Spirits,

Disclaimer | Pinned | Tip Jar | Paid Readings

Pile One

I began your reading and my back started killing me; make sure you’re doing proper stretches or you’re not pushing yourself too hard to wear yourself out.

There is a sense of holding your tongue or keeping yourself trapped in the closet. I just got an image of The Little Mermaid when she signed away her voice but it’s not the Disney version it’s the legitimate fairy tale, it’s also more of a choice? It’s difficult to describe; it’s not that you prefer to be uncomfortable and to hide under a mask blah blah blah, but there’s experience of pain and loss so you don’t want to do it again. Maybe you haven’t expressed certain emotions or identities, but you overheard them being looked down upon or it was made fun of, so instead you locked these emotions up and threw away the key (ex; someone laughing at you having feelings for them when brought up as a joke or someone disrespecting a sexual orientation/identity, etc). Your pile is the very first, in all of my history of reading, where I want to be completely silent and only listen to certain frequencies as well.

The advice: You need to listen to yourself and the world (in a way). You already have the answers to your questions/concerns inside of you, but you do need some help finding them obviously. You’re looking for external answers, but it’s only causing more confusion because...well everyone sees the world differently. So when you try to put yourself in those shoes, it causes more scratches on the Vinyl record that is your life, you know? It’s funny to say this but they’re kind of asking you to pull back and not move on so fast from what’s going on because you haven’t really sat with your feelings and gone through the process. What’s been upsetting you and why did it bother you. Why did you react that way. Well how did you get to Point E from Point B? Take a time out and sort these things out when you can because it’ll get you some clarity. There’s also a piece here about communicating and becoming vulnerable. It’s not exactly the same, but I need to figure myself out sometimes with talking and I end up stumbling upon revelations through discussions. You might need to have a low energy discussion with someone you feel comfortable with you so can get to these answers. You don’t need to immediately express or explain these things, but it will help you out. Some of you might need to re-route yourselves because you are lost and you took the wrong exit; it’s fine, that’s life and it’ll happen constantly. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, if you weren’t here to make mistakes then what are you even here for. Confide in other people, ask for help, get some guidance. You can rely on those around you, not everyone will want to hurt you. I keep being nudged to an issue with identity and — for some it’s just figuring out who you are but there’s pain so if it is what i mentioned earlier, only you know yourself. People can help, but do not let them police who you are and decide what’s ‘correct’ and what’s not. The main message overall is that there is a need for you to be vulnerable with people — or at least someone. There is either embarrassment or pride here holding you back and it’s smothering emotions that end up causing inner turmoil. I would say this points to seeking out a therapist but there are no swords here, so I believe this could just point to finding people to confide in or making peace with the softer aspects of yourself that you might find shameful.

With ‘Chance’ and ‘Dive’, I believe it’s just pointing more towards diving deeper into unknown territory which would be emotions you haven’t explored yet. ‘You cant live your life dealing with surface level things’ is the phrase I’m getting.

Pile Two

Pretty simple so this might be short. The energy check is a bit out of reach despite how simple it seems. I think the first two songs might sum it up a lot better than I can. I don’t believe it deals directly with love, but the idea remains.

I think the advice here is to not teeter too much to one side. You’re not lacking in passion, but you might pull back too much if something fails. There’s a slim piece about being a bit scattered in where you want to go, but we’ll touch on that later. For now, it’s being enveloped by how alive you feel when you’re going after your dreams. How happy it makes you and the rush you get. I keep being drawn back to Passion Ignited as well as Aylis because they’re similar; a glowing ‘orb’ that’s placed over the chest somewhat. Ah that reminds me of The Greatest Showman. Just it’s song ‘Come Alive’, I think that fits this pile quite well. You just have to be comfortable diving into your passion and not be embarrassed, and even when making mistakes, to laugh it off and keep chasing after it. It doesn’t even have to be a dream — people call nearly everything cringe these days. Are we not supposed to have hobbies? Enjoy your hobbies, that’s the point of living. What does it matter. Express yourself and be a bit goofy, you’re a bit tense and scared of messing up right now, but it’s okay. Now before I mentioned being scattered — there’s a small message of getting a clear view of what you want in your life. Do you want to be an influencer or do you just want a good work-life balance. Or a remote job. It’s the general idea that you have which might not really be what you want at the end of the day, and they’re just asking you to clarify, because you can make certain things come true if that’s what you want. However, with just as many ‘let loose’ cards you have, they’re balanced with some grounded cards here. Also, if you haven’t reached your goal yet, don’t give up. We never reach our goal with just one attempt or in just one chapter. You will get there.

Tiger Lily...maybe my job example was on point? If you’re thinking of jumping into something headfirst with no back-up, really think about it. Make sure you have savings, you have a safety-net, you have all your bases covered, etc. There are plenty of people who can afford to take a risky route of income because other people are covering bills with an insane paycheck, or they’ve had years to build up a base. Be patient, and work dutifully to get to that place. It’s difficult, but with these really precious spread I believe that you will have much to offer people if you take your time. This doesn’t mean give up, it just means be smart and take your time.

Associated Songs: Passion – Utada Hikaru, All My Heart – Sleeping with Sirens, Tonight – Kesha

Pile Three

This is gorgeous. The energy while pulling cards was light and goofy and I’m understanding why now. The meaning of these cards would usually give off a blue/purple aura, since there are a lot of messages alluding to soul searching, but I believe this is more...personable? How do I explain this.

Usually when you think of soul searching, you think of The Hermit. Someone who pulls back from socializing and focuses on themselves. However with this combination, it feels more like really thinking about- I’m sorry the strongest smell just popped through my vents and it smells like Cinnamon. It is not my favorite but it reminds me of gatherings late at night, anyway — It feels like thinking about the people around you and how they reflect you and what you want in your life. You figure yourself out and what you want out of life by interacting with others. It’s not that you need others to do this, but they shine a light on certain aspects of yourself or they bring you to do activities that you wouldn’t have done on your own, thus making you have these realizations. So the advice itself is saying that you should sit on these moments and really let them seep in. They’re not necessarily telling you to isolate and do some introspective thinking, but when you have these moments, don’t push them aside to keep up with others. You have a knack for knowing yourself inside and out, and what’s best for you. I know that seems pretty normal, but it’s not necessarily common. Knowing who or what you want VS what you don’t is a good gift and you should be utilizing it right now. I keep hearing ‘don’t be satisfied’. Keep looking for things that really make you happy. It’s not in a greedy sense, but don’t think ‘well that’ll do’, go seek out experiences or hobbies that make you feel whole! I don’t deal with chakras, but all this green is hard to ignore considering it stands for the Heart and I’ve felt happy and calm the entire reading. There’s not much advice here because you might already have the answer inside of you but more like recommendations; such as going for walks, or having calm hangouts with friends or family. I think you’re already doing what’s being said here, but do your best to keep a balance of focusing on those revelations of what’s best for you and healthy doses of engagement with those around you. I don’t have to pull extra cards either, you seem to be doing quite fine honestly

(There are no songs here, a lot of light-hearted songs. Some goofy mixes. Good Time by Carly Rae Jepsen & Owl City as well as chill songs that don’t really have messages in them)

Pile Four

Confidence. That sums up your whole reading. Well that and some change. Right now it doesn’t necessarily feel like doubt or naysayers, but you don’t really have people to boost you up. Or you need to feel extremely safe/supported in order to really go after something — which feels more physical than spiritual. So it could be a change in majors, career, personal expression, hell maybe just changing direction with your life in terms of dropping out or not using your degree in pursuit of something else entirely. The flowers in the Deceit card resemble horns right now and it’s like opinions or external thoughts regarding the situation that can make you overthink your next steps or how you feel about the topic in general. Gosh I’m forgetting the term but in a way, they could end up being right in a sense that they affect your natural ability and make you way too anxious to perform naturally, thus making you fail. So it’s the ‘well I’m going to fail so I’m not even going to do my very best’ so when you fail you think it was destined to happen.

Your guides and angels are asking you to just take a chance and trust in the adventure. You have to move with confidence, you can’t be sheepish with this. You could be new to this change, so obviously mistakes will happen, but you can’t go into this with a pessimistic attitude. I’m seriously not getting any negative energy around you so don’t worry about that. If the world around you is dull, explore different avenues that give you joy. I’m always going to say to never just leap into the unknown without any thought, but you seem extremely hesitant and it’s holding you back from a new chapter and great experiences that are meant for you. This could be in the shape of a new job or merely just new friends who could help you gain more confidence within yourself. Again though, this pile seems more material based than the others, so I’m thinking it’s related to money matters or at the most, possibly moving but that’s a stretch. There’s a small piece of being scared to take up new opportunities because you’re not well versed in them but, you won’t know everything in the world? The only way to gain experience is to test it out. If it’s for you, then you’ll know once you try it, right?

Haha the Bear! Yeah, this is an uncomfortable time for you, but it’s urging you to sort of learn how to walk, and embrace the natural calmness yet underlying formidable strength of this animal. I’m thinking of when someone was arguing that the bear was one of the scariest predators in the world, but this card also stands for inner strength and you literally have Strength here so, you just have to be comfortable entering this new stage of life (transitions, which there are too many examples for me to list here). Don’t be hard on yourself, everyone has been in your place before.

(Not many songs, just Bends by Carly Rae Jepsen stood out)

[strwbmei]

In the spirit of me fucking up my knee, could I request a short thing of Keqing/HSR Bronya princess carrying an injured reader?

~Teeth

(Also heya how’s it going?)

Hello, Teeth!! It's been a while! A lot has happened. Normally I'd say that I hope you've been doing well, but the fucked up knee speaks for itself. Not sure how you hurt your knee exactly or how bad it is, so I apologize if anything written here is medically unsafe/incorrect!

Keqing would go full asian mom style. She'd scold you for being careless, saying things like "I told you to be careful!" and to "stop being so reckless!" while dressing your injury. Her words sting, but you can tell that she cares with how careful she's being with you. Also, she insists on carrying you the same way a few days even after you've recovered. Acts strict, but you can get away with a lot more with her during the time that you're recovering. She'll even let you use her lap as a pillow.

"Ow!" You hiss in pain as Keqing tightens the makeshift bandage around your knee. She glares up at you, eyes full of disappointment and irritation, yet also with a hint of worry that only you could discern. "Well, maybe if someone wasn't being such an idiot..."

"Still, be more gentle! You're dealing with an injured person here, y'know?" You complain, and the other woman rolls her eyes in response. "I'm sure it isn't as bad as you make it out to be if you still have the energy to whine."

Suddenly, Keqing stands up and lifts you into her arms with ease, carrying you bridal style as she starts walking. You yelp in surprise. "What are you-"

"Taking a certain idiot to the infirmary." You sort of just stare at her awestruck because she's rarely so... gentle? It's hard to find the right words to describe it, but you're sure this kind of opportunity is rare.

"What, you think I'd let you walk around with an injured knee?"

"Honestly, yeah, a little bit." As soon as you said those words without thinking, you were sure she'd put you down out of annoyance and tell you that you're free to go to the infirmary yourself, but she only stays silent.

"Whatever. Just... don't worry me again like that, okay?"

Bronya... would definitely overreact. There's no other way to word it. Her expression would be akin to a wounded puppy. She'll have all of the best doctors in Belobog taking care of you and the most luxurious bed for you to lay on even if your injury isn't that bad. Qlipoth bless her soul if the doctors even mention the possibility of your injury permanently impairing you, because she is most definitely going into cardiac arrest. After you recover, she makes it a point to ensure every place in Belobog is accessible to people who can't walk.

Although Bronya works as the Supreme Guardian, she's spent most of her life on the battlefield and she's learned many useful techniques from her experience. One of them is basic medical care.

She's not a professional, but her know-how has saved a few comrades' lives. Still, Bronya most certainly didn't expect that she'd have to use this skill of hers on you of all people.

"Bronya... I'm okay now. Really." You say; an attempt to console the very obviously distressed woman in front of you. With how much she's frowning, anyone that saw her would think that she was the one with an injury.

"No." Bronya responds, and honestly, this is the first time you've heard her so... stern. She knows that you aren't lying, but she sure as hell isn't risking your wound getting worse. "We need to get you to a doctor."

On second thought, it's too dangerous to move you around; it'd be better to have a doctor come here themselves. Still, the nearest doctor is much too far away, so Bronya decides to carry you there instead.

As soon as she picks you up, her mind races with a million thoughts all at once. What if it leaves a scar? What if you aren't able to walk normally again? Aeons forbid, what if you won't be able to walk at all? However dramatic, just the thought has her heart sinking.

She senses your unease and takes a deep breath, pressing a small kiss to your forehead. Perhaps her emotions have gotten the better of her. "I'm sorry, my love. You know how I worry for you." She smiles reassuringly. Whether she's trying to reassure you or herself, you don't know.

[pls-hold-me-im-justa-weeb]

Zoro x fem Reader Fantasy AU! NSFW! Could you do something like a Little Red Riding Hood AU where S/O is Red and Zoro is the Big Bad Wolf, but it’s more like every time she visits her grandmother, Zoro tends to follow and protect her in the shadows from any dangers. If you can, can you put Werewolf Zoro in heat? If not, any other scenario leading to NSFW is fine too!

👀👀 sdlkfjsdifjsdkfnsdifj I see you I see you. On my knees for werewolf!zoro 🧎‍♀️ As you wish, my lovely.

Note: for those who don't know what a knot is, in ABO (alpha, beta, omega) dynamics, it is often described as a 'bump' or a ring that goes all the way around the base of the penis, and 'inflates' when the character is about to cum. It's used as a sort of plug to lock in the cum to help ensure that pregnancy occurs. In this story, pregnancy is NOT mentioned, I'm just saying what it's usually for. I'm not entirely sure if there's a consensus if it's a harsh edge or a sloped one, but let me tell you what I imagined for this scenario- it's a thick ring the same hardness as a super hard dick (like about to cum hard), and it doesn't really have a harsh 90 degree edge to it, but blends into the skin like how (generally) the sides of a white person's nose does. if that makes sense lol.

Warnings: teasing reader, rut, reader has a praise kink, reader in sub space kinda, SMUT, oral (m and f receiving), references to a/b/o (he just say's he's an alpha, which ofc he is and calls reader omega) Zoro has a knot, vaginal sex

Also I'm going FERAL over this amazing, incredible art by @philandresi - and the rest of their art omg.

Anywho, without further ado-

Big Bad Werewolf!Zoro in rut with his Little Red Riding Hood fem!S/O NSFW

You inhaled the sweet, fresh scent of the woods. Pine, grass, flowers, and water swirled in a delicate perfume you could never ever begin to recreate. You exhaled, cracking a small smile as you heard a twig snap nearby. He always found you so quickly.

"You're not sneaky, you know" you called out. An answering scoff answered your quip.

"Only 'cuz you know I'm here." Warm arms encircled your waist from behind before letting go quickly. You quirked a brow in surprise. Normally he wouldn't let go of you until you smacked his arms off. You turned around, letting the red hood of your short cloak fall to your shoulders. The skirt of your dress brushed his legs and you shifted the basket to your wrist so you could hug him fully, but he stepped back. Your brows scrunched in confusion.

"You okay? Your face is flushed, and you're sweating. Are you sick?"

He shook his head.

"I... I can't stay long. You should stay at your grandma's for a few days too."

"What's going on? What's wrong?" you stepped forward, a hand raised to reach out in concern. He grabbed your wrist, and seemed to fight with himself before he ripped his hand away.

"I... I don't want to force it on you. It's..." the last few words were mumbled low enough you couldn't understand him.

"It's what?" you asked gently. He ran a clawed hand through his hair, wolfish ears flattening briefly as his fingers passed over them. You noticed his fluffy green tail flicking behind him. You frowned. Normally he didn't have his tail out, and he always sheathed his claws around you.

"my rut" he mumbled, looking down at the ground. His hand rested at the back of his neck, and you tore your eyes away from his heavily muscled bicep. Understanding bloomed in you mind, but you kept your face blank. He'd explained werewolf culture to you over the years you've been seeing each other, and you remembered everything.

"Ohhh.. I remember you mentioned it before, but I can't remember what it is." You cocked your head to the side, eyes wide and innocent. You licked your lips, leaving them shining and parted. You knew exactly how that look affected your werewolf boyfriend. He gazed at you for a second before seemingly shaking it off.

"You ever see an animal in heat?"

You made a show of thinking.

"I think so? I think there was a cat that lived around my house that was for a bit. She kept yowling really loud. Eventually she showed back up pregnant. Are you saying you want to howl really loud?"

You struggled to keep a straight face at Zoro's reaction to the intentional comparison to a simple domestic cat and your question. His brow furrowed and his lip curled.

"Don't tease me, mate." his voice deepened to a timbre at the last word, vibrating through your chest. His fangs elongated slightly and his eyes glowed red. Ah. I got caught. Heat began to pool in your abdomen, and you shifted your legs to avoid rubbing them together. A evil smile curved your boyfriend's lips, and he ran a tongue over sharp fangs.

"I can smell your arousal, sweetheart" he leaned forward, nosing the area of your neck beneath you ear. You whined.

"I don't care that it's your rut, Zoro. I want to help you through it. I want to be with you. I love you, so take me."

He growled, and tore himself away from you. It seemed to cause him physical pain, and he crossed his arms over his chest.

"What about your errands?" he said, nodding to your basket.

"I can make them quick. I should tell grandma I won't be coming for a few days anyway."

He furrowed his brow.

"I could hurt you" he whispered. Pained worry danced in his eyes, nearly hidden under a scowl. You smiled gently.

"You would never. Remember? I'm your mate. Even when you stalked me through the woods for a month, trying to take the food, you could never bring yourself to do it because you couldn't hurt me. You can't hurt me."

His tail flicked behind him.

"You realize that once we start, I won't be able to even let you out of my sight for days"

You nodded.

"I wouldn't have it any other way. I want to spend your rut with you. I trust you completely. God, Zoro I've even been waiting for you to ask if you can make the mating bite, which is more permanent than human marriage. I want to spend my life with you, ruts and all. I want you to be mine, and I need to be yours. Please." You stepped closer to him while you spoke, raising a hand to cup his cheek. He nuzzled your palm, a breath of relief shuddering through him.

"I was gonna do it next rut" he muttered. Your heart skipped a beat.

"You were?"

He nodded sheepishly.

"I was going to tell you after this one so you had time to consider it. It's a huge commitment. I knew through all the ruts I've had so far that I would've sealed the mating bond whether or not you wanted it. That's why I spent them alone" he admitted. Your heart melted.

"Zoro..."

"There's something else you should know."

"What is it?"

"There's... There's a chance you'll change into a werewolf too" he said, looking resolutely in your eyes.

"I know. That doesn't matter as long as I have you" you whispered. His eyes widened, then he surged forward in a bruising kiss. You accepted it, letting him control it. His tongue entered your mouth, sliding over yours and exploring your mouth. You moaned. A quiet growl escaped from his chest. You pulled back, breaking the kiss. A string of shared saliva broke from your bottom lip.

"Let's drop the basket off real quick. I also should pick up a change of clothes I have at my grandma's" you muttered with a smirk. You've never been carried at the speed Zoro went to your grandmother's house.

----

By the time you reached his dwelling (a surprisingly cozy and developed cottage-like structure carved out of the side of a hill), Zoro couldn't keep his hands off you. He threw you down on the nest of blankets and pillows he had in place of a bed before sitting up to rest his hands on your knees to smirk down at you. You swallowed, nervous lust making the wetness between your legs grow.

He tore off his shirt, ripping the fabric down the middle. Your eyes widened. It wasn't even close to the first time you two had sex, but it the first time you've seen him so intense. Your hands rose to unclasp your cloak, but he stopped you.

"Keep it on. Wearing that fucking cloak in the middle of those woods was a mistake, Mate. You caught my attention, and now you're mine."

Oh. oh. Yeah, you could play along.

"Oh do tell, Mr. Wolf, how exactly you're going to make me yours" you smirked. You moved your hands to rest by your head and arched your back slightly, offering your body to him. A deep growl emanated from his chest, and you couldn't hold back a soft groan. He dragged one hand up your thigh to rest on your hip, hiding under the skirt of your dress. The other fondled a breast through the fabric.

You could tell he was rapidly losing his sense. Before you could open your mouth to say anything else, he unsheathed a claw from the tip of his index finger and sliced easily through the entire length of your dress. You expected this, but the casual show of killing power made you moan and you felt yourself grow wetter.

"Off" he grunted. You sat up and shimmied your arms out of the sleeves and tossed the ruined dress to the side, leaving you in your cloak, bra and panties. He pushed you back on the bedding and crawled on top of you, resting his knees next to your hips. His mouth began to suck blooming red and purple marks on your neck, and he dragged his fangs over your jugular. You hissed in a breath, rubbing your thighs together. His hands found their previous positions, one fondling your breasts and the other pinning your hip to the blankets as he rested some of his weight on it.

"Zoro~" you moaned. You let your hands trail up his back, dragging your nails lightly over his tanned skin until your fingers tangled in his short green hair. You let your hands run over his ears. You knew they were sensitive, and he rewarded you with a harsher bite to the top of your breast. He unsheathed a claw and sliced open the front of your bra, letting your breasts fall free. His warm, calloused thumb circled a nipple, pebbling it under his touch. His tongue laved over the other, circling it and suckling it until it was hard. He popped off and switched his mouth over to the other one, showing it the same attention as the other cooled quickly. Your fingers scratched his scalp as your hands curled a little in pleasure. He hummed, and you moaned at the vibration against your nipple.

"More. Zoro. Please"

He chuckled darkly at your plea, removing his mouth from your breast to look up at you. His irises were red, and he ran a tongue over his fang.

"Begging already? I've hardly even touched you." His voice was deeper and more gravely, and it made your breath hitch, sending heat to pool in your abdomen. You whined, tugging gently on his hair to guide him between your thighs.

"Not yet, mate. I want you to do something for me first." He ground his clothed cock against you wet panties, groaning deeply at the friction. He was hot and hard in his pants. Your eyes widened at the heat coming off him. You nodded frantically. He smirked at your eagerness.

"There's my good girl." Your body relaxed back, mind starting to feel fuzzy at the praise. He sat back on his heels and stood, and you reached out, already missing his warmth. One of his hands met yours, and you heard a rustling of fabric as he stepped out of his pants.

He helped you sit up on your knees on the bedding, back close to the wall. He stood in front of you. You were face to face with his bobbing cock, and you licked your lips. You've sucked him off before, but he seemed even bigger. Your middle finger and thumb normally could just barely touch if you squeezed around his cock, but now as you roughly teased it, they were about a centimeter apart, and he was even longer. He threw back his head with a groan at your harsh touch.

"You're bigger" you muttered.

"You can take it, can't you?" he cooed. There was a note of worry in his tone, but you nodded, looking up at him. Shadowed with the setting sun filtering through the window at his back as he looked down at you, his eyes glowed red. The orange light reflected beautifully off his green ears. Your heart skipped a beat and your breath hitched with love and lust. He thrusted forward, tapping the tip of his cock against your lips, and you opened obediently and sucked him down. It took some adjusting to get used to his new girth and length. You couldn't swallow him down immediately like you have in the past.

You popped off and stroked his length. He was warmer and heavier than usual, and you tried again. This time, the extra lubrication from your saliva made it much easier, and you hummed around his dick. He swore and gripped the sides of your head in desperation. You bobbed your head a few times, getting used to his length and coating it with your saliva. You let a hand pump the rest of the dick you couldn't reach with your mouth. The ring of his knot was already beginning to form at the base of his cock.

"Shit. That's it. Taking it so good. Fuck!" You moaned at his praise, laving your tongue in circles around the tip, closing your eyes to focus. Once you were used to it, you trailed your free up his thighs to his hips, pushing and pulling slightly. He took the hint and eagerly began fucking your face. You let yourself loll your tongue out, gagging once or twice. It was messy, and tears gathered in your eyes at the burn at the back of your throat as he sheathed himself into your mouth. You felt your saliva dripping off your chin onto your lap, and you looked up at him, tears in your eyes. His brow was furrowed with building pleasure, mouth open as he huffed in breaths as he thrusted. He looked so close, and you had just the thing to send him over the edge.

Your free hand cupped his already tightening balls, and the other that was wrapped around his cock squeezed harshly on his knot. You gagged around the tip as it slipped into your throat. He froze in that position, shaking as he threw his head back with pleasure. His hands tightened around your head, claws lightly scraping against your neck.

"Ah! Fuck! Shit I'm-"

His release spurted hotly down the back of your throat, and you massaged both his balls and knot. His hips stuttered and his hands released your head and slammed on the wall behind you to keep himself upright. You hummed proudly around his cock, and his hips stuttered as the last wave of his orgasm bordered on overstimulation. He slowly drew his hips back, a string of your saliva connecting your lip to the reddened tip.

"You little fucking minx" he growled. You looked up at him with wide eyes, catching your breath and uselessly trying to wipe away the saliva from your chin as you smirked. You watched as he knelt in front of you so you were eye to eye.

"C'mere."

He grabbed the edge of a blanket and wiped your face and thighs, cleaning you quickly before kissing you roughly. His tongue explored your mouth, and you let him before exploring his elongated fangs with yours. Once satisfied, you pulled away.

"Good?" he muttered. You nodded, jaw too tired to form words. Without warning, he maneuvered your body so you were standing with your back resting against the wall. He unclasped your cloak, tossing it to the side. You looked at him curiously as he knelt back down.

"Your turn" he growled. Your stomach swooped. He sliced your panties off your body quickly with a claw, and slung one leg over his shoulder and held your ass as he lifted the other leg over his other shoulder. You squeaked, grabbing his head for balance. He stood easily, sliding your back up the wall and burying his face in your pussy. He held your ass and thighs on his biceps, and his hands grasped you over your ribcage, pinning you back to the wall. The easy demonstration of strength turned you on like nothing else, not to mention what he was doing with his mouth.

You knew that he could change his tongue, but it took you by surprise every time. He was devouring your pussy, nose pressing into your clit as his tongue dove into you, wiggling around and finding your sweet spot with his unnaturally long tongue. You were already close to finishing from the previous sloppy blowjob and his shows of strength.

"Ah! Z-Zoro! Please I'm already close!" you wailed.

"Cum on my fucking tongue" he demanded. The sound of his deep voice vibrating the flesh around your cunt had you spasming in his hold as he laved his tongue over your clit. He swirled his tongue around your clit, extending your orgasm. Your back arched as he suddenly shoved his tongue into your pussy, devouring your release. Your heels dug into his back and one hand clawed into his hair, and the other desperately scratched at the wall behind you.

"Fucking delicious"

You could only moan at this point, and he lowered you down as you twitched on the bedding. He was rock hard again already, and he stroked the purpling tip with a smirk as he licked his lips. His chin was shiny from your release, and he lapped it up with his elongated tongue. Your chest was still heaving as your caught your breath.

"Ready for your alpha's cock, mate?"

He'd never referred to himself as an alpha during sex before, but it did something to you. You nodded eagerly.

"Face down, ass up, baby girl"

You froze in place for a second, staring in shock and desire as your stomach swooped with arousal. You scrambled into position, arching your back with your knees together under your hips. You reached around to spread your cheeks and thighs open for him, revealing yourself to him. The growl he let out was purely animalistic.

"Such a pretty omega pussy. Wanna be filled?"

"Zoro~~ Please! Please fuck me!"

His cock rubbed through your folds, then slid between your slicked thighs. He roughly grabbed your arms, holding both your wrists in one hand, pinning them to your back. He leaned over you, resting his weight on one hand, clawed into the bedding by your head. You moaned at his dominating presence.

"Is that how you address me?"

His cock dragged teasingly along your clit as his hips met your ass. You moaned.

"A-alpha?" you guessed through your sex-hazed brain. He rewarded you with a nip on your shoulder.

"Good girl"

He leaned back to rest his heavy arms on your hips, spreading your ass just a little further. You whined as he dragged his hot dick from between your thighs and aimed it at your soaked cunt. He started out slow, but as soon as you mewled and tensed your back in pleasure, he bottomed out with a harsh thrust. You screamed, the sudden painful stretch blending into ecstasy. He held still, curled over your form as he fell onto his free hand by your head, the other gripping your wrists as he held back from destroying you.

"Good omega" he cooed harshly in your ear. You mewled.

The Zoro you were familiar with was gone. His arms were shaking with the effort of not slamming into your sloppy cunt until it bruised. You wiggled your hips, a silent invitation for him to move. He took it. He sat back up and gripped your hips like handles, releasing your wrists from his grip. He yanked you back to meet his thrusts halfway. His claws dug into your flesh, but didn't draw blood. You were shaking with pleasure, and it felt like you were continuously orgasming. You moaned loudly for him, gripping the blankets beneath you desperately.

You lost track of time, only knowing the cresting and receding continuous pleasure. Your tongue lolled out and your eyes rolled back, whines and moans escaping your throat. Low curses and groans rumbled from Zoro's chest, almost drowned out by the wet sound of skin meeting as he pounded your soaking pussy. He got impossibly faster, and you screamed as he hit something deep inside you. He quickly adjusted his aim, hitting that spot every time his hips slapped against your ass.

"Shit. Fuck. Keep tightening up like that. Fuck. Good omega" he muttered behind you. You felt his knot hitting the rim of your entrance, almost bullying its way into your pussy. Your pleasure was close to cresting, higher than you've ever felt. You could only moan. His knot finally caught on your rim, popping back out once before he slammed it back in. The movement made the tip of his cock push harshly against that one spot deep inside, and you screamed again, body clenched and shaking. His hand snaked around you hips and rubbed your clit, and you fell apart.

Blinding white pleasure sang through your body as your muscles clenched. You felt yourself squirt onto the sheets as Zoro leaned over your back, sinking his fangs into the junction of your neck and shoulder. It hurt for a brief second, but the magic of the bite took hold, and the white hot pleasure of both of your orgasms rocked through your body as he pumped his thick cum into you.

"Fuck I love you, omega. Mate!"

You heard his cry as your vision faded.

You must've passed out, because the next time you opened your eyes, Zoro was cuddling you from behind, his cock slipping out as his knot began to deflate. You must've been asleep for a while if he could pull out.

"Omega awake?"

"mmhm"

"Good. Drink." He ordered, shoving water in your face. You sat up, grimacing as the squelch of cum oozing from you made itself known. You gratefully drank the water, looking at your mate. He was already stroking his cock back to full mast. You smirked. Apparently, you were just getting started.

[always-andromeda]

Hi, I was wondering if you still take requests? If you don't that is perfectly okay with me, I don't mind! But if you can, would you be willing to write headcanons or something about Javier Peña (Narcos) with an s/o that doesn't really like pda or super affectionate stuff? Again, if you don't want to you don't have, I'm fine either way! (really trying hard not to sound like I'm peer pressuring you or being passive aggressive 😣) but, yeah, like if you ever have time.. thank you so much!

𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⟡ Javier Peña x F!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⟡ 600

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⟡ Javier learns the different ways of seeing a romantic relationship, or, a drabble about Javier being with a significant other who isn't quite comfortable with his usual charms.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⟡ Oh, my sweet anon, you don't sound passive aggressive or anything of the sort whatsoever!! If anything, I apologize for taking so long to get to this. I've been trying to urge myself back into writing a little bit more and this was a nice little challenge to help me reach that goal. I've been obsessed with Gia Margaret's album, Romantic Piano, these days and I ended up listening to Ways of Seeing on repeat while prattling down these ideas, so naturally, I've named this piece after that song. This isn't my favorite thing I've ever written? But it's been a hot second since I've been regularly writing fanfic so forgive me lmao.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⟡ slightly established relationship, Javier crosses a physical boundary, allusions to Javi and reader having a sexual relationship but nothing explicit is described (regardless, minors, please do not interact), overall fluff and healthy communication

He wasn’t used to this. Any of it, really. Having a lady friend was a new one and by far the most surprising turn of his life at that point. But a lady friend who shrugged off his little touches like he was a pesky insect was another thing. At first he figured it was a reputation thing. Having him slung around you in the halls wouldn’t attract the good kind of attention for either of you. He could handle the jabs and jokes; he always had.

It’s why he hadn’t thought too much about it the first time he caught you in front of the copier and placed a hand on your hip. “What’s that you’re working on, querida?” he’d asked in that low, gravelly tone of his that usually drove you wild.

He swore he felt you jump; momentarily startled before you straightened your shoulders and pushed them back. He couldn’t see your expression, but he already knew he wouldn’t find an ounce of reciprocation to his teasing there anyways when you answered firmly, “Messina asked for copies of this report. She’s got a meeting in twenty minutes.”

Javier’s hand slid around your front, fingers playing at the edges of your top. “You think that’d be enough time?” he mumbled.

You swirled around on your heel and glared at him with a raised eyebrow, “For what exactly?”

“I thought that we had something going…?”

“Just because we have something going it doesn’t just give you the freedom to accost me whenever you want.”

Javier took a step back and folded his arms, getting ready to rocket into defensiveness. 

Before he could get a word in, you continued, “I know that you’re comfortable with the flirting and the teasing…but I’m not. It’s fine when it’s just the two of us.” You struggled to get an accurate grasp of your words, “But outside of that…it’s just…uncomfortable? Do you get that?”

His stomach sank as he was reminded of the type of men he’d helped put away in the past. The kind who had no regard for anyone or anything aside from their own wants. He thought of those butterflies in his chest whenever he caught your eye from across a room. How they glittered with the allusion of a secret; that secret being something special that only you and him shared. Your eyes were now shadowed with a layer of caution. How quickly those butterflies of his had turned into an invasive species.

He slowly raised his hands, admitting defeat before divulging, “I apologize. I– I didn’t mean to overstep.”

You blinked a few times before turning back around and grabbing the stack of fresh papers from the printer. “I think we should set some boundaries.”

“Boundaries? What kind of boundaries?”

“Well…for now…let’s keep the public displays of affection at a minimum. Can we do that?”

“Of course. Whatever you need. I hear you,” Javier nodded firmly.

As you started to tell him goodbye and head towards Messina’s office, one more thought popped into his mind. He reached forward to place a hand on you before stopping himself and clearing his throat instead. “Wait–”

“Yeah?”

The corner of his lip curled up into a smug smile. “Just to be clear…we’re still okay on the private displays of affection, right?”

You rolled your eyes and replied, “We’re alright in that department, Peña, don’t you worry.”

“Sounds good, keep me posted if anything changes,” he said with a quick wink before sauntering away, leaving you cradling the warm papers against your chest, knowing that you could tell him if anything did change.

[pavlovianfuckery]

lets not pretend we're not all nuts for The Voice

i blame the dreamcast and tom sturridges voice entirely for this, it's all his fault really, here is some lazy hypnosis for you

That you found his hands beautiful had never been a secret. It seemed to amuse him how you could watch him do the most mundane things, never tiring of simply looking at him. The first time he'd truly noticed the extent of the effect his hands had on you, it had been completely by accident. You'd simply been reading in companionable silence after a long and tiring day, as you sometimes did. As per usual, you couldn't help sneaking glances at him from time to time, like a schoolgirl with a crush still. Taking in the lean lines of his body, your gaze ended up lingering on his hands again, which was not unusual in itself.  What was interesting was the way he absentmindedly kept drumming his index finger on the back of the book in his hands. At first, you simply enjoy the graceful way his tendons move, the delicate look to his wrist as he turns the page.

Tap... Tap... Tap...

The rhythm was almost like a heartbeat, and soon you found yourself unable to look away. Your body felt a bit heavy, thoughts going a bit fuzzy at the edges, the book you had been reading forgotten in your lap. 

Tap... Tap... Tap...

It was...nice. You didn't want to look away. Your own heartbeat was a dull thunder in your ears as everything was reduced to that one small movement of his finger.

Tap... Tap... Tap...

Everything felt warm. Relaxed. Soft. You were vaguely aware that he was speaking, but it was hard to pay attention. Shaking your head, you tried to clear your thoughts. "Sorry. Guess I spaced out for a minute there..." "Is that so?" He put the book to the side and gave you a curious look, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You scarcely even blinked for quite some time, my love." You winced, a bit embarrassed. "It is quite alright. In fact, you might have given me...an idea, of a sort."                                     ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You're not sure what he meant by 'idea', but you supposed you'll find out sooner rather than later. He hasn't been secretive per se, but not exactly forthcoming either. Watching him shrug off his coat and leave it folded over the back of the couch, you wrack your brain, trying to figure out what he's planning. You come up empty though, distracted by the way the muscles of his forearms move as he unlaces his boots, taking them off. Everything about him looks softer like this, more touchable. But he's rarely in this kind of playful mood and you're too curious to see what he's going to do to risk derailing it somehow, so you wait, fighting down the urge to run your hands across his shoulders, so tempting in just the thin t-shirt.  "Do you trust me?" "You know I do." That seems to please him, otherworldly eyes softening as he kisses you lightly, fingers brushing your cheek. "Will you indulge me for now, then?" You kiss him back, unable to hold back a smile. "Of course, I will." "Good." With that, he gets on the bed, leaning back against the pillows, resting his hands on his bent knees. "Undress for me." His voice feels like molasses sliding over you, and you waste no time obeying, his eyes on you the entire time. The look on his face can only be described as mischievous as he pats the covers next to him. "Come here." He doesn't need to ask twice, the words barely have time to leave his mouth before you join him on the bed, eager to please. With the barest flash of a smile, he spreads his legs a bit wider, beckoning you closer. "Here. Let me hold you, my sweet." Not what you thought he was going to say but you don't object, letting him pull you close, enjoying the press of his chest against your back. When he speaks, his voice vibrates against your skin like something almost solid. "I simply need you to relax for now, will you do that for me?" It's a bit of an odd request, but you don't see any harm in it, leaning back against him a bit more, unable to suppress a grin. "What are you up to?" "You will see. For now, just breathe." It's not hard matching your breaths to his, slow and even. His shoulder is a surprisingly comfortable headrest too, and it doesn't take long to feel like you could almost drift off, right there in his arms. When he speaks again his voice is low, words dripping like honey, slow and sweet. "You enjoy my hands, do you not?" "Yeah, a lot." It's a bit of a silly question, and you can't help smiling. "You enjoy looking at them too, yes?" "Mm-hm."  "Would you look now?" With that, he brings one of his hands up in front of you. "You do not need to do anything, simply keep your eyes on my fingers for a while."

At first, he simply turns his hand over unhurriedly, back to palm and back again. You love how his hands look so delicate yet strong at the same time, and you want to keep watching, feeling too heavy and content to move. As he flexes his fingers gently a phrase springs to mind; piano fingers. You can't quite remember where you first heard it though, only that it must have been long ago. It's hard to think, to focus. Almost as if he heard what you were thinking, his fingers start moving slowly in front of your face, as if playing invisible keys. The movement is graceful, mesmerizing as his hand flits effortlessly across your field of vision, this way and that.

It's beautiful, and you don't want to look away. It reminds you of all the times he's touched you, always knowing precisely where and how. Your thighs squeeze together without you meaning to do it, seeking relief from the heat pooling at your core. He notices, of course, his breath soft against your cheek as he speaks. "You are enjoying this, good."

You love his voice, if you could eat it, you would. Did you say that out loud? Without taking your eyes off his fingers you can tell that he's smiling, hear it in his voice and it makes your chest swell with pride; you love making him smile. To make him happy. You feel so heavy though, like you might sink through the mattress if he wasn't holding you. It feels good though. Safe. The fluttering motion of his fingers is making your head swim. Turning you on. You squeeze your legs together again, wishing you could lie down with him, that he would touch you.

"We can lie down, if you wish." You don't remember asking, but he lowers you gently down next to him all the same, fingers still moving lazily in front of your face. Your eyelids feel heavy and you blink once, twice, everything moving at half speed. "You can close your eyes, if you need to." Maybe just for a minute. With your eyes closed, his voice wraps around you, sinking into your every pore.

"Can you feel my touch? How well your breasts fill my hands, like they were made for me alone?" At first, you're not sure if you can feel him, but then there is the distinct feel of his hands cupping your breasts gently. "I can." The words feel slow, clumsy in your mouth. You bite your lip, enjoying the teasing but still wanting more.  "The tips of them are so sensitive for me, are they not?" He rubs his thumbs over your nipples until they're stiff, fanning the embers of your desire into a flame until you feel like you might combust. "Let me see you. Spread your legs for me."

You feel the bed shift as he moves in between your legs, gripping your thighs as he talks, forcing them wider, stroking ever closer to where you really need him. "You open your thighs so willingly for me, so obedient. Do you want me to touch you?"  "Yes, please." It's hard, talking. You don't remember it being this hard. "Feel how easily you part around my fingers," he murmurs, dragging his fingers between your folds. "So lovely, all but dripping already. And this little nub must be aching, for only the faintest touch," he rubs the pad of one finger across your clit, making your hips jerk,"to affect you like this."

He pauses for a few seconds, keeping his finger pressed to your clit but not moving, his voice filling your head like treacle, pushing every thought away. "You need to come, I think. Would you like that?" Your mind feels sluggish, his words landing like smooth pebbles in a bowl of jello. Coming sounds good though, you know that much, want to, badly. "Uh-huh."  "Tell me what you want." As he whispers it you can feel the words bouncing off of you like the lights of a sparkler, making your skin tingle. All you can think about is his mouth. It takes a while to get the words out though. "Give me your mouth?" It comes out sounding like a question, and you're not sure why. "Of course you can have my mouth, my love. Can you feel my tongue, lapping at you?" And you realize that you can. The slide of his tongue against you is unmistakable, making you moan as it flicks over your clit. You can feel his breath against your ear though, and you're dimly aware that he's still talking, his voice flowing into you like waves. You don't know how he's doing it, but it doesn't seem important. Nothing matters except the way he's making you feel.

"You always respond so beautifully to my touch." His voice is scrambling your thoughts, making it hard to do anything except listen, letting his words wash over you like a thick syrup until you can nearly taste them. "Particularly when I suck on that little nub, you love that, do you not?"

And he does just that, making your back arch of its own volition. You can't help grabbing at him then, the skin at the nape of his neck so soft under your hands, hair made to wind your fingers through. Perfect. Somebody is making noises and you think it might be you, but you're not sure of that either anymore. Everything feels so far away, everything except his mouth, his voice, his touch. "Are you going to come for me, my sweet?" His voice is so warm, so soft, enveloping you. "Y-yeah, 'm so close," the words come out stuttered and slurred, but you don't care, the pleasure short-circuiting your brain. "Go on then," he's smiling again, you can tell that much, "come."

And you do, fisting your hands in his hair to keep his mouth on you as your hips rock against him helplessly. The waves of pleasure are drowning you, making it hard to breathe, but you can hear yourself whimpering. Coming apart on his tongue feels like shattering, like being unmade and remade again. "Morpheus!" His name is ripped out of you, tumbling from your lips like a prayer. Maybe it is. As you come down from your high your heartbeat is loud in your ears and you feel like if you looked, you could see your ribs moving from the pounding of it, heart trying to break free. It's easier to think again though. To move. "Open your eyes, my love."

As you do, you realize that he's right next to you, inches away from even touching you, still perfectly composed. The look on his face might be the smuggest you've ever seen him, though. "If I had known that I could bring you to release with my voice alone, I would have done this a lot sooner." "Wha...no, that's not a thing." You blink, confused. "You seemed to enjoy it well enough."  "But you were touching me, I could feel you, feel your mouth..." "I was right here next to you the entire time," his voice is almost a purr, he's so obviously pleased with himself, "but I never touched you." You can't help being embarrassed, hiding your face behind your hands. "Oh my god, Dream, fuck." He chuckles then, gathering you against his chest again before pressing a tender kiss to your temple. "Maybe later. For now, just rest." "You break my brain sometimes, you know that? Fuck, I love you."

[nick-nocturne]

Hello! I recently got into your content with Welcome home, and I scrolled on your blog for a bit. I saw that you have... some sort of rivalry/beef with matpat of the theorist channels, and I wanted to know your thoughts on his retirement. As someone who grew up watching his game theory videos, and having those game theory videos, particularly the fnaf theory videos, be the reason I was able to fit in and share common interests with my peers in middle and high school when the fnaf craze was still going strong? It was hard to hear your criticism of one of my beloved childhood figures. But you helped me realize that I had put matpat up on a pedestal because of his videos and because of my childhood nostalgia, and that I didn't need to do that. I do wonder if you think that matpat has gotten better, that he's not as bad or egotistical as he was before. There are many questions I would like to ask. But I'll stick with only one.

So, rivalry/beef/hatred or whatever feelings you hold towards matpat aside, how do you feel about matpat retiring from YouTube? Are you happy? Elated to see a rival or opponent gone? Or do you feel something else about seeing him leave the public sphere. I'd just like to know your opinion, considering your strong feelings on him before.

Thank you for your time, Mr. Nocturne.

An angel must've tapped you to ask this, considering how much I've been thinking about this lately. ::3 The majority of heat I've ever lobbed against MatPat in prior years can best be described as angst, a lot of it unwarranted. I've had issues with his business practices, his content practices, and a lot of his content approaches--but that never called for the kind of flippant sneering I used to exhibit towards him. I've had criticism of MatPat and can't say I saw Game Theory as favorably as I felt it could have been--and I wish I could tell myself from a few years ago to accept that feeling and chill, especially when I knew I still respected his passion, his dedication, and his impact. I feel really good about MatPat retiring and it's for exactly two reasons: he gets to leave on happy terms, on his own terms, after fulfilling a career of over a decade being a trailblazer on YouTube who legitimately has inspired hundreds, if not thousands, of people in a truly positive way; and he gets to pass his position to someone else and give them a chance at what is, for coverage in certain areas of art creation, the top of the mountain. I also thought while watching his goodbye video that he's clearly been thinking a ton about how he's done his work on YouTube, and the impact he's had through his methods, good and bad--I could hear it in his words and the nuances. He's been reflecting, that's for sure, and it informed the way he sat down to talk about the journey. I also felt a lot of resonating with things he said, and there were moments in that goodbye video that I truly understood him and know exactly how he feels. I felt I could have sat on that couch with him and had a conversation as a guy who gets it, because this many years on, I do get it. And while I don't have as much in common with MatPat as I do Jamie of Inside A Mind, or Jeff of Jeffiot, or Goose Boose, there's common ground he and I could talk very warmly over. Ultimately, I am happy he gets to leave in happiness, with what he's built in hands he trusts, and that he knows his first baby--Game Theory--is going to be safe. I wish him, very sincerely, so much happiness and all the fulfillment that opening his life and getting more time as a father, husband, and man will bring him.

[bunni-v1]

HELLO!!! Before i request i wanna say that i love your works, they are all so awesome, and i love the way you write!

But i wanted to request Idia Shroud x (preferably fem but idc that much) reader that is really into wonyoungism and that sort of aesthetic (if you don’t know what it wonyoungism it’s just about taking care of yourself very well and usually is mostly with pink and white and very elegant), you can add other characters if you want to but i think it’d be funny to see Idia, who doesn’t take care of himself too well with a S/O that is really good at taking care of themself.

You don’t have to do this but i thought it would be a fun idea, make sure to have a good day!!

Idia’s Fem!Partner Who’s Really Into Wonyungism

TW: Idia has implied depression (duh); I did not edit this, sorry!

Info: Idia x Reader

🍓I need to finish the alphabet requests, but I actually just don’t have the time to sit down and write out the full lists right now. I’ll chip away at them… little by little. Sigh. These are really short, but I promise I put effort into them!!! I just didn't know how to fully capitalize on the prompt :(

-Idia is the opposite of what I’d describe as “clean”

-In fact, he’s the opposite of Wonyungism.

-He likes blacks and blues and a really gloomy atmosphere. The bright whites and pinks burn his eyes.

-He managed to land you though… so he has to put up with it for the sake of your relationship.

-I kid! Mostly!

-Idia loves you and he really likes your whole aesthetic! Sure white and pink aren’t his thing, but it’s yours! It’s yours and you look really good in it!

-He for sure will buy you any cute little outfits he finds, and if you’re wanting something all you have to do is ask.

-He thinks your whole thing is really charming.

-However, his… lack of cleanliness is a point of contention for the two of you.

-He simply does not have the motivation to do skincare, nor does he want to clean his room.

-He’s a trash monster, he wants his mess the way his mess is!

-You may not be able to convince him to clean his room, but with the help of Ortho, you can convince him to start a skincare routine.

-Idia HATES it — at first!

-It’s hard, and it’s so many steps, and it takes so long. He could’ve gotten a Victory Royale in Fortnite in the time it takes to finish his skin routine.

-As his skin begins to improve, however, he realizes why you do this every single day.

-He’s never looked or felt better — even VIL complimented him! THE VIL!

-Besides all that, he has a really fun time doing it with you.

-It’s a chance for both of you to just hangout and bond over something that YOU care about, rather than just doing things he likes.

-It’s not as serious as he thought it would be either. 

-The face masks you have him put on always look stupid, and they make you giggle, which is always a plus.

-It’s just fun! He loves bonding with you, even if the thing you’re doing isn’t exactly fun for him.

-You make it fun for him!

-Still, there’s nothing you can do to get him to clean his room. He likes his mess.

[fili-urzudel]

Hi I absolutely love your writing!!! Like seriously you have me smiling to myself hard I feel like an idiot lol. Anyway, can I request a romantic Kili with fake relationship + forehead touches? Bonus points if you add teasing brother Fili into the story too!

I love getting compliments like this omg! I'm so sorry that it took me so long to get this out for you and that I sort of left Fíli out (though whoever said this couldn't have a part two?).

When I put 50. under the meet cute prompt, I meant exactly that: you're strangers when one or the other of you finds yourself in need of a fake romance to escape some situation.

I also have Taylor Swift on the brain

9. Forehead touches (again yippee!)

12. Dancing (added this one)

50. Need a fake relationship immediately

Warnings: Dancing, being a little intoxicated, lying, reader describes self as a woman

Word count: 1.2k

Enchanted - Kíli Durin x Reader

It was nice to be recognized as equals by the dwarves of Erebor. This was what you reminded yourself as you leaned against a pillar in the back of the ballroom. It was nice that they were attempting to involve the people of Dale in their culture. It was nice that, after three years of instability, the two kingdoms could afford a night of leisure.

You had never really been one for parties. Talking got to be boring and stressful quickly, most of the eligible men had already picked their dancing partners, and you had made a promise to yourself to stay lucid. Unfortunately, dwarven liquor was quite strong, so you could only manage one drink for the time being. 

You sighed, wondering if you had wasted too much time tailoring your dress for this event. If you had wasted too much time on practicing what few traditional dwarven group dances you could find information on.

As your eyes swept the room again, they landed on an attractive side profile. Dark hair with bangs, strong features, a dusting of stubble that you hadn't seen before but found appealing, and brown eyes—oh, no. You quickly glanced away, wondering how long you had been staring. You decided to risk raising your eyes again, in the hopes of appearing less awkward. He made eye contact once more, and smiled. It was a dazzling smile, one that you couldn't help but respond in kind to. 

He was moving through the crowd before you knew it. 

"I can see you're having just as much fun as I am," he said sardonically, and you chuckled. 

"Never have I been so excited," you agreed with him.

"Well, there are ways to make the evening more interesting," he mused, and you wondered what he could mean. He glanced to the side, clearly recognizing someone, and he stepped closer, well within your personal space. "Are you a good actor?"

"What?" You asked in a daze. You feared your tipsiness dragging down your understanding.

"A dwarrowdam has been eagerly pursuing me for some weeks and she is beginning to refuse to believe that I have a partner."

"And do you?"

"No," he admitted, and the two of you laughed. "But you could help me uphold the lie."

You contemplated it for a moment. He was certainly more interesting than any man you had yet met. You would go so far as to say he was incredibly handsome. It was all almost enough to make you wish that his interest was more than just a ploy to escape an annoyance. But a dance partner was a dance partner.

"Dance with me," you offered, which earned you another bright smile.

"Of course, my lady," he held out his hand. You realized that neither of you had asked the others' names. Neither of you had offered. 

You took his hand.

"Do you know this dance?" he asked.

"I practiced," you nodded seriously. "Just... never with someone who learned it traditionally."

"I'm sure you'll be fine," he said with another easy smirk. The violins signaled that you had no more time to wonder.

The dance would have been head-spin inducing even if you were sober, especially being the tallest among the dancers. That was rare for you. Still, the intertwined elbows, quick turns, and aisles of other dancers were a thrill, and you were glad to finally be able to participate.

You gave a hearty laugh as the dance finally came to an end with a stomp and a loud cheer. "I did it!" You said proudly, to no one in particular.

Your partner smiled along with you. "You did excellently!" His expression suddenly changed. "Here she comes," he muttered, and you were barely able to steal a glance before the mass of petticoats made herself known. 

"My prince!" She said with fake politeness and a painted on smile. You did your best to hide your surprise. Prince? Was that only a pet name?

He did look awfully similar to your father's description of one of the dwarves that had paraded through Laketown, now that you thought of it. "May I ask who your lovely partner may be? It's quite unusual, men dancing with dwarves, don't you think?"

"Well, then it is a good thing I am a woman," you said, chuckling in a way that you hoped matched her energy. You introduced yourself. "Thank you for calling me lovely. I am courting this handsome dwarf!"

She glanced between the two of you, looking confused and mildly angry. She hid it surprisingly well. "Is this true?" She asked your partner, and he laughed nearly naturally. 

"Of course it is! I keep telling you about her, and well, here she is," he gestured to you with his free hand.

"You never mentioned her name before," she insisted.

"She's a private, quiet maiden. Something I appreciate about her," he said, pushing more warmth into his voice. He was selling it very well.

She stood, upset, observing the two of you for another moment. Just as you were about to excuse the two of you, she spoke up again. 

"Why is it that neither of you have courting beads?"

Your partner's mouth gaped for a moment, and you scrambled for a believable lie. What on earth and in the heavens was a courting bead?

"Ah, well, men's traditions are different, and I am waiting to give..." you realized you still didn't know his name. "...my love a bead of his own until I can learn to forge one well enough that it is an adornment rather than a burden."

"No matter how much I assure her that any gift from her is a treasure," he said with a smile, looking up at you. 

You took the opportunity to hopefully shake his suitor for good. It was the least you could do for your new friend. You dropped your forehead against him, putting on your best lovesick smile. "You're too sweet, beloved."

"Well," the impatient dam huffed. "Congratulations."

Your hair blocked your view. "Is she gone?" You murmured, realizing you could feel his breath on your lips.

"Yes, I do believe you've rescued me," he chuckled, eyelashes fluttering at your closeness. 

"My pleasure," you smiled, before remembering yourself. You straightened, allowing the two of you to clear the floor before the next dance. "Why did she call you Prince?"

"Ah, right," he cast his eyes to the floor. "I am Kíli Durin, Prince of Erebor. Not that it means much, since I'm not in line for the throne."

"Huh," you said simply, sure that if this were any other circumstance, you would be all but panicking. "Well, um, I believe I've already introduced myself, Your Highness. It's a pleasure to properly make your acquaintance."

The prince's face seemed to fall. "Come now, we don't need all of that," he assured you. "I much prefer for you to call me by anything other than my title."

You laughed. "What, like 'my love'?" You referenced your earlier bluff. "I don't suppose that would do for a man I just met."

You thought you perhaps could have seen his cheeks turn pink at the name. "Well, no, but Kíli is a perfectly acceptable middle ground."

"Nice to meet you then, Kíli."

"And it is an honor to meet you."

[lotusbxtch]

Lightning of the Blaze

Pairing: Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+, MDNI! This is basically all smut.

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings/tags: no use of y/n, Oral (m receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected P in V (wrap it up pls!), hair pulling, creampie, established relationship, mild masochism, brief degradation (one use of “cockslut”), swearing, Reader is described as having hair long enough to put into a ponytail and be tugged by Joel; just filthy smut I’m sorry (not sorry)

a/n: Not me having some *thots* before bed and needing to get them out of my head so I can sleep in peace lol. Not beta read, apologies for any typos! Dividers by @saradika-graphics , thank you!

One of your favorite ways to show Joel you loved him was to cook, but damn did you hate the cleanup.

“I knew I should have put down foil,” you mutter to yourself, desperately trying to scour the caramelized dry rub from tonight’s rib dinner off of your baking sheets. Hindsight is 20/20, unfortunately. Elbow-deep in suds, you cussed under your breath for making that new year’s resolution to leave a clean, empty sink in your kitchen every night. You frustratedly blew your hair out of your face, annoyed that you didn’t think to tie it up beforehand. Thankfully, you heard the door open, Joel having just returned from taking out the recycling.

“Joel baby,” you called out into the living room, “can you grab a hair tie from the bathroom and put my hair up for me please?”

“Sure, darlin’,” he replied, dipping into the bathroom to wash his hands and retrieve one of your black elastic bands. He padded into the kitchen and you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, noticing his grey sweatpants riding low on his hips, his navy t-shirt stretched taut across his shoulders. Even in his “comfy clothes,” he still looked fine as hell.

You continued aggressively scrubbing the metal sheet in front of you as Joel approached you from behind, pressing his front against your back and hooking his chin over your shoulder. “You should’a let me take care of that, sweetheart,” Joel murmured into your neck, planting a soft kiss. “You worked so hard on dinner, it’s not your job to clean, too. How do you want me to fix your hair?”

“Just a ponytail is fine, thank you,” you responded. Joel gathered your hair into his hands in a ponytail, but you noticed he didn’t grab the elastic. “Joel, didn’t you grab the hair tie?”

“Yes ma’am I did,” he said into your ear, sending shivers down your spine, “but I think I found a better way to secure it.”

“Oh no you don’t,” you started, “I know where you’re trying to go with this. I need to get these dishes sorted, hun! Not now!” As if to dissuade him, you began scrubbing the pan even harder, to no avail. You heard him chuckle into your hairline.

“Oh sweet thing, you act like I don’t know exactly how to distract you,” he purred, and then he did it.

He gathered your ponytailed hair closer into his hand, and tugged.

The pain shimmered across your scalp, followed by a tingly wave of pleasure. You gasped out a moan. “Joel, please…..” you whimpered. “I’m trying to be good and stick to my goals.”

“Just leave the pan in the sink,” he offered. “Let it soak til the mornin’. You need to anyway, that rub ain’t goin’ anywhere. Here, I’ll help you.” Joel grabbed the retractable faucet hose, turned the water to warm, and started filling the pan. Then, without warning, he turned the hose into your front.

“JOEL, what the hell!” you yelped, surprised by the sudden spray. You looked down and noticed your white t-shirt was now fully see-through, revealing your pink lace bralette and pebbled nipples. Looking up, you saw Joel smirk in the reflection of your kitchen sink window.

“And now you’re soaked too,” he said, chortling at his own (bad) joke. You rolled your eyes until the brush of his thumb on your nipple caught your attention. He stared right back at you and you swore that even through the reflection, you could see his eyes darken. “But I think I can get you even more soaked.”

Joel began grinding his hardening cock into your ass, pressing you further into the counter. One hand remained wound around your ponytail, while the other dragged slowly across the top of your leggings. You whimpered, spreading your legs further apart to give him access. He chuckled darkly. “So eager, baby,” Joel whispered into your ear, slipping his thick fingers into the front of your leggings and into your matching lace panties, groaning when he felt your drenched folds. “Wetter’n the ocean for me, hmm?” he murmured. All you could do was nod your head.

Joel slipped a finger into your pussy, your copious slick easing his entrance. You choked out a moan, pressing even harder into his crotch, smiling when you felt him stiffen even further. “Only for you,” you said softly, “I’m only this wet for you, Joel.”

“That’s right,” he growled into your ear, pressing further into your warm wetness. The stimulation made your head spin, but the hard press of his cock pulled you out. There was something you needed even more than this, and something you knew Joel would go crazy for.

“I need to suck your cock, baby,” you moaned, pulling Joel’s finger from your cunt and immediately enveloping it into your mouth, lips suctioning and tongue caressing. Joel groaned brokenly, and then you met his eyes and said the words you knew would trigger him: “And I want you to fuck my mouth.”

You saw Joel’s eyes widen a bit, and then immediately a feral, slightly deranged glint swirled in his eyes. “God, you are so fucking perfect,” he whispered. “I need you to beg for it, sweet thing.”

“Joel, please,” you moaned loudly, and the next thing you knew he was spinning you around, the movement twisting your ponytail in his hand even more, sending another pain-pleasure jolt through your body.

“Yeah, you want this cock down your throat baby?” Joel groaned, yanking your hair back slightly. “You want me to use your ponytail to fuck your mouth?” All you did in response was drop to your knees, mouth wide open, pink tongue hanging out like a welcome mat for his dick.

“God, you’re such a dirty girl,” Joel muttered, pulling down his sweats, his hard length bobbing slightly. In one motion, he lined himself up and slid into your warm, wet mouth. Joel groaned, his hold on your ponytail tightening again, drawing out a whimper from you which vibrated down his shaft. “Such a perfect little cockslut.”

You began to move your mouth up and down his length, keeping your throat relaxed so he could get as deep as possible. Joel used his hand in your hair to guide your mouth, starting off slow to get you warmed up, and then progressively speeding up. Soon he was fucking into your mouth with passion, your throat making wet squelching sounds, mixed in with your moans every time he elicited pressure on your ponytail. Your body was buzzing, feeling alive with a flood of endorphins counteracting the sting of your scalp. You rubbed your thighs together, trying to find friction, and then suddenly Joel ripped your mouth off of his cock with a pop. You looked up at him with surprise in your eyes, your lips still in an O shape from the facefucking. He groaned at the sight, but pulled you to your feet. He’d fill that mouth with his cum another day, but not today.

“I need to fuck that pretty pussy, baby,” he gritted out, ripping off his clothes and then moving to the couch, laying back on it. “Ride this cock like you own it.”

You grinned devilishly, sauntering over as Joel watched you strip with hooded eyes, his length glistening with your saliva. Now naked, swinging your legs over his, you hovered over his lap, facing away from him, knowing how crazy he got for reverse cowgirl. Just as you predicted, you heard Joel groan again, reaching down to spread your folds apart to watch it swallow his cock slowly as you both moaned at the feeling. With one leg braced against the floor and the other folded so your shin laid against the couch cushions, you started a slow rocking movement, rolling your hips as you slide up and down his shaft. You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his ankles, spreading yourself wide so he could watch his cock disappear in and out of you.

“Fuuuuuck baby, you’re dripping down me,” Joel said, intoxicated by the sight before him. Your slick running down his hardness in rivulets, soaking his curls; your cream staining a ring at his base. He swiped a finger through it, slipping his digit into his mouth. “God, you taste so fucking good, too” he whispered hoarsely, making you clench against him.

“Joel, pull my hair, please,” you beg, riding him faster. He sat up to gather your hair in one hand again, jerking it back and ripping a moan from your throat. Your pussy spasmed, pulling a growl from him as well. He gripped your hip with his other hand, planted his feet on the cushions, and bucked up into you.

Your back bowed as Joel continued to thrust up, yanking your hair periodically to release a lightning bolt of pain-pleasure through your body. He pulled your head further back until he could whisper into your ear. “Rub that pretty clit of yours, baby. I want you to cum on my cock.” Joel released your hair, allowing you to move your body.

You released your hold on his ankles, sitting up and spreading your legs wide. Slipping one hand down your chest, you caressed and tugged your nipples before continuing down your torso and stroking your fingers across where the two of you were joined. You stroked Joel’s shaft as it plunged in and out of your folds, making him groan and press his head into the couch. Gathering the cream and slick at his base, you swirled it over your clit, moaning at the sensation. Your fingers pressed tight circles around the pearl, rocketing you towards your release. Joel bucked even harder into you, hitting that sweet spot only he could reach, making your cunt squeeze him even tighter.

“I can feel you getting close, baby,” Joel says, breathing harder. “Fucking sucking me in.”

“Yes, Joel,” you moan, swirling faster and faster, pussy tightening intensely, right on the precipice. “I need more.”

“Oh, I know what you need,” Joel says, the smirk in his voice evident.

Joel grabs your hair, yanking hard, as he whispers in your ear, “Cum for me, now.”

And you cliff dive right off the edge into one of the hardest orgasms in your life.

Your mouth opens up in a scream, but your orgasm is so intense that no sound comes out. Your body feels like it freezes completely and then explodes all at once. Waves of slick pulse down Joel’s dick, soaking him and the cushions underneath, as he moans deeply holding onto your hips and shoving himself as deep in you as possible, grinding to prolong your euphoria. You finally catch your breath, and a long, ragged moan erupts out of your throat.

“That’s it baby, good fucking girl,” he praises. “Fucking soak and choke my cock, just like that.”

Joel grabs your hips and starts thrusting with abandon into you, as you collapse forward, taking hold of his ankles once again. You bend over almost in half, giving him an unobstructed view of your puffy, soaked cunt. You bite at his shins, whining, taking and taking and taking.

“God, Joel, you fuck me so good,” you mewl. “I want you to fill me up.”

“Oh yeah?” Joel says breathlessly, fucking into you at a blinding pace, chasing his own high. “You want me to fill this messy pussy up with my cum, make it even messier?” His hips are a blur now, the sound of his hips slapping into your wet thighs echoing in the room. “I’m going to cum so deep in you that you’ll be dripping for days.”

“Yes, Joel, fucking fill me up. Fill up my pussy, I wanna be full of nothing but you,” you moan.

That snaps the final tether and Joel thrusts once, twice, three times and then buries his cock as deeply into you as possible, nearly roaring in pleasure, bruising your hips with his fingers, painting your drenched walls with his cum.

You lay on top of his legs, pussy weeping a mixture of your releases, both of you breathing hard. Kissing his shins, you pulse your cunt on him, giggling when his breath hitches from overstimulation. Slowly you sit up and slide off of his shaft, pressing your fingers to your center to stem the flow of your juices and his spend as Joel hands you a towel. You let the warmth drip out of your body, and then toss it back to him to clean up his lap. Once he throws the towel in the hamper in your bedroom, he shifts your body so you’re laying sideways, face to face. You nuzzle into his chest, warm and damp with sweat. The air in the living room feels humid, thick with the scent of sex. Joel kisses your forehead and runs his hands slowly up and down your sides as you both relax.

“Acceptable distraction from your noble pursuit of cleaning resolutions?” Joel posits, rubbing the tip of his nose across the top of your head. You sigh in (satisfied) defeat.

“Yeah, I guess so. Besides, I feel like new year’s resolutions are more like guidelines, anyhow. Let’s go to bed, baby.” You giggle as Joel leads you to your bedroom.

[silverskye13]

Hi, I just came from reading the last chapter of RnS, and I am once again shaking by how strong it made me feel, which is also finally giving me the strength to ask this, finally.

How do you write compelling, logical emotions? Like, you are writing as you go, and yet I go back and everything reads with such a sound conclusion, like the characters are feeling what they're meant to be feeling, like their emotions are deeply complex and it's just, how? Are there any tips you can give?

Have you studied any writing theory, or have you got any advice on dissecting pieces of writing for improvement? Because I feel like there's oh so much I can get from "improving from writing more"

Thank you for the kind words. Gosh I'm glad the emotions all make sense. I feel like that's one of the harder things to juggle -- especially when posting chapter by chapter, where sometimes weeks go by between scenes. It gets easy to lose things.

Answers to questions [as best I can] under the cut, because I can see this getting long and rambly.

How do I write compelling, logical emotions?

Uhm! This is a bit hard for me to articulate, because writing emotions is very intuitive to me. I'm a very emotionally aware person -- generally speaking I can recognize how I'm feeling and why very quickly within myself. That, I think, helps being able to write them. But some tips that are hopefully helpful:

Study yourself Emotional intelligence aside, the best way to write feelings is to figure out what they feel like. It doesn't have to be in-depth. You don't have to psychoanalyze yourself. It is enough to be able to go "I'm nervous. My stomach feels tied in knots, my throat is dry." or "I'm happy. I feel like I could dance, there's energy I need to get rid of. I feel full to bursting." Any time you've read something and gone "Oh god, that's exactly what that feels like!" It's because someone sat down and studied it for a few minutes. Sit with the uncomfortable feelings, or bask in the good ones. Root yourself in the moment and really stew. It doesn't have to be for big life events. If a movie makes you feel excited, just take a second to describe how it feels. If a book makes you cry, give a thought to what the tears are like. The next time you sit down to write a feeling, you might not be able to remember exactly what it felt like, but you will probably remember the words you attached to it.

Emotions in real life aren't logical, but stories are If you've ever gotten really angry, or really sad, or just any Big emotion, you know they're often overwhelming and paralyzing in their own special little ways. It is so easy to get swept up in the feeling of a thing that your brain turns off, and your body does crazy irrational things, and then its hours later and you've calmed down and it feels like you'll never get that emotion back again, because it was just so... much. That is allowed to exist in a story, but writing incomprehensible feelings takes your reader out of it after awhile. We need something to stay rooted in, if only so we have a reason the character is feeling as they are. Story emotions have a beginning, middle and end that you can chart. We see what causes them, we feel them, they come down from the high, and then they get a resolution. All of that doesn't have to happen at the same time. The character can feel anger over something and it drives their progression for the rest of the book. But, if at the end of the story, we don't see a resolution, it gets harder to believe -- even if in real life, emotions aren't always nearly so neatly tied. [Depending on the type of story you're writing, sometimes you might choose to intentionally leave emotions unresolved by the end, but generally they're still addressed in a "X was still angry, and would always be, but life moves on" sort of way. As long as it was an intentional choice that thought was put into, and that's evident in the character, people will believe it on a writing/empathy level.]

Emotions keep your character relatable, so keep them reasonable Emotions are how your readers connect with your character. Its the little moments where you get into their head and empathize where your attachments grow. Being able to see not only that a character is feeling something, but also see why they feel that way, does a lot of heavy lifting for making you like a character. Even if their feelings are inherently irrational [ie. thinking your friend hates you because they don't want to hang out one day], if you know why the character would feel that way [main character has social anxiety, which has been a problem through the whole book] you can sympathize with them, and care about their struggles.

Think about body language There is so much more to emotion than just "his stomach tied itself in knots" and "his anger was a lightning strike." Emotions are movements and mannerisms. Even something as simple as pacing can convey a thousand different things: quick steps, talking with your hands, in fast circles, leaning forward, beaming [Excited, sharing ideas]. Slow, ponderous steps back and forth in a line down the hall, hands clasped behind your back, brow drawn, gaze low [Contemplative, troubled, turning an idea over and over]. Stomping, storming, glowering, fists clenched, stopping sometimes in front of the door you're pacing in front of, scowling and turning back to your solitude [angry, bracing yourself for an unpleasant confrontation, could be calming down or could be building yourself up to something]. Body language can sometimes convey more of an emotion to the reader than writing how the feeling feels can, especially in a limited POV where you're only inside one character's head.

Physical pacing to show emotion, through word choice Make. Your readers feel things. With punctuation. This is where reading poetry will really help your writing, tbh. Poetry is where punctuation gets really contemplative, really intentional, and you can use that to your advantage in prose too. My thoughts are running. You can tell they're running because I'm in a rush and the words are longer and this sentence is running just like I am. It's one step over and over and over, and ignoring periods for commas because commas feel a little more like a step and less like a hard rest -- and sometimes you do breaks because it feels like a tumble what does this make you feel? It's breathless your readers are waiting for you to stop so they can stop reading and it feels distressing like maybe it's panic or thinking too quick and -- There's something. Creeping. Up on you. A hesitant feeling, like a predator in the grass. There is something disjointed here. In the sentences. The hard stops make you pause. The longer sentences lull you into something. It feels off-balance. Unsafe. Are you scared? Hesitating? What is it, exactly, creeping? You can also get really crazy with it. A character isn't thinking clearly so y o u s ss t art b r e a k i n g up t he wo r d s. You have to be careful. It has to be legible still. But it can be bold, and it can mean something and it can be eye catching and it can be a thought without acknowledgement. Play in the space! Words are toys.

Emotions are your stakes, just as much as bodily harm is If your readers care about how your characters feel, you have a compelling tool to drive their care for the rest of the plot. It's not just bad enough that they could be physically hurt by a situation, putting them in emotional distress makes your readers distressed. This does, however, need balance. In the same way you wouldn't keep your foot on the gas in a car at all times from point A to point Z, lingering too long on one emotion when your readers are invested emotionally drains your readers. There needs to be periods of rest and happiness, to balance the periods of emotional turmoil, guilt, and apathy. If you've ever read a book and thought "Man this character is a crybaby, they never stop whining" or "this book is making me depressed. Everything keeps going wrong all the time!" the balance is skewed too far towards the sad/depressive emotions, and you are emotionally distancing yourself as a result. Something similar happens the other way, if you ever read something and feel like the characters are never in danger, or the plot isn't taking itself seriously. Everyone's tolerance for this is different, but generally speaking, adding small moments of comedy and levity to temper hardship can go a long way to keeping your characters emotionally relatable -- so many people cope with humor anyway.

Read and analyze what you like in other works For the same reason people trace a drawing when they're trying to figure out how the original artist drew it, for the same reason you first knit a pattern instead of knitting a sweater from scratch, pick up a book you love, that gets you emotionally invested in the characters, and really pick apart why you like it. Write down words or descriptions you thought hammered an idea home. Reread a scene once or twice and feel your heart squirm over it and ask yourself why? Just, sink your teeth in and analyze. It helps a lot.

And on the subject of analysis...

Have I studied any writing theory, or have I got any advice on dissecting pieces of writing for improvement?

Also kind of hard to answer! Specifically because I haven't studied much writing theory, outside of reading comprehension classes in high school that I'm 10 years removed from now. If I had to give advice, I think it would have to be from my experience which is: Read a lot and take notes.

You're correct, "practice writing" can only get you so far, in the sense that anything in a vacuum is hard to learn from. If I've only ever eaten a PB&J, it's gonna be real hard to learn how to make spaghetti. Chances are I don't even know tomatoes exist. So, read a lot, and read critically, and take notes.

When I say read critically: I mean read with your eyes open. Ask yourself "why?" as often as you can. A book makes you cry, why? Is it specific to the character? Is it because you want them to be happy or because they're going through something you've been through? A book makes you frustrated, why? Was an important plot point forgotten? Are the characters hard to understand? If so, why are they hard for you to understand? Does the author not explain their motives correctly, does it feel like you skipped a chapter? Or is it because their motives are understandable but you still think what they're doing is stupid? I recommend going back and reading your favorite book with that lens. "This is the best fight scene I've ever read!" Why? Was it important to the characters and therefore important to you? Did it wrap up a plot point well? Was it just fun watching the bad guy get beat up?

I learned how to do this first with descriptions. A few years ago I was reading Kings of the Wyld, and about halfway through the book I realized I thought Nicholas Eames was the best writer I'd ever read. That's objectively untrue, I'm sure there's some better, but it's how I felt and I wanted to know why. So I read the book again. I figured out it was because his descriptions were great. It wasn't just that I could see what was going on in my head, the descriptions told me things about the world.

"The wheat was as gold as the Summer Lord's beard." It's autumn, the wheat is ready to harvest and they have a god named the Summer Lord who is cloaked in gold. That's a lot of information packed into one sentence.

"He had learned long ago that harboring regrets was akin to stashing embers in your pockets: hopeless and bound to hurt." That says so much about the character. He has regrets, ones he's worried over so much he's learned how futile it is. And the image of someone holding onto embers because maybe they deserve that pain is poignant and relatable. We have all done something we regret.

I started writing down all the descriptions of his that I liked, picking them apart to see how they work. I like descriptors that inform you about the world, that are unique to the character, and that are rooted in the physical. I think that's successful writing, so I emulate it.

If you want to get better at writing, really study the stuff you like and ask yourself why you like it. If you can't do it in your head, if you can't just read a book and figure out what went well, write it down! It doesn't have to be a 10 page paper. Just writing "I loved X character and I think xyz reason is why" is enough to get you started. The more you practice figuring out what you like, the better you'll get at identifying and describing it. The more you know about those things, the better you can transfer it into your own work. Study can be really fun when you really dig your elbows into it.

I also think it's equally useful to do this to media you don't like. Pick a book you hate and do the same thing. Why don't you like it? Is it because you don't like the themes, or because the characters were too frustrating to relate to? Was it because the plot seemed forced? Were there plot points and ideas that seemed awesome that the author just ignored? Figure out what you don't like, what you think doesn't work, so you can figure out how to avoid it.

The thing about studying anything is: everything has rules. Learn the rules. Learn why the work [or why they don't]. That's studying.

Learning when its appropriate to follow or break them, that's writing.

This turned into a very, very long rant! Hopefully it helps :'D if not, my apologies.

[funhouse-mirror-barbie]

I don’t think the new HH song “Poison” is bad, but it’s really hard to not compare it to Silva Hound’s fan song, “Addict”.

I think that Blake Roman is a much more talented singer than Michael Kovach in terms of pure technical skill. That said, I think it’s much easier to teach a voice actor to sing than it is to teach a singer to voice act.

(There’s obvs exceptions to this—Alex Brightman comes to mind as he also sings in-character for both his broadway role as Beetlejuice and for HB’s Fizzarolli.)

But, for any lack of technical skill that Michael may have, he is such a FANTASTIC voice actor that you can tell it’s Angel Dust singing—it believably sounds like the same character, and that is really important. (More below)

I don’t know what it was, but Michael really put a lot of pure character into Angel Dust’s voice. There was a sort of vibrancy to to his performance that I sadly am not sure how to describe, and I don’t know if Blake will be able to replicate it.

I think something that really makes Michael stand out as a voice actor, is that he really fully embodies whatever character he’s playing. He manages to sound natural in all of his roles, nothing sounds forced or like he’s trying to just do a character voice. He’s able to become that character.

His voice is distinct enough that if you can listen closely you can tell it’s him, but he also understands how give the characters be voices their own distinct personalities.

I think a lot of actors really underestimate the work that voice actors have to put into their performances. Voice acting takes a lot of work, and it’s frustrating that a lot of people don’t seem to realize that.

For Blake’s performance, I obviously don’t know what direction he was given in the recording studio, but his singing in Poison makes it seem like they told him to just sing it like Michael sang Addict.

It makes me sad, because there’s a good chance that Blake really could have made the song, and the character of Angel Dust, his own, but I don’t think he’ll get the chance too. I really really hope I’m wrong.

I just keep remembering the first time I heard “Addict”. I know I listened to it exactly once, and it only took that one time for it to be stuck in my head all day. I just listened to Poison, and I don’t think I could hum it if I wanted to.

Again. Poison isn’t a bad song at all. It’s catchy enough, and is very well sung—Blake is undeniably a fantastic singer, and I’m not trying to put him down.

But he sounds like he’s singing for a Broadway adaption of a Angel Dust. Michael Kovach sings in a way that makes you believe he is Angel Dust.